Текст книги "The Battle for New York"

Автор книги: T. I. Wade

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

He was surprised to see a small, camouflaged bulldozer and a second forklift back out of the rear of the C-130. That was not all. There were another two dozen troops, tents, two porta-potties, boxes of rations, gas cylinders, and another dozen rolls of barbed wire. Then three large mortars, nearly five feet tall, and dozens of cases of mortar bombs on pallets were lifted out. Lastly, bags of what looked like sandbag cases, on plastic wrapped pallets were forklifted out.

“We are digging in here,” stated Jennifer, standing next to Preston and wiping her face with a cloth. “We are planning to increase your perimeter around the airfield, take down the brush and the trees with our old Vietnam museum-piece mini-dozer here, stolen from Hill’s museum, and set up a perimeter of sandbagged mortar and machine gun placements—especially around the entrance, which should have the barbed wire up and ready to repel any unwanted people.”

“Yes, we installed the first 200 feet of it this morning. Horrible stuff, that barbed wire,” Preston replied. “We are going to need at least 600 yards of the stuff just for the front area and I worked out another 700-800 yards to cover the sides. The rest of the perimeter should be OK with the natural water boundary. We can’t do the whole lot?”

“I agree,” acknowledged Jennifer. “Just enough to stop anybody coming in from the farm’s frontal boundary. Once we clear the brush around the sides, we can protect it with night goggles and infrared warning devices. I know that the wildlife will cause some issues, but that can’t be helped. The troops will have what’s left of the wire out front by tonight and the general wants to place tripwires outside the fence to warn us of any human creepy-crawlies crawling around out there. The general thinks that an attack could happen here as soon as tomorrow night and we need to be ready for them. Tomorrow we have a platoon of Marine snipers coming in and they will be placed up and down the highway to let us know if we are going to get company. They will make sure that nobody leaves the party. I suggest that you have one of your aircraft ready. You might be the air backup, Preston, and actually get to use your machine guns. I know Martie is not dying to use them on humans, and I’m not sure, but that could happen.”

Joe radioed in that they were on their way over, and Jennifer was impressed at the loud speakers blaring out the message. The guards at the gate heard it on their radios and replied that they would look out for them. It was time to go and get the other two fuel trailers.

“I saw a couple of little Cessna 172s at the airport and thought of getting someone up there to patrol tomorrow,” said Preston, nodding up at the sky. “When some of our fly-in pilots actually return, and we are almost out of flyers right now, it could be an early warning system to get something up there to serve as a spotter plane. A Cessna 172 could stay up there for four hours at a time, and as long as the heater works, it could give some of our fancy Air Force or civilian pilots some very boring flying time.”

“Nobody thinks that anything will happen today,” replied Jennifer. “It’s only been 36 hours since New Year’s Eve, and they couldn’t have seen our transponders until we used them eight hours later. If they have troops in the United States, the general thinks that they will have to travel in from around Washington or even further north. It will take them time to decipher their information, contact their troops who will need to find transportation, and then drive down here. The highways are pretty lousy up around Washington, and must be worse further north. If they start moving today, probably later today, they would still only be here by dawn tomorrow at the earliest, and then they will still have to case the joint. That is when our troops will let us know, and of course your ‘eye in the sky’ if you get one up during daylight hours. Anyway, I’m headed off to Seymour Johnson to refuel, grab some more men, and the wire they are putting together right now, and return here. Then I think I’m going north.”

“How much fuel can the Air Force get their hands on right now?” asked Preston.

“They have set up a system hotwiring one tank of jet fuel at Seymour Johnson. It’s the smallest one of three tanks, but still holds about a million gallons. The other two are bigger. Andrews AFB has your generator up and running and has access to a fuel tank similar to one at Seymour Johnson. Hill AFB should have one selling gas soon, as well as Edwards AFB, so we have enough jet fuel to start a war, just not enough airplanes to use it all.” Jennifer paused to look at her watch and check the weather pattern above her.

