080: A Short Hike

Paterson, December 19th, 2000

Leo took his squad out early in the morning.  He wanted to go "shopping" before our big trip.  I expected him back by noon with scavenged supplies.  Instead, he and his men returned two hours later with an 8 foot pine on their shoulders.  He went and chopped down a god-damned Christmas tree.

After setting it up in the lobby, Ed and Griffith materialized from the bowels of Columbia with boxes of decorations.  Tinsel strings, colored balls, and a star for the top.  The light strings wouldn't work so Griffith went back down to look for packaged bulbs. 

Our new guests were attracted to the excited sounds of the troops and just stood agog at the sight.  The older man, Dewayne, left with tears in his eyes while the rest sat and watched in silence.  Leo's cavalry, the six Russian deserters from Poland, took to stringing around the room and putting up cutouts of Santa, reindeer, elves and presents on the walls with small nails.  All the while gabbling happily to each other in Russian.  I know I heard more than one comment of how tasty Rudolph looked.

Too soon we had to put aside the levity.  We had a trip planned, a short hike down island.  We planned to get a look, but not too close, of New York Presbyterian, CUNY, Hizzoner's north edge, and, maybe, Harlem.  Our team would be small just the old crew and Rutkowski.  Ed's still recovering from his gun shot, three inches higher and Doc would have gotten a volunteer to see how much we can regrow, and Lt. George has command.  He might be from Intel, but the men are veterans of Warsaw and Poland.  They know he knows his stuff.

We're traveling light.  Food for two days, sleeping bags, basic gear, and weapons.  We'll have to overnight in the south.  I expect the City is a different place at night.  Remember, it never sleeps.

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Side streets are clogged with vehicles caught in motion when the EMP hit.  The main roads have had the blockages shoved to the sides of the road.  Some look like they were pushed, others forced aside by a bulldozer, a few are flattened.  In all cases they're sitting on rotted rubber.  Most have missing gas caps and broken windows or hanging doors.  The silence, once we get a block from Columbia, is oppressive. 

Near Columbia there are signs of violence and neglect; broken windows, fire damage, forced doors.  The further south we go, the worse it gets.  More fire, more looting.  I tell the others most of these buildings aren't safe.  Let Alphabit or I inspect before we go in. 

I've seen ruin in Europe.  This is worse.  It's home.  And I think it could have all been prevented if someone had done something different. 

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We've been following our refugees route down Amsterdam Avenue. Highbridge park has fallen away to our right and we're back in residential spaces.  My thoughts get darker the further south we head.  Leo brings me back to the present by signaling contact.  We drop to either side of the street in the cover of wrecked cars.  A band of ten is moving north.  They're not in uniform, but they have a uniformity about them, a similar way of moving and individualized insignia on their chests or shoulders. The Star of David predominates, but there's three tined pitchforks as well.  These are the Disciples.  The group Dewayne and his family fled.   I ID a pair of M16s, the rest are armed with a collection of civilian shotgun and rifles.

Leo's already lined up a shot with the SVD and the others are taking aim.  The gangers are a good ways down yet so I order them to hold fire.  It may not do any good, but I'll talk first. 

I call out, but don't expose myself.  They go to ground or cover among the cars.  I talk.  Their leader insults.  He's taking no lip from a woman.

Rutkowski calls out in Polish, "Two went over cars on the right.  They're flanking."

Leo puts the leader down, so much for chain of command, and begins a methodical extermination as the rest of us supply suppression fire.  They try to fight back, but they're not prepared for the level of firepower we could bring to bear.  Alphabit took a round to the vest, but waved off Doc.  Rutkowski took one of the flankers prisoner.  We've got another four bleeding out on the ground.  We strip guns, ammo, and food and leave them there.  Leo cuts the insignia from them before starting a little fire.  The prisoner, a damn boy child, watches with hard eyes.

He talks.  He's with Masher, the dead loud mouth.  Masher ran their group.  They're up north hunting some workers who got lost.  Ok, fled or captured by another group.  Ok, ok, fled.  They're all Disciples.

Names, numbers, locations, as best as we can get out of him.  His group and another have the Jackie Robinson Park area.  Other Disciples are to the east and south of there.  There's 6 other groups like his.  I infer there are another 600 to 700 people under them doing the work while they oversee and guard.  Slaves, although he insists otherwise. 

I leave his hands tied.  Give him the speech.  "The governments back.  We're tasked with supplying medical and disaster relief for the area.  The Allen Pavilion is open for the ill and injured.  Payment is on a sliding scale."  Alphabit stuffs a copy of the announcement into his jacket. 

