Items in italics are not entered into the official record. Unattributed quotes belong to Ed.
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Doc- December 25th, 2000. Time is 10:30. Major Alexandria Miller, presiding physician. Assisting are Major Katriona Paterson and Sergeant Bernard Ross. You getting this Ed?
Scribbling like a pre-schooler.
I mean, yes ma'am
Doc- Subject arrived naked with more than 60% off the body covered with sewer muck and multiple puncture wounds. Wounds have been cataloged, reference the Firearms Wound Chart for details. Subject has been cleaned. No distinctive marks, scarring, or tattooing is noted.
Kat- I wouldn't say no distinctive marks.
Doc- Wait for it, those are gross physical abnormalities.
Doc- Physical measurements. Height 5 foot 2 inches. Torso circumstance 30 inches. Weight 312 pounds. Rigor is markedly advanced. Time of death is established by reports as 21:44 of December 24th.
He's heavy and he's not my brother.
Doc- This subject is humanoid in appearance; two arms, two legs, one head, upright stance. Skin is a black grey in color and rough to the touch. No visible lividity. No visible hair. Arms and legs are equal in length. Reports from the combat one indicate it is capable of a quadrupedal gait. Hands and feet end in four clawed digits. The outer digits of the hand are opposable. Outer hand digits retract. Interior claws are longer and do not. See here, the interior claws are fused to the finger bones. These are reinforced. The exterior ones are not. All foot claws are fixed as well. Samples have been taken from the claws and are pending further tests. Torso contains no orifices or visible sexual organs.
Doc- Head is smaller than expected for a creature of this size. Two eyes, no visible ears, or nasal passage. Each eye measures 2 inches in diameter. Lower half of the head anchors a tenticular proboscis, length 15 inches. The proboscis terminates in two fangs, 2 and 3/4 inches long, opposing a toothed orifice, diameter 3 inches even. Tactile exam of the head detects three soft spots. One at the crown, yields to pressure. Shifting materials can be felt inside the skin. The other two spots, on the side of the head and 1.5 inches round, are composed of a softer material. Light hairy fibers, like down, are detectable in the area. Might be ear analogs.
Doc- Kat, Ross, lift it up so I can get the block under the back.
Doc- Y incision complete. Ribs extend much further down than expected almost to the pelvic structure. Missing sternum. Hand me the bone saw, please.
Doc- Ross, take this over. Damn they're strong.
Ross- Done
Doc- Kat, Ross take the ends and crack him open.
Doc- Good, body cavity is open after some work. 'Rib' thickness is as expected from a human subject. Color is a light gray. Cross section shows a very thick compact bone layer and small trabecular bone section. Opposite ratio of that found in most vertebrates. Surprise, Corretion on sternum. Subject appears to have two, left and right, some 6 inches apart. Material is cartilaginous, not bony.
Doc- Hehe, now for the fun part. Cataloging the organs!
Kat- Only you, only you.
Doc- I'm special. And he's dead. Haha.
Doc- I'm stumped. What the hell do I call this, and this, and this. Fuck it. Ed, make a note of locations and observations as I pull them. Kat, run the weights. Ross, get a slice off each one for further testing and then bag and tag.
many pulls later
Doc- Observations; subject has multiple redundant organs. Everything pulled till now comes in fours. Weights are high for the size as well. I have found lung analogs off of the esophageal tract. I have found no stomach analog. The track terminates in the lower torso and is thick with blood vessels all the way down. The major blood vessels are sheathed in muscle tissue. No apparent heart analogue visualized. Given the sheathing of the blood vessels in muscle my hypothesis is it uses a peristaltic wave to pump blood, therefore I would not expect a measurable pulse.
Can't stake him then? How about garlic?
Kat- I'll ask the next one.
Doc- Don't jinx us.
Doc- Near the mid-length of the spine, in the torso, is what appears to be the brain. Quad lobes, but only one, which is a difference. It is the terminus for several major nerve bundles and attaches to the column.
You need to shoot him in the back. Sneak up and stake him. Yarg!
Kat- Ed.
Doc- Moving to the head/neck region. The neck is short, thick, and heavily muscled. Vertical mobility is strong. The head can shift to support vision during a quadrupedal gait. Horizontal mobility is weak. Bastard can't look over his own shoulder. Let's take the cap off the skull.
Doc- More surprises. Bone on the skull is exceptionally thick. Four smaller nerve junctions are present. One each behind the eyes, one behind the proboscis anchor, and one near the base of the skull by the spinal terminus. Speculation on my part, maybe these serve an early processing function to prevent reaction lag to the main brain?
Kat- Once we get slices under the microscope we'll have a better idea.
Doc- True.
Doc- This concludes the gross physical autopsy. Ross, after lunch I want you to get some help and skin the corpse. We should be able to get 2 or 3 sets of inserts off of it. After they finish, you and Ed need to sketch out the muscle structure and chop it up.
Kat- Alphabit's begging me for the bones when you're done.
Doc- Why?
Kat- Figures he can set it up Roman-style on a pole. Hell of a banner.
Doc- Ha, and you call me mad... Mad I say!
...Never to your face.
Doc- Liar. Kat and I will be examining slides while you work on our subject. let me know if you have any questions. Get yourself something to eat.
----------------------------------------------
"Kat, this is the damnedest thing."
"What?"
"The blood samples. Ross tried typing them. He got an actual result on the first, so he ran another pair to double check because he'd expected no actual result. He got a null result and a completely different type on the third. Now look at this." Doc steps away from the microscope.
"Well I'll be damned."
"Yeah, what do you think you're seeing?"
"A whole lot of hairy black things surrounded by red blood cells. These are human you think?"
"They sure look like typical human erythrocytes. You can also see shreds of cellular material on some of the hairy balls. Might be waste product. The hairy things seem to have penetrated cell walls and to be carrying them along. We'll know more when we centrifuge a sample, but I bet the fluid medium is preventing the different types from reacting. We'll have to play with it."
"Play, nice choice of words."
"Waste not, want not." Doc grins. "Now, take a look at these samples. These were taken from scabbed areas. The erythrocytes are showing typical behavior for exposure to air, but the hairy cells, ah-ha! They've dropped the erythrocytes and linked together. The matrix appears much stronger than a fibrin-fibronectin clot and may well replace the collagen deposition in deep wound healing. We'll need a live subject to see it in action!"
"Not likely. Unless we can find a way to neutralize the 'influence' it shows we can't keep one around."
"Awwww, you're stepping on science."
"With jack boots. What else you got for me."
"There's more red blood cells in the terminal pouch in the esophageal tract and cellular remains in surface deposits. I'm speculating that it secretes waste product directly onto the skin. The esiogageal lining must be permeable to erythrocytes given they're present in the blood stream. Maybe we can play with that as well. See if it would make a good filter. God knows we're not getting from the Quarter Master."
"And will it be good to eat?"
"Your sarcasm is noted commander major. I'm trying to be practical."
"Between you and me, this thing freaks me out. Fast, smart, and more than willing to engage in human predation. It is a major threat. Don't forget the Tom's family."
"Oh!" Doc smacks her head, "I completely forgot! I got a clue as to what's going on with Eileen and lil' Timmy. After lunch I went over to examine them. They've been freaking out every time they see one of us and I figured out what us is. It's the uniform!"
"How'd you get that out of them?"
"When we subdued them, the trip home, their delousing, and medical examination they fought, but when Jana's been treating them they're fine. When I checked on them I was wearing a white coat. They were calm for the entire time. Before I left I took the coat off and they started fighting their restraints. Mottled monsters, woodland camouflage. It's all in their head. We can work on this. Can you recruit me a shrink?"
"I'll let you know if one turns up. Now, got any answers on how it does the hoo-doo?"
"No. The best I can tell you is that there are thick layers of tissue beneath the skin on the cranium, beside the spine, and across the torso. It is resembles nerve tissue and connects to the spinal column. It is all out of proportion for sensory nerves, so I suspect this is the transmission source, but it is just a supposition. I really need a..."
"LIVE subject. I know."
"Yeah, yeah..."
"I'll leave you to get back to this. I have to push papers and press palms. We'll get together with the command staff after supper. Do a complete briefing then."
"Later, Kat."
Friday, August 31, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
091: Christmas Morn
Paterson, December 25th, 2000
Rutkowski radioed a request for pick-up as we sat in the marina. Eileen and little Tim (God bless us every one!) are bound on the floor. They screech and struggle every time they look at us. That thing had them too long. After forcing sedatives down them, Doc's keeping busy tending to our cuts and bruises. I've got a lovely set blossoming across my gut. It hit hard. Both Leo and I sport a number of cuts from flying cement chips as well. I had the additional joy of digging an expended 7.62 bullet from my vest. Ricochets.
Once our truck and Hummer arrive we retrieve Tom-2 from his nest up on the toll plaza. He tucks in with his wife and son. They've settled, but I can see the clouded fear in their eyes as they watch us. Too long.
At Columbia Doc hands off the family to Ross and Jana. The corpse is put in isolation in a locked room. Ed and 'bit can take turns standing guard. I'm sure it is dead, but so was the Baron. I tell George we'll debrief in the morning. We take the time to clean ourselves up before getting a well earned rest.
George wakes us for breakfast. There's a excitement at the meal. Words gotten around to the men that the killer's been taken care of and the kids. Oh, the kids. George tells me that Dewayne and Sgt Koons took turns reading Christmas stories to them last night. The older ones remember Christmas gifts. Pity we couldn't scare up a Santa costume.
Just about everyone not on watch steps into the entry hall. Leo's Christmas tree has a small pile of shapes below it, two for each of the children. Wrapping paper wasn't that hard to find. One of the last things you'd evacuate with. Dewayne and J-boy do the honors calling names one at a time and handing out gifts. Bears, dolls, trucks, and whatever else the parents felt should be repurposed from pediatrics. The older ones get a gift first and how how it's done. The littlest need some help.
I'm not the only one who tears up while beaming. Happiness is bittersweet. This is the way it was and should still be. I'm going to do my best to make it so.
After the last present is unwrapped I call the gathering around. I tell them today is a day of rest and reflection. All duties, except watch and KP, are suspended. Enjoy it, we'll dig back in tomorrow.
Except for us, we've got work to do still.
--------------------------------------------
Each of the squads gets called in. Doc shows off the corpse of the thing; Zver, demon, alien, or monster. I don't care what you call it. It dies just like anything else to bullet or club. I do warn them, based on our limited understanding of how it works, to always travel in groups and watch their behavior. It is blindingly fast ambush hunter and seems to have a hypnotic quality. Report any unusual feelings of fatigue or depression. Ha, right! Who isn't tired or depressed.
After the men we do the same to the adult civilians. They get an edited version. This thing killed our men. We don't know what it is, but we got it. Report any unusual sightings or occurrences to the watch. Don't panic the children. While we don't know what it is or where it came from, but it was alone. Now it is D E A D, dead.
Surprisingly, they don't take it very hard. A few give their own tales of half-glimpsed shadows and strange killings since the exchanges. None of them have anything but ghost stories from before than. Curious, maybe Leo is right about his escaped biological terror weapon?
After the show-and-tell. Doc and I, with Ross and Jana to assist, get down to the brute work of taking it apart.
Rutkowski radioed a request for pick-up as we sat in the marina. Eileen and little Tim (God bless us every one!) are bound on the floor. They screech and struggle every time they look at us. That thing had them too long. After forcing sedatives down them, Doc's keeping busy tending to our cuts and bruises. I've got a lovely set blossoming across my gut. It hit hard. Both Leo and I sport a number of cuts from flying cement chips as well. I had the additional joy of digging an expended 7.62 bullet from my vest. Ricochets.
