Free Mortal: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse by Shawn Chesser

suffered a catastrophic problem ...
meaning, ladies and gentlemen, that we have a Black Hawk down situation outside
of the wire. Captain Jensen, I want you to have Oil Can Five-Five link back up
with the KC-135,”—a larger, jet-powered version of the prop-driven Hercules—“then,
once Five-Five is topped off, have Dover reverse on Jedi One-One’s last known
heading and begin a track-crawl search pattern along that route. I want the KC-135
orbiting on station until further notice or until they are on fumes and need to
RTB—return to base—to refuel themselves.”
    “Copy that,” said the captain as she began updating all
parties involved of the rapidly-changing mission profile.
    After taking in the entire exchange, and admiring Nash for
her rapid fire decision-making, Colonel Shrill made an executive decision and
quickly dispatched another airman to fetch him a fully-charged satellite phone
from the equipment room. Then he ambled forward; as he stepped up onto the
small briefing platform, his lanky frame blocked out the lights overhead and
cast a shadow on the diminutive major.
    “I think you are jumping the gun, Nash,” he said. “I
wouldn’t worry too much about Ari. He probably started telling dirty jokes and
the general ordered him radio silent because of the mixed company here.”
    “Doubtful,” said Nash immediately. “He’s brash and cocky and
Night Stalker through and through. But he’s no dummy. Orders or not, he wouldn’t
willfully go black.”
    Shifting from one foot to the other and totally unwilling to
acknowledge what his gut was telling him, Shrill looked away from Nash’s
piercing gaze and removed his cover. He didn’t want to pull rank and override
her in front of her staff, so he rubbed his bald head and pinched the bridge of
his nose in order to buy some time to think before trying to sell Nash his
glass-half-full scenario.
    “Better to be safe than sorry,” Nash pressed.
    “A precedent has already been set,” Shrill said. “Ari and
Durant only checked in with the TOC a handful of times during the Jackson Hole
mission. And correct me if I’m wrong, but that mission had zero satellite
overwatch because we were involved in a protracted engagement with the Chinese.”
    Nash was about to lobby Shrill to take a more proactive
approach toward finding the Ghost Hawk, but was preempted when the airman
returned with a thin satellite phone in hand.
    Shrill took the phone, handed it over to Nash, and went on
talking. “Major, you and I both know how finicky those Gen 3 rides can be.
That’s all I hear Whipper talking about. I have to fix this ... Ari
broke that ... ” he said, bringing his normally baritone voice up several
octaves in order to accurately mimic the owlish first sergeant’s voice.
    Suppressing a chuckle, Nash cut him off. “To refresh your
short memory, Sir . The Robert Christian snatch-and-grab was conducted under
strictly NOE—nap of the earth—flight rules while maintaining strict radio silence.”
    Shrill made a face that mirrored his resignation. He knew
the facts and he also knew that Nash was right in acknowledging and preparing
for every worst case scenario.
    Nash covered the hot microphone with one hand and said, “I
hate to correct you, Colonel, but what I think you meant to say is, ‘all that Whipper complains about,’ right?” She thumbed on the phone and waited until it
produced a tone indicating it had made a connection. She consulted her
clipboard, keyed in an eleven-digit number, and pressed the sleek black handset
to her ear. After thirty seconds, she said, “ Nothing . Gaines isn’t
answering.” She made a face and killed the call. Grabbing another set of
numbers from the sheet, she keyed them in. She hit send, then, an antithesis to
the frenzied motion of people working all around her, she stood stock still,
listening for one full minute. She grimaced, removed the handset from her ear, and
powered it down. She shook her head and said, “