The Coward's Way of War

by Nuttall, Christopher

  “We do not know who has done this to us, not yet,” she concluded. “I swear to you, however, that we will find them and, when we do, we will extract the most horrific revenge. There will be no safe place for the terrorists to hide. We will utilise the entire military might of the United States, with or without our allies, to exterminate the terrorists. No one will be allowed to stand in our way.

  “As a country, we have been through much in the centuries since our forefathers brought forth a new nation. With God’s help, and our courage and determination, we will get through this crisis without compromising, without losing, what we are.”

  Her face vanished from the screen. A moment later, it popped up another broadcast, one specifically for New York. Mija barely heard Mayor Hundred’s words as he confirmed that a smallpox victim had been found in the city and that, in two hours, public traffic within the city would be closed down. Half of the staff were already on their feet, preparing to head home. The editor shouted for order, but no one seemed to care. They all wanted – needed – to see their families before it was too late.

  ***

  Jim Revells liked to think of himself as a professional paranoid, a trait that came in handy for an insurance investigator. Back when he’d been at college, he’d joined a group that had believed that America's end was nigh, warning that anything from terrorism to nuclear war – or a left-wing government of the elite – would eventually destroy the country. The group had eventually purchased, between them, a number of properties around the country that could be used as refuges in case of danger. The more delusional ones had believed that they could, eventually, be used to rebuild the country, but Jim thought that that was insane. The survivalists could only realistically hope to survive until order was restored.

  “Get the emergency bags,” he snapped at his partner. Linda didn't argue. They’d been together long enough to share the same thoughts, even if they had never married. Neither of them had wanted to add the government into their relationship, despite the fact that they had two children and a third on the way. “Boys, get them into the car now.”

  He glared at Jim Junior – the youngest boy – until he started to move and then ran into his study. He’d collected his bug-out kit years ago and it only took a few seconds to check that he had everything he needed before he picked up the cell phone. He brought up a saved message, keyed in an automated response, and sent it out to the others in the survivalist network. They’d be on their way at once and their plans, which had been so carefully drawn up years ago, were about to be put into operation. They’d talked them over time and time again, yet none of them had any idea how well they would work in practice. They were about to find out.

  The box under his desk was padlocked and he fumbled twice before he managed to open it with a key he carried on his key ring. He opened it and removed the small collection of weapons – some of them illegal in New York – and ammunition, checking each of them one by one. Linda was an excellent shot with the handgun and the boys weren't bad, even though some of their liberal teachers had had hysterics over the thought of teaching the boys to shoot. Jim had reassured them that they were perfectly good shots, something that hadn’t reassured the teachers very much. Perhaps they’d thought that, one day, the boys would come gunning for them.

  “Let's go,” Linda called, from the driveway. Jim picked up the box and carried it, grunting under the strain, outside, stowing it away in the trunk. He passed handguns to each of the boys, reminding them to keep them out of sight unless they were needed. He trusted them not to mess around with loaded weapons, not least because he and the other adults in the group hadn't hesitated to thrash any of the children who treated guns as anything less than dangerous weapons. “Come on, Jim!”

  Jim hesitated, looking back at the small house. He had known that he might have to abandon it one day, yet now he was faced with such a prospect, he didn't want to leave. There were so many happy memories within that house, from the birth of his children to the first night he and Linda had spent together. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled the door closed and locked it. Perhaps the worst-case scenario wouldn't come to pass and they would be able to return, one day...

  He climbed into the car and Linda gunned the engine. A moment later, they were racing down the street and out of the city. They had a long drive ahead of them. Jim tensed as they passed other cars heading outwards as well, knowing that the army would be deploying to cut off escape. They had to get out before the army sealed off the entire city, or they would be trapped within the infected city. He looked back at the boys and swore to himself that he would not let that happen, whatever it took. They would survive.

  Chapter Seven

  Rules of Engagement exist to tell troops when they can open fire against enemy forces. When operating in an environment inhabited by civilians, the ROE are always very tight, with strict limits on when and how a soldier can take offensive action.

  - General Tom Spencer

  New York, USA

  Day 5

  “Well,” one of the other doctors said. “That’s us told.”

  Doctor McCoy scowled. In his opinion, the President had acted too quickly. It was hard to remember that the whole crisis was barely fifteen hours old. No, he reminded himself, the crisis is much older. We only knew about it for fifteen hours.

  The President was right, of course, even though it would take time to get all of the roadblocks into position. Perhaps she had been urged to move quicker by the arrest of several reporters who had been probing into the apartment and the suspected biohazard. The more emergency protocols that were activated, the greater the number of people involved in the crisis and the greater the chance of someone on the outside putting two and two together and getting four. Rumours had already been flying around, some uncomfortably close to the mark, when the President had made her speech. It had been her decision. They would just have to live with it.

