Chapter 32- Cutting Both Ways

Chapter 32

Cutting Both Ways

Somewhere

His eyes flickered open and the pain began to roll, slowly, downhill onto him.  He screwed his face up and gritted his teeth.  The pain washed through him and took him down into its depths.

He sat up straight and coughed.  There was blood in his mouth and the air was thick with the smell of burning fuel.  He tried to remember what had happened before but his recollection of the events was scarce, faint.

“You’ve got to do it, we have to know that you aren’t infected.  Then you will be safe,”

He remembered these words, floating through the air.  “Then you will be safe,”

Safe, he wondered what had happened to keep a person safe from.

Oscar opened his eyes and saw the fires burning all over the village square.  The air was thick with the stink of burning fuel and a worse smell underneath it.  But Oscar couldn’t remember why, couldn’t remember what events had taken him to this point.

He looked to his left at the ground.  The grass was scorched and shriveled.  There was a fragment of metal still smoking lodged into the floor.  Oscar reached towards it and his hand recoiled before it reached.  Something had really put the burn on it as it was now red hot.

Oscar looked over at his right.  There was a terrible dark red stain on the ground that extended out from a burned and crumpled form that looked vaguely human.  Oscar felt an acid taste in the back of his mouth.  He turned to one side and spat.

Who was the body?  Oscar tried to remember and caught fragments of names and faces, Wharton.  One of them was called Wharton.  Oscar tried to remember what he looked like, what he sounded like.

He tried to get up but his head swam and once again, there was that bitter copper taste in the back of his mouth.  Oscar put a hand to his mouth and wiped the blood away from his lips.  Then he ran a hand across the back of his head as he got, shakily to his feet.

There was a roaring sound in the distance and Oscar tried to figure out what it was.  But he couldn’t quite focus on it.  It was a strange sound, almost familiar.  Oscar took a faltering step forward, stumbled and fell to the floor.

Oscar’s hands slammed into the floor with a jarring impact and he felt the pain in his palms and up his arms.  He spat on the ground again.  Just then, there was a low moan from near to him

“Oscar?” croaked a voice.

“Who is that?” said Oscar.  But his own voice was strange to his own ears.  He sounded faint, old and broken.  Oscar cleared his throat.

“Oscar?” croaked the same vague voice.

Oscar cleared his throat again and got to his feet once more.  “Who’s there?” he asked.

“Down here,” came the barely audible reply.

Oscar looked down across the floor to another human figure lying near his feet.  Oscar slowly lowered himself to his knees.

“Marcus, your name is Marcus,” said Oscar to himself as well as the horribly wounded man.

“That’s right,” came the voice through a thin smile.  “Oscar, are you okay?”

“My head hurts,” he replied.

“You need to focus, I’m not sure if anyone else has survived the explosion.  You need to clear your head and focus.  Can you do that?” came the thin voice.

“I think so,” replied Oscar.  “I’m not sure I remember what was happening before,”

“There was an explosion.  One of them set off an explosion, it killed Newman and I think it may have killed the others too,”

Oscar remembered it now, the young woman and her sudden movement.  Then the air was full of flames and Oscar had been thrown through the air.

“What do I need to do?” he asked.

“You need to find the tac-radio and make sure that Sat-Com knows we’re still alive.  Otherwise they might just bomb this place off the face of the Earth,”

“Right.  How do I do that?” he asked again, his head hurting with the effort.

“There’s a switch on the side.  If you bring it over quickly, I’ll walk you through it.  But you’ll need to hurry,” breathed Marcus weakly.  He raised a hand to get Oscar’s attention and then pointed down to his side.

There was blood and bone visible under his jacket and Oscar saw to his horror that Marcus was soaked in his own blood.

“Dios mio,” breathed Oscar.  “I’ll get you a medical kit!”

“It’s way too late for that, “ replied Marcus.  “Just get the tac-radio and you can save yourself, maybe even save the rest.”

“Come off it Marcus.  You’re hurt. I can help you,”

“Afterwards, if you must.  Get the damned radio.  Now the second thing you need to find is a gun.  Mine is smashed to bits.  So look around for a working firearm.  Do you know how to check the chamber?”

“I was in the Guard for a while.  I know how to check,” replied Oscar.

“Good, good man.  Now hop to it,” coughed Marcus.

Oscar got back to unsteady feet and wandered over the burning wreckage of the village towards a pile of metal objects.  His vision swam again and he felt the ground rushing up to him again.  Oscar sat down suddenly with a jolt.

“I can’t, I can’t focus,” he said to himself.

“It’s okay,” said another voice.  “I got it,”

Sat-Com, Somewhere in Virginia

Captain Thomas walked back over to the General’s office.  It had been just ten minutes since the shock news that one of the infiltrators had escaped into the countryside.  Captain Thomas had lead a search of the base and the exterior guard posts.

All he found was ruined corpse of a guard and a blood trail that lead out towards the forest that surrounded Sat-Com.  Captain Thomas had lead his men back inside and gone to report the situation to the General.

“The General’s in a bad mood,” confided Lt Molly Walker to the Captain as he stood by the door.  He knocked and waited for an answer.  Captain Thomas straightened his uniform and looked around nervously.

“Is he in there?” asked Captain Thomas.

“Yes he is,” replied Lt Walker.

Captain Thomas knocked again, shook his head and waited.  The command and control room was still a buzz with activity but there was a seriously downcast air.  The mood was low.

“Whats wrong with the team?” asked Captain Thomas.

“You didn’t hear?” replied Lt Walker.  “Of course you didn’t.  There’s been a coup,”

“As if we don’t have enough to deal with.  Where?” muttered Captain Thomas.

“Here, in D.C.  General Pierce has taken the whole Executive branch into “Protective custody.”  He’s issued a press release,” said Lt Walker.

“You’re kidding me?” spluttered Captain Thomas.

“He said it was the only way to deal with the threat successfully, with no political meddling,” said Lt Walker sadly.

“I don’t know why you sound so upset about it,” interjected another officer.  “With those meddling bean counters off our backs for a while, maybe we can get on and do our jobs,”

The door opened at last and the General stood in the door.  He looked tired, older than he had been earlier.  Captain Thomas stood straight and reported to him.

