Operation Freedom

by E. G. Michaels

  “Because there's no point in telling anyone a location which might be a bust?” Hawkins asked.

  “Yes, that's right,” Harrison said. “There's also a question of room. It's not like we're asking to crash in somebody's spare bedroom. We have approximately forty-five civilians plus our current police force to move.”

  There was a combined sound of small chuckles among the men. Harrison was definitely understating the complexity of an evacuation plan for the Sixth District.

  “You heard the Sarge,” Atkins commanded. “We got a lot to do and very little time to do it in. I want every SWAT member ready to roll out in twenty minutes. Black, you got anything to add?”

  “Yeah. Keep your eyes on the prize, boys,” Black said. “We save the princess, haul ass back here to pick up our families, and get the hell out before the bombs start dropping. We can do this, but not if we're busy complaining. Who are we?”

  “SWAT!” the men yelled.

  “Then prove it,” Black said. “We roll in twenty.”

  The men dispersed and Black saw Atkins walking towards him. From the look on his face, he could tell there was something on the Lieutenant's mind.

  “Black, can we talk for a moment?” Atkins asked.

  “Sure, what's up?”

  “I want to make sure there are no hard feelings between us,” Atkins said carefully. “I realize that we're in a seriously screwed-up situation.”

  “No argument here.” Black replied.

  “Believe me, I'd rather still be retired,” Atkins continued, “but you and I know that went out the window as soon as these monsters showed up. Harrison thought it was best if I used my years of experience running SWAT to plan the operation. If you don't mind, I'd like you to serve as my second-in-command.”

  “Like an XO?”

  “Same concept, but you'd keep the same title you have now. You know your men better than me. Most of the men in that room have never worked with me. It'll take time for them to learn they can trust me, and that's the one thing in short supply right now.”

  “I understand, sir. Are you here by yourself, Lieutenant?”

  Atkins laughed bitterly. “No. Sometimes I wish I was. My wife and I had agreed to babysit our eight year-old granddaughter so my son and his wife could take a vacation together. You know the kind couples take when they're trying to rekindle the romance. Sounds nice, right? Except they picked New York of all fucking places to go to for their vacation.”

  “Have you heard anything?”

  “Nothing. I tried reaching my son when the shit was just starting to hit the fan, but I kept getting a message that all cellular networks were busy. Harrison tells me that New York was overrun. Is that true?”

  “Afraid so. It was one of the first cities to get hit. I guess we got lucky here because we're not out of the fight yet.”

  “Some luck,” Atkins said bitterly. “I'm almost sixty living on a police pension. Our kids have been out of the house for years and now all of a sudden we're looking at raising a kid again.”

  “All you can do is hope, sir,” Black said. “Maybe they made it out of the city safely.”

  “I guess.”

  “Sir, about our mission plan?”

  “What about it?”

  “Hawkins has a point. With the amount of Reapers roaming the city, we run the risk of losing men or burning through a significant amount of ammo if we start six blocks away from the Singh Center.”

  “Do I need to remind you it's standard operating procedure?”

  “No sir,” Black said. “Except the Reapers aren't terrorists. They aren't likely to setup sentries or guard patrols. But if they spot us, then they will yell for reinforcements and rush us en masse.”

  “If you say so. I haven't dealt with more than a few of them.”

  “Then you've been lucky, sir.”

  “Do you have a point, Sergeant? Because you need to get to it before I lose my patience.”

  “Actually, I do. I suggest we take two vehicles to approach,” Black said. He pointed to a map. “We exit the vehicles at this alleyway. It's less than two blocks from the Center. We leave one vehicle there for exfil. The other one moves closer to the Center and takes up an overwatch position and acts as a command center. We put a sniper with a spotter on the roof of the building across the street. If that's not possible, then they use the top of the armored vehicle instead. We move the civilians and some of our men into the empty MRAP at the alleyway. Command Center returns to the alleyway. Rest of our men load into the command center and both vehicles get the hell out of there.”