Once our truck and Hummer arrive we retrieve Tom-2 from his nest up on the toll plaza. He tucks in with his wife and son. They've settled, but I can see the clouded fear in their eyes as they watch us. Too long.
At Columbia Doc hands off the family to Ross and Jana. The corpse is put in isolation in a locked room. Ed and 'bit can take turns standing guard. I'm sure it is dead, but so was the Baron. I tell George we'll debrief in the morning. We take the time to clean ourselves up before getting a well earned rest.
George wakes us for breakfast. There's a excitement at the meal. Words gotten around to the men that the killer's been taken care of and the kids. Oh, the kids. George tells me that Dewayne and Sgt Koons took turns reading Christmas stories to them last night. The older ones remember Christmas gifts. Pity we couldn't scare up a Santa costume.
Just about everyone not on watch steps into the entry hall. Leo's Christmas tree has a small pile of shapes below it, two for each of the children. Wrapping paper wasn't that hard to find. One of the last things you'd evacuate with. Dewayne and J-boy do the honors calling names one at a time and handing out gifts. Bears, dolls, trucks, and whatever else the parents felt should be repurposed from pediatrics. The older ones get a gift first and how how it's done. The littlest need some help.
I'm not the only one who tears up while beaming. Happiness is bittersweet. This is the way it was and should still be. I'm going to do my best to make it so.
After the last present is unwrapped I call the gathering around. I tell them today is a day of rest and reflection. All duties, except watch and KP, are suspended. Enjoy it, we'll dig back in tomorrow.
Except for us, we've got work to do still.
--------------------------------------------
Each of the squads gets called in. Doc shows off the corpse of the thing; Zver, demon, alien, or monster. I don't care what you call it. It dies just like anything else to bullet or club. I do warn them, based on our limited understanding of how it works, to always travel in groups and watch their behavior. It is blindingly fast ambush hunter and seems to have a hypnotic quality. Report any unusual feelings of fatigue or depression. Ha, right! Who isn't tired or depressed.
After the men we do the same to the adult civilians. They get an edited version. This thing killed our men. We don't know what it is, but we got it. Report any unusual sightings or occurrences to the watch. Don't panic the children. While we don't know what it is or where it came from, but it was alone. Now it is D E A D, dead.
Surprisingly, they don't take it very hard. A few give their own tales of half-glimpsed shadows and strange killings since the exchanges. None of them have anything but ghost stories from before than. Curious, maybe Leo is right about his escaped biological terror weapon?
After the show-and-tell. Doc and I, with Ross and Jana to assist, get down to the brute work of taking it apart.
Friday, August 17, 2012
090: Hunter's Hunted
Night
One leaves the shelter by the water. It will see what the seeder has seen tonight. It is pleased each night it is still there and alive. The unshriven have curious attachments.
The breeder and cub are left behind. Shriving is long work, but the cub responds well. The breeder less so, but they now see One as the friend and the mottled ones as foes. Betterment will take many, many nights.
One takes the route between water and woods swiftly. As it nears the place of two waters it slows and creeps. Senses reach out. There is the numb sleeping of the seeder, asleep. Careful motion through the woods senses out in a net. And there is something else that should not be there.
Five more quicksilver minds, watching, waiting. Dim? One stops.
Yes, it is hard to localize, but there they are. Beyond the stone road and shelters in the wood edge. They take a good place to watch One's tool. Oh, delicious anticipation!
One withdraws. Back track to where the land folds. No watchers here. Cross the stone road and take a long circle behind. Slow creep in crisp air.
The prey seeks to hunt. They lie in ambush under slippery hides and snow with their weapons, one to the south of the seeder's shelter. The others lie in an arc to the north. The southern hunter is isolated. He will be first. One reaches out.
Strange. The quicksilver thoughts lie just beyond One's reach. It is as if they lay behind the metal grids the builders are so fond of. The claws of One's thought can reach and just touch, but cannot grasp. It can dip, but not shape. This is wrong.
Whisper on the radio earbud. "Leo to team, I've got a headache."
One drops to a squat. Rests back against a tree. A different approach is warrented. Quicksilver is quick to twist. There are other ways. This prey is no different. Base impulses; eat, sleep, fuck, swirl around and above quicksilver thoughts. Rising above this net. They are primal, but diffuse; weep, fight, flight. Like grasping mud, they squish away. So much easier with the shriven, quicksilver beaten down, no doubts about the properness of them. They just respond.
"Feeling tired. Trying to shake it off."
One feels pushback. Like night fogs the base looks solid, but slides away. This prey cannot be reached. There are others.
"It passed. Stay alert."
"Check-in."
"Leo, here."
"Doc. Here."
"Root, check."
Four in an arc. Two close together; fundamentally different. The first is dim, but quicksilver swims beneath. The other, small and tightly drawn, One sees gleams of quicksliver deep down. This is a stalker, hunter, killer, much like One. There isn't enough for it to be One. It is a symbiont to the prey. How do they tame a killer? Time for thoughts later.
Lightly One casts a net over the large prey. Concentrating on tightness One feels the mud gathering together.
"Kat." Yawn. "Feeling it."
The small hunter stirs beside the large prey. One feels it test the net. It moves beneath the hides. The prey turns with it. Together they look with their night weak eyes at One.
"Rex is reacting. I can't see it. Must be back in the woods."
Leo, "We're both made. Let's go out and get it."
"I agree. Form on me."
The prey throw back their hides. Stand with their loud, far reaching claws held ready. The little hunter squalls in the night, stalking forward. One explodes into motion.
Rex leads us right to where it was. Tracks, widely separated, show it moved off fast. Broken branches show it wasn't that tall, just heavy. They're plain and easy to follow.
The burst takes One far from the hunting prey, but it cannot last. One is made for stalk, sprint, and ambush, not for long chases through cold winter air. Waste stench strong around it One slows to a walk. Back One goes, back to the shelter by the water and weaker minds. The hunting prey will follow. They can kill their own while One retreats under. If they follow One will lose them in the damp mazes.
The thing made a quarter mile before slowing. The steps come close together as that point and stagger a bit. It is still moving away in a straight line. Dead reckoning leaves us thinking it might be headed towards the Dyckman Street Marina. Irony that our first landing in Manhattan will be it's last.
One clambers over the fence makes straight away for the main building. Breeder and cub, numb and cold, wait for it. Silent screams force orders into their minds. They arm themselves. One watches and waits.
There, dark shapes stealth against the snow. They are far outside prey-eyes, but show well to One. They circle the shelter. One sends breeder and cub to ambush. Down it will go. Let the prey kill one another.
In the basement One moves to the inspection hatch set in the floor. It pulls the grate aside and slips in. There One pauses, net thrown wide. It anticipates the burst of pain and suffering to come. It will do much to assuage the chagrin it feels from fleeing from prey.
The cub falls upon them first. The pain of impact and then being hurdled away. Cub comes up with a knife in hand. Fear and rage send it charging at the monsters that would threaten breeder. Sudden eruption of blinding pain in the gut. Cub falls away.
Breeder screeches in rage. Club swinging at the leader who hurt her cub. The prey blocks her strike. Shouts incomprehensibly at her.
"Eileen, stop, Tom sent us!"
Breeder strikes again. A mighty two handed overhead swing that ends at the top of the doorway. Pain runs down her arms. Numb hands drop her club. There is impact as breeder is tackled. She fights on.
"Leo, help me!"
"Pin her, I've got the kid!"
Outside the basement window the small hunter yowls. One of the prey, led by it, send far claws barking through the pane. Stung, but not struck, One drops into the access way.
"Doc here. It went underground!"
The stone ways are narrow and cramped this near the water. They lead only one way. Hands and feet scrabble against the either side of the access as One bursts the second time this night.
We're hunched double in the sewer line.
"Fuck, look at the sides."
Clear marks from scrabbling clawed hands and feet mark the sides a quarter to halfway up the tunnel.
"It's moving now, it'll stop soon. Watch for an ambush."
Burst over, One has raced past two tunnel enlargements. Here, the vault arches high above it. There is enough of a lip for it to hide. Far back One hears the angry prey. No more strength to run. One climbs above the entrance passage and waits. Strength enough to fight and if not win then bleed the foe.
Leo signals halt. Ahead, no more than five feet, the tunnel opens up. He signs, "Ambush ahead." It is a good spot. Beside him Rex thrumms a silent song of rage. Leo has one restraining hand on him. Before Rex can move on Leo grasps him with both hands and lofts him through the widening arch to land, angry and soaked, in the chilly water.
Small killer flies under One. A trembling claw almost lashes out. No, freeze, they suspect.
Leo grins in the dark. The others know enough to keep silent. He knows it is there. It has to be. He unclips his flash. Click it and toss.
Harsh light strobes over One. The pain from assaulted eyes is kept bottled in. Instinct sends it scrambling from the ambush site to a dark corner. Hide.
"Flash" Leo whispers. Patterson slaps one into his hand. Back against the wall he pans the bright light around the opposite edge towards the faint sounds he's heard. Rex squalls as he crawls from the water. "I see you."
Huddled in the corner, eyes blinded, One turns other senses outward. Pinned they come for it. Death comes. The light bearer makes room for another to pass. The far claws swing towards him.
"You're one ugly fuck."
One explodes for the last time springing inside the radius of the claw. Deafening barks sound beside it as One drives into the prey, ripping and tearing into the soft organs. The claws deliver punishing impacts, but don't penetrate the mottled skins. Prey cheats.
Prey reverses the far claw and strikes. One falls under the blows. Other prey's far claws bark in anger. Pain. Pain. Plead.
It huddles against the inspection-way. Dark blood drips. It fills the M60 site. Through my head flashes a parade of pleading faces. "No, please, no!" I glimpse one of my men.
"Yes."
One's final screams are overridden by the far claws triumphant growl. The deafening chatter echoes down the sewers. Another scream, unheard by the prey, reverberates much further.
Kilpatrick, woken from a sound sleep, meets Jones in the corridor.
"You heard?" Jones strikes first.
"And saw. Your Major is a busy bint."
"So?"
"You'll have the men you need."
"Thank you, sir."
"Shut-up and fix this mess. The bloodkin will not be pleased."
Elsewhere other One's turn to the north.
One leaves the shelter by the water. It will see what the seeder has seen tonight. It is pleased each night it is still there and alive. The unshriven have curious attachments.
The breeder and cub are left behind. Shriving is long work, but the cub responds well. The breeder less so, but they now see One as the friend and the mottled ones as foes. Betterment will take many, many nights.
One takes the route between water and woods swiftly. As it nears the place of two waters it slows and creeps. Senses reach out. There is the numb sleeping of the seeder, asleep. Careful motion through the woods senses out in a net. And there is something else that should not be there.
Five more quicksilver minds, watching, waiting. Dim? One stops.
Yes, it is hard to localize, but there they are. Beyond the stone road and shelters in the wood edge. They take a good place to watch One's tool. Oh, delicious anticipation!
One withdraws. Back track to where the land folds. No watchers here. Cross the stone road and take a long circle behind. Slow creep in crisp air.
The prey seeks to hunt. They lie in ambush under slippery hides and snow with their weapons, one to the south of the seeder's shelter. The others lie in an arc to the north. The southern hunter is isolated. He will be first. One reaches out.
Strange. The quicksilver thoughts lie just beyond One's reach. It is as if they lay behind the metal grids the builders are so fond of. The claws of One's thought can reach and just touch, but cannot grasp. It can dip, but not shape. This is wrong.
