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 

Chapter 18- Short Leash

Chapter 18

Short Leash

Villa Escobar, Venezeuala

A US marine Blackhawk helicopter landed at the edge of the village, blowing dust, sand and clothes from washing lines.  A ten man marine squad jumped off, already geared up as if they were going to be on the moon.

They joined another twenty marines, equipped with battle weapons and flame-throwers and began to set up a perimeter around the village.  Of course the villagers found this more than a little unsettling.

“Who are these Martians?” asked one villager to another.

“The helicopter was an American one,” replied a well informed villager.

“We should talk to them and find out what they want,” suggested another.

When a villager approached them, he was warned off in English and then Spanish.  He turned around to his friends, perhaps speaking particularly to Mr Helpful Suggestions.

“Now what do we do?”

The marines grimly waited to see what their first order of business would be.  One Staff Sergeant leaned over his weapon and sighed.

“Cant even fucking smoke in these things,” he grumbled.

Satcom, somewhere in Virginia

Colonel Adams wasn’t happy at all but he tried not to let it show in front of the team.  Around ten people were looking to him for how to proceed.  The Kiowa had landed but so far, no one had been sent in to relieve the pilots and get the casualty clear.

“Doctor, I need you to proceed incredibly carefully.  The subject may well have been exposed to Arctic Blue.  This makes him fatally contagious,”

“I understand Colonel.  But if we can save this man, we have to,” replied Doctor Howson.  Adams sized the air force doctor up.  He knew that Howson was a very intelligent man, famed for his quick wits and his even temprement.  But he hoped that he was also a team player.

“Doctor, it may end up that we have to let this man die.  Or worse, we may need to triage him,” said Adams.  One of the other men looked around but Adams ignored him.  They stopped by the hangars double doors.   Captain Fellows gave the order.

“Check your weapons,” and there was a scramble of activity, weapons taken off safe and rounds chambered.

“I understand Colonel.  You’re talking about the greater good aren’t you?” asked the Doctor.  Adams just nodded.

“I hope this is a real greater good.  A lot of BS has been sold on that one before,” added Howson.

“Too true” replied Adams.

Two non-coms prepared to push the doors to the hangar open and Colonel Adams steeled himself to deal with whatever was on the other side of those doors

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

“See what we have here?” asked Hannah to the others.  They were gathered around an altar that it was fair to say had been “unholied”.  Hannah had felt the chill of her old Catholic days swell inside her but she’d swept it aside.

The others gathered around to see the body, most keeping more distance from it than made much sense.  Hannah stood right next to it, trying to show them that in death it was no longer dangerous.  Burned and twisted limbs were curled up horribly.  What little of its face remained did not resemble a human being anymore.  Long canine teeth were visible.

“This guy was attempting to fuse, to take bio-mass from these pigs when we stopped him.  This guy, who is clearly not human, was reshaping his body with that bio-mass,” she said as simply as she could.  Chung was nodding, she knew she didn’t need to convince him.

“Why?” came the question.  It came from Dietz.

“I think that he was hurt, or wounded at the time.  So he was trying to fuse himself with this live bio-mass to repair dead tissue,” she said.

“That’s only a theory though” added Chung.  “We really don’t know what the motive was at the moment,”

“Fuck it, he could have just been having lunch for all we know,” quipped Storm.

“Shut up,” barked Wooderson.

Hannah was greatful for Wooderson’s interruption.  She gave him a moment of appreciative eye contact and then went back to what she was doing.

“If what Senor Cordoba says is true, then it’s possible, in fact even likely, that one of these things has the ability to change its shape,” she said.  She knew this was the most absurd thing she had to tell them.

“Yes, yes that is right.” Said Oscar.

“If they can change shape, then that fits with what I was saying before.  They can change shape to hide, like a chameleon.  Then they can kill and add the bio-mass to themselves if they need to.  Or they can change their shape to replicate the form they just killed,”

“Jesus preserve us,” breathed Dietz, his hand went to his cross again.

“We don’t know this is true though do we?” Said Roburn.

“No we don’t.  It’s a working theory,” Said Hannah.

She looked over to Colonel Dalton.  He looked shaky, still.  His face was pale and she thought she could see him talking to himself.

“So if someone has been replaced by one of those things, how do we know?” asked Storm.  She was pleasantly surprised with having his attention on this issue, she figured the hard-headed soldier would be tricky to convince.

“I don’t know yet.  Marcus and I will try and figure something out.  What we really need is a surgeon or a doctor down here.  But the internal organs of the, the thing we killed are identical to those of a normal human being,” she said.

“You’re kidding me?” asked Harrison.

“It makes sense,” said Chung.  “It wouldn’t be much of a mimic if it was that easily identified,”

“This is bullshit,” said Newman.

