V Plague (Book 11): Merciless (3 page)

Both of these scenarios are fatal for the jumper, and damn near as bad for the aircraft.  Why these pilots blew out the front door to jump, I couldn’t understand.  There was a door behind me, behind the wing, as well as the rear ramp which could be lowered.  Either of those were infinitely more survivable options than the one they’d chosen.

All of these thoughts flashed through my head in an instant and I began slamming against the back of my seat, trying to break free.  As if I were a prophet, there was suddenly a bright flash and thunderous explosion from the right wing of the jet.  I couldn’t see details of what had happened, but could tell there was a fire outside where the right, inboard engine had been. 

The plane shuddered again and I could feel the deck tilt to the right.  How long before the fire reached the fuel tanks and a fireball consumed the aircraft?  Or would the damaged wing fail first and shear off? 

Fear induced adrenaline had been surging through me and after the engine explosion, another big jolt entered my system.  Screaming, I planted my feet on the deck and redoubled my efforts as I slammed my upper body against the seat back.  Maybe I could break it free from its mounting points.  If I could do that, there just might be a way to slip my chains free of the seat and gain enough slack to use my hands.

The chair wiggled under my assault.  This encouraged me to keep trying.  If there’s any movement, there’s an opportunity.  Continue to apply enough force and eventually something will give.  The problem would be if that eventually came after the plane crashed.  Or went into an uncontrollable spin which would prevent me from reaching the locker at the front.

Then there was that little problem.  What if there weren’t any more parachutes in the locker?  And if there were, how long ago had they been packed?  Would the chute even open, assuming there was an extra, and if it did open would it deploy correctly?  There are a lot of things that can go wrong, and I forced myself not to dwell on them as I kept struggling against the seat.

Step one was to break free and get the key out of the Spetsnaz’ pocket.  Everything else was a late night academic discussion if I couldn’t get out of the chains.  So, I kept pushing with my legs.  Leaning forward the three or four inches the chain allowed before ramming against the seat back.

On about the eighth or ninth try, it seemed as if the wiggle increased.  Maybe a little.  Maybe.  But it was enough to encourage me.  I kept struggling.  Ignored the burning pain in my quads from maintaining constant pressure.  Slammed back again and there was even more of a shift, and, this time, something snapped in the braces beneath me that held the seat to the deck.

I was panting now.  Breathing hard and my head swimming from exertion.  Then it occurred to me that it wasn’t just from my efforts to escape.  My body was starving for oxygen.  I had no idea what our current altitude was, other than lower than before.  Regardless, the cabin was now open to the atmosphere, and the air was damn thin.  And cold, too.

Glancing at the window, my view of the world was still obscured by the heavy clouds.  And they were glowing orange from the fire.  There was no way I had much time left.  It had only been seconds since one, or both, of the pilots had been sucked into the engine.  There was probably only about that same amount of time left before the plane either exploded or experienced a catastrophic failure. 

Struggling to remain conscious, I battled the seat.   With a bellow of rage and frustration, I slammed back again and was rewarded with another loud snap.  The entire seat twisted sideways and tilted precariously to the left.  Jerking side to side, I encouraged it to keep going, finally falling to the hard deck as it tore completely free from its mount.

The door to the flight deck slammed open and frigid air roared through into the main cabin area.  I looked up to see one of the pilots, wearing a parachute with goggles tightly strapped on his head.

He must have been the one intended to be last out the door.  The first guy had been swallowed up and this one had wisely thought better of exiting in front of the wing.  Making his way towards me, he struggled against the tilted deck and the buffeting of the wind that blasted through the open flight deck door.

I screamed at him to release me as he approached.  Ignoring me, he made his way past and out of sight. 

Not taking time to curse him, I began contorting my body, trying to work the chain encircling my torso up and off the seatback.  It was moving, only inches at a time, but I was making progress.  Finally, with a supreme effort, I pushed it to the top and it came free.  Each ankle was still chained to a brace, but with the seat torn loose, I was able to push down and slide the chains free.  Scrambling across the deck, fighting against the force of the airflow, I reached the soldier’s body.

