“Well, I…” Carver started.
“Sorry, Carver. But Shader told me to tell you this. Stay the hell home. We’ll handle it, and if he sees you anywhere but back at your house, he said he’ll take Shrek away from you.”
Lazzaro seemed to enjoy giving him the news like that.
“I don’t think I like your attitude,” Carver said, smiling. “I’m only letting you live because Shader made you say that. Did it feel good talking to me that way?”
“Yes, it did,” Lazzaro said before running out of the room.
Hope began to laugh. “I think you scared him.”
“Good. I don’t ever want them to lose their fear of me.”
“Well. I’m not afraid of you, Petty Officer Carver. Even though Shader outranks you.”
“The only thing he outranks me on these days is his body odor,” Carver snorted. “You should have smelt what he did back on the base. I really need to tell you about it.”
“Maybe some other time,” she purred, grabbing his hand.
She led him out through the kitchen’s double doors. The large facility was empty.
“Wait, I don’t have my food.”
“Don’t worry. I have an oven if you need to warm it back up.”
“What are you doing?” he said, smiling.
She opened a private office door and pulled him in. She whispered, “I need to know that you’re the real Carver.”
He closed the door.
When they finally came back out, she had to reheat his meal.
— 9 —
Captain Howard Everly
Seahawk One
“I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”
― Albert Einstein
The Seahawk tightly circled the airbase as the Osprey deposited its cargo on the runway. He looked out with pride as his girlfriend performed a perfect maneuver, releasing the fuel bladder just as it touched the concrete. She banked gracefully to the side and set down in one, smooth motion. Within a few seconds, the three MOAs had sprinted down the craft’s rear drop-down hatch. A moment later, she lifted off and began her own racetrack pattern around the base.
“She can fly the hell out of that thing,” the Seahawk’s pilot said over the craft’s internal radio.
“That she can,” Everly replied.
The Seahawk swooped over the runway. A fuel pump and other equipment were attached with nylon straps to the underside of the helicopter, swinging on a pallet attached to the Seahawk’s grapple anchor. The pilot hovered above the fuel bladder and descended with a bit less grace than Donaldson. He managed to deposit the cargo in an upright position. Within a few more seconds, the Seahawk descended and Everly was on the ground, running over to the pump.
He did a quick inspection and confirmed it had arrived undamaged. He gave the helicopter pilot a thumbs-up and the craft lifted into the sky to provide further protection.
“Come on, help me here,” Everly said.
Jacobs and Gardner helped him move the pump over to the fuel truck. Hoses were connected and a battery jumper was hooked up to the truck.
Within a few minutes, Avgas was flowing into the bladder.
Everly took the battery jumper over to the nearest helicopter. It was a SuperCobra, the Bell AH-1Z Viper. Just like the one he’d flown in the past.
He moved to the bird and unlatched the Viper’s dome. He dropped a small door down that acted like a footstool and stepped up and leaned into the cockpit. A few moments of inspection confirmed the battery was dead.
He dropped down and removed a side cowling that covered the engine’s compartment.
“Hey, Everly!” Jacobs shouted.
“Yeah. Is the bladder full already?”
“Not yet,” he replied. “Your wife is on the radio. She said to ask you, ‘What in the hell do you think you’re doing?’ She said to use those exact words.”
“She’s not my wife, and I can’t hear you,” Everly replied as he hooked the battery jumper up. The portable 24v battery had a 32000mAh capacity. It had been fully charged before leaving the ship. It should have enough juice left to get the SuperCobra into the air.
Everly glanced at the internal magazine for his 20mm cannon. If he could start the bird, his computer would let him know how many of the blue-tipped rounds had been loaded.
“Captain!” Jacobs shouted. “You really need to talk to Captain Donaldson!”
“You can talk to her, Jacobs.”
Everly jumped into the pilot’s seat. He switched on the main power and was rewarded with the computer’s startup routine.
“Come on, baby. Spin me up.”
