Eden's War (A Distant Eden) (10 page)

Faster than his mind could comprehend, Adrian was shooting up and out of the cockpit into a massive wind force that felt like it was ripping his clothes and skin from him. Still sitting in the “chair,” he had a rocket strapped to his butt that was accelerating him up and out of the cockpit, away from the F-16, creating horrific g-forces. His body was embroiled in too many sensations coming at him too fast for his mind to follow.

Then suddenly he was separated from the seat, hanging from a parachute. The upward momentum had ceased and he now began drifting rapidly down to earth. Silence fell like a blow. He watched the F-16 spiral into the ground a thousand yards in front of him. It crashed with horrendous impact; ripping the fragile metal into thousands of pieces blown in all directions as a huge fire-ball erupted, followed by a column of thick black smoke. And then he hit the ground himself with an impact that jarred every molecule in his body.

Adrian was shaken. Only a few short seconds before he had been sound asleep; his mind was still catching up to the reality of what happened. His body was further behind on catching up than his mind. Disoriented both mentally and physically from the wild experience, he unlatched the parachute harness and pulled off the helmet and face mask, then forced himself to crawl a few feet, and vomited. Emptying his stomach Adrian rolled over onto his back and took a slow assessment of his body. He wiggled his toes then worked his way up to his neck. Finding everything working he also found he was sore over every inch of his body.

Then he remembered the pilot. Adrian quickly sat up. Brushing off a wave of dizziness, he shoved himself to a wobbly stand and looked around. He spotted the other parachute draped across a tree several hundred yards away and moved as fast as he could towards it. As he got closer, he could see the pilot lying on the ground, not moving. A foreboding struck Adrian. He began running and arrived breathing hard and dizzy.

Harold was unconscious, possibly dead. Adrian carefully felt for a pulse in his wrist; he didn’t dare move the pilot’s head to get to his carotid artery, he was afraid he might make a spinal injury worse, if there was one. He found the pulse, strong enough that Adrian let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Harold wasn’t dead. But his left leg was broken, the shin bent at a sickening angle. While Adrian sorely wanted to remove his friend from the straps holding him in, he knew the better approach was to wait and see if consciousness returned on its own, and then perform a full assessment for other injuries with his help. Concerned that the wind might gust and catch in the parachute then drag the pilot across the rough ground Adrian cut the parachute cords from the harness.

While waiting for Harold to regain consciousness, Adrian decided to reset the leg bone, hoping to avoid the pain he would surely go through if awake. Adrian found two straight tree limbs and cut them down with his bowie knife, choosing green wood that would bend a little and give some shock protection. With the sticks cut he then cut parachute cord to tie the make-shift splint in place.

As gently as he could, he pulled outwards on the ankle with one hand, using the other hand to feel the broken bone. The pilot thrashed around without wakening. Each time Adrian pulled, the Harold thrashed, often groaning. Bit by bit Adrian returned the bone to its proper place, as nearly as he could tell. Adrian watched him closely for several minutes afterwards. He still hadn’t awakened and Adrian was now worried about concussion and shock. Gently lifting each eyelid he checked the pupils, they were both the same size, possibly indicating a mild instead of severe concussion.

Adrian took an inventory of what they had to work with survival-wise. He and the pilot each had a pistol, the bowie knife strapped to Adrian’s hip that he was never without, good clothing and sturdy boots. He had more than enough for an extended hike. He re-created as much as he could of their last position. From the terrain he’d seen during his descent and the track they’d been on, it looked to him like they were in the Ouachita Mountains, a remote National Forest in Arkansas. Chances of finding motorized transportation would be zilch. Walking would be the only way out, and with the war heating up Adrian was already in a hurry to get moving.

He sat down and waited patiently for the pilot to awaken. He couldn’t think of any way to speed that process up that might not cause more damage. He didn’t want to be gone when the pilot awakened; he wanted to be there to reassure him and to see what other injuries he may have suffered. The pilot was breathing and his heart was pumping and there were no other visible injuries to work on so it was a matter of waiting. Adrian built a small fire, and retrieved the parachute fabric to have something to do while he waited.

Thirty minutes later, the pilot’s hands began to twitch, then a loud groan and his eyes fluttered open. Obviously disoriented he stared at Adrian for a moment, blinking his eyes. He was young and fit and came about rapidly. He removed his face mask and said “What?”

Adrian was so relieved he laughed at him. “What? We ejected and the plane crashed. You’ve been out for a while. Your leg is broken. Other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?”

The pilot looked at him in confusion.

“How do you feel?” Adrian asked.

“Woozy, but pretty much okay.” He began to remove the straps.

