“Yes. Why would they do this?”
“Oh man, it’s gotten this way all over the country. Things that used to require one patrol car and a couple of officers, now take an armored vehicle and fifty men.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but this type of raid has become commonplace. There are tens of thousands of these every year.”
“Well this time they broke into the wrong house.”
“That happens a lot,” said Cy.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“And there’s another thing. The police were everywhere at DFW, with armored vehicles. My dad told me about some terrorists’ attacks.”
“Yeah, these attacks are going down all over the country. Some expert, a retired CIA guy, said they’re trying to kill us with a thousand small cuts. We’ve increased our patrols, but it’s not enough.”
“And what’s this about some sort of federal concentration camps?”
“Yeah, those have been rumored for years. Now it seems that down there somewhere not too far from you, somebody broke out a bunch of terrorists or something. Only they weren’t terrorists, not in the middle eastern sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, all I know are rumors, but it seems the federal government is rounding up people. Then they come up with an excuse to hold them without charges and no trial, claiming that they’re domestic terrorists.”
“Domestic terrorists, what’s that?”
“I guess it’s anything Washington wants it to be. As you might expect political enemies are high on their list.”
“What can I do about this man, I mean my parents?”
“Do they have a lawyer?”
“Yeah, but Dad doesn’t know how long he can afford him. I guess if you’ve got money, you can afford justice.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Cy was fully awake now. “Do you have internet access?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I think there are groups who offer free legal advice to people in situations like yours. They might even represent you. That would be one thing to do.”
“Okay, I’ll look into that,” responded Phil.
“Another is to get the local news media involved, national would be better.”
“Dad said that one of the local stations came out and did a story.”
“What did the police say?”
“They couldn’t make any statement as this matter was being investigated.”
“Forget the investigations, they’re just whitewash. They almost never amount to anything. Usually the guys that did it get a paid vacation, that’s all,” quipped Cy.
“This isn’t right man; there have got to be a few goods cops left. You seem to be one.”
“Thanks for noticing, and you’re right. I don’t know about Texas, but in New York the system protects its own. Even if a guy is suspended, arbitration almost always lets him return to active duty, and that’s with back pay,” he added for emphasis.
“Sounds like the system can’t be fixed.”
“There is a group of honest cops who have sworn to uphold their oaths to protect the Constitution, not obey unconstitutional orders, and not arrest Americans where they can be held without a trial.”
“How do they get away with that?”
“Don’t know, but the brass hates them, as do the politicos, and statists.”
“Statists,” asked Phil. “Do you mean liberals or conservatives?”
“Both, though not everyone who calls himself by those terms is a statist. A statist is someone who puts the power and majesty of the state over the liberty of citizens. You didn’t join the Marines to protect the power of the state, did you?”
“Heck, no.” responded Phil. “I’m here to protect ‘liberty and justice for all’.”
“Careful, you might be accused of being an extremist talking that way. You should see some of the bulletins we get from a far left organization that claims to be keeping an eye on hate groups.”
“When you say hate groups, are you talking about what the government calls domestic terrorists?”
“Not really, though they could be, but those labels are being applied to any conservative or libertarian group that wants constitutional government.”
“Are you part of that group of policemen you mentioned?”
“No, Phil, I’m in enough trouble as it is.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wouldn’t plant dope on a couple of people we stopped and became very unwelcome in my old precinct. I was able to get a transfer to another one, and they needed help at the airport.”
Phil thought for a moment. “That’s what you were doing there when we met. You see, that’s what I always thought peace officers were supposed to be about.”
“Yeah, me too, now I don’t know how much longer I will be able to stay with the NYPD. Not to get too personal, but all I ever wanted to do was be a New York City cop. Now I don’t know. My dad thinks I should go to the state police or the feds.”
“Maybe you should, but I know it’s not easy letting go of something you always wanted.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wanted to be a Marine since I was eleven. I felt that I could handle anything they threw at me. I wanted to serve my country and protect America.
“I was sent to Syria, and I don’t know why. The people we were supposed to be helping were shooting at us. That’s how I got hit. I don’t see how any of this is protecting America, and while I’m over there, the government over here is throwing the borders wide open for terrorists to get in.
“Then when I get back to the states wounded, and while in uniform, I get treated like a terrorist! Then when I get home I find the cops have broken my parents’ door down and beat up my folks. You want to know what the real kicker is?”
“You mean it gets worse?”
“Oh yeah, my dad is a Vietnam vet. He was awarded the silver star for gallantry.”
“Wow, two generations of wounded warriors, and still they kick your door in.”
“Cy, something is seriously wrong.”
“Well, why don’t you take your dad’s silver star down to the local police station and ask for an explanation.”
“The glass in the frame is broke. They threw it on the floor during the raid.”
“Even better, take it just like it is.”
Phil thought about it. “I’ll take my picture too.”