“Sir! Captain Donaldson needs to speak to you, now,” Jacobs said.
“In a minute. Just keep talking to her.”
“Sir, I can’t. She’s sounds really pissed off.”
“Sorry, Jacobs. Tell her I’ll call her back in a minute.”
Everly checked the weapon’s display. He had almost six hundred 20mm rounds in the hopper along with a full fuel tank. He jumped back out of the cockpit and did a visual inspection of the craft. Satisfied that all the hatches were locked down and the runway was devoid of debris, he walked over to the bladder and checked the pump’s progress.
“Another few minutes and we’ll be ready to go,” he said.
“Here, sir,” Jacobs said, handing the radio to Everly. He shoved the device into Everly’s hands like it was radioactive.
“Osprey One. This is Seahawk Three actual. Over,” Everly said.
“Damn it, Howard. What the hell are you doing?”
Everly cringed. Donaldson hadn’t used their call signs. She was really pissed. He momentarily thought about lying to her. Maybe he could tell her he was just reminiscing about his old aircraft. But that would be far worse in the end. He decided that brutal honesty would be the way to go.
“Erin, I’m taking the Viper.”
“The hell you are. It hasn’t been inspected in God knows how long and it’s been out on the runway for over six months. That thing’s going to kill you when it suddenly decides to stop working.”
She was right. But he had to try.
“I’m sorry, Erin. I’ve cleared this with Captain Thieriot. I’m taking her.”
The radio remained silent. It couldn’t have been worse. She might even kick him out of their room when he got back to the Valley, but he needed this. Everly was a Marine pilot, not a slow-stick Seahawk driver. He needed to be relevant. He needed to fly the damn thing and use his skills. He could learn to pilot the Seahawk, but that would be like giving him a family van after driving a Porsche his whole life.
“Osprey One. This is Seahawk Three actual. I love you. Out,” Everly finally said, then handed the radio back to Jacobs.
He checked the fuel pump’s output and shut the machine down. They were at eighteen hundred gallons. Everly sealed the bladder and Jacobs called the Osprey down to pick up the load.
He sprinted over to the Viper, bringing Gardner with him. “When I give you the signal, unhook the cables. Then close the cowling and latch it into place.”
Gardner gave him a perplexed look, and Everly unhooked the jumper cable then closed and latched the engine compartment. He reached down, slapped the booster door back into the helicopter’s frame, then showed Gardner where the cockpit latches were located.
“Gotcha,” Gardner said. “I can do that.”
Everly reopened the cowling and reattached the external battery. He reopened the small hatch below the cockpit and the small step dropped back down. He used this to crawl into the rear pilot’s seat.
“Close the cockpit and button me up,” he said.
Gardner latched the glass cowling and snapped the step back into place. Everly began the startup sequence. As the Viper began its electronic ignition, Everly said a silent prayer that the jumper battery would have enough juice to start the bird. His four-blade main rotor began to slowly rotate and within a few mo
ments, the bird started producing its own juice. The engine began to whine as the turboshaft engine came up to speed.
Everly gave Gardner a thumbs-up. Gardner detached the jumper battery and latched the engine’s cowling into place before jogging over to the others.
“Osprey One, this is Seahawk One. We have movement to the south. Over.”
“Cut the crap, Seahawk One. What’s got you spooked? Over.” Donaldson spat out as she flared to land near the bladder.
“Ma’am. It’s Variants. A lot of them. They’re coming out of the buildings down by the harbor. It looks like a hive of pissed-off wasps coming your way. Over.”
“How many, Seahawk? Over.”
“Even if I empty my racks, there are too many for me to stop. Over,” he replied.
“What’s their ETA? Over.”
“You’ve got maybe ninety seconds before they get there. Over.”
Everly could hear all this. He had the pilot’s helmet on. Even though it was a bit big for him, it fit well enough to use the visor’s HUD and the craft’s “see and shoot” cannon.
