Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

“After today, I guarantee word’s going to spread about you," said Crenshaw. “We heard about you through John. He told everyone listening on the Net about what you were doing for Salmon Falls, about how bad off you folks were. When word gets out about how you put a stop to Townsen…”

  Denny glared at him. “You are not helping.”

  The man shrugged. “Just sayin’. You got a chance.”

  Denny rubbed a dirty hand across his face. Congress. Politics. All he really wanted to do was get some hot food, a shower, and lots of sleep.

  “We’re going to need someone in D.C. to clean up the mess and make sure this kind of thing never happens again,” said Griswold quietly.

  “Someone needs to be there who’s lived through it, to show—to make them see—” a voice called out.

  "Do it for Salmon Falls,” someone else said.

  “If you won’t be mayor and help heal the town, go to D.C. and be our voice—help heal the country,” said Mary Winselm.

  Congress. What would Red Eagle think? Denny shook his head and looked at the sun as it crested the western mountains and through the valley into light shadow.

  Could I really make a difference?

  “Good! You’re thinking about it,” said Griswold.

  “Yeah!” someone called out. “Just think about it, okay? No need to make a decision right now.”

  “Just think about it,” agreed Mary. “That’s all we ask.”

  Facing the relentless pleas and the press of bodies, Denny succumbed. He held up his hands and the crowd quieted. “If you all are that worked up about it, then yes. I’ll think about it.”

  The crowd cheered.

  Denny looked at the hope on the faces around him. Maybe running for office wasn't such a bad idea. If it gave his friends and neighbors hope for a brighter future, then what did it matter? They needed hope. The hard winter remained ahead of them and the town hadn’t fully cleared the flu yet. But if healing was what was needed in Salmon Falls, Denny figured it was a worthy cause.

  “If this is going to happen—”

  “It is, Congressman!”

  "Senator!" someone else called.

  Denny raised his voice to be heard. “Look, if this really happens, then we need to seriously think about who’s going to be mayor. And we’ll need a new lawman.” He looked at Griswold. “I nominate Deputy Griswold to be the new Chief of Police.”

  “I second!” called out Mary.

  “Now look, I didn’t hobble out here to get dragged into this,” objected Griswold.

  “Then you want to run for Congress?” asked Denny. The crowd grew quiet. Griswold looked like he just swallowed a fish bone.

  “Well…Chief doesn’t sound so bad.”

  As Denny shook hands with what seemed like half the crowd, he couldn’t shake an itch between his shoulder blades. The western breeze that promised a snowstorm that night whispered in his ear as he endured the slaps on the back.

  Red Eagle sang a song of his ancestors. You have made your people proud, Little Spear.

  Denny felt the weight of responsibility descend on his shoulders once more. The whole town seemed to be behind him, pushing him forward, encouraging him. You are Salmon Falls, they seemed to say—tell them there in Washington what happened here. Spread the message of hope that we can all pull through this.

  You are Salmon Falls…

  Denny smiled. I am Shawnee.

  CHAPTER 48

  Annapolis, Maryland.

  United States Naval Academy.

  COOPER STARED AT THE five officers arrayed behind the collapsible table. Three flags, a captain, and a commander. Funny how the Admirals looked healthy and hale and a little overweight while the junior officers appeared haggard and worn. They looked like flu survivors. Cooper glanced out the bank of windows and looked at the deserted walkways that crisscrossed the Naval Academy.

  When is this going to end? Feels like my leg is on fire… Sweat dribbled down his spine from the effort to remain on his feet.

  He’d expected to be whisked away to some secret part of the Pentagon or something for his court martial. Instead, they’d taken him straight from the hospital to Annapolis, said something about the Pentagon being disinfected. He glanced at the junior officers again. If they worked at the Pentagon that might explain their sallow looks.

  “…Braaten?”

  Cooper blinked and focused on the Rear Admiral who’d spoken. “Sir?”

  “I realize you’ve been through a lot in the past week, but please try to stay with us.”

  Four hours of standing at ease before the Court Martial and they expected him to still be alert. “Yes, sir.”

