Whiskey Delta – Chapter 19
“We haven’t lost this war. I refuse to plan as if we have. I will find whatever military units still in action, and I will use them to kick those motherfuckers asses!”
-Major General Michael Thur
Braun took another long blink. The humming of the engines was threatening to put him to sleep. What was it about turboprops that seemed so soothing to him? The gentle hum, the steady rhythm, the constant vibrations… All that mattered was that he not let it get to him. Falling asleep in front of the grunts and the boss lady would look really bad.
He checked the line to see how everyone was holding up. Just about everyone seemed strangely poised between excitement and fear. No one seemed to be lulled at all, which was a good sign. No one in danger of nodding off to sleep before they made their big jump. And there was still the matter of their final briefing to attend to.
He had to admit, he was looking forward to that himself. At last, they would be on equal footing, the CO and grunts all fully aware of what they were doing and why. What’s more, he knew the Colonel was holding a few cards back to even him, particulars about the mission that even he wasn’t entitled to know until the very last minute. It would be nice to know what the hell those were.
Dezba worried him though. He had known the NCO to be distant before an operation, but something was different about today. He had noticed the moment they arrived at the airstrip. He was beyond distant. Between the look in his eyes and the total silence that surrounded him, there was only one way to describe that.
He had totally checked out. What had precipitated that was beyond him. He had seen some traces of that back in Santa Fe, but this was worse. There had been no time to make a recommendation, and the mission profile didn’t exactly leave any room for last minute transfers. Whatever he was dealing with, they were stuck with him. He only hoped it didn’t come back to bite them in the ass.
The Colonel’s hand went to her ear. She was being signaled by the pilot that they were coming into the theater of operation. Braun looked out the window to spot the HC-130 that was trailing them. In it’s hold was the Stryker that they would be manning for the course of their mission.
This was it. It was time…
The Colonel switched to the squad frequency and keyed her comm.
“Alright, squad. We’ve just entered coastal airspace. That means we are fifteen minutes away from our drop zone, and its time for your final words of farewell.”
She paused and looked down the length of the cabin. The door opened, and out walked a familiar form. Braun sighed into his mask as he realized they had to sit through a few more minutes of the Doc’s briefing. He walked slowly down the length of the cabin, unsure of his footing against the deck. An airman clad entirely in black escorted him, making sure he didn’t sprawl suddenly.
“Doctor Ross has been kind enough to provide the final details on your target in person. Listen up, because there’s no time for repeats.”
Ross came to her side and sat down. The airman took a seat on her opposite side. Braun stifled a laugh as he noticed how immensely awkward Ross looked wearing in fatigues and head gear the air crew had provided for him. His annoyance was clear enough though, even before he began to address them through the comm.
“For reasons of security, your target has been kept a secret until this very moment. The one you are looking for is a man named Mace Harmonn, the first human being to contract the virus, as far as the CDC determine.”
“Patient Zero,” the Colonel added. “For the purpose of this mission, designated Papa Zulu.”
“Yes,” Braun said, annoyed at the interruption. “His location was determined, and now you’re going in to find him.”
“How the hell are we supposed to find one man in a city of full of Whiskeys?”
The Colonels head turned sharply to Whitman. Without responding, she reached under her seat and pulled out what appeared to be a small green briefcase. She hoisted it up and laid it on her lap. She opened the top of it to reveal a computer screen with what looked like a GPS map and coordinates displayed on the screen.
“This hardened laptop is tuned to a radio receiver that was implanted in Harmonn during a previous op. A specialized unit was sent in some months back. They located Mace using a facial recognition software, and implanted the device in him. This laptop is able to track his location to within twenty meters.”
She closed the laptop and on her lap and looked to the airman next to her. He reached under his seat and fetched another case, this one a solid black one made entirely of metal. Cracking it open, he presented it to the Colonel who reached inside and pulled out what looked like a cell phone, except encased in some hard plastic.
