Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (17 page)

“Yo, we just gonna let ‘em get those
guys?”

Malcolm looked at his brother.  “They
are gathering their wounded.  Would you prefer they shoot our wounded when they
come across them?  I thought not.  We will allow them to do the same.  For
now.” 

The two brothers watched in silence as
the big trucks picked up the small group of soldiers waiting for them and
headed down the debris cluttered Michigan Street, headlights cutting through
the drifting smoke.  The closer the armored trucks got to the intersection of
Michigan and Lake Streets, the more intense the smoke became.  The sounds of
gunshots rang out over the crackling roar of the burning buildings.  Above it
all, the constant thump-thump-thump of the helicopter’s rotors reminded Malcolm
that there was still a larger threat to handle.  The helicopter wafted through the
smoke above, now visible, now invisible, like a shark swimming effortlessly
through murky water in search of prey.

“Warn your people to be ready.  The Man
approaches.  They may not be able to see the helicopter in the smoke…” said
Malcolm, eyes glued to the streets below.

In the smoke, the helicopter slewed to
the right to get a good shot, hunting the rioters who were hiding behind cars
and building corner.  There was a wavering flash in the smoke and a high
pitched whine.  Then all of Malcolm’s men in sight were torn apart like so many
rag-dolls.

He could see the beginnings of a rout. 
The rioters on the ground first noticed something was going wrong when their
comrades started exploding.  The noise from the building fires and the shootout
with the cops had hidden the sound of the helicopter’s chain gun until it was
too late.

Sweeping targets left and right, the
helicopter cleaned the streets of rioters in seconds, leaving blood smeared
sidewalks and walls riddled with gaping holes.  An entire company of men wiped
off the earth in seconds of fire and death.

Tahru gasped in utter shock.  The
nightmare continued.   He had known some of the men down there for years.  Now
they were just stains on the street. 

Malcolm watched impassively as the
downdraft from the rotors on the helicopter blew smoke around in a swirling
vortex.  The two large trucks had caught up with the hovering beast and began
to vomit soldiers onto the street corner.  The helicopter continued to hover
over the intersection, about a hundred feet up.

Half the soldiers got to setting up a
perimeter by laying down a withering stream rifle fire in the direction of the
remaining rioters to the south, west and east.  The rest of the soldiers came
from the other truck and immediately found the cops who were wounded and began
loading them on the makeshift ambulance.

The helicopter suddenly began to rise
straight up through the smoke between the towering buildings, shaking like a
mad bee.  Malcolm smiled.  Every now and then he could see muzzle flashes
coming from the office building to the south.  Some of his sharpshooters were
in there, on what he guessed was the fifth floor.  They had a perfect angle to
shoot down into the nest of soldiers on the street.

Malcolm’s smile quickly disappeared as
the helicopter dropped down as quickly as it rose, then began to calmly
sweeping its 30mm gun over large sections of the rioter controlled battle
zone.  Bits of concrete and metal from abandoned cars flew through the air as
the large rounds tore through everything they encountered.

The soldiers on the street saw what was
happening too and shifted their fire to aim up at the building they could
barely see through the smoke.  They weren’t getting close enough to the rioters
to stop them, though.  More bullets buzzed the helicopter.  More muzzle flashes
appeared in a neighboring building.

“They have cornered the soldiers.  Now
it is our turn,” Malcolm said, fist clenched at his side.

“They’re trying to pull out!”

“I see it,” replied Malcolm.  He stole a
glance at his brother.  As the battle wore on, his brother’s slang seem to be
less and less apparent.

The helicopter gunner swiveled his 30mm
gun to aim at the fifth floor of the irritating building and let loose a salvo,
smashing windows and ripping bodies apart.  The shell casings rained down to
form a glittered waterfall that crashed into a spreading puddle of smoking
brass on the street below.

The helicopter paused and the loud buzz
of its machine gun disappeared.  It hovered over the intersection seeking
confirmation of the gunner’s kills as the two National Guard trucks roared down
the street.  Soldiers hung off the sides and fired towards the growing number
of rioters who appeared out of alleys and burning buildings to harass their
retreat.

