Precipice: V Plague Book 9

by Dirk Patton

  I looked and listened for another minute, still hearing nothing other than a Hind passing overhead. Opening the door the rest of the way I stayed standing where I was and scanned with the rifle’s night vision scope. A couple of minutes later I was reasonably confident I was still alone in the store and stepped out into the pharmacy area.

  On the far side of the building, towards the rear, was a section I’d noticed when getting my new clothes that had hunting and fishing gear. That was where I was headed as I moved out and turned down the first aisle I came to.

  Passing the electronics section, I paused long enough to pocket a package of batteries that were the right size for the flashlight attached to my rifle. Continuing on I reached the sporting goods area, ignoring a long row of fishing poles. Turning the corner, I found a large counter area and after a look with the night vision, stepped into the employee only area.

  I looked for close to five minutes, but couldn’t find a single round of ammunition. Looking around in frustration I was surprised when I realized there weren’t any firearms to be seen either. Still searching I spotted a large sign on the wall over the back of the counter. It was too dark to read and after scanning with the night vision I wrapped my hand around the lens of the flashlight and turned it on.

  Hardly any light leaked out and I pointed it up at the placard.

  Per DOD regulations no firearms or ammunition are sold in the BX

  What the fuck? Really? I started to wonder if this was an Air Force thing, but the sign said DOD or Department of Defense. What harebrained jackass made that decision? Hi, welcome to the US military. Here’s access to all of the most powerful and destructive weapons ever devised by mankind, but sorry, you can’t purchase a pistol or rifle or even the ammunition for one you may already own. Have a nice day.

  Shaking my head at the stupidity of the policy, then at my own foolishness for getting distracted, I turned my attention back to the task at hand. Selecting a large pack, I moved through the aisles and filled it with spare socks and underwear, tossed in a fat multi-tool and another flashlight, then filled it the rest of the way with MREs and a few water bottles.

  Passing through the grocery section on my way back to the front of the store I paused long enough to drain a jug of orange juice. It wasn’t cold and I didn’t have any idea how long it had been since the power had failed and the refrigeration went out, but when I cracked open the seal it didn’t smell like it had spoiled. Like I could smell anything with the condition my nose was in, but I took the chance. I’d lost a lot of blood. My body needed the fluids, which was why I was drinking so much water, and the sugar in the OJ would help if I hadn’t just poisoned myself.

  I was halfway to the front when a thought occurred to me and I changed directions and headed for the electronics section. Hopefully there would be a satellite phone I could take. Not that I had the slightest idea how to reach anyone, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t willing to give it a try.

  There was a large phone section, but it was just regular cell phones. Well, iPhones and Android phones. Nothing that would work without a cell tower. Disappointed, but not surprised, I headed back towards the front of the store, freezing in place when I heard a subtle noise.

  I didn’t know what it was and was even uncertain about the direction it had come from, but I had definitely heard something. It could have been a Russian patrol, or an infected, or even something shifting on one of the shelves. Maybe a rat working its way through the BX, nosing for unguarded food.

  Moving to the end of an aisle I carefully scanned its length with the night vision scope. Nothing moving or out of place. Carefully, I moved to the end of the next aisle and repeated the scan. Still nothing. I checked two more aisles like this before I found the source of the noise.

  Two men with rifles were slowly moving through the store, one cautious step at a time. I couldn’t identify the uniforms with only night vision, but the unique outline of the rifles in their hands told me all I needed to know. Russians carrying AKMS rifles.

  Steadying my aim on the closer of the two I waited. The Hind that was orbiting the area, searching for me, had been going overhead on a regular schedule. When it passed over the BX it was low enough and loud enough to mask the sound of my suppressed rifle being fired. Not that the second soldier wouldn’t notice his buddy going down when I shot him, but with the helicopter drowning out the sound of my suppressed rifle it wouldn’t be possible for him to immediately zero in on my location.

  Right on schedule I heard the Hind approaching. The volume of the rotor quickly grew, the whole building beginning to vibrate, and when sound was at its zenith I pulled the trigger and put a round into the Russian’s head. He dropped silently, even the metallic tinkle of my expended shell hitting the hard floor covered by the noisy aircraft.

  The other man reacted quickly, spinning and leaping for cover in an aisle that intersected the one he was standing in. I fired my second round while he was in motion and saw him jerk before he disappeared behind the shelving. I’d scored a hit, but didn’t think it was fatal. Now I needed to finish him off before he was able to get on the radio and call for help.

  Turning, I sprinted down the aisle parallel to the one they’d been checking. I didn’t slow when I reached the intersection, but dropped to my ass and slid into the open, already firing in the direction the man had gone. A foolish and potentially deadly way to go after an armed and trained opponent, but time was critical.

  I stopped firing as soon as I got a look down the aisle. The soldier was already down, flat on his back. Both hands were clasped firmly around his neck where my first bullet had struck, destroying his trachea and tearing open an artery. I approached slowly with my rifle trained on his head, but by the time I was standing over him he was dead.

  22

  Leaving the Russians where they’d fallen, I turned and headed for the front. I hoped they were alone and kind of suspected they were. If there had been more there would have been a larger team moving through the store. Unless they’d left some guys at the entrance in case these two flushed me out and I made a break for it.

