Axis of Evil_Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Page 3

  The male nurses on staff joined the paramedics in preparing to lift Cooper off the transport stretcher onto the emergency room bed.

  Dr. Williams turned to Dr. Luke. “Would you like to assist?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “Let me position myself at the top of the gurney so I can support his head during the move. Is everybody ready?”

  The medical personnel responded affirmative.

  “Slow and steady. Okay, on three.”

  Everyone nodded and took their positions. She counted to three, and the group carefully placed the one-hundred-ninety-pound bull rider onto the bed.

  The medical team went to work, immediately removing Cooper’s clothing, and hooked him up to a variety of medical monitoring equipment—fluids, oxygen, blood pressure, etc.

  “Has anyone notified the family?” asked Dr. Williams.

  A male nurse responded, “Doctor, I have a brother and sister who’ve just arrived. They want to see the patient.”

  “Not just yet, nurse. Get all of the medical information you can and bring it to me. Tell them this young man is in good hands. What’s his name?”

  “Cooper Armstrong,” replied Dr. Luke. “He’s on the cusp of the top ten bull riders in the world. A very popular up-and-comer.”

  Dr. Williams addressed the staff. “Well, let’s get a CT scan to check for intracranial hemorrhaging on the brain, swelling, or a possible skull fracture. For now, we’ll allow him to regain consciousness on his own. A resting brain uses less oxygen, which will benefit him at the moment.”

  “I’m going to speak with the siblings,” said Dr. Luke. “I’m a fan of the sport, and I think I can relate to them.”

  “I’ll let you know the results of the tests,” said Dr. Williams with a nod.

  Dr. Luke approached twenty-three-year-old Riley Armstrong and his two-year-younger sister, Palmer, in the waiting room. Palmer was understandably distraught as she made eye contact with Dr. Luke. The doctor had seen the look before—hopeful, begging eyes.

  Dr. Luke introduced herself and explained the situation in simple medical terms.

  “Has your brother ever experienced a concussion before?”

  “No,” replied Riley. Palmer was still crying although she’d calmed down somewhat. “He’s broken a lot of parts, you know, bones. But no head injuries other than a broken nose once.”

  “Okay, that’s good,” said Dr. Luke. “Listen to me. They’re running tests now, and we’ll know more soon. Would you like me to contact your parents for you? I’d be glad to give them a call and put their minds at ease.”

  Riley and Palmer looked at each other for a brief moment and then shook their heads in unison.

  Riley continued to be the spokesman. “No, ma’am. I’ll do it after Coop’s had his tests run. Will it be much longer?”

  As if on cue, a nurse entered the waiting area and whispered into Dr. Luke’s ear. She smiled and reached out for the siblings’ hands.

  “They’ve finished the testing, and your brother has regained consciousness. He’s asked for you both.”

  “That’s good news, right?” asked a suddenly buoyant Palmer.

  “I would say yes, absolutely. Let’s go see how he’s doing, but please, keep him calm. His attending physician and I will review the results of the CT scan. We’ll be in shortly to discuss the results with you. Okay?”

  “Okay! Lead the way!” Palmer’s demeanor had changed considerably. She was now leading Riley toward Cooper’s room.

  Dr. Luke dropped them off at the entrance, where a nurse was just leaving. “Nurse, these are the younger brother and sister of our patient. I’ve told them to keep calm and not excite their brother. Dr. Williams and I will be along shortly.”

  The nurse nodded and exited. Riley and Palmer hesitated before entering the room. Cooper lay perfectly still on the bed with several multicolored wires coming out of his hospital gown. Various devices registered his vitals, but it was the smile that crossed his face when they appeared in front of him that said all they needed to know. He’s gonna be all right.

  Dr. Luke hovered just outside the door to eavesdrop on the conversation. The three kids seemed very close-knit and obviously part of a loving family. When she heard the conversation begin, it left her somewhat puzzled, making her wonder if she’d misjudged the family dynamic.

  “Hey, Coop,” said Riley. “I reckon nothin’ can break that melon of yours.”

