V Plague (Book 17): Abaddon

by Patton, Dirk

  “Hmmm. Officer making sexual advances toward an NCO. Bet that would go over well,” she mused, also grinning.

  They had spent enough time together to become comfortable with each other and both realized the banter was nothing more than a release for the tension induced by their mission. Jessica knew what was at stake and Vance was smart enough to understand there was more to this than simply picking up the Major from Australia.

  “Here comes the jarhead,” Vance said in a stage whisper when he saw Lieutenant Tread striding toward the aircraft. “Better behave yourself .”

  “I always behave,” Jessica said, then blew out a big breath when the module locked into place.

  There were some muted thumps as Joe climbed aboard, then he stuck his head into the cockpit.

  “What’s up, Lieutenant?” Vance asked. “Learn anything from our guests?”

  “Nothing the Chief didn’t already tell me,” Tread said. “But...”

  “But, what?” Jessica asked.

  “The younger woman. Martinez. Something about her.”

  “What do you mean,” Jessica asked, turning in surprise. She had intentionally neglected to mention anything about the woman apparently having returned from the dead.

  “Can’t put my finger on it,” Tread said in a distant voice. “Just a feeling I get around her.”

  Neither Jessica nor Vance had a comment about that. After a moment of silence, he continued.

  “And I talked to Pearl. The old man with them. Titus. He’s apparently an immune. They want him. The Russians killed the last one they were bringing in for the virologists.”

  “No shit?” Vance blurted. “Immune? That could be a damn good thing!”

  “Cross your fingers and power it up, sir,” Jessica said, interrupting.

  He looked at Jessica and smiled a wolfish grin.

  “Sure about this, Chief? We have spares if something fries these babies?”

  “I saw some in the lab, but I’m sure, sir. If these don’t work, spares aren’t going to do us any good.”

  Vance nodded, lifted the protective cover and activated the aircraft’s power. For a few heartbeats, nothing happened. He looked a question at Jessica, but her attention was focused on the broad, featureless display panel to their front.

  A soft, electronic chime sounded and the entire front of the cockpit suddenly bloomed to life, the display showing a myriad of dials and gauges. Icons were used in place of buttons and switches. With a smile, Vance quickly scanned across the information being presented to him.

  “It’s fixed?” Tread asked in a hopeful tone.

  “It’s working sitting here in the hangar,” Vance said. “The problem that was identified and corrected wouldn’t show up until we were in the air.”

  “So, is it safe to fly?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Vance said.

  He pressed several icons and the engines started with an ear-piercing whine. Glancing around, he noted that the hatch Tread had entered through was still open. A quick press on the display and it closed with a satisfyingly solid thunk.

  “What are you doing?” Jessica asked in alarm when he pulled his seat straps around and buckled himself in.

  “Seat belts for safety,” Vance said, manipulating a control that opened the hangar door.

  “Now, hold on, sir,” Tread said. “This is Russian controlled airspace, and...”

  He had to grab an overhead rail to keep from being sent tumbling when Vance advanced the throttles.

  “Oh, shit, sir,” Jessica said, scrambling to get herself strapped in.

  After a moment, Tread shook his head and dropped into a seat in the passenger area and belted himself down.

  With a roar of barely contained power, the large jet wheeled out onto the tarmac. The windscreen blinked once as it transitioned, then they were looking at a night vision enhanced view of the world.

  “Well ain’t that sweet!”

  Vance smiled as he steered them across a taxiway and onto Groom Lake’s main runway.

  “I really don’t think this is a good idea, sir!”

  “I agree with the Chief, sir,” Tread shouted from the back.

  “Only one way to know if you’ve fixed a bug. Right, Chief?” he asked, swinging them around to face into the wind.

  “I can run a simulation, sir!”

  “Real is always better than fake, Chief,” Vance said, looking at her with a grin.

  Despite the situation, Jessica couldn’t help but smile and roll her eyes.

