I knew things were hard. I knew we'd been hit. I knew people had died. I didn't understand or accept what that had meant. Crossing the Hudson River brought it home.
New York City, The Big Apple, The City That Never Sleeps lay silent off the starboard rail as our 'River Rat' sailors took us up to northern Manhattan. Small trails of smoke cut across the cold crystal sky. Too few for the millions that had called this island home. How many scratched out a living here, thousands, hundreds?
Through the image intensifiers I can see the broken windows of waterfront buildings and the ragged gaps where others have burned. Passing River Park, I scope out the ragged workers and guards of Hizzoner's little kingdom. If that deserter Carter told us straight they're as bad an anything Czarny planned to put into place. We sail on north.
Passing under the George Washington Bridge. I can count the cars slammed into the safety rails to make room for traffic to take the middle lanes. Again, if Carter can be believed, we could have driven over. Instead,
The Dyckman Street Marina is our drop-off point. With luck the piers will check out as functional. It's well hidden from land being between and behind Inwood Hill and Fort Tyron Park. Our planned destination is the Cloisters. Doc remembers it as a large art museum modeled off an European monastery. In addition to large clear galleries it had interior green space and a walled, with stone, parking lot. The ideal place for later day king makers and census takers.
Paterson
Just like Doc said... A solid looking wall, large interior space, and plenty of parkland to clear for firewood and crops. Someone beat us to it.
"I count 25 outside the walls."
Leo grunts agreement. "They have guards, four on the building, three with that work group, two more with those others."
"Yeah, they're facing out though. Not paying attention to the workers. And they're all dressed the same." Ragged, but not rags, guard or laborer, it didn't matter. Not what I'd expect if they were forced labor. "Damn, I want that space. Think they'll accept eminent domain?"
Not in Leo's dictionary yet. He just shrugs and grunts.
"I don't see anything heavier than a hunting rifle out there. Let's meet and greet. We got a lot to offer. Leo, do the honors."
We're still some 200 yards off. Leo wiggles up beside a tree and stands in the lee. He carefully steps out, rifle slung, and gives them a few moments to notice him. They don't. He takes a step out into the winter sunlight and projects with his best English. "Hello, work party! I want to talk!"
They don't waste time rubbernecking. The workers leg it towards the Cloisters shouting out an alert. The guards train rifles on Leo and slowly step backwards. "Back off soldier boy! Don't come any closer!"
"I want to talk. See my hands are empty!" He takes a single step forward. One of the rifles fires. Leo drops back to the ground and quick crawls back to the cover of his tree.
"Hold your fire, Bill!" one of them shouts. "We don't want no trouble. Just leave!" They continue to backup.
Leo, under the shelter of the tree, lines up on the shooter with his SVD.
"Leo, don't!" I shout, a moment too late. The guards hat, a battered fedora, jumps off into the snow. He dives for cover. The others follow a heartbeat later.
"Next one in head!" Leo bawls.
I order a withdraw.
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"Could have been better."
"Da, I go back tonight. Scout their guards. We can assault them at dawn."
I give him a cold, hard stare.
"They know I soldier. They shoot. We can take that place. They attacked, they get no choice in this now."
"You can scout, but don't contact or engage. We'll bypass them in the morning. Try the docks up here by Baker Field. There's a stadium on the map and the hospital nearby. Probably picked clean by now, but it gives us spacious, defensible structures. And then we can... Say it."
"You're going to let it go. That place would be perfect for us. Space, clear fire lanes, they've got working chimneys! And they tried to kill me, a soldier, during martial law! And you'll let it go."
"No, I won't. But I want to know more before we do anything irreversible. We're here to help and defend them. Remember, Leo, they're your countrymen now."
Ed's Journal, December 14th, 2000
We're settled into Columbia-Presbyterian. Alphabit had to climb into a third story window, after being attacked by pigeons, to let us all in without trashing the doors.
According to remaining paperwork and wipe boards the complex was evacuated in late '98. Windows and doors are in excellent shape. We're occupying the adult ER in the Presbyterian building. OPs been placed on the towers. That's a climb. We've got a good view of the Broadway Bridge and surrounding neighborhoods. Very little has been sighted.