  “Dang straight,” he replied. “Hey, sis.”

  “You scared us, Coop,” Palmer responded. “You’ve never been kicked in the head before.”

  “See, now I’m good to go.” He gestured toward the door. “Have they told y’all anything?”

  Riley replied, “Nah, but they appear to be good doctors. I think you’re fine.”

  “Do you want us to call Momma and Daddy?” asked Palmer.

  Cooper raised his voice slightly. “No! The rule still stands. What happens on the road stays on the road. Agreed?”

  “You got kicked in the head, Coop,” Palmer insisted. “I mean, this is more serious than a busted-up shoulder or a broke arm.”

  “That’s the rule, though.” Riley answered Coop’s question.

  Reluctantly, Palmer confirmed it. “Okay, agreed. That’s the rule.”

  Chapter 4

  October 30

  USS Jack H. Lucas

  The Gulf of Oman

  The men pushed forward, timing their steps and leaps in unison, lifting each foot at just the right second to avoid tripping. Captain Andrew E. Abbey led the way through the hatch coaming of the open door and ran onto the forecastle of the USS Jack H. Lucas, a recently commissioned Arleigh Burke-class destroyer patrolling the Gulf of Oman off the coast of Iran.

  “Let’s go, SEAL!” he shouted back at his companion as he continued to lead their run through the forward part of the ship.

  His running companion, Duncan Armstrong Jr., was a former Navy SEAL who had been recruited by the Central Intelligence Agency to conduct rapid-response special operations. The two-man team of Duncan and Min Jun Park, an American of South Korean descent and a former Army Ranger, had joined the Lucas while she was in port at the U.S. Naval Forces Central Command in Bahrain. NAVCENT was home to the U.S. Navy’s Fifth Fleet, which was responsible for patrolling the Red Sea, the Arabian Sea, parts of the Indian Ocean and the Persian Gulf, the traditional hotbed of activity in the never-ending wars involving the Middle East.

  “I’m with ya,” Duncan shouted back as he ran onto Abbey’s heels. “You’ve got the home-field advantage.”

  Initially, Abbey had pushed back against the insertion of the CIA team onto his ship. He was not interested in being a staging ground for any black-ops crap, which would necessarily put his men at risk. But over the last several weeks, he and Duncan had found they had a lot in common and became good friends.

  “Twenty-two laps, three miles,” huffed the sweat-soaked captain as he took the steel stairs two at a time and exited onto the port side of the Lucas. It was just before noon, but the sun was already strong enough to blur the visual horizon with evaporating water. The seas were calm, making their footing a little less treacherous.

  Duncan, his short sandy-blond hair plastered to his forehead from sweat, darted past Abbey to take the lead. His U.S. Naval Academy tee shirt stuck to his skin, causing the large gold N, the logo of the Navy Midshipmen, to blend with his tan skin.

  The two men continued side by side, cutting a path between the forward-located missile launcher of the Lucas and the five-inch gun mount. The large gun mount stood out as a distinctive feature on the deck of the Lucas. Its odd, boxy shape looked like the top of a Star Wars four-legged armored transport and was far different from other Arleigh-class variants. The long steel barrel pointed across the bow, making no mistake as to its purpose.

  The missile launchers were not as pronounced. A series of hatches were set flush into the deck, reinforced with Kevlar steel, and shrouded vertical missile silos that contained the real
destructive capability of the ship.

  “Aren’t you scheduled to link up with your family today?” asked Abbey as he turned their run back toward the ship’s superstructure.

  “Yeah, at seventeen hundred. They’re early risers, like all ranchers. They pull on their boots, get in the saddle, and plan everything around feeding time.”

  Abbey glanced at Duncan and managed a laugh. “Do I detect a little sarcasm in that statement? Since you’re here, I take it ranching wasn’t your thing.”

  The men took a turn into the starboard-side blast doors and entered the ship once again. Abbey enjoyed the breath of cool air before ducking under a door opening and toward the aft deck.

