Slow Collapse 4: Conclusions, page 14
Ryan took point, sensing something was up with Nathan. Heading down in a single file, their boots echoing on the stone steps, they spiraled deeper under the building. At one point the team came across an old wooden door set into the wall. Opening it, they found a small room, its walls lined with various weapons and torture devices.
"This isn’t good," Viper remarked, as he looked around, his gaze landing on the dark stains covering the floor and walls of the small room. By the color of the stains, he could tell that some were very old while others were pretty fresh and felt sorry for the poor tortured souls whose lives had most likely ended in this room of horrors.
"Fear is a great tool," Nathan commented as the team closed the door and continued their journey into the bowels of hell.
Finally reaching the bottom of the stairwell, the team came to another wooden door. Nathan motioned for Doom to check for enemies and explosives. Doom sniffed the small opening and along the sides of the door, then sat down and looked at Nathan, giving the signal that it was all clear.
Nathan carefully opened the door, cringing at the slight creak of the old, iron hinges. The hallway beyond headed in two directions, both dimly lit by a single strand of bulbs suspended from the arched stone ceiling and illuminating old, iron torches hanging on the rough stone walls. It reminded him of pictures of the tunnels and cellars in the early castles of Romania and Scotland. There was a dark, depressing feel to the tunnels that gave Nathan the impression he was one of the medieval dungeons he had read about as a child. Taking direction from Irina, the team headed down the left-hand tunnel.
The deeper Nathan and his team ventured into the old, medieval, fortress tunnels, the darker and more oppressive the environment seemed to get. The ancient stonework seemed to close in on them the further they traveled. Strange, dark stains dotted the walls and floors, and the air was heavy with an unnatural smell that they couldn’t identify.
As the passage once again split into two directions, Nathan felt sweat begin to trickle down the back of his neck and the hairs on his arms stood on end. Something about the entire situation just didn't feel right. Doom stayed alert at Nathan’s side, occasionally letting out a low growl, the hair on his back sticking up as if he too, could sense danger ahead.
To the right, the tunnel veered slightly downwards before meeting a flight of stairs going deeper into the earth. From his position at the intersection, Nathan could see the stairs had deep gouges worn into them, but they didn't seem to be from water runoff or normal foot traffic. These scratches were from something much heavier than a human. As his mind struggled to grasp what could have made the odd markings, he noticed the distinct, thick pools of dried blood on the stairs. He paused just long enough for Viper to catch up. Just as Nathan and Viper took a step toward the bloody stairs, Doom growled low in his throat and moved to block their passage, all but shoving the two men in the opposite direction.
"Well, at least we know which way to go now," Ryan commented, his gallows humor breaking the tension. "Dude, the dog is staring at the left passage and he definitely doesn’t want you going that way!”
"All right. Good enough for me," Nathan agreed without hesitation.
A short distance down the left-hand passage, the team slowed down as they came upon the opening to a large, well-lit room. Stopping suddenly, they quickly crouched down and observed the scene in front of them. One side of the room was full of debris from the destroyed elevator and soldiers were busy clearing the remnants of the wreckage. A pile of body bags lined one wall. On the other side of the room guarding a doorway were four Spetsnaz soldiers.
"Time to earn our pay," Nathan grumbled as the first shots rang out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
OUTSIDE ASHLAND
WISCONSIN
The victory in Ashland had barely ended, but Bradley, along with Walker, had wasted no time gathering their battered militia, in a hurry to take the fight to the Soviets, on their terms. Their quest for vengeance was bolstered by the arrival of more troops, and the air support that Walker had called for had finally arrived. It wasn't much in the way of air support, one transport chopper, and one Apache attack chopper, but it would be enough.
The ragtag militia, aided by the National Guard, headed north. After the losing attack on Ashland, the Soviets retreated, heading back along the route from which they had come. If Bradley and Walker had been able to recon a little sooner, they would have caught the Soviets moving north on the frozen waters of Lake Superior. Instead, they had waited until the town had been reinforced with fresh troops. Now, the Soviets were holed up on what was known as the Apostle Islands, a chain of islands in Lake Superior, just offshore and slightly north of Ashland.
"Like shooting fish in a barrel," Walker commented as the lone Apache flew overhead. The plan was for the Apache to level any remaining armor or vehicles as well as troops. Then, a quick trip by the militia to "clean up", and the town would finally be secure.
It took less than ten minutes for the Apache to level the Soviet camp to the ground before the pilot radioed the all-clear for Bradley’s militia to mop up. The local team, led by Sergeant Walker, descended on the burning island.
"Fire on anything that moves," Bradley informed his men.
"Keep eyes out for anyone American," Walker advised. "Reports from some of the other towns were they had prisoners in some of the supply trucks and passenger vehicles."
Minutes passed into hours as the teams worked their way across the island. They came across little pockets of Soviet soldiers trying to hide but when confronted none of the Soviet troops surrendered or gave up. Those left fought as if their very fate relied on killing every American, but eventually, they all went down.
From just a hint a month ago of things to come to what had finally become a three-tiered nightmare, the siege of Ashland was over. The town had sustained heavy damage, and many lives were lost, but in the end, they prevailed.