Whisper on the radio earbud. "Leo to team, I've got a headache."
One drops to a squat. Rests back against a tree. A different approach is warrented. Quicksilver is quick to twist. There are other ways. This prey is no different. Base impulses; eat, sleep, fuck, swirl around and above quicksilver thoughts. Rising above this net. They are primal, but diffuse; weep, fight, flight. Like grasping mud, they squish away. So much easier with the shriven, quicksilver beaten down, no doubts about the properness of them. They just respond.
"Feeling tired. Trying to shake it off."
One feels pushback. Like night fogs the base looks solid, but slides away. This prey cannot be reached. There are others.
"It passed. Stay alert."
"Check-in."
"Leo, here."
"Doc. Here."
"Root, check."
Four in an arc. Two close together; fundamentally different. The first is dim, but quicksilver swims beneath. The other, small and tightly drawn, One sees gleams of quicksliver deep down. This is a stalker, hunter, killer, much like One. There isn't enough for it to be One. It is a symbiont to the prey. How do they tame a killer? Time for thoughts later.
Lightly One casts a net over the large prey. Concentrating on tightness One feels the mud gathering together.
"Kat." Yawn. "Feeling it."
The small hunter stirs beside the large prey. One feels it test the net. It moves beneath the hides. The prey turns with it. Together they look with their night weak eyes at One.
"Rex is reacting. I can't see it. Must be back in the woods."
Leo, "We're both made. Let's go out and get it."
"I agree. Form on me."
The prey throw back their hides. Stand with their loud, far reaching claws held ready. The little hunter squalls in the night, stalking forward. One explodes into motion.
Rex leads us right to where it was. Tracks, widely separated, show it moved off fast. Broken branches show it wasn't that tall, just heavy. They're plain and easy to follow.
The burst takes One far from the hunting prey, but it cannot last. One is made for stalk, sprint, and ambush, not for long chases through cold winter air. Waste stench strong around it One slows to a walk. Back One goes, back to the shelter by the water and weaker minds. The hunting prey will follow. They can kill their own while One retreats under. If they follow One will lose them in the damp mazes.
The thing made a quarter mile before slowing. The steps come close together as that point and stagger a bit. It is still moving away in a straight line. Dead reckoning leaves us thinking it might be headed towards the Dyckman Street Marina. Irony that our first landing in Manhattan will be it's last.
One clambers over the fence makes straight away for the main building. Breeder and cub, numb and cold, wait for it. Silent screams force orders into their minds. They arm themselves. One watches and waits.
There, dark shapes stealth against the snow. They are far outside prey-eyes, but show well to One. They circle the shelter. One sends breeder and cub to ambush. Down it will go. Let the prey kill one another.
In the basement One moves to the inspection hatch set in the floor. It pulls the grate aside and slips in. There One pauses, net thrown wide. It anticipates the burst of pain and suffering to come. It will do much to assuage the chagrin it feels from fleeing from prey.
The cub falls upon them first. The pain of impact and then being hurdled away. Cub comes up with a knife in hand. Fear and rage send it charging at the monsters that would threaten breeder. Sudden eruption of blinding pain in the gut. Cub falls away.
Breeder screeches in rage. Club swinging at the leader who hurt her cub. The prey blocks her strike. Shouts incomprehensibly at her.
"Eileen, stop, Tom sent us!"
Breeder strikes again. A mighty two handed overhead swing that ends at the top of the doorway. Pain runs down her arms. Numb hands drop her club. There is impact as breeder is tackled. She fights on.
"Leo, help me!"
"Pin her, I've got the kid!"
Outside the basement window the small hunter yowls. One of the prey, led by it, send far claws barking through the pane. Stung, but not struck, One drops into the access way.
"Doc here. It went underground!"
The stone ways are narrow and cramped this near the water. They lead only one way. Hands and feet scrabble against the either side of the access as One bursts the second time this night.
We're hunched double in the sewer line.
"Fuck, look at the sides."
Clear marks from scrabbling clawed hands and feet mark the sides a quarter to halfway up the tunnel.
"It's moving now, it'll stop soon. Watch for an ambush."
Burst over, One has raced past two tunnel enlargements. Here, the vault arches high above it. There is enough of a lip for it to hide. Far back One hears the angry prey. No more strength to run. One climbs above the entrance passage and waits. Strength enough to fight and if not win then bleed the foe.
Leo signals halt. Ahead, no more than five feet, the tunnel opens up. He signs, "Ambush ahead." It is a good spot. Beside him Rex thrumms a silent song of rage. Leo has one restraining hand on him. Before Rex can move on Leo grasps him with both hands and lofts him through the widening arch to land, angry and soaked, in the chilly water.
Small killer flies under One. A trembling claw almost lashes out. No, freeze, they suspect.
Leo grins in the dark. The others know enough to keep silent. He knows it is there. It has to be. He unclips his flash. Click it and toss.
Harsh light strobes over One. The pain from assaulted eyes is kept bottled in. Instinct sends it scrambling from the ambush site to a dark corner. Hide.
"Flash" Leo whispers. Patterson slaps one into his hand. Back against the wall he pans the bright light around the opposite edge towards the faint sounds he's heard. Rex squalls as he crawls from the water. "I see you."
Huddled in the corner, eyes blinded, One turns other senses outward. Pinned they come for it. Death comes. The light bearer makes room for another to pass. The far claws swing towards him.
"You're one ugly fuck."
One explodes for the last time springing inside the radius of the claw. Deafening barks sound beside it as One drives into the prey, ripping and tearing into the soft organs. The claws deliver punishing impacts, but don't penetrate the mottled skins. Prey cheats.
Prey reverses the far claw and strikes. One falls under the blows. Other prey's far claws bark in anger. Pain. Pain. Plead.
It huddles against the inspection-way. Dark blood drips. It fills the M60 site. Through my head flashes a parade of pleading faces. "No, please, no!" I glimpse one of my men.
"Yes."
One's final screams are overridden by the far claws triumphant growl. The deafening chatter echoes down the sewers. Another scream, unheard by the prey, reverberates much further.
Kilpatrick, woken from a sound sleep, meets Jones in the corridor.
"You heard?" Jones strikes first.
"And saw. Your Major is a busy bint."
"So?"
"You'll have the men you need."
"Thank you, sir."
"Shut-up and fix this mess. The bloodkin will not be pleased."
Elsewhere other One's turn to the north.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
089: Tom 2
Paterson, December 24th, 2000
The walk back is just as cold, but more fragrant. He has the scent of dirt and rot about him. More delousing and cleaning. Joys.
I radio George we're coming in and to have the civies away from the door we'll be using. No need to worry them any more than they are. I leave our latest acquisition in Doc's caring hands. She'll call when he's ready.
---------------------------------------
"Major, I've got him in restraints. He wouldn't calm down, so I dosed him with a light sedative before conducting my exam."
"You got him to take a pill?"
"No, put it up the other way." Ewww. "once it took effect I conducted my exam. Kat, he's not talking because he doesn't have a tongue."
"What?"
"He's got a ragged and infected stump. From the state of the wound it's no more than three days old. I've started him on a regimen of anti-biotic and pain relief." Her glare dares me to comment on her expenditure of limited resources. This changes things. He's looking more like a victim than a enemy.
She rubs her forehead. "I haven't cleaned it out yet. He won't want to communicate after I clean and abrade the stump. I have shaved and cleaned him. He's ready when you are."
-----------------------------------------
We've got him in medical four point restraints in an interior room with the ceiling lights on. Let's them know that civilization is back. Even with the sedatives he tests his bonds and is raggedly breathing. I check with Doc and she nods a go ahead.
I set an alphabet board on his bed beside his hand. It has the alphabet, numbers, yes, no, and a few other symbols for communicating with patients who are cognizant, but have lost speech. there's a notebook and crayons on the bedside table for later.
"I'm Major Paterson, US Marines. I'm in command at this facility. Do you understand?" He nods points, YES.
"What's your name?" T O M
"Good, we've given you medication for your tongue." He flinches. "And pain relief. Are you still hurting?" YES.
I pull out the pain chart. "Point at your level of pain." There's a set of faces from smiling to bawling tears. He points at the crying face.
"You're in the worst pain you've ever felt?" NO.
Twenty questions. I try to get him to give me a pain level, but he keeps pointing from the crying face and tug at his cuffs.
"Your cuffs hurt?" NO
Tears run down his cheeks. G O. N O W. N I G H T.
"It's still afternoon. You're too sick to let out." P L E A S E. he jerks his arm and makes a shaking motion with his thumb, index, and forefinger together. "You want to write?" YES.
I place the paper pad beside him. "I'm going to remove your restraint and give you a crayon. Don't try to remove any others or we will lock you back down. Understand?" He nods slowly.
Yeah, victim for sure. The first think he scribbles is a crude man shaped figure with a long tube for a nose. He makes three stick figures below it. "'Eee," he forces out while pointing at one. "'On, ffff!"
Block letters fill the margins. I WATCH, IT COME NIGHT.
"You were watching when you saw it come?"
He points at I WATCH, scribbles FOR ARMY. He points at IT COME, scribbles EAT THEM.
"You're watching for us." Nods. "If you're not there at night it will kill the two. Your, son and wife?" YES
I point at the thing figure. "I've killed these things before. I want this one dead too. We'll get them back. Write out everything you remember." He scribbles.
-----------------------------------------------
We live north. Scavange/trade.
Late, late. Hear man screem.
Went to him. He hurt. Take him in.
Wake. cant move. Is IT not him.
IT tells/shows/screams.
I watch or IT eat wife/son.
take me to road. leave me there. I watch.
-------------------------------------------------
As he nears the end Alphabit comes into the room with water and soup. Rex follows at his heels.
As 'bit sets the meal down Rex leaps up on the bed. He sniffs at the man and settles near the foot to begin grooming. Tom smiles down.
I try to get him back to the writing while 'bit wheels out a bin full of Tom's rags. As the rank bin rolls past Rex starts and arches while glaring.
"Donald!"
"Yes, Major?"
"Leave that just outside. Stay with it."
He looks puzzled, but 'yes, ma'ams' me.
------------------------------------------------
"He's a little fogy on time, but I think he was grabbed in the wee hours of the 22nd. The same night our people were killed. The thing comes to him at night and questions him about the day's events. It doesn't talk. It screams in his head."
"Sounds like the Word of God," mutters Root.
"More like nails on the blackboard. But the point is, it'll be back tonight."
"Good, I'm going." Root making a statement not a request.
"Yeah, you, me, Leo, and Doc. Ed, Alphabit you're our backup. Stay here in case it does an end run."
"Right." and "Yes, ma'am."
"I don't want to take him, but I think we'll need Tom to lure it out. Doc can you put him to sleep? I don't know if him thinking about us will scare it off or not."
"Sure can."
"Good, we'll need to get moving soon. We've got to get there well before dark and prepare our positions. Oh, we're taking Rex too." Questioning looks. Doubting my sanity again?
"That cat's our early warning system. He twigged to whatever Jones was doing and freaked at the scent on Tom's clothes. The outermost layer had a barely detectable odor, like the reptile house. I'll take him, but he's coming."
The walk back is just as cold, but more fragrant. He has the scent of dirt and rot about him. More delousing and cleaning. Joys.
I radio George we're coming in and to have the civies away from the door we'll be using. No need to worry them any more than they are. I leave our latest acquisition in Doc's caring hands. She'll call when he's ready.
---------------------------------------
"Major, I've got him in restraints. He wouldn't calm down, so I dosed him with a light sedative before conducting my exam."
"You got him to take a pill?"
