Apache Dawn - - (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

It took a suprisingly long amount of time for Cooper and Swede to make their way through the warren of corridors and hatches up to the surface. There was some damage to the entrance to which they were directed by Arol, but the main hatch was still at least somewhat serviceable. Cooper put his ear to the big metal door. He could hear a humming sound, more of a vibration than an actual sound.

“Something’s going on out there. Let’s see what we can see. Ready?”

Swede nodded. He adjusted his grip on the hatch handle.

“All right,” Cooper said, taking a knee and bringing his rifle up. “Do it.”

Swede grunted with effort and after a moment of painful-sounding steel on steel, the door relented and a shaft of sunlight pierced the dust-clogged air. The door also let in the overpowering sound of engines. Lots of them. Big ones. Cooper held up his hand to stop the door from opening any farther. He crept forward to get a look.

Through the rubble, he could see a sliver of blue sky. Something gray flashed by, accompanied by the roar of turbines. At first he thought it was a helicopter, but something about the shape of the flash he saw suggested a plane. It was moving too slow for a plane, though. As the noise receded, he heard some indistinct shouts and the rumble and unmistakable squeak of tank treads.

Swede let go of the door to take up a covering position. The bulky metal door swung inward and squealed louder than when he’d initially opened it. Cooper dropped to the deck and glared at Swede, who shrugged as he pulled his own rifle forward.

Cooper heard a shout, followed by another. “Shit,” he hissed. “We’re made. Get ready to fall back.”

A shadow crossed over the gap in the rubble on the other side of the door and the blue sky disappeared. “Sarge! Over here! I got a door!”

Cooper and Swede exchanged looks. That voice sounded like it came from Kentucky, not Pyongyang.

“Hey! You three—yeah you, knucklehead—get your asses over there and help Bonner. Clear that debris away,” barked a voice that could only belong to a drill instructor from Parris Island.

Cooper held up a fist for Swede, then gripped his rifle and waited. Rocks shifted and dust trickled into the open hatch as many sets of hands attacked the pile of rubble from the other side. The sliver of blue sky began to grow as rocks and bits of the ruined base were removed. He could hear bits of radio chatter and chirps. None of it was in Korean.

When the last big rock moved to the sounds of three sets of curses, sunlight flooded the little chamber Cooper and Swede occupied. He squinted and tried to make out the silhouette that filled the sky.

“That’s far enough!” he called out.

“Holy shit! Friendly! Friendly! Don’t shoot!” said the kid from Kentucky, falling backwards into the rock heap in surprise.

“Identify yourself!” barked the drill instructor’s voice. Cooper heard weapons brought up and chambered. They were definitely outgunned.

“You first!” he hollered back. Someone chuckled nervously.

“Gunnery Sergeant Benjamin Morrin, United States Marine Corps. And you are?”

Cooper held a tight grip on his rifle. His mind raced—what were the chances that these Marines would want him and his refugees dead, like Colonel Molton? Had President Barron gotten to them as well? An idea occurred to him.

“Who’s the President?” he yelled.

“Chesterfield Denton,” hollered the D.I.’s voice, without hesitation.

Cooper sighed and lowered his rifle. He stood, shaking the dust from his clothes. He took a step forward and met the Marine coming through the hatch with an open hand. “Damn glad to see you.” They shook hands, warrior to warrior. “Master Chief Cooper Braaten.”

The stocky fireplug of a Marine looked Cooper up and down. “You sure as hell don’t look like any jet jockey I’ve ever seen.” When Swede appeared out of the shadows and startled the other Marines, the Gunnery Sergeant grinned. “You boys must be them SEALs we’ve been lookin’ for.”

“Want me to call it in, Gunny?”

The D.I. in front of Cooper made a display of rolling his eyes then turned around to face the young Marine who spoke. “What the fuck do you think, Chavez? Get on the horn and let the Ell-Tee know we found our boys. Go on, git!” He looked back at Cooper and sighed.

“Round up everyone you can, they told me. Take the greenhorns, they said. It’ll be fine, Morrin. Invasion or not, they’re gonna get me killed, Chief.”

Cooper grinned. He liked the Marine already. He introduced Swede as a commotion outside grew louder. Over the constant drone of the engines, he could hear a group of men approaching.

“The hell is going on out there?” Swede asked, shielding his eyes from the bright light outside.

“The Reconquista, brother,” said the Marine, grinning. “The Old Man himself—the Commandant. He arrived on base yesterday like a pissed-off honey badger and stirred up every asset we had. We got the training air-wing out there with half a brigade of infantry and armor. All rolled out of Twentynine Palms about sunset yesterday on a one-way ticket here. The Commandant said he was on a personal mission from God to rescue the President and the SEALs that were protecting him. You’re famous, Chief.”

“Who the hell said we needed rescuing?” said Cooper, frowning. “We’re SEALs, Gunny.”

The Marine laughed. “Well, President Denton’s speech sure fired up the Old Man. Hell, it fired up the whole damn country.” The D.I. smiled. “It’s like the NKors hit a damn brick wall. Lots of people took that ‘rise’ speech to heart. And now we’re starting to hold the line. We’re the tip of the spear, brother.” He put a hand to his helmet and listened. “Commandant’s comin’ in to see Denton.”

“That won’t be easy…” muttered Cooper.

“Why’s that?”

“He died right after the speech,” Cooper replied. “The flu.”

“Well, fuck me sideways.”

“Where are they?” growled an older man as he pushed his way through the growing throng of Marines gawking at the door into the bunker. “Make way!” Marines snapped to attention and fell over themselves to clear a path.

Cooper waited for the Commandant to clamber down through the rubble and step into the dusty chamber. He wasn’t sure what to do—after all, these were Marines. In the end, he saluted. “Master Chief Cooper Braaten, sir. Awful happy to see you, sir.”

The Commandant’s face split into a camera-cracking smile and returned the salute. The older man’s weatherbeaten face, his disregard for personal safety—he wore no helmet—his impressive physique…the man was a Marine, through and through. He had a strong handshake and clapped Cooper on the shoulder, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “Outstanding job extracting the President, Chief—out-fucking-standing.”

“Sir, pardon my asking, but aren’t you supposed to be in Washington?”

The Commandant laughed. “Son, there comes a time in every man’s life when he’s got to make up his damn mind and choose a side.” The voice was hoarse from decades of bellowing orders.

“Sir?”

“Barron—that little shit—is doing his best to destroy this country. I swore an oath to protect and defend the Constitution, and I intend to keep that oath. And, as long as I’m the Commandant, then by God, the United States Marine Corps will keep it, as well. I’m done containing the North Koreans. We’re going on the offensive—orders or not.” He glared around, as if daring someone to object. “We’re gonna roll these little rice-eating, slant-eyed, backstabbing fucks right back into the Pacific.”

“Oorah!” barked Morrin, standing at attention next to the Commandant. The call was taken up by the recruits clustered around their Commandant.

“What about President Barron?” asked Cooper after the cheering died.

“What about him?” snuffed the Commandant. “I heard President Denton last night. As long as he breathes, he’s the President. Barron just grabbed the reins.” He waved the idea off. “Besides, I think he’s fixin’ to shitcan my ass anyway. Everything is completely FUBAR in D.C. Now—where’s President Denton…?”

Cooper shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, sir. The President is dead.”

The old man put a gnarled, yet strong hand on Cooper’s shoulder and sighed. “I’m sorry, son, I really am.” He sighed deeply. “Well, I figured it was a long-shot. He didn’t look