There was still a chain wrapped around my waist, my wrists shackled to it.  I was able to move, but I could barely use my hands.  Flopping on top of the Spetsnaz’ inert form, I fumbled his pocket open and jammed my fingers inside.  I felt the cold steel of the key, barely suppressing a shout of triumph.

Digging it out, I rolled to the side and reached for the lock that secured the longer chain.  It was beyond the limit of my reach and I had to pinch the key between two fingertips to insert it.  Twisting and bending my body, my flesh screamed in protest as the chain dug in.  But there was no other way to reach the key and apply enough force to turn it.

As I struggled, another sound started up behind me.  At first it was the whistle of high speed air moving through a narrow opening, then it quickly became another loud roar.  The volume of air pouring through the door at the front of the cabin increased dramatically.  The pilot must be lowering the rear ramp to escape.  I wanted to look, but didn’t have the time.  As the ramp opened, the aerodynamics of the crippled aircraft changed again.  The tilt to the side became even more pronounced and the nose lifted.

Lighter objects that weren’t secured began tumbling past me towards the open back of the plane.  Between the pull of gravity and the push of the hurricane force wind whipping through the cabin, every loose item became an airborne missile.  Several things I couldn’t identify bounced off my head, fortunately, none of them heavy or hard enough to injure me.

The lock popped open and I had to twist the other way to release tension on the chain.  Finally, the fucking thing fell away, the chain dropping to the deck.  Snatching the key out of the lock, I released each hand, then removed the shackles from around my ankles.

Free at last, I turned to the back in time to see the Russian disappear out the yawning maw of the rear door.  Rushing forward, I ripped open the locker.  It was empty.  There had only been two parachutes.

The plane jerked hard to the side, nearly knocking me off my feet.  I savagely yanked open another locker which held some radio gear and three pairs of Russian night vision goggles.  Knowing there was only one option left before I died aboard the jet, I slipped the goggles onto my head before turning and dashing for the back.

I paused long enough to snatch a large, combat knife off the vest of one of the Spetsnaz.  Gripping it tightly in my hand, I ran the length of the cabin, out onto the lowered ramp and launched myself into the darkness.

3

Colonel Blanchard paused to look around the bleak landscape.  Two dozen, hand picked Rangers surrounded him.  They were starkly visible in their dark clothing against the snow covered ground.  Normally, the Army would have winter gear, warmer and designed to blend with the environment.  But things were hardly normal.

In the distance, out of hearing range, two Black Hawk helicopters orbited.  They were waiting to pick up the Rangers, or assist in the search if needed.  Blanchard looked at the small tablet held by a Sergeant who walked at his side.  A terrain map of the area was on the display, a pulsing red dot on the opposite side of a low ridge.

Katie Chase was their target.  The red dot was where the computer had plotted the signal location for the CIA tracker embedded in her leg.  The Colonel was fulfilling a promise he’d made to Major Chase before the man had turned himself over to the Russians.  But he was worried about exactly how things were going to work out.

The woman was infected.  Strong.  Fast.  And very unpredictable.  No one had any idea how she was going to react when the Soldiers cornered her.  Blanchard’s biggest concern was capturing the Major’s wife without harming her.

Before he’d led the small team into the desolate countryside south of Mountain Home, Idaho, he’d dispatched a squad to Boise.  Their job had been to find a police station, and animal control.  They’d found both, and brought back a variety of non-lethal weapons.  He snorted at the oxymoron.  How could a weapon be non-lethal?

Despite the non-accurate nomenclature, he was happy to have all of his Rangers searching for Katie equipped with
instruments
that would, in theory, allow them to capture her without causing harm.  Walking close to him were two of the Rangers who had gone into Salt Lake City with the Major.  When they’d gotten word of an attempt to find his wife, they had insisted on joining the search team.  Now, both Chico and Drago were walking point. 

All of the Rangers carried a “net gun”.  The devices looked like a large pipe had been stuck onto the receiver of a shotgun.  Four, bulbous weights, encased in foam rubber, stuck out of the muzzle at angles to each other.  They were attached to a twelve-foot-square net that was tucked into the barrel behind them.

