Chapter 1: Target Rich Environment

“Nine-one-one, this call is being recorded, please state your name and the... , “ the operator’s calm voice started the formulaic answer only to be interrupted by a hysterical voice.

“Oh God! They are shooting everyone!” screamed the panicky woman.

“Please calm down, I need to know where you are and what is going on,” the 911 operator replied, sounding cool and professional. The terrified woman could hear the rapid clicking of keys over the line.

“Natural Foods on Belmont,” came the response. Gunfire could be clearly heard in the background.

“Police and SWAT are on the way. How many gunmen are there and what are they armed with?” the operator asked. Her voice was starting to sound a little strained from hearing the continuous gunfire and screams in the background.

“There are at least three or four men dressed like commandos out of a movie with assault rifles and gear, they...”

BANG. A scream echoed in the operator’s ears followed by the thud of a body falling and the crack of the cell phone hitting the floor. “Oh God, I’ve been shot,” the voice on the other end of the line whispered, followed by a gurgling sound.

“Ma’am? Ma’am?!” the operator asked frantically. The only response was the loud crack of gunfire.

“Nine-one-one, this call is being recorded, please state your name and the nature of your emergency,” came the calm woman’s voice over the line. Joe recognized Mary’s voice and thanked God it had not been his fiancée who answered.

“Mary, this is Joe Hodgkin, station 7, badge 2386. There is a shooting going on at the Natural Foods supermarket. Me and four other off-duty firefighters from station 7 are holed up in the walk-in cooler behind the meat department with nine civilians. I believe there are three gunmen...”

“Four,” one of the ‘civilian’ men said with certainty as he crouched beside Joe. The sounds of multiple shots being fired was muffled by their hiding place but not completely muted.

“Four?” Joe asked.

“I did two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. Trust me, there’s four gunmen out there. The high crack of the 5.56mm bullets, and the relatively slow rate of fire, means they are using M-4’s on semi-automatic, or more likely AR-15’s.”

“Mary, one of the others says there are four gunmen armed with semi-automatic rifles, probably AR-15’s,” Joe said, keeping his voice calm and professional, despite his fear.

“Thanks for the information, I’m relaying it to SWAT now. You know the drill Joe, everything we’ve got is heading your way right now,” Mary, the 911 operator, said reassuringly, “so keep your head down and stay safe.”

“Mary, please don’t tell Nancy I’m here,” Joe begged. “She needs to focus on her job and stay calm instead of worrying about me. I know she’s sitting right near you and is probably swamped with calls as well.” After a pause, where he fought the fear that made it hard to speak, Joe continued, “If things do go wrong, please tell her that I love her and am sorry I broke my promise to stay safe.”

There was a pause and a sniff. Joe strongly suspected the sound was Mary fighting tears. “I understand. Don’t be a hero, I don’t want to have to play this message for her.”

As Joe crouched in the cooler, he cursed their poor timing. Today was supposed to be the fire department’s annual 4^th of July cookout, and they had been on their way. The fire chief had tasked them with swinging by the supermarket to pick up the department’s previously ordered pile of fresh steaks and some other perishable odds and ends. It seemed like the entire city also had the same idea, and the store was packed.

‘Talk about a target rich environment,’ he thought to himself grimly.

Even in the hyperaware climate of fear people now lived in, thanks to mass shooters, terrorists, Earth First nutjobs, and the impending alien invasion, the shooters were able to get in position without being detected. No screams or shouts of warning. The shooters also seemed to know that panicked groups of people tend to become mindless sheep milling or running around in groups instead of working together constructively or counter attacking.

They had no warning before the gunshots started ringing throughout the store. When they heard the first shots, Joe and the other firefighters had originally fled toward the rear doors, herding a group of shoppers with them. To their horror, they encountered two more gunmen in the back of the store. The gunmen seemed to have planned for that and had stood blocking the back exits, shooting people to herd the panicky survivors away from them so they would be trapped in the store. Seeing the way blocked, Joe’s group had run back into the meat department and hidden in the walk-in meat cooler for lack of anyplace else to go. With only a small window and no other exits, it made a crappy place to hole up, but it was the only good-sized hiding place he could think of.

