Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  “How many?”

  “The trigger-happy bastards killed thirty-seven citizens and wounded another hundred and twenty-nine. My God—the pictures, sir…it was a bloodbath.” He peered at the President over the rims of his glasses like a constipated frog.

  “Well…maybe these rabble rousers will have learned the lesson this time—” President Barron began. “I mean, I made the announcements, I signed the Executive Orders—the U.N. has full legal and military control over cities like Boston, what more do I have to—“

  “Sir, have you considered the possibility that actions like this,” Secretary Troyes said slapping the gruesome report onto the table, “sanctioned by your administration, are literally pouring gasoline on the fire?”

  “Albert, this is for the greater good—“

  “Mr. President, these Americans are sick, hungry and scared to death of the super-flu. Then, they get news that the Germans are taking over Boston. Boston, sir. The very cradle of our nation. Do you realize there’s a group operating there calling themselves the Sons of Liberty? The Germans have already labeled them terrorists, but the people in Boston are hailing them as heroes. Do you have any idea what an event like this—” He shook his head. “Then, you suspend the cotton-picking Constitution—”

  “That was only necessary to maintain order and appease the German Governor, because the people−”

  “Sir, will you listen to yourself? You are the President of the United States of America—the most powerful man on the planet! You don’t need to appease anyone! Let alone a bunch of pompous Europeans—right here, inside our own cities! Is it any wonder the people are good and pissed off?” He stared at the President.

  “They were just looking for an excuse to riot after the trucks stopped delivering food and supplies thanks to that damn flu…and you’re handing it to them on a daily basis.”

  “Maybe if we had the National Guard on station—“

  “Sir, they’d be more likely to shoot the U.N. troops than American citizens, even if they were rioting. And with good reason.”

  “Is that so? Tell me, Albert—if we suggested that anyone in uniform that wasn’t loyal to my administration was summarily discharged, without pay, without food tickets, without base housing for their families…do you really think you’d have that many on our side just throw their hands up and walk away because a bunch of strangers decided to riot? I don’t think so—everyone in our military has access to the latest medical treatment, food, shelter, protection. Out there,” the President waved a hand, then checked himself. “Up there, the unwashed masses are fighting and squabbling over scraps of food and clean water. They’re losing reliable electrical power, they’re getting sick and watching people die all around them as this damn flu sweeps across the country—“

  “I am telling you sir, putting American soldiers into this situation will just piss everyone off—“

  The President’s heart hardened. “We’ll see who’s pissed-off after they realize that working for me and following my orders is the only way they and their families will have even a chance at surviving this shit-storm we’re in right now. Order the National Guard to back up the Germans. The next time the rioters get out of control, we’ll have American troops there to help crush it as well.”

  The Secretary of Defense gaped at the President like a fish out of water. “Sir…sir. I beg you to reconsider…” He looked at his hands and stammered incoherently for a moment, then put his glasses back on and regained some composure. “Sir, ordering American troops to fire on American civilians…in a situation like this,” he shrugged. “It could start a civil war.”

  The President wasn’t listening anymore. He detected a faint whiff of a…a familiar sweet fragrance…gently circulating in the air. Something that sent his pulse racing. Absently, he lifted a hand, bored with the conversation. “Albert, you’re as bad as that old-goat of a Marine. What’s-his-face. The Commandant.”

  Secretary Troyes’s face flushed, but the President didn’t care. His eyes were open but he was remembering Jayne in the bubble bath… “I’ll expect your resignation letter on my desk by three o’clock. If you won’t carry out my orders and do your duty for your country, I’ll just find someone who will. There seem to be plenty of people that want to help around here…Now leave me alone.”

  The Secretary of Defense’s face darkened with anger. “You little…of all the arrogance…” he growled. “I’ve faithfully served the last three Presidents, and you couldn’t hold a candle next to any one of them—”

  “What are you talking about, Albert?” The President laughed. “Candles? Are you senile?” the President asked dreamily. He giggled when the door on the far side of the room cracked open. Jayne gracefully leaned inside the door and smiled; the seductive look in her sensuous eyes were filled with promise. Her scent wafted in with the air from outside the room in a new wave—it made his body tingle with anticipation.