Some of the men are down in maintenance seeing about converting the diesel generator over to alcohol. The other ran on natural gas and won't be working ever again. Major Pat. has a few teams canvasing buildings, that's my assignment, with Doc for remaining medical supplies. The rest are securing interior doors and windows.
December 15th, 2000
More cardio. We climbed the center tower with food and water for the day. Started at the top and worked out way down the first two floors. Quite the haul by modern standards. Doc's got herself a little pharmacy and the scrubbed out the ER. The men down in maintenance got the generator turning at idle. With the breakers all tripped, except for our small spots, we've got light and heat. Hot water, but no showers. maybe next week.
Fuel's going to be a concern shortly. We can keep things cranking for a week, tops, at 24/7. We're going to run as needed until we can get a larger still set up and start harvesting Inwood Park.
December 16th, 2000
Major pounded out a letter to the survivors at the Cloisters on an electric typewriter. We pulled a Xerox machine out of maintenance's stores and made a dozen copies. Damn that sounds so good. I forgot how bright they are.
Tomorrow, we're running up the US and hospital flags . A small team is going out tonight to drop off the mail at the Cloisters. We'll leave it on the drive where they'll find it in the morning. Forward Operating Base Columbia is open and accepting patients.
I know Leo's going. I'm volunteering too. Getting tired of looking at walls.
Paterson, December 17th, 2000
I'm plotting out our next moves on a street map of Manhattan. Really. Serious work. I'm not waiting up for my boys to get back.
When the call comes from the guard I know I had reason to worry. They're way early.
Alphabit is the first to come out of the dark with a limping Ed at his side. Behind him stretches a coffle, prisoners, linked neck to neck with nylon cord tied in slip knots and, hand bound, and mouths gagged. Their garb has a common theme of denim and leathers. The words 'Suicide Kings' emblazoned on backs or down sleeves. Two in mismatched civilian garb, also bound and gagged, follow behind. Leo, MP5 at the ready, watchfully brings up the rear.
Leo splits the coffle. "Stow the Kings. Underground. These two, get Doc. Keep under guard."
As the prisoners are lead away he reports. "Made our way to Inwood. Planned to proceed to Cloisters under forest cover. Saw firelight, just a glimpse. Diverted to scout."
His voice hardens, "These Svinya cooking a man. We get sentries. Use concussion on rest. Ed took a round. He fine, just scratched. Brought them back. You want to talk."
"We'll start with the pair. Why'd you leave them bound?"
"I did not know if they were danger. We can straighten out here. Apologize if needed."
In the ER Doc's already working on the pair. The older man, Tom, has mismatched pupils and mutters incoherently. Classic concussion. Doc's already fed him some pills to help with inflammation. The younger man, he can't be more than 15, looks on worriedly.
"There's some hot food on the way. Are you alright?"
He looks me over. The fear is obvious. He grunts. I'll take it as a yes. I take it slow and gentle, asking Doc about Tom and his course of treatment. She wants to keep him overnight for observation. The food arrives and after a suspicious look the boy tucks in. The old man starts to eat as well.
"What's your name?"
"Jim. That's my uncle Tom. Can I have some more?"
"In a little while." He's underweight and I don't want him sicking it back up. "What happened to you out there?"
Tom murmurs, "Not telling you a thing, ganger."
"We were scavenging. Looking for food, ammo, meds, whatever. They hit us on the way back. Killed Ernie. Had us cold. We carried him back to the park. And then they, they,"
"It's over now. They won't be hurting you again."
"What are you going to do?"
"Your story checks out with my scout's version. I'm going to question them. After I wring out every last bit I'll kill them. They checked their humanity at the door when they hunted people." I watch him for any telltale twitches. There are none. Good, ten is enough.
"Can I watch?"
"You want to help?"
That cracks him up. Between a second bowl of hot stew and the promise of a pistol in the morning he opens up. They're from the Cloisters. Good job Leo, this is better than any note.
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I wish we had a shower. After dealing with the 'Suicides', I won't dignify them as 'Kings', I need an hour with shampoo, soap and steam.