“Your picture?”
“Yeah, a cop picked it up and threw it on the floor too. The glass is broken as well.”
“Take them just as they are. If you don’t get a reasonable explanation, go over to a local TV station. You know what else? You should make a video about this and put it up on the web. Let the whole world see that they’ve done.
“In the meantime, I’ll nose around on this end. Let me see if I can find anything. I’ll be in touch. Just be careful of what you say or put online. The NSA is collecting all our phone calls and emails,” warned Cy.
“You’re kidding, even this one?”
“Even this one.”
“This is crazy.”
“For right now, all you can do is follow up on the things we’ve talked about, and take care of your family.”
“Okay man, sorry if I came on a little strong.”
“It’s all right. I didn’t get most of it at first anyway. I was asleep.”
They said their goodnights. After Cy hung up the phone he thought, I’ve got to find some way we can communicate without being monitored.
Eventually, Cy got back to sleep. He was awoken early by his sergeant. “Hey Cy, you up?”
“I am now. What’s up?”
“Sorry to bother you man but there is trouble everywhere. They raided a mosque last night, and now a lot of people are not too happy with it being desecrated by infidels.”
“Can’t blame them I guess.”
“It’s not our call. Report to the precinct for riot duty, ASA
P.”
“Okay, I’m on my way.”
“Maybe nothing will come of it, but look at all the overtime you’ll be getting.”
“I’d just like to get some sleep.”
“Why didn’t you sleep last night, out partying?”
“No I got a call in the middle of the night and had trouble getting back to sleep.”
“I’ll see you in a few; I’ve got some other guys to call in.”
Cy showered and grabbed a quick bite. He suspected it was going to be a long day. He listened to his radio on the way in. The raid was all over the local news as was the ensuing unrest.
Well, if they had busted into my church in the middle of the night, I’d be pretty upset too, Cy thought to himself. At the precinct he checked out his riot gear and got on the bus.
A couple of the guys were talking. “I don’t know why they come over here,” one of them said.
The other did not really want to argue. “I don’t know. Maybe they come because where they were is a hellhole.”
“Okay, so they get over here and try to make things just like the hellhole they crawled out of. That don’t make no sense.”
“Maybe not to us. I guess it does to them.”
“Well think about it. Wherever they come from is a dump. Just look at all the revolutions they’ve had in the last few years, and instead of things getting better, all they do is wind up fighting among themselves. Why do they do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“From what I read, some of them want a modern type of civilian government like we have or like they have in Europe. But others want a government that forces a strict adherence to traditional religious rule.”
“I don’t know anything about that stuff.”
“Don’t you read the papers or watch the news?”
“Only the sports section.”
“Anyway, it looks like we got trouble over here now.”
Cy’s mind drifted away from the conversation. There were others talking, but as they got closer to the drop off point, conversation became more sparse.
One guy said, “I haven’t busted any heads since the Occupy crowd came to town. I’m kind of out of practice.”
Cy just glared at him and shook his head. When they arrived, there were already cops everywhere. In the distance he could hear chanting. As it was in Arabic, he understood none of it.
They had hundreds of cops up against an unknown number of protesters. Sharp shooters were looking for snipers in the buildings above the crowd. Others were videoing the crowd trying to find ringleaders or provide identification information for later use. A police line had formed. Several layers deep they were armed with clear plastic shields and batons.
As the line approached the protesters, rocks, bricks, and bottles began to fly. He was suddenly happy for the helmet and body armor they had issued him. Where did they get all this debris? He began to wonder where he could get a shield.
The big truck with the power hose moved up. The police behind the line parted and let it pass. Cy advanced; the truck was at his ten o’clock. Somebody popped off a couple of tear gas canisters. Later, he would see online that the protesters picked them up and dumped them into large bottles of water.
The hose fired into the protesters, and they began to scatter. The police moved forward, and the protesters reformed behind a barrier. This was set ablaze as the police line approached it.
This stopped the advance momentarily till the truck hosed down the burning barricade. The police pressed on only to be attacked from the side streets. Cy and the rest fell back far enough so that the protesters could not get behind them. From the ground it looked like a riot and not a protest.
Soon it was a running battle. Reinforcements of police in riot gear would come streaming in, and they would advance a bit. Then a new mob would show up, and they would be forced back.
Then somebody started throwing Molotov cocktails. Someone must have been studying the Greek protests because they didn’t just lob them over in an arc, which would allow them to be somewhat contained. These were flung low and fast so that when they hit, the fire spread, and more than once a policeman found himself on fire.
Cy found himself fighting alongside men he didn’t know. Some people were separated from the mob and beaten by the cops. He didn’t get into this, and once tried to stop a cop from beating a guy to death.
“Hey man,” Cy said grabbing his arm. “What are you doing.”
“What?” he said jerking his arm away. He looked amazed.
