The Creature ignored him, its blood gorged eyes locked onto Boardman’s.
"Stand!" shouted Boardman.
The creature remained seated but its nostrils flared slightly and a low growl escaped its chapped lips.
Boardman clicked on a recorded instruction, Bruger’s unmistakable voice boomed out of the speakers. "Stand-up!"
The creature immediately stood. Boardman gasped, he'd done it.
#
General White picked up a phone on the table in front of the screens and punched in a six digit number that he kept in his head. It was routed through to the command centre of operations at Vermont after no more than fifteen seconds. “This is General White, abort the mission and have the team return to base."
"Please confirm General that the order is to abort and give your security code.”
"Security code is B for Bravo, D for Delta 658976. Order is confirmed, abort mission.”
"Mission aborted.”
The General punched in a new number and waited.
"This is command centre St Jean Airport," came a clear voice.
"This is General White, mission scorched earth is a go, security code is B for Bravo, D for Delta 658976." White gave the order and the security code a second time when requested and then gave the coordinates of the breach and returned the phone to its cradle.
"How long?" asked Nelson, his eye's never leaving the centre screen.
"Twenty five minutes, Mr. President."
The distance was a little over 300 kilometres, the three Supersonic B-1B Bombers could reach their maximum speed of a little over one thousand four hundred kilometres an hour, pushed along by four General Electric F101-GE-102 turbofan engines with afterburners, minutes after take-off and with full tanks they could fly non-stop just under 9,500 kilometres. The payloads were nowhere near the maximum of 125,000 lb they were designed to carry, however those payloads could never be underestimated. Each bomber carried ten drums, each drum carried just under 700 litres of Super-Napalm which was a mix of gasoline and napalm which is itself a jelly obtained from the salts of aluminium, palmitic or other fatty acids and naphthenic acids. These acids give a viscous consistency to gasoline so that an incendiary jelly is formed. When enriched with polystyrene, sodium, magnesium or phosphorus, it created Super-Napalm which when discharged would burn at temperatures reaching 1,500-2,000°C. Super Napalm sets fire to any combustible matter with which it comes in contact, a human being in the open cannot protect himself against it. Napalm acts not only by burning but has an equally devastating effect which consists of a complicated process whereby shock, absorption of oxygen from the air [deoxygenation], smoke and noxious gases becomes lethal, no one caught in the central strike area survives because of this phenomenon, only those who have been on the periphery of the strike zone can survive the massive deoxygenation. An examination of some of the methods of execution practised during the middle ages sheds some light on these effects. In executions by burning at the stake, when large fires were used, the victim died rapidly from carbon monoxide poisoning before being actually burned by the flames; when small fires were used, a longer and much crueller death by flame resulted. (From this has come the popular French expression for being on tenterhooks: brûler à petit feu, to roast over a slow fire.)
The three bombers would fly in a side by side formation 500 feet apart and approach their target at just over a hundred feet in altitude, the drums being discharged every 200 hundred feet. The all-enveloping blanket of fire would gorge an area measuring one kilometre by two kilometres, destroying all life within that zone. Anyone caught close to that killing field would suffer horrendous burns as the sticky jelly caught on the wind and thinned out.
After a torturous wait that lasted 24 minutes, the silence within the President’s office was split as a voice came through the numerous speakers set around the three massive screens. "This is team leader Blue Falcon, we are approaching our target and will commence our run in 60 seconds.”
The view from the on ground CCTV network gave way to a birds-eye view being beamed from a UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter that was stationed near Palermo. It was used by the US military for a wide array of missions, including the tactical transport of troops, electronic warfare, and aeromedical evacuation. It was equipped with advanced avionics and electronics for increased survivability and capability, such as the Global Positioning System and was ideal for its present task as its four blades, powered by two General Electric T700 turboshaft engines pulled it effortlessly to a height of 5,000 feet. Each man viewing the screen remained silent as three black dots came into view on the centre screen. Suddenly behind them erupted a carpet of orange to yellow that looked as if it was being unrolled across the countryside.
