Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  The Air Force Chief of Staff shook his head. “North Korea doesn’t take a piss unless Beijing says it’s okay. Besides, the Koreans don’t have any bombers worth a damn and the Chinese H-6K is capable of reaching Hawaii, but not California. So these bombers we’re seeing had to fly over Canada to reach us.”

  “So our friends to the north left the back door open?” asked the President.

  “Hell, sir, we left the front door open…” muttered the Marine Commandant. “We’ve been letting anyone from South America across the border Scot-free for decades now. Who knows how many diseases and sleeper cells we let walk across our borders.”

  “That was a policy enacted years ago,” said the President. “Before I graduated high school, General.”

  “Your boss sure didn’t do anything to change it though, did he?” shot back the Commandant.

  “Mr. President, if the North Koreans have been using Chinese strategic bombers in-theater, they must have supply bases, support personnel…That little Chinese diversion in Taiwan has to be part of a larger strategy. I think we’re looking at an honest-to-God conquest. They’re just using North Korea as a proxy.”

  “You’re telling me the North Koreans—no, the Chinese, or both are here to stay?” the President asked innocently. That confirms what Reginald said.

  The general looked like someone had just put a dead cat under his nose. He stared at the President, the color rising on his neck. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, then closed it. An awkward silence descended on the meeting.

  The Secretary of State cleared her throat. “Sir, North Korea is claiming they struck back against us—supposedly for an attack by U.S. forces that took place last week. They have video and pictures they’re releasing to the press this afternoon. It’s all doctored, of course. They’re insane. I’ve tried contacting the Chinese, but I’m still getting nothing but silence on the matter from Beijing, despite my repeated attempts at personal communication…”

  “Understood. Options? Everything but nuclear is on the table.” The President leaned back and waited for his military advisers to speak up. This was their one golden opportunity. The funny thing, he thought to himself, is that I’m serious. It’s going to be an all-out war. Never thought I’d hear myself say that…

  “Well, we all know the North Koreans are batshit crazy. I say we wipe Pyongyang off the map and see if that gets their attention,” said the Air Force Chief of Staff.

  “Can you reach—”

  “Mr. President, even with substandard communications capabilities, we still maintain—by a long shot—the most sophisticated and powerful air force this world has ever seen. In a word, sir: yes. We can be wheels up and over Pyongyang in—” he checked his watch. “Eight hours.”

  The President considered this. “Opinions?” he said, hands up, offering the floor to anyone. He wanted consensus on this move. He would be the first to admit that he was completely ignorant in the realm of military matters. He was a social activist, and a lawyer. A civilized man. He had no need to dream about bombs, missiles, and planes. His whole goal in entering the political world had been to reverse that peculiar, aggressive American tradition.

  “Sir, I believe we should have contingency measures in place. We can deploy a dozen or so conventional cruise missiles from subs in the South China Sea. If the bombers fail—”

  “They won’t, Admiral. Our pilots do not ‘go rogue’.”

  The Admiral flushed, but held his tongue. After appearing to calm himself, he said: “Sir, recommend we do a full-scale strike on Pyongyang. Warn them that if they don’t stop their offensive campaign on U.S. soil—right the fuck now—we wipe out their next largest city, and so on, until they do. Pardon my French, sir.”

  “Don’t worry about it Admiral.”

  “The Admiral has a point, sir,” agreed the Army Chief of Staff. “If the bombers somehow run into difficulty, a few waves of missiles won’t. It will send the message that nowhere in North Korea is there a safe haven from the air or the sea forces. Should be a wake-up call for Beijing, too.”

  “If Pyongyang isn’t safe—or Beijing—neither is Colorado, Chicago or Dallas, for that matter,” said the Secretary of State. “Gentlemen, you realize that if the Chinese are indeed pulling the strings or aiding the Koreans or even setting up shop on the West Coast, they’ll be able to hit targets farther east…”

  “Of course,” said the Marine Commandant. “It would be tactically stupid to waste such an opportunity. Mr. President, Washington itself -”

  “Is no longer a concern. Now that COG is in play, the chances of them taking enough of the upper echelon of our government out at the same time is just not there. Surely they know that. This may simply be a land grab,” said the Homeland Security director.

