by John Chapman
When it got close to his ears he could already hear the TOC replying to his message. He keyed up again and said, “Knight TOC, Knight Eight. Sorry about that, was busy. Say again?” He heard Bones’ voice say, “I said Roger, Knight Eight. A team has already pushed out to you with backup and a medic. Are you still engaged?” Chris replied, “Negative TOC. Threat is down.” Bones replied, “Roger.”
Chris and his partner found the bottom half of Fat Fingers lying on the passenger side of what was left of the truck’s bench seat, with a trail of intestines still connecting it to the upper half of his body, which was pinned between the truck’s A pillar and the tree. Chris’ partner backed up and turned away, his years of police work being the only thing saving him from yacking all over the scene. Chris just stared at what was left of Fat Fingers and ran the event over in his mind again, trying to make sure his instinctual judgement had been the right one.
Then he remembered the other guy he’d left with Fat Fingers at the truck, and the sounds of shots. He started running south on Hwy 183, hoping he would find the other guy alive. When he got to within 50 yards of where he’d left the truck, he knew it wasn’t to be. He saw the guy he’d sent to check on Fat Fingers’ partner standing over a body with his head down. Chris slowed to a walk and arrived at the same time as David, who had ridden a dirtbike to the scene from the FOB. David dumped the bike on its side and ran to the down assaulter, dropping his med bag next to him as he slid to a knee and started checking him.
In less than a minute David stood up and looked at Chris, shaking his head. “I’m sorry Chris,” David said quietly, “He’s gone.” Chris could only nod. Less than 24 hours in and I’ve lost four people under my leadership, Chris thought, remembering his three employees who died in the opening minutes of the event, and I don’t even remember this guy’s name. I watched him kiss his wife goodbye at the FOB before we left. Chris looked down at the body and saw a nametag, ‘Masters’. He prayed for Masters’ and his family, and dreaded returning to the FOB.
David, seeing Chris’ mind at work, tried to get him to focus, “What happened, Chris?” Chris snapped out of it and gathered his thoughts. The assaulter Chris sent to check on Masters spoke up, “When we showed up we parked here. Chris took us to check on the train, and we left Masters and Panovich,” That must be Fat finger’s name Chris thought, “here to guard the truck. We heard several shots and saw the truck come speeding out onto 183. Chris ran down and shot at the truck and it wrecked. From what I can see here,” he pointed to some shell casings about 5 yards to the southeast of Masters’ body, “Panovich must have murdered Masters and stolen the truck.”
David looked at Chris, who said, “That’s about it. When I heard the shots, and saw the truck hauling ass, I figured someone was stealing the truck. I engaged him on the road, and he crashed about 300 yards north of here. Panovich is dead as well.” David nodded and said, “Ok. Let’s get this cleaned up and get back to the FOB.”
It took about 15 minutes to collect Masters’ body and get it loaded on the M915 semi-tractor that came to the scene after David called for it. With all the Troops out on missions, it was the only working vehicle left at the FOB. Chris helped Stewart load his overnight bag into the cab of the semi, then they all jumped on the back of the truck around the 5th wheel plate and held on for dear life.
Shortly after returning to the FOB, Chris participated in his first ever death notification. It was even worse than he could have imagined. Lost in the moment, he didn’t notice the rush of activity around the FOB caused by the hostage rescue going down over on Auld Street, until Ed opened the door into the kitchen and said, “Need to see you bro,” then closed the door.
Chris let out a long breath and hugged Masters’ wife, then stood up. Chris’ wife, Amanda, came to the range when the PD was evacuated last night, and he went to her before he left the kitchen. They shared a quick hug and kiss, and Amanda quietly told him, “Stay strong Chris. Rely on the Lord and these people. We will get through this.” Chris nodded, gave Amanda another kiss and said, “I love you.” She smiled and said, “I know. Now get back to work.” Chris gave her a weak smile, and she knew she would have to spend a lot of time helping Chris heal after things calmed down. Until then, she needed to help him stay focused.
