World War III - Home Front: A Novel of the Next American Revolution - Book One – As Day turns to Night

by William C. Seigler

  He knew his dad was in town. He might still be a Manny’s. Cy felt a beer and a talk with his dad might help. It was across town, but he didn’t feel like going back to his apartment and traffic wasn’t too bad at this hour.

  There was parking across from Manny’s place. It was a hole in the wall on a one way, three lane street. The sign over the front door read “My Place,” and was owned by Manuel Ortega whom Cy had known since he was a kid. Manny was an old friend of his dads who had bought the place when the original owner retired.

  Day was turning to night when Cy opened the door and went inside. Someone was playing a tune he had not heard on the jukebox. He spotted his dad over by a pool table.

  “Well look who it is,” said Melvin Blackwell as he looked up from his game. “What brings you to this side of town?”

  “Hi, I thought I’d find you here.”

  “Well, you found me. That’s my table there. Grab a beer, and I’ll join you as soon as I get through beating Eddy here.”

  “Do it then brag about it,” said Eddy. “How’re you doing kid? NYPD treating you all right?”

  Cy hesitated a bit too long in giving an answer. Eddy wished he had not asked. Instead of answering he said, “I could use that beer.”

  Instead of sitting down, he went over to the bar to order. After the bargirl poured a tall pint of locally produced amber ale, he returned to his dad’s table to watch the rest of the game.

  It didn’t take long to see that Eddy was in no danger. What do you expect? When you’re out on a boat all the time, there’s no time to practice. Mel paid up with good grace.

  He went over and sat down with his son. “So, what’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

  “Yeah,” Cy responded taking a deep swig. It was a bit more bass than he had intended.

  “Yeah, I think I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

  He wasn’t ready to talk yet. “How’s the boat business coming?”

  “Pretty good. I don’t know if your mother’s happier when I’m out at sea or when I come home.”

  “I’m not sure if she knows either. How’s mom doing anyway?”

  “Same as always, doctor’s always giving her pills for something. So what brings you out this way?”

  “What indeed?” Cy took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was a long silence. It wasn’t that Cy had a problem talking with his dad; in fact, father-son communications had always been pretty good. No, it was the subject.

  “You know Dad, all I’ve ever wanted to do was be a New York City cop.”

  “Yeah, I know. Boy do I know.”

  “Now I don’t know.”

  “Did something happen?”

  “Not just a something, a whole long list of somethings.”

  “You might want to be more specific.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not what I expected.”

  “Nothing ever is. I had all these romantic ideas about the sea; then American seamen priced themselves out of the market. All that’s left are offshore service vessels. I mean it’s good work but no exotic ports of call, and no girl in every port.”

  “Mom probably appreciates that.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I wish someone had told me these things at the academy.”

  “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

  “Yeah, maybe I should,” Cy said, draining the last of his beer.

  “What you drinking son; I’ll get the next one.”

  “Let’s not get carried away. The last thing I need at the moment is a DUI.”

  “Don’t worry, I always call a cab anyway. Your mom will be happy to see you.”

  “What about the munchkins?”

  “As long as you don’t want your old room back, they can live with it.” With that Mel Blackwell turned and retrieved two more beers from the bar.

  Manny followed him. “Well hello Cy, how’ve you been?”

  His father’s friend was more like an uncle to him than a family friend. They made small talk till Manny had to go back to the bar.

  “You and Manny getting along all right?”

  “Oh yeah, he’s just working a lot these days. If I want to watch a game with him, I have to watch it over here. You were about to say something?”

  “You know the talk you hear about police brutality?”

  “Yeah, but they investigate things like that don’t they?”

  “Those investigations are just whitewash. It’s a good old boy club. Nobody sees anything and nobody rocks the boat.”

  “If I’m following you right, nobody rocks the boat except you. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Cy drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out, “Yeah. You and mom taught me a lot of things about honesty and fair play.”

  “You were listening?”

  “Of course. I heard everything, but more than that I watched everything you guys did. I wanted to be just like you.”

  “I had hoped you’d be more like your mother.”

  “Yeah, Mom’s pretty great. I just don’t know if I can do this any longer. Stopping and hassling kids who haven’t done anything more than walk down a public street.

  “Tonight my partner tried to get me to dump a bag of pot in a suspect’s car.” He stopped and sat in stunned silence at what he had just said. It was the truth; however, it went against everything he had ever believed. But there it was lying naked and exposed out there on a table at Manny’s bar.

  Mel finished a deep swallow. “So what you planning to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What did you do about the pot?”

  “When he signaled me to dump it in the car, I poured it out on the ground.”

  “Isn’t there somebody you can go to?”

  “No, the lieutenant chewed me out and gave me the night off. The handwritings on the wall.”

  “Maybe you could ask for a transfer, you know start all over again.”

  “Yeah, but I’m supposed to be there for a while before I ask for a transfer.”

  “Is everybody like this, or is it just a few bad apples.”

  “At this precinct, nobody wants me to ride with them. I’m not dependable.”

