At hearing her name, Steph stood up and waved the two kids over to take up a position alongside her. Having Erin back under his command and care was one thing Mark was happy about. The whole time she’d been away over the past months had been a time of suppressed worry about her safety, as if she was his own child. He took his vow to her brother that he’d keep her safe seriously and couldn’t help but feel that allowing her to be seconded to the helicopter squadron had represented an abdication of that responsibility.
Mark turned back to the plain again and raised a small telescope to his eye, training it on the far horizon in an attempt to view the enemy. The weak power of the little green tube did little to improve sight at this distance though, and he shoved it back into his webbing with a dissatisfied grunt. The swarm was growing in size, swelling forward onto the plain – that was for sure, but any more than that was guesswork.
For once, he needed to take a leaf out of his troops’ book, and rest while still possible. With nothing to fight as yet, most soldiers had sat down on the battlement with their backs parked against the waist high barrier. He was about to take a seat when a gust of wind carried the noise of jet engines. Mark looked in the direction of Avalon airport, sited little more than a few kilometres behind the wall toward Geelong, and saw a 747-jumbo climbing steeply into the air.
Not the only one to notice the development, soldiers all along the wall were climbing to their feet to watch the huge jet. The Boeing 747 Supertanker had been brought to Australia prior to the breakout of Lysan Plague, hired by the Victorian government from the United States to combat predicted summer bush fires that had never eventuated. The Supertanker could hold over 90,000 litres of fire retardant, and dump its liquid cargo in segmented drops over 7,000 metres. The huge aircraft was crucial to the General’s plans, and numerous lives had been sacrificed to secure it from a Tullamarine Airport over run with plague. The loss of life had been seen as a fair swap, because on this flight, the plane’s cargo would not be one of retardant, but rather accelerant. Holding over 90,000 litres of fuel obtained from the Geelong oil refinery, it had enough petrol on board to roast every Carrier in Melbourne.
‘For a barbeque this big, kind of feels wrong not to have a beer in hand,’ said Victor, with a nervous laugh.
‘Don’t count the chickens yet, mate,’ Mark said. ‘But I’ll be happy to join you in a drink once it’s splashed its cargo where it’s supposed to go.’
Mark watched the plane circle out over Port Phillip Bay, its flight path deliberately avoiding any flyover of the wall and military installation, before it banked around and flew in low over the swarm. From a height of only 150 metres, it began to dump fuel. A wide plume of pink liquid tumbled from behind the 747, descending to bathe the Infected in a torrent of petrol. The dump of fuel from the plane cut off as it started to bank for another fly past when an ear cracking roar buffeted the soldiers on the wall. An Air Force F/A 18F Super Hornet had buzzed them.
‘Fuck, it’s too early,’ muttered Mark. ‘Surely they want to do a few more fuel drops first?’
The Super Hornet deployed an air-to-surface missile before climbing in an almost vertical curve up into the atmosphere. Mark watched open mouthed as the missile streaked to the ground and exploded, igniting the entire two kilometre drop zone in one massive fireball.
The pilots of the Supertanker had realised their danger and were attempting to climb higher and away from the mushrooming cloud of fire below, but it was too late. Fire streaked upward at horrendous speed, igniting the aerosolized fuel that still rained and whipped away from the tanker holding until it reached the aircraft itself.
The Supertanker exploded mid-air. With over two thirds of its fuel cargo still on board, the force of the explosion was horrific, converting the whole aircraft into shrapnel in a split second as fire burst outwards in a giant sphere of flame. Mark was forced to cover his eyes from the light’s intensity, his mouth open in horror at the monumental screw up.
As fire continued to rain from the sky across half the horizon, there was stunned silence along the wall. Soldiers stared in collective disbelief, others rubbed at their eyes as if trying to wipe away what they’d just witnessed. Mark forced himself to turn away from the firestorm that raged in the distance. Hot wind buffeted his face and clothes, drawn in by the inferno, as he took a swig of water from his canteen to unglue a mouth suddenly dry.
‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ he warned his platoon when he saw a few starting to get a little twitchy. ‘The Supertanker still got a full pass in before that. Anything within that storm won’t be walking again, and while it still burns, anything trying to come on through will get incinerated as well. As far as I’m concerned, the fuel drop was a success for everyone but the poor bastards within the 747.’
Mark pointedly ignored the fire and sat down, moving his hat forward until it was over his eyes. ‘Do what you were doing before. Take the chance to have a snooze now, and we’ll deal with whatever happens next when we have to.’
Mark wasn’t the least bit tired as he yawned and feigned nonchalance before his squad.
Steph watched the fire on the horizon, mesmerized by the shifting hues of orange and red, colours that matched the growing rage inside her brain that had blossomed inexplicably with the explosion. It was like she was living with an intruder in her own skull, one that knew nothing but voiceless hate and anger. Her consciousness danced around the ‘other’ within, keeping it locked down for the moment. She could still think and interact with those around her, but it was beginning to become harder. Steph needed the fight to begin, needed somewhere to direct the rage before it erupted and destroyed those she loved.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The coming hours passed slowly, each minute an eternity of suppressed anxiety where soldiers tried to ignore their own fears and play the part of the brave. Black humoured jokes were thrown about and the more heartless they were, the harder the laughs earned. Those who coped better had already given themselves up as dead. Having come to peace with the certainty of eventual death at some point during the plague wars, they were able to meet the coming danger with a straight spine, their only fear left being of failing their friends by dying too early in the battle.
On the horizon, the fire burned itself out. Flames that had reached toward the heavens were reduced to ground level, creating a heat haze in the distance that danced like a mirage. White smoke sifted up into the atmosphere creating a curtain that obscured any view of the killing ground.
Eventually, Mark’s act at sleeping had turned into the real deal and gifted him a short period of respite. A sharp toe in his thigh drew him back to reality. In a split second he recalled where he was, and a spurt of adrenaline had him reach full alertness within a few heartbeats.
‘You should check this out,’ said Steph, looming over him, expressionless as a mannequin. ‘Something’s changing out there.’
Mark cracked his neck as he hauled himself to standing, attempting to ease an ache caused by his sleep position. Steph pointed to the horizon and he followed her direction. Immediately he recognized the change, the white smoke that had earlier been a uniform thick blanket, was now sporadic, rising in tendrils from the ground before mixing into a haze higher in the air. Mark pulled his telescope from his pocket and trained it on the closest margin of the burned area.
Movement. A blackened shape, reduced to an indistinct stick figure by distance, took three uncoordinated steps out of the smoke before falling face down.
‘Shit. They’ve made it through the flame zone,’ Mark said, collapsing the green tube down and slotting it back in his webbing. ‘Looks like we’ll get a fight after all.’
All along the wall people were noticing the development as soldiers re-took their positions at the front of the battlement and checked weapons for the hundredth time. A few sharp-eyed soldiers pointed outwards, and a nervous chatter increased as the blackened smudge at the edge of the incinerated suburb seemed to bulge forward.
‘Sir
?’
Mark felt a tap on his shoulder in conjunction with the word. He turned to see Heath standing behind him, holding a radio set. ‘I have a message from squadron leader of the helicopter division. She’s requested the return of Privates Erin and Crash, Sir. They’ve been ordered to conduct a reconnaissance flight and provide an estimation of Infected numbers remaining.’
Mark swore. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,’ he muttered. Just when he thought he had her back under his care again, she was being ripped away. ‘I take it I have no right of refusal?’
Heath shrugged, looking uncomfortable. ‘That’s above my pay grade, Boss. I didn’t think we could refuse an order.’
‘The army can’t remove free will. The sooner you learn that, the better soldier you’ll become.’ Mark’s tone was brutal. ‘Some orders might get you killed, and that’s fine as long as there was no other option and your death buys something of worth – like the lives of your mates. But if it asks you to put life at risk when it could be avoided, I’d say it’s your duty to disobey that order and find a better way to get the job done.’
