Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga (63 page)

“Yeah!” someone called out.
 
“Just think about it, okay?
 
No need to make a decision right now.”

“Just think about it,” agreed Mary.
 
“That’s all we ask.”

Facing the relentless pleas and the press of bodies, Denny succumbed.
 
He held up his hands and the crowd quieted.
 
“If you all are that worked up about it, then yes.
 
I’ll think about it.”

The crowd cheered.

Denny looked at the hope on the faces around him.
 
Maybe running for office wasn't such a bad idea.
 
If it gave his friends and neighbors hope for a brighter future, then what did it matter?
 
They needed hope.
 
The hard winter remained ahead of them and the town hadn’t fully cleared the flu yet.
 
But if healing was what was needed in Salmon Falls, Denny figured it was a worthy cause.

“If this is going to happen—”

“It is, Congressman!”

"Senator!" someone else called.

Denny raised his voice to be heard.
 
“Look, if this really happens, then we need to seriously think about who’s going to be mayor.
 
And we’ll need a new lawman.”
 
He looked at Griswold.
 
“I nominate Deputy Griswold to be the new Chief of Police.”

“I second!” called out Mary.

“Now look, I didn’t hobble out here to get dragged into this,” objected Griswold.

“Then
you
want to run for Congress?” asked Denny.
 
The crowd grew quiet.
 
Griswold looked like he just swallowed a fish bone.

“Well…Chief doesn’t sound so bad.”

As Denny shook hands with what seemed like half the crowd, he couldn’t shake an itch between his shoulder blades.
 
The western breeze that promised a snowstorm that night whispered in his ear as he endured the slaps on the back.

Red Eagle sang a song of his ancestors.
 
You have made your people proud, Little Spear.

Denny felt the weight of responsibility descend on his shoulders once more.
 
The whole town seemed to be behind him, pushing him forward, encouraging him.
 
You are Salmon Falls
, they seemed to say—
tell them there in Washington what happened here.
 
Spread the message of hope that we can all pull through this
.

You are Salmon Falls…

Denny smiled.
 
I am Shawnee.

C
HAPTER
48

Annapolis, Maryland.

United States Naval Academy.

C
OOPER
STARED
AT
THE
five officers arrayed behind the collapsible table.
 
Three flags, a captain, and a commander.
 
Funny how the Admirals looked healthy and hale and a little overweight while the junior officers appeared haggard and worn.
 
They looked like flu survivors.
 
Cooper glanced out the bank of windows and looked at the deserted walkways that crisscrossed the Naval Academy.
 

When is this going to end?
 
Feels like my leg is on fire…
Sweat dribbled down his spine from the effort to remain on his feet.

He’d expected to be whisked away to some secret part of the Pentagon or something for his court martial.
 
Instead, they’d taken him straight from the hospital to Annapolis, said something about the Pentagon being disinfected.
 
He glanced at the junior officers again.
 
If they worked at the Pentagon that might explain their sallow looks.
 

“…Braaten?”

Cooper blinked and focused on the Rear Admiral who’d spoken.
 
“Sir?”

“I realize you’ve been through a lot in the past week, but please try to stay with us.”

Four hours of standing at ease before the Court Martial and they expected him to still be alert.
 
“Yes, sir.”
 

Like it matters any more.
 
You’ve made your case—I’ll be lucky to avoid the firing squad
.

“Is it your confirmed testimony that Master Chief Petty Officer Charles Marshal was not at the scene to witness the escape of the fugitive known as ‘13’ and the death of Reginald Tillcott?”

Cooper shifted his gaze to the only female flag officer.
 
You’re Goddamn right I let her get away.
 
“Yes, ma’am.”

She took off her glasses and placed them on the table.
 
“Lieutenant, I’ll be frank.
 
This board—myself included—would like nothing more than to bury this and send you back out there.
 
Our enemies are legion…as a country, we haven’t even begun to recover from the Korean Flu—but this…” she gestured at the piles of papers and reports in front of her.
 
“This is too much.
 
That man was too valuable to overlook his death.”

Cooper stared at her, waiting for that final verdict.
 
Just get it over with.
 
Why are you dragging this out?

“As much as it pains me, I feel the final decision of this Court must be—through your own admission—a guilty verdict.”
 
She looked down at the papers and sighed.
 
“As much as you are a decorated veteran of the Special Operations Command and one of the highest ranking SEALs we currently have at our disposal, your blatant dereliction of duty—which led to the murder of a high value target and the failure of your mission—cannot be tolerated.
 
I’m fairly confident we can avoid the charges of treason, but you’re looking at a lifetime sentence in a Federal Penitentiary without the possibility of parole.”

Cooper's mind went blank.
 
Jesus…so this is how it ends
.
 
He looked down at the thick, steel handcuffs that held his wrists together.
 
Brenda’s dead, my career’s over.
 
Life in the brig.
 
Everything I’ve ever worked for, all I sacrificed for this country…and it’s over.
 
Just like that.

The admirals continued to talk, but Cooper wasn’t listening anymore.
 
A deafening silence shrouded him like a tomb.
 
Reginald had gotten what he deserved though not at his hands and his mission had been completed, but he was hollow inside.
 
