Beck smiled with pride. His nine-thousand-man group would give the watchers a fast lesson in defensive tactics. The automatic-weapons boards now indicated readiness. Computer-controlled drones flew overhead in large numbers. Enough firepower circled overhead to wipe out half the city if ordered to do so.
After a short two hours, the marines did indeed own the park as any remaining civilians were shown to, and through, the armed entry points guarded by armored vehicles. This was not a group to be trifled with, and this was the first message Beck wanted to send.
20/03/2047 09:45
"Listen up, it's time to tell you what's happening out there, and what we're going to do about it," began Ro. A massive black man, face and hands scarred from more than one leadership challenge, he stood at the end of the gang's central headquarters meeting room. His lieutenants and squad commanders never took their eyes off his face as he spoke. As the leader of the East Side Boys, Ro was one of the most important people on the streets of New York. Army-trained and educated, he couldn't find a job out west after his last deployment so came home to the city. His rise through the gang ranks had been meteoric due to his fighting skills and lack of compunction about using them whenever necessary. Today's meeting differed from the marine corps meetings inside the park only in what the troops were wearing. All other variables were remarkably similar right down to the personal weapons every person in the room carried.
"First, we move against the cops to chop 'em down to size. We just need an excuse. This'll happen sooner or later but don't any of you go deciding or go rogue. Let it happen by itself and it'll be more natural."
"Second, the marine second-in-command, Colonel Johnson, invited me to a personal meet. So we can all 'have a meaningful conversation' about the city. You know how much bullshit that is. What they really want is to tell us to stay out of their way and pull the power crap on us again. 'Be good boys kind of shit." He shook his head in disgust.
"But I'm going, it'll be valuable to see what they're packing. You keep low. Don't do a damn thing until you hear from me. Clear?"
Ro hesitated. He looked around the room to make his point and only saw agreement.
"I've been hearing some of you don't think we can take the Marines. It's gonna be tough but these are our streets. We have all the equipment they have. Right?" He pointed to his body armor and swept his arm around the room pointing at each of the similarly equipped men. He knew it wasn't going to be easy and the pit of his stomach ached with the thought. The only advantage he had was his men were home and their backs were to the wall. He knew the marines wouldn't want to fight but if they had to, they'd be brutally fierce and there'd be no quarter given. Maybe desperation will count for something he thought. Maybe. His stomach ache grew worse.
"So here's what's gonna happen if they try to take our streets from us. We start something, maybe we shoot one of 'em. They'll send in armor and choppers," he said.
He exaggerated the pushing of a detonator button. "We blow the armor and wreck it and the troops in it with an IED attached to a sewer cover. The quads will come to investigate - likely right overhead the blast." He swiveled ninety-degrees to his right and pointed with one finger. "When that happens we give them a hot signal from further down the street with one of the old Stinger missiles. Tell whoever fires, to shoot, and run like hell." He pantomimed shooting, turning and running. All heads followed him to the other end of the room. "The rocket'll catch their attention and they'll send a missile right back along the outbound track."
He jumped to the middle of the room in two large moves and the men laughed. "What they don't expect is to have us fire more missiles from both sides of them at the same time." Another imaginary missile left his shoulder, and he rotated with the pressure. "We suck 'em down the street between us, they can't turn to fire in both directions so they'll go up to avoid the missiles." He looked up. His men were chuckling and enjoying the show. His face became serious.
"And that's the beauty of this because at the same time as the missiles are fired, I want two grenades launched 30 feet above the chopper so it'll fly right up into it. If we get a blade, it'll come down."
He put a huge grin on his face as he slowly and silently watched his imaginary helicopter sink from the ceiling to the floor and grimaced when his eyes reached the floor.
"Bam!" he yelled. And they all jumped in their chairs, surprised.
He laughed. So did they but theirs was forced. "Look, If the choppers are wobbling, send another missile out to finish the job. We have a lot of missiles and grenades with lots more on the way. But after you fire, get your asses out of there. Your safety depends on being mobile. If they can't catch you, they can't kill you. Understand?"
There were nods around the room and the men smiled and started placing bets about which street could knock down the most quadcopters. Ro let them talk and he watched the anxiety disappear from their faces as they bet and doubled-down on their bragging.
