INVASION USA (Book 2) - The Battle For New York Read online

  INVASION USA II

  THE BATTLE FOR NEW YORK

  By

  T. I. Wade

  INVASION USA II. Copyright © 2011 by T I Wade.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Triple T Productions Inc., 200 Grayson Senters Way, Fuquay Varina, NC 27526.

  http://www.TIWADE.com

  Triple T ProducTions, Inc. books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use. For information please write: Triple T Productions Inc., 200 Grayson Senters Way, Fuquay Varina, NC 27526.

  Library of Congress Catalogue-in-Publication Data

  Wade, T I INVASION USA II / T I Wade.—1st ed.

  eNovel EDITION – March 2012

  Cover design by Jack Hillman, Hillman Design Group, Sedona, AZ

  eBook editions by eBooks by Barb for booknook.biz

  To our Readers:

  Thank you all for reading “INVASION USA I – The End of Modern Civilization.”

  Did you know that half of this story has already turned from Fiction to Fact?

  Check this out:

  To the Author,

  Here is an article on how US Weapons are full of “Fake Chinese Parts”. A survey found 1,800 fake electronic parts with 70% originating in China. It states this is just the tip of the iceberg. Your new book, Invasion USA may actually turn into reality!

  http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/northamerica/usa/8876656/US-weapons-full-of-fake-Chinese-parts.html

  Preston – Harnett County, North Carolina – November 17, 2011.

  So hone that hunter’s knife of yours – you just might need it!

  Strap in and get ready for a sweaty ride!

  Note from the Author:

  This novel is only a story—a story of fiction that could, or might come true sometime in the future.

  The people in this story are all are fictitious, but since the story takes place in our present day, some of the people mentioned could be real people.

  No names have been given to these people and there were no thoughts to treat these people as good or bad people. Just people who are living at the time the story is written.

  Are you ready to survive a life-changing moment that could turn your life upside-down sometime in the near future?

  Read on and find out!

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1:

  Captain Mike Mallory – Escape from New York

  Chapter 2:

  ‘Z’ Day 2 – Salt Lake City – Lee Wang – Satellites

  Chapter 3:

  North Carolina – Preparations for an Attack

  Chapter 4:

  ‘Z’ Day 3 – The First Official Meeting of the New World

  Chapter 5:

  The First Attack

  Chapter 6:

  ‘Z’ Day 4 – It’s Time to Hit Back

  Chapter 7:

  JFK – New York

  Chapter 8:

  Where are the Hit Squads?

  Chapter 9:

  China

  Chapter 10:

  Flight to Alaska

  Chapter 11:

  JFK – Major Joe Patterson

  Chapter 12:

  The Hit Squads

  Chapter 13:

  ‘Z’ Day 7 – China Attacked

  Chapter 14:

  ‘Z’ Day 8 – The Beginning of the Second Week

  Chapter 15:

  The Beginning of the End

  Chapter 16:

  The Lull before the Storm

  Chapter 17:

  Preparation for INVASION USA

  Chapter 18:

  INVASION USA – The Battle for New York

  Prologue

  Some people got it together and some people never would.

  The worst areas were in the north of the country, although many houses did still have heat—mostly gas. The older houses with gas systems, which were purely mechanical-feed units directly from an outside tank to the house worked better. Unfortunately, many of the existing gas lines were controlled through the house’s electric heating systems. The gas still was in abundance but the electronics didn’t work.

  Some houses had electrical house heaters and used gas as a backup, others had gas, which could be fed into fireplaces or small gas heaters. The only systems that still worked were the most simple. In many houses, where four to six people used to live, 30 to 40 people were crammed into them. Hundreds of thousands of gas cylinders of all types, as well as simple gas heaters found in the local Home Depot, Lowe’s, Wal-Mart or Ace Hardware store were cleaned out within hours on the second day.

  As whole streets of people moved into one or two houses, bringing food with them to barter for heat and warmth, a new system in America began to grow. People began to live in protective communes where cash was worthless and heat and food were king.

  For the people who could never change, they either died very quickly by freezing to death in their beds, or were murdered by others who also could not change and were bad in good times and even worse in bad times. These people, mostly young males, organized squads and gangs and started killing for warmth, food, or even something that had no value any more—money and iPhones.

  An arctic blast hit areas of the Dakotas just after midnight on the second day and moved all the way across the Great Lakes Region by morning, piling up more windswept snow against the houses and freezing thousands by the hour. Wind chill was again the main enemy and the temperatures dropped into the minus thirties in some areas. Anyone who could not find warm shelter was dead by daylight.

