Within the Oval Office, President Wilma sat behind the historic desk as the latest planning meeting got underway.

“Our facility at Raleigh is producing the British solution in quantity now but we still have a deployment problem,” the virologist reported.

“Our distribution links are pretty well severed mam,” the Sec of state added.

Wilma shook her head.

“Surely after putting a ruddy man upon the moon we can figure out a way to get this cure out to the survivors.”

Admiral Kimmel had arrived the day before from Pearl and was listening intently to the banter.

“There may be a way to do this mam.”

Wilma smiled at her former boss.

“The navy has a plan sir?”

The admiral opened his brief case and took out a wad of paper before handing them around.

“Just what are we looking at?” the Sec of State asked.

“A diagram of wind direction sir,” Kimmel said with more than a hint of surprise.

“How can this help us?” the baffled virologist asked.

The admiral smiled.

“On this planet sir the north winds are driven west/east whilst the southern hemisphere sees this process reversed.”

“So what are you driving at?” the virologist asked.

The admiral shook his head at the obvious lack of vision.

“We still have old empty Cold War bio warheads sir. We simply load this cure into eight of them and launch.”

Wilma rolled her eyes at the nerve of the man.

“You kept empty warheads despite our treaty?”

“Yes mam. Just in case of certain developments.”

For the Sec of State, the plan was far too simplistic.

“I take it you want to detonate four warheads in each hemisphere?”

The navy man nodded politely.

“It is absolutely essential mam. By striking at key points in the high and low latitudes, the retro virus will have a damn good chance of global spread.”

“You have always had such a plan?” the virologist asked.

“We called it operation wildfire sir. It was originally designed as a doomsday option if the Soviets looked like winning the third world war.”

Wilma and those around her were truly horrified that such a plan really existed.

“I call that monstrous,” the virologist said.

“Absolutely insane,” the Sec of State added for effect.

The president raised her hand for quiet.

“How long would it take to have an effect?”

“Around a month mam,” Kimmel said happily.

Wilma turned to the virologist for help.

“Are the Brits sure that this new strain has no unknown side effects?”

He nodded.

“They tested it on two subject's mam, and then exposed them to firepox. The killer had no effect upon them.”

The Sec of State shook her head.

“We cannot do this mam. Once unleashed it will put everyone at risk.”

“What else can we do?” Wilma asked.

“Allow it to burn itself out,” the Sec of State replied with confidence.

“It may not do that,” the virologist warned. “Come winter it could mutate again.”

“I understand that rates of transmission are falling,” the president said.

“They are mam. I should add though that accurate figures are hard to come by these days.”

“The plan will work mam,” the admiral said.

The president was really trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea. She considered the chance that firepox would indeed mutate and wipe out what was left of humanity.

That was indeed the clinching argument in the end.

“Contact the USS Virginia sir and have them returned to Pearl so that the missiles can be loaded.”

“I took the liberty of doing that already mam. The boys at Raleigh have the warheads, and are simply waiting for the order to fill them.”

Wilma nodded and said, “You have the go ahead sir, and well done on your fore thought.”

As the meeting ended, she placed her face into her sweating palms and muttered, “This had better be the right decision my girl.”
...
Cheryl had spent the week writing down her experiences as Fronter continued with his military duties. When he returned to the small staccato flat, she glanced up at him.

“How was it today?”

He suddenly smiled at her.

“There was an announcement on the short wave transmitter within the last hour. The Americans intend to spread some kind of counter virus across the globe by missile.”

Cheryl dropped the pen in shock.

“You are kidding of course.”

Fronter shook his head.

“It’s true my dear. They intend to launch from the Pacific within the next hour. Apparently it was agreed last week.”

“Then all this is coming to an end.”

“That is right; we will have a chance to rebuild again.”

Cheryl smiled at the thought.

“That would be nice. You still did not tell me how your day had been.”

He sat beside her and saw the scribble.

“Still at it?”

“Nearly finished. I really need to visit the farm.”

He shook his head.

“Is that wise? After everything you have been through?”

“It needs to be done Fronter. I need to lay that ghost to rest.”

Her friend nodded.

“We still have enough daylight left to go now if you want.”

