Fulcrum: V Plague Book 12 (4 page)

Sam and I had been swapping stories about events since the
attacks.  He’d had some hairy experiences of his own.  I resisted the
temptation to one-up with what I’d dealt with.  When the comm console
beeped for attention, he was telling me about the trip through the locks in
Seattle with Dr. Kanger.

“Major, I hope all is well,” Admiral Packard said when I
answered.

“As it can be, sir,” I said.

“Good.  I hope you understand why I couldn’t allow any
infected into Hawaii.  How is your wife?”

I was quiet for a moment, giving my throat a chance to unconstrict
before I answered.

“She passed away, sir,” I finally said.

There was a long stretch of silence before Packard spoke
again.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss, Major.  I wish there
was something I could have done.”

“Me too, sir,” I said.

“We have a man in trouble, and he’s not far from you,”
Packard transitioned smoothly, and I was happy to talk about anything other
than Katie.

“Someone still in CONUS?”  I asked in surprise.

Sam’s eyes locked onto me when he heard my question.

“Close enough,” the Admiral said.  “He’s adrift on a…
Sea…tez…”

“Admiral, repeat your last,” I said, flapping my hand at the
Lieutenant for assistance.

Sam leaned forward and yanked the headset’s plug out of the
console, transferring the audio to a built-in speaker.  We heard an
electronic squeal that made both of us cringe, then Admiral Packard’s voice
returned for a brief moment.

“…forty mile.. sou..west … Penasco…”

“Admiral, I do not have a good copy on your message. 
Please repeat!”

I shouted into the microphone though I knew that wouldn’t do
any good.  Sam manipulated the console without any success.

“Kill it and open a new circuit,” I said.

He nodded and entered some commands, grunting when several
indicators on the screen remained red.

“What’s wrong?”  I asked when he didn’t seem to be in a
hurry to fill me in.

“We aren’t connecting to the satellite,” he said. 
“Either it’s being jammed, or it’s gone.”

“Any way around it?”

He shook his head as he tried a few different commands.

“We’re limited to the NSA satellites.  Everything else
was knocked out by the EMP.  There is no around.”

“You sure it’s a satellite failure?”  I asked.

“Pretty sure.”

“What if it’s Hawaii?  The Russians lob another nuke?”

He was shaking his head before I finished speaking.

“Not that that isn’t possible, but our problem, for the
moment at least, is we can’t connect to the satellite.  If I had to guess,
it’s the Russians doing something.”

“Fuck!  Sounds like we’ve got a man in the water and
the Admiral wanted us to go get him.”

“In the water?  We’re in the middle of the goddamn
desert,” Sam said, turning to look at me.

“It was broken up, but I’m pretty sure he was saying the Sea
of Cortez.”

Sam shook his head.

“Gulf of California,” he clarified.  “Between Baja and
the main part of Mexico.  About 600 miles long and a hundred or so miles
wide.  That’s sixty thousand square miles.  How the hell are we
supposed to find someone in that?”

“You heard the last part he said?  Penasco?  Forty
miles southwest.  That’s got to be Puerto Penasco.  Rocky Point if
you’re an American.  It’s only about 80 miles south of the border.”

I looked around the room for a map but didn’t find
one.  Sam stared at me, doubt on his face.

“What?”

“That’s pretty fuckin thin, Major.  How many towns do
you think there are in Mexico that have Penasco in their name?”

“Got no clue,” I said.  “But, probably a few. 
That just happens to be the one I know of.”

“He didn’t try to give any coordinates?”

“That was probably coming,” I said, shaking my head.

I didn’t blame him for being dubious.  We were a good
distance from Mexico and had nothing more to go on than a broken
transmission.  An idea dawned on me, and I slapped my pants pocket. 
I still had a handheld sat phone.  Jumping to my feet, I headed for the
door.

“What are you doing?”  Sam asked, getting up and
following.

“Got a sat phone,” I said over my shoulder.  “Going to
give it a try.  Make sure we don't just have an equipment problem.”

We hopped in the golf cart, and Sam accelerated away with a
squeal of tires on the smooth concrete.  Several minutes later we had
successfully negotiated the maze of tunnels and emerged into warm
sunshine. 

Stepping well clear of the cart, I brought the phone out and
powered it on.  It took a long time to boot, then began searching for a
signal.  After nearly five minutes, it was still in search mode.  I
said a couple of choice words and powered it down before shoving it back in my
pocket. 

