Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  It only took a few minutes of winding through darkened, deserted hallways and stepping over the bodies, busted-up equipment, and trash to make it to the basement. The North Koreans had really shot the hell out of the hospital. Cooper imagined the upper floors of the hospital must be crammed full of terrified civvies: patients, family members, doctors, nurses, and staff. He didn’t like leaving them behind, but his mission was to secure the President at all costs.

  Once on the basement level, his advance guard was readily challenged by some nervous-looking agents in tactical gear. However, following recognition, the hard-pressed agents’ faces radiated relief. Cooper was again very impressed with the agents’ attention to detail – especially the expedient redoubt that had been constructed. Gurneys and equipment carts had been knocked over and positioned in such a way that if an enemy were to make it down here, they’d have to work their way through the obstructions in a zig-zag pattern that would keep them exposed from many angles. The North Koreans would have paid dearly to fight through that maze of death.

  The final ring of barricades was manned by agents with automatic shotguns, pistols, and even a few grenades. Cooper nodded as he walked past, carbine pointed at the ground.

  He could see movement just beyond the semi-translucent plastic surgical tent that had been attached to assorted bits of HVAC equipment. Power to the lights and monitoring gear appeared to be provided by a curious tangle of cords leading from a few devices Cooper imaged had been hastily liberated from an operating room.

  A short woman in teal-blue scrubs with auburn hair pulled into a loose ponytail glanced up from the bloodied agent she was tending to on the floor. She stood up, knuckling her back in a feline stretch and looked him over.

  “Who the hell are you guys?”

  “Navy SEALs, ma’am,” Cooper said, feeling heat rush into his face. Standing there before her in bloodied armor, tactical-vest, helmet and black BDUs, he suddenly felt uncomfortable, like he was under-dressed at a formal event. He looked around the makeshift ICU, cleared his throat, and refocused is attention.

  “We heard you needed some assistance. Can you tell me where I can find the doctor tending the President?”

  “Yes. I’m one of them.” She smiled and adjusted the stray lock of hair that threatened to tumble down across her face. Cooper’s mouth went dry—she had lovely hair and that smile was the prettiest thing he’d seen on a night full of horror—but he chased his wandering thoughts away. Mission first, damn it, he chided himself.

  The doctor whispered something to a passing nurse decked out in blood-splattered green scrubs, who stared open-mouthed at the arrival of the SEALs. Cooper watched as the nurse nodded and moved back toward the plastic tent, eyes still on his grim-looking SEALs.

  “The Chief of Emergency Medicine for the hospital is in with the President right now.” The pretty doctor pointed over to the corner. “Dr. Fletcher—he’s our top thoracic specialist—is resting. He’s the only other doctor that made it…down here…” She pulled off a bloody latex glove and extended her clean, soft hand. “I’m Dr. Alston. Brenda.”

  “Master Chief Cooper Braaten, ma’am,” he said as he shook her hand. It was soft, in the way that women’s hands were, yet had a supple strength to it that sent electricity shooting down his spine at her touch. He had to force himself to remove his hand before the handshake turned awkward. He cleared his throat again and looked around, suddenly grateful to be watching his men talking with the agents as they helped to secure the perimeter

  Dr. Alston hugged herself and sighed. “You guys couldn’t have picked a better time to show up. When those soldiers showed up and started shooting everyone…”

  “Ma’am, you don’t know the half of it.” Cooper shook his head. “I never would have believed what I’ve seen outside if I hadn’t lived through it. I need to talk to the President.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Alston said with a genuine look of sorrow on her face. “He’s got a really bad fever. He’s actually delirious most of the time…”

  Cooper frowned and looked around the basement, trying to organize his thoughts. He’d never before had to fight himself to remain on mission. Every time he glanced at Dr. Alston, the world seemed to grow brighter.

  God damn it, sailor, there’s a war going on! Think about the doctor’s ass some other time! It is pretty nice, though....

  “We need to move him, now.” Cooper said in a tone he immediately regretted. He hadn’t felt so flustered like this since high school for cryin’ out loud. “This basement isn’t secure enough. Hell, the damn city isn’t secure. No, we gotta get him out of Los Angeles.” He put his hands on his hips and rolled his neck. After a satisfying crack, he sighed and said: “We put a hurtin’ on the NKors, but they’re gonna be crawling all over this place pretty soon.”

