Apache Dawn - - (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

“We did it!” the Ranger was screaming. Denny could see the cords in his neck standing out as he yelled, but the sound that reached his tortured eardrums seemed like a loud whisper through a pair of earmuffs.

Denny fumbled with shaking hands for the headset that was hanging by a cord on his chest. His hands felt thick, but he managed to get the earbud in place. He cranked the volume and heard Captain Alston’s excited voice. “—hell you did, but you just lit up half the town! Regroup at the rendezvous point, we need to give the locals some cover!”

“Roger that, Actual! We’re on our way!” yelled Deuce with a whoop. “Goddamn that was awesome! I love my job!” He clapped Denny on the back.

Denny looked at the wreckage of the SAM launcher and blinked in amazement.

Who am I?

Denny struggled to catch up to Deuce, who was making a beeline for the old Citgo station a few blocks away. He barely had time to glance at the houses and what was left of the town he’d called home for more than a decade. The burned-out, half-deserted town looked more like a war zone. Hell. It is a war zone and I’m fighting the war. The sound of gunfire and that ever-present whump-whump-whump just added to the madness.

Up ahead, something exploded on the other side of town, showering the sky with glowing sparks. “What was that?” he called out.

“Hopefully that damn BTR!” answered Deuce, checking the street for movement. He ran full-speed for cover.

They ran past startled citizens emerging from houses to peer into the storm, looking for the cause of the fires and explosions. Others were cowering behind opened curtains. Most houses were empty or simply ripped-open husks of what they once were.

“Hammer 2, this is Dagger Lead—Marine strike-force closing in on your location—how copy?” Denny was momentarily startled by the sudden, dynamic voice of the pilot in his ear as he ran. He nearly tripped over a section of busted sidewalk, buried in the snow. Finally, after the long sprint, he reached the rendezvous point, completely spent and out of breath.

Captain Alston, Zuka, and Deuce were already stacked up along the wall of the gas station by the time Denny crashed into the building in a huff. The Rangers looked at each other and grinned as Denny dropped to his knees and gasped for breath.

“Dagger Lead, Hammer 2, Actual. I read you five-by-five. Welcome to the party. We took down the remaining SAM sites; you’ve got clear skies.” Zuka held up a map in front of the captain. “Ivan’s holed up on grid Victor-Romeo, one-three-niner, alpha. Friendly forces are on east side of the town, backed up to the river. All other foot mobiles are hostile, repeat, all other foot mobiles are hostile. What’s your ETA?”

“Hammer 2, Actual, we are ten clicks out and comin’ in hot. Fuel for one pass. Whirlybirds are on our tails and will provide close-in support for the EVAC. Tell your boys to hunker down—target coordinates are locked.”

“Roger that, Dagger Lead, good hunting!”

Captain Alston leaned around the map Zuka was holding. “You heard the man—this is going to be danger close.”

Denny gasped for breath. “What was all that about?”

“There’s a flight of Marine Corps F-35 Lightning’s coming in to lay a strafing run on the Russians. NORAD got the word out and they were the only ones available to assist. I guess they’re coming long-distance, because they’re only going to make one pass before they fly home. Should be some helicopters along in a minute to get us the hell out of here.”

“Oh,” said Denny, staring at the snow. “Well, okay then.” His head was spinning with the events of the last few days as he tried to ignore the chuckling Rangers. His world had suddenly become a surreal environment: violent explosions everywhere he turned; dark-clad Russian invaders scrambling around, engaging his friends and neighbors in blistering firefights; the systematic slaughter of many good citizens at the hands of the Russians; an armored personnel carrier rumbling about, trying to kill his friends; and now American jets making bombing runs across his town.

“Hey,” said Deuce. He put a reassuring hand on Denny’s shoulder. “Hang in there, sir. You’re doing great. It’ll all be over soon. Now that we’ve taken out the SAM sites, Ivan’s gonna get a surprise, even if it is just a bunch of Marines.”

Zuka laughed. “Hell, I’d welcome the Coast Guard at this point.”

“Oh, I’m not turning down the assist,” said Deuce, a half-smile on his lips. “I just think it’d be more dignified if it weren’t Marines doing the rescuing.”

