Apache Dawn by - (dark books to read .txt) 📖

Captain Alston laughed. “This is the Army, not the Air Force, sir. We move a lot slower than them. Don't worry, it's relatively safe. You may be sore for a while—”

“Like whiplash, or something?”

“Or something, yeah,” chuckled Tuck. “It's a real rush, man.”

“It's apparently the only way the brass can think of to get you off this mountain as fast as possible and headed toward a hospital,” said Captain Alston.

Chad paled at the thought of being jerked up into the air by a passing plane. If these men around him were elite soldiers and only one of them had done it before…what did that say? He swallowed. His mind raced for an answer that didn't involve him flying through the air.

“Wait—” he said, hands up in front of him. “Wait, wait, wait…What happens after this?”

“I don't know yet,” muttered the tall Ranger. He rubbed the days-old growth of red-tinted beard on his chin. It sounded like he was rubbing sandpaper. “Once we see you off safely, our next task will be taking on Ivan down there in town. If we’re going to get out of here, we’ll need fuel for the helicopters. The Russians likely have plenty of fuel down there…for those BTRs, if nothing else.” He shrugged. “Guess we’ll go and take it.”

“BTR?” asked Denny.

“The Russian version of an armored personnel carrier. It’s got a decent gun on top, armored sides, eight big wheels and a bad attitude,” Captain Alston replied. “In order for us to borrow some wheels in town, we’re going to have to cut through a lot of Russians down there.” He nodded toward town.

“I want to help.”

Captain Alston and the Indian looked at Chad. “You heard me,” Chad said. “I’m in this fight now. Ten years ago, all I could do was sit on a table and be bled dry. This time, I have a chance to do more than just that, and I aim to take it.”

“Sir…”

Chad held up his hand and shook his head. “Captain Alston, you said it yourself, it’s not going to be easy to get us out of here, let alone into town and steal a car—armored or otherwise. You can use every man you can get. Am I right?”

“Well…” More chin scratching.

“Sir,” said Zuka, limping up to the group. “We have the supplies—between our med kits and what’s here…” He gestured at the Park Ranger Station. “We could draw enough blood from Mr. Huntley and ship it out to supply a whole hospital—hell, more than one hospital, actually. And he could still fight with us. After he recovers. Sir.”

Chad clapped his hands. “That’s a great idea! And then you wouldn’t have all your eggs in one basket. The doctors can make a vaccine at a bunch of different hospitals and get it out into the public that much faster.”

“But how would we get the samples delivered? Split our forces even more? Send men out alone?” Captain Alston shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. And what happens if Mr. Huntley here takes a fatal round?”

“If he dies, then we’re no worse off than we are right now. He’s here and not at a hospital, and there’s still no vaccine,” replied Tuck thoughtfully, arms folded.

“It’s risky,” muttered Denny. He looked at Chad and nodded. “You’re the last hope we have of stopping this flu, aren’t you? That makes you priceless to the government. But also priceless to our enemies. If they get you or take you out, we lose and they win.”

Chad nodded. “War is risky business,” he said, watching Captain Alston. “But I’ll take the risk of getting shot over being pulled off the side of a mountain by a damn airplane.”

Captain Alston looked Chad up and down. “You sure you never served? ‘Cause that sounded like a soldier’s answer.” He folded his arms. He looked at the other Rangers and got nods all around. He shrugged. “All right, we’ll run it by Watchtower.” He picked up the radio.

“Watchtower, Hammer 2, Actual, over.”

Chad watched the Rangers break up their little group and move off to other tasks: Deuce went back to cleaning weapons and Zuka began digging through their medical supplies as Tuck picked up his rifle and headed out the door to go on another patrol. Chad felt completely useless. Even Denny went back to sharpening that damn tomahawk.

Shrriiiiick. Shriiiiiick. Shriiiiick.

After a few heartbeats of static, the radio broke squelch. “Hammer 2, this is Watchtower, wait one for Actual, over.”

