He's spotted us. They left a sniper behind to catch us...Mishe Moneto protect us. Let me die well…
The Russian suddenly lowered his rifle, turned and boarded the BTR at a trot. The hatch closed, the big engine roared, and the ugly machine rumbled off toward the center of town in a cloud of exhaust. After a few seconds, the only sound they heard was the incessant drumming of the rain. Denny let his breath out and lowered his face into the mud.
"That, my friend," said Zuka in a whisper, "was close."
“Ivan giving up?” asked Deuce.
“Negative. I see something glowing in the distance—I think it’s a fire near City Hall. Maybe the good people of Salmon Falls are getting restless,” said Captain Alston’s voice. “Everyone sit tight.”
Denny smiled. He could well imagine more than a few of the more outspoken patriotic townies who would probably enjoy the cover of the storm to cause a little chaos for the invaders. He wanted to run down the street and join them.
After a few moments of waiting in the cold rain, Captain Alston finally broke squelch: “Hammer 2, listen up—Ivan’s pulled out of this sector. Everyone regroup.”
“Roger that, comin’ back,” said Zuka. He turned to Denny and wiped the mud off his cheek. “Let’s get up and get moving, sir. There may still be Russians out there, waiting for us to move, so be careful and be quiet. Got it?”
Denny nodded.
“Don’t say much, do you? Good. Follow my lead.”
Denny picked his way through the mud and the grass as they crossed a number of sodden backyards and worked their way closer to George McDonnell’s house. It took them nearly half an hour to move one block, racing to cover around the corners of each of the abandoned houses and trees as they went. Denny marveled that there were so many empty houses in town. He supposed that after the Blue Flu had roared through the region, this side of town never fully recovered.
At last they raced, hunched over, back across the street and reached George McDonnell’s house wet, tired, and hungry. Captain Alston opened the back door and let them in himself.
“Welcome back,” he said, handing Zuka a steaming cup of coffee. He offered a second to Denny.
Denny was about to ask what their next move would be when a radio broke squelch and its tinny speaker cut through the quiet talk and the noise of the rain on the roof: “Hammer 2, Actual, Hammer 2 Golf,” called out Garza’s voice.
“Go ahead, Golf,” said the Captain.
“Just made contact with Watchtower! They got my sit-rep and are coordinating with available forces to send a combat Evac. But we’ve got to knock out the remaining SAM sites.”
“Roger that, Golf.” The Captain grinned as Deuce and Zuka high-fived. Denny smiled and took a sip of the hot coffee. It was black and strong, but it was hot, and he could feel the warmth spread through his body almost as soon as it went down his throat.
“Can confirm there are two remaining sites—repeat, there are two remaining SAM sites.”
The Captain nodded. “Actual copies all. You still got friendly company?”
“Roger that. One went back to town to rally support a couple hours ago. One stayed behind to help me with the shelter. We’re out of the rain, but it’s a near thing. Evac can’t get here fast enough.”
“Roger that. Stay dry and stay alert. Actual, out.”
“Cap, got a light over here!” warned Deuce from the living room window. He was kneeling next to the wall next to the drawn curtains, peering out through a slit at the street in front of the house. “Headin’ this way.”
“Zuka,” said the Captain, reaching for his helmet.
“On it.” The short Ranger handed his mug to Denny. “Hold that for me, will ya?”
The back door opened, letting in the cold air and dull roar of the rain. The door shut and Zuka was gone, a ghost in the shadows. Captain Alston picked up his rifle, pulled back the charging handle and nodded at Denny.
“Just stay put, sir.”
“Okay,” said Denny, a mug of coffee in each hand.
“Comin’ back, Hammer 2,” said Zuka’s voice after a few tense minutes of silence. “Target acquired.”
Captain Alston opened the door and Deuce covered the opening with his rifle. A very wet civilian in a woodland-camo hunting jacket stumbled through the door with his hands up, dripping water on the floor. Zuka was right behind the taller man, his M4 leveled at his back. Over the Ranger’s shoulder was a bolt action rifle with a large scope.
