Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1)

by Marcus Richardson

  Sheffield grunted then blew out his breath and winced in pain. “We sure that’s the last of ‘em? Don’t have much ammo left.”

  Cooper nodded. “Slipknot?”

  Agent Sheffield looked at Cooper, as if deciding whether he could reveal such information. He smiled and wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of a grime-covered hand. “Not here. We’re the front line. We’ve got him in the basement in a makeshift ICU with a few doctors and the rest of my team. We wanted to draw their attention up here to the Critical Ward until we could get him out of the hospital.”

  “Is he alive?” asked Cooper, switching magazines on his weapon.

  “Yeah, but he contracted that superflu that’s going around. He’s in bad shape.”

  “Shit.” Cooper looked around the demolished corridor leading to the bullet-riddled nurse’s station at the “T”.

  “This is no bueno, man. We gotta move. Can you get your wounded on their feet? We need to regroup with the others and get Slipknot out of here—like, yesterday.”

  “Something to do with the explosions we heard? Our comms went dead a while back and we haven’t from anyone till you guys showed up tore through these assholes like Sherman through Atlanta,” said the President’s chief bodyguard as he helped another agent to his feet.

  “Those weren’t just explosions. Fuckin’ missiles from offshore, hell maybe from orbit or something,” Cooper said. “We spotted at least one jet doing ground-attack runs. We lost comms just before we got here.”

  Cooper paused. When he spoke next it was in a quiet voice. “Walked into a damn trap and lost half my men.” He stared right at the SAC and added, “Last thing we heard was Apache Dawn has been activated.”

  The agent paled, noticeable even in the dim, murky light. “Oh my God.” He turned to his men. “Apache Dawn is in effect! We have to get Slipknot and evacuate now!” Turning back to Cooper, he said, “Follow me, I’ll get us down to the basement.” The agents kicked themselves into gear rushing to collect what weapons and ammo they could find before gathering up their wounded.

  “I got our six,” said Charlie. “Sparky, on me!”

  “Take ‘em out,” said Cooper to Agent Sheffield with a brief nod. He backed up against the wall as Agent Sheffield limped past. The remaining agents and SEALs followed closely queued-up behind Cooper. Charlie and Sparky took up trailing positions, walking backwards and scanning for threats from the rear.

  It only took a few minutes of winding through darkened, deserted hallways and stepping over the bodies, busted-up equipment, and trash to make it to the basement. The North Koreans had really shot the hell out of the hospital. Cooper imagined the upper floors of the hospital must be crammed full of terrified civvies: patients, family members, doctors, nurses, and staff. He didn’t like leaving them behind, but his mission was to secure the President at all costs.

  Once on the basement level, his advance guard was readily challenged by some nervous-looking agents in tactical gear. However, following recognition, the hard-pressed agents’ faces were radiated relief. Cooper was again very impressed with the agents’ attention to detail – especially the expedient redoubt that had been constructed. Gurneys and equipment carts had been knocked over and positioned in such a way that if an enemy were to make it down here, they’d have to work their way through the obstructions in a zig-zag pattern that would keep them exposed from many angles. The North Koreans would have paid dearly to fight through that maze of death.

  The final ring of barricades was manned by agents with automatic shotguns, pistols, and even a few grenades. Cooper nodded as he walked past, carbine pointed at the ground.

  He could see movement just beyond the semi-translucent plastic surgical tent that had been attached to assorted bits of HVAC equipment. Power to the lights and monitoring gear appeared to be provided by a curious tangle of cords leading from a few devices Cooper imaged had been hastily liberated from an operating room.

  A short woman in teal-blue scrubs with auburn hair pulled into a loose ponytail glanced up from the bloodied agent she was tending to on the floor. She stood up, knuckling her back in a feline stretch and looked him over.

  “Who the hell are you guys?”

  “Navy SEALs, ma’am,” Cooper said, feeling heat rush into his face. Standing there before her in bloodied armor, tactical-vest, helmet and black BDUs, he suddenly felt foolish. He looked around the makeshift ICU, cleared his throat, and refocused is attention.

  “We heard you needed some assistance. Can you tell me where I can find the doctor tending the President?”

  “Yes. I’m one of them.” She smiled and adjusted the stray lock of hair that threatened to tumble down across her face. Cooper grinned sheepishly—she had lovely hair and that smile was the prettiest thing he’d seen on a night full of horror—but he chased his own smile away almost immediately. Mission first, damn it, he chided himself.

  The doctor whispered something to a passing nurse decked out in blood-splattered green scrubs, who stared open-mouthed at the arrival of the SEALs. Cooper watched as the nurse nodded and moved back toward the plastic tent, eyes still on his grim-looking SEALs.