  Slowing, I approached the registers very carefully. Frequently pausing and scanning with the night vision scope I didn’t see anything that hadn’t been there when I came in. I idly wondered why these two had chosen to search such a large building by themselves, dismissing the questions that I had no way of answering.

  Coming within ten yards of the glass doors I looked out into the parking lot and spotted their vehicle. It was an American Hummer, parked as close to the iron bollards that guarded the entrance as it could be. That also told me some more about the two men I’d just killed.

  I was willing to bet they were just ordinary foot soldiers, pressed into service for the search. There was no way any operator, from anywhere in the world, would just pull right up to the door of a building they were going to check for a hostile enemy. What a great way to get shot the moment you open your door and step out.

  There was also a bonus to the fact that the Russians had boots on the ground driving around in Hummers looking for me. That meant I could move in a vehicle without drawing undue attention. Not invisibly, no, but at least I wouldn’t be descended upon the instant I started rolling. The real question would be if I could manage to drive off the base and disappear over the horizon without attracting a missile or cannon fire.

  Preparing to push out the door and make a dash for the Hummer the Russians had arrived in, I paused and turned back to face the store. I didn’t really know where the hell I was. I had a rough idea of where things were in Idaho, but it was just that. Rough. Very fucking rough. Certainly not good enough to head out and hope I was actually going somewhere other than down a road that led to nowhere.

  Moving back into the BX I searched around, finally finding a small section that sold books and magazines. Another few minutes of searching and I spied a large road atlas. Clicking on my flashlight and shielding the lens with my balled hand I flipped pages until arriving at
Idaho. It took me some looking to find Mountain Home, a small town a few miles northeast of the base, and I was glad I’d come back for the map.

  For some reason I had thought I was much farther north, close to Canada, rather than in the southern portion of the state. In fact, I was no more than a hundred miles north of Nevada. Southern Oregon was due west and if you drew a line slightly north of northwest from where I stood it would intersect Seattle. That was my destination as I assumed it would be where Katie and Rachel would go, but first I had to get away from the fucking Russians.

  Stuffing the map in my new pack I walked back to the entrance, approaching carefully and scanning with the night vision scope as I approached. I didn’t see any movement, but this time I was coming at a different angle and noticed an IR strobe flashing away on the roof of the Hummer.

  IR strobe lights are only visible with night vision and, among other things, are used to mark friendlies on the ground that are at risk of being fired on by aircraft if they are misidentified. This one looked small, not even as large as my fist, and flashed in an odd sequence. It took me a moment watching to realize it was Morse code.

  Very fucking smart, Ivan! Once an enemy knew that they were using IR strobes to clearly mark captured vehicles it wouldn’t be difficult to use your own strobe to blend in with the herd. Unless the strobes issued by the Russian Army flashed out a specific message. It’s not like you can program these damn things in the field, so they had eliminated the possibility of an enemy hiding from them.

  Watching for a moment, and trying to remember a code made up of long and short flashes that I’d learned about a hundred years ago and had used maybe once in my life, I finally deciphered the sequence to read “RUSS”. No, I’d screwed up on where it began repeating. It was broadcasting “USSR”. Cheeky bastards. Not that it mattered, but it was one of those things my mind gets stuck on until I figure it out.

  I waited another minute for the orbiting Hind to pass over, then dashed out the door and jumped into the driver’s seat. Starting the engine, I spun the wheel and nailed the throttle. Hummers aren’t sports cars and though it started moving it did so at its own pace. Driving out of the parking lot I turned towards the main gate.

  My destination was Seattle, but it was a long trip and I was going to have to cover the distance in stages. I knew from my earlier conversation with Jessica that snow would stop me from crossing the mountain range to the east of Seattle and I needed to head west to the coast while I was still far enough south to have reasonably good weather.

  I didn’t remember any part of the route Jessica had mapped out for me other than a tiny town named Dickshooter. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to find it on the map, so I’d had to come up with my own path. I planned to get to the town of Mountain Home first, then work my way up to Boise. From there, west across Oregon to the coast and turn north. I would avoid large highways where I could and skirt cities that might have a large infected population. And hopefully evade the Russians in the process.

  Before I reached the exit from the base I was overflown by a Hind. I had no idea if it was the same one that had been orbiting the area of the base where the BX was located. My heart rate shot up and adrenaline dumped into my system when I heard the rotor, but I forced myself to continue driving the same speed and maintain my direction of travel. The strobe should reassure the aircrew that I was just another friendly Ivan, but if I suddenly began maneuvering to escape when they appeared it would be like waving a big red flag.

  The sound of the helicopter didn’t change until it began to bank as part of its orbit. I breathed a deep sigh of relief and kept driving. Another problem would be if there were guards at the gate, but they either hadn’t thought about that yet or didn’t have enough bodies to station some men there.

  The gate was unmanned and wide open as I drove through, slowing to turn onto the road where a sign pointed the direction to town. Now it was getting risky. There wasn’t really an excuse for one of the patrols that was searching for me to be off the base and heading for a civilian town. At least not without orders to do so, and now the damn strobe on the roof would act like a beacon and draw attention to a vehicle driving in an area it shouldn’t be in.

