Red Hammer: Voodoo Plague Book 4 (25 page)

Vostov leaned across the front and handed her ID to the
guard, speaking much more calmly than she had to the Captain at the road
block.  The guard’s tone was deferential, but he apparently insisted on
inspecting the vehicle and all the passengers.  He kept Vostov’s ID and took
Igor’s as well.  Coming to the back he banged on the door and after a nod from
Vostov the Russian guarding us reached out and opened it.

The gate sentry looked in, two more men with rifles up and
aimed at us backing him up.  He said something and the soldier across from us
fished out an ID card and handed it over.  Three ID cards in hand he
disappeared around the side of the vehicle, but the rifles pointing in at us
didn’t waver.  I spared a glance at Vostov, who looked completely at ease, as
if she went through this daily.  Perhaps she did.

A long five minutes later the guard stepped back up to
Igor’s open door and handed all three IDs to him.  He said something that
sounded respectful to Vostov, then turned his head and shouted to the men
behind us.  Rifles lowered, one of them stepped forward and slammed the rear
door shut.  Igor closed his door, waved at the guard and a moment later drove
us through the gate onto Kirtland AFB.

“Was everything about that normal?”  I asked, once we
cleared security. 

“Yes.  Completely.”  Vostov said, smiling.

“They don’t inspect equipment coming on the base?”  I asked,
patting one of the nukes sitting next to me.

“Not when there’s a GRU officer in the vehicle that just
told them she was returning with captured technology and American prisoners. 
Not if they value their futures.  All they did was check to make sure our IDs
matched with the list of personnel assigned to this base, and that our IDs were
valid.  Once everything checked out, their job was done.”

“How long do you think you have before someone starts asking
questions?”  Martinez spoke up.

“Two days, maybe three.  Maybe less when one of the Stealth
Hawks disappears.  No matter.  The bombs will be on a cargo flight to Moscow in
a little over 12 hours.”  She answered, then turned to Igor and gave
directions, pointing towards a road that followed the perimeter fence and would
take us to the far side of the base where our ride was waiting.

It’s around 500 air miles from Albuquerque to Oklahoma
City.  The Stealth Hawk’s cruise speed was lower than a standard Black Hawk,
but it still only took a little over six hours to make the flight.  It had been
surprisingly easy to steal the helicopter from the Russians.  Well, can you
really ‘steal’ something that was yours to begin with?  Anyway, there had been
no security posted at the hangar when Igor pulled to a stop. 

When the Russians captured Kirtland they had transported all
the Air Force personnel at the base to the Bernalillo County Jail which was
only a few miles away.  Throwing the doors open, they had released all of the
prisoners, not concerned with turning lose murderers, rapists, arsonists, and
all other variety of felons.  Jail cleared of civilians, they had stuffed the
facility with every American who had been unlucky enough to be on the base when
they arrived. 

A platoon of infantry was assigned to guard the jail, and
with security around the perimeter of the base the Russians hadn’t felt the
need to expend manpower guarding locations within the fence.  This just made it
easier for us.  For that matter, as we had driven the perimeter road I had
noted that it would have been simple for us to breach the fence and gain access
to the hangar if we hadn’t had Vostov to escort us through the gate.  

The helicopters were exactly where Vostov had said they
would be.  Sitting in the hangar they looked more like something out a science
fiction movie, but this was due to the design changes necessary to make them
stealthy to radar.  I heard Martinez catch her breath when we walked into the
hangar.  I looked at her and the look on her face reminded me of a child in a
toy store.

Walking to the closest helicopter she checked it over, shook
her head and moved to the next.  After checking all of them she came over to
where I stood with Vostov.

“None of them are fueled.  We’ll have to wheel one out to
fuel it before we can leave.”  She said.

“Pick the one you want and let’s get going.  We’ve only got
about five hours of darkness left.”  I answered, checking my watch.

Martinez nodded and trotted off to a small tractor parked
against the wall of the hangar.  Moments later she had it running and pulled up
to the nose gear of the aircraft she had selected.  They all looked the same to
me, but after checking each one over something about that one had gotten her
attention.  Tractor hooked to the front landing gear, she waved at me and Igor
and I rolled the massive doors the rest of the way open.

Helicopter out in the open, Martinez parked it next to an
in-ground fuel point and wasted no time in connecting a hose to the Stealth
Hawk.  While she monitored the fueling, the two Russians helped me load my
three bombs and secure them with heavy, rubber bungee cords.  Scott climbed aboard
and settled into a web sling, rifle across his knees.  I tossed my pack in next
to his and Martinez’ and turned to Vostov.

“We’ve made a good start, Captain.”  I said.  “When this is
over, I just hope our two countries can work together to rebuild, not continue
fighting each other.  There’s enough enemies in the world.”

“We will meet again, Major.”  She leaned in, and in very
Russian fashion kissed me on each cheek before turning and climbing aboard the
MRAP.

