Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  "He's right, though," said Denny. "Something has got to be done. If Townsen can get men like Greg Abbott to hunt people like me—there's no telling what he can do. He needs to be stopped and fast."

  "I'm mighty glad to hear you say that, sir. Me and a few of the others feel the same way, only we don't have a lot of experience in this kind of thing. But with you and the Russians…"

  Denny closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. Again with the Russians. Is that all anyone thinks of me anymore?

  "I don't like to think about that," he muttered. He opened his eyes and looked at the lawman. "I did what needed to be done, but I'm not proud of it."

  "Well, looks like you got more things that need doing…" observed Anse. "What do we do with Greggie-boy?"

  "What do we do about the guy who got away?" asked Griswold.

  Denny looked at Anse. "First, we need to get out of here. Did you get a good look at your attacker?"

  "Hell yes, it's Billy Vassal. He's been tight with Townsen since high school." Anse spit a glob of saliva into the red snow at his feet.

  "Deputy Griswold—"

  "Mark, please."

  Denny nodded. "Mark—you need to get back your family and—"

  Griswold's face hardened. "Townsen made sure I don't have to worry about my family ever again," he said through clenched teeth.

  Denny looked at Anse. His large, bloodied friend slowly shook his head and looked away. Denny looked at the ground. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

  "It's all right, it's not your fault. When Townsen took supplies from those Federal assholes, he specifically prohibited law enforcement personnel from getting medical attention unless we turn over our weapons and swore loyalty to President Barron. I didn't know if Sheriff Bridger was still alive or not, so I refused. Maggie died two days later."

  Denny put his hands on his hips and looked away. "Dammit." He looked back at the two men. "Look, you guys need to go into hiding. Find a place to hole up—Anse, you can't go home. They know where you live, and they know—"

  Anse laughed. "Denny, I haven't been home since you disappeared. Those jackasses probably looted my place five ways from Sunday by now. I'm just glad I stored most my toys out in the woods. Me and the boys got a camp up north of town, on the east face of the mountain. Ain't nobody can get up there without us seeing 'em. I'll be fine."

  Denny pondered this for a moment. "How many men can you trust?"

  Anse puffed his chest out. "Only ten, but I trust every one of them with my life. They all fought the Russians—most of 'em lost family to those Red bastards. They'll fight Townsen."

  Denny looked at his friend for a moment. Anse gave the impression that if his hunting buddies didn't join the fight, he would make them sorry. A smile split his face. "All right then, we got ourselves a start."

  "The other deputies are with you," said Griswold. "Townsen took over the patrol station and got the armory, ammo, and supplies. But Sheriff Bridger always had us keep a small cache at home, in case of emergency. We each got a couple shotguns, our sidearms, some vests, and ammo. It ain't much, but if it helps, it's yours."

  Denny put a hand on the shoulders of both men. "All right then. Get back to your friends—let's meet at Anse's camp in two days. We need to let this little incident blow over."

  Anse kicked Greg Abbott's foot. "What we do about him? His family would want to know…"

  The image of Felicia, sitting in his class raising her hand to answer questions, flashed through his mind. She was always so eager to learn and help her classmates. A future life spoiled—wasted. He hardened his heart against the grief. Poor girl never had a chance.

  Denny glanced down at the body of her father. "Leave him. No matter what we do, Townsen will make us out like the bad guys. They'll be back soon enough—better they find the bodies than think we kidnapped someone. Maybe it'll go easier on Rebecca and Felicia that way."

  Deputy Griswold was about to say something when Denny held up his hand. In the distance he heard a squirrel bark. It was the first sound of nature he'd heard since arriving at the meeting site.

  "Something's not right. You hear that squirrel?" he whispered.

  Anse nodded. "I think someone's coming."

  "Your friend might have come back," Griswold said with a nod toward Anse.

  "I'm ready for 'im this time," growled Anse as he clutched his rifle.

  "No," said Denny. "We need to get out of here—we don't know how many there are. Now go!"

  "What about you?" asked Griswold as he fished out his car keys.

  "I'll be fine, trust me." He flashed a grin and pushed his way through the pines. Ignoring the snow that trickled down the back of his neck, he pulled Greg Abbott's rifle behind him.