“We couldn’t find it.  It got away and headed into the town,”

“Yeah,” replied General Petersen.  “That was most likely.  Still it was worth a try.”

“Sir, what’s the situation here now?”

“The situation is that we’ve been taken out of the loop for a while.  But I’m not going to wait for orders from the new brass,”

General Petersen walked out onto the floor of the command room.

“Everyone, we’ve got a new mission,” he announced

Chapter 31- Dark Skies

Book 4

Regime Change

Chapter 31

Dark Skies

Cavill, Virginia

A nothing, nowhere town in the south, Cavill had a population of around two thousand.  Most of these people were either farmers or out of work after the last decent business in the town, the old toothpaste  plant, was moved overseas.

The people of Cavill considered themselves to be “proper Southern”, there was a thriving Baptist community with its attendant churches.  There was also a church run radio station.  God was surely a visitor, if not a resident, in Cavill.

Real South, proper Virginia, Cavill was a patch work of small detached houses and barns.  There were horses here still, as well as cows and sheep, hens and roosters.  And pigs, there was Mister Cregg’s pig farm on the edge of the little town.

There was no town hall, the town tended to have some informal political discussions at church every now and again.  The local pastor, Rainer McCloy, was also a prominent Republican fund-raiser in the county.

The people who lived in Cavill probably praised themselves on knowing each other very well, on having a keen sense of community.  But a lot of what went on locally was known and not spoken of.  For example Jason Ruth’s tendency to get drunk and smash up his house, broken furnishings dropped into the county skip.  Or DeAnna Morrow’s obvious depression and misery.  Or the mental state of the “war hero”, Thomas Avery.

People in Cavill would gossip about each other and pass a friendly comment; they were content with their hypocrisy.  They were good ole boys who knew a lot but did little.  It was a small town like so many other small towns across America, quiet except at the weekends, dull except over Thanksgiving and New Years, welcoming except when it wasn’t.

But something strange was going on, the normal atmosphere was broken and the night air was cool and sharp, clawing at the faces of the elderly couple walking their dog or the teenagers waiting around the corner from the 7/11. Night was falling on Cavill.

Sheriff Henderson, a former Mayor of Cavill and as well to-do as it was possible to find, was taking his flag down.  Dennis Henderson had been in the US infantry for nine years before an honorable discharge and then he had become a Charlotte police officer before moving out to Cavill.  He was known for his friendly manner, his hard line on teenage trouble makers (especially when intoxicated) and his patriotism.  He was a proper American patriot.  He made sure that old Glory came down from the flag pole and he tired it up and took it indoors.  The flag never once touched the ground.

Dennis Henderson, as he was inside his house, put the flag back inside its case.  The polished wood shone in the light and Henderson closed the case with a click.  He walked over to the fridge and took out a can of beer.  He flicked the lid and took a swill of it.  Beer, he supposed it would do in a pinch.

He sat down at the kitchen table and looked at the frozen food in its containers.  It was quite a thing, when a man of his age and experience was forced to defrost his own food rather than have a proper meal.  His wife had her weekly bridge game over at the Clancy’s and there was no interrupting it.  Dennis supposed that was just the price of doing business with her.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered to himself, taking another swig of beer.  He looked around the kitchen, he’d finally gotten it how it liked it.  Wood paneling had cost a fortune to put in and the polish set the room of nicely so it shone.  He guessed the next thing would be to move house again and start the whole project off from scratch.

“Son of a bitch,” he repeated.  He got to his feet and stretched.  Somewhere out in Cavill, a dog was howling and barking.  It was one seriously unhappy pooch.  Dennis shook his head.  “Stupid dawg” he muttered to no one in particular.

Dennis wondered over the phone, black metal polished, and took it off the handle.  If the wife wasn’t home, there was no one to stop him from ordering a pizza from Michael’s place.  It would still be open now.  He wasn’t supposed to eat pizza anymore but she wasn’t around to stop him.

Dennis fingers touched the buttons for a moment when he heard a yelp and the dog’s barking had ended.  Dennis shook his head and then finished dialing.

“Mikey’s place,” came the tired voice.

“Michael, this is Sheriff Henderson here,” he said into the telephone.

“Hey sheriff.  How can I help you?”

“The wife aint home so I want to get a pizza delivered.  Is Shaun still with you?”

“Yeah of course.  What do you want?  Pepperoni?”

“Yeah I think so,” said Dennis.  There was a click from the door and Dennis turned slightly.  Home, she was home early.

“Hang on Mike,” muttered Dennis and turned around.  His wife was a stately woman of around fifty years, her usual salon perfect hair was wild and loose, her face was calm but there was blood on her hands.  Dennis looked at her and started.  The phone dropped from his hands.

“Jesus, Shirl?  What the hell happened?” he asked her.

“I fell down the nook, I just tripped and fell,” she said, her voice flat and dead.

Shock, she must have been in shock, thought Dennis.  The nook was the informal name of the drop before the towns river.

“Hang on, I’ll get you first aid,”

“Is deputy Andy here?” she asked.

“No, of course not. I sent him home hours ago,”

“Oh,” she said.

Dennis Henderson got to his feet but suddenly there was a vice like pressure on his arm.  He looked down and couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing.  His wife, his fifty year old stately wife Shirley was holding onto his arm with her hands.  Both hands.

“Shirl, you need to…” he never finished the sentence because she reached up with one hand and grabbed him by the jaw.  Her strength was incredible.  Dennis Henderson had fought with three hundred pound drunks, wiry infantry drill instructors and a meth head who seemed impervious to pain.  But she was stronger than any of them right now.

She pulled him to her as if to kiss him.  Her mouth clamped onto his.  Somewhere in his mind, he remembered the last time they had kissed; it was more than four years ago, back before Deputy Kelly.  Pain suddenly flared through his mouth, his throat and his head.

He tried to scream as someone who looked a lot like Shirley Henderson got to her feet, blood leaking down her lips.  Long claws were growing from her fingers.  She walked slowly towards him.  Dennis Henderson, bleeding and unable to speak, crawled towards the overturned chair.  His gun was holstered in his bandolier which hung from the back.

