Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga (78 page)

“All—all right, if you say so,” Jayne said, sounding unconvinced.
 
She glanced down at the President.
 
“I—I have to go.
 
Now.”
 
The phone clicked shut and then she was on her knees, cradling his head in her soft, gentle hands.

“Oh my
goodness
…what’s happened to you?
 
My love, my poor sweet, love…
 
You’re working yourself too hard…”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the deft movement of her right hand, as she adjusted the ring to face toward her palm.
 
Here it comes
, he thought.
 
Knowing what was coming, he reached out with all his senses to try and feel the pin-prick of the ring.
 
Her hand brushed his cheek and caressed his neck.
 
He could feel the cold metal work its way under his jaw.

Still nothing….

Then, complete joy and relaxation washed over him from head to toes.
 
He felt himself relax in her grip.
 
He imagined her strong, gentle hands were cradling his head—holding it above a fragrant pool of swirling water.
 
He wanted to giggle at the absurdity of that image as he lay on the carpet in the bunker under the White House.

“Sssssh
,” Jayne whispered, brushing a lock of hair off his sweaty forehead.
 
“Hush
, my love. You need your rest…you have a lot of work to do…”

You bitch…
 
The last vestige of who he was, of Harold James Barron, Esquire, defied her in a whisper from the dark recesses of his mind.

She moved her hand just so and another wave of joy crashed over him.
 
He could resist no more.
 
His last, feeble thought was one single word.
 

Revenge.

He vowed to himself he would attain that word, he would become that word, if it took a week, a month, a year, a decade.
 
He would beat the odds, he would fight back, he would regain control over himself, and he would punish Reginald.
 
He would punish her.
 
The word danced in and out of his consciousness.
 
He closed his eyes, a false smile on his lips.
 
The last thing seared into his memory was the equally-false concern for him, plastered on Jayne’s perfect face as he passed into oblivion.

I will have my revenge, Jayne…

C
HAPTER
31

Salmon Falls, Idaho.

D
ENNY
PEEKED
AROUND
THE
corner of what was left of the smoldering house.
 
He glanced at his watch: 7:22pm.
 
Any second now, men from the town were going to start shooting on the other side of the Russian encampment.
 
He gripped the M4 in his cold hands and tried to wiggle his equally-frozen toes to make sure they were still there.

Last night’s cold rain had given way to even colder winds and clouds throughout the day.
 
They had spent the day resting and making plans with the group of citizens that were going to play a key role in the liberation of Salmon Falls.
 
There had been a steady stream of men and women sneaking into and out of the McDonnell house throughout the day.
 
They were under constant threat of discovery by the Russian patrols, but the citizens had understood all too well the danger and had disguised their activities well.
 
The Russians, after all, had only locked down the town’s center.
 
The outlying streets and subdivisions had been looted for supplies, dissidents, and attractive women, then left by the invaders to rot.
 

He looked at the dark sky and frowned.
 
Every bone in his cold, wet body told him that the clouds that were still hanging low over the town, were pregnant with snow.

Corporal Donovan peered around a charred beam and then looked back at Denny.
 
He pointed at his eyes, then held up three fingers and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
 
Denny nodded.
 
He had been given a crash course in silent communication throughout the day while he and the Rangers had been holed up in George McDonnell’s house.

I see three Russians over there.

Deuce pointed at Denny, pointed at his own eyes and made a shoo-ing gesture toward the other side of the rubble.
 
You go take a look on that side.
 
Denny gave him the thumbs-up and took three slow, cautious steps to the corner.
 
He stole a glance over his shoulder at Deuce.
 
The Ranger nodded and jutted his chin out:
Go on.

Denny took a deep breath and closed his eyes, asking
Mishe Moneto
for a calm spirit and quick reflexes.
 
He opened his eyes and slowly leaned around the corner, just exposing enough of the side of his head to see with one eye.

He could see four Russians milling around a missile launcher.
 
That’s a lot bigger than I expected
, he thought in surprise.
 
The portable missile platform looked to be the size of a tank and had what looked like a rotating radar dish on the front.
 
The rumble of the big launcher’s engine at idle was a constant noise in the background.
 

There were four, fog-gray missiles, each about ten feet long, cradled on a large arm that had been hoisted into the air.
 
The big steel pillars that extended from the corners of the launch platform had been driven into the earth for stability and gave the impression that the thing had been grafted into place.
 
Denny frowned.
 

No, it’s more like a cancer that needs to be removed for the patient to survive.
 
They desecrate this land with their presence.

Then he looked closer at the Russians.
 
One was smoking a cigarette and watching his partner fiddle with what looked like a computer terminal built into the side of the tank-launcher.
 
The other two were idly chatting with each other, but keeping a wary eye on their surroundings.
 
