Recovery: V Plague Book 8 (21 page)

Rachel woke
with a start, unsure what had roused her.  The fire was still burning but was
low and not putting off much heat.  Wrapped in the parachute canopy she was
cold, but not as cold as she’d been.  Checking, she was relieved when she could
feel her fingers and toes, cautiously reaching up to check her ears and nose.

Maybe some
frostbite to the tops of her ears but there was nothing she could do about that
at the moment.  Working her way free of the nylon she sat up and began piling
more wood on the fire.  Her hands ached and she flexed her fingers as she
looked down.

The ring
finger on her left hand was missing, having been shot off by John during a
fight with an infected female in a lake in Georgia.  That seemed like a lifetime
ago.  She shook her hand, trying to ease the pain of the finger that wasn’t
there.  Phantom limb pain.  She’d had an introductory class to it in medical
school, taught by a VA Doctor, and knew it was a real thing.  She just never
imagined she’d experience it firsthand.

The wind had
died down but snow continued to fall.  It was still light, so the sun was
shining brightly somewhere above the thick overcast, but Rachel had no idea
what time of day it was or how long she’d been out.  There could still be several
hours of daylight or it could be dark in another twenty minutes.

Looking
around, her heart fluttered as she thought about the wolf.  It could have come
up while she slept and dragged her off, or killed her on the spot.  Was it
afraid of the fire?  Maybe that had saved her but she wasn’t going to take it
for granted that the animal wouldn’t approach just because of the open flames.

Standing,
she grimaced in pain as her joints screamed at her for lying on the frozen
ground.  At least she’d had the nylon to act as a ground sheet and provide some
insulation or she might very well not have woken up.  Thinking about freezing
to death she turned to look at Bill, shocked when his body wasn’t there.

Rachel stood
staring dumbly at the ground for several seconds, not understanding why the
pilot’s corpse wasn’t exactly where she’d last seen it.  Then she saw the
disturbed snow that was already filling in as more fell. 

There was a
smooth path where the surface had been compacted by the body being dragged
across it.  Next to that were deep impressions that looked like dog prints. 
Only she knew it wasn’t a dog that had made then, rather a larger and more
vicious canine cousin.  The wolf had come into the camp and taken Bill’s corpse!

A chill that
had nothing to do with the weather ran down Rachel’s spine.  The wolf had come
right into camp!  It had been within feet of her as she slept!  But why had it
taken the body instead of her?  She didn’t know anything about wolves, in fact
probably knew more about the fictional lycans from bad movies and even worse
books.

Shivering
again, she piled more wood onto the fire until it was a roaring blaze and she
had to back up against the windbreak because of the heat.  Driven snow had
piled several feet high against the windward side of the canopy and provided a
firm surface for her to lean against.  She didn’t realize that that the snow
itself had added to the protection the nylon provided and helped her survive
the storm.

The
emergency locator beacon!  Rachel lurched to her feet when she remembered the
pilot telling her that help would be on the way and would locate them by
following the signal from the transmitter sewn into the shoulder of his flight
suit.  How far would the wolf drag the body? 

What if it
damaged the radio when it began feasting on the corpse?  What if searchers
arrived, saw the remains of the pilot’s body and didn’t bother to look any further
for her?  She had to get the beacon or she would die out here.  But how would
she find Bill’s remains?  And if she found him, would the wolf be there,
guarding its meal?

Rachel stood
for what felt like a long time, staring into the fire as she tried to decide
what to do.  She didn’t know if John was alive or dead.  The last she’d seen of
him he’d been going into a cavern system in Oklahoma to rescue Katie.  Even if
he had beaten the odds and emerged, how would he know she was in trouble? 

And while
she didn’t know the geography of the western US very well, she did know that
Idaho was a long way away from Oklahoma.  How would he even get here to save
her?  For that matter, if he successfully rescued Katie, would he even try or
would he just write her off as lost?

She shook
her head at the last thought.  She had gotten to know John very well and had no
doubt that if he knew of her plight and was able, he would be doing everything
in his power to come for her.  But she knew she couldn’t count on him saving
her this time.  There was just too much distance between them.  She had no one
but herself, and she needed that beacon.

Rachel
didn’t know that the Navy had been forced to abandon their attempts to reach
the crash site.  Two SAR flights out of Whidbey had been shot down by Russian
patrols and the invaders were tightening their control of the skies over the
western part of the continent.  Nothing that wasn’t part of the Russian
military was flying.