Once inside with the door shut, the Rangers made sure there was no one else outside before dealing with their prisoner. The man was obviously scared, or cold, or both, because his hands were shaking as he held them over his head. Denny squinted in the darkness but couldn’t really see the man’s face. Something about the way he carried himself seemed familiar, though.
“Mind telling me what the hell you were doing out there with this?” asked Captain Alston, holding the hunting rifle.
“You guys are Americans, right?” said the deep voice of the stranger. Only, he wasn’t a stranger. Denny knew that voice.
“Ansel?” he asked.
“How’d you know my name?” growled the big man. He craned his neck to peer in Denny’s direction. “Wait, Denny? Is that you?”
The two men shook hands. Denny turned, all smiles, to Captain Alston. “Captain, this is Anse Johnson. He’s the phys-ed teacher at the high school where we—where we used to teach.”
“Yeah, it burned down…” Anse said with a shake of his head.
“You can vouch for him?” asked the Captain.
“Absolutely,” said Denny. “He’s on our side.”
“Did a stint in the Coast Guard when I was younger and lived back east,” said Anse, pride evident in his voice.
Captain Alston shook hands with the newcomer and the Rangers relaxed. “So, what were you doing out there?”
“Buddy of mine, Steve Petach—you know Steve, right Denny?”
“Sure, he’s gone hunting with us before,” said Denny. He handed a mug of coffee to Hersh. Captain Alston nodded.
“Thanks, man.” The big man took a sip. “Aaah, that’s good. Well, Steve comes running up to my house an hour or so ago, soaking wet, with this wild look in his eyes. Wilder than normal, I mean,” he chuckled. “He says he was out with his brother, coming back from a hunt and found these two Army guys, west of town. One was shot up pretty bad.”
Captain Alston shot a glance at Denny. It was clear he wanted no interruptions. Denny nodded slightly.
“Anyway, turns out they were Army Rangers. Here to help us fight the Russians, man! So his brother stays to help get a makeshift shelter set up, and Steve ran all the way back to town—in this storm!—to spread the word. He got to three people. Each one of us agreed to go tell three more. I was on my way to George—oh, heya George,” the big man waved to their host.
“Anse,” the old man said with a grunt. “I got no idea who the hell you think I’d be running around to tell. Take me all week to track anyone down, slow as I go.”
“Well,” said Hersh with a shrug. “We don’t have any organization or anything, we’re just spreading the word. You seen combat before, so I figured we should tell you.” In his hunting gear, it looked like a small tree shrugged. “Bunch of us still got our guns squirreled away—and we ain’t too scared to fight, neither,” Hersh said, looking at Captain Alston.
“We’re meeting at dawn, at the school. Or, what’s left of it, I guess. The Russians burned it to the ground and no one’s gone there since. I don’t think they’ll bother to look for us in the rubble.”
Captain Alston nodded. “Not bad, but you need a plan of attack. Simply meeting will accomplish nothing except maybe get you all killed. At least some of these Russians are Spetznas. They mean business. You guys start taking pot shots at them, they’ll slaughter you—”
Anse’s face darkened in the dim light. “We know that. But we got to do something. I saw what they did.” He thumped his broad chest. “Now it’s
our turn.”
“Fair enough,” said Captain Alston, hands up. “But, I’m trying to tell you, if you and your friends have a plan, you’ll do a lot more damage. And if we work together, we might just teach Ivan a lesson he won’t soon forget.”
“We surprised ‘em good enough tonight. Couple of the boys set fire to one of their big piles of gear.”
“The ammo dump by City Hall?” asked Zuka.
“Yeah, I guess. Bunch of stuff piled up next to the building, guards all over the place. But they didn’t bother to guard the rooftops of the buildings across the street. Well, the ones still standing, I mean. We lobbed some Molotov cocktails in there, just thinking to stir some shit up.”
“That’s funny, right there,” said Zuka, raising his coffee mug in salute.
The big man laughed out loud. “You should have seen ‘em run when the first bottle hit home. WHOOSH!” He laughed again. “Scared the shit out of ‘em, man.”