"No, put it up the other way." Ewww. "once it took effect I conducted my exam. Kat, he's not talking because he doesn't have a tongue."
"What?"
"He's got a ragged and infected stump. From the state of the wound it's no more than three days old. I've started him on a regimen of anti-biotic and pain relief." Her glare dares me to comment on her expenditure of limited resources. This changes things. He's looking more like a victim than a enemy.
She rubs her forehead. "I haven't cleaned it out yet. He won't want to communicate after I clean and abrade the stump. I have shaved and cleaned him. He's ready when you are."
-----------------------------------------
We've got him in medical four point restraints in an interior room with the ceiling lights on. Let's them know that civilization is back. Even with the sedatives he tests his bonds and is raggedly breathing. I check with Doc and she nods a go ahead.
I set an alphabet board on his bed beside his hand. It has the alphabet, numbers, yes, no, and a few other symbols for communicating with patients who are cognizant, but have lost speech. there's a notebook and crayons on the bedside table for later.
"I'm Major Paterson, US Marines. I'm in command at this facility. Do you understand?" He nods points, YES.
"What's your name?" T O M
"Good, we've given you medication for your tongue." He flinches. "And pain relief. Are you still hurting?" YES.
I pull out the pain chart. "Point at your level of pain." There's a set of faces from smiling to bawling tears. He points at the crying face.
"You're in the worst pain you've ever felt?" NO.
Twenty questions. I try to get him to give me a pain level, but he keeps pointing from the crying face and tug at his cuffs.
"Your cuffs hurt?" NO
Tears run down his cheeks. G O. N O W. N I G H T.
"It's still afternoon. You're too sick to let out." P L E A S E. he jerks his arm and makes a shaking motion with his thumb, index, and forefinger together. "You want to write?" YES.
I place the paper pad beside him. "I'm going to remove your restraint and give you a crayon. Don't try to remove any others or we will lock you back down. Understand?" He nods slowly.
Yeah, victim for sure. The first think he scribbles is a crude man shaped figure with a long tube for a nose. He makes three stick figures below it. "'Eee," he forces out while pointing at one. "'On, ffff!"
Block letters fill the margins. I WATCH, IT COME NIGHT.
"You were watching when you saw it come?"
He points at I WATCH, scribbles FOR ARMY. He points at IT COME, scribbles EAT THEM.
"You're watching for us." Nods. "If you're not there at night it will kill the two. Your, son and wife?" YES
I point at the thing figure. "I've killed these things before. I want this one dead too. We'll get them back. Write out everything you remember." He scribbles.
-----------------------------------------------
We live north. Scavange/trade.
Late, late. Hear man screem.
Went to him. He hurt. Take him in.
Wake. cant move. Is IT not him.
IT tells/shows/screams.
I watch or IT eat wife/son.
take me to road. leave me there. I watch.
-------------------------------------------------
As he nears the end Alphabit comes into the room with water and soup. Rex follows at his heels.
As 'bit sets the meal down Rex leaps up on the bed. He sniffs at the man and settles near the foot to begin grooming. Tom smiles down.
I try to get him back to the writing while 'bit wheels out a bin full of Tom's rags. As the rank bin rolls past Rex starts and arches while glaring.
"Donald!"
"Yes, Major?"
"Leave that just outside. Stay with it."
He looks puzzled, but 'yes, ma'ams' me.
------------------------------------------------
"He's a little fogy on time, but I think he was grabbed in the wee hours of the 22nd. The same night our people were killed. The thing comes to him at night and questions him about the day's events. It doesn't talk. It screams in his head."
"Sounds like the Word of God," mutters Root.
"More like nails on the blackboard. But the point is, it'll be back tonight."
"Good, I'm going." Root making a statement not a request.
"Yeah, you, me, Leo, and Doc. Ed, Alphabit you're our backup. Stay here in case it does an end run."
"Right." and "Yes, ma'am."
"I don't want to take him, but I think we'll need Tom to lure it out. Doc can you put him to sleep? I don't know if him thinking about us will scare it off or not."
"Sure can."
"Good, we'll need to get moving soon. We've got to get there well before dark and prepare our positions. Oh, we're taking Rex too." Questioning looks. Doubting my sanity again?
"That cat's our early warning system. He twigged to whatever Jones was doing and freaked at the scent on Tom's clothes. The outermost layer had a barely detectable odor, like the reptile house. I'll take him, but he's coming."
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
088: The OP
Paterson, December 24th
The walk out to Inwood Park and the Henry Hudson Bridge is a bracing change from two days underground. The wind blows off the river from the north bringing a clear, clean scent. The clouds have parted and the sun glitters off the new fallen snow. It is a beautiful afternoon.
Our OP was set back in the woods with a good view of the bridge. The dugout's cover has been ripped away and the ground trampled. Nothing to find there so we circle out.
About two hundred feet to the east I find a clean track in a hollow. Maybe a size 8, but deep with four clawed toes. Yeah, more confirmation. The track extends a short way to the east and south before petering out. We're not trailing it home tonight.
We continue round.
Doc finds a bloody bird about a hundred feet from the tollbooths on the roadway. She looks the half-eaten carcass over before prodding it. "These look like human tooth marks. And it's warm."
"Don't look around," Leo murmurs. "We're being watched."
He points off into the woods to the west. "Follow my arm. Now, look out of the corner of your eye at the middle tollbooth. Do you see him?"
Easier said than done. "Yeah, I think so. I don't see any weapons."
"Could be below the window. You two stay here and keep his attention. I'll head west and circle behind."
"Don't keep us waiting Leo."
He heads off. Doc and I share a thermos while trying not to stare. Doc tells me she didn't sign on to be a goat.
"I never signed on Doc. I got drafted."
"Yeah, right. Me too."
A masculine screech comes from the tollbooth. Leo reached in from the opposite side and got a handful of rags. The man turned and pummeled wildly. Doc and I break into a sprint.
Leo's catching fists against his helmet and vest as he gets a solid grip on our watcher. He heaves him from the booth onto the pavement. Breathless he tries to rise as Leo powers into his back crushing him back to the ground. They scuffle briefly before Leo gains a compliance lock on him. I pass over some cord and let Leo finish. I've been deloused enough this week.
The man's a mess and continues to struggle even while bound. His cries are unintelligible. Not another one. Leo loops another length of cord around his neck and demonstrates his slip knot. He settles. Leo hands me the line.
"I check the booth."
We wait. He isn't long. "Got a nest in there. Some bones from birds. No bodily waste. He's only been here a few days I think, week tops."
"We'll question him at home." I tell them. "Let's go."
The walk out to Inwood Park and the Henry Hudson Bridge is a bracing change from two days underground. The wind blows off the river from the north bringing a clear, clean scent. The clouds have parted and the sun glitters off the new fallen snow. It is a beautiful afternoon.
Our OP was set back in the woods with a good view of the bridge. The dugout's cover has been ripped away and the ground trampled. Nothing to find there so we circle out.
About two hundred feet to the east I find a clean track in a hollow. Maybe a size 8, but deep with four clawed toes. Yeah, more confirmation. The track extends a short way to the east and south before petering out. We're not trailing it home tonight.
We continue round.
Doc finds a bloody bird about a hundred feet from the tollbooths on the roadway. She looks the half-eaten carcass over before prodding it. "These look like human tooth marks. And it's warm."
"Don't look around," Leo murmurs. "We're being watched."
He points off into the woods to the west. "Follow my arm. Now, look out of the corner of your eye at the middle tollbooth. Do you see him?"
Easier said than done. "Yeah, I think so. I don't see any weapons."
"Could be below the window. You two stay here and keep his attention. I'll head west and circle behind."
"Don't keep us waiting Leo."
He heads off. Doc and I share a thermos while trying not to stare. Doc tells me she didn't sign on to be a goat.
"I never signed on Doc. I got drafted."
"Yeah, right. Me too."
A masculine screech comes from the tollbooth. Leo reached in from the opposite side and got a handful of rags. The man turned and pummeled wildly. Doc and I break into a sprint.
Leo's catching fists against his helmet and vest as he gets a solid grip on our watcher. He heaves him from the booth onto the pavement. Breathless he tries to rise as Leo powers into his back crushing him back to the ground. They scuffle briefly before Leo gains a compliance lock on him. I pass over some cord and let Leo finish. I've been deloused enough this week.
The man's a mess and continues to struggle even while bound. His cries are unintelligible. Not another one. Leo loops another length of cord around his neck and demonstrates his slip knot. He settles. Leo hands me the line.
"I check the booth."
We wait. He isn't long. "Got a nest in there. Some bones from birds. No bodily waste. He's only been here a few days I think, week tops."
"We'll question him at home." I tell them. "Let's go."
087: a little HUMINT
Paterson, December 24th
Working lunch, oat gruel with little bits of meat. I give George a questioning look.
"Pigeon. Two of our new arrivals have been busy."
"Better than Rat on a Stick," rumbles Leonid.
Doc and Alphabit grunt acknowledgement. Root just tucks in. Rex twines beneath the table looking for handouts. I slip him a sliver.
"Alright," I start around a mouthful of oats. Swallow. "We got two pressing matters. The killings and our new guest."
"We need to see the OP. Learn what we can," Leo says.
"Not much there," George answers, "We tramped all over it when they missed their radio contact. I think we'd have killed any chances of finding tracks. That and the snow."
Leo shrugs, "Still do it. We go, spiral out. Maybe find something farther away. Maybe not. Won't know till we do so."
"I concur with Leo." I tell the group, "We'll take a hike after this meeting. The bridge isn't more than a mile away. Doc, Leo, and I. 'bit, I need you and Root here to keep an eye on things." Acknowledgements all around.
"Now, our new friend. Leo and I had a talk with him after wake-up. Leo?"
"Tom Harisson, former biker turned watchdog for Hizzoner. Came to New York with his friends after the nuclear strikes. He'd heard form relocatees that the city was being evacuated and loot was ripe for the taking. He was eager to answer. Didn't even punch him." Leo smirks.
"Their strongholds are CUNY, and Central Park with Met Art and the History Museum. They have completely walled them off with rubble constructs like we've seen. He knows there are other outposts in Fordham University, but doesn't know the size or fortifications."
"There are hundreds under arms in these enclaves and thousands of workers housed outside the walls. I couldn't get any numbers more accurate than that, but given the size of areas controlled we're outnumbered many to one. I don't hold much hope for their quality given what we saw in Central Park."
"Weapons include civilian long arms, military small arms, and a number of M-60s. They 'inherited' a number of heavy weapons form the 78th. Description sounds like Mk-19s and M2HB. Ammo is scarce all around. They have a number of 2 and 1/2 ton trucks and a few Hummers. No armor that he's aware of.
"Hizzoner lives in CUNY proper, in the old library building, with his personal guard. Baddest of the bad. They're picked on fighting ability and can be appointed or challenge for entry. Very, Darwinian."
"Hizzoner also enjoys bloody spectacle. He keeps a dozen or so of the 'demented' on hand. Punishments include fighting one barehanded or being thrown to a group depending on what you did. Says these 'dements' can't talk at all and are completely savage. Yes, Major?"
"I don't like the prevalence of 'dements'. People don't completely lose language skills this quickly. I'm speculating, but could this be the work of our demon or someone like Jones? Root, did you observe anything like this in Warsaw?"
"No Major, but who knows what happen after it wins."
"Sorry Leo, please continue."
"The workers, it seems, are housed just outside the parks. They're not walled in and have minimal guards. Hizzoner works them to the bone and uses their corpses for fertilizer. I expressed surprise that they didn't just leave. Our prisoner informed me there are small detachments kept in the building. The workers slave all the daylight hours and the streets aren't secure at night. Guards rarely even patrol. The workers are more afraid of what's outside than dieing in the fields."
