Precipice: V Plague Book 9 (25 page)

Colonel
Crawford sat in the shelter of an overpass, watching the activity on the piers
that stuck out into Puget Sound.  There were five Russian Navy ships tied
up, all of them lit like it was Christmas morning.  Sentries patrolled the
docks and there were frequent gun shots from all up and down the shoreline as
they put down infected.  A small work gang moved constantly, dragging the
bodies to the edge of the wooden docks and dumping them into the ocean.

The massive Pyotr
Velikiy (Peter the Great) guided missile cruiser, or battlecruiser, was tied up
to the pier closest to his hiding place.  The ship was over eight hundred
feet long and nearly a hundred feet wide, powered by a nuclear reactor and was
the flagship of Russia’s Northern Fleet.  And it was flying the banner of
the old Soviet Union, a gold hammer and sickle on a red background.

A much
smaller destroyer and three ships that were beyond Crawford’s ability to
identify occupied the adjoining docks.  For not the first time he wished
he had one of the SEALs with him, for ship identification if nothing else, but
they had strict orders to return to the lab and not engage the Russians. 
If he had bothered to get on the satellite connection and speak with Admiral
Packard he would probably have been given the same order, which is why he had
refused the SEAL’s offer to use the comm gear.

The Colonel
had reached the end, and he knew it.  When he’d first met Major Chase in
Tennessee he’d told him that his wife and daughters were in Los Angeles
visiting her sister when the attacks occurred.  That had been a lie. 
Her sister was in San Francisco and they had been in LA, waiting for him to
arrive the next morning to begin an experimental treatment for lung
cancer.  Years of cigarette smoking combined with regularly inhaling toxic
fumes on battlefields had taken a toll on his body.  He had already lived
longer than the doctors had given him.

But he felt
fine.  What had been a persistent, racking cough had gone away and he was
actually able to breathe again without wheezing.  He hadn’t given it much
thought, just assumed his body had responded to the crisis and was grateful
he’d lasted as long as he had.  At least long enough to throw a serious
fucking monkey wrench into the Russian’s plans.

Next to him
on the ground rested a large duffel.  It was heavy, packed full of
explosives that had been scrounged from the National Guard Armory.  The
Master Chief was a demolitions expert and had fashioned two makeshift Limpet
mines for him.  Each mine contained forty pounds of C-4, and had been
constructed to focus the force of the blast towards whatever surface it was
attached to. 

Strong
magnets taken from the mounting bases of portable antennas would hold the mines
tight to any metallic surface, such as a ship’s hull.  The only problem
was that they didn’t have a timer for the detonator.  The mines would need
to be placed below the water line and the wireless signal from the handheld trigger
couldn’t penetrate the water.  The solution had been to attach the ends of
two large spools of wire to each blasting cap.  Once the mines were stuck
to a hull, the Colonel would have to reel out the wire and attach it to a
terminal on the trigger so he could detonate the C-4.

Master Chief
Gonzales had assured him that each device would punch a large hole through the
hull of any ship other than an aircraft carrier.  Knowing firsthand just
how devastating a shaped charge could be, Crawford didn’t doubt the SEAL for a
minute.  His only concern was being able to get the mines in the right
place to do the most damage.

He turned
his head and raised his weapon when a foot scraped on the rough concrete
covering the ground beneath the underpass, but it was only a male.  The
infected was in horrific condition, barely able to walk, drawn to the activity
on the docks and was slowly making its way.  Crawford held his fire, the
male unaware of his presence, and eventually it stumbled past and continued on.

The Colonel
spent a minute scanning the city behind him, but didn’t see any other
movement.  But it was such a built up and cluttered urban environment
there could have been a thousand infected approaching and he wouldn’t see them
until they were within twenty yards.  Turning his attention back to the
docks he raised a large pair of binoculars and continued his survey of the
ships.

Peter the
Great was definitely on his target list.  But the ship was so large the
only way he was going to permanently disable it was if he could damage the
nuclear reactor.  He knew it would be well shielded and protected, and he
was debating on whether or not to use both mines on the same target. 

He was
fairly confident the reactor core was about two thirds of the way back from the
sharp bow.  This was the logical location for a variety of reasons that he
recalled from a two week cross-training session with the Navy he’d participated
in back when he was a bright eyed, young Lieutenant.  The design and
potential weak points of enemy ships had been one of the courses, which
included swimming in to the Norfolk Naval Shipyards at night and attaching a
dummy mine to the hull of a decommissioned ship.

