“And this is why you are pulling your military out of most of the world and sending them home?”
“That’s just precautionary, Ben. I will not take chances with the safety of my nation.”
“I agree completely. That is why I am mobilizing the army and air force today. We will not be caught off guard.”
“Dammit, Ben, tell me you’re not going to launch a pre-emptive strike?”
“Why do you ask? You did the same thing in Iraq, Lebanon, and Syria, no?” asked the Israeli bitterly. The voice sighed. “No. No, will we not launch a pre-emptive strike. But I will hold a news conference within the hour to let the world know that we did not launch this attack, nor will we stand by whistling in the breeze while our enemies prepare for a war we do not want. If they strike at Israel, we will use all necessary force to defend ourselves.”
The President paused. “Ben, I think it would be prudent to hold off on ‘all’ necessary force. After all, we don’t know—“
“Someone used a nuclear weapon against Jordan. Someone has one, they may have more. Everyone knows we have them. Everyone will soon know we are not afraid to use them. I am sorry, my friend, but I cannot let politics and fear of offending a bunch of war-hungry Arabs deter me from protecting the people of Israel. Not any more. ”
“I’ve sent my condolences to Jordan, Ben. I have also asked them and their neighbors to hold off on any hasty responses. I’m trying to get them to go through the United Nations to buy us some time to figure out this mess.”
“I trust the U.N. as far as I can spit. They are run by our enemies and will continue to stop us from protecting ourselves. Israel will not listen to the U.N. now—their delaying tactics will not work on us.”
The President caught the hidden meaning. “They delayed us then, Ben, but things have changed. I—“
There was a heated conversation the President couldn’t quite hear coming from the other end of the phone. Suddenly the Prime Minister returned to the line, his voice strained and full of anxiety.
“I told you! I have just been informed the Saudi Army has crossed the border and entered southern Jordan. They are going to start a war! I must see to Israel’s defense. Good day, my friend, and may God bless both our troubled lands.”
“Ben, wait! Ben? Ben! Damn it all!” the President slammed his phone down on the receiver. “He hung up on me!” exclaimed the President. “Who the hell hangs up on the President of the United States?”
The SecDef’s image grinned as he adjusting his glasses. “Sir, someone who’s got a million screaming Arabs ready to wipe his country off the face of the Earth. With all due respect, we’ve got a million screaming blacks right here wanting to do the same thing.”
“A million?”
“Well…just a figure of speech, sir, but it’s probably more,” said the Defense Department Chief. “Mr. President, I’ve got reports from our forces overseas. The Navy’s got our carrier battlegroups headed home, except the Roosevelt—she’s still in the Eastern Med. We just pulled the Enterprise and her group off station. We can have her hold position.”
“We’re still covered in the western Pacific? I want to keep a strong presence there for China and North Korea to think about.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” the Secretary of Defense’s digital image said, straightening his shoulders. “Our pullouts with the Army and Marines are going smoothly. But they were pretty deep in Iraq and Lebanon. It’s going to be a matter of at least a week at best before we get most of our soldiers and materiel on the way home. I’m going to put the foot down and give them two weeks for the equipment. But, sir, the only way to do that is mobilize every C-17 we’ve got and keep ‘em flying 24-7. It’s going to be expensive. If we use the Navy transports, it’ll be three weeks to a month before we get our boys home.”
“Al, that’s too long. I don’t care how much it costs, get them home, now. In a month, it’ll be too late, the way things are going. You have a blank check with this one.”
“I’ll put the order in right away, sir, and get things rolling.”
The intercom on the conference table beeped. “Mr. President, it’s time for your—“
“I know, Sergeant, thank you. I’m on my way,” the President said in a clipped voice. He stood up and grabbed his jacket. The President put his suit jacket on, adjusted his tie and grabbed some papers off the polished table. “Things are getting out of control, Al. Get those orders out and give me an update--“
“We’ll have it ready for the afternoon briefing, sir.