But she reached him long before that.

Chapter 30- Eclipse

Chapter 30

Eclipse

The Pentagon, Virginia

A Navy officer, a commander, took a print out and looked at it.  He shook his head when he’d finished reading it.  He read it a second time and then a third.  He still couldn’t quite believe what he was reading.

He walked across the room to a space-age door with an electromagnetic seal.  He pressed the “enter” button and the door chimed.  Another button was pushed on the inside and the doors slid open with a whoosh.

The commander walked into the briefing room.  The Joint Chiefs of Staff, the senior men in the US military, were sat around a table.  Pieces of paper and plastic flimsy were scattered across the table.

“What is it?” asked General Warren, the chief of staff for the US army.

“Sirs, this is for you.  I can’t really believe it,” he said, keeping his voice calm.

General Warren took the pieces of paper and read it.  His eyebrows raised early on.

“What is it Mike?” asked Admiral Kane.
“It’s happened,” replied the General.

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

She had paused in front of the lit flamethrower for just a moment.  In that moment, the whole world had seemed to become brighter, more focused and Oscar felt like he could see everything clearly.  He could make out the darker red stiching in her skirt where it had been taken in, the soot stains on Newman’s jacket, the powder burns on Jubal Storm’s face.

She stood in front of the flamethrower and at first she just looked terrified.  She refused, refused to burn herself.  Wharton explained in his fluent Spanish.

“You’ve got to do it, we have to know that you aren’t infected.  Then you will be safe,”

She shook her head.  Wharton took a step towards her.

Somewhere, Oscar thought he could hear a bird singing.

The woman, not much older than twenty one, looked at Wharton approaching her.  She turned towards the flame-thrower.  She pulled her arm back and then punched the canister that held the fuel as hard as she could.

Oscar’s last rational thought was ‘Well, that proves she’s one of them then,’

There was a cracking sound, a hiss and then a flash of light and fire as the flame-thrower detonated.

There was a giant push of warm air and Oscar felt himself lifted off his feet and thrown to one side.  Oscar felt the heat increase and all of a sudden he became convinced he was about to be incinerated.  He moved his arms over his head, even as he was hurled fifteen feet away from where he had been stood.

He collided with the ground with a thud and the lights went out.

Washington, D.C

The Post-Guard at the Whitehouse was an important job and Gunnery Sergeant Gregory Hollister took it very seriously.  Generally speaking he’d never had to deal with anything beyond college students trying to get over the fence.

When the girl had cleared the fence to try and shoot the previous President, Hollister had been off duty that day but Sergeant Faulks had told him all about it.  The Secret Service had been there in about ten seconds.  The marines was only supposed to act if the Whitehouse was under a serious military style assault.

Posse Comitatus prevented them from being involved in “law enforcement” on the continental US without a declaration of martial law.  Still, Post-Guard was the first and most critical line of defence before you reached the Whitehouse and Hollister took it seriously.

His radio crackled and Hollister picked it up.

“This is Saratoga One, receiving,” he said.

“This is General Welker here Sergeant.  Do you know who I am?” asked the voice.

“Yes sir,” replied Hollister.

“Good man.  Do you follow orders?”

“Yes sir,” replied Hollister fiercely.

“Good man.  Here are your orders.  You are to stand down and take your detail off the post-guard,”

“Sir?” asked Hollister.

“Sir?  I thought you were as US marine.  You don’t ask me questions Gunny, you just carry out my orders.  Don’t make me repeat myself,” said the voice.

“Sir, I cant obey your order unless…”

“Don’t quote me regulations son.  I am the senior officer in this district.  Stand your detail down,”

Gunnery Sergeant Hollister stood there in mute shock for a moment.  Stand down?  Unless there was a relieving duty he was only ever to stand down if the President or someone from the Executive branch ordered it.

Gunnery Sergeant Hollister took up his radio and opened up a call.

“This is Saratoga One to HQ Delta,” he said.

There was the crackling sound of interference.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked no one in particular.

Sat-Com, somewhere in Virginia

Captain Thomas’s detail pushed forward, firing as they went.  Bursts of machine-gun fire rattled and then there was the roar of flamethrower fire.  Another body caught fire and tried to crawl away.

“Burn it!” shouted Thomas.  Sergeant Spriggs let loose another blast of flame-thrower fire and the body caught totally ablaze.  As it tried to get to its feet, there was the bark of machine-gun fire and it was thrown back down to burn.

“Clear!” shouted Sergeant Kelp.  He turned back in from the supply cupboard and marked the door with a glow-stick.  Captain Thomas nodded and took up his radio.

“This is Thomas here, the supply bin is clear.  We’re moving in on the hangar now.  We’ve killed about nine of these things now,”

“Good work Captain,” came the reply.

Captain Thomas stood by the large doors that lead into the hangar.  There were blood stains on the walls and floor, bullet holes chewed out of the door in a ragged pattern.

Sergeant Spriggs readied himself for whatever it was that would be inside the hangar bay.

The door came open as Thomas kicked it and Spriggs and Kelp both moved in, weapons trained.  Another four men followed them, weapons aimed.  The hangar bay was a mess.  There was a fire burning in the corner and bullet holes scattered around the place.

There was blood all over the walls and floor but so far, there were no bodies and no one was moving.  A breeze blew over and Sergeant Spriggs turned to see where it had come from.

“Oh dear God,” whispered Spriggs.

There was a hole, a ten foot high hole in the door leading out of the hangar.  The Virginia countryside was visible in the growing darkness.  Thomas clawed at his radio and opened up a channel.

“Sir, General!” he shouted.  “Sir, one of them got out.  One of them is away in the country-side!”

Washington, D.C

The Stryker armored car rolled to a halt outside the gates of the Whitehouse.  Captain Uleski got out of it and walked towards the post-guard.  He held in front of him the written orders that he hoped would persuade the post-guard to stand aside.

“Gunnery Sergeant?  You’re relieved. I have written orders from the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the US army,” said Captain Uleski.

“I read that sir.  But unless I get orders from the Executive branch or am relieved, I’m not to leave my post,” said Gunnery Sergeant Hollister.