“Well, we got a few surprises for ‘em, too. We’ll destroy those SAM sites—” said Captain Alston.
“Sam who?”
“Surface-to-air-missile. SAM. They got a couple of mobile launchers on the west side of town. There’s more good guys coming, but we need to take those missiles out, so our reinforcements can land.” Captain Alston shrugged. “But there’s only a handful of us. If you and your buddies could cause a diversion…just get the Russians to focus their attention elsewhere for a few minutes, we’ll blow the missiles straight to hell.”
The camo-clad civilian scratched his beard. “Okay, say me and the boys pull that off…” said Anse. “Then what?”
“Then I call down the thunder and we teach Ivan that payback’s a bitch.”
CHAPTER 30
Washington, D.C.
The White House.
Presidential Emergency Operations Center.
I AM TRULY DISAPPOINTED by your performance to date, Mr. President,” said Reginald’s clipped voice.
The President rolled his eyes and tried to calm his trembling hands. Wait, why are my hands shaking?
“I gave you a set of instructions to be carried out−”
“I’m the President of the United States, not some damned kid.”
“Then act like it!”
The President was shocked into silence by the venom in Reginald’s outburst. It was completely outside the range of emotion normally displayed by the mysterious voice that controlled his destiny. The President frowned. He’s keeping me from seeing Jayne, I know it.
“Where is she?” the President asked in a voice that was close to a whisper. He winced. God, I sound pathetic. But I need her…
It took a moment for Reginald to respond. “You miss her, don’t you?”
“Of course I miss her,” the leader of the Free World whimpered. “I…” He had to put out an arm and steady himself. What’s wrong with me?
“Mr. President, did you honestly expect−”
“What did you…unh…” His knees felt weak. It was getting harder to stand. “What did you do to me?” He leaned heavily on the conference table in the War Room. This is not good!
Reginald chuckled softly. “My good man, I have done nothing at all to you. You have done this to yourself.”
“Did what you asked…” the President gasped. He looked down in shock at his right hand. It was past trembling. I’m shaking like a leaf…what the hell is happening?
“Oh, you did some of what I asked. But you have started to go…how is it that you Americans put it? Ah yes…you’ve gone off the reservation. You are losing control of your government. There is an usurper out there, this Orren Harris. Your military is flocking to him. And you have done nothing. The Germans have been screaming for help, the Russians too, and you have done nothing. Where are the National Guard troops you promised to help quell the riots?”
“I suspended the Constitution and gave your military governors absolute, regional control—just like you asked. I declared martial law in the major cities—just like you asked…the troops are there…they’re just…refusing…orders…”
“That is true, you certainly—”
“I forced North Korea to the table with the air-strikes on Pyongyang. Don’t forget that—because you did nothing.”
“Indeed, but that has only given their military leaders more incentive to use tactical nuclear weapons on American soil,” replied Reginald in a thoughtful tone. “Which, I assure you, is coming. More importantly, you have lost the Source.”
“But…the Rangers took blood samples−”
“Yes, against my orders, they were allowed to send blood samples, not the Source. And where is that plane? Do you have it? Because I hear this flu the Koreans gave you is starting to mutate…”
“Well…no…we lost contact with the plane after it picked up the blood.”
“So? Was it shot down? Or did the pilots defect to Harris?” asked Reginald’s voice, tight with emotion. “Do you understand what you have allowed to happen? If Harris gets his hands on that blood—”
“He won’t.”
“How do you know that? You can barely stand up, let alone prevent a plane from flying to Denver.” Reginald laughed, a mocking, sinister sound. “And that situation would still be recoverable, if we had the Source. Which of course, your precious Rangers lost.”
“But—”
“Mr. President,” Reginald sighed. “You do understand the predicament you have so incompetently put me in, do you not? My employers were adamant that the Source—if not him, his blood—be delivered to them as the price for your presidency. You have done moderately-well for yourself up to this point. But, you have now lost the only bargaining chips in your hand.”
