Don Pendleton - Civil War II (22 page)

The sergeant crawled back to the hatch and stuck a hand inside. Ringer's head popped into view immediately.

"I guess we better do something about now," Davidson muttered. "The natives are getting restless."

"Well, I'm ready. You wanta give me the targets? Or you want me to pick my own?"

"I think your first idea was good. Probably wouldn't hurt too many people, and it'd show them what a big rifle can do." He stared out over the crowd Man, it was point blank range. "Yeah, I guess that's best. Go ahead and bring that tower down. That's easy. Line up on it slow, though. Let them see what you're doing. Let them watch
this big baby track up onto the target. And let's give them a double feature. See that truck over to the left, the delivery truck?"

"You mean that cold drink track?"

"Yeah. Work your coordinates for a quick second round. Give them a good show. Set it up for automatic second round onto the truck. They won't know any better, they'll think you're shooting from the hip, like the fastest gun in the west."

Ringer grinned. "Okay. Better get your boys down. This turret will be swinging."

Davidson slid off the side of the big tank, with an arm-signal to his squad. They quickly regrouped on the ground beside the vehicle. The sergeant moved them into a line formation, on the sidewalk and to the safe flank of the mammoth, then he quickly moved along the line, repeating the brisk command, "Fire only on command, then fire for effect." He swung his own weapon out of the shoulder-sling, slipped off the safety, and held it poised in the crook of the arm, the muzzle up. Then he walked back to the tank and raised his palm to slap it smartly in the all-clear signal. He hesitated, however, to watch a police car whiz across the intersection, light flashing, and pull in at the edge of the crowd.

Ringer's head popped out of the hatch and he glared down at Davidson. "What the hell are you waiting for?" he snapped.

"The law just arrived." The sergeant flicked his eyes in the direction of the police car. "Let's see what they're going to do. Maybe they'll save us some trouble."

Ringer grunted. "I'm calling it from here on out. I'll be watching." He disappeared from view and the hatch clanged shut.

The door to the police car had opened and a tall stringbean of a man in a khaki uniform was standing beside it, both arms draped atop the open door. Two more police cars came up and swung into a cartwheel effect around the first car. Blue-suited policemen were erupting from the open doors of both cars and milling about in some confusion—throwing dark looks across the street at the

disturbing picture of black military might.

Davidson made a quick count of the enemy and decided there were no more than a dozen cops on hand. He could take the whole bunch with one sweep of his weapon before they could get their holsters open. He tensed, watching to see their intent, to anticipate it if possible. He did not want to die right here, at the edge of tomorrow.

The cops were going into a huddle. Davidson raised his right arm and made a sign with his fingers. A tall boy wearing corporal's stripes quickly stepped out of line and moved beside the sergeant. The corporal wore a square box on his back. A small sunflower-like gadget, attached by a cord to the box, was in his hand.

"I better talk," the sergeant muttered.

The corporal handed him the sunflower. Davidson accepted it, raised it to his lips and began speaking. His voice floated out across the heads of the assembled crowd in cooly modulated tones.

"I am Sergeant Davidson, United States Army Special Corps, Occupation Forces. This city is under military occupation. No citizens will be harmed if instructions are followed to the letter. Disperse and go immediately to your homes. Close all businesses except those essential to the public health and welfare. Go to your homes, watch your tele-viewers, and await instructions. I repeat—no citizens will be harmed if instructions are followed."

A loud murmur arose from the crowd. Two of the blue-suited cops stepped forward into the street, chins thrust forward belligerently. A bottle whizzed through the air and broke at Davidson's feet. The sergeant tossed the sunflower to the corporal. "Keep those boys cool," he cautioned.

The corporal jerked his hand in understanding and fell quickly back to the line of troops. The two policemen who had moved into the street exchanged quick glances and went for their guns.

Davidson swung his auto down. It burped briefly, the sound nearly lost in the swelling murmur of the crowd. The two policemen went down, clutching at their chests, falling onto their faces in the street. Another, just behind the two,

grabbed his arm and spun about into the midst of his fellow officers.

At the same instant the air vibrated under the roar of a big gun. The shopping center marquee angled forward crazily at the top and exploded downwards onto the crowd. Davidson caught a flicker of motion behind him as the long barrel swung down and left, roared again and a soft-drink truck in the parking lot became a fireball.

Police were scampering behind squad cars and the crowd was hysterical. Davidson could hear the piercing shrieks of a woman, somewhere in the direction of the marquee wreckage, and a loud male basso was yelling for help.

The tank lurched forward then clanked out to the center of the street—the big turret angling back and forth like the head of an angry bull elephant—seeking another target. It squared off less than twenty feet opposite the collection of police cars and the long barrel projecting out from the turret yawned onto the official vehicles with a portent of doomsday.

Davidson waved his men into a fan stack behind the behemoth. He again snatched the sunflower and announced, as calmly as he could manage, "Disperse, disperse. Go to your homes. Clear this area. Disperse."

The announcement was unnecessary. The crowd was already moving and flowing toward the back of the parking lot. There was no hint of activity from behind the police cars.

Presently the man in the khaki uniform appeared slowly above the hood of his vehicle. He stood there with a perplexed face, empty hands pressing grimly against the gleaming painted surface of the automobile. He glanced at the yawning chasm of spiraled steel which was staring down on him from the tank, then quickly averted his eyes, opened his mouth, then closed it and stared helplessly at the big sergeant with the machine pistol.

Then he called over, "There's some people hurt here."

