Read Online Apache Dawn: Book I of the Wildfire Saga by Marcus Richardson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marcus Richardson
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sleepy.
Cooper stretched out on a lounge chair, arms behind his head, eyes closed, and exhaled a sigh of contentment as he basked in the warm early autumn California sun. Winter was not that far off, but in sunny SoCal, the snow blasted memories of his youth in Michigan melted peacefully away.
Cooper sighed at the realization that he would be mustered out of the service on Monday, now that the final surgery to reconstruct his knee was complete and rehab had all but wrapped up. Honestly, he was sad to leave SEAL Team 9, but he was looking forward to starting a lucrative new career in the private-sector with Oakrock Security. A six-figure salary out the gate—they had made an offer he couldn’t possibly refuse.
Stranger things have happened , he thought. The soon-to-be retired Master Chief felt a smile split his face.
“Look at you, only a few days till you’re out and you’re already going soft.”
Cooper cracked his eyes at the voice and waited for them to adjust to the sunlight.
“Laying around in a lounge chair at 1400 hours—on a weekday —grinning like a damn civilian . And the shame of it is, just last week you were in command of a first-rate, lean, mean, terrorist killing SEAL fireteam,” said his longtime second-in-command, Charlie Marshal.
“Hey, I ain’t dead, yet. I’m still in charge,” Cooper objected, still smiling.
“In charge of a wheelchair , yeah,” laughed Charlie. “Here, gimpy, have a beer.”
Cooper grinned and sipped the ice cold brew with his eyes closed. He turned his head and shielded his eyes with a hand to see Charlie standing over him, hands on hips, his tanned physique marred with the calling cards of their shared profession. Bullet wounds, knife scars, imperfections caused by the chafing of gear or heat of fire. His chest and back were the story of his career in the Navy. Anyone with experience in the field knew right away, he wasn’t just a soldier or sailor, he was an operator . Cooper grinned. A younger version of himself.
“How’s the knee?” Charlie asked with mock concern and smacked Cooper playfully as he sat like a coiled spring in the next chair.
“Shit , knock it off!” hissed Cooper with a wince. He gingerly flexed the pink, new skin around the incision points where the surgeon had reconstructed his butchered right knee. “Damn bullet didn’t hurt half as much as that surgery did…”
“Man, you already turning into a wuss? Here I thought you were a SEAL .”
Cooper drained the beer and turned the bottle upside down as proof. “This helps. C’mon Master Chief , reload me.”
“Easy there, Hoss,” said Charlie with his hands up defensively. “So,” he said, passing Cooper another beer. “What’s up with Oakwood?”
“Oak rock ,” replied Cooper after the first gulp. “They’re legit, man. Straight up spooks and operators, only. They pay top-shelf, have the best toys you can get outside of…I was about to say ‘us’, but I guess I should say ‘you guys’, now.”
Charlie nodded. “I know, I checked ‘em out too. VIP security, foreign dignitaries, a little dirty work over in the Sandbox…”
“You spying on me, Master Chief?”
“Wipe that grin of your face−hell yes, I been spyin’ on you. Besides, LT asked me to. And…” Charlie said before swallowing a mouthful of cold beer. He raised his finger, “For the record, you taught me everything I know about raising hell and saving the day. I feel, y’know, obligated to make sure they don’t just put you out to pasture…now that you’re an old fart and all.”
“Well,” Cooper started to say, then saw a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye. Acting on instinct, his right hand whipped out and the beer flew from his hands to intersect the football aimed at Charlie’s head. “Head’s up!”
Charlie sputtered a curse through the beer foam that exploded in his
Cooper stretched out on a lounge chair, arms behind his head, eyes closed, and exhaled a sigh of contentment as he basked in the warm early autumn California sun. Winter was not that far off, but in sunny SoCal, the snow blasted memories of his youth in Michigan melted peacefully away.
Cooper sighed at the realization that he would be mustered out of the service on Monday, now that the final surgery to reconstruct his knee was complete and rehab had all but wrapped up. Honestly, he was sad to leave SEAL Team 9, but he was looking forward to starting a lucrative new career in the private-sector with Oakrock Security. A six-figure salary out the gate—they had made an offer he couldn’t possibly refuse.
Stranger things have happened , he thought. The soon-to-be retired Master Chief felt a smile split his face.
“Look at you, only a few days till you’re out and you’re already going soft.”
Cooper cracked his eyes at the voice and waited for them to adjust to the sunlight.
“Laying around in a lounge chair at 1400 hours—on a weekday —grinning like a damn civilian . And the shame of it is, just last week you were in command of a first-rate, lean, mean, terrorist killing SEAL fireteam,” said his longtime second-in-command, Charlie Marshal.
“Hey, I ain’t dead, yet. I’m still in charge,” Cooper objected, still smiling.
“In charge of a wheelchair , yeah,” laughed Charlie. “Here, gimpy, have a beer.”
Cooper grinned and sipped the ice cold brew with his eyes closed. He turned his head and shielded his eyes with a hand to see Charlie standing over him, hands on hips, his tanned physique marred with the calling cards of their shared profession. Bullet wounds, knife scars, imperfections caused by the chafing of gear or heat of fire. His chest and back were the story of his career in the Navy. Anyone with experience in the field knew right away, he wasn’t just a soldier or sailor, he was an operator . Cooper grinned. A younger version of himself.
“How’s the knee?” Charlie asked with mock concern and smacked Cooper playfully as he sat like a coiled spring in the next chair.
“Shit , knock it off!” hissed Cooper with a wince. He gingerly flexed the pink, new skin around the incision points where the surgeon had reconstructed his butchered right knee. “Damn bullet didn’t hurt half as much as that surgery did…”
“Man, you already turning into a wuss? Here I thought you were a SEAL .”
Cooper drained the beer and turned the bottle upside down as proof. “This helps. C’mon Master Chief , reload me.”
“Easy there, Hoss,” said Charlie with his hands up defensively. “So,” he said, passing Cooper another beer. “What’s up with Oakwood?”
“Oak rock ,” replied Cooper after the first gulp. “They’re legit, man. Straight up spooks and operators, only. They pay top-shelf, have the best toys you can get outside of…I was about to say ‘us’, but I guess I should say ‘you guys’, now.”
Charlie nodded. “I know, I checked ‘em out too. VIP security, foreign dignitaries, a little dirty work over in the Sandbox…”
“You spying on me, Master Chief?”
“Wipe that grin of your face−hell yes, I been spyin’ on you. Besides, LT asked me to. And…” Charlie said before swallowing a mouthful of cold beer. He raised his finger, “For the record, you taught me everything I know about raising hell and saving the day. I feel, y’know, obligated to make sure they don’t just put you out to pasture…now that you’re an old fart and all.”
“Well,” Cooper started to say, then saw a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye. Acting on instinct, his right hand whipped out and the beer flew from his hands to intersect the football aimed at Charlie’s head. “Head’s up!”
Charlie sputtered a curse through the beer foam that exploded in his
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