Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival

by Joe Nobody

  The state trooper froze mid-step and quickly knelt down and drew his weapon. A veteran of both Iraqi wars, the only time he had ever seen a man fall like that was when he had been shot by a sniper. The trooper keyed his shoulder radio and reported, “Officer down! Officer down! Possible sniper at mile marker 115 Dan Ryan northbound.” He then quickly moved to a nearby car for cover. He was moving as fast as he could and grabbed the fender of the car to keep his balance. He was dead in seconds.

  The Chicago Police Department and associated law enforcement agencies lost seven more officers before a paramedic wearing latex gloves was checking Officer Merrill’s body and discovered no one had been shot by any sniper. At that time, only one thing was certain - anyone entering the area seemed to die immediately. Almost two full hours passed after Raheb had first turned on his pump before authorities realized they had been the victims of a chemical attack.

  Cameron, Louisiana – August 10, 2015

  The Welder

  Cameron, Louisiana had been practically devastated by Hurricane Ike. After the storm, 90% of the buildings were damaged or destroyed, and many people never rebuilt or returned. Once an oil town with the majority of its employment centered on the offshore drilling and gas production industry, it now looked more like a ghost town from a “B” horror flick.

  When someone bought the old Mobil gas station on Marshall Street and started doing repairs, the few remaining residents were happy. Within a few weeks, a hand-painted sign announcing “Ramirez Welding and Repair” hung out front, and an old mobile home was being hooked up outside the building. The few folks who stopped in to welcome the new business all heard the same story about Mr. Ramirez losing his business in New Orleans from Katrina. He had been saving money to reopen his welding business as soon as possible.

  There was very little oilfield work in the area, but the residents overlooked that fact in favor of blind optimism that maybe the good old days would return. A local farmer broke the axle on his grain wagon and needed a welder. His regular man was on vacation, so he decided to give the “quiet Mexican guy” a chance. Mr. Ramirez did an excellent job repairing the equipment and charged less than half of what the farmer had expected. After telling a few of the locals the story at the café, Mr. Ramirez started doing a legit business at his shop for shrimpers, truckers, and farmers.

  Of course, Mr. Ramirez wasn’t from Mexico, but he was a welder by trade. He had grown up welding in Iranian oil fields and knew the equipment and industry like the back of his hand. He had two sons who had left Iran to fight the Americans in Iraq. Both had been killed in that conflict. The Iranian government did not tell Mr. Ramirez the entire truth about the situation, but they channeled his hatred of America into a very motivated and loyal man.

  While he did not know the intended target or use of the devices he was creating, he would make certain they were built exactly as the drawings specified. Not long after his shop had opened, four shipping containers were delivered that “required repairs.” Mr. Ramirez began creating a very unusual pressure vessel with concave sides inside each container. He was turning the 20-foot long steel containers into what explosives experts called a shape charge. Developed right before WWII, both German and British scientists worked on methods to direct an explosion’s energy in a single direction. Sometimes referred to as focused explosives, the method used a bowl-shaped backstop that directed the energy in one direction. Shape charges were now commonly used in practically every type of anti-armor munitions.

  Mr. Ramirez finished his work several months before the email came. He had thought that the message might never arrive, but had no alternative other than continuing with his business and keeping his story straight. When the email finally came, he happily filled the pressure vessels with the contents of several welding tanks stored around his shop. A very specific mixture was transferred to each shipping container. Over the next two days, four flatbed trucks arrived, and the big steel containers were winched onto each one. On the back of the flatbeds were bags of common industrial chemicals that had been slowly gathered over the previous months so as not to attract attention. The bags were emptied into shipping containers. A cell phone was wired into a specific place on the side of each pressure vessel, and the container doors were closed and padlocked. The trucks left Cameron without attracting any attention.

  Timed to coordinate with the gassing of Chicago, each of the trucks leaving Cameron had traveled to its destination bridge. Truck #1 had traveled the shortest distance, slightly over 100 miles to Baton Rouge. The truck began its climb up the causeway to the Horace Wilkinson Bridge, which carried I-10 across the Mississippi River at a height of over 170 feet. As the driver approached the second of four trussed peaks, he started downshifting, hitting the brake, and attempting to switch lanes. He had studied numerous photographs of the bridge and had practiced crossing it with his rig over a dozen times. At precisely the right location, he hit the emergency flashers and stopped the truck, partially blocking both of the inner lanes. He checked his position, and lurched the truck forward about four feet for exact placement before setting the emergency brake.

  A few of the angry drivers behind him honked, but this was the Deep South where most people thought it rude to sound their horns in protest. The stranded drivers saw the trucker climb out of the cab and open the hood. He then walked to the side of the bridge and pulled out a cell phone. Believing the truck was disabled, motorists began to focus their attention on getting into the one remaining open lane and ignored the driver.

  Acting as if he were talking on his cell phone, he continued to walk further from his truck. When he was about 100 meters away, he looked at the cell phone again, pressed the “Send” button, and started running.

