Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  As his hearing returned, Cooper recognized the distinct, yet quiet sound of rounds bouncing off the thick skin of their captured APC. “They’re returning fire!” yelled Mike, one hand on his ear.

  “Shoot back! Let ‘em have it,” replied Cooper. He took aim at the corner of the burning car still blocking the west-bound lanes. “Hold on back there!” he shouted over his shoulder.

  The APC rocked a bit as it smashed into the flaming car at full speed, ignoring the random and ineffectual return fire of the ground troops. In a flare of burning fuel and crumpled steel, the APC barreled down the street and lumbered west, leaving the wreckage of the roadblock in its wake. Once the screams and shouts had died down in the back, Cooper asked, “Everyone all right back there?”

  “We’re fine!” someone hollered back. “But take it easy up there, the President can’t take too much more of this!”

  “Yo, Coop, we’re gonna have company!” said Mike after he turned the turret around to face to the rear. “I got two vehicles full of bad guys on our ass!”

  The APC was rocked by another shot from the main gun. Though he was at least a little more prepared for the shock of the blast, it still left Cooper’s ears ringing.

  “Make that one vehicle!” Mike yelled in between laughs. “I love this thing!”

  “I’m getting a lot of chatter, man,” said Sparky from the comm panel. “It’s a good bet they’re calling in reinforcements…”

  “Damn, this thing’s a slow pig…” muttered Cooper, foot to the floor. He willed the big APC to go faster, but it just wasn’t built for speed. The speedometer registered a paltry 50 miles an hour. He winced as the APC smashed into another parked car, flinging it aside as if it were a toy.

  “Whoa!” said Sparky, gripping the armrests of his seat to keep from falling. “I’m getting some…wait—it sounds like there’s an A-10 driver up there that noticed our little fireworks display.”

  The pavement in front of them erupted into a shower of smoke and fire. It sounded like they were driving through a hail storm as the fragments of the road rained down on them.

  “Enemy bird, port side high!” called out Mike. “He’s moving too fast for me to get a good shot.”

  “Sparky get on the horn and ask for some assistance…” said Cooper, swerving to avoid an abandoned car. He ignored the howled protests from the doctors and agents in the back.

  “Roger that—U.S. air assets this net, come in!” Static was the sniper’s only response. “I say again, U.S. air assets this net, come in! Mayday, Mayday, Mayday!”

  After a moment of static, a strong voice with a southern drawl came over the speakers in the cabin. “Uh, you are broadcasting on a restricted military frequency. Identify yourself.”

  “This is Striker 2, authentication Charlie-Victor-Niner-Five-Seven-Alpha. You see that explosion on West 120th?”

  There was a moment of silence. “Come on…call it in…call it in…” muttered Cooper. He knew that the unique authorization code Sparky had provided would inform the pilot that they were a naval special warfare unit. Of course, if anyone had enough sense to be monitoring the channel and had access to the codes, they’d know that now, too.

  He flinched as his vision was obstructed by another shower of pavement and debris caused by the chasing helicopter. “Damn it, this guy’s really on our ass!” He swerved again, eliciting a howl of protest from the back. A car exploded just to their left, where the APC would have been a second earlier.

  “Okay, roger that, Striker, pretty nice show down there. This is Snake Lead, the A-10 above your position.”

  “Can you see the NKor APC hauling-ass southwest? That’s us—there’s pursuit vehicles, including a Korean helo.”

  “You tellin’ me you Squids carjacked an APC?” The pilot laughed. “That’s some funny shit, right there!”

  The sniper laughed. “Hooyah, brother. We sure could use some help—”

  The APC jerked to the left after a tremendous roar. Warning lights flashed and a red emergency light flashed. “Christ!” said Cooper, trying to regain control of the speeding armored car.

  “Roger that, Striker 2, I see ‘im. Wait one…”

  “We’re taking direct fire from that fucking helo−take it out!”

  The little armored window went white. “Holy shit!” Mike exclaimed, his laughter drifting down from the turret. “Nice shot!”