  “Well, the Koreans are suffering from over-population,” offered the Secretary of State. “And China has been for a hundred years or more.”

  “Let my boys break out the big guns—we’ll fix that problem in a jiffy,” said the Air Force general. He wore a smirk that made the President want to slap the man. The arrogance!

  “Enough,” said the President. “General Andrews, Admiral Bennet, I want mission drafts within the hour, and updates every 30 minutes until the strike is completed. You’ve got the green light. Make it happen. In the meantime, every available asset is to head west. We will hold the line and take back what is ours. I have just reached an agreement with the U.N. We can pull out from the east to prop up the defenders in the west. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Now. On to the Source. Have we made any progress in bringing him in? Now that we’ve lost Spokane, we’re going to have to take him…where?”

  “Johns Hopkins, sir,” said the Homeland Security head. “It’s the best bet for replicating a vaccine. From there we can transfer the vaccine to just about a dozen different locations and mass-produce. But the trick will be bringing in the Source.”

  “My boys have him—”

  “Yes, General Harrison, they do, but your Rangers haven’t brought him in, yet, have they? We’re still tracking him by the GPS chip implanted in his shoulder and he’s making a zig-zag path roughly southeast through the mountains of central Idaho. That’s the wrong direction from Spokane—or what’s left of it.”

  The President stifled a shiver. It was exactly like Reginald had said.

  “My last communication indicated that they had commandeered a squadron of Apaches—”

  “General, I do not want your men gathering an army. I want them to bring that man in so we can save our country. You are to order them to get him in, post haste. Is that clear? Their mission is not to rescue orphaned soldiers along the way.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, Mr. President. The problem, sir, is that the Koreans, or maybe the Chinese, have been on their tails since the get go. I’m tracking reports of incoming light ICBMs. They’re dropping down near where my boys are on a regular basis. Installations thought to be well behind the occupied zone are coming under attack, always when the Source comes within about a hundred or so miles.”

  “Are you suggesting that the Chinese have his HD-GPS locater code?” the CIA chief said, incredulous.

  “Jesus,” muttered the Secretary of Defense. He nervously shuffled some papers. “Sir, we can’t take the risk that the Koreans are tracking him—if we take him to Johns Hopkins—”

  “We could lose the last major facility at our disposal that is already set up to handle the vaccine production,” finished the President. “I understand your concerns, but we have to take that risk. That young man is our best hope for turning the tide against this flu. If we can stop the flu, we can turn our full attention on the North Koreans. But the death toll…” he glanced at the Secretary of Homeland Security.

  “Sir, my people are getting worried we’ve reached the tipping point.”

  “Tipping point?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. The point at which individual people infected with the flu are just infect
ing one person—who then infects one more person. That’s the normal case for seasonal flu; that’s why it dies out every year. A one-to-one infection ratio is not sustainable for very long. What we’re facing now though…well, we think we’re approaching—if we haven’t already passed it—is the point where one person will infect two or even three people, who then infect two or three more, each. The infection rate grows exponentially and before long…”

  “Wildfire,” said the President. Jesus, he thought. The Great Pandemic, part two.

  The obese man nodded his head, a sweaty sheen reflecting off his forehead. “Sadly, yes, Mr. President. We’re starting to see disturbingly large infection reports from most of the major population centers, nationwide. It’s now spreading into the suburban and rural areas.”

  “So maybe this thing will burn itself out?” asked the Secretary of Defense. “We should be focusing on the North Koreans, sir, or there won’t be a country left to—“

  “If only that were true,” replied the Secretary of Homeland Security. “In the 1918 pandemic, the rural areas of the country and more isolated areas of the world saw a huge increase in fatalities. We’re talking, it went from a 4% mortality rate in Philadelphia to 85% in Alaska. Entire towns were erased from existence.”

