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Resisting (Riven Republic 2)

By H. L. Wegley

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Chapter 1
Terrebonne, Oregon, July 20, day 10 of Kate’s courtship
“As soon as we climb into that chopper, we’re headed into enemy territory.” Drew West’s voice came from directly behind David Craig who sat at the wheel of his Jeep SUV.
The huge Conestoga Wagon facade of Crooked River Espresso came into view on his right. Craig signaled to turn off Highway 97 and pushed gently on the brake pedal. “Drew, this whole world is enemy-occupied territory.”
“I guess a retired special ops commander might see things that way.” Steve Bancroft grinned as he looked Craig’s way.
“Not my words, guys. They belong to C. S. Lewis, spiritually speaking.”
“Let’s focus on something more pleasant, like Crooked River Espresso and coffee.” Kate Alexander’s voice came low but forceful, with the intensity she displayed about ninety-five percent of the time.
Zach had his hands full courting a girl like Kate, brilliant, beautiful, and ready for action, whether it came as a political argument or a firefight.
But courting … that was a problem Craig had never experienced. Maybe it wasn’t in the cards for a middle-aged, retired Army Ranger.
Craig saw a flash of red hair in the service window as he stopped beside it.
Susan O’Connell.
He looked up into her light blue eyes made even brighter by the early morning sun.
“Does everybody want the usual?” Susan scanned the faces in Craig’s jeep.
“An extra shot for me this morning,” Kate said and then yawned.
Susan grinned. “You and Zach stayed out too late last night, didn’t you?”
“Something like that. Zach found a big motor home he wants to buy.”
AJ snapped lids on two paper cups and handed them to Susan. “For Steve and Drew. Kate’s and Craig’s coming right up.”
Susan passed the cups to Craig and her grin faded. “Is this a good idea?”
“Coffee is always a good idea, Susan.”
She poked him in the shoulder. “You know what I meant.”
AJ tapped Susan’s shoulder and then handed her the other two cups.
Susan gave Craig Kate’s cup and he passed it to her in the back seat. When he turned and took his cup, Susan leaned out of the window, nearly falling out.
She curled an arm around his neck, steadied herself, and gave him a warm hug. “You be careful over there in lefty land, David.” She withdrew her arm slowly, tentatively.
What was she—”
A jab in the shoulder jolted Craig.
It was Steve’s jab. “Dude, you missed your chance.”
Craig’s face grew hot, almost as hot as his right hand still holding the cup of steaming hot coffee. But no way was he going to let his weapons expert know that the razzing had accomplished its intended purpose.
He gave Steve the best glare he could muster, dropped the coffee cup into the holder, then turned his attention back to the tall, slender redhead with concern creasing her forehead.
“Don’t worry, Susan. We’ve got a full-coverage insurance policy.” He stuck out a thumb, pointing at Kate, the governor’s niece. “Besides, Governor Harper’s had a real change of heart since President Walker tried to assassinate her.”
“Knowing your political allies want you dead will do that,” Kate said.
Susan dipped her head slowly. “But Salem’s still packed with Walker supporters who haven’t had a change of heart, Oregon’s deep state. It’s a dangerous place, David.”
Drew craned his neck toward the window to make eye contact with Susan. “Don’t worry. I’ve got his back, and we’ll bring him safely home after we sign that peace treaty with the hostiles.”
Kate leaned toward the window from her position in the back seat. “Chuck Norris has his back, and I’ll keep Aunt Sandy in line, Susan. She needs this agreement as much as we do.”
Craig pulled away from the service window, ending the awkward discussion and comments. “Time to drink your coffee. We board Baker’s bird in twenty minutes.”
When they arrived at the Madras airport, it appeared that militia member, Army vet, and now their pilot, Radley Baker, had just finished refueling the Bell 407 which was on loan from a grateful Governor Harper.
Baker had saved Harper’s life by confiscating her helicopter and flying her to a trauma center in Bend.
Craig noticed Kate fiddling with the gun tucked in the holster against her back. “Remember, if you bring your weapons, they stay in the bird when we get out at the conference center. We go in unarmed as a sign we’re negotiating in good faith.”
He parked the Jeep.
In another five minutes, they had all buckled in onboard the Bell 407 as Baker fiddled with the controls.
Craig pulled his headset on and positioned it comfortably over his ears.
The engine whined its start-up complaint and revved until the helicopter lifted and tilted forward.
“Next stop, Silver Falls Conference Center,” Baker’s voice came through the audio system as the ground receded rapidly.
Baker turned to the right and they sped westward with the snowcapped peak of Mount Jefferson looming in front of them.
In a few minutes, the peak towered above them on the left as Baker cut across the north shoulder of the volcanic peak.
The nervous chatter had ended, and Craig used the time to review the main points of his offer to aid the Oregon Guard while the militia defended Eastern Oregon from federal attacks.
President Walker’s previous attempts were utter failures. The next time, the militia and the Governor’s Guard should expect the worst, an all-out attempt to wipe out Oregon’s military defenses and to place the state under federal control via martial law.
* * *
Though she had tried to kill him a few days ago, Governor Sandra Harper knew that Colonel Craig was a man of honor, a man of his word. She could trust him with her life. She already had but was unconscious much of that time, so it hadn’t been her decision to allow him to fly her to a trauma center after President Walker’s assassination attempt failed … barely.
She tapped the shoulder of her security team leader sitting in the front seat of the big sedan. “How much longer until we get there, Mike?”
“It’s about ten miles, so maybe fifteen minutes, governor.”
She settled back in her seat, but her nerves would not settle. This day should be a day that would bring a measure of relief as she signed an agreement with a powerful ally, Craig’s militia. Sandra Harper would no longer be going it alone against the most powerful man in the world, President Wendell Walker.
She jumped when her official phone rang its annoying tone. “Governor Harper.”
“Governor, this is Airman Gore in the Western Air Defense Sector Headquarters.”
It was the voice of a young woman. And why would—reality slapped hard and her heart revved as she iterated through the possible reasons for the call. None of them were good.
“Go ahead, Airman Gore.”
“I may get in trouble for making this call, but I thought you should know. I just alerted the command post of the 142nd Fighter Wing in Portland about a suspicious military plane headed your general direction.”
“What military plane? Where was it coming from?”
“Ma’am, it is a Growler out of Whidbey Naval Air Station. We tried to contact it, but it wouldn’t acknowledge, and it just kept flying south. I’ve got a bad feeling about this plane.”
Her phone alarm signaled another call coming in. “Thank you, Airman Gore. I have another call that I need to answer.”
“It’s probably the fighter wing. They can fill you in with the details. Goodbye, Governor, and good luck.”
She answered the incoming call. “Governor Harper.”
“Governor, this is Colonel Adam Staten, 142nd Fighter Wing, in Portland. We were just notified about an unidentified, suspicious, and potentially dangerous aircraft headed your way. I scrambled one of our F-15 Eagles and he has it on his radar.”
Was she in danger?
Kate!
Sandra’s heart hit its red line. Kate, Craig, and the others were probably crossing the mountains in that helicopter right now.
“Colonel Staten, my niece and a militia commander are flying to meet me at a location near Salem. They are in a Bell 407 helicopter. Is it possible that—”
“Madam Governor, that appears to be the target of the Growler. That aircraft carries AIM-120D missiles. It can fire from over thirty miles away.”
“We’ve got to stop it.”
“Keep in mind we would be taking down a U.S. military aircraft, governor.”
“I understand. Can you patch me through to that pilot?”
“If you’re sure that—”
“I’m sure, colonel. Put me through.”
“Putting you through now, governor. Wishing you good luck.”
Static came through her phone, then it stopped.
“Governor, Captain Musselmann in Eagle 4, at your service, ma’am.”
“Captain, a Bell 407 is crossing the Cascades about now with my niece on board and some important people coming to attend a defense planning meeting on the west side. After the president’s attempt on my life, I—I believe they are in danger.”
“And I believe you are right, governor. I have the Growler on radar, and it looks like it’s flying a route to intercept the 407. The Growler can fire it’s missiles from more than thirty miles away, so we’ve only got a couple of minutes, governor.”
“As commander of the Oregon Air Guard, I’m giving you permission, captain, to take down that Growler if it threatens the helicopter.”
