Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  “I…well, they were classical liberals, not modern…but…” Harold stammered. He could not think straight. There was just too much—

  “As to your mischievous North Koreans,” said Reginald thoughtfully. “You shall continue your course of action. Fight them vigorously. You may pull your troops from the eastern half of your country to reinforce those in the west. Trust me, from what I have seen, you are going to need the help. My employer believes the Koreans are going to invite their overlords, the Chinese, to settle your West Coast rather quickly. My sources in Pyongyang feel once they have settlers occupying the land your people have abandoned—”

  “No one has abandoned anything!” the President hissed. “They’re killing innocent Americans and taking the land.”

  “Ah, but is the flu not killing many times more than the North Koreans? They seem to be immune…and when the Chinese civilians arrive, if you attack them, the world community will be hard pressed to give you their support. You will have your own Gaza Strip!” Another sadistic chuckle.

  “We figured that out, thank you very much. I’ve seen the photos of the fleet. But, as long as we get the Source to safety -”

  “Ah yes,” purred Reginald. “The young man who carries around in his blood the salvation of a nation. Someone should make a movie about that.”

  “Well, from what I hear, Hollywood has been destroyed.”

  Reginald’s laugh sent a shiver down the President’s spine. “Regardless of your movie-making capabilities, I know how to solve this situation as well. We have been tracking your Source,” he said smugly. “As well as the Koreans. In fact, I have personally dispatched a special Russian outfit that is en route as we speak to a location in Idaho.”

  “Idaho? Why−”

  “Because we have evaluated the Korean pursuit and we’re confident they will drive your man right into our open arms. Which, by the way, will be the best outcome. We will then handle the North Koreans, and your men can stand down.”

  “How…?”

  “Oh, a little code we came across allowed us access to your HD-GPS tracking network…” Reginald chuckled.

  The President closed his eyes. That damn code again. How long will it torment me? What further damage can it do?

  There was a soft knock on the door to his private suite. “Yes!” he called, covering the cell phone with his hand. He winced at the harshness of his voice almost as soon as he said the word.

  “Uh…They’re ready for you in the conference room, sir,” said a muffled voice.

  “Thank you,” he replied. He put on his jacket and adjusted his tie in the mirror before opening the door. As the President walked with a purpose down the corridor flanked by Secret Service agents, he spoke again to Reginald.

  “So the speech…” prompted Reginald.

  “If you think that is the best course of action, then I’ll do it, of course,” said the President, trying to sound more authoritative than he felt. He had to at least put on a show for the agents.

  “Very good, Mr. President. We will weather this storm together. You will see. I very much look forward to watching your speech, and meeting your new Vice President.” The line went dead.

  “I haven’t told you—” The President looked at his secure mobile phone, turned it off, and shook his head deplorably before dropping the phone in his jacket pocket.

  How the hell does he know so much? He glanced suspiciously at the agent on his left. Who’s the mole?

  Reginald still didn’t give me anything on the Koreans. Or China, other than a civilian wave is coming…what does that mean?

  The President let the agents open the door to the conference room and stepped inside with a mumbled thanks. One wall of the room had an enormous screen displaying a mix of international news stations. The American media had gone silent at his request.

  “—that President Barron is clearly losing control of the situation in America, and I for one am glad that the United Nations is acting so swiftly to secure peace for our dear friends across the pond,” said the grainy picture of the British Prime Minister. He leaned in closer to the microphone thrust in his face by an unseen reporter. “Let me be clear. His Majesty the King is dreadfully concerned about this business with the North Koreans as well. We are pursuing every diplomatic avenue with Pyongyang regarding the rumors of their invasion of the American Pacific Coast.”

  The President stood at the end of the conference room table, next to his big executive chair and watched the screen with a sinking heart. Even the British were on board with the U.N. invasion. He had hoped that at least America’s most stalwart ally would see through this move by the United Nations.

  “Prime Minister,” shouted a reporter off-screen. “Can you confirm, then, that there are indeed North Korean land forces operating in America at this time?”

  “What about the Russians taking over towns in the Southern United States?” called out another. Brilliant flashes of erupted across the screen from cameramen in the background.

  “Can you hear yourselves?” asked the Prime Minister. “America is a superpower—we all know that their country is filled with gun-toting cowboys and gangsters. Do you honestly think that another country would want to invade such a place? I believe, as does His Majesty, that there are plenty of real problems to deal with. Namely, the communications issues revolving around the loss of America’s satellites. Those satellites have affected the entire world, from communications, to security, as well as global finance and trade. And I for one, am more than amazed that it has taken until now for the rest of us to realize just how much we depend on the United States. They have been the Atlas to western civilization for how many decades? Maybe this is the wakeup call that we all need to start pulling our own weight, what?”

  “What about the Russians?”

  The Prime Minister shook his head. “Ludicrous, all of it. Just because Great Britain has not donated blood and treasure -at this time- to this peacekeeping force does not mean that the Crown is oblivious to the unfortunate needs of the Yanks. That is patently false; don’t believe everything you hear, old boy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am quite sorry,” he said, holding up his hands. “But I must be off—I do have a country to run. And that job has become much more difficult of late.”

