Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga (62 page)

Cooper smiled and waved Jax off.
 
He started to lower his own rifle.
 
Thompson dropped his rifle and bum-rushed him with an angry shout.
 
Cooper easily sidestepped the large fist that made a breeze against his cheek as it went past.
 

The big airman turned faster than Cooper thought possible and swung with his other fist.
 
Cooper got his free arm up to block fast enough, but the strength behind the punch was unexpected.
 
His arm shuddered under the impact as if Thompson had swung a baseball bat.
 
Cooper was pushed backwards and spun sideways to regain his balance.
 
He had to drop his rifle and duck to avoid taking one in the temple.

“Take his ass out, Coop!” Charlie yelled.
 

He heard Mike laugh.
 
“C’mon, man, we got shit to do.
 
I could’ve dropped him by now with one arm tied behind my back…”

Cooper grunted and backpedaled, blocking the flurry of punches thrown at his face.
 
It was all he could do to stay on his feet.
 
The enraged man before him was like a machine.

The airman checked his last punch and Cooper moved to block, letting the other fist connect with his torso.
 
Cooper ignored the pain in his ribs and focused on the odd sensation of his heels lifting off the ground.
 

Enough of this shit
, Cooper said to himself, feeling his anger catch fire.

The airman took a breath, leaned forward and threw another mighty punch, straight for Cooper’s face.
 
Cooper moved just a fraction of an inch inside the punch, grabbed the man’s wrist as it approached, then twisted and pulled with all his strength.
 
Thompson gasped in surprise as he found himself flung through the air onto his back.

Quick as a snake, the bigger man was back on his feet and charging with a scream of rage.
 
This time, Cooper held his ground.
 
In a smooth motion, almost nonchalantly, he stepped forward, spread his thumb from his fingers, and jabbed his left arm, straight out into the throat of his attacker.
 
Cooper pulled back the hit at the last possible second—he had no desire to kill the hulking thug, just teach him a lesson.

The lesson was learned fast.
 
Like a matador side-stepping a charging bull, Cooper swung his arm free and stepped farther into the hallway as Thompson crashed to his knees, clutching at his throat and gasping for air.
 
Without looking, Cooper swung his left elbow back and connected with the back of Thompson’s head, sending the big man sprawling face first onto the floor, still choking in a blind rage.

Jax laughed, the sound echoed down the corridor loudly.
 
He fist-bumped Cooper.
 
“
Hardcore, baby.”

Cooper squatted to pick up his rifle and raised it again, watching the wide-eyed MPs in the hallway.
 
He rolled his neck, to the accompaniment of several loud cracks as he stood.
 
He sighed, then looked at the MPs lining the hallway.
 

“So, who’s reaching for the sky?
 
Or does anyone
else
want to choose ‘face down’?
 
‘Cause I don’t have time for anymore bullshit.”
 
He chambered a round in his rifle.

All the hands in the hallway went up.

He turned around and saw Thompson struggle to get to his knees, his face purple but regaining its natural color.
 
He shakily raised both hands with a meek expression on his face.
 
He did not meet Cooper’s eyes.
 
Still, Cooper allowed himself to relax only after the MPs were secured with their own handcuffs and plastic ties.
 

“Charlie,” Cooper said, turning his back so the prisoners couldn’t hear.

“Yeah?” said his XO, moving to join him.

“Take a few of the ones who look ready to cry into the comms room.
 
We’re gonna let them go—”

“What?” Charlie hissed.
 
He shot a look at the prisoners.
 
“Man they just just tried to kill us!”

“Wrong—the base CO did, and that big guy Thompson was his enforcer.
 
I’m pretty sure most of them didn’t want to go along with−”

“Coop…remember Tehran?” he whispered.

Cooper did indeed remember that hellish day during the aftermath of The Pandemic.
 
In the blink of an eye, he could smell the dusty streets, the street vendors and their spices, the exotic
heat
of the place.
 
He remembered the back alley where they had found their man and were about to high tail it out of the area when some kids playing soccer of all things stumbled on them.
 
Swede had wanted to kill them all to ensure mission success.
 
Charlie had been inclined to go along with Swede but Cooper could not—would not kill innocent children.
 
Rather than lose valuable time arguing, Cooper made a snap decision and they moved on, only to be confronted by the beginnings of an angry mob around the corner.
 
The kids had ratted them out.

It had been slaughter.
 
A full strength SEAL Team fully-loaded for war packs an awesome punch.
 
Later, when push came to shove, they shoved hardest and mowed through anyone that stood in their way.
 
If Cooper had decided to end the life of those handful of kids, it would have saved dozens of lives in the long run.
 
Re-living that awful choice still gave Cooper nightmares when he had too much to drink, but he didn’t have the luxury to regret his decision for one second.
 
After all, he was still around to have nightmares.

Cooper took a deep breath and pulled himself back into the present.
 
He looked around and saw frightened nurses treating wounded and exhausted Secret Service agents.
 
Some of his rough-around-the-edges SEALs were even lending a hand and seeing to some very nervous airmen.
 
He shook his head.

“Man, this is not Tehran.
 
Those are
Americans
—our brothers in arms.
 
We’re up to our neck in North Koreans topside and we need every man we can get.
 
Now cut ‘em loose.”

“I’m not saying we kill ‘em,” replied Charlie in a defensive tone.
 
