by Dirk Patton
46
Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Jason Whiteman grimaced as he stretched in the pilot’s seat of the United States’ last operational B-2 bomber. He was the commander of the primary crew, the relief having relinquished control when they were given the order to execute Operation War Hammer.
Behind him, in a sealed bay, was a pair of two-thousand pound GBUs. The operation only called for the use of one of the weapons, but if he received word from the SEALs on the ground that there had been a miss, or a failure to detonate, he had a backup.
Currently, they were flying at nearly sixty thousand feet, approaching Sydney from the southwest. Several first stage alarms blinked continuously, warning the pilot that the aircraft’s sophisticated electronics had detected the Russian’s anti-air radar. As long as they didn’t reach the next stage, and begin screaming at him, he was happy.
At the moment, the system was simply alerting him to the fact that enemy radar energy was present. But if they went to the second stage, that would mean they had been detected and were being tracked. It would only be a matter of a few seconds at that point before the Russians began firing missiles. If that happened, they were more than likely dead.
They were alone. Had made the long journey from Hawaii without fighter protection. Only a hulking KC-135 tanker had accompanied them, and it was now waiting for their return, flying a racetrack pattern near the coast of New Zealand. So, detection wasn’t an option.
“Sir, War Hammer team reports target is painted,” the mission commander, sitting where a co-pilot normally would, reported.
“Copy, target is painted,” Whiteman responded.
He quickly scanned the instruments, verifying their position, heading and speed. While he did this, the mission commander double checked that the JDAM was still receiving GPS guidance.
When the bomb was released, it would adjust its initial flight to target based on the geographic coordinates already programmed in. When it passed through forty thousand feet, it would begin looking for reflected laser energy. Finding that, it would disregard the GPS data and ride the beam of light to impact with its target.
“Five minutes to release,” Whiteman said, the mission commander echoing him an instant later.
Time slowed down for the two men as they approached the release point. While the pilot continually monitored the instruments, the mission commander kept his eyes glued to the readouts from the computer within the JDAM controller.
“Two minutes to release,” Whiteman said.
This time, before the mission commander could confirm the information, a raucous siren began sounding within the cockpit.
“We are being tracked by enemy fire control radar,” the pilot said as calmly as if were discussing what they should have for dinner.
“Opening bay doors,” the mission commander said, ignoring the shrill warning.
Missile lock… Missile lock
An automated voice sounded a warning. Whiteman verified their altitude and performed a quick calculation in his head. They were out of time.
“Release payload!” he said.
“Release payload,” the mission commander responded, pressing two buttons before turning a small key on his panel. “Payload released!”
Whiteman was already turning before the man finished speaking the final word. Throwing the bomber into a corkscrewing descent, he ordered the release of countermeasures. The mission commander activated the system, dumping tens of thousands of aluminum coated glass fibers into the air.
They immediately fanned out, creating a large cloud in the bomber’s wake that was intended to confuse enemy radar and allow them to escape. And that’s exactly what it did for several seconds. But the networked transmitters from several Russian ships were able to see past it, redirecting the speeding anti-aircraft missiles back onto target.
As Whiteman put the large bomber through a series of maneuvers that the original designers would have said were impossible, the first missile streaked past the windscreen and continued on to fall harmlessly into the sea. An instant behind it, the second of four missiles that had been fired detonated immediately adjacent to the B-2’s cockpit.
The windscreen was torn away and both men were killed instantly. With the complete loss of control and the sudden change in aerodynamics, the bomber began to tumble and the wings quickly sheared off as it fell to Earth.
-----
Nitro stood with Lucas, Smyth, Bunny, Goose and Monk in the Royal Botanic Gardens parking lot, eyes glued to the distant top of Barinov’s building. Two of the SEALs had gone to the roof of the office building, setting up and activating the laser designator. The rest of the team had placed themselves in strategic positions to prevent anyone from reaching the roof and interfering with the operation.