They're from the Bronx, just across the river to our north, and they'd headed south after their pickets reported the Rat's boats putting to shore. Fortunately for us, they hadn't detected our operation at Columbia. They had spotted the Cloister's smoke. And they grabbed a few stray sheep for interrogation and stock. We've got names, numbers, and streets. They're not close. The loss of fourteen men is a fifth of their strength. Maybe we'll make a trip.
None of it came easy. I'm happy about that. The kid will get his shots in the morning. Leo and I will finish those he can't.
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He did four before he couldn't any more. First time for the boy. Gives me hope for the next generation.
I tell him, "It's a hard thing." He looks at me with a sick face. The smell of loosened bowels and blood fill the enclosed space. "Remember you have the strength for it if it's needed. We'll finish."
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We returned Tom and Ernie's guns to Jim. Tom is in no shape to handle a firearm and the boy knows it. Their ammo in a prescription bag along with pills for Tom. It isn't charity, it's free advertising!
We take the Hummer and one truck with us. The drive between Fort Tryon park and the hospital is clear, we moved the cars blocking the way with Hummer on the way up. The inhabitants of the Cloisters rabbit for the walls at our approach. We stop well back and, after shouting we send Jim ahead at a walk. Five, including Jim, come out. Politely they listen to my pitch about Columbia-Presbyterian being open for medical care. Their disbelief is clear.
Alphabit has the 50 on the Hummer. As they turn to leave he calls down, "Staff Sergeant Zimmerman? Is that you?"
he'd been giving our gear the once over. Now he really looks at Alphabit. "Irish? Well, I'll be damned. They'll promote anyone."
Zimmerman, now retired, was Alphabit's DI. Retired, yeah. Alpha up swept up in the conscriptions in '98 same as me. Maybe we'll get the real story later. We leave him with a hand held radio and an invite to visit Columbia. He'll talk it over with Chalmbers. He seems favorable towards a short visit. Fortunate meeting for us.
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Ed's Journal, December 18th, 2000
New guests at Columbia. Our tower OP spotted walkers down on 10th Avenue by the subway yards. Six bodies, no guns visible, just sticks and stones. No radio reply to our hail. Leo and Alpha drove out to check them out.
They scattered into the subway yard on their approach, so the two took off after them on foot. They managed to corner them in a maintenance building. They had a talk, homemade spear vs guns, and one agreed to come back with them. Leo figured the others would try to leave, but given their physical condition, they wouldn't get far before the one was convinced we were good guys.
Fellow told us later he figured we would kill or enslave him and he was buying time for his family. After a quick medical exam, hot food and cleaner clothes he was prepped to talk. He broke down part way through, crying, "Where were you. Three years, where were you." She shocked him back with a sharply worded, "We were in Poland. Now, we're back and we're going to get to work."
He believed her. Told us they'd been in Harlem since the riots. Conditions under the Mau-Maus had gotten so bad they'd had no choice anymore. The danger of walking out through the Bronx were less than the repeated abuse of the gang. They'd left on a work detail and just hadn't returned. Him, his wife, daughter, two other men, and Jose, a Peurto Rican prisoner they were sopposed to "get work out of".
In exchange she gave him the straight talk. Where we'd been, what we'd done in Manhattan, and what our orders were (census, salvage, law). He and his could stay. Once they'd recovered they would be xpected to help with what work they were physically capable of and qualified for. Or they'd be free to leave once they'd fed and had a safe night's sleep. She has a convincing way, more so I think, the presence of black and hispanic soldiers in our outfit helped as well.
Later, they took him back out and recovered his family and friends. They got the same treatment. His wife and daughter shed tears of joy when they were told they weren't pregnant. I don't need to tell you why that was do I?
Mau-Maus, Disciples, Simbas, we've got names of groups and locations for at least some of them. Looks like the work of months, but we've handled worse. Warsaw redux, no tanks.
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Time indeterminate
-J
They are your hunt, not ours. Manhattan is Kp's preserve. Do not interfere in his work.
Dolor Est Primogenita
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