V Plague (Book 11): Merciless (6 page)

Not wanting to exert the energy to battle the wind, I started walking in the direction it was blowing.  As I moved, it pushed on my back and tore at me.  It found even the tiniest of gaps in my clothing, slipping in as it fought to sap my body heat.  I was having to constantly adjust the strips of canopy that were protecting my hands and face.

I’d only gone a few yards when I stopped and stamped my feet.  I couldn’t feel them.  Going back to work with the knife, I hacked off more of the fabric.  When I was done, I removed my boots and added several layers over my socks, then pulled them back on.  It wasn’t comfortable, by any means, but if my feet froze I wouldn’t be able to walk and find shelter.

I trudged across the frozen ground, trying to force myself to stay alert and watch to the sides.  It was damn hard.  Shivering, all my body wanted to do was curl in on itself to conserve heat.  My head wanted to drop to my chest, and frequently did.  Then I’d realize I was only staring at the ground directly in front of my feet and I’d have to stop and turn a circle to see what I’d missed.

With no landmarks for reference, I lost track of time and was surprised when I reached a rocky shoreline.  I’d thought I had been gently descending for some time, but was still surprised when the land suddenly ended at a steel grey ocean.  Well, I assumed it would be steel grey if I was looking at it in the daylight, without night vision goggles.  And there would probably be lots of whitecaps as the wind was howling.

Standing a few feet from the water’s edge, I made another circle.  Slowly.  Taking the time to carefully examine every terrain feature within range.  To my right, the land was flat, gently sloping to the beach.  Turning to the left, I smiled when I saw a low bluff that ran from the water up to a low hill.

It wasn’t much, but I knew that at the base, much of the wind would be blocked.  Walking gingerly on the large, round rocks that covered the beach, I headed for shelter.  The ground slowly rose on my left as I moved, and soon I was completely screened.  The sudden absence of the wind was a physical relief.

I was no longer fighting against the force trying to push me over and send me tumbling across the ground.  And even though the air temperature didn’t go up, the lack of the frigid wind made me feel warmer.  About fifty yards along the base of the bluff, I came to a stop.  The strobe.  It was the only way any rescuers could hope to find me.

Muttering a curse, I reversed course and slowly walked back into the full force of the gale.  Turning, I trudged to the top of the bluff, not stopping until I reached the highest point.  Removing the pack, I fumbled with numb fingers until the strobe was detached.  Using the knife, I cut one of the parachute lines free of the canopy and used them to strap it to a large, flat rock.  I took a minute to place it so it was higher than the surrounding terrain, then headed back to the beach.

In the shelter of the bluff, I looked around for a place to settle in and wait.  I was standing on a carpet of cantaloupe sized rocks that had been worn smooth by the waves.  The beach beneath them was a narrow strip that separated the base of the hill from the water by no more than twenty yards.  Stepping up to the face of the bluff, I used the blade to stab into the exposed soil.

It was frozen hard, and full of rocks.  The knife tip only penetrated an inch at the most before coming to a stop.  I tried a couple of other locations, hoping I’d be able to scoop out a shallow cave, and found the same thing.  Well, at least I was out of the wind.  Putting my back against the vertical wall, I slowly sank down until I was sitting on the upper half of a large boulder.

Sitting there, staring at the storm tossed ocean, another thought occurred to me.  Was it low tide?  Was the level of the water already rising?  Would my refuge soon be submerged?  I had no way of knowing without keeping an eye on the surf.

Casting about, I looked for something I could use to mark the highest spot it was currently reaching.  But there was nothing other than rocks as far as I could see.  Stiffly standing, I walked to the point where the ocean crashed onto the small beach.  Bending, I gathered several rocks and stacked them into a short tower.  In the process, a larger wave slammed against the ground and soaked my legs from the knees down.

Saying a few choice words, I retreated to the base of the bluff and took my seat on the boulder again.  I could feel the cold stone even through the multiple layers covering my ass.  But I didn’t have time to worry about that.  Once I was back in shelter, the faint sound of rotor blades reached my ears. 

