"Go, go, go!" called out General Rykker.
Cooper stood and slapped Jax on the back. "Let's move!"
The smoke from the Eisenhower building partially obscured their movements, but the occasional stray bullet still slapped at the pavement too close for comfort. Cooper led his Team past burned-out cars and wounded Marines. He couldn't stop to render aid—it would have been a death wish. He pushed himself as fast as he could run, jumping through the last hedge and only stopping when he slammed his back against the crumbled south side of the Eisenhower building. With his Team in place, Cooper took a moment to catch his breath and listened to the enemy call out positions above them.
"It worked," he whispered into his throat mic. "They're focused on the east."
"Striker Actual, Overwatch—you got a sniper team setting up perch immediately north of your position. Don't look up. They're behind some rubble—I don't have a shot."
"Sniper, sniper! Somebody get that son of a bitch!" called out a new voice on the net. "Hammer 3-2 is pinned down by enemy sniper fire. Request immediate assistance!"
The radio in Cooper's ear continued to squawk as more and more Marines called out injuries and wounded. Cooper scanned the battlefield with his night vision and spotted many more enemy combatants than he'd first estimated. "We walked into a goddamn trap."
"Well, then I guess it's time to unfuck ourselves," muttered Charlie.
Cooper nodded. "Roger that. Listen up—I want a four-man spread. Jax you and Swede on the left, Charlie you're with me on the right. Juice, you and Maughan follow us. Overwatch, gimme whatever cover you can provide, we're moving."
Cooper scrambled over the corner of the rubble pile and found himself inside the burning inferno of what was left of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. The long corridor lay in shambles—furniture and walls collapsed into piles of flaming, well-appointed wreckage. Cooper turned right, facing north, and moved down the hallway, motioning with his left hand for Jax and Swede to flank left.
"Find me some stairs!" Cooper said, stepping over a body, partially obscured by debris. The more he looked, the more he found—all of them armed. "Stay frosty, Striker. This place was crawling with bad guys."
"There ain't nobody on the ground floor," Jax's voice announced from down the hall. "We gotta go up."
"Actual, Overwatch. You got a possible stairwell 20 yards your 12 o'clock."
Cooper rushed forward, ignoring the explosions outside that lit up the partially exposed hallway. Tracers zipped back and forth across the South Lawn as the battle to retake the White House raged on. Above him, someone screamed and fell through a hole in the ceiling. He stopped short of stepping on the body, took a knee and checked for signs of life. No pulse. He flipped the corpse over and saw a messy hole straight through the center of the man's chest. Cooper examined the filthy uniform badge: EPA Security.
"You're welcome," muttered Sparky.
"Nice shooting—keep it up." Cooper stood and motioned for the fireteam to move forward. They raced down the hallway and found the stairwell partially blocked by rubble. Smoke poured toward them down the hallway to the left and obscured everything in that direction. To the right the outer wall had collapsed under the artillery barrage. Cooper watched tracers arc down from the floors above them into the streaming mass of Marines as they pushed forward toward the White House.
He held cover while the others scrambled over the rubble pile and headed up into the stairs. When Charlie gave him the all clear signal, Cooper turned and followed them up into the darkened stairwell.
The SEALs emerged on the second floor of the collapsed wing to find a three-man fire team of Federal agents shooting down into the Marines. They had no idea Cooper and his men had arrived on the scene. Jax brought his M60 to bear and with a long burst cut down all three traitors. Cooper charged forward without hesitation and jogged down the hallway, Charlie on his heels. They took out two more men, attracted to the noise of the M60.
Cooper took a knee and covered the door from which the last two had emerged. "Charlie—they're setting up a sniper team in the next room. Take 'em out!" he hissed.
"Roger." Charlie stepped up to the door and took a quick glance inside. A flash lit up the interior of the room and a bullet hole appeared in the drywall next to Charlie's head. He dropped and tossed a grenade through the door. "Frag out!"