  “No, don’t get me wrong,” said Duncan. “I’m proud of what my parents and the Armstrong family have accomplished over the last hundred fifty years. I just never got into it, ya know. Neither did my brother Dallas, who died in Kandahar. It wasn’t really a rebellion thing.”

  Abbey, who could’ve easily been mistaken for a boxer due to his toned body, reached the amidship’s break and a narrow section of open deck before they hit the aft deck. Several sailors stood flush against the superstructure to allow the tandem runners to pass.

  “Parents never get over it, do they?” asked Abbey.

  “Nope. None of my family did, especially my brother Cooper. He and my other brother and sister were still in their teens at the time. My parents were concerned they might follow my lead and join the military too. It was kinda weird, though. Dallas and I had the wandering genes in the family. We were the ones looking for a life outside of Borden County, Texas, population all of six hundred forty-two. Those three, that my parents call the rodeo kids, stayed close to home.”

  “Livin’ the life, obviously,” interjected Abbey with a laugh.

  “Oh, yeah. Bulls and blood, dust and mud. You know, just like Garth said.”

  The men passed an exhaust vent and took in a quick burst of fresh, cool air as they circled the aft deck. Two imposing obstacles greeted them in the form of the fifty-caliber guns mounted on each corner, both port and starboard. Working their way around the aft missile launcher marked the halfway point of their lap, a routine the two men shared daily when their duties permitted. Thus far, the last few weeks aboard the Lucas had been uneventful, until now.

  Chapter 5

  October 30

  USS Jack H. Lucas

  Off the Coast of Muscat, the Gulf of Oman

  The men increased their stride as an oil tanker passed on their port side along the coast of Oman, destined for the Strait of Hormuz. Part of the duties of the Lucas was to police the perilous waters stretching from the Persian Gulf to the west, through the Strait of Hormuz and Gulf of Oman. The Lucas, positioned slightly closer to the shores of Iran, was less than one hundred miles from either coastline. The heat of the day obscured their visibility somewhat, but the enormous three-hundred-thousand-ton vessel could be seen easily from their vantage point as it passed.

  The supertanker was nearly a mile away and would provide the Lucas a wide berth. With each subsequent lap, the vessel’s position would change until soon it was fading into the haze created by the heat.

  The men reached the boat deck and ducked under the ship’s rigid hull inflatable boats known as RHIBs. They had just reached the foredeck when an alarm sounded.

  Duncan’s first thought was to look toward the passing supertanker. He wondered if the ship had been some kind of ruse. The alarm sounded again, a loud electronic wail that pounded his eardrums and echoed off the steel of the destroyer built by the now Boston-based Huntington Ingalls Industries.

  Abbey didn’t hesitate, and the casual run instantly turned into a sprint. Duncan scrambled to keep up with the smaller, more athletic captain of the USS Lucas.

  Abbey had ducked through the starboard break when the piercing alarm was replaced with the booming baritone voice of the officer of the deck, or OOD.

  “General quarters, general quarters. All hands! All hands man your battle stations. Material condition ZEBRA. Repeat. Material condition ZEBRA.”

  When Duncan and Park arrived on the Lucas, Abbey had insisted they be given an extensive orientation of the ship, especially as to what events resulted in certain conditions of readiness. Duncan learned there were three conditions of readiness—XRAY, YOKE, and ZEBRA.

  XRAY provided the least watertight integrity and allowed for the greatest ease of travel through the ship. Condition XRAY was typically used when the Lucas was at port with no danger of attack.

  YOKE provided a moderate degree of watertight security. While in the Persian Gulf region, U.S. naval vessels operated at YOKE conditions, which required certain openings to remain closed at all times.

  Condition ZEBRA, which had been called for by the OOD, required the greatest degree of security and state of readiness for the ship’s crew. Duncan had learned that ZEBRA was set anytime general quarters was sounded. The crew immediately prepared the ship for imminent attack and undertook steps to maximize the ship’s watertight security.

  The alarm sounded again, followed by an announcement on the speaker system.

  “General quarters. General quarters. CO, your presence is requested on the bridge.”

