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

“Roadblock up ahead, Coop—‘bout a mile,” said Mike.

Cooper cursed the traffic snarl that’d forced them off the Glen Anderson in Hawthorne and slowed the rumbling APC to a stop facing the ocean at the intersection of West 120th Street and Oxford Avenue.

He tried in vain to stretch his tight back muscles in the cramped driver’s seat but knew he’d get no relief until they could all get out of the stolen APC. Instead, he used a joystick on the dashboard to manipulate a little external camera so he could see on the night-vision screen what Mike was looking at up in the turret. The street sign at the intersection read Hawthorne Blvd.

Power outages had spread rapidly after the initial assault and now the entire city—at least as far as he could tell—had been plunged into darkness. The green-tinted screen showed no activity; only a few bodies on the street and abandoned cars. There were some dim, glittering lights in the homes that were packed along both sides of West 120th Street. Someone was still alive around here.

He manipulated the controls and zoomed in farther west down the street. Cooper figured they were only about two miles from Los Angeles Air Force Base, now. The roadblock at the intersection up ahead had to be the outer edge of the invading forces.

“They’re looking north, man. Looks like no one knows we’re here, yet,” said Mike.

“All right, everyone,” said Cooper, loud enough to be heard in the crowded cabin. “I think we’re almost home-free. Looks like one last road block before we get out of OZ.”

“What’s OZ?” a female voice asked faintly from the rear of the APC.

“It’s a movie. Judy Garland? You know, the wizard…?” replied Jax in his Texas drawl. After a chuckle, he said, “Naw, it stands for Occupied Zone.” When his joke was met with silence, Jax cleared his throat and muttered, “Tough crowd.”

Cooper suppressed a grin. “Right now, that line of cars and North Koreans in front of us is the only thing separating us from a straight shot to the Air Force base on the other side of the San Diego Freeway, and hopefully, safety. Everyone hold on tight; we’re gonna hit ‘em hard.”

“Yo, Coop, I got some chatter,” said the team sniper, bent over the comm station. He shook his head. “I don’t know what they’re saying, but they’re awful excited about it.”

“Got movement at the checkpoint. They’re looking around…” warned Mike’s voice from the turret. “I think they know we’re in the area…”

“I see the searchlights,” said Cooper. “This is it, people. Hang on!” He pushed the throttle wide open and felt with satisfaction the heavily armored vehicle lurch forward.

“Clear the road, Beaver!”

“Hooyah!”

There was a deafening roar and Cooper felt the steering wheel buck violently as the APC’s main gun spoke. Cooper focused on the view out the armored window in front of him. He was vaguely aware of muted screams and commotion behind him over the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his heart.

The APC lumbered west on 120th, picking up speed. As the smoke down the street cleared, he saw one of the two civilian cars that the North Koreans had parked across the ramp nose to nose—it was now on its roof about ten feet behind the roadblock. The other had been flung back off the road and was in flames in the drugstore parking lot on the corner.

There were bodies on the ground: some moving, some still, and some in pieces. On the sidewalk and behind the other vehicles, Cooper could see scurrying forms illuminated by the burning wreckage. The rest of the North Koreans at the roadblock were seeking cover in a panic. On the night-vision screen, they looked like so many cockroaches, scattering in the light of the main gun as it belched fire from the top of the APC.

As his hearing returned, Cooper recognized the distinct, yet quiet sound of rounds bouncing off the thick skin of their captured APC.

“They’re returning fire!” yelled Mike, one hand on his ear.

“Shoot back! Let ‘em have it,” replied Cooper. He took aim at the corner of the burning car still blocking the westbound lanes. “Hold on back there!” he shouted over his shoulder.

The APC rocked a bit as it smashed into the flaming car at full speed, ignoring the random and ineffectual return fire of the ground troops. In a flare of burning fuel and crumpled steel, the APC barreled down the street and lumbered west, leaving the wreckage of the roadblock in its wake. Once the screams and shouts had died down in the back, Cooper asked, “Everyone all right back there?”

“We’re fine!” someone hollered back. “But take it easy up there; the President can’t take too much more of this!”

“Yo, Coop, we’re gonna have company!” said Mike after he turned the turret around to face to the rear. “I got two vehicles full of bad guys on our ass!”

The APC was rocked by another shot from the main gun. Though he was at least a little more prepared for the shock of the blast, it still left Cooper’s ears ringing.

“Make that one vehicle!” Mike yelled in between laughs. “I love this thing!”

“I’m getting a lot of chatter, man,” said Sparky from the comm panel. “It’s a good bet they’re calling in reinforcements…”

“Damn, this thing’s a slow pig…” muttered Cooper, foot to the floor. He willed the big APC to go faster, but it just wasn’t built for speed. The speedometer registered a paltry 50 miles an hour. He winced as the APC smashed into another parked car, flinging it aside as if it were a toy.

“Whoa!” said Sparky, gripping the armrests of his seat to keep from falling. “I’m getting some…wait—it sounds like there’s an A-10 driver up there that noticed our little fireworks display.”

The pavement in front of them erupted into a shower of smoke and fire. It sounded like they were driving through a hailstorm as the fragments of the road rained down on them.

“Enemy bird, port side high!” called out Mike. “He’s moving too fast for me to get a good shot.”

“Sparky get on the horn and ask for some assistance…” said Cooper, swerving to avoid an abandoned car.

“Roger that—U.S. air assets this net, come in!” Static was the sniper’s only response. “I say again, U.S. air assets this net, come in! Mayday, mayday, mayday!”

After a moment of static, a strong voice with a southern drawl came over the speakers in the cabin. “Uh, you are broadcasting on a restricted military frequency. Identify yourself.”

“This is Striker 2, authentication Charlie-Victor-Niner-Five-Seven-Alpha. You see that explosion on West 120th?”

There was a moment of silence. “Come on…call it in…call it in…” muttered Cooper. He knew that the unique authorization code Sparky had provided would inform the pilot that they were a naval special warfare unit. Of course, if anyone had enough sense to be monitoring the channel and had access to the codes, they’d know that now, too.

He flinched as his vision was obstructed by another shower of pavement and debris caused by the chasing helicopter. “Dammit, this guy’s really on our ass!” He swerved again, eliciting a howl of protest from the back. A car exploded just to their left, where the APC would have been a second earlier.

“Okay, roger that, Striker, pretty nice show down there. This is Snake Lead, the A-10 above your position.”

“Can you see the NKor APC hauling-ass southwest? That’s us—there’s pursuit vehicles, including a Korean helo.”

“You tellin’ me you Squids carjacked an APC?” The pilot laughed. “That’s some funny shit, right there!”

The sniper laughed. “Hooyah, brother. We sure could use some help—”

The APC jerked to the left after a tremendous roar. Warning lights flashed and a red emergency light flashed. “Christ!” said Cooper, trying to regain control of the speeding armored car.

“Roger that, Striker 2, I see ‘im. Wait one…”

“We’re taking direct fire from that fucking helo—take it out!”

The little armored window went white. “Holy shit!” Mike exclaimed, his laughter drifting down from the turret.