The Collapse Trilogy (Book 1): Free Fire Zone

by Rod Carstens

  FREE FIRE ZONE

  by

  Rod Carstens

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright 2015 by Roger C. Huder

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  Read other Rod Carstens books:

  Blood War Books

  Last of the Legion: Rift

  Marine Raiders: Strike Back

  Stand Alone Books

  Dispatches from a Future War

  Salvaged

  CHAPTER ONE

  Resource Security Force

  Team Sixteen

  Patrol Area Bravo

  1645 hours

  Gunfire woke Tanner. He grabbed his rifle, rolled off his pallet, and darted to the window. He paused, back to the wall, his heart pounding, before looking out the window. He flipped off the safety on his rifle then carefully peered out the dirty glass. Nothing moved in the street below. A late-afternoon sun shed a weak, grey light through an overcast sky. Crumbling, burnt-out buildings lined the silent empty street, their windows empty black rectangles. Papers blown by the wind scattered down the sidewalk, all else was still. The grass had grown high in the cracks of the once-busy street. Trees were beginning to make a comeback as they pushed up through sidewalks. Nature was slowly taking back the city man had built.

  Tanner leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths before he turned back to the window. He carefully scanned the street and buildings five stories below one more time. Still nothing. He had been in this observation post for almost a week. He glanced at his watch; it was about time for the scavenger to return. The settlers below him in the building sent out a scavenger each morning. A man or a woman would leave at dawn each day. They would spot something worth scavenging and report back to the settlement. That night a small group would leave and return with the needed items.

  This was about the time the scavengers returned. He glanced back out the window. He had memorized the street by now. He knew every inch of the block below his life depended on it. He knew which windows were broken and which were intact in all the buildings. He knew if the dirt and dust around the burned-out van had been disturbed by someone walking through it. The angle the old cleaning sign hung on the single-story building across the street. The path through the debris that led to the settlement. Everything appeared undisturbed since the last time he surveyed the area.

  A light drizzle had begun to fall. He must be getting jumpy, Tanner thought. It had been a long patrol, too long—they had been extended twice with no resupply. His stomach rumbled with hunger. He only had one more day’s food and maybe that much water left, and then he would have to start to forage just like the others trying to survive in this wasteland.

  Gunfire erupted, this time just below the window. He hadn’t been dreaming. A figure appeared, running around the corner across the street. It was the afternoon scavenger returning. Tanner could see the figure as he got closer; he had nothing with him. He raced for the lobby entrance of Tanner’s building, turning and firing a pistol wildly behind him as he ran. He was running for his life. A gang car slowly cruised around the corner chasing him, armored with old street signs and scrap metal. Then another appeared. Their windows were covered by metal, with only gun slits showing. Tanner was always amazed that the gangs could keep their cars running. He had no idea where they still found old vegetable and waste oils for their converted diesel engines. The gang members in the car with the no-parking sign as a windshield let the scavenger almost get to the lobby before they gunned him down. He should never have run, Tanner thought, always go to ground and make them find you.

  Now the gangs knew where his settlement was located. Both cars gunned their engines and raced for the front of Tanner’s building throwing up plumes of dust and debris. They slammed on the brakes and came to a screeching halt just short of the sidewalk. The doors flew open. Men and women piled out and rushed toward the entrance firing an assortment of rifles and pistols. Tanner flipped the safety off his rifle and put the stock of his weapon to his shoulder. He peered through his scope and put the crosshairs on the largest of the gang members. He couldn’t stand by and watch another group of settlers overrun by a gang.

  To hell with orders; Tanner didn’t care about consequences anymore. His finger slowly tightened, taking the slack out of the trigger. Before he could fire, a torrent of gunfire from the lobby tore into the rushing gang. Several fell, yet the rest continued their assault. More fire laced into them, this time from across the street. More of them fell. Realizing they were in a deadly cross fire, the survivors broke and ran for their cars. As the survivors pulled squealing away from the curb, bullets from both sides of the street ripped into the cars. The car with the no-parking sign as a windshield suddenly swerved and crashed into a light pole. The passenger-side door burst open and a woman with a Mohawk jumped out firing her weapon. Gunfire cut her down. The other gang members made the corner and disappeared. In spite of observing the street for a week he had never seen the settlers put a second outpost across the street. They must be using the sewers. These guys were good.

  Cautiously the homesteaders emerged. Two ran to their scavenger. He was sitting against the wall of the cleaner’s with his head down his chin on his chest, a large pool of blood spreading from his side. The two checked him then stood and turned to the other settlers and shook their heads. They carefully lifted him and started caring him toward the building’s lobby. The rest of the settlers, put lookouts at both ends of the street, then quickly stripped the bodies of the gang members of anything usable before carrying away the corpses. Soon the street was again deserted and all was quiet. If it hadn’t been for the wrecked car, Tanner would have thought it a dream. Everything had been so well planned and executed he wondered if there were some of the settlers were veterans or had Security Force training. If there were, what were they doing homesteading in a Wild Zone? He had used the roofs to enter this observation post and had not tried to search the building. Searching was a good way to get dead. You hid and observed. Curious. The shootout was interesting enough for him to include it in his 1700 situation report.

