No time for pain. Mission first.
"Nope," replied Charlie's voice over his radio, "just getting a real good idea what it's like to be a proctologist…"
Cooper ignored Jax's laugh and pressed them forward. "We gotta catch this bitch before she slips away—come on, move!"
After a few shuffled steps, the fire in his knee consumed his senses. Every time he placed the wounded joint onto the rough dirt floor, a lance of pain shot up his leg into his spine, making his shoulders stiffened involuntarily.
The knee brace. He'd forgotten about the damn knee brace. Cooper paused. He gingerly touched his thigh where the broken knee brace had embedded itself. God damn it.
He clenched his jaw to keep from crying out. He opened his mouth, panted for a moment to clear his eyes, and looked forward to see Jax's form receding in the distance. Suddenly everything went white. The ground all around him shook and a pile of dirt fell from the ceiling onto his face. Panic gripped his chest at the thought of being buried alive.
"Fuck! The cave's collapsing—back up, back up!" cried Charlie. Cooper felt the earth trembled around him and the light vanished ahead. Smoke enveloped Jax's body and roared down the tunnel like a giant snake chasing him through the hole.
Cooper closed his eyes and held his breath as the wave of gray washed over him and brought the sweltering heat with it. He coughed as the smoke front passed him and brought his face down close to the bottom of the tunnel to breathe. Cooper clawed and scrabbled his way back down the tunnel, finally emerging from the ragged hole to collapse on top of the dead Secret Service agent, gasping for air. Jax emerged shortly thereafter and nearly fell on top of Cooper. Cooper rolled and staggered to his feet, one hand gripping his now profusely bleeding thigh.
"Charlie?" Cooper said in a hoarse voice.
Jax coughed violently and shook his head. "Can't see shit in there," he sputtered as he got to his feet. Charlie emerged from the exit in a cloud of smoke, gasping for air and collapsed on the ground. His face was covered in dirt and sweat.
"That was too fucking close," he wheezed.
Cooper leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. "Cutter Actual," he said around a choking cough. "Cutter Actual, Striker Actual. Be advised, we've lost the HVT. Repeat: HVT Two sealed the tunnel in front of us. It's gotta have an exit somewhere northwest of Whiskey Hotel," he said. Cooper dropped to his knees and grunted in pain, the world spinning around him.
"Coop!" Jax said. He rushed to Cooper's side and pulled out his emergency first aid kit. He shoved Cooper to the floor and dressed his wounded leg. "Fuck, man, your damned knee brace is halfway inside your leg!"
"Just pull it out," Cooper said through gritted teeth, head resting on the cool floor. Charlie grabbed Cooper's hands to keep them clear so Jax could work.
Cooper screamed in pain when Jax pulled back on the metal and ripped the last inch of bent metal from his flesh.
"Looks clean," Jax reported as he poured a blood clotting agent into the wound, and liberally sprinkled disinfecting powder over the gash before he wrapped it with a bandage. "Gonna have another scar for the ladies, Hoss."
Cooper gasped for breath and blinked up at the ceiling, watching the acrid smoke curl in the air. He pulled out his canteen and took a long drink. "Cutter Actual, Striker Actual. Did you copy my last?"
"All units, Cutter Actual! HQ is being overrun. Get to your EVAC positions, transports are inbound. ETA two minutes!"
"Shit," Cooper said. "Let's go!" he got shakily to his feet with help from Charlie and shrugged off further assistance. "Go, go!" he said, pointing back toward the ruined elevator shaft. He followed Jax and Charlie as they raced down the dark, smoke-filled corridors.
"Striker, Alpha Actual! We're at the top. Grab the ropes, we'll haul you out!"
"Roger that," replied Cooper as they rounded the last corner. Jax was already at the elevator shaft as Cooper limped up behind Charlie. He leaned against the wall and sucked wind as Jax and Charlie linked up with the rappelling rope.