  Cooper gritted his teeth and held the wheel tight as the APC careened through the cascading debris from the dead helicopter, dodging chunks of flaming metal and running through what he couldn’t dodge. In a matter of seconds, they were through the debris field and still rolling west.

  “Striker, you still with me? I’m swinging around for another run.”

  “Roger that, Snake, thanks for the assist. Nice shooting.”

  “Country boy can survive,” was the chuckled response. “Listen here, hold on to your butts, Striker—you got multiple ground vehicles closing on your position. Looks like they’re still a few clicks north of your location. Maintain course and speed and I’ll give y’all some covering fire.”

  “Oh man…Coop!” cried out Mike. “I can see ‘em, in between the parked cars up ahead. We’re gonna have trouble in a minute!”

  “I see ‘em!” said Cooper, spotting two vehicles approaching from side-streets a few blocks ahead. The headlights turned and bounced as the vehicles crossed the divided freeway and aimed straight for them. “Can’t tell what they are…uh…anyone know what can plow through concrete barriers like that?”

  “Maintain course and speed, Striker,” warned the A-10 pilot. “You got a couple T-72s in front of you.”

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” said Cooper. “How the hell did they get tanks here so fast?”

  “Dropping into the slot and coming up fast on your six. This is gonna be danger close. Wait one…”

  “Come on…do something!” said Cooper through clenched teeth as he gripped the wheel with white knuckles. “They’re gonna fire…”

  “Wait one…”

  Cooper felt a strange vibration through the seat before he heard the roar. It sounded like a dragon or something—right on top them—as flames shot over the roof of the APC in the direction of the tanks.

  One of the T-72s in front of them disappeared into a fireball; then its partner died in an even brighter flare of light. Other North Korean vehicles entering the west-bound lanes through the holes the tanks had made in the dividers were likewise transformed by the awesome firepower of the A-10 Thunderbolt into flaming, scrap-metal heaps. The smoldering hulks looked like so much charred Swiss cheese as the APC rumbled past.

  Cooper only exhaled when they swerved through the last wreck and pulled into a clear stretch of freeway. He had to hold his tongue until the overpowering noise of the A-10’s turbines pulled away. Cooper figured the pilot must have been flying only 30 feet off the deck for it to have sounded that loud. The APC actually shook as the tank-killer soared overhead.

  “The Vulcan, she’s a mean bitch,” the pilot said.

  “Hey Flyboy,” Cooper called out. “Much obliged.”

  The pilot chuckled over the intercom. “You bet, Squid. Looks like the road is clear a good ways. I’ll be in the area while my fuel lasts. Dogfighting in this ol’ girl eats up the gas. We’re holding our own, though.”

  “Keep on ‘em. We surely appreciate the assist. Striker 2, out.” Cooper glanced over his shoulder.

  “Mike, see anything else?”

  “Negative. We’re clear as far as I can see. Looks like we made it. We’re trailing smoke, though. I think the helo got a lucky shot.”

  Cooper looked at the array of lights and dials in front of him. “Yeah, there’s a few of these indicators up here telling me something is wrong, but I’ll be damned if I know what.”

  Another light blinked from green to amber. “Whoa…hey…I think we’re getting low on fuel. Sparky, you still getting a lot of chatter?”

  The sniper shook his head, one hand on the
headset held to his ear. “Nah, it’s dying down. Or we’re getting out of range. I don’t know, man—maybe they think that A-10 took us out?”

  Cooper thought while he scanned the road ahead of them, weaving the wounded APC through the maze of abandoned cars on the freeway. More than a few were on fire. As they moved forward, the lights on the front of the APC illuminated empty streets.

  “Man…that’s just creepy out there,” said Mike from the turret. “It’s like everyone is gone…”

  “Look at all the bullet holes and burned-out cars,” said Sparky. “Damn NKor fast-movers must’ve strafed ‘em on their way downtown.”

  “Poor bastards never had a chance,” muttered Cooper.

  “Like fish in a barrel,” added Jax.

  Cooper had to slow the shuddering APC down to a crawl. “This is no bueno, guys.” He winced at the noise of the armored vehicle’s dying engine. “We’re gonna by trapped if we don’t get out of this thing.”

