“So are you just living out all sorts of Assault on Precinct 13 fantasies from your youth?” Jennifer asked, breaking the silence and the tension.
“Austin Stoker was one cool customer,” John said with a smirk. “But he never had to deal with space aliens.”
“Who?” Jennifer asked.
“Austin Stoker,” John replied, stunned that she was not familiar with the actor. “Don’t tell me you’ve only seen the shitty Ethan Hawke, Laurence Fishburne remake?”
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
“My God, that’s a travesty. As soon as you get out of here I order you to go watch the original. That’s the problem with your generation you never—”
John’s rant was cut short by the overwhelming sound of shattering glass. All the windows in the lobby seemed to explode at once. Energy impacts blew tiny holes in the walls behind the officers who were manning the perimeter. Everyone took cover as the barrage intensified. It lasted a full minute before dwindling to a stop. By the end of that time there was almost no glass left covering the entrance.
Jennifer and John peaked up from the barricade as soon as the barrage ended. They did so just in time to see the Kessiams flooding into the lobby. The hole they had made by destroying the windows was large enough to allow thirty of the little creatures in at a time.
No one had to give the order to fire. The officers on the perimeter opened up with an assortment of pistol, shotgun and directed energy fire almost simultaneously. Jennifer was the only officer not firing. She sat crouched behind the table, transfixed by the swarm of aliens.
The Kessiams again proved to be their own worst enemy. While some of the aliens ran straight at the barricade others paused in place, blocking those behind them from entering. Given their hindered ability to move against Earth’s comparatively heavy gravity, they became bottled up in the entrance to the lobby for a short time. The waves of Kessiams entering the building were forced to push through the bodies of their fallen comrades. Eventually their numbers won out. As they pushed deeper into the lobby a half dozen Kessiams got into position and returned fire.
The officer closest to Jennifer and John collapsed to the ground. There was a golf ball-sized hole in his chest. Jennifer did not make an effort to aid her fallen comrade as he was clearly dead. As she looked up at the officer’s position she noticed a small hole in the desk he had been using for cover. A small amount of smoke was rising from the hole. It took her brain a second to put two and two together. She turned back to warn John.
Before she could open her mouth an energy blast punched through the table that she was hiding behind. An impact in the ground between Jennifer and John appeared to occur simultaneously. She looked up at John whose face showed a look of sudden concern.
“The barricades are worthless!” she screamed over the noise of the firefight.
“Fall back! Fall back!” John yelled loud enough for everyone in the lobby to hear.
He brought his shotgun to his shoulder and fired off a few rounds into the swarm. The Kessiams were so small and so densely packed that each blast from his shotgun hit several of them.
“Get out of here!” he shouted at Jennifer without turning.
Jennifer did not bother to crouch as she left the lobby this time. She ran at full speed to the stairway before stopping. She was able to observe the carnage as she peaked around the corner of the stairwell. Five of the fifteen officers who had been manning the perimeter were motionless on the floor. The other ten were walking backwards as quickly as they could while still laying down suppressing fire. Four more officers fell to the barrage of Kessiam fire in rapid succession. Another four reacted to the development by lowering their weapons, turning and running toward the stair case. Three of them made it to the stairwell where they breezed past Jennifer and started to climb. John and another officer were still retreating slowly. Both men were spraying the incoming swarm with shotgun blasts.
John was still ten feet from the stairwell when he saw the other remaining officer fall out of the corner of his eye. He scanned the area in front of him for the most dangerous looking targets. The Kessiams were getting quite close now, but only a few of them were stopping to raise their forearms and fire. Most were simply trying to cover ground. John saw one of the creatures stop and point its elbow towards him. He whipped his shotgun around and fired a full blast into the little creature at close range. Its fragile body splattered as if it had been crushed by a gigantic shoe. He turned towards another target and compressed the trigger. Instead of another deafening shotgun blast he heard only a barely audible click. He tossed the shotgun aside and pulled out his sidearm. He unloaded the clip of the nine-millimeter pistol at the swarm in less than ten seconds and managed to drop four more of the bugs. Again out of ammo, he turned and made a mad dash to the stairwell.
Three steps into his run he saw another peculiar sight. Jennifer popped out from around the corner standing perfectly straight. She pulled her pistol from its holster and took aim at the swarm.
“Come on!” she yelled unnecessarily at John.
She picked her targets carefully and began to squeeze off rounds. Her clip was empty by the time John made it around the corner to safety.
John climbed the stairs but paused and began to turn to check on Jennifer. She pushed him gently on the back and told him to keep moving. They only had one flight of stairs to climb before they saw some friendly faces. A pair of officers waved them into the second floor.
“You the last?” the officer who was propping open the door asked.
“Yeah,” Jennifer responded as she followed John through the door.
The officer nodded to three of his comrades. The three officers walked up to the open door with grenades in hand. They pulled the pins and tossed a half dozen grenades into the stairwell. The officer who had spoken pulled the door shut while another moved in to stuff a handful of NYPD t-shirts into the crack under it.
