Fulcrum: V Plague Book 12 (7 page)

“What else can we throw at them, Captain?”

Admiral Packard was standing in Pearl Harbor’s CIC, feet
spread as if he were astride the heaving deck of a ship at sea.

“Sir, we’ve got two Coast Guard cutters and an Arleigh Burke
class destroyer that’s barely sea-worthy.  Other than that, everything
still floating is too far away to reach us in time.  The bastards truly
caught us with our pants around our ankles.”

Packard nodded, glaring at a massive display that showed the
current position of every American ship on the globe.  Well, the best
guess current position.  Since the Russians had begun jamming their
communication signals, the CIC was no longer getting a constant feed from every
Navy asset that was in service.

Arrayed across the screen, and still over a thousand miles
to the northwest of Oahu, was the Russian fleet.  And there were a lot of
ships.  A squadron of Marine pilots had flown a daring reconnaissance
mission, all but one of them falling prey to the CAP being flown over the enemy
armada.  The final man had managed to evade and escape, making it most of
the way back to Hawaii before running out of fuel.

He’d punched out of the aircraft and been picked up by a
small Coast Guard boat.  The crew had taken the 25-foot craft, intended
for use in the protected waters of bays and harbors, over two hundred miles out
into the open ocean to retrieve the downed pilot.  His report on the
positioning of the fleet, and observed speed and heading, was the basis for the
plotting of the enemy on the display.

“How long until Falcon flight is over their fleet?”

“Estimated thirty minutes, sir.  We lost comms with
them as soon as they were out of line of sight.”

“Any progress on finding the source of the jamming?”

The Captain shook his head.

“No, sir.  Our senior engineer’s best guess is it’s
orbital.  But we can’t pinpoint a satellite if it is.”

Packard took a deep breath to compose himself. 
Frustration threatened to overwhelm him, but he managed to push it aside. 
For a commander who had always been able to depend on instant communications
and satellite surveillance, the situation he found himself in was
maddening.  It was only a step above fighting with a blindfold.

“Captain, find me the moment we get any update on the status
of Falcon,” the Admiral said, turning and stalking out of the CIC.

“Yes, sir,” the man said, struggling with his own
frustration.

Falcon flight was four B-2 stealth bombers, escorted by two
squadrons of Navy F-18s.  The bombers each carried a payload of airburst,
chemical dispersion bombs that were loaded with MX-489 nerve agent. 

Once they reached the Russian fleet, they would drop their
payloads, which would detonate at 1,000 feet over the surface of the
ocean.  An atomized mist of nerve agent would then drift down over the
enemy ships.  Admiral Packard didn’t hold out much hope for the success of
the mission, but he had to use every tool at his disposal.

There were numerous civilian cargo ships in the fleet,
almost certainly loaded down with ground troops and equipment, but there were also
many warships.  Unless the Americans got incredibly lucky, they’d just seal
all their hatches and ignore the deadly, chemical rain.  Once the last
bomb delivered its contents, all they’d have to do would be to follow standard
decontamination procedures.  The same process for dealing with the
presence of radioactive fallout. 

Massive pumps would be started, sucking in thousands of
gallons of seawater.  From dozens of strategically placed nozzles all
around the exterior of each ship, high-pressure water would rinse the vessel clean
of the nerve agent.  Packard’s hope was the chemical would have a chance
to reach the interior of the ships before the captains realized what was
happening.  But it was a slim hope.

Striding beside the manicured lawns of the sprawling naval
base, the Admiral headed for the giant building that housed the equipment and
personnel responsible for the secure communications networks on which the US
Navy relied.  Reaching the entrance to the facility, he, and his six heavily
armed Marine guards, breezed through security without breaking stride.

Several floors below ground, he barged into a cold, dark
room filled with computer terminals and several dozen sailors sitting
idle.  The first one to spot him shot to his feet and shouted that there
was an
Admiral on deck
.  The rest of the room immediately fell
silent and leapt to their feet, all except for one person.

Packard’s eyes zeroed in on Jessica, and he quickly made his
way to where she was bent over a multi-screen terminal.  Several manuals
were open on the work surface, and she was intently peering at one of the
screens.  His senior aide, Captain West, stood as the Admiral approached.

“Any progress?”  Packard asked quietly.

Captain West tilted his head in Jessica’s direction.

“Not yet, sir,” Jessica said without looking away from the
monitor.  “But, I’ve got an idea.”

“Tell me, Seaman.”

