Apache Dawn, - [little bear else holmelund minarik txt] 📗

“Something about last-minute order change,” the gunner replied over the noise of the engine and the roaring wind. “I don’t know what the whole story is, but he,” the gunner said, pointing at the tied-up pilot, “sure didn’t want to pick you guys up. The Co-Pilot Lt. Travers cold-cocked him with his sidearm and took command. Ain’t never seen shit like this before,” he laughed, shaking his head. With a nod toward the cockpit, he continued, “The LT had me light ‘em up for ya.” The man grinned and patted the mini-gun affectionately. “That was fun!”

Chad could feel the pilot suddenly stiffen again. Someone was laughing now.

“I don’t think he’s going anywhere, sir,” yelled Garza, pointing at Chad with the universal stop sign.

Chad looked down and noticed his rifle was casually draped on his lap. The nearly half-inch-wide barrel was positioned just under the pilot’s chin. He was looking down the open maw of the Henry .45-70 with eyes the size of softballs.

“Sorry,” Chad said with a grin. He shifted the rifle so the butt rested on the cabin floor, muzzle pointed toward the vibrating cabin roof. Only when the big rifle swung away from the pilot’s face did he relax.

Chad stared out the window in a daze as the helicopter raced away from Glacier National Park. He assumed they were heading west toward Spokane, but didn’t know for sure. He was used to seeing all the mountains from the ground, not the air. It was making him dizzy, the way the pilot was hugging the ground and swooping over hills and valleys, constantly going up and down to follow the terrain. But Chad didn’t want to look around inside the cabin. All he could think about was the sight of that North Korean soldier falling backwards into the snow, one arm raised, seeking help that would never come.

I killed a man. He’s dead in the snow out there. His family’ll never hear from him again. Because I pulled the trigger…and…Chad tried to focus on the landscape blurring by his window. Did he have kids? Did I just destroy a family, not just a man…? He could feel his hands start to shake.

Chad was only vaguely aware that the Rangers grieved for their comrade and tended wounds. Captain Alston had removed his outer layer of camo and was letting Garza field dress his shoulder where a round had clipped the meaty flesh of his deltoid. Every one of them had been wounded somehow, either from bullets or from splintered logs. They all had cuts and scrapes from the mad stand at the redoubt.

And it’s all my fault. Chad looked down at his slightly shaking hands and realized he too had cuts and scrapes on his cold-red fingers. He smiled ruefully, happy that at least for all the grief he'd caused in the last few days, he hadn’t escaped unscathed. That was something, he figured.

They’d come to bring him back to civilization and tap into his blood to save lives again. They had fought the snowstorm, the North Koreans, and now their own people. As a result, most of the Rangers had been injured and one had paid the ultimate price. Chad wanted to throw-up—he didn’t know if the nausea he was feeling was from the motion of the helicopter or guilt that tormented every fiber of his being.

“I know what you’re thinking,” hollered Captain Alston. “But it’s not your fault, sir.”

Chad shook his head. “It is,” he yelled back over the muted roar of the big engines on the Black Hawk.

“Mr. Huntley, these men are Rangers. We all knew the risks when we signed on the dotted line. I am just as heartbroken about Deacon as the rest of them, but the time for mourning is not now. We are still very much in danger. We will grieve for him in our own way, when there’s time. But right now—”

The helicopter angled nose up sharply, throwing everyone inside to the rear of the cabin in a jumble of equipment, bodies, and curses. The floor quickly leveled out and Chad, restrained by his seat harness, could feel the helicopter had stopped moving and was hovering. He saw a look of surprise appear on Captain Alston’s face as he untangled himself from Garza and looked toward the cockpit.

“We got a problem!” said the gunner, tapping his helmet and pointing forward.

Chad sensed movement out the cabin window about the same time he heard someone shout, “Holy shit!”

He saw out the small window to his right—maybe a hundred yards away—an Apache attack helicopter slowly rise through a cloud of kicked-up snow from behind a ridgeline. The menacing-looking helicopter was unmistakable, even to a civilian like Chad. Hanging off its stubby wings, Chad could see an assortment of missiles. The big gun underneath its nose swiveled to the left and right, as if looking for a target. Above the spinning rotors was a bulbous object, like a pancaked balloon.

“Got another one over here!” called out a voice from the other side of the cabin. Captain Alston moved over to look, then returned to the front.

“Longbows!” Garza observed.

“What do they want?” Deuce yelled.

“They’re asking us the same thing!” replied the gunner, tapping his helmet.

“Tell ‘em you’re carrying Rangers. Give them my rank and tell them we’ve been fighting the North Koreans and have WIA and KIA onboard.”

After what seemed like forever, hanging there in the sky surrounded by attack helicopters, the gunner whooped in relief and leaned in close to Captain Alston. “They’re requesting permission to join your task force, sir!”

The tall Ranger sighed and dropped his head down in relief. Chad exhaled, not realizing that he’d been holding his breath. He watched as the Apache out his window sidled-up in formation next to them and the pilot waved and flashed a thumbs-up sign.

“Tell them we’re damn glad they’re on our side and that we’re heading for Spokane,” Captain Alston yelled. He looked toward his men. “Nice to have a little more firepower, huh?”

“Hell yes, sir!” The jubilant gunner pumped his fist, then relayed the message to the pilot, and returned the response from the cockpit. He shook his head and grabbed the mic to keep from screaming in his pilot’s ears.

“They say Spokane is a no-go. NKor ground forces have swept clear across the state. That pilot out there,” he said, motioning toward the Apache out the window, “isn’t sure if they’ve taken Spokane or not but there’s enough SAM activity to make it a suicide run. They just came from near there, an Air National Guard base just across the border. The last of their battalion. Most of ‘em didn’t make it out when the NKors landed on ‘em. They were ordered to make a break for it and try to regroup.”

“Dammit!” said Captain Alston as he pounded his fist on the metal airframe of the helicopter. “We need a place to set down and regroup.”

The gunner nodded. “A couple of them are bingo fuel. They say there’s a small airport just a few miles south of here; it’s about as far as they can reach.”

Captain Alston nodded. “Sounds good! Let’s do it.”

Chapter Sixteen

Los Angeles, California

“Talk to me, Beaver,” said Cooper. His hands gripped the steering wheel of their stolen APC with white knuckles.

“They’re facing away from us. No idea we’re here, boss.”

Cooper thought for a moment. They had successfully navigated the streets of Los Angeles, creeping farther and farther from All Saints, heading south and west. So far they had escaped detection from the Koreans but he was doubtful their luck could hold much longer.

He glanced down at the bloody helmet that was plugged into the comms panel. Someone was bound to realize that an APC wasn’t responding to hails and would go looking for it. He would.

They had driven through crowds of panicked civilians, streaming in all directions away from downtown, away from the attacking jets and missiles. Cars were struggling to move on the major roads. He grimaced, thinking of the shouts of the civilians who’d spotted the Korean APC and run in terror.

At least it helped clear the road for us. Thank God we’re not stuck back in that mess. Like a sea of parked cars.

The crowds eventually thinned out as the wave of humanity escaped the chaos of downtown. Cooper had been driving for over an hour now, and he was seeing an alarming number of casualties on the streets not related to combat. There were no signs of violence and the doctors in the crew cabin behind him confirmed that the unprotected homeless would be hit by the flu first, and with most lethal effect.

A jet roared overhead, its noise muted by the North Korean APC’s thick armor—an unpleasant reminder of the war zone into which L.A. had