Apache Dawn, - [little bear else holmelund minarik txt] 📗
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“No need to get twitchy, boys. Let’s all stay frosty. I think we’re all on the same team here.” As a show of good faith, Cooper lowered his own weapon. The men across from them kept their weapons aimed.
“I say we take ‘em out right now,” said one of the men in a thick Boston accent.
“I’d advise against that, friend,” said Cooper. He motioned at the leader’s chest. Sparky’s laser had lit up the man. The red dot was square in the middle of the man’s chest and not moving at all. “My sniper is back across the river. You’ll never get the chance to pull the trigger.” He turned his head. “Come on out, boys.”
Like wraiths, Charlie, Jax, and Swede emerged from the flickering shadows of the burning German camp. The locals nearly jumped out of their skins and Cooper couldn’t help but grin. When the men calmed down a bit, Cooper let his rifle hang by its combat sling and raised both empty hands. He slowly broke the seal and removed his helmet. Sighing, he relished the first breath of fresh air that kissed his damp skin.
God, that feels good.
“Who the hell are you guys?” asked the man Cooper assumed to be their leader.
Cooper smiled. “We’re the good guys.” He peeled back the flap of cloth on his right shoulder and exposed the American flag sewn onto his jumpsuit.
“Where’d you come from?” asked one of the others. Cooper noticed their rifles weren’t pointed so straight anymore.
“Way up there,” he said, pointing up.
“No planes or helicopters flying around here but the Krauts and their damn drones,” muttered the leader. “Those are some wicked-fancy helmets you got there…you guys special forces or something?”
“Or something,” Cooper said, grinning. He stuck a gloved hand out, and almost said Master Chief. After a quick pause, he said instead, “Lieutenant Cooper Braaten.”
“Air Force?” asked the leader.
Charlie snorted in derision, an odd sound coming through his helmet. Mike shook his head.
“Navy,” replied Cooper, the grin spreading into a smile.
After a moment of silence, the leader said, “Nice.” He lowered his weapon and shook hands with Cooper. “I gotcha. Hey, it’s cool, you guys really helped us out. Thanks.”
“So what, we’re just gonna trust ‘em ‘cause he says he’s from the Navy? These guys dropped outta the sky like ghosts…”
His partner slapped him on the shoulder. “Dude, they’re SEALs.”
“No shit?” asked the Doubting Thomas.
Cooper laughed. “No shit.” He stopped mid-laugh and grew serious. “But don’t tell anyone, or we’ll have to kill you.” When he heard the locals grow silent, he laughed again. “Just kidding, man. We’re not here to kill any Germans. They’re still technically just medical security staff for the W.H.O.” He turned to his team and touched the mic at his throat. “Okay, stand down, Striker. Sparky, come on over.” His bone phone clicked twice.
“So why are you here, if you’re not here to kill some Krauts? We been all alone in this too long, man. Sure be nice to get some backup.”
Cooper looked at the burning wreckage of the German outpost. “We’re here to find someone. Someone very important to the future of this nation.” He fished around in a side pocket and pulled out a laminated photo. Holding it up in the firelight, he asked, “Have any of you seen this man? His name is Dr. Maurice Boatner. He’s a virologist and a professor at Harvard…?”
The leader laughed bitterly. “Look, bro, this is Boston. There’s a lot a people here, right? Never seen him before. Sorry.”
Cooper nodded and put the photo away. “Well, it was worth a shot.”
“We need to get the hell outta here before the Krauts show up—” said Doubting Thomas.
“And they will!” chipped in one of his men.
“You guys wanna come with us? We get back to camp, we got hot chow…and you can check in with the colonel.”
Cooper put his hands on his hips and looked around. “Who are you guys, anyway? National Guard?”
“Nah, they’re still trying to figure out if they’re gonna work with the Krauts or us for some reason…” He shook his head. “Name’s Dillon Prebble. This here’s my brother Jimmy. That’s Donny, and the ugly one over there is Kaden.”
