Legion: V Plague Book 19

by Dirk Patton

  He looked at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now. The one percent. The migraine causing, pain in the ass of every commanding officer. They aren’t concerned with drilling on the parade ground. They wear the uniform, but never seem completely comfortable in it. And if there’s a man or woman who’s going to break protocol, up to and including insubordination and ignoring orders, it’s one of them. Know who they are?”

  “I think I can guess, sir,” Jessica said expectantly.

  “The warriors, Chief. The warriors. Sure, they live by the same set of rules as the rest of us, but they have a different code. They’re going to do what they think is right and damn the consequences. These are the ones who win wars. Sound like someone we know?”

  Jessica nodded with a grin.

  “I was given some advice ---”

  “Chief!”

  Jessica and the Admiral turned in surprise at the shout. A young sailor was sprinting wildly in their direction, waving his arms. One of the Marines on Packard’s protection detail was already in motion, flashing in from the side and tackling the hapless man to the ground. Within seconds, three more stood around him, rifles trained on his heart.

  “I know him, sir. He works for me,” Jessica said, springing to her feet.

  Packard jumped up and rushed forward with her at his side, barking at the excited Marines to stand down. They complied instantly, lowering their rifles, and pulling the sailor to his feet. But they didn’t release their grip on his arms as the Admiral walked up.

  “Great way to get yourself shot, Seaman Beaumont,” Jessica said, frowning at him.

  “Sir! Chief!” he panted, unconcerned about the menacing men surrounding him. “We’ve lost all satellite surveillance. Lieutenant Hunt sent me to find you.”

  “Why didn’t you just call me?”

  He held up a small handset. Jessica tore open her purse and rummaged through it quickly. Face turning red, she looked up and grabbed her phone from his hand.

  “What happened?”

  “Don’t know, Chief. But the LT is freaking out.”

  Jessica glanced at the Admiral to ask to be dismissed, but he was ahead of her.

  “Go!” he said.

  Jessica took off in a rush, Beaumont hurrying to keep pace with her. Packard watched them for a moment then followed at a walk.

  “Gunny!” He called to one of the Marines. “Go find Captain West. Have him raise the alert level.”

  The man acknowledged the order and took off at a dead run. By the time Packard entered Jessica’s working area, she was already bent over a keyboard. Lieutenant Hunt stood behind her, watching her screen, and the Admiral joined him.

  “What do we know?” he asked quietly, not wanting to interrupt Jessica.

  “We’ve lost all control of the NSA satellites, sir. No visuals of the mainland and no satellite comms, either.”

  “Another Russian cyberattack?” Packard asked.

  “Possibly, sir, but I don’t think so. This seems different. But Chief Simmons will have to tell us for sure.”

  The Admiral turned when Captain West hurried up to where he stood.

  “Alert level raised, sir. What’s going on?”

  “We’re deaf and blind, Captain. Don’t know if---”

  He stopped talking when Jessica spun around in her chair.

  “Chief?”

  “Our up and downlinks are good, sir, but something’s happened to the satellites.”

  “Russians shoot them down?” West asked.

  “No, sir. They’re still there. They respond when I ping them. They just aren’t working.”

  “Any idea on an ETA to a fix?” Packard asked.

  “No, sir. I have no idea what’s wrong, but I don’t believe it’s simply a system failure. Not with both of them dropping off at the same time.”

  The Admiral stood in thought for a few moments, looking into space before turning back to Jessica.

  “Do we still have comms with the Reagan?”

  “No sat-link, sir. But I believe a legacy radio link is in place.”

  “That’s correct, sir,” Captain West added.

  Packard nodded as he reached a decision.

  “Do your best to get those satellites back in operation, Chief,” the Admiral said, then turned to Hunt. “Hourly updates, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Packard moved away to speak privately with West.

  “The clock is ticking and we’re out of time for the exodus, then our eyes and ears go dark. Believe in coincidences, Captain?”

  “Not at all, sir.”

  “Me neither,” the Admiral said with a sigh. “Very well. Contact the Reagan. Have them go in and get Chief Strickland and that file on the virus-resistant wheat.”

  28

  “Putting down at the Marine Corps Air Station in Yuma,” Vance said over the intercom an hour later.

  “How far is that from where John is?” Rachel asked, looking at Chapman.

  “No idea,” he said, getting up and heading for the cockpit. “But I’ll find out.”

  Rachel stood and followed him forward, both squeezing into the door behind Vance.

  “How far to target from the LZ?” Chapman asked.

  “About a hundred and fifty miles,” Vance answered. “But that’s as close as I can get you.”

  “Why? That’s going to waste time,” Rachel said before he could explain.

  “Can’t land on the Interstate. Our gear is wider than the pavement. There are airfields in the Phoenix area big enough, but that’s enemy territory. Next closest is Yuma. Sorry. Best I can do.”

  Rachel thought about that for a moment, sharing a look with Chapman who just shrugged his shoulders.

  “You’re going to wait for us. Right?” Rachel asked after a minute of quiet.