Brenda was still dead—he was still alone.

“…most strenuous objections of Admiral Bennet…”

Cooper forced his attention to sharpen at the mention of Bennet’s name.
 
His knees felt weak.
 
He wanted to throw up.
 
The prospect of prison time didn’t frighten him at all.
 
He was confident he would survive just fine—it was the
shame
of it all that burned his core.
 
He’d expected to be drummed out of the Teams, but sent to Leavenworth to rot for the rest of his life with all the dregs the military produced…

“Did you hear me, Lieutenant?”

Cooper blinked.
 
“I’m sorry, sir.
 
What?”

“I said, you are a very lucky man.
 
Admiral Bennet has provided evidence that…well, it doesn’t exonerate you completely, but provides not insignificant mitigating circumstances which in sum, warrant a less severe punishment.”
 

The admirals glanced down the table at the junior officers.
 
They all looked tired and ready to call it a day.
 
“We are in agreement then?” asked the rear admiral.
 
The others nodded.
 
She looked back at Cooper.
 
“Lieutenant Cooper James Braaten.”

Cooper snapped to attention, his handcuffs
clinking
softly.
 
“Ma’am.”

“It is the judgment of this Court that you be dishonorably discharged from the United States Navy.
 
Effective immediately, you are hereby stripped of your rank and the privileges thereof.
 
You are henceforth forever prohibited from service in the Armed Forces of the United States and will lose all benefits—financial and otherwise—you may have been awarded prior to this conviction.”

Cooper blinked.
 
Her words hit him in the chest like a sledgehammer. A large part of his life evaporated before his eyes.
 
He would have the memories, nothing more.

"In light of the current situation the country finds itself in, this proceeding will have to be abbreviated.
 
The Navy doesn't have the time or resources to deal with cases like yours but the White House wants this wrapped up expeditiously," continued the rear admiral.
 
She motioned to the Marine over Cooper's shoulder.

“Gunnery Sergeant, remove his restraints, please.”

"Ma'am," said the young man who stepped forward with the key.
 
“For what it’s worth, I heard what you did—not bad for a squid,” he muttered under his breath.

The Marine stepped back into the background, leaving Cooper to face the court alone, unfettered.
 
He was free of the chains, but he'd never be free of the verdict.
 
He’d probably have to register as a convicted felon wherever he ended up going—most states didn’t take kindly to someone with a dishonorable discharge.
 
No way Oakrock would take him on as a private contractor with a DD hanging around his neck.
 

Cooper absently rubbed the sore spot on his wrists where the handcuffs had chafed his skin.
 
“Now what?” he asked.

“You are free to go.
 
The ensign outside this chamber will have your discharge papers and personal effects.”
 
She paused as Cooper turned to go.
 
“For what it’s worth, Mr. Braaten, what you did was…well, you helped put a mad dog down.
 
Most people will never know about this,” she said tapping the papers in front of her.
 
“But the world owes a debt to you.”

That and five bucks will get me a cup of coffee.
 
“Thank you, ma’am.”
 
Cooper turned to face her and fired off the snappiest salute of his career.
 
She stood and returned it, her crisp dress whites so sharp he expected them to cut her when she bent her arm.
 

“Godspeed, Lieutenant.”

Cooper limped through the metal gate exiting the Naval Academy grounds and found himself on Hanover Street next to The Chapel.
 
He stared up at the green-topped marble structure, bathed in the evening light.
 
He'd always dreamed of one day going to the Academy.
 
Just not like this.

He looked down at the paper in his hands as it rustled in the breeze off the Severn.
 
Cooper closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath of salt-tinged air.
 
Freedom.

The cell phone in his pocket buzzed.
 
He pulled it out in a daze and looked at the screen.
 
Charlie.
 

“Hello?”
 

“
'Bout time you answered.
 
Must mean it's over, right?
 
You need a drink—end of the block.
 
We’re waiting for you at Squiddy Mack’s.
”
 
Charlie hung up.

Cooper stared south toward the gleaming white cupola of the Maryland State House.
 
Without thinking, he put one foot in front of the other and limped down the deserted street.
 
Only as he approached the bar did he notice the complete lack of trash or debris—the streets around the Naval Academy were sterile.
 
Not even a bum.
 

He knew the flu had hit Baltimore hard and the Navy had doubled-down on protecting Annapolis, but he didn’t know they’d gone to such efforts to create a buffer zone outside the Academy.
 
Every row-house he passed was empty, their windows boarded up at the start of the outbreak weeks ago.
 
His boots echoed between the buildings on the empty street.
 
Only the streetlights flickering to life in the distance lent any normalcy to the scene.

He found the seedy looking undergrad bar and stepped through the door, his duffel slung over his shoulder containing everything the Navy let him have—a set of clothes, some pictures, a coat, reams of paperwork and all his medals.
 
Ten years of sacrifice in a bag.

Squiddy Mack's smoky interior was dimly lit and almost as deserted as the streets outside.
 
After Cooper’s eyes adjusted he found what was left of his Team waiting for him at the bar.
 
A smile creased his face as he limped over and dropped the bag to the floor.