  He didn't bother to look back. He knew Anse would already be well on his way into cover. Denny paused and waited about 20 yards out until the sound of the patrol car's engine receded into the distance.

  Denny slid his way down a shallow ravine and walked southwest, taking him away from his own camp set up just west of town. If anyone tried following him, he'd lead them nowhere fast.

  After a hard 15 minutes slogging through the snow, Denny paused behind a tree and let his heart rate to fall back to normal. He pulled a small canteen from the hip pocket on his snow pants and took a sip of ice cold water.

  No good. Cold water like this will do more harm than good.

  He closed his eyes and stretched out his senses, listening for any noise out of the ordinary. The only thing he heard were the various sounds of nature: jays calling to each other in the snow-capped canopy overhead, and squirrels skittering on branches ahead of him upslope. In the distance, a crow cawed and was answered by a handful more, the lonely sound echoing through the woods.

  Risking a glance around the corner of the tree, he peered back through the hazy light and saw nothing but his own footprints. A quick glance above told him the sky was ready to birth another snowstorm.

  Denny smiled. By nightfall, his tracks would be erased. The smile faded when he imagined the snow covering the body of Greg Abbott. The people desperate enough to gather around Townsen were no trackers. He doubted if anyone would find Greg Abbott's body before spring. Wolves maybe…and coyotes, but not man.

  The thought of Felicia sitting at home, wondering where her father was—when he would come home—never knowing for sure that he'd died alone and cold…

  Denny shook. The adrenaline from the fight had left him drained and spent. His hands fumbled to wipe the cold tears from his face. If not for the snow-blasted tree holding him up, he would have collapsed into the cold at his feet.

  What's happening to me? I killed men…I killed a dozen Russians… I…

  In the distance, carried on the wind he heard the calm, reassuring voice of Red Eagle: You never killed a friend before. You never killed a good man.

  Denny opened his mouth, dropped his head into his hands and wept in silence.

  CHAPTER 25

  Washington, D.C.

  The White House.

  COOPER STIFLED A YAWN as he rested his elbows on the roof of his command vehicle and put down his night vision binoculars. It was almost midnight and if he hadn't just got a few hours sleep on the trans-atlantic flight from Germany, he swore it was all a dream. He stared again at the darkened White House in disbelief.

  I can't believe it's come to this.

  He turned left to face Jax, Swede, Juice, Maughan, and Charlie waiting behind a Stryker armored fighting vehicle. His SEALs stood dressed out in the best battle rattle the Marines could provide.

  Other than Sparky, his men were ready to roll. Cooper stepped down from the lead Stryker. To the east, around the corner of the Ellipse Visitor Center toward Pershing Park, a large group of Marines under General Rykker had set up command headquarters. Sparky had set up on the visitor's center roof southwest of Pershing Park.

  The Marines had completely encircled the White House, the Eisenhower Executive Office building, and the Treasury. Fac
ing them across the expansive White House lawn, were the dozens of armed Secret Service agents still loyal to President Barron.

  The entire scenario boggled the mind. Assaulting the White House in the middle of the night? Cooper shook his head as he handed the binoculars to Charlie.

  "Go ahead, take a look. I doubt you'll believe it any more than me."

  Charlie took the binoculars and leaned around the side of the quiet Stryker. "Jesus…"

  "Yeah," replied Cooper. "You see the weapons platforms on the roof?"

  "Yeah… Looks like they got a couple gats up there, some MGs and a few Stingers. What the hell are those things out on the Wings?"

  Cooper shook his head. "Don't know. But they sure as hell look like those LAWS the South Koreans have."

  "The fuck is a LAWS?" asked Swede.

  "Lethal Autonomous Weapons System," replied Charlie, eyes still glued to the glass. "They're supposed to be illegal by international treaty. Never seen one deployed before…"

  "Why am I not surprised Barron had something like that installed on the White House?" sighed Cooper.

  "Even with all the hardware the Marines brought, this ain't gonna be easy," muttered Charlie. He adjusted his view and aimed at the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. "Got a lot of rooftop tangos up on the Ike. I see 17… No, make that 23 with weapons."