“I’m a Captain, I outrank you.  This is a direct order Sergeant,” barked Uleski.

“Negative sir, I cannot obey that order,” replied Hollister, his hand reaching to his slung M4 carbine.

“Damn it,” snapped Uleski.  “Okay, Rice, do it,”

“What?” asked Hollister.  There was the crack of a rifle shot and Hollister was blown off his feet to tumble dead into his guard-box.  Uleski waved a hand forward and the Stryker rolled on, followed by another one and then more vehicles besides.

Washington, D.C, elsewhere

Peter Bierko stood up suddenly and turned to the door.  It opened and a panicked young secretary stood there.

“We’re not to be disturbed,” said Peter to her.  He looked at her expression and wondered what the hell must be going on to have warranted this.

“Sir, the President, sir!” she garbled.

“What the hell are you talking about girl?” asked McCoy.

“The Whitehouse Chief of staff, he says we have to evacuate the building right now!” she said.

“What?  Is it a fire-drill?” asked Henry Finch.

“No, the Whitehouse Chief of Staff says we have to evacuate and it’s not a drill.  He says get to Bamboo now!”

“Bamboo?” asked Henry.

“That’s the emergency escape route,” whispered McCoy.

“Jesus, we’ve got to get to the President,” said Jack Krane, the Deputy Chief of Staff.

Peter walked out into the corridor and then out into the chaos.  People were running in all directions.  Black-suited Secret Service agents brandishing weapons were moving in small teams as fast as they could.

“Jesus Christ,” said Jack.

“Move, we’ve got to move,” said Peter.  What could possibly be going on?

They moved through the corridors when Peter heard the familiar report of gun-fire. It was small arms, it sounded to him like pistols and sub-machine guns.

Richard McCoy slunk back suddenly and Finch grabbed his chest.

“Guns?  Those are guns!” breathed Henry Finch.

“Yes they are,” replied Peter.  Jack Krane moved ahead of them and stood by the wall, looking out across the office.  Four men in camouflage body amour were moving, side-arms drawn.  A Secret Service agent opened fire at them and one of them took a round and fell.

The others returned fire and a raging gunfight broke out.  Jack Krane threw himself back into cover.

“What the hell is going on?  Is it terrorists?” asked Henry.

“I don’t know,” replied Jack.  “But someone is attacking the Whitehouse,”

Sat-Com, Somewhere In Virginia

Back in his office, General Petersen undid his jacket and breathed out a slow sigh.  Then he took up the phone again.

“This is Petersen here for General Pierce,” he said.  He poured himself a glass of Scotch.

“This is Pierce here.  What’s going on Tom?  You have chance to think about what I said?”

“Well I’ve been busy here.  But I have had time to think about it,” replied Petersen.

“Before you tell me to go fuck myself, I think there is something you should know,” said General Pierce.

“I was going to say the same thing,” replied Petersen.

“As of twenty oh-five hours, I am now in possession of the Whitehouse,”

“Say that again?” spluttered Petersen.

“I’m calling the shots now Tom.  The Chiefs are with me.  Well, some of them are.  The others have just faxed me their resignations,”

“Dear God Alex.  What have you done?”

“I’m the only one with the guts to fix this situation Tom.  Now, you’re either with me or against me,”

“General Pierce, sir.  I regret to inform you that infection has broken out in the continental US.  I lost one, he’s loose in Virginia,” said Petersen, getting to his feet.  He straightened his uniform.

“God damn it,” came the voice on the phone.

“This is Petersen out,” he put the phone down.  He looked at his side-arm, laying on the desk.

Washington, D.C

The soldiers moved Peter and the others along to the Whitehouse Communications office.  The televisions that were always on were showing static.

“That’s not a good sign,” said Jack Krane.

“Oh my,” wheezed Henry Finch.

“What the hell are you men doing?” yelled Peter.  A stony faced non-com simply ignored him.

“You cant do this,” joined in Chris Salinger, the Communications Director.  “You cant do this, this is America.  You cannot do what you’ve been doing and hope….”

Chris was cut off as a non-com clubbed him to the ground with his rifle-butt.

Peter rushed over to shield Chris and took a blow to the head for his pains.  He fell to the ground but remained conscious.  There was a shriek as Henry Finch fell to the ground, his hands gripping at his chest.  His face had turned totally white.

Peter tried to shout, tried to tell them to help him.  The soldier in front of him, a veteran by the look of him, stared down at him and then took up his rifle in his hands again, across his body, a barrier between him and his hostages.

Somewhere outside, with all the commotion and gunfire, someone hadn’t remembered to lower the flag and the Stars and Stripes still blew in the wind.

Chapter 29- The Widening Gyre

Chapter 29

The Widening Gyre

Washington, D.C

Peter Bierko badly wanted to open a window but that was impossible where they were.  They had been put in a low level office, below ground floor in the Whitehouse.  There were four of them, deciding how the President and his government should act.  Peter wondered if these were the only people who the President could trust, or whether the meeting was so secret that no one else had known where to find it.

Richard McCoy, the Whitehouse Counsel had just wanted to act.  He wanted to order Military Police to arrest and detain the entire Joint Chiefs of Staff, as well as sending an M.P unit to deal with “Briar.”   Peter felt this was a massive overreaction.

The Attorney General Henry Finch seemed to agree with him but the lawyers were determined to argue it out for as long as possible.  Jack Krane, the Deputy Chief of Staff, seemed more concerned with the political dimension, which Peter found hard to imagine at this stage.

“What do we know about this Arctic thing?” asked Henry.

“We’re all code-word cleared Peter,” said Jack.

“We’re wasting time here,” said McCoy.

“I want the information.  If you want to change my mind, then this is the way to go,” replied Henry sharply.

“Arctic Blue is an old project, dating back to the late seventies or early eighties.  No one is really sure how it came onto the grid but it’s an Air Force project.  It’s an incredibly lethal bio-weapon.  That’s pretty much all that we know.  It was being kept refrigerated, frozen solid in a remote base in the Arctic,” explained Peter.

“Hence Arctic Blue?” asked Jack.