  Mayor Hundred had been on the verge of panic when he’d been briefed, but McCoy had been able to convince him that firm action would save his city and his career. The Mayor’s broadcast, following the President’s broadcast, had called up every medically-trained person who had been missed in the first call-ups and asked the remainder of the population to head home and wait for instructions. McCoy wasn't so sure that that had been a good idea – if he had had his druthers, he would have waited until night to announce the lockdown – but it had been his call. There were now tens of thousands of New Yorkers trying to get home, while the cell phone networks were jammed with panicking parents and children and the internet was crashing under the sheer weight of demands. The CDC briefing papers on smallpox and the FEMA emergency protocol WebPages had crashed, while hundreds of bloggers were posting information – some of it very inaccurate – online and speculating endlessly on who might be responsible for the disaster. Islamic terrorists were at the top of the list; already, barely twenty minutes after the President’s speech, the NYPD was reporting shots fired at a couple of mosques. If so many people hadn't been trying to get home, McCoy knew, it would have been a great deal worse.

  He turned towards the big display and scowled as the information built up in front of him. There were now seven smallpox patients in New York and four of them had no obvious link to Patient Zero. Worse, the FBI had checked with Cally Henderson’s employers and discovered that she hadn't been the only one to call in sick with flu-like symptoms. The airline managers had been wondering if they were facing a badly organised strike before McCoy had spoken to them personally and explained what was going on. Police and medical teams were already on their way to visit the other ill personnel, but it wouldn’t be long before the medical services were overwhelmed. The chaos on the streets was a perfect transmission medium for smallpox, even if anyone who so much as coughed would be shunned at once.

  “The Mayor is making another broadcast calling for calm,” one of the doctors said. McCoy shrugged. The population of New York weren't likely to care about calls for calm. They wanted
to be with their families and then vaccinated before they went to work again. Emergency supplies of vaccine were being flown in, but McCoy knew that – no matter what the President said – there wasn't enough vaccine to go around. Emergency personnel would have to be vaccinated first. “What do we do...?”

  McCoy looked up at him angrily. “What do we do?” He repeated. “We track down the source of this epidemic and stop it! Do you understand me?”

  The doctor slunk away, leaving McCoy to study the display. Despite his words, he knew that it was almost certainly too late to prevent a major epidemic. By now, smallpox would have infected enough people to make it impossible to stop it by destroying the source. The terrorists could have used aerosols or a Typhoid Mary to spread the disease, but now it was too late. The demon was out and could not be put back in the bottle.

  “God help us,” he muttered. “God help us all.”

  ***

  Doug hefted his M16 as the National Guardsmen drove to their assigned duty stations, feeling cold ice running down his back. The M16 was a good rifle – he’d mastered it long ago, even though a normal deployment would have included a refresher course before they were sent off to war – yet it was useless against germs. Even the greatest sniper in the world couldn't shoot up a germ. They’d been assured that they had all been vaccinated against smallpox when they’d joined the army, but he knew that some of the men were fearful. Men who had fought the Taliban and Iraqi insurgents – and shown great courage and determination – were helpless when it came to fighting germs. They might have been vaccinated – assuming that the vaccine held good now – but what about their families? His blood ran cold when he thought of Lindsey. She was a nurse, yet had she been vaccinated?

  It felt strange to be a Sergeant again, let alone placed in command of twenty soldiers and five vehicles. The sudden nature of the call-up had meant that several command slots were unfilled and would remain so, at least until the stragglers could join up with their units. The Colonel who had been issuing orders at the barracks had wondered if they had deserted, but Doug was fairly certain that they had merely been caught on holiday or away from their bleepers. The chances were that they would trickle in over the next couple of days, or at least report in and be transferred to another National Guard unit elsewhere.

  It felt even stranger to be deploying – with loaded weapons and armoured vehicles – in the American countryside, but they had practised isolating the city before. If a nuke had gone off in New York, as so many terrorists had threatened over the years, the population would almost certainly try to flee, carrying with them radioactive dust from the explosion. They’d even practiced sealing the city in case of a disease outbreak, although that had never really been tested. They’d sealed off cities in Iraq, but America? None of them had ever seriously believed that it would happen, no matter what the terrorists claimed. Terrorists made all kinds of claims, including some that were nothing more than impossible threats.

  The NYPD had started setting up the roadblock ahead of them, but it was rapidly growing apparent that the police were overwhelmed. It hadn't been long since the President had spoken – she could at least have given them time to deploy, he'd thought at the time – yet there were already hundreds of cars trying to make their way onto the interstate and escape. God alone knew where they thought they were going, but it didn't matter. Everyone in New York had to remain in New York, just to ensure that the disease spread no further.

  “Deploy,” he ordered. One of the vehicles was a truck carrying roadblocks that would have deterred anything short of a tank. The National Guardsmen dismounted from their vehicles – the two Bradleys were moved into commanding positions, where their weapons could threaten anyone thinking about trying to punch through – and took up positions behind the police line. The policemen looked relived to see them, even if some of them stared at the Bradley in horror. Doug could understand their feelings. The idea of using an armoured vehicle – almost a tank – to threaten American citizens was horrifying. “Move into position and get ready to act.”