His small
team of three Green Berets, with a Navy SEAL observer tagging along, had
successfully placed the mine, but had been spotted by shore based security as
they were leaving the area.  The exercise results had been graded a
B.  The ship would have been seriously damaged or destroyed, but the
swimmers would have been captured or killed. 

Deciding a
gaping hole in the hull of Peter the Great and the adjacent destroyer burning
furiously from a mine placed near its fuel bunker was the right way to go,
Crawford settled back to keep watch and let the night wear on.  As the
early morning hours approached the activity levels on the docks would die down
and it would be easier to get into the water and place the mines without being
detected.

When the
surge of water struck, my entire lower body shifted then my legs began flailing
in the current.  I had managed to hang on to one of the ladder’s rungs
with my right hand so I wasn’t immediately swept away in the torrent.  But
the ladder was only attached at one point and I was hanging from it by one
hand, being buffeted by the raging stream and swinging around as the ladder
started spinning.

I reached
with my left hand, but between being tossed about and swinging like a pendulum
I couldn’t grasp it.  My hand still wasn’t what it used to be after the
damage from being crucified by The Reverend and I could feel my grip
slipping.  Kicking my legs, which probably didn’t do a damn thing, I
twisted and lunged with my left arm.

Somehow I
managed to get my hand on one of the vertical rails, but it was smooth aluminum
and slippery from being wet.  My grip with my left failed and it felt like
my right shoulder was ready to pop out of its socket when all my weight came
back on that arm.  That grip slipped some more until four curled fingers were
all that was preventing the flood from carrying me away.

The ladder
kept swaying and spinning.  I knew I would have one more attempt then I
wouldn’t be able to hold on another second.  Twisting, I pulled with every
fiber of muscle in my right arm as the water tore at my body, trying to take me
with it.  I lunged with my left again, this time aiming to shove my arm
through and hook my elbow on a rung. 

In seemingly
slow motion, I managed to get my left arm through one of the openings as my
fingers lost their last bit of grip.  My body started to accelerate away,
then I was snapped around as my left forearm came up hard against a rail. 
Scrambling, I fought against the rising flow until I could force my arm the rest
of the way through and bend it.  With a rung locked between my bicep and
forearm, I quit fighting for a moment to catch my breath.

My heart was
pounding and I was breathing like a race horse.  Slowly my body calmed,
but I was still being tossed about by the water and spun like a top at the end
of the ladder.  Slowly I raised my right arm and hooked it through a
higher rung, pulling myself a few precious inches closer to the ceiling. 
I repeated the process until I was able to get my feet on the lowest rung.

Unfortunately,
nearly half the ladder was submerged by now, my body with it.  The change
in weight distribution and position of my body had stopped the spinning. 
That was the good news because I had been getting dizzy.  But in trade, I
was now being pushed down the tunnel, the force of the current so great the
bottom of the ladder was swinging clear of the surface before gravity took over
and slapped it back into the water. 

Arms still
hooked through the rungs, I struggled for more height.  It was probably
only a minute at the most, but it felt like an hour when I bumped the top of my
Kevlar helmet on the concrete ceiling.  The rung I was standing on was
still in the water, and the motion was bad, but with only my feet and the thin
tubes that comprised the ladder being pushed on, it was manageable.

Worrying
about the single point of attachment to the ceiling I looked over at the other
eyebolt, then immediately dismissed any idea of getting hooked into it. 
There was no way with my weight on the ladder, so instead I focused on the
manhole cover. 

Placing a
hand on it and exerting some force helped to stabilize the ladder.  Then I
began to worry that the extra weight when I lifted it would be too much for my
precarious perch. 

“Shut the
fuck up, John.  You’re over thinking things.  There’s no choice other
than to try,” I said to myself.

Taking a
deep breath, I lifted my shoulder until it was only a couple of inches below my
hand, then pressed up on the cast iron plate.  Moving it from a single
pointed swinging ladder was a hell of a lot harder than it had been when the
tunnels were nice and dry and I had both rails hooked.  But I kept at it,
pushing and sliding the heavy plate until there was an opening large enough for
me to climb through.

