Текст книги "The Battle for New York"

Автор книги: T. I. Wade

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INVASION USA II

THE BATTLE FOR NEW YORK

By

T. I. Wade

INVASION USA II. Copyright © 2011 by T I Wade.

All Rights Reserved.

Published in the United States of America.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Triple T Productions Inc., 200 Grayson Senters Way, Fuquay Varina, NC 27526.

http://www.TIWADE.com

Triple T ProducTions, Inc. books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use. For information please write: Triple T Productions Inc., 200 Grayson Senters Way, Fuquay Varina, NC 27526.

Library of Congress Catalogue-in-Publication Data

Wade, T I INVASION USA II / T I Wade.—1st ed.

eNovel EDITION – March 2012

Cover design by Jack Hillman, Hillman Design Group, Sedona, AZ

eBook editions by eBooks by Barb for booknook.biz

To our Readers:

Thank you all for reading “INVASION USA I – The End of Modern Civilization.”

Did you know that half of this story has already turned from Fiction to Fact?

Check this out:

To the Author,

Here is an article on how US Weapons are full of “Fake Chinese Parts”. A survey found 1,800 fake electronic parts with 70% originating in China. It states this is just the tip of the iceberg. Your new book, Invasion USA may actually turn into reality!

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/northamerica/usa/8876656/US-weapons-full-of-fake-Chinese-parts.html

Preston – Harnett County, North Carolina – November 17, 2011.

So hone that hunter’s knife of yours – you just might need it!

Strap in and get ready for a sweaty ride!

Note from the Author:

This novel is only a story—a story of fiction that could, or might come true sometime in the future.

The people in this story are all are fictitious, but since the story takes place in our present day, some of the people mentioned could be real people.

No names have been given to these people and there were no thoughts to treat these people as good or bad people. Just people who are living at the time the story is written.

Are you ready to survive a life-changing moment that could turn your life upside-down sometime in the near future?

Read on and find out!

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1:

Captain Mike Mallory – Escape from New York

Chapter 2:

‘Z’ Day 2 – Salt Lake City – Lee Wang – Satellites

Chapter 3:

North Carolina – Preparations for an Attack

Chapter 4:

‘Z’ Day 3 – The First Official Meeting of the New World

Chapter 5:

The First Attack

Chapter 6:

‘Z’ Day 4 – It’s Time to Hit Back

Chapter 7:

JFK – New York

Chapter 8:

Where are the Hit Squads?

Chapter 9:

China

Chapter 10:

Flight to Alaska

Chapter 11:

JFK – Major Joe Patterson

Chapter 12:

The Hit Squads

Chapter 13:

‘Z’ Day 7 – China Attacked

Chapter 14:

‘Z’ Day 8 – The Beginning of the Second Week

Chapter 15:

The Beginning of the End

Chapter 16:

The Lull before the Storm

Chapter 17:

Preparation for INVASION USA

Chapter 18:

INVASION USA – The Battle for New York

Prologue

Some people got it together and some people never would.

The worst areas were in the north of the country, although many houses did still have heat—mostly gas. The older houses with gas systems, which were purely mechanical-feed units directly from an outside tank to the house worked better. Unfortunately, many of the existing gas lines were controlled through the house’s electric heating systems. The gas still was in abundance but the electronics didn’t work.

Some houses had electrical house heaters and used gas as a backup, others had gas, which could be fed into fireplaces or small gas heaters. The only systems that still worked were the most simple. In many houses, where four to six people used to live, 30 to 40 people were crammed into them. Hundreds of thousands of gas cylinders of all types, as well as simple gas heaters found in the local Home Depot, Lowe’s, Wal-Mart or Ace Hardware store were cleaned out within hours on the second day.

As whole streets of people moved into one or two houses, bringing food with them to barter for heat and warmth, a new system in America began to grow. People began to live in protective communes where cash was worthless and heat and food were king.

For the people who could never change, they either died very quickly by freezing to death in their beds, or were murdered by others who also could not change and were bad in good times and even worse in bad times. These people, mostly young males, organized squads and gangs and started killing for warmth, food, or even something that had no value any more—money and iPhones.

