Boom

Hey genuine readers

My Hard Drive blew up last week as a little late birthday present from the cosmos.  So I've been delayed getting my files recovered

As some kind of message from the Gods, Mere Anarchy is one of them things that did not survive.  Therefore you've got to wait for the rest of the story.

Or there will be no more story at all and I'll just have to tell you at some point how it was all going to pan out.

Thanks for reading so far, this will at least give you chance to catch up

R

Chapter 24- Short-Sword

Chapter 24

Short-Sword

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Jubal Storm leant back against the wall and took out another cigarette.  He looked across at the gathered crowd of civilians.  Their faces were glum, they looked upset and scared.  This made a lot of sense.  They had no idea just how bad things were going to get.

Agent Wharton was talking to Captain Dietz, Lt’s McPherson and Chung were stood to one side.  Sergeant Wooderson kept his weapon up and ready but wasn’t aiming it at anyone.  To Storm, this situation was becoming absurdly complicated.

Of course Jubal had a solution to the problem too, a simple way to sort out the humans from the imposters.  But the team would never go for it.  He had also come to a harsh conclusion about the team that had gone to check on Ostrow.

Specialist Newman, an engineer by trade, came over and stood by Storm.  Storm offered him a cigarette and Newman took it in shaking hands.  Storm leant over and lit it with his own cigarette.

“What’s going on Jube?” asked Newman.

“Don’t know,” replied Storm.

“They’re talking about how to tell who is who.  But there are people missing.  We need more men here,” stammered Newman.

“Maybe, maybe that’d be worse?” offered Storm.

“How so?” asked Newman.

“What if we’re all one of those things?” asked Storm.

“I’m not,” replied Newman.

“Neither am I.  But I aint sure about you and I aint sure about any of the others.  It could be that you and I are the last humans here,” said Storm.  Of course that didn’t really figure.  Storm knew that, logically, if there were more of these imposters than there were people, they’d attack.  No need to hide then.

“A blood test,” said Chung audibly.

“How would that work?” asked McPherson, holding the sides of her head.  She looked tired but she was still focused.  Storm had picked her out as one of the people who wasn’t about to crack.

“Well, the way I see it and this is strictly theoretical,” began Chung.

“Just spit it out Marcus,” snapped McPherson.  Chung gave her a reproachful look and then spoke.

“If we mix uninfected blood with someone’s blood and it is infected, there will be a reaction,” he said.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“Because you saw the way Hunter behaved.  When he caught fire?”

“He broke in half,” said McPherson.  She shivered involuntarily at that.

“Yes he did.  I have a theory that these things aren’t like a normal creature, that’s just tissue.  They are more like a colony of smaller beings.  And when the main body is ‘killed’, the smaller pieces that aren’t ‘dead’ yet try to escape,” he said.

Jubal thought about that, it made his skin craw.  When you kill something, it was supposed to stay down.  But the guy they had encountered in the pig-pen had tried to get up and move, even without a head.

“Where do we get uninfected blood from?” asked McPherson.

“Newman’s medical kit will have some, not much.  The rest is back on the Osprey,” said Chung.

“El tee,” Said Storm.  Chung looked over

“El tee I think that the Osprey is probably compromised by now,” he said simply.

“How so?” asked Chung.

“Cos if Dalton’s one of us, why didn’t he come back?  Why didn’t anyone come back?  Ask em to bring the blood, they’ll never do it,” said Storm.  “Dalton and all the others on the chopper are one of them now, if they weren’t from the start,”

“You’re full of shit,” snapped Newman.

“Prove me wrong Dan,” replied Storm, calmly.

“No!” said Dietz loudly.  The rest turned around and saw Dietz walking away from Wharton.

“Think about it Roman, it’s the only fucking way to be sure!” said Wharton.

“I don’t care, it’s totally unthinkable,” replied Dietz, hotly.

Wharton shook his head.  Storm got to his feet, stretched and took out two new cigarettes.  He lit one and walked over to Wharton.  Chung and McPherson were explaining the plan to Dietz and Sergeant Wooderson.  To Jubal Storm, it sounded logical.  But he wanted to know what Wharton had suggested that got Dietz so bent out of shape.

Storm offered Wharton a cigarette which Wharton took from him and lit it himself.

“Cap didn’t like your idea none,” said Storm.

“No he didn’t.  It’s the only way to totally isolate this place,” said Wharton.

“What is?” asked Storm.

“We know that we’re not infected right now, the team,” said Wharton.

“We do?” asked Storm.

“We know at least some of us are human, that just follows logically.  If we were all these things, then we’d just kill each other and win,” said Wharton.

“That’s what I thought,” said Storm.

“Then there is only one way to be sure, when it comes to the village,” concluded Wharton.

“Which is?” asked Storm.  Wharton took a long drag and sized up Specialist Grade Five Jubal Storm.

“I think you know exactly what it is don’t you,” said Wharton.

“I do actually,” replied Storm

Sat-Com, Somewhere in Virginia

Colonel James Sickles had made a career from his political acumen and his razor sharp intelligence, he was an observer extraordinaire.  He was able to figure out what it was that people wanted; what it was they were really asking from you when you got an assignment.

Here at Sat-Com, he’d been sent by the Secretary of Defence to keep an eye on Major General Tom Petersen.  His official job description was to mind out that the Department of Defence (the shop as they tended to call it) didn’t get its reputation damaged by the crisis and how General Petersen handled it.

That was nonsense, of course.  The situation would be kept as quiet as was humanly possible.  If they had wanted it to be quieter, they’d send another General who would keep it quiet.  What was a Colonel supposed to do?

James Sickles had seen it clearly, his real mandate was to keep an eye on the General himself.  And James was now fairly sure that he had a read on the veteran General.  Of course Petersen didn’t like James, that went without saying.  Petersen was a General from the old guard; a Vietnam veteran who had risen up the ranks and seen the end of the cold war.

When the Berlin wall had come down, James had only been ten years old.  He was a product of the new army, he believed in shock and awe and the violence of action.  He was a political animal too, this was something that Petersen would never ever approve of.

So Sickles would always rub him up the wrong way, that was certain.  James had been isolated from the rest of the staff, bit by bit and gradually managed to slip away alone with Lieutenant Walker.

Now Colonel Sickles had slipped away from the others again.  He was reading a report as he waited at the edge of the containment zone.  A military doctor, Captain Perry, stood by the door too.

“You know Colonel I don’t really approve of you allowing someone out of the containment zone yet,” said the Doctor.  Sickles barely even looked up, the report had him gripped.

“I think Colonel Adams is on his way now,” said Captain Perry.

“Captain, can you do me a favor and take this report back into the main control room,” said Sickles.

“Yes I can.  But I don’t really want to…”
“I’m not asking you, it’s an order.  You follow orders right?” snapped Sickles.

“Yes I do,” replied Perry, glumly.

“Keep the report to yourself, if anyone other than Lieutenant Walker asks you about it, destroy it,”

“What does it say?” asked Perry.