“Tehran was before I met Allie…before…” he swallowed.
 
“Before my kid.
 
It’s hard not to think of getting back to my family in all this shit, you know?
 
If I wasn’t who I am…man, I’d be tearing my way through every NKor up there to get to Allie and Charlie.”
 
He sniffed and looked away for a moment.
 
Then: “Could I do what I suggested back in Tehran, now?
 
No way. But…cutting them loose?
 
We need—”

Cooper spun and dropped to a knee, rifle raised.
 
He heard footsteps.
 
“Striker, we got incoming,” he whispered into his mic.

Charlie crouched next to Cooper, the argument forgotten.
 
Muffled voices drifted down the hallway.
 
Cooper could hear faint words, and a voice that sounded like it carried authority, but the only word he could really hear was “traitors”.
 
He tensed as the sounds grew closer.
 
It was definitely more than just one or two people approaching.
 
Here we go again…

“Stay frosty,” Cooper warned.
 
“No one opens-up until I give the signal.”

“Hooyah
,” someone replied in a whisper.
 

One of the prisoners started to pray, his body shaking in fear.
 
Cooper did a quick scan of them, all lined up along the corridor behind him, and saw mostly round eyes and sweaty foreheads.
 
His SEALs were spread out along the corridor and guarding the entrance to the comms room.
 
The airmen would be sitting ducks and caught in the crossfire if a firefight erupted.
 
And they knew it.

The sound of the approaching footsteps slowed and stopped just around the closest corner.
 
Cooper held a fist up in the air:
hold your fire
.
 
He heard some more whispers that sounded almost like commands, then a single set of footsteps grew louder.

A man in Air Force-gray BDUs walked calmly around the corner, pistol in hand, as if he were on a parade ground.
 
The way he carried himself screamed officer.
 
As the sound of the officer’s boots echoed off the linoleum floor down the hallway, Cooper counted to five in his head.
 
Then he switched on the laser sight of his gun and aimed for center mass.
 

“That’s far enough, bub.”

It had the desired effect.
 
The man froze and spread his arms out wide.

“I don’t know who you are, but I’m on your side,” the man said.
 
The voice was not uncertain, shaky, or quiet.
 
Whoever he was, the airman standing there in the corridor with a laser sight on his chest was calm and confident.

“Who are you?” barked Cooper.
 
Another laser tagged the man and the red dot climbed up his torso and stopped on his forehead.

“Captain William Arol.”

Cooper exchanged a look with Charlie, then nodded and stood up, lowering his rifle.
 
He noticed two more lasers appear on Arol’s chest and tried to suppress a grin.
 
His boys were making double sure the good captain didn’t try any funny business.
 
Cooper took a few quick steps, anticipating an ambush and stopped an arm’s length from Arol.
 
The man was looking over the bound airmen sitting on the ground.
 
He nodded reassurance to them before turning his face to Cooper.
 
He had the makings of a terrific shiner on his left eye and a serrated cut on his right cheek.
 
His lower lip was swollen and bleeding, but there was a fire in his eyes that Cooper recognized and liked.
 

“Thank you for not killing my men.”

Cooper looked over his shoulder at the prisoners.
 
He turned back to Arol and raised an eyebrow.
 
“
Your men?”

“They’re part of my detachment.
 
I’m the XO of base security.
 
Well, I guess I’m in charge, now, thanks to the Koreans.”
 
He swallowed.
 
“Who the hell are you guys?”
 
Arol reversed his grip on his pistol and offered it to Cooper.

“Master Chief Cooper Braaten, US Navy.”
 
He took the offered pistol and pulled the slide back, checking the chamber.
 
Brass gleamed back at him in the glow of the florescent tube lights that hung overhead.
 
He worked the release and caught the magazine that popped out.
 
He slapped the magazine home again and rested his hands on the chest pockets of his combat vest, rifle dangling by the sling on his shoulder.
 

The man before him watched all this with calm eyes, not nervous or impatient.
 
Cooper decided this man was truthful in his convictions—he knew he was right and wasn’t about to back down.
 
Cooper had learned to read people like a book in stressful situations over the course of his SEAL career.
 
None of Cooper’s warning bells went off—his gut told him the man he faced was no threat.
 

“My men and I were tasked with extracting Slipknot from L.A.—”

“He’s really here?” gasped Arol.
 
“That speech was
live
?”
 

“He is,” nodded Cooper.
 
“Or was.”
 
He sniffed.
 
“Doesn’t matter now.
 
We were supposed to get him out of danger and we did—or we
thought
we did, until we brought him here.
 
Didn’t expect the welcome we received, that’s for damn sure.”

Arol frowned.
 
“Where’s Colonel Molton?” he asked, looking over the prisoners again.

“Back down the hallway in a pool of his own blood.
 
He tried to draw on me.”

“Good riddance,” said Arol.
 
“He was an ass; no one got along with him.
 
He kept going on about some damn personal phone call he’d received from the President—Barron.
 
About how we were under orders to hunt you guys down and kill you all.
 
He said the President would give us all raises and promotions for staying loyal to him.”
 
He wiped sweat off his forehead with a disgusted look.
 
“As if we were mercenaries.”

“So you’re in charge of this goat-fuck, now,” said Cooper.
 
“The question is, what are you gonna do?”