A dull crump signaled the end of the sniper team. Jax and Swede ran through the smoke and cleared the next room. Juice and Maughan leap-frogged them and moved further down the hallway. The SEALs moved efficiently down the hallway, picking off defenders one by one. By the time they reached the far end of the floor, Cooper had to pause and switch magazines for his M4.
"Got more stairs," said Swede as he wiped dust and blood from his forehead. He took a peak around the corner and swung back, weapon up. "Three bad guys set up blocking the stairs. Looks like they're using the rubble as cover for an MG."
"Sparky, you see the group at the south end of the 2nd floor?" called out Cooper.
"I got two. Wait one."
Cooper waited for the back-to-back thwacks before he signaled Swede. A moment later, the third defender lay in a rapidly expanding pool of his own blood.
"Stairs clear," reported Swede.
"Be advised, the defenders on the third floor appear to be moving north. They're on to you."
"Copy that, Overwatch," replied Cooper. "Thanks for the assist."
Jax tapped Swede on the shoulder as he brushed past. "Moving on up!" he called out. Jax took the stairs two at a time, Swede right behind him. Cooper, Juice and Maughan followed Swede and Jax up to the third floor while Charlie provided cover.
Their luck ran out on the third floor landing. Cooper cracked the door, but the movement drew the attention of an agent on the other side. A bullet shattered the window above Cooper and the men in the stairwell dove for cover.
"Frag out!" Cooper warned. He pulled the pin on his last grenade and tossed it through the shattered window. The grenade blew the doors down on top of the SEALs, but when they stood through the wreckage they discovered only bits and pieces of the enemy remained.
Muzzle flashes sparked to life down at the other end of the third floor. Bullets splintered the wall on Cooper's right. He dove for cover behind a partially collapsed interior wall and motioned for the Team to spread out.
"I think they know we're here!" said Jax.
The constant roar from a machine gun at the far end of the hallway made Cooper cringe. Every time it rattled off a blast of fire, he heard screams and cries for help and extraction over the net. That machine gun was mowing down Marines almost as fast as the gunner could reload.
"All units, we have taken the Treasury Building! Concentrate all fire on Whiskey Hotel and Eisenhower Executive Office Building!"
Cooper heard the whine of a Bell AH-1 Cobra overhead as its 7.62mm Mini-gun cut loose with a long burst. The building shook with the impact of another artillery round behind them.
"For God's sake, somebody take out that machine gun!" called out a Marine over the net. "They're tearing us to pieces!"
"We're pinned down! Left flank is faltering—Cutter Actual, we need reinforcements and–" an explosion down in the South Lawn cut off the transmission
Cooper rolled around the wall and fired a burst down the hallway, temporarily silencing the machine gun crew.
"Leapfrog—go!" he barked. He fired another burst to cover Charlie as the rest rushed past into the next open room and dove behind the office furniture. Without pausing, Charlie popped up and fired another burst while Jax and Swede rushed past Cooper. Cooper stood and fired a burst from his rifle downrange and grunted in satisfaction as a dark shape fell to the ground.
He waited while Juice and Maughan rushed forward, then he followed to the ground as two more attackers appeared through a doorway at the far end of the hallway. The machine gun lit up the night again on the other side of that door. The noise and fire were tremendous.
"I got eyes on two
tangos, the just came out of the VP's office," warned Sparky.
"It's his ceremonial office," corrected Jax.
"Shut the fuck up and shoot!" snapped Swede.
Cooper glimpsed movement in the sky through a hole in the wall. A light in the sky turned, the beam probing the ground as it moved toward the Ike. Cooper felt a chill ripple through his body. "Cutter Actual! Striker 2-1 is on scene with that MG in the Ike, call off that helo! Call off that—"
It was too late. Cooper watched in horror as a salvo of rockets ejected from the pods under the Cobra's stubby little wings and streaked over the battlefield. He barely had time to shout a warning to his Team before the first rocket impacted not thirty feet from where he crouched.
CHAPTER 26
Salmon Falls, Idaho.