“I guess so.  There’s very little agency information on Arctic, only to say that any exposure is likely to be lethal. It’s very contagious too; any slight exposure is basically lethal.  And if it gets to a city, then there would be no saving them,”

“Shit,” breathed Jack.

“Why the hell does our government have something like that?” asked Henry, his face flushed.

“This was the project of an older administration,” replied Peter.

“But I thought when the President was sworn in, I thought it was one of our plans to get rid of everything like this!” spluttered Henry.  He stood up and ran his hands through his white hair.

Richard McCoy took a deep breath and shook his head.

“We were getting rid of things like this.  But this project was so secret it would be quite hard to get rid of it.  We’d asked the Air Force to look into disposing of it but they were dragging their feet,”

“No surprise there,” said Peter.

“Indeed,” replied McCoy.  “But I guess there is no coincidence that a few weeks after the President asks for this thing to be destroyed, someone tries to move it,”

“Who gave the order to destroy it?  Officially?” asked Jack.

“It was Robert,” said McCoy.  Robert Kavanagh, the Secretary of Defence.

“I wonder if it’s a coincidence that Robert isn’t here today too,” wondered Jack out loud.

“Robert’s a reliable man in most respects, he’d never knowingly sell out the President,” retorted Peter.

“I’m not sure we can know that.  Anyone who isn’t here is possibly with the other side,” replied McCoy.

“We’ve not even established that an ‘other side’ even exists at this stage,” retorted Peter.

“Come off it Peter!  Someone is giving orders to move secret, deadly assets.  They’re doing it without the assent of the Executive branch.  We’ve got a conspiracy here.  We need to crack it before it’s too late,” McCoy was in full oratorical mode now.  He had stood up to speak and his voice was crisp and clear.

Peter didn’t stand up.  He wasn’t a lawyer, he wasn’t a politician.  He wasn’t going to posture and brow-beat the others into following his view point.  He was a man of logic, a former Federal Agent.  He wanted to act on evidence.

“There also may be a political dimension to this,” McCoy went on.  “Where is the Vice President?  Where is the Secretary of State?  We all know that Kenny was the President’s main rival back in the primaries,” 

Jack nodded his head.  “Kenny was never happy with the number two chair, that’s for sure,”

“He could be involved in this.  He has contacts over at the Shop,” said McCoy.

Peter shook his head.  “The Vice President too?  Come off it!  You sound totally paranoid now!”

Henry sat back for a moment.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never trusted Kenny,”

“You’re talking about the Vice President of the United States,” said Peter to Henry, feeling his grip on the room slipping.

“He is,” said McCoy, simply.  “We’ve got to act now before it’s too late.  Before they beat us to the punch,”

“This room isn’t a democracy,” said Henry Finch.  “The President gave us authority to act on his behalf once the decision is made.  I suggest we make a decision now,”

“If you’re going to go ahead and arrest the Chiefs, you’ll have to do it over my objections.  Henry, Jack, just think about it for a minute or two more,” begged Peter.

Jack shook his head.  “I’m with Richard on this one.  We’ve got to act and worry about it later,”

“Think about it Jack!  The President will look like a lunatic, ordering his own Generals arrested!” said Peter with some force.  “Think about the election!”

Jack closed his eyes for a moment.  Peter turned to Henry.

“Henry, you’re the smartest guy in the room.  You can’t think we need to stage a counter-coup, not when there hasn’t been a coup against us!”

Henry Finch closed his brief-case

Sat-Com, Somewhere in Virginia

The rattle of small arms fire and the roar of flamethrowers continued out in the corridor.  Captain Thomas’s team had fallen back behind a set of blast doors that were now half closed.

General Petersen moved up the corridor to their position.  There were strange howls and cries out from the corridor.  A soldier leant back and reloaded his machine-gun.  Petersen put a hand on his arm.

“How’s it going son?” he asked.

“They just keep coming sir.  I’m not sure how many of them there are,”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing.  They wont get past you will they?” he asked.

The young soldier looked at him and then shook his head fiercely.

“No way sir,” he replied.

“Good lad,” said the General.  He moved quickly across the gap to stand by Captain Thomas.

“What’s the sit-rep Captain?” he asked.

“We’ve engaged about five unarmed targets in the corridor now.  They go down under enough small-arms fire but then they get up.  I don’t know how,”

“Let someone else worry about that.  What does keep them down?” asked the General.

“Fire.  If we burn them with flame-throwers, they stay down,” said the Captain.

“Okay then.  Keep this area covered. It’s the only way in or out of the command centre.  If you need more men, I’ll get them fore you.  Don’t take any chances. Anyone coming in, you fire first and then burn the body,”

“Yes sir,” said Captain Thomas.

General Petersen moved back into the control room.  The small-arms locker had now been opened up and everyone was carrying weapons.  The tech’s in the room looked very nervous.  General Petersen walked through them.

“Come on guys, we’ve got a job to do.  You know how to do it.  I picked each of you personally. I had my pick of all the branches of service, whomever I wanted.  I chose you.  Don’t let me down,” he said.

They began to get to work again.  The big board had gone dark and the interruptions in power had left the control centre unable to control anything.

General Petersen found himself stood near Lt Walker.

“Molly,” he said.

“General?” she replied, her eyes wide.

“What did that Colonel tell you?” he asked.

“Sir?” she looked upset, her eyes watered.

“Come on Lieutenant, I raised you from a pup.  I’m never going to hurt you.  What did he say?”

Molly Walker wiped her eyes and then spoke.

“He said you were a traitor sir.  He said this base was operating illegally, that we were Briar,”

“I thought he might have said that.  Molly, we’re not Briar.  Briar is elsewhere,”

“Yes sir,” she said back firmly.

“You believe me?  You don’t want me to prove it?” he replied.  He had always thought her a smart girl.

“Prove it later sir,” she replied.  General Petersen smiled back at her.  He hadnt been wrong about her after all.

“Okay everyone.  We need primary power back on in here.  And we need that done fast. I cant command and control anything from this fucking isolation chamber!” he yelled to the room.  The men began to act, to try and fix the situation.  General Petersen only hoped there was still a situation to control when they were back in control again.

He walked back to the corridor and looked at the men protecting the barricade.  They were firing full automatic now.  There was a terrible roar, a shriek and then something liquid struck the door.  One man fell back screaming and holding his face.  Smoke rose from the door.