"Good. Let's do this. Go tell your people how to take down the quads - practice it but don't do any live firing. Get everybody moving through the rabbit runs and have them identify fallback positions. Practice shooting from spot A and running to spot B. Time it. Then work to get it faster. The quads will fry anybody who is slow or gets sucked into a long firefight. So fire and move. Fire and move. Got it?" he said.
He added, "But remember, don't start a damn thing until I say. I don't want my ass in there with them while you're out here pissing them off." He looked at each of them and got a nod of agreement from each.
21/03/2047 10:45
Aleysha calculated she and momma were half-way back in the hour-long line to get bread. She brought her momma with her because the soldiers were only giving two loaves to each person. With four mouths to feed, it wouldn't be easy given the small size of the loaves but at least the bread and what Ro had given her would fill her baby's bellies for two or three days. And that's all she could count on now - a day or two at a time.
"Momma, I know you're not feeling well, but we need all the bread we can get. Lean on me. Don't go shaking your head at me like that. You lean on me. Good. We'll get through this. Just look at the girls. That'll occupy your mind. Look at how silly they are when they play nicely together."
"Yeah. They're about as silly as you were, girl," said momma.
"What's going on? Oh, the soldiers got that kid that jumped ahead of us and kept jumping up the line. Oooh. That's a taser. Watch him twitch. They draggin' him back here, look at that will you," said Aleysha.
"Line's nice and orderly, quiet-like, now" said momma.
"You ladies get four loaves," said the young marine handing out the bread.
"What about my girls, don't they get any?" asked Aleysha.
"Sorry ma'am, here's another one for each of them. That's all we have today. You can come back in another two days for more," replied the soldier. "Now, hold out your hands so we can mark you got your bread. And don't try to wash this off, it won't come off easily and your hand will be all red if it does. We don't give more bread to red hands. Got it?" asked the soldier.
Aleysha nodded. Took her baby's hand in one hand and tucked the bread up under her jacket with the other.
"Mamma, put your bread up under your coat. No sense showing off we got bread," said Aleysha. "And we're taking the main streets home."
"Yeah, got that baby girl, no sense advertising," said Momma.
"You still OK, need a sit-down rest?" asked Aleysha.
"No, let's get home, get some of that park tea you make and this bread in our bellies. That's the best thing to do today," said Momma.
Two blocks from their apartment, they turned off the main street and started down the side street towards their apartment. Halfway down the block, two cops stepped out from a laneway and blocked the sidewalk.
Aleysha recognized these two; it had been a toss-up between them choosing the gangs or the cops. Both chose the police, the pay was better, but both had an informal arrangement with the gangs. The t
wo cops didn't hassle the gangs and in return, the gangs let them live. This seemed to work out well for both the cops and the gangs but not so well for regular folks trying to get by.
"Aleysha sweetheart, you got bread, I know this to be true," said the taller of the two.
"Yeah."
"Well girl, this is a city tax station. And we're gonna take half of what you and your momma have in payment for our services."
Aleysha thought about resisting, thought about running, thought about all her options and they came down to one. She and momma had no hope of doing other than to give up half their food and be grateful the cops left them with anything. At least her babies would get something to eat, she'd be fine for another day or two and who knows what would happen then. But next time, they'd all eat right there beside the truck. She handed over the bread.
"Smart girl, and we thank you for standing in line for us."
21/03/2047 12:00
We still have a fast machine that acts smart but isn't.
What we need to accomplish is two steps too complex and too slow, so we need to bend physics somehow to reduce recalcitrance. I'm told the department head didn't believe the math; stupid bastard told the researcher he screwed up."
The group shut down without a trace showing on government security systems.
21/03/2047 14:00
Ed Gordon was not prepared for New York City. He thought he was, but arriving in the city for the first time, he quickly understood this was the biggest damn mess he'd ever seen. Half the freeways were impassable. Jersey was either a swamp, a fishing hole or under water and Staten Island was cut off other than the engineer's temporary repairs to the Verrazano Narrows bridge to get emergency supplies on or off the island.
He wanted to ride the subway but after yesterday's storm, walking or biking were the main travel modes in the city. The guard at the entrance to the subway had been helpful when he saw Ed's logo-ed camera gear and hovering drones.
"Zee-Vid. What you doing in town today?" asked the guard.
