by Alan, TS
Julie raised her hand.
“Yes, Julie.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier to drive up?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know what the damage to roads or bridges may be. It’s a four hour drive in the best conditions. None of us knows what’s out there. We could run into a lot of half-mutes or another bunch of idiots who want to shoot anything they can find. At least by water we should be able to avoid some dangers.”
I acknowledged David.
“I think there is a fundamental flaw in your plan… the locks.”
“Locks?”
“Yeah, the locks on the Hudson. Sarasota Springs is quite a ways up the Hudson. I don’t know much about the river but I know there are locks. Are we going to be able to navigate the lock system?”
Locks. I had been camping at the state park in Staatsburg, New York, which was located along the Hudson River. I distinctly remembered watching tugboats push barges up and down the river, but I never recalled seeing any locks. It seems my plan was falling apart.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, responding to David’s nautical query. “I don’t even know if the ship is still there. Someone could have already used it to escape.”
“We could look,” Sam interjected. “And if I can get it running we could take a test trip up the Hudson to see what obstacles we’d have to overcome. We’d probably need to check out the town before we’d want to relocate anyways.”
“Does that mean we’re in agreement, in principle? A vote then. All in favor raise a hand.”
It was unanimous, with exception to Dr. France who didn’t raise his hand at nay either. We would check out the possibility.
“Okay, before we conclude this meeting there was one other item I want to bring to your attention. I talked to Ryan a little while ago and he told me he had others with him, others that still may be alive. Even though they made him leave, he wants to know if we would consider rescuing them? He’d like to go with us, since he feels they may trust him more than a lot of guys with guns. Seems they’ve been avoiding that group we ran into for some time. Hands for yes… great. Then 0700 tomorrow for a mission briefing and a 0900 departure. Okay. Meeting dismissed, unless there is something else… no? Then next meeting, say two days from now over lunch. Thank you.”
* * *
It took Sam only ten minutes to access the condition of the ship. My plan was sunk by his report.
“It’s a six-cylinder Winton diesel engine,” he said, as he wiped his hands off on a rag. “But it needs a complete rebuild. That’s the good news. The bad is the fuel tanks are empty and rusty, the electrics are shot, the steerage is busted, and there’s only a small storage closet forward… but if it makes you feel better it’s not taking on any water. Sorry J.D., I’d need six months to refurbish it with an experienced crew of four. I’d also need a good machine shop, chainfalls, comealongs, and jacks. It’s just not going to happen.”
* * *
The news was bad, but not as bad as the news Ryan had received. At Ryan’s appeal, Kermit, David, and I went to the Theatre at St. Clement’s to see about those who he had been hiding with. In an upstairs room we found six men and one woman savagely mutilated and shot in their heads execution style. On the far wall, scrawled in the victims’ blood, were the words, “BABEs iN The WOOd”. We were sure who had done it: the same gang who had tied Ryan up as bait for the half-mutes, and most likely the ones who had tried to seize the armory. It wasn’t until much later that I would understand what the cryptic message meant.
* * *
There was no other ship we could use. The Lettie G. Howard and the Pioneer schooners were gone. So was the tugboat W.O. Decker and the wooden hulled Marion M. The Wavertree and The Peking were still docked in port, but they were ocean ships and too large to navigate the upper Hudson even if they had been operational. The Helen McAllister, another tug, was non-operational, and too small. It appeared we’d have to do a reconnaissance of Mechanicville by vehicle. And it was best if we did it not by one Stryker, but by two. It was time that the rest of the team learned how to operate one, since Sam was the only one who knew how.
It took us only a few hours to get a hang of driving “the Cadillac,” but much longer to learn the computer interfaces of the command center. Some of the communication and troop location systems we simply wouldn’t or couldn’t use. The onboard weapons system was easier than it appeared, which made me wonder. If Marisol had figured out that she needed to acquire target distance through the laser range finder before she could fire accurately, why didn’t Joe figure it out?