“Also, before I forget, there are one or two more C-130s in service as of later today, so expect some new traffic in here. I hear we might have three old F-4s serviceable today or tomorrow as well. They were General Allen’s retirement project for the Air Force museums. He told me that he had Tom and Jerry completed, two F-4s at Hill, and a third one at Edwards, I heard. Mother Goose is a surprise—one he wouldn’t even tell me or Sally. Mother Goose should be here sometime today and his ‘surprise’ to you will hopefully be here by morning. Mother Goose is yours, on loan from the Air Force for awhile. I was told not to tell you about her, or the surprise—the even bigger surprise.”

Preston was left still puzzled as he watched Jennifer in the now empty C-130 taxi to take off for Seymour Johnson. He stood with Joe, David, and the team of Joe’s sons ready to roll back to RDU. This time they had the two armored cars, the Saracen, and the two tractors to pull the fuel trailers back. Both he and Martie, who was taking little Beth with her, would fly two more Cessnas back.

They left the front gate, which was now looking very secure, and Preston was surprised to see his truck at the end of his driveway with a large new green wooden sign on two legs being lifted out of it. They stopped and went over to the men digging the holes in the ground for it with shovels. “Strong Air Force Base,” it read in big letters across the top with the picture of a Stealth Bomber in the middle. “Government Area ~ Do Not Enter” was written underneath in smaller letters. Preston smiled. “The general has been hard at work,” he said to the crew.

They drove down US 64 towards the city and the airport. Carlos’ three Colombian bodyguards accompanied them this time, as well as the sergeant and four men in the Saracen. They all added fire power and wanted to see the country and the effects of this disaster on the surrounding area. The ‘newbies’ hadn’t seen much except a street or two in New York, or flying over in aircraft from Seymour Johnson. Preston rode in the Saracen with Martie and little Beth, who would not leave Martie’s side. Little Beth had slept well, was full of food, and seemed to have recovered a little from the shock of her harrowing ordeal.

The road was as quiet as the last time. The air smelled like smoke again and he could see the rising of smoke here and there through the trees in the more densely populated areas to the east of them– fires that had not been there yesterday. This time, they turned right down state road 751—a rural road that would take them to the entrance of the nuclear power station in New Hill.

Three miles later, they turned into the main drive to the power plant. The gates were locked and there was no movement. The main buildings were off the road by 100 yards or so, and the armored car easily tore down the gates so they could drive through. The first building was nothing more than offices and a welcome center, and they continued past it for another mile. This time, they came to a second gate—the same kind as the first—and it was locked, with no guards at the small guard house. This time there was a bell to be pressed and several seconds later a guard came running down the road.

“Are you the Army?” he asked. “We are not allowed to let anybody through unless you are the government. There are two gun positions in the woods and they are armed.”

“We are on orders from the President of the United States,” Preston answered, getting out of the Saracen’s side door. “Washington wants to know the condition of all the nuclear reactors immediately and whether they are a severe danger to the country. There are no communications and these troops here are Air Force personnel out of Seymour Johnson. The Air Force is willing to place troops here for protection against any future terrorist threats, but first they want to check to see if the reactor is safe.” The guard ran back the way he had come, presumably to report back, and the gate opened several minutes later to allow them through.

Preston went into the main office and control center with the sergeant and two men. The two men were armed, and there was a group of very anxious-looking people waiting for them. Several still wore white coats, and there were three guards around the main door.

For an hour, Preston was shown around the control center. The system had gone into full safe shutdown mode an hour after midnight on New Year’s Eve, and nobody could stop it. There was nothing they could do once the shutdown control system had been automated.

“It’s a measure we knew was in place, but only for extreme emergencies where nobody was alive in this room and automated procedures were needed,” explained the engineer in control. “It went into its automated mode exactly one hour after New Year’s Eve and the system, now still several days from complete and safe shutdown, was working perfectly and out of our control. All we can do is watch and monitor,” he finished.

“What is still needed for complete shut down?” asked Preston.

“The rods are closed and dormant, but the reactor’s cooling will still take several days to bring temperatures down to a safe level. The electrical turbines are down, but the cooling pumps are still operating, pulling in cold water from Harris Lake. I believe that another week’s pumping will be needed until the final phase is complete,” the man in the white coat replied.