With no way
to know this and not understanding that the locator beacon was of no use,
Rachel took a moment to check over Bill’s pistol.  Satisfied it was ready for
use, but lacking confidence in her ability to wield it, she stuffed it into a
pocket.  Finding the flare gun she made sure a fresh shell was loaded and
thrust it into a pouch on her G-suit’s leg. 

Spreading
out the canopy she had wrapped herself in to sleep, she carefully cut each of
the lines that were attached to the perimeter.  Coiling the ropes as she freed
them she placed them in a neat pile in the snow.  Folding the nylon several
times, she held it down with her knees and cut a slit in the middle of the
rectangle she had created.

Lifting the
canopy she pushed her head through the slit, the multiple layers staying as she
had folded them and falling around her body like a long poncho.  She used one
of the ropes as a belt, cinching the material tightly around her waist, thinking
she must look like some medieval monk.

But she
didn’t care what she looked like, only cared that the fabric added several
layers of insulation and would help keep her warm.  The light was fading as she
moved to the edge of the lake and drank deeply.  With a sigh of fear she
selected a thick tree branch that was about three feet long.

Knowing the
wood wouldn’t burn well on its own, she dug through Bill’s survival pouch until
she found the small packet of sunblock she’d noted earlier.  Hoping the substance
was oil based, she set it aside and fumbled with the G-suit’s zipper until she
accessed the cotton T-shirt she was wearing, cutting a few strips off the hem. 
Squeezing the entire contents of the packet onto the end of the branch, she
wrapped the pieces of material tightly around and tied them off.

Squeezing
the fabric, she worked the thick, white gel into it then pushed the end of the
branch into the fire.  It caught immediately and when she raised it over her
head it burned brightly.

Standing,
Rachel held the torch high and looked down at the marks in the snow left behind
by the wolf.  It was nearly dark but there was enough light from the end of the
burning tree branch for her to see clearly.  Steeling her resolve she drew the
pistol and held it in her hand as she began following the tracks.

Lucas Martin
lowered the plane’s nose slightly and aligned for landing at the Geraldton
airport.  It had been dark when he’d left his home but the sun had risen as he
flew northwest to the small town on the west coast of Australia.  Approaching
the field from the south he could see a large Gulfstream jet parked at an
isolated hangar at the north end of the fenced area.

Though it
was unmarked he knew it was a government jet, maintained and operated for the
SASR.  His former commanding officer and some of the “lads” had arrived before
him.  He was mildly surprised at the response, not expecting the Regiment to
drop everything and show up to help him.  In fact he knew that wasn’t how
things worked and there had to be something else at play.

Touching
down lightly, he steered onto the taxiway and took it the length of the airport
to where the jet sat gleaming in the sun.  Half a dozen hard looking men
dressed casually in cargo pants and canvas shirts stood watching him pull up. 
No weapons were visible but he had no doubt that each was armed and there were
rifles within easy reach.

Shutting
down, he climbed out and after retrieving his duffel walked towards the small
group.  He didn’t recognize any of the faces, having been retired for a number
of years. 

“Lucas
Martin!”

He looked up
at the open door of the Gulfstream to see Captain Reginald White descending the
short flight of stairs to the tarmac.  The man was dressed identically to the
rest of the squad and was still in the same whip steel hard shape that Lucas
remembered.  Other than his British manner of speech his sole affectation was a
meticulously waxed handlebar moustache that always made Lucas think of British
officers from the days of Imperialism.

“Sir!”  He
shouted back, stopping where he was.

White
stepped through the line of men and up to Lucas, extending his hand.  They
shook and he took Lucas by the elbow, guiding him into the hangar.  Inside it
was cool from air conditioning and well lit. 

Several folding
tables had been erected and were loaded with equipment.  Computers, printers,
secure comm gear and several items that Lucas had no idea what they were.  A
man and two women, also casually dressed, sat inside the rough circle created
by the tables, each busily working at a terminal.

“What’s
going on, sir?”  He asked when he saw the signs of an obviously sanctioned
operation.

“Have a seat
and we’ll get everyone up to speed, shall we?”  White said, motioning at a
scattering of chairs adjacent to the command post setup.

Lucas
selected a seat and dropped his pack on the smooth concrete floor next to it
before sitting.  The men who had been waiting outside came in, each of them
pausing to introduce themselves before sitting.  What he at first thought was
resentment towards him soon revealed itself to be admiration.

“Forgive the
lads, Staff Sergeant,” White said, remaining on his feet.  “They’ve heard of
your past exploits and are in a bit of awe.”

Lucas
blushed despite himself.  He had certainly had a colorful career but didn’t
think of himself as anyone who deserved to be treated as if he were a living
legend.