Later that day, Bradley sat at the compound with Christine, weary and tired. His face was nothing like it had been before all of this started. Every new line showed the stress he had been under, as if time had sped up and a decade had passed instead of just a few months.
Christine, ever the loving woman she was, embraced Bradley as he began to sob. So much loss, so much death. It was too much for him to handle, and he broke down. War does something to a human, it changes them. Fundamentally different, the Bradley of today wasn't even a memory of the man Christine had met all those months ago. He had been hardened but the loving, shy man she had first met was not completely lost to her yet.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, stroking his hair as he cried.
The stress of war had pushed him to his limits, and he couldn't hold it in anymore. Here, in her arms, he could finally let his guard down. He let go of his pain and his fear. He knew the worst was over. The Soviet army had been defeated, and the threat to his adopted hometown was gone. But there was still a lingering sadness, an emptiness inside him. It was a hole Christine wasn't sure she could fill.
They both had survived immense pressure and unthinkable times. But together they would survive the aftermath.
"I love you," she whispered in his ear.
"I love you too," Bradley choked out. Every word uttered as if his life depended on her hearing the words.
"No, look at me," Christine said, her voice low and serious.
Bradley pulled his head up and wiped away the tears on his face.
"I never knew a love like this could exist," she began. "Until you. You, Bradley, showed me that it does. You gave everything you had to protect me and defend me. You risked your very soul for this town. You gave everything you had for others, and I am one of those others. I am one of the ones you saved, in so many ways."
"I am alive because of you, and I don't mean I'm breathing. Inside of me, I am alive. The despair I have suffered through would have destroyed a normal person, and yet I am not broken. The only thing that saved me from that despair was you. You are my reason to live. You are my everything, and I love you more than words can say."
With that, she kissed him. It wasn't a hard, hormone-filled kiss, but a tender, love-filled kiss. Love, she thought. That's what they had fought so hard for. Love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MOSCOW
RUSSIA
Shards of concrete from the bullet that impacted the wall way too close to his head dug into Nathan's face and he let out a grunt as blood began flowing down his cheek.
"This ain't good," Nathan barked as he sent hate downrange.
Doom, crouched by his side, whimpered slightly. Nathan quickly looked down to see the big dog was also bleeding.
“Easy boy,” Nathan whispered as he lined up his next shot.
"One shot, one kill," he heard over his radio. It was Andy, reminding his team to conserve their ammo. “No ammo drops this far underground,” he managed to joke, even during battle.
Federov’s room was surrounded by at least a dozen Spetznas soldiers. As Nathan surveyed the scene, he could see, through the partially open door of what appeared to be a hospital room, Federov lying on a gurney, a thick wad of gauze wrapped around his neck. Medics were feverishly trying to get him moved out of the line of fire.
One of the Spetznas soldiers barked at the medics, and Irina came over the radio, interpreting the orders from the soldiers and informing the team that the medics had been instructed to wheel him out of there.
Nathan wasn't going to have any of that. "No fucking way," he said as he laid down fire to cover for Ryan, who was moving towards him, trying to get a better position.
In horror, Nathan watched as Ryan collapsed like a rag doll, mowed down by over a half dozen rounds.
"NOOOOOOO!!!!!" Nathan shouted as he shifted his sights to the Soviet soldier who had appeared from nowhere and killed Ryan. Three quick rounds from Nathan’s rifle stitched the soldier from his crotch to his head. He dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
"RPG!" Nathan barked, pointing to the distinctive tube in the hands of one of the few remaining Soviet soldiers.
A sharp hiss, followed by an explosion, rocked the chamber as the men were rocked by the blast coming from the tunnel behind them. The RPG had fired out of the room and down the long hallway, sending more shrapnel and dust to further obscure the area.
"Got him," Viper said into his radio. "Tango down."
"Get Federov!" Irina screamed into the radio.
Nathan, still recovering from the shock wave of the explosion turned to see the team of medics had used the distraction of the RPG to wheel Federov out of the room and down another hallway
"I got him! Cover me!" Nathan yelled into the radio. "Let's go, Doom."
Nathan jumped up, firing three more rounds before ejecting his magazine and inserting a new one before the empty even hit the floor. With Doom at his feet, Nathan charged down the corridor after Federov.
Bullets impacted all around him and stone and concrete chips flew into his face. More blood, this time from his neck. He reached up to check the wound, but all he felt was blood, a lot of it.
Still, he pushed on, shooting three men who stood in his way. One shot, one dead Spetznas soldier. Another popped into his view. Nathan hit him with two shots center mass, and the man went down.
By the time Nathan reached the other side of the room, the hallway was nearly clear of Soviet soldiers. And for good reason. Nathan looked like a rampaging devil was chasing him and he wasn't slowing down. Had Federov been conscious, he would have feared that hell's gates had opened, and Nathan was the first person to come charging through the doors and out of hell.
More shooting from a different direction, and this time the bullets found their mark. One hit Nathan in his arm, while the other hit him in the dead center of his chest. His armor, and Doom, saved him long enough to finish the job they had come here to do.
