A/N: I only own the Major/Alex...
phantomsrose1209 & angeliena – Thank you for the reviews!
Realism love the Sarcastic – Thank you for giving this a chance!
And welcome aboard , My Wunderwaffle iz missin, AKgirl1993!
And a HUGE thank you to RenegadeMarine who has been an impromptu muse on the inner workings of the Arleigh Burke destroyer! Your insight is INVALUABLE to an Air Force brat like me.
Guantanamo Bay...One year earlier...
"Alright," the Major reappeared two hours later. "I have what you requested."
In her hand was a small container. It was approximately three inches in length and one inch in width. It was cool to the touch as it rested in her ready palm.
"Will it last in that?" Chandler peered curiously at the object.
"Yeah, yeah it should." She nodded though a spark of uncertainty laced her voice. "I'm not sure what you're thinking though. Frankly I wouldn't offer Ruskov shit."
"We have to try Major."
"You're way too generous of a man, Captain. Meeting Ruskov is risky. We don't know what he's planning. For all we know he could have a man with his finger on the button ready to ship our asses out on a mushroom cloud."
"The Major has a point," Slattery spoke up. "For all we know, that asshole could be digging in while everyone's sitting down for a friendly chat."
"We should blow his ass sky high," she added. "This is an Arleigh Burke class destroyer right?"
"Right," Chandler was impressed.
"Well if I remember what my dad and grandfather told me, this baby should have Raytheon Tomahawks on board; 56 if fully loaded."
"And he could easily retaliate with a nuke. It's not worth the risk Major." The Major was miffed but held her tongue.
"Then I want to go."
"Absolutely not. I need you here working with Doctor Scott. You going along would only play into his hands. We're taking Dr. Tophet."
"I can handle my own Captain. No offense to you or your men but I'm a proficient with a weapon which I demonstrated back at the warehouse. I can also engage in hand to hand combat and I did save your skin."
"For being an immunologist, you sure do know a lot about fighting. Why is that Major?"
The Major whipped around, bristling at the XO's veiled implication.
"Because Commander," she two short steps until she was inches from his face so only he and Chandler could hear. "I spent two tours in Afghanistan and a stint in Columbia. The cartels, they don't appreciate it when gringos are on their turf; even if it was because of a viral hemorrhagic fever that was decimating their slave labor and nearby villages. I took a bullet," she dug a finger into the center of her right shoulder; as though she was driving her point home for any and all. Slattery stared her down, refusing to let some lower ranked officer stand him up like that. But the Major wasn't finished." And I gave 8 more to the cartel goons in return. Tell me, XO Slattery, have you done the same? Hmm? Have you seen combat or taken a bullet for your shipmates? I have seen things that would make the South Side of Chicago look like goddamn Mayberry."
"N-no but-" the Major shot her finger up, pointing it at the ceiling.
"I thought just as much. So please, don't you dare attempt to subvert me like you did with Dr. Scott. While she may take your verbal abuse I won't."
"Major," Chandler warned and she took a step back from his XO.
"If you need me when you return Captain, I will be in the lab. But first, I would like to clean up if that is allowed and perhaps some clothes if possible." Her tone softened but her eyes remained hard.
"Lieutenant Foster," he called the young brunette standing several feet away. Her hair was similar to the Major's dark cocoa strands; tied neatly in a perfect bun at the base of her skull. The Major estimated her age to be mid 20s.
"Sir," Lieutenant Foster was alongside the Major.
"Escort Major Koch to S-3 then to clean up. "
"Aye aye Sir," she gave a respectful nod then paid the same to the Major before leading her out. Chandler waited until the pair was out of sight before calmly shoving his hands in his pants pockets and only giving a curt nod to Slattery.
"I see you heeded my warning," he pushed the door to his stateroom open waiting for his XO to enter before shutting it behind them. Chandler leaned on the desk, crossing his hands over his chest. "I told you she would bite back."
"I was merely asking why she knew something that someone in her line of work would know so little about. Scientists aren't exactly known for their fighting skills." His defense was transparent.
"No, you were attempting to undermine her. Damn it Mike!"
"Tom-" Chandler shot a hand up, immediately ceasing any further attempt to speak.
