Whiskey Delta – Chapter 17
“Strain shows extreme resistance to all forms of anti-viral medication. All previous attempts at invasive treatment have failed. All attempts to kill the virus through subjecting the subject to extremes of heat, cold, and transfusion have failed. At the present time, no means exist to combat the virus without killing the subject in question. Recommend terminating all attempts to find an anti-virus, refocusing efforts on inoculation. Early tests indicate that anti-bodies show promise.”
-Cooper Ross, M.D., B.Sc. Microscopic Analysis
An annoying sense of deja vu struck Dezba as they made their way into the hangar bay. Once more, chairs were arranged for them, and the brass was nowhere to be seen. No doubt they wanted to make a big entrance again, maybe show them some more last-minute additions to their arsenals. Or perhaps they were just looking for a suspenseful way of revealing something they already knew.
They had reached the end of their training stint, now all that was left was to hear where they were being shipped off to. No more details were expected beyond that, just the destination. But the LT did say to expect a few surprises…
“God… who else is sore as fuck?” asked Mill.
Just about everyone grunted their agreement as they limped their way in. Saunders wouldn’t admit to it, but Braun could tell she was hurting too. Her mouth had written some pretty big checks prior to them getting to the Skyhooks out, checks her body was having a hard time cashing. But he couldn’t judge. A half dozen successful ground to air pickups had left him severely sore and wondering just how the hell special ops types did this sort of thing.
“C’mon squad, one more briefing and done with this insane regiment.” Dezba motioned to the chairs that were arranged before them. No one seemed to want to take on. “Squad, c’mon! What the hell’s the matter?”
Cobb raised his hand. Dezba nodded to him.
“I think I speak for everyone sir when I say that my legs don’t want to bend.”
People moaned and Dezba grumbled. He looked to Whitman, his usual whipping boy for incidents like this.
“Private, you wanna show these people how to execute a basic sitting maneuver?”
“I’m afraid to, sir. My balls just descended and I don’t wanna crush them.”
Dezba slapped Whitman on the arm and took the nearest seat. The effort nearly killed him, but as soon as he shifted his weight to the folding chair, he was sitting happily. Now all he had to do was get up again later.
“There, not so hard. Now fall in beside me. I don’t want the LT thinking he’s raised a bunch of pussies!”
It took longer than he would have hoped, but by the time the LT came walking in, next to the Colonel, they were all poised and ready to be briefed to. The former took a spot to their right, letting the Colonel grab center stage before them.
“Good morning, squad. Did everyone get a good night’s rest?” The squad issued a solid “yes, ma’am.” She nodded. “Good. Because I don’t imagine you’ll be getting any rest in the next few days. Today’s the day… you’re training is complete. And as such, we’ve decided to issue you grunts a three day pass before we finally ship out.”
There was a pause as everyone in the squad looked to one other, trying to confirm that others had heard it as well. As soon as they were sure, they shared a short shout of approval, and then quickly shut up. They didn’t want to interrupt the flow of good news.
“But before that can happen, there’s the little matter of the mission you signed on for. You’ve trained hard, and now it’s time to know why. No doubt you’ve tried to figure that out for yourself…” she paused for a second and let her eyes dart around the room. To the squad, it was unclear if this was in jest, or out of genuine suspicion. “Still, I can imagine you had a hell of a time guessing what it could be. Well… to put it simply, you folks are headed into one of the hottest theaters of action since the First Wave struck.”
She let that resonate with them for a bit. Slowly, it dawned on everyone where she meant. Naturally, it was only a matter of time before someone had to ask. Kobayahsi was the one who proved bravest and raised his hand.
“Ma’am? You mean we’re heading into…”
“Downtown LA, yes. The heart of the First Wave and ground zero for every attempt by our government to push the infection back from whence it came.”
A hush fell over the hangar, intermittently broken by low gasps and a whistle of surprise. Dezba looked over to the LT and noted the complete lack of reaction on his face. If anything, he looked relieved and kind of smug. He felt a slight surge of anger as the LT noticed him staring and their eyes met.