  Like it matters any more. You’ve made your case—I’ll be lucky to avoid the firing squad.

  “Is it your confirmed testimony that Master Chief Petty Officer Charles Marshal was not at the scene to witness the escape of the fugitive known as ‘13’ and the death of Reginald Tillcott?”

  Cooper shifted his gaze to the only female flag officer. You’re Goddamn right I let her get away. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She took off her glasses and placed them on the table. “Lieutenant, I’ll be frank. This board—myself included—would like nothing more than to bury this and send you back out there. Our enemies are legion…as a country, we haven’t even begun to recover from the Korean Flu—but this…” she gestured at the piles of papers and reports in front of her. “This is too much. That man was too valuable to overlook his death.”

  Cooper stared at her, waiting for that final verdict. Just get it over with. Why are you dragging this out?

  “As much as it pains me, I feel the final decision of this Court must be—through your own admission—a guilty verdict.” She looked down at the papers and sighed. “As much as you are a decorated veteran of the Special Operations Command and one of the highest ranking SEALs we currently have at our disposal, your blatant dereliction of duty—which led to the murder of a high value target and the failure of your mission—cannot be tolerated. I’m fairly confident we can avoid the charges of treason, but you’re looking at a lifetime sentence in a Federal Penitentiary without the possibility of parole.”

  Cooper's mind went blank. Jesus…so this is how it ends. He looked down at the thick, steel handcuffs that held his wrists together. Brenda’s dead, my career’s over. Life in the brig. Everything I’ve ever worked for, all I sacrificed for this country…and it’s over. Just like that.

  The admirals continued to talk, but Cooper wasn’t listening anymore. A deafening silence shrouded him like a tomb. Reginald had gotten what he deserved though not at his hands and his mission had been completed, but he was hollow inside. Brenda was still dead—he was still alone.

  “…most strenuous objections of Admiral Bennet…”

  Cooper forced his attention to sharpen at the mention of Bennet’s name. His knees felt weak. He wanted to throw up. The prospect of prison time didn’t frighten him at all. He was confident he would survive just fine—it was the shame of it all that burned his core. He’d expected to be drummed out of the Teams, but sent to Leavenworth to rot for the rest of his life with all the dregs the military produced…

  “Did you hear me, Lieutenant?”

  Cooper blinked. “I’m sorry, sir. What?”

  “I said, you are a very lucky man. Admiral Bennet has provided evidence that…well, it doesn’t exonerate you completely, but provides not insignificant mitigating circumstances which in sum, warrant a less severe punishment.”

  The admirals glanced down the table at the junior officers. They all looked tired and ready to call it a day. “We are in agreement then?” asked the rear admiral. The others nodded. She looked back at Cooper. “Lieutenant Cooper James Braaten.”

  Cooper snapped to attention, his handcuffs clinking softly. “Ma’am.”

  “It is the judgment of this Court that you be dishonorably discharged from the United States Navy. Effective immediately, you are hereby stripped of your rank and the privileges thereof. You ar
e henceforth forever prohibited from service in the Armed Forces of the United States and will lose all benefits—financial and otherwise—you may have been awarded prior to this conviction.”

  Cooper blinked. Her words hit him in the chest like a sledgehammer. A large part of his life evaporated before his eyes. He would have the memories, nothing more.

  "In light of the current situation the country finds itself in, this proceeding will have to be abbreviated. The Navy doesn't have the time or resources to deal with cases like yours but the White House wants this wrapped up expeditiously," continued the rear admiral. She motioned to the Marine over Cooper's shoulder.

  “Gunnery Sergeant, remove his restraints, please.”

  "Ma'am," said the young man who stepped forward with the key. “For what it’s worth, I heard what you did—not bad for a squid,” he muttered under his breath.

  The Marine stepped back into the background, leaving Cooper to face the court alone, unfettered. He was free of the chains, but he'd never be free of the verdict. He’d probably have to register as a convicted felon wherever he ended up going—most states didn’t take kindly to someone with a dishonorable discharge. No way Oakrock would take him on as a private contractor with a DD hanging around his neck.