  He refused to show any concern as he sauntered over to the police line, yet he was trembling inside. This could go very bad very quickly. There were hundreds of people shouting at the policemen now, trying to force them to open their lines and allow them to escape the city. He saw bankers, stockbrokers and lawyers, mixed in with teachers, builders and even a handful of children. There were kids screaming their heads off, wives pleading with their husbands to shout louder – as if shouting louder would get them what they wanted – and dogs barking incessantly. The whole situation was spinning out of control.

  We’re not really equipped for riot duties, he thought, bitterly. It was the age-old story. Whenever someone practiced for an emergency, they always left out the emergency. Instead of the military machine moving smoothly towards its destination, there were hitches, glitches and deliberate enemy action. There were no friendly umpires in real life. Friction would get into the military machine and it would start to grind to a halt. If they’d had time to prepare, but they hadn’t had time to prepare, which meant that if the mob broke through the police lines, he would have to open fire with lethal weapons or let them through. Either one would almost certainly spell the end of his career.

  “It’s getting worse,” the police sergeant said. They shared a long look of shared – and fearful – understanding. “There’s a line of cars all the way back to the city.”

  Doug nodded, wincing as someone started to blow his horn. Other drivers got in on the act and suddenly there was an incessant blare of hooting, all blurring together into a single cacophony that threatened to deafen him. He keyed his radio and reported in to the CO, knowing that there was no one who could be spared to assist him. Sealing off even a single city would require thousands of additional soldiers and the entire army was being deployed. He’d been told that Marines would be on their way from Virginia, from their base at Quantico, but they’d probably wind up being diverted elsewhere. The whole nightmare was getting badly out of hand. He ducked as shots rang out, one of the drivers opening fire with a handgun towards the police line. A police sniper shot the man neatly through his head. The crowd howled and seemed to threaten to advance towards the line. Their sheer weight would break right through...

  “I want a warning shot,” Doug ordered the Bradley’s gunner. The M242 25mm chain gun mounted on the vehicle swung around and fired a burst over the heads of the crowd. The racket was deafening and brought instant silence, apart from a handful of children who cheered at the tracer burst. The Bradley’s main armament was impressive; indeed, it had been reported that, with the right ammunition, it had killed Iraqi tanks during Operation Iraqi Freedom. It would go right through civilian cars like a hot knife through butter.

  He stepped back and took the policeman’s megaphone. “RETURN TO YOUR HOMES,” he bellowed. “WE ARE PERMITTED TO USE DEADLY FORCE TO MAINTAIN THE BLOCKADE. PLEASE RETURN HOME AND AWAIT HELP!”

  Some of the cars started to move, their drivers surrendering to the inevitable and heading back to the city, but others looked as if they would prefer to stay and fight. Doug couldn't blame them for wanting to escape the city, yet there was no choice. They could not be allowed to leave, perhaps spreading the disease further. A pair of armed policemen picked up the dead shooter and took the names of his family, before directing them to head back into the city.

  “Hey,” someone called. Doug looked over to see a moderately-attractive girl shouting at him. He ambled over and looked down at her, knowing that she would be unnerved by his dark glasses. “I don’t live in New York.”

  Doug swore under his breath. That was something he hadn't anticipated, but of course there would be people within the blockade who lived outside the city, who had nowhere to go in the city. He motioned for her to wait and walked back to the APC, keying the radio and asking for instructions before walking back to the girl. The instructions hadn't been perfect, but they were still trying to get everything working properly. T
he dispatchers back at the barracks and within the city would be busier than they had ever been before.

  “Go back into the city and report in to the nearest police station,” he told her. “They will arrange somewhere for you to stay in New York. Once we get vaccination programs under way, you will be vaccinated and will be able to return home.”

  He watched the girl head back to her car, looking terrified. He didn't blame her, either.

  ***

  The CB radio kept bleeping with updates from various travellers as Linda drove her family out of the city. Jim sat beside her, one hand on the pistol at his belt, as he struggled to make sense of the endless and contradictory updates. Some travellers were reporting that shots had been fired at one of the roadblocks; others were claiming that the soldiers had opened fire and killed hundreds of desperate refugees. One man was even claiming that there were hundreds of smallpox victims staggering after him, moaning with pain or desire. One of the boys pointed out that they sounded more like zombies to him. Jim hadn't seen the funny side.

  They’d worked through, years ago, just how the military could seal off the city. The main roads out of the city could be sealed off easily – along with all of Manhattan, which made him grateful that he hadn't made his home on the island – but it would be harder to seal off the smaller roads. Given time, they would be able to deploy the manpower to do that, which meant that the survivalists had to hurry. She drove as quickly as she dared, ignoring speed limits and speed cameras, heading out of the city. Others seemed to have the same idea, but not everyone – thankfully – had thought of the side roads. That wouldn't last. He caught sight of a police car moving in behind them and found himself considering, quite seriously, trying to shoot his way out before the policemen let them go. In the time they would need to stop Jim and his family from escaping, they’d lose hundreds of others. They drove onwards, risking slipping onto the interstate west of the city and gunned the engine. Even under the best possible conditions, they would still need over six hours to reach the refuge. They’d have to stop and refuel the car, if money was still any good. If not...he forced himself not to think about the possibilities, or about what he might have to do to take care of his family.