by Bobby Akart
Monday, January 9, 2017
10:00 a.m.
100 Beacon
Boston, Massachusetts
Donald was feeling good as C-130 aircraft from around the world rolled into Logan Airport without a hitch. In a world without power, it became very quiet. The slightest hum of a generator or the movement of a vehicle instantly drew attention. The airplanes’ arrivals and takeoffs were heard for many miles.
Without the ability to spread information via a mass communication network, the survivors in Boston relied upon word of mouth to disseminate information between them. After the Boston airlift began, as Donald called it, people began to flock to the banks of the Boston Channel in South Boston despite the wintry cold weather. They simply wanted to catch a glimpse of an airplane, something that used to routinely fly overhead unnoticed—something normal.
Each day, hundreds of people would appear at the shoreline, carrying lawn chairs and blankets. Campfires would be lit at night as Bostonians waited for the next plane. They didn’t know what the massive transports contained—all they knew was that something was happening. They also knew they weren’t subject to arrest for being there. They were free again.
Donald and a contingent of the Mechanics rallied at Fisher College adjacent to 100 Beacon. Supplies and food obtained by Steven from the Boston Food Bank raid were stored here. As the planes arrived, the entire block between Beacon Street and Storrow Drive, extending down to Clarendon Street, became a massive storage facility for Donald’s procurement operations.
As the M35 transport vehicles rumbled along Back Street toward their destination, Donald thought about the relief effort. He recalled the violence associated with handing out supplies to residents following Hurricane Katrina and Super Storm Sandy. Following these storm events, food and fresh water was scarce, and the government was overwhelmed. As FEMA arrived to provide a few supplies to a large number of people, hostilities broke out.
Donald had a theory as it applied to the present situation. After Katrina and Sandy, Americans were ingrained with a sense of entitlement. Those affected by the devastating storms thought they were entitled to disaster relief. Today, he hoped the survivors of the aftermath from the collapsed power grid would be appreciative of what they were receiving.
The Mechanics were each given specific locations where the largest populations of survivors were centered. He did not allow the trucks to enter neighborhoods deemed unsafe. The neighborhood leaders of the Mechanics met on a regular basis and could identify down to a city block which parts of the city were controlled by gangs. Sarge agreed that the residents who were willing to recognize the rule of law and reestablish a peaceful society would receive supplies first. Others would have to make a choice between a continued life of criminal enterprise or a productive life as a law-abiding citizen.
Donald’s caravan made its way toward the waterfront in South Boston. The roads were empty. The only movement visible was a few dozen people walking through Boston Common and a few on bicycles, dodging the melting snow. Once in a while a dog would run down a side street to yell at the trucks’ tires.
The trucks had little difficulty moving supplies to their appointed destinations. Occasionally, someone would attempt to stop them by waving their arms in the middle of the street. The soldiers quickly and peacefully removed the survivor and advised them about the closest relief stop. Undoubtedly, he would tell others and the word would spread.
One of today’s goals was to recruit local residents dedicated to assisting their fellow survivors. A system had to be established for distributing food and supplies through networks of private individuals and volunteers. The most efficient way to do this was to establish neighborhood leaders, who could then choose block captains willing to focus their energies on improving conditions for as many people as possible.
The second goal was to find skilled workers who could help with rebuilding the city. Once again, volunteers would be utilized, but some people would be recruited by Donald and paid in silver or gold for their efforts. Until a new monetary system could be established on a national level, precious metals would become the currency of choice.
The trucks pulled into the large parking lot adjacent to the North Jetty Pier overlooking East Boston. As Donald’s Humvee led the way, the people began to scatter. Some of the men drew guns and sought cover behind the concrete barricades.
“No. No. No!” said Donald to his driver. “What are they doing?”
The driver pulled to a halt and the other vehicles behind them fanned out to provide defensive cover. Shortly thereafter, weapons were pointed in both directions. After a moment, Donald understood. These people had grown accustomed to hiding from the heavy-handed UN troops. They had grown fearful of their government and the tactics used against them. He had to prevent this from escalating, so he took a chance.
He stepped into the slushy, melting snow produced by the sunny, above-freezing day. He walked in front of his Humvee with his hands raised and began to speak.
“Don’t shoot, please!” he shouted in the direction of the dozen or so men hidden behind the barriers. Several others huddled in groups, nervously looking for an escape route. “We’re here to help. We have food and supplies for you.”
No response. He slowly advanced. “My name is Donald Quinn, and, um, I work with Governor Baker. We have food and supplies off the airplanes. You’ve been watching. You’ve seen them, right?”
After a moment, a man responded, “How do we know this isn’t a trick?”
“Okay. Okay,” replied Donald, with his hands still raised. “Hold on!” He slowly turned to his driver and signaled to the other trucks, waving them forward and instructing them to turn around.
“Open it up, please,” he shouted to the men guarding the first M35. They pulled aside the curtains and dropped open the gates. The truck was stacked full of boxes of food, water, and blankets. “Bring me a few boxes.”