On any other day, he and his fellow firefighters would have been racing down to the locker room to gear up, head over, and help with the injured. Instead, they were helplessly hiding in the cooler, listening to people being shot. Joe, and the ex-Marine who had spoken up earlier, Scott, were both crouching by the cooler door. Each of them had grabbed long knives from the meat department as they fled through there. The two men had agreed to do whatever was necessary to keep the people behind them safe, even if it meant taking on a gunman with nothing more than a knife.

‘On the bright side’, Joe consoled himself, ‘if Nancy hadn’t been working, she’d have been stuck here with me’.

His fiancée was the light of his life, and he had thought he would do anything for her. Today proved him wrong. He would do anything for her except cower back and let others get injured to keep himself safe. He did not think of himself as a hero, but he was also not a coward either. He knew his job was to put himself in harm’s way to keep civilians safe. Looking back over his shoulder, he noticed that every one of his fellow firefighters had positioned themselves between the civilians and the door of the cooler. His lips curved up in a grim but proud smile when he saw that and turned his attention back to the door.

Captain Young was sitting in his command chair waiting to be relieved. He knew this was the lull before the proverbial storm. Once they got to Thule there was a high probability that his Marines would be in combat with the Swarm. This ground combat would be very different than what he was used to when he was commanding US Marines in the sand box. The enemy was very obvious and they were straightforward. There would never be IED’s to harass his men. The weapons provided by the Confederacy were enough to make him want to drool. He loved the laser rifles they would be using in combat. Suddenly, all his troops had weapons that could reach out and touch someone at long distances, were more accurate, and could deal out more death and destruction than the elite snipers back on Earth.

He was also glad to be heading out to combat the Swarm, instead of overseeing pickups. While critical to getting more volunteers out to the stars, they were not his cup of tea. Worse, they were becoming political messes from both sides. Screw politics, he wanted a clear enemy he could destroy! Luckily, he had been able to make that a condition when he joined the Confederacy, no pickups.

“Sir, the AI just relayed a nine-one-one call to me concerning a mass shooting at a supermarket. Police and SWAT are responding,” the comms officer told the ship’s captain, interrupting his musings.

“I’m sorry, but so what? It’s happening all too often and there’s nothing we can do. Hell, it’s not even our jurisdiction so they would throw us out if we interfered,” Captain Young responded sadly while a steadily growing sick anger burned in his belly. He hated the loss of life caused by the senseless shooting, but his hands were tied.

Even though the ship was in Earth orbit, they were not conducting pick-up operations on Earth. Instead, they were waiting for the rest of the battlegroup to form up for deployment to the Thule theater which had recently become very active. His brand new Tarawa-class Marine assault ship, the Tripoli, would be in battle soon, and he was looking forward to kicking Swarm ass.

“Sir, the AI determined there are five DECO-flagged priority targets in the supermarket,” the shocked duty officer replied.

“What? How? Does it have a drone nearby?” the captain asked in surprise.

<Sir, > the AI responded, <The store’s security footage is streamed online to their central loss prevention office. I simply tapped in and decrypted the transmission. Using facial recognition to match shoppers to CAP cardholders, I was able to identify most of the people in the store. In addition to the five flagged by DECO, there are 38 other live volunteers currently in the store. Correction, 36, two were just killed, > the AI said unemotionally.

“Shit,” Captain Young swore furiously. With barely a pause to consider the ramifications, he ordered, “Get a drone with a transporter down there ASAP!”

The enraged captain then contacted the Marine duty officer. After filling him in on the shocking events going on, he ordered, “Have the ready team turn in their stingers and rearm with laser rifles for longer range shooting. Tell them use of deadly force is authorized and encouraged! Dammit!”

