Choose Freedom: A Post-Apocalyptic Fiction Series (The Boston Brahmin Book 6)

by Bobby Akart

  As the sun began to rise on a new damp, cold day, Drew and his team had returned to the rally point eight hours after their mission started. On the balconies of high-rise hotels and the rooftops of Boston’s waterfront skyline, Marines and Mechanics awaited their orders to rain hellfire on the occupying forces.

  Brad intentionally took up his position on the rooftop of 99 High. A symbolic fuck you to O’Brien and all who consorted with him. At precisely six a.m., Brad gave the order to remotely detonate the TNT munitions obtained from the Mount Mica Mine in Paris, Maine.

  No warning preceded the blasts, which blew out the glass in the buildings surrounding the Convention Center. Fragments of concrete, brick and shards of glass pelted the soldiers standing watch along the city side of the Seaport. Their rear remained unguarded, thus the ability of Drew and his team to gain access to the back of the Convention Center.

  At each entrance to the upper levels of the building, Drew’s operatives placed explosive charges. Brad delayed their detonation by sixty seconds. In his estimation, the reaction of the sleeping troops would be to take cover. If they did, their lives would be spared, although their accommodations would be ruined. If they ran outside to see what was going on, they’d probably die.

  “Fifteen seconds,” said Brad to Gunny Falcone, who was manning the final detonator. Brad watched as the UN soldiers ran in a panicked, haphazard fashion in all directions. He let out a sigh when hundreds of troops exited the Convention Center, wildly discharging small-arms fire across the channel. The bullets had no effect on the positioning of Brad’s men, who remained disciplined and patiently held their fire until they were given their orders.

  “Now! Blow it up!” ordered Brad. He was watching through the binoculars, anticipating a series of massive explosions. For a few seconds, nothing happened, and then the view through his binoculars turned to dust and debris. The shock waves from the blast shook 99 High to its core in more ways than one.

  Projectiles forced their way inward, ripping into the occupants. Screams filled the air, drawing Brad’s interest to the sidewalks surrounding the Convention Center. Large pieces of metal and concrete flew through the air, raining down on the UN tents and temporary housing established in the adjacent parking areas.

  He debated the need for the next action. From his observations, it was unlikely many people survived the blast inside the Convention Center. During his Marines’ first encounter with the UN at the Seaport, Gunny Falcone elected to save his final MANPADS Stinger missile rather than inflict hundreds more casualties on the UN troops. Brad had discussed this decision with his trusted officer and agreed with him at the time.

  After two months on American soil, the United Nations proved themselves to be the minions of a tyrannical President who operated outside of the bounds of basic human rights. Plus, they’d given the UN ample opportunity to do the right thing.

  Tick-tock. Time’s up.

  Brad recalled General George S. Patton’s words on the objectives of war. May God have mercy upon my enemies because I won’t. He patted Gunny Falcone on the back and gave him further instructions.

  “Light ’em up!”

  Chapter 16

  Sunday, December 18, 2016

  Dawn

  Logan International Airport

  East Boston, Massachusetts

  East Boston, or Eastie, as it was affectionately called by Bostonians, was originally made up of five islands that were connected using landfill from the construction of Logan Airport during World War II.

  The population of East Boston exploded in the early twentieth century by an influx of immigrants primarily from southern Italy. At the time of the cyber attack, nearly forty thousand people lived in East Boston, sixty percent of which were Hispanic. It was also the home of the vicious criminal organization and Central American drug cartel known as Mara Salvatrucha, or MS-13, which predominantly operated in the East Boston ghettos. Their leader, Joaquin Guzman, was recruited by O’Brien to terrorize the wealthy neighborhoods of Boston. However, the neighborhood patrols established by the Mechanics, together with pushback from the Asian gangs of Chinatown, discouraged the MS-13, leaving them fairly inactive on the mainland side of the harbor.