  Jax walked by and smiled at Dr. Alston, reloading his M60 in stride. “The North Koreans are easily frightened, but they’ll soon return…and in greater numbers,” he said in his best Alec Guinness voice.

  “I’m serious, Obi Wan,” said Cooper. The lopsided smile on his face softened the tone of his voice. Dr. Alston actually giggled. It was a sweet sound that made him really, really wish the North Koreans weren’t out there trying to kill them all.

  A balding, elderly man burst from the medical tent. He appeared to be in his mid-sixties with a fringe of unruly gray hair orbiting his gleaming dome of a head. Obviously in charge, the short man bustled promptly up to Cooper. He pulled the mask off his face and fixed Cooper with a suspicious glare hooded by the biggest, bushiest gray eyebrows he had ever seen.

  “I’m Chief of Emergency Medicine, Dr. George Honeycutt. Can you tell me just what in the Sam Hell is going on around here?”

  “Hell’ about sums it up, sir. The President—can he be moved?”

  The older doctor snorted a laugh. “Moved? Hardly. The poor man is barely holding onto his life. We’ve got him so pumped full of Tamiflu and…” he shook his head. “I honestly don’t know if we can even control the fever.”

  “It’s the mystery flu that’s hit all up and down the West Coast,” offered Dr. Alston with a concerned look on her face.

  Cooper nodded to hide how upset was at himself for letting that look on her face affect him so much. He soldiered on: “We were briefed that someone had weaponized a strain of The Pandemic and deployed it to the West Coast. Maybe New York and Chicago, too—at least, that was what we heard before we lost all contact with the outside world.”

  “Who are they?” asked Dr. Alston. “The soldiers that attacked?”

  “North Korean marines,” said Cooper. “Probably some of their spec-ops thrown in for good measure. I don’t know, they all died the same.”

  “Hooyah, Master Chief,” grunted Mike with a smile as he and one of the agents walked by carrying a heavy piece of equipment for the barricade.

  “Look…we need to get the President out of here. They know he’s here, that’s why they’re trying to take this place. We cut a good and bloody swath through them to reach you, but as I told Dr. Alston here,” he flashed a smile at her, “—there’s bound to be more coming. We’ve got to be gone when they come back.”

  “Can’t we just hold out till reinforcements arrive?” asked Dr. Alston.

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am. I think the NKors are invading.”

  “Invading? Los Angeles?” asked Dr. Honeycutt.

  “America,” Cooper said, hardly believing his own voice.

  “Apache Dawn?” asked Dr. Alston. She looked around. “Jesus.”

  Cooper felt like he had been slapped. How the hell does she know about Apache Dawn? She grinned and Cooper felt his heart flutter.

  “I was a combat medic in the Army. Did a tour in Iran, went to med school in the reserves, and here I am. I stay in touch with some friends…” She chuckled. “Just got out last week,” she said glumly, looking around the basement.

  “What rank?” asked Cooper. He was more impressed with her every second. He noticed with al
arming satisfaction that Dr. Alston didn’t wear a wedding ring.

  “Captain. And back on the front lines, it seems.” She frowned, creating an endearing little crease between her eyebrows.

  Dirt and chalky-smelling concrete dust drifted down from the ceiling as the ground rumbled beneath their feet. Emergency lights flickered. Conversation stopped as everyone looked up and then at the person next to them.

  Cooper nodded. “Then I’ll give you the straight dope, ma’am. We’re deep in the yogurt if we can’t get the President out of here. We were dodging incoming ICBMs, jets on bombing runs, and cut through a company of NKor marines out there, just to get inside this building.”

  “My God…” whispered Dr. Honeycutt.

  “Mark my words, this is no small ‘international-incident’. This is a well-planned, seriously coordinated, large-scale offensive action. They somehow took down our global comms—I’m talking net-wide. I can’t raise HQ at all—no signal on the sat phones, either. Everything is dead—except squad radios. We’re on our own, here folks.”

