The Black Ships (19 page)

“Releasing helm corrections,” the gunnery
director called.

The helmsman looked at the captain, who
nodded. “Engaging helm corrections.” He stabbed a finger at the screen on his
console.

As the ship came around to bear on the new
target, it began to roll slightly to starboard. “Coming into the plane. Ventral
and port batteries unmasking. Interdict masking is active on five guns, four,
three, interdict masking stable at two guns,” the gunnery director reported
with pleased surprise as the ship ceased to move.

There were smiles and nods around the CIC.
The deep booming thud of a 250mm gun sounded through the room as the forward
battery once again had a target in its firing solution.

“Fire Control, all batteries cease fire.”
The captain grinned like a kid with a new toy, a toy that wouldn’t break apart
and leave hundreds of men to asphyxiate in their suits. He tapped his headset
again. “All hands, secure from action and report.” He drifted over to Frank,
extending his hand with a smile. “It will do very nicely, Mr. Bender,” he said
as they shook hands. “Do they come in red?”

Manhattan, New York

January 15
^th
, 2027

F
rank was just picking up his jacket from the table in the corner of
his office when Jess walked in. “You know,” she said with an apologetic smile.
“I really should check the clock before I go visiting. Meeting Ellen for
lunch?”

“Yeah, she’s downstairs in the cafeteria
having a coffee while I was finishing up some work here.” He stood at his desk
in front of a large portrait of Captain Samuel Bender. “She won’t mind waiting
a little longer if you need something.”

Jess waved her hand “No, I was just looking
for your first impression of the
Hermann
.” She headed for the door. “We
can talk about it this afternoon.” She frowned as they both heard the sound of
pounding feet. A security officer appeared in the open doorway.

“Madame Secretary, we have a bomb threat
against the building. The FBI lost track of the suspect we were briefed on last
month.” The man stepped into the office and turned on the television on the
wall, setting it to one of the 24-hour news channels. “And our missing employee
has finally surfaced.

“They tell me that the news outlets are
currently their only source of information, but the government has deployed
their standby units from the New York National Guard on the strength of what
we’ve learned so far.” A man appeared on the screen, holding a newspaper in
front of his chest.

“My name is Jarl Brevik.” He sounded
exhausted. “I work for the United Nations. My captors have given me a statement
to read.” He looked slightly to the right, obviously reading cue cards. “The UN
has fabricated the threat of alien invasion as a justification for taking over
the countries of the world. Their brutality in suppressing the desperate
citizens of France is only the beginning. By taking trillions of dollars from
the economies of the world, they have artificially created the very conditions
that justify armed intervention. The lost funds that have plunged us into
anarchy are now being used to enslave us. There are no aliens, there is no
fleet being built in orbit. These are lies to frighten us and keep us compliant
while the takeover is carried out. I urge all reporters to investigate every
scrap of information provided by the UN. Take no statement at face value and
you will soon learn the truth.”

After a short pause, he continued. “To
ensure that our message is not forgotten, a massive explosion will occur at UN
headquarters at twelve-forty-five today.”

The screen went blank. Then a visibly
shaken anchorman  appeared. “Again, this was released just moments ago. An
SNN producer has contacted the UN with a warning and we hope this proves to be
a hoax, but we will have a unit on scene in just a few moments.” He raised a hand
halfway to his ear before catching the reflex and putting it back down. “For
those of you who are just joining us, a terrorist threat has been made against
UN Headquarters here in New York. The stated time for the detonation is in just
over ten minutes from now and we have Sarah Vigil live on the scene. Sarah,
what can you tell us?”

There was a moment of confusion as the
transmission was not quite ready from the SNN unit and the anchor’s gaze cast
about the studio seeking instruction.

“Ma’am, we need to get you out of the
building right now; we’re holding the elevator for you.” The security officer
reached for her elbow.

Jess shrugged him off. “You haven’t sounded
the alarm; I won’t sneak out in an empty elevator while my staff stay behind in
ignorance. Start the evacuation, Major.”

