Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined (15 page)

The pack's slightly glossed, black surface shimmered, even in the muted light that filtered its way through the clouds. The sculpted edges slid back across the body of the rig, the quick release parachute centred in the middle of the compartment.
 

The wings slid free as Woodwrow picked up the unit, the main spine folding outwards and clicking into place as he adjusted the harness to his body. Grasping the controls in his hands, he pushed the two small buttons mounted to the ends of the control sticks and fully deployed the wings. With a heavy clunk, they swung free, the carbon fibre panels slipping into place.
 

'This is a variation on the Gryphon wing developed by ESU, the German aeronautics firm. The Japanese took the design and created this platform for their fast deployment teams. It folds down and, unlike the other models, has no solid or liquid fuel rockets; this allows the user to carry in more kit and for a more compact collapsible design; however, that does limit flight time by a large amount. If you get into shit and have to eject the rig, hit these two clips and the button in the middle of your harness. A small CO2 canister will fire it away from you and instantly deploy your parachute. We call it the Jesus handle.'
 

One of the recruits looked puzzled by the statement. His expression made Woodwrow smile all the wider.

'If you are wondering why, and it looks like he is,' Kevin nodded in the recruit's direction. 'We call it that, because if it don't fire, you may want to pray. If the canister fails to eject your wing, then the chute won't have enough pull to right the wing's drag and your weight. And, well, concrete and the human body tend to not make very good bedfellows.'
 

Several of the gathered group chuckled, while others stared at the unit in front of them with a dose of sceptical fear that was more than would be considered healthy. Ignoring their bubbling fear and laughter, Woodwrow pushed onwards.
 

'Right, now, you saw me deploy the wings once I had this set up properly. If you hit the same controls to retract the wings during flight, you will simultaneously retract the platform and fire your parachute, which is fully detachable from the airframe; so, once you are within three to four feet of the deck, cut the chute and roll. We drop in on the move and come up firing.'
 

Woodwrow glanced over the heads of the gathered recruits to the slowly approaching aircraft as its drone reached his ears. A smile spread across his features as he watched the men tense up slightly at the heavy roar of the quad-engine aircraft spreading over them.
 

'Okay, kiddies, who is up for a bit of on-the-job training?'

The team filed into the C130, the wing packs weighing heavy on their backs, despite it being lighter than anything else they had ever had to carry. The thick strapping pulled and pinched as they moved. Woodwrow grinned as he watched them moving with a caution born from an unfamiliar circumstance; out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of black as one of the recruits sent his drop partner flying into the bulkhead as the wings of his pack deployed.

Stepping towards them, he grinned. 'At least we know they work.'
 

Leaning forwards, he held out a hand, the gloved fingers of the man on the floor curling round his wrist. 'You okay there, mate?'
 

The recruit nodded as he allowed Woodwrow to pull him to his feet; he tossed a slightly perturbed glare at his friend and rubbed the ache in his hip, the dull throb making him wince slightly as he pushed his equipment back into a more stable position.
 

The engines throbbed as the plane began to pick up speed. The plane's vibrations pulsed through them all as it thundered along the runway.
 

Woodwrow's eyes glittered with excitement as he felt the plane lift, his leg juddering as he drummed his heel off the floor.
 

'And here comes the fun part.'

Colinson watched the plane leave the runway, his mind drifting as he watched it drag its pregnant bulk higher into the sky, the pale washed-out light of the midday sun glinting off its matte grey skin. The scent of hot sake, richly spiced Sashimi and Chirashizushi made his mouth water slightly as his mind sent him spinning into a memory so closely held to his heart that it made him ache to visit it just once more; to gain a chance at revisiting the faces of those past and present and those he wished were not gone at all.
 

Stepping back to his desk, he lifted a photo frame from the top. He smiled as he stared at the collection of faces that gazed up at him from the glass-shielded photograph. His eyes travelled over the smiling, happy group of people, the coffee-tinged skin of the woman in his arms as he rested his chin on her shoulder, the smile on her face and the sparkle of her eyes as she cupped the side of his face with her hand, as she grasped the waist of another man; his face a mask of happiness as he stared at the camera.
 

Sighing, Colinson set the picture down as the memories of those two laughing, vibrant faces washed over him; he leant back in his chair, the frame squeaking under him as he put his feet up on the desktop. The soft metallic click of his lighter filled the room as he pulled a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket. Setting the cigarette to his lips, he dragged his thumb over the jagged, knurled wheel of his lighter as he watched the lighter burst into flame as the sparks danced over the petrol-soaked wick.
 

Colinson drew deeply on the tar-laden smoke as he let the memories flow over him, images dancing in his mind as he closed his eyes. He sent a wavering ring of smoke slowly floating up to the ceiling, its swirling ring of grey fog carrying with it the smiling face and loving eyes of the one woman he knew would always own his heart.

