Apache Dawn - - (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

The Commandant nodded to the dark corner at the back of the room. “Back there. Don’t worry, nothing’s missing. We just figured you boys deserved some sack time. You pretty much passed out on the way here.” He checked his watch. “Been sleeping for sixteen hours now.”

“Too long,” said Cooper, rubbing his back. He cleared his throat. He glanced around the dimly lit briefing room. He kicked Mike’s cot and the short SEAL stirred and coughed. The others began to rise.

“Where are we, sir?” he asked.

“This is the new…well, they’re calling it the Pentagon for now, but there’s only one Pentagon and everyone knows it. This place looks more like an outhouse to me.” He shrugged. “That’s for the desk jockeys to sort out. We’re in Denver, setting up shop in the new capital, or close enough. Technically, we’re at the damn airport, but nobody seems to care. I’m more interested in killing Koreans. How about you?”

“New capital?” asked Charlie.

“Denver?” asked Jax, sitting up in his cot. He examined the fresh bandages on his arms in amazement.

“Can’t you guys keep it down?” grumbled Mike, pillow over his head. He yelped when Sparky slapped him on the back of the head.

“Yes, Denver,” said the Commandant loudly. “The President—that would be Orren Harris now,” he said with a grin, “has declared Denver to be the new national capital. This place has been prepped for the move from D.C. since World War II, I guess.” He shrugged. “Again, above my pay grade. I’m a Marine, not a politician.”

“Long way from Chula Vista, man,” muttered Charlie.

“Sir,” said Cooper. “Any word on Coronado? My men have family—”

“Son,” said the Commandant in a softer tone. “I’m afraid no one has had contact with the base there for quite some time. That whole region of California was overrun in the first wave.”

“Overrun?” gasped Charlie.

“First wave?” asked Mike.

The commandant nodded. “Damn Gooks were hellbent on reaching L.A. and went through Coronado and San Diego like shit through a goose. That’s the bad news.”

“Oh Jesus…Allie, Junior—” said Charlie, his voice cracking.

Cooper’s parents had been killed by the Blue Flu and he’d only ever had a few girlfriends in the past, so he couldn’t hope to understand the fear and worry that Charlie had been carrying around inside, but he could see it finally cracking through to the surface. Charlie, his cool, calm, never-flustered, Terminator-like XO raised a trembling hand to his face.

Cooper put a hand on his shoulder. He looked at the Commandant. “Sir—”

“Son, my own boy and his family lived in Long Beach. I understand what you’re feeling. And I’m sorry, I truly am. There’s a shit-pot full of us who’re in the same boat.” He stood up straighter. “There is good news, though.”

Charlie’s shoulders shuddered and he sucked in a deep breath and came to parade rest, hands behind his back. The Terminator was back. Cooper turned to Commandant.

“Because the NKors were moving so fast, we think their objective was to cause chaos and drive out the civilian population before them, adding to the confusion which would allow them to reach Los Angeles unopposed. It worked. We got sporadic reports of heavy casualties along the coast, and then everything went dark and within hours, L.A. was swarming with Koreans. You boys ran into their advance scouts and got out just before the first wave rolled into town.”

“Good Lord,” muttered Jax.

“There’s a second wave offshore. Or, there was a few days ago. Last I heard, the Navy was supposed to sink that fleet before they made landfall but…” He shrugged. “Comms being what they are, we haven’t had much luck finding out what the hell is going on beyond the valley, let alone in the Pacific.”

Cooper looked at his XO, his brother, his righthand man, and saw the pain in his eyes. “What’s the sit-rep, sir? Sooner we finish up, the faster I get my men back to their families.”

The Commandant nodded. “Here’s the straight dope, SEALs, from God’s mouth to your ears: the call has gone out for the boys and girls overseas to come home, to report here. Our good friend President Barron,” he chuckled, “has declared anyone not swearing loyalty to him a traitor—that’s punishable by death, by the way,” the old man snickered, then turned serious again.

“The scary thing is, he’s getting a lot more support from the rank and file than we’d anticipated. Mostly just the troublemakers and slackjaws to begin with, but some of the officer corps are staying with him. This old leatherneck sees it as a simple payback for recently acquired promotions and big salary increases. To think they hold their honor so cheap.” He spat in disgust. “Bastards.”

“Shameful,” said Charlie.

“Ain’t that the truth,” the Commandant growled. “The latest estimate has roughly 60 percent of the armed forces on our side. I think it’s actually higher than that—we can’t reach a lot of the people and our fleets are completely off the grid. Damn near every Marine, I’m proud to say, is with us.”

“Great, surrounded by a bunch of jarheads. That makes me feel so much better,” muttered Cooper.

“You should feel better—my boys pulled your asses out of L.A. just in time.”

“We were doing just fine, thanks,” said Cooper.

“Mmmmhmmmm. Listen up, here’s the rest: Barron has announced the deputation of all Federal Agency security forces. He’s using some sneaky-ass, limp-wristed lawyer tactic and dredging up old executive orders from when Obama was in office—”

“President Obama? That was…When was he in office? Right around the time I was born. Barron’s using 30-year-old orders…?”

“Yep. Some little-known provision that allows the President to take control of Federal Agency security forces in times of crisis.” The Commandant turned and pulled some papers off the desk. He tossed a stack to Cooper.

Cooper glanced at the top page of the briefing notes: