101 People to Kill Before I Die

by Anthony O'Connor

  Once they'd gone by, I waited for a while and then drove down onto Sale road, turned right and headed towards Sale. Once we got there I drove down Fuller Street - heading towards the RAAF Air Force base on the east side of town. I wanted to keep an eye on it. See what else was coming out of it. I found an empty looking house and broke in. Fortunately, it actually was empty, for now. I checked all the rooms. I checked and reloaded my Glock with a fresh magazine from the bag in the boot of my car, and put another spare magazine in my jacket. I should have holstered the other Glock as well, now that I didn’t have an Uzi. But I was low on ammunition for the handguns, so it wouldn’t have made much difference. I re-joined Natasha back in the main living room. She hadn’t said anything since we left Maffra in such a rush. But it was obvious that she was deeply concerned by what she'd seen. I had some explaining to do. It wasn’t going to be easy.

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  The Chinese and the Russians arrived in Maffra before the police, just after 8:30 AM on the Thursday morning, only minutes behind Svetlana. But they didn’t know where to look. They started walking up and down the main street, in groups of varying size, moving in and out of the shops and the supermarket, accosting anyone they could, thrusting forward a picture of Brian and demanding to be told of his location. Mr. Cheng had a dozen of his best men surrounding him at all times. He was as manic as always. He was furious when no-one seemed to know anything. He watched with pleasure as his thugs beat up someone who refused to answer. Deep down he thought it was his right to beat the shit out of anyone who displeased him. Or have it done to them, he rarely did it himself. Of course, the local police would turn up sooner or later. But the stakes were high. He was more than willing to have them gunned down. Before reinforcements arrived, he'd be done and gone.

  Victor Krikov and his men started doing much the same thing. Maffra is a small town. It wasn’t going to take long for them to clash. Initially there were a few small skirmishes which rapidly escalated. Within minutes after that there was a running gun battle between the two groups up and down the main street of the central shopping area. Each of the groups was shooting because the other group was shooting at them. The Russian gangsters were outnumbered. They managed to move into the Woolworths supermarket, and take cover. The shoppers and the staff were running for their lives. No-one was paying much attention to the civilians - most of them made it out, only a few were killed in the crossfire. The Chinese gangsters surrounded the Supermarket and started moving in. Mr. Cheng was enraged. He was screaming out at the top of his voice,

  "Cocksuckers. Kill em all."

  The Chinese were winning, by sheer force of numbers. The Russians were being subjected to overwhelming fire power. Krikov caught a round in the back of the head. Took half of it clean off. He fell down dead.

  By this time the Victorian, NSW and Federal police were pouring into the town, convoy after convoy from all directions, but not yet covering every road. Military assault choppers screamed overhead. Predator drones were spreading out over the town forming into surveillance patterns and beginning their sweeps. Mr. Cheng looked around him - at all the police moving in, combat aircraft swarming overhead and screamed to himself,

  “Didn’t think they'd be that quick. Cocksuckers.”

  He started moving as best as he could towards the area behind the supermarket, looking for a way to escape. His men were expected to keep fighting - right to the very end. Half of them continued the assault on the Woolworths supermarket. The other half had turned around and were ready to defend themselves against the police. He was proud of them. Back in Hong Kong he'd get someone to write a song about their bravery.

  Assistant Commissioner Michael Branton was on-scene and had established a command post just a few hundred meters from the Supermarket, near the Town Library. Commander David Morton was there, with fifty of his men, fully suited up, ready to execute an assault. The number of men they were attacking was considerable but the SOG Units were fully armored and had much better weapons. There were also hundreds of other police officers organized into different groups ready to take part in an assault or provide fire support as directed. Morton asked Branton,

  "So now it’s the fucking Chinese? They're helping Samuals now? Why?"

  Branton replied,

  "No. I think they're here to kill him too. Popular bloke this Brian Samuals. And it’s not just them. There's a Russian group inside the Supermarket. Probably more of Alexandrovistch’s lot."

  Morton was amazed.

  "We should just let the fuckers kill each other."

  Branton smiled.

  "Yeah we should. There are no hostages. No civilians left inside. Let them kill each other, or just rot in there. But that’s not how it works. They've all been ordered to surrender."

  Morton said,

  "They won't."

  Branton agreed with him.

  "Course not. Be ready. Five minutes."

  Branton was about to give the order to commence the assault when he got a message on his secure comms.

  "Hold for air support."

  He replied,

  "Yes Sir." Then on the other channel to his own men he said, "Hold."

  David Morton was still standing beside Branton. Morton asked,

  "What's going on?"

  Branton sighed.

  "Someone higher up, much higher up, is losing patience."

  Four military assault choppers from the west and four more from the north moved in on the supermarket and the gangsters surrounding it. Each of them fired multiple missiles. The whole area was soon just one huge ball of flame. The building collapsed. The choppers then commenced strafing what was left of it and the immediate area around it. This went on for several minutes. At the end of all of this there wasn’t much left standing or moving. David Morton turned to Branton. He exclaimed,

  "Fuck. Don’t usually get that kind of air support."