“It’s gotta be one of our pilots,” Sam said.  “Had to
eject and came down in the water.”

“The Admiral said he’s adrift,” I said, trying to remember
the exact words.  “Adrift would mean he’s on a raft.  Right? 
He’d say something different if he was just in the water?”

Sam nodded, thinking.

“There're single occupant, inflatable rafts built into the
ejection seats of our fighters,” he finally said.  “And yes, you’re
right.  If a Navy man says
adrift
, he means a vessel that isn’t
powered.”

“No doubt about that?”  I asked, turning and checking
the area around us for infected.

“An old warhorse like the Admiral wouldn’t make that mistake.”

Sam spoke with certainty, then waved me to the side as he
raised his rifle.  I moved and turned to see a female sprinting towards
us.  He fired a single shot, and she flopped lifelessly to the desert sand.

“What if he’s in the water?”  I asked, getting a shake
of his head.

“The Admiral wouldn’t even have called us.  Someone in
the water isn’t going to last very long.”

“This is Mexico,” I said.  “The water’s warm.”

He looked at me and shook his head.

“The season is changing, and the water temp will be
down.  Not cold, but cool enough.  It will just delay
hypothermia.  And, I was at Coronado near San Diego.  That water
ain’t warm.  Trust me.  Maybe a little warmer in the Gulf of
California, but survival time would be in hours, not days.  Besides, if
the water doesn’t get you, the sharks will.”

“So, we’ve probably got a pilot on a raft, drifting around
the middle of the Sea of Cortez.  And we’ve got a starting point.”

He nodded but appeared less than enthusiastic.

“What?”

“No disrespect, sir, but you’re Army.  You ever tried
to find something the size of a man on a tiny inflatable somewhere in the
ocean?”

I shook my head.

“Well, without air support, or at least satellite
observation, it’s damn near impossible.  There're waves, and even little
ones will hide the target from a surface vessel.  You can be thirty yards
away and never even know what you’re searching for is just right there.”

“You sound awful negative, Lieutenant,” I said, peering at
him.

“Sorry, sir.  You misunderstand me.  I’m ready to
go.  I just want to be sure
you
understand our odds of finding and
rescuing this pilot are pretty fucking anorexic.”

“I think I got that, Lieutenant,” I grumbled.  “Dad was
in the Navy, so I’ve heard the stories.”

“How’d you wind up a ground pounder?”  He asked in
surprise.

“Black sheep of the family,” I grinned.  “Sometimes, I
wish I would’ve listened to Mom.  I’d be a plastic surgeon in Beverly
Hills, up to my neck in tits and ass.”

He looked at me for a beat before laughing and heading for
the golf cart.  As we started driving, he contacted Gonzales on the radio
and ordered him to gather everyone into the cafeteria.

“Major?  Major!”  Packard leaned forward over the
speakerphone, then when he got no response, turned to his aide.  “What the
hell is going on?”

“Don’t know yet, sir,” the man answered, an internal phone
already pressed to his ear.

“Never mind,” Packard said, getting to his feet.  “I’m
heading to the CIC.”

The senior officers surrounding the conference table had
shot to their feet when the Admiral stood.  By order of rank, they
followed him out of the meeting room for the short walk.  When Packard
pushed through the doors, the duty officer turned and faced him.

“Sir, we’ve lost all comms with our satellites.  Best
guess is Russian jamming.”

“Everything?”  Packard asked, glaring around the room.

“Yes, sir.  Everything.  We’re deaf and
blind.  All digital comms are down.  We can’t uplink to the
satellites, and the Battlespace network is offline.”

“Bullshit, Captain,” Admiral Black stepped forward. 
“We’re jam proof, just for this reason.”

“That may be, sir,” the Captain answered cautiously. 
“But we’re still down across the board.  We’re trying to restore the links,
and I’ve got a team working on dusting off some analog radio gear so we can
talk to our ships, but so far the secure digital system isn’t coming back up.”

“Why?”  Packard mused, cutting Black off before he
could continue grousing.

“Sir?”  The Captain asked, not understanding Packard’s
question.

“Why jam our comms now?  We’ve ceased
hostilities.  Their elite have evacuated to Australia.  It makes no
sense.  Unless…”

Packard rushed past the surprised duty officer, making a
direct path to Jessica’s station.

“Seaman.  Any luck restoring the uplink with the
satellite?”  He asked as he approached.

“No, sir,” Jessica answered without turning around.

“Where was the Russian fleet when we lost surveillance?”

“Which one, sir?”  She asked, turning to look up at
him.