“Why d’ey stop shootin’?” asked Tahru,
pointing at the helicopter as it hovered.                       

Malcolm had a terrible premonition.  He
grabbed his own radio and barked a command, “Sharpshooters, get out of there!”

More muzzle flashes peppered out from
the busted windows.  The rioters were moving to the sixth floor.  Not fast
enough.

The chopper shuddered as six missiles,
three from each pod on either side of the aircraft, leapt out of their
harnesses and streaked across the intersection. The missiles shot right through
a section of busted out windows and disappeared inside, leaving smoke trails
behind.  In less than a quarter-second, the entire floor erupted outwards,
blowing glass, bits of office furniture and insurgents out over the
intersection in a bright fireball.

“Nice!”  The pilot held control of his
helicopter till the blast wave past, then, when he saw no more targets on the
FLIR, The helicopter reluctantly turned to the north in a lazy circle and
caught up with the two retreating trucks just as they crossed the bridge.  The
cop cars were moved back into place as a barricade and the sortie was over.

“The Man has decided to up the ante, my
Brothers,” Malcolm said to his gathered lieutenants an hour later.  They were
having a council of war deep in the Sears Tower.

“The Man has used his military might to
attack us.  It is time to take the next step.  Abaad,”

“Yes, Brother,” replied the skinny black
man in the back.  He inclined his head in a polite bow.

“I need to you to inform our other
Brothers and Sisters that tonight we unleash the gangs.  Tell them it is time
for anarchy.  We need to get the word out about what the Man is doing to us.”

“As you say, Brother Malcolm, it will be
done, by Allah’s will.”  The communications chief for the Brotherhood nodded
and his lieutenant slipped out the door.  He and a few others in the movement
had become somewhat decent HAM operators.  It was the only way to be able to
communicate when the power was lost and the government inevitably took control
of the nation’s radio broadcasting stations.  All this and more the Arabs had
informed the Brotherhood, and time after time what they said would happen had
come true.  Malcolm and the others watched Abaad move to his communications rig
and fire it up. 

Tonight would be a bad night for the
Man…

W
HAT HAVE YOU got for me?” asked the
President with a  sad grin.  He wearily sat down at the conference table in the
War Room for his evening briefing.  It had been another long day dealing with
his department heads, especially Hank from FEMA, and the Congressional leaders
from their hidey-holes. 

They’re just itching to get into a
political fight over this mess,
the President thought darkly as he surveyed the War Room. Arrayed about him
were monitors that depicted the faces of the Joint Chiefs and the Secretaries
of Defense and State.

“Sir,” said SecDef’s image while
glancing at the latest reports from New York, Chicago and Los Angeles.  “We’ve
had some engagements with rioters and National Guard units.”

“Go on…” said the President warily. 
“Gimme some details.”

“Well, in Chicago, General Collrade
reports the loss of two tanks—“

“Rioters destroyed
two
of our
tanks
?”

“Actually, they…the ah—“ offered the
Army’s top General.  The President silenced him with a look.  He recovered and
began again.  “They got the tanks by destroying the bridge we were attempting
to cross into downtown Chicago.  Both tanks fell in the river and sank.  The
crews were lost, sir.  Eight men.”

The President put his elbows on the
table and steeped his fingers in thought.  The cameraman set up at the end of
the table focused in on him for the benefit of the cabinet members watching
their own screens. 

“I gave them the order to fight fire
with fire…”

“Well…ah, they
did
.  Collrade
ordered a return fire, killing an unknown number of rioters with another of his
tanks.  Then, on the other side of the city, an Apache was used in tandem with
ground forces to extricate a bunch of cops that had been pinned down and
surrounded by rioters.  In the process, the Apache took out several rioters
and…” the SecDef’s image looked closely at his paperwork.  “It appears the
helicopter also fired missiles into an office building, destroying an entire
floor…” 

“He fired a tank at a bunch of rioters? 
Missiles at an office building?” asked the Secretary of State, incredulous.

“Tim, it wasn’t too long ago you were
wearing a uniform like mine—you and I both know those ‘rioters’ are something
more
. 
They took out a major highway bridge—we’re talking six lanes of concrete and
steel!  That’s a lot of demo work for a bunch of race rioters, don’t you
think?”  The general turned his attention to the head of the table.  “Mr.
President, I’m not entirely convinced we’re dealing with a simple riot
situation anymore,” warned the Army Chief of Staff.