A large CO2 cylinder provided pneumatic pressure that would launch the weights when the trigger was activated.  The net would be pulled out after them and stretch to its full width.  If they were close enough to their target, within twenty-five feet, she would be wrapped up in the net and captured.  Theoretically.  Blanchard had his doubts that any of the Rangers would be able to come close enough to Katie to use the devices.

They were also equipped with Taser guns, but again the range was very limited.  Especially when they were trying to capture an infected female that could easily outrun or outleap any of them.  And no one had any idea how effective a Taser would be on an infected.  They were still human and had to rely on muscles and a nervous system that would be disrupted by the electrical charge, but that didn’t mean the physiological changes brought about by the virus wouldn’t provide her some protection.

All of the Rangers came to a stop when Drago held up a fist the size of a picnic ham.  He was looking down at the snow covered ground at his feet.  After a few moments, when he didn’t signal for the men to take cover, Blanchard moved closer to see what he’d found.

The big Ranger didn’t speak when the Colonel stepped up next to him.  Instead, he pointed at the tracks in the ankle deep snow.  Human.  Moving fast, and made by small feet.  At least small compared to the two men standing there looking at them.

They headed directly for the ridgeline that separated the searchers from the point on the map where Katie had been located.  In tandem, the two men looked up, eyes following the path in the snow until it disappeared over the ridge.  Blanchard issued a series of commands by signing with his hands and the Rangers spread out into a long skirmish line.  As they moved forward, no more than ten feet separated each Soldier.

It took most of ten minutes for the men to reach the crest of the ridge.  Careful to avoid being silhouetted against the sky, each man dropped to his stomach to crawl the final few feet and peek over.  Blanchard was caught by surprise when he recognized the shallow valley spread out beneath him.  It was where he’d found the Major and the two women when he was on his way to the front.

The bodies of four Russian Spetsnaz were still where they’d fallen.  Wreckage of an enemy attack helo was strewn across half the open ground.  The snow was disturbed and churned up from where a helicopter had landed.  It took him a moment, but he successfully spotted the dark smudge against the side of the opposite bluff that marked the entrance to the small cave the Major had taken refuge in.  Katie had come back to the last place she’d seen her husband.  Was she trying to find him? 

Blanchard checked the wind, glad it was mostly in his face and wouldn’t carry the scent of the Soldiers to the infected woman.  Catching the eye of the Sergeant with the tablet, the Colonel waved him to his location.  The man crab-walked across the side of the snowy ridge until he was lying next to his CO.

“Zoom in,” Blanchard mumbled, nodding his head at the tablet.

The man did as he was asked.  A moment later the screen refreshed, the closely formed lines representing the steep face of the bluff filling the screen.  Eyeing terrain features on the display, Blanchard compared them to where he expected Katie to be hiding.  Satisfied the red dot on the tablet was within the cave, he slithered down the ridge several feet and began speaking softly into his radio.

Orders issued, he and the Sergeant remained at the crest as the Rangers split into two groups and moved away.  They would use the terrain to remain hidden from Katie’s location until they could move into the valley, unseen.  Blanchard would maintain visual observation of the area as they flanked the woman and were hopefully able to surprise and capture her.

While he waited for the men to move into place, Blanchard pulled a pair of binoculars out of his pack and focused on the cave.  He couldn’t see into the darkness, and if Katie was inside, she was too far away from the entrance for him to see her.  The snow near the mouth was trampled and bloody from the fight with the Russians, and he couldn’t tell if there were any fresh tracks in the area.

Finally, the Rangers came into sight.  They were hugging the face of the bluff, approaching from either side of the cave.  As they drew closer, those farther back began moving laterally into the valley.  They were forming a line that would encircle the cave, then would collapse in on the target.

The two ends of the pincer were about thirty yards from the bluff and nearly twenty yards apart when Katie suddenly burst out of the dark opening.  She was moving fast, heading directly for the hole in the line of men.  There were several shouts of surprise when she suddenly appeared.  Several of the Rangers fired their net guns, but didn’t have the right range and angle on the running woman.