“The…what—?” The President could see the room start to spin.
“Precisely. You are overwhelmed. I don’t see how there is any other option going forward but to withdraw support for your administration. You aren’t the only man that can be President, you know−”
The President lost his grip on the cell phone when his head hit the side of the table. He felt an odd, floating-falling sensation, but could only see Jayne in his mind’s clouded eye. She was reaching out to him, covered in soapy suds and was begging him to join her in the tub. He reached his arms out and felt nausea sweep over his body. Then a part of his addled mind recognized that he was on the floor.
His heart rate slowed, he could feel himself drifting off into deep relaxation. Is this the end? Am I dying?
The cell phone landed next to him. A barely audible sound emanated from the phone—a voice, rising in concern or anger…he couldn’t decide. He tried to say something but found his mouth wouldn’t listen to the commands his brain was sending. His hand twitched, but didn’t move when he ordered it to touch his face. In a panic, he tried to shout for help and heard only a muffled, faint mumble.
What the hell is going on!? I… his eyes closed slowly, then opened even slower. His thoughts drifted by on a mere trickle of a stream of consciousness. Jayne…Reginald…his wife…his shaking hands…the room spinning…panic that he couldn’t speak….Jayne…the riots…Jayne…
He closed his eyes and when they didn’t open, he began to cry and waited for death. An image of his wife’s face flashed before him with a sad, mournful look. As he slipped into nothingness, he realized that Jayne pitied him more than anything.
I SEE HIM—YES, he’s alive.”
The President’s eyes fluttered open at her touch. She came for me! He struggled to focus his vision. Jayne stood up and turned away from him, one hand on her hip. She looked disappointed, to say the least.
Blurry as she was, she still looked wonderful. Like an angel sent to rescue him from his own personal Hell. He tried to reach out for her but his arm still wouldn’t move properly. He felt the muscles twitch, then rebel and collapse.
“I understand. But you must understand, he’s taking too much,” she said. Jayne listened for a moment, her head cocked to the side. “Yes, of course I know how much he’s getting.
You think I’m still a rook or something?” The anger in her voice was a side of her he had never seen. He was fascinated.
She shifted a little to the side and planted herself on the edge of his desk. He could see her short skirt slide up. Even in his incapacitated state, he could feel his heart rate start to go uphill. Those thighs…
“He has gotten single doses, no more. I’m telling you, he’s built up a tolerance for it—I’ve never seen someone handle so much before.” She raised her delicate right hand and admired the gleaming ring on her middle finger. The intricate Celtic knot-work had always attracted his eye.
“I’ve never seen it before either. All the others broke long before this point.” She shrugged, such a simple, gesture, yet she looked so graceful—it made him ache with longing. She sighed.
“I really thought he could handle it.” She glanced down at him and licked her lips, slowly. “I really hoped he could.”
Handle what? What’s she talking about?
The dreamy look vanished from her face. Her eyes narrowed, focused on infinity. “Yes, I’ve tested it myself. It’s fine. More than fine, it’s perfect. You’re overreacting.“ He watched as she carefully removed the ring and held it up to the light, examining it. She turned it this way and that, her smooth hands gently holding the gleaming jewelry.
I miss her hands…
“No, the problem is not on my end. It’s him. He’s an addict, like I told you before. It was all there in his bloodwork. But you didn’t listen to me, did you?” She tossed her head, flipping her golden mane from one shoulder to the other so she could switch the phone to the other ear. “Yes, sir, I’m looking at it right now and I’m telling you, the ring is fine. The dosage is fine. Your President is the problem.”
She shook her head, the flowing, golden hair swirling about her shoulders. The President ached to run his hands through that silky goodness one more time. I can’t even sit up, how would I run my hands through her hair? This is worse than death…
“No, it’s worse than that.” She laughed, a deep throaty sound that made the blood ring in his ears. “He takes all I give and his body just wants more.” She slid her free hand down the smooth length of her bared thigh. In a soft, dreamlike voice, she said, “Don't get me wrong, it’s been…mmmm…fun…”
Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga Page 45