  Cooper absently rubbed the sore spot on his wrists where the handcuffs had chafed his skin. “Now what?” he asked.

  “You are free to go. The ensign outside this chamber will have your discharge papers and personal effects.” She paused as Cooper turned to go. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Braaten, what you did was…well, you helped put a mad dog down. Most people will never know about this,” she said tapping the papers in front of her. “But the world owes a debt to you.”

  That and five bucks will get me a cup of coffee. “Thank you, ma’am.” Cooper turned to face her and fired off the snappiest salute of his career. She stood and returned it, her crisp dress whites so sharp he expected them to cut her when she bent her arm.

  “Godspeed, Lieutenant.”

  Cooper limped through the metal gate exiting the Naval Academy grounds and found himself on Hanover Street next to The Chapel. He stared up at the green-topped marble structure, bathed in the evening light. He'd always dreamed of one day going to the Academy. Just not like this.

  He looked down at the paper in his hands as it rustled in the breeze off the Severn. Cooper closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath of salt-tinged air. Freedom.

  The cell phone in his pocket buzzed. He pulled it out in a daze and looked at the screen. Charlie.

  “Hello?”

  “'Bout time you answered. Must mean it's over, right? You need a drink—end of the block. We’re waiting for you at Squiddy Mack’s.” Charlie hung up.

  Cooper stared south toward the gleaming white cupola of the Maryland State House. Without thinking, he put one foot in front of the other and limped down the deserted street. Only as he approached the bar did he notice the complete lack of trash or debris—the streets around the Naval Academy were sterile. Not even a bum.

  He knew the flu had hit Baltimore hard and the Navy had doubled-down on protecting Annapolis, but he didn’t know they’d gone to such efforts to create a buffer zone outside the Academy. Every row-house he passed was empty, their windows boarded up at the start of the outbreak weeks ago. His boots echoed between the buildings on the empty street. Only the streetlights flickering to life in the distance lent any normalcy to the scene.

  He found the seedy looking undergrad bar and stepped through the door, his duffel slung over his shoulder containing everything the Navy let him have—a set of clothes, some pictures, a coat, reams of paperwork and all his medals. Ten years of sacrifice in a bag.

  Squiddy Mack's smoky interior was dimly lit and almost as deserted as the streets outside. After Cooper’s eyes adjusted he found what was left of his Team waiting for him at the bar. A smile creased his face as he limped over and dropped the bag to the floor.

  Sparky stretched like a tiger and got up off his stool. Seven empty glasses cluttered the counter where he sat. “’Bout damn time. I was worried they'd shoot you and be done with it.” He stepped up and enveloped Cooper in a crushing bear hug.

  “Thanks, Sparky.”

  "Where's Jax?"

  "Still in surgery—they took him to Landstuhl to get him stabilized. He took a bullet to the back when we were extracting him from the castle," mumbled the sniper. "I had him over my shoulder and they shot him…fuckin' cowards."

  "It isn't your fault, man. Without you, he would've died over there," said Cooper, a hand on Sparky's shoulder.

  Sparky grunted. "I heard he's doing okay, but they wouldn't let me stay. Admiral Bennet said he'd be flown back in the next 48 hours to Bethesda."

  Cooper stared at the bar. Jax was alone in Germany, soon to be shipped home and separated from the rest of them again. Now that he'd been slapped with the DD, Cooper knew he'd never be allowed to even see Jax again. The big Texan was still part of a covert fighting unit—they couldn't just hang out with civilians whenever they felt like it. Cooper frowned. Especially not dishonorably discharged civilians.

  “So how bad was the verdict?” asked Charlie as he shoved a beer into Cooper’s hand.

  Cooper drained the beer and handed the paper to Charlie. “No firing squad.”

  “Dishonorable discharge? Fuckers.”

  “Well, look at it this way, at least no one will be shooting at you anymore, right?” asked Sparky.

  “Just us! Get your ass up here and take one,” said Charlie, holding out a shot glass. “C’mon—unless you're still too injured to drink…?”