“Rioters or not, we’ve got to put this
insurrection down, gentleman.  I want more details about this missile shooting,
Don.  No--I want the overall picture first,” said the President.

“I know it’s stereotypical, but
everything we’ve heard about the reasons behind the rioting sounds like the
standard ‘American Islam’ type bullshit.”

“It is,” chimed in the National Security
Advisor.  No one heard her come in the room, and more than one man flinched in
surprise.  “We just confirmed it in Detroit.  They got a prisoner who spilled
his guts.”

“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” the
President said, rubbing his hands together.  “Well, Alicia, don’t keep us
waiting?” invited the President, one hand extended for her to take a seat at
the table.

Instead, she grabbed a remote off the
table and turned on one of the digital display screens, showing a map with the
various cities experiencing ‘racial riots’.  The country was displayed in a
calming blue color, except for the angry swatches of red, where the riots had
broken out.  Atlanta was a black circle, indicating destruction of the city. 

“What we were able to ascertain from the
captive is that there’s a group, calling itself the Brotherhood, or something
like that, based in Chicago,” she used a laser pointer to highlight the Windy
City.  “They are a group of militant Black Muslims.  They have connections with
other groups like themselves in most of the major cities…New York, Detroit,
Boston, Atlanta, L.A., Houston, Jacksonville, Richmond, St. Louis…”

“Okay, we can see the map, Alicia, it’s
a lot,” said the President, cutting her off.  To read off a complete list would
be too dispersing for him today.  “Just tell us what you found out.”

“Yes, sir.  I have my people working
with the FBI and CIA, but from what we know right now, it seems this
Brotherhood somehow in league with the Al Qaeda splinter group that launched
the power-grid strike.  We don’t know why or how, but they were able to time
the riots to start when we’d be most vulnerable.”

“Sounds like a load of horse shit to
me,” grunted the SecDef.  “Those riots would probably have started
without
coordination—how long do any of you think peace will be maintained in
any
city, once the food and water supply dries up in a few days…with no power,
nothing to do, panic rising and a small, overburdened police force?  We’re
gonna have
real
trouble on our hands come next week.”

General murmuring broke out around the
table and an argument started between the NSA and the Army.  Someone mentioned
the latest estimate from the largest power companies that suggested it would be
at least two to three weeks before they could completely repair the damage to
their core relay stations, let alone start to get power turned back on in
limited areas of the country.  They were looking at a time table in months, not
days.

“Alright people,
settle down
,”
the President said, raising his voice above the din.  “Now this is beginning to
make sense—but why are they timing their attacks?  What goals do they have? 
Who sponsored this?”

“The prisoner said they were going to
create some kind of Islamic utopia,” the NSA shrugged, putting the word
‘utopia’ in quotes with her hands.  “He wasn’t able to tell us much.”

“Well, why the hell not?” asked SecDef.

“He died shortly after being captured,
sir.  The skirmishing between National Guard units and rioters in Detroit has
gotten significantly more intense since news of the escalation in Chicago got
out.”

“Got out?  How?  We have control of just
about all the radio broadcasting stations in the country,” said the President,
looking over his FCC report.

“The rioters evidently found some way to
communicate outside the standard airwaves,” replied the National Security
Advisor.  She didn’t need to mention the implications of that revelation.

“Okay…so they all riot at the same—or
about the same—time.  There’s some ulterior motive, we think.  Next, when
things in Chicago and New York get a little out of hand, Detroit goes off—”
summed up the President, trying to grasp the entire situation at once.

“Sir, Los Angeles is facing a different
problem.”

“What now?”

“It seems that the race riots in Los
Angeles are taking on a third aspect—the large Latino community seems to be
taking up arms against both the race rioters
and
the National Guard
forces.  I’m afraid between the two groups, the Guard is just outnumbered.  The
reports we’re getting in from Governor Martin are not looking good.  The
fighting is sporadic and largely located on the edge of the rioting zones. 
There’s one here,” the NSA indicated a map of Los Angeles with her laser
pointer, “And another, larger riot in South Central.”