“Up yours, Prebble,” muttered Kaden in a deep voice.
An odd, European-sounding siren wailed in the distance. All of the men jerked rifles up and looked for new threats. Sparky padded up softly and stopped next to Cooper.
“More vehicles coming in from the north. I saw the headlights from the bridge. We need to make tracks, LT,” the speakers on his helmet reported.
“You comin’ with us? ‘Cause, the colonel’s gonna shit himself when he meets ya,” said Prebble in his thick accent. He turned to leave.
“May as well,” said Cooper with a shrug.
“Okay boys, back to base. Let’s go,” announced Prebble as he shouldered his weapon.
“Charlie, you take the north flank,” said Cooper.
“Roger.” Charlie removed his helmet with a hiss of escaping air. “So Prebble—if you’re not with the Guard, who are you with? What’s SOL?” Charlie said, pointing at the white letters crudely sewn on the sleeve of the man identified as Kaden.
Dillon Prebble slung his rifle over his shoulder and smiled. “We’re the Sons of Liberty. We don’t wanna be here when the Krauts find this mess. We don’t do the stand-up-and-fight routine. We hit, run, and hide. Minuteman style. Now come on and make sure you stick to the trees. You can hide your heat signature better by staying near the brush.” He pointed up. “Damn Kraut drones are everywhere.”
“Hooyah,” said Cooper as he jogged off into the night with his newfound allies.
Chad woke to the sound of someone vomiting. He hated to throw up, always had. Whoever was yakking was doing a real good job. Great gulping heaves, and from the sounds of it, a lot of splatter.
Man, some poor bastard is having a rough—
Chad’s thought was interrupted by a painful heave that emptied the nonexistent contents of his stomach. The throbbing in his head was nearly unbearable. His senses, one by one, returned to his control and assaulted his abused consciousness.
He felt cold steel all around him. He was in some enclosed space. The helicopter—the memory trickled back into his tortured mind. It took a while for him to fully remember what had happened when the last time he’d opened his eyes.
Another dry heave left him panting for air. Then the rush of memories hit.
The pilot! That bitch! She hit me…He opened his eyes slowly, enduring the lightning bolts of pain tunneling into his brain as soon as light broke past his eyelids. Ugh. I’m still in the cockpit of that damn helicopter. And there’s puke everywhere…
“You done yet?” asked a malicious voice that echoed through his mind.
“Wha…what?” Chad stammered. The world began to spin. What the hell is she talking about? What’s happening to me?
“Settle down. We’re on the ground already. Just waiting for the Russians to walk over.”
A loud clacking sound shook his eardrums. Then he felt a cool breeze on his neck. He squinted up. The cockpit canopy, accompanied by the whine of hydraulics, lifted sideways out of his field of vision.
Chad gingerly rubbed the back of his neck. “Owww…” he muttered. God, it hurts!
“Sorry about that…” the pilot said. “Finally. Here they come.”
In a blur of pain, Chad heard several sets of footsteps approach the helicopter. Then there were strong hands gripping his shoulders and he felt the dizzyingly queasy sensation of being pulled out of the helicopter. It felt like they were spinning him around like a top before dumping him unceremoniously on the hard ground. Every bone in his body felt broken. He fell back against the ground with a teeth-rattling impact. Chad kept his eyes closed tight—even breathing was painful.
Am I dying?
“This is the Source?” asked a gruff male voice.
“Y-yes,” replied the pilot. The sudden nervousness in her voice did nothing for Chad’s nerves.
There was some chattering in a language that Chad couldn’t understand, but it sure sounded excited. He tried to say something but only a low moan escaped his lips.
“We will test.” The hands grabbed him again. Chad whimpered. He was beyond crying out. He just wanted it all to end.
They’re carrying me off…to a lab…the needles…God no…please…
“Okay, so if you, like, you know, don’t have the money here, I have an account number I can—”
More guttural
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