Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga (31 page)

There was some indistinct commotion in the background followed by a big crash and static, then a lot of coughing and finally the Captain’s sister came back on the line.
 
“
Jesus, that was close.
 
They’re still raining missiles down on the city and that one probably took out a building down the block from us.
 
It’s like an earthquake every time one hits.
 
But they won’t touch this hospital because
…” her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
 

Chad imagined her crouching behind something, one hand covering the phone…

“
The
President
is here!” s
he hissed.
 
“He caught the flu on some campaign fundraiser downtown a few days ago and the Secret Service brought him here at oh-dark-thirty this morning.
 
He’s in real bad shape, Dee…I…I don’t know if he’s going to make it.
 
We don’t have any of the H5N1 vaccine here and I think the antibodies in that vaccine are the only thing that can fight this new strain even, half-way!
 
The really scary thing is we heard the President is dead on the news…but I’m sitting not thirty feet from him right now!
 
What does that mean?
”

A different, deeper and rougher voice could be heard in the background, issuing indistinct orders.
 
Then, quite clearly, everyone in the tiny cabin heard, “
All right, people, we are leaving!
 
Get your shit wired and prep to jump.
 
We move as a group and we fight as a group.
 
We’re going to cut through these fuckers
—”

Captain Alston’s sister returned: “
I gotta go, the SEALs are getting us out of here.
 
Their leader’s kinda cute,”
she whispered.
 
Chad saw Alston’s face harden.
 

“We’re heading to some Air Force base around here.
 
My new hospital—All Saint’s—it’s just not safe…God, I wish you were here.
 
I…I love you bro
,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.
 
The shouting in the background started up again and a single shot rang out and the message ended.

“
End of new messages.
 
To save, press—
”

The Captain clicked the button to end the call and put the phone down.

“Uh, why you smilin’, Cap?
 
That message sounded pretty bad, to me,” asked Deuce.

“Donovan, wipe that confused look of your face.
 
We’re changing our flight plan.”

“What?
 
Don’t we have orders to get this guy to Spokane?” asked Garza.

“We do. But that was before we knew everything we know now.”
 
He stared at the cell phone in his hand.
 
“Since we were ordered to Spokane, we have lost direct contact with HQ.
 
We don’t even know if our ride will show up when the weather quits.”

“I still don’t know what the hell is going on,” said Chad.

“Well, we know everything we need to know, now,” replied Captain Alston.
 
He held up a cold finger.
 
“Those NKor bastards are invading southern California, which means we’re at war.
 
That also means the Chinese are involved somehow.
 
North Korea doesn’t take a piss without the ‘go-ahead’ from Beijing—everyone knows that.
 
Our primary mission is to defend this nation—now, we know where to do that.”
 

Another finger went up.
 
“The President is—or was
—
at All Saint’s Hospital, in Los Angeles.”
 

Another finger went up.
 
“My sister is—or was—alive as of last night, at that same hospital.”
 

Another finger, “Apache Dawn has been put into play.
 
And that means we abort all other missions or tasks and get our asses to the front, get to our CO, and fight to the last man.”
 
Captain Alston paused and looked at every man in turn.
 
Chad watched—no one flinched or seemed to show any sign of reluctance.
 
They were a dangerous-looking group of men.
 

“Well, gentlemen, we are cut off from our CO—but now we know where our CNC is.”
 

His thumb went up, “The President is with my sister, along with some Navy SEALs apparently,” his face turned sour.
 
“Leaving aside my sister thinks one those Squids is cute,” disgust dripped from his tongue.
 
He shook his head.
 
“And the President’s already been declared dead—despite the fact that my sister says he’s very much alive.
 
That tells me someone is grabbing power during this shit storm back in Washington.
 
That don’t fly in my book.”
 
He shook his head, glowering.
 

“No, the President is alive and it looks like there’s only one thing that can save him…” He turned to look at Chad.
 
All the Rangers looked at Chad.

Chad put his hands up in front of him.
 
“Whoa…hey…”

C
HAPTER
13

Washington, D.C.

The White House.

A
LL
RIGHT
THEN
,
EVERYONE
,” said the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, a wrinkled conservative crone whose voice sounded like crumbling parchment sliding on pavement.
 

Harold could almost
taste
the dislike the shriveled old woman was broadcasting by her body language.
 
She held herself stiff, like a corpse wrapped in a black shroud, as if preparing herself for a very unpleasant task.
 
He mentally shrugged, supposing for her it
was
unpleasant.
 
She was one of the conservative dinosaurs that had been made irrelevant in the last few general elections, a relic of a bygone era.
 

And now he would be ushered into office and assume command, leading a vast network of like-minded congressmen and women, senators, most of the Supreme Court, and the majority of American voters.
 
President Denton had honestly
tried
to be moderate and at least put lipstick on his jamming of pet projects into law over the Conservatives’ cries of outrage.
 
Harold James Barron vowed he would waste no effort over the hurt feelings of those political Neanderthals.
 

