Islands of Rage and Hope

CHAPTER 18

“Do not, say again, do not, contaminate my truck,” Sophia said, standing at the base of the pier with her hand out. “We’re bringing in Zods to clear you off.”

“Do we have something set up to clean us off?” Faith asked, holding her arms out for a hug. “I sort of got covered in blood again.”

“This was not the night to be scrumming, Sis, you know that,” Sophia said, shaking her head. “Stay away from me.”

“Feel the love,” Faith said as the Zodiacs came into the beach. “You getting while the getting’s good?”

“All your people here?” Sophia asked. “Tan, we’ll need wash-down for the Marines. They’ve been scrumming.”

“We found the lost ones courtesy of sub intercept systems,” Faith said. “Who knew they were so accurate?”

“Omaha, radar locked on predicted track…”

Commander Isaac Luallin, skipper of the SSBN USS Tennessee, wasn’t having the best week. Or month. Or for that matter year.

Ballistic nuclear submarines are all about risk aversion. Not for them the chasing other boats, doing hull shots, sneaking into the back yard of other powers. No, SSBNs were all about finding a big, empty, deep patch of water and disappearing. For months. Drive slow, stay deep and pray that you never have to actually do your job.

They had in fact been doing pretty much that since the Plague was announced. Even after the SSNs started “assisting” Wolf Squadron, the SSBNs had pretty much stayed in their patches except for the occasional, necessary, fishing expeditions. At one point they got an alert to stop even that when the Soviet general in charge had gotten frisky and ordered some of his remaining SSNs to hunt U.S. subs. According to the Hole that had come to nothing when the subs mutinied and the general had “retired.” Apparently he’d committed suicide by shooting himself in the back.

They were finally going to get to help out and…now all they could do was radar support. So they’d surfaced and put up the radar mast.

“Roger Tennessee,” the “controller” in Omaha replied. “Incoming ballistic track predicted for five minutes. Stand by…”

Luallin locked the periscope on the predicted track and connected it to the crew monitors. No reason not to. Unless it failed, which would be icing on the damned cake.

“When do we bring it up openly, sir?” Faith asked. She was freshly showered and back in MarPat. By the end of the sweep they were finding zero customers so the plan was for them to land in standard “light fighter” gear, not bunker gear.

“When we have to,” Hamilton said. “Stand by…Roger. So the answer is: Now. Listen up, people!” he bellowed. “Look to the west and up at sixty degrees.” He pointed and raised a pair of binoculars. “Anybody see anything different?”

“I’ve got an inbound ballistic track on projected heading,” the Tennessee’s radar tech said. “Forty-five thousand feet. Seven point five six kilometers per second. Decelerating…”

“There it is,” Commander Luallin breathed, watching the monitors. “Son of a bitch. It’s past the plasma zone.”

“Go baby go,” the chief of boat said.

“I’ve got radar lock by six boats,” the digital compliance technician said. “Track is as predicted to ninety-eight percent.”

“Let’s hope ninety-eight is good enough,” Brice said, grimacing. “At that range, ninety eight is miles. Miles as in in the drink.”

“Is that it?” Faith said, pointing up. “By that red star?”

“That’s Mars,” Sophia said, scanning the sky. “And…yeah. That’s it. Look for the two red stars people. One of them is an inbound space ship!”

“It’s lit up,” Faith said. “Fire?”

“They’re well past the plasma stage,” Colonel Hamilton said. “It’s reflected sunlight. Red because the sun’s about to come up. It will disappear in a minute. That’s when it gets tricky.”

“Okay, now it’s making sense,” Sergeant Smith said.

“They’re trying to land on the island,” Sergeant Hoag said. “Son of a bitch. So why couldn’t they tell us?”

“’Cause if it didn’t work, it’d be another morale blow,” Faith said from behind them. “But that’s why we had to land at night and thoroughly clear the island. And now we’re going to be providing security for an extraction team. Assuming it lands on the island.”

“When will we know, ma’am?” Sergeant Smith asked.

“The subs are surfaced,” Faith said, pointing out into the channel. “They’re following it on radar. Since they could find you to the meter, I figure they can probably find where it landed.”

