“What is it you want, President Austin?” the Chinese President bridled. There was a real edge of annoyance in his voice now. Patrick Austin decided it was time to double-down.
“I want to offer you a solution,” he said, putting steel into his own tone. “A way for your people to survive the plague and to begin again.”
“And what makes you think that I have not already formulated an alternative plan?”
“I’m sure you have,” POTUS said, “but if that plan includes the invasion of Australia – one of America’s closest and most trusted allies, then you, sir, are stepping from the frying pan into the fire,” Patrick Austin’s voice became a snarl. His hands clenched into fists and the expression on his face darkened. His eyes turned to stone. “If that is your plan, President Xiang, then we will fight you. We will fight you with every warship and aircraft and soldier at our disposal, and when we defeat you – when we sink every ship in your armada – the Chinese race will be exterminated from the face of the earth. The Chinese people will cease to exist.”
For long tense seconds there was only the sound of dead hissing silence down the line.
Jim Poe dashed off a note for the President.
Keep him off balance. Keep playing hard ball. He has to understand how vulnerable his position is.
“Are you threatening China, President Austin?” Xiang sounded like his temper was on the verge of erupting.
“Yes,” POTUS said clearly. “I am threatening China, Mr. President. I am telling you right now that if your armada attempts to invade Australia, then we will be at war.”
“I must find a place in this new world for my people, President Austin, and if the risk is war, then so be it!” the Chinese President pushed back. “I will not see China decimated by the plague like every other nation.”
Jim Poe wrote another frantic message.
You’ve got the bastard cornered. Now show him the only open door!
“There is an alternative, President Xiang,” POTUS read the note from SecDef and nodded curtly. “It’s the reason I reached out to you. We have a solution that will save China’s people and allow you to start again.”
“Go on,” Xiang became wary.
Now it was President Austin’s turn to falter. He could feel himself choking on his next words, still anguished and deeply conflicted by the decision he had agreed to. He looked around the Situation room like a man searching for an escape. Finally, his shoulders slumped and he spat the words out, a putrid aftertaste in his mouth.
“America would not interfere if China chose to navigate its fleet to New Zealand and invade that country.”
“New Zealand?” Xiang sounded like he had been caught off balance.
“Yes.”
Xiang tried to recover quickly. He and his Politburo members had been openly discussing the option of a desperate invasion along the top end of Australia, and had become bogged down in discussions about the very real risk of American intervention. Now a new unexpected card had been dealt into the life-and-death game.
“New Zealand is small,” Xiang said to buy himself time for furious calculation.
“You have four or five million people aboard your armada,” POTUS brushed aside the stall. “New Zealand offers you ample space.”
“I will have to consult with my Politburo.”
“No, you won’t, President Xiang,” Patrick Austin was unrelenting. “There is only one choice, one decision. You either sail your fleet to New Zealand and mount an armed invasion of the country while we turn a blind eye… or you stay trapped in the South China Sea until your people starve.”
Xiang was standing in the Deck Five conference room aboard the Bountiful Tigress. Seated around the room were the other members of the Politburo and strewn across the tables were maps and charts of Darwin and the Australian north coast. The air was blue with the haze of cigarette smoke. President Xiang turned and cast his gaze around the room. All eyes were upon him. He turned his attention back to the phone.
“Very well, Mr. President. We have an agreement.”
In the Situation Room, Jim Poe and Walter Ford let out long exhalations of breath. The tension in the room seemed to dissolve.
“Very well,” POTUS said. “I will send word to our Navy. Warships from the Seventh Fleet will escort your armada through the Java Sea, the Arafura, and the Torres Strait. When your flotilla reaches the safety of the Coral Sea, President Xiang, our American Fleet will sail on to Sydney. We will take no part in any action you engage in with the New Zealand Navy or Army. You have my word.”
When POTUS disconnected the call, Jim Poe and Walter Ford sprung from their seats smiling relief and elation. President Austin sat back in his chair, overcome with a deep sense of anguish.
It felt like a light had been turned out, and that something precious, deep in his soul, had just died in the name of compromise.
Chapter 15:
UST’- BORZYA
FAR EAST RUSSIA
The six nuclear missiles were detonated in a box pattern, thirty miles wide and twenty miles deep above the tiny settlement of Ust’-Borzya in the desolate far east region of the country.
The air burst weapons selected were ideal for soft targets because they maximized the psi overpressure across a broader geographical area while at the same time minimizing the nuclear fallout. The pressure waves of each detonation interacted with each other to magnify the effect.
The results were catastrophic.
The undead were moving across the arid landscape like a vast migrating herd. Each of the six simultaneous explosions in the air overhead was the equivalent of twenty thousand kilotons of TNT.
The flash of each blinding light – bright as the sun – was accompanied by a searing fireball with a temperature of over twelve thousand degrees Fahrenheit. The furious firestorms created shock fronts as they each continued to expand to over two miles in diameter. The flimsy buildings and the sparse forested areas inside the blast radii fueled the fires. Each explosion sucked contaminated dirt and sand and debris from the earth’s surface into the vacuums they left behind, rising eight miles into the sky as mushroom-shaped clouds, loaded with a lethal fallout that would eventually blanket the surrounding earth and render it uninhabitable for thousands of years.
