INVASION USA (Book 2) - The Battle For New York (2 page)

There were five new and complete M4s in separate boxes in the case, on top of hundreds of boxes of ammunition. There were also boxes of night sights and single rifle grenades—just what he wanted to arm his crew with.

The problem was that there were six cases of them, and all he wanted was a few of the weapons. He knew that the bad elements out on the street would have a field day with these if they came across them. This pile of military equipment would certainly go up with a pretty loud bang if fire ever got into this area. The boxes had been destined for Somalia. He found himself questioning why these materials were being sent there, of all places, but he knew it was not up to him to question. Suddenly, however, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up—there could be hundreds of other military supplies in the warehouses around here. His mind was made up. They were definitely leaving in the morning.

Smoke and the smell of fire and burning debris was getting worse outside. The passenger lookout on the second floor came down to give a report. Captain Mallory walked back with the girl, looked out of the second story window, and saw that the horizon above the buildings on the opposite side off the street to the north was getting brighter and brighter. Was it the sun or was it fire? He couldn’t tell, but they could now work better with the brighter light coming through the windows.

Captain Mallory suggested to the couple of dozen of faithful helpers around him—his crew and many of the male passengers—that it was time to get the contents of at least one case of guns to the vehicles, then get the fuel through the door and pump as much into the five vehicles’ fuel tanks as possible. Any remaining gas in the drums could then be lifted into the SWAT trucks. John, the co-pilot reminded the captain that the forklift could not get through the doorway.

“No problem,” replied the Captain. “I saw a case of green garden hoses back there and there is a manual gas pump in the workshop. We can push a full barrel on its side, get a rope around it, and have a team pull it through the doorway into the other room on its side. Then we can right it, and use the manual pump.”

It took the first hour to empty the military cases and share the guns and ammo between the five vehicles. It took another hour before all the vehicle fuel tanks were filled and they knew how much fuel was left over—about 40 gallons in one drum on the back of a SWAT vehicle. For another half an hour, the team searched for food and loaded all they could into the vehicles. It was a reasonable amount, including several pounds of cheese, a case of caviar, several dozen cases of frozen sausages and steaks found in the freezer with “Produce of Australia” stamped on them, dozens of 1-gallon bottles of frozen orange juice, frozen carrots from New Zealand, a case of Japanese rice wine, two bags of Indian rice, and several boxes of Swiss chocolates. They also found and stored one of the gas grills with a couple of bottles of propane, three large steel turkey cookers, and two working gas heaters with full bottles of propane.

John tasted the water in the fire engine, it tasted old and had a slight odor to it, but it was good enough for drinking and cooking with. The co-pilot had suggested that they take as much as possible as there might be nothing out there, and they might need supplies for longer than they anticipated.

It was time to rest and the temperature was now several degrees below freezing. A case of Chinese-made children’s “The Mechanic” blankets had been found earlier, and there were enough to ration out several to each person. Everybody bedded down to sleep, knowing that departure time would be early.

It was 7:00 am when Captain Mallory awoke. He thought he had slept past dawn as the warehouse was brightly lit up from outside. He ran to the second-story window and saw that it was massive flames, and not the sun, that was causing the light. The fires had gotten a lot closer overnight. The whole horizon around the silhouetted building across the street showed that fires were burning just a couple of blocks away and they were very big. He could see dense smoke rising and it was blowing in a gentle breeze over the top of their warehouse. It was time to go—breakfast would have to be on the road.

The captain got the crew up and asked them to wake everyone. Figures were huddled together everywhere for warmth, and as John walked past the broken door with the forklift keeping it closed, he heard someone knocking on the door from outside. He opened the door by a few inches and saw several little faces peeking out from under the same “The Mechanic” blankets they had issued to the passengers to keep warm several hours earlier. He let in the group of children who looked cold and dirty. Their group included an older teenager girl who looked a complete mess—her filthy blonde hair covered in mud and dirt.

“Who are you guys?” John asked.