“It’s an engineering report I asked for,” replied Sickles, cryptically.

Perry shook his head and left.  Sickles watched him leave.  He saw Colonel Adams moving through the containment zone, air-tight containment seals all around him.  He had been through a de-con shower and he had come out clean.

Colonel Adams, a towel in his hands, came out to see James Sickles.

“You got a minute to talk Colonel?” asked Sickles.

“Yes I do,” replied Adams.

“Follow me a minute please, “said Sickles.  The two of them walked around a corner to a supply room.  There were boxes and crates and most notably, no one around.

Adams paused by the door for a moment.  Sickles looked around at him.

“You don’t need to panic Colonel, I’m here on the authority of the Secretary of Defence,” he said plainly.

“I see,” replied Adams.

“You don’t.  We’ve got a major situation here,” stated Sickles.  “There is a rogue General in Virginia, giving orders from a defunct mission,”

“What?” replied Adams, shocked.

“There was a mission back in Afghanistan called Briar.  It was a covert Op’s base.  It was the brain child of a couple of heavyweights in the shop.  It got canned when the new President got sworn in.  Well Briar is back from the dead and giving orders all over again,”

“And it’s in Virginia?” asked Adams.

“Don’t be an idiot Colonel, we’re Briar!  Sat-Com is Briar,” he said bluntly.

Adams stood there for a moment saying nothing.  Sickles paced back and forward.  The towel fell to the floor and Sickles, who noticed everything, saw that there was blood in the towel.

Sickles stopped pacing and looked at Adams.  Colonel Adams reached forward with incredible speed and ferocity.  Both hands clamped around James Sickles head and lifted him into the air.  Sickles screamed and reached for his sidearm.

He collided with the ceiling and fell to the Earth, dazed and unaware.  Colonel Chris Adams, or someone that looked a lot like him, dropped to its knees next to Colonel James Sickles.  The ‘Adams Thing’ twisted its own head to one side slightly and there was a terrible cracking sound, like old rotten ice breaking.  Teeth, huge dagger like teeth sprouted from a new, long mouth that had appeared in the top its head.

A long dark red tongue wrapped around Sickles and pulled him with dizzying speed into its new, bloody maw.  There were two or three sharp bites and Sickles stopped struggling.  Adams stood up again, covered in blood.  His face began to knit back together and he reached down with one hand for the ruined body in front of him.  He pushed Colonel Sickles with a hand and there was a low, dazed moan from him.

The ‘Adams’ thing was pleased, he was still alive.

Chapter 23- The Ides of March

Chapter 23

The Ides of March

Washington, D.C

A trio of men in smart suits walked quickly down the hallway.  All around them there was activity, people on the phones, people writing or talking.  The Whitehouse was traditionally a hive of activity.

The man at the front of the trio, the senior man in the group, walked with purpose, checking his watch every now and again.  The second man watched the movements of the first man every now and again.  The third man walked with his hands in his jacket pockets and affected an air of casual indifference to the situation that might have been described by some as a crisis.

“Crisis?  It’s a fucking catastrophe,” is how the President had responded.  Hayden McDonald, the President’s chief of staff and political advisor had tried to calm him down but the President had needed to go through the emotions of it, the shock, the anger and the betrayal.

The trio finally reached the office; the first man opened the door and walked straight in.  He sat down at the head of the table.  The other two followed in behind him.

“Should I make sure the others know where we are?” asked Jack Krane, the deputy chief of staff.

“Anyone who cant find us shouldn’t be here, it’s not a public meeting,” replied Peter Bierko.  The third man was the Whitehouse Counsel, the chief lawyer for the Whitehouse and the President.  His name was Richard McCoy and much like Peter Bierko, he was also a college friend of the President.

Richard sat down at the other end of the table to Peter.  Richard had his old, beat up brief case with him.  He sat down and took out his notes.  Richard’s hair had less grey in it than Peter’s but he carried it better, he had a tan, a genuine tan.  Richard sat back in his seat and began looking at a memo.

“Who else are we expecting?” asked Jack Krane, who looked nervous.

“Anyone that the President and the Chief of Staff trust,” replied Peter.

“That’s a short list of guys then,” quipped Richard McCoy.  Peter raised an eyebrow at that.

“Oh come on Peter, you know that the President had to make a lot of compromises on who made up the cabinet, in order to get here,” said McCoy, his tone superior as ever.  Peter shook his head.

“I didn’t know that, you’re the politician,” replied Peter.

“You are too, now.  You’re the Director of Homeland Security,” said McCoy.

“And the President trusts you,” added Jack.

Peter said nothing to this.  He knew that both Jack and Richard were lawyers, they knew how to talk and how to get something for nothing.  Peter had some understanding of the law but he wasn’t a lawyer or a professional politician.  So he armored himself in silence.

“We cant afford to wait much longer,” said Jack.

“Well we’ll have to.  The Secretary of State has constitutional authority here and we need his say so if we’re going to do anything drastic,” said McCoy.

“How bad do you think this will get?” asked Jack.

“It depends,” replied Peter, carefully.  McCoy raised an eyebrow at this but said nothing.

There was a sharp knock at the door.

“Come in,” said McCoy.

“This place is impossible to find,” came the nasal tone of the Attorney General.

Peter shook his head, it was just what the room needed, another lawyer.

Attorney General Henry Finch sat down next to Peter.  He was a small, crumpled man in a sharp black pinstripe suit. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and was, to Peter’s knowledge, the richest man in the room.

“We need to get on,” said Peter.

“Yes we do,” said Henry.  “So far this story hasn’t broken but when it does it will become impossible to get anything done about it,”

“Then it best not break,” said McCoy bluntly.

“Don’t look at me,” said Henry.  “I’m not going to leak anything from here,”

“We’ve got to come up with a solution to the problem and we’ve got to do it fast.  We cant involve anyone in the decision making who isn’t in here.  And we’ve got to do it all with the Executive Order the President signed without getting him further involved,” said McCoy.

“Unless we’ve got no choice at all,” added Jack.

“Indeed,” said Peter.  “The way I see it, we’ve got two problems.  We’ve got the outbreak of Arctic Blue in Venezuela.  And we’ve got a rogue military officer giving orders from somewhere in Virginia,”

“I should have retired years ago,” said Finch, cleaning his glasses.

“Well you didn’t so you’re going to have to suck it up,” said McCoy sharply.

“Okay, two problems but a common theme,” said Peter.  “We’ve lost control of something and need to exercise control over it before it spreads out,”

“That’s possibly over simplifying it but fair,” said Henry.

“First question, do we have the legal authority over this?” asked Jack.

“Yes we do,” said Henry, putting his glasses back on.  “Anything military we have ultimate legal authority.  All the chains of command end at the President’s office and we’ve got that authority.  It may be necessary to draft the President in on this at some stage though,”

“If we can avoid it, we should,” said Jack.  “I’ve got to think about political containment of this,”  Peter shook his head.

“Now?  Now you’re thinking about political containment?” he said, his disbelief showing clearly on his face.

