by Bobby Akart
Julia was assisting Katie on the tenth floor in fulfilling Donald’s shopping list. J.J.’s trauma supplies were diminished, and Donald wanted to increase his par levels of ammunition following their encounter last weekend.
The building was now inhabited by the Mechanics. Each of the two-million-dollar units housed two families. Sarge provided them with basic sustenance—beans, rice, pasta, and sauces. They also were given access to medical supplies and personal hygiene items.
In addition to their regular duties, which consisted of fighting the ever-expanding gangs of Boston, they also foraged through abandoned buildings. Sarge wrestled with the definition of looting and the more palatable connotation—foraging. He settled upon a survival standard. If the item was needed for survival and had been abandoned, then it became fair game as an item to be foraged. If the item was clearly a matter of luxury such as valuables, then pilfering it would be considered looting.
In typical short-minded thinking, the gangs focused on valuables during their looting expeditions. They relied upon O’Brien and the Citizen Corps to feed them. But as the Loyal Nine learned after the attack on Prescott Peninsula, either there wasn’t enough food to go around or the Citizen Corps was picking winners and losers for the necessities of life. This was one of the topics to be discussed with Steven.
“Hey, check this out,” said Steven, smiling. He reached into his rucksack and pulled out a rubber-coated ball with several small glass inserts.
Sarge picked it up and rolled it in his hand. “Have you been playing with Winnie the Frenchie?”
“No, this is way better than a toy. This, my brother, is a Bounce Imaging Explorer.”
“Sounds like the name of a spacecraft.” Sarge laughed as he began to roll the sphere back and forth on the table. He picked it up and bounced it on the tabletop.
Steven reached into his pack again and pulled out a smartphone-sized device, which he quickly strapped onto his wrist. He pushed a button and the display came to life.
“Check it out.” Sarge looked closer at the display and then held the ball up to his eyes. With a swipe of his finger, Steven showed Sarge his eyes on the display.
“It’s a camera!” exclaimed Sarge.
“Fuckin’ A,” said Steven. “Here, watch this.” Steven took the Explorer and rolled it down the center of the Great Hall until it disappeared behind the fireplace that stood in the middle of the room.
Steven swiped across the screen and the device showed him a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the other side of the room.
“Cool,” said Sarge. “Where’d you get it?”
“One of the Mechanics who moved into unit 4A is Boston PD,” replied Steven. “When the shit hit the fan, he was on a SWAT team, which quickly disbanded. He kept his tactical gear.”
“This has a lot of potential.”
“If you have to clear a building, you can see who is armed and detect their position. Our guys will be able to differentiate between hostiles and friendlies.”
“It’s a throwable tactical camera,” added Sarge. “How many do you have?”
“Just the one,” replied Steven before adding, “but I’ve got a line on a whole lot more. They’re made here in Boston by a company called Bounce Imaging.”
“You’re kidding.” Sarge laughed.
“Nope. Our man says they’re located down the street from Harvard Stadium. I’m gonna send a team down there and see if we can procure a few more.”
Sarge got up to retrieve the Explorer. Amazing technology. He grabbed the Glengoyne off the kitchen island and poured them another round. He took his seat across from Steven.
“I assume you agree with Brad’s decision to pull out of Fort Devens,” started Steven. He took a quick swig of his drink.
“I do,” said Sarge. He leaned back in his chair and draped his arm over the one next to him. “We’ve had our share of skirmishes, but last weekend was a clear wake-up call. We need to prepare for war.”
“Brad and I agree, which is why we sat down yesterday and divided up our areas of responsibility. My forte is black ops, so I’ll direct all of the activities of the Mechanics. He will continue to command his Marines except those who are under roof here. They’ll handle our security and training of new recruits.”
“How is recruiting coming along?”
“Well, this ball is a good example of what we’ve been able to accomplish. As the word is spreading around the city of our successes and goals, our numbers are swelling.”
“How many?”
“Nearly a thousand, with more who are making overtures every day. We may not be able to match the troop strength of the United Nations forces, but at least our guys will be committed to the cause.”
Sarge contemplated the rapid growth of the Mechanics. Numbers were important, as long as they were loyal and committed. Increasing the numbers too quickly could result in a spy entering their ranks.
“How are you vetting the new people?” he asked. “Adding someone to what is supposed to be a group of covert operatives has risks. It’s like dating. You can’t really tell if they’re right for you until after a few dates.”
Steven appeared to be put off by the question. “First off, they have to be recommended by an existing member. I don’t believe in love at first sight, brother.”
“I know, Steven,” said Sarge. Steven’s bristly reply caught him off guard. “We’re in a pickle here. We need to increase our numbers, but we also need to maintain what you military guys call operational security.”
“We look at a lot of things in addition to relationships. I wanna know what they bring to the table, like experience, weapons, and commitment.”
Sarge didn’t want to argue with his brother and was puzzled by his change in attitude. This wasn’t intended to be a contentious conversation.
“What happens if one of the Mechanics wants out?” he asked, fully aware that this might rile his brother up further. These questions needed to be asked. Sarge had a much greater responsibility now, and he had to make sure that his subordinates, which included Steven, were on the same page.