Standing, I turned my head from side to side and tilted it, trying to locate the source of the sound.  I couldn’t decide on a direction, but with renewed hope, I headed for the top of the bluff where I’d set up the strobe.  Halfway there, the wind swirled and clearly brought the sound of the helicopter to me for a few seconds.

That wasn’t much time, but it was enough for me to tell this wasn’t an American helo.  Something about the sound, something that I’ve never been able to put into words, was different.  I wasn’t sure the rotor I was hearing was Russian, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way.  Deciding to shut off the beacon that would draw them directly to me, I surged forward in a stiff legged sprint.

7

Alarms were blaring in the CIC as Admiral Packard rushed in.  He barked an order to have them silenced, a moment later the room going quiet other than the calm, professional voices of the men and women speaking on various comm circuits.

“Admiral,” the Captain in charge of the CIC stepped forward to meet him.  “We have multiple anti-satellite missile launches from a Russian cruiser in the North Sea.  A pair of Akula attack subs have also engaged the Lincoln CSG, and there are multiple inbound missiles.”

“Casualties?”

“We’re receiving an emergency beacon from the Seawolf, but other than that, none so far, sir.  The Lincoln has had to scrap the rescue flight.  They have a flight of Bear bombers inbound and defensive flight operations are taking priority.”

“The anti-sat missiles.  What are they targeting?”

“They’ve tracked six of the Thor satellites, sir,” the Captain said.  “Seaman Simmons is trying to move them now, but they apparently aren’t designed for anything other than minor orbital adjustments.”

Packard nodded and strode across the room to Jessica’s station.  The Captain followed in his wake.

“Seaman, are you going to be able to move those platforms to safety?”  He asked.

“No sir,” Jessica answered without hesitation.  “If the Russian missiles function properly, we’re going to lose the assets.”

“More anti-sat launches, sir!”  A Senior Chief Petty Officer called from an adjacent station.  “Sending data to Thor station now.”

Jessica’s fingers were flying as she accepted the information and loaded it into her system. 

“Talk to me, Ms. Simmons,” Packard said, impatient.

“Eight more missiles, sir,” she said, then pointed at one of her monitors.  “Total of 14 Thor birds in geosynchronous orbit are now targeted.  They are trying to take out all of the ones that are capable of striking Russia directly.”

“How long before the missiles arrive on target?”  The Captain asked.

“Less than five minutes for the first wave of six.  Just over ten for the second launch, sir.”

“You have all of the ground targets I gave you still locked in?”  Packard asked.

“Yes, sir,” Jessica said, swiveling around to meet his eyes.

Packard hesitated for a moment.  Which was completely out of character for him.  He had always been decisive, not wasting time second guessing himself.  This trait had served him well in his military career, but this was a whole new scenario he’d never imagined he would have to deal with.

He had weapons that were in danger of being destroyed by the enemy.  Weapons that were the only thing deterring the Russians from launching nuclear missiles and utterly destroying the final vestiges of the United States.  Nearly two million American lives hung in the balance, awaiting his decision.

If he did nothing, they’d lose their ability to checkmate the Russians.  All that would be left would be complete and unconditional surrender to avoid total devastation.  But the civilians who were depending on him would survive.  Maybe.

Unless this was an opening gambit by the Russians.  Maybe they were so pissed off by the rods he’d dropped on the Kremlin, the naval base and the nuclear power plant, that once the Thor system was neutralized they’d launch nukes to finish what they started.

“Three and a half minutes, sir,” Jessica gently prompted.

Packard took a deep breath and made his decision. 

“Release on all targets designated in those fourteen satellites,” he ordered.  “And put a list of the targets up on the screen.”

Jessica spun and reached for her keyboard, her rapid typing sounding not unlike a machine gun.  Messages flashed onto her screen, then were dismissed so quickly that the Admiral and Captain were unable to read what they said.  As she worked, multiple lines of coordinates on another monitor began turning red.  In less than a minute, all of them had changed color.

“Captain,” Packard said without turning his attention away from Jessica’s monitor.  “Issue orders to the fleet.  Commence
Operation Merciless
.”

“Yes, sir,” the man snapped, turning on his heel and rushing to his command console.