Chris walked out of the kitchen, finding Ed just outside speaking to David. Chris looked at Ed and said, “Sorry about your truck brother. I should have kept the keys.” Ed shrugged and said, “Meh. As much as I’d love to blame you, it wasn’t your fault; that asshole was willing to kill for it. Don’t worry about it bro. I’ll come up with a way for you to pay me back.” Chris groaned. He knew 25 years from now Ed would still be bringing it up. David said, “Alright, next problem. The 4th Troop guys you sent to check the gun store found it looted and two employees tortured to death. They said the place was literally stripped bare, and all the safes were empty. They must have sweated the combos out of the clerks. We did recover their FFL book, so we know what got loose, but consider that one a loss.”
Chris said, “Roger, does the Chief know?” and David replied, “Yes, the TL briefed him.” Chris nodded and David continued, “Next, Bravo team of 3rd Troop just pulled off a hostage rescue and are on their way back. We need to get ready to receive them. Can you two organize the wives in there,” David pointed at the kitchen door, “to get ready to deal with three female hostages?” Chris and Ed nodded and turned back into the kitchen to get things organized. Chris decided grief would have to wait for its season.
Chapter 24
Stark County Main Library
Canton, OH
Bookie always felt most comfortable in the library. Growing up, it was the only place he felt at ease; not feeling like he had to be hyper-vigilant watching for someone trying to hurt him. Knowing Bookie better than anyone else alive, it was no surprise to Jigsaw when Bookie told him this morning they would be setting up their headquarters at the Stark County main library.
Bookie now traveled in a three-car convoy, with 12 OG gangsters as bodyguards. As they sped through town, Bookie admired the handiwork of his designs. Dead cops, firefighters, bus drivers, and plain old white folks hung from traffic lights almost every block. Every gas station and grocery store they passed had armed black men standing guard outside.
Most of them looked asleep, but Bookie could tolerate that. It was, after all, only day two of this new world, and they had enjoyed a long night of rape and pillage. He made a mental note to have Jigsaw slowly implement his plan for discipline. Better to boil the frogs slowly, and before they knew it these hood rats would be transformed into a real army.
Jigsaw was surprised when they got to the library and found it intact, with not even a single window broken. Makes sense, Jigsaw thought, none of these Canton crackheads ever read one page of no book, so they don’t know it’s here. Bookie asked his guards to find a way into the locked-up building, and one of them raised his AK to shoot out the glass of the main doors. Jigsaw had to say, “Stop. This is our new crib; don’t break nothin’ gettin’ in. One of you OG’s gotta know how to jimmy a door.”
It turned out several of them did. Within three minutes one of Bookie’s bodyguards was opening the main doors from the inside of the building. Bookie set up what he called his ‘command center’ in the second floor reading area, and ordered Jigsaw to have all the runners, kids between eight and 12 years old on bicycles, report to the first floor prepared to work. Jigsaw left the command center to pass the word, and to make sure security was tight on the building.
Bookie’s first order of business was to get in touch with the leader of the Canton chapter of ANTIFA, a crazy school teacher lady named ‘Dragonlord’. Bookie didn’t know her real name, and didn’t care. She’d first come to Bookie two years ago, seeking financial assistance and ‘muscle’, as she called it, to back her plans for some Black Lives Matter protests.
They had developed a good working relationship, and Bookie had continued supporting her when she’d decided BLM was t
oo tame for her. In late 2016, she founded her own ANTIFA group, telling Bookie, “We got to get revolution up in here if we want things to change. Anarchy followed by communism is the only answer.” Bookie didn’t necessarily agree with her grammar or her views about communism, but anything that spread chaos was a win for him. The weaker the bonds that held society together were, the better Bookie could exploit the resulting misery for a good profit.
Bookie decided now was the time to let Dragonlord go hog wild. He sought maximum chaos right now, in order to allow him to seize all the resources within his reach. Once he felt he was in full control, he could dispose of Dragonlord and her band of useful idiots, and implement his end game: an African Kingdom in the heart of Ohio, with him as King. Only then would he allow enough stability to let free markets develop, under his strict control of course, and usher in a golden age of African dominance of middle America.
