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

“Easiest way to win a man’s heart is through his stomach,” said Jax.

Cooper shook his head as he read. He couldn’t believe what was on the next page of the report. He read out-loud the first paragraph someone had typed up, summarizing the directive:

“In emergency situations, to be determined by the President, Federal military commanders shall have the authority—including extraordinary emergency circumstances where prior authorization by the President is impossible and duly constituted local authorities are unable or unwilling to control the situation—to engage temporarily in activities that are necessary to quell large-scale, unexpected civil disturbances…” Cooper looked up. “That sounds like one big loophole to me.”

“This could be real bad,” muttered Jax.

Cooper looked up from the report. “Where the hell was the ACLU on this? I’m no lawyer, but damn, this sure sounds like it violates something.”

“Yeah, but the question is: who’s going to actually go along with this?” asked Jax, taking a copy of the report. “Surely people are going to see what this is…or was…? I mean, come on—”

“Oh, he’s got people waiting in line to sign up and be counted as loyal. Lots of ‘em are desperate enough for food that they already ‘volunteered.’ We have the training and discipline and a lot of big toys. They have the rabble. A hungry, motivated, and scared rabble. But thanks to shit like this,” the Commandant slapped the report in Cooper’s hands, “they’ve got a lot more guns and bullets than us, now.”

“And the average Joe gets caught in the middle,” said Cooper.

Jax shook his head. “What a fucking mess.”

“According to Barron’s latest radio address, use of this doctrine is necessary to keep the country together while he deals with the Koreans and the flu. All it’s going to do is give his supporters a reason to shoot first, take their neighbor’s food, and ask questions later,” said the Commandant.

“When do we get back in the fight?” asked Charlie, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yeah, I got me some unfinished business with the Koreans,” rumbled Jax.

“Well, don’t get your knickers in a twist, but the Chinese have offered a truce, of sorts—on behalf of what’s left of the command structure of North Korea.” He chuckled. “One thing old Barron did right was to hit Pyongyang. He sent in two more bombing raids—the Air Force turned that shithole into a pile of rubble. So, now we get the word about no aggression from either side while the diplomats work things out. One week. Washington and Denver want everyone to toe the line.”

“Are we?” asked Cooper, looking up from the papers in his hands.

“Officially? Yes. President Harris is in talks with Beijing at the moment. He’s trying to get recognized as the legitimate president. It shouldn’t be too hard now that NORAD and most of the Air Force is with us. But, until there’s a decisive winner in this presidential pissing contest, Beijing will probably play coy and try to get us and the Koreans to kill each other a little more. Or let Barron and Harris kill each other…”

Cooper glanced at the papers and dropped them on the desk in disgust. “What do you think about it all, sir?”

The Commandant grinned. “I think the Chinese are using the Koreans as patsies, plain and simple. The NKors do the dying—and soften us up a little—and get wiped out for their trouble. China is then free to reap the benefits over here and won’t have to deal with an unruly stepchild anymore. So, until all the dust settles, we’re officially supposed to sit back on our collective asses and let the diplomats hammer out a permanent solution.”

Charlie grunted. “I got a permanent solution—it’s called a .45 semi-auto.”

“Hooyah, baby,” said Jax with a high-five.

The Commandant chuckled. “Unofficially, I’ve been sending my recon boys behind the lines to stir shit up in the Occupied Zones.” He chuckled. “They’ve been having a great time.” The old man looked surprised and raised his hands. “I’m so sorry, Mr. President, I have no idea why Korean platoons keep showing up missing…Jeepers, sir, it sounds like they’re meeting stiff civilian resistance, doesn’t it? Oh yes, sir, I assure you, my boys never left United States territory.”

Cooper grunted and walked over to the far wall to examine a detailed map of the United States. It had been marked up by someone. His finger traced the angry, red demarcation line between the Occupied Zone along the West Coast and the Free States of the middle of the country. On the East Coast, he saw the besieged cities with little European flags pointing toward each one, denoting who was in control. The sight turned his stomach.

“It’s all happened so fast,” he said.

The Commandant joined him at the map and nodded. “Shit like this usually does, son. The Joint Chiefs are of the opinion this whole thing was orchestrated by Barron. Especially after he fired their asses.” He snorted. “I don’t think the man’s got his shit together enough, though. I think someone else was, or is, pulling the strings. I mean, he fired me by email, didn’t even have the balls to do it to my face.”

