Legion: V Plague Book 19

by Dirk Patton

  The moment the hull breached the gentle swells of the Pacific, the launch order was given. In rapid succession, four Kalibr anti-ship missiles roared out of their launchers. Before the ocean breezes could clear the smoke from the rocket motors, the Alrosa had once again vanished beneath the waves.

  The missiles accelerated quickly, leveling off a scant fifteen feet above the water. Each was equipped with a two hundred kilogram, high-explosive warhead that would normally not arm itself until having traveled at least thirty miles from the launch platform. But for the Russian’s purposes, the safeties had been removed and all of the warheads went active upon launch.

  Even though the Kalibr missiles were sea-skimmers, flying barely above the surface, Pearl Harbor’s defenses were capable of detecting their approach and destroying them before they reached their targets. But those very same defenses were dependent upon adequate warning, and by coming in so close, the Alrosa’s captain had negated the American’s technology advantage.

  Breaking the sound barrier within the first half mile of flight, the four missiles covered the distance to Pearl Harbor’s entrance in less than a minute. The defensive systems failed to detect their approach until they turned slightly to the east and accelerated to terminal velocity. By that point, they were less than five seconds away from their targets.

  ***

  Admiral Packard was working at his desk when four shattering explosions rent the night. Whipping around in his chair to see what had happened, he was met with flying glass when the concussion blew out his office windows. Ignoring a dozen cuts that were opened up on his face and arms, he stood and stared with gritted teeth at the harbor below.

  The four largest ships that had just completed retrofit for transporting civilians to the mainland were burning furiously, the fires shooting a hundred feet into the air. It didn’t take long for the flames to find ruptured fuel tanks and additional explosions, more powerful than the initial detonation of the missiles broke the backs of two of the four vessels. They sank quickly, coming to rest with large sections of burned and twisted steel sticking out of the water.

  An hour later, he stood on a pier with Captain West, viewing the devastation.

  “Seventy thousand people,” the Admiral said softly.

  “Sir?” West asked.

  “Seventy thousand. That’s how many people those ships could carry on each sailing to the mainland. They would have moved nearly half our population during the exodus.”

  West nodded, knowing the Admiral wasn’t looking for a response.

  “Any trace of the sub?” Packard asked.

  “No, sir. We’re guessing they snuck a Kilo in nice and close to fire the missiles.”

  “Thought they’d all been accounted for.”

  “They were, sir. Apparently, we were mistaken.”

  “So, there could well be more of them out there. Ready to take out even more of our sealift capacity.”

  “Barinov is pushing the issue. There’s no hiding this from the public. Without those ships, there’s going to be irresistible pressure among the people to accept his offer.”

  “I can’t blame them, Captain. Stay here and die, or submit to the Russians and live, even if it is a life of indentured servitude.”

  “You’re not suggesting...”

  “No!” the Admiral answered quickly. “I’m saying I can understand parents being willing to do anything so they don’t have to watch their children starve to death.”

  He lit another cigarette and stared at the partially submerged wreckage, much of it still burning furiously.

  “Any update on the search for Chief Strickland?” he asked after a long, contemplative silence.

  “The teams haven’t located him, yet, sir. But they did encounter strong resistance from Russian forces and there have been several battles. Heavy losses on both sides. Captain Morrow aboard the Reagan is holding back the assets needed for Operation Failsafe, but he’s not happy about it.”

  “Neither am I, but we can’t allow our forces to be depleted. This is it. We win and live free or lose and die as Russian slaves.”

  A chime sounded and West raised his phone to his ear. He stood listening for several long seconds before suddenly stiffening. His reaction drew the Admiral’s attention. Waiting impatiently, he lit a fresh cigarette and stared at his aide.

  “Commander Vance just landed at Hickam Field, sir!” West said excitedly. “Mrs. Chase is with him and she has Chief Strickland’s file!”

  “Get it to Doctor Hironata, immediately!” Packard said, nearly shouting in excitement. “And tell her we’re on the way to see her!”

  65

  Martinez kept us low and well south of the Phoenix area for slightly more than an hour before making the turn to the north. Worried about Russian air defenses as well as Combat Air Patrols, she reduced altitude until I thought we were going to take the tops off a few of the taller saguaro cacti that flashed beneath us.

  Leaving her to concentrate on flying, I moved to the back of the Osprey and was immediately greeted by a frantic Dog. He wouldn’t settle down until I sat on the deck and allowed him to crawl into my lap. Scratching his belly, I looked up and saw the expression on Mavis’s face. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I said, holding my arm out.

  After a long hesitation, she looked up then came forward so I could wrap her into a hug.

  “I knew it would be okay,” she said, voice muffled against my shoulder.

  “You scared the hell out of me, young lady.”

  “That’s bad,” she said, then giggled. “You could have a heart attack or something at your age.”

  I poked a finger into her ribs. She squealed in laughter and squirmed out of my arms. Dog lay on his back, watching us, happy to be with his people.

  “How did it happen?”

  We both looked up when Joe eased himself into an adjacent seat. He was looking directly at Mavis and after a long moment she lowered her eyes.