Jigsaw entered the command center and paused. He could see Bookie was deep in thought, and hesitated to interrupt. While Jigsaw wasn’t especially gifted intellectually, he was an emotional intelligence powerhouse. Jigsaw had a natural ability to read people’s moods and expressions with uncanny accuracy, and this allowed him to always know how to best deal with someone, especially Bookie. He and Bookie had been close since they were kids, when Jigsaw took the handicapped kid under his wing. As they grew up together, raised each other really, Jigsaw had learned to see through Bookie’s undiagnosed PTSD and sociopathy, and communicate with him to maximum effect.
Jigsaw waited patiently until he saw Bookie’s expression change, then softly said, “Hey Book. We’re set up downstairs. I sent some peeps to snatch up Dragonlord, but there is a dude one of the runners just brought in, who is saying he has information for you. He used to work for us as a dealer until he got popped, now he’s on parole and was laying low.” Bookie asked, “Why does he insist on speaking to me?” Jigsaw said, “He thinks the info is valuable, and wants you to know it’s from him.”
Bookie said, “OK. Bring him to me, please.” Jigsaw said, “Ah-right.” and walked downstairs. Bookie sat down and composed himself. He hated face to face dealings with thugs, but maybe this guy had something useful. Jigsaw escorted the young black man wearing a white coat and red pants into the command center and introduced him, “This is Jordan Williams. He has information.” Bookie nodded and raised his eyebrows, waiting for the guy to speak. Jordan was obviously intimidated, and stammered his sales pitch, “Yo, so… so I work at this ABC grocery warehouse for my parole job. It’s a big ass place, with tons and tons of food. The place is bigger than a prison, and it’s full of food. They send food to all the grocery stores. I figure the info on the place worth a lot.” Bookie stared intently at Jordan, making him even more uncomfortable.
Finally, Bookie said, “Thank you Jordan. Please wait downstairs for Jigsaw; He and I will discuss your information.” Jordan replied, “How much chedda I get?” Bookie ignored the question and instead said, “Jordan, how long did you work for me?” “Bout fo’ years.” Jordan replied. Bookie nodded and said, “In that time were you ever treated unfairly?” Jordan said, “No, you was always straight up wit me Bookie.” Bookie nodded again and said, “So what makes you think you can walk in here and insult me by assuming I would not pay you a fair price for your information?” Jordan got very still, and looked to Jigsaw like he was pooping his pants. He finally said, “Mr. Bookie, I’m sorry. I never meant no disrespect.” Bookie said, “If that is the case, please do what I told you to do.” Jordan turned and fast walked out of the room, happy to be leaving with his skin.
Jigsaw chuckled and shook his head, then asked Bookie, “What do you think?” Bookie said, “I think that is indeed valuable information. I didn’t think to find food distribution centers. We need to send people to take that warehouse; that much food will make our long-term prospects much stronger.” Jigsaw nodded. Bookie continued, “Pay him in cash, it won’t be worth much after today anyway. He only gets half the money now, the other half when we control that food. Choose a trustworthy group to go; that much food could make a man wealthy next week when people get really hungry. Send Jordan with them as a guide.” Jigsaw said, “Will do Book. I got just the right crew in mind.” Bookie nodded and said, “Thank you. Now, I need to think about clean water supplies before that crazy ANTIFA woman gets here.” Jigsaw left to go organize a raid on the warehouse.
*
ABC Food Superstores Distribution Center
Near Intersection of Hwy 62 and Hwy 44
Dan was glad he had the Steiner Miniscope 8X22 monocular in his SWAT kit when the lights went out. He bought the little monocular last year after a SWAT call where he wished he’d had some sort of magnified optic. After that mishap, he considered throwing a small pair of hunting binos in his assault bag, but he’d seen the little Steiner monocular on sale online for less than $100, and figured it was small and light enough to just put in the GP pouch on his plate carrier.