  “Okay, that sounds doable. Good plan, Black.”

  “Thanks, Lieutenant. I don't have anything else. Do you?”

  “No, let's get the boys ready to roll out.”

  “Great,” Black said. He offered his fist and Atkins bumped it. “We are SWAT.”

  “Yes, yes we are,” Atkins said flatly before walking away.

  11 Hours 45 Minutes Until The Bombs Fall

  Cindy had plenty of good reasons to be scared but for some strange reason, she wasn't. The fact that she wasn't fearful about how slim her group's long-term chances of survival actually were... well, that actually frightened her more. Maybe it had to do with who her father was. To the general public, he was Lieutenant Governor Rummel. But to her, he was the man who'd been her dad since she was born. With her father always being in the media and public spotlight, it hadn't surprised her when he insisted she should be able to enjoy a normal college life and not face the constant scrutiny that came with being the Lieutenant Governor's daughter. That's why nearly four years ago, he'd gone through considerable trouble and money to hire a body double for his daughter. The lookalike had agreed to go to Columbia University and become a pre-law major. All expenses paid and once she graduated, then she'd have a fast track into Harvard Law courtesy of her father's backroom political wheeling and dealing. While everyone watched her double's every move at Columbia, Cindy had quietly enrolled at University of Pennsylvania under her mother's maiden name to pursue a dual major.

  She was mere months away from graduating when the Reaper attacks began. The Reapers. A relentless swarm of monsters that had pursued everyone she knew. Monsters who killed classmates and faculty who weren't quick enough to get away. Monsters that kept pounding on the steel door they were hiding behind without ever getting tired or bored. The noise had been constant and eventually blurred into a background sound like a white noise machine.

  “Cindy, are you listening to a word I'm saying?”

  Cindy blinked and focused on the girl who had been talking to her for nearly a minute.

  “Sorry, Michelle. I was just thinking about something,” Cindy said. “Can you repeat what you just said?”

  The young redhead huffed loudly. “Why do I even bother trying to talk to you? Half the time, it's like you live in your own little world.”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “Whatever. I asked you how long do you think we have until those things get through that door?”

  “Short of them pulling it off the hinges, probably a very long time,” Cindy said. She glanced around the room. The bio lab had been set-up for dozens of students to do research and testing. Right now, the six people hiding in the room had plenty of room to move around without tripping over each other. “This is a clean lab. It's designed to contain some pretty sensitive materials. Nothing's getting in or out without our permission.”

  “I noticed. I also noticed there's no bathroom in here. The men took it upon themselves to turn one of the supply closets into a powder room. You know what Marcus told me? 'What's the big deal? Just use a medical disposal bag when nature calls.' Talk about disgusting.”

  “Maybe, but it's better than peeing in front of a bunch of other people. Unless you think wandering out there to find a real bathroom is a better idea?”

  “Don't even joke about that. Those…those creatures are disgusting. I heard some scientist made the virus that turn people into those
things. Why would they ever do something so awful?”

  “I don't have the foggiest idea why. What I do know is that there's no way any of those things will be able to get in here. We're below ground. Nothing is getting through the door or the walls unless we let it. As far as I'm concerned, we're perfectly safe here. I just don't know what we're going to do about food or water. We don't have much of either.”

  “That's a problem. Do you think your dad can help?” Michelle asked. Besides being one of Cindy's closest friends, Michelle was one of the few people on campus who knew Cindy's real identity.

  “He will if he can. My phone died while we were talking.”

  “Did you try using somebody else's?”

  “And how should I go about doing that? 'Excuse me, I'm not really who I said I was. I'm really the Lieutenant Governor's baby girl. Can I borrow your phone to call my daddy?'”

  “Well, when you put it that way—”

  “It doesn't matter,” Cindy said. “Nobody else in the room has been able to complete a call. The cellular networks are either down or overloaded.”