“I’m Sam, he’s Paul my younger brother, and that’s Melanie,” the first boy said, pointing to a smaller boy about eight next to him and a six-year old girl. “We found some of these kids running from the fires after we left here with our parents a few hours ago. We were part of a group of twenty who walked out of here to find help. We didn’t want to go, but our parents forced us.”

“Where are they now?” asked John.

“I don’t know,” replied Sam. “We got shot at by a group of guys in an old white convertible. We all ran for cover, but I saw a couple of adults get hit. That car and then another old black car, it looked like a Cadillac you see in the movies, chased lots of people and they were shooting at anybody who moved.”

“We hid,” added Paul. “A couple of these kids found us and took us to an old building where some other kids were hiding.”

“The bigger girl over there,” Sam continued, “said that she was being held captive in one of the cars and when the excitement started, she flung herself out of the back of the convertible and ran for the river. She was hiding in an alley when we found her. She has a few injuries and her teeth keep chattering. I think the men did something to her.”

“We returned to this street just before it got light,” continued Paul. “As we snuck around the corner, we found three of the men who had walked out of here with us. They were all dead. They’ve been shot in the head, execution style. We checked in their pockets for a cell phone to call someone for help, but all their wallets and stuff was gone.”

“The rest of you are all from around this area?” John queried the kids without the blankets around them and they all nodded. “Do any of you know how to get out of here and onto any highway going south?” One 10-year old thought that he could guide them. “Where are we right now?” John asked the boy.

“New Jersey,” he replied.

“New Jersey, or New York?” John asked, now confused.

“No, this is the Marine Terminal in Port Newark, New Jersey. Where did you think you were?”

“Next to the Hudson River,” John answered.

“That’s over towards Manhattan from here. This is Newark Bay,” replied the boy. “Do you have anything to eat? We’re really hungry.”

“He landed in Newark Bay, huh! The captain’s going to like that one when I tell him that. He beat old Sully!” smiled John thinking aloud. “Cheese or chocolate?” he asked the kids.

“Chocolate!” was the unanimous reply.

“Guys, go and see Pam, the flight attendant by the refrigerator, and ask her to get you a box of both,” he instructed, and they moved swiftly in that direction, all hungry except the teenager who just stood there with her face down and her teeth still chattering. He touched the girl on her shoulder and she pulled away immediately. “What’s your name?” he asked. She did not respond. “Can you hear me?” he asked. She nodded.

“We are getting out of this place this morning. It’s not safe here anymore,” he spoke to her soothingly. “The flight attendant can look after you, and keep you warm and safe while we’re getting ready. Come, walk with me and I will introduce you to her.” He walked over to Jamie, one of the flight attendants, who was issuing the kids a box of cheese and chocolate each and cautioning them to eat it slowly because there wasn’t much to go around. The girl followed John, and when Pam Wallace noticed her shivering, she grabbed another blanket without a word, put it around the chattering girl, and took her into the office.

A meeting was held several minutes later, and the Captain spoke. “These kids came in this morning and said that several of the passengers who left yesterday were shot outside last night. This place is getting dangerous. There are large, out-of-control fires coming closer and there is enough ammunition in this warehouse to blow it all to shreds. Is anybody still contemplating staying here and waiting for help?”

Nearly a dozen people put their hands up. Most were older and sitting near the arrogant government official. The captain tried valiantly to convince them to leave.

“We are going to be tight in the five vehicles we have ready and fueled up. Are you sure you want to stay? This government-employed gentleman is operating under a code of justice I don’t believe exists anymore. He hasn’t been outside and hasn’t seen the death and destruction out there.” Captain Mallory waited for a change of heart from the people who were obviously in collusion with the government official. “He is certain that you will all be rescued, and I honestly hope he is right and you will be. This is a democratic country and you can all make your own decisions. When I leave here, however, you are no longer my concern. You will be on your own. Do you understand?”