13
Japan

April 19, 2011

Silence reigned supreme as the team sat waiting for the light to hit green. Glancing at his men, Masahiro smiled, the dark faceplates of their helmets masking their expressions. He watched them intently; his men were ready, their backs rigid, shoulders squared. As the light in his head-up display blinked to green, the team rose to their feet as one and turned to face the opening cargo hatch.
 

The rotor blades thundered overhead as they made their way forwards, filling the space around them with a swirling vortex of wind. Ishikawa Masahiro glanced over at the man besides him, his form clad in a swathe of matte-black armour; then he nodded. Without a word, they leapt forwards, casting themselves out into the waiting arms of the void as lights and noise danced around them.
 

The neon kiss of Tokyo's night sky bathed their plummeting forms. With a flick of his thumbs, the wings unfurled from his back, sending him rocketing silently through the sky towards the waiting throng below.
 

His eyes danced over the cascading information as it danced around the inside of his helmet. The one-way mirror finished glass shielded his face from anyone and anything. Its surface was marred by scars and scuffs, no longer the pristine black mirror it once was. With a flick of his chin, he nudged at the pressure sensor, opening up a channel to the others around him. His clipped words rang in their ears as he watched four of them peel away and descend lower.

The building ahead of them loomed, a tall monolith of glass and steel. Masahiro raised his right arm as he listened to the soft whirring of the weapon mounted to his forearm. The dancing red dot traced a trail of light over the window as a glowing arc of white-hot metal burst forth, shattering the eight-foot tall glass panel, its glittering shards dropping to the ground below in a cascade of shimmering glass.

He spun his body backwards as the wings collapsed, folding away as the parachute burst forth; the crimson cloud of cloth billowed out and he felt his feet kiss the window's ledge. With a single touch, he sent the parachute drifting off into the night sky. As he surged forwards, four more black-clad phantoms dropped from the glittering ink-washed sky. They moved through the room, surging over it like a tide of locust, the torn and twisted bodies of office workers and janitorial staff littering the floor, cast aside like furniture in a hurricane.
 

Smooth, quick motions sent the others with him through the two connecting doors as he moved towards the hallway. His H.U.D sent a glowing shimmer over his face as he watched the blueprints of the building roll past his eyes. The ten moving dots of his team blinked slowly as they moved through the floor. A thump and mumbled curse made him turn; the wet slither of a razor through silk drew him forth as an Infected tumbled to the floor, its head rolling past his feet. Nodding at his teammate, Masahiro moved on, the weight of his weapon a comfort as he read the ammunition count in the bottom right hand corner of his display.

                                                            ****

Colinson watched the screen in front of him as the men moved with a precision he had only ever seen in the most highly choreographed of ballets. As if they were made of water, they flowed over the Infected, their black forms tumbling and rolling as the blades in their hands shimmered. The matte-black blades sliced through bone and flesh as if they were butter. Colinson's eyes widened further as he watched, amazed at the sheer overwhelming speed of their assault.
 

'I cannot believe this. It... it makes the Infected look like they're standing still; this is incredible, Matsumoto Sensei. Who taught them?'
 

The man turned, his trim form belying the power it held as he looked up from the screen in front of him. A glitter of pride danced in his eyes as he chuckled slightly, his eyes darting back to the screen, scanning the glowing lines of script as they rolled down the screen.
 

'Please, Captain, dispense with the formalities. We invited you here, not for any preening or gloating. We are genuinely looking to aid you and your men; and call me Masao. Matsumoto Sensei is far too formal for you. How long have we known one another?'
 

Colinson smiled as he let out a short sigh of relief. 'A very long time. You and my father served together on the joint task force in the eighties.'
 

Masao laughed, his deep-throated chuckle drawing curious glances from the staff around them, only to be quelled with a withering look from him a moment later. 'You don't have to tell me that, David; I remember it well. Your father was a good man and a dear friend. I miss him.'
 

Colinson turned away in a vain attempt to hide the welling tears in his eyes as he tried in vain not to dredge up the memories of his father.

Masao felt a twinge of regret as he watched Colinson turn away. Setting his hand on David's shoulder, he spoke. 'I didn't mean to cause you any pain, but you shouldn't let it cloud your head; we have important work to do here.'
 

Colinson pushed the memories aside as he turned back to face his father's lifelong friend. 'So, what's that kit they're using? I've seen something similar before, but... this... the armour looks like something from a Batman film.'
 

He trailed off, hoping Masao would take the bait. He didn't have to wait long; Masao sensed the prying taunt and ceded, letting the man before him have his little try at subterfuge.
 

'Have you heard of the wing-suit or wing pack?'
 