“Now that
we’ve properly embarrassed you, please repeat what you told me earlier this
morning.”  White’s smile disappeared as he got down to business.

Lucas paused
for a few moments to collect his thoughts then began speaking.  He started by
talking about the phone call from a United States Navy Petty Officer in Pearl
Harbor that had woken him and his family in the middle of the night.  He
continued to describe John Chase, and with near perfect accuracy recalled the
entire conversation for the assembled men.

“And you
have no doubt this is the man you know?”  One of the troopers, a Sergeant who
had introduced himself as Mick Lannister, spoke up.

“Without a doubt,”
Lucas affirmed.  “I spent time in Hereford training with him, then a month in
Africa together on a pacification operation against the warlords.  We have stayed
in touch since.  I know the man well.  My son is named after him.”

There were
nods all around as the soldiers acknowledged Lucas’ statement.  He spent
another couple of minutes giving them a brief biography of what he knew about
John Chase’s military career.  More nodding when he finished speaking.

“Thank you,
Staff Sergeant,” White said after waiting a few moments to see if there were
any other questions.  “Now, I’m certain you are curious about all the goings on
here.”

“Yes, sir. 
I appreciate the support, but it seems I’ve stumbled into something,” Lucas
said.

“Right you
are.  There is concern in Canberra that Russia is preparing to invade.  We have
been spared the horrors of the virus for some reason, and the prevailing belief
is that President Barinov intends to occupy us.  Apparently there is
intelligence that has been developed to support this opinion.”

Lucas raised
his eyebrows in surprise.  What could the Russians possibly want with Australia
when they had the rest of the world at their feet?  Europe, Asia and North
America were all defenseless, just waiting for whatever the mad man in the
Kremlin had in mind. 

“Sir, that
just doesn’t make sense.  What could they possibly want with us?  And pardon me
for asking, but what does that have to do with why I’m here?”

“I’ve seen
the intelligence,” White smiled.  “Personally I think the blokes that put it
together added two and two and came up with seven, but no one is interested in
a Captain’s opinion.  As to why this is intersecting with your interests, I
received orders two days ago to seize the CIA listening station. 

“Our
intelligence staff wants to use it to monitor Russian communications and
movements.  The American CIA officers who are assigned to the station have
failed to respond to multiple requests for cooperation as mandated in our
agreement, so it was decided that we would take the facility.  We were already
scheduled to arrive this morning and this post has been monitoring activity at
the station since the order came down.”

“That’s how
you knew off the top of your head where the station was,” Lucas said with a
smile.  White smiled and nodded back.

“I still
don’t understand why the presence, sir.  There are enough of us here to capture
a whole country.  Isn’t this a bit of overkill?”  Lucas looked around the
group, smiling back at the grins that broke out with his compliment to the fighting
men.

“Americans
are a paranoid lot,” White said.  “The station has a significant number of
counter-assault defenses.  Some are active, some passive, and there are almost
certainly some that we don’t know of.  This won’t be a simple door kick. 

“After nine
eleven the Americans were worried about possible Al Qaeda assaults against
their intelligence gathering facilities across the globe as a way to hinder
their invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan.  As a result they significantly
upgraded security across the board. 

“When we
learned of what they were doing, Canberra complained to Washington.  We very
nearly had to cancel the cooperation agreement with them and remove them from
the country, but they finally provided us with details on what was being done
to harden the installation.  I think only a politician would believe that they
shared everything they were doing with us.  That’s why there has been a team on
the ground at the station coordinated by this control center.  We have already
found three lethal countermeasures the Yanks didn’t disclose.”

“Bloody
hell,” Lucas said.  “I surely stumbled in a mess, didn’t I, sir.”

“That you
did, Staff Sergeant.  That you did.  Fortunately you called me rather than
charging off like a bull and mucking everything up.  But, now that you’re
here…” White grinned.

“Thank you,
sir, but no.  You don’t need me getting in the way.”  Lucas said, shaking his
head.

Despite his
protests he was itching to be involved.  Ziggi would be royally pissed, and he
couldn’t lie to her.  If he volunteered to go he’d have to tell her what he had
done and that would likely mean at least a month of sleeping on the couch.

“I thought
you might say that,” White said, withdrawing a paper from his pocket and
handing it to Lucas.  “Your recall paperwork.  All proper and legal.  You’re
mine until such time as I deem your services are no longer required.”

“Thank you,
sir,” Lucas said, looking up from the official paperwork that reinstated him
into the Regiment.  “I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to call the missus
and tell her for me, would you?”

The men assembled
in the hangar burst into laughter.