“You secure that shit son,” barked Harrison.

“You really believe all of this?” asked Newman.  His eyes were wide.  This wasn’t skepticism, this was fear.

The team looked from Hannah, in her role as their lecturer back to Dalton, in his role as their team leader.  Dalton said nothing at this time.

“So what do we do?” asked Hunter.

“We’ve got maybe fifty villagers here.  We need to figure out which of them are really who they say they are,” Said Harrison, bluntly.

“What?  We’d need more men for that,” said Newman.

“Yeah, we’re not equipped for any of this, “added Roburn.

“This is the Air Force, not a fucking democracy” growled Harrison.  “You’ll do what you’re told.”

“Ok, we break up into our two man teams again and sweep the village,” said Dietz.

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Said Chung.  Dietz fixed him with a baleful stare but Wharton came to his rescue.

“No, no, he’s right.  This is worse than you thought. If its true, then you split people up into two man teams and that plays right into their hands,” said the agent.  Hannah could already see where he was going with this.

“Right now, somebody here might not be who they say they are,” said the agent, saying what they were all thinking and none of them wanted to say.

“Bullshit,” said Newman again.

“No, I’ve been thinking the same thing for a while now,” said Hannah.

“So we need to figure out which of us isn’t human anymore then,” said Colonel Dalton.  They all looked around at the Colonel, who’d barely said anything for fifteen minutes.

“Hannah, Marcus, what do you need?” he asked them both.  Marcus turned to look at Hannah but she shook her head.

“I’m not sure how you could tell.  Medical records would be the same, as would blood type,”

“Also, look at this things brain,” said Marcus.  He pointed the flash light beam into the cracked skull of the thing on the altar.  “Pathways in the brain are closed off, as if it knows it wont need them.”

“So what, it wont have emotions?” asked Dalton.

“No, the opposite, it’ll have all the emotions and memories it thinks it will need.  And no more than that.  That is very efficient.” Said Marcus, a tone of admiration in his voice.

“So they’d act the same as ever, they’d look the same and we can’t blood test them.” Said Dalton.

“There must be a way though,” said Hannah.  “We just need to think of what it is”

Chapter 17- Creeping Death

Chapter 17

Creeping Death

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Oscar had tried his best but the older soldier wasn’t interested.  Oscar watched him turn away, a radio in his hand.  Oscar tried to catch the attention of the leader of these soldiers but to no avail.

“Someone else, someone’s got to listen to me,” Oscar said almost to himself.  He watched the semi-circle of American’s talking amongst themselves.  A helicopter had come down to carry their wounded man away.  Things were not right; there was a tense look on their faces.

One of them looked less fierce than the others so Oscar decided he was the best bet.  Oscar followed him for a moment as he walked away from the others.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” said Oscar to the officer.

“What?” he snapped.  Oscar’s English was pretty good but it didn’t need to be good to figure that the man was in a state of high tension.  His wide eyes and his expression was quite hostile.

“You are looking for someone?” asked Oscar, trying to get straight to the point.

“What do you mean?” replied the soldier.

“You’re looking for someone.  A man?”

“No, we’re trying to secure this place.  It’s dangerous here,”

“But you are looking for someone, a man who got away?” asked Oscar.

The man closed his eyes briefly and Oscar thought it was irritation on his face.

“Someone who got away.  Yes, maybe we are actually.  Did you see someone?  Perhaps in uniform?” asked the man.

“No, not in uniform.  But not a villager either.  He was with the priest when your man arrives in the village and then he leaves going South,” said Oscar.

“Ok, can you show me where he’s going?” asked the man.

“Yes I can,” replied Oscar.

Wharton unfolded the map to show Oscar the village and its position.  Oscar looked at it once and Wharton watched him closely.

“Here, he head this way.  The next village maybe?”

“That’s twenty miles away.  Ok, thank you.  What was your name?”

“Oscar Cordoba,” he replied.

“I’m Clarence Wharton.  Stay here for a minute,” he said and then moved away quickly.  Oscar watched him rejoin the other soldiers.  There had been something different about him, something about his eyes, his movements, he wasn’t the same kind of soldier as the others.  His uniform had been the same as theirs but Oscar had seen something different about him.

Ivan wondered over, looking nervous.

“What’s going on?  Your English is better than mine,” he said.

“Your English is fine Ivan.  You just want to know what I found out that you didn’t know already,” replied Oscar tensely.

“Oscar I…”

“Don’t worry.  I don’t care right now.  They have been talking about some kind of infection, a disease or something,” said Oscar.  He was amazed that saying it didn’t make him any more scared than he already was.

“A disease?  Then we are in danger?”

