Red Hammer: Voodoo Plague Book 4

by Dirk Patton

  Only I wasn’t close enough to use my knife. I settled for pulling the trigger. The rifle was in burst mode and three rounds punched into his chest in a fraction of a second. He fell back, landing on top of one of the dead infected, Dragunov flying out of his hands and clattering on the rocks. I stood up and walked over to look down at him, rifle ready.

  He wasn’t dead, yet. Blood was already soaking the front of his shirt and red, frothy bubbles were forming around his lips.

  “Sergei.” He rasped.

  “Go to hell, Sergei.” I said, firing a round into his head.

  In the movies, this is where the guy who just pulled the trigger stands there, staring down at the man he just killed while he carries on some internal dialogue. Always seemed stupid to me. If I want to think about the man I killed, I’ll do it somewhere nice and safe. Standing here in the open, infected running around, Russian planes not far away – this was not the time or place for introspection. It was time to run, and that’s exactly what I did.

  “Sitrep.” I called on the radio as I started down into the canyon.

  “Red force eliminated. No casualties, one injury.” I recognized Martinez’ voice.

  “Copy. I’m on my way to you. Get our ride ready to go.” I panted back. I don’t care how good your conditioning is, running at 7,300 feet above sea level when you aren’t used to it will make you pant. A mile and a half up in the air takes some getting used to.

  I used the pavement when it was going in the direction I needed to travel, but mostly I was scrabbling my way down the steep canyon wall. By the time I approached the idling MRAP, my hands, forearms, ass and legs had more than a few cactus thorns in them. Ignoring the pain I called out on the radio that I was coming in, gave them a moment to make sure no one shot me when I just appeared out of the dark, then ran up to the vehicle.

  They were waiting for me, ready to go. Martinez was back behind the wheel, Vostov and the other two Russians crammed into the rear compartment. The MRAP was sitting on the pavement and they had driven the damaged Humvee in between the rocks and loaded the bodies of the patrol into it.

  Yanking open the passenger door, I jumped in and told Martinez to get us the hell out of there. She headed deeper into the canyon and I turned to look at our passengers. Captain Vostov was bleeding from a through and through bullet wound in her upper thigh, but it was in the meaty part on the outside of her leg, well away from the femoral artery or her femur. Igor had already pushed her skirt up and was cleaning the wound. She grimaced in pain as he squirted the Russian equivalent of Betadine into and through the neat hole. Area clean, he numbed her wound and started suturing. Face white with pain and covered in a sheen of sweat, Vostov looked up at me.

  “I always thought my legs were my best feature. Now…” She joked as Igor struggled to keep sewing as Martinez cranked us through a hairpin turn.

  “Trust me. With legs like those, no one’s going to care about a couple of little scars. They’ll just make you more mysterious.” I don’t know why I said that. Why I cared how she was feeling. Guess I can’t be an asshole all the time.

  “Did she survive?” She looked at me and smiled, pushed sweat dampened hair out of her eyes and pointed at the gold wedding band on my left hand. It was the only possession The Reverend hadn’t taken when I’d been captured in Tennessee.

  “I don’t know.” I answered, not knowing why the hell I was having this conversation with this woman. “I haven’t seen or talked to her since the day before the attacks. I was not with her when it happened.”

  “Why weren’t you?” She asked, gasping when Igor’s needle hit a spot that hadn’t been numbed properly.

  “I was working. Opposite end of the country.” I didn’t feel like going into the whole long story.

  “Why aren’t you trying to find her?” She rolled up onto her hip so Igor could work on the exit wound on the back of her leg.

  “I am. Or I was, until some fucking foreigners decided to invade my country.” I stared at her. She stared right back, not flinching away from my gaze.

  “You know I’m going to do something about that. I just killed five of my own.”

  “I know.” I said, the anger that had been building evaporating instantly when I thought about being put into the position of having to kill your fellow warriors when they were being duped just like everyone else. I couldn’t imagine it. I felt for her and her two comrades. They were choosing to do the right thing, even if it meant doing some bad things to accomplish their goal.