An arctic blast hit areas of the Dakotas just after midnight on the second day and moved all the way across the Great Lakes Region by morning, piling up more windswept snow against the houses and freezing thousands by the hour. Wind chill was again the main enemy and the temperatures dropped into the minus thirties in some areas. Anyone who could not find warm shelter was dead by daylight.

With all these people living and keeping warm together, the sanitary systems couldn’t handle the new conditions. Nobody was working at the other end of the sewer lines and the waste cleaning centers and streets began to clog up, toilets couldn’t flush, there was no water, and no more room in the outlet pipes the houses used. It was apparent to most that the next crisis could be disease in the northern parts of the country. If the cold didn’t kill them, and they didn’t succumb to the escalating violence around them, the chances were growing high that unsanitary conditions would begin to impact them.

In densely populated areas of Canada, and U.S. regions just south of the Canadian border, numbers were decreasing so quickly that it was entirely possible that they would experience a 50% loss of human life by the end of the first week. And nobody was coming to save them.

Every vehicle still running and the people in them who couldn’t find a warm place to stay, headed south on the major snowbound highways—many with nothing more than the gas in their tanks, which gave them about 300 miles at the most with the vehicle’s heater on at full power.

With no snowplows to clear the roads, the conditions were treacherous, and many skidded off the icy roads and couldn’t get any further. There, the occupants had to find new shelter or perish once their heaters stopped working.

Many of the survivalist-types found farm houses or rural communities where they were accepted and taken into the warmth of the homes, often dealing with frostbite on several parts of their bodies.

Chapter 1

Captain Mike Mallory – Escape from New York

Captain Mallory was working hard. It had been exactly twenty four hours since he had taxied to the end of the runway at La Guardia and waited to be cleared for take-off. They had been running 30 minutes late on their flight down to Reagan International in Washington, with airport authorities de-icing the aircraft for ice build-up only an hour earlier.

There were well over 100 boxes waiting for what he thought were their customs clearance—either incoming or outgoing. What interested him were the military vehicles and several of the military looking boxes heading out of the country.

Many of the passengers did not want to take part in the search, several complaining that it was against the law to look inside what did not belong to them. The captain understood and agreed philosophically with the passengers, but what he had seen out of the window made him certain that there wasn’t much chance of being saved by orderly troops or police coming down the street. The passengers hadn’t seen the devastation of the aircraft in the skies above New York the way he had witnessed the destruction through the cockpit window. There had been many aircraft with hundreds of passengers each, exploding and crashing into each other. The passengers had only seen the world around their flight and he knew they did not understand what was really happening outside.

An angry passenger shouted to the flight crew helping the captain that he was an important government official and nothing should be touched; they were breaking the law and everybody should just sit tight until the government, police or Army came and rescued them. He was adamant that they should just sit down and leave the property alone. It belonged to the U.S. Government and he would see that there were repercussions once help arrived.

John, the co-pilot, got angry and asked him if he would like to go and get help. He would be happy to open the door for him and he could bring back the U.S. Cavalry anytime he wished. The bleating man grew quiet and blended back into the crowd of passengers.

The cases weren’t badly broken, just opened gently with crowbars, and the higher cases were brought down with the fully-operational gas-powered forklift and checked for food or weapons. So far, every case had been packed with electrical gadgets. There were large wooden boxes full of toys, iPhones, and every other type of communication tools by the thousands—new and shiny plastics commodities that were now useless to them. One case, however, had red, Chinese-made 5-gallon gas canisters which might come in useful.

Captain Mallory looked at his Rolex. It was ten minutes to midnight when they got back to the military vehicles and the nine cases in that area that had military insignia and markings on them. These cases were uniform in size and were about three feet by nine feet and packed three high on long pallets.

The co-pilot, now qualified enough to ‘fly’ a forklift, brought the first of three military cases down from the top rack. The first wooden case was hard to open. The wood was at least an inch thick and the box was built well.