  Holding the brakes, Vance pushed the throttle control levers all the way forward in one smooth motion. The engines bellowed as they spun up to full power, the entire aircraft beginning to vibrate. Jessica’s eyes were the size of saucers and she had a death grip on the edges of her seat. He released the brakes and the jet shot forward.

  Despite being nearly the size of a 747, the transport leapt ahead and accelerated hard enough to press them tightly against their seats. Far faster than expected, they were airborne.

  “See,” Vance called out. “Not so bad.”

  “If you say so, sir,” Jessica said, trying to get her breathing under control.

  “Alright, Chief. Got to gain some altitude so we can test your fix.”

  Before Jessica could respond, he shoved the throttles into full afterburner and pointed the nose of the aircraft at the sky. It surged ahead, riding two long tongues of flame.

  “Well, look at that,” Vance said, pointing through the windscreen. “Goddamn Russians got the lights back on in LA.”

  Jessica looked where indicated, surprised to see such a large area glowing in the darkness.

  “That’s really LA? We can see it from here?”

  “We just passed forty thousand feet, so, yeah.”

  The big jet continued to climb. Vance closely monitored their altitude and pushed the nose over for level flight when they reached one hundred thousand feet.

  “You’re in an exclusive club, now, Chief,” Vance said.

  “Sir?”

  “You’re flying a hundred thousand feet above the earth and traveling at Mach four point five.”

  Jessica looked around the cockpit before leaning forward to peer toward the ground below.

  “Wow,” she muttered as the import of what he’d said sank in. “So, the code fix worked!”

  “About to find out. Switching to SCRAM jets.”

  He initiated several commands on the display, watching the feedback carefully. A new whine sounded as the massive turbofan engines shut down and the Supersonic Combustion Ramjet engines ignited. They suddenly surged forward with a strong force pressing them deep into their seats.

  “Holy sweet Jesus,” Vance said, watching their speed and making a few minor adjustments. “And to answer your question, Chief. It worked! We’re at Mach eight and the controls are smooth as glass.”

  The force of acceleration disappeared as the big aircraft settled into a steady cruise.

  “How fast is that?” Jessica asked, simultaneously freaked out and enthralled with the ride.

  “Little over six thousand miles an hour,” he answered with a grin. “We’re already over Montana, by the way.”

  “Oh, my God. Seriously? This is going to work?”

  “It’s working, Chief. Thanks to you.”

  “And you can get to Australia how fast?”

  “Two hours,” he said, still smiling. “It’s going to take as long to get to altitude, then descend and land as it will to cross the Pacific.”

  He glanced at the display when it beeped and silenced the notification.

  “And... we’re over Canada.”

  “Sir, you’re one crazy ass pilot. How’d you know this thing wouldn’t blow up or something without testing the fix?”

  Vance glanced over his shoulder to see Tread leaning in through the cockpit door.

  “Didn’t,” he said, shrugging. “But I just saved a couple of days of simulations.”

  “And could have destroyed the ai
rcraft and killed us in the process,” Jessica said.

  “Well, it didn’t, Chief,” Vance said as he guided the aircraft into a turn. “Let’s head back to Groom Lake, top off the tanks and pick up our people. Time to go get the Major.”

  Jessica and Tread traded a quick glance. They both wanted to be mad but were too happy to be alive.

  55

  “Cap’n to the conn!”

  Moore, who’d finally fallen asleep after being awake for more than thirty hours straight, sat bolt upright in bed and snatched the sound powered phone off the bulkhead.

  “Conn, what’s going on?”

  “Intermittent sonar contact, sir,” the XO replied. “We’re being tailed.”

  Moore slammed the phone down and charged out of his quarters. Surprised sailors scattered as their barefoot and T-shirt clad skipper jogged the short distance to the control room. Bypassing Small, he rushed to a cramped space that held the sonar equipment and two operators.

  “Talk to me, Chief,” he barked as he stuck his head in.

  “Picked him up five minutes ago, skipper. In our baffles,” the sonarman said, meaning directly behind the Key West. “Can’t get a long enough lock to estimate range.”