Hank Suthby, Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, stormed into his new office. For being half a mile under a mountain deep in the bowls of NORAD, it wasn’t bad. But he didn’t care. He was followed by his staffers, flocking around him like royal retainers.
“That fool is going to let this country fall to pieces before he lets us do our job!” He tossed his briefcase onto the desk and clicked on a large flatscreen display.
“Sir, he’ll come to his senses soon,” offered one of the lackeys. The rest hovered near the door and bobbed heads in unison.
Suthby found himself watching in horror as the screen warmed up and displayed a picture of Washington, D.C. from the roof of the White House. He looked out over the city, once so full of light and activity. Now everything was dark, the street lights, normally turning on about this time in the evening were off. There were cars scattered everywhere, some out of gas, some burnt to a crisp. There was a mob of rioters, a great undulating mass of humanity filling the streets. Torches burned, Molotov Cocktails soared through the air and fireballs burst at the periphery of the mob. It was only a matter of time before they realized that the White House had been abandoned and the U.S. Government had fled the city. It would be anarchy in a matter of hours.
Why won’t he sign the damn orders? I could clean this up in less than a week!
To the north and the east, he could see the low hanging darkness in the sky that represented the smoke that was blanketing the city from all the riots and burning buildings. He’d heard the Maryland National Guard was conducting a military campaign up there, going block by block, fighting the rioters. Supposedly, the rioters were well organized, using homemade napalm of all things to fight back. Even the street gangs were getting in on the action, every low-life and street thug taking their shots at the Man while they could. The nation’s capital city was all but falling off a cliff. Despite himself, he chuckled.
Looks like fucking Bosnia or Chechnya, not Washington.
“He’s not acting fast enough,” mused Suthby, reaching for his sat -phone to get in touch with Daniel at the new DHS HQ in Denver.
“But sir, there’s not much he can do. We need the military to help the National Guard put down the rioting…” one of the female aides said nervously. Her boss’s temper was legendary among those working at DHS.
“Shelly’s right, sir, and it’s not exactly like there’s ongoing terror attacks…is there?”
“We don’t know that for sure yet, John,” countered another staffer, playing Devil’s advocate.
Suthby continued to look at the display, out over the darkened city, noting the glow coming from the east—the riot fires were beginning to light up the night as the afternoon faded towards evening. He listened to his staffers argue out all that had been going through his mind.
What is it now, the fifth…sixth day after the power went out?
“And what would declaring a national emergency do for us that the President hasn’t already gotten going? He’s already restricted the 1st Amendment. He’s Federalized the National Guard, he’s recalled the military and he’s deploying what we’ve got already at home…look at Chicago. The damn Army is going to level that city.”
“The Emergency Order would allow everything to be streamlined. There wouldn’t be a delay in getting approval from Congress or—“ another staffer argued.
“It would allow the President to institute Martial Law and block the Constitution until the crisis is ove
r,” concluded Shelly. Suthby raised his eyebrows and glanced over his shoulders. His aides had completely forgotten he was here and were hashing out national policy on their own. It was exactly why he had hand-picked them for his department.
“Yes, we all know that—and the public would think it’s a dictatorship,” snapped John from the other side of the room. He was changing the batteries on his flashlight.
“But maybe that’s exactly what we need,” said Suthby, turning away from the window to look at the staffers over his shoulder. “A dictatorship until the crisis is over.” Silence descended on the room. The only sound was a soft whirr of the air conditioning system.
“Sir, this is America…we don’t do dictatorships!” joked John in a quiet voice.
“Oh, it wouldn’t be a true dictatorship; the President would still be in charge, and he’s not exactly Joe Stalin, is he?” asked Suthby with an innocent smile.
“Well, in theory, sir. Technically, the President gives the orders, but we take control of everything. That’s the whole point of DHS. We are the only agency set up to run everything at once, on a moment’s notice,” replied Shelly, her voice wavering. Suthby could see she was beginning to fear where this conversation was leading.
