Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga (64 page)

“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 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 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.
 
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,” grinned the Marine.
 
“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, US Navy SEALs, 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 weather-beaten face, his disregard for personal safety—he wore no helmet—his impressive physique…the man was 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 Maine 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 Rickston, 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 reigns.”
 
He waved the idea off.
 
“Besides, I think he’s fixin’ to shitcan my ass anyway.
 
Everything is a 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 so hot during that speech.
 
I just had hoped…I had hoped he would have survived long enough for us to reach you all.”
 
He rolled a shoulder and shook off the melancholy.
 
“You did well, Chief—better than anyone else could have done.
 
Almost as well as a Marine.”

Cooper wanted to smile but couldn’t.
 
“So who’s the real President, then?”

“Well, son, I guess my Commander in Chief is now Orren Harris.”
 
The Commandant looked around the rubble at their feet, the dust in the air, and the debris left over from the Korean attack.
 
“I’ll wager he’s got better digs at NORAD than you got here, Master Chief.”

Cooper’s radio broke squelch:
“Chief Braaten
,” said Arol’s voice.
 

Cooper held up a finger for the Commandant to pause.
 
“Go ahead,” he replied.

“The base is ours.
 
The CO is weak as a kitten—but spitting mad.
”
 
Cooper could hear the smile in Arol’s voice.
 
“I think he’s gonna be all right.
”

“That’s great.
 
I got someone here who’ll want to speak with him.”

“What did he mean, ‘the base is ours’?
 
What’s the sit-rep?” asked the Commandant, motioning for Cooper to lead them into the bunker.

Cooper started walking, the Commandant at his side.
 
“The base XO took a personal phone call from President Barron and gathered up the hotheads here,” said Cooper.
 
“He locked up General Williams—the base commander—and tried to take over.
 
They had a heads-up that we were coming and attempted to take us prisoner.
 
Said he had orders—direct from Barron, to execute us.”

“Mutiny,” growled the Commandant.
 
He pointed at Cooper.
 
“I’m willing to bet those desk jockeys back at the Pentagon are behind this mess.
 
We haven’t seen much in the Corps, but from what I understand, the Army is dealing with a pretty significant amount of desertion.
 
Probably going to get worse now that Denton is gone.”
 
He sighed, as if to say ‘ah well, nothing I can do about that’.
 

“So, where is this son-of-a-whore base XO?”

“He tried to pull a gun on me, sir, so I personally authorized his dishonorable discharge,” Cooper said matter-of-factly.

The Commandant laughed again as he ducked under a florescent light hanging by a single wire.
 
“You ever change your mind about bein’ in the Navy, you come see me, son.
 
You’d make a damn fine Marine.”

C
HAPTER
26

Washington, D.C.

The White House.

Presidential Emergency Operations Center.

W
HAT
THE
HELL
DO
you mean, ‘you can’t get a hold of the Commandant of the Marine Corps’?
 
Find
him, you idiot!” hissed the Vice President.
 
She slammed the phone down on the conference table and composed herself.

President Barron smiled dreamily.
 
She was more than capable of taking over for him for a while.
 
He could go spend some more time with Jayne…

A side door opened and Jayne entered, carrying a stack of papers and folders.
 
The President lost all thought for his VP and incompetent staffers.
 
All he could smell was her
.
 
All he could see was her.
 
He felt his pulse quicken and his groin stir.
 
Jayne winked at him and ignored the VP.

“They’re ready for you, Mr. President,” Jayne purred. She held the papers across her chest and nodded to Vice President Hillsen.
 

“Ms. Reynolds.”

“Madam Vice President.”

It was easy for anyone to see there was a distinct animosity between the two women in the room, but the President could care less what Senator—Vice President—Hillsen thought or wanted.
 
He patted his lap and smiled.
 
Jayne peered at him over the rims of her fake glasses—she wore them just for him.
 
The seductive twinkle in her eye made his toes curl.
 
She walked over, hips swaying in her graceful, catlike walk of hers, and lowered herself demurely onto his lap with a sigh.

The President closed his eyes as the weight of her settled onto his lap.
 
He leaned back in bliss and wrapped his hands around her lithe waist.
 
He rolled his head to the side, as if drunk, and smiled at VP Hillsen.
 
The look of indignation on her face was priceless.

“Mr. President!” HIllsen hissed.
 
“We—we are about to have a Cabinet meeting. You…you can’t have this…
woman
…sitting—I mean—it’s just not done…”
 
She was getting more and more flustered by the minute.

President Barron barked a laugh and tucked one of his hands under Jayne’s blouse, his fingers tingling at the contact with her soft, warm, skin.
 
“Let ‘em look,” he murmured.
 
“Might get a
rise
out of ‘em, eh?”

Jayne giggled, the Vice President frowned.

“Uh
,” said someone’s voice from across the room.
 
The President looked around Jayne’s back and saw the bank of monitors were lit up with the faces of the Joint Chiefs and the rest of the Cabinet.
 
One screen—for the Commandant of the Marine Corps—was conspicuously dark.

Jayne waved coyly to the heads on the screens.
 
More than one flushed pink.
 
The Secretary of State actually grinned before he caught himself and cleared his throat, his face souring.