The men standing around in the parking lot hadn’t been needed, and had grudgingly agreed to stay behind and be nothing more than spectators. Only a few seconds ago, they’d seen the two Russian guided missile boats in the harbor each fire a pair of anti-air missiles. Following their paths, they had clearly seen the detonation of one of them bloom brightly in the daytime sky.
Hoping the bomber had managed to drop its payload, they refocused their attention on the target and waited. The two-thousand-pound bomb was too far away and falling much too fast for them to see it. But the resulting explosion was impossible to miss.
The building occupied by Barinov suddenly erupted, debris thrown hundreds of feet into the air as it vanished in a cloud of smoke and dust. It was several seconds before the sound of the blast reached them, rumbling across the city like distant thunder.
There were no secondary explosions, or if there were they were too small to be observed from their location. Within seconds, the massive cloud obscured the entire area where the building had been. Nitro took a deep breath and exhaled in relief. Lucas heard him and spoke without taking his eyes off the devastation in the distance.
“Don’t relax just yet, mate. We’ve got to see if the nerve gas is going to release or not.”
“I don’t get it,” Smyth said. “Thought we was all vaccinated. What’s the worry?”
“Vaccination is only for the virus. Doesn’t protect against the nerve agent itself,” Nitro grumbled.
Smyth gave him a confused look.
“Just trust me,” Nitro said, not in the mood to give any more of an explanation.
They stayed in the park, waiting for the SEALs to return. The plan was to immediately leave the city and return to Lucas’s compound. No one had any idea what they were going to do after that, but one step at a time. Half an hour later, the Rover screeched to a stop in the parking lot.
Commander Sherman got out, the rest of the men joining him. None were smiling. They’d just been doing a job and this victory didn’t undo any of the harm that had been done to the world.
“No gas yet,” Sherman said, drawing a sharp glance from Lucas.
“Better come hear this!” Smyth shouted.
He’d grown bored and taken a seat in the van to listen to the radio. The men quickly gathered around as he turned up the volume. A breathless announcer was speaking quickly, warning people to stay where they were. Nerve gas had been released in Melbourne and Canberra and the authorities feared the worst for the fate of Sydney.
“Oh, fuck me,” Bunny said, pointing at the western horizon.
They couldn’t see the bodies of the eight ICBMs that had been launched from a Russian submarine, but the fiery tails were clearly visible as they climbed into the sky.
“There’s only one place those can be heading,” Lucas said quietly.
“This is it,” Nitro said, looking around at the horrified faces of the men.
Thoughts of his family spurred Lucas to action.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here!” he said, running for the driver’s side of the Rover.
Slowly, the other men began to move, dividing themselves between the two vehicles. Nitro was about to step into the back of the Rover when a strangled coug
h caused him to turn. Three of the SEALs were on the asphalt, writhing in pain. He stared in shock as one by one, they screamed as their eyes protruded from their skulls. Moments later, each man struggled to his feet and began stumbling forward with gurgling snarls.
“Get in!” Lucas screamed, the Rover already in gear.
Nitro stepped in and slammed the door as Lucas floored the gas and ripped through a tight turn to head for the exit. Beside him, Master Chief Baldwin suddenly grabbed his head, crying out in pain. An instant later, Lucas did the same. The now unpiloted vehicle swerved and crashed into a light pole, flipping onto its side.
Nitro struck his head on the metal door frame and was stunned. The vehicle ground to a halt, steam from the ruptured radiator venting. For several seconds, he couldn’t move. Could only hear the horrible sounds within the Rover. Finally, his head cleared and he turned to shove the weight of Baldwin to the side. He came face to face with the Master Chief’s blood red eyes, unable to get his hands up in time to prevent the snapping teeth from tearing out his throat.
47
Ian Patterson and Agent Johnson stood in the control room on the Athena Platform. Together, they watched the various data feeds that were coming from Pearl Harbor, relayed by the USS Ronald Reagan which was steaming twenty miles to the south.