Heath looked down, refusing to meet Mark’s hard gaze. ‘Then this is an order that should be followed. The information Erin gains from the air may influence tactics and keep the soldiers on this wall alive.’
The muscles at Mark’s jaw clenched in frustration, as he knew the kid was right. ‘Erin! Crash! Get your arses over here. Now!’
Crash slammed the other door of the Robinson 44’s cabin shut and started pulling on his harness. Erin already had hers on and was tightening the strap of her helmet. There was a tremor to her fingers as she started to flick switches and start the rotor above spinning. She’d been caught off guard by the order, thinking that she’d finished with flying for the day, and now found herself mentally unprepared for taking to the sky again. Any forced joviality from earlier in the day was gone. Both wanted the job completed so that they could re-join their mates on the wall.
‘For fucks sake,’ muttered Crash, tapping on one of the gauges angrily. ‘The bastards haven’t refuelled her.’
Erin glanced at the fuel gauge, seeing only a quarter tank remaining. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said forcing a slow breath. ‘We don’t need long in the air for what they’ve asked. As far as the ground crew knew – we’d completed our mission. They would have been sent to the wall once we hit the ground, just like us.’
Crash mumbled something unintelligible, but his anger was palpable. The rotor blades above had become an almost invisible blur, and Erin could feel the skids wanting to lift off the ground. Out the corner of her eye, she could see the windsock at the edge of the field. Strong gusts buffeted the material, holding it horizontal. The breeze that had strengthened after the incineration of the swarm had become a gale, and she could feel the cabin of the Robinson 44 shiver under its force. Erin bit her lip, knowing that the conditions were at the limit of her abilities.
Erin closed her eyes for a second and forced a slow breath. Don’t think, just do it. She took the controls and lifted the craft into the air. With such a strong wind, Erin ascended rapidly, wanting to be well away from any physical obstructions on the ground. Within moments the pair were out over the wall, flying toward the smoke plumes.
‘Bloody hell…’ said Crash.
His words echoed Erin’s own thoughts. As they got closer the true extent of devastation wrought by the fuel drop became apparent. The Supertanker had covered more ground than they’d thought, with the swathe of burnt hell stretching well over two kilometres.
Below them, the area of land where the main swarm had congregated was a blackened ruin. Gusting wind tore smoke away, sweeping it off the field towards the city. Small areas were still on fire, crimson flickering as desiccated flesh turned to charcoal under its caress. Beyond the devastation, untouched hordes of Infected continued their movement south towards the plain, stepping without thought from untouched tarmac onto burning coals. Once started, they had continued, mindlessly following the path provided in the absence of other prey to distract. The head of this swarm moved directly into the torched area, and for the first time, Erin realised that the burnt areas were moving. Covered in soot, blackened by cinders, the Infected staggered through like wraiths until they burnt and fell.
Carriers walked into the flames en masse. Initially, they burnt like their predecessors, until weight of numbers began to smother the flames. Those at the front walked until feet and legs were burnt past the point of structural integrity, causing them to fall and provide a carpet of bodies to move over. Now the swarm was stumbling their way over half cooked bodies. The leading edge was still damaged, emerging onto the plains with lower limbs that were mostly charred flesh. But that would soon change as the last of the flames were smothered with bodies of the fallen, creating a protective layer from the coals beneath.
The helicopter dipped suddenly with a gust of wind, giving Erin a weightless sensation. Her stomach lurched at the rollercoaster drop as she managed to regain control and level off once again. From the corner of her eye, she saw Crash’s knuckles showing white where he gripped the edge of his seat. In such a little helicopter, the weather conditions were turning from challenging to downright dangerous.
‘Raven II, do you have an estimate of numbers? Over,’ asked her Squadron leader on the radio.
Erin flew to the side to gain a clear view of the approaching horde unobstructed by smoke haze. Infected packed the Freeway corridor for kilometres, although an end to the swarm was now visible for the first time.