"Harisson blames raiders for the south and dements living and hunting from the underground. They don't go outside secured areas. From his answers it was a hard learned lesson. Something to think about."
"Now, power structures. Hizzoner runs the day-to-day public face of the 'government'. Harisson insists that nothing important happens without Snyder's input. Snyder's described as a hard-ass, ex-army. Without him, Hizzoner wouldn't have got as far as he did."
"What the man has isn't enough. He wants the whole island, but he's having trouble holding what he has. Harisson is particularly afraid of the Harlem Mau-Maus and the Duke's coalition to the south. There's been raids and skirmishes both ways."
"Things may change soon. Seems he's been in contact with a delegation from the 'real' government. Some soldier-boys were taken in about two weeks ago and the rumor mill says that they want to make Hizzoner the official head of NYC. Supposedly they've been promised official support in return for a consolidated Manhattan."
George clears his throat. Leo pauses in his lecture. "I'm sure they aren't with us. This is probably a team from the civilian government. I doubt they have the means to back up their promises, but it would put a veneer of authenticity to Hizzoner."
"Words won't replace food or guns," Leo counters.
"Yes," George replies, "but having the 'real' government supporting this asshole will make our own job harder. Perception defines reality. Did he have anything to say about our objectives?"
"I was saving it for last," Leo tells him with a frown. "He laughed at me. By the time his boys got to town all the jewelry and coin shops had been hit. They get a chain or coin in trade or by scavenging, but there's no easy money in NYC anymore."
Working lunch, oat gruel with little bits of meat. I give George a questioning look.
"Pigeon. Two of our new arrivals have been busy."
"Better than Rat on a Stick," rumbles Leonid.
Doc and Alphabit grunt acknowledgement. Root just tucks in. Rex twines beneath the table looking for handouts. I slip him a sliver.
"Alright," I start around a mouthful of oats. Swallow. "We got two pressing matters. The killings and our new guest."
"We need to see the OP. Learn what we can," Leo says.
"Not much there," George answers, "We tramped all over it when they missed their radio contact. I think we'd have killed any chances of finding tracks. That and the snow."
Leo shrugs, "Still do it. We go, spiral out. Maybe find something farther away. Maybe not. Won't know till we do so."
"I concur with Leo." I tell the group, "We'll take a hike after this meeting. The bridge isn't more than a mile away. Doc, Leo, and I. 'bit, I need you and Root here to keep an eye on things." Acknowledgements all around.
"Now, our new friend. Leo and I had a talk with him after wake-up. Leo?"
"Tom Harisson, former biker turned watchdog for Hizzoner. Came to New York with his friends after the nuclear strikes. He'd heard form relocatees that the city was being evacuated and loot was ripe for the taking. He was eager to answer. Didn't even punch him." Leo smirks.
"Their strongholds are CUNY, and Central Park with Met Art and the History Museum. They have completely walled them off with rubble constructs like we've seen. He knows there are other outposts in Fordham University, but doesn't know the size or fortifications."
"There are hundreds under arms in these enclaves and thousands of workers housed outside the walls. I couldn't get any numbers more accurate than that, but given the size of areas controlled we're outnumbered many to one. I don't hold much hope for their quality given what we saw in Central Park."
"Weapons include civilian long arms, military small arms, and a number of M-60s. They 'inherited' a number of heavy weapons form the 78th. Description sounds like Mk-19s and M2HB. Ammo is scarce all around. They have a number of 2 and 1/2 ton trucks and a few Hummers. No armor that he's aware of.
"Hizzoner lives in CUNY proper, in the old library building, with his personal guard. Baddest of the bad. They're picked on fighting ability and can be appointed or challenge for entry. Very, Darwinian."
"Hizzoner also enjoys bloody spectacle. He keeps a dozen or so of the 'demented' on hand. Punishments include fighting one barehanded or being thrown to a group depending on what you did. Says these 'dements' can't talk at all and are completely savage. Yes, Major?"
"I don't like the prevalence of 'dements'. People don't completely lose language skills this quickly. I'm speculating, but could this be the work of our demon or someone like Jones? Root, did you observe anything like this in Warsaw?"
"No Major, but who knows what happen after it wins."
"Sorry Leo, please continue."
"The workers, it seems, are housed just outside the parks. They're not walled in and have minimal guards. Hizzoner works them to the bone and uses their corpses for fertilizer. I expressed surprise that they didn't just leave. Our prisoner informed me there are small detachments kept in the building. The workers slave all the daylight hours and the streets aren't secure at night. Guards rarely even patrol. The workers are more afraid of what's outside than dieing in the fields."
"Harisson blames raiders for the south and dements living and hunting from the underground. They don't go outside secured areas. From his answers it was a hard learned lesson. Something to think about."
"Now, power structures. Hizzoner runs the day-to-day public face of the 'government'. Harisson insists that nothing important happens without Snyder's input. Snyder's described as a hard-ass, ex-army. Without him, Hizzoner wouldn't have got as far as he did."
"What the man has isn't enough. He wants the whole island, but he's having trouble holding what he has. Harisson is particularly afraid of the Harlem Mau-Maus and the Duke's coalition to the south. There's been raids and skirmishes both ways."
"Things may change soon. Seems he's been in contact with a delegation from the 'real' government. Some soldier-boys were taken in about two weeks ago and the rumor mill says that they want to make Hizzoner the official head of NYC. Supposedly they've been promised official support in return for a consolidated Manhattan."
George clears his throat. Leo pauses in his lecture. "I'm sure they aren't with us. This is probably a team from the civilian government. I doubt they have the means to back up their promises, but it would put a veneer of authenticity to Hizzoner."
"Words won't replace food or guns," Leo counters.
"Yes," George replies, "but having the 'real' government supporting this asshole will make our own job harder. Perception defines reality. Did he have anything to say about our objectives?"
"I was saving it for last," Leo tells him with a frown. "He laughed at me. By the time his boys got to town all the jewelry and coin shops had been hit. They get a chain or coin in trade or by scavenging, but there's no easy money in NYC anymore."
Monday, August 13, 2012
086: a short Raid
Alphabit, December 23rd, just after midnight
Leo's returned from the wall. He sits on the inspection way and briefs us. "The wall isn't much of a barrier. Three to three point five meters topped with stretches of barbed wire or glass and steel shards. It is all rubble, easy, sloped climb. Watchtowers, 4 to 6 meters high, 700 or so meters apart. Good views of the park during day. Night, not so much. Two men in each of the towers I saw. Four man patrols on intermittent schedule inside. They didn't look like they had night vision gear. No sign of dogs."
"My plan. We go over the wall near border between barbed wire and glass. If we shift the wire over a meter we have a safe entry and they shouldn't notice it till dawn. We move up the inside of the wall to one of the towers. Take one or both of them prisoner. We egress back at the gap or right over the wall there if we've been found. Question the fuckers back home." He looks at the major, "Well?"
"Sounds good. You're point."
"Always."
The wall's as advertised. Leo makes make the climb easily. Every sound he makes seems amplified. My nerves, the light snow will dampen any slips. He restakes the wire before cutting the endpost and gently settling it back. One by one we make our way over.
We make our slow, cold way towards the northern watchtower some 300 meters away. Snowfall, cloud cover, and the dark of the moon all conspire to aid us. We're some 25 meters away when ill chance strikes. One of the guards leans over the rail on our side of the tower.
We freeze, but the Major was in mid-step and stumbles. The guard's night adjusted eyes catch the motion and take in the strange, dark shadows that weren't their before. He drops and shouts.
Leo and I burst into motion. We're under the tower when the watch's bell begins to peel. He goes straight to the ladder. I kneel, securing the open land of the park to our east. The others, cursing, join me. They take the north and south sectors with Root joining me to the east.
Leo grunts as he tries to push the tower hatch up. No good. He slides back down the rails, raises his rifle, and gives the plywood hatch a burst. The man bracing it closed shrieks, one long ear scarring peal of pain, until his lungs empty. Leo sets foot to the ladder again.
The second guard lands not a meter from me. He lands badly going to both knees. I beat Root to him. My rifle meets his shoulder as he rises. His arm distends oddly under his jacket as the should pops out of the socket. He collapses with a whimper.
The Major's M60 barks to the north. A patrol, approaching at the run, drop to the ground. She works the weapon over their positions keeping them down in folds of ground.
Root slings his rifle across his chest. "I got", he grunts as he lifts him into a fireman's carry.
"Prisoner secured!" I cry.
Major shouts, "Leo, cut us a way out! I'll hold them! Cover me from the top!"
Leo and Doc make it right up the wall. They grab and cut. They turn their ends away and release so it doesn't lash them as it recoils. The 60 continues to chatter.
Root makes it only partway up the wall before grunting and sliding back. I join him, grabbing hold of his webbing, and muscling him and his burden up the slope. My hand is warm and slick, black in the dark, as we top the wall..
Doc and Leo begin to fire. I join them. The patrol's begins blindly firing back at the tower from their shelter as our MG falls silent. The Major almost runs up the slope.
Her and I join Root at the wall's foot. "Let's go! Alpha, take point!" We're off into the dark.
-------------------------------------------
Either we outstripped any pursuit or they didn't try. We reach the storm sewers and make our way back to the boat.
The boat's still there, but our spare gear lies scattered over the walkways and deck with their shredding plastic storage bags. The softer gear still bears tooth marks. Doc says they're human.
The Major doesn't care. It is past time to go.
We paddle out into the river. The snowfall has stopped. Out in the river sits a ship. It could be one of the River Rats' two masters or someone else's. We don't want any part of it.
We paddle hard to the north, well out of night vision range, before starting the motor. I've got the tiller. Open her up.
----------------------------------------
Must be 4:00am when we establish radio contact with base. Lt. George acknowledges our imminent return. I can hear the tension in his voice as he reports they have a situation and he'll brief us upon our return.
---------------------------------------
We pull right up to the banks behind the Allen pavilion. George and a full squad are awaiting us. The men take the boat in hand. George takes the Major by the arm and hustles us back towards the hospital. Their heads are close together, but I still hear him briefing her. "Three dead. You need to see the bodies. I don't want to prejudice your judgement."
--------------------------------------
They're bagged in the underground garage. The Major takes the lead in unzipping the morgue bags. Bruce Korenstra, Niel Hampton, and Robert Williams, pale and oddly serene, their bodies each bear one wound; two deep mandible marks flanking a chewed area almost like a lamprey bite. The wounds are over the arteries on the neck.
Doc takes over asking how long they've been dead. "How long have they been dead, there's no signs of lividity."
"I know," George answers, "It happened the night you left."
Eddie stumbles up and silently hands me Rex before tottering off. He looks horrible.
George sighs, "He's been up since we lost radio contact with our OP. Says he's the only one who can see. Is it what I think it is?"
"Yeah," the Major's voice rumbles with rage, "Same wounds we saw in Warsaw. We're going to have to find it."
Root's face lights up, "Kill us a demon."
"Yeah, kill us a demon."
"'Bit, Root walk patrol. The rest of you get some sleep. George, wake us halfway to noon. I want these two to get some rest before we head out."
-------------------------------------
Been walking patrol with Rex. He's out in front crisscrossing the halls and letting me know the way is clear. He's a good cat. I let him lead me back to the underground.
He looks at me and pads over to Robert's bag. Poor man. I can't imagine how it felt.
Rex paws at the plastic. I open it up and let Rex say his goodbyes. The man always had a treat at hand for our good luck charm.