In all the time we made our daily trips around the eastern part of Manhattan, we didn’t find any survivors, and the beacon hadn’t attracted anyone else. It had been nearly two weeks and we were readying for our recon trip in two days.
X. God Save the Queen
October 13th. I read over my journals, all five volumes.
It was still somewhat surrealistic to me that the people I had known and loved and called friends were gone. I decided not to continue writing journal entries for history’s sake, but for my own personal need.
We made contact with our own military in England. They were coming to get us.
* * *
Sam called me over the internal PA system he had successfully repaired. The words, “J.D., J.D., come to the command center immediately. I have radio contact,” were words that I really believed I would never hear. I had never thought about survivors in England, but I should have since it was where the CCR-5 Receptor gene originated.
“Okay, Sam, I’m here,” I said as I bolted into the room, the others following.
“Listen,” he joyfully said, then put the radio on speaker.
It was chatter. It was military chatter. It was an English voice from a base called RAF Croughton.
I was astounded. “Okay. I hear it. I don’t believe it, but I hear it. So who is it?”
“It’s RAF Croughton,” Sam informed us.
“Yeah, I heard that,” I replied. “But who is it?”
“I don’t know. I mean I know, but it’s wrong.”
“Sam.”
“RAF Croughton. It’s supposed to be a United States Air Force Base in England. Its home to the 422nd Air Base Group and one of Europe’s largest U.S. military switchboards that processes a third of communications in Europe. But those aren’t Americans; they’re English. It sounds more like the Royal Air Force Command, which doesn’t make sense since that’s RAF Wycombe.”
“So, did you ask them?”
“No. I just heard it and called you. I thought you should make contact.”
I disagreed. “Me? I can’t pull off being military. Kermit, you should handle this. You’re truly the senior here.”
“I don’t know any of that radio protocol. I’m a chef, remember?”
“Sam. You do it. You know about radios,” I told him, but made it more of a request than an order.
“I only know HAM radio etiquette. I’ve never communicated over a military channel. You’re our leader.”
“C’mon, no one is going to believe me. I only know Charlie Foxtrot, How Copy, and Over and Out.”
Kermit responded with an affirmation to my ability.
“You’ll do fine, and I’ll be right here to help, but I’d go with an MOS 18D.”
“See! I have no idea what that even means.”
“Medical Sergeant First Class,” Sam said, and then announced, “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll make initial contact but they’re going to want to talk with the base commander… and that’s you!”
“Fine, fine.”
“I need the base designation.”
“It was, is, uh… MEDCOM FOB NYC,” I answered.
Sam began his transmission. “RAF Croughton, RAF Croughton. This Is MEDCOM FOB. How copy? Over.”
There was silence. Sam repeated his call. “I Say Again. RAF Croughton this is MEDCOM FOB NYC. How copy?”
There was a momentary silence again, and then a static-y repl
y.
“This is RAF Croughton. Say again.”
The operator’s voice was thick with its foreign accent, perhaps Scottish.
“RAF Croughton. This is MEDCOM FOB, NYC. Over.”
“Say again. Transmission unclear.”
Sam tuned the radio and repeated his message.
“I say again. This is MEDCOM FOB NYC. I spell. Mike-Edward-David-Charlie-Oscar-Mike. Break. Foxtrot-Oscar-Bravo. Break. November-Yankee-Charlie. How copy? Over.”
I commented to Kermit and Sam, “And you two thought I could do this.”
Croughton responded, “Transmission clear. Go ahead.”
“This is Corporal Samuel Drukker, U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Flight Leftenant Clay MacTarnaghan, acting communications officer for the USAF 4-2-2 ABG. Go ahead.”
He wasn’t an American officer; the leftenant confirmed it.
“Our NCO needs to chat with your CO.” Sam inquired, “Is there a U.S. Base Commander or any U.S. military officer present?”
