"Move it," yelled Bryan leaning forward close to the Angel’s ear. "Bloody well move it."
#
One thousand metres from the Destroyer, the Stealth Bomber dropped the first barrel. It hit the ocean setting off the impact detonation charge that blew the barrel apart and ignited the 700 litres of super napalm that exploded as it spread across the ocean, creating a huge firestorm of a cloud. The second barrel hit 200 metres afterwards and the third 200 metres after that, each fire cloud merged with the last, the swathe of fire engulfing the ocean half a kilometre wide. The roaring sticky inferno closed on the Destroyer like an all-consuming tsunami of flame.
#
"Ten…nine…eight…seven......" boomed the tinny voice over the tannoy.
Captain Bower’s mouth dropped open as the rolling cloud of flame came raging across the ocean. Back peddling along the deck, he was transfixed as he watched another barrel dropping from the angel of death. "Laaaaunch..." he managed to scream one last time before the roaring firestorm encased the Destroyer as the count hit "One.” It was the last thing he and his entire crew heard as the sticky super napalm enveloped them.
#
Hog saw the inferno as an orange glow in the Apache mirror, he saw the Stealth climb skyward having dropped its deadly cargo and then as he watched in horror, a missile emerged from the fireball and climbed skyward.
"Oh shit," croaked the Angel leader leaning forward in his seat as if to gain more speed from the flat out craft.
"What......what is it?” squeaked Bryan, unable to turn his head to look back.
Hog ignored him flicking another look to his mirror, the missile disappearing into the heavens veering east.
The Preacher guessed and closed his eyes, it was time to pray.
#
12.04am GMT 7.04pm New York Time.
Steve Knight began to breathe easier, in another few minutes they would be at the City Airport and, God willing, they would be boarding a plane for the States. That thought stalled in his brain as the tube train in which they were hurtling along in suddenly went black, its interior lights all extinguishing as the train very quickly rolled to a stop. Panic immediately started to spread through the frightened Pure, screams demanding, "What's happening, why have we stopped?” And just plain screaming filled the carriages. Roland, Jack and the Tunnel Rats, made their way through the carriages shouting to be heard as they worked at calming the passengers.
"Why have we stopped?” pleaded Steve Knight, repeating the general question.
Roland shrugged. "Could be the fuel ran out on the generator or possibly WDs have damaged the cable, either way we gotta get out and walk.”
"For a second there," responded Knight weakly, "I thought you said we had to get out and walk.”
"Your choice," advised Roland, manually opening the door, flicking on his trusty torch and jumping down to the track. "But I'm leaving, any of you people want to come with me get off the train now," he shouted.
Within five minutes every man, woman and child had disembarked and was trailing behind Roland and Jack as they exited the subway at Canning Town and began jogging the thousand metres along the A1011 that separated them from City Airport. After only two hundred metres WDs had begun to close in and begun snatching Pure from the edges of the group and stragglers from the back. Those who had loved ones snatched stopped to fight to get them back, screaming in fear and frustration as they used lengths of timbers, iron bars and bricks to try and take back sons daughters, mothers and fathers. All screamed for help but Roland urged everyone forward for to stop was to commit suicide. As they reached the eight hundred metre mark the WDs were taking people at will and now Mutants were tearing into the elongated band of Pure that was getting thinner by the second.
#
Spider had climbed back up into the control tower shortly after the arrival of the first train load of Pure. From there he was keeping contact with Craig Anderson as he scanned the fence line, keeping the security leader informed of danger spots on the fence line where breakthroughs were imminent. He had a supply of cartridges left and was using them only sparingly to bring down WDs or Mutants that were slipping through the desperately thin lines of Pure, fighting a losing battle to keep them out. A creature that was once human, once a father or mother, a brother or a sister leapt from the top of the fence into the Pure beyond. Immediately those near him screamed and ran however the middle aged woman nearest to him was not quick enough. The Mutant leapt onto her back taking her to the ground, his bloodied teeth tearing at the back of her neck as she thrashed wildly beneath him. Spider had seen the flash of movement and brought up his rifle a fraction too late, now his cross hairs fixed on his thrashing head as it whipped from side to side as it ripped chunks of flesh from the poor soul he had trapped. Before he could take the shot, Bull closed from behind and whipped his baseball bat across the Mutant’s head, the thundering blow crushing skull fragments into its corrupted brain. As it dropped, lifeless onto the screaming woman, Bull kicked the carcass from her, then he turned and ran to a new bleed. Spider kept his cross hairs on the woman who slowly got to her feet and wobbled around in a small circle. Turning, she started to sniff the air and began the Zombie shuffle. Spider took the shot, her head flicking back as the shell passed through it.
"Spider give me a sit-rep on the fence," came Anderson’s voice in his ear.
As the guardian angel’s gaze swept along the fence line his attention was caught by a group of running Mutants coming down the A1011. Adjusting his sights, he brought them into focus causing the breath to catch in his throat. “Cap this is Spider," spoke the sniper in a rush. "We got the second group coming in along the A1011, something must have happened to the train, we need to get the gates open there are WDs all over them.”