No one spoke until the B1s had completed their run and disappeared from view leaving behind them a site that each man prayed he would never see again. It was a giant, ragged field of devastation, even at 5,000 feet it was a horrifying, mesmerising scene that caused varying reactions within each man in the President’s office. “What are the predicted casualties?" asked President Nelson, his voice barely above a whisper.
White, ever the professional, brought up a table on his lap top. "With the density we witnessed we are predicting in excess of 400,000 dead with around 150,000 injured, Mr President.”
Nelson turned wearily for the first time from the screen to face his chief of staff. "How many of those casualties will be clean citizens?"
White pushed a few more keys. "We are anticipating 100,000 dead and 20,000 serious injuries."
Without warning, the crew beaming the scene back to the Presidential offices from the Black Hawk zoomed into a section of the fire blanket, the distant scene suddenly became up close and personal as the true horror taking place hundreds of miles away filled the centre screen. Each man took an involuntary step back, even without sound each man heard the screams in his head as a scene of biblical proportions filled the screen. A dense forest of arms could be seen waving within the rolling ocean of orange and red flames, white skulls stripped of hair and flesh bobbed and then disappeared into the inferno.
Nelson paled as he turned away from the carnage filling the screen, his legs appearing to turn to water. “How long before you can get repair crews in Chuck?"
"We have crews en route Mr President as we speak and I would anticipate access in around 12 hours. I would hope to have the breach closed up within 24 hours."
The President sat at his desk and indicated to General White to take a seat opposite. "We need to bring forward our plans to build a secondary wall Chuck. We can't have another breach like this in the future."
White stiffened in his seat. "It was a huge task in the time we had Mr President, if I had the benefit of......"
Nelson raised his hand bringing White to a halt. "Chuck...no one is blaming you. You did an awesome job in getting that wall up for its given us this safe haven we now live in. But...... we need to use it as a learning curve and put up a new wall inside of the existing one that is completely, totally, fail proof and there isn't a man walking the planet Chuck I would rather have overseeing that task than you."
The General blushed. "I am proud to be thought of so highly Mr President and I will be proud to take on the task."
Grant Johnson strode across from the corner of the room. "Mr. President, I need to report on the radio transmission I received earlier.”
After the horrors of the scorched earth attack President Nelson had just witnessed, he needed a distraction. "I need some good news Grant," he posed, turning to his PA. "What did this guy Kitchen Man have to say?"
Grant Johnson had the attention of every man in the room, all were on the same page as The President, some good news was needed. "I'm sorry Mr President," began the PA," but...... good news I don't have."
#
Andrew blinked rapidly, trying to clear his blurry vision he looked around, thoughts tumbling through his mind. “I’m in a warehouse, how did I get here?” Then he remembered, "I'm Tainte
d, I have the plague." He wondered if all of those who were Tainted had thoughts like him, if they lost chunks of memory, waking to find themselves in places they could not remember going to, to find themselves tearing at corpses and living wild like an animal. As he stood, his head began to swim, he was slipping back. He took a deep breath, he had to hold the beast back, had to stop himself from slipping back into the darkness for he knew at these times he must be like the poor wretches he observed when his mind was clear, when he was Andrew. He had watched them hunting in packs, tearing flesh from screaming, terrified people and feeding on rotting corpses. Yet these lost souls ignored him, recognising someone who was one of them but.... He wasn't one of them, deep inside of himself in that part that was still Andrew he knew he was different. His head cleared as the beast slipped back into the darkness. Outside somewhere there was gunfire and men screaming and shouting then suddenly there was a sound that cut through all of that, a sound that had him sprinting to the door. It was a child, a child screaming in fear.
