He flared expertly at the very last second, just outside the tree line that sheltered the southern riverbank of the Charles River. As his momentum was fully arrested, his feet dropped on the ground silently and he sank to a crouch, already pulling the parachute to the ground and starting to roll it up.
In a whisper, Charlie landed next to him, almost as perfectly as Cooper. Jax landed on his left and skidded a few feet before he stopped. The others, he noticed with a grin, landed safely and quietly along the length of the tree line. They were as silent as ghosts. In their black helmets and HAHO suits—to anyone who had bothered to look—they were mere wraith-like shadows passing silently through the night.
Once free of their parachutes, oxygen tanks and HAHO gear, the SEALs strapped on weapons and cut loose the empty leg-bags. They were now ready to continue the mission. Cooper checked the elapsed mission time on his HUD and nodded to himself. It had taken less than a minute to go from flight to land operations. By the book.
He saw the others take a knee and when each helmeted-head had turned in his direction, he waved his hand in the execute signal and pointed at Charlie to head for the river. Charlie nodded and moved off silently, Jax and Swede following him into the tree line. When they vanished into the trees and undergrowth that lined the river, Cooper motioned to his squad to follow and he moved along the tree line toward the JFK Street Bridge.
“Two in position,” said Charlie’s voice a few breathless moments later.
The kid’s fast, Cooper admitted to himself. Charlie was already in position by the river, at the foot of the bridge. Cooper reached his position, just inside the tree line, at the street level of the bridge. Craning his neck, he could make out the IR beacon on the back of Charlie’s helmet down below near the river.
“Sparky, you got eyes on?” he asked.
“Roger that.”
Cooper watched the team sniper move to the right and set up his long, black sniper rifle behind a tree. Sparky plugged a cord from the rifle’s scope into the side of his helmet and started scanning the bridge and the far bank.
“Bridge is clear. No enemy foot mobiles in sight. No vehicles in sight.”
“Two?” asked Cooper.
“Negative activity here. Skies are clear,” Charlie reported.
“Let’s go,” said Cooper. His team headed out of the tree line and crossed the street. They hopped a temporary concrete barrier set up by the Germans and made their way across the long bridge. He watched as Charlie’s squad took position on the opposite side of the road from his men and they all moved across the bridge together as a single unit.
“Still clear,” called out Sparky, still in his position back in the tree line.
“Copy,” grunted Cooper. They were almost at the other side. This is turning out to be —
“Movement, far side, your eleven o’clock!”
The front two SEALs, Cooper and Charlie, on either side of the road, dropped to the deck and had rifles ready. The other SEALs took a knee and aimed over their leaders.
“Wait one…I don’t think they’re Germans…”
“Say again, Sparky, what the hell are we looking for?” hissed Charlie.
“Seven, repeat, seven foot mobiles, approaching the Germans in JFK Park. Moving up from the riverbank. They got their backs to you.”
“Go, go, go,” said Cooper, getting to his feet again. They would use the cover of the side-rails of the bridge to shield their movement as they reached the far side and crouched again. “Where they at, Sparky?”
“Foot-mobiles entering the tree line, your ten o’clock.”
Before Cooper could say anything else, gunfire erupted in the trees across the street. The bright muzzle flashes lit up their night-vision enhanced HUDs. The computers in their helmets did a good job of dimming the display to prevent momentary blindness. Cooper grinned. He had taken the Marine Commandant at his word when told the SEALs to take what they wanted.
“I have got to get me some more of this gear,” he muttered.
“Hooyah,” replied Charlie.
“Whoever they are, they took Jerry by surprise. They’re pretty good, but the Germans got reinforcements approaching from the north—your one o’clock. Across the road, looks like a six-man squad. On foot.”
“Whoever the hell they are, they’re fighting the Germans, and that’s who’s standing between us and our objective. I say we lend a hand,” suggested Charlie.
“Agreed, let’s do it. You take out the reinforcements, we’ll engage from the tree line.”
