“How’s that coming along?” Jason asked.
“Actually, pretty well. Research has started on board the Minian. Its lab is holding four subjects.”
“Peovils,” Jason interjected.
Nan smiled at the word she knew Mollie had assigned to the molt weevil zombies. “Yes,” the admiral continued, “okay … peovils … and with a combination of nanites injected into their bloodstreams and specific, programmed, MediPod treatments—the four have made full recovery.”
Nan continued, “The problem is scalability. Granger is confident we’ll have a full cure within days. But, as of right now, it takes twenty-four hours, and dedicating full use of one of the Minian’s MediPods for even one person’s recovery. Obviously, that’s not a long-term solution for the millions infected.”
The admiral jumped in, “It was actually that pirate kid, Bristol, who’s come up with the most realistic approach. It still takes twenty-four hours for the treatment to take effect, but it doesn’t require a MediPod. I can’t even attempt to relay all the science involved, but basically he’s modified a multi-gun to fire off a combination of injectable nanite-infused projectiles, along with an energy … some kind of modified plasma pulse … that renders the subject unconscious long enough for the treatment to take full effect.”
“So, like … we roam the streets, with these modified multi-guns, shooting all the peovils we come across? And a day later, they wake up perfectly human again?” Orion asked.
“Basically, that’s the idea. It still needs to be fully tested.”
“Sign me up for that,” Orion said, showing genuine interest. Billy looked at Orion with raised eyebrows. “I’m just saying … it sounds like an effective—”
“Just stop while you’re ahead,” Billy said with a smile.
“So we have made at least some progress … some hope of dealing with this catastrophic infestation,” Nan continued. “But that’s far from being our only problem right now.” Nan stopped speaking and took a sip of water. “North Korea is looking to use this calamity as a power-grab opportunity.”
“You’re serious?” Billy asked, looking skeptical. “North Korea?”
“Dead serious,” Secretary Walker said. “They were one of the few geographic locations on Earth relatively untouched by the molt weevil infestation. And areas of Russia, as well, but that still needs to be confirmed. As of last night, midnight, we were given twenty-four hours to recognize the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea as the supreme worldwide government. The demand was backed up with both a threat and a demonstration of how serious they are.”
“What kind of demonstration?” Jason asked.
A deep sadness came over Secretary Walker. He looked old and defeated. “Until now we’ve kept this from the public. The President is scheduled to make a statement to inform the American people … the world.”
“What … what is it?”
“At 3:30 a.m., a North Korean Soviet-made Golf II class nuclear submarine, in the Pacific Ocean, fired off a missile … one with a single, five-megaton warhead, toward the Hawaiian Islands.”
The room became quiet. Walker let out a long breath, his next words barely audible. “There’s absolutely nothing left of the islands.”
Jason was having a hard time comprehending what he’d just heard. The millions of lives lost in a flash and for what? What kind of monster makes that kind of decision?
After a long silence, Nan leaned forward in her chair. “Jason, I want you to go—have a little chat with Kim Jong Un.”
Chapter 6
Jason’s directive over the next week was to visit Pyongyang, and from there, on to Moscow. Both governments would be made to understand, by force if necessary, the consequences of any further attacks, nuclear or otherwise. Now was not the time for reciprocity. That, the Secretary of Defense assured everyone, would come about in time. But for now … what was paramount was restraining further escalation—basically, avoiding the total eradication of humankind.
“Captain, we’re entering North Korean airspace,” McBride said.
“Bring us down, all four of us. I want to be scraping their rooftops.”
“Aye, Cap.”
Our aerial convoy of goliath-sized warships, slowly moving in unison across the North Korean skyline, must be quite a sight, Jason thought to himself as he sat in The Lilly’s command chair. He watched the green agricultural landscape slowly move across the display. It was all about a show of force—one that would inspire fear and awe—from the peasants in the field, on up to the people’s assembly—to the premiere himself.
Jason was aware that The Lilly and the three massive Craing vessels at this altitude would generate substantial vibration—enough to cause damage to both residential and business structures below. Thunderous waves would course through the populace’s bodies and, more importantly, their psyches. The earthshaking started eight hundred miles from Pyongyang—and now, the news would spread like wildfire. Nothing would instill the futility of war, the ridiculousness of fighting the Americans, more than the sight of menacing warships overhead.
“Contacts!”
The display above showed recently scrambled fighters. “Mig 21s, for the most part, Cap; Russian supplied,” Orion said. “Looks like they’re putting everything they have into the air. Even a reconfigured passenger jet.”
“Bring us up to two thousand feet. Shields up.”
“Aye, sir,” Orion replied.
“Incoming missiles.”
Jason stood up from the command chair and watched the display above him. Looking at the high-definition, real-world view, Jason more than once ducked as incoming missiles harmlessly struck, and exploded, against their outer shields. The flurry of explosions dissipated as the fighters exhausted their payloads against the five slowly moving warships.
Jason sat back down and watched as the North Korean air force, like bees, swarmed harmlessly at the fleet’s shielded perimeters. He brought up his virtual notepad, wanting to get specific, pertinent information about North Korea. Who, exactly, was he dealing with? What he soon discovered was sobering: The country seemed one of the most miserable places on the planet to exist; most of the population had no flushing toilets and survived on less than ten dollars a month. Meat is considered a luxury item. Children stunted in growth from malnutrition are commonplace, while the ruling dictator has an estimated personal wealth of one hundred billion dollars—of course, all kept in secret accounts outside his wretched country.
Jason continued to read about North Korea. He shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was cause more deprivation for its citizenry. No, it was its leadership he needed to have a one-on-one with, this Kim Jong Un. “What’s the local time here, Orion?”
“Zero five-thirty, Cap.”
Jason changed his search parameters, now looking to see where the leader’s residence was located. “Huh, well, there’s this Kumsusan Palace of the Sun … sometimes called Kim Jong Un Palace,” he said.
“That looks like quite a place,” Orion said out loud. She’d joined him at his side and was reading over his shoulder. There was a picture of the palace. “Wow, no need to worry about finding sufficient parking space for the fleet,” she said.
The palace and its grounds were immense.
“Looks like Kim Jong Un has multiple residences … who knows where the little squirrel is hiding out. We have to start somewhere. Helm, take us to Pyongyang—Kumsusan Palace of the Sun.”
“Aye, Cap,” McBride answered.
“And take us back down to a thousand feet.”
“Aye, Cap.”
The overhead display zoomed in on the landscape moving below them. Currently, they were passing over building after building of tightly grouped apartment dwellings. All looked the same—in the same state of grimy decrepitude. The landscape opened up and several small farms appeared. Workers began running, scattering in all directions, apparently terrified by what must seem tantamount to an alien invasion. Others, crouching low, stopped
working to observe the spectacle above. Eventually, they would notice the U.S. flag emblems on the warships’ undercarriages and then know exactly where the vessels came from.
“Pyongyang, sir. The palace is on the display ahead.”
Jason was back on his feet and watched as the large, marble-sided and square-ish three-tiered structure came into view. Whereas the image he’d seen earlier, on his virtual notepad, showed acres and acres of open space at the palace’s front quad, now a uniformed army of at least ten thousand green and red coated men awaited. Tanks and batteries of artillery were poised to fire from the structure’s east side.
“Nowhere to land, sir,” McBride said.
Jason continued to watch in silence. He nodded his head, as if coming to some sort of mental decision. “Have the fleet positioned right over them. We’ll need all this space. Make sure the fleet commanders understand they are to bring their vessels down slowly. Those below who are too slow or stupid to move away will quickly find themselves dead.”
“Aye, Cap,” McBride answered, then began talking on comms to the other ships.
Ground fire below initiated everywhere: from soldiers’ automatic weapons, to tank and mortar munitions. In unison, the warships began to descend. Even from close to one thousand feet aloft, thruster heat hitting the ground would be extreme. As expected, the regiments of North Korea ran—the soldiers who’d waited too long, or had followed orders not to abandon their positions, came into contact with the vessels’ virtually-impregnable lower shields. More than a few soldiers were crushed as the fleet of ships settled onto solid ground.
Jason hailed Billy.
“Go for Billy.”
“Got your team assembled, ready to deploy?”
“We’re at the forward airlock.”
“I’m on my way,” Jason said. “XO, keep me apprised of any developments.”
“Aye, Cap,” Orion replied, taking the command chair.
Earlier, Jason had asked Billy to assemble a ten-man SEAL assault team. Now, as Jason activated his own SuitPac, he approached his friend.
Billy, a wet and disgusting-looking stogie at the corner of his mouth, nodded as Jason came up. “Hey, Cap.”
“Smoking in an airlock, huh? Hell … I bet you smoke in the shower.”
Billy gave a half-hearted shrug and disposed of the unlit cigar in a nearby refuse panel. Helmet visors were lowered and a virtual 3D schematic representation of the Kumsusan Palace’s internal layout hovered before their eyes.
“I have no idea where we’re going here. Not much intel on the whereabouts of North Korean heads of state. So maybe someone will stop and give us directions,” Jason said.
That evoked chuckles from the team as Jason slapped the airlock’s hatch release button. The gangway was deployed; from the top of the ramp Jason couldn’t see anyone below, but his HUD indicated there were thousands of Korean combatants moving in. “Let’s go.”
Multi-guns held at the ready, he led the team down the gangway and out onto the Kumsusan Palace quad. Jason and the SEALs turned and took it all in. The Lilly was positioned closest to the palace’s front entrance. The other four significantly larger Craing heavy cruisers were spaced evenly throughout the quad area.
They moved away from the ship toward the main building. A slight distortion caught Jason’s eye as The Lilly’s shields came back online. Somewhere in the distance came a screaming command. Gunfire erupted from all sides. Several bullets pinged off Jason’s battle suit; then more bullets struck and eventually he, and the others, found it difficult to remain standing.
Billy was the first to be knocked off his feet, as an explosive something, perhaps a frag grenade fired from an RPG weapon, erupted directly to his left. Soon, with more explosions coming, one after another, they were either thrown to the ground, or bounced up into the air, or tossed tens of yards in opposite directions. The escalating concussive effects were dizzying.
Jason, sprawled on his ass, had a hard time standing. His mind flashed to a similar situation involving stampeding buffaloes. He brought up his HUD phase-shift settings for the entire team and tried to activate a phase-shift. The pounding vibration was making it difficult for him to think, let alone configure specific phase-shift destination settings.
Billy’s voice stammered into Jason’s ear: “Great impression we’re making, Cap. Real imposing. We look like fucking rodeo clowns out here—bouncing around like this.”
“Just give me a second … I’m working on it,” Jason replied.
The world flashed white and simultaneously the SEAL team was transported inside the palace. It took Jason several moments to realize he had phase-shifted directly into a suspended glass coffin. The body of a long-dead North Korean man, dressed in a military jacket and obviously a once-important dignitary, had just been split in two. Jason wasted no time pushing the two halves of the body out of his way as he stepped clear of the fragmented glass pieces of coffin, its pedestal, and the withered, newly transected corpse.
Chapter 7
Billy and the SEAL team watched Jason with mild amusement. Without saying a word, he got clear of the mess and moved to the center of what looked like a large vestibule, or viewing room. There were surrounding marble pillars that reached up thirty or forty feet to a high-cantilevered ceiling. Everything was marble: the walls, the floor, and an engraved marble plaque that covered most of one wall. An English translation of Korean characters hovered on Jason’s HUD. Apparently, Jason had inadvertently catapulted into the lying-in-state remains of one of the recently deceased Jongs.
Angry shouting from an adjacent corridor echoed off the marble walls. Someone was barking out commands in Korean. Three men appeared at the entranceway; they each sported short black hair and wore similarly styled glasses. The threesome tentatively moved into the room, while a cluster of armed soldiers peered around the corner of the entrance behind them.
Jason met them halfway into the vestibule. One of the men—thinner and slightly taller than the other two—took two tentative steps forward. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow. He cleared his throat and began speaking in Korean. Jason waited a brief second and soon his nano-devices began translating. As the Korean continued to speak, Jason raised the visor on his helmet, providing him with some semblance of actual human-to-human contact.
“I am Ri Young, on the Secretary of the General’s Staff. You have invaded our country. Desecrated the remains of our most beloved—”
Jason cut him off before he could continue. “Early this morning, or perhaps it was late last night here, your country fired off a nuclear warhead toward the Hawaiian Islands in the Pacific Ocean. The islands were destroyed. Millions of lives cut short in an instant. Needless to say, our two countries are now embroiled, de-facto, in a state of war. I am here to discuss the conditions of your country’s complete, unconditional surrender to the United States of America.”
The three North Korean dignitaries stared back at Jason, who was not only speaking perfect Korean, but had precisely nailed its dialect and its accented attributes, as well. Again, the Secretary of the General Staff official spoke. “I have no knowledge of a nuclear missile. I am but an official administrator.”
“Where’s Kim Jong Un?”
The three dignitaries became tight-lipped. The chubbiest of the three, the one to Jason’s left, was staring at the grizzly remains of Kim Jong Il on the marble flooring.
Jason’s visor closed and he took a step back from the dignitaries. Via his HUD, he set his multi-gun for its lowest-level stun. He brought up his weapon and fired directly into the face of the official. With a blackened scorch mark between his eyes, the man fell to the ground in what seemed a lifeless heap. The other two dignitaries cowered; neither would look Jason in the eye. A dark yellow pool of urine slowly spread across the floor at their feet. Jason wasn’t sure from which man it had come.
Turning again to the Korean on his left, Jason brought the muzzle of his weapon up and placed it at the tip of the man’s nose. “Think twic
e before answering my next question. If I even suspect you’re lying, or if your information is not particularly useful, you’ll join the Secretary’s official on the floor. Where, exactly, is Kim Jong Un right now?”
“Ryongsong residence.” The dignitary spoke quickly and nodded his head, a gesture conveying he had no problem sharing the information.
The other dignitary, who had not spoken until now, added: “The residence is located in Ryongsong district, here in northern Pyongyang. Go now and Kim Jong Un will be there, I assure you.”
Jason brought up his virtual notebook and projected a virtual 3D representation of northern Pyongyang. “Show me on here—exactly where.”
Both dignitaries simultaneously pointed at the same spot on the hovering projection. Jason saw that the area was fairly close by and appeared rural. A forest of trees encircled multiple large structures. It was a fortified compound.
“We’ll drop by and see if he’s in. Remember, we know where to find you if he’s not there. Also, you will make no attempt to warn him; is that clear?”
Both men nodded. Billy, who had been hovering nearby, moved to Jason’s side. His visor was up and he was chewing on an unlit stogie. He turned and gestured toward the shattered glass, and the transected body parts scattered on the floor. “I suggest you get this mess cleaned up before we return.”
The room flashed white.
* * *
Jason had set the phase-shift coordinates to a small clearing within a wooded area set back twenty feet behind Kim Jong Un’s residence’s back lawn.
Jason heard Billy’s voice over his comms. “HUD’s telling me we have thirty men on active patrol, Cap.”
Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle Page 4