The Anthrax Mutation (v1.0), page 28
Thomas faced him as he turned from Trevor.
“I have to, Glen,” he said quietly. “He’s lost most of the epidermal nerves and the circulation in that arm is dropping. His body temperature regulation has been impaired. He’ll suffer a hell of a lot more if I don’t. I’m putting xylocaine in the synthehomeostasis—when it’s over, he won’t feel a thing.”
“What will you do?” asked the Lieutenant.
“He’s going to make a puncture in the subarachnoid space in the lumbar vertebra and inject a fluid into the spinal cord.” Thomas explained as he watched Tarnoff prepare his instruments. “It’s when he pierces through the cartilege separation between the bones that it hurts. Once he’s through that, he can find the cortex quickly.” “Right,” the Captain announced. “If you’ll stand on that side, Glen, and keep your hands on his shoulders, and you hold his hands, Lieutenant. Try not to let him move. OK, Trevor?”
“Yes,” he replied sleepily.
“Now, you let me move you,” he continued, laying him on his left side and bringing his knees upwards while bending his head forward in a kind of half fetal position. “Try to keep in this position the whole time.”
The backbone fully bent, each vertebra pushed against the skin. It was easy to locate the exact spot where the two inch, 20 gauge needle would ease slowly but relentlessly through flesh and cartilege into the nervous cord. It was a rare operation, but it was rare that anybody survived a nerve gas attack. It was the only way the medical team at Detrick knew to arrest the nervous disintegration which would slowly take place as a result of the VX gas. It had saved men before from the slow, tortuous death, but for many it had come too late, and Tarnoff had watched as over the weeks their minds and bodies succumbed to the loss of nervous control.
Trevor glanced up at the Lieutenant from his awkward position. He grinned, and she smiled back, wiping his perspiring forehead with a strip of gauze. He tried to determine what was going on behind him, but all he felt was the moist, cold ether, and he wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell. He became aware of a sharp, stinging sensation. He winced. He felt the Lieutenant squeeze his hand. He responded and tightened his grasp. The pain intensified. He knew something was poking its way into his back. His muscles tensed and he closed his eyes. He shut out the world of his friends and was isolated in a dimension he had never known—a world of searing pain. He bit his lip. His hands were moist but he fought to keep his grip. Tears, more from the sharp stinging than from conscious crying, squeezed under his eyelids. He wanted to move, to unfold his legs, but he forced himself to lie still. There was something pushing deeper between the tissues and his body was mobilizing its defenses against the intruder. His muscles rippled beneath his skin, and sweat trickled from his forehead and beneath his arms. He wanted to cry out, not loudly, just a whimper, but something in his mind restrained him and he stifled a muffled groan. His hands were slippery and he could feel them turning in the Lieutenant’s. Suddenly there was a blinding pain that bolted up his spine, spilled like an angry wave into his head, sped down his legs and crippled the strength in his arms. His eyes burnt a fiery red, his ears screamed and his muscles tightened on the verge of snapping. He had never known such intense pain—it seemed everywhere, and it refused to lessen its grasp. His head rolled from side to side and he lost conscious thought of anything but this sensation and his lips trembled uncontrollably. He felt powerless in its clutches—his muscles were resistant to any conscious direction. There was no breath in his lungs and he could barely whisper, “Stop. Please stop.” And there was no reply. “Take it out,” he persisted. “It hurts so. Please.”
Then it was over. Nothing. No pain—no burning. Nothing. He froze, not daring to move lest it returned this formidable companion. He waited for someone to say something, to assure him it was all over. His eyes flickered open. He tried to focus, but all he could see was red. Then the red faded and the screaming passed. The grip on his hands was loosening and someone was stroking his hair and wiping his face. He heard the jangle of metal and he looked up. Dimly—like the house lights in a theater being turned up—the Lieutenant took form and shape. His vision cleared. He blinked. He forced a smile. He cocked his head a little and he could see tears in her eyes. She bent over him as she let him lay. on his back, and rubbed her moist cheek against his.
