The Coward's Way of War (24 page)

“The same could be said for the Hispanics within the country.  Many of them are illegal immigrants, or related to illegal immigrants.  They see the government – particularly the local governments – as being against them and fear that Henderson’s Disease is just another attempt to get all of the immigrants to register.  They don’t become Americans, not like my ancestors did when they got off the boat in Boston; they attempt to recreate Mexico and Mexican conditions within the south.  This, in turn, provokes anger and resistance from the Anglo-Americans living within the area, who believe that the immigrants will eventually turn the American South into Little Mexico.  They believe that the Federal Government, which has been seemingly unwilling to enforce immigration laws, is actually on the side of the enemy.

“And then there are other smaller groups.  Homosexuals, for example, think that the nation discriminates against them.  The Gun Community believes that the federal government is trying to take away their weapons.  There are hundreds of Christian groups that believe that the liberals are taking prayer out of the schools and seeking to destroy American society; there are liberal groups that fear that bible-bashers from Texas will eventually create a theocracy on American soil.  In such a climate, conspiracy theories profligate rapidly
and are believed
.”

He shook his head.  “I could go on for hours,” he concluded, “but I’ll spare you that.  The bottom line, Madam President, is that there are many groups within this country that do not see themselves as American, or believe that the country is turning against them.  The Mayor of New York, whatever was going through his head, convinced them that they were right.  I expect that the trouble we have seen so far is only the beginning.”

The President frowned.  “And what, exactly, do you suggest I should do?”

White hesitated.  “You cannot allow this problem to get out of hand,” he said, flatly.  “I suggest making an example of Johnston and his men.”

“That may not be easy,” Spencer said.  “Morale within the armed forces is low.”

He tapped the remote and a chart appeared above the table.  “Outside the families that are deployed outside the country with army personnel, there are very few who have been vaccinated against smallpox,” he said.  “That is worrying men and women who are on deployment, either in the States or outside the country.  They are nervous about their families and want them protected against the disease. So far, thankfully, we haven’t had a general breakdown in discipline, but we have had a great deal of grumbling and some pilferage.  A handful of vaccine cases have vanished and, I suspect, used to inoculate some military families.

“This is actually worse in the case of the National Guard,” he continued, flatly.  “The Guard is, by and large, currently being used to blockade their own cities.  They’ve been coming under attack from random shooters within the city, but that isn't the real problem.  The Guardsmen have families and they’re trapping those families within the cities.”

White nodded.  “The vaccination program was targeted on emergency service personnel and others first,” he added.  “The public might have accepted that if it was all clearly honest and in their best interests.  The Mayor of New York has convinced them that” – he affected a thicker accent – “filthy rich bastards have been using their money to get vaccinated, while the poor have been left to die of Henderson’s Disease.”  He returned his voice to normal when the President glowered at him.  “Public faith in the government has collapsed and, at the same time, the tools you need to use to restore order have been weakened.”

“It didn't help when some idiot torched a storage warehouse in Detroit,” the Secretary of State added.  “They burned ten thousand doses of vaccine in the fire, despite heroic efforts by the fire department.”

“It is going to get worse,” White said, ignoring the interruption.  “The economy works the way it does because the system – our system – works smoothly.  Or perhaps I should say it
did
work smoothly.  The disease is keeping people out of work, so businesses are grinding to a halt, which means that people are getting laid off, which in turn means that they won’t be able to afford to pay for food, which means that they’re going to become very hungry...”

“And it’s affecting our supplies from overseas,” the Secretary of the Treasury said.  “The entire global trading system has collapsed.  We’re just not getting very much from Japan or China – hell, China may well be infected with Henderson’s Disease.  The oil tankers from the Middle East are being diverted everywhere by their owners...”

The President held up a hand.  “Enough,” she said, flatly.  She’d heard too much about the disasters, an endless series of disasters, in the last few days.  Before Henderson’s Disease, they would have been a serious issue, yet now they were nothing.  “Here is what we are going to do.”

She tapped points off her fingers as she spoke.  “First, recover the Brooklyn Medical Centre as soon as possible, taking Johnston and his people alive,” she ordered.  “I know it may not be possible, but make it clear to the officer in charge that it would be appreciated if they can pull it off.  Once we take them, we try them for treason and execute them once they are found guilty.

“Second, I want vaccination programs to be closely supervised,” she continued.  “The priority is to remain on emergency personnel and people who are willing to work, but I also want it expanded to cover military dependents and farmers and their families.  I want those people pulled out of the cities and transferred to safe communities as soon as possible.

“Third, I want the FBI to spearhead a series of raids to mop up as many radical groups as possible.  We can arrest and detain them under the various antiterrorist protocols; once the crisis ends, we can free them or try them for treason.  I want this done as gently as possible, but it has to be done.  I do not want any fucking” – she smiled inwardly at their reactions to her profanity – “about with fears of appearing racist or community relations or whatever.  I want these groups taken off the playing field yesterday.”

“Madam President,” her Press Secretary warned, “that will look very bad to the public...”

“I know,” the President said, cutting her off.  “I don’t think that we have any choice.”

How do you get elected in a post-modern country?  Answer; you pledge to take money from one person
’s pocket – preferably someone your voters don’t like – and put it in someone else’s pocket.  That’s how you end up with ‘tax the rich’ and other dunderheaded schemes that really cannot work for long.  And if your opponents don’t like it...?  Call them racists, call them capitalists, call them anything you like, as long as it sounds bad.  Set one group against the other and keep the pot boiling; that’s how you win an election.  And really, who cares what happens to the country anyway?

