World War III (10 page)
World War III – Day Three
FEMA Camp #569, California
The sun was beginning to set when the transport vehicles, full of un-armed civilians, arrived at a FEMA camp located a few miles west of San Diego. From her seat on the bus, Beth Mancini could still hear the rumbling blasts from the gunships out at sea. The menacing barrage of artillery shells continued to fall on her home city and she began to wonder if she’d have a home to return to. A tear ran down her cheek as she thought of Duke, alone and trapped in the basement.
Driving through the tall, electrified gates, Beth noticed a wooden sign dangling above the entrance. The words FEMA CAMP #569 were etched into the sign. In addition to being electrified, the fence surrounding the camp was twenty feet high and had coils of barbed wire on top. What bothered Beth the most was that the walls of the fence were angled in and not out, as though they were specifically designed to prevent people from leaving the camp, as opposed to stopping others from entering.
Pulling into camp, Beth felt like she was entering a prison more than anything else. The ominous sound of the gate clicking closed sent a shiver down her spine. As the bus rolled to a stop, the girl sitting next to Beth continued to cry hysterically, her head resting on the older woman’s shoulder. And who could blame her after seeing her husband murdered by the same men who claimed to be there to protect them?
“There, there child,” whispered Beth, trying to sooth the young woman. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry; these men will answer for what they’ve done. My name is Elizabeth Mancini, but you can call me Beth. What’s your name dear?”
“Jenae,” sobbed the young lady in response. “I can’t believe he’s actually dead,” she added, referring to her husband.
The door to the bus suddenly folded open and one of the Blackwater soldiers climbed onboard. He wore camouflage pants, a black shirt and body armor. In his hands he held a fully automatic M-16 assault rifle, with the strap slung over his shoulder and extra magazines tucked into the pockets on his vest.
“May I please have everyone’s attention?” announced the soldier, in a commanding demeanor. “My name is Jasper and we’ve brought here for your own protection. Here, you’ll be safe, you’ll be fed, you’ll be sheltered and you’ll receive medical care.” The man sounded like he was reading a script that had been prepared specifically for this occasion.
“My men are going to come along and collect all of your belongings and then bring them to your quarters,” continued the soldier, “so please leave everything that you’ve brought with you on the bus. Each of you will be assigned to one of the barracks. Each barrack has one bathroom and dozens of cots. The cots are on a first come, first serve basis. The cafeteria is located in that barrack,” said Jasper, indicating a rectangular shaped barrack located at the center of the camp. “The showers are in the next barrack over and they’re public showers, so if any of you are shy,” he added with an evil grin, “now’s the time to get over it. Now, everybody exit the bus and leave your belongings behind.”
As to be expected, questions and concerns began to flood from many of the people on the bus. Jasper ignored the onslaught of questions with a wave of his hand and shouted, “I said dismount the bus! Now!” he added, when no one moved from their seat. “Do you people need a written invitation?”
“Yes,” demanded Beth, “and a heck of a lot better of an explanation. Remember sir, you and your men came to our homes armed and took us away, many of us against our will. I definitely think that you owe us a better explanation. Like where exactly are we?”
“Listen lady,” exclaimed Jasper, “I don’t have time for this crap. I need this bus unloaded immediately so that we can go out for another load of cargo!”
“Cargo?” repeated Beth. “Is that what you think we are?”
Jasper ignored the question and hissed, “Can you not hear the artillery explosions? You’re here for your safety.”
“Oh, I see,” replied Beth sarcastically, “so you’re here to protect us.”
“That’s right,” agreed Jasper, with a broken smile.
“Like your men protected this young woman’s husband,” Beth indicated the girl next to her, “when they murdered him in the doorway of his own house, that kind of protection? These camps look more like internment camps to me. I noticed that the fences are built to keep people in, not out.”
Many of the civilians on the bus began to look around frantically, realizing for the first time that what Beth said was true. A ripple of uneasiness swept across the bus, as people whispered and pointed at the tall, electrified fences and guard towers located at each corner of the camp.
“What’s your name?” asked Jasper, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a pen and notepad.
“Elizabeth Mancini,” declared Beth, defiantly standing up. “What’s yours?”
When Jasper had finished writing down her name and put his pad away, he walked up to Beth and slapped her across the face, hard. Pain ripped across her face as she fell back into her chair. Her mouth dropped open in shock, but she quickly closed it hoping that he hadn’t noticed. She looked up at him with increased defiance.
“Well Mrs. Mancini,” said Jasper, smiling at the blood in the corner of her mouth, “if you don’t shut up and get off the bus like I told you, then I’ll have my men remove you! And I won’t be responsible for any harm that may come to you.”