Steven leaned forward. “We just shoot ’em.”
“C’mon.”
“Of course not, Sarge. Listen, the situation hasn’t come up, but when it does, I’ll handle it. Don’t worry, bro, I’ve got this.”
“Okay, okay, I know,” said Sarge, wanting to change the subject. “What’s the first thing on the agenda for the Mechanics?”
Steven seemed to relax as well and poured himself another drink. He started to pour one for Sarge, but Sarge held his hand up and declined another. Steven shrugged and set the bottle down.
“I’ve got things on the drawing board, both big and small. You and I will meet with our top people at the Liberty Tree in a couple of days. We’re going to ramp up our insurgent activities. We’re gonna be like a bunch of mosquitos constantly buzzing in O’Brien’s ears.”
“Guerrilla warfare?” asked Sarge.
“You have been paying attention!” exclaimed Steven.
“I’ve picked up a few things.” Sarge laughed, welcoming the ease in tension between them.
“Guerrilla warfare enables us to move quickly and be more mobile. I’ve established over a dozen teams for this purpose. Sarge, to ease your fears, these teams are led by trusted guys—most of whom are living in the condo units below us. They handpick their men. New guys are eased into the process by proving themselves during our activities.”
“Makes sense,” said Sarge, who then attempted to recite the infamous quote from Sun Tzu. “It’s the way of the weak against the strong.”
“Exactly. When faced with a stronger force to overcome, you concentrate your efforts against its weak points to distract and disorganize the enemy.”
“The UN forces are well armed, but they’re also despised by the locals,” said Sarge. “We can use that to our advantage.”
“Winning a guerrilla war requires having popular opinion on your side. The city’s population ha
s been decimated. There has been a clear line established between the makers and takers. Right now, the takers outnumber the rest of us, but their hope is fading.”
“They’re not getting fed,” interjected Sarge.
“You’ve got it. We are going to change that and try to win them over, at least in part. Once we do, I plan on turning the tide against O’Brien.”
Sarge became very interested in Steven’s plan. “What do you have in mind?”
“It’s a combination of shock and awe and the Robin Hood approach.”
Sarge laughed. “That’s a mouthful.”
“The timing is critical to our success. But after it’s over, the Mechanics will be on the tip of the tongue of every patriot throughout the region, if not America.”
Chapter 14
Friday, October 7, 2016
11:58 a.m.
1st Battalion, 25th Marines HQ
Fort Devens, Massachusetts
The two Humvees roared out of the reinforced front gates that protected the entrance to Prescott Peninsula. Two days prior, several pickup trucks arrived and loaded the body bags containing the dead from the failed raid. The body count was thirty-seven, not counting those floating in the Quabbin Reservoir.
Brad moved quickly to handpick seven Marines to join him. Captain Gibson contacted 1PP, advising them of the reported UN convoy heading up Highway 2 near Concord. The five-vehicle caravan was led by a Jeep, two troop carriers, and two armored vehicles. The all-white vehicles with the black letters UN emblazoned on the sides raised eyebrows near Hanscom Air Force Base in Bedford, prompting the call to Fort Devens.
Brad instructed Gibson to secure the prisoners and close the shuttered windows of the former Federal Prison Camp. If the contingent arrived at the south gate before he did, Gibson was instructed to deny entry. Brad would deal with the UN personnel himself.
Under normal circumstances, the UN convoy would arrive at the gate in forty minutes, but Brad instructed Gunny Falcone to leave Fort Devens and create an obstacle to slow their progress. They agreed upon a stretch of Highway 2 northwest of Acton.
Falcone fabricated an accident scene to block the road. The disabled vehicles would require the convoy to return to Acton and then pick up Highway 111, adding forty-five minutes to their trip. Brad would be given plenty of time to get into position.
Brad dispatched members of the Mechanics who lived in the surrounding community to monitor the UN’s progress and route. There were several entrances into the Devens complex, and Brad wanted to be ready for all contingencies.
Brad arrived as he received a report that the convoy had turned north on Highway 111 at the small town of Harvard. They were only a few miles away from the Barnum Entrance, where Brad was already waiting.
Ordinarily, Barnum Road, and the large circle it created with the intersection of Highway 111 and East Main Street, was readily accessible to civilian traffic. Brad closed down the road to traffic after the cyber attack by installing concrete traffic barriers and razor wire. Not only did this prevent vehicular access, but it put the local residents on notice that Fort Devens was no longer open to pedestrians.
The businesses in the Barnum Road circle that serviced the base were closed and then looted. The Jack O’Lantern Package store, McDonald’s, and Wendy’s fell victim to the collapse of society. Much of the available inventory at Gervais Ford had either been stolen or ransacked. Even businesses within hundreds of yards of a military installation were not immune from the onslaught resulting from the aftermath of the cyber attack.