"You're angry I get that. Dr. Scott lied to all of us about what was going on back home. You undermined her in front of the officers before we went onshore."
"We had to maintain radio silence for FOUR months! We couldn't warn our families back home."
"Doesn't mean you take your frustrations out on Major Koch. She was out on the front lines trying to stop this; out in the hot zone. Back off the Major. She's here to help. This is not what I expect of my Executive Officer or any of my officers for that matter. If you put a hand on her like that again, I will have you detained."
"But Major Koch-"
"I will speak with the Major regarding this incident." Chandler closed the space between them, dropping his shoulders as he paused. Clearly his XO was distressed, regretting his decision to act in such a fashion. "I need my XO to-"
"Fall in line right?" Slattery tensed rather seethed with eyes narrowing at his CO. "Like a good XO is supposed to. Don't question his commanding officer's orders. We should just get over the fact that we were lied to!? What's not to say Major Koch isn't hiding something from us!?"
"Mike," Chandler began to say but Slattery cut him off.
"I get it." Slattery turned for the door, pausing to turn his upper body around. A strange smile cracked his lips as if he was in disbelief. "You really think that Major Koch will help? That she can provide something more to this?"
"Why would she lie Mike? She's been stuck on Cuba for God knows how long. No access to phones, Internet, or radio contact. Her equipment and samples were lost, yes. But she still has a brain; a brain that has more information about this than us. If we had stopped in Jacksonville, we wouldn't have the Major and what she knows about this."
"Thanks for taking me to get something...clean." The Major had her arms jutted out, keeping the fresh scented shirts, pants, underwear, socks, towels, and washcloth away from the taint of the bloodied sand top. To compliment the tidy stack was a small sack that had a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, razor, deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, and soap; gathered from the ship's store. The younger woman noticed how she carried it like a crate of eggs.
"You're welcome," Foster smiled as they headed for the showers. "How long were you out there? I mean before the Captain found you."
"Honestly," the Major attempted to recall, "I lost track after one week. I guess when al Qaeda assholes are setting traps for you, time takes a backseat."
"Oh," Foster felt slightly embarrassed for asking.
"Hey, don't feel like you did something wrong in asking," the Major shook her head. "After a while days and nights kind of melted together. It'll be nice to have some sort of structure again. Even if it is in a fully encapsulated suit. So, when's the next meal? Bananas and mangoes every day with a few rations raided from the warehouse grew pretty tiresome in a hurry. Not to mention how it played Hell on my insides."
The sudden shift in subject sliced through the uneasiness that surrounded Foster and the smile returned.
"Officers take their meals in the Wardroom and enlisted take theirs in the General Mess. Three meals daily with the galley being open 24 hours."
"So no one will freak out if I happen to pop in with the enlisted and catch a bite at say 2 AM?"
"No ma'am," she smiled again.
"Don't call me ma'am; it makes me feel old. Call me Major or Alex. My cohorts at USAMRIID called me Alex."
"Alright, Major," they arrived at their destination. "When you're done, I'll take you to your stateroom."
"I get my own room!?" The bewildered expression was hard not to smile about.
"Yes, you get your own cabin. Your bag was placed in there already by the MSs."
The Major's face fell then quickly picked up.
"Is something wrong Major?" Foster caught the brief darkness.
"What?" The Major shook her head. "Oh, no, it was just I wasn't expecting someone to do that; that's all. I guess I'll get cleaned up then get my hands dirty so to speak."
The Major slipped through the door with ease, wondering how the taller women and men made it through some of the smaller openings without hitting their heads. Surely they had on more than one occasion. When she had visited the USS Missouri, her dad had bumped his head on the descent from the deck.
She paused, studying the simple layout: Dual showers side by side with identical yellow tan curtains. Rubber mats lined the pinhead textured flooring. A set of identical stainless steel sinks stood to the right with institutional size mirrors perched six inches exactly over both. Placing her bundle on the bench, the Major began the joyous task of peeling the weeks of filth away. Would it be worth having these laundered? It may not hurt. It was only blood and dirt. The boots were shucked and dropped under the bench with the thick socks, cammo pants, and finally the notorious dirty shirt. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, seeing a stranger staring back.