“We didn’t know if tear gas would affect them so we added some smoke grenades too just to be on the safe side,” one of the officers said to the two late arrivals. “One of those is bound to hold them off… at least for a little while.”
Jennifer and John nodded as they both struggled to suck in oxygen.
After a moment John motioned towards the pistol in Jennifer’s hand. “Looks like you got over that little problem you were having,” he said.
Jennifer became aware of the pistol in her hand and nodded her head. She ejected the empty clip, pushed in a new one and pulled back the slide. “Yeah. It turns out giant green bugs are a lot easier to draw down on than humans,” she said with a forced smile. “Besides, I couldn’t very well let you die right before retirement. It’d be such a cliché.”
“Thanks,” John replied with a nod and a smile.
“Thanks,” Jennifer said weakly as she accepted the cup of coffee she had been offered.
She was still shivering despite the heavy brown blanket one of the paramedics had wrapped around her. She had given similar blankets to dozens of victims she had encountered over the course of her work as a police officer. She had not realized until now how comforting they were.
She sat on a bench in front of the Museum of Modern Art and slowly sipped her coffee. The area was now littered with emergency services personnel. Police and news helicopters circled loudly overhead. To her right the group of students she had saved was huddled together receiving similarly warm treatment. As she turned back she saw the NYPD officer in charge walking towards her with a man in a gray suit.
“Officer Vaughn, this is special agent Jack Dawson of the F.B.I. counter-terrorism department,” the police officer said.
Jennifer nodded her head absently but kept her hands wrapped firmly around the warm cup of coffee. “So they were terrorists?” she asked.
Agent Dawson tilted his head. “It’s certainly possible given their ethnicity and their… targets,” he said, refraining from mentioning the children. “However, our initial background check doesn’t s
how any connections with any serious organization. Neither has ever traveled abroad. Neither seems to have trained or received finance from any international terrorist organizations—”
“They were wannabes,” Jennifer said. Somehow the revelation that they had not even been real terrorists made her feel even worse.
“Looks that way right now,” Dawson agreed. “It’s the copycats who have become the biggest problem over the last decade. It’s actually easier to track the members of the serious organizations and break up their attacks while they are still being planned. These little homegrown cells keep their heads down and don’t raise any red flags. They’re occasionally able to stage an attack even if it is low budget and ineffective.”
“Ineffective?” the other officer scoffed. “They murdered seven school children!”
“Six,” Jennifer whispered.
Dawson and the other officer exchanged looks but said nothing. They were both already aware of what Jennifer had done inside the museum. Neither felt comfortable addressing the messy subject. She had been through enough for one day.
“What happens now?” Jennifer asked after a moment.
“Well, we’ll start tracking known associates of the two men just in case there’s any other plans to—”
“What happens with me?” Jennifer clarified, cutting Agent Dawson off.
“There will be a full investigation obviously,” the other police officer began. “Given the publicity surrounding the case it’ll probably be pretty tense. You’ll be on full paid leave of course. There’s going to be a lot of scrutiny. Frankly, I think everyone involved will come to the same conclusion I already have. You’re a hero.”
Jennifer snorted. “I sure don’t feel like it.”
“Yes… well,” the officer hesitated. “I don’t think we need you for anything else right now. I’ll have one of the other officers give you a ride home,” he said. He waved over a young policeman.
“Thanks,” Jennifer muttered as she stood and began to walk in the direction of her escort.
“There’s one more thing,” the officer said reluctantly. “I’m going to need to confiscate your sidearm.”
Jennifer turned back and began to remove her pistol from its holster. “Right, of course… evidence.”
“Actually,” the officer hesitated to tell her the truth. “Given the situation it’s a liability if…”
Jennifer nodded her head. She flipped the pistol around in her hand and handed the butt towards the officer. “Keep it,” she said. “I won’t be needing it anymore.”
It was three months later when the investigation finally closed. The NYPD found no evidence of wrong doing by Jennifer. More surprisingly, the media had made almost no mention of the specifics of the events at the Museum of Modern Art. It was no secret that Jennifer had been responsible for the death of one of the children. The media had decided that a cop shooting through a child to kill a terrorist was not the most appealing way to cover the story. Instead they hailed her as a hero. The NYPD and New York City agreed and both showered her with medals and citations for her “bravery in the face of terrorism.”
As if that had not been enough, Jennifer soon found herself in the rose garden of the White House. She was standing emotionlessly with her hands clasped behind her back. Five feet to her right President Dyer was giving a speech about America’s continuing fight against terrorism.
A group of senior officers had presented the White House’s offer a week earlier. When she had immediately declined they looked as if she had run over their pets with her car. Over the course of forty-five minutes they had repeated several key phrases: “Team player”, “department image” and most importantly “Homeland Security funding”. It had finally come down to the simple fact that Jennifer still needed her job. After they offered her a position behind a desk she had reluctantly agreed to the ceremony.
“… and must remain aggressive both at home and abroad,” President Dyer was saying. “But the real reason for today’s ceremony is, of course, to recognize and honor one of this country’s latest heroes in the War on Terror. Officer Jennifer Vaughn knew that even though she had a day off, the terrorists never did. She remained vigilant which allowed her to act decisively against a pair of these evil men. Her quick thinking and heroism saved the lives of dozens of young children. It is for this that I am pleased to award her the Presidential Medal of Freedom.”