“Do you need military protection?” the sergeant asked.

“I would assume so, since we do not know what is going on out there. This installation needs constant protection and I would suggest a team of soldiers stay here until further notice. We have the gas heating system working and a small generator lighting up the control center. We have several days of gas and supplies, but naturally we would like to go home to our families at some point. We’ve all been on duty since New Year’s Eve, and don’t really know what’s happening. What is going on out there?” he asked.

Preston gave him a brief rundown of what he knew, and the Air Force sergeant told him that they would be back in 24 hours with a guard detail and supplies. They also explained that there was no way they could help get the staff home, unless one of the group had an older than 1985 vehicle. Two of the power plant’s security guards stated that they did, and Preston explained that any vehicles older than 1985 still worked and that they were priceless at the moment.

The two guards offered to get everyone home. Preston suggested that somebody who knew the workings of the power station should stay at the plant at all times until further notice. They agreed to break into shifts, and there were a couple of dozen other employees that they could go and find.

The armored car convoy left two men to add to the guard detail, and helped stand the outside gate back up as good as possible, and then returned to US 64 to drive towards the airport.

As they got closer to RDU, they saw more fires in the suburban areas. Houses were now on fire here and there. They saw the odd movement—people driving around on lawn tractors and such—and Preston thought that this might be the only form of transportation in the United States for the foreseeable future. It was slow, but you could get to the supermarket on lawn tractors and take your loot home!

Several other cars were spotted driving around Apex as the convoy drove north along 55 towards the airport. Several shops were on fire. A supermarket had dozens of people running around outside and one or two vehicles were driving around. They were looked at from all directions, but not a shot was fired.

They got to the turnoff to the main street and found that it was blocked off by a couple of armed men wearing dirty police uniforms and white armbands on their left arms. At the power station, Preston had jumped into the front cab of the front tractor with Joe and he sat with a soldier who had an M-4 carbine at the ready.

They stopped. “Who are you?” asked one of the men, feeling a little overpowered by the amount of firepower that had just driven up. He wouldn’t have had much of a chance if these were vigilantes. Preston got down from the truck’s cab and went over to talk to the policemen. They had crowd barricades up, much like those at a football stadium.

“I’m Preston Strong,” he introduced himself. “I live and own a farm in Apex out towards the lake. Are you real cops?”

“Yes,” replied the man who had asked them the first question. “There are six of us at three barricades around Apex and we are starting a neighborhood watch until the power gets turned back on again. We all live in the Apex area and are trying to stop the supermarkets from being ransacked here in town, as well as any trouble makers. We have shot three people so far, but they shot at us first. We have our shotguns from our police cruisers to keep the peace.”

“Can you show me police identification?” Preston asked.

“First, tell me who you are. Those are armored personnel carriers I’ve seen at a show. Are they U.S. military?” the man asked.

David got out of the rear armored car and came up to the roadblock. “I know this man,” he said. “I’ve met him a couple of times. He is an Apex policeman, I can verify that.”

“Yes, and I remember you—you own these babies. What I would give for one of these at the moment!”

Preston shouted to the sergeant in the Saracen to come out, which he did. The policeman was even more relieved to see real U.S. Air Force clothing, and put his shotgun down.

“Do we have an extra carbine and a few boxes of ammo for this man?” Preston asked. The two military men swopped IDs and both verified each other.

“What is your mission here?” the sergeant asked the two police officers.

“Trying to keep our town as safe as possible, Sergeant,” the first police officer answered. “We have six guys on duty at all three of the major roads onto Main Street—four hours on and eight hours off. We have 18 crewmembers left in the Apex Police and Fire Departments and all are still on duty and trying to keep the crap out of here. We reside in this area and are currently working on getting the people organized to help us with our neighborhood watch program and close every single other road into here permanently. We have several vehicles, which still seem to work and are collecting as much food from the supermarkets around here as possible. Our collection trucks have white stars painted on their side doors and are out collecting food and supplies. I don’t know how we long we are going to need to survive, but we are planning to survive this. I’m sure the electricity will come on sometime, and we currently have enough room and heat for 1,000 people.”