Another interminable pause. Chad imagined the General saying no. He felt his pulse quicken at the thought of being yanked up into the air by a passing C-130, with its big engines roaring overhead.

“Hey…hey!” called Tuck’s voice from the door. Everyone in the cave turned to look. “Ivan’s on the move.”

“Go!” said Captain Alston, ear to the radio. Garza nodded and lead the way out the door.

Chad followed Garza and the others to the edge of the tree line where they all raised their binoculars and scanned the town below. He tried not to think about the precipice just a few feet from where he stood. One slip-up or stumble and it would be a long flight to oblivion at the base of the mountain.

“Ivan’s rounding up the civvies…” muttered Zuka.

“Something more than that. Notice any women or children?” asked Tuck.

“Malcontents, dissenters…” said Garza.

“Patriots,” said Chad quietly.

“Anyone showing any hint that they are ready to fight back,” agreed Denny. “I see a lot of kids down there, from the high school. See the letter jackets? Look,” he said, pointing. “There’s even a few standing around watching the parade. That one’s Jeb Townsen.” He frowned.

“I don’t know Jeb Townsen, but I don’t like where this is heading,” muttered Garza.

Chad watched as the gaggle of thirty or so men and boys were poked and prodded by a ring of Russian soldiers down Mulbray Street toward the school’s football field.

Once on the field, it happened quickly. When the first bodies started to fall and the echoes of the automatic weapons fire began to reach them, he felt sick. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and throw up, but a harder, sterner part of himself forced his eyes to stay open and watch. To witness. To remember.

The Rangers watched the massacre in a tense silence. Chad could almost feel the anger boiling off them in waves. The only sound other than the distant popping of guns was Denny. He had dropped to his knees, spread his arms, right on the edge of the cliff, and was chanting a low, mournful litany. He rocked back and forth a little as he spoke, eyes screwed shut, face taut in pain or anger. Or both. Chad watched in silence, captivated by the display. Denny was speaking some sort of Indian language because it sure wasn’t English.

He didn’t stop until the last echo of gunfire drifted away on the wind. He slumped forward so far that Chad reached out to grab his shoulder, fearing that he would simply tumble over the edge and vanish into the void below.

“They were just kids…” Denny muttered through choked sobs.

“Cowards…” Chad said through gritted teeth. His vision was starting to blur with tears of his own.

“I have watched my town burn, my house burn, my neighbors buried. I have seen the children I used to teach turn into monsters and people drop dead from the mystery illness.” Denny sighed, a body-shaking, empty-your-soul kind of sound.

“Now, I have seen the face of the invader, I have met his steel, and I have tasted his blood.” Denny slowly pulled his tomahawk from his belt and held it up in front of him, as if making an offering to God.

Or some Indian version of it.

“Mishe Moneto, bless this weapon of my ancestors.” He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “Give me the strength to use it well and the skill to kill as many of our enemies as there are stars in heaven. For the sake of my town, my people, grant me vengeance.”

“Amen,” said Chad. Denny turned and looked at him, then smiled. Chad suppressed a shiver. Denny, in his tear-streaked warpaint, looked like a gruesome, grinning devil. Chad almost pitied the Russians.

Almost.

They watched in silence as the Russians left the bodies of the men and boys where they fell on the football field and marched away. It was one of the most awful things Chad had ever seen.

“That settles it. I’m fighting with you.” Chad looked at Sgt. Garza and dared him to say no.

Captain Alston spoke from behind them. “Mind if we tag along?”

Chad turned and looked expectantly at the captain. “Well?”

“Watchtower agreed to the plan. We’ll send up your blood on the Skyhook, nothing more.”

After sunset, and when guards had been posted in the trees, the mood inside the Park Ranger Station became even more grim. No one had much of an appetite—which was fine with Chad, as what little food they had left was in the form of MREs. Chad decided he’d rather go hungry.

At last, Captain Alston broke the silence. “We’re low on ammo, fuel, and food.” A few of the close-shaved heads nodded. The pilots looked at each other. More than a