  "I got a funny feeling there's a shit load of snipers in those two buildings there," added Jax, gesturing across the lawn.

  "No shit…" muttered Swede. "I say we get inside the Stryker, roll right to the gates and smash through 'em."

  "Yeah," said Jax. "Let's make our own front door to the big house and then we pop out inside and start the party."

  Cooper frowned. "President Harris wants the White House back—he doesn't want us to destroy it."

  "What the hell do you think they're going to do?" asked Swede with a nod toward the Marines at Pershing Park. Three LAV-25A2 armored recon vehicles sat parked along East Executive Avenue.

  "The only good thing I'm getting out of all this is nobody seems itching to kill each other just yet…" said Cooper.

  "That's actually pretty impressive for a bunch of Marines," observed Jax.

  The Marines looked weary. Cooper checked his watch: 12:14am. Most of them, Cooper mused, had only arrived on scene a few hours earlier. General Rykker pushed his men hard and spearheaded the task force to surround the White House. To him it was a point of honor.

  "Whatever we do, we do it quick," muttered Charlie, eyes glued to the binoculars. "They got some pretty big comms gear, too. I'll bet you a goat those bastards are calling in reinforcements."

  Cooper thought back to the conversation he'd with Admiral Bennet. "Far as we know, the loyal groups are scattered around in the suburbs. It'll take time for them to organize and mount a counterattack."

  "How long is 'some time'?" asked Swede. "Marines been here since sundown."

  Cooper glanced back toward Pershing Park. "I just hope General Rykker doesn't try anything rash before—"

  The air around them shuddered with unified explosions from the main guns on the LAVs. Before the thunderclap receded, the east wall of the Eisenhower Building crumbled in an explosion of smoke and stone.

  "Like that?" asked Jax. "Man, when the General wants to get something done, he doesn't screw around does he?"

  Cooper's command frequency broke squelch in his ear. "All Cutter elements, this is Cutter, Actual. Commence your attack! We are taking back the White House!"

  "Shit," whispered Cooper. "All right, mount up! They're going in and we're gonna hitch a ride on this bitch," he said, slapping the side of the Stryker.

  The big machine rumbled to life. "All aboard!" called out a Marine from inside.

  Three Marines marched past and went up the ramp, loaded down with weapons and rucksacks. Cooper's SEALs loaded up last and waited for the ramp to close.

  Cooper adjusted the helmet strap under his chin and locked his night vision up. "Listen up—we ride in with the Marines in the general assault. We've been tasked with breaching the EOC—"

  "The Bunker?" whistled Jax. "Goin' deep, baby."

  Cooper continued, "By whatever means necessary and however possible," Cooper shouted over the Stryker's big engine as it rumbled forward. "Once we get through the gates, this vehicle will head for the West Wing—that's our breach point."

  "Taking small arms fire!" announced Swede as incoming rounds bounced and pinged off the exterior armor.

  Cooper checked his forearm map screen and noticed the circle of blue dots and triangles designating Marine units and Strykers. They moved forward on all sides of the besieged buildings. The noose tightened. Air units swooped in from the northwest.

  "This is going to get hairy real quick," warned Cooper. "Check your fire—we don't need any blue on blue's here. That goes double for you Marines!" He had to shout to be heard over the sound of the incoming fire.

  The Marines spat back a few insults—Cooper couldn't hear most, but he did pick up something about the mating habits of harbor seals. The good-natured banter was cut short when the Stryker rocked with an explosion just outside the hull.

  "That was close!" yelled Jax.

  "No shit!" retorted Juice, arms braced on the cabin ceiling. "We need to get out of this tin can!"

  "Sparky, what you got?" asked Cooper.

  "You boys better hang on, looks like multiple tangos with shoulder-fired missiles on the White House roof," replied Sparky from the top of the White House Visitor Center. From his perch, he had an unobstructed view down the South Lawn and President's Park.

  Cooper leaned forward "Driver! You got missiles on the rooftops!"

  "Incoming!" screamed Sparky. "It's a trap, spider holes full of bad guys all over the lawn!"