Charlie shoved the third line at Cooper. He barely had time the latch it to his harness before the slack tightened and he felt himself lifted off the ground. It was an odd sensation, being lifted into the air without climbing. It only took 15 seconds to ascend to the top of the elevator shaft. Two sets of hands reached in and pulled him into the Presidential Study. Gunny Morrin had Marines on the ropes, hauling the SEALs up and out of the Bunker.
"Let's go," Morrin said, urging his men out of the study. "Helo's on the South Lawn—they're waitin' on us!" Gunny Morrin said. Cooper grabbed his arm as the Marine turned for the door to the Oval Office.
"No time!" Cooper called over his shoulder: "Jax—make a hole!"
Jax step forward and slapped explosive putty in a rough circle on the wall. He stepped back and triggered the igniter without warning. A muffled crump, a puff of smoke, and an entire section of the Oval Office wall fell out. The Marines piled through the hole and Cooper pushed Jax and Charlie out next. He struggled across the South Lawn to the waiting pair of Black Hawk helicopters that sat 20 yards from the West Wing. He glanced past the helicopter to see tracers illuminate the sky.
"Overwatch, you ready for EVAC?"
"I'm still in position. Don't forget to come pick me up," replied Sparky.
Cooper let Charlie and Jax help him into the Black Hawk and lay flat on the floor, resting his leg. A medic on board immediately tended to his bandage, which had come loose during his escape from the Bunker. Cooper relayed instructions to the pilot to swing by and pick up Sparky on the way out. They hovered for less than a minute over the Ellipse Visitor Center rooftop and dropped a SPI/E Rig.
One of the Marines gave the thumbs-up sign and the pilot carried them away from the battlefield, engines whining. Cooper didn't relax until he saw Sparky clamber over the side of the Black Hawk and take position on the floor next to him. He let his head rest against the floor plate of the speeding helicopter and closed his eyes for a moment.
As the helo turned to the correct course, Charlie poked him in the shoulder and motioned out the side door. Cooper got a bird's-eye view of the roiling crowd of non-combatants on the South Lawn. Abandoned LAVs and Stryker's lay smoking and scattered about like a toys. There were people everywhere. Some fired captured weapons up at the helicopters, but to little effect.
Sleep. All Cooper wanted was sleep. His vision still hadn't come back to normal after getting a whiff of whatever the hell was inside Blondie's office. He didn't know what was in that perfume, but he knew it was dangerous. He shouldn't be as tired as he was.
"Coop!" called out Charlie over the noise of the helicopter. "It's the sat phone!"
Cooper turned his head and looked sharply at Charlie. "Aliana?" he croaked.
Charlie looked like he'd been punched in the gut. He shook his head slightly and handed the phone to Cooper. "It's for you."
Cooper put the phone to his ear. "Hello?" he shouted.
Who the fuck is calling me?
He barely heard the response. "Say again? I can't hear you!"
I'm being extracted from a battle, you asshole.
"Cooper Braaten?"
Cooper pulled the phone away and looked at in his hands. It was still in secure mode. "Yeah! Who the hell is this?"
"Derek Alston. I believe you knew my sister…"
CHAPTER 30
Salmon Falls, Idaho.
DENNY STOOD BEFORE THE assembled hunters in Anse's cabin on the north slope of Morning Glory mountain, just west of town. A motley collection of seventeen hard, mostly bearded faces stared back at him. He wasn't surprised to see a few women in the crowd.
Anse had told him there were plenty of widows in town fired up enough to fight back against Townsen. They'd managed to convince a married couple—the Winselms—to attend. Denny hadn't personally met them before tonight, but Anse vouched for them and both sported AR-15s, so he wasn't asking question
Only a few people had balked at meeting this late at night. Denny glanced out
the corner of the nearest window into the inky blackness that surrounded the cabin. He'd argued successfully that the cover of night would make it easier for them to slip out of town and also harder for Townsen's men to track them. All but four of the people he'd invited showed up in the end.
On the left side of the group stood the former Sheriff's Deputies, including Griswold. All three wore their winter service jackets and campaign hats. Everyone in attendance came armed. Those with long guns had propped them along the far wall of the one-room cabin.