Slowly and carefully
I stepped up a rung and poked my head above ground.  Surprisingly my NVGs
had not only survived, they had stayed in place, so I was able to see that I’d
come up in the middle of a four lane street.  At the moment I didn’t see
anything that concerned me, so I lifted an arm up through the hole and kept
climbing.

“I got ya,”
Titus’ voice sounded in my earpiece.  “You OK?”

“Just
fucking great,” I panted as I made it all the way up and onto my knees in the
middle of the street.  “Is the area clear?”

“You got
half a dozen females a block west of you and a Russian patrol two blocks
south.  Don’t see nothin’ else at the moment.”

I gave
myself ten more seconds for my heart rate to come down, then muscled the
manhole cover back in place.  My hands were aching and tired.  The
cover slipped as I moved it over the iron ring it rested in.  The damn
thing slammed home with a loud thud.  Much louder than I would have liked.

“Uh
oh.  Them infected heard that,” Titus warned me.  “They’re on the
way.”

“Where’s
that Russian patrol?”  I asked, scrambling to my feet.

“Two blocks
due south.  There’s three of ‘em,” he answered immediately.

I jogged to
the closest intersection, pausing and looking west.  It was less than ten
seconds later that the females came into view.  They were a couple of
hundred yards away and moving fast.  I had my rifle up and flashed the
light at them a couple of times to make sure they saw me, then turned and
sprinted down the street that headed south.

I’ve never
been a sprinter, nor even remotely in the category of what you would call
fast.  I can run all fucking day if I have to, but speed was one physical
attribute that I hadn’t been blessed with.  Still, I ran like the hounds
of hell were on my heels.  I suppose they were, and the illusion was strengthened
when they started screaming.

“What the
hell are you doing?”  Titus shouted at me.

“Where’s
Russians?”  I gasped as I pounded through an intersection.

“Next
street, turn right and they’ll be about a hundred feet in front of you.”

“How close
females?”  I panted out, not wanting to risk looking over my shoulder and
tripping, or even losing an ounce of speed from turning my body.

“Coming
fast.  Maybe forty yards.”  The stress in his voice lent a sense of
urgency and I pushed as hard as I could.

Sure, I
could have hidden.  Or I could have engaged them with my rifle while they
were still at a safe distance.  But this idea had popped into my head and
I’d just gone with it.  Hoped like hell it worked.

All of this
went through my mind as I reached the intersection and without slowing swung
wide through the turn and came face to face with three Russian soldiers. 
I had time to note that all three were walking with their eyes cast down, just
watching the pavement directly in front of their feet.  They were almost
to the intersection and by the time my presence registered on them I was
passing a couple of yards to their left.

Now I slowed
to turn and look over my shoulder.  All three of them were shouting, spinning
around in the road and bringing their weapons up.  Then the females
charged around the corner and slammed into them, immediately taking the trio to
the ground.  One of the females bypassed the patrol, but the other five
fell on them, ripping and tearing flesh.  I stopped, waiting for her to
close a little as I knew my aim would be shit because of just having sprinted
two blocks. 

When she was
inside ten yards, I fired, her lifeless body flopping to the wet pavement and
rolling nearly to my feet.  Glancing up I didn’t see any more coming after
me.  They were fully absorbed in their meal.  Changing directions, I
dashed across the front lawn of a small house and around the side, emerging in
a heavily overgrown back yard.

Rifle up, I
checked the small area, then pushed my way into a thick hedgerow that grew
along what I assumed was the rear property line.  Beyond was a narrow
alley with a few cars and lots of residential trash dumpsters.  To my
right, at the very limit of the NVGs, I could see movement, but couldn’t tell
if it was Russians or infected.

“Pretty
fuckin’ slick,” Titus chuckled in my ear.  “Pretty fuckin’ stupid, too
if’n you ask me.”

“Yeah, well,
it worked didn’t it?”  I mumbled back.  “Now, where the fuck am I?”

“You’re in
pretty good shape.  You came up right where you would have had to walk if
you’d made it to the exit.  You’re gonna want to head east for a mile then
turn south for four blocks.  That’ll bring you in on their blindside.”

I had caught
my breath and my heart rate was almost back to normal.  Acknowledging
Titus’ directions, I pushed through the hedge into the alley after carefully
scanning in both directions.