The White Death (10 page)

Chapter 17

The President was tired. His eyes stung, and repeatedly rubbing them was only making the pain worse. He needed to shower and change into fresh clothes, but his office was still packed with people. They may have pulled back from the brink but still teetered so very near it. He couldn’t just slip off for a nap. Coffee, thankfully, was being provided to him in industrial strength and quantity.

“General Richards on line three,” someone said to him. Thomas had given up trying to remember everyone’s names. There would be plenty of time for that in the coming weeks. He knew Richards was down in the South Korean capital of Seoul, coordinating the American war machine.

“Go ahead,” he replied, taking a gulp of coffee and noting he would soon need another refill. The mid-morning sun was trying its best to break through thick snow clouds.

“Mr. President. We’re showing North Korean troops across the DMZ preparing to withdraw. Most are already on their way. We have one battalion which doesn’t seem to be making much movement, though. They’re based … hold on, Mr. President.” Thomas heard the general begin shouting, no doubt to some unsuspecting private. Richards was handed another telephone. It was Captain Rodgers.

“Captain, this is General Richards. What the hell is going on up there?”

“General,” shouted Rodgers over gunfire, “we have Korean soldiers racing toward the border firing their guns in every direction. I have ordered the men to return fire, but we need backup.”

“Understood, Captain,” said Richards, clicking his fingers at a lieutenant who was listening in. He rushed to ferry troops, via helicopter, to that sector and reinforce the line. “Support is incoming. Hold steady, and defend the border until you hear from me. Richards out.”

“Mr. President,” he said, now lifting the red receiver again, “North Korean troops are storming a section of the border. Either this supposed retreat is a ruse or they have lost contact with an entire battalion. Orders, Mr. President?”

“Use whatever force necessary to protect our troops and South Korea, General,” said Thomas without a moment’s hesitation. He would not—he could not—allow this threat to go unchallenged. They were United States troops, and the United States needed to hold on to the position as top dog, as his advisors put it. He demanded a direct line to the Chinese President. There was no point attempting to contact the North Korean government. The Chinese President had served as a proxy all night.

Rodgers ducked as a shower of incoming bullets flew down around him. Instructing what was left of his men on the lookout tower, he stayed down as they all lowered themselves to the ground and reloaded their weapons.

“Dickson, Henry, on my signal you two climb up to that machine gun and start laying down suppression fire. Everyone else, I don’t want rapid firing. Make every shot count. Pick them off one by one. Ready? Go!”

Rodgers jumped up and, easier than he would admit, began plucking off enemy soldiers racing toward them from the tree line. Seconds later, the heavy machine gun on the top of the tower began ripping the land ahead to shreds. Chunks of dirt, earth, and plants fired into the air as it mercilessly destroyed everything in its line of fire. Rodgers knew this was too easy, now they’d gotten their bearings. The Koreans weren’t even directly firing at his troops, instead randomly firing. The distant sound of helicopters, getting closer, gave him an adrenaline rush, knowing backup was incoming. The two black Apache helicopters opened their chain guns on the North Korean troops, as well. Rodgers watched as they were literally blown to pieces, Korean soldiers being torn apart right before his eyes.

“Fall back,” shouted Rodgers, seizing the opportunity to get his men out. He fired the last of his grenades. An ice-cold wind, along with heavy rain, became the latest unwelcome battlefield condition to contend with.

“Dickson, Henry, let’s go now!” he ordered, waving them down.

“Captain, get up here,” shouted Dickson, still firing his weapon.

“Fuck,” muttered Rodgers under his breath. He scrambled up the watchtower stairs to see what was so urgent. “What the hell is going on here? I told you two to get down…” Rodgers stopped in mid-sentence at the sight that greeted him. Mere miles away, he could see red and orange explosions in the dark night background. In North Korea, cities burned, under siege from within by their own people.

“Are we doing that, sir?” asked Dickson, mesmerized.

“I don’t think so,” replied Rodgers, “We need to go, now!”