“Maybe we should just haul him in.”
A police sergeant came up and pushed Cy back. “I need you to get back on the line. We’ve got things under control here.”
The first officer went back to beating the suspect. Cy was hit in the side of the head with a brick. He turned to join the line only looking back briefly. Two cops were dragging the man off. There was a mass of blood where he had been. New reinforcements were pushing him from behind. It was terrifying; it was exhilarating.
A group of rioters charged the line with bricks and iron bars, pushing the officers in front with the shields backwards and impacting Cy. He leaned into the onslaught. One of them forced his way past the guys in front of him, but in the press, they couldn’t raise their arms.
Cy raised his baton and brought it down on the rioter’s head. Others joined in and pushed the rioters back. One of the men with a shield was down, his face a mass of blood. Some guys behind Cy helped him to his feet. Someone passed the shield forward, and Cy was suddenly in the front line.
They were more packed than a Roman legion, but the idea was the same. Again and again Cy brought down his baton. You can’t see the big picture when you’re the guy in the front line. Everything looks like a frontal assault. You only see the other guy, who’s about to bash your head in.
A bunch showed up with long poles and began smashing them into the police line of shields. This left them out of range of Cy’s baton. One cop sprang forward after his tormentor only to be surrounded by rioters and beaten to the street.
Cy and others lunged forward and cut off the rioters so that he could get back on his feet. The rioters counter attacked pushing their fellows into the police line. The whole thing descended into a shoving match.
People behind the lines were throwing bricks and Molotov cocktails while the police were firing more tear gas. They set cars on fire along with anything that would burn.
In the distance, there was an explosion followed by flames and smoke. Soon the rioters discovered that a mosque had been firebombed. The mob went crazy.
Instead of striking at the police line with poles and clubs, many threw their bodies at the line with the insane fury of berserkers. The police line was driven back.
The truck had become the favorite target of the Molotov attack. Its front right tire was on fire. It had stopped firing water, and the rioters were trying to surround it. A small group broke through and attacked the vehicle directly.
The driver was dragged out of the truck and beaten. The police charged in and recovered the driver. Upon withdrawing the vehicle became the object of their rage. They rocked it until they turned it over and set it on fire.
The police withdrew for another block and waited for reinforcements. A helicopter flew over low which only seemed to make the crowd more furious. Someone fired at the aircraft, and it withdrew. Now someone in the crowd had fired a gun.
Several officers put away their batons and drew their automatics. It was not clear if they were bringing firearms to the fight, or if it was a police weapon taken from an officer. Cy’s shield suddenly shook as it was smashed by a bullet.
One of the sharpshooters fired into the crowd, but not at random. He had taken out the one who was shooting. Several rioters picked him up and carried him away.
Cy could not see the burning mosque nor could the fire department get near it. One fire truck was set on fire and the firemen beaten. It did not matter as the explosion had not left much.
The rioters blamed the police. Later, the news media would blame right wing-hate groups, and authorities would blame the explosion on an accident that occurred when someone in the mosque was making bombs. Someone even blamed the Jews and Israel. Take your pick. Blame it on your favorite fall guy.
After a while it was all a blur for Cy. His arms ached, his head swam, and his mouth was as dry as he could ever remember it being. Unbelievably, a part of his psyche was exhilarated, and the image of the naked convenience store clerk suddenly flooded his mind.
He wanted her, and he wanted to strike, strike hard, and kill. A part of him happily watched the action. Again, he saw the beast within, and he could understand how easy it would be for a policeman to surrender to it.
Later, after it all calmed down, his higher mind made him ashamed. Was this what had happened to others in the NYPD? He told no one.
Eventually, the police began firing rubber bullets and scattered the rioters, but the disturbances continued for several nights. This was especially true in cities with large Muslim populations.
Three rioters were killed that day, with hundreds wounded, and the organizations that used terror as a political weapon went on a recruiting spree. In all, twelve policemen were injured enough to require hospitalization. Cy was among them.
Chapter 17 – First Contact
“Dad, it’s no use! They won’t listen, but they’ll listen to this,” Phil said lifting his newly purchased AR-15.
“No son, all you will do is get yourself killed and bring that Blindstein woman down on all servicemen and vets. She already said we’re all psycho. You will just prove her right.”
“I can’t just sit here on my butt and let them get away with this!”
“Let the lawyers handle it.”
“We can’t afford the lawyers, and you saw the way they acted when I went down there. They said what they did was okay; well, I need to show them that it’s not okay.”
“I know son, but this isn’t the way!”
“Bill,” called Ilene. She stood in the back of the hallway at the kitchen door. “There’s someone at the door.”
Phil and his dad stopped arguing and stepped from Phil’s room into the hall. Phil still had his rifle in his hands.
World War III - Home Front: A Novel of the Next American Revolution - Book One – As Day turns to Night Page 17