  With all these people living and keeping warm together, the sanitary systems couldn’t handle the new conditions. Nobody was working at the other end of the sewer lines and the waste cleaning centers and streets began to clog up, toilets couldn’t flush, there was no water, and no more room in the outlet pipes the houses used. It was apparent to most that the next crisis could be disease in the northern parts of the country. If the cold didn’t kill them, and they didn’t succumb to the escalating violence around them, the chances were growing high that unsanitary conditions would begin to impact them.

  In densely populated areas of Canada, and U.S. regions just south of the Canadian border, numbers were decreasing so quickly that it was entirely possible that they would experience a 50% loss of human life by the end of the first week. And nobody was coming to save them.

  Every vehicle still running and the people in them who couldn’t find a warm place to stay, headed south on the major snowbound highways—many with nothing more than the gas in their tanks, which gave them about 300 miles at the most with the vehicle’s heater on at full power.

  With no snowplows to clear the roads, the conditions were treacherous, and many skidded off the icy roads and couldn’t get any further. There, the occupants had to find new shelter or perish once their heaters stopped working.

  Many of the survivalist-types found farm houses or rural communities where they were accepted and taken into the warmth of the homes, often dealing with frostbite on several parts of their bodies.

  Chapter 1

  Captain Mike Mallory – Escape from New York

  Captain Mallory was working hard. It had been exactly twenty four hours since he had taxied to the end of the runway at La Guardia and waited to be cleared for take-off. They had been running 30 minutes late on their flight down to Reagan International in Washington, with airport authorities de-i
cing the aircraft for ice build-up only an hour earlier.

  There were well over 100 boxes waiting for what he thought were their customs clearance—either incoming or outgoing. What interested him were the military vehicles and several of the military looking boxes heading out of the country.

  Many of the passengers did not want to take part in the search, several complaining that it was against the law to look inside what did not belong to them. The captain understood and agreed philosophically with the passengers, but what he had seen out of the window made him certain that there wasn’t much chance of being saved by orderly troops or police coming down the street. The passengers hadn’t seen the devastation of the aircraft in the skies above New York the way he had witnessed the destruction through the cockpit window. There had been many aircraft with hundreds of passengers each, exploding and crashing into each other. The passengers had only seen the world around their flight and he knew they did not understand what was really happening outside.

  An angry passenger shouted to the flight crew helping the captain that he was an important government official and nothing should be touched; they were breaking the law and everybody should just sit tight until the government, police or Army came and rescued them. He was adamant that they should just sit down and leave the property alone. It belonged to the U.S. Government and he would see that there were repercussions once help arrived.

  John, the co-pilot, got angry and asked him if he would like to go and get help. He would be happy to open the door for him and he could bring back the U.S. Cavalry anytime he wished. The bleating man grew quiet and blended back into the crowd of passengers.

  The cases weren’t badly broken, just opened gently with crowbars, and the higher cases were brought down with the fully-operational gas-powered forklift and checked for food or weapons. So far, every case had been packed with electrical gadgets. There were large wooden boxes full of toys, iPhones, and every other type of communication tools by the thousands—new and shiny plastics commodities that were now useless to them. One case, however, had red, Chinese-made 5-gallon gas canisters which might come in useful.

  Captain Mallory looked at his Rolex. It was ten minutes to midnight when they got back to the military vehicles and the nine cases in that area that had military insignia and markings on them. These cases were uniform in size and were about three feet by nine feet and packed three high on long pallets.

  The co-pilot, now qualified enough to ‘fly’ a forklift, brought the first of three military cases down from the top rack. The first wooden case was hard to open. The wood was at least an inch thick and the box was built well.

  With considerable pressure on the crowbar, they finally opened it, and the captain moved away light straw packing to find a 9-foot long missile of some sort sleeping peacefully inside. It looked sleek and deadly, and there were at least a dozen of them in the case. It was certainly not something to be close to if this building went up in flames.

  The second and third cases on the top tier were brought down and revealed the same contents. He thought about leaving the other six alone, when he noticed that the numbers on the cases in the second tier were different. John brought the first case down and the captain found what he was looking for—weapons. They had found the best, a case of brand new M4 carbines with all their fancy attachments. Captain Mallory and his co-pilot had been briefed on these weapons as part of their anti-terrorist training with the airline, and they had completed a two-day course on firing M16s and M4s—a shorter barreled weapon that might show up in cockpits as protection sometime in the future.

  There were five new and complete M4s in separate boxes in the case, on top of hundreds of boxes of ammunition. There were also boxes of night sights and single rifle grenades—just what he wanted to arm his crew with.

