The Mechanics: A Post-Apocalyptic Fiction Series

by Bobby Akart

  Julia laughed. “The symbolism is not lost on me. A so-called governor appointed by a tyrannical President has to kidnap the legitimate government in order to establish his own legitimacy.” They both began laughing.

  “That was a mouthful coming from a former political editor to a newspaper.” Sarge laughed.

  “Imagine if I wrote it and someone had to read it,” she replied, giving Sarge a fist bump.

  “LOL,” said Sarge, utilizing his favorite acronym from Facebook. He turned serious again. “We have to win the battle of ideas first. Americans are looking for leadership, not oppression. Restoring our freedoms and rights under the Constitution are a prerequisite to revitalizing and restoring America to its greatness.”

  “How do you get everyone on board?” asked Julia.

  “Not everyone, but at least most,” he replied. “We need to convince patriotic Americans to reaffirm the principles of limited government, free enterprise, and the rule of law so that we can reemerge a nation where freedom, opportunity, and prosperity can flourish.”

  “Well, don’t you sound like a politician.” Julia chuckled. “Maybe you should run for office? President Sargent. I like it.”

  “Shhhh,” joked Sarge. “Somebody might hear you and second the motion.”

  “Can we succeed in taking back our country and restoring democracy in your vision?” asked Julia.

  “I have to say, the changes must start with our political parties. I believe the Republicans and Democrats became less interested in winning elections than in controlling their parties’ candidates. History has proven that. When Barry Goldwater won the Republican nomination in ’64, it was his fellow Republicans who destroyed his chances of success in the campaign against LBJ.”

  “What about now?” asked Julia.

  “Libertarians have never had a chance within either of the two major political parties. I’ve always said that it would take a major reset of the political landscape to change that.”

  “Now, you have your reset,” said Julia.

  “Yes, courtesy of my predecessor, John Morgan.”

  Sarge thought quietly. “Our country was headed for a societal meltdown. The nation was unhappy all across the socioeconomic spectrum. During my lectures, I focused on external threats to our sovereignty. But over the past few decades, America began to rapidly decline. Our country was going to collapse eventually, like all of the great nations before her, but not from an existential threat. It was going to collapse from within. By that, I mean from within our hearts and souls.”

  “Are we talking a Civil War or a second American Revolution?” asked Julia.

  “Perhaps a little of both,” replied Sarge. “Before the cyber attack, most Americans didn’t care to learn about, much less conceive, the concept of a world without a United States. Yet, it is inevitable. The signs are there as you see the foundations and principles established by our relatives disappear. We have a unique opportunity to return the country to a course of greatness, but it won’t be easy.”

  Julia took in the words of the man she loved so much. Things happened for a reason. He was a great leader whose time had come. The time was also right for something else.

  “Sarge, I want our baby to grow up in the country you envision. I want our baby to have the opportunities we had and to respect the meaning of freedom that most of the children in the world will never know.”

  “Julia, I agree, but what are you saying?”

  “Our baby, Sarge. I’m pregnant.” Julia began crying tears of joy. She’d been holding this inside for days, waiting for the right moment to reveal the news to the man she loved so much. There was never a perfect time to have a baby, and there was never a perfect time to tell a man he was going to be a father.

  “You’re pregnant! I love you. I love you. My God, Julia, really?”

  Julia nodded with tears still streaming down her face. Sarge hugged her so tight it slightly hurt her tender chest, but she didn’t care.

  “Yes, Sarge. Is it okay?”

  “Okay? Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

  “Look around us,” she started. “We live in some kind of postapocalyptic, dystopian horror movie. How will we raise a child in a world like this?”

  “The same way they did two hundred and fifty years ago, with morals and ethics and hope for the future. Our child will be with us as we sow the seeds of liberty across America. I can’t think of a better motivation to make America great again.”