“We are, aren’t we?” asked Suthby, rubbing his chin in thought. He opened his sat-phone and speed dialed Daniel. “I need a few minutes to myself, people. Thanks,” Suthby said by way of dismissal. He turned his back on them as the staffers filed out of the office, worry evident on their faces.
CHICAGO
First Blood
TAHRU, ARE YOUR people ready?” asked Malcolm over his radio. The Brotherhood’s undisputed leader peered his command center windows, halfway up the Sears Tower. There was a large group of city-folk that were being rounded up and forced out of town at gunpoint. The gangs had been very keen on killing them all, but Malcolm’s Brotherhood, with Tahru’s influence, had stopped that before too many civilians had died. He followed the line of the street towards the Chicago River. On the other side of the barricades, the National Guard watched and waited.
They’re not going to sit there forever…they’re either going to wait for us to starve or they’re going to attack again, this time in force. As long as they know we have innocent civilians in here, they’ll wait. I hope.
“D’ey’s ready, man…” came the reply from the Michigan Street Bridge where his younger brother was stationed. Tahru was hiding behind the corner of a large building, riddled with bullet holes and gutted by a fire that was still burning in the upper floors. Down the street about two blocks he could see the Man’s barricade at the bridge. Over head, he could hear a few helicopters buzzing about, flitting in and out of the dense riot-smoke. Occasionally one of their powerful searchlights would penetrate the smoke briefly and illuminate someone running for cover. The lesson learned from the Apache attack was not lost on anyone who had seen the battle. Slaughter…Tahru told himself.
“Good…I am sending the refugees towards you…please remember to not shoot them in the back, Tahru…” Malcolm joked, trying to ease the tension. This was a very delicate operation. Hundreds of things could go wrong, putting the whole rebellion in jeopardy.
“Sheeeit, man, whatchoo think I am, some kinda foo’ from South Central? Man, jes’ get them fuckers up here already!”
Malcolm sighed. He knew what the plan was, he was just anxious to see the results. In the group of a few hundred Whiteys, they had placed some ‘Fruits of Islam’ inside backpacks, bags, and briefcases that the erstwhile hostages knew nothing about.
Malcolm had plans that required the Brotherhood capture Navy Pier. With that cut off from the Man’s use, they couldn’t dock their large transport ships and Coast Guard vessels, forcing them to change tactics and causing a logistics mess. This ‘hostage transfer’ that Tahru had helped organize by sending runners over to the National Guard to parley was step one to taking the Pier. All he need do was wait for the right time.
“Yo, man, how long I gotta stay here? Almost dark, man…” Tahru said sullenly to himself. He could see his boys crouching behind the other nearby buildings at the intersection. They had all been there for a few hours, watching the civilians as they were rounded up. More than a few were drinking.
The white folk were all being gathered a few blocks away. More than a few had been killed outright, their possessions taken, some of the women raped. That was before Malcolm and the Brotherhood. It had taken a ruthless and determined response by Malcolm and his followers to put an end to such barbarism. Many of Tahru’s thugs had been executed for rape as an example to the others that such actions would not be tolerated by the Brotherhood. The minorities among the hostages were to be given an opportunity to join the rebellion. The rest were herded towards the Chicago River.
As if in answer to his question, the radio in Tahru’s hand came to life. “Alright everyone, it is time. Go with Allah,” his brother called out.
“’Bout time…” grumbled Tahru. He had spent most of the day out here and was well past tired and hungry. To the radio, he said, “He’ dey come, Malcolm…”
The captives had begun marching towards the Michigan Street bridge. They were almost to Tahru’s position. Every now and then someone shuffled past with a backpack or briefcase. The people in the crowd were too scared and hungry to care why they had been given things to carry. All they had known for the past few days was fire, destruction, darkness and fear. At this point, the hostages cared only about making it out of Occupied Chicago and across the river into the safety of the National Guard lines; they didn’t even notice the rebels surrounding them in the shadows, watching.