He watched as Colinson nodded and smiled slightly then continued. 'The Germans are working on a system for their men, and to be fair, any other Special Forces units that wish to try it out. They have become very accommodating in recent years. It is a step up from a parachute and a lot more effective at tactical deployment from a high altitude.
 

'We took the same idea and adapted it to suit our needs. You have seen how it is used; it allows us to deploy our teams quickly, quietly, and virtually undetected. With the Infected becoming a very real problem for my people, and the fact that we are usually fighting for a floor or foothold at a time, it allows us to gain access quickly and with a higher effectiveness than storming floor by floor or dropping in through the roof, as Masahiro so skilfully demonstrated. We combined the system with a ballistics combat suit based on prototype armour developed for our tier-one soldiers.'
 

Colinson's reaction was exactly what Masao had expected—a mix of admiration and envy that danced hand in hand with a hunger to appropriate it for his own uses. Stoking the flames, he pushed on.
 

'It is a completely self-sustaining and sealed suit; the armour itself can withstand assault from any edged or blunt weapon and dissipates the force through an impact gel layer beneath the plates themselves. Although, obviously, this only negates the smallest portion of the impact—enough to turn a killing blow into one that would wind or stagger the affected person.
 

'The suit also has a self-contained oxygen filtration system and re-breather; the filters of which are fixed into the rear of the helmet. Along with all that comes a communications suite and radar and tracking centre. All of this is integrated into the helmet and controlled through a group of pressure sensors during flight and a wrist-mounted touch interface when groundside.
 

'The weapons themselves are fairly basic, light armaments for faster movement. Each soldier is equipped with a forearm-mounted machine pistol, the magazine based on an old Russian system, with the muzzle located just behind the wrist. The trigger is two stage with a pressure bar mounted inside the glove that acts as the safety. There is a button housed on the outside of the index finger for either full-auto or single-shot fire, depending on how long you hold down the button… not fool proof but adequate.'
 

Colinson's head swam as he took the information in. It was too far-fetched to be real, yet he was seeing it in use in a full-fledged operation. Shaking his head, he laughed softly.
 

'I don't know what to say; you're rolling this off so calmly, yet your equipment—the armour, weapons, coms systems—it's years ahead of anything we have.'
 

Masao studied the man; the slump of his shoulders belied his true shame at the situation of his men. 'David, follow me. Takashi, take charge for a moment.'
 

The young officer nodded before bowing to his commander and taking a seat at the control centre.
 

'I know what you are thinking, and to an extent it's true; you are not as well equipped as my men... but... I know for a fact we would not stand a chance against what your men have and are facing. We are quick killers, suited to lightning strikes. I fear for my home, David. I truly do. If we cannot eradicate this plague from our shores, we will not survive. We are too clustered, too confined, and with our numbers of homeless and transient souls, it would spread through us like a wildfire.'
 

Colinson looked at the man beside him, his eyes betraying his thoughts as he looked at his father's oldest friend. Turning, he leant against the railings on the rooftop, the open helicopter behind them silent. The hum of the city below was a symphony of babbling voices and music as the city carried on, oblivious to the war being waged in its name all around them.
 

'How many of you are there?'
 

Masao dragged a hand through his hair as he let out a deep, drawn-out breath. 'Less than fifty; we numbered more, but... as I said, we're not a unit built for attrition.'
 

Colinson waited silently, listening to the buzz of the people below before Masao continued. '
Higashiyamato high school. It's in one of the cities in the western area of Tokyo. I think you went there once with Akemi.'
 

Colinson smiled, his eyes glinting slightly as he brought the memory forward. 'I remember.'
 

Masao smiled slightly as he watched the flashing neon lights below. 'I thought you might. She misses you.'
 

Colinson's head dipped slightly as he listened to the words and just what they meant. 'Has she said anything? Asked anything? Did you tell her anything? Anything at all?'
 

He waited for Masao to reply as they both listened to the hum of the hive below them, the listing traffic, and its constant droning.
 

'No.'
 

Colinson's heart dropped as the word settled in, leaving the silence as a wall between them. After several seconds of stifling, almost choking silence, Masao spoke. 'Anyway, it was there. This virus… or plague… whatever you call it, had ripped through the school like a tornado. It spread out from the canteen; the children there never stood a chance. And in the end, neither did we; they cornered the team in the gymnasium. Butchered them like cattle. They put up a good fight and went with their honour intact, but I would much rather have the men by my side than their damned honour plaques.'
 

****
 

Masahiro looked around him, the floor and walls stained a livid red. With a sharp flick of his left hand, he sent a jagged line of crimson arcing across the wall. The blade in his hand glimmered with the blood of the dead at his feet. He slid the blade into the sheath between his shoulder blades and slowly moved forwards. His eyes dropped to the counter again. The softly glowing fifty made him smile; he had changed magazines at some point and not even realised he had done it.