Brad stood defiantly in front of his two Humvees, which leveled their guns on the narrow entrance through the barriers. He’d strategically parked two abandoned vehicles in the roundabout, forcing the convoy to follow the rules of the road and take the entire circuitous route to the entrance. The forced route had the added effect of exposing the UN convoy on all sides. Brad had snipers on the rooftops of the fast feeders as well as Gervais Ford. The blocked exits and the forced entry created a perfect choke point for the approaching UN troops. They were deep into the trap before they could do anything about it.
“Gentlemen, remember our rules of engagement,” said Brad into the radio. “Do not fire unless fired upon. As soon as they are contained within the circle, deploy the spike strips at Old Towne Road, pending further orders. Barnum Base out.”
“Roger.”
As soon as the convoy was fully contained in the roundabout, the lead vehicle came to a sudden stop, causing the other vehicles to bunch up behind the white UN Jeep. Both sides remained silent, and still, for several minutes.
Brad could see the passenger in the lead Jeep on a military phone. Did they expect us to welcome them with flying baby blue UN flags and the customary marching band? Maybe throwing roses?
The Jeep began to inch forward and came to a halt in front of the concrete barriers. Brad boldly walked forward, comforted in knowing that his soldiers would rain hellfire on the convoy if they so much as blinked.
A heavyset soldier came out of the doorless Jeep and put on his baby blue beret, indicating he was an officer with the UN contingent. He approached Brad with an envelope.
“I am Major Donald McLaughlin of the United Nations Peacekeeping forces,” he said with an Irish accent. “I have orders to enter this facility. May I speak with your commanding officer?”
“I am the CO, Major. Your entry is denied.”
The major thrust the envelope towards Brad, who hesitated before taking it. Without removing his eyes from the major, he opened it and glanced at the letterhead. It was written by Governor O’Brien, who now had gold flake letterhead on what felt like construction paper.
Brad attempted to hand it back to the major, who refused to take it. “Your entry is denied, sir. I’m advising you to leave!” Brad raised his voice for added effect. This, however, raised the attention of the UN troops, several of whom disembarked from their vehicles. Brad’s men, including those hidden in the trees across the circle, immediately raised their weapons. The number of arms directed at the UN soldiers stopped them in their tracks.
“Major, I am advising you to order your men to remain in their vehicles, or this will not end well for any of you,” said Brad.
The major raised his arm and yelled, “Stand down!” His soldiers had already done so, including two that beat a hasty retreat back into their troop carrier.
“Sir,” the major started. “We all have our orders here. I am under the command of Major General Zhang Wei of the United Nations. You are holding in your hand a directive from Governor James O’Brien to allow us access to this military installation.”
Brad dropped the envelope and its contents on the ground at the major’s feet. “Do I need to repeat my request, Major?”
“I am the authority here!” yelled the frustrated UN officer.
“I’m afraid not, Major. This is the United States of America, and Fort Devens falls under the command of the United States Marine Corps. This conversation is over.” With that, Brad turned and walked steadily to the front of the Humvees. He intentionally spoke into his comms loud enough for the major to hear his instructions. “On my order!”
The sounds of charging handles being pulled were heard throughout the tense air. The major from Ireland looked around frantically. Behind the trees, through the tall berms of orange daylilies, on the surrounding rooftops, and behind every blade of grass, American Marines drew their aim on his chest and those of his troops.
“This isn’t over!” he shouted in Brad’s direction.
Brad quickly turned and returned the challenge. “It is for today!”
Chapter 15
Saturday, October 8, 2016
7:00 p.m.
630 Washington Street
Boston, Massachusetts
Once again, Sarge and Steven found themselves convening a meeting of the top lieutenants of the Mechanics. Sarge knew that keeping the same location could lead them to suffering the same fate as the Mechanics who continuously met at the Gre
en Lantern Tavern prior to the Revolutionary War. Their meetings and the locations would have to become more clandestine.
Tonight marked the first time Katie attended a meeting with him. She was also the first woman to be included in the planning stage with the Mechanics. Steven argued with her before this decision was made. She won the argument and further encouraged him to take a greater role in the leadership of the Mechanics.
These are your men. You’ve got to assert yourself. That’s the only way to gain the respect of all those people at Prescott Peninsula.
Katie was having difficulty hiding her contempt for the decision to put Sarge in Charge, as she frequently said sarcastically. She insisted that Steven was equally important, especially in light of the circumstances, and that he should’ve been given shared authority over the activities of the Boston Brahmin.
Steven tried to impress upon her that his relationship with his brother was solid, and they were a team. Each of the Loyal Nine had a role to play, and Sarge would be the guy who worked behind the scenes, politically and financially. Katie continued to bring his attention to perceived slights by Morgan toward Steven and favoritism for Sarge. Although Steven noticed and attempted to push these snubs out of his mind, the whole thing was beginning to wear on him.
“Let me get them started, and then I’ll turn it over to you for the details of the operation,” said Sarge as he walked up to join Katie and Steven.
“Sounds good,” started Steven before he was interrupted by Katie.
“Shouldn’t Steven be the sole voice of the Mechanics’ leadership team?”
“Katie, of course these men look up to him as their leader,” replied Sarge. Steven grabbed Katie’s hand and squeezed it. She quickly pulled it away.