One made a comment to the other and they chuckled softly.
 
The second soldier gyrated his hips and made an hourglass motion with his hands.
 
More soft laughter.

Denny pulled himself around the corner and felt his earlier fear quickly dispel.
 
He quickly discovered he was able to bury it under the anger burning within his soul.
 
He turned his head and looked at Deuce.
 
Denny held up four fingers and pointed at his own eyes.
 

The Ranger was grim faced, showing no emotion.
 
But he locked eyes with Denny and nodded slowly.
 
He pointed at the watch on his wrist and held up his hand.
 
Five minutes.
 

Denny nodded and checked the chamber on his rifle.
 
It was fully-loaded and ready to go.
 
He leaned back against the charred timber and looked up at the black sky, watching the snowflakes drift down out of the darkness into his field of view.

How did it ever come to this?
 
A few weeks ago, I was just a teacher.
 
Now…what am I?
 
A freedom fighter?
 
A terrorist?
 
A rebel?

Little Spear…

Denny jerked his head down and looked around.
 
He had sworn he heard Red Eagle’s voice.
 
He closed his eyes tight.
 
Get a hold of yourself.
 
It’s just nerves.

You are a liberator, Little Spear.
 
You are freeing this land of the pestilence that plagues it…

Denny glanced at Deuce.
 
The Ranger was squatting on the ground, back to the wall, staring impassively into the darkness with his rifle across his chest.
 
He’s preparing himself. I should be too.

Gunfire in the distance jerked Denny out of his thoughts.
 
He looked at Deuce, who checked his watch and with wild eyes and shook his head.

“They’re early, they’re early!
 
All units, Hammer 2, hold your fire…”
Captain Alston’s voice announced over their radios.

Denny gripped his rifle and tensed.
 
He peeked around the corner of the ruined home again and could see the Russians had dropped into crouches and were scanning in all directions, looking for a threat.
 
One of them talked urgently into a radio, looking toward the east where sporadic gunfire was now popping.

Denny could hear the staccato
tat-tat-tat
of Russian AK-47s.
 
Then there was a chorus of loud rifle shots.
 
The hunters had joined the fight.
 
It sounded for all the world like last year’s 4th of July celebration.

“Get ready…they’re moving.”

Denny held his breath as one of the Russians said something to his comrades, then ran off toward the firefight on the other side of town.
 
He could hear a lot more AK-47s now and a new sound.
 
It was a strange,
whump-whump-whump.
 
Lights flared to the east.
 
Explosions, he figured.
 
Everything sounded muffled in the snow.
 
Like a battle was raging miles away, instead of few city blocks.

“The BTR’s moving.
 
That’s our cue. All units, Hammer 2, engage!
 
Take ‘em down!
”

Denny took a breath and raised his rifle, taking aim on the Russian closest to him.
 
Before he could pull the trigger, the man next to his target screamed and crumpled in the snow.
 
Only then did he hear the report of Deuce’s rifle.
 
Denny pulled his trigger and saw his man twist around violently and slam into the side of the launcher.
 
As the man slid down into the snow, a trail of blood smeared the camouflage paint pattern.

Deuce dispatched the remaining soldier and in seconds skirmish was over.
 
“Nice work, sir,” the big Ranger said as he slipped around the corner of the house and patted Denny on the shoulder.
 
“Come on.”

Denny followed his partner in a crouch to the side of the launcher and checked the Russians for signs of life.
 
One of them was moaning and clutching his chest, blood, dark in the dim light, smeared over his mouth and chin.
 
Without a thought, Denny knelt next to the man and ended his suffering with a single blow of his tomahawk.
 
He wiped the blood off his blade on the Russian’s uniform and stood, peering into the darkness for more threats.

I’m changing…I don’t even know who I am anymore…

“
Duece, we’re secure.
 
Whats your sit-rep?
”

“Secure.
 
Starting demo.”

“Roger, make it quick, I just got word we got reinforcements inbound.”

“No C-4,” Duece muttered, examining the missiles in their cradles.
 
He looked at Denny.
 
“This thing is locked out
and
it’s in Russian,” he kicked the launcher.
 
Deuce stepped back and sighed.
 
“Here, take this,” he said and tossed Denny his rifle.

“What are you going to do?”

“The only thing I can,” he said as he climbed up the side of the launcher and started to fiddle with the missiles.
 
“I’m going to stuff some grenades up the ass-end of these missile and hope when they cook off, they’ll put these things out of commission.
 
See if you can find any on those guys down there,” he said pointing at the Russian bodies.
 

Denny found five grenades on the Russians and tossed them up to Deuce.
 
He gathered their side arms and rifles started to dig through their packs looking for any food or medical supplies.
 
In the distance the gunfighting continued unabated.