  “What are we supposed to do, then?” said Dr. Alston, a hand raised to her mouth. Cooper suddenly felt angry that her hand was trembling slightly. He reigned in his emotions and looked back at Dr. Honeycutt.

  “First, you have got to get the President stabilized. Second, we’ve got to get the hell out of here and find a better place to hole-up. Preferably a military installation.”

  “Well, where did you guys come from? Can’t we just go back?” asked Dr. Honeycutt.

  “Negative, sir. We flew in on small helicopters. Two were shot down.“

  Dr. Alston gasped. “Shot down? With what?”

  “Stingers, we think. Or the North Korean equivalent.” The Chief of Emergency Medicine’s blank face prompted Cooper to explain further. “It’s an infantry weapon, a shoulder-fired heat-seeking missile. Very accurate and highly portable. They were on the rooftops waiting for us.” Cooper cleared his throat. “It was an ambush, we never had a chance.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Dr. Alston softly.

  Cooper keyed his throat mic: “Charlie.”

  “Yeah, Coop?” said his XO, moving up next to Cooper. He shouldered his rifle and nodding a greeting to the doctors.

  “Oh, there you are. Hey, what’s the closest base around here? Anything. I’ll take a damn Coast Guard station.”

  “Uh, Los Angeles Air Force Base, I think.”

  “I believe that’s near Inglewood,” offered Dr. Honeycutt.

  Cooper rubbed his chin. “Distance?” he asked Charlie.

  A quick check with his wrist-mounted maps and Charlie looked up. “Little less than 20 miles. Down by the coast, El Segundo.”

  “I like the coast,” said Cooper. He lost the smile and turned to the doctors. “You need to have the President ready to move as soon as possible.”

  Dr. Alston looked at her boss. Cooper noticed the little crease between her eyebrows was back. Dr. Honeycutt shook his head. “Young man, I can’t tell you if he’s going to survive the hour, let alone be ready to move any great distance.” He snorted. “We’ve barely got him stabilized. We need the vaccine if he’s going to have even a fighting chance.”

  “Great, where’s the vaccine? We’ll go get it for you,” offered Charlie.

  The two doctors looked at each other and shared a sad expression. “I’m afraid you can’t, son,” said Dr. Honeycutt. “It was in Atlanta. All of it.”

  “Of course it was,” said Charlie.

  “El Segundo is still our best bet, then” said Cooper. He pointed at the docs. “Get him ready to move as soon as you can. We’ll secure transport. We need to be out of here, pronto.”

  “Son,” said Dr. Honeycutt, putting his hands into his lab coat pockets and adopting the air of the professor. “I think—”

  “Doc, don’t give me that ‘son’ bullshit,” he waved a hand at his SEALs. “I did not lose half my men to those North Korean fucks and then fight our way to the President—only to sit here and watch him die. We’re going to have the whole Goddamn North Korean army screaming for our heads and tearing this building apart, shortly. We will not—I repeat, WE WILL NOT be sitting in this basement wringing our hands when they get here.” The older doctor straightened his back as if slapped in the face. Cooper noted with some pride that Dr. Alston tried to hide a grin.

  “Now, you do what you have to do—do what you can—to keep the President stabilized. My men and I are going to do everything we can to unfuck ourselves and get us all to safety. Wherever the hell that is.”

  “You can’t just move him−” started Dr. Honeycutt.

  “Doctor,” Cooper said in a deathly quiet tone. “If I have to, I will throw the President of the United States over my shoulder and carry him on my back to safety. My mission is to get him the hell out of Dodge and I will complete my mission. Do I make myself clear?”

  CHAPTER 12

  Glacier National Park, Montana.

  MacDonald Creek Valley.

  STAFF SERGEANT GARZA POINTED up. “There,” he said. The blinking running lights of the helicopter overhead glittered through the snow blowing in Chad’s face. The reunited squad of Rangers clustered around him in a defensive perimeter and waited for the big helicopter to land. “Captain, I got visual!”

  The Captain nodded and shouted into his mic: “Anvil, what the hell’s the matter? Land that thing!”