“Ma’am,” Sergeant Smith said thoughtfully. “If they are coming down by parachute, they’ll need winds aloft.”

“I understand that Mr. Walker figured that out, Sergeant,” Faith said drily. “Believe it or not, some of your superiors do have a clue, Sergeant.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Smitty said. “Understood.”

“Shit, it missed!” Lance Corporal Ferguson snarled as the capsule passed overhead. It was clearly headed for the channel on the far side of the island. A moment later it winked from view as it dropped out of the sunlight.

“Winds,” Sergeant Smith said, scanning to the southeast. “It’s going to drift with these winds…”

“There,” Faith said, spotting it again. “You can see the chutes…”

“Drift is in predicted track,” the compliance tech said. “I think. Sorry, General, not precisely my area of expertise.”

“At this point we just have to wait and hope,” Brice said. “The reentry worked and the parachutes worked. That’s better than we had any reason to expect.”

Commander Luallin had slaved the camera to the radar track and now widened the field of view, trying to get some perspective. He looked at the radar track and frowned.

“I think it’s going to miss,” he said. “Certainly the primary LZ.”

“It’s going to be close, sir,” the COB said.

“In this case, a miss is truly as good as a mile,” Luallin said.

“Oh, shit,” Faith muttered. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit…”

The main chutes had deployed at four thousand feet with the capsule well over the island. But the strong tropical wind had it moving northwest at a high rate of speed.

Straight at the flotilla.

“That thing’s got rockets on it,” Faith said. “If they fire over us…”

“Won’t, ma’am,” Smitty said as the capsule continued to descend rapidly. “Where was the LZ?”

“By that pond in The Valley,” Faith said.

“Not going there, ma’am,” Smitty said. “I think it’s going to hit by the airport…”

The dimly perceived capsule dropped from view and there was a massive fire signature as yellow-orange flames and smoke poured into the predawn darkness.

“Rockets fired,” Smitty said. “That’s a good sign.”

“I think the Dragon has landed,” Colonel Hamilton said.

“All personnel,” the tannoy boomed. “Stand by…” There was a crackle of static.

“Hello?” an unfamiliar voice said. “Anyone listening? We’re down in one piece…”

“Dragon, this is Omaha. Good to hear your voices again. We’re sending in a rescue party as soon as we’re sure the fires are under control.”

“Roger, Omaha. We’ll just lie here, then. Gravity is taking a little getting used to.”

“Subs, go to closed frequency. Omaha, out.”

“And that is that,” Hamilton said, looking into the darkness. “I don’t even see any fires, yet.” He touched his radio key. “Omaha, this is Kodiak Force Commander. Request direct contact, Dragon crew. We need to touch base…”

“This platform is pretty bare bones,” Mission Commander Ollie Daniels said. “Not that I’m complaining or anything. But we’ve only got walking around bottles. We’ll need air in about forty minutes or have to pop the hatch. According to Doc Gordie and Doc Riz, while we’re immune compromised, very slight contamination shouldn’t harm us. And the blast zone should have cleared contaminants from this immediate AO.”

He sounded remarkably calm for a guy who was depending on people he didn’t know to save him from a plague in a zombie apocalypse.

“We’re doing all we can to make ‘slight’ contamination equal zero,” Colonel Hamilton said. “But roger on the air situation. We’ll go ahead and punch our force now rather than waiting for daylight.”

“Suit up,” Hamilton said, looking at Walker. “You’re going to have to figure out a procedure when you get there.”

“We’ve got spare plastic, tape and tubing in the second five-ton,” Walker said. “We’ll kludge something up. I’m putting the ensign, Decker and Condrey in the sterile five-ton. Decker and Condrey are…used to handling human bodies even if the conditions are difficult. I’ll remain on the outside to handle setting up the transfer system.”

“That makes a tremendous amount of sense,” Hamilton said. “But why am I not surprised. Good luck.”

“Holy crap,” Faith said. “There it is.”

The capsule had clearly once been bright white. It was now mildly fire scorched. But the Space X logo was brightly noticeable on the side. It also was bigger than she’d expected. It was nearly three stories tall or so it seemed. The hatch was more than a tall man’s height off the ground. And there was no convenient ladder.