There was no way he was going to sit back and let sponsors get killed because of his inaction. He had seen the Sa’arm in action, and he knew just how important every warm body was to the war effort. Forty-one sponsors meant an absolute minimum of eighty-two concubines. So, not counting the children who were in the line-of-fire, there were well over a hundred people down there running for their lives who should be up on a transport ship readying themselves to aid humanity in the ongoing war. The fact that DECO had flagged five of them as being critically needed had made his decision easy.

Looking back at his comms officer, Captain Young continued, “Get the local police on the line and let them know we are sending backup down to them.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the comms officer replied. While it was not his place to say anything, he had been horrified at the captain’s initial seemingly indifferent response that there was nothing they could or should do.

“What are we looking at for casualty figures so I can get Medical ready?” the captain asked the AI.

<There are currently thirty-one wounded individuals who will probably survive until they can be placed in a medtube. This is only a rough estimate based on purely visual analysis of video footage and has a wide margin of error, > the AI said, sounding a little unhappy about having to guess numbers.

“Fucking hell!” the captain swore, stunned and horrified by the sheer carnage. “Even with our enlarged med-bay, there’s no way our Medical team can handle those kind of numbers, especially since the final figure will probably be much higher.” He started pacing, thinking furiously to find a solution that would save the most lives.

“AI, isn’t there a Nurse-class hospital ship that’s going to be joining this battlegroup?” Captain Young asked aloud as an earlier briefing came to mind.

<The Nurse-class hospital ship designated AHO14 Sophie Mannerheim is currently in Earth orbit awaiting the final formation of the battle group, > the AI replied.

“Connect me to the Mannerheim,” Captain Young ordered.

Aboard the Sophie Mannerheim, things were running smoothly as usual. That meant Captain Sato was bored out of his mind. There was absolutely nothing to do unless he decided to call another evacuation drill. His crew had already done dozens of drills of various types to relieve the boredom of hyperspace travel and had done more since they arrived in Earth’s orbit. Of course, things would probably get busy when the taskforce they were assigned to reached the Thule system. However, that was at least a long, boring month from now. He sighed out loud, and his communications officer sighed in response. She looked just as bored as he did. Hurry up and wait was the phrase of the day.

Suddenly, her console beeped, “Sir, incoming call from the captain of the Tripoli,” Ensign Cooper said, sounding slightly surprised.

“Please put him through, Ensign,” Captain Sato.

“Good afternoon, Captain. What can I do for you?” Captain Sato asked causally after the communications officer connected them.

“Prepare for a mass casualty incident,” Captain Young said without preamble. “This is not a drill. We have a mass shooting in progress on Earth with priority volunteers in the line of fire. All casualties are going to be transported up to your ship.”

“Confirm, you said this is NOT a drill?” Captain Sato asked, hoping he had misheard.

“Confirmed, the AI estimated at least thirty-one casualties so far,” Captain Young said grimly. The rage in his voice confirmed his words. “Have the AI’s set up the transporters. I’ll draft everyone who can push a stretcher to help you. Don’t forget to get everyone out of the medtubes if possible. I’m sure you know how to set up a triage area for preliminary assessment and treatment in the transporter room. I’ll have Marines standing by to secure any weapons and deal with any threats,” the captain finished grimly.

After a very audible gulp, Captain Sato replied, “Yessir. I’ll get everything ready here.” He paused for a second, then continued tartly, “We do know how to do our jobs here you know.”

“Sorry, I’m just pissed about the situation and taking the bit in my teeth,” Captain Young apologized.

“I understand, Captain. The Mannerheim will be ready,” Captain Sato promised.

After the call ended, Sato looked at Ensign Cooper. All traces of good-natured boredom gone from his face, “Put me on ship-wide broadcast,” he ordered.