“Wait, listen,” said Henry, lowering his machine gun. A faint background noise, getting louder with each passing second, was coming from across the border.

“It’s coming from the trees,” said Henry.

“I think we need to leave,” whispered Rodgers, his stomach twisting in knots. From the tree line, thousands of North Koreans came charging out, and from what Rodgers could see, it wasn’t just at their location anymore. All across the border, tens of thousands charged straight into unmerciful machine gun fire. They piled up and climbed over the barbed fencing. He watched flesh be tore from their arms and legs, but they didn’t flinch.

“Rodgers, get the hell outta there. We’re falling back,” ordered General Richards down the line, but it was too late. The landed helicopter just behind them was overrun with the enemy, acting like wild animals, while the other two in the air retreated. Rodgers wasn’t sure if they were under orders to retreat right away or if what they saw scared the shit out of them. He loaded his assault rifle and aimed down, firing a few shots around the stricken helicopter. The Koreans trailed what was left of his men out of the chopper and onto the field; some they bit into without hesitation, like wild animals.

“Henry, no,” he shouted, hearing a shot right behind him. Henry had put a bullet in his own head, and Dickson was shaking uncontrollably, dropping all his weapons as the North Koreans now clambered up the steps to meet them. He could hear them growling, grunting.

Rodgers took his last grenade out and pulled the pin. Any difference he could now make was a good one.

Chapter 18

“This better be good,” said British Prime Minister William Stone, or Will to friends. He was a burly, well groomed man in his late sixties—the oldest politician to be elected prime minister in decades. His age was something the press and opposition happily reminded him of daily. He detested being called out of what he saw as strict family time with the wife and kids, especially during dinner. Living in the flat above Downing Street in London was problematic enough. You never truly got away from the office as Monique, his wife, reminded him.

“Prime Minister,” said Cabinet Secretary Paul McAddle, the most senior civil servant in the country, “we’ve got another situation developing on the Korean Peninsula. The emergency committee has already been assembled downstairs.”

The two walked down the famous floating staircase in Downing Street, the wall holding portraits of previous prime ministers. The emergency committee took place in a bunker underneath Downing Street.

“Report,” said the PM, walking in and taking his seat at the top of the conference table. The heads of the Navy, Air Force, and Army, along with government ministers, were all present.

“Prime Minister,” began General Owen Davies, head of Britain’s armed forces, “American troops have had to fall back from the demilitarized zone. North Koreans are storming the border.”

“What?” he said, stunned. “I thought we had this whole situation under control?”

“Retreating is a more apt word for the American forces,” said Edward Harrison, MI6 Intelligence Director. “Our information shows large numbers of North Korean troops crossing the entire border now, while the American and South Korean armies do nothing. They’re scrambling from pillar to post.” A screen came down from the ceiling, and the lights dimmed as Harrison showed a colorful aerial map of the region.

“Number estimated?” asked William, watching as a continuous flow of red dots, the enemy, flowed across the border into South Korea.

“Within the hour, it’ll be a million,” replied Edward.

MI6 had four agents in South Korea, and one was in the defense ministry.

“Fucking hell,” replied the PM. “Increase our alert status to substantial. Any word yet from the Americans?”

“Our calls have gone unanswered,” said Joanna Paulson, Foreign Affairs Secretary.

“Washington will be in chaos trying to deal with this mess,” said McAddle.

“Nevertheless, we need to talk to them.”

“Prime Minister, I have the American president on line one,” said a secretary through the intercom system. Everyone around the table hushed as he picked up the receiver.

“Will,” said the U.S. president. They were on friendly terms, William having coached the younger American politician throughout his election—informally, of course. “We have a real situation developing down in the Korean Peninsula. We’re being overrun, but not by weapons or grenades—by people. They’re swarming over the border … men, women, children. My generals have never seen anything like it before, but we need to quarantine the whole area. This looks like some kind of virus outbreak.”

“A virus? You sure?” asked Will, knowing his team was looking on with concern.

“Get Barrington here,” ordered McAddle to a staffer.