The capsule was canted at a slight angle on a hill near the airport. The scrub around it was on fire but the fire seemed to be burning out by itself.

“Stop here,” Walker said as they approached the spacecraft. “Marine units, deploy and get those fires out. Navy decon teams, stand by.”

“Grab the fire extinguishers,” Faith yelled, baling out of the front of the five-ton. The back was packed with Marines and the Navy away team. “We need to get these fires out. But I think the fire truck was overkill…”

The sea grape and tantan in the area had apparently had some recent watering as the fires were only smoldering. The Marines spread out with heavy-duty extinguishers and had the ones that threatened the approach out in minutes.

“Sir, we have the approach fires out but the ground is still hot,” Faith said. “Not sure what to do about that unless we go try to find the fire truck.”

“Keep putting the fires out, Shewolf,” Walker said, clambering out of the front of the five-ton. He was wearing a moon suit and had a hard time watching his step. “Don’t worry about the hot ground. Ensure that we’ve got security. These fires are sure to draw any remaining infected and I don’t want blood contaminating this environment.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Faith replied.

“Decon teams,” Walker continued. “Set up east of the septic five-ton. Sterile five-ton will remain in place until we’ve got the situation under control.”

“Roger, sir,” Sophia replied.

“I’ll just sit here in the darkness, then,” she added sotto voce.

Decker, Condrey and she were in the back of the “sterile” five-ton. Five-tons have a canvas top and “rear closure” system with a drop tailgate. The tailgate was up and the canvas “rear closure system” was in place, making the interior dark as a cave. In addition, the entire interior had been covered in plastic and sealed to a fare-thee-well. If they hadn’t had air bottles they would have used up the oxygen on the interior.

“What was that, ma’am?” Decker asked, sitting on the personnel bench at the position of attention. Which was tough with a fire fighter’s silver suit.

“Just proud to be here, Staff Sergeant,” Sophia said loudly.

“Put it right there,” Sergeant Major Barney said, pointing to a spot next to the “septic” five-ton.

“Roger, Sergeant Major,” Hadley said, laying down the child’s tub.

“Wait,” Barney said. “Hold it up. Get the water into it while it’s off the ground at first. The ground is hot. If it burns through the tub, you are all in the shitter.”

“Aye, aye, Sergeant Major!” Seaman Apprentice Yu, said, pouring a five-gallon can of water into the tub. Olga walked up with a bleach bottle in either hand and added to it. She, too, was wearing a moon suit. When there was water on the bottom, Hadley set it down.

“Take off the bloody caps,” Sergeant Major Barney said. “You’re not filling canteens…”

“That’s enough,” Walker said as Yu poured another five gallon bucket of bleach water over his suit. “All septic personnel back away. Sterile five-ton.”

“Sir?” Sophia replied as there was a shot in the darkness.

“Stand by, security team?”

“One infected,” Faith said. “Down. Well away from the capsule. Situation still clear, sir.”

“Roger. Sterile five-ton will back up to the capsule taking my hand and arm signals. That’s not you, Ensign, that’s Lance Corporal Edwards.

“Aye, aye, sir,” Edwards said.

“Stand by, Edwards, and listen. I want you to get lined straight up to the hatch on the capsule. Do you even know where that’s at?”

“No, sir.”

“Unass from the vehicle and come out here,” Walker radioed.

Edwards jumped out of the vehicle and at Walker’s direction walked around the capsule, keeping a distance, and found the hatch, which was at two o’clock from their approach.

“Can you back up to that?” Walker shouted.

“Aye, aye, sir!” Edwards said. “I can put it right up to it.”

The back of the five-ton was, conveniently, about the same height as the hatch. In fact, with the tailgate up, the top of the tailgate would just about be at the level of the bottom of the hatch.

“I will ground guide,” Walker shouted. “Watch my hand and arm signals.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Edwards said.

“Let’s get a move on,” Walker said, then changed frequencies. “Any sub retrans to the Dragon capsule. Do not pass this message to any squadron personnel…”

“Dragon, incoming call from Thomas Walker for Mission Specialist Troy Lyons, over.”