  “I took the extra serum after Mom gave him the shot. It was the only way I could save him.”

  She unconsciously took my hand in both of hers as she spoke. I looked at Joe, noting the concern on his face.

  “What are you worried about?” I asked.

  He took a deep breath and shook his head.

  “The virus isn’t some magical elixir that you can just start playing with,” he said. “Sure, it strengthened you. Saved you, even. Lucas, too, when he got your blood. But...”

  “But what?” I asked when he didn’t continue his thought.

  “You’ve seen the children,” he said as if that was his entire point.

  “Yeah. What? You worried we’re going to grow fangs? Rachel said the way they are only makes sense because they were conceived by infected. The virus messed with their DNA while they were developing.”

  Joe held my eyes as he slowly nodded, then looked at Mavis. It took me a few seconds to get his meaning. She could never take the risk of having a child.

  “Was Rachel pregnant before you got infected?” Joe asked quietly, the question hitting me like a thunderbolt.

  I stared back at him, an image of the horribly mutated children whirling through my head.

  “I... I’m not sure.”

  It felt like the world was closing in on me and I couldn’t draw a deep breath.

  “Look,” he said, seeing the panic in my eyes. “I’m sorry I brought it up. There’s probably nothing to worry about. Even if you were already infected, it doesn’t mean there’s a problem. Besides, she said she’s been seen by an OB in Hawaii and all the tests came back fine.”

  I appreciated his words, but I couldn’t unhear the question he’d asked.

  “I can’t have babies.”

  We both looked at Mavis. As usual, she had surprised me with how sharp she was, especially for only twelve years old.

  “Not necessarily,” Joe said gently. “By the time you’re ready for that, we’ll know a whole lot more about how th
e virus is passed on to the fetus.”

  “And that’s going to be a long time,” I said firmly.

  “Well, duh,” Mavis said.

  I couldn’t help but smile, despite the fear for my unborn children that was threatening to consume me. And besides, what was the risk to Rachel of giving birth to... to something like the aberrations I’d just seen. I wanted to call her. Tell her to go to the hospital and have them poke and prod and run every test they could think of. And that’s exactly what I would have done if there was any way to communicate with Hawaii.

  “Need you up here!” Martinez called, interrupting my thoughts.

  Pulling Mavis close, I kissed her on the forehead, then had to rub Dog’s ears before he’d move out of my lap. I got to my feet to go to the cockpit but hesitated and turned back.

  “Mavis, I want you to stick close to Joe. And no more stunts like jumping out of a perfectly good airplane into a herd of infected.”

  “Okay,” she said with a shrug.

  I was a kid once and knew exactly what that response meant.

  “I’m serious, young lady! I can’t do what I need to do if I’m worrying about you.”

  I stared at her until she sighed and nodded.

  “Promise me,” I said.

  “Whatever! I promise. No more stunts.”

  Shaking my head, I started to turn away and saw a smirk on Joe’s face. I flipped him off and went to see what Martinez needed.

  “That our target?” she asked, pointing at a map displayed on a small screen.

  It would normally have shown our current location, speed and heading, but there wasn’t a GPS system any more. Fortunately, the US Military had never stopped training their pilots how to navigate without modern technology.

  “That’s it,” I said, after looking closely.

  We were heading for what was now Phoenix-Mesa Gateway airport. It had once been Williams Air Force Base, training bomber crews during World War II, then became a strategic bomber base during the Cold War.

  “Okay,” she said, voice tight.

  The desert floor was nearly perfectly flat as we approached the metro area. The operative was nearly. There were still small hills and washes, not to mention tall communication and high-voltage transmission towers, any of which were a hazard at our current altitude. Knowing she didn’t need any distractions, I quietly returned to the cabin.

  Strickland and Gonzales had been busy, opening all the lockers and going through the gear the SEAL team that had flown into California had on board. A fully loaded vest, rifle and pistol were waiting for me and I nodded my thanks as I put on the new gear. There was a small, digital radio in a pocket on the vest and I put on the throat mic and earbud, then gave it a quick test.

  “So, what’s the plan, sir?” Strickland asked.

  “Target is the Maricopa County main jail,” I said. “The last I knew, that’s where Igor and Irina are being held. It’s about forty miles from where we’re putting down, so we’ll need transportation once we’re on the ground.”

  “And when we get to the jail?” Gonzales asked.

  “You know the drill, Master Chief. Scout, find a way in and hit the fuckers so hard their daddy’s balls will ache. Get our people and scoot.”

  The two SEALs grinned and nodded, even though none of us were happy about going in with absolutely no intel. I knew where the jail was because I’d lived in the area for a long time. Beyond that, we were in the dark. Knew nothing about the facility or the internal layout, or where Irina and Igor were located. About the only thing I was certain of was that this was a heavily fortified jail and gaining access wasn’t going to be simple.

  “How do we get in?” Strickland asked, echoing my thoughts.

  “Thinking we start with the visitor area,” I said.

  “Least we’ve got a master key,” Gonzales said, holding up a brick of C-4 plastic explosive.