  Duncan hesitated momentarily, unsure what to do. During their orientation, he and Park were not assigned battle stations because technically they weren’t even there. He assumed he should report to his quarters until further instruction. The captain of the ship provided him his answer.

  Abbey briefly turned to shout back to Duncan, “Come on. This is not a drill.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain. I’m with ya.”

  Duncan raced to catch up as the two men ascended the first of four steep ladders that led to the bridge. Sailors were scurrying in all directions, heading for their battle stations.

  Abbey reached his at-sea cabin, which was near the bridge. He had just opened the door and reached for his coveralls when the OOD made another announcement over the ship’s communications system.

  “Tac-sit one. Repeat. Tac-sit one. This is not a drill. SCAT away. Repeat. Away the small craft action team.”

  SCAT was an on-call unit whose members were trained to use a variety of weapons to defend the Lucas when there was a limited distance to respond. The concept came from the terrorist attack on the USS Cole off the coast of Yemen in 2000. Seventeen sailors died, and another thirty-nine were injured.

  The attack forced Washington to modify its rules of engagement with respect to approaching small boats. Following the attack, in June of 2001, an al-Qaeda recruitment video was released featuring Osama bin Laden boasting about the attack’s success and encouraging more like it. The Bush Administration responded by allowing U.S. Navy captains approval to fire upon the small vessels in order to protect the crew and the ships. A decade later, this approval was rescinded, leaving the U.S. Navy captains in a precarious position of having to choose between their crew and a political firestorm in Washington.

  The OOD’s announcement jarred Abbey, who dropped his coveralls and opted to enter the bridge in his running clothes. Duncan followed and closed the door behind him.

  The bridge of the USS Lucas was markedly different from past designs of the Arleigh Burke-class destroyers. Instead of the walk-around-style pilothouse that stretched from port to starboard, the new design offered a more compact module that protruded from the leading edge of the ship’s superstructure like a cantilevered sunroom on a beach house. The new design increased the view from the bridge substantially, allowing a clear field of vision of two hundred seventy degrees.

  The electronics of the bridge were a marvel of technology. Resembling the cockpit of the largest commercial jet in operation—the double-deck, wide-body Airbus A380—the newly commissioned Lucas was state of the art.

  Two contoured chairs surrounded by instruments packed into curved consoles were positioned in the center of the floor space. The forward chair was occupied by the helmsman, a junior petty officer who responded to the OOD’s orders
on which way to steer the ship and commands regarding engine speeds.

  The chair behind the helmsman belonged to the officer of the deck. This console was raised to provide the OOD unrestricted views through all the windows of the bridge. All other personnel, including the commanding officer and his second in command, the executive officer, stood at their stations.

  Duncan, through conversations with Abbey, learned that the captain was a wanderer. On his bridge, subordinates were expected to man their stations and stay out of his way. He preferred to have the freedom of movement to assess any threat. Duncan had never seen Abbey take the OOD’s chair.

  “Captain’s on the bridge!”

  Everyone stood to attention except the OOD and the helmsman.

  “Talk to me, John,” said Abbey in a take-charge tone. Lieutenant John Doherty was a five-year veteran and had been continuously assigned to the Lucas since it was commissioned.

  Lieutenant Doherty provided Abbey binoculars and pointed out the starboard windows toward a pair of dark shapes bouncing across the water at a high rate of speed. They were headed in formation directly for the Lucas.

  Duncan surveyed the instrumentation and the displays inside the bridge. One screen revealed two red diamond shapes blinking as they approached a symbol marked DDG-125, the designation for the Lucas.

  Lieutenant Doherty replied, “Cigarette boats, two of them, sir. They’re now two thousand yards out and approaching at just under eighty knots, sir. We first noticed them coming from the general direction of Kereti on the coast of Iran. Their approach seemed to be timed with the passing of the oil supertanker.”

  “And they’re taking advantage of the haze,” muttered Abbey as he studied the fast boats, which had now closed the gap to fifteen hundred yards.

  “Sir, this is their second approach,” added Lieutenant Doherty. “They’ve made a run at us already, suddenly veering off to return towards shore, only to now make a second approach.”