  “The Chief of Emergency Medicine for the hospital is in with the President right now.” The pretty doctor pointed over to the corner. “Dr. Fletcher—he’s our top thoracic specialist—is resting. He’s the only other doctor that made it…down here…” She pulled off a bloody latex glove and extended her clean, soft hand. “I’m Dr. Alston. Brenda. Boy, am I glad to see you guys. It’s getting a little crazy around here.”

  Cooper grinned and shook her hand. It was soft, in the way that women’s hands were, yet had a supple strength to it that sent electricity shooting down his spine at her touch. He had to force himself to remove his hand before the handshake turned awkward. He cleared his throat again and looked around, suddenly grateful to be watching his men talking with the agents as they helped to secure the perimeter

  Dr. Alston hugged herself and sighed. “You guys couldn’t have picked a better time to show up. When those soldiers showed up and started shooting everyone…”

  “Ma’am, you don’t know the half of it.” Cooper shook his head. “I never would have believed what I’ve seen outside if I hadn’t lived through it. I need to talk to the President.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Alston said with a genuine look of sorry on her face. Cooper had a momentary thought that her face was made for smiling. “He’s got a really bad fever. He’s actually delirious most of the time…”

  Cooper frowned and looked around the basement, trying to organize his thoughts. He’d never before had to fight himself to remain on mission. Every time he glanced at Dr. Alston, the world seemed to grow brighter.

  God damn it, sailor, there’s a war going on! Think about the doctor’s ass some other time! It is pretty nice, though....

  “We need to move him, now.” Cooper said in a tone he immediately regretted. He hadn’t felt so flustered like this since high school for cryin’ out loud. “This basement isn’t secure enough. Hell, the damn city isn’t secure. No, we gotta get him out of Los Angeles.” He put his hands on his hips and rolled his neck. After a satisfying crack, he sighed and said: “We put a hurtin’ on the NKors, but they’re gonna be crawling all over this place pretty damn soon.”

  Jax walked by and smiled at Dr. Alston, reloading his M60 in stride. “The North Koreans are easily frightened, but they’ll soon return…and in greater numbers,” he said in his best Alec Guinness voice.

  “I’m serious, Obi Wan,” said Cooper. The grin on his face softened the tone of his voice. Dr. Alston actually giggled. It was a sweet sound that made him really, really wish the North Koreans weren’t out there trying to kill them all.

  A balding, elderly man burst from the medical tent. He appeared to be in his mid-sixties with a fringe of unruly gray hair orbiting his gleaming dome of a head. Obviously in charge, the short man bustled promptly up to Cooper. He pulled the mask off his face and fixed Cooper with
a suspicious glare hooded by the biggest, bushiest gray eyebrows he had ever seen.

  “I’m Chief of Emergency Medicine, Dr. George Honeycutt. Can you tell me just what in the Sam Hell is going on around here?”

  “Master Chief Cooper Braaten, sir, US Navy SEALs. ‘Hell’ about sums it up, sir. The President—can he be moved?”

  The older doctor snorted a laugh. “Moved? Hardly. The poor man is barely holding onto his life. We’ve got him so pumped full of Tamiflu and…” he shook his head. “I honestly don’t know if we can even control the fever.”

  “It’s the mystery flu that’s hit all up and down the west coast,” offered Dr. Alston with a concerned look on her face.

  Cooper nodded to hide how upset was at himself for letting that look on her face affect him so much. He soldiered on: “We were briefed that someone had weaponized a strain of The Pandemic and deployed it to the west coast. Maybe New York and Chicago, too—at least, that was what we heard before we lost all contact with the outside world.”

  “Who are they?” asked Dr. Alston. “The soldiers that attacked?”

  “North Korean marines,” said Cooper. “Probably some of their spec-ops thrown in for good measure. I don’t know, they all died the same.”

  “Hooyah, Master Chief,” grunted Mike with a smile as he and one of the agents walked by carrying a heavy piece of equipment for the barricade.

  “Look…we need to get the President out of here. They know he’s here, that’s why they’re trying to take this place. We cut a good and bloody swath through them to reach you, but as I told Dr. Alston here,” he flashed a smile at her, “—there’s bound to be more coming. We’ve got to be gone when they come back.”

  “Can’t we just hold out till reinforcements arrive?” asked Dr. Alston.

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am. I think the NKors are invading.”

  “Invading? Los Angeles?” asked Dr. Honeycutt.

  “America,” Cooper said, hardly believing his own voice.

  “Apache Dawn?” asked Dr. Alston. She looked around. “Jesus.”

  Cooper felt like he had been slapped. How the hell does she know about Apache Dawn? Who is this woman?

  She grinned and Cooper felt his heart flutter.

  “I was a combat medic in the Army. Did a tour in Iran, went to med school in the reserves, and here I am. I stay in touch with some friends…” She chuckled. “Just got out last week,” she said glumly, looking around the basement.

  “What rank?” asked Cooper. He was more impressed with her every second. He noticed with alarming satisfaction that Dr. Alston didn’t wear a wedding ring.