  Logan Airport, one of the busiest in the world, comprised over fifty percent of the landmass of East Boston. Its strategic importance was impressed upon Drew repeatedly in the daily briefings in the war room. After a day of restful sleep at 100 Beacon following his successful operation at the Boston Seaport, he and his teams were ready.

  With the assistance of the White Devil, the Ted Williams tunnel was cleared and secured. The stalled vehicles were provided sufficient fuel to be removed from both lanes under the Boston Main Channel. Brad’s men were strategically positioned to guard the entrance from any potential UN interaction, although none was expected.

  Their will to fight, and spirit, was completely broken. The evening before, Brad had learned of their intent to surrender following the death of General Zhang and his top two commanders.

  Drew’s mission was threefold. First, he was to secure the perimeter of the airport along its western boundaries. The remainder of the Logan Airport complex was surrounded by water. Once the western perimeter was secured, his men needed to flush out any squatters. This would likely take days and hundreds of men. The facility was massive and included numerous underground pedestrian walkways, which were considerably warmer than the frigid temperatures and blowing snow Drew was experiencing as he surveyed East Boston from the top of the Hilton Hotel at the entrance to the airport.

  The third challenge, and the most difficult of all, was to keep MS-13 at bay. The brain trust in the war room agreed that it would be impossible to identify and then remove all of the gang members. Drew, Brad, and J.J. discussed the comparisons between military activities in the Middle East and the challenges of eradicating East Boston of the MS-13. Identification of the gang members required the willing assistance of the locals, most of whom were either related to, or living in fear of, the MS-13.

  Donald, who was most familiar with the East Boston area because of the Boston Brahmin’s ownership of Suffolk Downs, the legendary thoroughbred racetrack located on the northern end of Eastie, suggested they secure the elevated freeway to the north into Revere and Chelsea. An arrangement had been made with the 157th Air Refueling Wing to provide aircraft jet fuel for the inbound planes. The most direct route would be through Revere.

  The four-man teams comprised of the ever-expanding Mechanics rallied at the MBTA South Boston terminal and were given their assignments. First, they would control ingress and egress to East Boston by guarding Interstate 90 from where it exited the Ted Williams Tunnel all the way north until it terminated in Revere. Ten teams would position themselves every quarter mile along the stretch, with their weapons trained on the Jeffries Point and Eagle Hill neighborhoods.

  After the perimeter was established, another ten teams would systematically sweep through Logan, removing any squatters. These teams were seasoned in battle and were capable of removing any armed resistance.

  Once Drew was comfortable that any armed pockets of residents were dispatched, he’d bring in more members of the Mechanics, many of whom had aircraft operations experience, to bring Logan up to some semblance of operational capability. After Donald and Sarge convinced other nations to lend aid, then they would break the news that the massive aircraft airlifting these supplies would have to fly into Logan using visual flight rules, or VFR.

  Unlike its normal operational capability to accommodate a million passengers a day, Donald said one or two inbound flights a day would meet his needs until power was restored to the airport. These inbound flights would be carrying food, supplies, and much-needed mechanical parts to reestablish the power grid and create a nationwide communications network.

  The teams quickly took their positions on the high ground of Interstate 90. Inside the Hilton Hotel, the remaining teams were conducting floor-to-floor searches. Although hotel room doors were difficul
t to breach when the electronic card system was not available, they’d found evidence on the lower floors that the locals had literally clawed their way into the four-star accommodations, using crowbars and claw hammers. This gave Drew the idea of taking innocent squatters out of the airport facility and providing them some warmth and comfort in the Hilton Hotel. Great rates guaranteed!

  As he left his rooftop perch and headed for the fire escape, the door burst open and two of his subordinates approached him.

  “Sir, there’s someone downstairs you’ll want to meet,” said his seniormost team leader.

  “Y’all lead the way,” said Drew. The three men trotted down the nine flights of stairs to the lobby, where half a dozen civilians were being closely watched by one of the teams.