#
Spider dragged himself coughing to the window, lifting his M25 rifle onto the ledge, he rubbed his eyes then pressed the left one to the Leopold site and swept it along the front of the stronghold taking in the battle taking place to hold back the WD swarm closing on the building. He noted the Pinzer disappearing in the distance followed closely by two of the Daf transport trucks. Sliding his rifle left, he came to a sudden halt, his breath catching in his chest at what he saw and yet what he saw made no sense. Hope was out of the Land Rover, her back pressed up against the grill in front of the plate glass window of the stronghold with a ring of twelve WDs closing on her just five metres away.
"Cap," screamed Spider, adjusting slightly the sights looking for a clean shot that would not put the child in danger. "Hope is out in the open with a group of WDs about to take her out."
"I'm on the other side of the glass Spider. Can you take some of them out?" yelled Anderson.
Spider squinted, unable to make out his leader as the glass reflected the outside scene like a mirror. "Not without endangering Hope."
Anderson dropped to his knees bringing himself to eye level with Hope just inches from him on the other side of the plate glass window, her eyes full of tears reflecting the terror he knew she must be feeling. Gripping the grill he shook them wildly as he threw back his head and screamed in frustration.
"Cap," snapped Spider. "You got a Mutant coming in like a train."
#
Andrew saw the child, a small girl of maybe 5 or 6. She was trapped by a ring of Tainted against a plate glass window. He picked up a three foot length of timber lying on the floor and began to run.
#
Anderson jumped up, he could see the Mutant twenty metres out coming at speed, a length of timber raised above his head like an axe, its features twisted with the rage he had seen so many times in the Tainted.
"I may have a shot Cap," came Spider’s urgent voice as the Mutant reached the semicircle of WDs surrounding the child.
Anderson watched as the Mutant clubbed a WD to the floor, dodged past it into the semicircle of ground between the closing group and the child. Something wasn't right.
"Cap, I think I might still have a shot."
#
Andrew turned his back to the child, darted forward and swung the timber with a scything motion, caving in the skull of a woman dressed as a traffic warden. She hit the floor and lay motionless, unlike Andrew who swung the timber again only this time low breaking the leg of a youth of no more than fourteen or fifteen to his left. He followed it up with two vicious strikes to the head releasing the child from its nightmare.
#
"Cap do I take the shot?"
Anderson’s mind was in a turmoil as he watched the Mutant moving left and right, lashing out with the club as each WD came forward towards Hope but.....how, why?
"Cap?" came Spider into his ear piece. "Do I take the shot?”
Anderson gave the order.
Chapter 12
"Take My Hand"
The call came, as Blade knew it would, as he bowled along the M40 towards Fort Warwick.
"Blade, what’s your ETA?" demanded Bruger.
"Barring holdups, just over an hour," replied Blade, his tone subdued, corrupted by the disastrous events that had taken place earlier.
Bruger never spoke, remaining quiet. He might be on a permanent high of steroids and the odd snort of white lightning but he was astute. He had known Blade long enough to know when something was wrong and Blade’s voice told him just that, something was wrong. The silence that ensued continued for a full minute as Bruger waited.
"Karl, are you still there?" asked Blade eventually.
"I'm waiting," responded Bruger.
"I....I don't understand," faltered Blade.
"Whenever you’re ready Blade."
Blade sighed, “We had some trouble at Stevenage.”
Bruger made no reply.
The uncomfortable enforcer began talking, purging his soul of the events of the last few hours. After five minutes he had finished. He waited for the explosion of rage, what he got was even more chilling.
Bruger’s voice floated from the speaker, the barely controlled rage palpable. "Pick me up at the Castle.”
Blade swallowed, this was bad, this was very bad.
#
"Negative," instructed Anderson. "Do not, I repeat do not take out the Mutant."
Spider had not really been taking in the scene other than tracking the Mutant’s movements, had he done so the realisation he suddenly came to would have happened earlier. "He......he's protecting her."
"Pick off any stragglers Spider," barked Anderson.
The team angel immediately began to take out other WDs who were closing on the child’s location.
As the last of the original WDs fell to the Mutant’s club, Andrew let the length of timber fall to the ground, turned to face the child and held out his hand. Hope looked at him, not sure what to do, he had stopped the people who walked funny but......he looked the same.