With considerable pressure on the crowbar, they finally opened it, and the captain moved away light straw packing to find a 9-foot long missile of some sort sleeping peacefully inside. It looked sleek and deadly, and there were at least a dozen of them in the case. It was certainly not something to be close to if this building went up in flames.

The second and third cases on the top tier were brought down and revealed the same contents. He thought about leaving the other six alone, when he noticed that the numbers on the cases in the second tier were different. John brought the first case down and the captain found what he was looking for—weapons. They had found the best, a case of brand new M4 carbines with all their fancy attachments. Captain Mallory and his co-pilot had been briefed on these weapons as part of their anti-terrorist training with the airline, and they had completed a two-day course on firing M16s and M4s—a shorter barreled weapon that might show up in cockpits as protection sometime in the future.

There were five new and complete M4s in separate boxes in the case, on top of hundreds of boxes of ammunition. There were also boxes of night sights and single rifle grenades—just what he wanted to arm his crew with.

The problem was that there were six cases of them, and all he wanted was a few of the weapons. He knew that the bad elements out on the street would have a field day with these if they came across them. This pile of military equipment would certainly go up with a pretty loud bang if fire ever got into this area. The boxes had been destined for Somalia. He found himself questioning why these materials were being sent there, of all places, but he knew it was not up to him to question. Suddenly, however, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up—there could be hundreds of other military supplies in the warehouses around here. His mind was made up. They were definitely leaving in the morning.

Smoke and the smell of fire and burning debris was getting worse outside. The passenger lookout on the second floor came down to give a report. Captain Mallory walked back with the girl, looked out of the second story window, and saw that the horizon above the buildings on the opposite side off the street to the north was getting brighter and brighter. Was it the sun or was it fire? He couldn’t tell, but they could now work better with the brighter light coming through the windows.

Captain Mallory suggested to the couple of dozen of faithful helpers around him—his crew and many of the male passengers—that it was time to get the contents of at least one case of guns to the vehicles, then get the fuel through the door and pump as much into the five vehicles’ fuel tanks as possible. Any remaining gas in the drums could then be lifted into the SWAT trucks. John, the co-pilot reminded the captain that the forklift could not get through the doorway.

“No problem,” replied the Captain. “I saw a case of green garden hoses back there and there is a manual gas pump in the workshop. We can push a full barrel on its side, get a rope around it, and have a team pull it through the doorway into the other room on its side. Then we can right it, and use the manual pump.”

It took the first hour to empty the military cases and share the guns and ammo between the five vehicles. It took another hour before all the vehicle fuel tanks were filled and they knew how much fuel was left over—about 40 gallons in one drum on the back of a SWAT vehicle. For another half an hour, the team searched for food and loaded all they could into the vehicles. It was a reasonable amount, including several pounds of cheese, a case of caviar, several dozen cases of frozen sausages and steaks found in the freezer with “Produce of Australia” stamped on them, dozens of 1-gallon bottles of frozen orange juice, frozen carrots from New Zealand, a case of Japanese rice wine, two bags of Indian rice, and several boxes of Swiss chocolates. They also found and stored one of the gas grills with a couple of bottles of propane, three large steel turkey cookers, and two working gas heaters with full bottles of propane.

John tasted the water in the fire engine, it tasted old and had a slight odor to it, but it was good enough for drinking and cooking with. The co-pilot had suggested that they take as much as possible as there might be nothing out there, and they might need supplies for longer than they anticipated.

It was time to rest and the temperature was now several degrees below freezing. A case of Chinese-made children’s “The Mechanic” blankets had been found earlier, and there were enough to ration out several to each person. Everybody bedded down to sleep, knowing that departure time would be early.

It was 7:00 am when Captain Mallory awoke. He thought he had slept past dawn as the warehouse was brightly lit up from outside. He ran to the second-story window and saw that it was massive flames, and not the sun, that was causing the light. The fires had gotten a lot closer overnight. The whole horizon around the silhouetted building across the street showed that fires were burning just a couple of blocks away and they were very big. He could see dense smoke rising and it was blowing in a gentle breeze over the top of their warehouse. It was time to go—breakfast would have to be on the road.