“Uh, Roger that,” Commander Daniels said, puzzled. “You’re up, Troy.”

The mission commander was a forty-five-year-old Canadian, six two and formerly a hundred ninety pounds, with sandy blond hair and blue eyes. A former Canadian Air Force fighter pilot, he had a master’s degree in mechanical and aviation engineering.

“Thomas Walker?” Lyons said. The mission engineer was American, stocky with dark, nearly black, brown hair and equally blue eyes. A former SEAL, he had degrees in mechanical and oceanic engineering and had been on his second trip to the ISS as one of the onboard mechanical systems engineers when the world came apart. There went his shot at being mission commander.

“Trojan, it’s Skaeling,” Walker radioed. “Night Walker. Do not reply with my name. I’m using a cover for various reasons. Short explanation: While I obviously outrank Captain Smith, Wolf Squadron is a cult of personality. People know Captain Wolf. I’ve been careful to ensure that nobody knows who I am other than, well, upper echelon. Taking over would not work and I’m frankly enjoying just helping out. So when you see me, do not react. Understood?”

“Roger, sir,” Troy replied. “Is it okay to say I’m glad to hear you made it, sir?”

“Glad you made it too, Troias. This world was made for people like us. Walker out.”

“Walker?” Colonel Kuznetsov asked.

“All I think I should say is he was involved with U.S. Special Operations,” Troy replied. “I met him when I was with Joint Special Operations Command.”

“Sounds like just the man for a zombie apocalypse,” Dr. “Doc Gordie” Price said. The mission medic was an MD with specialties in diving and astronautic medicine and a Ph.D. in astrophysiology. “Any notable negative symptoms, yet?”

“I am rather missing microgravity,” Dr. Rizwana “Doc Riz” Shelley said. The Pakistani born physicist, a naturalized British citizen, was five foot four with black hair and light brown eyes. She had taken a sabbatical from her position with Reading University for the mission. She had Ph.D.s in astronomy, astrophysics, physics, nuclear physics, chemistry, biology, biochemistry and, notably, microbiology. She’d been a researcher in microbiology at Reading as well as a tenured professor. Besides assisting her husband, Thomas Shelley, on his experiments on the mission, she had been managing ongoing microbiology experiments on the ISS. “On the other hand, it has been some time since I’ve had a tropical vacation.”

“Be a while till we can get out and enjoy the breeze,” Dr. Price said.

“After six months, ten to fourteen more days I can do,” Varfolomei Matveev said. The mission engineer was five foot six with black hair and blue eyes. He was a former fighter pilot with the Russian Air Force as well as a rotary wing pilot with a degree in mechanical engineering. “Is it reasonable to be worried about the vaccine we’ve been promised?”

“Very,” Dr. Price said. “All we can hope is that there will be sufficient information to make a rational decision. Not that we have many choices in the matter.”

There was a bang on the capsule and it rocked slightly. The light from the hatch porthole cut off with finality. Fortunately, there were two more portholes. The interior lights had been shut off on landing to conserve batteries but there was plenty of reflected light. It was apparent that there was a truck or car shining its lights on the capsule.

“And I think the five-ton has landed,” Troy said. “Whatever happens, we’re definitely entering a brave new world.”

“I’m hoping for some news of home,” Rizwana said.

“From what little we were getting from Omaha, that is unlikely,” Commander Daniels said. “I’m sure we’ll get more information soon.”

“I’m just hoping for a cheeseburger,” Troy said. “I’d even take an MRE at this point.”

“That sounded like another shot,” Tom said.

“The island was certainly inhabited by infected,” Commander Daniels said. “We have to hope that a person with experience in special operations would have cleared it as thoroughly as possible.”

“Tape two PVC tubes running from the capsule to the top of the five-ton,” Walker said. “Then we’ll drape the sheets. Shewolf?”

“Still all good, sir,” Faith replied. “That was a dog. I authorized it to keep the area from getting messed up.”

“Good call, Shewolf,” Walker said. “Okay, let’s get the plastic up…”