“Roger. Sterile five-ton will back up to the capsule taking my hand and arm signals. That’s not you, Ensign, that’s Lance Corporal Edwards.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Edwards said.
“Stand by, Edwards, and listen. I want you to get lined straight up to the hatch on the capsule. Do you even know where that’s at?”
“No, sir.”
“Unass from the vehicle and come out here,” Walker radioed.
Edwards jumped out of the vehicle and at Walker’s direction walked around the capsule, keeping a distance, and found the hatch, which was at two o’clock from their approach.
“Can you back up to that?” Walker shouted.
“Aye, aye, sir!” Edwards said. “I can put it right up to it.”
The back of the five-ton was, conveniently, about the same height as the hatch. In fact, with the tailgate up, the top of the tailgate would just about be at the level of the bottom of the hatch.
“I will ground guide,” Walker shouted. “Watch my hand and arm signals.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Edwards said.
“Let’s get a move on,” Walker said, then changed frequencies. “Any sub retrans to the Dragon capsule. Do not pass this message to any squadron personnel…”
“Dragon, incoming call from Thomas Walker for Mission Specialist Troy Lyons, over.”
“Uh, Roger that,” Commander Daniels said, puzzled. “You’re up, Troy.”
The mission commander was a forty-five-year-old Canadian, six two and formerly a hundred ninety pounds, with sandy blond hair and blue eyes. A former Canadian Air Force fighter pilot, he had a master’s degree in mechanical and aviation engineering.
“Thomas Walker?” Lyons said. The mission engineer was American, stocky with dark, nearly black, brown hair and equally blue eyes. A former SEAL, he had degrees in mechanical and oceanic engineering and had been on his second trip to the ISS as one of the onboard mechanical systems engineers when the world came apart. There went his shot at being mission commander.
“Trojan, it’s Skaeling,” Walker radioed. “Night Walker. Do not reply with my name. I’m using a cover for various reasons. Short explanation: While I obviously outrank Captain Smith, Wolf Squadron is a cult of personality. People know Captain Wolf. I’ve been careful to ensure that nobody knows who I am other than, well, upper echelon. Taking over would not work and I’m frankly enjoying just helping out. So when you see me, do not react. Understood?”
“Roger, sir,” Troy replied. “Is it okay to say I’m glad to hear you made it, sir?”
“Glad you made it too, Troias. This world was made for people like us. Walker out.”
“Walker?” Colonel Kuznetsov asked.
“All I think I should say is he was involved with U.S. Special Operations,” Troy replied. “I met him when I was with Joint Special Operations Command.”
“Sounds like just the man for a zombie apocalypse,” Dr. “Doc Gordie” Price said. The mission medic was an MD with specialties in diving and astronautic medicine and a Ph.D. in astrophysiology. “Any notable negative symptoms, yet?”
“I am rather missing microgravity,” Dr. Rizwana “Doc Riz” Shelley said. The Pakistani born physicist, a naturalized British citizen, was five foot four with black hair and light brown eyes. She had taken a sabbatical from her position with Reading University for the mission. She had Ph.D.s in astronomy, astrophysics, physics, nuclear physics, chemistry, biology, biochemistry and, notably, microbiology. She’d been a researcher in microbiology at Reading as well as a tenured professor. Besides assisting her husband, Thomas Shelley, on his experiments on the mission, she had been managing ongoing microbiology experiments on the ISS. “On the other hand, it has been some time since I’ve had a tropical vacation.”
“Be a while till we can get out and enjoy the breeze,” Dr. Price said.
“After six months, ten to fourteen more days I can do,” Varfolomei Matveev said. The mission engineer was five foot six with black hair and blue eyes. He was a former fighter pilot with the Russian Air Force as well as a rotary wing pilot with a degree in mechanical engineering. “Is it reasonable to be worried about the vaccine we’ve been promised?”
“Very,” Dr. Price said. “All we can hope is that there will be sufficient information to make a rational decision. Not that we have many choices in the matter.”
There was a bang on the capsule and it rocked slightly. The light from the hatch porthole cut off with finality. Fortunately, there were two more portholes. The interior lights had been shut off on landing to conserve batteries but there was plenty of reflected light. It was apparent that there was a truck or car shining its lights on the capsule.
“And I think the five-ton has landed,” Troy said. “Whatever happens, we’re definitely entering a brave new world.”
“I’m hoping for some news of home,” Rizwana said.
“From what little we were getting from Omaha, that is unlikely,” Commander Daniels said. “I’m sure we’ll get more information soon.”
“I’m just hoping for a cheeseburger,” Troy said. “I’d even take an MRE at this point.”
“That sounded like another shot,” Tom said.
“The island was certainly inhabited by infected,” Commander Daniels said. “We have to hope that a person with experience in special operations would have cleared it as thoroughly as possible.”
“Tape two PVC tubes running from the capsule to the top of the five-ton,” Walker said. “Then we’ll drape the sheets. Shewolf?”
“Still all good, sir,” Faith replied. “That was a dog. I authorized it to keep the area from getting messed up.”
“Good call, Shewolf,” Walker said. “Okay, let’s get the plastic up…”
CHAPTER 19
“Ensign Smith, time to open the plastic…”
They’d pulled the contaminated canvas cover off, first, leaving only the plastic covering the back in place. They’d also laid plastic over the tailgate to keep contamination from entering the vehicle.
Decker carefully removed the plastic from the back of the five-ton and Sophia leaned over and looked in the hatch. There was barely any light in the interior but she could see some couches and figures.
“Sir,” she radioed. “Do they have lights in there? We can’t see a thing.”
“Stand by, Seawolf,” a voice said, breaking into the circuit. “Retrans to the Dragon capsule coming up.”
“Hello. I’m the person knocking on your window. Ensign Sophia Smith, United States Navy. You guys ready to get out?”
“Take me to your leader,” Commander Daniels radioed, jokingly. “Yes, we are prepared to exit. We can get the hatch open but we will need assistance exiting the capsule.”
“The United States Naval services have got you covered,” Sophia said. “I’ve got two hulking Marines ready to carry you out. Carefully. You guys got interior lights?”
“Coming on,” Daniels said, turning on the lights.
“Ouch,” Sophia said, blinking. The lights were bright to her dark-adjusted eyes. “Open the hatch. We’ve got plastic up to prevent contamination.”
There was another shot in the distance.