  “Going to California,” Vance said, shaking his head. “Lost comms with Martinez and the Chief can’t spot her helo. Hoping she picked up the SEAL and made it back to Vandenberg, hiding in a hangar and waiting for a ride. If she’s there, I’ll bring her back with me. If not, I’ll give her a few hours then come back if she doesn’t show. Going to take you at least a couple of hours to get to the Colonel, anyway.”

  Chapman caught Rachel’s eye and nodded his head before she could respond.

  “Okay. Thanks, Vance.”

  “No worries, Doc. By the way, heard a rumor you’re pregnant. That true?”

  Rachel’s hand reflexively moved to cover her belly.

  “It is,” she said. “Twins.”

  “Holy shit,” Vance said. “Two more like the Colonel running around? God help us all. Just make sure they know it was Uncle Nutcracker that saved their daddy’s ass. Again.”

  “I seem to recall dragging your ass out of the ocean a few months ago. You’re just returning the favor!”

  Vance laughed loudly, turned his head and gave her a big smile.

  “Okay, Doc. Colonel. Go strap in. I’m gonna make a low-level pass to check the runway for debris before we land. Might be a little bumpy.”

  They turned to leave, Rachel pausing and turning back when Vance called her name.

  “He’s going to be okay. The big bastard is too mean to die. Don’t worry your pretty head.”

  Rachel looked at him for a beat then leaned down and kissed his cheek.

  “Hey now,” Vance said. “Don’t be puttin’ the moves on me, Doc. You’re hot as hell and all, but you are a married lady!”

  Rachel rolled her eyes and slapped him on the back of the head before leaving the cockpit. She could hear Vance laughing as she made her way toward the rear of the plane.

  “Two hours if the roads are clear,” Chapman was saying to Lucas when she sat down.

  “So, count on five or six,” Lucas said.

  “Shut up, Lucas,” Rachel said, hugging Mavis close and kissing the top of her head.

  Not to be ignored, Dog shoved his muzzle in her face and delivered a big, wet li
ck.

  The pass to check the runway was uneventful, then Vance climbed steeply, banking and lining up for landing. He put them down with hardly a perceptible thump, earning a nod of appreciation for his skills from Chapman.

  “Alright ladies,” Chapman barked, getting to his feet before they’d come to a complete stop. “You know the drill.”

  He hadn’t needed to say anything. The Marines were already on their feet. Four of them stood with their rifles at the ready, waiting to run outside and secure a perimeter around the aircraft the instant the ramp came down. Three more were already releasing the chains that had held the Hummers in place during the flight.

  “Let’s mount up,” Lucas said, also on his feet.

  They split up. Rachel, Mavis and Joe climbed into a Humvee that was set up as a medical response unit. Lucas and Dog got into the lead vehicle with Colonel Chapman. By the time the plane came to a full stop and the ramp began to lower, the chains were released and three Marines got behind the wheel of each Hummer and started the engines.

  “What are we waiting for?” Rachel asked their driver when he didn’t start moving right away.

  “Waiting for the all clear, ma’am,” the man said, tapping the radio earbud in his left ear.

  A minute later he must have received a call because he shifted into reverse and backed the vehicle down the ramp and onto the tarmac. He kept going, opening room for the other two vehicles to exit the aircraft, then the small convoy stopped long enough for the four Marines who’d cleared the immediate area to dash forward and climb aboard.

  They were instantly in motion, Chapman’s Hummer leading the way. They sped across the tarmac, the two following vehicles tightening the spacing until there was almost no gap between the three.

  “How do you know my... I mean John?” Mavis asked Joe as they turned off the Air Station and raced for the Interstate.

  “We met in Oklahoma,” Joe said. “Kind of saved each other.”

  “Are you his friend?”

  “Yes,” Joe said after a moment’s thought. “I guess I am.”

  “Then why’d you call him a stupid fucking white man?”

  “Mavis!” Rachel scolded. “Watch your mouth.”

  “Sorry. Shouldn’t have said stupid.”

  The two Marines in the front both snorted a laugh and Joe had to turn away so Rachel didn’t see him smiling. She glared at Mavis a beat then shook her head and sighed.

  “So,” Mavis persisted to Joe. “Why’d you call him that?”

  “Kind of a joke,” Joe said. “Hard to explain if you’re not from here and don’t know the history.”

  “You don’t like white people?” Mavis asked.

  It suddenly got very quiet in the vehicle. Mavis, always attuned to others, looked around in curiosity.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I was married to a white woman,” Joe finally said, breaking the silence. “So, no, I don’t have a problem with white people. It was just a... I’m not really sure what it was. Just the way our friendship started.”

  Mavis thought about that for a few minutes, then nodded her head, either in acceptance or understanding.

  “Where’s your wife?” she asked.

  Joe slowly leaned his head back and closed his eyes. It didn’t seem as if he were going to answer, but he finally spoke in a sad voice.

  “She got infected and didn’t survive the virus.”

  Mavis watched him intently for a long time, then reached out and took his hand. He opened his eyes and she could see the tears spill out and track down his damaged face.

  “It’s not your fault,” Mavis said softly.

  They looked at each other for a long time, then Joe reclined his head and closed his eyes again. Mavis held tightly to his hand as they sped across the desert.