Denny himself carried more than his tomahawk under his belt this time. The weight of the 9mm Glock he'd taken from the US Marshal was no small comfort. He knew how to use it but wasn't nearly as proficient as he probably should be.
That somber thought brought him back to the matter at hand. "Let me begin by saying thank you all for coming here. Thank you for your patriotism and for your desire to see justice served."
Several people nodded their heads and muttered agreement.
"Something sure as hell needs to be done about Townsen and his thugs!" a man called out in the back. More murmurs rippled through the crowd—louder this time.
"I want to say right from the start," Denny said, "I'm not advocating we go in to town guns blazing and kill everyone supporting President Barron."
That drew grumbles of disagreement—especially from those who'd lost someone. Denny was prepared for this and waited calmly. He shot a look at Deputy Griswold, who looked around the room and glowered, but held his tongue.
"Then what the hell are we doing here?" asked a hunter in the back. "I could be out looking for food for my family right now…"
"Food is exactly why we're here," said Denny. "I'm not proposing we go on some vigilante killing spree in town. I think Townsen has far too many men in his camp. He's got the food, weapons, and support from President Barron's men—we have to be smart about this."
"Why don't we just attack and get it over with?" asked Anse. Several of the men behind him clapped his back and added their agreement. "As more people start to starve, they'll join him out of desperation."
"That's true—the longer we sit and do nothing, the stronger Townsen gets," Denny admitted. He waited for the rumbling to die down again. "Look, waiting isn't easy me either, okay? I'm a history teacher. I hunt, same as you, but that's as far as my desire–"
"Don't give us that bullshit!" said a man in the back. "I know what you did when the Russians came to town—I was on one of the patrols that hunted 'em down in the woods. You're just as capable of killing as the rest of us."
Denny looked at his feet. He knew this topic would have to be addressed before he would get their attention. He'd been trying to forget the past few weeks. He'd barely been able to get through each day without remembering the faces of the men he'd killed.
"I think that was a different situation."
"How?" asked Anse.
Denny stared at him. Anse at least had the decency to look ashamed, but glanced around for support from those nearest him.
"You're my friend Denny, but how is this any different than when the Russians came to town?" He looked around, encouraged by the nods of support he received.
"Armed thugs show up and kill our people, our friends, our neighbors. Again." Anse glared at Denny. "Townsen took over our town, just like the Russians!"
With every sentence, the grumbling around him grew louder. "The Russians were worse than Townsen, that's true—but that doesn't mean Townsen hasn't killed whole families."
"He's right," called out a man up front. "They either shot 'em or took their food for the 'greater good' and let 'em starve. Saw it happen to my neighbors but I couldn't do a damn thing about it because Townsen had six men with rifles with him," called out a man up front.
"It's worse this time," said Mary Winselm, her higher voice in stark contrast to the harsh sound of the men around her. She glanced at her husband. "Townsen's one of us. At least with the Russians, they weren't neighbors. Something has to be done. Now."
Denny reluctantly nodded in agreement. Mary was right. "You're right—but there's one major difference. The Russians were foreign aggressors. Invaders. Townsen and every single person on his side, whether they're from the Federal government or from Salmon Falls, are Americans." Denny let that sink in for a moment. "You're asking us to raise our hand against our brothers and sisters—our friends and neighbors."
"They ain't no friends of mine, not any more!" a man up front yelled. "Townsen and his thugs broke into my house and took all the food I've been saving. Took me years to build up my cache. All that hard work and money I put into my stockpiles to make sure I could provide for my family when the shit hit the fan—it's all gone!" Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth. "They gave me—from my own stash—what they said was enough. Took everything else at gunpoint." He shook his head, fire in his eyes. "I had to explain to my little girl why the bad men came and trashed our house."
"They burned my house to the ground," said Denny. The room grew silent. "They burned my neighbor's house to the ground. Everything I owned is gone, except for the hunting gear I had in my truck." Denny looked around, daring anyone to speak.
"All the pictures of my family, my wife, my friends—everything is gone," Denny said, his voice tight. He stood before them with his fists clenched and harnessed that rage.
