27/01/2047 05:30
Sarah leaned back in her chair in the darkened Operations Room with a satisfied smile on her face. The operation couldn't have gone more smoothly, in her opinion at least.
"Keep monitoring all comm bands for all responses." A quick finger-point gesture sent the order.
She knew her communications team didn't need the instruction, but she felt better giving it.
"Feeling pretty good?" asked George standing behind her, hands in his pockets.
Sarah turned her chair to face her father. "Yes, Sir. Almost don't want it to end." She watched him consider this, and nod his head.
"Yeah, I understand, but here's something to think about. Emotional highs like this are addictive for officers behind the lines," said George. "But you aren't out there, putting yourself in front of somebody's weapon, taking the risk. You're risking our people and you can't do it for the high it gives you."
Sarah sat up straighter. Looked at her father's face. Dropped her eyes. She felt her face heat up. What's this? she thought. Did I do something wrong? She glanced up, examined her father's face again. Serious. No joking. Damn. Think it through Sarah. I'm no rookie. I have hours and hours listening and working with Generals and I know how to plan an operation. I dropped bombs on more bad guys than he can even imagine. Firing a weapon? I can't do that as well as the men. But I know where to put troops so they can effectively fire the guns. Right and that's his message. Gotta consider the troops first. That's the deal here. Troops first. All this went through Sarah's mind in the second it took her to stand up and face her father. She nodded.
"The emotional high of command is addictive. Understand?" asked George taking his hands out of his pockets, raising them palm upwards and cocking his head.
Sarah nodded. Unlike her father who served in three combat zones ending up as a decorated sniper, she never pulled a trigger when somebody was firing back. She commanded a drone team and while it was important and effective, it happened far behind any active shooting.
"I see that, and before you ask, yeah I know a few Colonels that may have caught that particular disease," said Sarah. She nodded, took a deep breath, and her smile returned as she watched the grin reappear on her father's face.
She reached behind her, patted the console almost affectionately, and stretched to release the tension. Her back unknotted, her left shoulder cracked as she clasped her hands behind her and arched her back to pull every muscle away from its sitting position.
Standing upright, looking slightly up at her father she asked, "Mr. Company President, Sir. How did our team do tonight?" Her returning good mood colored the words.
George peered over the top of his glasses. "You tell me. What would you do differently and change to make things more effective?"
Sarah grimaced. Military was military and no matter how well you did, you always calculated how to do better. There was always an alternative and lesson to be learned and she knew she was about to be grilled until she produced them. She thought for a second and frowned wondering whether her father was harder on her than on other officers after such a successful operation. She decided this was just how her old man operated, and having seen him ream out others, she settled down and considered the question.
"I think I'd make sure all teams carried a mobile rocket launcher for armored entrances."
"Good. What else?"
"Our intel on the banking house wasn't complete. We didn't know about the heavy fortifications and that created obvious problems. But I want to talk to the men and hear their reports before I make any more recommendations. I think they'll have a better sense of tonight's action and where I'll learn the most. I'll conduct the post-op interviews myself."
George nodded. "Good. Sound move on the listening first. You, your men and plan worked well tonight. You should be pleased. I'm not saying the planning couldn't have been better, but it was good. Congratulations." A quick nod followed the last sentence.
Sarah stretched again, smiled. this kind of praise from her father wasn't common, for her or any of the men. Her father's expectations were always high even when Sarah was a kid. She decided he had been tough when she was a kid but was just fine now.
"Let's get ourselves a beer and slap a few backs," said George punching his daughter on the shoulder.
"Copy that, sir."
27/01/2047 05:35:00
Zeevid was one of the first of the news agencies to get to the site. Ed Gordon, a local news reporter and stringer for ZeeVid in New York City, had the rare ability to make every vid report sound as if it were the most important story ever told. His boss warned him to watch his tendency to bounce around with excitement as he talked, but Ed had difficulty remembering this. He bounced tonight as he spoke to the camera drone.
"Police have confirmed reports the violence in both the West and East Projects were not gang-on-gang as initially suspected. The police told me some group killed every senior member of both gangs tonight in a well-coordinated and rapid strike. As you can see from the building behind me, the attackers used rockets to blow the top story of this building down and destroy the armored window to my right. High firepower is the only way to create this level of damage."
He paused for effect and heard a baby wailing in the arms of one of the ambulance medics. The reporter part of him smiled inwardly as he knew the background screaming played well with his story, but he felt his stomach churn. He pushed the thought away.
"I talked to Police Chief Baker and he has no idea who did this. Several witnesses confirmed the men wore heavy body armor and drove big SUVs, the kind of equipment worn by military personnel.
Witnesses speculated it was payback for the deaths three weeks ago of two QuellCorp troops but there is no proof of this. Police made no arrests in that murder. Chief Baker declined to speculate on this but said he'd assigned his best detectives to that case.
More later on this mass execution. I'm Ed Gordon for ZeeVid." He waved, patted his arm, and the camera drone flew down to reattach itself to its place on his shoulder.