Donald opened them up to display peanut butter, crackers, oatmeal, beans, rice, and vitamins. “Can you see?” asked Donald as he lifted up a couple of jars of Duerr’s Peanut Butter from England. “It’s peanut butter, all the way from England! Come on, you guys, seriously, we’re here to help.”
Gradually, the men lowered their weapons and cautiously came from behind the barriers. Donald instructed his men to lower their weapons and begin unloading the boxes of food. As they did, the Bostonians began to trust them, and the rush was on.
One box was given to each of the hungry Bostonians, including the specially designated boxes for children, which contained apple sauce, Pop-Tarts, and Healthy Choice snacks.
Most of the people did not immediately leave, opting instead to dig in to satisfy their hunger. Donald struck up as many conversations as he could with the survivors. He wanted to learn about conditions in the city and how they were managing to keep going despite the challenges they faced.
Almost all foraged. Donald heard stories of women and children walking for miles into the suburbs, seeking a home that hadn’t been looted. At times, they would stay in abandoned properties for days until the food supply was vanquished. Then they would return home.
They spoke of atrocities by the UN troops and their fellow man. Donald took notes of names and addresses of people who desperately needed medical attention. He promised to pass this on to the neighborhood leaders within the Mechanics. He urged them to be patient. He vowed that Governor Baker and their local leaders were committed to rebuilding their city.
There wasn’t selfishness. There was a sense of optimism in the words exchanged. The survivors also made a promise. They’d tell their neighbors that the tide had turned for the better. America was going to make a comeback.
Chapter 22
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
1:00 p.m.
1 PP War Room
Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts
“Fellas, I need an honest assessment,” started Sarge as he began the daily briefing in the 1PP war room. “I know this is an odd
comparison, but I don’t want to lose control of Boston and New England by pulling our resources out too quickly. Do you remember how quickly Afghanistan and Iraq sank back into the abyss following the administration’s premature, politically driven withdrawal?”
“Of course,” replied Brad. “The difference is the American people. My men have seen the transformation in their faces and attitudes. Despite the bitter cold, Bostonians are coming together. They no longer see a brick wall ahead of them in the form of an oppressive government. They see progress and opportunity.”
Donald spoke up. “Let me echo that. I spent two days delivering supplies to various parts of the city. People are appreciative and genuinely want to be a part of the rebuilding process.”
“I’ve been in constant communication with the governors of the New England states,” said Sarge. “The temporary power supplies installed in their offices and State Houses have provided them a sense of purpose. I’m told that legislators from all over their states are moving their families into abandoned homes in their state capitals. Legislative sessions are being called and order is being restored.”
“Well, that’s the key to the recovery effort,” said Julia, who had joined the group today to discuss what she’d learned through her communications network. “It would be disheartening to local leaders, as well as their citizens, if the relief effort was stymied by criminal gangs.”
Sarge stood and wandered the room, staring at the various maps tacked to the wall. He’d seen them all before—from every conceivable perspective. Their time to wait and see was over. It was time to expand their successes. Julia broke the silence.
“Sarge, may I add one more thing?” asked Julia.
Sarge smiled and walked over and squeezed her shoulders. “Of course.”
“The New England Rebellion is contagious,” she said.
“Rebellion?” asked Sarge.
“That’s what it’s being called around the country,” she replied. “As your broadcast gets disseminated to more locations, the message is being spread loud and clear. With only a few exceptions on the West Coast, the feedback I’m receiving is positive. People are demanding similar action in their states.”
“Let’s give them what they want, one region at a time,” said Sarge. “We’ve talked about this before in general terms, but now it’s time to implement a specific strategy.”
Sarge turned his attention to Drew. “You’ve traveled across the south in recent months. What’s the attitude down there?”
“The original Citizen Corps governor, Jim Cooper from Tennessee, would probably have joined our effort. But he quit, as you guys know. When the UN troops based in Charleston took on the good ole boys of the South, they were shown a thing or two.”
“He’s right,” interrupted Brad. “Part of the reason those ships full of UN forces scampered up the coast to assist General Zhang was because they wanted to get out of the South.”
“Listen, we’re still fighting the civil war down there,” said Drew. “Many Southerners are of the mind-set that we’d be better off detached from Washington’s liberalism. Southerners are very conservative and aim to stay that way.”
“Brad, what are you hearing?” asked Sarge.
“The same,” replied Brad. “Although they are not as advanced in the recovery effort due to lack of operating transformers and power equipment, the South has managed to reconstitute their governments. Certain cities, Miami, Atlanta, St. Petersburg, and Charlotte, for example, have crime problems, but the rest of Region IV seems to be under control.”
“Julia, can you reach out to the governors of these eight states?” asked Sarge.
Julia was already ahead of him as she made several notes. “I can, but it will take some time. Most of my contacts down there have remained anonymous for fear of exposure to the government. Communications have not been established due to lack of power. I know where they’re located, I just don’t have a way to reach them from here.”
