Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga (34 page)

The President took a deep breath and addressed the rest of the assembled advisers.
 
“Listen up, people.
 
Our goal here is to stop the enemy and push him back, but
not
at the cost of American cities.
 
From the sound of it, we don’t have the manpower to retake Portland, let alone Los Angeles. So don’t waste time, just surround them…I don’t know, keep them bottled up, or something.”

“So we’re to give them Los Angeles and just…walk away?” asked the Admiral, eyes bugged wide.
 
He was apoplectic.

“We are not giving them anything, Admiral,” sighed the President.
 
“I just don’t see the point in trying to take back what has been lost—at least not right now.
 
From the looks of these photos here, there’s a big invasion force heading our way.
 
Let’s try to block that, then mop up the first wave when we have a better idea of what we’re facing.”

The Army and Air Force chiefs looked at each other, the President saw, in begrudging admiration of his plan.
 
They thought I was some limp-wristed liberal.
 
Well, they’ll see soon enough that I mean business.
 

“We will make every effort to find a diplomatic end to this mess…or at least give our forces time to get home from overseas before we counterattack.
 
Is that clear?”
 

After a chorus of agreement, they all gathered papers and walked out.
 
A small army of aides waiting outside was already scurrying on errands and delivering messages.

The President took a briefcase filled with reports and angrily threw in the two glossy photos the Secretary of Defense had given him.
 
He slammed shut the pricey leather attaché case with a resounding snap.
 

He followed his Chief of Staff out of the Oval Office and entered the familiar circle of Secret Service agents, led by James.
 
They had already started down the marble-lined hallway when his nose twitched.
 
He could just barely detected a whiff of flowery perfume.

In a heartbeat, he began to sweat, his senses heightened and the cares of his presidency began to melt away.
 
Ahead of him down the gallery-like hallway stood his lovely Jayne in a business suit that fit her figure well but did not attract too much attention.
 
She wore glasses and her golden hair pulled back into its regular business-like bun.
 
He locked eyes on her and smiled briefly.
 
He thought for a second he was floating down the corridor, so strong was her scent.
 

“This way, sir,” said the Agent leading the President by the elbow toward the reinforced elevator that would take him many floors below the White House to the War Room.

The President ignored the rush of people running for exits as the evacuation signal was given.
 
His were consumed by Jayne.
 
Those people were heading for secure locations, but none would be as secure as his, locked down in the Presidential Emergency Operations Center, safe from even nuclear strikes on Washington itself.
 

He was only able to turn from Jayne’s burning, blue eyes by exerting tremendous personal will and the strong guiding hand of the Secret Service Agent.
 
The President turned around inside the elevator as the reinforced steel doors slid shut.
 
He caught a fleeting glimpse of the line of people waiting for the next trip down.
 
And there was Jayne.
 
She smiled coyly and winked at him just as the door sealed tight.

The country can go to hell,
he thought without a trace of guilt as the scent of her perfume lingered a few more seconds in the rapidly descending elevator.
 

I just need her body…

C
HAPTER
14

Los Angeles, California.

All Saint’s Hospital.

Y
OU
IN
POSITION
?”
ASKED
Cooper.
 
He looked up into the darkness of the empty elevator shaft.
 
The only things visible—as far as he could see—were the dimly glowing emergency lights at every level, combating the darkness with their feeble glow.
 
He had just sent Petty Officer John Sparks, the team sniper, to make his way up to the top of the shaft and gain access to the roof, ten floors above.
 
Cooper desperately needed to know what the hell was going on outside.

For hours, they had hidden in the darkness of the hospital’s basement, waiting for a counterattack from the North Koreans that never came.
 
The rumbling they felt through the floor, heralding the deaths of fallen buildings outside and screams of jets overhead continued unabated.
 
But in the last hour, the noise had increased dramatically.
 
More jets had arrived and the floor shook less—he desperately hoped it signaled the arrival of the good guys.

Not that the time spent in their improvised fortress was completely without a bright spot.
 
He got to spend a few minutes talking with Dr. Alston.
 
He had been curious how she knew about Apache Dawn.
 
Now that he knew she was a combat medic turned surgeon and had done time in the Sandbox, she was just that much more attractive.
 
No matter how many times he’d tried, he’d never found a woman who understood what it was like to enter combat, to put your life on the line for those around you.

His radio broke squelch twice, signaling that Sparky was in position at the edge of the roof, observing the chaos surrounding them.
 
Cooper filed his wandering thoughts away and focused.

“Okay, drop the cable,” Cooper ordered.
 
He scanned the hallway, looking for movement through his night-vision goggles.
 
The Koreans had thus far played it safe and not made a move on the basement, but Cooper would not take any chances and remained alert.
 
He told himself for the hundredth time:
They have to know we’re here.
 
They have to.
 

A loud chatter reverberated down the length of the empty elevator shaft as a black Ethernet cable fell ten stories.
 
Cooper knew that meant Sparky had already plugged the other end of the temporary cable into their portable satellite receiver array up on the roof. They had ripped Ethernet cords from every computer they could find in the waning hours of the night, in order to splice one together long enough to reach the roof top before dawn kissed the sky.