“Well, sir,” Jessica said slowly as she leaned back and
looked up at Packard.  “I’ve learned a few things.  First off, this
isn’t frequency jamming, like we thought.  The Russians aren’t flooding
the EM spectrum with radio energy to block our comms.  This is much more
sophisticated.”

“Explain,” the Admiral said, a small bloom of optimism
warming his chest.

“This is some sort of cyber-attack, sir.  Are you
familiar with the old FLTSAT network?”

“The satellite network from the 80s?”

“That’s the one, sir.  It was abandoned because some
Brazilian ham radio operator found a way to break in and use the satellites to
re-broadcast his signal all around the world.  Well, believe it or not, some
of those birds are apparently still up there.  And operational. 
That’s how the Russians got in.”

“Are you kidding me?”  Packard exploded. 

Lack of sleep and mounting frustration finally got the best
of him.

“I wish I was, sir,” Jessica said, not at all perturbed by
his outburst. 

“Captain,” he said, turning to West.  “We still have
anti-sat capabilities, correct?”

“Excuse me sir, but that won’t help,” Jessica interrupted
before West could respond.  “They aren’t connected in or anything. 
They broke in, planted a worm in the software that controls all of our comms,
then got out.  That’s the problem.  The damage is done.  Taking
the satellites out won’t have any impact.”

“It will keep them from doing it again, once you fix
this.  Right?”

“Yes, sir.  If I can fix it.”

Packard looked at her a moment before turning to Captain
West.

“Issue the orders.  Identify and destroy all of the
legacy FLTSAT birds.”

“Sorry, sir.  Our remaining ships with anti-satellite
capabilities are too far away to communicate with.  There’s no way to
contact them.”

The Admiral took a deep breath and turned back to Jessica.

“Seaman.  How long will it take you to fix this?”

“I literally just identified the issue, sir.  I don’t
know how deep the worm has gotten.  Our first step is going to be to dump
the entire operating system and restore from the last
known good
backup.”

“Will that restore our comms?”

“Maybe.  Theoretically, yes.  But I’ve seen some
pretty inventive stuff come out of the Russians in the past couple of
years.  However, it’s our first logical step.”

“Well, by all means, don’t let me delay you further,”
Packard said.  “Captain, I want an hourly status update.  Again,
whatever resources the Seaman needs, she gets.”

“Yes, sir.  I’m staying by her side,” Captain West
answered.

“Road’s blocked!  Stay on my ass!”

I shouted into the radio as soon as I saw the truck parked
across the pavement.  Cranking the wheel to the right, we went airborne
for a moment when the Humvee blasted over the low berm that bordered the
road.  Dog bounced around the back seat like a ping-pong ball as we came
down and began roaring across the desert.  There were multiple, loud
impacts from bullets striking the vehicle’s armored hide, and I hoped they
didn’t get a lucky shot on a tire.

“They’re with us!”

Rachel was twisted around, looking through the rear window
to make sure Long and Sam weren’t being left behind.  That was good, as I
couldn’t take my attention off the terrain.  Thankfully, I was wearing
night vision goggles that let me see as if it were the middle of the day. 
Holes, ravines, large rocks and occasional stunted trees would have caused us a
serious problem if I hadn’t been able to spot them in time.

The ride was rough, but this was what Hummers were made
for.  I steered at a ninety-degree angle to the highway, heading away from
our ambushers.  Keeping my foot on the floor, the engine roared as I cut
through the sand at 50 miles an hour.  I had no idea who was attacking us,
or why.  Right now, we needed to open some distance.

“Are they following?”

I had to shout to be heard over the bellowing engine and
roar of the sand that was being thrown against the undercarriage by the tires.

“Yes,” Rachel said after a moment.  “But they’re losing
ground.  They can’t keep up.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief.  There are a handful
of civilian vehicles that can stay with a Hummer across desert terrain, but
there aren’t many.  And they’re pretty damn expensive.  Not that
these guys probably didn’t have their pick of vehicles that had been left
abandoned, but I wasn’t going to complain that we had an edge.  But it
sure would have been nice to have the grenade machine gun I’d used at Offutt
Air Force Base.

My attention was focused on the ground directly in front of
the vehicle, and on battling the wheel as we jolted across the uneven
desert.  When I looked up, I slammed the brakes on and cut the wheel hard
to the side.  Rachel and Dog were both thrown forward, several
un-lady-like curses, and a couple of yelps, loud in my ear.

The Hummer came to a stop, dust boiling around us and
obscuring our view.  There was a hard bump as one of the two following
vehicles came to a stop with its front bumper crashed against us. 

“What the hell?”  Rachel shouted.