"We will not tolerate slavery, extortion, rape, and other crimes against the American people.  We will negotiate with groups that repudiate these behaviors.  We will talk first, just like we did here, but we will finish any violence, just like we did here.  Am I clear?"

He acknowledges me sullenly.  I wait for him to leave.  "Say it child."

He bristles, some pride left, and asks, "Will you untie me?"

"Is it dangerous between here and your turf."

"No, but," he nods at his expiring friends, "I can't help them like this."

"You're not helping them.  Now go."

"Wait one," calls Alphabit.  He turns from guard position and pulls a handful of census forms from his pack. 

"We're also conducting the national census!"  He exclaims happily, "Please fill out your form and return it by January 1st or your most convenient date.  I've included extras for you to give out to your neighbors and coworkers.  Remember, it's the law!"

The boy runs off before we regain our senses and shoot him.  It is obvious we're a bunch of crazies. 

"Alphabit, you enjoyed that a little too much."

"Yes Major, a man has to take pride in his work."

"Keep it up."

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New York Prespeterian and the 30st Street precinct are complete busts.  The damage to structures is extensive.  They're unsafe and I doubt much has survived of use.  I scratch them off the list of potential salvage sites. 

CUNY also bore the brunt of riots and fires.  Looks more like riots than fire though.  We saw a mountain lion giving us the eyeball from a third floor window.  Wonder who let the animals out and how many there are.  We give her a wide berth.  They've been known to attack hikers.  I'm loath to kill it if it has managed to survive this long.

We entered Harlem at a crawl, keeping to side streets and back alleyways.  We didn't see anyone until we swung back to the north, but I always felt eyes on me.  Don't think anyone was actually watching us.  We've gotten good at the sneak since Poland.  Like Gunny used to say, "Can't stop here, this is Ivan country."

We'd circled  Jackie Robinson Park on our approach and planned to just squeak by on the north east side to have a look when our people moment occurred.  I'd taken the drag position and been feeling edgy the last few blocks.  I could almost hear someone, a snuffle and drag, but hadn't spotted the source.

He'd been stalking me.  I heard his rush and got around in time to bring the 60 up and shove him away.  He was beyond ragged, rail thin with a length of pipe as a weapon.  He looked at me with hungry eyes, snarling as the rst of the team turned, and bolted off to the west. 

I signaled for silence and pursuit.  We chased him a block before he headed down into a subway entrance.  From the top we could hear the faint sounds of shuffling, soon stilled, and the lapping of water.

I had a bad feeling as to what his condition and that look indicated.  We prepped our Night Vision Gear.  Leo and Alphabit took point carrying silenced weapons.  Leo had his favorite toy, the MP5SD, while Alphabit had one of the Skorpions we'd taken in Poland.  The rest of us carried our standards in case that wasn't enough. 

The stairs bent around two landings before Leo signaled halt.  At the base of the third flight the stairwell opened up onto the subway landing.  A half a dozen figures waited in the dark clutching clubs and bricks.  They stood, unnaturally quiet, turning their heads and snuffling the air for any sign of us.  There were no light sources.  Leo drew back around the bend.  I gave him the assent to use a concussion grenade.

The clap of the explosion reflected off the landing.  Before the ringing could die down Leo, Alphabit and Rutkowski sprang into action, kicking aside weapons, adn taking the prisoners in hand.  Doc and I provided cover from the landing.  They'd secured four of them when an unholy howl rose from deeper in.  Leo's gun snapped to and sprayed the right flank with 9mm as fast as he could pull the trigger.  It wasn't enough and bodies fell around and then smashed into them.

There was a cold moment of hesitation from Doc and I.  Firing into that mass, our first reaction, would get somebody, one or more of ours, dead.  "Concussion!" I shouted to Doc as I grabbed on off my gear.  A quick glance to confirm it was one of the concussion grenades and then a toss into the mass.  Doc followed suit and we pulled behind the stairwell again. 

The twin claps were followed by screams and sobs.  Doc and I came back around at a run.  God, there must have been 20 of them.  We switched to pistols and finished it.

Doc and I found the nests after securing the survivors.  Nests littered with cracked bones.  Some were small and fine; rats and pigeons.  The others,  long bones, ribs, crushed skulls, were all too human.  Jesus wept, they aren't the Donner party.  You could walk off the island.  We'd question them elsewhere.  I doubt they'd see the dawn.

Once the men had a chance to recover I sent Leo up to see if the grenades had attracted any more locals.  The rest of us got to work on getting our three prisoners ready to move.  Leo took his time topside.  His hushed report gave me a pause.  There's been nearly a dozen men and some sort of technical patrolling the street.  They'd passed to the north.  We'd stirred them up good.