“Responsible!” exclaimed Beth. “Let’s talk about responsibility for a minute. Under whose authority do you claim to be operating?”
“Under this authority,” said Jasper, patting his gun and chambering a round. “Would you like to contest it?”
“Just what exactly do you think I’m doing?” asked Beth. “I’m sure as hell not agreeing with your authority, or lack thereof! Were you wounded in the head or something, because logic seems to be wasted on you?”
“Curtis! Steve!” shouted Jasper, in disgust. “Get in here and remove this old hag from my bus!”
“Old hag!” repeated Beth. “Why you insolent little pup, if my son was here he’d teach you a lesson in respect!”
“I look forward to meeting him someday soon,” spat Jasper, as two armed men boarded the bus. Jasper moved out of the way as the two mercenaries grabbed Beth by each of her arms and pulled her to her feet.
“It takes three of you armed with machine guns to silence an old woman! No wonder you’re not on the front lines fighting the enemy with our real soldiers!” teased Beth, as she was dragged down the steps of the bus.
“Hey,” said a man, sitting at the rear of the bus, “there’s no need for that!”
“Shut up!” shouted Jasper, punching the man in the face and breaking his nose. “Let this be a lesson to all of you on how troublemakers will be dealt with. Now get up and get off the bus!” Jasper turned to the Blackwater soldier driving the bus and whispered, “Make sure they all leave their belongings behind. If anyone gives you any trouble,” he added louder, so that all the passengers could hear, “then you give them trouble! And make a list of all the troublemakers so that they can be dealt with.” Jasper said over his shoulder, before turning and descending the steps behind Beth and her armed escort.
The remainder of the civilians climbed down from the bus, leaving their belongings behind. When all of the trucks and buses were unloaded, they drove out of camp heading west. The people began to spread out into smaller groups and head towards their designated sleeping barracks. No one seemed interested in the shower or food barracks. Instead, they hurried to find a vacant spot before all of the cots were gone.
Beth was given no such opportunity. She was guided to a separate barrack, with an armed guard on either side. The barrack looked slightly different than the others, perhaps more modern. A sign was hung above the door that read, Blackwater Command Center. Once inside, Beth was shoved into a separate office and then forced down into one of the chairs. Within seconds, Jasper entered the office and dismissed the two guards, shutting the door behind them as they left.
“Well, Mrs. Mancini,” began Jasper, as he closed the office blinds, “let’s see how brave you are when there aren’t a bunch of eyewitnesses around.” Jasper flipped the switch to a small radio on his desk and country music began to whine from the speakers. Suddenly and without warning, he spun around and slapped Beth across her face. The impact was so hard this time that it left an imprint from Jasper’s hand.
“Ouch!” she cried out in pain, as her cheek turned red and began to sting. She could feel tears begin to swell in her eyes and did everything she could to stop them from flowing forth. Beth had no intention of giving Jasper the satisfaction of knowing that he’d hurt her.
“You’re not so feisty now are you,” grinned Jasper, as he reached down and grabbed a clump of Beth’s hair. He pulled violently, forcing Beth’s head back with her face up towards the ceiling. Jasper bent down and brought his face within inches of Beth’s. She could smell the foul odor of tobacco juice coming from his mouth. “I’m in charge here,” he hissed, “not you, not the government, just me. Do you understand?” he squeezed his hand into a fist, tightening the grip he had on her hair and causing her to scream out in pain. “Do. You. Understand?” he repeated the question slowly.
“Yes,” whispered Beth, still full of fight. “I understand exactly who you are and what you are!”
“Good,” spat Jasper, releasing his grip on her hair. “Don’t forget it, because if you do I’ll hand you over to my men! You may be older than what their used to, but trust me when I say they won’t mind one bit! And a lot of my men aren’t nearly as nice as I am,” he added with an evil grin.
Jasper swung the office door open and shouted, “Curtis! Steve! Escort her to the barracks.” The two guards entered the office and lifted Beth from the chair.
“Move!” said the man named Curtis, nudging Beth in the back with the barrel of his gun.
World War III – Day Three
Pacific Ocean off the United States Coast
On board one of the many amphibious troop transports headed towards the California coast, Captain Yuri Petrov watched in disgust as several soldiers standing near him began to vomit. The thick, rancid liquid formed a puddle on the deck of the vessel, forcing Yuri to take a step back to avoid standing in the yellowish-brown mess. Many of the men under Yuri’s command were not accustomed to being at sea, especially in the confines of such a small ship. Unrelenting waves crashed against the sides of the transport, causing the boat to pitch back and forth violently.