“That’s our best guess here. We’re sending over some video footage taken from the front line. Have a look at it. In the meantime, can you get us some naval support down there? I’ve more ships inbound, but they’ll be a day at least.”

“We’ve the Elizabethan aircraft carrier group in the Sea of Japan. I’ll have them sent immediately to South Korea,” said Will, pointing at Admiral Bellamy, head of the Royal Navy. These new aircraft carriers—only two built due to the cost and protection they needed—were on par with American Nimitz-class aircraft carriers, reestablishing Britain as a naval world power.

“Thank you, Will. I have my guys over here drawing up a quarantine plan. I’ll have them liaise with your team, as well. China sealed their border with North Korea moments ago. I just hope they’re as meticulous about it as we would be. I’ll call back in a half-hour. Take a look at that footage—it’s madness.”

“Speak soon,” said Will, as an aide uploaded the media file to the monitor. Before the video played, the text “Highly Confidential: Property of The United States Government” was displayed. The screen fuzzed into what was obviously a recording by either a handheld camera or phone. It was dark and grainy but showed hundreds of people running toward the camera holder, many running on all fours. Whoever was recording the video fired their weapon, causing some around the meeting table to jump. The shot Korean fell to the ground right before the camera, showing bulging eyes and foaming at the mouth. The wounded female shook violently, growling with the few teeth she had left on full display. To Will she looked dangerous, possessed. Screams, from what he presumed to be the cameraperson, were horrific. It sounded like he was being torn apart, eaten alive.

“Our carrier fleet is on the way,” said Admiral Bellamy quietly, walking back into the room just before the video finished.

“President Morgan believes a virus may have broken out in the peninsula. China has closed its borders with North Korea, but he’s proposing we enact quarantine procedures down there, as well.”

“Well, Prime Minister, that’s a fleet of twelve ships that’ll be there in six hours at full speed,” said Bellamy.

William knew the admiral had fought long and hard for funding for the carrier groups. The media had vilified him for demanding so much money at a time when welfare spending was the priority, but his argument always was you can’t defend the nation with hospital patients.

“Prime Minister, Professor Ursula Barrington of the HPA,” said McAddle. The Health Protection Agency was a small, streamlined, and competent department in the British government, unlike most others.

“Professor,” said William, standing up briefly as she took her seat. He was old-fashioned that way. “You’ve been apprised of the situation?”

“Unfortunately I have, Prime Minister,” she replied, sitting down. It was well known Ursula had little time for political meetings and the ramblings of politicians. She was a scientist and, unless in a lab, felt useless. “Why this meeting couldn’t be done via video conferencing, I’ll never know.”

William ignored her remark. “It’s quite nightmarish. What are your thoughts?”

“Prime Minister, I’ve been in contact with my American counterparts, the CDC, while I was helicoptered here,” said Ursula. “At the moment, we know very little about this virus. The CDC is preparing to get a sample of it to me. Until then, we can only prepare for the worst.”

“Symptoms?” asked McAddle.

“Rage, uncontrollable anger, loss of identity, mental retardation. Loss of self. It’s all very vague at the moment.”

“It almost sounds like you’re talking about zombies, Professor,” said William.

“Very similar, Prime Minister, except this is no film. This virus removes all sense of individuality. From examining the footage and reports from the frontlines, it seems to take over your mind, sending the host on a violent rampage. It doesn’t kill you. With this virus, advanced symptoms appear within one minute. There is no incubation period.”

“We also have war to consider, sir,” said Davies.

“This is not a war any of you will have planned for,” said Ursula. “We are facing a
pandemic
which could develop, the likes of which this world has never seen. The head of the CDC and myself are in agreement. Korea must be quarantined at all cost, and China informed that their borders are to remain closed. Not a single person or animal can be allowed to exit either North or South Korea.”

“How am I meant to explain to the public the abandonment of 30,000 nationals?” shouted Will to those assembled. It was unthinkable and would be the end of his political career.

“Leak that video,” said Barrington, gathering the rest of her folders together. “Then you’ll have the public on side.”