Rex nuzzles his hand and his chin. Trying his best to wake him up I think.
"That's not normal behavior," says the Major. I hadn't noticed her coming in. Been awake too long.
I tell her in all seriousness, "We're going to need more cats."
Leo's returned from the wall. He sits on the inspection way and briefs us. "The wall isn't much of a barrier. Three to three point five meters topped with stretches of barbed wire or glass and steel shards. It is all rubble, easy, sloped climb. Watchtowers, 4 to 6 meters high, 700 or so meters apart. Good views of the park during day. Night, not so much. Two men in each of the towers I saw. Four man patrols on intermittent schedule inside. They didn't look like they had night vision gear. No sign of dogs."
"My plan. We go over the wall near border between barbed wire and glass. If we shift the wire over a meter we have a safe entry and they shouldn't notice it till dawn. We move up the inside of the wall to one of the towers. Take one or both of them prisoner. We egress back at the gap or right over the wall there if we've been found. Question the fuckers back home." He looks at the major, "Well?"
"Sounds good. You're point."
"Always."
The wall's as advertised. Leo makes make the climb easily. Every sound he makes seems amplified. My nerves, the light snow will dampen any slips. He restakes the wire before cutting the endpost and gently settling it back. One by one we make our way over.
We make our slow, cold way towards the northern watchtower some 300 meters away. Snowfall, cloud cover, and the dark of the moon all conspire to aid us. We're some 25 meters away when ill chance strikes. One of the guards leans over the rail on our side of the tower.
We freeze, but the Major was in mid-step and stumbles. The guard's night adjusted eyes catch the motion and take in the strange, dark shadows that weren't their before. He drops and shouts.
Leo and I burst into motion. We're under the tower when the watch's bell begins to peel. He goes straight to the ladder. I kneel, securing the open land of the park to our east. The others, cursing, join me. They take the north and south sectors with Root joining me to the east.
Leo grunts as he tries to push the tower hatch up. No good. He slides back down the rails, raises his rifle, and gives the plywood hatch a burst. The man bracing it closed shrieks, one long ear scarring peal of pain, until his lungs empty. Leo sets foot to the ladder again.
The second guard lands not a meter from me. He lands badly going to both knees. I beat Root to him. My rifle meets his shoulder as he rises. His arm distends oddly under his jacket as the should pops out of the socket. He collapses with a whimper.
The Major's M60 barks to the north. A patrol, approaching at the run, drop to the ground. She works the weapon over their positions keeping them down in folds of ground.
Root slings his rifle across his chest. "I got", he grunts as he lifts him into a fireman's carry.
"Prisoner secured!" I cry.
Major shouts, "Leo, cut us a way out! I'll hold them! Cover me from the top!"
Leo and Doc make it right up the wall. They grab and cut. They turn their ends away and release so it doesn't lash them as it recoils. The 60 continues to chatter.
Root makes it only partway up the wall before grunting and sliding back. I join him, grabbing hold of his webbing, and muscling him and his burden up the slope. My hand is warm and slick, black in the dark, as we top the wall..
Doc and Leo begin to fire. I join them. The patrol's begins blindly firing back at the tower from their shelter as our MG falls silent. The Major almost runs up the slope.
Her and I join Root at the wall's foot. "Let's go! Alpha, take point!" We're off into the dark.
-------------------------------------------
Either we outstripped any pursuit or they didn't try. We reach the storm sewers and make our way back to the boat.
The boat's still there, but our spare gear lies scattered over the walkways and deck with their shredding plastic storage bags. The softer gear still bears tooth marks. Doc says they're human.
The Major doesn't care. It is past time to go.
We paddle out into the river. The snowfall has stopped. Out in the river sits a ship. It could be one of the River Rats' two masters or someone else's. We don't want any part of it.
We paddle hard to the north, well out of night vision range, before starting the motor. I've got the tiller. Open her up.
----------------------------------------
Must be 4:00am when we establish radio contact with base. Lt. George acknowledges our imminent return. I can hear the tension in his voice as he reports they have a situation and he'll brief us upon our return.
---------------------------------------
We pull right up to the banks behind the Allen pavilion. George and a full squad are awaiting us. The men take the boat in hand. George takes the Major by the arm and hustles us back towards the hospital. Their heads are close together, but I still hear him briefing her. "Three dead. You need to see the bodies. I don't want to prejudice your judgement."
--------------------------------------
They're bagged in the underground garage. The Major takes the lead in unzipping the morgue bags. Bruce Korenstra, Niel Hampton, and Robert Williams, pale and oddly serene, their bodies each bear one wound; two deep mandible marks flanking a chewed area almost like a lamprey bite. The wounds are over the arteries on the neck.
Doc takes over asking how long they've been dead. "How long have they been dead, there's no signs of lividity."
"I know," George answers, "It happened the night you left."
Eddie stumbles up and silently hands me Rex before tottering off. He looks horrible.
George sighs, "He's been up since we lost radio contact with our OP. Says he's the only one who can see. Is it what I think it is?"
"Yeah," the Major's voice rumbles with rage, "Same wounds we saw in Warsaw. We're going to have to find it."
Root's face lights up, "Kill us a demon."
"Yeah, kill us a demon."
"'Bit, Root walk patrol. The rest of you get some sleep. George, wake us halfway to noon. I want these two to get some rest before we head out."
-------------------------------------
Been walking patrol with Rex. He's out in front crisscrossing the halls and letting me know the way is clear. He's a good cat. I let him lead me back to the underground.
He looks at me and pads over to Robert's bag. Poor man. I can't imagine how it felt.
Rex paws at the plastic. I open it up and let Rex say his goodbyes. The man always had a treat at hand for our good luck charm.
Rex nuzzles his hand and his chin. Trying his best to wake him up I think.
"That's not normal behavior," says the Major. I hadn't noticed her coming in. Been awake too long.
I tell her in all seriousness, "We're going to need more cats."
Friday, August 10, 2012
085: This Public Service Announcement
Confined Spaces, what you need to know
Civ-Gov - Hazards, Permitting, and Resources
US Army Corps of Engineers S&R - Urban
From our friends on the northern border
That is all.
Civ-Gov - Hazards, Permitting, and Resources
US Army Corps of Engineers S&R - Urban
From our friends on the northern border
That is all.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
084: and a Night
Alphabit, December 21st, late
Long time since I've commanded the boat. The Vistula was all the Old Man's. The Hudson is mine. Major Kat, Leo, Doc, Root, and I, we should have taken a sixth for the off side. Still, I work them into the current till we can let that do the work.
The night is dark. What breaks there are in the clouds show stars and the occasional sliver of the moon. She's waning to New. Christmas this year is on the Dark of the Moon. I doubt any good will come of it.
The night is cold. Even with our parkas, thermal fatigues, and gloves we feel the bite of the cold wet air. If I close my eyes and inhale the sting of cold salt on my nostrils almost convinces me I'm back on the Irish shore. No wife, no parents, but a passel of cousins behind memorie's door.
No, I'm better here. There's monsters to hunt.
Miles later we turn towards shore. Take the paddling slow. Gently dip into the water, a strong stroke, and a quiet withdrawl. I least I do. We should have practiced. Instead I trust to the dark and our night vision gear. No sight of a watchman. Close to the walled banks we come.
I'm searching for a storm drain. One whose grate is broken or weak. The first two fail our tests. The third, once the lock & chain is wrapped in cloth, yields. A bit of lubricant on the hinges and wrapping muffles the squeal. More than large enough for the boat.
I amke the boat secure and we climb to the inspection walkways. Major Kat and Leo lead the way deeper in. We'll go as far as we can underground before surfacing. The whole way if we can manage it. We mark our way with knives on the rot clinging to the walls. There are no maps. Dead reckoning.
The main channels eastward are large. The north south overflow connectors are smaller, but would still take a man. We don't have to worry about rain and flooding. Soon we don't have to worry about the cold. The further in we go the higher the temperature gets. Never comfortable, but above freezing. We unzip and begin to notice with the warmth is a stench; a mix of rot and human waste. Blessed St. Patrick is it ripe.
Soon we're all wearing clothes over our face to ward it off. Root jokingly suggests using a gas mask. I hope we don't catch anything.
Hours pass as we tread north and east. Rats and other vermin scatter at our approach. lLeo looks out grates for street signs to navigate by. Damage to the lines turns us around more than once. Kat tells us to keep an eye out for a maintenance room. Damn it all, we're spending the day down here.
5:12 by my wind-up. We're as close as we can get to the intersection where the ambush occurred. We're deep in Hizzoner's territory. We watch from the street level grates. Half an hour, no patrols.
Leo levers the manhole, up and out. We climb, single file, and cover until the team finishes surfacing. Leo drops the cover back and brushes snow across it. The road shows signs of foot and wheel traffic. It should go unremarked in the dark. We pad, silent and swift, through the alleyways. That's one lesson we all learned from Poland, silence.
The buildings around us are damaged. Windows gone right up to the 5th or 6th stories. Once I'd be busy fixing the best or tearing the worst down to foundations. Focus.
Rarely I see signs of habitation. The tell-tale signs of boarded over window with cloth stuffed in it or fresh waste not yet covered by snow. Here are people. Where are the patrols? We cover blocks snow cruching faintly underfoot. No patrols.
The ambush site is a complete waste of time. The locals long ago stripped and moved the wrecks. Leo and Kat huddle out of the wind conspiring on our next brilliant act. Off to the south comes the sound of gunfire, spaced single shots and a shotgun's thud, then nothing. We wait. No sounds of vehicles rushing off to investigate or running men securing their perimeter. Where are they?
Loe briefs us. We're going into one of the apartments we passed on the way up. The lower floor, half sunk into the street, had a covered window. We'll break in and get someone to talk to. He's taking point. This is a good plan for me.
I hear Leo and Kat coming to the realization that neither of them can pick a lock. Kat will break it and Leo will rush in. I smile as I remember Eddie leaving Krakow with a pillowcase fll of door knobs. He'd grown tired of crowbarring door open. Should have asked for a lesson.
The door isn't in any way solid. It comes right off. Leo, Kat, then Root secure the apartment. People shout out in fear and surprise; women and a boy. Leo snarls for them to shut up. I cover the front hallway, Doc the back. As they subside into wimpers a babe starts to scream in terror. Again Leo orders them. Scampering movement, frantic hushing, Leo's bark.
The babe stops. In the silence there sound suppressed sobs. Knuckles whiten on the rifle.
Kat gives words of reassurance. Faintly, the rythem of a suckling child intersperces her words.
There's four holed up in this shell, two women, one boy no older than 8, and the babe. Leo heads the interrogation. Kat and him confer in her broken Russian when they finish answering. then on to the next question.
Hizzoner claims all the land from Riverside to Central Park, CUNY to the Lower West Side. During the day his men walk the streets. They pay their taxes in scavenged goods, sewing, or flesh depending on the collector. Near sunset, Hizzoner's men return to Central Park, Riverside, or CUNY's walls. Others roam the night. Mostly they target Hizzoner's fields or stores. Sometimes they collect the taxes as well. They know little of the men or organization behind Hizzoner, just that some were soldiers or police and others were hard-eyed gangsters or bangers, and they number in the hundreds. The women haven't been to the parks or CUNY since before Hizzoner took over. they don't to get anymore attention then they already have.
Before we finish Leo asks them what they did before. He answers his own question with an aside in Russian to Kat, "Whores." They answer, one was a bank teller and the other a house wife. Leo will pay for that later, I know. Leo warns them not to tell a soul or he will return and wet the pavement with their blood. We leave as fast as we came.