How long did you know? his glare said.
The entire time, LT’s passive expression replied.
Dezba redirected his baleful eyes at the floor. A moment longer and the LT would probably have cried mutiny on him. Worst of all, he knew they still had one more info session before they hit the target area, which he now knew was going not only going to be hot, but fucking smouldering! All the equipment they were bringing the lengths they were going to keep this mission neat and tidy made perfect sense now.
Whitman was next to raise his hand. Apparently, they had entered into question period now.
“Ma’am, I heard that the major cities were supposed to have cooled down since the First Wave.”
The Colonel nodded and hummed approvingly. “A common rumor, Private. Many of our top analysts predicted that the Whiskeys wouldn’t last long once they took over a densely populated area like an urban center. However, every bit of intel we have says that LA, much like DC, Houston, Dallas and even New York remain highly congested. We can only assume that they have made do with lesser food sources, or have greater longevity than we previously thought.”
Shit, Dezba thought, and saw similar appraisals on the faces of the others. Suddenly, a Stryker and a FFW suit didn’t seem like enough protection. As the saying went, “Get enough Whiskeys together, and soon they’ll find their way through a brick wall.” That applied to reinforced steel and armored joints, so long as there were seems to be found.
“One last thing,” the Colonel said. “The General insisted that we declassify a few things for this mission. It was his hope that a specialist could go along, however, said specialist has proven somewhat intransigent and refused to release any members of his staff to go along. However, he agreed to provide a full report to all of you, which we will make available on your tablets. I expect you to assimilate the info while on leave, so be sure to listen. It might prove informative.”
Dezba bristled. Something about that description, it put him in mind of someone he had met not too long ago. Few people could inspire that kind of reaction in a person…
“May I present Doctor Cooper Ross, our resident Whiskey specialist.”
“Shit,” he muttered. The LT shot him an angry glance. Dezba only shrugged in reply. How else was he to express his displeasure at the ensuing presence of that little man? Word around the camp fire was the Mage had stuck him in a cage for a little “motivational therapy”. From the sound of things, it hadn’t corrected his attitude any.
A passing look at him told him the same. Entering with the all the haughtiness of the upper-class twit of the year, Doctor Ross took center stage in front of them and sighed. He cast a look around of his own, and didn’t look too impressed.
“Good morning, everyone. I have been asked to brief you on this… mission of yours. For reasons you are not yet entitled to know, the biology of Whiskeys will play a crucial role in the upcoming mission. Hence I am here to familiarize you with the more intimate aspects of there make-up.”
No one failed to notice the special emphasis on the word I.
“What you are about to see is highly sensitive information, the result of tireless work by myself and my staff over the past few months.”
Was that a note of bitterness in his voice? There was a sudden sound of squeaky wheels coming from behind. The squad strained to turn and look, every muscle in their upper bodies straining from the exertion. However, they were able to get far enough around to see that some of the Doc’s lab geeks were pushing a cart with a display module into position. In front of them, two hangar grunts were similarly pushing a white board into place. For a moment, the hangar was filled with the terrible noise of ungreased wheels.
The lights dimmed a second later and the image of a grainy, black and white picture appeared on the board. In the center, a strange cluster of malicious-looking shapes seemed to be moving about in a sea of flotsam. It might have been his imagination, but the shapes looked inherently hostile, which he knew had to be the point.
“This is an image of the virus known as ambulans mortuus, the thing that turns an average human being into the walking horror shore you all refer to as Whiskey Deltas.”
He twirled his finger, and the geeks changed to another video. This time, it was two frames, poised side by side. On the left, a video of a cellular cluster could be seen with more of the same violent cells amongst them. On the right, there was a color video of a patient lying on a table. Both appeared to be time-lapse footage, since time indicators were busily ticking away in both frames.