  29

  Martinez and Strickland lay in the dunes overlooking a broad, sandy beach. Slightly more than a hundred yards away the Pacific Ocean roared as breakers crashed ashore.

  The sun was up, but heavy cloud cover and a thick marine layer bathed the world in nothing but shades of grey. For as far as they could see in each direction, and all the way to the water’s edge, the deep sand was churned.

  “That’s a shitload of tracks,” Strickland mumbled.

  “Don’t see any infected,” Martinez countered.

  “Yeah, well, it’s the ones you don’t see that’ll sneak up and ruin your day. Anyway, these are fresh. Twelve hours at the most, but they look a lot fresher to me.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Look at where the waves break onto the beach. See those prints that are getting smoothed out?”

  “Yeah...”

  “They have to have been made since the last high tide. Four tides in twenty-four hours. Two high and two low, so there’s a high tide once every twelve hours. So, max of twelve hours old. But, look at the prints nearest the water. See the ridge of wet sand around them? If these were very old, it would have had the chance to dry out and the constant onshore wind would have smoothed them down. Understand?”

  “They teach you that in the Navy?” Martinez asked.

  “Nah. Discovery Channel.”

  Martinez rolled her eyes and shook her head, but he saw a smile crease her face before she looked away.

  “Gettin’ to you, aren’t I?”

  “Hah! You’re so far out of your league even Jules Verne couldn’t help.”

  Strickland looked at her in confusion and she let him try to work that one out on his own.

  “Maybe we should go back inland a ways instead of following the beach,” Martinez said. “If there are that many infected in the area, we don’t want to get caught with the water at our backs.”

  “They can’t swim,” Strickland pointed out. “But I agree with you. Damn near died getting Igor and Irina to shore a few days ago. That water’s not anywhere we want to be for long without a wetsuit.”

  “So, we agree? Backtrack then head north?”

  “Probably our best bet,” Strickland said, slowly nodding his head.

  Moving slowly and staying low so they weren’t silhouetted against the cloudy sky, they wormed their way backward down a dune. Once they felt it was safe to stand, Strickland led the way. They hadn’t gone far when he brought them to a sudden halt with a clenched fist held out for her to see.

  A knife was gripped tightly in his other hand and he was coiled, ready to run or fight. Martinez couldn’t tell what he had detected but knew to stay silent and watch their backs. Moving carefully so she didn’t make any sound, she turned to face the rear and scanned carefully for threats. She saw nothing of concern but didn’t let her guard down.

  Almost a minute passed, the only sounds the distant roar of the ocean and the steady sigh of the wind. She was about to glance over her shoulder when Strickland gently bumped into her back with his, then remained in contact with her as they continued to watch both areas.

  “Fresh tracks,” he mumbled just loud enough for her to hear. “Lots of them. Followed us into the dunes, then veered off to the south.”

  “They didn’t attack?” Martinez asked in surprise. “The wind had to be taking our scent right to them.”

  “Don’t know, but these are small.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The tracks are small. Definitely human, but small like a kid.”

  Martinez risked a glance over her shoulder, looking at a set of tracks that was by itself and not lost in the jumble of lots of feet. Strickland was right. They were small. But an infected was an infected. She’d seen children attack with the same ferocity as the adults.

  “Not liking this. We need to move. Now!” Strickland mumbled, interrupting her thoughts.

  The light pressure of his back disappeared from hers and Martinez turned, breaking into a fast jog to keep up with the SEAL. He kept them moving away from the beach, but also angled to the north to put more distance between them and the group of infected that had been tracking them. His longer legs gave him
an advantage in the dune’s soft sand, but they were soon on firm footing and she easily maintained the pace he was setting.

  They ran for half an hour, Strickland slowing to a walk as they began to climb a gently sloped ridge. Martinez moved to walk next to him after thoroughly checking the area behind them. As far as she could tell, they weren’t being followed.

  “I don’t get it,” Strickland suddenly said.

  “Don’t get what?”

  “You’re out of my league. The Jules... whatever you said. That reference.”

  Martinez struggled to not laugh out loud.

  “That’s what you’ve been thinking about while we were running? Really?”

  “What was I supposed to think about?”

  “The mission. The infected. Why were they following us but didn’t attack? Little things like that.”

  Strickland looked at her, grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Figured you were giving all that enough thought for the both of us. That’s why you’re an officer. So, the reference. Tell me.”

  “God, it’s not even funny anymore.”

  “Wasn’t ever funny ‘cause it makes no sense.”

  “You’re really annoying. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “Not going to tell me, are you?” Strickland asked. “Bet you just pulled something out of your ass and don’t want to admit it.”

  “Will you stop hitting on me if I tell you?”

  Strickland came to a sudden stop and turned to look her in the eye.

  “Want me to stop hitting on you?”

  Martinez held his gaze for several seconds.

  “Jules Verne. He wrote a classic novel called Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Not in my league, but he’s got twenty thousand of them? Get it?” she asked with an expectant smile.

  Strickland just looked at her and she couldn’t tell if he was thinking about what she’d told him.

  “You didn’t say yes,” he finally said, a big grin spreading across his face.

  “What?”