Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (83 page)

“Slipknot
Support, this is Striker One, Actual, what’s your sit-rep?”

“Goddamn,
I’m glad to hear your voice.  Lacey, over there!
” more gunfire
erupted. “
They’re pouring down the corridors.  We’re pinned down at the
entrance to the Critical Care wing.  I got wounded and KIA.  Seven effectives
left.  We’re holed up opposite the nurse’s station.  Whoever the hell you are,
you better hurry.
”

“Is
Slipknot secured?  I say again,
is Slipknot secured?
”  Cooper pointed at
his arm-guard map and then at Charlie.  His XO flipped through wrist-mounted
maps of his own, looking for the Critical Ward.

“
Affirmative,
Slipknot is secured, but I can’t tell you for how long.  I’ve got at
least
a company of enemy combatants in front of us. Who the hell
are
these
guys?  Where did they come from?
”  More gunfire and screaming.

“Hold
your position,” Cooper said.  “The cavalry’s on its way.  Striker, out.”

“That
way!” Charlie said, pointing toward a large double door to their right.  “VIP
Critical Care rooms are on the second floor.  Stairwell access over there.”

The
SEALs, moving like shadows, quickly left the waiting area to the dead. 

“Run
and gun!” called out Cooper.  He kicked the double doors open with a crash and
charged through.  Two North Korean soldiers were setting up firing positions
behind an overturned gurney.  Without hesitation, Cooper swung the M-79 grenade
launcher from his back and fired.  A split second after the
phoomp
of
his pirate gun, the corridor exploded in light and smoke with a tremendous
crash. 

Cooper
charged into the smoke and stepped over the remains of the two North Korean
rear-guards.  He jogged down the shattered corridor toward the stairs, his Team
hot on his heels.  Sounds of a fierce firefight reverberated down the stairwell
toward them.

As
they passed each door along the corridor, the forward SEALs paused to cover
their teammates as they leap-frogged the rest.  Every one of them was focused
on the rooms they passed—some had patients laying in beds, wide-eyed in fear. 
Many more had bodies on the floor and bullet holes in walls and doors.  It
appeared the North Koreans were either randomly searching rooms or simply
killing for sport.  Either way, Cooper felt his anger rise. 

It
was one thing for the cowardly bastards to have shot down his Team—they would
pay
dearly
for that.  But killing
civilians
—people in hospital
beds?  That was crossing a line.  More than one room had a North Korean soldier
in it trying to ambush the SEALs.  Cooper’s wraiths dispatched each one with
brutal efficiency. 

Cooper
reached the stairs first and took the steps two at a time.  He could hear some
shouted words from the top landing and slowed down, carbine at his shoulder,
eyes downrange.  The sound of fighting grew louder with each step, bouncing off
ceiling tiles and walls.  Cooper poked his head above the landing.  He held up
his hand to halt the platoon.  Charlie moved up next to him, silent as a ghost.

The
hallway beyond the stairs was dark with only one emergency light, hanging from
a wire and swaying drunkenly.  The corridor was strewn with bodies.  Some were
clearly patients, dressed in hospital gowns and still trailing IV lines from
arms and wrists.  Others were in scrubs and a few had white coats, stained with
blood.  The North Koreans had clearly moved down the corridor guns blazing and
killed everyone in their path. 

The
doors along the hallway had been forced open, some shot through, and debris and
equipment was scattered everywhere.  Cooper could hear the eerie,
spine-tingling wails from multiple medical monitors shrilly calling for
attention from dozens of rooms.

Muzzle
flashes accompanied by the deafening sound of gunfire in confined quarters at
the end of the hallway painfully split the darkness.  Cooper flipped up his
night-vision goggles and let his eyes adjust. 

When
he could see again, Cooper found himself looking down a long hallway.  About
halfway down the hallway, at the junction of the main corridor to the left, was
a large circular desk littered with computer monitors and phones.  There were
two North Koreans taking shelter behind the desk, shooting their rifles over
the top of the bullet-ridden desk. The tactical lights on their weapons were
lancing all over the place with their movements. 