  “Holy God…” said the Secretary of Defense.

  The President thought back to his conversation with Reginald. The Conservative base in the country moved to the rural areas decades ago. They still have their guns and Bibles, but now they have the biggest target on their backs for the flu. He had to try hard not to smile. Goddamn Koreans may have helped me out more than they’ll ever know…

  “Okay,” said the President. “Is there anything we can do about the flu right now?”

  No one said anything.

  “Very well, then, keep working on it. Bring in the Source. But in the meantime, Al is right, we need to get a handle on these North Koreans. Do we know where they’re launching their ICBMs from?”

  “Sir, they don’t have missiles that are land based and capable of hitting targets in the CONUS, unless the Koreans have shipped mobile launchers in-theater…” said the NSA chief. “Either that or China is launching them.”

  The President turned his eyes on Admiral Bennet. “Admiral, it’s time to take the gloves off. I want that invasion fleet—whoever the hell it belongs to—on the bottom of the Pacific, and I want it done yesterday.”

  “Sir—”

  “Everything but nuclear is at your disposal, Admiral. Do what it takes, be ruthless. I want the North Koreans to suffer for this. Everyone knows we have the most dangerous navy on the planet—I want you to prove it.”

  The oil-slick smile that spread on the Admiral’s face chilled the President to his core. “Sir, you call down the thunder and we’ll reap the whirlwind. We’ll make those communist bastards sorry they even thought about pulling a stunt like this.”

  “You’ve got a blank check, Admiral. Get it done. Make an example of them.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll issue new orders to the Pacific fleets at once, sir.”

  “If you need air support, let General Andrews know and coordinate. General, I expect full cooperation in this.”

  “Of course, Mr. President. SAC is ready and able to assist.”

  An aide stepped into the room and got the President’s attention. He pointed at his watch and held up his hand, fingers spread wide. Five minutes.

  “Am I the only one that doesn’t like where this is going?” cried the Secretary of State. “As long as this is contained on our shores, it’s manageable. Sir, opening the flood gates on North Korea…it could start World War III.”

  “Open your eyes, Madam Secretary. We didn’t start it,” said Admiral Bennet.

  The President stood, silencing opposition. “All right everyone, we’ll meet again this evening. I want status reports on the hour. If you’ll excuse me, I have a speech to make.”

  God forgive me, he thought as the screens started to go black. I’m about to turn over parts of this country to foreign powers. How did I get roped into this? This wasn’t how I wanted it to go. Not at all. As his mood darkened, another thought crossed his mind like a bolt of lightning splitting the dark of night: Where’s Jayne?

  With pleasing thoughts of his mistress flitting about in his imagination, the cares of office drifted to his periphery once again. Once the nasty business of the speech was over with, he would find her and get a little stress relief.

  For the first time in days, the President smiled.

  CHAPTER 19

  Northern Idaho.

  Near the Oregon Border.

  THIS ACTIVATION OF THE Emergency Alert System covers all states and territories of the United States. Stay in your homes during this health emergency. If you must leave, do so only to find food, water, or medical supplies. Keep your mouth and nose covered—wash your hands immediately—avoid contact with anyone not in your immediate family. All unnecessary travel by non-emergency personnel will result in a felony misdemeanor. Keep the roads clear for our first responders.

  “This message is especially important in the following cities: Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, D.C., Norfolk, Raleigh, Charleston, Savannah, Jacksonville, and Miami. Do not be alarmed. The soldiers you see on your streets are from the United Nations peacekeeping force and are here to help. If they require assistance, you are ordered by law to render aid to the best of your ability…

  “Constitutional rights and privileges have been suspended in these cities until such time as the President and Congress deem the crisis to have passed. Please be patient with the peacekeepers. Not all of them speak English. If you have any concerns, please contact your local FEMA office. Repeat. The President has activated the National Emergency Alert System. The following announcement…”

  “Ain’t that some shit?” asked Captain Alston.