  Moore pulled his head back to shout into the control room.

  “XO, load tubes one through four and open outer doors!”

  Not waiting for an acknowledgement, he returned his attention to the sonar room.

  “Russian?” he asked.

  “Not sure, sir. Gut feel is no. Almost sounds like one of our Virginia class boats, but don’t take that to the bank.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “No contact, sir, but I’m pretty sure he’s right on our ass.”

  “Sing out if you hear anything,” Moore said, spinning and charging to where Small was receiving confirmation that the torpedo tubes were loaded and ready to receive a firing solution.

  “Chief thinks it’s a Virginia class,” he mumbled to the XO.

  “If it was the Russians, I’d expect we’d already have a torpedo in the water.”

  “Concur.”

  He glanced at several stations, noting their current position, speed and heading. The two men looked around when COB stepped close.

  “Heard the Chief say he thinks it’s a Virginia,” COB said in a low voice that didn’t carry.

  “That would explain why we didn’t hear them sneaking up on us,” Small said.

  A sudden blast of high-pitched sound pierced the hull, warbling as it reflected off every hard surface.

  “Definitely American sonar, sir,” the Chief in the sonar room called.

  “And the bastard just pinged us. Letting us know we’re sitting ducks,” Moore said through gritted teeth.

  A technologically superior submarine had managed to not only find them while remaining undetected, it had gotten into position to sink the Key West with almost no risk to itself. And sending an active ping had been completely unnecessary. They would have already determined bearing and distance to their target and loaded that firing solution into several torpedoes. It had been to send a message to the Captain and crew.

  We caught you. We could have killed you already. Don’t do anything stupid or you’re dead.

  Moore seethed internally, but there was little he could do. He wasn’t about to fire on an American sub, and the other skipper wasn’t about to let him escape. Captain Vostov had been right. The traitor had sent hunters to find them. Probably with orders to sink upon confirmed identification. So, why were they still alive?

  “He’s giving us a chance, skipper,” Small mumbled, making sure none of the crew could hear his words. “He could have killed us, but he took a risk. He’s giving us an opportunity to surrender.”

  “I’m aware, XO,” Moore said, furiously trying to think of any way out of their situation.

  “Sir,” COB said gently. “You have a duty to the crew. I agreed with you on disobeying the order to hand our passengers over to the Russians, but we are being given a chance to save the lives of every man and woman aboard. We won’t get a second one.”

  Moore looked at COB’s eyes for a long time before shifting his gaze to the XO, who nodded his agreement.

  “Very well,” he said with a sigh. “XO, close outer doors and surface the boat. Nice and slow. We don’t want to spook them into firing.”

  “Aye, sir,” Small said, turning and issuing the orders.

  Ten minutes later the Key West rolled slightly in the gentle swells of the Pacific. Moore and Small were on the bridge at the top of the sail, staring across a few hundred yards of water at a massive Virginia Class attack boat. Moore held a small handheld radio normally used to communicate with pilot vessels when they were transiting in or out of port.

  “This is Captain Moore of the Key West,” he spoke into the radio.

  “What the fuck did you do, David?” a voice came back immediately.

  “Bill Turner,” Moore explained to Small. “Means that’s the Colorado.”

  “Long story, Bill,” he replied. “Guessing you’re here to take me home.”

  “Actually, I’m here to blow your ass out of the water. Now, answer my goddamn question! What the fuck are you doing, going rogue?”

  “Not on the radio, Bill. I’ll surrender myself to you. This was all me. My XO and crew thought I had orders from COMSUBPAC. I’m the one you want.”

  “Like hell, skipper,” Small protested. “I’m in this right beside you!”

  “No, XO. No, you’re not. Keep your mouth shut and play dumb and you’ll survive this. Frankly, not sure I care if I do.”

  “I’m sending a boat, David. You will surrender to my XO, who will then take command of the Key West. We’ll have plenty of time to talk on the way to Hawaii.”

