Paterson, January 2nd, 2001
George joins the command meeting in the wards. Leo's mobile, barely. Alpha's getting around fine, lucky boy. Doc and I share the largest room available with our own comfy beds. A space heater whirls noisily on the corner.
"Damn George, how the hell did we make it to daylight? I expected everything to fall apart once night fell."
He shrugs, "Without the tracks and the gun they'll have to revise their plans. If Leo scored on Jones as well they might not have an overall commander on scene either. If they're like other strongman militia's we've seen, they don't encourage independent action."
"I'll take the time they give me. How are preparations?"
"West side access has been closed. The access doors have been booby trapped and welded shut. It will take some clearing once this is finished, but it should strongly discourage them."
"I admire your confidence," Leo grumbles.
"West side access is very limited. If they do manage to breach, we'll have plenty of time to shift our reserve as they try to advance down those halls. Alpha and his boys have all sorts of nasty surprises waiting for them." George smiles.
Alpha interrupts, "trip-wires, nail bombs, a few claymores. Murder holes down the interior corridors. Stairwells are full of furniture, so they can't get upper floor access without getting deep into the interior. We'll make them pay."
"North and east?" Yeah, we're very clever, and very outnumbered.
"Weaker," George continues, "Too much glass frontage to defend and the ER on the east side was designed for easy access. We'd already emplaced forward and fall back fighting positions when we occupied the facility. The troops know how to fight. We'll make them pay for every room and fall back point. If all goes sour, we preform a fighting retreat to the second floor, south side. The rafts and assault boat are secured and camouflaged by the shore. We have enough capacity to exfiltrate all the troops."
"And our charges?"
"Let's not let it come to that."
"How about we arm them as well," Alpha suggests, "We've seen what this bastard does to his workers. They're as good as dead if we leave them."
I shake my head. "Last resort. I hate to think what would happen to our men, falling back under fire, to a position held by untrained, unsteady civilians. We're looking at enough casualties without inflicting our own. Keep them working on support duties. Call them force multipliers."
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George and Alpha are back at duties. Leo stays to argue a stronger course of action.
"Major, respectfully, we need to push them while we can."
"Give me options first. I'm not writing a check."
"They have little night vision. We go raiding after dark. Kill some of these scum. Sow some confusion. Maybe find Jones again. Finish it." He mimes a pistol.
"Who's we. You, Alpha? Doc had to be carried here. I hobbled in by burning syringes of pain-killer. Ed and Root still haven't regained conscious. Tell me, who?"
"Me, yes. I take J-boy, maybe a few others. We saw more combat in one month than these fucks have seen all year. We can do this."
"No, you can't. You heard George. We're facing company frontage to the east and south. Even with 'limited' night vision they're only covering a block. You're not stealthing in and out."
He grimaces, "I can."
"When you walk without a stick. I could see the pain when you came into the room. Stuff's still working its way out. Found any in your bedding?"
He looks away. "Yes, and you? Yes, and more coming up. Our busy little friends will get it out. We just need the time. Time that Hizzoner seems to be giving us. Go get some sleep. They'll wake us if anything happens.."
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Early afternoon, they sent us two men in a HMMWV. White flag, slow approach, up Broadway to the ER lot and wait. I take my time walking up to the third floor. Least I can do, they asked for me by name.
The position is reinforced to chest height. All I've got to do is drop if I come under fire. Fortunately, the elevated train cuts into long line of sights from the east. Still, I feel exposed.
"I'm Major Paterson. You are you."
"Sgt. Cal Younger, assigned to Reconstruction Team 94 under the legal government of the United States. According to Presidential Directive HB-7886, you are to stand down and submit your command to the highest ranking member of the civil administration for further orders. Will you comply?"
Really? Really? Please, ma'am, put up your guns and come along quietly. Who do you think you're fooling. "And that would be you, Sergeant?"
"No, ma'am. Gerald Thornton is acting administrator for the New York Municipal District. I'm to act as escort."
"And these gentlemen surrounding our position?"
"Duly authorized militia for Manhattan."
"And Hizzoner?"
"Recognized as the legitimate governmental authority for NYC."
Recognize this you fucking slaver, rapist, bastard. "Go to hell!"
I drop. From rooms on either side of me Leo's MAG and Squad 3's SAW open up on the soft-skinned Hummer. It gets into reverse, but loses control before it leaves the lot crashing backwards into elevated supports. Sgt. Younger, somehow surviving the fire directed at his transport, pulls himself from the roof hatch and jumps down. Leo's MAG walks over him. He twitches and falls.
I hear the whoompf of leaking fuel catching. The vehicle begins to burn. There's no screams from the cab. His driver must already be dead.
The tense silence that has held over the block breaks as Hizzoner's 'duly constituted militia' fire blindly at our south side positions. I hear the louder crack of our measured replies from firing slits set inside south facing rooms.
Did they actually think that would work?
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Sporadic fire continued through out the afternoon. We're still in fine shape. One minor injury from a round that improbably passed through a slit and spalled fragments off the far wall. He's back at duty.
They try to keep it up after night falls. That proves to be a poor idea on their part. They're trying to wear us down, but every one of them has to take time to adjust and hunt down a target in a dark building on an overcast night while we can see the ghostly green or their exposed faces. Yeah, as expected. Hurting them, casualties and morale, much more than lack of sleep will hurt us.
That isn't even counting Leo, not resting as ordered, with his SVD and thermal sight. I hear he's getting his jollies by looking for their camouflaged OPs and letting them know.
They stop after losing more than a handful. Leo presses me to send a strike team out now that their observers have pulled back. I tell him no again. They may have pulled back into their building, but they're still there. So, no, no way.
Besides, I can feel something brewing. This isn't all of it for tonight. Not by a long shot.
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Near on 0300 our fans on the south side make a mass showing. Nearly a hundred small arms firing from the apartments across 218th Street into Allen Pavilion. We reply where we can, but mainly wait for the rush. Probably along the east end once we've shifted south.
The tower OP reports movement on the thin strip of land to our north. I commit our reserve. The floods we've shifted from Baker's Field get lit. It isn't even close.
Thirty-odd dements and a hose-head trying to sneak in. Sure, I see the rational. Get crazy suicide mobs into our positions from the rear and we'll be too busy to repel the frontal rush. Except the ground floor doors are welded shut and they don't have ladders. I almost feel sorry for the dements, almost. I'm really sorry that the hose-head got away into the river.
I'm not sorry at all for the men who rushed us at the sound of fire from the far side of Allen. Their assault was haphazard and soon petered out. We accounted for another 25 or so?
No casualties on my part. We can do this all day. All day.
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