“This is the show that never ends,” said Jack bluntly.

“Let’s hope so,” said Peter.

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Oscar lead agent Wharton and Captain Dietz to the crowd that had now gathered.  Don Brazzo stood in front of them, of course.  Oscar stopped in front of the crowd and spoke in Spanish.

When he was finished he turned around to speak to Dietz.  There was a flurry of questions from the crowd but Oscar tried to blot them out for a moment. 
“Captain, I’ve explained the situation, that we need to keep everyone in full view and that everyone is to present themselves.  They don’t like it very much but they’re going to comply,”

“That’s good news,” said Dietz.

“Yeah except there are five people missing right now aren’t there?” came Wharton’s voice.

“Yes, yes they are saying that five people are not here,” said Oscar.

“Father Castillo among them?” asked Dietz.

“Yes so that’s four to go,” said Oscar.

“Right so we need to find these people and round them up,” said Dietz.  “I’d feel better if knew what was going on at the chopper,”

“The Major’s got that in hand,” said Wharton.  “If I’m right, he’s wasting a trip”

“You don’t think Jones was….”

“No I don’t,” said Wharton.

“Then why didn’t you say something?” asked Dietz.

“Because I wasn’t sure if the Major was one of them,” came the blunt reply.

“This doesn’t help us,” said Oscar.  “You need to focus on what’s going on here,”

“What’s going on Oscar?” asked Don Brazzo.  “Why do they make us prisoners?”

“It’s for your own protection,” explained Oscar.

“What did you tell them about us?  That we’re small minded mountain folks?”

“No, of course not,” replied Oscar.

“You’ve caused this haven’t you?” said Don Brazzo.  A couple of other villagers began shouting at this, following Brazzo’s lead.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it, I’m just trying to help you,” exclaimed Oscar.

“You liar, you’ve always thought you were too good to be here,” cried Brazzo.

‘Why, why does it always come back to this?’ thought Oscar.  He took a step backwards and a villager reached down to pick up a stone.  Oscar covered his face as a stone flew threw the air and bounced painfully off his arm.

There was the sudden bark of gunfire and the crowd shrank back as a group.

Wharton’s pistol was smoking.

“We’ve got no time for this shit,” he said in fluent Spanish.  “You people are all in danger.  If you want to get out of it, you’ll stay put and do nothing until I say so.  If anyone makes another dangerous move, I’ll put a round in your heart, I swear to God,”  Oscar looked at him and saw that if he didn’t mean it, he hid his intentions well.

“Oscar, find out who is missing and where they were last seen,” asked Wharton.

Oscar began talking to the crowd.

“Dietz here,” said Dietz into his radio.

“This is McPherson, we’ve got a fatality here,”

“What?” replied Dietz.  “Who?”

“Hunter, he was one of them.  Look, we’ve got no way of knowing who is still human or not.”

“It was  your job, you and Chung, to find out how we figure out who is who,” said Dietz, exasperated.

“Yes but we need more data before we can judge,” came her reply.

“Brilliant.  Then what do you suggest we do?” asked Dietz.

“For now, just keep everyone visible and we’ll go from there.  Captain, I’m not sure if the Major is clean or not,”

“Repeat your last,” said Dietz.

“We don’t know if Major Dalton is one of them or not,” she said plainly.

“Don’t say that sort of thing over the radio Lieutenant.  I’ve known Peter Dalton for fifteen years,”

“Yes sir,” she said back.

Oscar finished talking to the crowd a second time, the sullen stares still burning into him.  He rejoined the soldiers for a moment to explain who was missing.

“Don Javier, Miguel Uttero, Madam Lucas and Madame Gris.  She’s more than seventy years old, I don’t think she’s going to give you too much trouble,” said Oscar.

“We’ll see,” said Wharton.  “You know, Captain, I think I know how to cut this Gordian knot.  But it’s not a great solution.”

“What is it?” asked Dietz.  Oscar watched them carefully as Wharton looked back at him, he then walked Dietz away from Oscar.  Oscar watched them carefully from a distance.

“What’s going on?” asked Don Brazzo.

“They are deciding how they figure out who is safe,” said Oscar.

“I assume you are safe aren’t you?” said Brazzo, bitterly.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough” replied Oscar.

Chapter 22- Occam

Chapter 22

Occam

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

“Flamethrower, over here!  Now!” came the yell.  Hannah jumped and came out of her reverie.  Sergeant Wooderson grabbed a flamethrower and the two of them ran over to the sound of the call, Chung’s voice from the sound of it.

Stood near a small hut was Specialist Storm, his P-90 machine-gun smoking.  To his left were Lt Chung and Specialist Newman, the engineer.  Newman looked pale and shocked.  Chung waved his arms and pointed.

“There, there.  Burn it!” he shouted.  Hannah raised her P-90 sub-machine gun and aimed at the target.  She felt her breath catch in her throat.

“It’s Hunter?” asked Wooderson in a strangled voice.

“It was, fuckin’ burn it!” yelled Storm.

A writhing body lay on the floor, its arms reaching forward, its legs flattened out below it.  There was blood everywhere.  The face was now unrecognizable, it’s eyes and mouth had vanished under a storm of blood.

“Good God in heaven,” said Hannah to herself.

“Burn the fucker!” shouted Storm.

Wooderson finally came to life, he triggered the flamethrower but his aim was slightly off.  A jet of burning fuel coursed across the legs and lower body of what had once been Lyle Hunter.  There was a terrible low howling sound from it.

Hannah moved towards Chung, keeping her weapon on it as it burned. 

“What happened?” she asked.  Chung’s face became a capital O of surprise.

“Fuck me,” exclaimed Storm.  She saw Storm feed a fresh magazine into his P-90.  She turned to look at the burning creature and felt her stomach heave.

At first there had just been a strange sound, something leathery being twisted.  Then there were a series of quick, cracking sounds like an old branch being broken.  Hannah looked at what had once been Lyle Hunter, a quiet kid from Oklahoma.  There was an ocean of blood around it’s mid-section.

There was a terrible ripping, cracking, rending sound as the upper body separated itself, with a twist from the lower half.  The arms, bent bizarrely at the elbows, now functioned as legs and walked the upper body away from the burning lower body.

“Oh God!” cried Newman and took a huge step backwards.

“Wood!” shouted Storm at Sergeant Wooderson.  “Burn it, burn it now!”

“It’s still moving,” said Chung, a look of horror and wonder mixing on his face.

Wooderson, a veteran air force man, finally broke out of his shock.  He leant into the flame-thrower and fired.  The flames roared and the upper half of Hunter caught fire too.  It crawled, ran and fell with a terrible high pitched shriek.

“Don’t put it out, let it burn,” said Hannah, finally able to speak.

“It’d be quite something to dissect one of those things,” Said Chung.

“Good luck with that one el-tee,” said Storm.

“Hunter was one of them?” asked Wooderson.  “How did you know?”