DENNY PEERED AROUND THE corner of the smoldering remains of a house. The smell of soot burned his nostrils. Standing in the ankle-deep snow, his feet felt like solid ice. He clenched his hands over and over trying to get circulation flowing as he stared at the gathering of men across the street. Two were armed, the other four wore bulky winter coats that could hide weapons but Denny didn't think so—one of them was an English teacher at Salmon Falls High.
They're not going to hurt anyone…
Denny looked at the snow at his feet. He'd thought the same thing of Greg Abbott. He leaned back around the corner of the rubble and adjusted the gloves on his hands. It was nearly nightfall—there was no reason for this number of men to be gathered in front of George McDonnell's house. McDonnell was a threat to no one—he seemed to be a recluse and wanted nothing to do with the goings-on in town. Especially after the Russians.
True, he'd actively helped Denny and the Rangers fight them off but after that, McDonnell disappeared. He completely retreated into his house and garden.
Denny had been on his way to meet McDonnell and see if he would join the resistance. He'd already made the rounds on the outskirts of town and brought in six men, all of them willing to sacrifice everything to take back the town.
He was due to receive a message from John in the next ten minutes and slipped his hand in his pocket to shut off his little two-way radio. No surprise interruption this time, John.
Agitated voices echoed down the street. Denny leaned around the corner once more, peering through the growing twilight at the group of men in front of McDonnell's house. One of them walked up to stand in the flower bed and pulled out a flashlight before peering through the front window. That, evidently, had been the last straw.
The front door flung open and McDonnell stepped out onto his porch brandishing a shotgun. The men arrayed before him immediately shrank back, but Denny noticed the two with weapons drew them, although no one pointed anything at anyone yet.
"Go on! Clear out here! I don't want none of what you're sellin'!" A blanket fell from McDonnell's shoulders to the porch at his feet. Underneath, Denny wasn't surprised the old veteran wore his stained and faded desert BDUs.
"Now we don't want any trouble, Mr. McDonnell," a voice floated on the wind.
Denny heard mumbling, but he hid too far away to make out what was said next. Whatever it was, McDonnell didn't like it much.
He fired a blast in the air that echoed through town and scared birds across the river from roofs and trees, then quickly clack-clacked another shell in the chamber. Denny turned his attention back to the front porch. Two of the group turned and ran down the street. A third looked like he wanted to flee. He fidgeted and glanced between the angry old man and the two others. They did not move at all. Instead, they put their heads together and whispered while McDonnell shouted at them to leave once more.
"I said, get off my property!"
One of the men with a pistol shouldered the unarmed man forward. He held up a sheet of paper in a shaking hand. His voice shook and cracked. The wind carried his words to Denny: "By order of Mayor Wills and his chief lieutenant, John Townsen, this property is hereby confiscated for the greater good of the population of Salmon Falls!"
"Bullshit!" spat McDonnell.
"George McDonnell," continued the speaker, "you are hereby ordered to vacate the premises, effective immediately. If you cannot or will not do so under your own power, we have been authorized by—"
McDonnell pointed the barrel of his shotgun toward the speaker's face. Both men with pistols aimed at McDonnell.
"Drop your weapon!" screamed one.
"Fuck you!" shouted McDonnell. "Ain't nobody tellin' me I can't live in my own home! I fought two wars for this country, I paid for this house, and nobody owns this house but me! You see the mayor's name on the title to this property? Hell no! It's mine! And I will God damn kill any man who says otherwise!"
Despite the severity of the situation, Denny smiled. Old man McDonnell would never back down to threats. He was exactly the man Denny needed for the resistance. It was high time to diffuse the situation.
Denny took stock of what he carried. His Tomahawk wouldn't be much good at this distance. He thought back to the meeting with Anse and Deputy Griswold. That was kind of a lucky throw. It'd been foolish and stupid of him to throw his only weapon like that. He'd never make that mistake again, regardless of how it turned out the first time.
He had his bow and some hickory arrows with him on the off chance he spotted game while on his way to town on his recruiting mission. Denny judged the distance to McDonnell's house. He was sure he could take at least one of the armed men, but both of them aimed their weapons at George. If he got one, the other would get McDonnell.