  Slamming on the brakes I screeched to a stop, shut off the vehicle’s lights and jumped out. It took me a moment to figure out how to remove the device and turn it off. I didn’t want to damage it. There was no telling when it would come in handy again. Back inside I left the lights off and started driving.

  It was dark, but the sky was clear and there was some moon. All I really needed to be able to see was the asphalt in front of me so I could stay on the road. It would be nice to have some bright driving lights so I didn’t crash into an abandoned wreck, but at the moment that was the least of my concerns.

  Craning my neck around and ducking my head I peered out the passenger side windows, trying to spot the helicopters that were searching the air base. It wasn’t hard as they all had their red and green anti-collision lights on, several of them with high intensity spotlights stabbing down through the darkness to illuminate the ground.

  Why were they using spotlights instead of FLIR? At night it was a no brainer. Lights create shadows and won’t necessarily get into all the hiding places a man can squeeze into. FLIR, on the other hand, will detect the target’s body heat and is just about impossible to hide from. I’d heard of a German company that had started manufacturing what they called Ghost Camouflage, which would supposedly defeat FLIR, but I don’t think it ever made it out of the testing stage.

  Did the Russians not have FLIR on all their helicopters? I knew that their military had always lagged behind the US as far as technology, but this wasn’t anything new. FLIR has been around for a long time. Maybe they hadn’t been able to spend the money to equip all of their aircraft? If that was the case I had a big advantage, but I had no way of knowing and couldn’t bet my life on it.

  At the moment I hadn’t been spotted. Or if I had been spotted the pilot hadn’t felt like taking the initiative to come check me out. Maybe there was a radio on one of the dead Russians I’d left in the BX and his CO was screaming at him for heading off base, but for the moment I was opening some distance between us. I pressed harder on the accelerator and leaned forward to peer into the darkness ahead.

  23

  “Find him!” Colonel Grushkin screamed at the regular army Major standing at rigid attention in front of him.

  The Colonel’s face was a mask of fury, covered in blood from the nasty gash that extended from his left ear across the top of his head, ending just above his nose. He was seated on a chair in the hangar where John had found the Vespa, a medic working to treat the injury. A portable, generator powered lamp from a nearby equipment shed threw a small pool of light.

  “Colonel, we have limited…” The man stopped speaking, his eyes opening wide in fear when Grushkin leapt to his feet and drew his pistol. Raising it, the enraged Colonel fired a single shot that struck the hapless Major on the bridge of his nose and blew out the back of his head. The corpse crumpled to the smooth concrete floor.

  “Results! Find him and bring him to me!” Grushkin turned and roared at a young Captain who had taken several steps back and was shaking with fear.

  The man tried to swallow, bobbing his head up and down in acknowledgement of the order before turning and fleeing as fast as his feet could carry him. Grushkin ignored the officer he’d just killed, holstered the pistol and resumed his seat in the chair. Tentatively, the medic reached out and continued shaving the Colonel’s head so he could suture the wound closed.

  “How long?” Grushkin asked the frightened man.

  “An hour, Comrade Colonel. If I do not do this right it will reopen when you begin moving.” The man’s voice and hands shook as he worked.

  “Relax, Sergeant,” Grushkin said in a calm voice. “I am through shooting incompetent fools. For the moment.”

  The man jerked his hands away from Grushkin’s head and took a step ba
ck when the Colonel turned to look him in the eye.

  “If I don’t return with the American, reopened stitches will be the least of my concerns.”

  The medic nodded his understanding and carefully stepped forward to resume working on the head wound. It was bleeding profusely, blood running down Grushkin’s forehead and into his eyes. He clutched a towel in his left hand, mopping away the worst of the blood.

  He had regained consciousness as reinforcements were arriving. The helicopters that had been part of the search for the American Major had been returning to Malmstrom Air Force Base, but when alerted by the AWACS to the events at Mountain Home they had reversed their course.

  Low on fuel, they’d had to keep their speed down until the arrival of a tanker that was scrambled out of Malmstrom. This had delayed their arrival, giving the American even more time to escape. The Spetsnaz on board had quickly spread out, the helicopters going into search patterns, but the base was too big for the small force to have any hope of success.

  Grushkin had immediately recognized the need for more boots on the ground and had called for the troops that had been searching Twin Falls. They began arriving on transport aircraft within an hour, spreading out across the sprawling base. He had moved himself into the hangar, issuing orders as more soldiers arrived, holding a dirty towel to his skull in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.

  When a medic had finally arrived he had taken a seat and told the man to get him patched up enough so he could function. He knew his injuries required more attention than could be given in the field, but he also knew that returning with anything less than incontrovertible proof of Major John Chase’s death would result in a swift end to not only his career, but his life as well.

  Now night had fallen, hampering the search efforts even more. Despite the bravado of the Russian government for the past several years, the military was in poor shape. A far cry from the might of the Soviet era, Russia had suffered through economic conditions that made the Great Recession of 2008 in America seem like a minor inconvenience.