“What is this, everyone wants to fight
at once?” asked the President.  He rubbed his throbbing forehead with the palm
of his hand.

“Governor Martin ordered the city and
state police to form a perimeter in the hopes of containing the fighting, but
even with the National Guard to back them up, there’s just too much going on. 
When the cops pulled out to try and escort civilians, gang wars erupted.  It’s
absolute pandemonium in L.A. tonight, sir.  Gonna be pretty bad.”

“Okay,” the President sighed.

The people around the table knew that
tone of voice.  Something was coming.  More than one person sat up a little in
their seats.

“It’s fairly obvious to me that the
National Guard just can’t handle this on its own,” the President suggested,
looking for comments.  They hadn’t even gotten to the other major cities.  The
Guard was on its heels everywhere except Chicago, it seemed, and there only
because they used overwhelming military force.

“That would be our assessment as well,
sir,” said the SecDef’s somber image.

“Agreed,” said the National Security
Advisor, sitting down in her seat across from the President.

“Very well.  I’m going to place the
National Guard under the control of Northern Command.  Have General Young out
at Peterson Air Force Base coordinate everything from NORAD.  I want blanket
authority, people.”

The various images of the Joint Chiefs
showed they could barely contain their glee.  “I want the military to take over
now and clean things up properly.  No more pussyfooting around, people.  We
have to nip this in the bud,
now
before this turns into a full-scale
rebellion.

“We’re going to put everything under one
umbrella to smooth this mess out.”  The President paused, considering again the
weight in his coat pocket that signified the emergency orders drafted by the
Director of FEMA…Hank had nearly begged him to sign the orders today. 

No, not yet…dammit.

“Sir, do I have to warn you, more than
two-thirds of our military forces are still all over the planet?” cautioned
SecDef.  “We haven’t begun pulling them back yet—“

“
Do
it then.”

“Done,” replied SecDef, folding his arms
on screen. 

“I want just bare minimums everywhere we
can spare it.  No, you know what?” the President paused and rubbed the stubble
on his chin.  “In places like Kosovo—in fact,
any
U.N. mission, I want
our boys out,
now
.”

“Gladly, Mr. President,” said the
Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, a four-star Air Force general.  His counterpart
from the Army smiled.

“The U.N. isn’t going to like that at
all, sir.  They’ve offered us another chance at help, we can’t just throw it in
their face.  I think we’ll need some time to draft a response—“ started the
SecState.

“Tell ‘em to mind their own fucking
business!  How’s that for a response?  I’ll be damned if I’m going to have
American cities burned to the ground because I couldn’t get my military home on
account of the United Nations being offended!” the President replied
vehemently.

“The U.N. has jerked our chain one too
many times, Tim, and I for one have had it with that group of buffoons.  We’ll
see how much trouble they start if we’re not there to back them up or pay their
rent!”

“Aye, aye, sir,
we’ll
handle it,”
Chief of Staff for the Navy spoke up.

“What about the Middle East?” asked
SecDef, trying to diffuse the situation.  “We got a lot tied up over there.”

“Bring ‘em all home, Al.  Navy too.  The
Middle East screams on a daily basis that they don’t want us there.  Fine! 
We’ll leave.  They caused this mess with their damn terrorism, they can take
care of themselves while he patch things up at home,” the President ordered. 
He paused for a second, anger visibly clouding his worried face. 

“Sir, I don’t think pulling our troops
out will send the right message,” began the Secretary of State after regaining
his composure.  “It’ll show everyone that all they have to do is strike us at
home to influence what we do and where we do it.  Sir, it’ll look like we’re
tucking tail and running.”

“Tim’s got a point there, sir,” agreed
the image of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs reluctantly.  “I don’t like it
any more than you, but the rest of the world is going to see us as weak if we
pull out completely.”

“When we find out exactly who did what
and where they came from, the Middle East and whoever the hell sponsored these
attacks is going to wish they’d never
heard
of America,” the President
promised through clenched teeth, balling his fists on the tabletop. 

“Then we’ll see who thinks we’re
weak
.”