Standing beside Captain Petrov, Lt Sasha Razin tried in vain to rally the soldiers, but his shouts of encouragement were muffled by the rumble of cannon fire. He could see the apprehension in many of the men’s eyes when the beachhead came into view. As they drew closer to death, Sasha felt the rush of adrenalin coursing through his body like an electric current.
American fighter jets suddenly swooped down from the sky above and began strafing the Russian and Chinese ships. Bullets riddled the transports with holes, as soldiers fired back. Their rifles and machine guns were no match for the lightning fast jets. The slow moving transports left the soldiers exposed and vulnerable. One by one the men in Yuri’s command fell dead or wounded around him. There was no roof to offer protection and the only shelter to be found was beneath the dead bodies of his fallen comrades.
Within minutes, Russian and Chinese fighter jets launched from nearby aircraft carriers and joined in the fight. They immediately engaged the American fighters, attempting to provide protection for the troop transports below. Yuri watched the dogfight above, as bullets whizzed past his head like flies’ swarming around his soon to be rotting corpse.
The horrific scene of death and destruction seemed to last forever, as the transports slowly approached the United States coastline. Nearby explosions sent seawater high into the air, washing over the sides of the transport and drenching the soldiers within. After what seemed like an eternity spent in hell, Yuri heard the driver of his transport yell over his shoulder.
“Get ready!” It was almost impossible to hear the man’s voice over the screams and shrapnel that ricocheted inside of the transport.
A violent bump sent Yuri violently soaring through the air. He landed flat on his stomach, as the transport vehicle hit the beach and its large ramp dropped open. Bullets from machine gun fire sliced through the opening. The first five or six soldiers standing near the opening were instantly mowed down. Yuri suddenly realized that he was only alive because he wasn’t on his feet.
The remaining handful of soldiers onboard began to panic. Attempting to avoid the onslaught of bullets, several men climbed over the side of the transport only to drown instead. The heavy equipment strapped to their bodies was like an anchor pulling them down to the seabed below. Yuri knew that staying inside the transport was a death sentence. He quickly began to crawl over the dead bodies of his fallen comrades, occasionally using one as a body shield.
Several of the American fighter jets had begun to target the beach and the invading troops. As Yuri exited the transport, bullets sprayed the beach around him, showering him in sand. Machine guns hidden in bunkers and foxholes continued to lay down a steady barrage of fire, making it almost impossible for Yuri and the remainder of his men to advance. Suddenly there was a momentary break in heavy machine gun fire as the American soldiers reloaded.
“Cover me!” shouted Yuri, his voice muffled by thunderous cannon fire.
Lt Sasha Razin immediately did as commanded, ordering his men to lay down a steady stream of covering fire.
Yuri took a deep breath before springing from the ground in a crouched run. With bullets zipping past his head, he sprinted across the beach as quick as he could. Although the soft sand made it hard to run very fast, his adrenalin pushed him on. Blasts from artillery shells shook the earth and the barrage of gunfire mingled with the screams of the dying made it hard to focus. He ran past a soldier on his knees digging a hole in the ground with his bare hands, as though the hole could hide him from the terror around him.
Yuri quickly dove behind an abandoned armored vehicle located in the middle of the beach. He didn’t remember seeing the vehicle a moment before, but a lot of things could be missed during the chaos of battle. Although it had been destroyed by an artillery shell and was still on fire, the vehicle offered ample protection from the machine gun bunkers. As Yuri’s body hit the sand he realized that Sasha had followed directly behind him. Both men were now lying on the beach beside one another, panting heavily from the strenuous run.
“Where’s the rest of the men?” asked Sasha, looking back in the direction from which they’d just come.
Yuri followed Sasha’s gaze and found the remainder of their unit still pinned down in front of the transport vehicle. They were out in the open and easy targets.
“Move! Move! Move!” shouted Yuri, trying to coax his men off of the exposed beach, but it was too late. He watched in horror as all of the men in his command suddenly disappeared, destroyed by an air-to-ground bomb fired from one of the American F-35’s.
Down the beach about a hundred yards, Yuri watched as a transport full of hybrid soldiers hit the sand and lowered its ramp. Almost as if by command, the soldiers piled out of the transport and fired their weapons in unison. The cold and calculating gaze found on each super-soldiers face was not from lack of fear but rather from the copious amount of chemicals pumping through their veins. Bullets bounced off of their metal plated chests as they continued to advance on the American defensive positions.