  It took about 3 seconds for the call to be put through to the cell phone in the shipping container. The phone had been modified to transmit an electronic signal rather than ring, igniting the bomb. The blast did not cause that much damage to the surface level of the bridge, but that wasn’t the target. This truck-sized shape charge directed its energy straight down. Over 350 pounds of molten copper shot through the bottom of the shipping container at hypersonic speed, acting like a 20-foot long saw blade. It cut through the blacktop and plate steel surface of the bridge without losing energy. The structural tower, supporting the west fulcrum of the bridge, was directly below the container bomb. It was embedded over 100 feet into the bottom of the river and was sheered completely in half in two different spots.

  The bags of aluminum powder, phosphorous and nitrates stacked in the top half of the container ignited less than a half second later. This was technically a separate bomb, and created an enormous pressure wave downward onto the already crippled bridge.

  The reinforced concrete tower split in half and collapsed upon itself leaving over half of the deck unsupported. The deck swayed back and forth for almost 15 seconds before collapsing with over 600 feet of the span falling into the Mississippi below. Thousands of tons of concrete and steel landed directly in the navigation channel, blocking the mighty river to all marine traffic. One of the busiest waterways in the world was now closed.

  In the few seconds required for the deck to fall, a motorist had picked up a cell phone and filmed the collapse. The video would be aired repeatedly all over the world to the horror of most viewers. They would learn that 113 people were lost as their cars and trucks fell into the river. While the death toll may have been minimal when compared to the nerve gas attacks, the graphic images of cars, mini-vans and trucks sliding down the steeply angled deck before falling into the river became the iconic image of the attacks that day.

  At St. Louis, Memphis and Cairo, Illinois similar explosions occurred within 13 minutes of each other. Although the bridges at Baton Rouge and Memphis were the only two that fell into the water below, the others sustained enough damage to close them for months.

  There were over 200 bridges crossing the Mississippi river. The destruction of four of them was hardly enough to split the United Stat
es geographically. The general’s plan, however, had worked perfectly. He didn’t have to divide the country - the Department of Homeland Security would do it for him.

  The two most important orders ever issued by a United States President were within one hour of each other.

  The first order was “Close the bridges.”

  The second, “Close the roads,” made the first obsolete.

  Houston, Texas – August 10, 2015

  Looking over the edge

  Bishop and Terri were both feeling disheartened. The night before they had been enjoying a wonderful sunset from their front porch, but the mood turned melancholy as the splendor grimly reminded them of the world’s troubles. After the sun had set, the sky to the south continued to glow. The couple lived 23 miles north of Houston and despite the postcard colors, they knew it was evidence of the raging fires devastating Houston proper. The radiance was an orange haze of flame and ash permeating the air. Fortunately for them, the wind was driving the flames south. At least they didn’t have to abandon their property like countless thousands of others. The football stadium was littered with homemade tents and sleeping bags where many of Houston’s newly homeless were sleeping. Exceedingly long lines formed outside of local churches where displaced folks hoped for a cup of cold coffee or a peanut butter sandwich.

  The governor of Texas called up the National Guard to help the Houston police cope with the massive number of homeless and to assist with other tasks. He had also ordered the cities of Austin, Dallas, and San Antonio to send firefighting equipment and workers to assist. It was unclear just how much help was coming, but the HFD would welcome anything they could get.

  Since Terri had the day off, Bishop and she had planned a quiet day at home with a little grocery shopping scheduled for the afternoon. While Bishop polished off his BLT on wheat, Terri snuggled next to him on the couch to see the local news at noon. The teaser before the show indicated that a local cardiologist would be interviewed later in the broadcast, giving valuable advice about triglyceride control. A healthy dose of indigestion to go with my lunch thought Bishop. He was about to flip the button on the remote when yet another breaking news alert stopped him.

  For the first 20 minutes, they sat watching in complete, stunned silence.

  The news was showing footage of Chicago and the Dan Ryan. Mile after mile of cars were sitting on the expressway, looking like they had been parked or abandoned. The news reporter commented that hundreds of them still had their engines running. As a helicopter camera started zooming in, they could see unmoving people sitting in several of the cars. When the camera panned to a school bus full of children slumped in their seats, both Terri and Bishop had to dry their eyes.

  The story sounded almost the same in Boston and Los Angeles.

  The next scene was the cell phone film of the bridge. While the casualties were not nearly as horrific, the footage of major sections of the bridge falling in the Mississippi River was more graphic, leaving no doubt of the nature of the devastation.

  The picture then switched to the president, broadcasting from Air Force One. Bishop had to give the man credit for putting on a good show and trying to calm the American people. The president reminded everyone, “We have been attacked several times in our history, and each time the United States of America has overcome the challenge.” He went on to recall how America had reacted to the 9/11 attacks. “We pulled together like no other time in our history and responded as one nation. We, as a people, must now do the same thing. The number of our citizens murdered in cold blood is greater than 9/11, and our resolve will not waiver. We will overcome just as we did during those terrible days.”

