Red Hammer: Voodoo Plague Book 4 by Dirk Patton

back to where Colonel Crawford had
his temporary headquarters.  Captain Blanchard was with me, briefing me on what
was known about the conditions in Los Alamos, where the SADMs were stored in
the city and calling ahead with his satellite phone to coordinate the equipment
and personnel I needed.  I would have liked to have Jackson with me to watch my
back, but I had asked him to stay in West Memphis and help with the search for
Rachel and Dog.  Crawford left the decision up to him and he had grudgingly
agreed.
    I had several problems to deal with to get my hands on the
nukes.  First off, Los Alamos was crawling with infected.  The small city had
avoided the initial release of nerve gas, but Blanchard’s best guess was that
due to the relative proximity to Denver, which had been attacked, the virus had
arrived and wreaked havoc.
    Problem number two was the whole reason I was even going. 
The goddamn Russians.  They had captured Kirtland AFB which is on the southern
edge of Albuquerque, giving them effective control of a large swath of the
American southwest.  Los Alamos, no more than 70 air miles from Kirtland, was
within the protective bubble of the CAP – Combat Air Patrol – that the Russians
were flying around the clock.  There was no way to get an aircraft inside the
CAP and on the ground in Los Alamos without being spotted.
    Problem two exacerbated problem number three.  Once I had
the nukes in my possession, how the hell did I get them out where they could be
used by American forces?  I hadn’t seen them, but had been assured we had
satellite imagery that showed plenty of vehicles available that we could
commandeer.  The SADMs were so small and light I didn’t even need a truck.  A
small SUV or even a sedan with a decent sized trunk would fit the bill if that
was all I could find.  I refocused on the moment as the Black Hawk’s tires
touched the tarmac.  With good luck wishes from Captain Blanchard I jumped out
the side door onto the concrete apron.
    Fifty yards in front of me a man stood next to the door of a
squat office building.  He waved and I headed in his direction.  As I
approached I had a moment to look him over.  He was younger than me by more
years that I cared to acknowledge, close to my height with a broad chest,
powerful arms and shoulders and probably close to my weight.  Dressed in desert
camouflage cargo pants and a tight, black dri-fit T-shirt with a holstered
pistol and slung rifle I could tell he wasn’t an officer.  Both arms were almost
fully sleeved in tattoos, artfully done with the result making his already
powerful build appear even more intimidating.  When I closed to within a few
feet of him he straightened his stance and snapped a salute which I returned,
surprising him when I stuck my hand out to shake his.
    “John Chase,” I said, looking him in the eye and trying to
get a sense of who he was.
    “Tech Sergeant Zach Scott.”  He replied with a small grin. 
“Welcome to Little Rock.  Heard you had some excitement in Memphis.”
    “Yeah, and I didn’t even get to see Graceland.”  I answered
with a grin of my own.  He smiled, either because I’m genuinely funny or
because I’m an officer.  He didn’t look the type to suck up, and didn’t feel
the need to encourage me to say something else witty, so he passed my first
little test.
    “We’re getting set up inside, sir.  If you’ll follow me,
we’ll get started.”  He turned and pulled the door open, leading the way inside
and turning into the first doorway we encountered. 
    The room was large, appearing to be a pilot’s briefing
room.  Two large tables at the back of the room were stacked high with
equipment being checked over by another man dressed similarly to Scott, and a
woman wearing a standard AF uniform with Captain’s bars on her collar.  Scott
called them to attention as we entered and I walked over to meet them, telling
them to stand at ease.  The woman was small and looked to