Jennifer moved forward and bent down so Dyer could place the medal around her neck. She had objected whole-heartedly to the medal but her superiors had insisted. It was a medal for civilians which she did not consider herself to be. Her superiors had clarified that it could be awarded to anyone not actively serving in the military including police officers.
Jennifer smiled politely while she shook President Dyer’s hand in front of the assembled cameras. Medal of Freedom? she thought to herself. What a deep sentiment. Why don’t they just call it the Medal of America Kicks Ass or the Medal of Adorable Puppy Dogs?
“I have a bit of a surprise for Jennifer. Nathan and Jessica Schumer are the parents of one of the victims of the infamous attack on the Museum of Modern Art. They came here today to show their appreciation for Jennifer’s brave actions,” Dyer announced.
Jennifer’s face went white in horror as the couple walked up to the podium. She recognized the name Cindy Schumer from the list of victims. Cindy had been the young girl who Jennifer had killed.
“Thank you so much for everything you did,” Nathan Schumer said to Jennifer as he reached the podium. He extended his hand towards her.
Jennifer did not reach for his hand. “Why… I killed her,” she stammered. “It wasn’t the gunmen… it was me.”
“We know that, honey,” Jessica Schumer said in a lowered voice. She reached out and grabbed Jennifer’s hand. “It wasn’t your fault. You’re a hero in our eyes. The terrorists were the ones responsible. They’re the ones that killed my little girl.”
“No!” Jennifer screamed. She ripped her hand away from the woman. The reporters and guests in attendance fell silent. “I killed her! I’m the one responsible. I saw her… and I looked into her eyes… and I killed her!” she screamed as tears started to roll down her face.
Jennifer turned and ran off from the area before the Nathan or Jessica could respond. The parents of the slain child exchanged concerned looks as a wave of conversation spread through the crowd.
President Dyer backed away from the podium’s microphone. He leaned over to Bill Shephard, his chief of staff. “Well,” he began through clenched teeth. “That went well.”
Chapter Six
“What’s your opinion?” President Dyer asked while holding the large button on his walkie talkie.
“I’m confident we can keep the White House secure if the attacks stay at the present level of intensity,” the leader of the building’s Secret Service detail responded from the other end of the radio. Normally security matters would have been discussed with the president in person, but both men had their hands full with other matters.
“Very well. Keep me advised,” Dyer said, setting the walkie talkie on the table of the Situation Room.
“Mr. President,” the Marine Corps chief of staff began. “If they have any extra weapons, I think…” he trailed off as Dyer raised his hand.
“The Secret Service can handle it,” Dyer said confidently. “Your job is here. Worry about the big picture.”
The Marine general nodded affirmatively but was anything but happy. He knew he was old and he knew he was at the top of his profession. However, he also knew that there was shooting going on not too far away. Given this, he would have felt a lot more comfortable with a weapon in his hand.
The atmosphere in the Situation Room had become much less tense since the start of the invasion. Those assembled were smart people who were all used to high stress situations. After the initial shock of the revelation that aliens were attacking, the men and women had calmed down and started to act professionally once again. Th
eir resolve had not wavered even when the news broke that the White House was under siege by the invaders. However, no matter how calm and clear-headed they were, they were still susceptible to bad news.
The Navy chief of staff slammed his phone down and pounded a fist on the table. The room fell quiet as all eyes turned towards him. “The Truman is burning, sir,” he said while still staring down at the table.
Over six thousand men, Dyer thought to himself.
In his previous six years as Commander in Chief, Dyer had lost less than a hundred servicemen and women. He had prided himself on not getting entangled in costly military conflicts. Now new casualty reports were coming in every minute.
“What about the rest of her battle group?” Dyer asked. He watched as the admiral turned towards him and shook his head. “What about the other fleets?”
“The Reagan and the Washington battle groups have both been essentially wiped out. The Nimitz and a handful of her escorts are attempting to put in to Yokosuka,” the admiral said solemnly.
“Why?” inquired Dyer.
“It’s the closest friendly port, sir. The battle group was running drills with the Japanese defense forces when the attack began.”
“No, I mean why are they trying to reach the port? Wouldn’t the ships be safer in the open ocean where they can maneuver?”
“No, the aliens have a real hard on…” the admiral began. He quickly remembered where he was and changed his tone. “Sorry, Mr. President. They’ve been targeting our warships with extreme force. Hundreds, sometimes thousands of their… fighter ships attack at a time. Maneuvering is pointless since the enemy isn’t firing missiles or torpedoes. They just strafe the ships with those energy weapons and pound away until they sink. At least in port they have the added security of ground based aircraft and surface-to-air missiles.”
The Air Force chief of staff nodded his head in agreement. “Their fighters seem to be attracted to military targets. Most of our aircraft are so busy defending our own bases that we can’t go out and pick a fight.”
The Unlikely Defenders Page 14