As Nathan returned fire, Doom raced towards the soldiers in a fury known only to the devil himself. A mass of fur and fangs leaped towards the enemy, and Nathan heard another shot, followed by an agonized yelp from his beloved Doom.
"Fuckers!" Nathan snarled, managing to pull himself up and kill the few remaining guards.
Stumbling towards the stretcher, Nathan could see that Federov was indeed awake.
"Oh, this is too good," Nathan grunted as he approached the wounded man.
Federov's eyes were wide with fear as he tried to choke out words. Only gurgles and spurts of blood came out of his mouth.
"You know English, don't you, prick?" Nathan growled with venom in his voice. "This, you sack of shit, is for every American who suffered because of your greed and lust for power," Nathan said as he pulled his knife from its sheath.
Rage boiled through Nathan’s veins, lending him just enough strength to slowly slide the razor-sharp blade across Federov’s throat, finishing the job that the steel rod from the destroyed elevator had started. Blood pouring from his neck, Federov fought weakly against the restraints holding him to the gurney.
"Die like a dog you fucker," Nathan snarled in Federov’s face, watching as the life faded from Federov’s eyes.
Knowing his mission had been accomplished, Nathan slowly slid down the gurney to the floor. His eyes fluttered a bit as he watched Andy approaching at a run, weapon still up and alert for danger. Andy knelt next to his old friend and grabbed Nathan’s hand.
"Never out of the fight. Oorah," Andy said in a near whisper, leaning close as Nathan started to slip away.
Nathan's lips parted ever so slightly, as he took his last breath. "Dooooom," he barely got out, a final plea for Andy to take care of Nathan’s best friend.
Nathan could swear he saw Shawn just before the darkness overtook him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THE KREMLIN
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
Irina sat at her new desk, the one that had been used by her father and all of the presidents before him. She looked straight at the camera and waited for her cue.
"Men and women of the world," she said as the light above the camera turned red. "Nations of the world. I am Irina Virganskaya, the daughter of Mikhail Gorbachev. I come to you today from the Kremlin, where I have seized power from Sergei Federov. Federov is dead, and I have recalled all Russian forces home, effective immediately."
"The dictatorship of Federov is over, and the Russian people, as well as their government, agree to accept whatever sanctions are deemed necessary by the world in reparation for the atrocities committed by the Federov Regime."
"I ask the people of the world to understand that the events of the past few months were perpetrated by one man and his lackeys, not by the Russian people who have also suffered under his boot for far too long."
"I hope the world will work together, with Russia by their side, to rebuild, and that one day, the former republics of the Soviet Union will realize the fruits of our labors.”
"To the terrorists who helped perpetrate this unspeakable horror, we ask for peace. To the nations who opposed us, a truce, and to the people of Russia, our time of happiness and freedom will come, as a partner with the rest of the free world."
"Thank you."
Irina bowed her head, and the live feed cut off. It was on all of the major news feeds within seconds, and there was an unmistakable gasp that seemed to reverberate around the globe as the entire world stopped to try and comprehend the new direction for Russia.
All the plans and schemes that Federov had executed were finally being exposed. On her first full day in office, after speaking to the entire world, Irina went out and began working with the Russian people. The Kremlin was no longer hiding behind its big steel doors. Nothing would ever be the same again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
FOUR MONTHS LATER
CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN, COLORADO
President Masters looked twenty years older than he had before the war began. His health was failing, but that didn't stop him from doing what needed to be done. The war might be over, but the rebuilding had barely started and there was a long, hard road ahead for America.
The Eastern Seaboard looked nothing like what it had before the Soviet invasion. Instead of the serene beauty of the countryside, large, ugly craters gouged out by artillery shells dotted the landscape. Many of the forested areas had been reduced to ashes and the majority of the larger cities lay in ruins. Thousands of people were homeless and subject to living in whatever conditions Mother Nature decided to throw at them. The death toll continued to rise, even after the last shot of the war was fired.
Cities like New York, Philadelphia, Boston, and Washington DC, were smoldering hunks of trash, while the countryside to the north and east was still smoking from residual fires.
It was all Masters could do to keep things going forward. Along with the physical rebuilding of America, he had to somehow recreate the entire governmental system. The entire US Congress had been lost to the war, thus initiating a massive nationwide vote to replace those leaders. In many states, before they could elect congressional replacements, they first had to elect a governor.
The halls of power in Washington were no more. The seat of government for the United States of America was now in Colorado, at NORAD. It made sense because it was the safest place they had until Washington could be rebuilt. The Supreme Court was no more, and many federal judiciary seats were also empty. President Masters couldn't even begin to think of replacing judges until he knew who might remain that was qualified to fill those seats.
Although the country was in shambles, one good thing had come of it. The people of America had come together in her greatest hour of need. People, who only weeks before, had been at each other’s throats, were now working side by side, picking up the debris in cities like Nashville, Atlanta, New York, Boston, and many others across the country. Heavy equipment had been found and transported to every major city to start the cleanup process, while people from the surrounding countryside, who had somehow survived, offered their services the best they could.