  Michael Branton was also surprised. He said,

  "No. I guess not. We better call for some ambulances. You go in, check for survivors. Could still be some live ones. Be careful."

  Morton replied,

  "Yes Sir."

  He gave the signal and his units started moving in, ready for any kind of resistance, but not expecting much.

  A half hour later, Morton and his men, had finished their sweep for survivors. There were a few. They were taken away in ambulances, under guard. Michael Branton was at his command post next to the Library. He had a large paper map spread out over a table and was peering at it. Morton joined him there, and also looked over the map. All the road exits from Maffra were marked with black crosses. Morton asked,

  "Got it all covered."

  Michael Branton replied,

  "Yeah. They were all blocked off within ten minutes of us getting here. As you know we came in from three of the roads in. There's only eight in all."

  Morton pointed to a small road around the back of the factory.

  "What about that one?"

  Branton nodded.

  "Yeah. Got that one too. I'm more worried about someone hopping a back fence and just running off over the fields. Somewhere on the edge of town. I'm spreading my men around as much as possible. I've got patrols all over town. Some of them are going door to door. I've issued an order for all civilians to stay inside. Hardly necessary under the circumstances."

  He pointed around to the burning wreck of a building, which used to be a supermarket. Thick smoke was still pouring up into the sky. The sky was full of drones and choppers. There were police cars, armored assault vehicles, squads of heavily armed commandos everywhere. He asked,

  "Would you go out in this?"

  Morton smiled. Then he replied,

  "No. Don’t think so."

  He was looking up. He asked,

  "What about the air support? What sort of control have you got over them?"

  Branton looked up as well. There were still eight choppers flying above town, they'd be doing staged two
-hour rotations with back up units from the Sale RAAF base - for as long as necessary. There were also ten Predator Drones flying in tight surveillance patterns - systematically sweeping the town. Branton didn’t look too pleased. He said,

  "The Choppers are OK. If they spot anything I can move in some of my units. But I don’t trust the drones. Or whoever the fuck is operating them. I have no control over that. They say they'll tell us. But ..."

  Morton nodded his head in agreement. He growled,

  "Where's that dickhead Chuck Miller?"

  Branton replied,

  "He's around somewhere. I don’t trust him. Obviously."

  Five large vans were coming towards them and pulled to a stop nearby. Fifty very heavily armed soldiers got out, quickly spreading themselves out into groups of five. They were dressed in thick black fire proof garments. Their faces were covered with masks. Heads protected with helmets. They were clearly wearing body armor and they were carrying so much weaponry as well that it was surprising they could still move around so easily. Branton and Morton knew who they were, the SAS, the counter terrorist squads. They'd been told to cooperate, but not told anything else. One of the soldiers approached them and stopped in front of them. He held out his hand.

  "Assistant Commissioner Branton, pleased to meet you."

  He didn’t give his own name. He had no name tag or insignia of rank. Branton took his hand and shook it. He didn’t know what the protocol was. The unidentified soldier took control of the situation. He spoke crisply,

  "We'll need ten cars, big ones, older models."

  Branton nodded.

  "Sure."

  The soldier continued,

  "We've been ordered to hit some of the houses."

  Branton asked,

  "But which ones?"

  The soldier was happy to give just enough information to secure Branton’s trust and cooperation. He explained,

  "Brian Samuals has no direct relatives remaining in Maffra. But there’s a house he used to live in, still owned indirectly by his Uncle. Only just got that intel. You mightn’t have heard it yet.”

  Branton shook his head,

  “No.”

  He wished he had known. Would have gone there first off. The unidentified soldier continued speaking.

  “We’re going to hit that first. Samuals also has quite a few second and third cousins. Intelligence estimates there's a high chance he's holed up with one of them."

  That didn’t seem likely to Branton but he didn’t have a say in it. He simply replied,

  "OK. I'll get you the cars."

  Branton and Morton stayed at the command post for the next couple of hours. They waited impatiently while events played out. Police units patrolled the streets and spread out around the perimeter of the town preventing anyone from escaping. Others went door to door asking questions, looking for anything suspicious. The SAS squads had found a body in Charlie Samuals’ house and were now busily attacking the houses of Brian's second and third cousins. Breaking down doors, tossing in multiple flash and concussion grenades, then storming in, machine-gunning to death anybody who even twitched the wrong way. In the sky above the choppers continued buzzing about. Further away the Predator drones continued their steady, systematic sweeping. Branton started to think that maybe they'd missed him. The SAS finding the dead woman in Uncle Charlie’s house was not a good sign. Head blown off, not immediately identifiable. Done less than two hours ago according to the medic. Must have been killed by Brian Samuals. Was he still here? Or had the asshole gotten away again? He said to Morton,

  "Come on, let’s go see Chuck Miller."

  They knew where he was, just a block away, near the Town Hall.