With caution she approached, noting how her movements were mirrored by the other. The haunted look aged the otherwise strong features. The defined jaw and neck caked in a medium grade layer of mire. Arms scratched up from expeditions into the underbrush and fencing of the base, save for the unsullied badge of honor. Doc Rios had the foresight to use waterproof tape and bandaging. Her head titled upright, angling down to the disfigured strip of flesh; a reminder of what she had endured in Columbia. Slowly she brought up her right index finger, letting it swipe over the dead trail for a few moments.
The shades of sapphire continued their investigation, tracking down the center, along the sternum, then pausing at the fresher injury just above her left hip bone. It still hurt, sometimes, but it had fallen silent. The lack of medical supplies outside the hospital had left her exposed to infection. It was a little memento from her abrupt arrival to Gitmo.
The trip back had been rough.
Turbulence had been their constant companion since departing Georgetown; rocking the Gulfstream C-20 the instant they reached cruising altitudes. Her shoulder throbbed like a drum; a departing gift courtesy of the Patria cartel a few years back. Every so often it would flare up, burn like a nighttime fire for a few weeks then go still for an unknown period of time. Though the scar, which stood out like a lone peak across a prairie, was something of a symbol of sorts. Her colleagues had jokingly said she earned her own red badge of courage in the jungles of Central Colombia. To the Major, it was another day in the office. It wasn't the first nor would it be the last time she would have a gun trained on her. It was the price of doing fieldwork in some of the most dangerous corners of the world.
In 2000, she had been part of a team that delved into the heart of Iraq, seeking out any, if such existed, evidence of an active biological weapons program. Two centrifuges and 10 test tubes of non-viable spores was not what she would've considered evidence of anything other than something a high school or basic level college microbiology lab would have. Several of the older, seasoned "experts" had been resentful of her very presence; one from her own station! Well they could go fuck themselves as she had told one one late night after an exhaustive search of a suspected lab. Now...Now they were all dead. The Major couldn't express any form of elation or relief they were no longer alive but rather pity. They had not listened to Dr. Scott when this was in the early stages; when it was an isolated outbreak in Giza, Egypt. It would be like SARS! They expected it to hit a viral roadblock then die out a few months later.
They were wrong...
They were all dead wrong...
She, along with a few others, were the only ones left who could run SAM without hesitation. The samples procured from the victims of the Ramses strain were different than what she had back at the lab. It brought the total up to 6; 6 strains that existed. But one of them stood out. One was altered by human intervention. Someone had been tinkering with this virus. What was she not surprised by this? Of course some asshole would do it. No different than with antrhax, smallpox, plague, and a plethora of other biological agents that were altered to suit the needs of governments hell bent on mutually assured destruction.
"Major," the pilot's voice crackled over the headset.
"Major Koch," she responded.
"We're having problems with Engine 2. We're en route to Guantanamo Bay."
"You gotta be kidding me right?! I have samples that are time and temperature sensitive! We need to get back to Maryland!"
Before she could issue another protest, the plane dropped vertically, pressure dropping rapidly in the cabin. The Major's hands clawed the arm rests with legs braced against the base of the seat. The muscles in her forearms, calves, and thighs screamed as lactic acid accumulated from the pressure weighed upon them. Somehow, she managed to summon the will to peer out the window. The dawn was breaching the horizon, outlining the coast of Cuba. Below the small island of urbanization known as Guantanamo Bay hugged the coast and immediate areas. She couldn't comprehend what was going on on the ground, her mind locked in a perpetual state of terror. The abrupt brush of the oxygen mask didn't pull her back but her hands automatically gathered the hard plastic apparatus, securing it around her face. Her were robotic and blocky as the band was tightened at the back of her head. Slowly she inhaled, realizing she had not been breathing but holding in.
This was it.
She was going to die in a fiery crash on a goddamn island! Cuba on top of that!
At least she would be reunited with everyone she lost. Family, friends...Mark. Yes, he would be the first one waiting with arms wide open and that stunning smile that had won her over that first night they met.
He was waiting for her.
The pain would be severe, enough to drive her temporarily mad. Her body would be racked with such unspeakable pain and agony but it wouldn't be long. It's not like cancer or Alzheimer's which took its sweet time eating away mind body and soul. Unconsciousness would be her ally. It would ferry her across the bridge into the sweet arms of Death. No more pain. No more pestilence. No more affliction.