The captain got the crew up and asked them to wake everyone. Figures were huddled together everywhere for warmth, and as John walked past the broken door with the forklift keeping it closed, he heard someone knocking on the door from outside. He opened the door by a few inches and saw several little faces peeking out from under the same “The Mechanic” blankets they had issued to the passengers to keep warm several hours earlier. He let in the group of children who looked cold and dirty. Their group included an older teenager girl who looked a complete mess—her filthy blonde hair covered in mud and dirt.

“Who are you guys?” John asked.

“I’m Sam, he’s Paul my younger brother, and that’s Melanie,” the first boy said, pointing to a smaller boy about eight next to him and a six-year old girl. “We found some of these kids running from the fires after we left here with our parents a few hours ago. We were part of a group of twenty who walked out of here to find help. We didn’t want to go, but our parents forced us.”

“Where are they now?” asked John.

“I don’t know,” replied Sam. “We got shot at by a group of guys in an old white convertible. We all ran for cover, but I saw a couple of adults get hit. That car and then another old black car, it looked like a Cadillac you see in the movies, chased lots of people and they were shooting at anybody who moved.”

“We hid,” added Paul. “A couple of these kids found us and took us to an old building where some other kids were hiding.”

“The bigger girl over there,” Sam continued, “said that she was being held captive in one of the cars and when the excitement started, she flung herself out of the back of the convertible and ran for the river. She was hiding in an alley when we found her. She has a few injuries and her teeth keep chattering. I think the men did something to her.”

“We returned to this street just before it got light,” continued Paul. “As we snuck around the corner, we found three of the men who had walked out of here with us. They were all dead. They’ve been shot in the head, execution style. We checked in their pockets for a cell phone to call someone for help, but all their wallets and stuff was gone.”

“The rest of you are all from around this area?” John queried the kids without the blankets around them and they all nodded. “Do any of you know how to get out of here and onto any highway going south?” One 10-year old thought that he could guide them. “Where are we right now?” John asked the boy.

“New Jersey,” he replied.

“New Jersey, or New York?” John asked, now confused.

“No, this is the Marine Terminal in Port Newark, New Jersey. Where did you think you were?”

“Next to the Hudson River,” John answered.

“That’s over towards Manhattan from here. This is Newark Bay,” replied the boy. “Do you have anything to eat? We’re really hungry.”

“He landed in Newark Bay, huh! The captain’s going to like that one when I tell him that. He beat old Sully!” smiled John thinking aloud. “Cheese or chocolate?” he asked the kids.

“Chocolate!” was the unanimous reply.

“Guys, go and see Pam, the flight attendant by the refrigerator, and ask her to get you a box of both,” he instructed, and they moved swiftly in that direction, all hungry except the teenager who just stood there with her face down and her teeth still chattering. He touched the girl on her shoulder and she pulled away immediately. “What’s your name?” he asked. She did not respond. “Can you hear me?” he asked. She nodded.

“We are getting out of this place this morning. It’s not safe here anymore,” he spoke to her soothingly. “The flight attendant can look after you, and keep you warm and safe while we’re getting ready. Come, walk with me and I will introduce you to her.” He walked over to Jamie, one of the flight attendants, who was issuing the kids a box of cheese and chocolate each and cautioning them to eat it slowly because there wasn’t much to go around. The girl followed John, and when Pam Wallace noticed her shivering, she grabbed another blanket without a word, put it around the chattering girl, and took her into the office.

A meeting was held several minutes later, and the Captain spoke. “These kids came in this morning and said that several of the passengers who left yesterday were shot outside last night. This place is getting dangerous. There are large, out-of-control fires coming closer and there is enough ammunition in this warehouse to blow it all to shreds. Is anybody still contemplating staying here and waiting for help?”

Nearly a dozen people put their hands up. Most were older and sitting near the arrogant government official. The captain tried valiantly to convince them to leave.