  Logan ambled over. He was a tall drink of water with dark curly hair, and Cindy secretly had a crush on him. Of course, so did half a dozen other women that she knew. The maddening thing was that Logan seemed completely oblivious to any woman's interest. He was solely focused on staying valedictorian of their class. “How's Kate?”

  “Still unconscious. She hit her head pretty hard on the stairs.”

  “And you're sure the only thing she did was bang her head?”

  “That's what I said, didn't I?” Cindy snapped. A few heads moved in her direction and Cindy immediately felt embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn't mean to yell. It's just my friend is unconscious and I don't know what to do to help her. None of us do.”

  Logan looked down at his feet. “Marcus says she might be infected,” he said.

  “Marcus is an idiot.”

  “I guess. It's just that he's saying the only reason she's not responding is because she's slowly turning into one of those monsters.”

  “And you believe that jerk?” Michelle asked.

  Logan sighed. “Lately, I don't know what to believe anymore.”

  11 Hours 30 Minutes Until The Bombs Fall

  Black watched the Andy squad load up into one MRAP before signaling his men to do the same. Two MRAPs for one mission. Over ninety percent of the East Coast had fallen to the monsters, and the reports that Harrison shared from the rest of the country weren't any better. SWAT had gone from an elite tactical force to a group of cops playing defense against the monsters. If someone ever created a time machine, he'd be one of the first people to volunteer to go back in time and stop these monsters from ever being created. Of course, a time machine was just a pipe dream. The human race was fighting for its very survival these days. It was nearly impossible to think of making technological advances when your primary goal was fighting to stay alive.

  Zimmer slid into the shotgun seat and glanced at his commander. Officer Ron Zimmer was a recent addition to the SWAT team. What he lacked in SWAT field experience, he made up for with exceptional skills behind the wheel. The man could maneuver an armored vehicle around the crowded city streets like it was a high-powered sports car. In a matter of a few weeks, it was obvious to everyone that Zimmer was the top driver in the entire team. Right now, their go-to driver was looking uncomfortable as hell.

  Zimmer cleared his throat. “Sir, permission to speak freely,” he asked.

  “What's on your mind, Ron?”

  “I don't know why the hell Atkins was put in charge of this operation.”

  “Simple,” Black said. “He's a higher ranking officer than me.”

  “He's been out of the field, sir. Retired five years. That's an eternity in law enforcement.”

  “He was a cop for twenty-five years. I doubt he forgot any of it since he retired.”

  “Maybe. But the boys and I have been talking about—”

  “Already? We got our orders less than an hour ago.”

  “What can I say? We're all worried. We'd all feel better knowing you were handling things like you've been doing for years. You're out there with us every day. You're in the gym two hours every day with us. You hit the shooting range too. When pray tell was the last time Atkins hit the gym or the firing range?”

  “Not a clue,” Black said. “I got more important things to worry about. But feel free to ask him yourself.”

  “No way. I'd rather slam my own privates in a sliding glass door repeatedly.”

  “Look, I don't like it either. I've been in charge of our team for a long time, right? But we have a command structure for a reason,” Black said. “It's not like Atkins is a wet-behind-the-ears rookie. For chrissakes, he's former head of SWAT.”

  “I'm just telling you what the boys and I feel,” Zimmer said. “He doesn't know any of our names. Or what each of us does best. Things like taking down a door with a battering ram or in the field medical care.”

  “So he'll have to learn, won't he?”

  “I guess. But from what I've heard, when Atkins was head of SWAT, he was a glory hound,” Zimmer said. “If it was something that would get his mug in front of the cameras, then he was right there for the photo op.”

  “Give me a break. Cops don't join SWAT to get publicity.”

  “Maybe for the rest of us. But Atkins? He insisted we follow him to the university. He insisted his group being called 'Team Andy' and we're stuck with being 'Team Bradley.' Tell me that's not showboating.”

  “You're upset about our team name? Or who's in the lead truck? Who gives a damn? We're all going to the same place.”

  “I know. I just don't like the name Bradley.”