Their time was over.
 
He believed there needed to be a truly progressive future for America and he was going to build on his predecessor’s advancement of liberal ideas and make it permanent.
 
Forget change−he was going to recreate America.

“You don’t have to look so happy about this, you know,” the old crone hissed at him while trying to look nonchalant for the impromptu gathering of pool reporters.
 
“We don’t even know if he’s still alive or not and you’re carrying on as if you just won the election.”

Barron ignored the old witch and beamed for the cameras.
 
He was mere seconds away from being sworn in as President of the United States and he was going to relish every single second.

“Have it your way,” she sighed, shaking her gray head.
 
Louder, to call the gathering to attention, she said: “Raise your right hand.
 
Good.
 
Now, repeat after me:
I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States…
”

“I do solemnly swear,” he heard himself say.
 
He was lost in the moment and while his mouth was speaking the rest of the sacred words, his mind was reeling in unabashed joy.
 
The possibilities that lay before him staggered the mind.

“…
So help me, God
.”

“So help me, God,” Barron said, quickly pulling his hand off the Bible held in the clutches of the old hag.
 
He idly mused what would happen if he appointed some sexy young co-ed just out of Law School to the Supreme Court.
 
His party had the power to confirm the nomination in a heartbeat…

“Congratulations, Mr. President,” the venomous harpy said through clenched teeth as she offered a limp, clammy handshake.
 
Her contempt for him was palatable.
 
“May God help us all.”

As the cameras flashed and the reporters jockeyed for position, Harold James Barron, Esq., President of the United States took a deep breath and smiled for his new nation, he thought, rather ruefully.
 
It was true, he was elated, but he did not want to come off as jubilant.
 
He shook hands with the half dozen foreign dignitaries rounded up from State, and a few cabinet officials, including the Secretary of Defense.

“Mr. President, we need to speak,” an elderly serious-looking man said in a whisper as he shook the newly sworn-in Chief Executive’s hand.

“President Barron!” called one of the reporters.
 
“Do you have any comment on the civil unrest reported in California?
 
Have you—“

“Okay everyone, the President has a full agenda today, so let’s let him get to work,” said his Chief of Staff as the press was ushered from the Oval Office.
 
The howls of protest from the reporters were pushed aside by a small swarm of Secret Service agents that materialized out of the shadows to clear the room.
 

The last flash went off and the curved door to the Oval Office hushed shut with a soft click and vanished into the curved, white wall.
 
Harold looked fondly at the massive desk that dominated the far side of the room.
 
It was all his.
 
Just like Reginald had promised.

“Sir,” began the Secretary of Defense.
 
He started to open his briefcase.

The President held his left hand up absently to forestall the stodgy-looking man.
 
He continued to stare at the desk—
his
desk.
 
Walking over to it, he ran his hands along its glossy, dark finish, admiring the luxurious feel of the ageless desk.
 
It had been the throne of power, the place from which the most powerful men on the planet had dictated terms to entire nations, declared both war and peace.
 
The pinnacle of American political power.

He sank into the plush, leather-upholstered high-backed chair and sighed.
 
Now he was at that pinnacle; he was that man; he was the power.
 
He opened his eyes slowly and a smug smile crept across his face.
 

“Go ahead, Albert, what have you got for me?”
 
The President twirled in his new chair.
 
Not a single squeak or creak.
 
The Taxpayers had spared no expense.

The Secretary of Defense smiled, Harold thought a bit condescendingly, and adjusted the half-glasses on the tip of his nose.
 
“Of course, Mr. President. If you’re sure you’re ready?”

“Proceed,” said the President with a regal wave of his hand.
 
He twirled around in his chair again and stopped after one revolution smacking his hands on the desk.
 
The loud slap made his Chief of Staff flinch.

“I’m glad you like your chair, sir, because we’re on the fucking brink of World War III here.”
 

The smile vanished from the President’s face. “Wh—what?” Panic gripped his heart for a split second.
 
Reginald had said, just that morning, that everything was under control!
 
He tried to calm his quickly accelerating heart rate.

The Secretary of Defense sat down heavily in a richly upholstered chair across from the President’s desk. The other cabinet members, NSA, CIA, the Joint Chiefs, and his Chief of Staff all sat on the matching couches, shuffling papers and tablets.
 
The elderly head of the Defense Department took off his glasses and glared at the President with rheumy eyes.

“We have foreign soldiers in…at last count,” he looked down at his papers and held his glasses in front of his face.
 
The crusty, balding old man fixed those hawk-like eyes on Harold again.
 
“…
Seven
major American cities.
 
Foreign soldiers
, Mr. President, on
American
soil, attacking
our
cities.
 
And that’s just what we can confirm.
 
With most of our satellites out of commission,” he threw his hands up.
 
“We’re basically blind, deaf and mute.
 
We are cut off from the majority of our forces overseas.
 
It’s like they just vanished.”