Storm looked at Wooderson and the others, a long careful look.  Hannah noticed his grey eyes, smart eyes.  She’d never really thought about Storm’s intelligence before.

“Nothin’ personal Sarge, but how do I know you aint one of em either?” said Storm.

“What?  I just burned that one didn’t I?” replied Wooderson, his indignation standing out clearly.

“Yeah that don’t mean much to me,” said Storm, slowly.

“He’s right, if I was one of them, I’d burn another one to make myself seem like a normal person, to gain acceptance,” said Chung.  “It’s a classic albino alligator move,”

Hannah shivered briefly.

Hannah walked away.  She tried to focus on what was happening but there was an inherent problem with what was going on, they didn’t know who was human and who wasn’t anymore.

“Someone needs to get in touch with Major Dalton,” she said.  She took out her radio-mic and opened up a channel to the helicopter.

“This is McPherson, give me Ostrow,” she said.

“This is Dalton,” came the reply.  Hannah sighed briefly, that was reassuring.

“Major, what’s the sit-rep there?” she asked.

“Jones and Harrison are dead.  We secured the situation,” came the reply.

“Jesus, Sergeant Harrison?” she said, stunned.  The veteran Sergeant had seemed invulnerable.

“Do you have the situation locked down there?” he asked her.

“Yes sir, yes we do.  Spec Hunter is dead; he was one of the infiltrators.  We burned him,” A hand appeared on Hannah’s shoulder,  she spun around.

It was Lt Chung.

“Careful what you tell him,” he said quietly.

“Why?” she asked.  But she already knew why.

“Lieutenant, repeat your last,” he said.

“Major, we really need you here to brief us and take command and control,” she said back.

“Negative, I’ve been requested back at Sat-Com.  Captain Dietz will take command now,”

“Sir, we really need you here,” she said again.

“Negative Lieutenant.  This is Dalton out,”

“What do you think?” asked Chung.

“Why should I tell you?  For all I know, you’re one of them too,” she said bitterly.

Sat-Com, Somewhere in Virginia

Major General Tom Petersen was back in his office again.  He took a bottle of Glen Moran from his desk draw and poured himself a glass.  He knocked it back in one go.  The pain in his arms and knees was bad today, the worst it had been since he was first diagnosed.

He looked up at the wall, letters of commendation were framed, along with his presentation medal for his Silver Star.  He’d earned that one in blood, he’d been one lucky SOB to survive that ambush.  But compared to the VC, his new enemy was even more insidious.  They were in the same uniform as his men.

The phone rang and Petersen picked it up.

“Petersen,” he barked.

“General, I’ve got Brigadier General Blackburn on the line here,” came a voice.

“Put him through,” said the General.

“General, what do you need?” came the voice.

“Todd, how are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m good thank you General.  All ready to roll, I just need to know what’s going on,”

“I’m going to cut to the fucking desert course Todd, we’ve got a possible infiltration situation here,”

“That sounds very cold war sir,” came the reply.  Punk Kid, thought Petersen.

“Listen carefully son, someone in the chain of command is going into business for themselves and I need to flush them out.  You’re old man was a reliable guy, a fucking hard man.  What about you?”  There was a moment or two of silence.

“Do you have orders from the President?” came the reply.

“Yes I do,” Said Petersen.

“Then I’m in sir.  Show me who we need to bust up and I’ll bust em.”

“That’s the spirit.  There’s a base operating illegally on US soil.  I need you to take a small, hand picked unit there.  Arrest anyone over the rank of Captain, disarm anyone that resists.  Use deadly force if you must.  Don’t fuck around, shoot if you have to,”

“Yes sir,” came the reply.  Solid, the kid was solid.

“Get it done, I’m sending the co-ordinates over a secure link to you now.  Don’t follow any other orders unless they come from me, the Secretary of Defense or the Commander in Chief,”

“Yes sir.  Blackburn out,”

Petersen poured himself another glass. 

“Well, we’re in this now,” he said to no one.

Villa Escobar, Venezuela

There was a fierce fire-fight going on, Marines and US army personnel firing at each other.  The marines continued to fight aggressively against the odds, that was the USMC way.

Lt Rush leant back against a wall, rounds zipping overhead like little hornets.  Rush remembered the old line from basic;

“A snap means its close, a hiss means you need to get down,”

Rush took out his radio microphone.

“This is Lieutenant Price here, I need reinforcments at phase-line green, urgent.  We’re about to be overrun,”

A reassuring female voice came over the radio.

“Black Two, please repeat your sit-rep here, I’ve got the general on the line,”

“This is Black-Two, I’m under severe attack from Red forces, US army personnel.  We’re being overrun.  I request urgen support at phase-line green.  This is urgen,”

“You’re being overrun?” came the question, this time it was a man’s voice.

“Yes sir.” Repeated Rush.

“Okay son, you sit tight and I’ll do what I can.  You understand what I mean?”

“I guess so sir, we’ll hold on if we can,” said Rush.  Rush hung up the phone and raised a rifle.

Satcom, Somewhere in Virginia

“Okay that’s official then.” Said General Petersen.  “Mark it,”

A tech-sergeant marked the board and the small symbol at Infected Zone Two changed.

“Get me Angel,” said the General.

“Angel is on the line sir, “said a very young Lieutenant

“Angel, this is General Petersen.  Execute “Troy”, repeat “Troy”.  You follow me son?”

There was a moment of crackling silence.  Then a muffled synthetic voice replied.

“Yes sir, Troy.”

Villa Escobar, Venezuela

Rush ducked and then aimed up and fired again.  US army troops were all over the perimeter.  Odell dropped in alongside him, reloading his SAW machinegun as he went.

“We’re being overrun el-tee, what do we do?” he asked.

“I don’t know, do your best Odell,” replied Rush.

Odell nodded, cleared his magazine and then opened fire again.  Rush heard the engines of a plane above.

“Spooky?” asked Odell briefly, over a lull in fire.

“Maybe,” Rush thought it did sound like a Specter Gunship.  The huge twin prop plane was a gunship and a half.  If it was coming in to help, maybe, just maybe, they would have enough firepower to at least withdraw, if not hold off this assault.

There was a sudden blinding light and then a rush of air, Rush felt his lungs empty and his eyes seemed to roll back in their head.  Then there was a searing heat and Villa Escobar was “secured”.

A huge plume of smoke began to rise where the village had been, an AC-160 Gunship wheeled away.

Chapter 21- Cry Havok

Book 3

Contagion

Chapter 21

Cry Havok

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Specialist Grade Five Jubal Storm was considered by many a simple guy.  Jubal didn’t mind this very much, he didn’t consider himself a “quiz kid” by any stretch of the imagination.  Equally he liked it when people underestimated him.

Back in North Carolina, being smart, being “learned” wasn’t much help for him.  His daddy would often “whup him” for being too smart. So Jubal Storm learned to just keep his mouth shut and smoke another cigarette.

The air force had been a surprise home for Jubal Storm, he’d been promoted to Specialist Grade Five, the promotion that they have to grant you after a full year’s service and platoon leaders had often given him the pep talk.

