The Coward's Way of War (50 page)

The channel changed suddenly.  “The destruction of the Eiffel Tower last night at the hands of a suicide squad of terrorists has brought universal condemnation from most of Europe,” a different talking head said.  “The new President of France promised that the harshest of methods would be used to punish the insurgents.  Although he did not specify how he intended to keep his promise, reports have reached this station of French armoured columns being dispatched into French cities and French aircraft bombing targets within insurgent-held France.  US military spokesmen welcomed the French action, but bemoaned the diversion of French troops away from the Middle East.  A video released by a known Arab terrorist leader in France stated that the tower had been destroyed in a response to the American-led invasion of Saudi Arabia, which apparently the French Government didn't do enough to stop.  The presence of units of the French Foreign Legion in Qatar and later occupied Saudi was an intolerable provocation...”

No one cares any longer, you dimwit
, Al thought, as he finished his breakfast and took another mug of coffee. 
You ranted and raved and threatened violence against anyone who dared to say you were violent, and now you’ve gone too far and no one cares any longer about your feelings.  By the time we’re finished, the Arabic language will be spoken only in hell
.

The main briefing room had once served as an assembly hall for the kids, something that made him smile to himself as the policemen assembled.  There were only a few hundred of them in the room, all armed and wearing their body armour, another unwelcome reminder of Iraq.  The gangs had managed to capture some quite heavy weaponry, including at least one NG-issue mortar.  It was just possible that one of them might decide to take a few shots at the makeshift police station.

“We have been fighting a holding action over the last few days,” the Commissioner admitted.  He was fairly new to the job.  The previous Commissioner had been arrested after Mayor Hundred decided to implicate him in his scheme to make sure that the wealthy and well-connected got their vaccine first, while his Deputy had shot himself after discovering the truth about his boss.  The cynic in Al made him wonder if the Deputy had known the truth and just had been unwilling to admit it to himself.  “Between Henderson’s Disease and the gangs, we have been barely able to maintain what hold we do have of the city.”

Al nodded impatiently, wondering when the Commissioner was going to get to the point. 

“We have received new orders from the government,” the Commissioner continued, ignoring the groans that echoed through the room.  Most of the street-level policemen were suspicious of federal ideas.  They tended to be time-wasters like sensitivity training and affirmative action, all of which weakened the NYPD and took time away from real policing.  “New York City is no longer tenable.  We cannot keep running food supplies into the city during the current security situation.”

He paused for effect.  “The entire city is going to be evacuated,” he said.  “The Army Construction Battalions have already started constructing camps to house the evacuees for the first few weeks.  Our task is three-fold; we are to vaccinate everyone in the city, no exceptions; we are to escort vaccinated people out of the city and we are to keep a lid on the gangs long enough to allow the first two to take place.  Once we have everyone who wants to leave out of the city, we will pull out ourselves and the military will seal off all approaches.

“You are all being assigned to the various soup kitchens in the city,” he continued, his voice echoing around the silent hall.  “Once there, you will enforce a new rule; no eating without vaccination.  Anyone who has already been vaccinated can eat; anyone who cannot produce a valid vaccination certificate is to be vaccinated, by force if necessary.  You are authorised to use whatever force is required to administer the injection.”

“They’ll sue,” someone said, from the rear.

“They won’t be able to sue,” the Commissioner said.  “Everyone who goes without being vaccinated is a potential carrier – and victim – of Henderson’s Disease.  No one will be allowed out of the city without a vaccination certificate.  If it bothers you, think about this; those morons who refuse to be vaccinated may have kids, people who do not deserve to suffer.  Their parents may be idiots, but do they deserve to die because of their parents and their stupidity?”

Al considered it as the policemen broke up and headed down to gather their equipment and head out to the soup kitchens.  He’d been on duty there a few times- his superiors had placed him there after he’d carried out a mercy killing, hoping that it would give him a change – and he knew that there were some people who just refused to be vaccinated.  The whole concept struck him as idiotic – they
knew
that the vaccine worked – but legally the NYPD could not force someone to be vaccinated.  It had taken two weeks to get permission for the policemen to distribute the vaccine themselves, rather than waiting for the legally-mandated health worker to do the job.  It was just another piece of red tape designed to make life difficult.

The police vans had been designed in the wake of a series of increasingly bloody riots that had struck American – and European – cities during the global economic crisis.  Al had always been impressed with them, for they were built to military standards and could resist small-arms fire and even some light antitank weapons.  They were far too obvious for his tastes, but it had been pointed out to him that that might not be a bad thing for a police vehicle.  The presence of a policeman nearby alone might deter crime.

He glanced back at his men as they rode towards the soup kitchen, passing checkpoints and soldiers on guard duty, clutching their weapons nervously.  New York itself seemed to hang on a knife-edge, a feeling Al hadn't felt since he'd last been in Baghdad, a sense that something was about to go spectacularly wrong.  He checked his own weapons and then the injector gun he wore on his belt, loaded with vaccine.  If all went well, they could inject hundreds of people over the next few hours.

The soup kitchen had been set up in a parking lot and manned by a mixture of volunteers and emergency service personnel.  Armed policemen guarded the perimeter, checking everyone who came in and out, disarming everyone who was carrying a weapon.  There had been a suggestion that all guns should be permanently confiscated, at least until the crisis was over, but in a rare burst of common sense, the Governor had pointed out that that would just make the crisis worse.  The ones who cared about the law would hand in their weapons; the ones who cared nothing for the law would hang on to theirs...and they were the ones to worry about.  Still, no one apart from the police took a weapon inside the soup kitchen.  The last thing they needed was a riot that might get out of hand.