  Chad had been provided a small headset to communicate with the Rangers while they were trying to exit Glacier National Park. He could hear the pilot squawk back a reply: “Negative, Hammer 2, Actual...uh...we still can’t swing it....we have...uh...wind shear at a hundred feet is vicious and it took too much fuel to get in here. I’m bingo fuel again. If I land, I don’t take off. I’ve marked your location, we’ll be back again when the winds die down.”

  “Damn it!” said one of the Rangers. "He just got here!"

  “Anvil, Hammer 2, Actual. What the hell?” asked the Captain. He frowned at the lack of response from the helicopter. “Thanks for the attempt," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "We’ll meet you at the emergency LZ,” yelled the Captain over the noise of the storm and the helicopter.

  “Hammer 2, Actual, roger that. Hunker down, we’ll refuel and get you outta there in the morning. Raptor out.”

  As the helicopter gained altitude the lights winked out and they were all left in total darkness again. The storm that had enveloped them yesterday showed no signs of letting up. The sun had set an hour earlier and it was black as ink. Chad did not want to spend yet another night out in the wild with nothing but a crudely made lean-to as shelter.

  The Rangers huddled around Chad and took a knee, facing out. Captain Alston watched the sky where helicopter had been. “Anybody else think that pilot was lying?”

  The big Ranger grunted. “Doesn't seem any worse now than it did when they dropped us off...”

  “Mr. Huntley, is there any shelter around here?” yelled the Captain. “I don’t think I need to express to you how important it is for us to get warm…”

  Chad shivered and thought. He was so tired, his mind seemed full of mush. “Can you show me exactly where we are on a map?”

  The Captain nodded and pulled out a small GPS unit with their location marked on a topographical map of the area. Chad examined it a bit then nodded. “Yeah!” he hollered over the storm. They were about a mile west of where he thought they were. He shook his head at the idea that someone as familiar with the local terrain as himself could so easily be lost so quickly. It was a hell of a storm. This early in the year…it promised to be a bad, brutal winter.

  “About half a mile north, up that slope,” Chad said, pointing at the colossal southern flank of Mt. Vaught. “It’s just a way-station, really—but it’ll get us out of this mess!”

  “Let’s move, Rangers. Garza, take point.”

  “Hooah!” barked Garza as he stood, then moved out in the direction his Captain was pointing.

  Chad stood up, but was
immediately grabbed by three different sets of hands and held in place. “Hold up, sir,” someone said. Chad could only watch as Garza’s ghostly form disappeared into the snow ten feet away. “Okay, now we move.”

  The squad followed just behind Garza, holding formation in a loose circle with Chad in the middle. Two of their number were detached to follow slowly behind, to discourage any North Koreans still following them in the storm. The Rangers had wiped out the entire group of men that had been hunting Chad yesterday, but the Captain was not completely convinced that there weren’t more of them in the woods.

  After another hour-long slog through the deepening snow, fighting against the wind, and feeling their way through the dark, they finally made it to the little way-station cabin. It was halfway up the southern slope of Mt. Vaught, right where Chad had said, tucked in a little ravine. There was no obvious path and the approach from the south was blocked by a little cluster of pines and a snowbank.

  “Looks more like a shack,” muttered one of the Rangers.

  “Deuce!” barked the Captain.

  “Sir!”

  “Scope it out.”

  “On it.”

  “I’m sure it’s empty…no one uses this thing in the summer, let alone now. And with this storm, who the hell would be up here?” said Chad bitterly. They were only a few yards away from being able to get out of the storm and start to warm up. All he wanted to do was lay down by a fire.

  “Didn’t expect to find any North Koreans shooting at you in your own park either, did you, sir?” asked the Captain. “As long as I’m in charge, we do it by the book.” And that was that.

  Eventually, Donovan radioed back that the shack and its surrounds were clear. “Let’s go,” said the Captain. Chad thanked God and quickly stood up, stomping his feet in the snow a bit trying to get his cold blood flowing enough to drag his ass into the way-station and start a fire.

  Once inside with the thick wooden door shut, the relative silence was deafening. After nearly two days of hearing the wind howl and feeling snow sting his face, the absence of those abuses was jolting. He stood there in the cramped, cold, and dark cabin and closed his eyes. At last some of the tension began to melt from his body.