Three M4s were handed over from the military personnel with a 100 rounds of ammo per carbine. More was promised for the next day, once the okay was given to arm people with Air Force weapons. Preston told them to get all the new lawn tractors they could find from the local stores and find an electrician in the area to convert them into mobile generators. With 30 horsepower, a lawn tractor engine could light and heat a house. They would return tomorrow, once he had spoken to the commander of operations.

The convoy didn’t need to go through the barricade, as their destination wasn’t down that way. They continued north, and many of the cars in the middle of the road had already been pushed off the asphalt and into the grass. They went down the hill, next to one of Apex’s shopping centers, and saw people scurrying everywhere looting and carrying out handfuls of food, clothing, and blankets. Two vehicles stood in front of the main supermarket and both had white stars painted on their doors.

They continued north up 55, connected with the 540 Ring Road and got onto the beltline highway that would take them the rest of the way to the airport.

“What do we do with all these poor people?” Preston asked Joe. “Do we help them or do we let them die?”

“That sure is a hard question,” replied Joe, pulling onto 540 a couple of miles before the site of their last encounter with the guys in the green truck. Apart from the same dead cars, the road was empty except for a family pushing a shopping trolley down the side they were travelling on. The small group didn’t know what to do and just stood there as the convoy passed. “Someone would have shot them and taken their looted stuff, I suppose,” added Joe. “Hell, we can’t feed the world. There are probably tons—millions of tons, maybe—of food at the military bases, but if we tried to feed 300 million people, it would all be gone in a day or two. I think that we should all sit down with the general. It’s his food now, and we need to discuss what can be done for the civilians. Carlos and that crowd will be back tomorrow, and I’m sure they will know a lot more by then. I’ve been thinking about it, though, and even the modern farm equipment is dead now. How are they going to feed 300 million people with a bunch of old tractors?”

“Good point,” Preston replied, as they pulled off the highway and onto the feeder road to the airport.

It was then that they came across a gunfight. Just outside the airport entrance, a blue car was overturned and three men were firing from behind it in the direction off an old U-Haul truck manned by another group in the ditch on the other side of the road. There was a lot of heavy fire being exchanged by the sound of it. As the convoy came out from under an overpass a couple of hundred feet away, both groups saw the newcomers and turned their fire on the convoy. Joe braked hard and did a quick U-turn, and the second tractor driven by one of his sons followed him. The Saracen stopped behind the first armored car and the second one came abreast of the first one. The two tractors retreated under the bridge and stopped in the shadows to watch the fight. There was no reason to get the vehicles damaged.

Preston could hear several bullets ricocheting off the armor as the two ferret .30-caliber machine guns each chose a target and emptied 10 rounds per second into each vehicle. The blue car virtually disintegrated several seconds later and then blew up. The old truck became holy as the machine gunner raked its side. The Saracen then moved in to a clear path and all three vehicles concentrated their fire on the old truck, cutting it to pieces with parts thrown everywhere.

It had taken about a minute and the guns stopped, still smoking from the heavy fire. The ferrets moved forward and there were gun shots still coming from behind the blazing car. All three guns again blew holes into anybody who moved in the vicinity.

Then everything went quiet as the ferrets moved forward to the fires on each side of the road to inspect. Nobody got out, a turret was opened and the tractors were told to come through. They passed through the scene, and Preston’s face went white when he saw nearly a dozen dead and bloody bodies by the burning truck and several more lying around the car, which was now a mass of flames. They were all young boys and there were rifles everywhere. Preston asked Joe to stop so he could get out. So did the soldiers and bodyguards in the other vehicles. Martie, Joe, and his boys stayed away.

It was carnage, with broken bodies everywhere. “I suppose that was necessary?” Preston asked around.

“I believe so,” replied David walking up to him and standing with him. “I was hoping that they wouldn’t shoot, but we would have been pretty dead by the time we opened up with our weapons if we had been in a truck or a car. They aimed straight for where we were sitting, with no warning shots at all. Plus, I reckon several of them were hit before we got here. It looked like they had been going at it for some time. “Why did you get out?”