"Cap, he's going for the child," warned Spider, fixing the cross hair on his sights to the back of the Mutant’s head. “I have a shot."
Hope turned to the window and looked directly at Anderson, her eyes pleading for an answer, pleading for guidance.
Andrew saw the man on the other side of the glass looking directly at him and watched in amazement as he placed a grubby hand over his heart and mouthed the words "trust me".
Anderson could see fifty or sixty WDs closing on their position. Dropping to his knees, he looked directly at Hope through the glass, smiled and simply nodded.
Hope turned and ran to the Mutant.
Andrew swept up the child and ran, ran as fast as he could for the beast was coming back, he could feel it. He had to get her safe before he was lost to the darkness for then he would have no control, then he would turn on her and devour her.
"Track him Spider," snapped Anderson, running along the rows of checkout counters. "Tom?"
"Here Craig," came an instant reply.
"Get a Land Rover to the main entrance and pick me up."
"On my way."
Anderson came to a halt behind Hog, The Preacher and Bull at the last checkout in the run. Bull had one of Blade’s men by the throat up against the wall, his feet barely touching the ground.
“Meet Wishbone," spat Hog. "Wishbone is going to have a nice chat with us." Hog leaned in close so his face was an inch from the terrified man. "Aren't you?"
Wishbone nodded like a man possessed, a nice chat was really appealing as opposed to other possible options.
Anderson looked to the area at the front of the building. In the distance he could see a Land Rover coming at speed, he guessed it was Tom. He only had a minute. "Preacher you need to get your people out and secure the building." He turned to the Angel leader and Bull. "Don't kill him," he ordered, pointing at Wishbone.
Wishbone nodded again in agreement.
&n
bsp; Anderson fixed him with a chilling gaze. "Not until I get back." With that, a squeal of tyres told him Tom had arrived. Clambering through the back of the Daf troop carrier that had been jammed into the front entrance to the commune, he let himself out through the front cab ensuring it was locked as he leapt down and jumped into the Land Rover just one pace away. Tom was at the wheel and two of his team were in the back.
"Where are we going?" asked Tom.
"Spider, where are they?" asked Anderson.
Spider peered through the scope of his rifle. “Two hundred metres in the direction you are heading," came their guardian angel. "There is a blue and white warehouse, it’s the one Blade used to muster before he attacked. The Mutant ran into there and slammed the roller shutter door down."
Tom pointed up ahead at the warehouse.
"Any WDs your side?” asked Anderson.
"Handful banging on the door, maybe 25 or thirty.”
"Pump, you listening in?" checked Anderson.
"What’s your location?”
"Look in your mirror.”
Tom snorted. "Nice one Pump.”
Anderson turned to the two men in the back. "When we get there, you guys set up a perimeter with Pump and his team, Tom and me will go into the warehouse.”
The two Land Rovers skidded to a halt ten metres back from the gang of WDs. Pump and seven other team members formed the perimeter line as instructed. Tom and Anderson moved quickly to the back of the Land Rover, Tom pulled out his MP5. It had been his comfort and his mistress throughout countless missions with his friend and leader. It was definitely amongst the bad boys of automatic weapons. Anderson pulled on his back harness and slipped in the two lethal Kukris, better known as Gurkha Knives. Anderson had this pair made for him with 40 cm long steel blades, formed in the traditional curved shape with a razor sharp inner cutting edge as deadly as a Samurai sword. The handles, made of aluminium to keep the weight of each weapon at just over two pounds, were fitted while still hot so they shrank onto the blades, giving them an extremely tight fit. In his under arm holster he had his Magnum 44 model 629 handgun fully loaded with 44mm cartridges and with a barrel at nearly 12 inches long it looked more like a small cannon. Finally he grabbed a Mossberg 590A1, 20 gauge pump action shotgun.
Bravo Two Zombie (Book 3): The Final Solution Page 8