He switched fire control to the pilot’s station. Normally, the weapon’s officer sat in front of him and would control the Viper’s weapons systems while he flew the bird in the back. But in the military, redundancy was the rule. The Viper could be flown, or weapons controlled, exclusively from either position. Just in case one of its crew was incapacitated or, in this case, wasn’t present.
He gave his engines some more juice, and it lifted slightly off the pad. He threw the Viper left and right, testing its tilt and yaw. He lifted the nose up and dropped it down to measure its pitch. The bird flew as expected.
“Seahawk One, this is designation Viper One. Let me handle this. Over.”
“They’re all yours, Viper One,” the Seahawk pilot replied. “I’d suggest you get a move on it. They’re coming in fast and hot. Over.”
“I’m on my way. Viper One, out.”
Everly lifted and tilted forward, sending the attack helicopter rushing to the south. He checked his 20mm cannon control. It was slaved to his helmet. The HUD showed him the ground ahead, its mounted camera giving him a wide view of the area to his front.
His pilot muscles kicked in. He was soaring. He was back.
“Osprey One, this is Viper One. Get the fuel and get our boys out of there. Over.”
Donaldson watched as Everly navigated the bird. She saw his Viper lift off the tarmac and perform a small dance. He wiggled the Viper back and forth, forward and backward. Then, like a bird soaring into the sky, he rocketed forward.
He was good. The pilot in her was impressed as he rushed past her window. The girlfriend in her was still pissed off, but if she dug down deep, she was proud of him. Everly was a warrior and he was off to, as he used to say, “break things and kill people”.
“Get some, Viper One. We’ll be out of here in one mike. Osprey One, out.”
Everly heard Donaldson and felt the pride in her voice. It was going to be all right.
Within seconds, the Viper met the Variant horde. Having been in front of several hundred thousand infected back in Los Angeles, the wave of creatures advancing on the base was miniscule in size. Possibly a few thousand.
Everly dropped down to street level, a hundred yards in front of the horde’s leading edge. He was nearly touching the pavement as he aligned his sights. The HUD reticle pointed the cannon where he looked. Satisfied that his rounds would pass through the front line and penetrate the ones behind, he fired.
His cannon sang, its three barrels rotating, each spitting out a one-inch wide round. The slugs hit the front of the wave and punched a hole in the advancing line. He swiveled the Viper’s cannon side to side, spraying death from its drum. The infected were cut down. Bodies were torn into pieces with the kinetic energy of the cannon rounds slicing through their bone and sinew, passing unstopped into those behind. Creatures five back exploded from the onslaught.
Everly lifted the Viper into the air after expending a few hundred rounds.
The Variant line was gone, replaced by a few dozen creatures that were running for cover. None of them were advancing on the runway. Rather, they were seeking shelter from the aerial onslaught.
“Osprey One. This is Viper One. Threat eliminated. Over.”
“Well done, Viper One. Welcome to the party.”
Everly reveled in the power he wielded. He’d made a difference. For the first time since they had abandoned the aircraft carrier, he felt whole again.
“This is Osprey One. We’re in the air. Over,” Donaldson said.
Everly and Donaldson flew back to the Freedom while the Seahawk turned east to Lost Valley.
As he flew back to the ship, Everly began to review the things he’d need to keep the bird in the air. They’d be back to the naval station soon enough to retrieve more supplies. He would search for more cannon rounds and recharge his magazine. He also had pylons where missiles pods could be hung. Hopefully, they could find something to fill those spaces as well.
After the bladder had been deposited and moved into the garage, Everly landed on the Freedom. Donaldson hovered nearby as the maintenance crew scurried out and chained his bird to the deck.
As he finished the shutdown list, one of the sailors opened his cowling and shook his hand. “Welcome back, Captain.”
“You going to roll it into the garage?” Everly asked.
“No, sir. No room. We’ll do what we can out here.”
“How long will you be?”
