by Dirk Patton
Hedging his bet, he had also ordered a small team of Force Recon Marines into each location. These teams were equipped with a specialized Humvee, called an Avenger that had pods of SAMs –Surface to Air Missiles – mounted on the back. The teams were under orders to ignore any Russian helicopter or attack aircraft, but to engage any transport aircraft that was believed to be taking American technology to Russia.
Michael T had been watching the previous night as an American MRAP had pulled up to the same hangar. What looked like a civilian female, two Russian Spetsnaz, a female US Air Force officer and a big guy that had to be SF had climbed out. They’d wheeled a Sci-Fi looking helicopter out of the hangar, and while the Air Force officer had fueled it, three packages, a full body bag and an injured man had been loaded into the aircraft.
When they were ready to go, the civilian woman had kissed the SF guy on each cheek, and then he and the Air Force officer had climbed aboard. Moments later the helo had flown directly over his head at no more than 50 feet, and he’d been amazed at how quiet it was. That was when he realized it was a Stealth Hawk.
“Badger 25, how copy?” Michael T mumbled into his radio.
“Copy 5 by 5.” The reply was almost instant. Badger 25 was the small Force Recon team set up in a valley a few miles north and east of Michael T’s location. In line with the main runway at Kirtland.
“Red force guppy in 5. Be advised, he will have twelve, one – two, guard dogs.” A large Russian cargo plane would be taking off in five minutes, and there would be 12 fighter escorts.
“Copy. Guppy in 5. One – two dogs. Badger 25 ready.”
Michael T had watched as crate after crate had been loaded on a giant Antonov AN-124 cargo plane, followed by another of the Sci-Fi looking helicopters he now was sure were Stealth Hawks. He had also kept an eye on the attractive blonde woman, barefoot and wearing a skirt, who had kissed the SF guy goodbye. She had watched the loading of the aircraft with a keen interest, not even taking her eyes off of it while speaking on a large, satellite phone.
The jet was taxiing to the main runway where six of the Mig fighters sat waiting. Once it was in place, the remaining six Migs would form up at a safe distance behind, all thirteen aircraft taking off within a minute of each other. Michael T watched them jockey around as all the pilots got into position.
The Antonov’s pilot’s face was large in his scope, and he wished he could put a round through the man’s head. The plane wouldn’t go anywhere, and while they might look, the Russians wouldn’t find him or his brother. But, his orders were clear. Observe and report, only. He could not engage any target for any reason, other than self-defense.
A moment later the lead Migs throttled up and raced down the runway, quickly leaping into the blue sky. The Antonov had started rolling at the same time, but the much larger aircraft was heavily loaded and needed nearly the full length of the runway to get off the ground. As soon as its tires left the tarmac, Michael T notified the Force Recon team. The remaining Migs were in the air in moments, racing to gain altitude.
The Russian Air Force is neither incompetent nor stupid, but they are human and susceptible to human arrogance. Their mistake that day was thinking that the only possible threat to the lumbering jet was from other aircraft. They were well protected against that threat with a 200 mile radius CAP around the base as well as the 12 escort fighters whose only purpose in life was to protect the Antonov. What they didn’t take into account was the possibility of a surface to air attack.
No routine ground patrols were occurring to prevent an enemy from setting up on their airfield. No low-level helicopter patrols of a buffer zone around the base. Nothing. This was good for the Marines. It had made their jobs much easier, and increased the likelihood that they might successfully evade what was sure to be a swift Russian response once they shot the plane down.
“System is on automatic. Badger 25 bugging out.” Michael T heard over his radio earpiece. Acknowledging the transmission, he wished them luck.
The Marines had set the Avenger’s system to automatically track and shoot any aircraft that came within range of its sensors. Then they had gotten the hell out of the area. Hopefully they would be able to put enough distance between them and the Avenger that the Russians couldn’t find them. They would probably have five minutes at the most from the time the first missile left the pod mounted on the rear of the Hummer.
The Antonov pilot had never flown in a combat zone before coming to America. If he had, he likely would have gained altitude as quickly as possible. He also would have requested and been granted permission by the air traffic controllers to spiral up as he climbed, keeping his aircraft in vertical alignment with the air base. But he did none of this. Instead he flew straight ahead, slowly gaining altitude. Civilian passengers would have appreciated the smooth and steady take off, but they wouldn’t have liked the results.
One minute after the Antonov’s landing gear left the tarmac, the giant plane had only climbed 2,000 feet. Ten seconds later it entered the Avenger’s sensor range, the Boeing made system locking on in a fraction of a second, analyzing the signature, and firing a missile. The Marines had programmed some additional instructions into the computer that controlled the missiles, and quickly the remaining seven SAMs rippled out of their pods and sped skyward. Each of them was locked onto one of the Migs, the fighters still below the missiles’ operational ceiling of 15,000 feet as they loitered, waiting for the much slower cargo jet.
Five seconds later the first missile struck the base of the Antonov’s right wing, the warhead detonating. The wing sheared off and thousands of pounds of jet fuel ignited, the plane vanishing in a thunderous explosion that blew out windows all across Albuquerque. Two of the Migs that had been targeted successfully evaded the SAMs, but five more weren’t so lucky and met the same fate as their larger brethren.
Irina Vostov stood on the tarmac, staring northeast in horror at the massive fireball. The smoke trails from the missiles still visible in the clear air, she cursed the Americans. Had the Major betrayed her? Taken the vaccine and given her the nukes only to destroy them before they could be used? Was he mad? Didn’t he understand? Anger overcoming her fatigue, she pulled out her satellite phone and punched in her uncle’s phone number.
13
I slowed when I saw the sign for the West Memphis Airport. Would Rachel and Jackson have gone back there, even though they knew it had already been evacuated? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t ignore the possibility and not check. Taking the indicated exit, I rolled down the ramp, slowing to steer around a small, foreign sedan lying on its side in the middle of the road. There were no other vehicles around it and I wondered if the tornados I had been told about had turned it over, or maybe even dropped it there.
The two-lane road at the bottom of the exit was obscured with muddy water that had washed onto it through a break in an adjacent dike. The heavy Lexus navigated the axle deep water without any drama, wrapping me in the luxury of its air conditioning and ventilated seats. This was the most comfortable I’d been in quite some time, but I’d trade it at the drop of a hat if I got to the airport and found Rachel waiting impatiently for me.
I drove past the airport before I realized I had arrived. The tall control tower was the landmark I had been looking for, and not seeing it, I hadn’t recognized the area. Slamming on the brakes, I reversed and took the access road that cut across a muddy field. I could see the single runway, but there was nothing else remaining. No control tower. No hangars. Nothing other than some twisted steel and small piles of debris where the structures had been.
Coming to a stop, I sat and stared in awe at the total devastation. A tornado, or perhaps more than one, had literally wiped the airport off the map. Anything that was more than a couple of feet tall had been ripped away. Letting off the brake I allowed the SUV to idle forward, steering onto the tarmac. I was looking at the damage, not where I was driving, and was surprised when first the right front, then right rear tire hit a big
pothole. Stopping, I looked in the mirror. There was a chunk missing out of the asphalt! How powerful had these damn storms been?
There was little point in wasting any more time at what had been the airport. I could see for a very long distance in every direction, and other than debris, muddy fields and pools of dirty water, nothing was visible. Hooking a U-Turn, I left on the same road I had come in on, turning back to resume my eastward trek on I-40.
The total destruction of the airport disheartened me. If they had been caught by one of the tornados, they were dead. There was no getting around that. My only hope was they had somehow been able to either avoid the storms, or find shelter. Maybe in West Memphis? If West Memphis was even still on the map. Time to find out.
Reaching the entrance ramp to I-40 east, I slowly accelerated up onto the freeway, dodging big potholes where pieces of the asphalt were missing. Shaking my head, I avoided another wreck by driving into the median. The SUV’s four wheel drive came in handy. I was sure a two wheel drive vehicle would have dug into the soft earth and gotten stuck.
I had only driven a few more miles when I noticed a cluster of vehicles scattered across the westbound side of the freeway. Approaching slowly, I spotted the bodies of two men and two razorbacks sprawled on the pavement. Then I passed a large Chevy truck, on its side, and hit the brakes when I saw movement. Four razorbacks were circling a Mercedes. The largest one was at least 300 pounds, probably more like 400, and the other three were each well over 200. They noticed me and stopped circling, the whole group moving to stand between the car and me.
I stared back at them for a few moments, then decided to continue on before they charged. It was doubtful they could damage the Lexus severely enough to disable it, but there was no reason to take the chance. Starting to accelerate, I had only gone a few yards when I heard a car horn. What the hell?
Stopping, I looked closely at the Mercedes. I couldn’t see through the glass because the windows were fogged over. That meant someone was inside! And it might be the someones I was searching for. Even if it wasn’t, I didn’t particularly like the idea of leaving someone to die, trapped by the small herd of razorbacks. Now, how to rescue them?
The sound of the horn had agitated the hogs, and they started attacking the car, slamming into its sides with their heavy shoulders. The large one rammed a tusk through the fender and with a powerful jerk of his head tore open a foot long rent in the sheet steel. Fuck me, but these things were strong. And all I had was a rifle with relatively small caliber bullets. Yes, I still had a few grenades, but I couldn’t use them anywhere near the vehicle without endangering the occupants.
I pushed the button to lower my window and stuck the rifle through the opening. The razorbacks were only 50 yards away from where I had come to a stop, an easy shot, but I needed to be spot on with my shooting if I wanted to put these things down. Hunching forward, I pulled the rifle stock to my shoulder and looked through the scope.
Wishing for a heavier caliber, I aimed for a spot just behind the shoulder of one of the smaller hogs that had come to a stop. Pulling the trigger in burst mode, I sent three rounds into the beast. I was guessing at razorback anatomy, hoping to blow out his heart and lungs with the shot, but I’d never hunted wild hogs and had no idea if this was the best target location for a quick kill.
When the bullets struck, the animal squealed, snapping his head to the side to see what had just attacked him. Not immediately seeing anything he started to snap at one of the other hogs, but his legs wobbled. The wobble almost immediately became a buckle and a second later he fell to the ground and stopped moving. I smiled to myself and targeted the razorback that came over to sniff his body.
Another pull of the trigger, another dead hog. Two down, two to go, but the leader’s attention had switched to me and he stood facing my direction. The other razorback was behind him, mostly shielded by his body and the front of the Mercedes. I debated trying a head shot, but he was just so damn big I didn’t have a lot of confidence the 5.56 mm bullets would penetrate what had to be a skull as thick as armor plating. He made my decision for me when he charged.
Shit! I yanked the rifle back inside the SUV and stomped on the gas. The Lexus surged forward and the razorback changed directions, angling for the driver’s side door, but despite his frightening speed I pulled safely away. Watching in the mirror, I was dismayed to see him stop pursuing and return to the Mercedes. Slowing, I turned the wheel to point the nose of the vehicle to the west and came to a stop. The large hog was stationary on the far side of the sedan, the smaller one still circling. Time to thin the herd a little more.
Switching the rifle to semi, or single shot mode, I targeted the smaller razorback and started putting rounds into him. I was aiming for the same spot that had successfully brought the first two down. My first shot broke his shoulder, the animal stumbling to a stop. I followed up with two more quick shots to the same area and a moment later he slumped the rest of the way to the pavement. Three down, but King Kong was still sheltering behind the car.
I waited patiently for a few minutes, but he wasn’t coming into view. Was he smart enough to understand the danger of showing himself, or was he running on instinct? I didn’t know, and at the moment didn’t care. The day was wearing on and ominous clouds were building to the north and west. I had no idea if that meant more tornados, but I wanted this over with so I could get back to my search.
Removing my foot from the brake, the Lexus idled forward. I steered to the side, trying to gain a vantage point from which I could fire on the beast, but as the big SUV moved, so did he. I stepped on the brake and cursed. He had kept the car between us, moving when I moved. OK, then. What now?
I was only coming up with one idea, and I didn’t particularly like it. Get out of the SUV and fight the damn thing on foot. He was faster and stronger, but I was willing to bet I was more agile. I was only a little over half his body weight and should be able to maneuver better than he could. I hoped. Turning the SUV so the passenger side was facing the razorback, I took a deep breath and opened my door.
The passenger window afforded me a clear view of his location, and I kept my eyes locked on that point as I stepped out and brought my rifle up. Moving to the front of the Lexus I stopped, rifle trained on the sedan; ready to adjust depending on which side he came around. I was 30 yards from the Mercedes, and from what I’d seen he could cover that distance in about two seconds. What the hell was I doing?
We stood like that for close to five minutes, neither of us moving. This didn’t bode well. The hogs may be infected, and it certainly appeared the infection was driving them to find and kill humans, but it hadn’t taken over their minds the way it had people. This razorback was exhibiting patience and cunning in abundance. By now an infected human would have charged. Well, maybe not the smart females, but that was different. Or was it?
Mentally slapping myself, I dismissed all of these thoughts. The last thing I needed to be doing right now was to get lost in thought and not be ready to react the instant he moved. But he wasn’t budging. I could hear him grunting occasionally, and he was making the same, odd popping noise the one I’d killed earlier had done. It was going to come down to who was more patient. Me or him.
With little doubt that I could outlast him, I risked a quick glance up at the sky. The clouds were still gathering, black on the bottom and the sky actually looked green. I’d never seen that before, and didn’t know what it meant, but doubted it was a good thing. The weather might force my hand. Push me into action. I sure didn’t want to have to fight the razorback in a storm or after dark. The conditions would heavily tip the scales in his favor if I waited too long.
I was so focused on the hog that I made a rookie mistake that nearly cost me my life. I didn’t maintain awareness of the surrounding environment for other threats. The charging female would have wrapped me up in a tackle if I hadn’t heard her feet on the asphalt and immediately moved forward toward the razorback. If I had turned to see what the sound
was, she would have taken me to the ground, but by moving forward I was partially protected by the SUV and she was only able to graze my shoulder with her hand.
She screamed as she flashed past me, scrabbling for traction to turn and press the attack. At the same time the razorback squealed and charged around the back of the Mercedes. Knowing I only had time to get one shot off before both of them were on me, I rolled the dice and put a round into the female’s leg. The bullet shattered her knee, but she didn’t go down. Dashing for the rear of the SUV I rounded the corner as she screamed, turning once I was safely behind the vehicle.
The female was still screaming as she tried to hobble after me, then the razorback arrived. With a blindingly fast movement he lowered his head when he reached the female, slashing upwards as he slammed into her body. She was lifted into the air and flipped over his back, crashing to the road like a rag doll as he stopped and spun around to finish her off.
For a moment I was stunned into immobility at the amount of damage the hog had inflicted with that one slash. Both tusks had pierced the female’s body at groin level, and the upward slash had completely eviscerated her. She was torn open all the way to her neck, blood fountaining into the air from at least two severed arteries.
The razorback ran to the body, stopping and lowering his head to tear open her throat. The shock wore off and I sighted on him, flipping the selector switch to burst. I pulled the trigger, and kept pulling it until I had burned through a full magazine. I think I pulled the trigger a couple of more times after the bolt locked open, but I’m not sure. All I’m sure of is I wanted that damn, monstrous beast dead.
When I lowered my rifle and looked, the hog lay on top of the female’s head, body twitching as he died. She was motionless, and infected or not, her body had been so thoroughly destroyed by his attack that she had not lived more than a few seconds. I stood looking at them for a few, long moments, then shook myself back into motion. First I loaded in a fresh magazine, then with rifle ready to go I stepped out from behind the Lexus and started moving toward the Mercedes.