“You could make Sergeant in a year if you work hard and get your training in,”

“Sure, I’ll see what I can do,” he had replied.  A year’s work for stripes?  It hardly seemed worth it to Jubal.  Once you had stripes people would be looking at you all the time.  And then he’d lose an advantage.

Being underestimated, Jubal Storm was able to size people up, spot things that perhaps others might not spot.  He’d noticed that Lyle Hunter, a quiet kid from Oklahoma, was wearing different boots to normal.  Storm had noticed that he wasn’t wearing the same boots he’d been wearing when he’d arrived.  At some point, he had changed some elements of his gear.

Storm also noticed other little things, like the small, very small blood stain on the back of his leg.  In all the chaos and the shooting, it wasn’t that big a deal.  Storm had also noticed that Hunter’s weapon, an M4 Carbine, was on safe, despite all the scary shit that was going on.  Storm relied on his trigger finger as his safety catch.

Storm noticed lots of things, he’d noticed the slow mental collapse of Major Dalton who was clearly not a well man.  He remembered that Dalton had been on a long and difficult assignment a week or two before and Storm supposed that Dalton’s endurance had just been eroded into nothing.

Storm had also noticed that Wharton was a notch smarter than the smartest person in the room.  He tended to listen rather than speak but he noticed and remembered things that no one else had picked up on.

So when Dalton had stated he thought that Jones was “one of them,” Storm had watched Wharton’s reaction.  It had been telling that Wharton didn’t seem very convinced.  Storm thought the same, if they were going to “replace” someone, he’d hang back but in a way that didn’t get noticed.  Jones had been a difficult guy the whole day.  He’d drawn attention to himself.  Not smart.

Storm had also noticed something a long time ago that was a small but critical point.  Lyle Hunter, from Oklahoma, had never ever asked Storm for a light.  He’d never offered to go and smoke with him.  There were many explanations for why he was asking him, Storm knew that.  But only one of them was important.

The two of them walked out of the Church for a moment and stood, just out of view behind a hut that was standing empty, its door wide open.  As they had walked over, Storm had slowly lifted his P-90 submachine gun up to his waist height.

Hunter leant back against the wall and took out a cigarette.

“You got a light Jube?” he asked.  Storm wondered now, he’d called him Jube.  But then he remembered what Chung had said, they would have all the memories that a human being would have had before.

“Take no fuckin’ chances” said Storm quietly.  Storm turned around and shot a burst of machine-gun fire into Lyle Hunter’s stomach.  Hunter was thrown backwards, a cigarette arcing up through the air as he fell.  There was a splash of blood and the smell of cordite.

Hunter fell on his back, his eyes open and wide with shock.  Storm stood back, his hands gripping the sides of the P-90 firmly.  Storm had a few seconds to doubt himself before he was joined by others.

“What the hell are you doing?” shouted Chung.  Newman stood to one side and Chung the other.

“He’s one of em,” said Storm, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

“What?   Hunter?” asked Newman.

“Yeah, he’s one of em,” repeated Storm.

“How do you know?” asked Chung.  Storm was about to say something when Hunter sat up and grabbed at Newman, who was stood the closest to him.  Newman screamed and jumped back.  Hunter was growling as he reached, a terrible animal sound.

“Thank God for that,” breathed Storm.  He lowered the machine-gun and opened fire at nearly point blank range.

Villa Escobar, Venezuela

Tracer rounds zipped through the air and an explosion tore clumps of earth up and hurled them into the air.  Marine’s moved and took up firing positions.  The army unit that had been sent to the village was strung out over a near five hundred meter and was in the open.  But there were nearly a hundred of them, opposed to the less than forty marines.

However, they were up against US marines.  Lieutenant Rush, the ranking officer among the marines, moved low, stopping to fire every now and again.  He knelt by a drystone wall, a round crashing into it.

He waved a hand forward and shouted to the nearest men.  “Forward, we gotta push em back,”  Marines began to slip and move, by twos.  Each man would fire as the other would make a short run forward and then take cover.

The marines pushed forward, firing aggressively as they went.  The US army soldiers were not prepared for this assault, by a smaller force no less.  They were pushed back and then back again.

The retreat order went out and the soldiers began to retreat.  Rush dropped into cover again, pulled a fresh magazine and tapped it against his helmet.  He loaded it into his gun.

“We drove em off,” said Specialist Odell.

“Yeah we did,” replied Rush, wondering whether he’d just won a medal or a jail sentence

Washington, D.C

Peter Bierko walked quickly towards the office of the Whitehouse Chief of Staff. Ordinarily he didn’t like getting involved with a politician like Hayden McDonald.  But the situation that was developing was getting badly out of hand.

Peter stood by the door for a moment and then knocked.  He straightened his tie and made sure his jacket was pulled straight.  Peter had always been very comfortable in a suit but in this environment, everything felt somehow alien, like props in a play.

“Enter,” came the reply.  Peter opened the door.

Hayden McDonald was stood behind the desk, a phone in his hand.  Sat in front of him was his deputy, Jack Krane.

“Jack, how’s it going?” asked Peter.  Jack Krane just shook his head.

“I understand that,” said Hayden on the phone.  “I understand that too.  Seriously, do you think I’m fuckin’ stupid?  I understand the situation clearly.  Now you understand me Mr Secretary.  If you want to remain a member of this administration then you will find a way to get it done.  Otherwise, start updating your resume as of now,”  The phone came down with a clang.

Hayden looked up at Peter.  “What the fuck do you want?” This was his usual tone with Peter Bierko and it had only ever really gotten worse.

“Hayden, this is getting worse,” he said, simply.

“Worse?” asked Jack Krane.  Peter just nodded.

“You’re the Director of Homeland Security, you saying we’ve got a fuckin’ terrorist threat too?” When Hayden McDonald got mad, his New York accent stood out clearly. 

“No, Hayden.  It’s worse than that,” he said starkly.

“Explain it to me.  Because in a minute I’ve got to go and explain to your old Frat buddy, the President,” said Hayden wearily.

“We’ve gotten the intercepts to prove that there are orders coming from Briar,”

“I already know this,” said Hayden.

“Should I leave the room guys?” asked Jack.

“You’re code-word cleared Jack, stay,” said Hayden.  “Continue,"

“Well, the latest intercept is worse than the last one,” announced Peter.  “I’ve only let two other people see this; they’re both people I trust,”

“What is it?” asked Hayden.

“The orders that Briar as passing out, we’ve managed to locate the source of them,”

“That’s good news surely?” asked Hayden.

“No it isn’t,” said Peter bluntly. 

“I don’t like the sound of this,” said Jack.

“Briar’s location is in Virginia,” Said Peter Bierko.  “Whoever is giving illegal orders, putting us in serious danger, is right on our doorstep.  They could even be in the Pentagon,”

“Good God in heaven,” breathed Hayden.  He opened his draw and took out a bottle, pink liquid was inside it.  He poured himself a small cup and knocked it back as if it was a malt whiskey.  Peter began to think of the bottles in his office and wondered if any of them were still unopened.