“The Joint Chiefs got fired?” asked Cooper. “You got fired, sir? Can he do that?”

The Commandant rolled a shoulder. “Hell, he disbanded Congress. What’s left to stop him? Barron is, for all intents and purposes, the first American king.” The Commandant sighed. “Yeah, he fired all of us. President Harris was all too happy to have us join his side. So, you could say we’re getting the band back together.”

Cooper chuckled. He pointed at Idaho and a glaring red dot with a Russian flag. “What’s up with Russians this far west?”

The Commandant rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. “I learned from General Harrison—the Army Chief of Staff—that the Source is in Idaho. The Russians sent in a team of Spetsnaz to bag ‘im before the Koreans could. Things went south for Ivan real quick when the good citizens of Salmon Falls butchered a few Russians.” He put his hands on his hips and laughed.

“Last we heard—when I was still in D.C.—the Russians were killing civilians in retaliation. We had some Rangers on the ground and there was an attempt to get samples of his blood out on a Skyhook of all things.” He shrugged. “Then we lost contact with the Rangers who were escorting the Source. I tried to get the President to let me send in some recon Marines, but Barron didn’t listen.” He shrugged. “Haven’t heard squat since I transferred to Harris’ side.”

“Wait—the Source? Blood samples? What are you talking about, sir?” asked Charlie.

The Commandant checked his watch. “Skip it. There’s a briefing for the command staff starting in a few minutes. I’ll get you in—the docs can explain all this medical shit better than I ever could. Follow me.”

The Commandant led them through a maze of plain, industrial corridors lit by sparse fluorescent lights. There were people everywhere, most of whom wore surgical masks. Every now and then, someone wearing a full bio-hazard suit strolled past them, carrying equipment into a myriad of rooms.

“We’ve taken up residence in a pretty much unused portion of the underground complex,” the Commandant explained as they walked. “Less crowded on this side, but less finished as well,” he said, gesturing towards the areas that were dimly lit.

“And here I thought that Air Force bunker was claustrophobic,” muttered Charlie.

Before long, the Commandant stopped in front of a gaggle of mid-level officers clustered around a door, quietly talking and exchanging papers. They noticed him and snapped to attention. He dismissed them with a casual salute and led Cooper and his men into a well-lit, fully furnished briefing room.

The number of stars and oak leaves on collars in the room was dizzying. The Commandant stationed Cooper, Charlie, and Jax in the back of the room along a wall. “Stay here and listen. I’ve got to be up front. We’ll speak after the briefing.”

“Yes, sir.”

Several moments passed as the room cleared of nonessential personnel. As the staffers and aides left in an orderly manner, Cooper watched Brenda reviewing papers and leaning over to chat with an Army general. The light reflected off her glossy auburn hair and though her skin looked a peculiar shade of pale cream—thanks to the fluorescent lighting—he still thought she cleaned up rather nicely. The lights gave her hair burnished-copper highlights. She wore clean green scrubs now, instead of the grungy, blood-splattered baby-blues she’d been wearing during their escape from All Saints.

When the background noise diminished and the room was left half empty, someone in Navy dress-whites stood up from the banquet table, under several bright lights at the front of the room. The table was lined with high-ranking officers and a few doctors in scrubs and lab coats. And Dr. Alston—Brenda.

“Somebody’s in love,” crooned Jax.

Cooper felt his cheeks grow hot and tore his eyes from her—Brenda—Dr. Alston. He clenched his fists and turned to his heavy-weapons expert.

“Shut your pie-hole, Jax. I’m not in love—”

“Aaaaw, they say denial is the first stage,” whispered Charlie from Cooper’s other side.

“Sssh!” an army captain hissed from the row of folding chairs in front of them.

Cooper cleared his throat and smacked Charlie. The two grinning SEALs fell silent, after a silent high-five over Cooper’s head. Cooper rolled his eyes.

“—introduce Major Brenda Alston,” Admiral Bennet said. “She has seen this thing firsthand in Los Angeles and will be able to give you a better handle on it than I can. Major?”

“Major?” whispered Cooper. Charlie shrugged. The captain in front of them turned around and glared at Cooper.

“Thank you, Admiral Bennet,” Brenda said as she took her position behind the makeshift podium and organized her