The General grabbed a nearby Sergeant.  “Follow me son,” he said.  The General rushed the door, his side-arm at his side.  He dropped into place at the side of the door and looked into the corridor ahead.

A human figure stood there, covered in blood.  The failing power caused the lights to flicker so Petersen never really made out his features too well.  But he didn’t have hands any more.  There were a pair of deep, round holes where his hands would have been.  Something wet was dripping from there and where it touched the ground, it smoked.

“Captain?” he shouted.

“Sir,” replied Thomas.

“We’ve got to put that fucking thing down, now!”

“Roger that sir,” replied Thomas.

“Okay, on me people!” shouted Petersen.  He aimed round the corner and opened fire with his pistol.  The others joined in with a blaze of small-arms fire.  The man shape took nearly forty hits in the space of a few seconds and came off its feet with a shriek.

“Flamethrower!” ordered Petersen.  “Now,”

Captain Petersen turned the corner and pulled the trigger on the flame thrower.  A jet of flame rushed out ahead of him, lighting the corridor ablaze again.  Petersen fired a second burst of fire and then took cover.

“Good work Captain,” said the General.  He looked down at the wounded, smoke rising from there wounds and the horrible smell of burning flesh in the air.  Petersen took a breath and then began to tend to his wounded men.

The pain in his hands was forgotten.

Chapter 28- Saxon Justice

Chapter 28

Saxon Justice

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

The news hit them like a tonne of bricks.  They had seen the explosion and seen the wreckage fall.  For a while they hadn’t been sure what it was.  But when Dietz radioed it in, it was no great surprise to Hannah.

“Shit,” she had said.  Wooderson had looked over at her.

“Shit, we are in serious trouble now,” she had said.

“Lieutenant, this mission is fragged,” he said simply.

“Yes it is,” she replied.

Captain Dietz and the others returned, covered in soot and smoke.  Newman’s eyes were pink, his face was sullen and shocked.  Wharton looked the calmest still.  Lt Chung sat down, his head in his hands.

Dietz took up his radio.

“This is Captain Dietz here.  I’m with what’s left of my team.  We require some advice here,”

There was a crackle of radio traffic.

“This is Hotel Twenty-Nine to ground unit, remain where you are,”

“Copy that but we need advice on how to proceed.  We’ve lost half of our team and most of our equipment,”

“Repeat your last, over,” came the crackling reply.

“Hang on Captain,” said Hannah.

“What>” snapped Dietz.  “We’re in serious trouble here,”

“We could be in even worse in a minute.  Cut the comms,”

“She’s right,” said Chung.  “If you tell them we cant manage the situation here, what do you think they are going to do?”

“What?” asked Dietz.

Hannah looked into his eyes for a moment and tried to make contact with him.  But she supposed it was hard enough being thrust into such a horrible situation.  It was even worse when your best friend had just been killed.

“Captain, we need to sort this situation out right now.  Otherwise someone else will do it for us,” she said plainly.  She looked over at Oscar.

“The situation has gotten out of our hands,” said Captain Dietz.

Sergeant Wooderson took hold of Dietz's arm and walked him away from the others for a moment.

“Snap out of it sir!” shouted Wooderson.  “You’re the CO here.  You fucking act like it,”

Dietz lowered his head for a moment.  Hannah saw that Wooderson was getting ready to slap him in the face when Dietz seemed to come back to life.

“Okay, okay.  What’s the sit-rep here?”

“We don’t know which of the villagers is infected.  Equally there are still four missing villagers,” said Chung.

“Okay, if we cant do the blood test, then how do we test the villagers to see which of them is an imposter?”

Hannah had been thinking about this for a while and she had a theory.  She wanted to prove it first though.

“Have we still got any of the infected blood around here?” she asked.

“It’s dried up,” said Chung.  “I think that means its dead,”

“We need to find something, I have an idea for a test,”

“Okay,” said Chung.  The two of them began to move away.

“Uh uh,” said Wharton.  “No one goes away in a pair.  Three men, minimum,”

“Okay, fine.  Wood?”  Sergeant Wooderson followed them.

As the others began to search, Specialist Storm lit another cigarette.  Agent Wharton was stood with him.  The villagers had now largely sat down on the ground.  They wore sullen faces and were tired and cranky.

Oscar had tried to explain the situation to them but they were running out of time for it.  “You must let us get on!  This is madness,” Don Brazzo had said.  Oscar had tried to calm him down, calm them all down.  But it wasn’t easy.  They were stood outside in a village while there were men with guns stood around.  Then there were huge explosions, shootings and shouting.  It wasn’t a very peaceable situation.

“They will resolve this as soon as they can,” replied Oscar, feeling the tiredness in every limb now.

“You don’t know that,” replied Brazzo forcefully.
“What do you propose then?” asked Oscar.

“We are not prisoners here, we have rights.  We return to our homes and wait this thing out.  How bad can it be?”

“Do you want me to show you how bad it can get?  Didn’t you see that huge explosion?”

“That was them, blowing things up,” barked Brazzo. “This is American madness and we should have no part in it,”

“We are in this, whether we want to be or not,”

“We could rush them,” suggested another villager.

“They have guns and you don’t,” said Oscar, bluntly.  “If you move, they will shoot you, they will shoot us all,”

The argument, the debate ended there.  The villagers moaned and cried, they bickered and glared.  But they were without any further moves.  Oscar looked over at Storm and Wharton.  He was sure that those two would sooner just shoot everyone anyway.

“You know Clarence, we could just solve all of this right now,” said Storm.

“What?” asked Wharton.

“We could solve this right now,” repeated Storm.

“I know we could,” said Wharton.

“Why don’t we?” asked Storm.

“You haven’t got enough bullets for that.  And what if some of them are infected?  We’ll be overrun while you reload.  No we’ve got to wait this out now.  Believe me, we’ll have to shoot some of them by the end of this,”

“The thing that’s worries me is that if the brass think we’ve blown it, they’ll just napalm this whole fucking ville back to the stone-age,”

“Yes,” said Wharton simply.