  "Brace for impact!" called out Cooper. He reached for the nearest handhold and closed his eyes.

  His world exploded with light and noise. Cooper slammed into Charlie and his world cascaded into darkness for a moment.

  He landed hard on his shoulder and struggled to get up through the mass of legs and arms as the Marines and SEALs fell on top of each other.

  Cooper pushed a smoking panel from his chest and peered in the dim glow of the fire from the front of the Stryker. "Head count."

  "Two," grunted Charlie's voice to his right.

  "Four," replied Swede.

  "Three,"grunted Jax.

  Someone coughed. "Six," muttered Juice.

  "Five," gasped Maughan.

  Cooper struggled to his feet and helped the closest Marine get up. "We gotta get the hell out of this thing." The sound of explosions in the distance competed against incoming rounds ricocheting off the disabled Stryker.

  Cooper's mood worsened when the Marines were forced to manually lower the rear hatch. The longer they spent trapped inside the crippled Stryker, the greater the chance someone would get a lucky shot and take them all out.

  Finally, after a lot of cursing and with a creak of groaning metal and the squeal of damaged hydraulics, the hatch opened and fell to the ground at a crazy angle. Thick, acrid smoke swirled around the opening. Tracers lit up the night around them like a holiday light show.

  "Everybody out!" Cooper bellowed. He grabbed his M4 and charge down the ramp. A string of shots stitched the freshly disturbed dirt at his feet. Cooper turned and dove around the rear of the smoking Stryker.

  The front half of the Stryker, a twisted, smoking ruin, was engulfed in flames. Cooper doubted the driver survived.

  Charlie slammed his back against the shell of the vehicle next to Cooper. "Looks like they got us with more than one rocket."

  "Actual, you got enemy foot mobiles pouring out of the White House at your 12 o'clock."

  "Copy that, Overwatch." A bullet ricocheted off the top of the Stryker. Cooper ducked and called out, "Think you can thin the herd a little?"

  "You got about six less…" Sparky replied. A loud boom echoed off in the distance over the melee. "Make that seven bad guys you don't have
to worry about."

  "Marines, on me—we'll shadow that Stryker over there," said the young lieutenant in charge of the detachment of Marines. He charged off through the smoke ignoring incoming rounds and deployed his men to the nearest Stryker. They followed it like ducklings as it rumbled forward, belching a thick white screen of smoke.

  Cooper held his hand up to hold Charlie and Jax in place. He turned to Swede. "Go green, then let them get a little separation."

  He dropped his night vision in place and the world turned shades of green, gray, and black. He peered around the back of the dead Stryker and picked up the pops and flares of snipers operating inside what was left of the Eisenhower. He turned right and noticed they were positioned just west of center on the track toward the White House.

  Trying to race across the South Lawn to reach the relative cover of the Treasury building would be suicide. He turned his attention back to the Eisenhower. "Sparky, lay down covering fire on the snipers in the Ike. We're too damn exposed out here in the middle of no-man's-land."

  "Copy that, Actual. Move when you're ready, I'll clear the road."

  "We're about 50 feet south of the fence line. Charlie, you see that hole those Marines just made for us?" asked Cooper.

  Charlie leaned around the corner of the Stryker. "Yep. Looks like they're getting pinned down just on the other side."

  Cooper checked his map screen. Charlie was right, the assault wave had stalled after just breaching the south fence. They needed air support or more artillery, and they needed it now. He keyed his mic: "Cutter, Actual, Striker, Actual, how copy?"

  "Actual copies all, Striker, go ahead," replied General Rykker's voice.

  "I got movement in the Eisenhower building, they're preparing to launch a counterattack from the west. Those Marines are getting boxed in."

  "Good eyes, Striker, I have air units inbound. We'll vector them to your position."

  "Roger that Actual, Striker 2-1 moving into position."

  "I'll direct artillery fire to give you cover, go on my mark, Striker 2-1."

  Cooper crouched and waited. The crashing thunder of the LAVs in Pershing Park competed with rolling reports from the firefight on the South Lawn. Another three segments of the Eisenhower building exploded into smoke and fire.