Denny looked down at his feet as the shouting continued across the street. He scraped away some of the snow and found a chunk of brick, charred black from the fire that had gutted the house he now hid behind. He picked up the brick, turned and threw it up the street a ways, aiming for a neighboring house. The brick clattered against the front door and fell with the plop into the slushy snow on the front step.
Both the armed men turned to look, and Denny saw their guns waiver off target. McDonnell saw it too—he swung the shotgun and pulled the trigger. Fire and smoke belched straight at Townsen's representative. The man crumpled into the snow as his partner tripped and fell sideways. Before he could point his gun at McDonnell, the old man pumped the scattergun and took aim.
The man froze, his pistol in the snow and useless.
Denny stepped out from behind the house and knocked an arrow. He took two steps into the street before he announced his presence. "All right, everybody stop it, right now!" he called out. All three men turned to face Denny.
"Denny?" asked McDonnell, his shotgun still pointed at the man in the snow.
"Oh, shit," muttered the man in the snow. Recognition flashed across his face.
"You!" Denny said. He recognized the face—the man who'd shot Anse and slipped away back at the clearing. Denny drew back on the arrow and took aim. He held it at the corner of his lip and debated what to do.
"You really gonna shoot me with a bow and arrow? Really?" asked the man laying on the ground as he aimed his pistol at Denny's chest. "Didn't anybody ever tell you not to bring a bow to a gunfight?"
"I'm pretty sure at this distance you can kill me with that gun of yours…" Denny said as he took another step forward in the street. "But I'm definitely sure this arrow here can pin you to the ground before you can move."
The smile faded from the man's face.
"He won't have to fire that arrow once I excavate your cranium," growled old man McDonnell. The man with the pistol turned and noticed the open-ended maw of McDonnell's shotgun pointed at the back of his head. He quickly raised both hands and dropped the pistol.
Denny released the tension on his bowstring as he trotted across the street. He reached down and picked up the pistol, dusted off the snow, and slipped it into his coat pocket. "Who are you? What's your name?"
The man in the snow smiled at him.
"Man asked you a question, boy." McDonnell took one wobbly step down from his porch and rested the edge of his shotgun
against the back of the man's head.
Denny squatted in front of the prisoner and stared into his blue eyes. "I've never seen you around here before. Where'd you come from?"
"You know what you are? You're nothing but a vigilante," the man said in a quiet voice. "And you will have an entire shit ton of trouble dropped on your heads if anything happens to me."
Denny looked up and down the deserted, snow-covered street. "Really? And why is that?"
The man slowly moved his left hand to his jacket and pulled it open. Underneath was a bright gold star imprinted with the words: US Marshal.
"Because that right there is my ticket out of jail. That's right, you crazy son of a bitch," he said with a smirk for McDonnell, "I'm a Federal Marshal. I've been tasked with bringing law and order to the loyal citizens of Salmon Falls."
"Loyal to who?" snapped McDonnell. He jerked the barrel of his shotgun forward to put emphasis on his words.
The law man winced and glanced over his shoulder at McDonnell. "You're just digging yourself a deeper grave, old timer. When the mayor finds out about this—"
"Who do you work for?" asked Denny.
"The President."
"Which one?" demanded McDonnell. He shuffled sideways through the snow and stood next to Denny. The shotgun wobbled slightly. Denny shot a sideways glance at McDonnell and saw sweat bead on his forehead.
The marshal saw it too. "That shotgun gettin' heavy for you, old man?"
Denny stared at him and noticed his left hand inch its way toward his leg, half-buried in the snow. He reached under his coat and pulled out his tomahawk, allowing the dim sun to flash across the razor-sharp edge. The marshal's eyes went wide as the blade came to rest on his neck. "Why don't you move your hand a little further away from your ankle."
"Okay…okay," the marshal intoned as he lifted both hands back in the air. "No need to go all native on me or anything," he muttered. "I got a small pistol strapped to my leg, that's the only other weapon I'm carrying. Honest."
Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga Page 17