  “This way, sir.” Drew followed his men to a sixtyish gentleman and a slightly younger woman sitting on a couch in the lobby. The man rose to greet Drew and slowly raised his hand to shake.

  “Sir, my name is Drew Jackson,” he said as he shook the man’s hand.

  “Yes, sir. I am Roberto Arkadelli, the director of aviation operations at Logan,” the man announced proudly. “My job is, um, was to oversee all aviation units, including operations and airport facilities. I used to hold a similar position at Berlin’s Tempelhof Airport prior to its closing in 2008.”

  Drew glanced at his watch and grew impatient. “How can I help you, sir?”

  “Mr. Jackson, during my years at Tempelhof, I’ve seen military operations, both large scale and small,” he began to reply. “I recognize your activities. If you intend to take control of Logan, I can provide you some assistance.”

  Drew studied the man. He needed to maintain OPSEC, but the man was not going to be allowed to leave the hotel under any circumstances. He decided to take a chance.

  “What can you tell me?” asked Drew.

  “There are five terminals at Logan, but Terminal E is unoccupied,” he replied.

  “What do you mean by unoccupied?” asked Drew.

  “Eleven of the gates in Terminal E are used for international flights,” he replied. “When flights were grounded that Saturday night, the TSA stopped clearing inbound international passengers. They were placed into a secured room called a sterile area by the U.S. Customs & Border Protection people.”

  “Oh-kay?” Drew was wondering where the elderly gentleman was going with this.

  “Um, the CBP abandoned their posts and the passengers were forgotten,” he continued. “One of my security guards and I found them dead a week later.”

  “Jeez. How many?” asked Drew.

  “Nearly five hundred.”

  Drew had to walk away. He approached the glass windows, looking into the newly falling snow. So much senseless death. After gathering himself, he turned to learn more.

  “What else do you know?”

  “They’re occupying Terminal C,” he replied.

  “Who?”

  “MS-13.”

  Chapter 17

  Sunday, December 18, 2016

  11:00 a.m.

  Logan International Airport

  East Boston, Massachusetts

  Drew sent a messenger back into Boston to recruit more personnel. He believed the Logan director of aviation operations. The information, other than the CBP debacle, was valuable. MS-13 had confined themselves into a single area, but it was defensible. It would take a lot of firepower and sheer numbers to dislodge them. He would redeploy the seasoned members of the Mechanics to positions surrounding Terminal C, and the new personnel would handle the freeway security duties.

  Terminal C was a logical location for the gangbangers. Restaurants and shops were in abundance in this terminal, initially providing them food and supplies. It was on the easternmost end of the airport and farthest away from the main airport entrance. They would have two-hundred-and-seventy-degree clear lines of sight to approaching vehicles via the airport runway. Nobody could sneak up on them. Except from below.

  Arkadelli told Drew about the maze of maintenance tunnels that connected the terminals to each other and were only accessible by freight elevators that were no longer operable. There was one exception, and that was in the southernmost section of Terminal C beneath gate forty-two and the Our Lady of the Airway Chapel.

  From time to time, funeral proceedings were held in the chapel for airport dignitaries and fatal victims of airport or airline accidents. In order to transport the caskets in and out of the chapel, a long ramp was installed from the tunnel system into a room at the back of the chapel. Arkadelli was using this access point as he kept an eye on the activities of the MS-13 gang. He impressed on Drew that he was willing to take the risk because, until told otherwise, Logan International was still his airport.

  Drew prepared his teams underneath gate forty-two. He looked into the faces of the volunteers. None of them had the experience or the gravitas of Nomad, Bugs, and Sharpie. But they had a strong desire for freedom and an intent to remake America into the mighty nation it once was.

  Then Drew thought of Abbie. This operation was fraught with danger and deadly threats. He had very little intel on the numbers or the firepower of the MS-13 gang members upstairs. He was going to emerge blind as to the size and capability of the enemy. Despite the element of surprise, they could be overwhelmed once they entered the terminal.