  Julia hugged him tightly. She was so proud of Sarge and would carry his child proudly. Their baby would be born under precarious circumstances, but she was confident Sarge was uniquely capable of making America that shining city upon a hill, as John Winthrop, Sarge’s ancestor who founded the Massachusetts Bay colony, wrote in the early seventeenth century.

  “Sir! Sir!” exclaimed Captain Gibson as he abruptly interrupted their tender moment. “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but this is urgent.”

  Sarge broke away from their embrace, but not before wiping the tears off Julia’s cheeks. “What is it, Gibson?”

  “Sir, we’ve been monitoring radio chatter. There appears to be an operation going on by our men.”

  “The Mechanics or the Marines?” asked Sarge.

  “The Mechanics, sir. We’re picking up a significant amount of communications across our frequencies, indicating they’re planning an ambush of the UN forces during the prisoner exchange.”

  Sarge looked at Julia with a scowl on his face. “Goddammit, Stephen.

  “Gibson, have you been able to raise my brother on the radio?”

  “We’ve tried, sir, but there’s been no response. We weren’t sure if you were aware and didn’t want to disrupt the flow of the operation.”

  “Dammit!” Sarge yelled out of frustration. He immediately moved to the telescope to get a better view. The long-range capability of the lens allowed him to focus in on specific groups of people. Steven was to set up the Mechanics in a defensive position, mainly to be a rapid-reaction force in the event O’Brien pulled a double-cross. Sarge had expressly prohibited the use of force on the UN soldiers.

  “This was supposed to be a day of diplomacy, not conflict. There will be plenty of time for that.”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Julia apprehensively. She didn’t want Sarge to go down to the Common.

  “I can’t put our guys at risk by a bunch of radio communications. I have to find him and call this thing off.”

  Sarge turned his attention back to Gibson. “What’s his codename?”

  “Hammer One, sir.”

  “Have you established what the operation is?”

  “Yes, sir. I can fill you in on the way. This is happening fairly quickly. The zone of action appears to be focusing on the steps of the State House. I believe O’Brien may be a target.”

  Sarge grasped Julia by the shoulders, and she began to cry again. “I love you. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

  “You better be,” she replied. “I don’t want anything to happen to our baby boy’s father.”

  “A boy? Yeah, I like it—Little Sarge Junior.” He laughed as he kissed her and turned to leave.

  “The fifth,” she yelled after him.

  “Henry the fifth, I like it!” he shouted back.

  Julia muttered, “I love you,” but Sarge was gone.

  Chapter 44

  Tuesday, November 8, 2016

  12:00 p.m.

  Boston Common

  Boston, Massachusetts

  It was a bright morning without a cloud in the sky. Last night’s frost melted and the temperatures hovered just above forty. Steven exited the stalled van about a block away from the State House near the Beacon Street entrance to Suffolk University.

  In his mid-thirties, Steven was as fit as any professional athlete. The poor food selection hadn’t diminished his energy or physical abilities. He quickly emerged and was off in a sprint. Steven’s team of Hammers followed him down the sidewal
k until he took a sharp right turn and bolted down an alleyway between the university’s buildings. Grant and Elkins struggled to keep up. They would not have been his first choice, or second or third, for that matter, to be a part of his Hammers team. The men claimed to know the State House and had learned that O’Brien planned a celebratory party for his returning union guys. Steven smelled an opportunity to take down O’Brien and his forty-some trusted men at the same time. The inside of the State House would be an easy killing field for five men with full-auto M4s.

  Steven zigzagged his way across an open parking area, using the stalled vehicles as cover. Every once in a while he would respond to a radio broadcast as the various teams got into position.

  By the time he reached Ashburton Place to the east of the State House, all teams were in position. He motioned for his men to press themselves against the building while he ordered the perimeter units to begin their mission.

  “Delta One, Hammer One. Over,” said Steven into his handheld mic attached to his kit.

  “Go for Delta One.”

  “Hammer down all Delta teams.”