“This is the United Bloody States of America,” replied the government official. “Help will come, and you will hear from the authorities about the damage you have done to this building, I can promise you that, Captain. We have food here for weeks, and I’m sure the fires are being put out right now. The Army or National Guard will be in these streets very soon and will take us out of here the RIGHT way!”

“I hope for your sake, sir, that you are right. You can ask the airline for my address when the time comes. My crew and I, however, are leaving this place and trying to get to safety on our own. Anyone who wants to leave with us should get aboard one of the vehicles at this time. If I see the authorities on the way out, I will certainly tell them of your whereabouts. People! We are leaving in 15 minutes.” There was a general move for the door to the vehicle room, with many of the people patting the captain on the shoulder as they passed by, all wearing coats, hats, gloves, and “The Mechanic” blankets they had found in the warehouse. The kids and families were put aboard first, with couples second and single people filling in the empty seats that were left.

The locks on the outside of the garage-type door had already been broken with the flashlight by a couple of the passengers, and the door was rolled open. Smoke and cold air swept inside as the five vehicles were started up. Captain Mallory asked for a headcount from each vehicle, and put a member of his crew in command of each one. After the news from the boys, the captain and several of the men had packed a few more M4 carbines and several dozen extra boxes of ammunition and grenades into the front SWAT truck just in case. It would be the lead truck, with the second SWAT truck bringing up the rear of the convoy. Both trucks had a turret-type opening in the roof of the cab, a great firing and sniper position.

Captain Mallory went back and counted the people staying—21 passengers sat there stoned-faced, without making eye contact with him. He waited for a moment to see if any of them would change their minds. Not seeing any change of heart, he got into the driver’s seat of the lead vehicle with the kid who knew where they were going, squashed in between three armed men. One of the men was standing with his upper body through the turret with an M4 in his hands ready to shoot. Without looking at the unhappy people watching them leave, they drove out into the street and then stopped briefly to make sure all five vehicles got through the warehouse door, which was promptly closed behind them.

John was driving the rear vehicle, and together with the drivers, they had at least two men in each cab who had been in the military or had combat experience. One M4 with a rifle grenade was fitted in each cab and the other M4s were ready to fire with dozens of magazines filled and waiting.

The final headcount in the convoy was 86 adults and ten children and there wasn’t much spare room in any of the vehicles with the drum of gas, food, and everything else they had brought along. They had placed 28 adults and four of the ten kids in the back of each SWAT truck. In the ambulance, there were three in the front and 12 in the back, including the young girl with the flight attendant and the last drum of fuel. There were 12 in the fire truck and six in the police car, which was behind the first SWAT truck with another two M4s ready for action.

In all, they had ten M4s ready and their owners weren’t afraid to use them.

Captain Mallory smiled when his co-pilot told him that they had landed in Newark Bay and realized that he had landed the 737 in a much smaller expanse of water than the Hudson. “Like old Sully! I should get a medal for that,” he laughed. “If I’m right, we are right next to Newark Airport, which means that I-95 South is not too far.” He looked over at the 10-year old who knew the area. “Okay kid, which way? You’re my navigator. I want I-95 southbound—we’re heading for Florida!”

“Left, Captain,” the boy proudly told him. “Then we turn left onto Fleet Street, I think. Fleet Street should be the second or third road to the left, then go all the way up Fleet Street and we should see the on-ramp to the highway.” Captain Mallory did as he was told. There were four vehicles behind him, dawn was beginning to break above the smoke, which was getting lighter as they drove away from the fires, and he hoped the vigilantes were still asleep wherever it was that they were sleeping.

The first few blocks were pretty clear since not many cars would have been in this area at midnight on New Year’s Eve, but they still had one turn to the left to make before they would reach the high way.

They ran into a roadblock of bricks a couple of streets earlier than expected due to a burned-out and collapsed warehouse that blocked the road they were on, and they had to divert south for several blocks before they found an undamaged road that would take them to Fleet Street. They maneuvered slowly through debris as they navigated a route that would get all five vehicles to the highway.