“These devices contain the same image recognition program the last team used. Once you’re in the ballpark, you’ll need to use these to confirm his ID. Each of you is to carry one of these and use them to ID any bodies you come across. Saunders,” she said, pointing to him. “as the most technically proficient member of this group, you will act as the intercept soldier and coordinate using this hardened laptop. Understood?”
She nodded. The Colonel handed the laptop over to the aviator who began distributing the PDA’s and laptop accordingly. Saunders took the laptop and snapped it to her uniform while Braun and the rest slipped the PDA’s into a secure pouch. Whitman paused to survey his.
“This looks like a iPhone.”
The Colonel was quick to respond. “Special order, Private. Keep them safe, and don’t try to download any apps. Those don’t work anymore.”
“What about local calls?”
The Colonel stared at him for several long seconds. Braun wondered just how close she was to leaping across the deck and snapping the Private’s neck. He was quick to interrupt, hoping to get things back on track.
“Is the target to be taken alive?” asked Braun.
“No,” she replied, then looked in the Doc’s direction.
He cleared his throat and said with mild annoyance. “I will need a blood sample while the body is still fresh though so I can obtain any antibodies he might carry. Plus, if you can bring me his head, with most of the brain intact, that would be good.”
Most of the squad recoiled when they heard that. They were used to shooting them up, but not dissecting them. The thought held very little appeal for them.
“If you are successful, and the Doc’s people can synthesize some antibodies from Harmonn’s body, then we could be looking at an inoculation. Every uninfected corner of this country and the world could be protected at last. It may be too late for those who’ve already contracted the virus, but at least we can stop it in its tracks.”
That seemed to get Dezba’s attention. For the first time ever, his eyes seemed to focus on what was immediately in front of him, not a thousand yards in the distance.
The Colonel’s tone changed. Her voice became suddenly very hopeful, still firm, but somehow softened.
“This is the first step in bringing this war to an end, squad,” she said. “You’ll be making history here today. You’re our best chance at making this war a distant and terrible memory. Do your best, and get the job done. We’re all counting on you.”
Mill looked to him and held his fist out. Braun bumped it with his own. Down the line, everybody did the same thing. Dezba seemed to hesitate, but eventually returned to the bump to the one seated next to him.
The Colonel got another message in her ear. She quickly replied and then looked to the back door. Braun peaked out the window again and saw the sprawl appearing on the horizon. They were getting close to the outskirts of LA.
“Alright, squad. We’re coming up on deployment in ten mikes so final prep is now. Make sure you’re weapons are locked and loaded, and check your PDA’s to make sure they’re fully charged. Once your deployed in the Styker, it will be up to you to make sure all your equipment remains in working order. The laptop has battery power for a good forty-eight hours once it’s unplugged, but the PDA’s will run down within twenty-four. So keep them plugged in when not in use.”
She nodded to the aviator, who nodded in return and moved to the rear of the cabin.
“My apologies squad for keeping in you in the dark, but given the importance of this mission, we didn’t want to take any chances. Whiskeys might not practice counter-intelligence, but we still do.”
The squad all nodded to each other. Commanders, by their very nature, were as superstitious as soldiers. Never temping fate when victory and the lives of countless people hung in the balance.
“One last thing, the requisite medical equipment for extracting everything you need from Papa Zulu are stowed in your Stryker. Once you find the target, you will be responsible for collecting a sample and packing his carcass, what remains of it, in the biohazard bags provided. Get your assess to the LZ after that, and be prepared for extraction. And stay alive… got it?”
They all nodded.
“I know we haven’t exactly left much in the way of time for questions, but if you’ve got any, now’s the time to ask them.”
The squad looked at each other. Cobb raised his hand.
“Yes, Corporal?”
“What happened to this other team? The ones you sent in to tag Papa Zulu?”
The Colonel appeared to be taking a deep breath. He could see from the expansion of her chest through all the layers of her gear. They knew what that meant.
“They achieved their objective, Corporal. They just didn’t make it out after. I’m counting on you to do better.”