  “Got the San Diego Freeway coming up—everything looks pretty clear, man,” said Mike.

  Cooper glanced at the dial that had turned amber. It was now red. “Okay, we need to ditch this thing, anyway. I think we’re leaking fuel.” He pushed an abandoned Prius out of the way as if it were a piece of paper. “Mike!”

  “Yeah, Coop.”

  “Keep on the lookout for another vehicle we can use. If that radio silence is any indication, I think the Koreans are going to come looking for their toy soon. This thing’s gotta have a GPS tracker or something on it, like ours would.”

  “You want multiples or something big?”

  Cooper hit the brakes and the APC squealed to a halt, the big engine gurgling and sputtering. He pointed out the window. “Something like that bus at the intersection right there. Got any movement?”

  “Negative on IR…I’m getting no movement, no heat signatures,” said Mike, swiveling the turret all around.

  Cooper unstrapped and turned in his seat to face the main cabin. The pretty auburn-haired doctor watched him with wide eyes. “Okay—Brenda, right? Get back there and get the President ready to move. We’ll go secure that bus and then we can make it to the air base—it’s just on the other side of that freeway…”

  It was all over in a minute. The SEALs rushed from the APC wraith-like, secured the area, and stormed the bus. Like all the other shot-up vehicles, only the dead remained. Holding their breath, the SEALs pulled the few dead passengers off and, at the behest of the doctors, quickly sprayed some disinfectant around the cavernous interior.

  “It’s mainly for the smell,” said the old doctor. He rubbed a hand through his ring of white hair. “By now we’ve all been exposed to the mystery flu—either we catch it or we don’t. I just don’t know.”

  Dr. Alston pulled Cooper aside. “Did any of your men catch the Blue Flu ten years ago?”

  He nodded. “Me, Charlie, and Jax, I think. Pretty sure the others were deployed out in the middle of the Pacific…they weren’t allowed into port until…after.”

  “Then you three have the best chance of fighting this round off.” She lowered her voice as Charlie walked past, helping a wounded Secret Service agent board the bus. “Keep an eye on the others. Once they start presenting with symptoms, you won’t have long.”

  “Well, it ain’t perfect, but it sure as hell beats walking,” said Charlie with a half-smile from the bus’s door.

  Cooper took the driver’s seat and grinned as he spun the bus’s big steering wheel and backed up toward the dying APC. He was thankful to be back in a vehicle where he could understand the dash and focus on something besides the spine-tingling fear of catching the mystery flu and dodging North Korean aircraft.

  The armored vehicle had black scorch marks all up and down the sides where he had smashed through flaming wreckage. There were hundreds of dents and dings from bullets and more than one reaction-armor panel had been blown off, sacrificing itself to save the vehicle. Thick, black smoke bellowed from the engine compartment on the right side, sending a column of darkness into the sky where the dawn was spreading rosy fingers into the cloak of night.

  He urged the Secret Service agents to get the President on board as quickly as possible. “Let’s go, guys…that smoke signal is going to attract a lot of the wrong kind of attention.”

  Dr. Honeycutt was the last of the civilians to climb on board, carrying a load of disposable gloves and masks. “That’s it, we’re all aboard. If the President sees the dawn tomorrow, it’ll be a miracle. Let’s try to drive a little more careful this time, eh?”

  “Roger that, sir,” said Cooper with a grin. “Don’t worry, ‘careful’ is my middle name. And we’ve only got a couple miles to go.”

  Charlie laughed.

  The smile on Cooper’s face vanished. “Mike, Sparky.”

  “Yeah,” replied the sniper’s relaxed voice over his bone phone. “Comin’ up on your six.”

  Charlie did the final check around the perimeter of the bus and climbed up the steps, his rifle pointing out. “Lock n’ load, Coop. We’re ready.”

  A small red car pulled up next to the bus, its garish little racing stripes injecting a sense of triviality to the surreal scene around them. Cooper shook his head and grinned.

  “Are you kidding me?” asked Charlie. He stood on the steps in the open door and called out: “A fuckin’ Mini Cooper?”