“That’s what I’d do if I was them.  I’ve been wracking my brains for why they’ve not done it already,” said Storm.

“I think they may have other problems to deal with tonight,” said Wharton, his voice tired.

“Worse than this?” asked Storm.

“I don’t think so.  But closer to home.  I was sent out here because we believed that there was a rogue element within the military.  A rogue element giving orders.  I think this unit was sent out by that rogue element,”

“So you think we’re rebels?” asked Storm with a grin.

“No I think that your team was assembled without knowing who you were taking orders from exactly.  But “Briar” was deactivated a long time ago. And to my knowledge no one has put it back into action,” said Wharton.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” asked Storm.  “I thought you Gee-Men were tight lipped?”

“I think that those back in the US are caught up in figuring out who is on who’s side.  They’re all scrambling to find Briar and to see who is involved in this.  But they don’t realize that the real enemy is right here,”

Hannah’s team came back, a lit flamethrower between them.

“Find what you needed?” asked Wharton.

“No we didn’t,” replied Hannah.  “But we’ve got an idea for something we can try.  It’s a bit primitive and may not work.  But I think it will,”

“What’s the plan?” asked Dietz.

“We use the flamethrower,” she said bluntly.

“Now you’re talking,” chuckled Storm

“Each of them, we burn there hands with the tip. It’ll hurt like hell,” she said.  “But you saw how Hunter reacted to fire; he broke apart to get away from it.  My guess is that they wont be able to subject themselves to fire,”

“That’s fucking brutal,” said Newman.

“Can you think of another way?” snapped Hannah.  “We’ve got to figure out which of them is human and which aren’t,”

“You’re mad,” said Oscar.  “You think these people are going to volunteer to be burned, one at a time?”

“They’ve got no choice,” explained Dietz.

“Put it this way Oscar,” said Storm. “Either they get burned one at a time or all at once,”

“Storm!” yelled Dietz.

“He’s right, we’re out of time here,” exclaimed Wharton.

“This is unbelievable,” said Oscar.  “I thought you were here to help us!”

“I’m sorry Oscar.  We’ve got to do this, there’s no other way,” explained Dietz.

Oscar turned around to the crowd.  He took in a deep breath and prepared to explain.  His voice cracked before he could speak.  Wharton stepped forward and explained to the crowd, in fluent Spanish.

“Form a line.  I don’t care what order you come in.  Each of you will be tested to see if you are infected.  It’ll mean a small burn to the hand.  If you are clean, you’ll be treated and be allowed to move to the Church.  If you are infected, we’ll move you to one side and treat the infection,”

The crowd expressed their disapproval.

“This wont work,” said Newman, hefting his flamethrower.  Wooderson tilted the other one so that there was just a thin flame coming up from its barrel.

Storm and McPherson had their P-90 submachine guns on the crowd as they began to form a line.  The small stocky one, the head man, kept shouting at Oscar.  He offered to go first but gradually seemed to vanish into the crowd.

The first person was a man, a tall man with graying hair.  Wharton explained what he had to do.  The man looked at him like he was insane.  Wharton pushed him forward.  The man held his hand slowly towards the fire.  Wharton watched him for a moment.

Then he grabbed the mans wrist and pushed his hand through the fire.  There was a shout and a yell; the man wheeled away holding his hand.  Storm trained the machine-gun on him.

“Wait”” yelled Oscar.  Oscar ran over to the farmer and looked at his arm.

It was a simple, horrible pink burn.

“He is burned,” said Oscar to the others.

“Okay,” said Dietz and moved forward to apply medical care.

“One down,” said Storm.  The other forty looked on with nervous eyes.

The next three came through the fire and then ended up being treated by Dietz.  Accusing, reproachful stares burrowed into the Captain as he continued to subject people to the fire.

“This is nonsense,” shouted Brazzo.  Oscar wondered if he was right, whether the test was really working or not.  A young woman was next.  She walked towards the fire and paused.  Wharton pushed her towards the flame-thrower.

She stopped dead in her tracks and Oscar felt the tension rise.  But who wouldn’t pause when offered to burn themselves.  Who wouldn’t want to avoid the fire?

Chapter 27- Field of Bullets

Chapter 27

The Field of Bullets

Sat-Com, somewhere in Virginia

The alarm caught every by surprise.  General Petersen was quickly to his feet, a generation of experience kept him sharp.  He turned and moved through the crowd towards Sergeant Wilcox.

“What’s going on?” asked one officer.

“It’s a fire alarm,” replied Captain Thomas, “no need to panic,”

“We need a fire control team out there now,” barked Petersen.  He put a hand on Sergeant Wilcox’s shoulder.  “You go with em, just in case,”

“Sir,” replied the veteran sergeant.  A five man team was quickly assembled and began to move out.  There was only a brief interruption to the work going on in the control room.

“What’s that on the board?” asked Petersen as the others got back to what they were doing.  There was a symbol that looked like an upside down pair of scissors.

“Helicopter down, sir,” replied Lieutenant Walker.  Petersen looked over at her, he hadnt seen her for a while.

“Which one?  One of ours?” he asked.

“It was the rescue chopper; Major Dalton’s bird is down,”

“What happened?” he asked.

“Sounds like it was a strike called in from the ground,” came the reply from Captain Thomas.

“They shot down their own bird?  What the hells going on down there?”

“We’re not sure sir.  Do you want me to get com-con status?” asked Lt Walker.

“No, no they are busy and we’ve got work to do and a vanishing window of opportunity to do it in,” replied the General.  “Someone keep communication open with Sergeant Wilcox’s team though,”

Petersen stretched his back out and felt the pain race up and down his arms.  He walked away from the main terminal and paused by Lt Walker for a moment.  He didn’t say anything, just listened to her relaying orders.

He then walked over to another officer, Lieutenant Davis.  “Lieutenant?”

“Sir?” came the jumpy reply.

“Who has been covering Lt Walker’s station?” asked the General.

“I think that was Sergeant Spriggs,” said the young Lieutenant.

“Who asked him to cover for her?”

“Colonel Sickles did sir,” replied Davis.

“Thank you, carry on,” said General Petersen.

“General?” asked Lt Walker.

