Read Online Recovery: V Plague Book 8 by Dirk Patton - Free Book Online
Authors: Dirk Patton
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Thousands of troops and
hundreds of aircraft. They’re flying a 24-hour CAP over most of the western
US. The Navy has already lost multiple aircraft trying to get to them. We
can’t put anything in the air.”
I stood
there, controlling my emotions. I wanted to rage. Wanted to throw something
or break something, but that wouldn’t help the situation.
“So we go on
the ground,” I said. “We know where a perfectly good Bradley is.”
“We do,”
Crawford nodded. “If we can get there in time. Bradley’s are slow and it’s a
long way to Idaho. There’s a weather front coming in, dropping down from
Canada. The temperature is going to drop and it’s going to snow. And there’s
infected.”
“There can’t
be that many,” I said. “There were something like seventy million or more
bearing down on Tinker. Right?”
“That was
infected out of the mid-west, northeast, Texas and Colorado,” Crawford said.
“These are herds moving out of the west coast cities. The Admiral thinks the
Russians are moving them as they prepare for occupation. California is
emptying out and the problem in Idaho is what’s coming out of Portland and
Seattle. More than six million infected between the two cities and they’re
heading due east.”
11
Rachel
shivered, scooting a couple of inches closer to the fire. Across from her sat
the Navy pilot, Lieutenant Commander William Smith who was also pushed as close
to the flames as he could get without risking burns. It was dark and a strong
wind was blowing out of the north, sighing through the tops of the pine trees
surrounding them.
The wind
brought the smell of damp and cold, and it cut through the flight suits the
pair wore. Rachel guessed the temperature was in the upper 40s at best but the
wind-chill was almost certainly in the low 30s. Her toes, fingers and nose
were numb and she wished for the hot weather that had nearly killed her in
Oklahoma.
The pilot
knew they were in Idaho but beyond that he was as lost as she was. There had
been five terrifying minutes as he had made every effort to evade a flight of
six Russian fighter jets then a klaxon in the cockpit had begun screaming.
“Missile!”
He had shouted over the intercom. A moment later the world around Rachel had
exploded.
First, the
clear canopy over her head had been blasted free from the airframe. An instant
later, without warning, her seat rocketed straight up with an ear splitting
roar. Only a moment behind the pilot’s seat had also shot out of the doomed
jet, trailing a plume of flames and smoke. As they were still accelerating
upwards the Russian missile slammed into the rear of their jet, detonating with
a force that knocked both of them over onto their backs.
Then she was
falling, still strapped to the seat. She had no idea how far they’d dropped,
but after what seemed an eternity she heard a flapping in the air over her head
and looked up to see a small drogue chute at the end of a long tether. There
was a loud thump from her seat and the straps holding her fell away.
Rachel
screamed as she started to fall, but as her body separated from the ejection
seat the parachute on her back was triggered. The canopy fluttered out above
her then a hard jerk took most of her breath as it filled with air and slowed
her descent. She still wanted to scream but got her fear under control and
looked for the pilot.
After
twisting her head around she finally spotted him hanging in the air above and
behind her. He was gripping a handle with each hand. A line ran up to the
parachute from each and she assumed that allowed him to control his fall. She
saw the same handles flapping around on either side of her, but with no idea
how to use them decided it was best to leave them alone.
Looking down
between her feet she couldn’t begin to estimate how far above the ground she
was. It could have been a hundred feet or a thousand. Or much more. She
hundreds of aircraft. They’re flying a 24-hour CAP over most of the western
US. The Navy has already lost multiple aircraft trying to get to them. We
can’t put anything in the air.”
I stood
there, controlling my emotions. I wanted to rage. Wanted to throw something
or break something, but that wouldn’t help the situation.
“So we go on
the ground,” I said. “We know where a perfectly good Bradley is.”
“We do,”
Crawford nodded. “If we can get there in time. Bradley’s are slow and it’s a
long way to Idaho. There’s a weather front coming in, dropping down from
Canada. The temperature is going to drop and it’s going to snow. And there’s
infected.”
“There can’t
be that many,” I said. “There were something like seventy million or more
bearing down on Tinker. Right?”
“That was
infected out of the mid-west, northeast, Texas and Colorado,” Crawford said.
“These are herds moving out of the west coast cities. The Admiral thinks the
Russians are moving them as they prepare for occupation. California is
emptying out and the problem in Idaho is what’s coming out of Portland and
Seattle. More than six million infected between the two cities and they’re
heading due east.”
11
Rachel
shivered, scooting a couple of inches closer to the fire. Across from her sat
the Navy pilot, Lieutenant Commander William Smith who was also pushed as close
to the flames as he could get without risking burns. It was dark and a strong
wind was blowing out of the north, sighing through the tops of the pine trees
surrounding them.
The wind
brought the smell of damp and cold, and it cut through the flight suits the
pair wore. Rachel guessed the temperature was in the upper 40s at best but the
wind-chill was almost certainly in the low 30s. Her toes, fingers and nose
were numb and she wished for the hot weather that had nearly killed her in
Oklahoma.
The pilot
knew they were in Idaho but beyond that he was as lost as she was. There had
been five terrifying minutes as he had made every effort to evade a flight of
six Russian fighter jets then a klaxon in the cockpit had begun screaming.
“Missile!”
He had shouted over the intercom. A moment later the world around Rachel had
exploded.
First, the
clear canopy over her head had been blasted free from the airframe. An instant
later, without warning, her seat rocketed straight up with an ear splitting
roar. Only a moment behind the pilot’s seat had also shot out of the doomed
jet, trailing a plume of flames and smoke. As they were still accelerating
upwards the Russian missile slammed into the rear of their jet, detonating with
a force that knocked both of them over onto their backs.
Then she was
falling, still strapped to the seat. She had no idea how far they’d dropped,
but after what seemed an eternity she heard a flapping in the air over her head
and looked up to see a small drogue chute at the end of a long tether. There
was a loud thump from her seat and the straps holding her fell away.
Rachel
screamed as she started to fall, but as her body separated from the ejection
seat the parachute on her back was triggered. The canopy fluttered out above
her then a hard jerk took most of her breath as it filled with air and slowed
her descent. She still wanted to scream but got her fear under control and
looked for the pilot.
After
twisting her head around she finally spotted him hanging in the air above and
behind her. He was gripping a handle with each hand. A line ran up to the
parachute from each and she assumed that allowed him to control his fall. She
saw the same handles flapping around on either side of her, but with no idea
how to use them decided it was best to leave them alone.
Looking down
between her feet she couldn’t begin to estimate how far above the ground she
was. It could have been a hundred feet or a thousand. Or much more. She
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