They had watched the successful bombing of Barinov’s building in Australia. Hopes for the possibility of a future beyond the confines of the converted oil platform were dashed in a matter of minutes when the release of nerve gas in multiple Australian cities began to become apparent. Then, the blooms of fire as a Russian ballistic missile submarine launched eight ICBMs.
The missiles were still in flight, already past their apogee. It was only a matter of a few minutes before they would reach their target and wipe Hawaii off the face of the planet. The Director had spoken briefly with Captain West after the launch, ending the call with a tight expression on his face.
“They thought they had destroyed all of Russia’s launch capability,” he said to Johnson. “They were apparently mistaken.”
“Can they intercept?” Johnson asked.
The Director was already shaking his head.
“Perhaps as many as two. If they’re lucky.”
They turned when the door behind them opened and a tall man walked into the room. He was accompanied by a stunningly beautiful blonde woman.
“Agent Bering,” the Director said. “We have a mission for you.”
He didn’t elaborate, turning back to watch the tracks of the missiles targeting Hawaii. A moment before the first one merged with the surface of the island of Oahu, the feed cut off.
Afterword
If you haven’t read the book yet, and jumped right here to the Afterword… STOP READING NOW! There’s a HUGE spoiler coming, and you won’t be happy if you read it first.
First, I want to thank SH for his wonderful suggestions! They led to some of the plot twists in this installment of the series. I’m not sure my mind would have gone there, and I’m pleased with the result.
Chapter 43 was, without a doubt, the hardest thing I have ever written. Full disclosure, I choked up when Dog died. Funny how I can write about the deaths of friends and loved ones, even the demise of the entire planet, and go on about my business. But when it was Dog’s time, I was done for the day. Had to stand up, wash the dust out of my eyes and get away from the computer for a while. Went and played ball with Dog until I felt better.
I’m still not sure what that says about me. Don’t really care. I am what I am, but it did give me pause. Perhaps I’m finally reaching a level of maturity where introspection enters into the mix. Maybe? Nah.
So, what comes next? Yes, there is going to be a book 15. After the final chapter, I suspect anyone who has read my 36 series thinks they have a pretty good idea of what’s going to happen. Well, by now you should realize that nothing ever works the way it should in my world. Remember, if it can go wrong, it probably will. And if you haven’t read 36 and its sequel, The Void, you might want to do so before book 15 is released. It will help fill in the blanks, plus both books are damn good reads, if I do say so myself!
Regardless, never fear. I’m not done with the V Plague characters quite yet. At least not all of them.
I’m constantly asked when the series will be over. I receive reviews on Amazon, emails and Facebook messages from people who think it should have already ended. Why? What’s the need to wrap something up if there’s more to tell, and it is still compelling? Sure, we all know what happens when something good sticks around too long. It’s kind of like fish or house guests. Eventually it grows old and starts to stink up the place. (Analogy, folks. Not a dig at anyone who has ever come for a visit).
Steadfastly, I have always responded that the series will end when the story reaches a natural conclusion. I remember a couple of years ago, when I was writing Transmission (book 5), I was seriously contemplating making it the end. But Dog just kept whispering in my ear, telling me what to write. So here we are with book 14 and number 15 already rolling around in my head. And I can’t tell you how many more after that, if any.
Before I published my first novel, I read numerous articles and books about how to be a writer. In hindsight, they were mostly a waste of time, but that’s beside the point. What I recall clearly is that every single one of them insisted that an aspiring author map out the story arc before sitting down to write. They unanimously claimed that without a blueprint or roadmap, there was no way to effectively manage the plot. I’m very glad I didn’t take any of the advice, or this series would have likely ended after four or five installments.
All of this is said for a reason. The point being, I have no clue when the day will come when I pull the plug on the series. The only commitment I have made is that I’ll end it when the story ends, or when I no longer enjoy immersing myself in this world. But we’re not there yet. So, hang on and let’s enjoy the ride while it lasts!
DP
Table of Contents
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