"If anyone in this room understands what you're going through, it's me! I have nothing. They took everything for me—you don't think that I want payback for that?" Denny snarled.
"You don't think I'd like to walk into that town, wrap my hands around John Townsen's neck and squeeze until his eyes bulged and he gasps his last breath? You don't think I want to look into his eyes and watch as his spirit leaves his body? You don't think I want to make him pay for the crimes he's committed against his own neighbors?"
The cabin fell silent as a tomb. The only sound Denny heard was the blood pounding in his ears. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing himself to regain control of his emotions. "Look, there are two ways to go about this. The first is one I think you all will agree with. We charge down there and kill everyone who sides with John Townsen. Barring that, we take out Townsen and his main supporters."
Most of the men loudly agreed. "I don't see a problem with that," Anse said.
Denny stared at them. "There are more than 50 men, just from our own town," Denny said, waving his arm toward Salmon Falls. "That's not including the consultants President Barron sent with supplies and weapons. How many of us are there?" Denny looked around and did a quick head count.
"I see 18, including me. How many of us you think would survive attacking them like that?" He looked at Anse. "They know you—they've already tried to kill you." He looked at Deputy Griswold. "And you too, Deputy."
"Yeah, but they didn't, thanks to you," said Anse.
"That's beside the point," snapped Denny. "We have another option: we change the hearts and minds in town."
More than a few men rolled their eyes.
"Really?" asked Anse. "Didn't we try that shit in Vietnam?"
"My old man told me that didn't work out so well for anyone…" muttered someone.
"Let 'im talk," shouted Mary Winselm.
Denny nodded. "You all represent hundreds of years of hunting experience. All of us can live off the land and support our families with the meat we can provide." Heads nodded. He had their attention.
"Hunting, trapping, ice fishing—we know how to survive. From what I can tell of who's joined Townsen, they don't. So we take what they have. We raid their supplies, we hunt the land, and we take everything we can find. We provide for the families in town. Those that support Townsen but don't actively fight for him are the people we need on our side. You think they really want to be in debt to that thug?" demanded Denny, pointing toward town.
"I don't think anyone down there wants to take food from John Townsen in return for support, do you? What do you think would happen if we could provide food for everyone in tow
n through hunting, trapping, raiding Townsen's supplies? You think they'd still be loyal to him?"
"What reason would they have," asked Deputy Griswold, "other than fear? We may provide them with all the food they need, but Townsen still outnumbers us and out-guns us. Right now he's using peaceful means to get support, leveraging with food and privileges. If we take that away, he'll use violence."
"More than he already does," added one of the men up front.
"That's probably true," Denny replied. "But think about this: By the time he reaches the point where he needs to use violence to keep the town in line, most of the population will have swung to our camp. By then we'll outnumber him. And then—then we can take the fight to him."
Denny watched the emotions play across the faces arrayed before him. Please let them agree…there's been enough bloodshed…
"I don't get this reluctance you have to fight," Anse said. "I've known you for a long time and you've never been an aggressive person, so I'll grant you that," he continued. "But after what I saw you did to the Russians, I…I can't figure out why you're not more willing to help us stand up to Townsen."
Denny remained silent for a moment and stared at his fellow teacher. "I'm not a violent person, Anse" said Denny. "But I won't shy away from it."
"Like when the Russians invaded."
Denny stared at Anse. Why are you doing this? Why are you so eager to fight, to kill, to spill blood? Denny shook his head.
"That place I was in when…when the Russians…I don't like who I became. I don't like what I did, I'm not proud of it." He took a deep breath and sighed. He didn't want to come to grips with his past this way.
"Was it necessary? Yes, I think so—but I don't think it's necessary in this situation," Denny said. "I am not advocating we start a war in our town. I'm a teacher, not a soldier."
"I'm a teacher too," said Anse. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"I've spent my career teaching American history," said Denny, ignoring the jibe. "Trust me when I say I am not a fan of the early American government. My people were slaughtered at the hands of the pioneers." He clenched his fists.
Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga Page 22