As the fireballs continued to expand, their searing heat waves immolated everything in their path. The furious inferno from each separate explosion incinerated every infected ghoul within a four-mile radii, cremating their rotted flesh and disfigured bodies to black ash.
The tiny settlement at the epicenter of the holocaust was located on a flat, gently undulating plane of barren land. There was nothing geographical to contain the spread of the six nuclear explosions. The blast wave that accompanied each detonation blew through the horde of ghouls as a two-hundred mile an hour hurricane. At the outer limits of each blast, the heat was still so scalding that it burned the tattered rags off undead bodies and cooked their flesh. In a matter of moments, over eight million plague-infected undead were incinerated. The mushroom clouds reached the upper levels of the atmosphere and the sun was blotted out.
In the aftermath, the world turned eerily quiet and ominously dark.
THE OVAL OFFICE
THE WHITE HOUSE
Jim Poe burst into the Oval Office unannounced, his face full of worry and urgent agitation. “Mr. President, the Situation Room has just received a flash message from CINC-NORAD. Six nuclear missile strikes have been detected in Mongolia.”
“Fuck!” Patrick Austin felt the blood drain from his face, appalled. He dropped the report he had been reading. His eyes grew wide with ominous alarm. “What else do we know?”
“They appear to be tactical weapons. The epicenter was a tiny village in Far East Russia, close to the Mongolian border, called Ust’-Borzya.”
SecDef had no idea how to pronounce the small town’s name. It was just an insignificant speck in a dustbowl landscape that no one had ever heard of until a few minutes ago. Now the village would be
remembered with the same infamy as the cities of Nagasaki and Hiroshima.
“The Russians did this?”
“Yes. The nukes were fired from an Iskander Rocket Brigade.”
“Fuck!” Patrick Austin repeated the oath. He called through the open door for his secretary.
She came to the threshold and sensed instantly from the President’s dreadful expression that the world had been plunged into a fresh crisis.
“Sonia, find Walter Ford and get him here immediately. Then arrange for an urgent call to Moscow. I want to speak to the Russian President right now.”
ROYAL MUSEUMS OF FINE ARTS OF BELGIUM
BRUSSELS
The formal reception for the NATO delegates and their partners was held in the ‘Forum’ of the Royal Museums, just a short walk from the Royal Palace.
The ‘Forum’ was a grand room with high colonnaded walls and an ornate ceiling. The lower walls of the reception venue were hung with vast masterpieces in sumptuous golden frames. Elaborately decorated tables were scattered across the floor space, each with a nest of six elegant chairs.
In one corner a string quartet of young musicians sat in a semi-circle, playing Canon in D Major by Johann Pachelbel. The winsome, haunting beauty of the music filled the room.
Virginia Clayton and Phil DeLalio arrived at the reception and were greeted on the steps by the Secretary General. Konstantinos Korvelis smiled winningly and kissed the American Secretary of State on the cheek.
“I worried you might miss the dancing, Madam Secretary.”
Virginia Clayton blushed. “Konstantinos, it will be a relief to everyone assembled tonight that I must fly back to Washington immediately after dinner. No one will be subjected to my dubious dancing skills.”
The lighthearted banter dispensed with, SecState became serious.
“Is SACEUR here?” she asked.
“Yes. He arrived a few minutes ago.”
“Good. I’d like to speak to him privately before I leave. Ornella, thank you for your support in the NAC.” Virginia flashed the Italian ambassador a charming smile, then politely disengaged herself. She walked into the glittering reception room and saw Pierre Delcoise and Jeremy Farthingdon. The French ambassador stood in the company of a young, attractive and under-dressed girl, his arm tight around her narrow waist. Farthingdon looked positively awkward in the elegant surroundings. SecState suspected the Englishman would rather spend his evening surrounded by the dusty shelves of a library.
“Who is the girl with Pierre?” Virginia whispered from the corner of her mouth as she drew closer.
“I don’t know,” DeLalio said. “He’s got a different woman on his arm every month. This one looks brand new.”
Virginia’s face froze into a fixed smile as the French ambassador ushered his guest forward.
“Madam Secretary,” Delcoise gave a small polite bow and then flashed a smile full of charm and dazzlingly white teeth. “Allow me to introduce a personal friend of mine. This is Isabella Guotti.”
The young girl smiled. Virginia shook her hand, and then a burst of applause rescued her from tedious small talk. The quartet finished playing and was greeted with a warm ovation.
Another polite round of applause heralded the sudden dramatic arrival of the food. It came carried by a procession of grey uniformed waiters, each bearing a silver platter stacked high with chicken and seafood entrees. The assembled guests scattered eagerly to their tables.
“I had begun to wonder if you would attend, Madam Secretary,” Jeremy Farthingdon waited until the cluster of bodies around the American Secretary of State began to thin, then stepped forward.
“Shouldn’t I have?” Virginia asked tartly.
“There have been rumors,” the British ambassador suggested airily.
“Oh?” Virginia became intrigued. “What rumors? Do tell.”