  Drew led them up the ramp and he quietly opened the door to the chapel. It was empty, providing him the opportunity to ease the tension with a sigh of relief. The rest of the teams, forty men in all, joined him inside the chapel. He noticed several said prayers at the circular altar in the center of the room. On a normal day, Sunday Mass would’ve been finishing up at this point.

  The dynamics of their assault were fairly simple—shock and awe. The lead teams, led by Drew, would be a group of seasoned Mechanics comfortable in using their AR-15 rifles. Drew wore a full kit with several full magazines, as did all of the members of the lead team.

  Using the concrete pillars evenly spaced down both sides of the terminal, the teams would use a bounding overwatch tactic. The teams would have to be fast in their approach, constantly laying down fire and shooting every person they saw. There would be little time to assess friendly versus hostiles. This was going to be a bloodbath, pure and simple. Based upon the atrocities performed by MS-13 as they adopted the methods of their sworn brethren, ISIS, Drew considered their fate to be karma.

  Drew peeked out of the chapel entry and saw a group of men standing at the large plate-glass windows, watching the snow blanket the stalled aircraft. They were distracted and unarmed. He turned to his first four two-man teams.

  “We’ve got half a dozen hostiles watching the snow on the right side of the terminal, facing the runway. They’re not armed. I don’t see anyone else at this point. There are beds and cots strewn about. Watch for people sleeping. Remember, everyone is considered to be a hostile except unarmed women and children. Be careful. Leave nothing to chance. Are we good?”

  Drew pulled his sidearm and affixed a silencer. His partner did the same. They quietly eased out into the terminal undetected. Using the pillars and the ticket counters as cover, they snuck up on the seven gangbangers and quickly ended their lives.

  This end of Terminal C was short compared to the other two prongs. As the teams quickly moved forward towards the large open area that held the food court and shops, Drew began to grow concerned. Where was everybody?

  The shops and restaurants had been looted. The entire area was empty. Drew slowly peered around the corner of the Pizza Hut counter and looked to the easternmost prong of the terminal. There were a couple of dozen men, women, and children with their faces pressed against the large plate-glass windows, watching the heavy snowflakes blanket the runways.

  Drew elected to clear the other prong of the terminal, which included gates eleven through twenty-one. From his vantage point, it appeared empty for now. He motioned for the other two-man team with silencer-ready weapons to join him. The four men would have to dart across
the open food court to the other side without being seen by the snow watchers to their right.

  He counted them down with his fingers—three, two, one. Like ninjas in a movie, they snuck across the opening in a fast run, barely making a noise on the tile floor. Positioned on opposite sides of the terminal, they began their advance. Gate by gate, they covered each other, and the four men moved forward. As Drew led the procession to the end of this wing, he saw more of the MS-13. Huddled around the windows of gates twenty and twenty-one were two men, three women, and several children.

  “Crap!” Drew muttered to himself. One of the men appeared to have a TEC-9 slung over his shoulder. He thought about leaving this group alone and going after the larger one first. One of the teams would have to be left behind to cover everyone else’s ass.

  He let out a breath. He didn’t have time to debate. This was war. As Drew approached the group, trying to sight a clear shot against the armed man who was holding a young boy on his back, one of the other children spotted him. Drew was shouting in his head as he advanced. Please be quiet. Shhhh. No. No. No!

  “Papi, Papi, los hombres con armas están llegando,” the young boy warned his father of the men with guns.

  The gunman dropped the child and immediately swung to fire upon Drew. Drew was much faster on the trigger. Two shots to the chest and one to the head ended the man’s life, but not before the gangbanger released a burst from the fully automatic TEC-9, shattering the windows across the terminal.

  It’s awwwwn now, as the good ole boys in Tennessee would say before a barroom brawl. The other man wrestled a handgun from his waistband but was killed before he could succeed. Drew approached the group cautiously amidst screaming and shouting coming from the other part of the terminal.