Sarge returned to the map and traced his finger from Massachusetts to Kentucky and then in a circular route around the southeast. He looked to Brad. “Are you able to contact your military colleagues throughout the southeast?”
“I can,” replied Brad. “For what it’s worth, all of the major installations in the region have commanders installed who think like we do.”
Sarge clapped his hands. “I have an idea. Drew, would you mind finding Abbie?”
“With pleasure,” replied Drew as he hustled out the door.
“He’s in love.” Sarge laughed.
“Is there any particular state you’re interested in?” asked Brad.
Sarge returned to the map. His plan involved several aspects of what they’d accomplished in the so-called New England Rebellion. He repeated the words in his mind several times a day—local, state, national.
“We need one solid, trustworthy military installation in each state,” replied Sarge.
“Consider it done, Sarge,” replied Brad. “I assume that I should have them on standby?”
“Yes. Two things. First, help gather contact information for the governors of each state and coordinate with Julia. Second, we need a secure base of operations in each state until we can get the lay of the land. Most importantly, we need a centralized military installation for handling the arrivals and departures of C-130s.”
“Fort Benning,” replied Brad. “It’s right on the Alabama-Georgia border and has a massive airstrip with a more than adequate refueling depot. The commanding general, Austin Miller, and I worked together in a Combined Special Forces operation in Afghanistan in 2013. He’s a good man and a like-minded thinker.”
“Perfect,” said Sarge. “Tell him what we’ve accomplished here, and see if he’ll be on board spearheading a southeastern recovery effort. We’ll use a hub-and-spoke approach. Benning will receive the supplies and equipment. It will then be distributed throughout the southeast.”
Julia took the marker and circled the center point of the Georgia-Alabama state line. “Is this about right, Brad?”
“Exactly.”
She immediately started drawing lines to Nashville, Frankfort, Jackson, Tallahassee, and the other southern state capitals. A hub with eight spokes filled the yellow portion of the map of the Unites States.
Drew returned with Abbie, who waited to be addressed.
“Abbie, duty calls,” said Sarge immediately as he pulled out a chair at the table, inviting her to join them. Drew stood dutifully behind her. “How would you like to trade in your senator’s title for that of ambassador or emissary?”
“Well, it depends. Am I being sent to some exotic locale, like Tahiti? And may I take a friend?” She laughed as she reached behind her to take Drew’s hand.
“No, and yes.” Sarge laughed. “Yes, with respect to a friend. No, with respect to exoticness, if that’s even a word. My students would have straightened me out if it wasn’t.”
“Yeah, we sure don’t know.” Donald laughed.
“Seriously,” started Abbie, getting back to business. “What do you have in mind?”
Sarge returned to the map and used a marker as a pointer. “We need to duplicate what we’ve accomplished in New England. The governors in the southeastern states need to be advised face-to-face about our plans for recovery.”
“I know most of them,” said Abbie.
“Good,” said Sarge. “I’ll have Donald get the next wave of supplies and equipment ready for their state capitals. Brad will secure the military installations and Julia will set up the meetings.”
“How am I supposed to get there?” asked Abbie.
“I’m gonna ask your dad for the keys to the Sikorsky.”
Chapter 23
Sunday, January 22, 2017
4:00 p.m.
1PP
Boston, Massachusetts
He and the President of the United States were in a race to win over the confidence of the American people. The President had the advantage of international contacts and the bu
lly pulpit. Sarge had a sincere hope of message and renewal, together with a track record of results.
Sarge also had another thing going for him. The contacts established by the Boston Brahmin throughout the world were invaluable to Sarge. He was able to call in many markers owed to John Morgan, accumulated through years of accommodations and wealth creation. Regardless of the means by which these duties to the Boston Brahmin were owed, Sarge was channeling the favors toward the recovery effort.
The President was putting forth his full effort into the West Coast, which puzzled Sarge. If one were to look at a political map from the last election, there were plenty of blue states spread across America. Granted, Sarge was not in an election battle. But he was unsure why the President wasn’t allocating the resources of the nation to those that would be inherently loyal to him.
Sarge visibly shrugged off the thought and turned his attention to Donald and Julia, who were discussing the expansion of their nationwide communications system.
“In order to expand into the smaller communities, we need to create a network of transmission repeaters that are solar charged,” started Julia. “The repeaters we have coming from Japan will serve that purpose.”
“How do they work?” asked Donald.
“Basically, a radio repeater is a combination of a radio receiver and a radio transmitter that receives a low-level signal and boosts it to a higher power level. This enables us to retransmit the signals over longer distances without degradation.”
“Does it work with all types of equipment?” asked Donald.
“Yes,” replied Julia. “Repeaters can be used in analog, digital, or conventional broadcasts. The best part about these units is their dual band capabilities. They’ll repeat the signal in the UHF law enforcement bands, which include the four-hundred frequencies, as well as the VHF high bands in the one sixties.”
Donald picked up a Baofeng UV-5R Dual Band portable radio. At a weight of one pound, the Baofeng was the most compact handheld receiver available.