  "Fuck you." Cooper took the glass and waited for the bartender to fill the rest. He raised his hand and the others did likewise. “To our fallen brothers. To those who gave all. To the Teams.”

  “Hooyah,” the three SEALs said in somber unison.

  Cooper slammed the empty shot glass on the counter.

  “Give us another,” said Charlie, signaling the bartender. “You know what, just leave the bottle.”

  “You trying to get me shit-faced my first day as a civvie?” asked Cooper, feeling the warmth in his belly spread. He hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast and had spent the better part of the day on his feet in court or on a hospital gurney. “I need food—the discharging doc wouldn't let me have any earlier.”

  “You know, we never got to finish your retirement party,” said Charlie.

  Cooper raised his glass. “To Swede.”

  “To Tank,” said Sparky, raising his glass.

  “Ell-Tee,” said Cooper.

  "Jax and Mike," added Charlie. "May both of them heal fast, lord knows we're gonna need them now that you're leaving."

  “Hooyah,” they said together and drank.

  "Any word on Juice or Switchplate?"

  Charlie shook his head. "They're officially MIA…but Bennet thinks that's just wishful thinking. They're gone."

  “Jesus, this is depressing as hell,” said Sparky. “We need music.” He stood and shuffled toward the jukebox in the corner.

  “So what now?” asked Charlie, pouring Cooper another round.

  Cooper sighed, staring at the amber liquid. “Hell if I know. Oakrock was the plan, but…” he tapped the discharge papers. “That ship sailed." He rubbed his leg. "I have to register as a convicted felon with the state,” Cooper said in disbelief.

  The door behind them opened, letting a blast of cold air into the room. Everyone turned to look at the newcomer.

  “Officer on deck!” barked Sparky. Charlie jumped to attention, knocking over a barstool.

  Cooper turned in his seat. For the first time in ten years, he didn’t give a fuck if an officer appeared unannounced. Maybe being a civvie isn't so bad…

  “As you were,” said Admiral Bennet as he swept into the room. He removed his cover and handed it to his aide, a wide-eyed ensign who seemed scandalized to be in a bar so early in the day.

  “I was told I’d find you here,”
Bennet said. He opened his coat and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. “I know you got a raw deal. The President has been appraised of the situation and despite your lack of enthusiasm for preventing 13 from killing Tillcott, your service record is otherwise impeccable." Bennet handed over the paper. "He wanted to make sure you got this.”

  Cooper put his drink down and opened the paper. “A Presidential Pardon?”

  “Close—it’s an Executive Order reversing your DD. Ford used it after Vietnam to allow protesters to come home. Harris overruled the court martial's verdict with what amounts to a Presidential Pardon. You still won’t have your pension check coming—”

  “But I won’t be a convicted felon either?”

  Bennet nodded. “I have to say, it didn't take much convincing. He likes you, Braaten.” The admiral sighed. “This whole shit storm has gotten way out of control.” Bennet gestured to the door. “Notice how empty it is out there? The whole Eastern Shore got hit hard by the K-Flu. There’s mass graves over on the west side of town. Too many people died too fast—they're piled up like a damn landfill.”

  “Jesus,” muttered Cooper.

  “At least you got the son of a bitch that started it all. Probably would have taken The Hague years to hand down judgment,” Bennet said. He straightened. “Anyway. I’ve got to get back to D.C., but I wanted to deliver this in person. You’ve done a tremendous service to the country, Braaten. We won’t forget it.”

  Cooper gripped the admiral's hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I should thank you, lieutenant. We can’t publicly say it, but the Navy is proud of you, son. Whether she killed him and you let her or you did it yourself—” Bennet raised his hand. “I don’t want to know and I don’t care. He’s dead—that’s all that matters." He took his cover from the aide. "Either way, you got a lot of fans out there.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “Oh, I made a few calls and let a few friends of mine know you’re on the market now with a White House-endorsed clean record.”

  Cooper stared at the door after Bennet left. The others gathered around to look at pardon. He let them have it and turned back to the bar. Flashing colors on the TV caught his attention.