"You can send for medics if you want to," the Negro called back.

The Sheriff hesitated ever so slightly, then he climbed into his car and began speaking into a radio. When he left the car again, the parking lot was practically empty except for a few stragglers at the far edge, a dozen or so people who lay moaning in the wreckage of the marquee, and police officers who still crouched behind the cruisers.

The Sheriff and the Sergeant stared at each other across the silence. "We didn't want to do that," the Negro announced.

"Yeah, yeah," the Sheriff replied quietly.

"You can keep it from happening again."

"I'll try."

"Fine. We don't want to hurt anyone. But we will, if they make us."

"Yeah, yeah."

The chopping noise of a small helicopter stole into the silence, then grew in volume, and presently the whirly-bird swung into view over some treetops, swept once over the parking lot, then settled alongside the police cars. Two white-jacketed men ran out, crouching beneath the still-twirling blades, and began moving swiftiy among the wounded. Another helicopter appeared moments later, then another. In a matter of minutes, they had borne up their fallen and were rising into the sky with them.

There was no one left but the soldiers and the cops. The oops got into their vehicles, turned off the flashing beacons, and quietly departed.

The hatch to the tank opened and a smiling black face popped out. "Now that's what I call authority," Ringer said, chuckling solemnly.

"That's what I call not wanting to die," Sgt. Davidson declared softly.

No sir.
If somebody wanted to die on the edge of tomorrow, it wasn't going to be the heirs to tomorrow. It'd been too damn long a yesterday, indeed.

MANIFESTO

The Negro Race of the United States, through their agents, the United Negro Army Corps of the United States,

hereby declare a state of military occupation through the fifty United States.

All citizens are hereby ordered to desist from violence and to go about their daily routines in an attitude of peacefulness and acceptance of this occupation program.

No arrests will be made by military occupation forces; however, resistance of any nature and from any source shall be met with immediate and forceful suppression.

No laws nor civil programs shall be instituted by the occupation forces. All citizens are urged to go about their business in the usual manner. Law enforcement agencies are enjoined to protect the public good.

A provisional federal government has been appointed by the occupation forces to administrate the re-formation of the nation. State governments have been incapacitated and shall remain so throughout the occupation period. County and municipal authorities are enjoined to continue their functions in the public interest.

Foreign nationals presently residing or visiting within the national boundaries of the United States are ordered to report to their nearest embassy for immediate transportation to their country of origin.

Representatives of foreign powers presently exercising diplomatic relations on United States soil are invited
to
remain, but will be subject to any restrictive provisions of
this mGniftsto.

Early formation of active and free political parties by the American citizenry is encouraged. Charters and platforms of prospective politicd parties must be presented to the provisional government in Washington within fifteen days of the date of this manifesto. No more than three and no less that two such parties shall be commissioned by the provisional government. Party conventions shall be held no later than ninety days and no earlier than forty-five days from the date of this manifesto. National elections, for the purpose of instituting a new federal structure and government of the United States, shall be held as ordered by the provisional government; in no event shall they occur later than one hundred and eighty days following the date of this manifesto.

Members of the Negro Race shall participate in neither the provisional government nor in the aforementioned political activities. The American citizenry is reminded that the Negro Race of the United States has been systematically stripped of all such responsibilities by The People of the United States. The Military Occupation shall remain in effect, however, until full and equal rights of citizenship have been restored to the American Negro by The People of the United States; and, furthermore, until such time as all rights of equality are guaranteed by unalterable constitutional provisions.

The United Negro Army Corps hereby undertakes full responsibility for military defense of the United States of America, and hereby so serves such notice to all foreign powers. The Autotomic Defense System of this nation remains in full operation, and shall so remain throughout the period of military occupation.

All Americans, white and black alike, are urged to turn the final page of the painful Book of Yesterday, and to go immediately to the clean and unspoiled first page of our nation?s promising Book of Tomorrow.

/s/ Abraham Lincoln Williams

for the Negro Race of the United States this Tenth day of March, Nineteen Hundred and Ninety Nine

CHAPTER 1

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Howard Silverman speaking to you from the nation's capital. It is noon in Washington, an unbelievable, nightmarish noon. The questions now on all lips are: Why? How could it happen? Precisely what
has
happened? What do they want? What will they do next?

"FBS has attempted to answer some of these questions, and to piece together the incredible events of these, the darkest hours of this republic's history. But the information is meager; no one seems to know anything other than 'I woke up and there they were.' Even the gentlemen in the White House remain silent, except for vague charges of treason in high places. Obviously, there has been treason. Just as obviously, it has been committed in high places.

"The President has named few names: Thomas Fairchild, the late chief of the Federal Police Bureau; Michael Winston, an administrator in the Urban Bureau; General Jackson T. Bogan, the nation's highest ranking combat officer. Treason . . . perhaps. But this is no explanation of what happened. This is certainly not the sort of information we desire from our President at such a time.

"As I look out my window, I see United States Army tanks and troops. The airplanes that whistle low through our skies bear the markings of the United States Air Force. Warships steam along our east coast, just a few miles away, flying commission pennants of the United States Navy. We are a nation occupied ... by our own armed forces.

"I have, on my desk, wire reports from around the nation. This is another curiosity. Our communications networks have remained virtually intact. Only in isolated instances have we lost contact with the parts of our nation. I shall not attempt to read to you all of the wire reports that continue to flood this newsdesk. That job would require a team of broadcasters, speaking continuously around the clock for days. Just know that wherever you are in this country, the events taking place there are being repeated everywhere.