“Copy.” Charlie moved off silently with Jax and Swede in tow, racing up the street directly at the unsuspecting German squad rushing to help their comrades.
“Sparky, you suppressed?” asked Cooper as he and Mike moved forward toward the fighting.
“Affirmative.”
“Clear to engage.”
“Roger that, engaging now.”
Cooper reached the treeline ahead and saw shadowy shapes in front of him, moving into the German encampment. There were a few tents on fire and one of their vehicles was all shot-up. He counted three bodies on the ground and could see the silhouettes of the mystery attackers moving forward in a disciplined approach, raking fire into the surprised German troops. To his right, he heard muffled gunfire erupt—Charlie was engaging his targets.
A German staggered from the tent in front of him and was suddenly jerked backwards into the tent’s opening. Cooper ducked involuntarily.
“That’s one,” said Sparky.
“That was a little close, brother,” muttered Cooper, searching for a new target.
Another German crumpled on the edge of Cooper’s vision. “Two.”
Muffled gunfire reached Cooper’s ears inside his HAHO helmet. He turned again to the road and saw his SEALs moving forward, laying down controlled bursts through the trees. Germans were falling left and right.
He turned back to the main camp just in time to see a German emerge from the trees and take aim at the back of one of the unknown foot-mobiles Sparky had spotted earlier. The man turned to face the German and Cooper could see by the firelight the look of abject fear and surprise on his face.
Cooper fired without further hesitation and the German fell to the side with a scream. Cooper was then left standing with his rifle aimed and ready, pointed at the stranger’s chest.
The stranger quickly gathered his wits and started to raise his own rifle toward Cooper.
“Hold your fire! Friendly!” Cooper said, raising his left hand. His voice, broadcast by external speakers in his helmet, came back to him muffled. He winced, thinking he sounded like a Stormtrooper right out of Star Wars.
“Comin’ up on your three o’clock, Coop,” warned Charlie.
The man in front of Cooper was now joined by his surviving comrades, three more shadows that moved through the camp to the tree line. Cooper could see they were all dressed in civilian clothes, though one had some hunting camo. They all carried what looked like M4s, or AR-15s. One had an SKS slung over his shoulder.
Mike stepped up next to Cooper and took aim at the men opposite them. Cooper laid a hand on Mike’s rifle and pointed the barrel down.
“No need to get twitchy, boys. Let’s all stay frosty. I think we’re all on the same team here.” As a show of good faith, Cooper lowered his own weapon. The men across from them kept their weapons aimed.
“I say we take ‘em out right now,” said one of the men in a thick Boston accent.
“I’d advise against that, friend,” said Cooper. He motioned at the leader’s chest. Sparky’s laser had lit-up the man. The red dot was square in the middle of the man’s chest and was not moving at all. “My sniper is back across the river. You’ll never get the chance to pull the trigger.” He turned his head. “Come on out, boys.”
Like wraiths, Charlie, Jax, and Swede emerged from the flickering shadows of the burning German camp. The locals nearly jumped out of their skins and Cooper couldn’t help but grin. When the men calmed down a bit,
Cooper let his rifle hang by its combat sling and raised both empty hands. He slowly broke the seal and removed his helmet. Sighing, he relished the first breathe of fresh air that kissed his damp skin.
God, that feels good.
“Who the hell are you guys?” asked the man Cooper assumed to be their leader.
Cooper smiled. “We’re the good guys.” He peeled back the flap of cloth on his right shoulder and exposed the American flag sewn onto his jumpsuit.
“Where’d you come from?” asked one of the others. Cooper noticed their rifles weren’t pointed so straight any more.
“Way up there,” he said, pointing up.
“No planes or helicopters flying around here but the Krauts and their damn drones,” muttered the leader. “Those are some wicked-fancy helmets you got there…you guys special forces or something?”
“Or something,” Cooper grinned. He stuck a gloved hand out, and almost said Master Chief. After a quick pause, he said instead, “Lieutenant Cooper Braaten.”