Plans change.  Instead of pushing north and going to ground on the south end of Highland Park we'd have to find a hole nearby and pull it in after us.  If they became convinced there was someone present the subway was too obvious a hiding place.  Pity, I'd wanted to observe the Disciples near Jackie Robinson and their early day routine, but not with if I had to play in traffic. 

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A solid basement.  One shelter half and the sleeping bags served as ground cover.  The others, double layered and tied off halfway to the ceiling, hung to trap body heat.  Our prisoners sullen, silent, and lousy.  Doc's already told us we're getting the full body treatment once we're back to base.  Tick-picker. 

I thought they weren't communicative, silent and stubborn as any Ivan loyalist.  No, I think they can't.  Their vocalizations are limited; raw barks and snarls, interrogative coos, and distressed sighs.  Two years.  Two fucking years.  What's been done to us.

We eat, sharing our food with the condemned.  We won't be able to take them with us and we can't leave them behind.  There's ample evidence of the danger they pose back at the station.  No, we feed them and tie them for the night.  We'll stand two on, two off.  Alphabit's taking the full night off.  He's running ragged from our two encounters.  I tell him he shouldn't have waved Doc's ministrations off so quickly.  He grunts acknowledgement before rolling over and dropping off to sleep.

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No trucks in the night.  No one comes within visual.  We can hear them.  Running steps and gunshots in the night.  Sharp, isolated incidents with long gaps of silence through the dark hours.  Next time.... we'll pick a high spot.  Get a good top down view.

I wonder what the child gangster's return has stirred among his fellow.  I really regret not getting to Highland.  We'd be able to look down the length of Jackie Robinson.  Next time.  Next time.

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Leonid, December 20th, 2000

Moving before the sun.  Never liked predawn march, but this buys us time we lost yesterday. 

I take care of the man eaters.  Kapitan took enough of them before.  Besides, I am good with the knife.  the rats will feed well.

As the sun reddens the east I spot movement.  The team halts at my signal and I slide ahead.  Three men, strange, no guns.  I'm used to everyone, even the civilians, having something.  I thought America would be worse.  Nyet, they have lines, nets, and spears.  I signal, slow advance.  We follow.

Ah, they're running trap lines.  Into buildings they go.  Out they come.  New lines traded for prey filled ones.  Rat stew.  Nets for pigeon later in the day.  They're aware of their surroundings, but it isn't enough.

I'm standing, resting against a panel van, guns slung as they exit another gutted tenement.  I greet them, palms up and arms out, "Hello, friends, I mean no harm."  They level spears.  Their eye whites wide in dark faces.
Ah, if only I had vodka.  Drinks lubricate strangers.

They make with bravado.  "This is Mau-Mau turf.  They'll kill you.  You need to go,"  they say. 

I give them calm and confidence in return.  They have pointy sticks.  I have family with guns.  I can wait on them. 

I'm actually starting to enjoy this.  They are completely baffled.  I'm not scared or threatening them.  Their worst taunts fall away with no retaliation.  They're at a point; either they'll leave as I'm no danger or curiosity will win out.  They want to know.  I keep the gentle smile.

I tell them in broad strokes about Columbia and our mission; medical assistance, reconstruction, and the fool's mission of the census.  The inevitable question rises, "Where were you?  Why'd you abandon us?"  I tell them of Poland; desperate fighting, stalemate, and withdrawal.  Forty thousand men, combat veterans all, returning home to help their countrymen.  It does have a mythic sound to it.  They want to believe.

I put the flyers on the ground, census and Columbia announcement.  The others rise at my signal.  I give them another smile, "Combat veterans, friend.  The best of all that left.  You let the Mau-Maus know."

We leave them in the street.  Once we've cleared their line of sight we move into double time, zigzagging down blocks, before going to ground.  Sure enough, we hear the technical moving around.  They went right home and alerted the guard.  The truck growls a few blocks south of us and stops.  It moves off west than back south.  Must be the limits of their 'turf'.

Kapitan thanks me for my work.  Says I'll get another round with the next group.  I know what she's doing.  I do.

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The map reads Jackie Robinson park.  The eye reads a snow covered waste with the remains of concrete planters and low walls around the edges.  The sounds of hammers and axes draws us to the north end.  A work crew of seven is busy breaking sidewalks and taking down a wood frame.  Another man walks from a neighboring house curling copper wire around his arm. 

I sling the SVD beside the shotgun and M16 I took from our Disciple friends.  I will make more fiends now.