“What is it?” he replied.

“I’ve got a call for you,”

“Who?” he asked brusquely.

“It’s a General Pierce.  He said you’d want to talk to him,” she said.

“I do actually, put it through to my ward room,” he said.  He began to walk up the stairs to the ward room again.  He opened the door and sat down behind his desk.

He opened the draw and took out his old M1911A1 pistol.  He chambered a round and then holstered the weapon behind him.

He picked up the phone and flicked the answer switch.

“Well, what the hell is going on?” he asked.

Elsewhere, Sat-Com

Sergeant Wilcox lead a five man team with fire extinguishers towards the epicenter of the alarm but it didn’t take long to realize that there was no fire.  There was a small pool of blood on the floor and another splash of blood on the wall.

Wilcox drew his side-arm.  The others, unarmed, stood around in a rough semi-circle. 

Wilcox turned to a junior non-com.  “Roberts, go back to the General and tell him the base has been compromised,”

“Sir,” said Roberts and turned to run.

“Belay that order” came the voice of Colonel Adams.

“Sir?” asked Wilcox.  He tensed his fingers around the pistol.

“There is a serious problem in the cargo bay, I need three of you in there.  The other two with me,”

“Hold on,” said Wilcox.  “The General told me not to take orders unless they were cleared with him,”

“I don’t have time for that chain of command bullshit Sergeant, we’ve got a job to do.  We’ve got a casualty who was wounded by a falling crate.  I need men to help stabilize him,”

One of the other men began to move but Wilcox put his spare out in front of him.

“Negative sir.  Get the General on the line, clear it and we’ll do whatever you ask,”

Colonel Adams was a fine officer, Sergeant Wilcox was always happy to follow him.  But an order from a General was almost the word of God.  Adams looked over the team and took two steps forward.  Wilcox raised the pistol but didn’t aim it at him, he safetied the gun as he went.

“Don’t take another step Colonel,”

“You threatening me?” asked the Colonel

“Sarge!” cried one of the others.

“Shut it,” barked Sergeant Wilcox.

“Put that weapon on safe and place it on the deck,” commanded Colonel Wilcox.

He took another step forward.

“Don’t step forward again sir,” said Wilcox.  He lowered the pistol and aimed at the Colonel.

“I’m putting you up on charges Sergeant,” said Adams, calmly.

“Sarge!” cried out one of the others.

“Shut up!” shouted Wilcox.

“Oh, I see,” said Adams.

“What?” asked Wilcox.

“Only one gun,” he said back.

Colonel Adams sprang forward and scattered the team.  One man was knocked to the side and collided hard with the wall.  Another was pinned underneath the Colonel.  Sergeant Wilcox dived to one side and another of his men simply ran for it.

Specialist Rowlins took a swing with a fire extinguisher and caught the Colonel flat in the face.  There was a cracking sound and a horrible splash of blood.  Colonel Adams waved a hand at Rowlins and stumbled away holding his face.

“Oh fuck,” said Rowlins.  Wilcox rolled to his feet and checked on the downed man who had hit the wall.

“Jesus,” said Wilcox.  “Rowlins, he’s….” Dangerous was going to be the word that finished that sentence.  Adams, or someone who looked like him, turned around and grabbed the wrists of the unfortunate specialist.  There were a series of cracking sounds and a terrible scream.

Rowlins fell to the floor, his broken wrists useless.  Adams stepped around him and walked at Wilcox.  Wilcox aimed down the barrel of the gun and fired, twice.  The first round took Adams under the jaw and threw his head back in a spray of blood.  The second caught him in the forehead.

A forty five caliber bullet is a big one, nearly half an inch wide.  A hit to the head would normally stop anyone or anything.  But Adams kept coming forward.  He reached out with long, clawed hands and grabbed hold of Sergeant Wilcox.

Wilcox put the pistol into Adams chest and unloaded the other five rounds in quick succession.  Adams was thrown backwards by the impact and slammed into the opposite wall.  Wilcox turned and ran.  Adams’s bloody doppelganger followed him.

“Get down!” came the shout.  Sergeant Wilcox threw himself to the floor.  There was the rattle of small-arms fire and he turned to see Adams blown off his feet.  At the other end of the corridor was Captain Thomas and four men, all of them carrying sub-machine guns.

“What the hell is going on?” asked Captain Thomas.

“We’ve been compromised,” wheezed Sergeant Wilcox.

Captain Thomas lead his men forward, a smoking MP5A1 in his hands.  He looked down the sights at Colonel Adams, by now a bleeding mass on the floor.  There was a strange burbling sound coming up from his body.

“Don’t get too close to him,” shouted Wilcox, still getting his breath.   Captain Thomas stopped short.  A long thin rope of red came out of the bloodied form on the ground and wrapped itself around one of Captain Thomas’s men.

The surprised soldier squeezed the trigger, rounds exploding into the wall and then down the body of the man next to him, who was blown backwards into the wall.  The rope then began to draw the man towards the bloody mess on the ground, which was still moving.

“Fuck me,” whispered Wilcox.  He reloaded his pistol as the air filled with gunfire again.  Three men opened fire, full auto into the thing as it drew the terrified man into its mass.  Sergeant Wilcox was too far away to tell what it was doing to him; all he could hear was gunfire and screams.  But he could see the soldier vanishing into it’s mass;

Captain Thomas and his men began to withdraw, reloading as they went.

“It didn’t die, what the fuck is it?” asked the Captain.

“I don’t know,” replied Sergeant Wilcox.

“Radio!” shouted one of the men.

“Thomas!” shouted Thomas into his radio.

“Captain, what’s the status?”

“Something, something is in here!  It killed Worcester,” replied Thomas.

“Okay, seal the corridor and then regroup.  Outfit a team with flamethrowers and burn it.  Burn the fucker.  Anyone who tries to break out seal, shoot on sight,” came the General.

“Sir?”

“Shoot on sight Captain.  There are no friendlies out there,”

“Yes sir,” said Captain Thomas.  “Okay, seal the corridor.  Burn them, we’ve got to burn them,”

“Who?” asked Sergeant Wilcox.

“Anyone, all of them.  Anyone who is in there, we gotta burn them,”