Ed took a deep breath and regretted it as his lungs filled with the stench of smoke and dead bodies. He turned to the buildings and shook his head. The scene took what he'd seen on a normal gang execution story, a single splayed-out body with head wounds, and pushed it into the realm of total warfare. He acknowledged his mixed feelings with one part of him being tremendously excited and impressed with the raw display of power here tonight. The other part was repelled by the effects of that power on human beings.
The baby's screams penetrated his concentration. He turned to the sound, saw a burly firefighter trying to comfort the child and realized the man's helmet, protective mask and gear weren't helping the child. He strode over, smiled at the man and held out his arms. The baby was quickly transferred and Gordon held the small bundle close to his chest and began that bouncing, cuddling walk every father learns. The baby didn't stop immediately, but slowly the screams turned to crying. Gordon continued walking - ten steps in one direction, turn and retrace his steps to turn again - while he watched for the social services staff member who was bound to turn up sooner or later. Probably later he thought.
Five minutes later, the baby stopped crying, whimpered a few times, then shut her eyes returning to sleep. Gordon looked at the small face that had returned to its peaceful sleeping beauty and smiled. Nothing like holding a sleeping baby he thought. Nothing. His mind calmed along with the child's, and for the next few minutes he enjoyed the child's innocent silence and regular breathing against his chest.
But his mind would not ignore the slaughter and story idea. My next step is to tie QuellCorp and Gwinnett to this slaughter. Now this would be a story. A story this important could get me a promotion to the big leagues up north he thought.
And with that, he pushed death out of his mind, replacing it with the excitement of a new and powerful story.
He planned it out while he walked.
28/01/2047 07:15
Standing in his
office, looking out the bay windows of the old antebellum mansion, Gwinnett chuckled as he watched his staff go through their daily parking adventure. After he'd agreed the formerly extensive lawns were no longer essential, they'd become favorite parking spots instead of the oft-flooded and muddy parking areas further down towards the marshes. He chuckled as he noted how early some of his people came to work now just so they could find a spot surrounding the old plantation house.
His desk comm told him Ed Gordon was calling. "Voice only, record, answer," he said.
"Ed, I know you're just doing your job and let me give you what I have at the moment," began Gwinnett, preempting questions, as soon as he answered the call. He turned away from the window to face the picture of his great-grandfather on the wall. Hyram Gwinnett had been a Major in the War Between the States and had fought with the Georgia cavalry. He'd survived long enough to retreat across the Savannah River with the rest of the remnants of the Confederate forces and died in the waning days of the war in the defense of Charleston. His sword, passed from father to son, hung under the portrait. It was brought home by one of the soldiers who survived that last suicidal cavalry charge.
Gwinnett shook his head and then focused his attention. He needed to pay attention to this young man who had the ear of millions of people.
Gordon interrupted him. "On the record, Mr. Gwinnett."
Gwinnett noted it wasn't a question. He took a breath before speaking.
Gwinnett activated his voice recording system.
"Yes, this is on the record and you can quote me. I got a call from Chief Baker around one in the morning saying our troops attacked housing units on both sides of the city and there were a high number of civilian casualties, both men and women. He was understandably furious at me and my men. And if this is true, and it's not been proven, then I too will be angry and will have the responsible troopers brought to justice."
"Have you checked your staff whereabouts last night?" asked Gordon.
"Yes, that was the first thing I did. Every trooper on duty was electronically confirmed to have been on the base all of last night. We checked the staff on leave and their implanted e-signals identified their location across the U.S. To the best of our knowledge, only a few were in Savannah last night. We checked all staff in Savannah for whereabouts and weapons but no weapons were found and all were engaged in normal activities."
"Your troops can mask their signals. We know you have that ability because you've showed this in your counter-insurgency work overseas. Did your troops use those abilities last night?" asked Gordon.
Gwinnett grinned. This was going as he expected. He leaned against the wall next to the window and, with unfocussed eyes, stared at the blank wall screens across the room while paying attention to his words.
"That was the second thing I checked. And again, to the best of my knowledge, none of our employees went dark last night. Before you ask, yes, it might be possible for them to go dark. If they wanted to mask it, they might go dark for a short time, but we'd be able to find out after the fact. But here's the important point. They couldn't be dark in the middle of Savannah and still register as being at home." He pushed himself back upright, grinned and shook his head.
"So you're saying you didn't know about this raid and your troops were not involved?"
"Yes, that's what I'm saying," said Gwinnett.
"Are you prepared to make the data public?" asked Gordon.
"I'll give the data to the appropriate oversight board. No problem. But for corporate security reasons, I will not make the data public for our competitors to analyze." Gwinnett shook his head. What kind of idiot did Gordon think he was? Turn the data over to the public my ass!
"How do you react to the Chief's accusations about QuellCorp being involved?" asked Gordon.
Knowing the reporter couldn't see him, Gwinnett held his middle finger upright and jabbed it toward the ceiling. His voice remained calm and wouldn't trip any emotional-detection software on the reporter's com system.