Captain Alston let the Rangers laugh for a moment before he spoke. “All right, settle down. We need to get across the street into that house and get some cover. Let’s go. We don't want to be next to this thing when the jet jockeys get here,” he said, patting the wall of the gas station.

Zuka peered around the south corner. “Clear.”

“Clear,” replied the captain, looking around the north corner. “Let’s move.”

They double timed to the sturdy-looking house across the snow-covered street and took up positions on either side of the front door. The house was mostly still intact—one of the few remaining the area. Denny glanced up the street. The house had a good view to the east.

One solid kick from the big Ranger and the door crashed in, allowing Zuka and Captain Alston to rush in with weapons up, lights on, followed quickly by Deuce. In seconds, the house was cleared and they called for Denny.

“I hope your friends are getting behind some cover,” said the captain as Denny entered the front room of the abandoned house. The Rangers were in the shadows, looking out the windows at the dome of glowing light in the distance. The brilliant orange, flickering light pinpointed where the fighting was taking place on the other side of town.

“Hammer 2, Actual, this is Dagger Lead. Commencing our attack run. Danger close, danger close, danger close.”

“Here it comes!” said Captain Alston. He made a show of covering his ears, closing his eyes, and opening his mouth as he crouched down low to the floor.

The Rangers grinned. Denny looked out the window as he heard the tremendous roar of the jets overhead, through the walls, through his chest, in the soles of his feet. The house shook as the jets split the night in their passing. Then the town of Salmon Falls exploded.

Houses and businesses—buildings that he had walked past or driven by countless times—exploded into matchsticks and blossoms of fire and sparks. The ground shook as missile after missile streaked into the Russian lines and pummeled the town.

As the last explosion rocked the house, Denny could just make out glowing stars moving across the darkened sky in a diamond formation—ten of them. In seconds, the jets were screaming off to the northeast, leaving the town burning in their wake.

Then the second wave hit. More jets, more missiles riding fire and smoke through the air, more explosions. The ground trembled, the house shook, sparks and flaming debris flew through the air across the east end of town. The destruction was beautiful and horrible, yet mesmerizing to behold. Denny couldn’t take his eyes off the devastation. And then it was over and the jets were gone. The only thing left was the sound of the raging fires and the clouds of debris raining down on the town. The deafening silence of the snow returned to drape an eerie blanket over Salmon Falls.

Captain Alston stood up and brushed glass off his uniform. “Well, that ought to even the odds a little.”

Denny hadn’t even noticed the big picture window had imploded not ten feet from him, showering the room with shards of glass. He watched, hypnotized, as the curtains danced in the breeze, while the town of Salmon Falls burned beyond the window frame. As the noise of the jets and explosions receded, he began to regain his senses and noticed his hands were trembling in time with his racing heart.

“Hammer 2, Actual, Dagger Lead—our run is complete, multiple good kills. That BTR shouldn’t be giving you any more trouble.”

“Roger that, Dagger Lead, thanks for the assist.”

“Oorah, Ranger. Switchblade will be taking over close-air support in a few minutes, just hang tight. Dagger Lead, out.”

“Let’s move, Rangers. There’s still a fight to win.”

“Hooah!” replied Zuka. The little Ranger looked positively giddy.

Denny followed the soldiers out, his head still in a daze over the destruction he’d just witnessed. It was one thing to read about airstrikes in some foreign land; quite another to witness one in your own hometown.

As they approached the heart of the battle between the townspeople and the remaining Russian troops, Denny could hear something…a growing rumble of noise that began to rise above the gunfire, the roar of the fires…

Cheering.

All around them, people were rushing out of their homes, carrying baseball bats, garden tools, sticks, pipes, anything they thought would work as a weapon. The entire town—what was left of it—was joining the fight and swarming like a hive of angry hornets toward the surrounded Russians.

This is going to be a blood bath, he thought as he stared around in shock at the tide of humanity rapidly advancing toward the invaders, toward vengeance. They’ll rip the Russians limb from limb.

On this cold, bloody night, the people he’d lived with for a decade appeared completely alien. They were consumed with rage. Most of the people he knew did not recognize him, dressed as he was in camo and face paint.

War paint, he told himself. The Shawnee are going to war one more time. Denny was swept up in the river of people and carried toward the firefight.

Cleanse the land,