“Affirmative, MEDCOM FOB. He’s on his way. Wait out. Over.”
Sam ended with, “Roger.”
Sam had to clarify with whom he was conversing. The leftenant was from the 422nd Air Base Group and that wait out meant that transmission would pause for more than a few seconds. Sam knew more about military communications than he let on.
We waited only a few moments before RAF Croughton called us. It was the lieutenant again.
“MEDCOM FOB. This Is RAF Croughton. How copy? Over.”
“Transmission clear. Go ahead Croughton.”
“Our CO is standing by. Over.”
“Roger. Go ahead Croughton. Standing by.”
Sam motioned me on, and cautioned me with, “Never use, ‘Repeat.’ That’s for artillery.”
A voice came over the speaker. It was an American voice. “This is Major Russ Ramsey, United States Air Force, 5th Fighter Wing, RAF Crougthon. MEDCOM FOB I will need you to authenticate. Over.”
“It’s a test,” Sam blurted out. “Even if they did have a challenge-response authentication with this base, codes are only valid ordinarily for twenty four hours. So you can’t authenticate.”
I took the microphone “Major Ramsey, the challenge-response authentication has expired, and I wasn’t privy to it when it was valid. So you’re going to have to take my word that we are who we say we are.
“Very good. Please identify yourself and proceed with your transmission.”
“Affirmative, Major. I am Army Medical Sergeant First Class J.D. Nichols, Special Forces 5th Regiment… Medical Command, Forward Operating Base, New York City is a joint operation of Special Forces and the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. We have re-established our position in the 69th Regiment Armory in Manhattan. We are conducting search and rescue operations and medical treatment from this base. Over.”
The major was skeptical. “Sergeant, MEDCOM FOB, New York was lost several days into the plaque. All remaining personnel were evacuated. Over.”
“Affirmative, Major. But not all military personnel got evac’d out of the city. So you’re going to have to take my word that we are who we say we are. Over.”
“If this is true, may I speak to your commanding officer? Over.”
“Major. I am the NCO of this base and operation. There are only three of us remaining, myself and two members of the Army Medical Institute.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Sergeant. Since I cannot verify or disprove your identity, I will give you the benefit of the doubt since you are broadcasting on a secure band. How may I be of assistance?”
I was surprised. Had we actually fooled them?
“You can get us the hell out of here, sir. MEDCOM is a Charlie Foxtrot. We have come under attack by armed and hostile civilians, presumed to be former corrections inmates. We are outnumbered and will not be able to hold the base if we incur another assault. The city has also been infected with a secondary plague, a mutation of the Trixoxen virus. We have designated the new plague victims as half-mutes. They are extremely violent and extremely dangerous. Over.”
The major questioned my knowledge in regard to the plague. “Sergeant. You seem to have details about the plague that we don’t know. Can you explain? Over.”
“Major Ramsey, I could, but that would take a very long time. Let me just tell you that the information comes from the USMRIID. Can you tell me about your situation? We are surprised to hear English voices over the comm. Over.”
“At this time all U.S. Military bases but Croughton have been abandoned. We have consolidated our remaining forces here. Unfortunately we are less than sixty in both ground and air. However, the English seem to have faired better. They have sent us reinforcements from High Wycombe. Most of England is under control as are Scotland and Wales. Ireland has been evacuated. Joint Operational Forces have set up border check points for refugees as well as sea patrols off the coast. At this time more of the population, as well as Coalition Forces are succumbing to a new outbreak. We still have not found a cure. Over.”
“Roger, Major Ramsey. I might have a solution to that problem. We believe we have an antivirus for the secondary infection. It was developed by a civilian doctor attached to the MRIID. I have specimens, serums and all the data. I am requesting immediate evac of all base personnel and civilians. Over.”
Marisol nudged me.
“And two dogs. Over.”
“Say again. Did you say two dogs, Sergeant? We will not be able to transport any animals. Over.”
“With all due respect, sir. That is non-negotiable. One is my search and rescue canine and the other is a rescue dog in training. I must insist they be evacuated with the rest of us. Over.”
“Affirmative, Sergeant. I’m sure we can make arrangements. How many people do we need to evacuate?”
The doctor waved his hands frantically. I didn’t respond to the Major’s question.
“Under no circumstances will I leave. I need to stay and help whoever I can,” Doctor France adamantly stated.
“Me too,” Ryan added. “I need to see about people too.”
The Major repeated his message.
“MEDCOM FOB. How copy? How many for evacuation. Over.”
Sam told me, “Tell them, ‘Wait Out.’”
“Sorry, Croughton. I was just discussing the matter with the corporal. Possibly eight, depending if all the civilians wish to relocate.”
“Is the doctor who developed the cure one of your civilians?”
I paused momentarily to think of a response.
“Negative, Major. The doctor forgot to inject himself. He turned into a half-mute. Over.”
“Understood, Sergeant. Please relay pickup coordinates for rendezvous.”
“Colonel, we will need a few hours to determine a place. What is the mode of pickup? Over.”
“We can transport into Stewart ANGB Newburgh, New York with a C-17, then air evac you out of Manhattan by bird. Over.”
“Roger, Major. We’ll call you back at… Quick, Kermit, what’s military time zone for New York?”
“Romeo.”
“1800 Romeo with pickup coordinates,” I said again into the radio. “Over.”
“Understood MEDCOM. 1800 hours Romeo. Out.”
“MEDCOM FOB out.”
I turned to everyone.
“I don’t believe it! They believed us. Except they’re never going to believe I’m Special Forces.”
“You did fine, son. The Air Force isn’t going to know you’re not who you say you are. You’re Army Special Forces. Those guys never talk about what they do or where they’ve been anyways, all classified. You have the medical background for an 18D and the rest is a lot of saluting with ‘yes, sir.’”
“This isn’t going to work. I have no dog tags, no military ID, nothing. I’m going to have to tell them who I am. If I get caught they’ll probably shoot me.”
“As fa
r as I’m concerned you are who you say you are and that’s exactly what I’ll tell anyone who asks. You are a Medical Sergeant First Class, Army Special Forces 5th Regiment detached to the MRIID. You think if they found out whom Sam and I really are they wouldn’t blame the whole end of the world on us? On second thought, maybe none of us should go. Maybe Mechanicville is our best choice.”
“In that case we need to leave. We already told them about the cure. If we don’t call them back at 1800 hours they’ll come anyways.”
“Hell, they’re probably on the way right now,” Kermit said.
“All right. It’s about two thirty. That gives us three and a half hours to come up with a plan. Ryan and Dick. Please, my office. Sam. We’re gonna need those maps out of the Stryker, and I hope you can read them. Everyone else, how about a meeting in a half hour? We need to figure out a pickup point whether we go or not. At least they deserve the cure.”
“Congratulations on your demotion,” David said, as Julie held onto his waist hugging him. “Guess I’ll have to call you Sergeant Hulka, instead of colonel, or should we just call you Snake?”
“You’re a laugh a minute, DD.”
* * *
“Don’t tell me you can fix this. That would be a movie cliché. There’s no one left to save except ourselves. The beacon has only attracted hostiles. Don’t you two get it? There’s no one left to rescue. Doc, your survival calculations are wrong and you didn’t factor in the second mutation. If that hasn’t killed everyone then those lunatics who attacked us a few weeks ago will finish the job.”
“There is no point in discussing this. I will not leave.”
“Dick, we discussed this at our meeting. You sat there and the only thing you said was, ‘And why is that?’ We need to go no matter what. It’s Mechanicville or England.”
He was adamant in his decision.
“No. We need more time! We have only had the beacon on a short time. Maybe people are coming from a long distance. Or perhaps it is they are taking longer than expected, having to avoid the half-mutes and guys with the guns.”