  As Tanner went to move away from the window, he caught sight of his reflection in the dirty, streaked glass. He hardly recognized himself. His eyes were red rimmed with fatigue, his features blurred by two weeks’ growth of beard. He looked as if he had lost ten pounds on this one patrol. His hair was so long he had torn a strip off a black T-shirt and used it as a headband to keep his hair out of his eyes it was so long.

  He realized he had not done his usual equipment check of his MOLLE. He always did when he woke up; he was getting sloppy. His hands began their familiar equipment check. Two nine-millimeter mags in the top vest pocket. Next to the mags his nine-millimeter on the left side of his vest, its handle to the right. Fighting knife right-side behind his rifle mags. Four rifle mags front and center with three more nine-millimeter mags in front of those. First-aid pouch on his right in back of his flashlight. Radio on the left side of his vest. More rifle mags on his right thigh rig. He touched each piece of equipment without looking at it reinforcing his muscle memory, an old habit so he would not have to think if he needed something. An automatic response. His helmet with night vision and heads-up-display face shield lay next to him. He wore his knuckle-buster fingerless gloves as usual. He could not remember when he had last taken them off. He always got a kick out of his gloves. The hardened knuckle inserts were supposed to protect his knuckles from injury, but he'd soon learned they were gre
at for causing injury in hand-to-hand fighting. Satisfied everything was in place, he slowly sat down on the dirty floor.

  Tanner looked around the barren, dilapidated room he had just spent close to a week straight in without leaving. Plaster was falling off the ceiling, and old water stains from roof leaks covered much of the ceiling that was still intact. There were holes in the walls where people had scavenged copper pipe or some other useful item. In places stinking trash of all kinds was almost ankle deep. The room had been stripped clean of anything usable. No one was interested in the place anymore; it wasn’t livable for any length of time, so it made a perfect observation post. He had lived in this single room for the past week, but it was like countless other rooms over the last years they all ran together.

  This was his life. After ten years in the service this was what he had to show for it. A pack that was being held together with hundred-mile-an-hour tape. A sleeping pad and cooking stove. A MOLLE in about as good shape as his pack. No wife. No children. Shot three times, and stabbed twice over the years, injuries that had left him in pain most days. Living on painkillers and amphetamines to keep going on missions that seemed to last forever. He was wearing out like an old shoe. Right now he felt as if he had sand under his eyelids he was so tired. He had not slept more than three hours in a row since the patrol began. His stomach was trying to eat its way out after two weeks of a single meal days. Even the amphetamines didn’t dampen his hunger now. The only thing close to a family he had were the other two members on his team. All of his sacrifices and what did he have to show for it?

  A rat scurried noisily across the floor and into the closet. The neighbors are getting bold; I should call the super, Tanner thought, then laughed. His pack and pallet were neatly arranged in the corner where he had carefully cleaned the trash off the floor. All of his sacrifices and work, and things had only gotten worse. He’d joined to make things better. To make sure that food, water, and other resources were evenly divided. Everyone should get a fair share, or so he had thought when he joined. Fat chance. Now he knew better.

  He stood up and glanced out at the once-great city, now only a shell with its guts torn out, populated by a few desperate settlers and a multitude of roving gangs. Its once-busy bumper-to-bumper thoroughfares served as boundaries for the gangs instead of being the lifeblood of a city. No lights lit the streets or buildings; only cooking fires illuminated the late afternoon’s growing darkness, their combined smoke forming an almost-permanent cloud over the ruined city.

  He pulled his earplug out of his pocket and inserted it into his ear, adjusting the tiny mic as he turned his radio from “emergency only” to “normal mode.”

  “Cat, this is Tanner. Over.”

  Silence. Where was she? She knew it was time for their nightly situation report.

  “Cat, this Tanner. Over.”

  “This is Cat. Go.”

  “Where were you? You know it’s almost time for the 1700.”

  “Relax. I just slept right through till you woke me. This mission is getting to me.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. Anything for the 1700?”

  Cat was in an abandoned office building on the west side of their patrol area. In the old days they would never have split up the team, but with the reductions in manpower they were still expected to cover the same area. The only way to accomplish your mission was to split up. Not a good practice in an area with this much gang activity.

  “Nothing. It's quiet as a graveyard over here. At least they gave us a easy area of operation this time.”

  “Yeah. Matos are you on?”

  “Check. Where else would I be?” he replied, his voice cut by static.

  “I’m getting a lot of background, Matos.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m on my last battery.”

  “Roger. I’ll see if they will resupply us. I’ve only got one day’s rations left. Anything else for the 1700?”

  “Negative. It's very quiet over here on the east side too.”

  “Good,” Tanner replied. “I’ll be off the team frequency for approximately five while I give the report.” He switched to the command frequency. “Command, this is Team Sixteen.”

  “Go, Sixteen.”

  “1700 sit rep.”