  Chad rubbed the fatigue from his face and noticed again the bristle-like stubble on his face. It had been days now since he had seen the inside of a hot shower and a warm bed. He sighed and handed the gunner a wrench as the man tried to adjust a stubborn part of the Black Hawk’s guts. National crisis aside, he just had no energy left to worry about what was going on a thousand miles away anymore.

  It was the second time the little squadron of helicopters, five Apaches and the Black Hawk, were safely parked at one end of a small civil airport. Well, Chad told himself as he looked around, at least this place is deserted. The little airfield was populated with three hangers and a few small, single-engine planes chained to the tarmac in storage parking.

  Chad watched as once again, the Rangers sprinted off to secure another airport location. He marveled at their ability to function without sleep for so long. Since he had nothing else to do, he had hung around the Black Hawk and helped prepare the helicopter for refueling. That’s when the gunner had asked for help fixing something Chad couldn’t even pronounce.

  Chad heard footsteps on the tarmac and turned to see the shortest of the gunship pilots approaching him. He was wearing a sweat-stained, olive-drab jumpsuit and carried his helmet under his arm, along with his flight gloves. He had jet black hair cropped into such a tight buzzcut that Chad thought at first the man was bald. He stopped short of Chad and looked him up and down, his face completely emotionless.

  “Hi,” said Chad. The pilot’s gaze was unnerving. It was like he was a wounded bird on the ground, being watched by a cat.

  “So you’re the Source, huh?” the man asked. The other pilots walked up and gathered around.

  “You’re why our entire base was wiped out? You’re the one the Koreans are after?” asked a second, taller pilot with blond hair and a haggard look to his long face.

  Chad tensed, his anger building. He dropped the duffel bag just handed him from inside the Black Hawk. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? I was just minding my own business−”

  “But you’re some sort of freak that can cure the world or somethin
g, right? That’s why the President said we were supposed to find you.”

  Captain Alston had followed the pilots over and stood in the background, watching. He made his way to the front of the little group to look at the short pilot. “Say again,” he said, glancing at the pilot’s name patch. “Lieutenant?”

  The pilot stiffened and stared over the head of Chad. “Sir, last confirmed orders from HQ were to locate the Source,” his eyes flicked to Chad. “And assist ground units with capturing him.”

  “Then all hell broke loose and my crew was slaughtered right in front of me,” said the second pilot. “Damn mortar went off, right on the flightline.” He shook his head. “Whole base was overrun in a few minutes. Koreans everywhere, man.”

  “Then missiles started raining down out of the sky. We were scrambling for cover when the orders went out to get in the air,” added a pilot in the back of the group.

  “We were already airborne on a patrol run to test out some new software on the guidance computer,” said a woman with her shoulder-length brown hair pulled into a tight bun. She too had a look that did not gush friendliness toward Chad as she faced him with her hands on her hips.

  “My wingman took a SAM as I was talking to him. We’ve been flying together for six years.” She shook her head. “It came out of nowhere. Base CO got on the horn and said we were under attack, and ordered me to take my squadron south and regroup.” Her eyes were red with emotion. “I told him that we were circling back to counterattack. You know what he told me?”

  “He told me,” the female pilot continued, staring at Chad, visibly on the edge of breaking down. “He told me that it was no use—we were overrun. We should save ourselves. That was when our comms went out.”

  “So what makes you think Mr. Huntley here, is the problem?” Captain Alston asked, arms folded across his chest.

  “Because it’s all over the civvie-band radio, sir,” she replied. “Washington activated the EAS and its broadcasting hourly that Mr. Huntley,” she said with a nod toward Chad, “needs to be brought in, safe and sound, whatever the cost. That makes him a wanted man—”