  The tinted driver’s window rolled down and Mike’s gap-toothed grin greeted the SEALs on the bus. “Hell yeah. This here’s the souped-up model. Small and quick, baby.”

  “Hey, isn’t that what your wife calls you?” said Charlie.

  “Just try and keep up, asshole,” replied Mike with another flash of his characteristic grin. “We’ll lead the way.” The little Mini Cooper’s tires squealed and it shot down the long ramp toward Venice Blvd. like a scalded cat.

  “One block lead, Mike; one block. I don’t want any surprises,” said Cooper as he shifted the charter bus into gear with a hiss of the air-brakes releasing.

  “Roger that, Coop. We’re only about ten minutes out from the base.”

  “Jax, keep on the horn, try to raise ‘em, let ‘em know we’re coming.”

  “Hooyah,” replied the big SEAL. He pulled out the main radio and began searching channels.

  Cooper had to drive faster than he would have liked to keep up with the taillights from the Mini Cooper, but it was still a smoother ride than the APC.

  “Man, this thing don’t have a turret but it sure is fun as hell to drive!” whooped Mike.

  “Stay on target, Beaver. Find a way to that base,” warned Charlie, kneeling next to Cooper at the front of the bus. He scanned out the windows, looking for threats. Cooper grinned. Charlie would make a fine leader for his SEALs.

  In a quiet voice, Charlie asked, “You think Allie…”

  Cooper shot a look at his friend and XO. “They made it, man. Allie’s a smart girl. She knows what to do in an earthquake, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but—“

  “But nothing,” said Cooper, eyes on the road. “That’s just a different type of emergency. When she realized what was going down, she probably headed straight to Coronado.”

  “Yeah,” sighed Charlie. “I guess you’re right.” Charlie looked out the windshield, lost in thought.

  Cooper looked over at his friend. He could tell by the set of Charlie’s jaw, the young father was deeply troubled. That could get him or others killed if Charlie didn’t let go of the fear and doubt bottled up inside and focus on the mission.

  “Hey,” Cooper said. “When we get the President to the air base, we’ll turn him over to the flyboys and we’ll go find Allie and Junior. Okay?”

  Charlie nodded. “Aye, aye, Master Chief.” He exhaled and adjusted the rifle sling over his shoulder. “Mission first.”

  After a moment of silence, Cooper said in a serious voice: “Sir…”

  Charlie turned and faced his CO with a raised eyebrow.

  “I’m gonna have to ask you to ste
p behind the line, sir,” Cooper said with a jerk of his head toward the back of the bus.

  Charlie looked down at the bright yellow line on which he was kneeling. The words painted on the floor read: STAY BEHIND THIS LINE WHILE BUS IS MOVING.

  The two SEALs, covered in grime, sweat, and blood, running for their lives aboard a charter bus carrying the President of the United States on his deathbed, laughed until they had to gasp for breath.

  CHAPTER 17

  Salmon Falls, Idaho.

  YET IT APPEARS THE death toll from this mystery flu-like illness will be highly unpredictable. When asked for an official statement, the White House has been silent.”

  Denny paused in his work and watched the grainy picture on the television set. Since the cable went out yesterday, he had been forced to rig up an old antenna he found in his basement in order to get any news from the outside world.

  The Internet, like his electricity, had been fluctuating randomly lately and it was increasingly frustrating to find out what was going on in the world outside Salmon Falls.

  He shook his head as the picture on the screen shifted from a reporter in a surgical mask to the mess in front of a hospital in Chicago. There were bodies in the street, draped in what looked like checkered tablecloths. Men in haz-mat suits slowly made their way down the street collecting bodies. They shoo-ed away the few bystanders who tried to take pictures on cell phones.

  “Another National Guard patrol is approaching, so we’ll have to sign off and move to a new location. This is Mike Thomas, reporting live in Chicago.” The image switched back to a studio, where a man and a woman, both sporting surgical masks and haggard eyes, picked up where their colleague left off.

  “Thanks, Mike. In other news−” The anchor paused and looked off camera for a moment. He chuckled ruefully. “That was a phrase from happier times.” He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the White House is still issuing no official comment on the recent violence and chaos on the West Coast, either.”