Below him he watched Anderson running to the coach and clambering onto the roof. As he watched, the creatures near the gate that would have to be opened seemed to pick up the scent of the incoming Pure and turned towards them in droves. "Cap you gotta get to them in the next two minutes or they're finished."
Anderson saw the masses leaving the fences and gate to head towards the screaming group. "Get the gate open," he ordered, leaping down from the coach and climbing into the driver’s seat. He knew there was next to no fuel but he had to gamble there was enough to do what he needed. The masses of WDs and Mutants heading for the remaining Pure created a solid wall of snarling creatures that would be impossible for the running group to get past into the relative safety of the airport. He started the diesel engine and slammed it into gear. The front runners of the terrified group came to a sliding halt as the way in front of them became a wall of snarling demons, their bloodshot eyes fixed on the food they had to have, clutching hands reaching out towards them. Mutants came flying through their ranks to slam into the Pure front runners causing the group to splinter even further as they ran in circles within the shrinking space, WDs closing on all sides. Anderson stamped the accelerator, working through the gears as quickly as he could, the coach acting like a snow plough on the walking dead carving a pathway through their ranks before coming to a skidding halt inches from the splintered remaining Pure.
"Get in," he yelled to the nearest survivors. He knew there would be some who boarded who would need to be culled once he got them back into the airport but for now he could not filter them. He knew he had seconds to load as many as possible. Jumping back into the driver’s seat he swore as the engine started to splutter. "Not now you son of a bitch." The track he had carved through was closing with WDs as he reversed at speed back through towards the airport gate that was still open. He had only around fifty on board and another few hundred were chasing along behind the snaking coach, using the slip stream of a path it created to run in. As the coach accelerated away from the running Pure the path started to close and the waves of WDs turned and began to shuffle back the way they had come, back towards the airport fences. By the time the coach spluttered back through the gates only around fifty of the chasing
group made it through before the gates were slammed closed.
"Check each one leaving the coach," yelled Anderson to Bull and Pump as he ran from the coach. "Any bites, any wounds, terminate, no exceptions.”
Outside the gates, small pockets of Pure were still screaming to those safely behind the fences, begging for help, pleading to be let in as they slammed up against the wire only to be dragged away as the feeding frenzy began.
From his high perch, Spider had taken in all of the events over the last few minutes that saw well over seven hundred of the Pure decimated to under a hundred. Now there were no Pure remaining standing only huddles of WDs around fallen victims feeding ferociously, completely impervious to the high pitched screams of their quarries thrashing around beneath them. Just as Spider was about to pull away his Leopold scope from the heart rending scene below, he saw him. A single lone figure staggering down the A1011 fifty metres behind the back of the swarm, clearly one of the Pure had been so far behind he had only now come to the swarm. He also seemed to be completely unaware he was walking into certain death. "Cap we got one lone survivor at the back of the swarm. We need to get out to him," pleaded the sniper.
"Negative," barked Anderson, as he stepped quickly into a man as he left the coach, his curling lips warning he was turning. One of Anderson’s Kukris whistled high, the razor sharp blade slashing across the man’s throat, cutting through the trachea and sliding off the vertebrae at the base of the brain. As the Tainted man fell dead Anderson focused on the team’s Guardian Angel. “We can't save him Spider."
"Cap," replied Spider in almost a whisper, "It.....it’s Steve Knight."
Chapter 35
"What the hell just happened?”
Anderson climbed once more onto the coach and quickly picked out the lone figure shuffling drunkenly towards the back of the swarm. It would only be seconds before they picked up his scent. The SAS man’s shoulders slumped. He and Knight had created Fort London between them, had established the safe haven that had been home to millions and now he was going to have to watch as his friend and his leader was lost to the plague.
"What are we going to do?" demanded Spider.
The SAS leader took a second to find his voice. "Nothing.....there's nothing we can do.”
Spider watched as a Mutant sprinted from the back of the swarm, its head thrown back, its mouth wide in a scream that never reached the guardian angel as it closed on Steve Knight. Fixing the cross hairs, he eased back the trigger and released a shell that hit the Mutant in the lower back, smashing its spine. Even then it attempted to drag itself towards Knight who stumbled on seemingly oblivious to all that was going on around him. "We can't leave him," shouted Spider into his throat mic.
"We.... Can't..... Help.... Him," yelled Anderson. "Now maintain position and continue to feed Intel," he ordered in a much quieter tone.
Spider watched another Mutant break from the swarm and head towards Knight, then another and another. “Well I can help him," whispered the angry sniper. Taking a deep steadying breath, he fixed the cross hairs onto his targets forehead, allowed the breath to slip through his lips and pulled the trigger. Steve Knight crashed over backwards and lay flat on the ground, the neat hole in his forehead nothing like the crater of damage at the back. "Maintaining position," hissed Spider.
