Red Hammer: Voodoo Plague Book 4 (6 page)

Jackson and I stepped out of the office building, through
with my interrogation of the captured Russians.  It was well after midnight,
and I was momentarily refreshed by stepping out into the cool, night air. 
Looking up at the sky as I dug for a cigarette, I absently noted that the moon
had already set, the stars twinkling brightly.  I hoped that Rachel and Dog
were somewhere safe, looking up at the same sky.

“What did you learn?”  I was startled when Colonel Crawford
spoke.  He had found a cheap, plastic lawn chair and was sitting in the dark,
looking up at the night sky, waiting for me.  Apparently he’d been waiting for
a while as there was a fairly impressive pile of neatly stacked cigarette butts
on the ground next to him.  He gestured to two empty chairs and Jackson and I
gratefully sat down. 

“Some, but they don’t know much.”  I answered.  “The Captain
says they were told that the American government has requested assistance from
Russia to put down an uprising within our military.”  Crawford snorted when he
heard this.

“That’s actually brilliant.”  He said.  “Tell your troops
they’re saviors, not invaders.  Everyone gets to be a hero.”  I nodded
agreement.  I’d had exactly the same thought when the Russian Captain had told
me. 

“What else?”  Crawford field stripped a cigarette by
pinching just below the filter and rolling it back and forth until the burning
tobacco dropped out of the paper and onto the ground.  He crushed the
smoldering cherry under his boot before adding the butt to the neat pyramid he
was building.

“Got an idea of troop strengths, where they are, equipment
brought in, which units were deployed, and a few other tid-bits.”  I handed him
the legal pad Jackson had made notes on during the interrogations.  “The
enlisted don’t know many details, but based on what they saw as the Russians
made preparations, I think the Captain is telling the truth.”

“Speaking of truth, did you set him straight about what’s
really going on?”

“No, sir.  Didn’t see the point, even if he believed me,
which I doubt he would.”  Crawford nodded his head in agreement.  “Any luck
reaching Command?  Or anyone for that matter?”

“I finally spoke to an Admiral Packard.  He’s CINCPACFLT
(Commander in Chief Pacific Fleet).  The Navy’s still got some command and
control capabilities on a couple of ships, and they monitored four nuclear
detonations within the continental US yesterday morning.  Two at Mt. Weather,
two at Cheyenne Mountain.  They can’t confirm it was the Russians, NORAD is in
pieces, but that’s the educated guess.”

We all sat quietly in the dark, Crawford lighting another
cigarette.  I had lit one, but had wound up just holding it in my hand and not
smoking it.  I stripped it and carefully added on to the Colonel’s project.

“Are we retaliating?”  Jackson spoke up.  He had been
unusually quiet through the whole interrogation.  I didn’t blame him.  It
hadn’t been pleasant.

“We can’t.”  Crawford drew deeply on his smoke and leaned
his head back to look straight up at the stars.  “The Russians successfully
decapitated us.  All civilian leadership is dead.  All senior military
leadership is dead.  The arming and launch codes for all our nukes are gone. 
There’s fail safes built into the system to allow deployment even if this
happens, but they require three senior military officers to coordinate, and
Admiral Packard is the only officer on the list that is still alive.  Or at
least that we know where he is.”

I leaned back and let out a deep sigh.  The Russians had
finally done what the Soviets had said they would do shortly after the end of
World War II.  America was on its knees.  No, that’s being too generous.  We
were on our backs and gasping for air.  It wouldn’t take much more to finish us
off.  But if the Russians thought they’d just be able to waltz in and settle
down, they were in for a rude awakening.  Americans may argue and fight amongst
ourselves, appearing weak and divided to outside observers, but don’t
underestimate us.  Well, if there were any of us left, that is.

“There’s something else you should know.”  Crawford
interrupted my train of thought.  “The devices that were detonated in New York,
DC and LA.  Admiral Packard says his analysts have finished going over the data
and have concluded they were Soviet, not Chinese.”

“What?  How can they tell?”  I asked, stunned by the news.

“Something to do with the signature of the initial
detonation which was recorded by satellites, and analysis of the fall out. 
They are confident these were not only Soviet, but had been smuggled into the
US during the Cold War.  Probably in the 60s or 70s.”

“So you’re saying the Russians are behind this?  Or that at
the very least they were cooperating with the Chinese?”  Jackson asked,
sounding as caught off guard as I was.

“If I had to guess, I’d say the Russians played the
Chinese.  Got them to do the dirty work, take the hits from us to knock them
out of the picture, and are now stepping in to seize the spoils of war.  I’ve
spent a lot of time studying the Chinese.  After the Cold War it was popular
wisdom that the next 800 pound gorilla on the block to challenge us would be
China, so there was a focused effort to understand them.  One of the things I
learned is that the Chinese are masters at playing the long game.  Setting
things into motion years, if not decades in advance, then manipulating others
to get their plans to come together.