  “Go on, Al, get out of here. I’ve got important things to…handle.”

  “You’re destroying this country, you…you…fool! And you don’t even know it. I had my doubts that you were fit to command…now, I know…” The Secretary of Defense stood up, gathering his papers in a huff. Another door opened and a Secret Service agent in black fatigues stepped in and waited. With an angry glance over his shoulder, Secretary Troyes continued: “General Rykker is right, you are a pompous ass that never should have been on the ticket, let alone elected.”

  The President turned his full fury on the older man in a sudden blast. “And you sir,” he said, jumping out of his plush chair and pointing a finger in the Secretary’s face. “Are dangerously close to treason. Get him out of here! Now!”

  Before the Secretary of Defense could retort, the agent grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him out of the room sputtering like a wet cat. Papers flew through the air as the Secretary of Defense was twirled around shoved through the open door. The agent, one highly recommended by Jayne, paused at the door and looked at the President, one eyebrow raised.

  The Commander in Chief nodded with a half-smile. The agent grinned and shut the door quietly. The President ignored the cries of pain and surprise when the door shut and the beating began.

  “Now you won’t have to worry about that resignation, you old fart.” A muffled crash ended the screaming in the hallway. The President’s briefing room was once again nearly silent, the only sound being the softly purring ventilation system.

  “Finally,” murmured Jayne as she sashayed across the room and sat suggestively on the edge of the conference table. She pushed a hidden button and smiled as the room resonated with the sound of all the doors locking shut.

  President Barron grinned. They were alone now, and it would stay that way until one of them unlocked the doors.

  In an exaggerated move, she released her golden hair from the painfully tight-looking ponytail and shook her head luxuriously. The high slashed skirt she wore fell away nearly to her hips, revealing a toned, yet supple thigh that begged to be touched.

  The President’s vision blurred in time with his accelerated heartbeat. He stumbled forward, eyes on the bare, slightly tanned skin of her upper leg resting coyly on the table. He could almost feel the heat emanating from that skin—it drew him forward like a moth to the flame.

  When he staggered into her embrace and felt the soft velvet of her lips on his, it eclipsed anything he had ever experienced in his life. He was positively drunk on her, drowning in her scent, her presence. Breaking the kiss to come up for air, he stepped back. It was almost too much.

  He clawed at the shirt on his chest. It was restricting his breathing somehow. Tiny black spots were flitting in and out of his vision, dancing around in a breathtaking view before his eyes. Even now, teetering on the edge of collapse, he found he couldn’t remove his hands from her body.

  “Easy now, sir,” she purred. In one graceful, feline motion, she stood and swept across the floor to him, entwining her slender arms around his neck. A quick nib
ble on his ear lobe sent a lightning bolt from the balls of his feet to his forehead. The black spots grew larger. His vision narrowed to a tunnel that encompassed Jayne and nothing else. And still her smell enveloped him and caressed his senses.

  She gently pushed him back into his chair. He did not resist as he sat heavily.

  “You need to breathe…” she said.

  At her soft words, every ounce of his concentration quickly went into breathing.

  It was amazing, he noted, how much control she had over him. And he didn’t care. Not at all.

  She pouted. “These people in Boston are causing all kinds of trouble.”

  “I…I know…” he stammered, seeking fresh air for his lungs. Her perfume was like a thick fog. The bouquet was sweet and light, yet it was so dense he found it hard to breathe. Nonetheless, he wanted to drown in that fragrance.

  He watched her as she perused the papers and files in front of him on the polished table. “These people,” she purred, her fingers caressing the graphic pictures from the previous night’s slaughter. “These Sons of Liberty—they are…some sort of resistance…right?” she murmured. Her hand left the picture and found his face, tracing a finger down his cheek and along the side of his neck. He shuddered in pleasure.