“The one in the Pacific.”

Jessica turned to her keyboard, her fingers flying. 
After a few moments, she pointed at a large monitor in the front of the
room.  A broad, aerial shot of the ocean was displayed, the timestamp
showing it was footage from fifteen minutes ago.

“They haven’t really moved, sir,” she said.  “They’re
standing off at 1,000 miles, and have us pretty well surrounded.”

Packard’s eyes moved across the view, noting and cataloging
every enemy vessel within sight.  All warships and all positioned to
prevent the US Navy from entering or leaving Hawaii.

“What’s going on at Midway?”  The Admiral pointed at a
small cluster of large planes on a tiny atoll.  “Can you zoom?”

Jessica worked on her keyboard, the image tightening on a
small point in the north Pacific, nearly 1,400 miles from Pearl Harbor. 
When the screen refreshed and sharpened, everyone in the room cursed.

“Captain,” Packard growled at the duty officer.  “Can
you explain exactly how we missed the Russians massing troops and equipment on
Midway?”

“No, sir,” the man swallowed audibly.  “I don’t have an
explanation.”

Admiral Black stepped closer to the screen, intently
watching the activity for a few moments.

“What do you think, Chet?”  Packard asked.

“I think it’s a goddamn invasion force.  We thought
they were pulling back to restore order within their borders, but this must
have been their play.”

Packard took a deep breath, staring at the screen. 
After only a brief moment, he began barking orders.

“Captain, get a reconnaissance flight in the air.  We
need to know when the Russians start moving.  Chet, take command of coastal
defense.  Coordinate with the civil authorities.”

“The civilians aren’t going to be able to help,” Admiral
Black said, a sour expression on his face. 

“We’ve got plenty of rifles.  If someone wants to
fight, give them one.  We’re going to need every body we can muster.”

“Aye, sir,” Black said, turning and striding out of the CIC.

“Commander!”  Packard shouted for one of his aides who
was on the far side of the room.  “What’s the status of the fallback
positions in case the enemy is able to make landfall?”

“Sir, those bunkers were built in World War II.  And
they were thrown together in a hurry and sat abandoned for seventy years. 
The concrete is crumbling, the power doesn’t work, and there’s no water. 
No comms, either.  Half of them were home to all variety of wildlife.”

“And?”

“They’ll be ready, sir.  I’ve had teams cleaning them
out and getting them ready for several weeks.  The Marines have been
digging in in the hills around them.  Dense jungle, and we’ll own the high
ground.  But, if we have to go there, it’s going to be primitive.”

“Understood, Commander.  Just make sure they’re ready
when we need them.”

“They’ll be ready, sir.”

Packard nodded and turned his attention to Jessica.

“Seaman, is there any chance you can find a way to defeat
the Russian’s jamming?”

Jessica looked away in thought before answering.

“Maybe, sir.  I’ve studied their tech, but it’s been a
while since I reviewed any of the data.  Theoretically, it’s
possible.  But…”

“No buts, Seaman,” Packard said, staring at her.

“I can’t do it from here.”

She gestured at the console where she was seated and gave
the Admiral a timid smile. 

“Captain West!”  He bellowed without taking his eyes
off Jessica.

Packard’s senior aide was standing right behind him and
answered immediately.

“Captain, I want you to ensure personally that Seaman
Simmons is allowed immediate access to any and all systems she may need to
utilize, and she is provided with any support she requests.”

“I’ll make it happen, sir!”

He stepped around the Admiral and bent to speak with
Jessica.  Packard stepped away as Jessica leapt to her feet and departed
the CIC with his aide in tow. 

When the Admiral was young, he’d read the history of the
battles in the Pacific following the bombing of Pearl Harbor.  He’d
watched some of the epic movies that chronicled the amazing resilience and
determination of the US Navy in defeating the Japanese and protecting the
Hawaiian islands and the west coast of the United States.

He’d marveled that all of this had been accomplished in the
vast, empty stretches of the Pacific without the benefit of satellite imagery,
jet engines, radar or sonar.  It had been nothing more than a butt in an
airplane seat flying reconnaissance missions, and a bunch of tougher than nails
Admirals making decisions that could have won or lost the war for
America. 

Now, closing in on a century later, he was just as deaf and
blind as those same Admirals who had risked everything to stop an enemy
fleet.  But he had one thing they didn’t have.  A young woman who had
so far managed to work miracles with her keyboard.  He just hoped she had
one more rabbit left in her hat.