“Big canyon.  Damn near drove off a cliff!”

I shoved my door open and jumped out.  My hands
automatically brought the rifle up into low ready as I moved through the dust
cloud to the other two vehicles.  There wasn’t any breeze and the damn
stuff was taking its own sweet time before clearing.

“What the fuck, sir?”

Long and Igor loomed suddenly in the blinding dust. 
Sam ran up from the side.

“Big ass canyon,” I said, hooking a thumb over my
shoulder.  “We’re cut off.”

I led the way a few yards to where the dust was thinner and
looked to the east.  Half a dozen sets of headlights were approaching,
bouncing up and down as the vehicles navigated the rough terrain.  Sam ran
to the edge of the canyon, and after a few moments of looking around returned
to where we were standing.  Rachel and Dog had joined us.

“Not going that way,” Sam said.  “It’s running for as
far as I can see in each direction.”

“There a way down?”  I asked, eyes glued to the
approaching headlights.

“Not in a vehicle.  Slope’s damn near vertical.”

“That’s why they’re not in any hurry,” Long said. 
“Must know it’s here.”

I nodded, then turned and looked at the three Hummers. 

“Long and Igor,” I said.  “Get these parked in a
wedge.  Igor, up on the roof with the sniper rifle.  Sam, flank
right, I’ll take left.  On my order, we take these fuckers out.”

Everyone nodded, Long and Igor dashing to the closest
vehicles and starting their engines.  Sam ran off into the desert, and I
turned and led Rachel and Dog to the left.  I was counting on these guys
not having gotten their hands on any night vision.  Hopefully, since they
were driving with their lights on, they hadn’t.  Otherwise, they’d see Sam
and me heading out to set up flanking fire.

One hundred yards to the left, I stopped behind a small
outcropping of boulders.  They stuck up from the sand like some giant had
been playing marbles and just left them there.  Dog hesitated, looking at
the base of the rocks and growling.  A second later, I heard the warning
sound of a rattlesnake.  Rachel let out a gasp of fright and jumped back.

It took me a moment to spot the little bastard.  He was
curled up beneath a small growth of sagebrush, only a few inches of his tail
out in the open.  Scooping up a fist-sized rock, I tossed it into the
bush, then followed it with another.  I was reaching for a third when the
snake slithered into view, turned away from us and quickly retreated into the
desert.

Hurrying forward, I knelt behind the rocks, Dog joining
me.  I looked around in surprise when Rachel didn’t kneel down on the
other side of me.

“Get over here!”  I hissed.

“There might be another,” she said, fear in her voice.

“Probably not, since Dog is OK,” I said in exasperation,
looking back at the headlights.  They were getting close.  “Now get
down before they see you.”

A few seconds later, Rachel moved so that she was crouched down
behind Dog.  Several sarcastic comments came to mind, but I kept my mouth
shut and focused on our pursuers.

“I’m in position,” I said over the radio.

Sam confirmed he was ready, then Long answered for both he
and Igor. 

“I count eight vehicles,” I said.  “Don’t have eyes on
occupants.”

Sam and Long confirmed they didn't see anything different.

I watched for another few seconds.  The sound of the
engines was loud in the still desert air, dust swirling in the wake of the
trucks and Jeeps.  They slowed when they were close enough to pick out the
stopped Hummers in their headlights.  Soon, they were only moving at an
idle, spreading out in a line to make use of all of their lights.  I
waited until they were abreast of my hiding place.

“Igor, take out the drivers,” I said, pulling my rifle
tighter against my shoulder.

The big rifle was suppressed, and I couldn’t hear the report
over the noise coming from the vehicles.  My first indication that he had
started shooting was when men began leaping out of one of the trucks and
shouting that they were being shot at. 

I knew Igor wouldn’t be able to see the drivers behind the
glare of the headlights, but that didn’t really matter.  All he needed to
do was put a round through the windshield where a driver would be
sitting.  And I was pretty sure that was what he did.  Quickly and
efficiently.

Two of the trucks swerved towards each other, fenders
crunching as they came to a stop.  More men began leaping out of cabs as
other vehicles changed course and slowly idled away.  Soon they began
firing in the direction of the Hummers, the reports from all variety of rifles
harsh on the night air.

“Sam, open fire,” I said, squeezing my rifle’s trigger.

I’d like to say it was a battle.  Or, at least a
fight.  It wasn’t.  It was wholesale slaughter.  One vehicle almost
got away, but Igor made an improbable shot on the driver, and it crashed
against a large rock.  All the rest were hit, the trucks coming to a stop
when they idled into softer sand or a depression in the ground.