Jeremy shrugged. “There was a suggestion that you might be flying back to Washington immediately.”
Virginia let down her guard. Jeremy Farthingdon had become a personal friend, and he was the representative of a trusted, dependable ally. She nodded.
“I was supposed to,” she confessed. “But the President wants me to talk with SACEUR first. A formal meeting would have attracted too much media attention, so I need to get him into a quiet corner somehow.”
Farthingdon nodded. “Would you like my help?” he offered gallantly.
“It must be inconspicuous. I don’t want to attract attention.”
Jeremy looked theatrically crushed. “I assure you I will be the soul of discretion. Why don’t you take a stroll through that door to the left? It leads to a small but fascinating gallery room featuring some of the finest Flemish art ever created. I’ll find SACEUR and send him in your direction.”
Virginia nodded her gratitude. “Jeremy, you deserve a Knighthood.”
*
“The President wants to know.” Virginia looked SACEUR in the eye. “How confident are you of being able to defend the Rhine?”
The Secretary of State and the Supreme Allied Commander of Europe were alone in a gallery alcove, standing in the shadows of a masterpiece by Peter Paul Rubens entitled ‘The Crowning of Mary’.
“Madam Secretary, the only thing certain in war is uncertainty,” General Amos Bram said blithely. “There are so many variables and each of them will have a significant impact on our ability to defend Western Europe. Personally, I think the odds are against us.”
“Are the chances fifty-fifty?”
“No. If the President wants a number,” General Bram paused and his face became clouded. “I’d rate our chances as one in ten.”
*
Virginia Clayton appeared ashen and distracted when she slipped discreetly back into the function room. She stood blinking in the sudden bright light. Phil DeLalio caught her attention with a small wave of his hand. She began to weave her way between the tables. Suddenly a phone nearby began ringing, the sound somehow strident and urgent. Then another phone rang. An ambassador snatched at a pager inside his coat pocket. Then more phones raised the alarm.
“Good God Almighty!” someone gasped in awe.
A woman choked in horror. A chair was overturned as private bodyguards came surging into the room. A crystal wine glass shattered on the floor.
Dark-suited Secret Service agents appeared at Virginia’s shoulder.
“What is it?” SecState asked curtly.
“Ma’am we have orders to get you to the airport immediately.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“It’s the Russians, Madam Secretary. They just detonated six nuclear warheads near the Mongolian border.”
SITUATION ROOM
THE WHITE HOUSE
During times of crisis, former President Lyndon B. Johnson met so often with his advisors in the Situation Room that he brought his chair down from the Oval Office.
Not a bad idea, President Austin thought grimly as he strode into the room for yet another crisis briefing. Several of the Joint Chiefs were assembled, along with their aides – and a bespectacled middle-aged stranger with thinning black hair combed over a prematurely balding scalp. The man wore a rumpled suit and had an absent, vague expression.
“Mr. President, this is professor Theodore Galvin. He’ll be providing the main points during the briefing.”
POTUS shook the professor’s hand. The man had a watery, nervous smile.
On the monitors around the room were projected satellite images of a non-descript moonscape and several charts. The President took his seat and professor Galvin cleared his throat.
He was a Research Scientist at BGG Corporation and a Fellow at the Sidelbaum Institute in Washington. An expert on Russia and the former Soviet Union, Galvin specialised in defense and military analysis, including Russia’s nuclear weapons arsenal.
“Mr. President the six nuclear explosions that occurred a few miles north of the Russia-Mongolian border have been confirmed as Russian warheads, fired from an Iskander Rocket Brigad
e. On the projected satellite images you can see the area of devastation. The red dot in the center of the photos indicates where the village of Ust’-Borzya once stood. Naturally, the settlement has been wiped off the face of the earth, but apart from this tragedy, there will be very little other long-term physical damage from the blasts. This is because the Russians used air burst devices.
“The environmental effect will involve atmospheric radiation but no great amount of fallout and therefore little residual radiation beyond a forty-eight hour window.
“The impact of an air burst nuclear device depends largely on which way the wind is blowing. Current weather patterns over the region suggest gentle southerly breezes. If that trend continues, much of the fallout and contamination will be scattered across Mongolia and into China – areas that have already been decimated by the spread of the plague.”
“So you’re saying we’re lucky?” President Austin sounded incredulous.
“Yes, sir,” professor Galvin said in earnest. “The Russians didn’t panic-fire these nuclear devices. They selected the tactical weapons that would cause the most ‘soft target’ devastation, without undue collateral damage to the local environment. The damage caused by this box-pattern of nuclear weapons could have been much worse. They could have detonated ground burst weapons.”
“And what would the difference be, specifically?”
“Ground burst weapons are traditionally used against hardened targets, generating a lot of pressure but over a small area, thus leaving craters and considerably more fallout.”
“You mean radiation?”
“The fallout is caused by ground particles being sucked into the mushroom cloud and then distributed back down over the landscape. Both types of bursts create an EMP effect, and air burst naturally distributes the EMP over a wider area. But in the region the Russians targeted, it is doubtful that the electromagnetic pulse caused any significant disruption. It would have been devastating in a built up population area.”
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