Darrell Bain - The Melanin Apocalypse

The first thing he did was head for the coffee pot. The convenience store had been out. He poured a cup and took his seat with the other three security heads just as Gene Bradley arrived. Doug thought he was beginning to appear worn, but he got right down to business, as usual.

“Good news. The new security building will be ready two days from now. Tell your troops to make plans to move their personal gear over there on their own time, but I want a detail of two men each from your platoons tomorrow morning to help move our munitions. The army will furnish transportation, but they tell me they can’t spare the men.” Gene’s lips twitched in a caricature of a smile. “At least they’re taking some pressure off us now.”

Doug thought about remarking on the conditions he was seeing to and from work, but the thought died as Gene brought the subject up himself.

“Now for the bad news. In case you haven’t looked at the news this morning, a foul rumor has gotten started that the government ordered the CDC to deliberately infect the black population with the Harcourt virus. That’s going to cause lots of problems for us. Conditions are already dangerous in the city, as I’m sure you know from the sights you see every day to and from work. They’ll certainly get worse after that rumor makes the rounds, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see a mob trying to gut the CDC. There’s also an opposing rumor just getting started that the CDC has found a cure for the Harcourt virus but is deliberately keeping it secret so the black population will die off. If that one flies, we’ll really have problems.

“The government is issuing denials, of course, but you all know how little faith anyone puts in government statements these days. The more they deny it, the more people will believe the opposite, blacks especially. Any time people are faced with death, they start grasping at straws. That’s how all the bogus cancer cures and remedies make money, simply by giving people hope when nothing else does.”

He paused, as if annoyed at himself for getting off subject, then went on. “And last, we have the religious element. There’s a strong feeling in the country that the disease affecting blacks is simply a harbinger of worse to come, the so-called “End Times”, and it’s making believers edgy and almost as dangerous as armed blacks who have lost hope.” The security chief eyed each of them in turn. “I want you to make a special effort to squelch rumors and gossip and talk about religion playing a role here. I don’t mean for you to denigrate religion in any way, just tell your people it has no place on the job. If necessary, relieve them of duty and send them packing. I can guarantee that no EEOC or Department of Labor bureaucrat will come sniffing around to see that you played fair with them.”

Gene paused, a signal for questions if anyone had them.

“What’s the real status of research on the virus, Gene? Are we going to find a cure or not?” Teresa asked. Doug knew her well. She had told him that her husband, a dark skinned immigrant from India, was showing the first symptoms of the viral disease.

“That’s out of the realm of my expertise, but I can say that none of my superiors have mentioned a cure being in the works.”

Doug knew that none was. June had first hand knowledge of what progress was being made, and so far there had been very little.

“They’d better find one soon,” Teresa said. “My husband will probably recover, but people expect the government to produce something to combat a world wide epidemic—when it comes to our shores, anyway.”

“Virology doesn’t work that fast,” Doug volunteered. “And cures for viruses don’t come easily in any case.”

“How about a vaccine?”

Teresa asked the question as if she were trying to find a ray of hope somewhere. Maybe for her husband’s relatives, Doug thought. “Like Gene said, that’s not my area of expertise, but as I understand it, a vaccine may be possible but it won’t help the people already infected a bit. Vaccines are only a preventative measure.”

“All right folks, back to our jobs. We’re in charge of security, not viruses.” Gene glanced at his watch.

“Last item. I’ve asked for a whole army battalion to surround the CDC and make it secure from outside threats. Barring some country tossing a nuke our way, of course. I think we’ll get the troops after what I heard on the news this morning, but it may take some time. I’ve also asked to have our security force doubled, but again that may take some time. Stay alert and tell your people to do the same.

“Oh yes. I’ve also asked that we be excluded from the draft now that Congress finally passed the bill. We can’t have the army taking all our best troops when they’re already trained for duty here. Now I think that’s all I have for this morning.” He glanced at his watch again. “It’s time for you to go, too.”

The four department heads stood as Gene left, his stride as hurried and purposeful as ever. In this case, it was justified. He needed to be in on a conference call to Washington.

Dov Rechtman watched the cockpit display change as a third of the Flight of F-22 Raptors split off from the main body and surged ahead, on their way to Iran. He and the rest of them held back for refueling. It had gone well so far, just as the contingency plans called for. The tanker was disguised as an El Al commercial jet. Even if they were spotted taking on the additional load of fuel, no suspicions should be aroused. It wasn’t unusual to see Israeli fighter bombers escorting commercial airplanes in this area.

While he waited his turn for fuel, he thought back over the route they had taken, down the Red Sea and out over the Arabian Sea, with his own next stop Pakistan. He was confident that they would complete their mission with a sweet craft like the Raptor to fly and the very newest bunker busters on the hardpoints beneath the wings. He heard three clicks, a pause, then two more in his helmet, the signal that the tanker was ready for him. He extended the metal tipped drogue out in front of his aircraft as he dropped a few feet then nosed slowly toward the refueling boom extending from the tanker, catching it on the first try.

Moments later he clicked his radio twice, signaling that he was full, and eased back on the throttle enough to disengage from the refueling boom. Now they were ready. He gave another series of clicks, signaling that the mission was still a go. The fighters acknowledged and followed his lead as he began dropping down toward the waters far below. They would go in at near tree-top level, depending on speed and the stealthed aircraft to disguise them. The disguised fuel tanker would head back to base, emitting some clicks on the way to make any listeners believe it was a civilian craft with an erratic radio which caused the initial clicking signals. It would be replaced with another tanker by the time they returned.

Later on, the flight split into more elements, each containing at least two aircraft, aiming for nuclear weapons storage sites, rocket silos and nuclear processing plants. Dov and his wingman were going after the nuclear facilities buried so deeply inside the mountains that the Pakistanis thought they invulnerable to air attack, even with nuclear weapons. Dov knew they were wrong, though he also knew the mission hadn’t been possible until last year when they had acquired the F-22 Raptors and the new, still top secret, bunker busters.

A light began blinking on his panel, the computerized flight plan telling him it was almost time to begin gaining altitude. Shortly it began counting down the seconds. At almost 1.6 times the speed of sound, Dov began climbing, and now two other lights began blinking and cursers and other digitized numerals on the display told him the exact altitude and vectors he must match to begin the bombing run and how far off the parameters he was. When the numerals indicating the accuracy of his flight path went into the fourth decimal place, he engaged the targeting computer and went Weapons Hot. From here until the release point, only a dire threat would cause him to override the computer. The bunker busters would be fired automatically at the precise time.