  Chuck Miller was talking to one of his men. There were fifteen of them, nearby. The rest were spread out over the town. The cops had been told not to interfere with them. Miller wanted Samuals alive and in his possession exclusively. He wanted to lead the subsequent interrogation. He wanted to attach electrodes to his balls and listen to him squeal. And that was just for starters. He instructed his men,

  "The drones haven’t found anything yet. When they do, we'll be the first to know. Well, we'll be the only ones. Have some cars ready. We'll snatch Samuals. Dope him up. Stash him in the trunk. Wait for all of this to die down. Take him out of the country."

  The agents nodded. They were all ready. Chuck Miller looked up as Branton and Morton approached. Chuck Miller spoke first,

  "Assistant Commissioner Branton, a pleasure as always."

  Branton replied bluntly,

  "Shove it up your ass."

  Morton was looking at the dozen or so Americans in the near vicinity. He asked Miller,

  "So, these are the men you don’t have here?"

  Miller shrugged. He didn’t have to say anything. The Australian Police had been told by higher authorities to back off and let him be. And they knew that he knew. There was fuck all they could do. Branton asked Miller, with all due skepticism,

  "Got anything from the drones yet?"

  Miller replied,

  "No nothing."

  Branton said,

  "Yeah sure, nothing."

  He wasn’t sure why he was even bothering to talk to this prick.

  Suddenly there was an explosion in the sky. They all looked up. One of the choppers had burst apart in a ball of flames and was rapidly falling from the sky. It smashed down into a residential street nearby, demolishing two houses and whoever was inside. The whole area was instantly burning. Morton said it first,

  "What the fuck?"

  The same thing was happening all over the sky. The choppers were twisting and turning, evading desperately. They watched another one burst into flames and plunge down into the houses below. It was the drones. The fucking drones were attacking the choppers. They were much faster and seemed to have obtained an astonishing degree of maneuverability and tactical finesse. They were firing missiles from a distance and then screaming in guns blazing.

  Branton and Morton raced back to their command post, looking up as they ran. It was over by the time they got there. All eight choppers had been blown out of the sky, destroying whatever was beneath them. Dozens of houses, whoever was in them. As they watched on with horror the drones formed into groups of two, made large turns and then began swooping down on ground personnel, firing their remaining missiles and strafing them with 30 mm machine guns. Branton and Morton desperately tried to organize some kind of defense. Everyone fired up at the drones but without much effect. The police simply weren’t equipped for ground to air defense. Even the SAS units didn’t have the right gear on them for that. They were also being devastated. Somehow the drones knew to concentrate their attack on them and also on command and control personnel. Morton grabbed Branton's arm and pointed to the east.

  "Look. Two of them."

  The two drones had made a tight turn and were now coming down straight at them. Branton screamed out,

  "Who the fuck is controlling them?"

  Morton yelled back,

  "Doesn’t matter. Let's get out of here."

  They ran for the nearby Town Hall. Branton drew his pistol. Morton was already carrying a Koch MP5 machine gun. As they ran, rabid and rapid streams of gunfire demolished the command post.

  Chuck Miller and his men were as surprised as anyone else when the drones started attacking. They scattered in all directions. Chuck Miller ran into the Town Hall. He was there by himself. But then someone or something appeared in front of him. Jesus Christ. He couldn’t believe it. What the fuck? A fucking alien. It was shorter than a human, about four feet high, with moist slippery looking skin, greyish in color, and with large black mournful eyes. He screamed out in terror. It seemed to be immensely excited, jumping up and down, screeching out,

  "Aaaaak, Aaak, kraak, aaark, Vaark."

  It was holding its middle finger up menacingly, jabbing it up and down obscenely. Chuck Miller tried to back away, but he tripped and fell onto his back. The alien pounced on him. He tri
ed to fight it off but it was superhumanly strong. Then somehow, he was paralyzed. It flipped him over onto his stomach, all the time continuing to screech,

  "Aaak, krrrak kraak, aaark varrrk Aark."

  Chuck Miller tried to scream but found he couldn’t even do that.

  About five minutes later Branton and Morton ran into the Hall, fleeing from the drones that were attacking them. They stopped dead in their tracks. A fucking alien. A god dam fucking alien. For a moment, they just froze. Chuck Miller was stumbling away from it. His trousers around his ankles. He looked absolutely terrified. The alien was jumping up and down manically. Jabbing his finger up and down triumphantly. Screeching out,

  "Aakkk Aaaak Aaakk Aakkkk Aaaaaakkk."

  Three of Miller’s men ran into the hall, and started firing at the alien with automatic weapons. The alien turned towards them. The gunfire had no effect. It had some kind of a shield. There was a brief shimmering each time a bullet hit. But the last one seemed to have done some damage, the shield changed color in an odd way. The alien turned and ran out of the hall through the side entrance. The Americans ran after it, firing at it. Chuck Miller had reached the other end of the hall, he opened the door and stumbled out of it. This had all happened in seconds. Branton turned to Morton, still shocked but coming to terms with it. He said,