“These guys are well-armed,” replied Preston. The sergeant and his troops stood guard, making a perimeter. “If we don’t take these with us, then other groups will find them and pick them up and we will have the same shootout somewhere else tomorrow. I can understand Will Smart’s predicament when he had to shoot those kids in California. I assume the rules of engagement have changed and that only the strongest will survive. I think we should pick up all the weapons and ammunition and hand the stuff over to the cops we saw back in Apex. I’m sure they could put it to better use than these guys.”

“They do look like a mean bunch,” stated the sergeant.

“I agree,” added David. “It didn’t take these guys long to go bad. On the way back, and if the vehicles have stopped burning, we should pull what’s left of them across the road. It might deter others coming here, and if they have been moved, it could mean that somebody’s in the airport.”

“Good thinking, David,” replied Preston. “It could also serve as a visible warning if we have to fly in here. I’m hoping to fly back, so you guys do what you need to do and we can see from the air if our placement of these vehicles has been moved.”

The convoy continued and found the gate still locked and the airport, just as they had found it yesterday.

“Let’s look for any old vehicles in the long-term parking garages,” suggested Preston. “We could grab a lot of food from the terminal and take some supplies back to the cops to feed their people.” Everybody agreed, and after they broke the lock, the ferrets drove into the parking building and began to cruise around.

Martie got out and inspected the aircraft on the ground. They looked in flyable condition but were all locked. It was time to get into the private terminal. As they walked over to the separate private air terminal, they heard a car’s engine start up from the parking area and then a second one.

Preston threw a rock through the window of the door leading from the apron into the terminal, and carefully walked in with Manuela and Mannie as protection. He found the flight office where several keys were hanging, and kicked the door in. The two Cessna 172s belonged to a small flying school, and both sets of keys hung on the wall with several others.

The two followed Preston as he went through the whole terminal, Mannie found a kitchen and walk-in warm refrigerator full of food, and a small storage pantry to one side. Then they walked outside with the keys.

Joe already was over by the Delta hub hitching up the trailer, and his sons were getting a second trailer attached. David, one of the soldiers, and Dani drove through the gate with an old rusty Suburban, a Mazda truck, and a small Ford half-ton. They stopped in front of Preston.

“These are the biggest we could find,” reported David. “I think there are one or two more old ones up there among the hundreds of new ones. It’s like a car dealership up there.”

“Get everybody together,” ordered Preston. “Let’s clean the private terminal out first and put the stuff in the Ford. It should all fit. Then we can get into the Southwest terminal and see what’s in there. We can always come back tomorrow and empty out the newer terminal. We’ll need Joe and a large trailer for that one.”

With everybody working, it took an hour to fill all three vehicles.

Preston found several still-sealed cases of good single-malt whiskey in the bar cupboards under the liquor display and packed these into the Cessna 172 that Martie was going to fly home. He asked Manuela to go with Martie, and they immediately took off in one of the 172s, with little Beth sitting on Manuela’s lap in the right seat, and she waved to the group as they raced down the runway. It was necessary for Martie to get back and monitor the radio.

Preston got into the other 172 with Mannie, told the rest of the guys to deliver the three full trucks to the roadblock, and then get the fuel back to base. He started up the plane and taxied around to the newer RDU terminal he had never been to. It had only been built a couple of years earlier and he didn’t often fly commercial.

As usual there were over a dozen aircraft at the gates and it wasn’t difficult to get inside. The inside was like the other one, semi-cleaned and empty. Security had closed the doors as they had left, and here there were dozens of closed restaurants, shops, and several bars. Now he only had the small Cessna and could take maybe 300 pounds in the rear seat. There were bread and bagels, still semi-fresh, and they packed a couple of boxes into the plane. They weren’t heavy, but it could be the last fresh bread for a long, long while. There wasn’t much more room, but Preston couldn’t resist spending a few minutes to break the lock into the Duty Free shop. Here, he was amazed. In the back were well over a hundred cases of top quality bottles of everything he loved.