  66

  Admiral Packard’s helicopter landed in a swirl of dust and debris at the university. An advance security detail of Marines had already established a large buffer zone, but the six heavily armed men who had traveled with him were the first to exit the aircraft. They formed a tight bubble, the team leader checking with the perimeter and then the pair of Super Cobras that were orbiting the area before gesturing for the Admiral to join them.

  Packard leapt down with the energy of a man half his age, enjoying the effect the virus had in healing and rejuvenating his body. Captain West followed and the group made a dash for the entrance to Doctor Hironata’s lab.

  They found her in a large laboratory with a small group of what the Admiral assumed were graduate students. Multiple computer screens displayed what appeared to be genetic structures. A woman was furiously typing, inputting the instructions that Hironata gave her as she read a document from the file.

  “Doctor?” Packard said as he walked in.

  Hironata snapped a hand up for silence without even pausing. The Admiral and West traded a glance, then Packard nodded and stood silently as the geneticists worked. It was most of half an hour later when Doctor Hironata set the document aside and wheeled her chair to peer at the computer screen. Packard and West leaned closer but couldn’t decipher what was being displayed.

  “Doctor?” the Admiral prompted again.

  When the woman turned to him, the smile on her face gave away the answer before she could speak.

  “It’s a quite simple process,” she said, beaming. “Now that we know which genes to target and what modifications need to be made.”

  “What’s the bottom line, Doctor? Will this...”

  “Save us?” Hironata interrupted. “I don’t know if it will save us, Admiral, but it will certainly keep us from starving to death.”

  Everyone in the room was grinning from ear to ear.

  “You can grow virus resistant crops,” Packard said, struggling slightly with the surreal moment.

  The woman who’d been working the computer spun around in her chair to face him.

  “Yes, I can!” she said.

  “This is Doctor Stephanie Hawkins, Admiral,” Hironata said, introducing the woman. “Her specialty is the genetic modification of food crops. In fact, she did her graduate work at UC Santa Barbara where this was developed.”

  “How fast can you put this into production, or whatever you call it, Doctor?” Packard asked.

  “Not fast enough here,” she said. “There aren’t adequate lab or production facilities to support the scale we’d need to achieve in a short time. Nor are there adequate seed stocks.”

  “Seed stocks?” the Admiral asked with a frown.

  “We don’t modify plants, we modify seeds so the new DNA is present when it sprouts.”

  “Are you telling me we don’t have a solution until seeds have been planted and start growing?”

  “Yes,” Doctor Hawkins said. “But that’s not nearly as ominous as it sounds. There are already thousands of tons of GMO, Genetically Modified Organism, seeds that will thrive in this climate. Many varieties will be ready for a first harvest within only a few weeks. All I need is to get my team into the production facility to add this change.”

  “You sound as if you already have a facility in mind and I’m afraid to ask where it’s located.”

  “St. Louis,” she said.

  “And there’s thousands of tons of wheat seeds, ready to go. They just need that,” he pointed at the monitor, “done to them. Is that right?”

  “Not exactly,” she said. “Thousands of tons of wheat, soybeans, corn, sugar beets, canola... the list is exhaustive.”

  “Why are they just sitting there?” West asked.

  “Because the facility is Monsanto. They are, or were I suppose, the largest producer of transgenic seeds in the world. This is both their R&D facility as well as their production facility. I was there for a visit less than a week before the attacks. I saw the stockpiles personally.”

  “That didn’t answer my question,” West said, frowning. “Why are they
stockpiled? That seems like a lot of money that’s just sitting.”

  “Because they had been produced and were awaiting shipment to the Southern Hemisphere. That was early summer, here. Early winter south of the equator. The orders were in and were being prepared so they could be delivered in time for planting season, which was still a few months away.”

  “Doctor,” the Admiral said. “Tell us exactly where in St. Louis to look for this facility, and where the seeds would be stored.”

  ***

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Jessica said when the Admiral asked about the NSA satellites. “Until whatever the Russians are using to overload them is shut off, I can’t get beyond the DOS shell. I have no idea if they’ve suffered irreparable damage or if they’ll just reboot and come back to life.”

  “Commander Vance, sir,” West said. “He can be there in less than two hours and the aircraft is equipped with high-res imaging.”

  “Do it,” Packard said without hesitation.

  West acknowledged the order and hurried away to make it happen.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” Jessica said. “But you’re in communication with Commander Vance?”

  He looked around the room, knowing every person present had a very high security clearance, but still hesitated.

  “Join me on the bench, Chief.”

  Jessica quickly locked her station and followed the Admiral out of the cyberwarfare center.

  “He got back two hours ago, Chief,” Packard said once they were seated with cigarettes going. “And he brought Chief Strickland’s file with him.”

  Jessica’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

  “Is it...”

  “Everything we hoped for,” he said, interrupting. “What we need now are seeds and a production facility that just so happens to be in St. Louis.”

  “So, we send the Commander to take some photos, and if all’s good...”

  The Admiral nodded as he exhaled a cloud of smoke that was whisked away by a night breeze.

  “What about the others sir?” Jessica asked after a long moment of thought. “Colonel Chase and the rest. Are they back, too?”