“Great danger.  But I doubt it’s airborne.  If it is, we’ve all got it already,”

“Did they say what the symptoms of the disease are?” asked Ivan.

“No they didn’t.  But I’m trying to get some answers,”

Wharton came back out of the church, a quickness to his step. 

“They need you to come in and show them where this guy went.  Now it’s pretty horrible in there.  You going to be all right?”

“Yes,” Said Oscar, not really knowing what he was agreeing to at this point.  Ivan watched him walk away into the church.

Oscar could smell it before he’d even gotten into the church, the rank, sweet smell of burned flesh.  Oscar began to breathe through his mouth as he’d been taught.  He walked in, a soldier was leaning against the door smoking a cigarette.  As Oscar walked past, he nodded curtly to him.

“What’s he doing in here?” asked one soldier as Oscar walked into the church.

“He’s the one I was telling you about,” Said Wharton to him, not stopping to talk.

Oscar looked around the church in horror.  The chairs and pews were now pushed to the sides of the room, copies of the Bible were scattered across the floor.  There was blood splattered on the walls and in the corner, a pile of blackened remains.

Oscar tried to focus but felt his head swimming.  A female soldier looked over at him.

“Are you ok sir?” she asked him.  Oscar nodded but felt faint.  The smell was unbearable.

“So the question is, what are we dealing with here?” asked an older man.

“I think we’ve got time later to figure it out.  According to Oscar here, one of them is getting away,” said Wharton.

“Show me,” said the oldest soldier, the one who had ignored Oscar earlier.  Oscar walked over to the map which was pinned to the wall.

“This way, he goes this way towards the next village,” Oscar managed to say.

“I see,” said the man who was clearly in charge.  “Ok I’ll call in for a helicopter to go after him but otherwise we may have to begin a foot pursuit,”

“At that range?  We’d never catch him now,” said a different soldier.

“There’s a goat path that may help you catch him,” said Oscar, trying to breathe.

“That’d help,  Thank you,” Said the leader of the soldiers.

Satcom, somewhere in Virginia

Colonel Sickles stood near the back of the room and watched the officers and non-coms work.  They were a good group, they didn’t need a lot of checking, they didn’t need micro-managing.  But the problem was starting to get away from them.

“That’s confirmed then,” said Colonel Adams, putting down the phone.

“What is?” asked Sickles.  Adams gave the younger man a look and walked over to the General.

“Sir, it’s confirmed.  Someone got away from Villa Cyranno before the team arrived,”

“Damn it,” said the General.  “Someone get me a damned coffee!”

A staff sergeant put a cup of coffee down almost instantly.  Colonel Sickles looked over at the big board and wondered how long they had to tie this infection down.

“Sir, we need to move right now,” said Sickles.

“I know we do,” said the General.  “One of them is loose.  Ok, we cant take any chances at all.  I want a marine landing team at Villa Escobar.  I want them in full haz-mat gear.  Flame-throwers on the load out,”

“Sir, hazardous materials suits may not have any effect,” said Sickles.

“I don’t care, I’m not exposing these men to any needless risks.  Their orders are to shoot and incinerate anyone arriving at Villa Escobar on foot,” said the General gruffly.

“Sir?” said Adams, incredously.

“We don’t have time to dick around here Chris.  Give them the fuckin’ order,” growled the General.

“Sir,” said Adams and began relaying the instructions over the radio.

“That’s the right call, “said Sickles softly to the general.

“You think I don’t know that?  It’s the best fuckin’ call available.  But it still turns my stomach.  Innocent people are going to die now,”

“Collateral damage,” said Sickles coolly.

“You don’t know the meaning of the word, Colonel,” said the General.

The General fixed him with a baleful look and Colonel Sickles was aware that he didn’t want to make eye contact at this point.

“You take the star seriously at least,” growled the General.

An alarm broke the tension.

“That’s the medevac chopper arriving,” said Adams.

“Ok, Colonel Sickles I want you down there to supervise what’s going on,” Said General Petersen.

“With all due respect sir, I was instructed by the Secretary to keep an eye on this room and this operation,” Sickles kept his tone firm but low.

General Petersen raised his hands in exasperation.

“Fucking great. Ok Chris you get down there and keep an eye on things.  If anything doesn’t seem right, isolate them instantly.  Don’t think twice,”

“Yes sir,” said Adams, pausing only briefly to give Sickles another loaded look.

Colonel Sickles grabbed a non-com as he bustled past.

“Get me a cup of coffee Sergeant,” he said.  The non-com looked at Sickles like he’d lost his mind.

“A cup of coffee?  You can manage that cant you?” he snapped at him as he got into gear.

Another phone line lit up and a sergeant picked it up.  His face betrayed his fear and his shock at who he was being asked to speak to.