10-Reaction

Reaction

 

Miramar Naval Weapons Station, San Diego California

The situation room had an array of cameras with feeds from aerial reconnaissance. The mood in the room was pure disbelief. The drones streamed a live feed of tanks, trucks, armored personal carriers and men pouring out of the Port of Los Angeles. It came as no surprise that one by one the signals were lost as either the drones themselves or the satellites that carried the signal were taken out.

The commander looked again to his communications officer who simply shrugged and pointed to the phone. There was no communications at all from Washington. The internet was down. For all he knew D.C. was a smoking crater.

He looked to one of the last screens still with a live feed. It showed a freeway overpass crowed with cheering people waving and holding signs. The fluid coursing through his veins felt like ice water as he had the operator zoom in and he read one of the signs. It was held by an obese man with dreadlocks and said, “Thank you. “

“Gentlemen, “he said grimly, “we are at war. “

There was a few seconds of silence and expectation as this new reality set in. Of all the war plans and games, no communication with Washington whatsoever had ever been practiced. The President had underground and air based command centers. There was no response whatsoever from anybody outside of California. The cell signals were still working but only locally and that didn’t make any sense at all to him.

“Get me the Alert Five Commander on the line and order the ground crews to load special weapons. “

The pimple faced communications officer stammered,” S-s-sir? “

“Nubs, ensign. Nuclear weapons. NBC’s. These commie bastards are nay fod. I guess you don’t know what that means either? It means they are clearly not afraid of dying. Our subs are noncom, as in no fucking communications. Do you see that? Do you understand that, you little pimple?”

He grabbed the frightened teen age communications specialist by the collar and pointed to the other remaining live camera feed showing the Chinese aircraft carrier parked off the shore of Long Beach.

“I am ordering that boat to be nuked.”

The room silenced except for the myriad vibrating cell phones. The second in command gestured to the civilians on the freeway overpass. “Sir? What about them? “

This commander had been a LRRP in Vietnam and had expected to retire at the end of that year. He read again the signs welcoming the invading army by the civilian scumbuckets on the bridge from the aerial drone feed. He had been spat on at the airport when he returned from The Nam, and that was a thing you didn’t forgive, not after having held in the guts of his best friend as he breathed in his last.

He pointed to the screens.

“Fuck those fucking fuckers. Kill the Chinese! You want to learn Mandarin? “

 

9-Roadblocks

Roadblocks

Riccardo was broadcasting when they kicked the door in.

The state police presented the warrant after they had smashed the left side of his head with a rifle butt and broke his computers. The biggest outrage (emotionally speaking) came when they smashed his fish tank.

They dragged him from the room in handcuffs as the fish flopped and gasped on the carpet.

“You can’t do that! You Nazi fuckers! “

The heavily armed masked policemen assured him that they could by kicking him in the ribs a few times until he was without air and then coating his face with pepper spray. His cell phone was tossed into the hallway and smashed with a boot heel. Faces from other apartments disappeared when the police pointed their flashlights and rifles their direction.

He had no more capacity for resistance and they whisked him outside and threw him face down into the gutter.

“Riccardo Sanchez. You are under arrest for illicit broadcasting and inciting a riot. “

There were three officers in non-combat uniforms standing over him. One was recording him with a handheld camera. “

The pepper spray was harsh but dissipated quickly. He couldn’t see clearly, but he could speak. It was difficult to get off his knees with the handcuffs on, but possible. He finally did so. “This is outrageous. You men are in clear violation of The Constitution of The United States of America. I demand to speak to your commanding officer! “

The oldest of the three stepped forward. He made a deliberate move of making a fist and drawing it back slowly. His smile was shallow and it never touched his eyes. He wasn’t even angry. This was just a job.

“Sir. I am the commanding officer, and we can do whatever the fuck we want to. You are coming with us. “

The fist held back for a few agonizing seconds and Riccardo looked at it with trepidation, and then finally it hurtled forward to connect with brutal efficiency and speech suspending impact. Riccardo turned just in time to spare his teeth, but his right ear was nearly severed by the large police academy ring the captain wore. Senseless, he was loaded into the car.

His apartment was ransacked, and all over the rooms his equipment was found and destroyed. Two streets away Dave the bartender was handed an envelope stuffed with bills that would be useless by dawn.

He began to come to again inside the back seat of the police car because the smell of vomit and urine was burning his eyes worse than the pepper spray. Two officers were in the front seat, unaware of the fact that he had regained consciousness. He slipped his handcuffed wrists around his legs and felt at the bloodied mess of his ear; it was now screaming, demanding attention.

He laid still. The radios bleated on and his focus turned to the two officers in the front seat.

“Now, that’s performance of a transmission. “ The driver was flooring the accelerator between lights and he had to admit, the shifting was smooth. He could imagine the gas draining by the second as the officer sped hard and braked hard at the intersections.

“Hey, what’s this? Is there a sobriety check point tonight? “

Riccardo eased up. Ahead in the lanes flashing lights were slowing the sparse traffic.