“Running down the growler now. Changing frequency to contact Growler. Will be back shortly, governor.”
Kate’s life was on the line and the lives of other good people too. Was she a fool for asking them to fly to Western Oregon?
Thirty seconds passed. It seemed more like an hour.
The captain returned. “I caught the Growler and tried to make radio contact, governor, but he’s not responding. I told him he shouldn’t be this far south and suggested he turn back to Whidbey. He’s proceeding southward toward that Bell 407 and he refuses to reply. That’s not a good sign.”
Unless she took the extreme action of destroying the Growler, Sandra would never see her niece, Kate, again. She could not let that happen.
“What do you think the Growler will do?”
“Governor, Growlers carry AIM-120D air-to-air missiles. They are fire and forget. He can fire any time now, so there’s no guarantee he won’t fire even if I attempted to shoot him down. And if he fires, we can forget about the Bell 407.”
This couldn’t be really happening. But President Walker was real enough. And the reality was he wanted them all dead. He’d already proved that. “Isn’t there anything you can do to stop the Growler?”
“Blue on blue loss.”
“And what does that mean, captain?”
“I can shoot down one of our own planes, governor. Are you ready to give me that order? If you do, who’s going to back me up when they try to court-martial me for it?”
“What other options do we have?”
“Who’s the pilot on the helicopter?”
“A militia pilot named Baker.”
“Fire and forget was developed so missiles would live up to that name. But I can warn Baker and then use my radar system to try to help him avoid the attack. It’s a longshot, and I need to hurry. Changing frequency now to contact Baker.”
Please, keep Kate safe.
* * *
Craig woke from his musings and sat up in his seat when a strange voice came through the sound system.
“Eagle 4 to Bell 407. Baker, do you read me?”
“Bell 407, Baker here. Who is me, Eagle 4?”
“Me is Captain Musselmann. I’m an Oregon Air Guard in an F-15, scrambled on orders from Governor Harper. Baker, you've got a Navy Growler about to intercept you. It's armed and dangerous. I'm on its tail, but its pilot will not acknowledge me.”
“What should I do, Eagle 4?”
“Consider evasive action. At this range, the missile will bleed off a little speed—”
“Missile? Say again, Eagle 4.”
“As I said, if the Growler fires its missile, at this distance it will slow down some before impact giving you a better chance. But, Baker, the kill rate for a jet at thirty-five miles is sixty-three percent. For a helicopter it’s—”
“I get your message, captain.”
“Look for something you can circle behind.”
“All that’s near are mountain peaks. I just passed Mount Jefferson.”
“Baker, a mountain is too big. You need something like—”
“Like a rock spire?”
“Yes. A thick rock spire. You and the spire need to appear as one at the moment of impact, preferably with the rock between you and the missile. I can direct you using my radar systems, but the air-to-air missile will be incoming at over two thousand miles-per-hour. This is very dicey, Baker, but I’ll do my best.”
“Me too, Eagle 4.”
“I’m fifty-five miles out at 340 degrees, and I’m on the Growler’s tail. Holy crud! He just fired an AIM-120! Now he’s turning toward home. We’re at forty miles, you have roughly sixty seconds before impact. I’ve got both you and the missile on my doppler radar. I can keep you there. Ground clutter is not an issue. They fired the AIM a little beyond max range. Use terrain features to avoid it. That’s your only chance.”
“Copy, Eagle 4. Looking for someplace to hide. Wait. Maybe there is a place, Spire Rock, straight ahead. Hang on, everyone.”
The wop, wop turned into a roar as the chopper sped ahead.
“What’s Spire Rock?” Craig asked.
“I climbed it when I was a teenager. I think it’s only a couple of miles ahead. We just have to beat the missile there and then hope we can time it so we cut around the rock when the missile arrives.”
“You need to be 160 degrees from the rock. Baker,” Musselmann said. “That should shield you from the AIM. You’ve got thirty seconds.”
“Understand, Eagle 4. Trying for the rock spire. Would appreciate it if you could help us time our cut around the rock.”
“We’re praying for you, Baker.” Kate’s voice.
“I will give you what I believe are your final ten seconds. You need to go lower than the top of the spire. If the missile hits the rock, you don’t want pieces of rock taking you down.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir, I don’t. There’s the spire. Hang on, everybody, we’re gonna be brushing the treetops.”