“Air Force?” asked the leader.
Charlie snorted in derision, an odd sound coming through his helmet. Mike shook his head.
“Navy,” replied Cooper, the grin spreading into a smile.
After a moment of silence, the leader said, “Nice.” He lowered his weapon and shook hands with Cooper. “I gotcha. Hey, it’s cool, you guys really helped us out. Thanks.”
“So what, we’re just gonna trust ‘em ‘cause he says he’s from the Navy? These guys dropped outta the sky like ghosts…”
His partner slapped him on the shoulder. “Dude, they’re SEALs.”
“No shit?” asked the Doubting Thomas.
Cooper laughed. “No shit.” He stopped mid-laugh and grew serious. “But don’t tell anyone, or we’ll have to kill you.” When he heard the locals grow silent, he laughed again. “Just kidding, man. We’re not here to kill any Germans. They’re still technically just medical security staff for the W.H.O.” He turned to his team and touched the mic at his throat. “Okay, stand down, Striker. Sparky, come on over.” His bone phone clicked twice.
“So why are you here, if you’re not here to kill some Krauts? We been all alone in this too long, man. Sure be nice to get some backup.”
Cooper looked at the burning wreckage of the German outpost. “We’re here to find someone. Someone very important to the future of this nation.” He fished around in a side pocket and pulled out a laminated photo. Holding it up in the firelight, he asked, “Have any of you seen this man? His name is Dr. Maurice Boatner. He’s a molecular-biologist and a professor at Harvard…?”
The leader laughed bitterly. “Look, bro, this is Boston. There’s a lot a people here, right? Never seen him before. Sorry.”
Cooper nodded and put the photo away. “Well, it was worth a shot.”
“We need to get the hell outta here before the Krauts show up−” said Doubting Thomas.
“And they will!” chipped in one of his men.
“You guys wanna come with us? We get back to camp, we got hot chow…and you can check-in with the Colonel.”
Cooper put his hands on his hips and looked around. “Who are you guys anyway? National Guard?”
“Nah, they’re still trying to figure out if they’re gonna work with the Krauts or us for some reason…” He shook his head. “Names Dillon Prebble. This here’s my brother Jimmy. That’s Donny, and the ugly one over there is Kaden.”
“Up yours, Prebble,” muttered Kaden in a deep voice.
An odd, European-sounding siren wailed in the distance. All of the men jerked rifles up and looked for new threats. Sparky padded up softly and stopped next to Cooper.
“More vehicles coming in from the north. I saw the headlights from the bridge. We need to make tracks, LT,” the speakers on his helmet spoke.
“You comin’ with us? ‘Cause, the Colonel’s gonna shit himself when he meets ya,” said Prebble in his thick accent. He turned to leave.
“May as well,” said Cooper with a shrug.
“Okay boys, back to base. Let’s go” announced Prebble as he shouldered his weapon.
“Charlie, you take the north flank,” said Cooper.
“Roger.” Charlie removed his helmet with a hiss of escaping air. “So Prebble—if you’re not with the Guard, who are you with? What’s SOL?” Charlie said, pointing at the white letters crudely sewn on the sleeve of the man identified as Kaden.
Dillon Prebble slung his rifle over his shoulder and smiled. “We’re the Sons of Liberty. We don’t wanna be here when the Krauts find this mess. We don’t do the stand-up-and-fight routine. We hit, run, and hide. Minuteman style. Now come on and make sure you stick to the trees. You can hide your heat signature better by staying near the brush.” He pointed up. “Damn Kraut drones are everywhere.”
“Hooyah,” said Cooper as he jogged off into the night with his newfound allies.
CHAPTER 33
CHAD WOKE TO THE sound of someone vomiting. He hated to throw up, always had. Whoever was yakking was doing a real good job. Great gulping heaves, and from the sounds of it, a lot of splatter.