Adrian said, “Hold up, don’t move yet, let’s get an inventory first.” Adrian talked him through slight movements of all of his body parts, focusing especially on his neck. Everything checked out so Adrian removed the straps and helped him stand up, steadying him with an arm around his chest.

“Damn the luck,” Harold said quietly. Looking at Adrian he said, “Engine failed. Don’t know why. Didn’t have any luck re-starting it and we were going down like a rock. Don’t recall anything after that.”

“You woke me up and said we were ejecting, next thing I know we were shooting through the air while the plane fell away below us. It hit hard, total loss. I think we’re in Arkansas, that sound right to you?”

“Yeah, we were about over the middle of the mountain range when all hell broke loose. Sorry, I meant to say ‘sir’… still a little rattled.”

“Call me ‘sir’ again and you’ll have a hell of a fight on your hands. Call me Adrian. We’ve got work to do and we’re going to have to do it the hard way, and together. No formalities are going to make this go any better.”

“Gotcha. Well you’re the survival expert sir, what do you suggest?”

Adrian replied, “I suggest we get the hell back to the war as fast as we can. You’re not going to be able to walk, though, so I’ll rig up a travois from the parachutes and a couple of poles. I’ll drag you out. We move as long as there’s enough light to see. We’ve got to get back fast. Was there time for you to send out a radio message?”

“No, no time at all. They won’t know something is wrong until we don’t show up, which should have been about now, but they won’t have a clue what happened or where. They’ll look for us, but it’s not likely they’ll find us. We don’t file flight plans anymore, so they’ll only know the general line of flight. Chances of them spotting the wreckage are somewhere between none and no way. There’ll be survival packs that dropped from the ejection seats somewhere around here. In them is a beacon that we can carry with us, but since it was designed to work off satellite transmission, I doubt it’ll do us any good. The survival packs also have a compass, and I always keep maps in mine. We can navigate to wherever we want to go, once we get a fix on our location.”

Adrian replied, “We won’t need to have too specific of a fix, we’ll head east, and at some point we’ll come across a road or highway; then we can get that solid fix from the road signs. Come on, let’s find those survival packs and get moving.”

Looking down at his splinted leg, the pilot said, “You need to get back as soon as humanly possible, but I don’t; I’m out of action for months.” He grimaced as pain shot up his broken leg. Gasping for breath he tried to sit down, Adrian helped him. “Look” Harold said “I’ll slow you down to a crawl, and being dragged around doesn’t sound like a pleasant experience. You need to go on. You can send help back to me. The faster you get out the faster you can send help back. Help might arrive sooner that way than you can get me out.”

Adrian replied, “Yeah, already thought of that. Problem is that you’re going to be in too much pain to take care of yourself – and if an infection sets in, you’ll be delirious with fever. We don’t have much in the way of survival rations and you won’t be able to get your own food. We don’t know how long it’ll take me to walk out of here, could be a long time. With no one to look after you… you could easily be dead before anyone can get back here. Not to mention there may be wolves or bears to contend with, and you wouldn’t be able to fight them off. I’ve tried to think of another way and I can’t. I’ll take you with me.”

“No sir. You’re needed back immediately. I refuse to slow you down. I’m staying here. I’ll be fine.” The pilot grimaced and moaned as another wave of pain hit him. After it passed he continued, “And even if I die it’s small potatoes compared to the war… the number of our men that might be killed while you drag me out… I don’t want that on my conscience. Lord knows what’s happening out there and you need to get back in control of the situation. Just drag me to a water source, leave half the rations, then hurry out.”

“You’d make a fine lawyer.” Adrian said with a smile meant to ease the sting of his next words. “But you don’t have a choice in the matter. There’s no way I can leave you here like this. No way.”

Adrian began making the travois. He cut down two long skinny poles and using part of the parachute and parachute cord he attached the rig to his parachute harness. Strapping the harness on he could pull the travois while keeping his arms free. It was crude, but it was effective transportation for the wounded pilot.

Chapter 15

S
ix days of dragging Harold on the travois across rough, mountainous terrain left them both exhausted and hungry. It was hard slogging, and in places impassible for the travois, many places too steep or the brush too thick. Adrian had to divert course several times each day. The survival rations were long gone, but they had found water frequently as they traveled, and, in fact had to cross several streams. Adrian carried the pilot on his back across the creeks, then waded back for the travois. They had to swim one river as they headed south towards Highway 270, which the pilot’s maps showed would eventually take them to Hot Springs. Adrian swam the river with the pilot on his back, an arduous task. Then back across the river to get the travois, then across the river again carrying the bundled travois. Once they came out of the mountain range the land leveled by comparison and they made better progress.