  “We are ready to copy, Sixteen.”

  Tanner gave a detailed report on the gangs operating in his team’s area, the level of their activity, and their approximate strength, as well as the number of homesteads, old and new. He included a special note on the incident that he had just observed.

  “Sixteen, we have a good copy,” the dispatcher said. “Stand by one. I need to check the standing orders.”

  That was strange, Tanner thought. There was nothing in his report that should have caused the dispatcher to go to the protocols.

  CHAPTER TWO

  City-State of New York

  Resource Security Headquarters

  Shift Operations

  1645 hours

  “Sir, there is a call from dispatch for you.”

  Resource Security Colonel Steiger leaned forward and pressed the communications button. “Put them through.”

  “This is Dispatcher Toski, sir. I have a report from Area Bravo that meets the criteria you sent out in your latest BOLO.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Sir, the team just reported an ambush by the settlers in Bravo. Two gang cars with approximately ten perpetrators made an attempt to attack a settlement. The settlement had an outpost across the street as well as a well-organized defense of the building itself. When the gang attempted to assault the settlers, they ambushed the gang members. They killed several and drove off the rest. They then searched the bodies of the dead for usable weapons and cleaned up the scene. It was all done, according to Team Sixteen, in about five minutes.”

  Steiger could hardly suppress a smile. This was the last bit of information that he needed. He pulled up a map of Area Bravo.

  “What was the address of the incident?”

  “Sir, it was 1206 86th Street”

  Steiger touched the screen representing the patrol area. It was covered with red, green, and yellow dots. Each dot represented an incident reported by one of the teams. Steiger had color-coded them. Green meant there was a low probability that this was a relevant incident. Yellow meant a probable and red meant that the incident had a high probability of being relevant. A cluster of red dots had been emerging around 86th Street and in the area within a few blocks of it. This last incident was the hardest intelligence he had gotten yet. He added the dot to the other red dots in the blocks around 86th. He punched “Analyze” and the computer highlighted an address with the words Primary Target Location. Yes. Finally he had him. Finally. It had taken months, but he had him.

  “Very good. Dispatch, that is exactly the kind of information I needed. I am now declaring Patrol Area Bravo a Free Fire Zone as of 0000 hours tonight. Go ahead and extract the team soonest.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Also go ahead and notify the Special Action Team on standby that we have a hard location for their mission. Advise them I will send them the address.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  It had been a long and difficult project, but he had finished it without drawing undue attention. Steiger was pleased, and he was sure the men who had given him the mission would also be pleased. He had not been told why it was so sensitive nor why he had to doctor the numbers so the area could be declared a Free Fire Zone, but you did not ask questions when the orders came from certain people. He was just glad he had been singled out for the special project.

  If he was able to impress the right people his life could change for the better very quickly. A promotion or even a lateral move into a corporation and out of the government, something he had dreamed of for years.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Resource Security Force

  Team Sixteen

  Patrol Area Bravo

  1705 hours

  Several minutes went by before the dis
patcher came back on the air. Tanner was beginning to think he had lost contact with the communications center.

  “Sixteen, prepare to copy a Flash priority message for your team. Are you ready to receive?”

  “Go ahead.” God, they couldn’t be extending them again. They had been out almost a month now.

  “Your zone has been declared a Free Fire Zone as of 0000 hours tonight. You will be extracted at point Reinhardt at 1745 hours.”

  Tanner couldn’t believe his ears. What in bloody hell were they thinking? This area did not qualify for a Free Fire Zone, not by any of the normal measures. Without thinking Tanner said, “There has got to be some mistake.”

  “No mistake, Sixteen. You have your orders. You don’t have much time to get your team to the extraction point. I suggest…”

  “Dispatch, I want you to check with the Six on this.”

  “Look, Sixteen, I have other teams waiting for their orders.”

  “Okay, if you won’t check with him then I want a Field Emergency Patch with the Six now.”

  “Look, Sixteen…”

  “Do it!” Tanner roared over the radio. He paced restlessly in the barren room as he waited for his patch to go through, kicking the trash out of his way with each step. He just couldn’t let this happen. He didn’t know what he could do to stop it, but by God he was not going to go quietly.

  Declaring an area a Free Fire Zone was a death sentence for everybody in that zone. In a Free Fire Zone there were no constraints on force. There were no Rules of Engagement. Massive sweeps would be made. Gang members or anyone trying to run away would be shot. If somebody looked like they could work they would be rounded up and sold as a contract worker to some corporation. You did not want to be a contract worker; few lived until the end of their contract. Corporations would bid on Free Fire Zone declarations depending on the number of workers they could expect to be rounded up. A Free Fire Zone declaration was reserved for only the worst of the zones. It was a death sentence one way or another for anyone in that Zone. This zone didn’t come close to qualifying. The gang activity was almost nil. The shootout he had just seen was the first major incident of the patrol. There were more settlers than gangs in this zone, and the two groups seemed to have worked out a way to live and let live. No one in this zone deserved a Free Fire Zone declaration.