“There’s
the nurse’s station.  Secret Service is down that left-hand corridor,” Cooper
whispered to Charlie.

Charlie
gripped Cooper’s arm and pointed—on the other side of the nurse’s station a few
flashlights winked with movement.  Cooper could hear muffled shouting over the
noise of the firefight.  He squinted and could just barely see North Korean
marines kicking down doors on the left side of the corridor.  There looked to
be at least twenty of them.  When they didn’t come back out, he realized what
was going down.  Flashes and the sound of more gunfire.  A few bodies in
hospital gowns tumbled out into the hallway. 

The
North Koreans are going to cut through those rooms...they’ll flank those Secret
Service pukes if they can find a way to jump out down that left cooridor.
 
Cooper had seen
enough. 

He
signaled to Charlie and pointed at the nurse’s station.

Both
men opened up their weapons and in an incredibly loud few seconds, the North
Koreans hiding behind the circular desk were on the ground, painting the floor
red.  The rest of the SEALs then advanced up the stairs and moved down the
hallway, finding no survivors.

Cooper
keyed his throat mic.  “Secret Service, Striker One advancing on your
position.  Do not shoot, I say again,
friendly forces turning the corner
,
your twelve o’clock!”

He
stepped to the corner and looked left, almost expecting to take a bullet in the
face.  Instead a flashlight beam pointed in his direction. 

“Thank
God!
” someone said in the smoke.

“Charlie,
go!” he said, pointing down the main hallway where the North Koreans had
entered rooms and disappeared.  Charlie instantly peeled off with his fireteam
and vanished into the darkened corridor.

“Direct
your men that way,” said Cooper as he trotted toward the besieged Secret
Service Agent.  “You got at least ten NKors working through the rooms and
advancing fast on your nine o’clock!  They’re trying to flank you.”  The Agents
nodded and faced the doors on the left side of the hallway.

Cooper,
satisfied that the Agents were prepared, turned to his fireteam coming up fast
behind him.  “Spread out and anchor the line!  Jax get in the center!”

“
Team
2 in position
,” Charlie whispered, dead calm.

Without
a word, Mike pushed past and vaulted the make-shift barricade the agents had
cobbled together.  He raced on down the corridor toward the far end, watching
the doors on the right side. Jax, right behind the smaller SEAL, shouldered
past carrying his massive twenty pound M60 light machine gun.  Swede scaled the
barricade, dropped to a knee and covered the hallway, the smallish MP5 looked
like a toy next to his large frame.

“Everyone,
reload and check weapons, they’re not done yet!” Cooper ordered to the
half-dozen steely-eyed agents.  A few Agents, dressed in battle load-outs,
rummaged grim-faced through the gear still strapped to their fallen comrades. 
The odd thing in Cooper’s mind was they did not hesitate or question his
authority at all. They recognized the wisdom of his order, stranger or not.

“They’re
going to come straight at us,” Cooper said quietly, “So get to the side of
these doors here in front of you.  Get ready…”

They
could hear some noise and shouts from the other side of the three doors on the
right side of the hallway.  “They’re almost through,” Cooper whispered. 
“Charlie, go on my mark.”

The
tiny bone phone in Cooper’s ear broke squelch twice: Charlie was ready.  He
shifted his carbine and raised it to his shoulder, waiting.  The hallway was
deathly quiet.  Dust swirled in the air but was barely visible in the emergency
light’s cone of illumination.  Cooper’s vision, through his night-vision
goggles, was bright as day, albeit green-tinted.

The
door directly across from Cooper suddenly flew open with a crash, propelled
forward by a foot.  The North Korean soldier coming through never got his foot
back on the ground.  He landed flat on his back with two rounds to the face. 
Two more men charged forward to take his place, screaming like banshees.  The
next two doors down the corridor were smashed open with similar results.  The
SEALs and Secret Service Agents easily dispatched the first targets to emerge.

