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.