John Ringo: Into the Looking Glass

So was the one just south of Mecca, this one conveniently near the coast at another “experimental farm.” The area was a Saudi military reservation and the Saudi National Guard had assaulted the infestation with Abrams tanks and Bradley fighting vehicles. Survivors from the group stated that upon entering the fungus area it had attacked the tanks, choking their systems.

The Saudi government had not charged the U.S. with planting the Dreen infestation on holy ground, but the mullahs throughout the world were more than happy to blame it on the Great Satan.

Qom was the holiest city in the Shia version of Islam and Mecca was the holiest city in Islam, period. Both the Iranian Ruling Council and the Mullah of Mecca had pronounced jihad against the alien invaders and mujaheddin from the Philippines to Algeria, not to mention various western countries, were being flown in by the Saudis and the Iranians to try to fight the infestations. The bulk of their fighters would have probably come from the Bekaa Valley, but they were all extremely busy. Or being converted to more monsters.

The fungus and growth structure of the Dreen had been, at this point, carefully studied by the U.S. government. It was determined that the fungus spread via a small wormlike creature that had been specially modified to convert terrestrial biology to Dreen. As it did so, terraforming the soil, eating plant and animal material, the “fungus” spread behind it. The fungus was anything but, an entity that not only gathered energy from a chlorophyll analogue but had an extensive vascular network for moving materials from one place to another. In addition, it could sprout structures that reproduced the megafauna that did the work of the Dreen. The fungus, left alone with some functional materials it could “eat,” pure fertilizer would work, and sunlight, could spread and grow unchecked. It also was damned hard to keep contained if it had materials available, sprouting subgrowths that would attack any container it was placed in. It was considered a level four biological hazard. It was, however, responsive to burning, acid and certain powerful herbicides and did not grow well on soil that had not been preprepared for it by the worms.

One scientist had done an analysis and concluded that one human body could be converted into a dog-demon in two days. Or two humans in three days for a thorn-thrower, given the structures to make same.

Reports from the Bekaa Valley indicated that, the majority of their Katyusha rockets and a goodly part of their artillery rounds having been expended trying to break into the main areas, the Syrian, Hamas and Hezbollah forces were now attacking with rifles and flamethrowers and sustaining heavy casualties. The response by American military spokespeople was notably unsympathetic.

“You look good,” Miller said. “Hey, honey, can I talk with my friend alone for a minute?” the chief added to the candy-striper.

“Of course, Mr. Miller,” the girl said, smiling. “I’ll come back in about fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Works,” Miller replied. He gestured at the turned-down TV where the latest news from Mecca, via Al Jazeera, was showing. “Bit of a bastard, ey?”

“Well, I know you didn’t do it,” Bill said with a chuckle. “And I know I didn’t do it.”

“And I happen to know that we didn’t do it,” Miller said, shaking his head. “Give us some credit, okay? Besides, I checked with the Teams and they’d know if anyone did. They did it to themselves. Okay, maybe with some help from the Israelis.”

“Give,” Bill said.

“All the outbreaks are at places where terrorists or terrorist sponsors have been working on bioweapons,” the SEAL said, taking a puff on the cigar. “We don’t know how they got the Dreen material there, but that’s where all the outbreaks occurred.”

“Any word on what we’re going to do?” Bill asked.

“Well, the Teams are sitting back, watching the tube and laughing in their beer,” Miller answered. “The Ayrabs can’t fight for shit. There’s a lot of cultural reasons for it, some of them pretty complex, but it’s true. In a situation like this, they’re the worst possible group to try to stop the Dreen. But they’re pouring fighters in like water, just the sort of bastards that run around sniping at our troops, blowing up innocent Israeli civilians and flying jetliners into our skyscrapers. They’ve got lots and lots of mujaheddin, but no matter how many they throw at the Dreen, they’re not going to push them back. The Dreen are the purest flypaper for those boys. Wait a year and there won’t be enough mujaheddin left on earth to bury their dead. If they can find the bodies.”

“Wait a year and the Dreen will be making those mountain-sized tanks that Dr. McBain saw on Ashholm’s World.”

“Oh, they won’t wait a year,” Miller admitted. “I figure, in a few months they’ll all get back-channel messages that the U.S. is willing to help them out. The help will be a nuke. Several nukes, actually, the only way to be sure. They can take it or leave it. By then, they’ll take it. The muj will be dialed down to a fraction of their former strength and maybe there will still be a few of the worms sitting around. The ragheads will also see, clearly, what the U.S. can do if it cares enough to send the very best. Nuclear weapons rising where the mullahs cannot ignore them. I suspect that they’re going to have a slightly different view of the ‘Great Satan’ after we carefully drop nukes so they miss Mecca and Medina.”

“Nukes can’t get through,” Bill said then shook his head. “Send in artillery, first, saturate the defenses, run them out of mosquito-missiles and then… boom.”

“Yeah.” Miller chuckled around the cigar. “Boom. I think they ought to drop one on Tikrit and Fallujah while they’re about it, but nobody ever asks me. Hell, drop a ripple across the Bekaa Valley and I’d be happy. Let the Dreen have the whole thing, then pop it.”

“Works for me,” Bill said.

“But we have other things to do, Dr. Weaver,” Miller said in a very formal tone. “I need influence.”

“How much?” Bill asked. “I notice you’re not in Leavenworth right now and you seem to have been promoted.”

“Well, yeah,” the SEAL said in a slightly embarrassed voice. “Submitted an honest report as to the actions in taking the gate. I’ll admit there was a slightly awkward moment or two, but they would have looked silly court-martialing a wounded hero. It’s pretty much been noted that I’ve got over twenty in and I can take a hint. As soon as I’m fit for duty they’ll suggest that maybe I should retire and I’ll take ’em up on it. What the hell, I’ve already saved the world, once; leave it to the young kids for the next time. But we’ve still got one thing we need to take care of.”

“What?”

“Thrathptttt.”

“Mr. President, what Warrant Officer Miller said makes sense,” Bill said, carefully. “We need the information.”

“I agree with that,” the President replied. “But I’m not sure of the rest.”

“General Thrathptttt, after the gate was closed, mousetrapped one of the National Guard Brigades,” Bill pointed out. “I’m sure the secretary will agree on that?”

“Yes,” the secretary of defense admitted, tightly. “He did.”

“He then told it that he would surrender, on terms, or he could go down fighting,” Bill noted. “He had the choice of killing a large number of our troops. He knew he was doomed, anyway. But he chose to let our soldiers live. I think we owe him for that. And we need the information; the Dreen are still out there, somewhere.”

The President looked at Weaver over the video link for a long ten seconds and then nodded his head.