"I understand the Chief is upset and I don't hold anything said in these first few moments against him at all. When my people were shot two weeks ago, I was equally upset for their families and friends. But this stuff happens in our current economic conditions, and we need to get past the mistrust and work together.
After we lost those two men, I reached out to the Chief. And we had a task team working together to take down the gangs. When the truth comes out, it will be clear this wasn't our work but some other group dealt with the gangs. We both know they're out there."
"Off the record then?" asked Gordon.
Gwinnett stretched, walked to his desk, turned and perched on the edge. Last night was a late one, and he was tired this morning. He wasn't impressed with himself for being tired - it was a sign of aging. Damn, but he resented getting old. He shook his head at Gordon's question and thought it was a good thing Gordon didn't have him on the vid-phone. The bags under his eyes this morning after one too many beers with the men told their own story. He let the silence stretch for a few extra seconds.
"OK. Off the record and between us." Gwinnett understood there'd be little truth between them today. He closed his eyes and his head dropped to his chest as he concentrated on Gordon's voice.
"What the hell really happened?" asked Gordon.
Gwinnett hesitated for a second. "Well, we had a task force, and it was supposed to do something similar but less violently next week. I didn't tell the Chief I would send extra men in case somebody leaked the details, you know how porous city hall is. I planned to send them in with full battle armor and overhead support so our men would be safe but it looks like a paramilitary group beat us to the gangs." Gwinnett pushed himself upright, stood and turned to the sunny day just outside the window.
"As soon as our duty commander heard about the fighting over the police radio, he tasked our drones to Savannah. It's a half hour from decision to launch and flying time into the city you understand, so the drones got there just after the attackers pulled out. We couldn't identify and separate them from the normal traffic on I-95 and 16. Infrared sigs were normal and there were no unusual comm frequencies or outgoing data spikes.
Again, off the record because we're not supposed to do this, my men ran a full phone and radio analysis and our software heard nothing abnormal nor saw any data spikes beyond what should be there. In this case, I decided catching these guys was more important than observing the law. So yes, we broke some radio and telecommunications surveillance laws trying to catch them but we had no role in the actual murders."
Gwinnett paused. He knew if he sounded honest in giving up a small secret, the larger ones would be safer. He put his glasses on high magnification trying to make out the species of bird swooping over the marshes beyond the base. Ah... Osprey. He grinned, they were his favorite birds. Able to hunt on land or sea, they defended their turf ferociously even from larger predators.
Snapping his focus back to the conversation, he continued. "Our base also went on alert and we launched ten attack drones just in case. If there was action in town, we didn't know if we were also targeted. Between you and me, I've activated every resource I own to find them. They obviously have talent and the equipment to fight an urban battle. This could be a problem for us. But frankly, I'm not upset with what they did. Who gives a shit they shot up both gangs? I'm upset they did it in my backyard, and I didn't know about it."
Gwinnett understood Gordon wasn't likely to believe him given their usual antagonism. The young man carved a career for himself using the mistakes of others. Gwinnett understood that part, but Gordon was trying to take his next career step by using QuellCorp as a springboard to the big leagues. He didn't blame him for trying. QuellCorp was the biggest target in Savannah or the Low Country, but it didn't mean he had to help the young man in any way either.
"Why were 100 of your troopers all paid overtime this past week?" asked Gordon.
The change in direction took George by surprise and his mind whir
led. Where did he get that information? Who's the leak?
"That would be the training group that's just returned stateside and getting intensive refresher training for redeployment," said George. "We do this regularly and it's not out of the ordinary. I prefer to give my people enough training to do the job and to come home safely. This is just normal."
But where did that information come from? He returned to that thought.
"Sir, I also have information indicating your daughter Sarah planned and directed the massacre in Savannah. Can you comment on this?" asked Gordon.
"You should check the accuracy of your sources Mr. Gordon. Given we didn't kill those gang members, it would be impossible for Sarah to command the operation. Any public discussion of this would have to be very well supported or my legal team would have a field day with it. But now, as much as I'd like to help you, I do have a business to run here so unless you have something concrete to ask, let's end this discussion and we can both get back to productive work," said George.
"Thank you, Sir. Appreciate your time," finished Gordon.
George disconnected and took a deep breath.
He turned to stare out his office window, but he didn't focus on the hunting Osprey or the unexpected but welcome sun shower coating his window with sparkling drops of water. How the hell are we going to handle this?
Dropping back into problem solving mode, considering all options the way the army had trained him, he made a short list of things he'd have to sort out.
We have a leak somewhere. Is it a person or computer penetration? Get tech on it.
Is Sarah able to run this company to keep it functioning and growing?
Is she a leader? Sure as hell know she can kill - her commanding officer and I had a very frank discussion about that. Is that good or bad here?
How do we handle those reporters? That's the biggest damn question. No, the biggest is where's the leak. What else is out there now?
2047: Hell In A Handbasket Page 3