The men that jumped out and started firing at Igor and
Long’s position didn’t know enough even to go prone and reduce their
profile.  They just stood in the open and fired blindly at our vehicles.

Sam and I methodically worked our way through them, our
suppressed rifles unheard by our targets.  Quickly, there were only three
men still standing.  One of them looked around at all the bodies on the sand,
and I had a perfect view of his face through my scope.  He was
terrified.  Almost all of his friends had died in less than a minute, and
he hadn’t heard anything other than his own weapon.

“Cease fire!”  I called on the radio.

The three men that were still standing had thrown their
weapons onto the ground and raised their hands in the air.  An eerie
silence descended over the desert in the absence of gunfire.  Other than
the idling of the vehicles that were still running, it was quiet.

“I count three targets surrendering.  All others down,”
I said into the radio.

“Confirmed,” Sam said.

“Da,” Igor answered after a long pause.

“Everyone stay put, and watch my ass,” I said.  “I’m
advancing on the targets.”

When I received three confirmations, I stood and stepped
around the rocks, my rifle trained on the men.  Dog moved with me, tight
against my left hip, Rachel bringing up the rear.

“Move and you’re dead,” I shouted before stepping into the
light of the closest vehicle.

Their heads swiveled in my direction, but I was still masked
by the night.  I took my time advancing, checking each body I
encountered.  My focus wasn’t on the three men with their hands high in
the air.  I trusted Igor, Long, and Sam to put them down instantly if any one
of them made a grab for a weapon.

The third man I checked was still alive.  Barely, but
his eyes were open, and blood was trickling out of his mouth and across his
chin.  He must have taken a bullet through a lung.  I pointed my
rifle at his head and pulled the trigger.  It was a bit of mercy, but
mostly I didn’t want him behind me on the off chance he could summon up enough
energy to pick up a rifle and start shooting.

Several more bodies, all dead, and I moved into the light
and stopped ten yards in front of the men.  Dog stayed close, Rachel
moving to my right.

“Tell Rachel move,” Igor said over the radio.  “She in way.”

I glanced around and gestured for her to step to the
side.  To her credit, she did as I asked without questioning why.  I
made a mental note to talk to her about making sure you didn’t step into
someone’s line of fire.

Turning back, I faced three very frightened men.  Two
of them were young, no more than their early twenties.  They were
literally shaking in fear.  The third, standing closest to me, was nearer
my age.  He was severely overweight, squeezed into a pair of Army surplus
BDU pants and an OD green T-shirt.  He was sweating heavily, even though
the night was cool.

“Who are you?”  I asked, keeping my rifle trained on
his jiggling belly.

“M-m-m-mark Ames,” he stammered in fright.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing, Mark?”

“I’m a Captain in the Nevada Militia.  We’re just
protecting our territory.”

I snorted and shook my head.

“How is it none of you are infected?”  Rachel asked.

“Don’t know,” he said, glancing at her before cutting his
eyes back to the muzzle of my rifle.  “We just aren’t.”

I could feel Rachel look at me, but I didn’t take my
attention off the fat man.

“How many of you are there?”  I asked.

He stared back at me for a moment, nervously licking his
lips.  He didn’t want to answer.  Without warning, I fired a round
into the ground at his feet.  The report of the rifle was muted, but he
still jumped like a cattle prod had been rammed up his ass.

“I’m not fucking around,” I said.  “And I’m not asking
again.”

“About four hundred,” he said.

I stared at him, trying to determine if he was telling the
truth.  Finally, I decided he was too scared to be anything other than
honest.

“And what the hell did you want with us?” 

“We’re supposed to stop any survivors.  Find out what
they’re doing in our territory.”

I didn’t like the tone in his voice when he answered the question.

“And what are you supposed to do with survivors?”

He stared back at me, sweat trickling down his jowls and
staining the collar of his shirt.  His silence answered my question.

“Watch them,” I said to Rachel and moved out of the
prisoners’ earshot.

“Local militia,” I said into the radio.  “Big boy here
says there’s 400 of them.  Igor and Long, find some high ground and see if
there’s any more out there.”

“Copy that,” Long answered.

“No infection?”  Sam asked.

“Negative.  No sign of it.  They seem perfectly
normal.”

One of the Humvees started up and headed north towards a low
bluff.  Igor and Long should have a commanding view of the area from the
top.

“What are you going to do with them?”  Sam asked.

I turned and looked at the three men being guarded by Dog
and Rachel.