  The Delta teams were dispersed throughout downtown Boston and had been monitoring the UN troops all night. The UN was preparing for a riot. Their troops were equipped with tear gas, pepper spray, and long-range acoustic devices. Their outfits consisted of riot helmets, body armor, face visors, and riot shields. When the water cannons and armored fighting vehicles rolled out of the Seaport, Steven knew O’Brien planned an ambush. Well, Steven had an ambush planned of his own.

  Their job was to disable the riot personnel without alerting O’Brien. Steven expected them to be used after the prisoners were exchanged. The riot control soldiers were positioned in the side streets out of plain view, to the east, south and west of Boston Common. Because the primary focus of O’Brien’s men was that location, Steven determined the north entrance of the State House would be most vulnerable.

  Steven sent Elkins and Grant across the street to take up positions behind the concrete planters. He led the other two along the wall toward the State House. He ducked into the entry of the Capitol Coffee House. The men across the street behind the planters would be his eyes for any UN soldiers around the corner.

  Steven keyed the mic. “Talk to me.”

  “You’ve got two Humvees positioned in a V. From here, we can see four UN soldiers in front, looking towards the Common. The park appears to be empty.”

  “Roger that.”

  Steven looked over his shoulder and scanned the faces of the men behind him. He held up four fingers. Each man nodded their acknowledgment. Steven poked his head around the corner and saw the four targets. Today, he was carrying an H & K MP7S with a suppressor and an extended, forty-round magazine. It was compact, light and ideal for this type of operation.

  “All right, Hammers,” he said. “Flip transmission on and move.”

  He ran into the street behind the UN Humvees undetected, quickly moving across the narrow road onto the sidewalk adjacent to Ashburton Park. The other men followed the wall to cover the left flank of the UN roadblock.

  “Eyes on four targets,” said Steven into the radio.

  “Roger, eyes on four,” came the reply.

  “Fire.” The four targets were dropped in seconds. “Pull the bodies under the vehicles. Grab the keys too.” Steven waved for Elkins and Grant to join him.

  After the bodies were secure, Steven led the team down the hill along the retaining wall supporting Ashburton Park. At the corner, he peered around the block planters to observe the Derne Street entrance to the State House’s parking garage. The street was deserted.

  “All clear,” he said as they ran down the street and ducked inside the granite portico. For a moment, he debated whether to use the parking garage as a point of entry and thought about the lack of vehicles and security along the rear entrance to the building. How are these forty-four prisoners getting out of here? There weren’t any vehicles on the street except a couple of broken-down trucks.

  Then he heard voices and laughter coming from within the garage. Chinese dialect. UN soldiers.

  “Let’s stick to the plan and hit the service entrance,” he said. He quickly switched his comms to the other frequency and received reports from the Delta teams. They had neutralized the riot squads of the UN.

  All teams were awaiting the arrival of the school buses carrying the prisoners from Fort Devens. Once the prisoners from the State House descended into Boston Common, the forty-four would be allowed to enter the State House. O’Brien, via Pearson, had agreed to vacate the State House by the end of the day.

  “Let’s move,” said Steven, anxious to get into position. He led the team into the bowels of the complex and veered to the right. He gestured toward the kitchen and then turned the team up a back flight of stairs to the first floor. Based upon information he’d received from Sarge during his debrief following the raid last week, Steven decided to use the same stairwell to the upper levels. This would give his team the high ground.

  They reached the second-floor library and found it empty. The sounds of muffled voices could be heard in the grand foyer. Steven cracked the library doors and rolled the Bounce Imaging Ball onto the landing overlooking the first floor.

  He studied the video pad on his wrist and reported his findings to the Hammers team. “They’ve got the prisoners kneeling down in the center of the building. There are guards on the second level.”

  “How many?”

  “Four, two on each side. Their attention is directed to the prisoners, but they don’t appear to be on alert.” He studied the video pad for another moment until the sounds of feet shuffling could be heard coming from below.