Trevor and Murray pondered the indecipherable coordinates, the Major added several markers to his map. They heard the transports thunder in above them after a half hour delay when one of the landing gears stuck, and the giant aircraft were followed by ten dusters.
Thomas closed his eyes and sighed. It wouldn’t be long now.
Captain Douglas Lloyd looked exhausted when he appeared at the door, flying gloves and cap dangling loosely from his hand. His face w&s drawn and pale as he stared about the room and until he spotted Tarnoff.
“You,” he snapped, pointing threateningly. “You should be hung by your…” and he noticed the Lieutenant. “Pardon me, Miss,” he drawled slowly, touching his forehead. “By your darned neck. If your plane hadn’t a pulled out so damned quick, I might be sleepin’ right now instead of bucking these storms.” He found a chair near the teleprinters and collapsed in a heap. “I’ve been up in those skies for goin’ on twenty hours. I’ve been from Denver to Detrick and back to Denver,” he sighed, waving his hand to illustrate. “And back to Detrick. Now I’m in England. My damn plane develops undercarriage problems and I can’t even get down. Where do you want me to go next? Don’t tell me.” He pushed himself from the chair and walked to the maps. “Back to Detrick. And what in thunder are all these flags—someone havin’ a celebration?”
The Major nodded to Ted. “Come on, Captain Scarlet,” he replied, taking him by the arm. “We’re having a conference next door and you’re guest speaker.”
“I ain’t speakin’ to nobody,” he protested, winking at the Lieutenant. “Haven’t you guys ever heard of battle fatigue?”
“Yeah, and we all got it so shut up,” said Tarnoff. “You’ve got a lot more flying to do before your day is over.”
“Oh yeah—says who?”
“Says me,” Thomas replied, pushing open the door to the conference room. “Find a seat and shut up.”
“Where?” he asked forlornly, noting that every seat was taken.
The Major and Captain Tarnoff walked to the front of the assemblage. Tarnoff sat in front of a large aerial map of Wolverhampton and its surrounds as Thomas began.
“For those of you who I haven’t had the pleasure to meet, I am Major Thomas and my colleague here is Captain Ted Tarnoff. I know that some of you from the RAF never got much of a briefing before you were flown out here, so my job is to instruct you in the dissemination of the aureobacillus particles, affectionately referred to as the dust. In particular I want to get two teams off the ground by fifteen hundred whose task it will be to strike Wolverhampton where the greatest danger lies. I think Captain Tarnoff is the best man to explain the procedures and the properties of the dust, so I’ll let him begin.”
There was a scuffling from the rear of* the room, and the Captain waited for the men who had just flown in to find somewhere to stand. Lloyd had sat on the floor. “The dust is not unlike any other finely ground powder. It disseminates quickly, but it has a specific gravity heavier than most powder and is less influenced by light winds. It is highly penetrative in its proper dilute form and will settle as easily indoors as out. What it is made of is still highly classified, and even if I could tell you, it would serve no useful purpose. It is harmless to humans and animals in proper dilution and perfectly safe to handle.
“Your job will be to fly parallel paths across the country on certain predetermined coordinates and dump this stuff in strictly regulated amounts. Basically, it’s as simple as that. But since your flight patterns and the amount you drop is governed by the wind, I cannot give you your coordinates and flight plans until immediately before take off. The first team will leave straight away and as soon as the results come through from Wolverhampton, you’ll all be dispatched as quickly as possible. It will mean a lot of night flying, much of it over cities at low altitude, so each of your planes is being fitted with search lights now.
“The two aircraft which will form the Wolverhampton strike force will carry two tons pure concentrate each, but you will not dump this amount on the first runs. I shall be up there with one of you and I’ll work out how much we should scatter when we’re over the target.” He paused clasped his hands together. “Gentlemen, I must tell you that this dust has never before been used in large scale attack such as the one in which you will be involved. It is therefore imperative that you make no mistakes. I cannot overemphasize this enough. The amounts you drop must be strictly regulated. There is no room for errors.” He looked to his side. “Major?”