He shook his head firmly. “No, Ma’am. Our
orders are very clear: no evac until we have you secured.” He began to reach
for her again but Jess raised her hands.

“All right, I see there is no sense in
arguing. It will only delay the general evacuation if we stand here and
argue.”  She headed for the door with the relieved security officer behind
her. She went into the hall, looked quickly around the walls and walked ten
feet towards the elevator where she spun to the right and pulled the fire alarm
handle on the wall. “Release the elevator, Major. I’m not leaving.” She turned
and brushed past him, walking calmly back into Frank’s office.

If she were a man, would I be staying as
well or would I be running to catch that elevator right now?
Frank followed her back into the room, wondering if he was about to
die because he didn’t want to seem more afraid than a woman.
Ellen would
tell me I’m nothing but a big dumbass.

Ellen!
 He
raced over to his coat where he had dropped it on a chair by the window,
rifling through the pockets until he found his cell phone.

^~*~

E
llen often waited for Frank in the delegate’s dining room; it was
far more entertaining than sitting on the couch in his office watching as he
worked his way through the mound of change orders that invariably awaited him
when he returned from a field inspection. Despite the initial variety of the
dining room, the same themes always became apparent and she loved how the
patterns emerged from the chaos.

The regulars invariably talked shop. There
were broad gestures and swinging arms at some tables and quiet disagreement at
others. The tourists and visitors tended to split evenly between the thrilled
and the disappointed. Though many were excited by the idea of dining there, a
sizeable proportion were unimpressed with the service after all the trouble of
getting in.

The walk to her favorite table overlooking
the East River always led her past conversations in at least three different
languages. The table to her right was occupied by a delegation from the
Seminole Tribe of Florida. They were dressed in traditional garb and spoke
quietly in Miccosukee. Having grown up in Florida, Ellen knew they represented
one of the few tribes never to be defeated by the US Army. In the mid 19
^th
century, after years of open conflict costing over thirty million dollars, the
government finally gave up attempts to remove them from their territory.

Their presence gave her some small measure
of hope for Humanity.
They managed to fight off almost ten times their
number and maintain their way of life,
she thought as she looked out the
window at a dry bulk freighter as it made its way down the narrow channel
between Manhattan and Roosevelt Island. At a table in front of her a family
made the best of their lunch.

Though she had a permanent pass giving her
access to the Secretariat, including the delegates dining room, other visitors
who wished to try lunch at the ‘open to the public’ facility had to reserve
several days in advance. They also had to arrive at least an hour early to pass
through screening and obtain their passes, leaving their driver’s licenses or
passports with the security desk in the process. After all that, they were
treated to a meal that often failed to delight.

And the coffee maker was broken yet again.

The tourists in the room jumped as the fire
alarm suddenly came to deafening life. Most of the delegates and regulars
rolled their eyes in frustration. This would be the third time over the weekend
that the contractors had accidentally triggered the alarm. Only a third of the
building had evacuated last time and the fire fighters had been very clear that
they would issue a heavy fine, special territory or not, if they failed to
enforce a full evacuation for any fire alarm.

As the tourists got up to leave, the
regulars shoveled their food down before standing. Ellen decided that she would
have time to finish her tea before joining the tail end of the evacuation and
was looking back out the window when her phone rang. “Elle, get out, right now.”

“Frank, don’t be such a stickler,” she
replied, setting her mug on the table. “I’ll probably be outside before you
even get off the elevator.” Her voice became playful. “If this is the only way
to get you out of your office, I may have to pull the alarm myself next time.”
 

“Jess pulled the alarm. It’s not a fire,
there’s a bomb threat. I need you to get out and head through the barricades.
There’s tanks and National Guardsmen a few blocks away in any direction but
they’ll let you through. Just get moving.” Frank sounded frightened.

“If there’s that much security at every
access point, how do you figure someone is going to get a bomb through?” Ellen
stood and shrugged her left arm into her coat before switching the phone from
her right hand. She froze, staring out the window as the danger became
apparent. “Frank, get in touch with whoever is in charge of security; the bomb
is in the East River.”