‘It’s hard to tell, Ma’am. The swarm still stretches for a few K, but I think the Supertanker’s accounted for roughly half their numbers.’
A man’s voice came over her headset. ‘General Black here, Private.’ Erin was startled by the unexpected intrusion of the army’s overall commander. ‘Give me a basic estimate, will the length of the wall likely contain the remaining numbers heading our way?’ His voice was matter of fact, like he was discussing the likelihood of rain as opposed to the possible annihilation of his entire force.
‘I... I,’ stuttered Erin.
‘I just want an opinion, pilot,’ said the General, his voice smooth as if talking to an anxious pet. ‘We’ve made our stand, we’ll be fighting on regardless of the situation.’
Erin turned back to the swarm, eyeing its length once again as she fought against the wind buffeting her helicopter. There had to be over a million Carriers yet to hit the plain, and yet when she transplanted the mass to the area before the wall in her mind’s eye, she thought the man-made arena should contain their numbers. The Infected were beginning to move more quickly as the heat of the day increased, compounded by the warmth radiating upward from the burnt field. It wouldn’t be long before the swarm hit the walls.
‘If the wall holds, Sir, I think it should be easily long enough to corral what’s coming.’
‘No bloody corpse is going to tear my wall down. Now get your arse back here so you can hold a rifle.’
Erin released her breath, glad that she could now...
The Robinson 44 helicopter suddenly yawed hard, starting an uncontrolled spin to the right. Erin screamed, caught off guard as her mind raced to find the cause of the malfunction. Distracted by the questioning of her superiors over the radio, she had stopped paying attention to the high wind while maintaining a hover, and unwittingly created a perfect situation for LTE - loss of tail-rotor effectiveness. A gust of wind had hit the tail rotor, stopping its ability to carry out its main function of cancelling the torque of the engine and maintain a direction. The horizon spun around them as the helicopter rotated like a top.
‘It’s fucking LTE, Erin!’ yelled Crash, close to hysterics beside her.
Erin ignored her co-pilot, her mind racing as she tried to regain control of the helicopter and stop it spinning before it was too late. She’d been taught theory of how to correct against such a situation, but she had no experience of putting it into practice. She gritted her teeth, feeling complet
ely disoriented by the spinning, losing all sense of direction except for altitude. Erin knew they were losing it rapidly, and as they’d been less than a hundred metres in the air, the ground would reach for a permanent embrace within seconds.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mark watched in horror from the wall as the helicopter started to spin out over the plain, the tail boom rotating at an increasing speed as the craft began to lose height. She wasn’t going to be able to pull out of this one. They were fucked, and when they crashed, Erin would be stuck in no-man’s land before an approaching swarm of the undead. Alone.
‘Sergeant!’
Steph’s head jerked in his direction from her position twenty odd metres away. She nodded before he could speak again, clearly understanding his line of thought before he could even vocalise.
‘Command is yours,’ he said, bolting for the stairway.
‘Mark, wait!’ she shouted, making him pause for a moment. ‘If she’s not... salvageable, don’t let her suffer.’
Mark gave a brief nod and ran. His spit had turned to glue as he tried to swallow. He was terrified, but not at the thought of running into the face of a cannibalistic swarm, but rather of what he’d find at the crash site. Mark tried to push aside the image of Erin’s body, broken and bloody amongst the wreckage to focus on tasks at hand. He descended the metal staircase, taking the steps two a time until he hit the gravel at the base of the wall with a crunch, his right knee threatening to buckle with the force of impact.
Heart thumping against his ribs, Mark looked up. The armoured trucks of his platoon were parked on the edge of the road skirting the length of the wall. Three armoured trucks and two Unimogs were parked at 90 degrees, nose to curb. He ran for the first one and pulled open the driver’s door. The keys were in the ignition as mandated to avoid them becoming lost in the event of evacuation. Mark dumped his rifle on the passenger seat and brought the engine to life, revving the accelerator heavily before placing the truck into gear and mounting the curb, heading for the tunnel entrance.
Plague War (Book 3): Retaliation Page 27