Ensign Cooper looked back, an equally grim look on her beautiful face. Both knew the horrors of mass casualty incidents from their medical careers on Earth before joining the Confederacy. After pushing a few buttons, she nodded to him, “Ready, Sir.”

“All hands, FLASH, FLASH, FLASH, I say again, FLASH, FLASH, FLASH. Prepare the ship for a mass casualty incident. I say again, prepare for a mass casualty incident. This is not a drill. Set up a triage staging area in the transporter room. We are looking at a minimum of thirty plus gunshot victims being transported up from Earth. Marines will assist with security. I want all surgery pods prepped and all medtube readied for use. All ready teams grab stretchers and muster in the transporter room. I want all hands on deck and section leaders are to call in when you are ready.”

Even as he was finishing his grim announcement, he could hear people rushing down the corridor outside the bridge as his crew sprang into action. Suddenly, the boring morning seemed a whole lot more desirable.

After signing off with the Mannerheim, Captain Young asked the AI, “Can we confirm if this is an Earth First attack?”

<Unknown at this time, the gunmen are wearing tactical masks that conceal their faces. Once the stealth drone gets into position I will be able to scan their CAP cards if they have them and try to determine if they have been flagged as Earth First operatives or sympathizers, > the AI responded.

The captain looked thoughtful and contacted the duty officer again, “If this is Earth First, there’s a high probability that they’ll have others waiting in the parking lot to ambush any Confederacy forces that show up. If they’re jihad terrorists, then the first responders may come under fire. Make sure you relay that to the squad leader. They’ll be sitting ducks when they start coming out of the transporter until they can erect force screens, set up a perimeter and secure the area. Also, make sure they keep an eye out for IED’s or other explosives. Both Earth First and terrorists like using them.

“I want a second squad armored up and on standby in case the first team starts taking heavy fire, as well as a team of corpsmen to handle any Marine casualties on the ground. Next, get another squad armed with stingers, along with the entire remaining Medical staff, and have them report to the Mannerheim.”

After acknowledging the orders, the duty office signed off. Captain Young finally ran out of steam after the flurry of orders. All he could do now was sit back, worry about his Marines and seethe at the probability of more sponsors dying.

The bored Marines looked up as the duty officer burst into the room. It was immediately obvious something was very wrong since officers NEVER rushed into a room. They are trained to always appear in control of themselves and the situation, no matter what. Even the greenest recruits knew this and a feeling of anticipation, but also nervousness, filled the room.

“OFFICER ON DECK!” one of the Marines yelled.

Even as they were jumping to their feet, the furious lieutenant snarled, “Belay that! There’s no time for that nonsense. The AI intercepted a nine-one-one call of a mass shooting in progress. It confirmed there are dozens of volunteers in the line of fire, with a minimum of two already dead. I want first squad to get your asses down to the armory. Per Captain’s orders, you are trading in your stingers for laser rifles so you can make long range kill shots. Orders from on high are, I quote, ‘shoot to kill’. You have five minutes to gear up, run, not walk, to the armory, and then rally in the transporter room. You will be doing a hot transporter insertion and there is a good chance you will come under fire, so force shields will be issued. NOW MOVE!” he barked.

The Marines were shocked by his terse, angry briefing, but did not hesitate and within moments, they were grabbing their gear and high-tailing it to the armory. Yells of “make a hole!”, echoed back down the hall to him.

Even as they were dashing out of the room, he continued, “Alright, second squad, report to the armory and draw heavy weapons and armor then stand by with a medical team in the transporter room in case first platoon starts taking casualties and you need to deploy. Third squad, gear up with stingers and muster in the transporter room, you’ll be sent to the Mannerheim to provide security. MOVE!”

Once again, the only response was shocked men and women streaming out of the room at top speed, mentally readying themselves for action.

‘By God,’ he thought proudly, ‘they actually made it.’ Lieutenant Brown had gone straight to the transporter room for the final briefing before the ready squad transported down. Exactly five minutes after he burst in on them, the rapid-fire sounds of armored boots slamming onto the deck ceased as the last of the squad raced into the transporter room and fell into rank. They were all breathing fast from the run, but none were winded.

