Ever Onward Read Online Free Page A

seemed to have slipped
into neutral. The words didn’t quite register. “We
what?”
    Fetti’s voice grated on his ears.
“Somebody’s shoved a grenade full of fresh new bio-germs up
our ass and pulled the fucking pin!” His suited hand stabbed at on
of the B-17’s round windows. “There dying by the millions out there! L.A.’s out! So is Frisco! The old man’s trying to raise
Miramar, but getting jack shit !”
    Years of training suddenly kicked in.
Waterson’s befuddled mind conjured up a picture of the White House.
“What about Washington ?”
    Fetti’s helmet nodded. “Airforce One
is already in the air.”
    Waterson sighed with relief. Fetti,
however, had more ‘jolly news’ to impart. “It gets worse, Sam.
Everything west of the Continental Divide is gone ! Colorado
Springs was on line, but then we just lost contact. Now Omaha’s
out!” He scrubbed at his helmet as though his gloved hand could
reach his hair. “Whatever the fuck this is, its moving east a hell
of a lot faster than we are!”
    Just then the plain banked sharply to
the right and Waterson bumped into Fetti. Both of them went down.
Several of the Germ Warfare boys also fell. Equipment tipped and
shattered. Waterson scrambled to his feet. Fetti didn’t. Waterson
staggered towards the cockpit. He didn’t notice that the others
still lay where they had fallen, or that Colonel Carter now sat
slumped over his blinking console.
    What he found in the cockpit did
little to ease his troubled mind. Squadron Leader Ben Hymus sat
half in, half out of the pilot’s seat, his gloved hands still on
the controls as the plane began to spiral downward. Leaping into
the co-pilot’s seat, Waterson righted the plane, got it back on
course and flipped the Auto Pilot switch. Then he turned to check
on Hymus. What he saw filled him with terror. Where the body of his
friend had been just moments before there now remained only a
sagging Contamination suit. Through the faceplate Waterson saw what
looked like a crumbling wasps nest.
    Someone screamed. A long,
piercing wail that chilled him to the bone. A part of his mind knew
it had come from himself, another part kept right on screaming. For
an undetermined length of time Lieutenant Sam Waterson just sat
there, silently screaming into the wild blue
yonder.
    Jocco walked out of the Officer’s Mess
and watched as the heavy B-17 came around for its final approach.
China Lake had a lot of runways, the only problem was that precious
few of them were clear. Besides various planes, most runways had an
assortment of trucks, jeeps and cargo loaders scattered about like
giant Fisher Price toys after an especially hard day in the
sandbox.
    Jocco’s cruel smile creased his
handsome face. Whoever was flying that baby was going to have to
really shuck and jive to make it down in one piece. Jocco didn’t
much care one way or the other.
    Lieutenant Walter J. Pinkton of
Personnel however, seemed to care one hell of a lot. Walter J. sat
in his jeep, his hands white on the steering wheel, his eyes glued
on the plane, a half-remembered prayer on his pale lips.
    Seconds after the B-17’s wheels
touched down, smoke trailed out behind as the brakes were applied.
The massive bird slowed, swerved to the left, straightened, and
clipped the top of a cargo loader with its right wing. Metal
screamed. Fuel began to spill out. The plane spun thirty degrees to
the right, passed over a jeep, plowed through two parked trucks and
proceeded on, at least two of the three vehicles now wedged under
the fuselage. More metal screamed. Sparks flew. The trail of
aviation fuel pouring out the right wing caught fire. Flames raced
alongside like a hungry beast. The front wheel missed a parked
truck but not the jeep just behind it. The tire blew, dropping the
nose down on the runway. More screams. More sparks. Then the entire
right wing exploded. The force of the blast shook the B-17 like a
rag doll in a dog’s mouth. In what seemed slow motion, the