When the fueling completed, Martinez and I had boarded and
she’d started the engines.  The first thing I noticed was how quiet this bird
was compared to a standard Black Hawk.  Then she lifted us into the air and I
was even more impressed when the noise of the rotor didn’t threaten to rattle
my brain into mush.

We exited Kirtland to the east, almost immediately flying
over nothing by empty desert.  She kept us low, flying nap of the Earth.  I
climbed into the co-pilots seat and pulled on the helmet that was tethered to
the control panel with a long cable.  When I lowered the visor, a screen flared
to life in front of my eyes showing the view from the front in glorious HD
night vision.  In the top right I could see our speed, heading and altitude,
surprised that we were traveling at 130 knots only 50 feet above the ground.

Looking back at the forward view I got a knot in my stomach
when I remembered that telephone poles, cell phone towers, all kinds of things
were taller than 50 feet.  But as I watched the ground rush under us I realized
that Martinez would be able to clearly see any obstacle in plenty of time to
avoid it.  Leaving her to it, I returned to the back, checked on Scott and
stretched out on the gently vibrating deck.  I think I was asleep in less than
a minute.

I woke up with a start when Scott kicked my foot.  I looked
up at him and he grinned back through obvious pain. 

“We’re 10 minutes out of Tinker.”  He said.  I nodded and
stifled a groan when I stood up. 

The body was tired and sore, and sleeping on a hard, steel
deck hadn’t helped anything.  And my ass still hurt from the vaccine
injection.  Rubbing my backside, I climbed forward into the cockpit, squinting
at the early morning sun shining directly into my eyes.  I worked the helmet
onto my head and lowered the visor.  My view changed to the HD cameras mounted
on the exterior of the aircraft, the electronics automatically compensating for
the blinding sunlight.

“How we doing, Martinez?”  I asked on the intercom, stifling
a yawn.

“No worries, sir.  I’ve been on the radio with Tinker for
half an hour and they’re expecting us.  Seems there’s a Colonel Crawford mighty
anxious to see you.”

Great.  I still believed I had done the right thing in
making the deal with the Russians.  I just hoped the Colonel agreed.

“We’ve got an escort.”  Martinez said and I looked to the
side to see a pair of F-35s flying in formation with us.  Turning my head, the
helmet seamlessly transitioned across several cameras, and I could see two more
on our left.

I watched in the display as we descended, then looked ahead
and saw the sprawl of Oklahoma City.  It looked so fucking normal.  There was
traffic on the freeways and surface streets.  Not much, and I was sure nothing
close to pre-attack volumes, but there were people down there going about their
daily lives.  But for how much longer?  Could we take the data in the flash
drive and synthesize enough vaccine to save them?  And even if we pulled that
off, there were still tens of millions of infected roaming around the country. 
What happened when they decided to come to dinner?

The four fighter jets peeled off with a roar, leaving us to
descend the final 2,000 feet on our own.  We cleared the perimeter of Tinker
AFB and Martinez cut our speed to under 50 knots, flying over row after row of
barracks, then down the length of a runway.  At the far end a row of hangars
sat with their doors rolled open, two Humvees, an ambulance and an Air Force
staff car sitting in front of one of them.

Martinez cut our forward speed to zero and made a sedate
landing, though I suspected she would have preferred to execute a high speed
combat landing.  Every pilot I’ve ever known does.  Descending that last 20
feet to the tarmac I looked towards the waiting vehicles and saw Colonel
Crawford and Captain Blanchard step out of one of the Hummers.  The other
Hummer disgorged four Rangers and three Air Force officers stepped out of the
staff car.  Where was Jackson?  Was he still searching for Rachel and Dog?

“Good to see you, Major.”  Crawford said after I climbed
down out of the Stealth Hawk and walked forward to meet him.  “Your pilot said
you have some special packages on board.”

“Yes, sir.”  I had already taken the keys out of my pack and
handed them to Blanchard.  He headed for the side door of the aircraft, Rangers
close on his heels.  They would take possession of the nukes and make sure they
stayed secure.

“Where’s Jackson, Colonel?  Did he find Rachel and Dog?” 
Now that the mission was over I let myself think about them.  Think about
Rachel.  Acknowledge the ball of worry that I’d kept tamped down in my gut for
the duration of the mission.  When I thought about Rachel a pang started deep
inside me and threatened to strangle my breathing.  Was this just fear for
someone I cared for deeply, or was this love?  She had wanted to know my
feelings when she’d professed hers, and I still didn’t know the answer.

All I knew was that it was just as important to me to find
her now as it was to find Katie.  Was that my answer?  Was I in love with two
women?  I shook my head, telling myself I was being ridiculous, and focused on
what the Colonel was saying.

“There’s a lot to tell you, and I suspect you have a lot to
tell me.  I only see three packages coming off that aircraft.”  I followed his
gaze, watching as the Rangers loaded the bombs into the back of their Humvee.

“Yes, sir.  There is.  But you didn’t answer my question. 
Where’s Jackson.  What’s going on with the search?”