  “Not dependable, not dependable for what?”

  “Not dependable to be on the take, to stop and frisk, to plant drugs, and probably some other things I haven’t run into yet.”

  “You want me to see if I can get you a job on a boat?”

  “No, not yet. I can ask for a transfer though. Maybe they’ll give it to me just to get rid of me and keep my mouth shut.”

  “Can’t hurt to ask. Just for the sake of conversation, what if you find the whole force to be like this?”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of; what if it’s the barrel that’s rotten beyond any hope of redemption?”

  “Well how about checking on a county job. I’m sure they are looking for good men outside the city.”

  “Yeah, but it wouldn’t be the same.”

  “Probably not, how about looking into becoming a state trooper?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You know, I’m sure the feds are hiring. Get on with the government, and maybe you can come back here and clean this place up.”

  “They might want to know why I didn’t last at NYPD.”

  “Good, they might be looking for honest men.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  They drank in silence for a bit, each lost in his thoughts. It was full dark outside now. The lights were on, but they still left many dark places for those bent on evil deeds to hide from the light.

  One young police officer was having trouble figuring out just who were the evil doers and who were the good guys. It wasn’t so clear now. Be that as it may, the well was poisoned at this precinct. He would have to move on, but could he remain a New York City policeman?

  Finally, Mel set down an empty glass. “I’ll play you for the next round.”

  Cy smiled, “You’re on, I’ll r
ack; you break.”

  The game went well enough, both scratching once. Cy didn’t understand it, but if he took his time and shot slowly he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. Hit ‘em hard and make the balls fly, now that was his game. He still let his dad win. Mel hadn’t been able to beat Cy fairly since Cy was fifteen. He suspected his dad knew it.

  Mel’s phone vibrated in his jacket. He went over and checked to see who was calling. It was Maria. “Hello dear,” she sang out.

  “I’ve been shopping with the girls, and we’ll be passing by Manny’s. You want us to pick you up?”

  “Might, mind if I bring a pool shark home for dinner?”

  She paused. He had never done this before. “What pool shark?”

  “Yeah, it’s a guy named Cy.”

  “Cy’s there with you?”

  “Yep, and he’s beat me only once, but I think he’s holding back.”

  “I’ll be by in a few minutes.”

  “Call me when you’re outside.”

  “Will do, it’ll be good to see him. He’s been so busy lately.”

  “Okay dear, we’ll finish and pay up.”

  “See you in a few, love you.”

  “You too.”

  “We need to get finished up. Your mom’s picking me up. You want to ride with us?”

  “In the back with the munchkins? No thanks.” With that he sunk three balls in a row and won the second game.

  Manny was standing behind them. “I think you’re losing your touch Mel.”

  “Funny, ho. I need to settle up.”

  “Here’s the bill. Good to see you again Cy.”

  “You too Manny.”

  “Don’t be a stranger.”

  “I won’t.”

  Conspiratorially, but loud enough to be heard, Manny said to Mel, “That boy would make a great sailor.”

  “I know.” Mel turned and followed Manny back to the bar.

  Cy acted like he had not heard. This wasn’t the first suggestion that he follow in this father’s footsteps.

  “Hey, would you like one for the road?” Mel called back over his shoulder.

  “No thanks, but tell you what, I’ll stop somewhere, pick up a six-pack, and bring it to the house.”

  “Now that’s an idea whose time has come.” Mel grinned and looked over his son. There was a time, when Cy was a teenager, he was afraid all the boy would ever do is play those blasted video games. Now look at him, too responsible to have one beer too many.

  “Dad, you all right? What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing, just thinking. It’s okay if a man thinks isn’t it?”

  “Sure Dad, sure. You just had that faraway look.”

  “You’ll understand when you’re a dad. Which reminds me, are you seeing anybody?”

  “No, why? And if you mention that Peterson girl again, I’m getting in my car and going home.”

  “Now would I do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “All I ever said was that her dad had his own butcher shop and no son to pass it to, that’s all.”

  “You’re right, that’s all you said. Maybe it was Mom who had a thing about butcher shops or maybe you’re both conspiring against me.”

  “Hey, people got to eat.”

  “I know Dad, but I have no desire to be a butcher. Besides you’ve seen her.”

  “Hey physical beauty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Mom’s beautiful.”

  “I got lucky.”

  “Would you have married Peterson’s girl?”

  “Wise guy.”

  “I rest my case. Hey, here’s Mom.”

  Maria Blackwell smoothly changed lanes and pulled up right in front of Manny’s. She stepped gracefully out of the car, threw both arms around her son, and kissed him on the cheek.

  “How have you been?” she asked eyeing him suspiciously.

  “I’m doing great Mom. How about you?”

  “I’m fine. Has this drunken sailor been corrupting your morals?” she asked with a sly grin, slipping one arm around Mel. She pecked him on the cheek. He pinched her on the tail in such a way that the kids wouldn’t see it.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello to us?” asked Sharla, the eldest of the munchkins.