Cooper pulled the sat phone free of its holster on his chest and plugged in the makeshift hookup.
 
While it searched for a signal, he continued to watch the darkened basement for any sign of the enemy.
 
He was on the far side of the basement from where the Secret Service had holed up with the President. Cooper was alone now, except for Sparky seven floors above on the roof; the silence was overwhelming.

“Damn,” he whispered as each preset frequency came back with no joy.
 
The sat phone was an expensive paperweight at this point.
 
It made no sense.
 
The phone, even with a boosted receiver up on the roof, could get no signal from any of the dozens of military communications satellites overhead.
 
Just as he was about to close the phone, an extremely weak signal appeared, on one of the auxiliary emergency channels.

“All units this net, do you read me?
 
This is Striker One, Actual,” he whispered.

Static hissed in his ear.
 
He tried again, boosting the gain.
 
There was a constant static background, suddenly interrupted by silence, and then a muffled sound that he hoped was a voice trying to reach him.

“Say again, I got a very weak signal,” he hissed, eyes searching the basement in front of him.
 
He keyed his throat mic: “Sparky, see if you can adjust the array…it’s locked on to a signal but I got bad interference.”

His radio broke squelch two more times.
 

Within seconds, the frequency on the sat phone calmed down and he heard a voice say, “—
again, Striker 1, Actual, how copy?
”

“I read you, who is this?” he whispered, cringing at the sound of his own voice in the silent gloom of the basement.

“S
triker 1, Actual, I need your authentication code
.”

“Shit,” he whispered.
 
He was probably dealing with some REMF somewhere who didn’t know his ass from his elbow, but it was the only contact he had.
 
Maybe they could at least give him some intel on what the hell was going on topside.
 

“Roger that, authentication Charlie-Victor-Niner-Five-Seven-Alpha.”

“
Wait one for confirmation
.”

Cooper frowned.
 
That emergency authentication code he’d just broadcast told anyone in the know that he was part of a SEAL Team and to stop screwing around and provide
immediate
assistance.
 
He adjusted the grip on his MP5 and checked the magazine for the hundredth time, waiting for whoever the hell he was talking with to return.
 
The voice was calm, but weak, as if the signal was fighting an awful lot of interference to get to him.

After what seemed like an eternity, the line picked up again, “
Your code checked out, Striker 1, Actual.
 
This is Eagle’s Nest.
 
What’s your sit-rep?
”

Eagle’s Nest? Holy shit, that’s NORAD
, he said to himself.
 
He held his breath, waiting to see if there was anyone out there listening to him.
 
Before speaking again, he leaned out into the dark elevator shaft and looked up to check that all the doors on each floor were still closed.
 
None were open.

“Lost half my Team on the insert, we were ambushed by Korean Marines on rooftops with stingers.”
 
He carefully considered how to relay that he had rescued the President without breaching security.
 
He had no idea if the North Koreans were listening to his transmission.
 
“We recovered the fumble, I say again, we recovered the fumble.”

There was a pause at the other end.
 
Come on, you guys, figure it out…
he said to himself, willing the man he was speaking with under Cheyenne Mountain to figure out his message.
 

“
Roger that, Striker 1, but be advised, Mongoose has announced that Slipknot is untied.
 
I say again, Slipknot is untied
.”

“What the hell?” he said.
 
Mongoose was Vice President Barron.
 
He keyed the phone: “Eagle’s Nest,
negative
, Slipknot is loose, but holding. Repeat:
Slipknot is still tied
.
 
Downtown L.A. is a hornet’s nest — incoming ICBMs and North Korean fast-movers are tearing up the skyline, man.
 
We got what I’d guess is at least a battalion of Korean infantry and marines out there.
 
Request immediate air support and evac, over.”
 

Some strange clicks and pops erupted from the sat phone’s speaker.
 
He looked at the phone in his hand.
 
Someone’s trying to hack this signal.
 
The back of his neck started to tingle.

“
Roger that, Actual, we have Air Force units in your AO engaging enemy fixed-wing and rotors now.
 
We’re re-tasking units all up and down the coast, but there’s a lot of tangos to deal with.
 
Are
—” the transmission hissed and popped and started to break up.
 
He heard more of the odd clicks and pops.

“
Striker 1, this is Eagle’s Nest, Actual
,” a new, older, voice said.
 
The line was suddenly very clear.

“Fuck
me
,” said Cooper.
 
He racked his brain, thinking of who was the current commander at NORAD.
 
If the government was in panic mode and the Vice President was sworn in already replacing President Denton, there could be any number of civilian big-wigs hunkered down in NORAD
claiming
to be in charge.

“
This is General Thomas Morrison.
 
You are to hold your position, we will come to you, son.
 
What’s your fighting strength?
 
Send us your coordinates and we’ll have an Evac team on-site in thirty
.”

Every warning bell in Cooper’s head went off at once.
 
Evidence stacked up: The pops and clicks over the line, the comm officer in NORAD suddenly pulled from his station, a new person—and a suddenly crystal-clear channel—asking for OpSec intel that could get him
and
his men killed over an open channel.
 
The fool had used his own name to top it off.