“Don’t talk to anyone else about this.  We need to find out how bad this is, who is involved and who we can trust.  But as of now, don’t trust anyone at all,” said Hayden McDonald.

“That’s what I thought,” said Peter Bierko.  Hayden McDonald got up, he combed his hair back and did up his jacket.  He walked over to the door and knocked.

“It’s open Hayden,” came the reply.  Hayden motioned to Peter, follow me.

“Good afternoon Mr President,” he said.  Peter Bierko walked in behind him and stood in the oval office.  It was the first time he’d been allowed in there for nearly seven months,

“I’m afraid it’s not going to remain a very good afternoon for very long,” said Hayden McDonald.  The President looked over at his old college room mate and took off his glasses.

“What have you done now Peter?” he said with his normal charming grin.

Peter Bierko swallowed involuntarily and then got ready to repeat himself.

Chapter 20- Blue on Blue

Chapter 20

Blue on Blue

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Dalton’s team moved quickly, crossing the village.  There were shouts and cries from the villagers.  The head man, Don Brazzo, came forward forcefully from the pack.

“What are you doing?” he shouted.

“We don’t have time now,” replied Dalton.

“What’s going on here?” asked Brazzo, his tone nearly hysterical.

“I’m sorry,” replied Dalton, picking up the pace.

The confused villagers watched them go.  Don Brazzo turned to the crowd and tried to calm them down but there was little chance of that now.  The soldiers, who had brought death and destruction to their remote village were now acting like they were running for their lives.

Harrison and Roburn followed at Dalton’s heel, heading towards the parked helicopter.

“Chopper’s still there at least,” muttered Harrison.

“That’s something,” said Dalton.

“I guess we can head back?” asked Roburn.

“We gotta check on Jones, isolate him if possible,” said Dalton.

Dalton kept his breathing slow and steady.  He cursed himself for being so stupid, so careless.  He cursed himself for not being more decisive.  The men had been right, he had been in over his head ever since this had move from the original crash site.  He began to wonder if that wasn’t why he had been chosen in the first place for the mission, had General Pierce wanted it to get out of hand?

Dalton resolved to himself that once the chopper was secure he would deal with Pierce as best he could.  How he could deal with a three star general was an entirely different matter but Dalton would find a way.

They rushed up the ramp, Dalton drawing his pistol as he went.  Harrison also drew his own side-arm.  There was a yell from inside and Jones, sat in a chair, brought his P-90 sub-machine gun up.

“Woah!” exclaimed Harrison.

“Woah yourself!” replied Jones, clearly caught utterly by surprise.

“Where’s Ostrow?” asked Dalton.

“I’m right here,” came the voice from behind them in the cockpit.

Ostrow saw that Dalton was pointing a gun at Jones and Jones had a machine-gun trained on the duo in the helicopters doorway.

“Put the gun down Jones,” said Dalton.  His focus was clear now, he pointed the pistol at Jones.

“Why the fuck are you aiming a gun at me?” yelled Jones.

“Sarge what the fuck?” shouted Ostrow.  His hand went to his own side-arm but he didn’t draw his weapon.  Harrison’s weapon was at his side.

“Sergeant Jones, you were given an order.  Now put that weapon on safe and put it on the ground,” growled Harrison.

“Do it!” shouted Dalton.  Jones kept the P-90 aimed right ahead of him.

“I’m not putting this gun down until he does,” he shouted back.

“Put it down, this is your last fucking warning,” shouted Dalton.

“Fuck you,” came Jones’s reply.  Dalton’s hands shook, the pistol moving slightly in his hands.

“God damn it,” said Dalton to himself.  Dalton closed his eyes for a second, the certainty seemed to fade from his vision and he felt faint again.

“He’s cracked, he’s fucking crazy,” came Jones’s panicked voice.

“Sarge, Major, you guys needed to both put em down before someone gets hurt here, what the hell is going on?” asked Ostrow.  It was, after all, a reasonable thing to ask.

Jones had just begun to lower the weapon when there was a loud sound, it could have been a gunshot, an explosion or something colliding with the helicopter, it was hard to tell.  It was quickly joined by a number of other sounds.

Dalton’s finger pulled the trigger twice on the nine millimeter pistol.  A round exploded above Jones's collarbone, under his shoulder.  Jones was thrown back but his finger clutched the trigger of the P-90 spasmodically.  A burst of machine gun fire ripped through the helicopter.

Three round punched through Sergeant Harrison’s chest, moving up in a diagonal right ot left line.  The veteran Sergeant was thrown backwards into Captain Ostrow.  Dalton, mistaking this for deliberate return fire, moved forward firing at Jones.

Round after round exploded into Sergeant Jones’s chest and neck.  He twitched horribly as each round hit him.  Dalton stopped at near point blank range.  The empty magazine fell from his pistol.  Dalton’s hands were shaking and his face and turned an ashen colour.

Captain Ostrow was trying to get to his feet when Specialist Roburn stood on his chest.

Ostrow looked up at the other air force man.  Roburn knelt down with speed and fierceness and gripped Ostrow’s face from both sides.

There was a terrible rending and tearing sound from behind Dalton.  There was a terrified but thankfully short scream from Ostrow.  Dalton shook his head and reached to his side for the spare magazine for his pistol.  Roburn’s hands were now covered in blood, as was his face.

When Roburn turned around, Dalton had pulled a clip free and jammed the magazine into the pistol with shaking hands.  But Gilles Roburn’s face was nothing human.  His eyes were just dark, bleeding pits.  His mouth was huge, a jagged split that broke his head in two at the jawline.  Huge, jagged teeth filled that mouth.

“No, no,” managed Dalton.  He chambered a round before Roburn collided with him.

Dalton was flung back against the wall by the impact.

Villa Escobar, Venezuela

 “Captain, we got a situation here,” called Sergeant Timmons.

Captain Price approached the corner check point.  Timmons and Wydlaw were set up around an SAW, its fearsome muzzle pointing ahead.

“There sir,” pointed Timmons.  Four men on foot were approaching.  All of them were in US army uniform.

“What the hell do we do now?” thought Price.  The orders had been clear, they were to shoot anyone approaching on foot and then burn them.  But these were armed US army personnel.

“This is Captain Price, United States Marine Corps.  Stop and be recognized,” he shouted.  Price grabbed Wydlaw by the shoulder.

“Keep on them Corporal,” he breathed.  The SAW gunner nodded and kept an eye trained on the four man patrol.

“This is Lieutenant David Lambert, we have orders to end your operation.  You’ve been firing on civilians,” came the reply.

“We have express orders to do so from Sat-Com,” came Price’s reply.

“Those orders are rescinded, they are illegal orders,” shouted Lambert.  Lambert’s men, all armed, stood to his side.

“Skirmish line, they are in a skirmish line,” said Timmons.  Timmons trained his M4 carbine on them.