“Go,
go, go!” yelled Cooper.  Suddenly, Charlie’s fireteam, advancing through the
rooms behind the North Koreans, opened up on their unprotected rear elements. 
The flanking maneuver was crippled before they had a chance to execute.  The
rooms lit up with the sounds of gunfire and screams, accompanied by staccato
flashes of light.  Above it all, the booming voice of Jax’s M60 reverberated
down the corridor.

Caught
between Cooper and the agents in front of them and the meat grinder of Navy
SEALs behind them, the North Korean squad was quickly dispatched into a bloody,
quivering mess, adding to the already extensive carnage on the floor.

A
few of the agents whooped in victory but not a single SEAL showed any sign of
celebration.  Always on mission, Cooper was gratified to see, his men
immediately secured the perimeter and prepared for the next wave.

“
Left
flank secured
,” reported Mike from down the hall.

“
Right
flank secured
,” said Swede, watching the nurse’s station at “T”
intersection of corridors.

“
Center
secured
,” called out Jax.

“Friendlies
coming in, hold your fire!” a voice yelled from inside one of the rooms used by
the North Koreans in their ill-fated flanking maneuver.

“Hold
your fire,” called out Cooper. “That’s my men coming in.”  Four shadows
silently moved through the butchery in the rooms in front of the defenders and
emerged, scanning for threats, weapons up.

Cooper
disengaged his night-vision goggles and stood, stretching his knee.  The damn
brace squeaked and he winced.  “Mike, check the wounded.  I don’t want any
surprises.”

“
On
it
,” replied Mike from down the corridor.  He stood and methodically
checked each body on the floor for a pulse.   The third one he checked was
alive.  Without hesitation, he pulled his dive knife and plunged the 8”
darkened blade into the soldier’s chest.  The man stiffened and gurgled, a
bubble of blood forming at his mouth.  After the body relaxed, Mike twisted the
blade and with a savage motion, ripped it free from the corpse.  He moved to
the next North Korean casualty in a low crouch and checked for a pulse.

“Jesus!”
one of the wounded agents said, nursing a bandaged arm and propped against the
wall.  “What the hell was that for?  That guy was half-dead already…”

“Well,
now he’s
full
-dead,” was Mike’s grim reply.  He crouched next to another
body and checked it.  “Chief said ‘No surprises’.  Only way we’ll be surprised
now is if these assholes turn into zombies.”  He grinned, his teeth white
against a sweat streaked, grimy face and moved on.

“I’m
Sheffield, head of the President’s detail,” said the agent with the
flashlight.  Agent Sheffield looked back down the hallway where the partially
destroyed nurse’s station sat in silence.  He gestured at a North Korean body. 
“You guys sure know how to make an entrance.”  

“Master
Chief Braaten,” said Cooper.  He scanned the battle-scene and was rather
impressed by what he saw.  The handful of agents had held off a vastly superior
force, judging by the numbers of bodies crumpled along the corridors in every
direction. “Looks like you and your men put up a helluva fight.” 

Sheffield
grunted then blew out his breath and winced in pain. “We sure that’s the last
of ‘em?  Don’t have much ammo left.” 

Cooper
nodded.  “Slipknot?”

Agent
Sheffield looked at Cooper, as if deciding whether he could reveal such
information.  He smiled and wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of a
grime-covered hand.  “Not here.  We’re the front line.  We’ve got him in the
basement in a makeshift ICU with a few doctors and the rest of my team.  We
wanted to draw their attention up here to the Critical Ward until we could get
him out of the hospital.”

“Is
he alive?” asked Cooper, switching magazines on his weapon.

“Yeah,
but he contracted that superflu that’s going around.  He’s in bad shape.”

“Shit.” 
Cooper looked around the demolished corridor leading to the bullet-riddled
nurse’s station at the “T”.

“This
is
no bueno
, man.  We gotta move.  Can you get your wounded on their
feet?  We need to regroup with the others and get Slipknot out of here—like, yesterday.”

“Something
to do with the explosions we heard?  Our comms went dead a while back and we
haven’t from anyone till you guys showed up tore through these assholes like
Sherman through Atlanta,” said the President’s chief bodyguard as he helped
another agent to his feet.