Our manhole waits for us. We're deep down by daylight.
No rest, we turn back east. Leo won the toss with the Major. We'll get near Central Park, see if the mains extend underneath it, before we rest. I'd rather head back to the boat and sleep in the cleaner air.
Dead reckoning leads us to collapsed mains near the park's borders. Spillovers lead us south to more collapsed mains. Accident or deliberate, I lean towards the latter, the way east is shut off. Soon the air is as well.
Kat catches it first, realizing the headache and tightness are more than just strain, and orders us to stagger back the way we came. We emerge into good air gaping like fish. The black dots slowly fade from my vision. I tune out the major's lecture about confined spaces and air flow. I know it, forgot to apply it, won't do that again.
Still, we don't go back to the boat. We go back to a maintenacne room. Better than sleeping on the inspection walkways, but not by much. Leo wants to watch feet go by near the park. Leave him too it. I'm asleep before he steps out.
Long time since I've commanded the boat. The Vistula was all the Old Man's. The Hudson is mine. Major Kat, Leo, Doc, Root, and I, we should have taken a sixth for the off side. Still, I work them into the current till we can let that do the work.
The night is dark. What breaks there are in the clouds show stars and the occasional sliver of the moon. She's waning to New. Christmas this year is on the Dark of the Moon. I doubt any good will come of it.
The night is cold. Even with our parkas, thermal fatigues, and gloves we feel the bite of the cold wet air. If I close my eyes and inhale the sting of cold salt on my nostrils almost convinces me I'm back on the Irish shore. No wife, no parents, but a passel of cousins behind memorie's door.
No, I'm better here. There's monsters to hunt.
Miles later we turn towards shore. Take the paddling slow. Gently dip into the water, a strong stroke, and a quiet withdrawl. I least I do. We should have practiced. Instead I trust to the dark and our night vision gear. No sight of a watchman. Close to the walled banks we come.
I'm searching for a storm drain. One whose grate is broken or weak. The first two fail our tests. The third, once the lock & chain is wrapped in cloth, yields. A bit of lubricant on the hinges and wrapping muffles the squeal. More than large enough for the boat.
I amke the boat secure and we climb to the inspection walkways. Major Kat and Leo lead the way deeper in. We'll go as far as we can underground before surfacing. The whole way if we can manage it. We mark our way with knives on the rot clinging to the walls. There are no maps. Dead reckoning.
The main channels eastward are large. The north south overflow connectors are smaller, but would still take a man. We don't have to worry about rain and flooding. Soon we don't have to worry about the cold. The further in we go the higher the temperature gets. Never comfortable, but above freezing. We unzip and begin to notice with the warmth is a stench; a mix of rot and human waste. Blessed St. Patrick is it ripe.
Soon we're all wearing clothes over our face to ward it off. Root jokingly suggests using a gas mask. I hope we don't catch anything.
Hours pass as we tread north and east. Rats and other vermin scatter at our approach. lLeo looks out grates for street signs to navigate by. Damage to the lines turns us around more than once. Kat tells us to keep an eye out for a maintenance room. Damn it all, we're spending the day down here.
5:12 by my wind-up. We're as close as we can get to the intersection where the ambush occurred. We're deep in Hizzoner's territory. We watch from the street level grates. Half an hour, no patrols.
Leo levers the manhole, up and out. We climb, single file, and cover until the team finishes surfacing. Leo drops the cover back and brushes snow across it. The road shows signs of foot and wheel traffic. It should go unremarked in the dark. We pad, silent and swift, through the alleyways. That's one lesson we all learned from Poland, silence.
The buildings around us are damaged. Windows gone right up to the 5th or 6th stories. Once I'd be busy fixing the best or tearing the worst down to foundations. Focus.
Rarely I see signs of habitation. The tell-tale signs of boarded over window with cloth stuffed in it or fresh waste not yet covered by snow. Here are people. Where are the patrols? We cover blocks snow cruching faintly underfoot. No patrols.
The ambush site is a complete waste of time. The locals long ago stripped and moved the wrecks. Leo and Kat huddle out of the wind conspiring on our next brilliant act. Off to the south comes the sound of gunfire, spaced single shots and a shotgun's thud, then nothing. We wait. No sounds of vehicles rushing off to investigate or running men securing their perimeter. Where are they?
Loe briefs us. We're going into one of the apartments we passed on the way up. The lower floor, half sunk into the street, had a covered window. We'll break in and get someone to talk to. He's taking point. This is a good plan for me.
I hear Leo and Kat coming to the realization that neither of them can pick a lock. Kat will break it and Leo will rush in. I smile as I remember Eddie leaving Krakow with a pillowcase fll of door knobs. He'd grown tired of crowbarring door open. Should have asked for a lesson.
The door isn't in any way solid. It comes right off. Leo, Kat, then Root secure the apartment. People shout out in fear and surprise; women and a boy. Leo snarls for them to shut up. I cover the front hallway, Doc the back. As they subside into wimpers a babe starts to scream in terror. Again Leo orders them. Scampering movement, frantic hushing, Leo's bark.
The babe stops. In the silence there sound suppressed sobs. Knuckles whiten on the rifle.
Kat gives words of reassurance. Faintly, the rythem of a suckling child intersperces her words.
There's four holed up in this shell, two women, one boy no older than 8, and the babe. Leo heads the interrogation. Kat and him confer in her broken Russian when they finish answering. then on to the next question.
Hizzoner claims all the land from Riverside to Central Park, CUNY to the Lower West Side. During the day his men walk the streets. They pay their taxes in scavenged goods, sewing, or flesh depending on the collector. Near sunset, Hizzoner's men return to Central Park, Riverside, or CUNY's walls. Others roam the night. Mostly they target Hizzoner's fields or stores. Sometimes they collect the taxes as well. They know little of the men or organization behind Hizzoner, just that some were soldiers or police and others were hard-eyed gangsters or bangers, and they number in the hundreds. The women haven't been to the parks or CUNY since before Hizzoner took over. they don't to get anymore attention then they already have.
Before we finish Leo asks them what they did before. He answers his own question with an aside in Russian to Kat, "Whores." They answer, one was a bank teller and the other a house wife. Leo will pay for that later, I know. Leo warns them not to tell a soul or he will return and wet the pavement with their blood. We leave as fast as we came.
Our manhole waits for us. We're deep down by daylight.
No rest, we turn back east. Leo won the toss with the Major. We'll get near Central Park, see if the mains extend underneath it, before we rest. I'd rather head back to the boat and sleep in the cleaner air.
Dead reckoning leads us to collapsed mains near the park's borders. Spillovers lead us south to more collapsed mains. Accident or deliberate, I lean towards the latter, the way east is shut off. Soon the air is as well.
Kat catches it first, realizing the headache and tightness are more than just strain, and orders us to stagger back the way we came. We emerge into good air gaping like fish. The black dots slowly fade from my vision. I tune out the major's lecture about confined spaces and air flow. I know it, forgot to apply it, won't do that again.
Still, we don't go back to the boat. We go back to a maintenacne room. Better than sleeping on the inspection walkways, but not by much. Leo wants to watch feet go by near the park. Leave him too it. I'm asleep before he steps out.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
083: A Day
December 21st, 2000 (morning before breakfast)
Everyone not on watch or pulling KP is in the entry hall of Columbia. We've pulled out seats for every one of the soldiers and civilians. There's a small table for Reese Creb and Lt. George. I have a speech podium liberated from one of the lecture halls, thank you teaching hospital, and another small table for Doc and Leo.
Showtime.
"By the power granted to me as a commissioned officer in the United States Marine Corps I call this tribunal to order. We are here this morning to determine the status of Reese Crebs, captured while bearing arms against the United States government. Once we have finished reading the case, I will be accepting testimony later in this hearing regarding his culpability and character. If you wish to testify, please raise your hand and wait for myself or one of the other officers to call on you. Major Miller."
Doc stands and reeads from a short prepared statemnt outlining our first and subsequent contact with Reese. Once she finishes George stands and presents the sorry details of life under the Disciples stressing Reese's age and circumstances. As George said earlier its my dog and pony show. Then the locals get to vent.
There's a great deal of anger in the room. They've been chaffing under horrible conditions illtle better than slaves. Reese is the only one of them present. I keep control. Everytime they stray off to what Disciples have done I turn it back to what he has done. I keep getting the same story then. yes, he beat them. Yes, he ground them down. Yes, it was always in the presence of an older Disciple.
Finally, I get to Dwayne's daughter. I have to shut her father down. He doesn't want her to speak. I didn't think he would.
I can barely hear her speak, but the crowd has gone silent. "You all think we fled because he took me when they made him. He asked and I said yes. After that..." She stops distraught.
"You don't have to go on." I tell her.
"I do, it was Mash. And I am damned glad he's dead."
With that we're done with testimony. Doc, Leo, and I confer to the judgement we already planned.
"Please stand. Reese Crebs, this tribunal has determined your combatant status is that of a "child soldier" and as such you are not to be charged with rebellion against the US governemnt or treated as a Prisoner of War. I believe you have the capability to grow and become a member of this community. I am instituting a probationary period of two years for you."
I look over to my 'shills'. "I need a few volunteers to concil and correct this young man by word and example. Are there any volunteers?" Three of my men 'volunteer'. One each; white, hispanic, and black.
"Reese Crebs, these soldiers will be overseeing your work and training. You will be expected to perform the same labors as they do or learn by observation and example. They have the authority to correct and discipline you. Push-ups and laps are in your future. You will be fed the same as any of my men and civilians in our facility. You will not be expected to work beyond your physical capabilities. Respect and privligies will be extended as thye are earned. To begin with, you will address every person by Sir, Ma'am, or their last name until given permission otherwise."
"Do you understand, Mr. Crebs?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Mr. Crebs, please report to Sgt Koons before breakfast. This tribunal is adjorned. Let's eat."
-------------------------------------------------
(post breakfast stupor / administrative meeting)
"So, George, what are they saying?"
"Surprise you didn't just shoot him. Guarded optimism. We're too good to be true."
"They're right," Leo grumbles.
We stare at him for a moment. "Go on."
"What we're doing here isn't part of the mission. It's part to the cover. We're here to find the gold. Once we're done command'll going to pull us out and they'll be back where they started. We can't afford the distraction. We can't tame the island. The mission creep will kill us."
"Leo, how long do you think it will take to find the gold?"
"I have no idea. But all the planning for Columbia and opening a med center and taking on refugees isn't speeding us along. We need to go out to the GW bridge and the ambush site. We need to be looking."
"I don't know how long it will take either. We could be looking for months or years. This place is that big and our target that small. What we're doing here gives us a stable base, support, and, maybe, information. It is advancing our mission. And it helps our countrymen. Your countrymen."
I give him a moment to chew on that.
"But you're also right. We need to get back out and looking as soon as possible."
"I am? I AM."
"George can handle day to day operations. Ross and Jana can handle medical ops. We'll head out to the GW this afternoon and look it over. We'll discuss heading south again tonight. Now, food, fuel, and ammo."
Aron opens his notebook. "With the stores you took we'll be good until the shipment arrives fro Ft. Dix in January, but we'll have to scavange, trade, or take additional supplies to get us through that month. We're cutting it close on fuel. The first still is up, but it is a trickle compared to our needs. Griffiths says he'll have a larger model up before New Years. If the numbers he gave me are correct we'll still be short, but our draining of reserves will be far down and give us enough time for a third. He'll need a scrounging expedition for parts for that one. Ammunition is holding steady."
"I'll request additional food shipments once the first arrives. Otherwise, you're giving me good news."
"Now about watch schedules..."