  “What the hell is wrong with the name? It's standard police naming procedure.”

  “I don't know. Maybe cause when I was a kid there was this neighborhood bully named Bradley—”

  “Then think of the fucking tank instead. The big powerful tank that makes enemies crap their pants when they see it coming their way. It's a label, that's all. I mean, for chrissakes, my last name begins with the same letter.”

  “Yeah, you're right. I'm just worried, Sarge. I heard from some of the old-timers that Atkins doesn't like to get his hands dirty. That if the shit was getting heavy and deep, then he was busy giving orders from the backlines.”

  “Your objections have been noted. Now how about getting us to the university in one piece, huh?”

  “Okay, you got it,” Zimmer said. He paused for a moment before adding, “I wish we had haz-mat suits. Going into a building that could be crawling with those infected monsters just gives me the creeps.”

  “There's a lot of equipment I wish we had,” Black admitted. “But it would mean we'd have to head to the SWAT headquarters in Northeast Philly. Which, last time I checked, had been overrun by the Reapers. The military has done fly-bys of the area and they believe the monsters have turned our old home into one of their nests. We can't afford to burn the time clearing out that location right now.”

  “But there's a lot of stuff in there we could use,” Zimmer argued. “Imagine if our snipers actually had Barrett .50 caliber rifles again. It would make it a lot easier to protect the base.”

  “The equipment is replaceable. My men are not. You heard Harrison. We have a window of opportunity to complete our mission before exfil out of the city. Just be thankful we have frags and flash-bang grenades.”

  Zimmer grumbled and turned his attention back to the road. Black stared out the passenger window in silence. Privately, he couldn't agree with Zimmer more. The extra equipment would have been a major score, but keeping his team safe was more important right now. He'd spent countless hours training, sweating, and even bleeding with his men. They'd experienced the highs and lows of life like a real family did. The Reapers were definitely one of the low points and he wasn't sure if he trusted anyone else to lead his team.

  If what Zimmer told him was true, then he'd have to ke
ep an eye on Atkins. He'd have to help the Lieutenant quickly pick up the men's names and usual roles on his team. Names could be picked up pretty easily but when push came to shove, all of them needed to believe Atkins would make the right decisions and prevent the unnecessary loss of lives. Sometimes the higher-ups served the grunts a bona-fide shit sandwich, and this might be one of those occasions. Black could grin and bear it publicly with the best of them, but it didn't mean he privately liked it one bit. Even so, if they found themselves in the middle of a battle and Atkins faltered, Black wouldn't hesitate to step in and take charge again. Better to ask forgiveness from a superior officer than try to forget that you sat back and watched your men die because you were too afraid of stepping on anyone's toes.

  Black reviewed his current load-out. Each man for this mission had been outfitted with a suppressed AR-15 rifle, complete with an Eotech Optic sight. Their submachine gun, a MP5/40, also sported the same military-grade sight and suppressor equipment that their side arms, a Glock 35, did not. With any luck, no one would have to use their side arm for close combat action because the noise in close quarters could temporarily deafen any nearby squadmates. It was the obvious last weapon of choice among the men's firearms for this mission. At least their side arms and submachine guns used the same type of .40 caliber ammunition. This simple fact meant they only needed to carry two different types of ammo to refill the magazines for all of their weapons.

  Under normal circumstances, each man would have a standard carry load of three magazines and extra ammo. But for this mission, several of the men had opted for an additional weapon: a Benelli M4 Tactical shotgun with fifty additional rounds. As long as each team had at least one member with a shotgun, then the deadly close-combat weapon could also double as a breaching tool. Black passed on the shotgun because he didn't want the extra weight across his torso or arms. If the shit hit the fan and he somehow ran out of ammo for his rifle, SMG, and side arm, then he still had his Glock 19 secured in an ankle holster. If that back-up gun wasn't enough, then he'd probably be dead and wouldn't have to second-guess himself for not bringing the shotgun.