  President Barron turned off the monitor in disgust as the reporters began shouting questions over each other. Thanks to the Yanks…as if it were our choice to have the damn Koreans invade and let the U.N. take up residence on Long Island…

  He listened to the silence in the conference room, broken only by the gentle whisper of the air filtration system and the drumming of his fingers on the polished walnut slab of a table.

  An aide approached silently and placed a cup emblazoned with the official White House seal in front of the President. “It’s time, sir,” he whispered while pouring the gourmet coffee.

  “Very well. Thank you.” The President picked up the remote in front of him and clicked a big red button. On the other side of the room, the floor-to-ceiling monitor switched on and the image was split into eleven portraits. His government.

  There was the Speaker of the House, the Joint Chiefs, the NSA head, his CIA spymaster, the Director of the FBI, the Secretary of Homeland Security, and the Secretary of State. A door at the other end of the room opened and the Secretary of Defense stepped in, carrying a stack of papers and sat down on the President’s right.

  When he was sure he had everyone’s attention and all the cameras were working, he started the meeting. “I’m glad you all got to your secure locations without incident. I hear it’s starting to get bad out there.”

  The red-faced Army General was apoplectic. “Starting to get bad? Starting? Mr. President, the Russians have taken three towns in South Carolina—that we know of—as surely as the Koreans have sacked Los Angeles, Portland, Sacramento, and Seattle! It’s a goddamn disaster, is what it is!”

  All the heads displayed on the wall-screen began talking and shouting at once. The President sighe
d and rubbed his temples. Reginald—the puppet master—as the President was starting to think of him, had tried to prepare the fledgling President for this meeting. They were reacting with fright, anger, and impotence, exactly as Reginald had promised.

  As his cabinet argued amongst themselves, the President thought back on Reginald’s words. He had said that everything was going according plan. Everything was back on schedule, now that President Denton was confirmed dead and Harold himself was secure in the Oval Office.

  The President looked up. Or at least underneath the Oval Office, he thought with a wry smile. The smile faded as a small voice in the back of his head asked, How does Reginald know if Denton is really dead?

  “Mr. President, have you selected a VP yet?” asked the Director of the FBI, outshouting his colleagues. The room went quiet.

  The President thought a moment before he answered. He had desperately wanted to nominate Jayne, just to see the looks on their faces. There was no Constitutional requirement that a President appoint a career politician as VP when he assumed power. It was just expected.

  The sobering thought that she would be spirited away to her own bunker, likely never to see him until the crisis was over—that was really what deep-sixed the notion of Jayne as Vice President.

  “I have,” he said, addressing the assembled floating heads on the wall. “I have nominated Sandra Hillsen.” He raised up his hand to forestall the deluge of opposition. He knew very well what he was doing—Sandra Hillsen was the most rabid, foaming-at-the-mouth liberal senator the good people of California had ever elected. She would be the perfect enthusiastic enforcer for his radical policies.

  Senator Hillsen hailed from southern California, ground zero for the Korean invasion, and having her on his team would shore up political support from both sides, regardless of ideology. She was California and if nothing else, people would associate her nomination with his determination to secure peace for the West Coast, and roughly half of his political base. If nothing else, he figured, she had the largest Chinese-American constituency, with the most contacts in Beijing. And that fact might just be able to create a real impact in the crisis.

  We might have to rely on China to reign in North Korea…God, they’re really boxing me in on this. As payment for stopping North Korea, the Chinese will demand rights for their fleet of civilians. Damn it! He could feel his fists clench in an impotent fury. Then a thought occurred to him: Maybe Hillsen can pull it off.

  Even the Republican leadership had admitted that they would not oppose her too strenuously, though he could see it in their faces that they would like nothing better than to spit on her grave. To oppose a VP nomination in the middle of a national crisis over political ideology would be suicide for the Conservatives in the upcoming mid-terms, and they knew it. No, Harold had them exactly where he wanted them.

  If we have mid-terms, he thought darkly. Another thought struck him. If we don’t have mid-terms, what will that do to the Conservatives? Without the distraction of the election…How can I take advantage of that? He filed that thought away for future pondering.

  “I’ve already spoken with Alan,” he said, motioning toward the screen with the Senate Majority Leader’s sour face. “And he’s confident we’ll have no trouble getting her sworn in.”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” muttered the Commandant of the Marine Corps.

  “Is there a problem with my nomination, General?”

  The old Marine’s face remained as impassive as a lump of granite, his gray eyes boring holes through the President like power drills. A hint of color crept up the old man’s neck. “You might say so, yes, Mr. President,” he said in a clipped tone.

  “I’m all ears. Why do you feel the need to criticize my nomination in the middle of this crisis?” He smiled inwardly, proud of having skewered the Marine. It was the same tactic the Party would use on anyone who said anything but “yes” to Senator Hillsen’s nomination.