Rachel tried to scream when Jackson’s hands went around her
throat, but he squeezed so hard she couldn’t move any air in or out.  He was
still wearing the seatbelt and strained against it, trying to turn and move his
jaws to her, but it held tight.  She felt her feet leave the bed of the truck
as he pulled her closer and put a hand on his chest to brace against him.  He
was incredibly strong and it did no good.  Snapping teeth just inches from her
face, Rachel remembered the iron lug wrench in her right hand and jammed the
end of it into Jackson’s mouth.

Teeth broke and his lips were torn open, but he didn’t
flinch.  She started pounding on his head with the tool, splitting his face and
scalp open, but having no other effect.  His grip was still like bands of steel
around her throat and she could feel the edges of her consciousness starting to
close in.  She could no longer hear the snarling, only a roar like the ocean in
her ears.  She felt his bloody lips brush her cheek.

Suddenly one of his hands was no longer constricting her
neck and she gulped a ragged breath.  Her hearing returned and she panicked
when she heard additional snarls in the truck with her until she realized it
was Dog.  He had leapt in through the missing window and had clamped his
powerful jaws onto one of Jackson’s arms. 

Jackson waved his trapped arm around, strong enough to drag
Dog around the cramped cab.  Rachel renewed her attack with the tire iron, this
time pounding on the wrist of the arm that was still holding her.  If she could
break the wrist he wouldn’t have the strength to hold on.  She hoped.

The third blow did the trick, his grip slackening.  Rachel
put her hands on the window frame and pushed, tearing her throat out of his
damaged hand.  She stumbled backwards in the bed of the truck, losing her
balance and falling to her ass in the muddy water.  Dog was still inside,
savagely ripping at Jackson’s arms, but the confined space prevented him from
getting the advantage and tearing his throat out.

“Dog!  Come here!”  Rachel shouted, her voice hoarse.

Dog disengaged and in a flash jumped through the window and
splashed into the water next to Rachel.  He pressed his body up against hers,
facing the front of the truck and she could feel him shaking.  Or was that her
shaking so hard it only felt like Dog?

They sat that way for a long time, Rachel’s arms locked
around Dog, his head against her chest.  Jackson could hear them breathing and
continuously tried to turn his body to reach them, but the seat belt was
stronger than he was.  He was trapped.  Stuck in the seat and only able to
snarl and flail his arms.  Tears started rolling down her face, then deep sobs
racked her body as she buried her face in Dog’s matted fur.

Rachel was in shock.  And she was cold.  The cold finally
got her moving.  Cried out, she sniffed her tears back and slowly got to her
feet.  The sun was coming up behind her, but the first light of the day did
nothing to warm or calm her.  Looking around she saw that the ditch behind them
had a gentle ramp up to ground level for the heavy equipment that did the
digging to drive in and out. 

Jumping over the tailgate she splashed into waist deep water
and started wading up the ramp.  Dog joined her, having to swim a good distance
before he was able to reach water shallow enough for him to stand.  Together,
they climbed the ramp up into the sunshine.  Looking around, Rachel was dismayed. 
In every direction, the land was flat to the horizon, and there was nothing
standing.  Not even vegetation.

The tornado had ripped everything out of the ground, leaving
only raw mud in its wake for as far as she could see.  There were even chunks of
asphalt missing from the road.  In a daze, Rachel wandered over to the cars
that had been deposited by the storm.  She ignored the Cadillac, Mazda and
Chevy truck.  Beyond them was another tangle of vehicles and she dismissed them
when she saw the amount of damage they had sustained.

Walking past them she spotted two more, both sitting on
their tires.  A Mercedes S Class sedan sat in the sun, tires and glass intact. 
Other than a mud covered exterior it looked in perfect condition.  Rachel
pulled the door open and looked inside.  It even smelled new.  But there
weren’t any keys in the ignition when she checked.

The vehicle next to it was a battered Ford Bronco.  Like the
Mercedes, its tires and glass were intact.  As she got closer, Rachel could
tell it was painted orange underneath all the mud smeared on it.  Pulling the
door open she looked and found the keys dangling from the ignition.  Reaching
in, she turned the key and the starter whined, then the big V8 engine rumbled
to life.  She waved Dog in, climbed behind the wheel and turned the heater all
the way to hot.

Pulling the gear selector into drive, Rachel paused before
taking her foot off the brake.  Looking down she saw her pistol still holstered
on her belt.  With a sigh, she took her foot off the brake and slowly drove to
the top of the ditch.  She stepped out of the Bronco, leaving the door open,
and could immediately hear Jackson’s snarls coming from below.  Drawing the
pistol, she checked it the way John had taught her.  Made sure nothing was obstructing
the muzzle.  The slide operated smoothly.  A round was in the chamber.

Pistol in hand, Rachel walked down the muddy ramp, wading
through the water until she reached the truck.  Climbing over the tailgate she
slowly moved towards the back of the cab, Jackson’s snarls a constant as he
heard her approaching.  Stopping a couple of feet short of the opening she
raised the pistol, aimed at Jackson’s head and pulled the trigger.