“Quite honestly, sir. I have no idea. I’d go check in with Captain Thieriot and get a berth for the night. We have the room.”
Everly radioed Donaldson and let her know he’d be staying on the ship that night.
“I’ll keep the bed warm for you,” she said, before turning back to the camp.
Everly signed off and removed his helmet. The maintenance crew began their work as several carts were wheeled out of the garage and a number of laptops appeared, the SuperCobra’s manuals shining from their screens.
He took a deep breath, sucking in the ocean air, and looked off to the island. The brown and green undulating hills stared back at him.
With an airport and infrastructure to support them all, living on Catalina might not be a bad option. It was isolated and had everything they’d need to survive, maybe even thrive. They just had to take care of any Variant infestation that remained. He looked back at the Viper. It was named well and would be integral in clearing the land.
He made his way to the bridge and gave Thieriot his report. The captain was pleased the Viper had performed so well.
“Any problem with the Avgas?” Thieriot asked. “It’s got a limited shelf life.”
“Not one,” Everly replied. “I figure we can eke another six months out of the supply, maybe longer if we find some fuel stabilizers in sufficient quantity.”
“Yeah. But I think six months will be more than enough time to make Catalina safe. After that, we’ll just rely on diesel to power the generators. That should be good for several years.”
The captain stared, unfocused, out over the ocean.
“I wonder if all we’ve accomplished as a species will be lost to future generations,” he said wistfully. “We won’t be flying in six months and eventually, all the technology we’ve created will die from broken parts or just wear and tear.”
Everly gazed at the horizon and thought about Thieriot’s prediction of the future. The bridge was quiet as each man grappled with his thoughts.
It didn’t give Everly any comfort to realize that the captain was likely correct. His new Viper would be a worthless lump of metal soon enough, and the world would have no use for his piloting skills.
“You know,” Thieriot said, interrupting the silence. “I remember a quote from Arthur Clarke. I’m paraphrasing here. If mankind lives long enough, other than for a brief moment in the species’ early years, the word ‘ship’ will mean ‘spaceship’.”
“We’re moving
backwards, aren’t we?” Everly replied.
“If you think about it,” Thieriot said. “We may never remember that a pilot flew through the air. A thousand years from now, a pilot may only refer to someone who steers a sailboat, and soaring with the birds would be considered magic.”
“You’re not making me feel any better,” Everly said. “If that’s the future, why fight for it?”
“I’m just saying we have to save what we’ve learned as a species, not just survive. We have to salvage that knowledge and preserve it. Someday, if humans are to thrive once again, our efforts today may be remembered as the seed that rebuilt the world.”
The bridge went silent once again, but only for a moment before a voice said, “Captain Thieriot. This is engineering. We’re having a problem with the waste processing system.”
Thieriot began to chuckle. “Well, I guess saving mankind will have to wait for another day. We still have to eat, drink, and shit.”
Thieriot left the bridge, leaving Everly alone in his thoughts. The responsibilities Thieriot had laid out were overwhelming.
Killing Variants and planting crops were hard enough, but the captain was correct. Knowledge needed to be preserved or they’d be passing down a future where carpenters and stonemasons would be the pinnacle of human achievement. Herbs and prayers would replace antibiotics and hard science. Animal power would take over for the combustion engine and people would light their homes with their hearth rather than bulbs.
Women would likely suffer the most. Basic household chores would take hours instead of a few minutes, condemning them to days of unending drudgery. Men would be at risk of accidental death as machines gave way to brute strength. A cut could be fatal with no antibiotics and basic sanitation limited. Life expectancy would plummet as childbirth had fatal consequences for both mother and infant while commonly cured ailments would progress unchecked. It was a bleak future if modern knowledge couldn’t be preserved.
He stood in silence, staring at the horizon. What world would they leave to the future? All he could do was his best, and hope that better people would know the right path forward.
Extinction Survival Series (Book 3): Cost of Survival Page 8