  “Where will you go from here?” She asked me.

  “I can’t tell you that.” I might trust her to a degree, but that didn’t mean I was born yesterday.

  “I understand. Maybe this will help you. I recognize the pilot badge on her uniform. What does she fly?” She asked, gesturing at Martinez. Igor tied off a stitch and dug out a flashlight to check on his work. I thought about the question and couldn’t come up with a reason not to answer.

  “Helicopter.” I said, looking up when the MRAP hit a big bump then made a left onto a smooth, straight road.

  “Good. Then I have a parting gift for you. There are six Stealth Hawks at Kirtland. They are scheduled to be loaded aboard Antonovs and flown back to Russia in a couple of days, but for now they are sitting in a hangar on the southern edge of the base. Hangar 41.”

  Stealth Hawks are a completely updated version of the Black Hawk, incorporating all the lessons about stealth aircraft that America has learned in the past 20 years. These are what was flown into Pakistan to get Bin Laden. They had been kept very secret, never flying during the day anywhere near civilian eyes. Quiet operating, low radar profile and a minimal heat signature for heat seeking missiles to lock on to, one of these would be just the ticket to get us out of New Mexico.

  “How do you know I’m not going to leave one of these little babies behind at Kirtland?” I asked, goading her a little, but also testing her response.

  “You gave me your word.” She answered with a strained smile. Igor was sewing again. “If I couldn’t judge men, I wouldn’t be much good at my job. You’ll keep your word.”

  I nodded, not really wanting to acknowledge that she had nailed me. Am I that transparent? Maybe she really is that good of a judge of character. Not that I have a good character, by any means, but I don’t give my word lightly.

  “Captain, there should be a crossroads about two kilometers ahead. Please stop there and let us out.” Vostov called out to Martinez who looked around at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Do it.” I said.

  The next two klicks when by quickly, Martinez bringing the MRAP to a stop in the middle of the intersection. Looking out the windows all I could see was dark desert in every direction. Not even a road sign told me where we were. Igor and the other soldier opened the rear doors and stepped out. They had already matched up the keys I’d given them with the appropriate SADMs and they lifted those out and stacked them on the side of the road.

  Vostov started to stand, letting out a gasp of pain and dropping back onto her ass. I moved around the three remaining stacked bombs and helped her to her feet. Jumping down to the pavement I turned and lifted her down, setting her gently on the road.

  “Turn right here and stay on the road. In a few miles you will pick up the river. Follow it all the way into Albuquerque. I trust from there you can find your way to the air base. You will want to switch to a civilian vehicle as soon as you can. We are not interfering with civilians as long as they don’t cause us any problems, but this truck will draw attention you do not want.” She waved at the big, ugly vehicle.

  “You’re man will be able to land and pick you up here?” I asked, looking around at the desolate terrain.

  “Yes. His father is my uncle’s friend, and also very powerful. No one will question what he does.” Her teeth were starkly white in the weak moonlight.

  “I really am sorry my country has done what it has done. I know the death of a few men in the Kremlin cannot make amends, but we�
��ll see what can be done once they’re out of the way.” She continued.

  “Be sure your uncle knows what happened here, tonight.” I said. “When he’s in control, we’re going to be calling him for help. If he really regrets what happened, he’ll answer when we call.” She nodded agreement.

  “One more thing, Major.” I was turning to get back into the MRAP, but stopped and looked at her when she spoke. “The timing of the virus is not a precise science. More people will turn. Many more. Any that haven’t been vaccinated. It would be good if you took the vaccine sooner rather than later. One CC, IM. In a muscle. It burns like acid, so be prepared.”

  I stood looking at her for a moment longer before nodding and turning back to the waiting truck. I climbed in the back, shutting the doors behind me and asked Martinez if she’d heard the instructions on how to get to Albuquerque. She answered that she had and stepped on the throttle.

  Checking on Scott I was happy to find he was breathing normally. His color was good and I expected he would have one hell of a headache when he woke up. Glancing around, a glint of light caught my eye and I looked closer at the top of the bomb where Vostov had been sitting. Three small syringes, still in their sterile wrapping, sat waiting for me.

  47

  While Martinez drove I opened the box that contained the vaccine and stared at the four vials. They were labeled in Cyrillic, but I was able to figure out that each contained 25 CCs of liquid. In for a penny, in for a pound. I opened the three syringes and one of the alcohol pads that Igor had thoughtfully included. Cleaning the rubber seal on the top of a vial, I inserted the first thin needle and extracted one CC of the colored liquid. I repeated the process until I had three injections ready to go.

  I don’t know much about medical procedures, but I do know that if you’re going to get a painful injection into a muscle that will hurt, you’re better off taking it in the glutes. Figures. Taking it in the ass, again. Oh well. Never one to hesitate to go first, I stood up, unbuckled and dropped my pants. Twisting around as much as possible I cleaned a spot on my right cheek, took a breath and stuck the needle in. The needle itself was small and thin, about the same size as I remembered from getting my annual flu shot. It didn’t hurt.

  I pressed the plunger and forced the vaccine into my body. For a couple of seconds, nothing other than a slight pressure at the injection site. For a couple of seconds. Then, someone jabbed a red hot knitting needle into my ass. And started twisting it around as molten metal flowed into my flesh. I’ve had about every injection, vaccination or inoculation that the US Government and civilian medicine can devise to keep me healthy as I traveled the globe. None of them came close to this.

  I stood there stoically, resisting the impulse to piss and moan about the pain. I’ve never been one to see the point in dramatizing my pain. It doesn’t make it hurt less, it just scares the hell out of the guy in line behind you. Well, let me take that back. I have been in lines where I did a good job of acting like something was incredibly painful, just to mess with the guys coming behind me. Hey, I never said I wasn’t an asshole.

  I rubbed the spot, hard, and after about a minute the pain began to subside. The burning had spread to most of the right side of my ass, but it was bearable now. I gave the injection site another swipe with the almost dry alcohol pad and pulled my pants back up. Buckling them I glanced up to see Martinez looking at me in a mirror.

  “No problem, Captain.” I said.

  “Whatever you say, sir. But I don’t know what was more fun. Watching a Major drop his pants, or seeing a big, tough Green Beret grimacing in pain from a tiny little shot.” She grinned and turned her attention back to the road.

  “Captain, has anyone ever told you that you’re not funny?”

  “No sir, never. I usually have them rolling in the aisles.”

  “Smart ass bitch.” I mumbled under my breath with a grin.

  I started fumbling with Scott’s belt buckle, looking up when he spoke.

  “I’ve heard about you Army guys, but you could at least buy me dinner first.” Everyone’s a fucking comedian when the bullets aren’t flying. I smiled back at him, happy to see him awake even though he looked like hell.

  “Hell, Tech Sergeant. I’m surrounded by Air Force. When in Rome…”

  He smiled back and used his good arm to unbuckle and I helped him work the trousers down far enough to expose his hip. A quick swipe with alcohol and I stuck the needle in and pressed the plunger.

  “Fuck me!.” He said quietly a couple of seconds later. “What the hell did the goddamn Russkies put in this? Battery acid?” He couldn’t reach the injection site to rub because it was on the same side of his body as his broken arm. I wasn’t about to sit there and rub his ass for him, so he dealt with the pain by trotting out some inventive curses.

  “OK, Princess. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s time to show me your ass.” I said to Martinez. She slowed, pulling onto the gravel shoulder a moment later and shifting into park, leaving the engine idling. Climbing out of the driver’s seat she worked her way to me, turned her back and lowered her pants to the bottom of her ass.

  “Be gentle with me, sir. It’s my first time.” She said.

  Scott snorted, then let the guffaw out as I cleaned a spot with the last alcohol pad. I stuck the needle in and pressed the plunger.

  “Chinga tu madre!” She said a couple of seconds later, reaching back and vigorously rubbing her ass. “I retract any disparaging remarks I may have made about the Green Berets. That hurts!”

  “Company coming.” Scott said, instantly making us forget about the injections.

  Scott had sat up on the bench, trying to find a way to squirm around and use the bench to massage the sore spot. Sitting up, he had a good view through the damaged windshield. I bent to see around Martinez as she quickly pulled her pants up. Less than a mile in front of us were five sets of headlights coming our direction. Had to be Russian military. Civilians don’t travel in tight convoys like that. They also don’t travel with a helicopter pacing them, providing air support and a bird’s eye view.

  “Have we passed any trails or turnouts?” I asked Martinez, making sure the vial was safely back in the foam cutout before storing the box in my pack.

  “No, sir. Nothing. We can head out cross country, but there’s no breeze. We’ll leave a dust trail that will be noticeable.” She answered, slithering over equipment and back behind the wheel. “What do you want to do?”

  “Turn us around.” I ordered. “Our new Russian friends back there will have a hard time explaining what they’re doing on foot in the middle of nowhere.”

  Martinez got us pointed the other direction, careful to keep the big tires on pavement and not create a dust cloud that would alert the approaching troops to our presence. Facing back north she pressed on the throttle, driving faster than I was comfortable with in the dark, but then we didn’t have much time. We reached the crossroads quickly, Martinez jamming on the brakes and bringing us to a halt with a slight squeal of the tires. I popped the latch on the back doors and hopped out onto the pavement, looking around.

  Vostov and the two soldiers were already running towards the MRAP, each of the men shuffling along under the weight of the SADMs. Vostov reached me first, limping up as she favored the leg with the bullet hole in it.

  “We see them.” She said. “Thank you for coming back. The first patrol or the sniper must have gotten a message out.”

  “Can you bluff them?” I asked.

  “Yes. If the story matches the circumstances.”

  I got Martinez out of the driver’s seat, and after loading his two bombs in the back, Igor slid behind the wheel. Vostov joined him in the front, stiffly climbing into the passenger seat. Martinez and I climbed into the back and joined Scott where he had moved onto the floor. We were crammed in like sardines, Martinez sitting on my lap with her legs extended across Scott. The other Russian slammed the door and took a seat on the bench, rifle across his lap, pointing in our d
irection but not directly at us.

  “I sure as hell hope you’re right about her, sir.” Martinez mumbled to me as she shifted her weight off the sore side of her ass. With her on top of me I couldn’t do the same and the pain was an unwelcome distraction.

  “Me too, Captain. Me too.” I answered, then we all shut up as Igor put the vehicle in gear and turned us back around. Vostov said something in Russian and he turned the headlights on and accelerated down the road, directly at the oncoming convoy.

  It only took a couple of minutes for us to meet them, Igor braking gently and bringing the big MRAP to a stop straddling the line down the middle of the road. I looked through the windshield and saw a row of Humvees completely blocking our progress, each of them with a manned machine gun pointed at us. The helicopter came into a hover directly over us and a spotlight turned night into day.

  At a command from Vostov, Igor opened his door, stood up on the running board and started shouting at them in what sounded like angry Russian. Of course, all Russian sounds angry to me. A voice shouted back and Igor grew animated, shouted louder and waved his arms in a motion that was telling them to get out of his way.

  None of the Hummers moved, and after a moment three men approached. Two carried rifles, not quite aimed at Igor, but only a few degrees off target. The one leading them didn’t have a rifle, only a holstered pistol. I hoped he didn’t outrank Vostov.

  The officer walked up to Igor’s side of the vehicle and I could see the variety of colors and insignia on his uniform. My knowledge of Russian uniforms was rusty as hell. I hadn’t done any formal study of their military in a lot of years, more years than I cared to acknowledge, but I was reasonably sure he was a Captain in the Russian Air Force.