"New guy. Just learning the ropes and this is my first time in the city. Wanted to take a subway ride. Why are the entrances all blocked up with those big balloons? Didn't the storm end two days ago?" asked Ed.
"Yeah, but we can stop them from flooding but the electronics got damp, and it takes a long time to dry those suckers out. The nerds do their best but there's always one or two units that blow and have to be replaced. Big job," said the guard.
"I heard you had over 50 trucks delivering fuel for the water pumps. Is that true?" asked Ed.
The guard shrugged. "Sounds about right. We have to keep both the Lincoln and Midtown tunnels clear and the electrics high and dry. Should move 'em to the ceilings but that would make maintenance a hell job. Everything will be back to normal later tonight or early tomorrow. The boys are getting better and better at fixing this damned crap."
"Thanks buddy, appreciate the info," finished Ed turning away from the entrance.
Ed walked the East Village streets gawking like a tourist as he tried to understand what he was seeing. He wondered how in hell he could communicate this sense of size and desperation to viewers. Ed knew his South, knew the language, customs and culture but this was unlike anything he'd ever seen. New York might as well have been a city in a war zone he decided, watching three big armored limos smoothly and quietly glide by. He checked the others on the streets to gauge their reactions to this ostentatious display but nobody watched or reacted at all. The cars would have made the news in Savannah once they identified who was in the vehicles. But here they didn't seem to give a damn.
Ed saw the downcast eyes and the way passersby avoided looking directly at anything or anybody. He walked slower, his shoulders slumped further as he continued his explorations. The people sharing the streets weren't what we'd been taught about big city people. These weren't bold and brash. Instead they were like everyone else, just trying to get by in tough times. Their accents and challenges were different, but they were still only people under that New York toughness.
The similarity to Southern gangs came to mind. A direct stare was a challenge here just as it was in Savannah. He wondered how many of those on the street were carrying weapons.
He remembered his editor words from yesterday's briefing. "New York violence is mostly black-on-black or poor-on-poor but we report it as "general" crime so we don't get blindsided by some lawsuit alleging racism or economic bias. Keep color and any other so-called prejudice out of your stories. Got it?"
Ed thought the warning was overplayed but now, having seen the faceless people, he wasn't so sure. He smiled at this realization and understood his reporter instincts were reappearing as the city shock rubbed thinner.
A few blocks further towards the East River, the sidewalk culture radically changed. The graffiti said this was East Side Boy territory and here was the objective of his walk. Sent by his News Director to scout out and contact this gang, Ed understood this was a test to see what he, as a "new boy", could handle. He survived well in Savannah by being honest with the gangs and he hoped this tactic worked here. But where Savannah was minor league for race and riot issues, this was the majors where you either hit it out of the park or they carried you out. He hoped it wouldn'
t be the latter.
Ed took multiple background shots, sent them back to the studio for future mixes and fill-ins when things got dull here. He smiled and hoped they'd stay dull for a while longer but he needed to impress everybody on this first day so he headed deeper into the gang-controlled neighborhood. One of his two drones followed overhead while the other perched on his shoulder charging station.
The buildings got shorter and the streets narrower the further he walked. Signs moved from advertising the latest and best to those featuring the lowest prices. More and more storefronts were empty and most of those had smashed front windows and doors banging uselessly. Obscene graphics, some very well drawn Ed noted, covered most surfaces.
He was considering turning around when a young man's voice said, "Hey, what do we have here. Looks like a whitey with a stick coming outa his glasses, and those drones are a giveaway. You a vid-star my friend?"
Ed looked around to find a young black man leaning against the wall of the alley he was just passing. He'd missed him while concentrating on the opposite side of the street. Stupid, stupid, pay attention rookie, he thought.
"Yes, Sir, I surely am. I'm Ed Gordon from ZeeVid and as the new vid-reporter in Washington, I was sent up here to get your stories for the national news. Want to talk to me?" said Gordon with a great deal more assurance than he felt.
What he was thinking was, what's a good ol', white, Southern boy like me doing up here in this hell-hole talking to a black kid who probably just wants to kick my ass?
The young man, Ed estimated his age around 16, made a show of pushing himself off the wall to amble towards him.
2047: Hell In A Handbasket Page 8