Man, some poor bastard is having a rough—
Chad’s thought was interrupted by a painful heave that emptied the nonexistent contents of his stomach. The throbbing in his head was nearly unbearable. His senses, one by one, returned to his control and assaulted his abused consciousness.
He felt cold steel all around him. He was in some enclosed space. The helicopter—the memory trickled back into his tortured mind. It took a while for him to fully remember what had happened when last he opened his eyes.
Another dry heave left him panting for air. Then the rush of memories hit.
The pilot! That bitch! She hit me… He opened his eyes slowly, enduring the lightning bolts of pain tunneling into his brain as soon as light broke past his eyelids. Ugh. I’m still in the cockpit of that damn helicopter. And there’s puke everywhere…
“You done yet?” asked a malicious voice that echoed through his mind.
“Wha…what?” Chad stammered. The world began to spin. What the hell is she talking about? What’s happening to me?
“Settle down. We’re on the ground already. Just waiting for the Russians to walk over here.”
A loud clacking sound shook his eardrums. Then he felt a cool breeze on his neck. He squinted up. The cockpit canopy, accompanied by the whine of hydraulics, lifted sideways out of his field of vision.
Chad gingerly rubbed the back of his neck. “Owww…” he muttered. God it hurts!
“Sorry about that…” the pilot said. “Finally. Here they come.”
In a blur of pain, Chad heard several sets of footsteps approach the helicopter. Then there were strong hands gripping his shoulders and he felt the dizzyingly queasy sensation of being pulled out of the helicopter. It felt like they were spinning him around like a top before dumping him unceremoniously on the hard ground. Every bone in his body felt broken. He fell back against the ground with a teeth-rattling impact. Chad kept his eyes closed tight—even breathing was painful.
Am I dying?
“This is the Source?” asked a gruff male voice.
“Y-yes,” replied the pilot. The sudden nervousness in her voice did nothing for Chad’s nerves.
There was some chattering in a language that Chad couldn’t understand, but it sure sounded excited. He tried to say something but only a low moan escaped his lips.
“We will test.” The hands grabbed him again. Chad whimpered. He was beyond crying out. He just wanted it all to end.
They’re carrying me off…to a lab…the needles…God no…please…
“Okay, so if you, like, you know, don’t have the money here, I have an account number I can -”
More guttural Russian-speak. Chad tried to tell the pilot to leave and save herself but he couldn’t get his mouth to work. Something was wedged in-between his jaws. The cable-tie around his wrist was still loose, so, that was something.
This is not goo
d…
“Da, da. Gregor! Pay her,” said the male voice with a cruel chuckle.
“Wait, no, hey look, I got a family—” the pilot started to say.
A single gunshot cut her off, mid-sentence. The sound of her body hitting the ground almost made Chad want to throw up again. He inhaled deep several times through his nose in an attempt to conquer his storm-tossed stomach.
“Would you like receipt?” asked a second voice in a thick accent. Laughter exploded around him.
As he was dragged away, he heard excited babble coming from behind him and getting louder. There were several Russians talking with each other. He couldn’t understand any words but heard the names Yuri, Gregor, and something that ended in ‘vich. Then he heard someone ssssssh the group.
A radio was adjusted. The static broke up a few times and then settled into a somber voice: “—the President of the United States.”
After a brief pause, he heard a new voice, tinny sounding over the radio:
“Good evening, my fellow Americans. My name is Orren Harris, and until a few days ago, I was the Speaker of the House of Representatives.”
One of the Russians laughed softly. Someone said something in their guttural language, followed by more laughs. Chad tried to focus on the radio.
“I should say, a few weeks ago, I was the Speaker. Since that fateful day when all of our lives were turned upside down, I have been nothing more than a citizen, like you, wondering what was happening, why, and how we as a nation would survive.” He cleared his throat politely.
“My fellow Americans, I have the unenviable task, set before me by the legitimately elected President, Chesterfield Carter Denton, of assuming the mantle of leadership and steering this stricken country back to its former glory.”
Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga Page 48