Clicking her mouse and typing a few commands, Jessica took control of one of the massive monitors on the wall at the front of the room.  It now displayed the same list of target coordinates.  As she continued to work, the name of the location appeared next to the string of numbers that were used by the computer to identify the target.  Finally, to the far right on each line, a countdown to impact timer came to life.

“All rods away, sir,” Jessica breathed.

Packard nodded, looking over the list with a lump in his stomach.  One hundred and forty seven targets within Russia were about to be destroyed.  The death toll from the initial strike would be in the tens of thousands.  But the resulting deaths of Russian civilians would be much higher.  Within a few minutes, the majority of the Russian people would no longer have fuel to heat their homes, food to feed their families or clean water to drink.

Taking a deep breath, Packard scanned the list again.  All 27 of the Russian ICBM sites.  The nine remaining nuclear power reactors.  Air Force, Army and Naval bases.  Oil depots.  Refineries.  Natural gas pipeline pumping stations.  Agricultural distribution centers.  Food processing centers.  Communication hubs.  Heavy manufacturing facilities.  Strategic targets such as bridges and hydroelectric dams.  All would be either destroyed or damaged so heavily as to be unusable.

But the attack didn’t stop there.  Now came Operation Merciless.  Every American military asset still functioning was launching an attack on pre-designated enemy targets.  Russian surface and sub-surface vessels that had been shadowed by American attack submarines were sunk.  Thousands of cruise missiles that were still in inventory were launched from around the globe.

And the final wave.  The one that gave the Admiral nightmares.  Hundreds of ICBMs roaring out of the ocean, launched by American ballistic missile submarines.  Only these weren’t tipped with a nuclear bomb.  For weeks, the Navy had scrambled to replace the warheads with chemical weapon dispersion canisters.  Each of these was filled with MX-489 nerve agent.

This was the same chemical compound that had been used in the opening attack against America.  The Chinese had paired it with the virus that had spread across the world like wildfire after the initial release.  Russia had survived because of widespread vaccinations.  But you can’t immunize against the chemical nerve agent.

As the ICBMs arrived over their targets, every Russian city with a population greater than 100,000, the agent would be dispersed into the atmosphere by a small, conventional explosion.  It would be atomized by the blast and slowly drift down to blanket every street and building, and any person who was not indoors.  Less than a drop was all it would take to turn someone into a raging horror, intent on killing anyone they encountered.

In total, 164 cities were targeted.  Some would only receive a visit from a single missile.  Others, like Moscow with nearly twelve million residents, had dozens of ICBMs racing towards them.  Within a few hours, Russia would be as dead as the United States.

8

Rachel and Irina stood watching the Gulf of Mexico’s gentle waves lap against a white, sand beach.  They were in Florida at Pensacola Naval Air Station.  The C-130 transporting them from Idaho to the Bahamas had developed engine problems and the pilot had decided to set down and try to effect repairs.

A couple of squads of Rangers had been on the flight with them and had quickly dispatched several small groups of infected that had attacked as soon as they landed.  That had been several hours ago.  Now, they were in a loose perimeter around the big aircraft as the pilot and a mechanic struggled with the stubborn engine.

The area was mostly clear of infected, only the occasional male wandering onto the tarmac, drawn by the sounds of the working men.  The ones that stumbled into sight were in horrific condition.  Emaciated, severely dehydrated and barely able to move.  The Rangers, conserving their ammunition, would walk out and put them down with their knives.

Growing bored, the two women had taken extra rifles and ammo and gone exploring.  At the southern end of the main runway, a small track led through a narrow strip of trees before emerging onto a glistening beach. 

“It is beautiful,” Irina said, staring at the blue-green water.

Rachel didn’t say anything, just slowly turned a complete circle to make sure there weren’t any infected who had spotted them.  Seeing nothing, she shielded her eyes and looked at the sea.

“Are you alright?”  Irina asked, picking up on her companion’s mood.

“Where do you think he is by now?”

Irina didn’t have to ask who she was talking about.  Rachel had boarded the plane at Mountain Home Air Force Base after saying goodbye to John, tears running down her face.  When the big loading ramp had closed, she’d completely broken down, curling into a ball and sobbing until well after takeoff.  She’d finally gotten her emotions under control, but had remained quiet for the entire flight.