  “Permission to speak freely, sir?” asked the Marine.

  “Go ahead, general.”

  “That woman,” the Marine said with a sneer, “Is one helluva large part of why we’re in this mess to begin with. She’s the one who has sponsored the reduction in arms year after year, cutting our budgets and affecting our ability to defend this nation. She and her friends,” he said, fairly hissing the word, “have over the years done more to destroy the fabric of this nation and its ability to defend itself than North Korea has in a hundred years. By the way, the North Korean flag flies over city hall in Los Angeles thanks to her. And the Chinese haven’t done shit to keep their little brothers in line, have they? ‘Course, from what I hear, Hillsen’s plenty friendly with the ChiComs, too, so she probably knows more than we do—am I right?”

  The President ground his teeth, seething in anger. The general had hit a nerve. Yes, Senator Hillsen had been involved in a few scandals with Chinese dissidents, involving arms technology transfers, but she had been cleared on three separate occasions by Congress itself. But that had nothing to do with North Korea.

  Of course, Congress was run by her friends…that small voice in his head whispered, almost as a giggle. She’s grossly irresponsible, always getting a free ride, and essentially accountable to no one. Will she listen to me?

  He had to control his emotions and maintain an even keel. He knew the senator had some skeletons in her closet. Hell, it wasn’t the skeletons she had in her closet, it was the ones she had in the ground. Rumors flew about how dirty she played the Little Rock-Chicagoland political game.

  The worst part about the old general’s words was that they were true. The President knew it, they all knew it. Senator Hillsen was as anti-military as she was pro-labor, pro-amnesty for illegal immigrants, and pro-global government. It wasn’t her stance on the military that the President wanted to manipulate, it was her ability to get votes, her ability to cowtow junior senators, and reach into the House to gather support around her like a cloak. Always making promises—or more often, threats—but always getting what she wanted. He would need her support in the coming days when he started laying down the new law of the land.

  But first he had to survive the North Koreans and the United Nations. Perceived invasions on both coasts. Well, he told himself, Reginald promised me the U.N. wasn’t invading. He told me he was in charge of them…what does that mean when this is over and the U.N. controls the major cities of the Eastern Seaboard?

  Out-loud, he said: “I appreciate your thoughts, General, but the matter is closed. Senator Hillsen will be the first female Vice President of the United States by this time tomorrow. Get used to the idea.”

  Before the crusty old general could respond, the NSA director spoke up. “Sir, I may have some good news for you.”

  “It’s about time!” the President said, eager to change the topic. “What have you got?”

  “It’s about the satellites. We’ve locked down the backdoor-access to the older generation satellites and have secured rudimentary communications with most of our globally-deployed forces.”

  The President slapped the table in sincere happiness. “First good news I’ve heard all day, outstanding. So…The recall order?” He glanced at the Secretary of Defense, sitting next to him like he would rather be anywhere but where he was.

  “Mr. President, Apache Dawn has been successfully activated. We have an 80% confirmation rate, sir,” reported the Secretary of Defense. He smiled, giving the President the distinct impression that the old man scared Death itself.

  “Mr. President, I must protest again,” started the Secretary of State. She looked exhausted. “This world-wide recall of our forces is going to leave power vacuums and cause chaos all over the planet. Our bases in Southeast Asia are not responding to communications and Taiwan is now under attack by the Chinese and requesting immediate assistance.”

  “Did that surprise anyone?” asked the Admiral. “I could have told you as soon as our satellites died that Taiwan is going to take one on the chin. President Denton ha
d us pull the 7th Fleet out-of-theater last year—it was just a matter of time. Our West Coast will be the icing on the cake.”

  “Okay, okay,” said the President. “One thing at a time. We have at least, limited communications. Correct?”

  “Yessir,” said the NSA director with a smile.

  “Good. We need to make sure that our returning forces know to not engage the United Nations troops. I have the personal assurance of the Secretary General−”

  “Excuse me, Mr. President, but I’ve seen nothing on−” began the Secretary of State.

  “You have your channels, I have mine,” grinned the President. “The U.N. is not our enemy. North Korea is. I want all our resources pumped into the western theater.”

  “So that’s what we’re calling it now?” asked the Army Chief of Staff. His face was not red anymore. Just…sad looking. “We have lost the western coast of the United States. Shall I be the first to admit it? That we have failed in our sacred duty to protect our own homeland? That we were so Goddamned concerned with every little piss-ant shit-hole in the world, we were stretched so thin, so emaciated by Congress, that we let California, Oregon, and Washington fall to foreign invaders. On our watch.”

  “Well, the flu had something to do with that,” offered the mealy-mouthed Secretary of State. She pushed her glasses up her aquiline nose again.

  “He’s right,” said the Air Force General. “My boys are barely keeping even. With reduced strength, reduced communications…those red bastards just keep pouring more and more into the area. I don’t know how they’re doing it. More ground forces, more air assets. I had reports of strategic bombers north of Los Angeles. That implies that China is really pulling the strings here.”