“Lieutenant, you take even one more step and I’ll order my men to light you and your men up,”

“Captain, you and you’re marines are to stand down, by order of the United States Government,” came Lambert’s reply.

“Last God-damned warning Lieutenant,” called Price.

“What is wrong with you Captain?  Stand down!” came the reply.

“Light em up,” said Price.

“Sir?” replied Wydlaw.

“Light em the fuck up,” hissed Price.

“Sir they’re our guys?” said Timmons..

“We’ve got clear orders, open fire,” said Price.

Someone in Lambert’s detail made life easier for Corporal Wydlaw, he raised an M16 rifle.  Wydlaw opened fire with his SAW and another SAW gunner at the other check point joined in.  A raking burst of 5.56mm machine gun fire cut the patrol down where they stood.  Lambert went down, a look of total bafflement on his face.

“Jesus Christ,” said Timmons.

“We had our orders, we had our fuckin’ orders,” said Price, cursing the day he had put on the uniform.  “Ok we got to burn them, we got to burn the bodies,” said Price to his men.

“What?” the men did not like this order very much.  Again, “luck” was with them.  Another four man patrol opened fire from a distance.  A round hit Price under the chin, he slumped back slowly.  His final expression was one of total frustration.

“Return fire, target’s one o’clock” shouted Timmons, galvanized into action.

Tracer rounds zipped back and forth.

But for Captain Price, the day and the crisis were both mercifully over.

Satcom, Somewhere in Virginia

“What the fuck is going on down there?” shouted Petersen.  There was a flashing red symbol by the “Infected Zone 2” marker.

“Captain Price’s unit is under fire, “ replied a Sergeant.

“Jesus Christ, who from?” asked the General.

“I think we’ve got a blue on blue contact here,” said Captain Thomas.

“Get me some fuckin’ answers Captain,” growled Petersen.  “I need to know who is shootin’ at who!”

The non-coms and junior officers in the room went into a storm of activity.  Petersen sat down for a moment, the pain in his knees and hands was bad.  He looked around and wondered why no one was closely supervising his men.

He remembered that he’d had to send Colonel Adams down to the hangar bay to take care of the casualty. 

“Someone get me a sit-rep from Colonel Adams,” said Petersen to the nearest man.

A sergeant nodded and went to a radio.  Petersen looked around again, where was the weasel?

“And a sit-rep on Colonel Sickles, I need to know where he is,” said Petersen.

The same Sergeant nodded again.  Petersen had known Master Sergeant Wilcox since he had came up, during Desert Storm.  Petersen put a hand on his shoulder and leant in to speak to him.  It was a low, confidential whisper.

“Sarge, find another non-com you trust. I want you to go to the small-arms locker and arm yourselves.  Body-armor too,” he said.

Master Sergeant Wilcox who had learned nearly everything he knew from the General, who had come up seeing the General leading from the front, who had been awarded his first set of stripes by the General (back when he only had the one star) nodded and obeyed without any questions at all.

Major General Petersen walked slowly over to his radio and picked up the receiver.

“This is Petersen here, I’m placing a call for the Secretary of Defence,”

Cast of Characters (so far)

At Villa Cyranno
Major Peter Dalton (US Air Force) the team leader of the ground expedition
Captain Roman Dietz (US Air Force) Peter's longtime friend and second in command
Captain Charlie Ostrow (US Air Force) the helicopter pilot, cocky but wise
Lieutenant Marcus Chung (IS Air Force) a young, intelligent officer
Lieutenant Hannah McPherson (US Air Force) another young officer, intuitive
Sergeant First Class Harrison (US Air Force) the senior non-com, a veteran
Sergeant Colin Wooderson (US Air Force) another non-com, has a friendly relationship with Hannah
Sergeant Luke Jones (US Air Force) a less than co-operative non-com
Specialist Jubal Storm (US Air Force) a wise cracking soldier
Specialist Gilles Roburn (US Air Force) a taciturn but experienced soldier
Specialist Daniel Newman (US Air Force) an engineer, panicky
Specialist Lee Hunter (US Air Force) one of the quieter soliders
Special Agent Clarence Wharton (FBI) a special agent investigating an illegal operation
Oscar Cordoba (native) a local who was about to leave the village
Ivan Mazarov (native) a Russian who lives in the village
Don Brazzo (native) the villages head man or mayor

At Villa Esobar
Captain Price (USMC) the marine officer in command
Sergeant Timmons (USMC) another marine

At Sat-Com
Major General Thomas Petersen (US Army) a senior and veteran commander.  Put in charge of the clean up operation
Colonel Chris Adams (US Army) General Petersen's chief of staff and most loyal officer
Colonel James Sickles (US Army) sent by the Secretary of Defence, a young and brash officer
Lieutenant Molly Walker (US Army) a young attache to the General

Somewhere Else
General Gene Price (US Army) possible rogue general?

Chapter 19- Tipping Point

Chapter 19

Tipping Point

Satcom, Somewhere in Virginia

“General, I think you need to take this phone call,” said a non-com.  He held the phone away from his body as if he was afraid it was about to explode.  General Petersen stood up, managed to just about keep the pain from showing on his face and then walked over to the phone.

“Petersen here,” he said into the phone.

“This is Hayden McDonald, do you know who I am?” asked a voice with a raspy New York accent.

“I’m not an idiot Mr McDonald.  What can I do for the President’s chief of staff?”

“General, the President has been made aware of the situation and he’s not very happy.  I’m not very happy either.  When I’m not happy, that means that heads will roll,”

“Mr McDonald, I don’t have time for this. I’m not some fucking punk congressman from Wisconsin that you can push around, I’m a General in the US army with an important mission.  If the President wants to fire me when this is all over, that’s fine by me,” fired back the General.

There was a laugh from the phone.  “Oh good one General, I’d heard that about you, that you didn’t give a crap for politics.  That makes a change.  I’d also heard that you don’t like the President very much too,” said McDonald.

“That’s true but irrelevant.  I’ve got a job to do and you are getting in the fucking way.  Now what do you and the President need?” asked Petersen, massaging his head.  Sickles was stood by, watching the General carefully.

“What do you know about an operational base called Briar?” asked McDonald.

Petersen closed his eyes for a minute and then remembered it all.

“Briar, that was shut down years ago.  It was a special operations base running out of some fucking dust-heap in Afghansitan,” replied the General.

“Yes it was.  It was shut down too, that was one of the tasks of this administration, to shut down anything that we felt would further embarrass the White House and the country,”

“Fine,” said Petersen.  “What do you want?”

“Briar is still giving orders.  Someone has reactivated Briar and is giving orders from it.  The orders to move Arctic Blue came from Briar,” said McDonald.

“I see, “said Petersen.  He felt a flare of pain in his back.  He put a hand to the ear piece for a moment.

“Someone get me some coffee, not so hot that I could boil a chicken in it?” he barked at no one in particular.  Another non-com moved fast to put a cup down next to him.

“General?” asked the New Yorker on the other end of the line.

“I’m here.  So what, we’ve got a rogue operation giving orders without permission?  That’s not news,” growled the General.

“No, but it’s Briar giving the orders.  Obviously they cant be in Afghanistan, but we need to find them and shut them down.  Do you have men that you trust in the base?  I mean really trust?”

“One or two.  But our hands are entirely full here,” replied the General.

“Free a hand or two.  We need you to find Briar and shut it down.  We think it may be interfering in your operation in South America,”

“What are they?  Fucking morons?” yelled the General.

“It could be worse than that, “ replied McDonald.

“How?” but it had already dawned on him how it could be worse.  In a military scenario, the only thing worse than someone on your team being incompetent was either them being insane or them being a double agent.

“Ok, I’ll see what I can do, Petersen out,”

Villa Cyrannao, Venzeuala,

It finally hit Dalton, and when it did, it landed like an avalanche.  Wharton had gone through the possible M.O of one of these infiltrators, on how he figured they would strike when they were alone so they could finish what they were doing without being observed.

“What’s the point in being able to shape shift if everyone sees you do it?” he had postulated.

“They may also pretend to be injured or mentally incapable so they can be separated from the others,” added Wharton.

“Why?” asked Dietz.

“They need an excuse to always be on their own I guess, “said Chung.

“Someone who wants to be alone, who is mentally or physically incapable,” said Dalton to himself.

Dalton pulled his side-arm from his holster and checked the magazine.

“What is it?” asked Dietz.

“Roman, you take charge here.  I need two men, quickly.  I think I have an idea who one of them is,” said Dalton.  Sergeant Harrison immediately stepped forward.

“I’ll come,” Said Wharton.

“No, you stay here,” Snapped Dalton.  “Roburn?”

“Yeah I’m in sir,” replied Roburn. 

“Now everyone else, you’re going to work with Dietz to try and find a way to test these people to find out who is who.  Also I want a two man team to work with our civilian advisor here, go through the village and start sweeping it out.  If possible, we need to isolate the villagers as quickly as possible,”

“Yes sir,” came the response.  Dalton felt a bit of weight lift off his shoulders, they were following his lead again.

“Ok, come on we need to get to the chopper and fast,” said Dalton.

“Why?  What’s going on?” asked Roburn.

“Who hasn’t been pulling his weight?  Who hurt his leg early on?” said Dalton.

The three of them took off at a fast clip. 

Specialist Lyle Hunter watched them leave.  The others were involved in another scientific debate.  This sort of thing was wasted on him.  He stood by the door and took out another packet of cigarettes.  He looked around and saw that Storm was equally bored.

“Smoke break?” said Hunter.

“Fuck yeah,” replied Storm.

Villa Escobar, Venezeula

“Cap, we’ve got a foot mobile approaching,” shouted Sergeant Timmons.

Captain Price moved over to the perimeter and looked down his sights.  Sure enough there was a man, alone, walking towards the village.  He looked to be around forty or so and was carrying a bundle of twigs.  Firewood, he supposed.

“Cap?” asked Timmons.

“We’ve had our orders, light him the fuck up,” snarled the Captain.

Timmons patted Specialist Veers on the head.  Veers opened fire with the SAW, a drum-fed machine gun that could fire nine hundred rounds in a minute.  The first few rounds hit the man square on in the chest, there was a puff of red and pink around him and then he fell without a sound.

The other villagers screamed and cried out.  Some ran for cover, one or two just stood their watching them.

“Lesnoswki, secure those people right now.  Odell, Smith, you’re with me,” said the Captain.  He felt that a good officer never gave out the very worst assignment unless he too was willing to do it.  Smith toted the flamethrower, Odell had his SAW.

The three of them approached the dead man, as he was clearly that.  There was an expanding pool of blood around him.

“Fuckin’ superb groupin’ there,” laughed Smith.  Odell and Price exchanged weary looks.

“Ok, Smith, burn him,” said Price.

“Got you sir,” said Smith.  He triggered the flame-thrower and the man’s body caught fire quickly.  Another blast of glowing flame and he was consumed, along with the wood he’d come to get.

“Fucking crazy,” said Odell.  Price wasn’t sure whether he agreed or not.

“We have our orders, back to the perimeter,”

Satcom, somewhere in Virginia

General Petersen was on the radio.  Sickles watched him carefully.  He had tried to get close enough to him to overhear what he was saying but he was too far away.  He was clearly used to being spied on as he had careful check points set out.  The only name he’d overheard so far was Pierce.

“Pierce,” said Sickles to himself.  Sickles had a good mind for names and ranks, it was part of his trade.  But no one could possibly remember every single senior officer in the US armed forces.  Between the air force, the army and the marines there were probably thousands of General officers.

James Sickles walked backwards and forwards for a moment. 

“Colonel, we’ve got a radio check in from Adams,” said a tech-sergeant.

“Give it here,” replied Sickles.  “Sickles here, what’s the status?”

“Isolated and shut down.  The casualty didn’t survive.  Repeat, Captain Wharton is K.I.A,”

“Not really that surprised” replied Sickles.

“The team is clean but I’m leaving them here for now,” came Adams’s voice.

“Good man.  Can you get back in here through de-con?  I need you in here?”

“You need me?” came the surprised reply.

“Well the General does,” said Sickles.

“I’ll go through De-con and meet you in a bit, Adams out,” came the reply.

Sickles looked around the room, most of the staff here were hand picked by the General himself, most of them had relied on him for personal advancement.  They were loyal to him.  But who was the General loyal to?

He looked over at Lt Molly Walker.  She was typing away at a computer screen.

Sickles put a hand on the shoulder of  a non-com, Sergeant Spriggs.  “Sarge, take over that screen for a moment, I need Lieutenant Walker,” Spriggs gave him a reproachful look but did what he was told.  Walker got up, looked warily at the Colonel and then walked over to him.

“In private, Lieutenant,” said the Colonel.

“Colonel, I don’t have time for this.  The General said that I’ve got to get these referenes done and I will not let him down,”

“Ok ok, lets just stand to one side so I can talk to you without being overheard by every one in the room” said Sickles, the tiredness showing in his voice.

She stood near the door and he stood just to her side.  She looked scared.  Sickles stood back a step.

“Lieutenant, how long have you known the General?” he asked.

“Why?” she replied.

“Answer my question Lieutentant.” He snarled.  She blinked at him a couple of times and then replied.

“Since the Point, Colonel.  So that’s about eighteen months,”

“And how do you rate him as a commanding officer?” asked Sickles.

“He’s the best,” she said, the admiration very clear in her tone.  It was genuine, she really looked up to him.  Sickles shook his head.

“Do you think the others here would follow his orders, any orders at all?” asked Sickles.

“I think so,” she said back.  “What’s wrong?”

“That’s just it,” he said.  “Right now I’m not sure what is wrong.  Someone is running an illegal operation,”

“And you’re not sure if its us or not are you?” asked Molly.

“You’re a bright girl.  You could go a long way with brains like that.  Now how far do you want to go?” he asked her.  It was a loaded question.  More loaded than she could