  “Rabble…trash…” he muttered, eyes rolling up into his head. He tried to flip a hand to dismiss the very idea.

  “Mmmhmmmm…” she cooed, her blue eyes reduced to mere slits. “And you,” she whispered, leaning in over his chest. He could feel her bosom brush against his shirt and his arms twitched. “Need to crush them.” Another nibble at the ear. He groaned.

  “Crush…”

  “Yes, my love,” she whispered. “But first you must destroy Denton.”

  He fluttered back into consciousness. “Denton…what—?”

  “I know,” she said with another school-girl pout. “He’s still alive…can you believe it?” He felt soft hands unbuttoning his shirt. His own hands gripped the arm rests tight. Her hot breath on his bare chest sent his back rigid against the chair.

  “We intercepted a phone call from a nurse to her husband…she’s with Denton now…”

  “Need to…deal…with him…” Wait…Who is we?

  “Oh, yes,” she said, barely audible. “He’s at some dreadful Air Force base in Los Angeles…” He gasped in pleasure as she put her mouth on his chest and delivered the gentlest of kisses.

  “I…” he gasped. “I heard, yes. Just rumors.”

  “The Koreans already destroyed it…oooooooh…” she said in a delightfully sinful voice, her hands roaming farther south. “But,” she said, “there were survivors. The North Koreans promised to remove this problem for us…in return for us not fighting their invasion. But it looks like they are failing, despite all our efforts to help them…”

  The President gasped for breath. The black spots in his vision rendered him nearly blind, but didn’t care. All our efforts? What’s talking about? God bless her, she’s confusing…

  “The man in charge of the Air Force base,” she whispered, letting her hands walk up his chest again. “Colonel Molton…is…a friend of ours. Give him the authority—”

  “I’ll do it!” he hissed. “Do what it takes…”

  “Yeeeeessssss,” she murmured. “Very good…” She pressed the length of her body against his, straddling him in the chair. They both leaned slowly back, the weight of her on his chest pinning him as if she were made of iron—not flesh and blood, filled to the brim with desire.

  He couldn’t breathe. His muscles had tensed with panic. His vision was completely gone. The muscles in his chest tightened to the point of pain. Air, he needed air.

  “Help…” he squeaked, using the last of his oxygen. She had to help.

  She giggled, the sound drifting to him from a dream. He was falling now, deeper and deeper into a well. She was up there—at the top—looking down and watching him fall, slowly toward the…

  “Breathe, my love…”

  And he breathed, a great deep gulp of sweet air. His vision rushed back. He lay there, settled back in the chair with her laying on top of him, smiling at him from only an inch away. Her lithe form sent shock-waves of pleasure coursing through him. He could feel her arms snaking around his neck again, pulling her closer.

  “Will you do this thing for me?” she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder. Her hair felt like silk as it cascaded down his arm and across his bare chest.

  “Anything…” he whispered.

  She nibbled at his neck. “Good…” Slowly she pushed on his chest and pulled herself away. Still sitting in his lap, she bent over backwards, displaying a nimbleness and agility that caused his mind to spin with the possibilities. She arched her back and reached over to the conference table, picking up the phone. Once more facing him, she handed him the phone.

  “Now tell him,” she said in a commanding voice.

  “I…” he said and smiled. He felt drunk. This wasn’t real. “Who?”

  Her face remained neutral. The softness faded from her, evaporating before his eyes. “Tell that self-serving, little shit of a base commander to order his men to execute the traitors. All of them.” Her eyes narrowed. She shoved the phone into his limp hand. “Now.”

  He pulled the phone to his ear, in a slow, dream-like movement.

  “Hello?” a deep voice said.

  “This is Harold Barron. Who am I speaking with?” he said in a voice that was strong and vigorous. He was amazed at how suddenly assertive and in-command he sounded.