Each evening Adrian set up camp near water and would fish, using the emergency fishing kits from the survival packs. He caught few fish; he had better luck setting snares, catching four rabbits and a raccoon along the way. Adrian foraged at each stop, adding edible plants to the stewed meats. Amaranth, cattail roots, purslane, and sorrel were generally abundant if you knew what they were and where to look. Adrian knew. Mixed in with fish or critter meat, the plants added needed vitamins, phytochemicals and nutrients. They were not tasty dishes, but they were healthy and available.

Harold had descended into feverish incoherence. Adrian stopped when the pilot’s fever seemed to be skyrocketing. He set the pilot up as comfortably as possible and went herb hunting. He soon found an area with feverwort growing in abundance. Gathering several pounds of the fever-reducing plant, he continued looking until along a nearby creek he found willow trees whose bark he could use for both pain relief and additional fever reducing properties. Returning to camp he made a bowl of willow bark and boiled the feverwort inside it, keeping the bark bowl filled with water to keep it from burning. The resulting elixir served as a dual purpose pain and fever reducer. Adrian tasted it – it was bitter and unpleasant – then cajoled the pilot into drinking it. The results were not dramatic, but there was a definite easing of the pain and lowering of the fever. Adrian packed the bark and leaves to carry with them and made a new cooking pot each evening from the willow bark so that each new batch of the elixir had a fresh infusion of the plant’s medicinal properties. Adrian stopped several times each day to give the pilot more of the infusion, followed by copious amounts of fresh water.

When they finally reached the highway Adrian was jubilant. He turned east and began a routine of double timing for fifteen minutes followed by fast walking for fifteen minutes. The smooth asphalt surface was far easier on the pilot but the wooden poles began to wear away quickly and had to be periodically replaced. After a day and a half of this they were both beyond exhausted, but Adrian kept pushing. He had a war to get to.

During the afternoon of the second day on the highway Adrian saw three trucks approaching in the distance. Pistols wouldn’t be enough against rifles or a large band of men, but Adrian was determined to get back into action and decided to wave them down – even though they were going in the opposite direction. As the vehicles got closer, they became recognizable as military trucks.

The trucks ground to a halt and the first driver jumped out and ran up to Adrian. “Shit!” He said, then “Sorry, Mr. President, but I am just so damn happy to see you.”

Adrian responded with a broad smile. “‘Shit’ is appropriate son. The pilot needs immediate attention. He’s running a high fever. What in the hell are you doing out here though?”

“Looking for you, sir. Air searches didn’t turn up anything, so some brass-head decided that we should drive up and down this highway. Given where they thought you might have been when you crashed, they thought you might have survived and would probably walk out this way. We’ve been driving up and down a four-hundred mile stretch for a week now.” The soldier stopped talking and scratched his chin. With a broad grin he continued, “And damned if the brass-heads weren’t right for a change. We have a medical team with us, they’ll take care of the pilot. What else can we do for you other than getting you back to base?”

“Food and a radio”

“Yes sir. Let me call in – there’s a chopper waiting.” The soldier turned to the man next to him and said, “Shorty, get the medics out of the truck. Rustle up some grub, get the best of the MREs.”

An hour later Adrian and the pilot were strapped into the back of the helicopter. The F-16 pilot fell asleep as the helicopter carried them to Hot Springs. Adrian put on the radio headset for his seat and asked the chopper pilot to get him in contact with the Admiral.

“Adrian!” The Admiral said with relief. “I’m damn glad you’re back in the saddle. Are you okay? Any injuries?”

“I’m fine Admiral. The pilot has a broken leg and is feverish, but he’s getting full medical attention now. What’s the war news?”

“It’s not good. We’ve got two major actions going on the West Coast. One near Los Angeles and one near San Francisco. We’re not quite holding our own. They’ve come up with a defense that’s playing hell with the attack boats. They’ve mounted chain guns on mobile platforms on the decks. They can wheel the chain guns into any position rapidly. They’re blowing most of our boats up before they can hit the ships.”

“Have you come up with a counter?”

“We hit them with multiple boats on all sides as we talked about in Hawaii. That way some of them still get through, but they’re chewing our boats up faster than we can make new ones and they’re moving damn close. We’ve called in as many militias as we can, getting them ready for a ground war at the ports. Most of our special operations-trained soldiers have been deployed as advisers among the militias. We’re vulnerable between the ports. We’re maintaining coastal spotters and will be able to react to only some of those invasion points, but it will be a slower and smaller reaction since several of the fighting forces are at the two primary ports.”

“How long before they reach the ports, Admiral?”

“Two days at the current pace. Are you still sure you want to reserve the Naval forces?”