  “On your feet! Get up! Arriba, arriba! Andale! Macht Schnell! Let’s go!”

  Steven switched frequencies and was told the buses had arrived. He turned to his team. “It’s almost go time. First, we’ll use the activity below as cover as we take out the four men on this level. Elkins, Grant, we’ll take the west side of the building. You men go left to the east. Take out your targets, and drag them out of view. Clear so far?”

  “Yes.”

  “Second, and very important,” continued Steven, “I came here to take out that fucker O’Brien. He’s mine, got it? You’ll know when to open fire—when that fat ass hits the floor. Clear.”

  The team nodded. Elkins and Grant followed Steven along the wall, ducking into the office doorways at each opportunity. A series of half-dead ficus trees contained in planters prevented him from taking a clear shot. Fortunately, the confusion downstairs supplied a perfect distraction. Steven aimed his weapon and shot the UN soldiers in the back with two rounds each. The other two members of the team followed suit.

  “They’re leaving,” said Grant.

  “Follow me,” said Steven as he led the two men to the front windows overlooking Boston Common. Then he saw O’Brien standing on top of the makeshift scaffolding like a Roman king presiding over two warriors fighting in the Colosseum.

  “They’ll be coming in now. Shouldn’t we get in position?” asked Elkins.

  Steven looked around for the best vantage point. “There,” he said, pointing to the entrance to the west wing. “That gives us a perfect vantage point and we can keep the guys below in a crossfire.” As they carefully made their way back to the west wing where the balcony overlooked the entrance to the State House, Steven switched to the other frequency to monitor the transmissions of the Mechanics.

  Reports were coming across the radio that the UN troops were converging onto Boston Common from Beacon, Park, and Tremont Streets. They were putting the squeeze on their people.

  “It’s an ambush! I knew it!” he unconsciously said aloud.

  Chapter 45

  Tuesday, November 8, 2016

  12:22 p.m.

  Boston Common

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Sarge donned his gear and ran out the front door into the cool air. His security detail hustled to catch up.
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  Creeping up on the ripe old age of forty, he was about to be a father for the first time. Of all the times and of all the circumstances, becoming a dad wasn’t the best idea, but it was one that he embraced wholeheartedly. He felt the same excitement as Julia when she told him.

  Captain Gibson rushed ahead of Sarge with two of the Mechanics in tow. A couple of Marines brought up the rear. Gibson led them through the alleys and backyards of Chestnut Street along the same route they used to escape the State House a few days prior. It worked before.

  As their pace quickened into a trot, Sarge turned up the volume on his radio and listened through his earpiece. Sarge picked up on chatter from the Mechanics that Steven was in place inside the State House. He could not determine which channel his brother was utilizing in order to contact him. All that he could determine was that Steven was inside the building with his team.

  As they ran up Chestnut Street toward Beacon Hill, none of his men attempted to conceal their weapons. Sarge wasn’t sure they could arrive at the State House in time to help diffuse the situation or to help his brother with this plan, whatever it was. But I have to try.

  Retracing their steps, the group reached Joy Street and made their way to the west side of the building. As they climbed the iron fire escape to the first floor, cheers rose from the front of the State House.

  “Stand back,” instructed one of Gibson’s men as he placed a small explosive charge on the steel door’s frame. “Turn your backs to the door.” A small explosion compromised the lock, and the door, still smoldering, flung open. The sound was barely heard over the shouts coming from Boston Common.

  Once Sarge and his detail were inside, Gibson asked, “Which way, sir?”

  Sarge came to a realization. Steven was an assassin. That was what he knew best. He was there to assassinate O’Brien.

  “Dammit, he’s gonna take out O’Brien,” said Sarge.

  Gibson didn’t wait for further instruction. “Upstairs,” he shouted as he quickly led the team up to the second level of the State House. Once in the hallway, Gibson cautiously moved the team toward the grand foyer. As they approached the opening, Sarge ran past the team as Steven appeared from the right.