“I don’t think so, “the passenger said. “Check with HQ. See what’s up. “

After a few tries reaching dispatch the officers the car arrived at the at the check point. Ric knew instinctively that the dispatch on the radio was a recording. It was confirmed in his mind when he heard the operator repeat the exact same words and phrases three times in the ten minutes they sat in the crawling traffic.

“What is this? “The driver asked nervously. “Go find out. “

The officer in the passenger seat got out with his flashlight. “ Riccardo was a talker; sometimes he just couldn’t help it. He leaned forward and whispered to the driver. “You guys are going to be held accountable someday. “

The cop turned, his eyes now full of an ugly and hateful authority, and slammed shut the plastic divider put in place to keep the derelicts from spitting into the cab.

“You think so? “

“Yes, I do sir. And about my ruined ear? What is your badge number? “

The officer didn’t get a chance to respond. Riccardo instinctively ducked just in time to avoid the machine gun rounds and the spray of the officers brains. Hot blood splattered onto his hands. The bullets punched clean little circles through the windshield but the seat foam popped out of the back of the seat like blossoming popcorn as the bullets tore through them, just missing Riccardo.

The car door opened and rough hands pulled him from the vomit stench of the floor. He was placed face down on the pavement and the handcuff chain was severed with a pair of bolt cutters. His ears rang from the gunfire and he turned his head just in time to see the officer that had been a passenger executed by two soldiers who then walked to him and pulled him up.

“What is your name? “one of the soldiers said, producing a small computer after shouldering his rifle. Riccardo noticed the other police cars at the roadblock and the small pile of bodies next to them. He motioned with his hands to his ears and shook his head, “No, I can’t hear you. “

The soldier gestured to the front of the road block with his rifle.

“You are free, “he said. “ Go. “

Riccardo looked back at the line of cars. He saw expectant faces looking at him. There was a mother, shushing and reassuring her children. The soldier tapped on his shoulder and gestured again with his rifle toward the open road ahead. Small drones circled the roadblock. The city was losing the lights and grid by grid, it was shutting down.

“Sir? Please move along. “

Riccardo couldn’t help it. He was a citjorn and there was obviously a story here. He had to ask, “Who are you people? “

The soldier smiled a friendly, disarming grin and produced an identity card. The picture showed a smiling face, his badge number was 327456.

“My name Sir is officer Woo. We are the new authorities. “

He smiled and at the same time held his rifle just a little bit higher. “Now please, for public safety, please move along. “ He gestured again to the far side of the barricade. From the pile of bodies by the roadblock where two soldiers dragged his former captors, the same phony recorded dispatch loop played on from a handset radio and blood trailed away to spill into the gutter.

“Sir,” the soldier repeated in a friendly, soothing voice. “ Please, move along, or I will have to place you in a safety detention facility. You are not promoting social harmony “

Riccardo could see now as sweat had fully diluted the pepper spray. Brass shell casing glittered in the moonlight on the ground, in a stark contradiction to the friendly smiles and soft words. He said, “Sir. Yes sir. “

He managed to walk calmly for about ten seconds and then began to run for his life. 

8-The Invasion Begins

The Invasion Begins

General Lyn Wag, in the cargo hold of the massive freighter ship addressed the ranks of soldiers. If there was any irony, it was  only that most of the ballistic armor and riot gear the troops wore were manufactured by Walmart. The rest of it felt like righteousness. Walmarts slogan was, “Providing jobs of the future. “

He spoke of the subjugation they had suffered under the Japanese.

America had backed them over Taiwan. Natural resources were there for the economic prosperity of the collective, he said to the room. There was the huge unpaid debt; America had filed decades of grievances with The United Nations about the treatment by the communists of certain minorities and that had been a constant annoyance. There was a feeling of wanting payback, the financials arrears notwithstanding.

There was revenge.

There was destiny.

Swarms of little drones buzzed in figured eights and circular loops above that cargo hold and the ranks of soldiers, each one no bigger than an owl, but in numbers in formations hundreds, and thousands big. Wag was higher hierarchy enough to have known of the solicitations of the One Worlders. They had learned well enough, at least their uncles and grandfathers had, what it means to be a socialist; the poor give up their possessions in the delusion that the rich will give a share of theirs as well.

It was to be a time of conquest and empire. The subjugated had found a path to rule their own subjects, or so they imagined.

They all knew that they were on a mission that was in the same spirit as the national mission to Mars; those peoples had been beyond quick resupply and when they were unable to establish the solar cells that would power their shelter and energy the whole world got to watch on a live stream as they suffered starvation, madness and death; the highest rated television and internet spectacle of all time.

This mission depended upon establishing a self-sustaining beachhead and assuming the reins of any un-illicit industry, because food and ammunition would not be forthcoming from command and retreat was not part of the vernacular. All supporting goods and materials would have to be procured from the front lines and the interior.

It was do or die for these soldiers, and they were highly trained and motivated. They had objectives and waypoints. The people would have two choices; comply or die. This was not to be a war of extermination, as the Japanese had waged against them. This was a war to usher in regime change, a well-worn phrase the population knew well from their own president’s adventures. The Chinese felt that the Americans were weak and dispirited after the greatest political disaster of recent times in the ill-fated American invasion of Iran and the only suicide of a sitting president in modern times with the death of Barrack Obama.