"I'm coming," she breathed and let the smile gather as she slowly shut her eyes. Her body went limp against the cushions. "I'm coming."
The Major scrubbed her face then pushed off the edge of the sink. She had survived the crash. The pilot, co-pilot, and Dr. Jenner had perished. It had been unknown if they were in pain or had gone fast for she had been knocked unconscious on impact.
"Snap out of Major," she chided herself while drawing the curtain across.
It was strange, being clean and in clothing that didn't have the blood of your enemy on it. The shirt was roomy; a navy blue short sleeved shirt with the iconic outline of the James and the words "USS Nathan James DDG 151" adorning the top and bottom plastered on the back. The Major leaned her head right, letting her nose bury into the soft materiel. Mmmm it was heaven. The underwear was a bit snug but she wasn't going to complain. The items that had passed as clothes were in the process of being laundered; if they could be called that.
"A real bed," she collapsed onto the bunk, diving face down into the pillow. Beat using a duffel bag any day! The thin sheet rubbed against her legs, another stimulation of regaining her sensation of humanity. A few moments wouldn't hurt. A few precious moments spent just being human.
"No," her body swung upright with legs dangling over the edge. "Have to get back to work." The Major spied her bag on the metal framed chair, resting against the vinyl backing. She rose, hearing her knee joints crack like fireworks though it didn't hurt. Cradling the precious baggage in her lap, she tugged at the partially scorched zipper. The laptop was unscathed; the only thing to survive the crash. She had been clutching it to her chest with such viciousness not even Tex could have pried it from her iron hold. He didn't ask what it was, respecting her privacy.
There was an outlet on the wall under the drab desk. Uncertainty loomed given there had been no power on the island. Everything could be lost.
"Don't even think like that," she snapped at herself. "Don't EVER let yourself think like that again."
She had purchased the HP prior to her departure. It had the Kansas State mascot sticker on it; her Alma matter. It took a moment once she plugged it in, waiting for the machine to warm up. She shivered involuntarily, reacting to the dry chilled environment. She had been acclimated to hot and humid with her time in Guiana and Cuba but had been abruptly thrust into cool and dry. The Major rubbed her arms creating little friction but it was short lived.
The log in screen came up. Like riding a bike she recited the password with ease. Next, she sifted through a smaller pocket. The 16 GB flash drive was still in one piece. Her left hand shifted and moved it around, allowing her eyes to assess any But there was only one way to know what it held was still viable.
She clicked on the folder labeled G: Lexar. So far so good. Next she sorted through the neatly organized files. He research on the 6 strains were accessible. Relief was trickling in but she withheld complete elation.
"Here we go," her finger glided over the mouse pad, double clicking on the right button. She waited and watched the files come up one by one until all 20 of them were present. Like soldiers in roll call, each one answered when highlighted and summoned. "Everything's here." Now she could drop in the seat. "It's all here."
The tension that coiled in her chest lifted giving her lungs the sweet air it had withheld.
It had been difficult to not share in the Captain's longings as she too desired an end to this. The way his eyes lit up, although fleetingly, when he declared that she and Rachel were going to save them all had sent a minute charge up then down her back, igniting the nerves in a long forgotten sensation.
Maybe there was hope for them.
Captain Chandler thought so.
"Rachel!"
Rachel pulled her attention from the computer and to her newest team member. In her hands were two mugs with an equally sweet smile.
"I thought you could use some green tea. I got it from the Wardroom so it may not be what you're used to."
"Alex, you didn't have to." She gratefully accepted the offering. Hydration was essential. The lab was kept dry, like the winter air back home in Britain. It robbed the nose mouth and throat of moisture which created entry ways for every flu, virus, and seasonal infection that traversed the masses.
"Well since we're parked here in scenic Guantanamo Bay, I thought a small break would be in order. Besides, you can catch me up on what you've found out and I can fill in the blanks for you. Unfortunately I lost a lot of my work when my flight went down." The Major paused, taking a short ship of the savory brew. "Did you find it?"
"I did. It was in the Arctic like I suspected." Excitement elevated her voice. "But we nearly lost them."
"What do you mean?" Why did she even ask that question.