“Sir, first squad all present,” Sergeant Morris reported. She was slightly out of breath as well from the mad dash around the ship.

“Excellent. As I said earlier, there’s a mass shooting in progress with volunteers in the line of fire. Local tactical teams are just arriving on scene. Consider this a hot insertion and be ready to come under fire. The AI reports four shooters dressed in combat gear and carrying AR-15 semi-automatic rifles and 9mm side arms. There is a shooter at each of the two main entrances shooting anyone they see, while the other two are stalking around the store, flushing out any who’re hiding and preventing them from escaping out the emergency exits.” He looked around at the faces and took in their grim, determined expressions.

“Needless to say,” he continued, “local police have authority thanks to political interference by Earth First getting the treaties changed, but,” he paused and met their eyes, “do not hesitate to take out the shooters, no matter what the locals say, unless there is a clear danger of accidentally harming civilians or other law-enforcement. I don’t care who gets credit for killing them, but I want them dead! If the local cops have issues with that, they are welcome to file a complaint! The parking lot has not yet been secured, so this will be a possible ambush situation. Make sure you maintain 360-degree situational awareness. Also, be aware there is the possibility of explosives being present to kill first responders. Finally, the Mannerheim is setting up for casualties, so the AI will redirect your transporter to it as soon as you get down there.”

<Drone is in position and has deposited the transporter portal, > the AI reported suddenly.

“Get them out of here, Sergeant, it’s your mess now.”

“You heard the LT, form up on the transporter. I want all four with force screen generators through first. Get them on the ground and active in a square. Once we get the ‘All Clear’ from the AI, I want you to leap-frog in pairs to the grocery store. Each pair will be one shield-bearer and one rifleman. Alpha fireteam take the left entrance with two shields, Bravo fireteam take the right entrance with the other two, Charlie team hang back and cover them. Questions?” she glared at them for a bare second, then yelled, “GO, GO, GO!”

The lieutenant watched proudly as the squad poured through the transporter portal like a well-oiled machine. Even as the last of them vanished through the transporter, the other squads as well as medical personnel pushing anti-grav stretchers, started pouring into the room and getting ready to transport over to the Mannerheim to help with the victims.

As they had practiced, the moment Private Johnson got through the portal, he took two long paces and activated the force screen. The six foot by six foot screen of slightly shimmering force sprang out of the small shield generator suspended in the middle of it. He released the handle of the generator and brought his laser rifle to bear while crouched behind the screen, ready for action. It had been drilled into his head repeatedly that the six foot screen was six inches shorter than him, so he had to keep his head down or get it blown off. No one had ever been able to explain why the screens were simply not made bigger. His grip tightened nervously on his weapon when he heard the gunfire and the sounds of high velocity rounds slamming into the cars the police were taking cover behind. Screams of fear and pain could also be heard coming from inside the store. The very familiar feeling of anger warring with nervousness reminded him of his days fighting overseas.

The next three Marines through the transporter mimicked his actions, so all four cardinal directions had a force screen up, forming a square with slight gaps at each corner for them to point their rifles through and provide cover fire if necessary. When the rest of the squad was through and in position, each force screen had a person at either end, two laser rifles pointing through each gap, with the remaining fireteam ready to fill in any gaps caused by casualties. The infuriated Marines were easily able to hear sporadic gunfire and screams coming from within the building. Several local cops sheltering nearby watched the well-orchestrated thirty second deployment in amazement.

Last to come through, Sergeant Morris immediately scooped up the collapsible transporter disk and stuffed it into her backpack. No matter what the situation, hi-tech Confederacy gear had to be kept secure at all times. As soon as that was done, she launched the stealth drone she had brought with her. It was critical to make sure there were no hostiles nearby that could ambush them. