by Rounds, Mark
“Right now,” said Macklin as he pulled Wesley’s nose towards himself with a half twist, “If I were to stop, your nose would heal and look nearly the same. I have been gentle but like I said, I don’t have the time to spare. Tell me everything you know or I will hand you your nose, perhaps followed by an ear.”
Wesley was in fact more than just a briefing officer, he was the Headquarters Squadron Commander. He did brief the Colonel, but he also controlled the staff functions in the Headquarters and knew just about everything that was going on. Still, he had to give Macklin something or he might not live to see lunch and he still had to keep the faith. He knew Macklin had the contents of his most recent file so maybe he could cast some aspersions on that.
“Look, OK,” said Wesley in what he hoped was a whiney tone. “I have seen some reports about this guy, Strickland. He is a bit of a hermit, works long hours you know? A real workaholic. Anyway, he has published some pretty good stuff in the past but he just got out of a nasty divorce. Folks around him say that now he rants and is a terror to his grad students. He has made some claims and published some papers that some folks say are outrageous or maybe even fabricated. I was going to pass this on the Colonel and tell him to take it with a grain of salt! OOOWWW!!”
“If you are telling the truth,” said Mackin as he released Twitchell, “you’ll probably live to see the end of today. If not, we will infect you and leave you on the roadside to rot. Take him away!”
“So maybe your idea isn’t so good?” asked Ngengi perplexedly after taping Twitchell and tossing him in the back of the bus.
“On the contrary,” said Macklin with way more confidence than he felt, “It confirmed it.”
“That paper pusher just as much as said this Strickland was a fraud,” said a confused Ngengi.
“That’s what he said,” said Macklin buying time to think. “But while you consider him a ‘paper pusher’ he still is an Air Force officer. Tell me, what would it take to get you to tell the enemy obviously valuable information, a little tweak on the nose?”
“No …” said Ngengi, “but I am a warrior!”
“In his eyes,” said Macklin as the idea dawned, “so is he. I am not saying that he’d hold out the way you would have, but I still think he gave in way too easy. I think that was a smoke screen to deflect us.”
“So, what’s in this report?” said Ngengi menacingly.
“That there are other ways to control the infection,” said Macklin. “Specifically, there are drugs that are apparently simple to fabricate that can interfere with the spread of the Plague and can perhaps turn it back. It isn’t a cure, but it is apparently a biochemical means to do what Nergüi does for us and it doesn’t have the side effects of Slash.”
“I warned you about playing both sides,” said Ngengi menacingly.
“I am doing no such thing,” said Macklin quickly. “I am just expanding our options. We will be creating the diversion Nergüi wished. This Strickland is with all the rest of them in Moscow. Their cavalry is out chasing Nergüi as are their motorcyclists, from what fragmentary reports we got from Ölnirsen’s force, they were hit with some serious firepower there too. Moscow is as weak as it is going to get. If we hit Moscow, they will pull away from Nergüi, and I get a crack at the Stricklands.”
“I do not understand this new science,” said Ngengi grudgingly, “but I do understand revenge. I will help you attack Moscow. I will help you find and capture this Robert Strickland because I believe all you intend to do is hurt the people who hurt you. This I understand.”
“Should we kill the ‘Sky Warrior’ now?” asked Ngengi derisively indicating Twitchell.
“Leave him trussed up for now,” said Macklin, “I may need him. Toss him in with The Quiet One. They both may be of use to us.”
“Why do you need that one?” said Ngengi indicating Sayla. “He is strong and dangerous. Give him time and he will escape.”
“He’s insurance,” said Macklin. “Let’s suppose Nergüi escapes but doesn’t capture the General. This way, he will have something to show for all the effort and we are out of the dog house. If he is captured, we have something to barter with to find new patrons if this report isn’t what I think it is. Either way, he is valuable. Tie him well.”
July 11th, Saturday, 5:38 am PDT
Fairchild AFB near Spokane WA
“Colonel Phillips!” shouted Senior Airman Amanda Saunders, the clerk who had been assigned to cover the office in the turmoil after Capt. Twitchell’s capture.
“What … what?” mumbled Colonel Phillips who had been sleeping on his desk. He had been awake until 4:00 am managing the battle and its aftermath and when he fell asleep thirty minutes ago, Amanda just let him sleep.
“There is a radio call from Haven One,” said Airman Saunders, “for you sir. They want you in the command post.”
Phillips got up and sprinted down the hall and then two flights of stairs to the command post. The guard let him in and breathlessly he answered the radio call.
“Haven One, this is Red Rover One,” said Philips. “Sir where are you?”
“We are about fifteen minutes out,” said Haven One over the static filled radio. “We have been calling as we came in as we weren’t sure about your situation.”
“Sir, we have finished mopping up the Infected here about an hour ago,” said Phillip as he checked his watch. “We are in control of the base and everything for a three-mile radius. Let me get word to the folks at the front gate and you can come on in. Have all your lights on and the challenge will be ‘Potato’, and your answer will be ‘Grapefruit.’ Do you copy?”
“Roger, Red Rover One, we copy. We will debrief once we’re secure.”
Fifteen minutes later, Antonopoulos, still wearing the flight suit he put on yesterday at 04:30 was sitting in Phillips briefing room with a cup of hot coffee in his hand.
“Dan, I don’t know where you got the coffee but I am grateful,” said Antonopoulos.
“We have been trading with local merchants for food, medicine, and spare parts,” said Phillips with his own cup warming his hands. “We have managed to pick up a few pounds in trade. It’s pretty valuable when you are horse trading to add a pound of coffee to sweeten the deal.”
“So down to the brass tacks,” said Antonopoulos setting down his cup. “What’s your situation here?”
“We are secure,” said Phillips. “The wire is back up and booby traps are will be placed as soon as the engineers get a little sleep. There are a few isolated Infected roaming inside the perimeter, but as the sun goes up and we get more light, that problem should go away.”
“On the down side, we have sustained significant casualties, beyond our hospital’s ability to handle them. We also have a problem with captives.”
“How so?” asked Antonopoulos perplexedly.
“We have perhaps twenty or so wounded mercenaries,” said Phillips. “But they’re not the problem. We rounded up over five hundred very badly injured Infected. They were mostly naked, indicating that they were very far along with their infection. We couldn’t just leave them and I am not about to give to order to shoot them in cold blood. So, we set a triage in one of the hangars. To control them, we gave some pretty big doses of Slash, even those that we thought were dying. Here is the scary thing. Most of them, even those who were badly burned or lost limbs are recovering.
“The worst of it is, once they get a good dose of Slash, some of them start to become lucid. They are asking where they are. They are appalled at the condition they are in, and they are ravenous.
“We are providing food of course, but even with our recent grain acquisitions, unless we get out and get some harvesting done, it’s going to get hungry out there before spring. In a couple of weeks, even with our limited ability to make it, Slash will also become a problem with a hangar full of infected.”
“I need to get on the sat phone then,” said Antonopoulos. “We are making Slash by the metric ton. We can fix that problem ASAP. I a
lso want to get a heavy weapons company in here. A brace of mortars would have gone a long way toward breaking up that attack.”
“About that sir,” said Phillips diplomatically. “We have had some ‘slow downs’ in communications. They are asking for a lot of repeats and nothing seems to get done.”
“Get me a sat phone,” said Antonopoulos quietly.
It took only a few minutes for Senior Airman Saunders to manage the connection. With the sat phone set up with a recorder, Antonopoulos punched up the Fort Lewis/McChord Control.
“Haven Control,” said Antonopoulos into the microphone, “This is Haven One.”
“Roger Haven One, authenticate Zulu Kilo.”
“Haven One Authenticates Foxtrot Sierra,” said Antonopoulos. “Please put Capt. Lassiter on.”
“I’ll have to check that out with higher,” said the voice on the other end.
“You will do no such thing,” said Antonopoulos forcefully, “I am higher. This conversation is being recorded. Lassiter is on the air in two minutes or when I get back to base, you will be the new latrine officer. Is that clear?”
“Lassiter here,” said Capt Lassiter in significantly less than two minutes. “Sir, I never thought I would say this, but I am damned glad to hear your voice.”
“What’s the situation over there?” asked Antonopoulos.
“It’s … complex sir,” said Lassiter. “I am afraid that there were some serious delays in getting support to our operatives in the field. It took me four hours to convince our Army counterparts that our arrest of General Johnson and his aide were justified. Some were openly hostile about how the sting was carried out. We managed to get some air support up prior to sunset and immobilize parts of the enemy forces, but we were not able to get enough recon up to find you as you well know. I have authorization for some continuing operations today and a dust off for you whenever needed.”
“So, you negotiated some tricky waters without losing your rather legendary temper?” said Antonopoulos.
“Sir, I did make a suggestion to a recalcitrant Army Major that was anatomically improbable,” said Lassiter ruefully.
“You get a pass on that one, Captain,” said Antonopoulos smiling slightly. “Last I heard, I was still commander of the 62nd Airlift Wing. Get my DO, Colonel Henry on the horn and have her lay on a three-ship mission to Fairchild. We will need at least 250 kilos of Slash, an Army Heavy Weapons Company and a significant medical contingent. Get with Colonel Phillips S-4 and find out what other high priority cargo they need. Also, get with medical personnel and have them prep for significant incoming casualties. I will write an After-Action Report upon my return. Finally, get whatever aircraft has been prepped for my dust off airborne. We will load my team and whatever casualties the local teams determine are urgent.”
“I can get all of that in motion, save the Army Heavy Weapons Company,” said Lassiter. “General Bossell is slow walking any requests for support.”
“Make the request politely, in writing, in my name,” said Antonopoulos speaking quietly but very clearly. “I suspect that it will take a few hours to organize this sort of mission from scratch. In any case, don’t launch until I am on base and have had a chance to speak to Bossell personally.”
July 11th, Saturday, 5:54 am PDT
Thornton WA
“Sir, I have a plan to create a diversion,” said Macklin into his phone.
“This had better be good,” said Nergüi who was taking refuge in an abandoned grain elevator along with his reduced force. It was already starting to get hot and it was just dawn. He did not relish the idea of spending the whole day in a tin tube.
“I have acquired some vehicles,” said Macklin quickly, “They are farm trucks and the like and I can move perhaps fifty of my mercenaries fifty or sixty miles. I propose to attack Moscow and draw some of the heat off you.”
“What makes you think you can take it?” asked Nergüi.
“I don’t need to,” said Macklin speaking quickly. “All I need to do is hit them long enough and hard enough to have them pull back some of the forces hounding you. Then you can make your escape. We know that much of their force is out looking for you and the General. They will never be any weaker.”
“When will this attack occur?” asked Nergüi.
“We will need to drive around the position that stopped our first rescue attempt,” said Macklin. “Looking at the map, I figure it will take two hours to get in position. That is really not a serious issue though, because the best time to attack them, and for you to escape, is to wait the day out and then hit them at night. They won’t know how many of us there are. If we do it right, we can exploit the rift between Pullman and Moscow and perhaps get them shooting at each other.”
“I am hiding in a grain bin, in the middle of a farmer’s field,” said Nergüi caustically. “How long do you think it will take for someone to find us? You have to move faster than that.”
“I don’t know how effective a daylight attack will be sir,” said Macklin. “They have significant air assets and will know quite quickly just how small our force is. We will suffer severe casualties, but more importantly, it won’t buy you much time. Then the same air assets will hunt you down as they will already be in the area.”
“Damn it, I recruited you to be smart,” said Nergüi, “think of something!”
“I have an idea,” said Macklin after a moment’s pause. “But I hesitate to mention it. There is a considerable cost involved.”
“Well?!” said Nergüi vehemently, “What is it!?”
“You would have to use ‘The Call’ sir,” said Macklin cautiously. “A few hundred infected roaming around Moscow will mask our force until we are in place to do some real damage. From everything I can glean from our intelligence reports, Moscow has no real perimeter like Fairchild did. There are just not enough people to guard it. So, all they have is roving patrols. They used to be on horseback, but they have a lot of their cavalry out hunting you. It will help.”
“How would you make the attack?” asked a subdued Nergüi.
“I would send the infected in first, let them cause a lot of confusion. Then I would follow with my mercenaries. We would go to the University, as I think they are using those facilities for their HQ and maybe some of the Stricklands are there.”
“So, this is what it’s all about,” said Nergüi with the light dawning. “You’ve been wanting to hit back at the Strickland party for a long time.”
“I won’t lie,” said Macklin with some heat. “I do want to hit back at them, but I wouldn’t risk my health, which would suffer if you could no longer support me. I do need you, like it or not, so no, this isn’t primarily about revenge. It’s about getting you out of danger. If I get some revenge in the meantime, I’m not at all upset about the prospect. It’s the best thing I can think of, off the top of my head, to pull the forces off you and change their focus.”
“You are right,” said Nergüi resignedly. “I will engage The Call.”
Macklin was smiling as he broke the connection. Now that he knew Nergüi, he found he was easy to manipulate. This attack could actually show him a way out of bondage.
July 11th, Saturday, 11:02 am PDT
US Highway 195 just north of Steptoe WA
“JD,” said Dave Tippet, “we have been moving at a snail’s pace since leaving Steptoe. We need to move faster. We’re going to take the motorized portion of our forces here and head down that road. I am hoping we can get some drones or something in the air to find out where the bad guys are.”
“Kind of leaves us behind sir,” said JD.
“It does,” said Dave. “We have found a pickup with some gas in it. The one you and Connor showed us from Hunseid’s place. We were going to load our casualties in it and have them head back to Pullman. I have been on the phone to higher. They suggest you scout out to the west. They say that our BACA friends bounced a bus headed from here towards the site where the Army choppers hit the armored cars. There might be s
ome stragglers you can pick up for intel.”
“We need to spend some time caring for our horses,” said JD. “They have been grazing and all, but these horses don’t do well unless they have grain and more water than they are getting.”
“Can you get what you need here?” asked Dave.
“Sure, it will just take some time,” said JD. “It’s not like a car that you can park and have it ready to use.”
“Then go ahead and do whatever it is you do,” said Dave. “Then start working west. Hopefully, we’ll get some air assets up and you can head home, but until we do, you will be our eyes and ears.”
“That’s always been the job of the Cavalry sir,” said JD with a smile. “We’ll be fine. I’d love one of those fancy sat phones you have, but we were told they were limited.”
“Yeah, we have like ten percent of what we need,’ said Dave ruefully.
“We’ll just do it old school,” said JD pointing to a bank of mailboxes by the road. “We will leave messages in that mail box over there, the blue one. If I think you need to know fast, I’ll dispatch a rider to Moscow and they can use your sat phone. Anything else sir?”
“That about covers it,” said Dave extending his hand. “It’s been a pleasure and an honor to serve with you Sergeant.”
“Same applies Major,” said JD grasping Dave’s hand for a firm shake. “See you back at the ranch.”
Chapter 4
July 11th, Saturday, 7:38 am PDT
Fairchild AFB near Spokane WA
“Thank you for coming personally to talk to me General Bossell,” said Antonopoulos carefully as they met at the rather shot up Base Ops building. The engines on the CH-47 that had been sent for Antonopoulos were still spooling down and the chocks were not yet in place. “I will not hide the fact that I am unhappy with how Captain Lassiter was supported.”
“I didn’t think you would be, General,” said Bossell with a slight emphasis on the General. Antonopoulos was not sure how he meant it and was not in a mood to trifle with innuendo.