Al flinched as he took in the UV lights, positioned around the soup kitchen and shining in everywhere.  It reminded him of the night when he’d stumbled upon the first known victim of Henderson’s Disease, the night that had claimed his rookie’s life.  The UV lights killed the disease in the air before it could spread from a carrier to an uninfected person, yet Al didn't quite trust them.  It all seemed too flimsy to him.

“Sergeant,” the supervisor said.  She – her nametag read CINDY – looked alarmingly like a cheerleader, but the briefing notes had stated that she’d volunteered for emergency training and had been operating the soup kitchen for the last two weeks.  “We’re nearly ready to start serving food.  What can we do for you?”

Al explained briefly, much to her surprise.  “I cannot do that,” Cindy said, once he’d finished.  “I need to feed everyone...”

“And you will, once they’re vaccinated,” Al countered.  He was in no mood for an argument.  Cindy reminded him far too much of one of his ex-girlfriends, a girl who had worried incessantly about her weight.  Eventually, he’d dumped her and she’d married the local football jock.  The last he’d heard was that it hadn’t been a happy marriage.  “Everyone who comes in to get food from the government has to be vaccinated.”

He cast a look over the steaming caldrons as his team deployed, getting into position.  True to its name, there was a bubbling caldron of soup waiting for the hungry citizens, but there were also bowls of stew and curry, even a considerable amount of bread and cheese.  Quite a number of supermarkets had been looted before the NYPD had managed to get guards on them, but the looters had left behind a surprising amount of foodstuffs, if only because they hadn't realised what they could do with them.  A couple of dozen workers had managed to get the kitchen up and running, sharing the tasks and doing what they could to help their fellow citizens.  They’d all been vaccinated, of course. 

It wasn't long before the first people appeared at the end of the street, walking down towards the cops.  Al had seen it before, but it still shocked him; they looked more like Third World natives than American citizens.  Many were thin and drawn; others glanced around as if they expected to be attacked at any moment, despite the presence of the armed policemen.  A handful were even staring at the policemen, as if they feared that the
policemen
would attack them, or worse.  Al understood what he was seeing, even though he didn't want to admit it; the social glue that had kept New York City together was melting fast.  A group of swaggering young men – gang members, he was morbidly certain – appeared at the other end, unable or unwilling to conceal their attitude.  The city was feeding its enemies.

“I need to see your vaccination certificate,” Al said, as the first people came up to the police line.  It was a line he repeated time and time again over the next hour.  A surprising number of people didn't have a vaccination certificate and, once he offered, they were happy to be vaccinated.  Their cards would be prepared while they ate their food.  “I need to see your vaccination certificate.”

“We don’t have one,” a shrewish woman said.  Her husband nodded beside her, while her kids – showing signs of early obesity despite the fact they should have been on limited rations – started to run amuck.  “We do not choose to be vaccinated.”

She drew herself up and stared right into Al’s eyes.  “I will not allow myself or my family to be vaccinated,” she added.  “You have no right to insist that we be vaccinated.”

“You are both a potential victim and carrier of Henderson’s Disease,” Al snapped, hating the woman in that moment.  Whatever her reasons, how
dare
she put her kids – and everyone else she was unlucky enough to encounter – in danger?  “I have legal authority to vaccinate all of you unless you can produce clear medical documentation that states vaccinating you would be dangerous to your health.  Do you possess such documentation?”

“You can't do this to us,” the woman repeated.  “You have no
right...
”

“And you have no right to threaten the rest of us,” Al said, sharply.  “I ask again; do you have medical documentation...”

The woman tried to push past him, but Al grabbed her with one hand and held the injector gun to her neck.  Before she could react, he shot her with a dose of vaccine and then turned to her husband.  The hen-pecked man didn't argue as he injected him as well, followed by their two screaming kids.

“I’ll sue,” the woman protested, when she could talk again.  “I’ll sue you...you...”

“Yeah,” Al said, tiredly.  He didn’t have the energy to argue.  “Good luck with that.”

Proper counter-insurgency requires a willingness to live with the population and understand it.  When that willingness is lacking, the results range from bad to disastrous
.

- General Brent Roeder

Buraidah, Saudi Arabia

Day 46

“But I'm telling you, you cannot treat them like that!”

Doug looked down at the young officer in front of him.  He had no objection to women serving in the US Army – hell, he'd known many women who had fought bravely for their country – but he had strong objections to a silly idiot, male or female, wearing the uniform that many brave men had been wearing when they had died.  The Lieutenant in front of him might have been beautiful in civilian clothes, yet her voice was shrill and she had absolutely no common sense at all.  She wasn't wearing her helmet in an armed and hostile city, for crying out loud!

“And I'm telling you that I can treat them any damn way I want,” he snapped, angrily.  “Quite apart from the fact that you are not in my chain of command and that your request violates my standing orders” – he suspected that she was trying to do an end run around higher authority – “I have lost three men so far to treacherous tricks and I am not losing any more.  We’re not in this business to treat terrorists and dishonourable assholes with kid gloves.”