^~*~

Frank looked out the window. A freighter
had turned from the shipping lanes and was heading straight towards the
Secretariat building. “Get out,” he yelled into the phone. “Head across Tudor
Village; keep the buildings between you and the UN. Stay out of the streets;
the blast might channel through the lower floors of the Secretariat and straight
up the cross streets.” He looked over Jess who had approached the window. She
turned pale, then left to find the security officer.

“Elle, get as far away as you can, as fast
as you can. I love you.” He hung up and ran after Jess, finding her in the
hallway with the security detail. Herman Brecker was there and he moved over to
Frank.

“We won’t have time to get you out,” he
said simply, his German accent more pronounced under the tension. “You’re
probably safer up here, even considering the risk of the building toppling over
into the river. If we go down now, we’ll just get to the ground floor in time
for the detonation.”

“You’re probably right, Herm.”
Why does
everyone change their accents when they sing or get stressed?
he wondered
irrelevantly.

“Major,” Herman interrupted the
conversation with Jess. “How far out are the fighters?”

“Ten minutes.”

“This’ll be over in six,” He responded. “We
need to get those tanks re-deployed from the roadblocks to the bank of the East
River.” He saw the glimmer of understanding in the officer’s eyes and he laid
out the plan. “They need to load HE and fire on the ship’s bridge. If we can
cripple her controls, she might drift back out into the current before
detonating.”

The major relayed the plan over his radio
and they all ran back to Frank’s office to see if it would have any effect. The
ship was angled towards them from the channel running between Roosevelt Island
and Manhattan. It looked as if it would lay alongside the river bank before
detonating. A sudden dull thudding noise caused them all to crane their necks
to the left. The closest M1 Abrams main-battle-tank had reached the bank from
its post at 1
^st
and East 47
^th
and had opened fire on the
ship with its 120mm main gun.

The round entered through the starboard
bridge wing and detonated somewhere in the middle of the bridge, sending a
fireball of steel and glass out across the cargo area of the vessel. A few
seconds later, a second round went in slightly lower, punching up to detonate
closer to the wing.

Almost simultaneously, a second tank began
to fire from farther downstream, striking the bridge from a more direct angle.
The rate of firing increased as the remainder of the unit brought their
vehicles into firing positions. Their secondary armament of .50 caliber machine
guns kept up a continuous bass chatter, chewing the flimsy bridge structure to
pieces.

The ship finally failed to answer her helm;
no mechanical or electrical connections could survive that kind of pounding and
she began to crab sideways back out into the river. Everyone in the room looked
down at their watches; less than one minute left.

^~*~

“M
rs. Bender.” A plainclothes officer stood outside the front entrance
waving at Ellen as she walked out through the front doors of the main building.
He stood in front of a patrol car with flashing lights, parting the stream of
evacuees that flooded out of the main entrance. He glanced down at a leather
packet that was strapped to his left forearm, then back to Ellen’s face. “I’ve
been assigned to locate you and move you to safety, ma’am,” he said politely
but firmly as he escorted her to the back seat of the cruiser.

“My husband is still in there,” Ellen
protested as she climbed in.

The officer looked in at her with a frown.
“Is he on his way out?”

“I’m not sure,” she responded in a quiet
voice.
The way he said ‘I love you’ seemed a bit too final,
she thought.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’ve only been told
to pick you up.” A loud booming noise sounded from somewhere near the river,
followed by the sound of heavy machine gun fire. The officer looked over his
shoulder as if expecting Frank to appear. “We need to move now.” He shut the
door and ran around to the front of the vehicle.
       

Hitting the siren, he began to move
aggressively through the crowd in the roundabout, leaning on the horn and alarm
chirper to clear the way. Once on 1
^st
Avenue, he turned right and
accelerated hard, braking before the turn onto East 44
^th
and nailing
the gas again.
I might just get killed by my rescuer,
thought Ellen as
she slid against the right side door. She scrambled to get her seatbelt on as
they swerved around the late lunchtime traffic. The congestion grew heavier,
slowing their progress as they approached a massive office tower looming above
44th.