He was using the little optic now to glass the north and west sides of the ABC Food Superstores regional distribution center. Dan was perched on a tree-covered hill about 150 yards from the northwest edge of the facility’s sprawling apron of concrete, used to park and move the hundreds of trailers constantly cycling through the property. All four sides of the enormous rectangular structure were lined with loading docks, most of which were occupied with semi-trailers, with the exception of what looked like an office and entry area on the southwest corner of the building.
All of the loading dock doors Dan could see on the north and west sides of the warehouse were closed. He didn’t see any people around, but there were about 60 cars and trucks in the parking lot. There had to be some employees still on site; it had only been about 24 hours since the lights went out, and at least some of the people working here had to understand the value of the massive amounts of food in the distribution center.
Dan lowered the monocular and turned to Phil, the 3rd Troop Charlie team leader, who was lying next to him on the cold ground. He noticed Phil was shivering, and asked, “You cold?” Phil said, “It’s colder than my ex-wife’s heart bro.” Dan chuckled and said, “Remember when I told you to get some good cold weather gear, and you were all like ‘it’s too expensive’, and I was all like ‘but you’ll be comfortable’, and you were all like ‘I’m saving for a cruise’. How’s that cruise treating you now big guy?” Phil just shook his head.
“I’m not seeing any movement down there,” Dan said. He thought for a few seconds and continued, “We have nine assaulters including us, plus JR with his long gun. I think we will set JR on overwatch here, then put you and three assaulters on the southeast corner in case things go sideways. I’ll take the M113 and four assaulters with me to go make contact.” Phil replied, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for us to split up brother. You, me, and JR are the only guys who have worked together before. My team are SWAT guys from two different teams and one squared away civilian, but I’ve had them for like three hours.” Dan nodded and said, “I know brother, but this is all we got, and we have to secure this warehouse. We need the food in there to keep the city going through the winter and summer, until we can get some crops harvested. We are just going to have to wing it.” Phil let out a long breath and said, “Alright. I’ll go get JR.”
Phil crawled backwards off the crest of the hill and jogged the 75 yards down the hill to where the M113 was parked. When he got to the armored vehicle, he saw JR was in the turret manning the machinegun, and the rest of the team was congregated around the back ramp, doing what SWAT guys seemed to enjoy most: standing around talking. No one but JR was pulling security, and the driver had turned the vehicle off. At least the driver had stayed in his seat. When one of the SWAT guys saw Phil, he said something and the group turned to look at him.
Phil’s Charlie team consisted of seven assaulters; four from Canton PD SWAT, two from Akron SWAT, and an armed citizen, Martin, who had been one of Mark and David’s students for several years. When the l
ights went out Martin, a paramedic and single guy in his 20’s, had walked home from where his ambulance stalled out from the pulse, piled his gear in a game cart he kept in the garage, and walked the 13 miles to the Alliance range. When he got there he was immediately assigned as 3rd Troop’s Charlie team medic.
It took a lot of self-discipline for Phil to not go off on the guys standing around. Instead he said, “Guys, we don’t know who’s out here with us. We need to maintain security.” One of the Canton SWAT guys replied, “JR is in the turret, he’s got us.” Phil asked, “Can JR see 360 degrees?” No one had anything to say to that. Phil let it go for now, but he knew he would address the issue later. Although he was a fully qualified SWAT assaulter, his team knew Phil was a Firefighter and SWAT medic; and he was sure they didn’t take him as seriously as they probably should. The only Firefighter / SWAT medic in the state with a shooting under his belt, his assaulters took him lightly at their own peril.
“JR, I need you to grab your sniper kit and get up on that hill with Dan.” Phil said. “You’ll be on overwatch while we make contact.” “Roger,” JR replied, and disappeared from the turret. Phil turned back to the group around the back of the M113, “We will be splitting into two teams. Three of you will be coming with me. We will move on foot to the southeast corner of the target and stand by. Our mission will be to support the other team if they get into trouble. The other team will go with Dan in the M113 to make contact with the people in the warehouse.” Phil paused before continuing, “We have no idea who is inside, so we need to be ready for anything. We also don’t know yet if anyone else is watching the warehouse, so everyone but Dan’s team needs to stay covert.”