This was to be a conquest with courtesy. The people may react adversely at first, but within weeks they would see the The Peoples Army was a better choice of governance, command promised.

The word was given and the tanks and armored vehicles poured out of the shipyard to the cheers and shouts of support troops. The soldiers were professional and the orders were clear; no civilians were to be harmed unless they offered violence.

In that case, mortar teams would flatten a square kilometer around the area and all traces of resistance would be sterilized. It was all plotted out in advance; resources mapped and areas where resistors would be expected to be concentrated planned for.

The first few days went better than command had expected. The population was all but totally disarmed and so hateful of their government some actually cheered the Chinese troops as they marched in formation into the city center of Los Angeles. Above it all, camera equipped micro-drones recorded the scenes and sent the information back streaming to headquarters unnoticed to most all of the population, in real time.

7-The President

The President

 

 Washington D.C.-The White House situation room.

The President of the United States was surrounded by his chief of staff and members of the leadership from both sides of the isle. He didn’t sit at the head of the table. That spot was shared by two men in black suits. On their lapels they each wore matching pins; that of a single eye.

“Gentlemen, a point of motion, to order. Can we put this to another vote? Is there no other way? There are twenty seven million people in California. “

Silence greeted his question.

Then, one of the two with the eye pins stood. These were the guys that had a nice little meeting with whoever got elected as president; they told them the facts, showed them the Kennedy film and quietly directed policy. Nobody knew their names.

“Forget California,” he said. “There is more. “ These guys made the secret service guys seem jovial. They had hard humorless eyes. The secret service worked directly for them and the president knew now that the secret service was as much about confining him as it was protecting him. “We want you to resign. “

This greeted the room of men with an unarguable air and they were all speechless.

“It is time that the world’s governments unite. The time of nation states is over. Only by accepting a one world government can the Chinese be stopped from invading. They, in fact, work for us. “

The men exchanged glances. They knew something bad was coming, but not this; nobody had imagined that it would actually come to this.

The President was the one to speak. “Who will take my place? And why now?”

“Why now? Because we say the time is here. “He produced a dollar bill. “ See this, on top of the pyramid? That is us. The base of the pyramid? That is the working class. You men, occupy the middle, because it suites our purpose. Be sure, that you serve our purpose.

“As for who; we want Arnold Schwarzenegger. He will be the next President of The United States.”

There was a moment of stunned silence and then the men around the table burst into laughter. It was loud, but nervous. Only the President didn’t laugh. He stood.

“The American people will never accept this. They know he was born in Austria. That makes him not legally qualified to be elected! Hello? “

“Sit down, “the second of the two men in black suites said. “ They will accept it. They have before. Remember Obama? His suicide notwithstanding, the American people overlooked obvious evidence and accepted the idea of hope and change despite of it. Maybe because of it.

“They will again. “

The two men stood, gathered their papers and brief cases and started towards the door. The secret service men flanked them.

“Wait, “said the president. “ Wait. “

They turned back but did not sit at the table again.

“What if we say no? “ The president was a grandfather. He had made many compromises and mistakes but still dreamed at night about laying his hand on the Bible and swearing that oath.

The two men exchanged a glance. “We are prepared for that. Think about it. Motion capture. CG. We can resurrect John Lennon and make him president. Who are you? You are president because we say so. Don’t overestimate your importance. “

The president looked around the room. That none of the men would meet his eye inflamed his emotions. He slammed his hand on the table and demanded of them, “are you going to stand for this? Have you no spine Goddamnit, I say no! “

The Secretary of Defense tried to shush him, “Sit down Hank. This is the way it is. The ways it’s always been. “

“No. You are the one that needs to stop talking. You men swore oaths. You represent the public for Christ’s sake. Have some balls! “

The men in black suites looked at each other. The left one shrugged. The other nodded at the secret service agent and they exited the room. The agents removed Uzi machine pistols that they carried always. The room erupted in staccato burps and blood began to spray. Some fell face first on to the table, dead instantly and others because to scream. There was the smell of feces as terror made the ones not killed outright panic.

The results were the same. It took about three minutes. The fluid ran across the floor and into the heat register.

A portrait of George Washington loomed over the room and the president locked his eyes on it as he faded and then it was done.

The secret service agents walked out and grabbed the secretary’s cell phone. She had been on Facebook trying to post about what was happening. She looked up at the gun barrel in disbelief.

In less than one second twelve nine millimeter rounds unzipped her face like a cheap red suit. They deleted the post and smashed the phone.

In the hallway the two nameless men were already on the phone with Arnold. He of course, agreed to their offer. And thus, the fifty second president of The United States was sworn in. The shorter of the two turned to the agents.

“Prepare the press room. The announcement has already been recorded and it’s ready. We suspected from his social media posts that it would be like this, so we are prepared. “

The taller one caressed his eye pin and said in a monotone voice, “Fuck him. Non-compliant bitch. “

They never noticed the sparrows sized quadrotor drone hovering outside the window, filming and relaying the scene in real time to the Chinese command. It whirled away into the darkened sky to begin transmission of the data it had collected.