#
As Anderson and his team fought to keep the fence secure, each deep in personal thoughts of Steve Knight, there came a sound, a sound that none of them had heard for a long time. Karl Bruger heard it at the same moment. All of Anderson’s people inside the airport and each and every one of Bruger’s masses looked skyward. The Apache helicopter swept low over the airport then swung north towards Bruger’s army, closing rapidly on the masses but not as rapidly as the Hydra 70 mm missile it sent ahead to greet the crazed leader.
#
"Mr. President this is Stealth Two."
"Stealth Two," came the instant reply, “What is your location?”
"I am two minutes from London, Sir."
"We have managed to get our satellite back on-line and Stealth One has beamed some images he took when he flew at high altitude over London on his way back to the States. These are accurate. They show an extensive force moving on City Airport, we are guessing this has to be Bruger. We estimate the force to be in the region of two to three hundred thousand. The only thing you are going to be able to do is slice into them to slow them down."
"Understood, Sir."
"Good Luck Stealth Two," offered Stealth One, the transmission loud and clear now the satellite was back on line.
"Roger that," responded Two.
"How's your fuel One?" asked Nelson.
"Looking good Mr President. Fitting those extra tanks means I'll be coming home Sir.”
"Anyone heard from the Galaxys?” asked Nelson, crossing his fingers.
Neither Stealth One or Two answered. "I see," sighed Nelson.
"How is the runway looking Sir?" asked Two, breaking the tense silence.
"Looks clear," replied Nelson. "Just need to pray that our Galaxys have made it.
"Making my final approach," informed Two. "There will be radio silence for the next few minutes.”
"Good luck," responded Nelson.
"I'll have a cold beer waiting," bribed One.
"Make that two," chuckled Two before closing the line. Below him, High Wycombe flashed by and then he spotted Bruger’s army. "My God," he uttered taking in the sprawling mass of men and machinery.
#
Time 12.18am GMT 7.18am New York Time.
Bruger’s head swivelled around, tracking the path of the missile fired from the Apache helicopter. It ploughed into a Daf troop carrier two hundred metres behind him and erupted in a fireball of an explosion as the tank caught fire, enveloping men and vehicles forty metres around it in every direction. The Fort Warwick leader shook with rage. "Blade, get me a rocket launcher," he screamed. All around, troops ignited by the explosion wasted shells firing at the Apache sweeping across their ranks. Two CRV7 70mm rockets flashed away from it, slamming into two troop carriers away to Bruger’s right, the erupting ball of flame rolling out like fiery fog to merge with the still burning Daf.
"Karl," yelled Blade nestling the rocket launcher onto his shoulder and swinging it skyward towards the Apache.
"No," growled Bruger clambering down to the ground. "Give it to me," barked the seething leader, grabbing the tank busting AT4 84mm unit from his second-in-command. “Get over to those fires and take control." The furious Warwick leader sprinted out beyond the Beast to the open road, found himself some space and knelt down. The Apache swung round eighty or ninety metres from him and dropped to a hover, ten feet off the ground facing directly at the Warwick leader. "Now you son of a bitch," hissed Bruger.
"Um, guys... that looks like a rocket launcher," squeaked Bryan.
“I got this," replied Hog, his gaze never leaving Bruger knelt in the distance. A burst of bright flame warned Hog that he had around three seconds. Lifting the Apache he performed a tight upward circle, the rocket passing under it as it reached the top of the arc where the Apache was inverted before swinging back around to the position it had started at. "My turn," snarled Hog, pulling the trigger to open up with the chain gun. Problem was no shells came flying out of the barrel.
"I think we're out," offered Bryan.
"No shit," snapped Hog.
The Preacher struggled but managed to pull out the fob he had been given by Boardman. "Get over him," ordered the black giant, seeing Bruger’s Mutant guards standing around him.
"That ain't your best idea Preacher, we got no fire power. We're out of here," he warned, lifting the Apache.
"No," yelled The Preacher, clamping a giant hand on Hog's shoulder in front of him. "Trust me......just get over him.”
Hog shrugged and sent the Apache tearing forward, the nose dipping and the tail lifting, towards the group of five stood at the front of the Beast.
Bruger took one look and the r
ed mist evaporated, the survival instinct taking over. Too far from the Beast he threw down the empty launcher, lifted himself up from his kneeling position and ran down the centre of the road surprisingly fast for such a large man. His four Mutant guards caught by surprise took off after him a few seconds later.
The Apache overhauled the Warwick leader in seconds, swinging side on to the racing man bringing him to a sliding halt ten yards from them. Bruger pulled out his side arm of the moment, a Glock 17 with an increased magazine holding 17 x 9 mm shells, and opened up on the hovering craft.
The Preacher opened the small side window and put out a muscular arm and pointed the fob at Bruger timing it so that the first of the chasing Mutants reached the ten feet Boardman had told him was the killing range of the explosive charge. A shell ricocheted off of the side of the Apache prompting a question from Hog.
"Mind telling me what the hell you’re doing Preacher? “demanded the concerned Angel.
Bravo Two Zombie (Book 3): The Final Solution Page 29