- Jim Revells

New York, USA

Day 18

Al was feeling cross as he watched the Brooklyn Medical Centre from what he devoutly hoped was a safe distance.  The terrorists – or so he had decided to call them, although the mainstream media was still arguing over the precise definition – had shown themselves quite willing and able to take shots at any police officer who showed his face, even though negotiations were in progress.  Al personally suspected that the talks wouldn't get anywhere.  The terrorists hadn't even allowed them to recover the dead bodies from the surrounding area, perhaps suspecting that the NYPD would use the opportunity to slip an attack force into the hospital. 

He scowled over towards the television van, filming the hospital in the hopes of capturing something interesting on film.  Rather predictably, the terrorists hadn't tried shooting at the media; instead, they’d doubled the barrage of propaganda streaming out onto the internet.  Al didn't know what orifice the speaker was pulling his words from, but he had to admit that they were having an effect on the rest of the city.  Parts of New York had become no-go areas for cops, despite the fact that the media kept trying to warn them that the more public contact they had, the greater the chance of coming down with Henderson’s Disease.

One of the reporters – a middle-aged man who looked more like a bureaucrat than a reporter – started to amble over toward Al, clearly looking for an interview.  Al fixed him with a look that made him break off and wander elsewhere, perhaps hoping that one of the newer cops would talk to him and say something indiscreet.  Al wished him luck; apart from spokesmen, cops were generally discouraged from talking to the media.  It was far too easy for a hostile reporter to take a statement out of context or simply misquote a source, who would then have no way to complain or to gain recompense.  Careers had been wrecked that way.  The MSM might have tried to overlook it, but the bloggers had picked up on just
why
the BAM had been ignored, adding yet another nail to the Mayor’s political coffin.  The fear of appearing racist seemed like nothing compared to losing an entire hospital and hundreds of medical personnel, including dozens of young women.

His fists clenched as he imagined the scene inside the hospital.  The NYPD might not have been permitted to take active measures against the BAM, but they had built up a fairly comprehensive picture of what the Reverend Johnston had called its action arm, the revolutionary vanguard that would pave the way for global revolution.  Al had no idea just what the man had been smoking, but the bastard had done an excellent job of building up a force that included men who had no scruples and a complete willingness to do whatever was necessary to accomplish his aim.  Between them, they had an impressive list of convictions for violent crime, rape and murder; many of them had only been spared a lifetime in jail because of witnesses being frightened into silence.  The BAM looked after its own. 

He didn't want to think about what they could be doing in the hospital, for they had to know by now that they’d captured hundreds of people dying of Henderson’s Disease.  It wasn't hard to realise that merely being in that environment, without protection, would doom them all to infection and certain death.  Even if they somehow got out of the hospital and through the steel walls the police and National Guard had thrown up to seal off the area, they were still doomed.  Henderson’s Disease would burn through their bodies and kill them.  When they realised that, would they lose themselves in an orgy of rape and murder?

The Reverend Johnston had demanded vaccines, of course, but Al knew from his briefings that the vaccine couldn't cure a person who was already infected.  The BAM had launched the assault because they believed, judging from Johnson’s increasingly hysterical videos, that there was a cure and it had merely been withheld in the hope that the black population of the United States would drop dead of Henderson’s Disease.  Al knew better and, soon enough, the BAM would know as well.  What would they do then?

He scowled as he heard another burst of gunfire echoing over the city.  The ROE – and he was thinking more like the Marine he had once been, rather than a cop – had changed over the last two days.  The NYPD had authorisation to fire if they believed that they were under threat, along with the National Guard and Army units near the city.  Flights of helicopters and drones roared overhead, ready to fire down at terrorists and insurgents within the city.  Their presence was a warning that Al hoped the enemy – whoever they were – would heed.  The city was on a knife-edge as it was.  If it collapsed into itself, millions of people would die.

A new convoy of army trucks arrived and headed towards the Command Post, which had been established in a school.  Al found himself praying that they carried some Force Recon Marines, or even ordinary jarheads; hell, he would have welcomed the presence of SEALs or another SF unit. There was no way to know how long it would be before Johnston’s people started to show the first signs of Henderson’s Disease...and then all hell would be out for noon.

***

Lindsey winced as she was hauled to her feet and her bonds were removed, strugglin
g to keep her expression calm and under control.  Some of the younger nurses had become hysterical as they realised that they were captives, begging and screaming for their captors to release them or to at least let them tend to their patients.  The older doctors, including a pair with military experience, had been brutally beaten, but the women had been left alone.  Somehow, Lindsey didn't find that reassuring; the terrorists might not have touched any of the women, but their eyes undressed them openly every time they looked in their direction.  The leaders, a pair of very dark men with cold dead faces, had clearly forced them to keep their hands off the women.  If their authority ever slipped...well, Lindsey had seen recordings from Africa and Latin America.  The nurses would be lucky if they were merely killed out of hand.

“Do not attempt to escape,” one of the guards said, as he escorted her down the corridor into the designated toilet block.  The terrorists were unwilling to allow the nurses any freedom at all, even though some had offered to treat their wounds if they would allow them to tend to their patients.  The lack of care had clearly hastened some patients along the path to death and their bodies had simply been left to rot.  Lindsey couldn't understand how they could be so ignorant of basic hygiene.  Each of the bodies was breeding Henderson’s Disease as they decayed.  She winced as the door was opened and the stench struck her.  The terrorists didn't seem to worry about keeping the toilets working either.  The guard shoved her towards a cubicle – they’d searched her thoroughly the first time they’d allowed her to use the toilet, removing everything that could possibly be used as a weapon before allowing her out of her sight – and allowed her to bang the door closed, giving her a few seconds of privacy.  It felt like heaven.