“Get ready, Baker. Ten … nine … eight … seven … six … five … four … three …”
Craig’s stomach flipped and flopped when Baker dropped at least a hundred feet then banked hard to the right.
“Two … one … may God be with you, Baker.”
A thump sounded above the roar of the chopper. They had brushed a tree.
An explosion of light blinded Craig.
Like a giant hammer, the force of the detonated missile hit the helicopter, pounding it away from the rock and spinning it around in the air.
Craig slammed against the door.
Debris splatted against the chopper’s fuselage, but the bird was still on its rotating wing.
Craig surveyed the front of the Bell 407. No holes in front of him. He looked back and saw blue sky through a six-inch hole in the fuselage … a foot behind Kate’s head.
But focusing on anything had become difficult as the 407 whipped back and forth.
Baker fought the controls and his eyes darted between the windshield and the instrument panel.
The tail swung to the left, then back to the right.
Baker hit the throttle and the chopper surged ahead and straightened. “Is everybody okay?”
“Yeah,” Drew said. “But Kate might not be if she turns around.”
“What do you mean?” Kate twisted in her seat to look behind her. “Good grief. A rock came through and it’s lying behind my seat.”
Static came through the speaker followed by Musselmann’s voice. “Baker, I still have you on my radar. You must have made it. How’s the bird?”
“Captain, thanks to your timing and your radar, we drew the missile right into that big rock spire. Looks like it blew the top off a good climbing rock. Climbers won’t be happy, but we are.”
“Any damage?”
“One hole in the fuselage that I know of. Maybe some smaller ones we can’t see. Missed everything that mattered. Are we safe now?”
“You’re safe from the Growler. It headed north toward Whidbey. The federal forces, maybe their commander-in-chief, sent it. But you can thank a young air guardsman from Tacoma. She knew immediately that the Growler was up to no good and alerted us, otherwise …”
“Yeah, otherwise,” Baker said. “We’re heading on to our destination. I’ll check this bird out once we’re on the ground. Thanks again, Captain Musselmann. You saved our lives and probably a lot more that I’m not at liberty to disclose.”
“Just doing my job, Baker. You take care. This eagle’s heading back to the aerie. Eagle 4 out.”
“Like Susan told Craig, lefty land is a dangerous place,” Kate said.
“Somebody knew we were going to be flying today,” Baker said.
“Yeah.” Craig pinched his chin for a moment then nodded. “I think the governor has a mole at Mahonia Hall. And we need to have a serious talk about that as soon as we land.”
“It’s already on her agenda,” Kate said.
Drew turned toward Kate. “And how would you know?”
“Like Aunt Sandy said, I’m more like her than I am my own mother.”
Craig twisted in his seat to look at Drew. “One of these days, Drew, you’ll learn not to argue with my intelligence analyst.”
“So you’re really going to pull her off coffee duty to analyze our meager data?”
“Our meager data now includes everything we get from Salem. But what we get from Salem can’t be trusted until we find and eliminate that mole.”
“Or moles,” Kate added.
“That’s another topic for our agenda,” Craig said. “Is it feasible for Governor Harper to continue flipping the state to red when the biggest players in her staff are elected, not appointed, so they can’t be replaced by the governor? Leftists.” Craig snorted his derision. “All their heads are green and their hands are blue.”
“Green and blue, but we aren’t talking Seahawks fans.” Steve chuckled. “Too bad they didn’t go to sea in a sieve.”
“A sieve. Do you mean like the USS Colander?” Drew laughed.
“It may take a little coercion, but maybe we and the governor can figure out how to christen the USS Colander and put Oregon’s deep state onboard,” Craig said.
“Green heads, blue hands, sieves—that’s a lot of mumbo jumbo and nonsense, if you ask me,” Baker said.
“Not mumbo jumbo. It’s the jumblies, Baker. Nonsense political poetry about radical left jumblies,” Kate said. “And one or more of them almost got us killed today.”
“If that’s what they did today, then I can hardly wait for tomorrow,” Baker said.
Craig shot Baker a sharp glance. “After what just happened, let’s pray we get a chance at tomorrow.”

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