Apache Dawn - - (classic fiction .TXT) 📗
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Dr. Honeycutt nodded. “Time of death, 6:21pm.”
“If you don’t open this door, so help me—”
The SEAL commander stood up and with an expression of pure rage on his face, pulled the MP-5 free from his side. He ripped the cocking handle on the small carbine back with a vicious pull and brought it to his shoulder. That one movement was so practiced, so smooth, it looked as if he could have done it in his sleep.
Brenda knew what was going to happen next, and pitied the men on the other side of the door. She had seen that look in other Americans’ eyes before, back in the Sandbox.
“Yo, Coop! What we doin’, man?” asked the tall, black SEAL by the door, as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Jax,” replied Master Chief Braaten, switching on his laser sight, “we’re going to follow orders.”
“Hooyah, Master Chief,” barked the blond-haired giant on the other side the disintegrating door. He high-fived his dark-skinned comrade.
A face appeared in the ragged hole, contorted with anger. “Open this fuckin’ door! That’s an order!” shrieked the acting base CO from the other side of the ax hole. “If you don’t, I’ll have you all shot as traitors! The President himself told me—”
The other SEALs switched on their laser sights. The handful of red beams lanced out across the empty space in the room and came to rest on the man’s nose. The look of surprise and sudden horror on the man’s face nearly caused Brenda to burst out laughing, despite all the sadness that swirled around her.
Master Chief Braaten glanced at the body of his Commander in Chief and nodded. “I did not come all the way out here, lose half my team, and rescue the President, only to let these fuckers desecrate his body.” He stood there a moment, perfectly still, aiming at the door.
Brenda imagined he was trying to sort out what exactly to do next. If the SEALs went charging out there, they were likely to die, and take a lot of the airmen out there with them. If they let the base security in…what then? Would they all be arrested and tried for treason? Or just the SEALs? Brenda hoped it would be hard for a court martial to convict a doctor for trying to save a man’s life…
“Jax, open the door.”
Brenda held her breath. She gripped the edge of the President’s gurney and prepared to duck when the shooting started. Her training kicked in as warning bells screamed in her mind. Take cover! Incoming!
“Say what?” asked the tall SEAL.
Master Chief Braaten grinned. Brenda heard the soft click of the safety on his rifle being disengaged.
“Let’s rise.”
Salmon Falls, Idaho
U.P. Lake Ranger Station
The door opened and Tuck entered, followed by Zuka, who limped on his left leg. “Recon’s done. They got that place locked down pretty good, but it ain’t watertight.”
Zuka grimaced as he collapsed onto a crate and sighed. “Ivan’s got lots of toys, sir.”
“Well, we’ve got some toys too, but we’re running low on ammo,” grumbled Deuce as he looked up from his hastily made weapons cleaning station. He was sitting on a crate of candles, with what looked to Chad like the parts for a dozen weapons spread out on the floor in front of him. He meticulously rubbed down each part with a cloth and some oil.
“Ivan’s got a lot of that down in town, too,” said Tuck. His face betrayed no emotion. “Spotted at least three ammo-supply dumps.”
“Show me, sergeant,” Captain Alston said. He joined Tuck and Zuka at a table with a map of Salmon Falls.
“Okay, here we are,” said the sniper as he pointed toward the mountain just west of town.
Chad’s view was blocked as the Rangers crowded around the map. He turned away and saw the Indian sitting alone in the shadows on the far wall. He took a step around the Rangers and walked over to his fellow civilian.
“Ivan’s got checkpoints here, here and here,” Tuck was saying.
“Here’s the ammo dump—right next to City Hall,” added Zuka.
“Or what’s left of it. They got their BTRs here, and here to block the main access points…”
“Howdy,” said Chad as he approached the man who’d killed the four Russians. “In all the excitement, we weren’t introduced. I’m Chad Huntley.” He offered his right hand.
The Indian looked up. His high-cheeked face was covered in a grisly camo pattern of brown and green. The effect gave him a leering smile or a skeletal look, depending on the angle. His coal-dark eyes bored into Chad’s. The man didn’t say anything, but looked back down at his tomahawk and continued to rub it across a whetstone. The tomahawk made a softly grinding shriiiick, shriiiiick noise that sounded eerily menacing.
“Okaaaay…” Chad said, dropping his hand. “I just figured, you know, since we were the only two civilians at this party…”
“I’m not taking a long walk with you on the beach, if that’s what you’re going to ask,” the man muttered. “So go ask one of them.” He nodded toward the Rangers, still discussing the Russian positions.
Chad frowned. So that’s how it is, eh?
“Well, you got a name, or do I just call you Chief?”
“Lot of guts to say that, Paleface,” the Indian said. He looked up, anger flashing in his narrowed eyes. Abruptly, he smiled and displayed the white of his teeth in stark contrast to the dark colors on his face. The Indian stuck out his hand, yet that smile still sent a shiver down Chad’s spine.
Chad took the proffered hand and said, “Glad to see you got a sense of humor…?”
“Denoyan. Denoyan Tecumseh. You can call me Denny.” He dropped Chad’s hand and went back to sharpening his tomahawk. Shriiiick, shriiiick, shriiiick.
Chad looked at the tomahawk and admired the impressive-looking weapon. “That what you used to…ah…?”
He looked up again. “Yes.” Shriiiick, shriiiick, shriiiick.
“Hey, you two wanna get a room?” asked Zuka. His face split into a grin.
Captain Alston walked over to the civilians, but not before flicking the back side of Zuka’s head as he passed. The tall Ranger knelt beside Denny and admired the man’s sharpening skills for a moment. Neither man acknowledged the other or said anything. Chad stood there and watched.
“What are your intentions, Mr. Tecumseh?”
“Denny.” Shriiiick, shriiiick, shriiiick.
“Pardon?”
“Call me Denny.” Shriiiick, shriiiick, shriiiick.
“What are your intentions, Denny?” inquired Captain Alston again.
Denny paused his sharpening and looked up. “You heard the President’s speech—the real President, Denton—that was broadcast last night.” Denny held the tomahawk up and admired his work. “I didn’t vote for him, but I’m going to do what he asked me to do. I’m going to fight the invaders.”
“I’d say you’ve already started,” said Captain Alston.
Denny shrugged. “I guess so. It’s funny,” he said, his voice emotionless. “I’ve never killed anyone before. Just deer and turkey…” His voice trailed off.
Chad could sympathize with the man. He’d shot his first man a few days back during his flight from the North Koreans. Then at the emergency landing zone he had shot a man trying to kill Captain Alston…Since then, he’d felt that something inside him had changed. Tempered. Grown stronger.
“Tonight, I’m going to go down into town and kill as many Russians as I can find,” Denny said, looking absently at the tomahawk. “I’m going to protect my neighbors. I’m going to honor my ancestors. I’m going to defend this land.”
Shhhriiiiick, shhhriiiiiiick, shhhriiiiiiick.
Captain Alston nodded. He looked up at Chad. “Mr. Huntley here is my top priority. I’m supposed to get him to a tier-one medical facility so the mad scientists can make his blood into a vaccine to fight the super flu…”
Denny paused in his sharpening and regarded Chad. “Was your blood used ten years ago during the Blue Flu?”
“Yeah,” said Chad. He thought back
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