  The problem was that there were six cases of them, and all he wanted was a few of the weapons. He knew that the bad elements out on the street would have a field day with these if they came across them. This pile of military equipment would certainly go up with a pretty loud bang if fire ever got into this area. The boxes had been destined for Somalia. He found himself questioning why these materials were being sent there, of all places, but he knew it was not up to him to question. Suddenly, however, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up—there could be hundreds of other military supplies in the warehouses around here. His mind was made up. They were definitely leaving in the morning.

  Smoke and the smell of fire and burning debris was getting worse outside. The passenger lookout on the second floor came down to give a report. Captain Mallory walked back with the girl, looked out of the second story window, and saw that the horizon above the buildings on the opposite side off the street to the north was getting brighter and brighter. Was it the sun or was it fire? He couldn’t tell, but they could now work better with the brighter light coming through the windows.

  Captain Mallory suggested to the couple of dozen of faithful helpers around him—his crew and many of the male passengers—that it was time to get the contents of at least one case of guns to the vehicles, then get the fuel through the door and pump as much into the five vehicles’ fuel tanks as possible. Any remaining gas in the drums could then be lifted into the SWAT trucks. John, the co-pilot reminded the captain that the forklift could not get through the doorway.

  “No problem,” replied the Captain. “I saw a case of green garden hoses back there and there is a manual gas pump in the workshop. We can push a full barrel on its side, get a rope around it, and have a team pull it through the doorway into the other room on its side. Then we can right it, and use the manual pump.”

  It took the first hour to empty the military cases and share the guns and ammo between the five vehicles. It took another hour before all the vehicle fuel tanks were filled and they knew how much fuel was left over—about 40 gallons in one drum on the back of a SWAT vehicle. For another half an hour, the team searched for food and loaded all they could into the vehicles. It was a reasonable amount, including several pounds of cheese, a case of caviar, several dozen cases of frozen sausages and steaks found in the freezer with “Produce of Australia” stamped on them, dozens of 1-gallon bottles of frozen orange juice, frozen carrots from New Zealand, a case of Japanese rice wine, two bags of Indian rice, and several boxes of Swiss chocolates. They also found and stored one of the gas grills with a couple of bottles of propane, three large steel turkey cookers, and two working gas heaters with full bottles of propane.

  John tasted the water in the fire engine, it tasted old and had a slight odor to it, but it was good enough for drinking and cooking with. The co-pilot had suggested that they take as much as possible as there might be nothing out there, and they might need supplies for longer than they anticipated.

  It was time to rest and the temperature was now several degrees below freezing. A case of Chinese-made children’s “The Mechanic” blankets had been found earlier, and there were enough to ration out several to each person. Everybody bedded down to sleep, knowing that departure time would be early.

  It was 7:00 am when Captain Mallory awoke. He thought he had slept past dawn as the warehouse was brightly lit up from outside. He ran to the second-story window and saw that it was massive flames, and not the sun, that was causing the light. The fires had gotten a lot closer overnight. The whole horizon around the silhouetted building across the street showed that fires were burning just a couple of blocks away and they were very big. He could see dense smoke rising and it was blowing in a gentle breeze over the top of their warehouse. It was time to go—breakfast would have to be on the road.

  The captain got the crew up and asked them to wake everyone. Figures were huddled together everywhere for warmth, and as John walked past the broken door with the forklift keeping it closed, he heard someone knocking on the door from outside. He opened the door by a few inches and saw several little faces peeking out from under the same “The Mechanic” blankets they had issued to the passengers to keep warm several hours ea
rlier. He let in the group of children who looked cold and dirty. Their group included an older teenager girl who looked a complete mess—her filthy blonde hair covered in mud and dirt.

  “Who are you guys?” John asked.

  “I’m Sam, he’s Paul my younger brother, and that’s Melanie,” the first boy said, pointing to a smaller boy about eight next to him and a six-year old girl. “We found some of these kids running from the fires after we left here with our parents a few hours ago. We were part of a group of twenty who walked out of here to find help. We didn’t want to go, but our parents forced us.”

  “Where are they now?” asked John.

  “I don’t know,” replied Sam. “We got shot at by a group of guys in an old white convertible. We all ran for cover, but I saw a couple of adults get hit. That car and then another old black car, it looked like a Cadillac you see in the movies, chased lots of people and they were shooting at anybody who moved.”

  “We hid,” added Paul. “A couple of these kids found us and took us to an old building where some other kids were hiding.”

  “The bigger girl over there,” Sam continued, “said that she was being held captive in one of the cars and when the excitement started, she flung herself out of the back of the convertible and ran for the river. She was hiding in an alley when we found her. She has a few injuries and her teeth keep chattering. I think the men did something to her.”