“This is was prepared by the CDC and dispatched to all medical labs in the country. The time-lapse shows the progression of the virus on both the cellular and external level.” He paused and let the recording speak for itself. On the left side, the image panned out to show the expansion of the hostile cell cluster as it overtook larger and larger sections of tissue. On the right, the person on the table began to turn pale, began to grow sickly, and very soon, turned into the very thing they had seen in combat and their nightmares all too often.
The image on the left went dead as the patient came back to life, if it could be called that. They grew violent and began to struggle against their restraints, their eyes opening to reveal the milky globes.
Dezba put his hand to his mouth and drew a deep breath. It was one thing to see the end result, but the transition… He knew that better than most, and didn’t need to see it again. He snapped out of his reverie when he heard the sound of a gunshot. When he looked back, the patient was dead, their skull broken open by a small, circular wound.
“Jesus Christ…” said Saunders. “They killed that man.”
“They had to,” replied Ross. “The entire point of the study was to examine the progression of the virus, and they were well aware of the outcome. They also knew a terrible secret that… certain parties are trying to keep under wraps.”
He made a chopping motion and the image disappeared.The lights came up, the presentation over. Dezba wiped a small slick of sweat from his forehead and looked around to make sure no one was looking directly at him.
“What secret is that?” asked Cobb.
“That the virus is incurable,” he said unrepentantly. “The CDC determined rather quickly that traditional anti-virals, invasive treatments and blood swapping did nothing to deter the progression of the virus. Treatment, perhaps, but there’s no way to bring a patient back once they’ve returned. Nothing, short of killing the patient by either subjecting them to extremes of heat and cold could stop it entirely. And since the virus leads to the creation of necrotic cell cultures, any damage caused by its spread would be irreparable. Any fool knows that, so whatever talk you’ve heard about potential cures is complete idiocy!”
That caught Dezba’s attention. His tone was already putting the others in a bad mood, but Dezba felt something entirely different. Inside, something we lifting, and something else was dying…
“Why are you telling us this, Doc?” asked Mill.
“Because…” he said with a sly smile. “It’s important that you know the truth, and because there’s something else which we are just starting to realize. The virus seems to be having a new round of effects on its subjects…” He let the words hang to draw things out before making his final revelation. “ In its first stage, it causes the death of the infected. In its second, it restores life and brain activity, but only to the extent that primitive and base urges are unleashed and enhanced. Now, it would seem, there is a third and final stage…” Another pause. “Where brain activity once again begins to increase, leading to the resurgence of abstract reasoning and basic logic. In short, they’re getting smarter, and more dangerous.”
Dezba would have muttered”shit” again, but his mind had already settled on the previous revelation. It was up to the others to express their indignation at the news, having finally heard that the worst was true.
Finally, the LT took to the floor and ushered the Doc out of the way. Ross retired to the corner, where he began eyeing the LT rather angrily. This too, Dezba failed to notice, lost in his own headspace.
“As the Colonel said, we’ve been given a three day pass before we finally ship out. I recommend everyone use that time effectively. See whatever family you have in town, tilt a glass, sit on your porch. Just remember, we’re still under strict orders to remain silent on the particulars of this mission.”
Dezba felt a lump forming in his throat. Everything after “family” went right by him. He didn’t even noticed when the LT appeared to be wrapping things up.
“Sergeant?” he said, finally. Dezba looked up with a start and cleared his throat.
“On your feet, squad.” They obliged quickly, surprisingly. They snapped their feet together and issued a tight salute. The Colonel and LT returned it and dismissed them. They filed out with the Doc, and all their equipment in tow. Alone, the squad broke and started working their way to the exit. Very quickly, the news of leave began to overtake them again and several began to hoot cheerfully.
“Alright, what do we do first?”
“I say drinks tonight, followed by all that shit the Lieutenant was talking about!”
That seemed to be meet with general approval, cutting across the old divide. Most things did ever since they pulled off exfiltration maneuvers. Nothing like putting people together like shared pain!
“Hey, Sarge? You in or no?”
Dezba looked at Mill, then at his feet. It took hi, some time to get around to nodding his assent.
“Sure, why not? I could use a drink… or several.”