Thomas stood up. “You all must realize by now that this is it. Either we succeed today or the whole thing is off. Every citizen in this country is depending on us so let’s not let them down. As the Captain said, it is imperative that you follow your instructions to the letter. We haven’t got enough dust here to make a clean sweep of the country, so we’re having to cut the concentration down. If too much is dumped, we’ll run short, and if too little goes down, it will have no effect. I leave it to you, gentlemen, and I know you’ll carry this operation off the best you can. Now, I want Captain Lloyd to take one of the dusters on the Wolverhampton run, and I believe you boys from the RAF have decided on sending Flight Lieutenant Crowder.”
“Yes, Sir,” replied one of the Officers. “He’s the best man for the job.”
“Good, Captain Tarnoff will go with Captain Lloyd, and I’d like you, Flight Lieutenant, to take one of your navigators along with you. He’ll be able to hold contact with Captain Tarnoff. Any questions? Then all I can say is good luck. No doubt you will all hear how it has gone as soon as I do.”
The Major stepped down and as he did so Captain Lloyd pushed through the gathering who were making for the door. Cowder was talking with Tarnoff when Lloyd pulled the Major aside. “I’ve heard of no rest for the wicked,” he protested, “but Christ almighty, I’m not that bad. Major, I’m bushed. I’ve had it. I saw three different runways when I came down on approach and I was sure there was an extra engine on my wing.”
“You can do it, Doug. I’m depending on you. You can handle those dusters like your own hand and right now everything’s hanging on an accurate drop. It’s our only hope.”
“Yeah, well, you’re putting an awful lot of hope in an awful tired pilot.”
“Never mind. Come on, we better get the flight plan.” He looked towards Captain Tarnoff and signalled for him to follow with the Flight Lieutenant. They made their way past several Officers and flying crews who were standing about in the corridor, and headed up the stairs to the tower. Outside they could see two of the dusters being wheeled onto the tarmac, only just refuelled and filled with the precious cargo. Never had so much depended on so little.
Wolverhampton. 15:15 Hours
The announcement came. Throughout the city every fire alarm and police klaxon shrilled and reverberated, and the inhabitants headed for cover. Windows and doors stood open along every street, but there was no one in sight. Main streets usually packed with shoppers were deserted. There was no traffic, no lorries, no buses. Aside from the wailing of hundreds of sirens, the city was silent.
And when the sirens ceased, it was an unearthly quiet that was unbroken until the steady throbbing of two low-flying aircraft approached from the Southeast. Everywhere people instinctively turned their heads and looked up: from crowded bathrooms, corridors and drawing room floors, from beneath beds and tables, and even from wardrobes and under cars, people turned to hear the engines.
“Tango Charlie to Tango Delta. Over,” said Captain Tarnoff.
“Tango Delta. Over.”
“We’ll make our first run from the Northwest. Plot your coordinates as three-one-five and zero-niner-seven. Over.”
“Roger, Tango Charlie. How much of this stuff do we dump? Over.”
“Set your counter to feed out one hundred pounds every fifteen seconds. Approach at five zero zero level and even off till your glide reads zero. Speed one five zero. Over.”
“Roger. I’ll run parallel to you all the way. Over.”
“Roger. And be mighty careful with that dust. Check she feeds out clean, right? Over.”
“Roger. Tango Delta over and out.”
The two aircraft swung low over the city, lumbered slowly into the Northwest and banked sharply. Dropping down to five hundred feet, they decreased air speed. Captain Tarnoff checked his glide and gripped the dump lever securely. He leaned against the cockpit window to see the ground. Satisfied, he glanced towards Tango Delta, shaking his head. The plane dropped another twenty feet and slowed to what seemed a crawl. They were over the outskirts, still dropping. They reached four hundred and thirty feet. He looked again at Tango Delta, checked his glide, nodded vigorously, and pulled back his lever to mark one hundred pounds. Suddenly a fine sheet of white particles streamed away to the ground. Tarnoff looked quickly from, side to side and grinned; it was a perfect dump. He had calculated wind velocity, airspeed and altitude precisely. Below, several hundred feet were being covered in each sweep and as they banked for another run back, he waved triumphantly to Tango Delta.