“Let’s take a dozen cases, Mannie. I’m sure we can squeeze them in, and this stuff could all be gone by tomorrow.” Mannie agreed and they found a trolley and took the cases back to the doorway where they had come in. He couldn’t help but add a bottle of Martie’s favorite perfume and a couple of odds and ends to the trolley.

It was difficult, but they removed the big boxes and put the bread and bagels, still in plastic bags, back in. The little Cessna was now full to the roof, and so were its tanks, Preston realized. The poor aircraft was probably at maximum weight. He was right. She took a lot of runway to get airborne for a little 172 and slowly gained height, giving them a low view of the blackened vehicles now pulled onto the road and guarding the airport. David had even draped a few bodies over the vehicles, Preston assumed, to deter any other visitors.

The grisly site would stop him going any further, but he would be flying in with a C-130 on the next trip to clear the complete terminal out. It would require a whole C-130’s cargo bay to empty that terminal.

He climbed and headed south at first and then west over Apex, finally making 5,000 feet. Mannie turned the heater to full power and looked for the convoy beneath them, which was just leaving the roadblock. He decided to do a quick inspection of the I-95 corridor and flew east for 15 minutes. He flew up the main north-south artery for a ways through North Carolina, and the road looked like all the others. There were battered vehicles everywhere on the high way, fewer than in Raleigh, but still in both directions. Some looked undamaged and others had been in big accidents. Dead tractor trailers comprised at least half of the vehicles on the highway.

He then flew back along US 64 going west and caught up with the convoy as it was about to turn into his road and off the highway. He radioed in and brought spotter aircraft Number 2 down to its new home, full of bread, bagels, and booze.

Chapter 4

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

The highways to the south of the northern U.S. states were beginning to get busy. Since there was nobody to read the local weather reports, very few knew that a new and large storm was currently brewing over Idaho and Wyoming. It was dark in the United States and Canada, and it was 3:30 am when the storm blew into the northern United States from Canada and became what many would call an “arctic blast.”

In Yellowstone, the animals sensed and knew what was coming, found shelter, and hunkered down ready for the harsh icy winds that began to lash at them. The humans that were still alive were not as good at predicting future weather conditions, because they were used to the well-dressed guy on a flat screen who told them what they needed to know. In rural areas, farmers and outdoor people gathered and made sure there was going to be enough firewood—the rest of humanity was either in a place of safety, or not!

By 7:00 am in Boise, Idaho, the temperature started a rapid descent as the warmer air was pushed south. The temperature plummeted down 15 more degrees by 9:00 am. The sky was clear and blue.

The wind started blowing the dirty air out of the Salt Lake City basin around 10:00 am. The temperature in Park City Utah, as well as the other side of the main highway to the east where Carlos and Lee had left two hours earlier, dropped from -13 to -27 within two hours. It got colder and colder as the icy winds shot out from the north, bringing all the freezing arctic air southwards at 30+ miles an hour. The wind chill dropped to -30 and -40 in some mountainous areas, and people who had no heat perished quickly.

The blast spread out quickly, moving into Washington State and the Dakotas by midday and as far south as the Arizona border. For the folk who loved the heat in Las Vegas, the wind chill dropped quickly from 15 degrees to zero, and then a bitter -5, and these poor folk who had very little to wear for warmth, froze in their lightly covered beds in their houses. The blast carried on, mainly in a southern and eastern direction, moving quickly and catching up with the people beginning to head south.

In many areas, the roads were dry and the dozens of old vehicles moving south were okay. It was the people who were trying to walk along the roads, or across the uneven terrain, that felt it. Whole families tried to bundle up and stay alive, but slowly their body warmth ebbed in the face of the raging winds. They slowly stopped moving and the blowing snow began to cover them over.

The northern East Coast was beginning to experience the same downdraft of arctic air coming out of Canada. In some areas, it got as horrible as -40, and anybody outside lasted only minutes. In New York, the cold weather hit at about 11:00 am. The temperature was already cold at 15 degrees and dropped ten by midday. The sky was blue, an icy cold blue that was the last view thousands of people witnessed as their bodies went cold and their eyes became vacant.