  “Mr. President! Yes, sir. This is Colonel Andrew Molton, acting base commander, sir.”

  “Colonel Molton, you have identified the traitors…?”

  “Yes, Mr. President, they’re trapped in an older part of the bunker system here.”

  “Very good. I want them taken care of, immediately.”

  “Mr. President?”

  He sighed. “How is it you soldiers talk? ‘Terminate with extreme prejudice.’ How’s that? Kill them. Every last one. They represent a clear and present danger to the national security of the United States. Is that enough legalese for you? Colonel, this is coming straight from my lips. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes…yes, sir,” said the voice, uncertainty clouding his words.

  “Colonel Molton…”

  “Sir?”

  “Do this for me, and you’ll be General Molton by sundown. I’m looking for a new man to coordinate the Air Force counterattack…”

  “Consider it done, Mr. President!” The line went dead.

  The President exhaled and let the phone drop from his hand to clatter on the floor. His head lolled back against the chair and stared at the ceiling again. He was utterly exhausted. Every ounce of strength he had went into keeping his voice authoritative and strong. He began to quiver all over, as if he were going into shock.

  Then she was there, slithering all over his body, embracing him, surrounding him, securing him, feeding him. She was him. He was her. He felt like he was floating, and his mind drifted on wave after wave of pleasure. Colors bursting overhead like fireworks clouded his vision.

  Is this real?

  “You did well,” she murmured in his ear, her voice soft, yet exploding in his mind like a bomb. Her fingertips brushed his skin, electricity crackled in her wake. He noticed his shirt was off, but he couldn’t remember when…

  He sighed and gave in. Gave up? He smiled. It didn’t matter. Only she mattered. And the sensations she gave him. He knew in that instant he would do anything, anything, to keep these feelings coming. If there was ever a Heaven on earth, he was in it.

  “Should I reward you now?” she whispered, her lips brushing the sensitive skin of his neck. A kiss here, a touch of fingertips there. Her smell was so thick he could almost see the clouds of Heaven swirling around him.

  Reward? What the hell is she talking about?

  “Mmmmmmm…that’s a yes,” she chuckled. Her voice sounded as if it were coming from the next room. �
�But first…”

  You mean it gets better?

  “Wha—what?” he gasped. Anything…just tell me.

  “I want you to disband Congress…send them home. For their own safety, of course.”

  Fine. Done.

  “I…what?” A myriad of conflicting thoughts flitted across his mind, warnings, desires, the country, loyalty, lust…damn it all, it was so hard to concentrate.

  “This is a time…of crisis. No place for…oh, what do you call them…legislators?” A finger trailed down his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and touched his lips together when he tried to mumble a weak protest.

  “Don’t talk. Just do. Listen to me, my love…just do what I say. Do what I say and this…will never end.”

  He cried out in pleasure. Everything went white. His toes began to tingle. It was the most delicious feeling he had ever experienced. He wanted more. He had to have more.

  God, please…

  “Will you help me?” she said in a sweet voice.

  “I’ll do it!” he gasped. “Anything…just tell…tell me what to do.” He tried to smile but was overcome with a sudden sensation of numbness. He began to worry that his smile looked more like a grimace—he couldn’t feel his face. He didn’t care.

  “Tell me what to do…” he whined.

  “Good!” she said. The slinky temptress vanished into the guise of the no-nonsense administrative aide. He felt his eyes go wide in shock.

  “We’ve got a lot to get done,” she said matter-of-factly. “I happen to have a stack of papers for you to sign…you need to grant permanent rights to the U.N. forces…and you’ll have to come up with a convincing speech to give to Congress about why they need to take a leave of absence…but don’t worry about the details for all that. I’ll be here to help you! Oh, and then, there’s the Koreans…”

  He groaned in frustration.

  “But,” she said, fingers to her lip. The administrative aide was gone, replaced once more with his seductress. She smiled, one finger caressing the corner of her full, ruby red, pouting lower lip. “All that boring stuff can wait…”