  “Hello young ladies, how are you doing?”

  “We’re fine,” answered Sheryl, the younger of the two.

  “How’s school?”

  “Boring,” responded Sheryl. “Sharla’s got a boyfriend.”

  “No I don’t,” she said and began to tickle her younger sister. They were giggling and cutting up.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” Cy said turning back to his parents.

  “See you in a few, son,” Mel responded.

  Chapter 11 – No Knock No Mercy

  The door blew open and armed men in black uniforms with bullet proof vests and Kevlar helmets charged in yelling and cursing. Bill Prost was lying back in his recliner and had been reading a novel about hunting in Africa. He had drifted off to an easy sleep confident of his place in the world, his country, and the police force that kept him safe. He awoke with a start, confused and groggy.

  “On the floor!” shouted the police officer who grabbed him by his bad shoulder and forced him onto the floor.

  Bill screamed, “My hip, I’ve got a hip replacement!”

  “Get down; never mind your hip replacement!”

  The rest ran through the house kicking open doors. The dog was in the kitchen with his wife, Ilene. He started barking at the invaders and yelped as he was shot with the AR-15 the taxpayers had provided the zombie.

  “Get down!” the officer yelled at Ilene. She froze in place, and he jumped her knocked her to the floor with his rifle, causing her head to hit the counter’s edge and breaking the side of her head open. She bled profusely.

  The small, older one-story home in the city was surrounded. There was an armored vehicle parked in front of the house with two SWAT team vehicles and a number of patrol cars. The whole assault team comprised about fifty officers from the police force and sheriff’s department. There was a representative from the Department of Homeland Security there to observe and report.

  Sometimes they cordoned off entire neighborhoods in their search, going house to house. Whenever they found guns they were confiscated. This was to keep everyone safe. Some of the officers really liked the expensive hunting rifles.

  Bill Prost, Vietnam veteran and Silver Star recipient, lay on the floor of his home he bought with the GI bill, and he couldn’t move the pain was so bad. He called out, “Ilene!”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “They shot Spike.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Shut up you!” ordered the police officer and kicked him in the side which made Bill cry out.

  “Why are you doing this?” he moaned through the pain.

  “Shut up!”

  “Who are you?”

  “We’re the police, now shut up!”

  “Why is your face covered? Why are you trying to hide who you are? Where is your name tag?”

  “I said, shut up.” With that the officer, John Carter, kicked him again. Officer Carter was a ten-year veteran of the force and had recently been awarded a commendation for being an exemplary police officer. His wife, Eunice, had been so proud. He looked so handsome in his blue uniform. His two little girls were proud of their dad too.

  Ilene lay on the floor one eye coated with blood. From where she lay, she could see the picture of her son in his Marine Corps dress blues. When he had joined the Corps she was both proud and afraid. Bill, an army veteran, had teased him about being a jarhead, but he was equally proud of his son.

  While the elder Prosts lay on the floor of their home with guns held on them, their son, Lance Corporal Phillip Prost, was pinned down in a firefight. His unit had been ordered to leave their base in Jordan and cross the border into Syria.

  It had not gone as planned. He was a
ttached to an armored unit that was being guided by one of the rebel groups. The Marines had been led into a trap in a small village. It was a small dusty place made up of farmers and herders. The village had an odor of decay from the dead rats and dogs that had not been removed, because the villagers had themselves been removed.

  Some of the buildings were brightly painted in the front, but on the side of the buildings one could see the plain concrete blocks exposed. Most of them were two stories with interior stairs and even stairs leading to the roof. The roofs were flat, and women would hang their laundry there to dry. In the hot season people would often sleep on the roofs to get away from the heat. It had been a quiet town until the rebels showed up.

  Most of the inhabitants of the town were of the wrong religious or political persuasion. Too bad for them, but after the town was emptied out, it made the perfect trap for foreigners who had no idea what was going on and had been going on for well over a millennium.

  This is not to say that there has been continuous fighting or that it was even prevalent among most people. While it is true that most people in the world would just like to be left alone to lead their lives, there always seems to be someone with guns and a conviction on how things ought to be. Real or manufactured, this divide had brought a modern mechanized western military column into an ancient trap.

  The rebels were up on the ridgeline and in the buildings. Hidden IEDs had taken out the lead track and the last one as well. Several others were used to cut up the armored column.

  “Get down!” called Sergeant Gonzales. “Get over here!” The Marines quickly took shelter behind a track and began returning fire.

  “Get us some air support up here!” shouted the lieutenant into the radio.

  When a woman in traditional dress crossed the street with two small children, a Marine motioned for her to take shelter with them. As she did so she pressed a detonator and blew up killing and wounding several Marines, along with herself and her children.

  Corporal Rodriguez had been hit so Lance Corporal Prost led his buddies into one of the buildings, and they were immediately fired on from the upper floors. The landing had been barricaded. They were firing from several angles. The Marines hurled grenades which took out the closest attackers.

  “I’m hit,” called out PFC Pulaski.