“Easy on,” said Lloyd from the pilot’s seat. “You’re rocking the boat.”
“Tango Delta to. Tango Charlie. Over.”
“Looking good, Tango Delta.”
“Romeo One, here. How’s it going?”
“Perfect, Glen. It was a perfect dissemination. We’re covering about five hundred feet each per run. The powder’s settling spot on. It looks beautiful from up here.”
“How much more to go?”
“I estimate ten more runs. We’ll have about three quarter ton each left over. It’s sure to work.”
“Roger, Tango Charlie. Let me know when you’re on your way back.”
“Wilco. Tango Charlie over and out.”
Ruislip. 15:40 Hours
“He’s done it,” Thomas exclaimed. “By God, he’s hit dead on!”
“Easy on, old man,” said Murray quietly. “You don’t know if the stuff works yet.”
“Half it working depends on the dissemination,” he countered jubilantly. “A good spread gives it every chance.”
“When will you know for sure?” Trevor asked.
He looked at his watch. “It’s nearly quarter to four now. Figure they finish up in twenty minutes—we should have a confirmation by six. There’s some fellows from Porton up there now with samples of the anthrax. If it knocks them off, we win.”
“You better get on to Sir Joseph,” Murray was saying as he dialled through. “Here.”
“Hello? Yes, Sir. A perfect drop. I should know the results by six. I’ll get onto you as soon as I hear anything. Yes, Sir. That I will.” He rang off. “He says to congratulate everyone, especially the boys in the planes.”
“I hope we can carry on celebrating tonight,” Murray said sourly.
“Oh, don’t be such a pessimist,” said the Lieutenant. “It’s got a good chance.”
“I’ll believe it when the confirmation comes through. Anyone want a drink?”
The Major picked up his cap and sidled over to the door. Silently he slipped out, walked down the corridor and pushed open the doors to the runway. The clouds which had been building up in the Northwest had moved over him and a chilly wind teased his wind-breaker.
“Hello,” called a voice from behind. “Can I come?”
He turned. “Hi,” he grinned. “Didn’t you want a drink?”
The Lieutenant shook her head “I was just thinking. You know, wouldn’t it be good if Tarnoff’s dust worked and all this could be over in a few days?” He began walking towards the verge of the runway. “This whole nightmare would end and we could wake up and feel clean again.”
“We?”
“Sure—all of us.” He paused, and they walked on in silence. “Have you ever been to America?” he asked at length.
She laughed and tossed her head back? “On my salary? Coming up here has been the furthest I’ve been from London since I can remember. They don’t like you to be far away at Comcent.” She thought. “I wonder how Trev will like it.”
“Trev?”
“Trevor, silly.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess he’ll like it all right. It’s a big country.”
“So they say.” She paused. “I’ve never seen a braver kid in my life. I could almost feel his pain when your Captain Tarnoff pushed that needle in. He never cried, you know. He hardly flinched. He just kept squeezing my hand tighter and tighter and biting his lip. It makes you think.”
“Think?”
“His family and all. He must have had a remarkable home. He’s taken everything so well. I mean first his parents, then this nerve gas thing and now that awful treatment. I wouldn’t expect it from a kid, you know. And he’s only what—thirteen?”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve?”
“Yes, he told me last night. Everyone thought he was thirteen so he never said anything.” He kicked a stone onto the tarmac.
“I just wish…” she began wistfully.
- “Go on—wish what?”
“Oh, nothing. Just dreaming. I was just thinking that, if ever I had kids I’d want them to be like Trev. But I guess he’s one in a million.”
“He had to be to survive that gas.”
They found a grassy knoll on the edge of the runway and sat down. Thomas pulled a blade of grass and chewed it. He looked out at the barren tarmac and thought of nothing in particular, enjoying the first moments of peace of mind he had had in a long time.
SECTION FOUR: OUTCOME