-------------------------------------------------------
A knock on the door. "Major, we've been contacted on the 'Cloisters' frequency. Zimmerman requests permission to approach."
"Permission granted. Alphabit, he's your friend. Go down and show him around." Donald lights up. "Don't take his weapon unless he offers it. Tell the watch he's allowed in that way."
"Yes, Major."
"Get."
---------------------------------------------------
We talked over and rejected the idea of going back down to Harlem to take the rest of the Disciples stores. They'll have moved them by this time and we need better intelligence before grabbing them. Besides we'd need to truck down there to bring up food in bulk and there's no hiding their presence.
Alphabit takes a good hour before bringing Staff Sgt (ret) Dan Zimmerman to see me. We have a short sit down. I answer his questions as best I can. He understands the 'sceurity' answer and I get it back fairly often. I can tell he's impressed adn more than a little frustrated at our luck.
"We thought about combing the Allen Pavilion, but we assumed it was either looted or under new management. Our mistake."
"Dan, I'm serious about medical sevices. If you have sick or injured bring them up. If they're too badly hurt to transport we'll come get them."
"And then be in your debt."
"Sliding scale Dan, sliding scale. You give us what you can afford. If that's a shirt and a shaker of salt so be it. It could be tipping us off about raiders sighted in the area or just pointing refugees in our direction. I've got a task here and helping you is part of it."
"Yeah, so what are you wanting to know?"
"Who's the powerhouses. We've heard of the River Rats, Hizzoner, the Duke, and several Harlem gangs, but we don't know squat."
"I've only been on this side of the island, but I'll ask."
--------------------------------------------------------
Hot lunch!
-----------------------------------------------------
(early afternoon)
Back on the road. We're taking a constitutional down to the George Washington bridge. Retired Zimmerman and Jim are coming as far as the Cloisters. He'll talk to his headman for us. We'll see how it develops.
After we part, we'll give their home a wise berth for politeness, Alphabit tells me Zimmeraman was asking pointed questions about how long we'd been on the island. I know Donald can't lie worth a damn and Zimmerman probably knows too. Seems there's been soldiers sighted about two weeks before we arrived. They were talking census too. No one had been hurt on the Cloisters side, but it hadn't been for lack of trying. Interesting.
---------------------------------------------------
The bridge is a bust. There are the remains of trucks and soldiers, but no information. Trucks have been stripped and sat outside for two years. The men won't tell tales. Leo and I both agree, the violence was sudden and complete. Ambush or betrayal.
"I am losing faith in the human race."
"You sill have some?"
--------------------------------------------------
I'll save the battle report for my memoirs. We need to work on our urban combat tactics. Thank the DOD for body armor. Leo took a load of buckshot right on top of his helmet, Rutkowski caught a few 9mm rounds in the chest, and all of us took splinters from an ill-conceived grenade toss (Alphabit). If they'd had grenades we'd have been in a world of hurt.
Disciples are down another 11. They weren't carrying much in the way of ammo, but the 3 M16s will be a happy addition to my 'militia' plans or I can trade them to the Cloisters. A couple more shotguns, a few pistols, and one nice scoped 30-06 bolt action rifle to round out the take.
-------------------------------------------------
(late afternoon)
Leo's right. The George Washington was a bust, but their might be more to see near Central Park. If all else fails we can snatch a local and get answers to the current situation. Never one to wait I've decided we'll inflate the big boat and head downriver after full dark.
With luck and a bit of sweat we should be able to get into a storm sewer outlet. This is NYC, they'll be large enough for boat and crew. Plans call for making our way via sewers to near the target and then pop up for a look around.
After briefing George and the squad leaders I'll catch some sleep.
Everyone not on watch or pulling KP is in the entry hall of Columbia. We've pulled out seats for every one of the soldiers and civilians. There's a small table for Reese Creb and Lt. George. I have a speech podium liberated from one of the lecture halls, thank you teaching hospital, and another small table for Doc and Leo.
Showtime.
"By the power granted to me as a commissioned officer in the United States Marine Corps I call this tribunal to order. We are here this morning to determine the status of Reese Crebs, captured while bearing arms against the United States government. Once we have finished reading the case, I will be accepting testimony later in this hearing regarding his culpability and character. If you wish to testify, please raise your hand and wait for myself or one of the other officers to call on you. Major Miller."
Doc stands and reeads from a short prepared statemnt outlining our first and subsequent contact with Reese. Once she finishes George stands and presents the sorry details of life under the Disciples stressing Reese's age and circumstances. As George said earlier its my dog and pony show. Then the locals get to vent.
There's a great deal of anger in the room. They've been chaffing under horrible conditions illtle better than slaves. Reese is the only one of them present. I keep control. Everytime they stray off to what Disciples have done I turn it back to what he has done. I keep getting the same story then. yes, he beat them. Yes, he ground them down. Yes, it was always in the presence of an older Disciple.
Finally, I get to Dwayne's daughter. I have to shut her father down. He doesn't want her to speak. I didn't think he would.
I can barely hear her speak, but the crowd has gone silent. "You all think we fled because he took me when they made him. He asked and I said yes. After that..." She stops distraught.
"You don't have to go on." I tell her.
"I do, it was Mash. And I am damned glad he's dead."
With that we're done with testimony. Doc, Leo, and I confer to the judgement we already planned.
"Please stand. Reese Crebs, this tribunal has determined your combatant status is that of a "child soldier" and as such you are not to be charged with rebellion against the US governemnt or treated as a Prisoner of War. I believe you have the capability to grow and become a member of this community. I am instituting a probationary period of two years for you."
I look over to my 'shills'. "I need a few volunteers to concil and correct this young man by word and example. Are there any volunteers?" Three of my men 'volunteer'. One each; white, hispanic, and black.
"Reese Crebs, these soldiers will be overseeing your work and training. You will be expected to perform the same labors as they do or learn by observation and example. They have the authority to correct and discipline you. Push-ups and laps are in your future. You will be fed the same as any of my men and civilians in our facility. You will not be expected to work beyond your physical capabilities. Respect and privligies will be extended as thye are earned. To begin with, you will address every person by Sir, Ma'am, or their last name until given permission otherwise."
"Do you understand, Mr. Crebs?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Mr. Crebs, please report to Sgt Koons before breakfast. This tribunal is adjorned. Let's eat."
-------------------------------------------------
(post breakfast stupor / administrative meeting)
"So, George, what are they saying?"
"Surprise you didn't just shoot him. Guarded optimism. We're too good to be true."
"They're right," Leo grumbles.
We stare at him for a moment. "Go on."
"What we're doing here isn't part of the mission. It's part to the cover. We're here to find the gold. Once we're done command'll going to pull us out and they'll be back where they started. We can't afford the distraction. We can't tame the island. The mission creep will kill us."
"Leo, how long do you think it will take to find the gold?"
"I have no idea. But all the planning for Columbia and opening a med center and taking on refugees isn't speeding us along. We need to go out to the GW bridge and the ambush site. We need to be looking."
"I don't know how long it will take either. We could be looking for months or years. This place is that big and our target that small. What we're doing here gives us a stable base, support, and, maybe, information. It is advancing our mission. And it helps our countrymen. Your countrymen."
I give him a moment to chew on that.
"But you're also right. We need to get back out and looking as soon as possible."
"I am? I AM."
"George can handle day to day operations. Ross and Jana can handle medical ops. We'll head out to the GW this afternoon and look it over. We'll discuss heading south again tonight. Now, food, fuel, and ammo."
Aron opens his notebook. "With the stores you took we'll be good until the shipment arrives fro Ft. Dix in January, but we'll have to scavange, trade, or take additional supplies to get us through that month. We're cutting it close on fuel. The first still is up, but it is a trickle compared to our needs. Griffiths says he'll have a larger model up before New Years. If the numbers he gave me are correct we'll still be short, but our draining of reserves will be far down and give us enough time for a third. He'll need a scrounging expedition for parts for that one. Ammunition is holding steady."
"I'll request additional food shipments once the first arrives. Otherwise, you're giving me good news."
"Now about watch schedules..."
-------------------------------------------------------
A knock on the door. "Major, we've been contacted on the 'Cloisters' frequency. Zimmerman requests permission to approach."
"Permission granted. Alphabit, he's your friend. Go down and show him around." Donald lights up. "Don't take his weapon unless he offers it. Tell the watch he's allowed in that way."
"Yes, Major."
"Get."
---------------------------------------------------
We talked over and rejected the idea of going back down to Harlem to take the rest of the Disciples stores. They'll have moved them by this time and we need better intelligence before grabbing them. Besides we'd need to truck down there to bring up food in bulk and there's no hiding their presence.
Alphabit takes a good hour before bringing Staff Sgt (ret) Dan Zimmerman to see me. We have a short sit down. I answer his questions as best I can. He understands the 'sceurity' answer and I get it back fairly often. I can tell he's impressed adn more than a little frustrated at our luck.
"We thought about combing the Allen Pavilion, but we assumed it was either looted or under new management. Our mistake."
"Dan, I'm serious about medical sevices. If you have sick or injured bring them up. If they're too badly hurt to transport we'll come get them."
"And then be in your debt."
"Sliding scale Dan, sliding scale. You give us what you can afford. If that's a shirt and a shaker of salt so be it. It could be tipping us off about raiders sighted in the area or just pointing refugees in our direction. I've got a task here and helping you is part of it."
"Yeah, so what are you wanting to know?"
"Who's the powerhouses. We've heard of the River Rats, Hizzoner, the Duke, and several Harlem gangs, but we don't know squat."
"I've only been on this side of the island, but I'll ask."
--------------------------------------------------------
Hot lunch!
-----------------------------------------------------
(early afternoon)
Back on the road. We're taking a constitutional down to the George Washington bridge. Retired Zimmerman and Jim are coming as far as the Cloisters. He'll talk to his headman for us. We'll see how it develops.
After we part, we'll give their home a wise berth for politeness, Alphabit tells me Zimmeraman was asking pointed questions about how long we'd been on the island. I know Donald can't lie worth a damn and Zimmerman probably knows too. Seems there's been soldiers sighted about two weeks before we arrived. They were talking census too. No one had been hurt on the Cloisters side, but it hadn't been for lack of trying. Interesting.
---------------------------------------------------
The bridge is a bust. There are the remains of trucks and soldiers, but no information. Trucks have been stripped and sat outside for two years. The men won't tell tales. Leo and I both agree, the violence was sudden and complete. Ambush or betrayal.
"I am losing faith in the human race."
"You sill have some?"
--------------------------------------------------
I'll save the battle report for my memoirs. We need to work on our urban combat tactics. Thank the DOD for body armor. Leo took a load of buckshot right on top of his helmet, Rutkowski caught a few 9mm rounds in the chest, and all of us took splinters from an ill-conceived grenade toss (Alphabit). If they'd had grenades we'd have been in a world of hurt.
Disciples are down another 11. They weren't carrying much in the way of ammo, but the 3 M16s will be a happy addition to my 'militia' plans or I can trade them to the Cloisters. A couple more shotguns, a few pistols, and one nice scoped 30-06 bolt action rifle to round out the take.
-------------------------------------------------
(late afternoon)
Leo's right. The George Washington was a bust, but their might be more to see near Central Park. If all else fails we can snatch a local and get answers to the current situation. Never one to wait I've decided we'll inflate the big boat and head downriver after full dark.
With luck and a bit of sweat we should be able to get into a storm sewer outlet. This is NYC, they'll be large enough for boat and crew. Plans call for making our way via sewers to near the target and then pop up for a look around.
After briefing George and the squad leaders I'll catch some sleep.
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