“Excellent…Tahru, I want you to get inside your building now and get to a higher floor. I want you to see this. Everyone else, you know the plan. Get moving.”
Tahru entered the abandoned office building he had been positioned near and began climbing stairs to the fourth floor. He made his way through the debris left by vandals to the north side of the building and entered a big corner office. The room he stepped into was ripped open on the north side; a huge section of the wall had been blown in by one of the tanks across the river. Tahru could see it through the hole, sitting quietly on the other side of the Chicago River.
A sobering thought struck him: If I can see d’em foo’s, d’ey mebbie can see me!
He rushed to the partial wall facing north and crouched down, hiding himself in the charred rubble. A slight breeze moved through the opening, bringing with it a mixture of smells, mostly from the smoke and fires still burning south of his position. In the distance, through the haze and smoke, he could just make out Navy Pier.
The noise level outside suddenly increased as the hostages realized they were being marched to freedom. The leading rows of people could see the National Guard soldiers patrolling the crude barricade on the north side of the battle scarred bridge. Soldiers waved to urge them on. The Apache helicopter that had attacked the rioters the day before was hovering in the distance, keeping an eye on things from the sky. It had been joined, Tahru saw, by another Apache and two larger helicopters with twin rotors. The noise these four machines made was a constant rumble that competed with the screaming of the hostages on the streets down below.
On the ground across the river, Tahru could see all kinds of dark green and brown colored trucks, jeeps and tanks. All the tanks looked like nasty bitches to him, but there was only one that had a big gun barrel sticking out the front. The others looked squatter and had little guns and lots of antennae sticking up all over. He quickly scanned the vehicles, then whistled as he saw how many soldiers there were. Tahru pulled out his binoculars to get a better view as the first shouts of joy came up from the streets when the hostages drew close to the bridge. They were being prevented from running by gun toting Brothers walking at their sides. The time for running had not yet arrived.
“Yo, Malcolm, look like them mo-fo’s gots all the damn Pigs in the city ovah dare!” he called into the radio. The display of flashing li
ghts from the squad cars was dazzling. The police cars had been brought up in formations behind the soldiers who were clustered about the bridge.
“How many?” came the reply.
“Yo, man, I cain’t count that high! D’ey’s gots a shitload of ‘em.”
“Very well, keep watching…”
Tahru heard a voice cut through all the background noise and turned his binoculars to the foot of the Michigan Street bridge.
“It’s all right folks! Hurry up now, you’re free! That’s it move across the bridge, right over here, come on!” called out a soldier with a bullhorn. He stood in full view on a burned out car on the north side of the bridge. The hostages, when they reached the south side, began to run and broke free of their captors. People further back, still walking towards the bridge, could see the ones in front making a mad dash for safety and began to surge forward, pushing those in front of them forward or down to the ground where they were trampled. The march had turned into a stampede
“Yo, Malcolm, d’es goin’ crazy man!” Tahru reported, one hand still holding the binoculars to his face.
Malcolm ordered his operatives to sneak into the herd. Unseen by anyone in the chaos of the stampeding hostages, Members of the Brotherhood began to slip out of adjacent buildings and enter the teeming mass of humanity as it crashed forward like a tidal wave towards freedom. They were wearing everyday business attire stolen or removed from the dead, carrying backpacks and briefcases like many of the others.
The soldiers quickly pulled back the barricade as the first of the hostages streamed past, screaming for help and crying. The Guardsmen were quickly overwhelmed for the hostages numbered many times more than their rescuers. Hostages poured across the bridge. The soldiers was forced to fall back or be trampled as the panicked civilians entered the command post and surged to the north, looking for shelter and aid.
“People, please remain calm, you’re safe now! Safe!” the Guardsman with the bullhorn on top of burned out car said. His car was now an island, surrounded on all sides by civilians trying to get as far away from Occupied Chicago as possible. “Hey! You there, slow down! Yes—no wait, don’t hit the car like that, you’re all going to be fine!”
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 23