“Where are their naval assets right now?”

“They’re still out at sea. Apparently they won’t move them in until they have to. They could be here in three days if they want to.”

“Then reserve your ships for when they come in, if they do. I’m not at all certain they will. But if they do, you’ll want everything you have to welcome them with. And the East Coast?”

“Bloody hell there Adrian. Instead of clustering into definite locations they’ve spread out and are coming at the coast in a dozen or more locations, and none of them make immediate strategic sense. They’re close in, maybe three days out at most from making landfall.”

“They’re obviously planning a series of land invasions,” Adrian said. “Off-loading ground troops that will sync up somewhere into a massive occupation army. What about the Gulf? Any movement there?”

“Yes, and I wanted to save that for last. They’re coming in on both sides of Cuba by the hundreds. You were right that they would try to distract us and then come in there with their heaviest assault. The only good news is that you still have a little bit of time to get back to Texas where the main action is going to be. We have a three front war going on. West Coast, East Coast and the Gulf of Mexico. I’m overseeing the West Coast, Admiral Rutherford is over the East Coast and now that you’re back you have the Gulf. You have the worst of it coming at you. It’s grit time, Adrian. Nothing but fighting to do now.”

“Got it Admiral. Soon as we land, I’ll get transport home. We’ll stay in radio contact throughout. I need to call Linda now and let her know I’m okay.”

The trainer jet carried Adrian from Hot Springs to Corpus Christi in short order. Adrian took a Jeep from the landing strip to the dock where he hopped onto a swift boat that carried him to the carrier. It had the best overall communication system available, and Adrian needed that capability.

Adrian entered the war room and looked at the maps. Two massive Chinese fleets were marked on it. They were indeed coming from both sides of Cuba and would be in the Gulf in no more than a day and a half.

Adrian turned to the ship’s new Captain, a fortyish man with steely eyes and a crisp manner. He had been sent in by the Admiral just a week before. “Captain Morgan?” Adrian asked with no hint of a smile.

“Yes Mr. President. Believe me I’ve heard them all sir, although I wouldn’t mind hearing a new one sir.”

“I wouldn’t dream of trying.” Adrian said, now with a small smile. “Give me a full briefing.”

“Yes sir. We have attack boat fleets ready and raring to go. They’re scattered up and down the Gulf Coast, a dozen on the Mexican side. As the Chinese enter the Gulf we’ll begin deploying them in stages. From the reports we’ve gotten on the number of attack boat losses in other places it appears we do not have enough to entirely stop them. I’d say we can knock out seventy-five percent of the Chinese before we run out, but that leaves a lot to deal with. We’ve staged militias at strategic points that can react rapidly to landings. Their troops will outnumber ours significantly when they make landfall. It’s not looking real good sir. That is unless we can use our naval assets, then we have a better chance.”

“We may get to that point Morgan, but I want them held in reserve for the day the Chinese send in their Navy. It’s still a matter of not depleting our ammunition too soon.”

“As you say, sir.”

“Captain, I’m going to my quarters for a few hours of rest. Would you get me in radio contact with my wife?”

“Absolutely sir, no problem.”

“That’s great baby, glad to hear everything is quiet at home. How’s the experiment going with the Chinese soldier?”

“It’s an odd thing. The entire village is in on the act and so far there haven’t been any obvious mistakes. For all intents and purposes, he thinks he is in a post-war village and has free run of the place, yet most people pretty much ignore him, just as they would if this was real. His English is good, he communicates well. The kids that “adopted” him are marvelous actors. He hasn’t let loose with what his mission was… so to speak, but he’s acting as if he believes what he sees.”

“I hope he spills the beans soon. Whatever they were up to out there has to have significance. How are the Rangers? Is Race holding up?”

“Oh Adrian, she’s a trooper. She took over as second-in-command of the Rangers like a natural and is doing a damn good job. I take care of the day-to-day details, but she’s running the operations and doing great. They still go out and stop the bad guys on a routine basis. If anything, this war seems to have brought out more raiders than ever before. There’s a lot of food and munitions being transported around, and raiders see that as opportunity. There have been several small convoys hit and some the raiders were strong enough to take. The Rangers are patrolling the convoy routes heavily now, and getting into action almost every day. Having most of the able-bodied fighters in the militias along the coast line gives the bandits a lot more latitude. If it wasn’t for the Rangers, they’d have free play.”

“Love you babe. I’ll sign off and get a few hours’ sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

After a few more moments of intimate talk Adrian turned off the radio, stripped off his travel-stained clothes and took a shower. Two minutes after toweling off he was sound asleep, hoping to get a few hours’ sleep before bad news knocked at his cabin door.