  Bishop’s response was one, single, eloquent word. “Bullshit.”

  Terri gave him a puzzled look as he muted the sound on the television.

  “Terri, when the terrorists attacked us on 9/11, unemployment was at 4%, and the economy was healthy and growing. Most people don’t realize how close we came to financial disaster then. If you read the 9/11 Commission Report, it spells it out in black and white – we were very lucky.”

  She nodded, and he went on.

  “Look at us now. Unemployment is 20%, almost every major city and state is on the verge of bankruptcy, and our infrastructure has been largely ignored for twenty years. We have fewer cops, fewer firefighters, and citizens have fewer financial resources to fall back on. Do you think the medical center fire would have been burning for more than a week if the fire had been started five years ago?”

  Bishop stopped talking when the TV picture changed to a man neither of them recognized. He was speaking to a large crowd with intense passion on his face. Terri turned the sound up and heard the guy ranting, “The rapture has occurred! Jesus has taken his worshipers to Heaven! The end times are upon us!”

  Bishop muted the sound again and just looked at Terri shaking his head. Gathering his thoughts, Bishop continued, “See what I mean? As a people, we are so weak financially, and everyone’s morale is low. The president can say what he wants about recovery, but I have to wonder if the country has enough strength left to pull through this.”

  Terri said, “I don’t know, Bishop. Church doesn’t sound like a bad idea right now.”

  When the news broadcast started repeating everything, Bishop muted the television again and looked at a very frightened Terri. He didn’t blame her for being alarmed. He was scared.

  “Bishop, are we safe here?” she asked, a vague, unsettled feeling growing inside her.

  “We are as safe as anywhere from terrorists, if that is what you mean.”

  “Yes…ummm…. NO….ummm…. I really don’t know what I mean.”

  Bishop understood what they were both feeling and fought the urge to simply glue himself to the TV set, devouring any little bit of new information that became available. Thinking that it would be best if they did something productive, they got dressed and began to take inventory of their supplies “because it was close to hurricane season,” or at least that’s what they told each other.

  Bishop started off by going to the garage to check the gas cans. Following the last storm, their neighborhood had been without electricity for six days. Like many Houston homes, they had a small gasoline generator that could keep the refrigerator and freezer running and provide for a fan or two. At that time, they had a single 5-gallon can of gas in the garage, and that lasted less than two days. They had lost hundreds of dollars’ worth of food, spoiled in the refrigerator, when there was no more gasoline to supply the generator. When things had gotten back to normal, Bishop purchased nine more cans and kept them full. Or at least he tried to keep them full. Gasoline has a limited shelf life and will turn into an unusable lacquer. This meant that he had to cycle the gas constantly, pouring it in their cars and then refilling the cans. After a few years, he had gotten into the bad habit of not keeping the cans full until the storm season was close.

  As he picked up each can from its shelf, he found that all but two were empty. He carried the empty cans to the truck and put them in the bed.

  He had already checked on their food and bottled water supply and updated the grocery list.

  Terri was in the bathroom going through their supply of shampoo, medicine and the most critical item of all – toilet paper, another lesson learned from the last hurricane.

  Bishop walked in. “Hun, are you about ready? I think we need to get going. A lot of people are going to have the same idea.”

  “Ready.”

  They jumped into the truck and headed for the corner gas station, eight blocks away. They had driven a few blocks, when Bishop looked up at the Centennial Bank and nudged Terri. “Look at that,” he said. The bank’s parking lot was full, and two police cars were parked on the sidewalk in front of the doors. A line of people came out of the building and around the corner. “Maybe they are selling tickets to the next Celebrity Dance Hall Show,” commented Bishop, which earned him a punch on the arm.

  Terri said, “For once, I am glad I�
��m not working today. I hope all the girls at the bank are handling it okay without me.”

  As they neared the gas station, Bishop realized they were too late. Everything with an engine was in line, stretched down one lane of the street they were on, waiting to fill up. As they worked their way cautiously to the corner, they could see that both streets had cars going in every direction waiting to pull into the station. “Shit,” said Bishop, “I didn’t realize the lottery pay-out had gotten so big. Look at all these people trying to buy tickets at the last minute.” Terri shot him a dirty look.

  They bypassed the gas station and headed for Food World. As they approached the strip mall that housed the giant grocery store, they again ran into snarled gridlock. Bishop looked ahead and noticed that the traffic lights were completely dark. He noted the business signs on both sides of the street were unlit as well.

  “I hope the power isn’t out at Food World,” Bishop mused.

  “Well, having the power out would slow us down for sure.”

  “That’s only part of it,” Bishop continued. “How can they check people out without power to the registers? How can people pay with debit cards?”

  They didn’t bother to attempt a turn at Food World. The parking lot was overflowing, and the police were trying to control the crowd. “Damn it, Terri, I didn’t know it was double coupon day. Look at all of those thrifty shoppers.”