“We are going to be tight in the five vehicles we have ready and fueled up. Are you sure you want to stay? This government-employed gentleman is operating under a code of justice I don’t believe exists anymore. He hasn’t been outside and hasn’t seen the death and destruction out there.” Captain Mallory waited for a change of heart from the people who were obviously in collusion with the government official. “He is certain that you will all be rescued, and I honestly hope he is right and you will be. This is a democratic country and you can all make your own decisions. When I leave here, however, you are no longer my concern. You will be on your own. Do you understand?”

“This is the United Bloody States of America,” replied the government official. “Help will come, and you will hear from the authorities about the damage you have done to this building, I can promise you that, Captain. We have food here for weeks, and I’m sure the fires are being put out right now. The Army or National Guard will be in these streets very soon and will take us out of here the RIGHT way!”

“I hope for your sake, sir, that you are right. You can ask the airline for my address when the time comes. My crew and I, however, are leaving this place and trying to get to safety on our own. Anyone who wants to leave with us should get aboard one of the vehicles at this time. If I see the authorities on the way out, I will certainly tell them of your whereabouts. People! We are leaving in 15 minutes.” There was a general move for the door to the vehicle room, with many of the people patting the captain on the shoulder as they passed by, all wearing coats, hats, gloves, and “The Mechanic” blankets they had found in the warehouse. The kids and families were put aboard first, with couples second and single people filling in the empty seats that were left.

The locks on the outside of the garage-type door had already been broken with the flashlight by a couple of the passengers, and the door was rolled open. Smoke and cold air swept inside as the five vehicles were started up. Captain Mallory asked for a headcount from each vehicle, and put a member of his crew in command of each one. After the news from the boys, the captain and several of the men had packed a few more M4 carbines and several dozen extra boxes of ammunition and grenades into the front SWAT truck just in case. It would be the lead truck, with the second SWAT truck bringing up the rear of the convoy. Both trucks had a turret-type opening in the roof of the cab, a great firing and sniper position.

Captain Mallory went back and counted the people staying—21 passengers sat there stoned-faced, without making eye contact with him. He waited for a moment to see if any of them would change their minds. Not seeing any change of heart, he got into the driver’s seat of the lead vehicle with the kid who knew where they were going, squashed in between three armed men. One of the men was standing with his upper body through the turret with an M4 in his hands ready to shoot. Without looking at the unhappy people watching them leave, they drove out into the street and then stopped briefly to make sure all five vehicles got through the warehouse door, which was promptly closed behind them.

John was driving the rear vehicle, and together with the drivers, they had at least two men in each cab who had been in the military or had combat experience. One M4 with a rifle grenade was fitted in each cab and the other M4s were ready to fire with dozens of magazines filled and waiting.

The final headcount in the convoy was 86 adults and ten children and there wasn’t much spare room in any of the vehicles with the drum of gas, food, and everything else they had brought along. They had placed 28 adults and four of the ten kids in the back of each SWAT truck. In the ambulance, there were three in the front and 12 in the back, including the young girl with the flight attendant and the last drum of fuel. There were 12 in the fire truck and six in the police car, which was behind the first SWAT truck with another two M4s ready for action.

In all, they had ten M4s ready and their owners weren’t afraid to use them.

Captain Mallory smiled when his co-pilot told him that they had landed in Newark Bay and realized that he had landed the 737 in a much smaller expanse of water than the Hudson. “Like old Sully! I should get a medal for that,” he laughed. “If I’m right, we are right next to Newark Airport, which means that I-95 South is not too far.” He looked over at the 10-year old who knew the area. “Okay kid, which way? You’re my navigator. I want I-95 southbound—we’re heading for Florida!”

“Left, Captain,” the boy proudly told him. “Then we turn left onto Fleet Street, I think. Fleet Street should be the second or third road to the left, then go all the way up Fleet Street and we should see the on-ramp to the highway.” Captain Mallory did as he was told. There were four vehicles behind him, dawn was beginning to break above the smoke, which was getting lighter as they drove away from the fires, and he hoped the vigilantes were still asleep wherever it was that they were sleeping.

The first few blocks were pretty clear since not many cars would have been in this area at midnight on New Year’s Eve, but they still had one turn to the left to make before they would reach the high way.