  “Skipper, don’t do it,” Small said. “Our guests must be even more important than we thought if the traitor was willing to go this far. Just talk to him on the radio. You can convince him.”

  Moore shook his head in resignation.

  “It has been an honor serving with you, Lieutenant Commander.” He raised the radio and pressed the transmit button. “Agreed, Colorado. Key West standing by to accept your boarding party.”

  56

  The storm raged, wind creating an eerie whistle as it forced sand through even the tiniest of gaps in the building. I’d found a couple of grease covered, battery operated lanterns on a bench and had been pleasantly surprised when they worked. With them on, there was enough light to see the thick cloud of dust hanging in the air inside the structure. Rachel took note and quickly set about wetting cloths and placing them over Lucas’s children’s mouths and noses.

  “Here. You too.”

  She had a damp towel tied around her lower face, like an old west bandit, and was holding one out for me. If I hadn’t lived in the desert for most of my life I likely would have turned it down. But I knew there would be all kinds of nasty things that lived in even bone-dry sand that the wind had picked up. Everything from viruses to fungal spores.

  Accepting the cloth, I wrapped it over my face and secured it in place. There was an immediate feeling of relief as I began breathing through the improvised filter. I hadn’t realized just how nasty the air had become.

  “How’s everyone doing?”

  “Good as can be,” Rachel said with a small shrug. “Natalie’s pretty broken up over Smyth and the kids are terrified. Ziggy’s doing a good job of keeping them calm.”

  “How are you?” I asked, making a point of looking at her belly.

  “I’m fine,” she said, eyes crinkling from the smile I couldn’t see because of her bandana.

  I looked at her but didn’t push. I was worried. Not just about the baby, but her, too. I didn’t know shit about pregnant women, but recognized she needed to see a doctor to make sure everything was okay.

  “Would you stop,” she said, reaching out and taking my hand. “Other than raging hormones, I feel fine. And I’ll get checked out as soon as we get to Hawaii.”r />
  I nodded and let the subject drop but couldn’t dismiss the worry from my head.

  “Are they really going to be able to land in the storm?” she asked, happy to have something else to talk about.

  “In this? No way. Nothing’s flying. But the storm is only sixty kilometers deep. It won’t be like this at Woomera.”

  A sudden clap of thunder loud enough to rattle the building sounded, another immediately on its heels. I looked around to check on everyone, spotting Dog with his ears pinned back as he sat on Mavis’s lap. It was a funny sight as he was bigger than her, but she was hugging him close and seemed perfectly content.

  The conversation died and we found a place to settle down on the grimy floor to wait out the storm. The thunder continued, worsening until it was a solid wall of sound. There was no talking at that point and I was very grateful I had decided to seek shelter instead of making the drive.

  After three hours that felt like an eternity, the worst of the electrical storm moved on. Now, instead of a constant barrage of sound, it was only an earth-shaking blast every ten seconds or so. Able to hear the storm again, I got to my feet when I realized sand was no longer being hurled at the outside of the building. It had been replaced by a driving rain that drummed on the roof with the same ferocity.

  Moving to the rolling door, I loosened the straps a couple of inches to peer outside. It was raining so hard I couldn’t see the registration building. But I could see the unpaved dirt of the caravan park had already turned to a soupy, red mess.

  “Going to be some bad driving,” Lucas said from next to me.

  “Yeah, used to get this every summer in Arizona. Rains so hard, so fast, the ground can’t absorb it and it just runs off. Don’t want to be anywhere near a low spot.”

  “The Stuart floods in several places on the way south when it rains hard,” he said, nodding in agreement. “Doesn’t happen very often, so there’s been no hurry to spend the money building bridges across the washes. Gonna be running full with this shit.”

  “Deal with it as it comes.”

  “Plane gonna wait?”

  “I got no goddamn idea, Lucas. Don’t even know if it’s still coming. The officer who arranged it has been arrested and any orders he issued may well have been rescinded. Guess we’ll find out when we get there.”