She nodded and stood.

“Just let me grab my coat first.”

The drive to Matanzas took just under an hour and when they stopped upon that old country road, there was no sign of the car.

“Probably got washed away,” she muttered.

They stepped out and looked across the hillside with some shock.

The bracken, bushes, and trees had been smashed and the dirt churned up. A brown stew lay all around them.

“What a damn mess,” she muttered.

With the trooper at her side, she made her way toward the old farmstead, or what was left of it. When they reached it, she simply stared with open mouth.

The gate and fencing was nowhere to be seen, and the home now lay flat and broken. The pigsty and coop had been reduced to bits and pieces, and the air stank with rotting animal flesh.

Cheryl put a hand over her mouth to prevent vomiting.

“I’ve seen quite enough now.”

As they climbed into the van, she turned on the radio and listened to the emergency frequency.
...
Deep within the Pacific Ocean, Captain Vanderhofen and his crew waited the presidential order with deep concern. He had never really considered the possibility that one day his birds would fly. Despite the weekly drills.

“Depth a hundred sir,” sonar reported.

“Keep us there. Any word yet com?”

“The babe is silent sir,” the communications officer replied.

Vanderhofen turned to his number two.

“What do you think?”

The young officer shook his head.

“If you ask me sir I think the top brass have lost their minds. These birds were never designed for benign purposes.”

“I know that sir. Perhaps fighting fire with fire has become our only choice.”

At that moment com barked, “Flash message from Pacific Command.”

The officer tore it off and handed it over to the captain.

Vanderhofen read the code and handed it back.

“Enter the launch code into the combat computer.”

He rolled his eyes before turning to the helmsmen.

“Bring us to launch depth.”

Vanderhofen wandered over and took the communicator.

“Action stations missile. This is not a drill. Prepare birds one
through eight for launching.”

As everyone dashed to their combat positions, the dark missile platform rose to its designated position. Then the bow dropped as it assumed launch configuration.

Vanderhofen took the key from around his neck and stood by his launch control station. His number two waited by his own.

“On my command insert keys and turn to position one.”

“Yes sir.”

“Three, two, one, turn.”

As the keys engaged the eight missile indicators turned to green.

“Do we follow protocol sir and wait the five minutes?”

The captain nodded.

“You never know, they may indeed change their minds.”

As the clocked ticked down, he watched the communication officer closely.

“Any word com?”

“No sir.”

As the clock hit zero Vanderhofen said, “On my mark turn key to launch position.”

“Yes sir.”

“Three, two, one, mark.”

As the keys reached the final position, the missile indicators turned blood red.

“All birds ready for firing sir,” launch control reported.

Vanderhofen closed his eyes and said, “Launch one through four.”

The sub shook as the missiles were squirted toward the surface upon a column of compressed air. As they broke surface the main engine fired.

“Birds running hot and clear sir.”

Vanderhofen suddenly realised that his arm was shaking.

He counted twenty seconds and then said, “Launch five through eight.”
For the second time, the sub shook as the missiles were released.

“Crash dive! Bow planes at fifty down.”

Aye sir.”

The bow dropped further as the sub started to drop like a stone toward the dark depths.

These missiles only carried a single warhead each that day. As they soared into space the main bus separated as the auto guidance took over. When they reached the correct point, retro’s fired to begin the re-entry sequence.

High above the northern pole, the four warheads detonated with a whisper. Shortly after, a similar event occurred over the southern pole.

Now it was up to Mother Nature. Man had done his best for a change.
...
Within their Havana flat, Fronter and Cheryl listened to the broadcast and waited for confirmation of success.

Thirty minutes after the event, the frantic announcer suddenly babbled something in Spanish and Cheryl gazed at her friend.

“Well?”

“They did it!”

He grabbed her and began dancing with joy as noise erupted across the capital.

As the news spread across the globe, other survivors began impromptu celebrations at their deliverance. In all the hubbub, the important point was missed completely.

The new strain would take a month to spread worldwide before the survivors began to contract it. Only then would they be truly safe.

For now though, the deaths would continue.

...Posted...Midnight 6 BST..Tuesday...

OK you have me on pins an needles.

Ta...