  “Captain. And back on the front lines, it seems.” She frowned, creating an endearing little crease between her eyebrows.

  Dirt and chalky-smelling concrete dust drifted down from the ceiling as the ground rumbled beneath their feet. Emergency lights flickered. Conversation stopped as everyone looked up and then at the person next to them.

  Cooper nodded. “Then I’ll give you the straight dope, ma’am. We’re deep in the yogurt if we can’t get the President out of here. We were dodging incoming ICBMs, jets on bombing runs, and cut through a company of NKor marines out there, just to get inside this building.”

  “My God…” whispered Dr. Honeycutt.

  “Mark my words, this is no small ‘international-incident’. This is a well-planned, seriously coordinated, large-scale offensive action. They somehow took down our global comms—I’m talking net-wide. I can’t raise HQ at all—no signal on the sat phones, either. Everything is dead—except squad radios. We’re on our own, here folks.”

  “What are we supposed to do, then?” said Dr. Alston, a hand raised to her mouth. Cooper suddenly felt angry that her hand was trembling slightly. He reigned in his emotions and looked back at Dr. Honeycutt.

  “First, you have got to get the President stabilized. Second, we’ve got to get the hell out of here and find a better place to hole-up. Preferably a military installation.”

  “Well, where did you guys come from? Can’t we just go back?” asked Dr. Honeycutt.

  “Negative, sir. We flew in on small helicopters. Two were shot down.“

  Dr. Alston gasped. “Shot down? With what?”

  “Stingers, we think. Or the North Korean equivalent.” The Chief of Emergency Medicine’s blank face prompted Cooper to explain further. “It’s an infantry weapon, a shoulder-fired heat-seeking missile. Very accurate and highly portable. They were on the rooftops waiting for us.” Cooper cleared his throat. “It was an ambush, we never had a chance.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Dr. Alston softly.

  “Where did you men come?” asked Dr. Honerycutt.

  “We flew out of Coronado, the Navy Base down there. I think getting back there is out of the question. It’s chaos outside,” he said, jerking his head to indicate the streets above them. An idea struck him.

  He keyed his throat mic: “Charlie.”

  “Yeah, Coop?” said his XO, moving up next to Cooper. He shouldered his rifle and nodding a greeting to the doctors.

  “Oh, there you are. Hey, what’s the closest base around here? Anything. I’ll take a damn Coast Guard station.”

  “Uh, Los Angeles Air Force Base, I think.”

  “I believe that’s near Inglewood,” offered Dr. Honeycutt.

  Cooper rubbed his chin. “Distance?” he asked Charlie.

  A quick check with his wrist-mounted maps and Charlie looked up. “Little less than 20 miles. Down by the coast, El Segundo.”

  “I like the coast,” said Cooper. He lost the smile and turned to the doctors. “You need to have the President ready to move as soon as possible.”

  Dr. Alston looked at her boss. Cooper noticed the little crease between her eyebrows was back. Dr. Honeycutt shook his head. “Young man, I can’t tell you if he’s going to survive the hour, let alone be ready to move any great distance.” He snorted. “We’ve barely got him stabilized. We need the vaccine if he’s going to have even a fighting chance.”

  “Great, where’s the vaccine? We’ll just go get it for you,” offered Charlie.

  The two doctors looked at each other and shared a sad expression. “I’m afraid you can’t, son,” said Dr. Honeycutt. “It was in Atlanta. All of it.”

  “Damn it,” hissed Charlie.

  “El Segundo is still our best bet, then” said Cooper. He pointed at the docs. “Get him ready to move as soon as you can. We’ll secure transport. We need to be out of here, pronto.”

  “Son,” said Dr. Honeycutt, putting his hands into his lab coat pockets and adopting the air of the professor. “I think—”

  “Doc, don’t give me that ‘son’ bullshit,” he waved a hand at his SEALs. “I did not lose half my men to those North Korean fucks and then fight our way to the President—only to sit here and watch him die. We’re going to have the whole Goddamn North Korean army screaming for our heads and tearing this building apart, shortly. We will not—I repeat, WE WILL NOT be sitting in this basement wringing our hands when they get here.” The older doctor straightened his back as if slapped in the face. Cooper noted with some pride that Dr. Alston tried to hide a grin.

  “Now, you do what you have to do—do what you can—to keep the President stabilized. My men and I are going to do everything we can to unfuck ourselves and get us all to safety. Wherever the hell that is.”

  “You can’t just move him -” started Dr. Honeycutt.

  “Doctor,” Cooper said in a deathly quiet tone. “If I have to, I will throw the President of the United States over my shoulder and carry him on my back to safety. My mission is to get him the hell out of Dodge and I will complete my mission. Do I make myself clear?”

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  nbsp; Marcus Richardson, Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1)