They ran into a roadblock of bricks a couple of streets earlier than expected due to a burned-out and collapsed warehouse that blocked the road they were on, and they had to divert south for several blocks before they found an undamaged road that would take them to Fleet Street. They maneuvered slowly through debris as they navigated a route that would get all five vehicles to the highway.

A couple of blocks later, they saw the highway stretching above the streets in front of them, but they could not see the on-ramp. Captain Mallory turned right to go one more block north and then turned left onto Fleet Street, and saw the on-ramp right in front of him.

Suddenly a truck drove across their path and stopped 100 feet in front of them, blocking off the street ahead of them. Captain Mallory stopped and looked at the vehicle. It was an old white delivery truck—a freezer meat truck by the look of it—and it had several men lying on top with guns pointing at them. A man in the cab got out and used a bullhorn shouting at the five trucks in front of him.

“We are not afraid to shoot. All we want is your vehicles. Get out with your hands up and you can all go. We won’t shoot you. Leave the keys in your vehicles and get out now, or we will start shooting. You have ten seconds.”

“What do you think?” the captain asked the kid, who had his nose pressed up against the inner windshield.

“I’ve seen that guy before,” the kid replied. “He was leading the group who shot at us yesterday. The other kids called him ‘The Executioner.’ They saw him shoot people in the head, like you see on television.”

“I’m giving you one last chance,” the ‘Executioner’ ordered into the bullhorn. ”We will kill all of you one-by-one and rape any sluts you got with you. You now have five seconds.”

“I’m going to open the window and take him down,” Captain Mallory stated quietly to the group in the cab. The man who had been standing up had already sat down, his name was Jimmy. “Jimmy, hand me an M4. You take the one with the rifle grenade on it and after I shoot this noisy asshole, you stand up and aim to take out the men on the top of the truck with the grenade, and then you get out of the way and let Mike here stand up. Mike,” he ordered the man next to Jimmy. “You stand up and spray the back area of the truck once we have these suckers with their heads down. I’ll do the same, and young man, you pass us magazines when we need them.”

“Two!” the man with the bullhorn called out as Captain Mallory locked the M4 into three-round bursts, rolled down the window, opened the driver’s door, took aim through the window, and blew the man’s head off. Several shots immediately rang out from the truck in front of them, one dinging the side of the SWAT truck next to the captain’s head.

Jimmy fired the grenade at the truck and it landed and exploded two feet short of the truck’s cab, but sprayed it with shrapnel so hard that the truck literally jumped back an inch and nearly flipped over. The engine area immediately caught fire as bits and pieces of roadway and metal opened the fuel lines. Captain Mallory emptied his first magazine towards the roof of the vehicle as the truck, which must have been gas-powered, blew up with an almighty roar, dinging his SWAT truck with hundreds of pieces of flying debris.

The shock wave hit them as the captain jumped back into the driver’s seat and turned the truck around on the wide road, while Mike gave them covering fire from the turret. He headed back in the direction they had come, closely followed by the other four. The captain then slowly and carefully crossed the low concrete center median and drove back around the corner of the next building to get away from the burning vehicle. He turned left at the next road, a one-way street going the other way, and headed along the side of the highway above him.

“Turn right,” shouted the boy. “The closest entrance is to the right.” Mike looked behind him, saw the four vehicles in their convoy still following, and then knew where he was. The next entrance to the highway was an off-ramp opposite the main entrance into Newark Airport.

He had to turn sharply to get up the off-ramp as there were several vehicles parked at odd angles in his path. He aimed his truck to drive between them, hitting one out of the way so that the vehicles behind could follow. The top of the off-ramp was blocked with a small car on its side, and he slowly pushed it to the side as he went up the wrong way and got onto the northbound side of I-95, driving south.

“That was pretty close back there,” Captain Mallory stated to the others in the cab. “I don’t suppose we are going to have a moving traffic problem coming the opposite way.” He smiled as he saw the four vehicles still following them in his rear-view mirror but his smile quickly faded when he saw the dozens of crashed vehicles blocking their way in front of them on northbound I-95.