“But they got greedy.  They got a taste of Capitalism, the
money, luxury, power, prestige.  They probably played right into the Russian’s
hands.  The new Russian President, Barinov, is a Billionaire.  Between his own
money and control of the Russian government it’s not a stretch to imagine him
buying the right Chinese officials to make this happen.  Old, hard line China? 
Never would have happened.  The new China?  If you’ve got enough money,
anything you want is yours.  But this is just the musings and guesses of a
middle-aged Army Colonel.  If I was that bright I’d have stars on my collar,
not eagles.”

I sat there thinking about what Crawford had just told us. 
It made sense.  More sense than the original belief that China had attacked
because they wanted our land and natural resources.  They may have needed these
things, but without the consumerism of the US, their economy would tank beyond
repair.  Why would they give that up, unless the men in control thought they
had a replacement in their pockets?  How many billions had the Russians
invested in this gambit?  We looked up as Captain Blanchard walked up, snapped
a salute and stood there at attention, waiting for the Colonel.

“Jesus Christ, Captain.  It’s oh four fucking hundred and
I’m too goddamn tired to stand up and salute.  Relax and have a seat.” 
Blanchard completed his salute, but didn’t sit, instead choosing to stand.

“Sir, we’ve completed four full search patterns of the river
and both river banks.  The search pattern began at the bridge and terminated
sixty miles south.”  He paused and turned to me.  “I’m sorry, Major.  We didn’t
find any sign of her or the dog.  Unfortunately, if they came up on the eastern
shore…”

“I got it.  Thanks, Captain.  And tell the air crews thank
you for me.”  This time I lit a cigarette and started smoking it.  I was
exhausted, and pissed at myself.  If I had killed Roach when I first saw him on
the train, Rachel and Dog would be sitting here with me.  Were they really
gone?  I had to acknowledge the likelihood, but the same part of me that
believed Katie was still alive refused to give up hope.  Rachel was a survivor,
and Dog was… well, Dog was one tough son of a bitch.  One could argue that
Rachel had survived as long as she had because she was with me, and to a degree
that was true, at first, but she had shown a toughness that many men I’d known
couldn’t have matched.

“Thank you, Captain.  Now go get some rest, all of you.” 
Crawford lit another cigarette.

“What about you, sir?”  Blanchard prompted, falling into the
role of a good aide.

“I want to look over these interrogation notes, then I’ve
got to talk to the Admiral again.  Figure out what we’re going to do about
these fucking Russians that are stinking up our country.”

“Yes, sir.”  Blanchard answered as we all stood up to head
for our makeshift beds.

“Oh, Captain.  Do we have early warning pickets out?  For
the Russians and the infected?”  The Colonel asked, turning on a small
flashlight and digging out a pair of reading glasses.

“Yes, sir.  Air assets up at all four points and a platoon
of Rangers keeping an eye on the river.  Just in case the infected figure out
how to swim.”

We all looked at him for a moment after he put that thought
out.  They can’t swim.  Then, a few days ago I didn’t think they could
coordinate their efforts and hunt us, either.  Crawford thought about that for a
moment, nodded his head and waved us away as he started reading from the legal
pad.

I woke several hours later, bathed in sweat.  The small
airport didn’t have much in the way of accommodations, and Jackson and I had
unrolled a couple of thin, foam ground mats in the back of a tin roofed
hangar.  We had gone to sleep with the hangar door open, a cool night breeze
blowing in the opening, but when the sun came up the humidity returned and the
metal roof had quickly heated up.  Now it felt like I was in a sauna. 

A few feet away Jackson lay on his back, snoring loud enough
that I wondered how I had slept.  I’d have to get him and Dog together to see
who was louder, I thought, then remembered I didn’t even know if Dog was alive
or not.  The thought soured my mood, more than it already was, and I climbed to
my feet with a groan.  I may have stayed in shape, but my knees, back and
shoulders weren’t as young as they used to be.  Working the sore joints, I
thought about kicking Jackson and telling him to get his ass up and moving but
didn’t see the point.  Let him sleep while he could.

Wandering out into the bright Arkansas sunshine I wished for
a pair of sun glasses as I headed for the trench some of the Rangers had dug on
the far side of the runway to serve as a latrine.  Business complete, I set out
in search of the Colonel.  I intended to ask him to send out another helicopter
to search for Rachel, and if he wouldn’t I was going to slip away and start
looking myself.  Of course, I didn’t have a clue where to start, but that
didn’t matter. 

Trudging across the hot tarmac towards the control tower I
had time to think.  In my heart I knew I wasn’t going to desert to go look for
Rachel.  I was many things, but no matter how good the reason I wasn’t a
deserter.  Men were fighting and dying.  Brother soldiers who most likely had
someone they cared about who was missing, too.  I knew I’d be fighting until I
was dead, or we won, and winning wasn’t looking like it would get very good
odds in Vegas right about now.

Reaching the base of the control tower I returned the
guard’s salute, pulled the door open and stepped into blessed, nearly orgasmic
quality air conditioning.  I had forgotten that the FAA required emergency
generators for any airport with a controller assigned.  Apparently the Colonel
hadn’t as I could faintly hear it purring away, providing power to the
building.  Climbing the staircase to the upper level I found Crawford seated at
the same folding table I’d eaten dinner at the previous evening.

In the far corner of the room sat a folding cot, a thin Army
issue blanket folded into a perfect square sitting precisely in the center. 
Crawford looked freshly showered, shaved and wore a crisply pressed uniform. 
He was drinking a cup of coffee from an Arkansas Razorbacks mug, satellite
phone pressed to his ear.  He looked up when I walked in and waved me into a
chair on the opposite side of the table.  Before sitting, I looked around for
the coffee pot, but couldn’t spot one so sat down and enjoyed the cool air
blowing out of the ceiling vent directly over my head.  Crawford wrapped up his
call and hit the end button on the sat phone. 

“Before you even ask, I’ve got two Black Hawks out looking
for her.  Well, not just looking for her, they’re also scouting for Russians
and infected, but I put a Ranger on each bird and tasked them with looking for
her specifically.”  He noisily slurped some coffee and picked up his reading
glasses and the legal pad with the interrogation notes.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t like to leave anyone behind.”  He said.  “That was
Admiral Packard and his staff I was just talking with.  Briefed them on what
you got out of our prisoners last night.  They still have access to our
satellites, and are re-tasking several of them for surveillance of the US. 
What we do know is that the Russians have taken Malmstrom Air Force Base in
Montana, Ellsworth in South Dakota and Kirtland in New Mexico.  Malmstrom gave
them access to our Minuteman III inventory of ICBMs.  They’re consolidating
their hold on us and we’ve got an idea to ruin their day.”

“I’m all ears, sir.”  I said when it was obvious he was
waiting for me to respond.

“SADMs.”

At first I was sure I hadn't  heard him right.  SADM stands
for Special Atomic Demolition Munition.  In plain English, a nuke that fits in
a back pack.  I had trained on these devices at one point in my military
career, preparing to carry them into the Soviet Union if the President ever
decided it was time.  But that was a lot of years ago.  Technology had made
them obsolete, or so I thought.

“We still have some?  Weren’t the last ones built in the
70s?”  I asked.

“60s, to be accurate, but you know the US Government. 
Nothing ever gets thrown away, just stuck in storage and forgotten about.”

“Will they still work?”

“Admiral Packard checked with his staff that maintains the
Navy’s nuclear arsenal and they assured him that the devices will work as well
today as when they were built.  Sounds like they have a pretty long shelf
life.”

“So, what’s the catch?  If I’m remembering right these
things are variable yield, from 10 tons all the way up to 1 kiloton.  Couple of
these at each base they took over, cranked all the way up and there’s a lot of
fried Russkies.”  I asked with a sinking feeling about where he was going with
this.

“That’s our thought.  Do you still remember how to adjust
the yield?” 

“Yeah, I do.  Once you’re shown how to operate a nuclear
bomb it’s not something you tend to forget.”  I said with more sarcasm than I
probably should have when talking to a superior officer, but at the moment I
didn’t really give a shit.

Crawford ignored my tone and continued.  “The problem is
there’s only three locations we can identify where these are in storage.  The
Navy had some at Little Creek in Virginia and at Coronado out in California.  Unfortunately,
no one can find any records to confirm they’re still there, or even exactly
where they are on the bases, and there’s not someone to call up and ask to go
check.  The third location, and we have found inventory records from less than
a year ago, is Los Alamos.”

I looked at him and stayed silent.  I knew what was coming,
and I wasn’t going to help him.  The room was quiet other than the rush of cool
air from the air conditioning vents and a large analog clock ticking away on
the wall over the north facing bank of windows. 

“I need you to lead a team into Los Alamos and retrieve the
devices.  Records indicate there’s ten of them in storage.  Captain Blanchard
has all of the details you’ll need.”

I knew I was going to accept the mission before he even
asked.  Yes, asked.  Crawford was a good officer, a good leader.  He could have
ordered me to go, but that wasn’t his style.  He knew me well enough by now to
understand that he didn’t need to order me to do anything.  Just explain to me
why it needed done.  I’ve always been a soft touch that way.