"The Russians showed up on the tundra. Quincy and I were in the middle of fleeing when I fell and the case was nearly lost."
"Jesus," the Major shook her head. If she wasn't clutching the mug in her hand she would've made two tight fists and slammed one into desk. "Goddamn Ruskov. Had to be him unless there's another Russian ship floating around somewhere. But I highly doubt that."
"Well Captain Chandler wasn't exactly thrilled either. He threatened to throw the case overboard after we returned. Said that a bunch of vials of ice weren't worth losing his men over or igniting World War III. I had to tell him the truth after that. Angry would be a kind way of describing his reaction."
"What the FUCK was his thinking!? I suppose that made you the ship's pariah. I should talk to the Captain. Tell him I was the one that lined up his ship for this. I was one of the team that ordered this. Maybe it'll take some of the burden off of you. It's not fair you take the heat alone. I can handle it."
"Well he accused me of being the reason he had 'started' war with Russia because they were after us. But it turns out a faction broke off from the government."
"Yeah I saw a lot of that happening in the Third World and even beginning in the European nations before I left. I bet Ruskov is operating under his authority. But it doesn't explain how he knew we were here. No one outside of Tex knew I was at Gitmo and the only people who knew you're here are on this ship or dead."
"Right," Rachel wondered where she was going with this.
"Someone's a mole. Either he got to someone or he's just damn good at tracking us. I'm not a gambling soul but I wager it's the former. Only thing is we don't know who or where they are. They could be alive on the mainland with open comms or it could be more than one person scattered across this damn planet. RUSSIANS!"
"Alex, if I may ask, why do you seem to know about Ruskov or what he is like?"
The Major placed her mug down and pulled up a seat beside Rachel. The glow of the computer screen paled her face and neck.
"My grandfather and dad were Navy. Dad had been involved in some exercises in which he crossed paths with Ruskov. I had the 'honor' of meeting him when I was a teenager. The man is a freaking genius when it comes to naval tactics. I got to see some of the war games and 80% of the time he outwit, outsmart, and outlasted the other navies. If he wanted to, he could vanish and become a ghost. He's shrewd, intelligent, and arrogant. It's that Cold War mentality; the Old Guard never died. I hope the Captain knows what he's getting himself into by playing tea party with him. Honestly, it's a waste of time. I wouldn't trust my dead grandmother with him."
She hurried to busy her mouth with the mug, catching the stunned expression on Rachel's normally calm facade.
"Why don't we get to work?"
"Yes, I agree," the Major nodded and polished the remaining 1/3 cup off. It had chilled but it was still delicious. "Start with what you've found out since leaving Norfolk."
"Tom, I'm not sure this is a good idea. I mean even Major Koch voiced concerns. That should count for something. Clearly she has some insight about him."
Chandler and Slattery were proceeding down the dock towards the end of the pier. The CO was in a biohazard suit, minus the mask. His arms and hands cradled a Carbine with muzzle down.
"Mike, Constantine Ruskov is a naval genius. He practically wrote the book on modern naval warfare."
"Gee why don't we get him to sign your copy."
Chandler halted, seeing the suspicion returning to his XO's eyes. Mike had fought him on nearly every decision, every call made after departing Florida. He pushed and Chandler pushed back with equal if not greater ferocity. The US Government was GONE. The last time they had heard anything from home had been over a week. Making difficult calls and orders was not what he had signed up for but it had to be done. It needed to be done.
"I know you're still upset about the decision to pull away from Florida. You've been resisting the entire way."
"Damn right I have been. We were given orders by the President."
"Orders that came 5 days after they were dispatched. No one is picking up in the Bunker. There is NO MORE government; no more command structure for us to fall back on which puts it on my shoulders."
Chandler shocked himself with his words. It was as if they were second nature; that he had been issuing these orders for years!
"Look, I need to look him in the eyes; look at him face to face."
Slattery was silent but to continue this argument was a moot point. Chandler was set in his plan to meet Ruskov. What could he possibly hope to accomplish? That son of a bitch wouldn't let them pass. He made it painfully clear he would destroy them before allowing the Nathan James to sail into the sunset.
They were sitting ducks.
Mike, Mike, Mike...Will you learn not to piss off the Major? She bites!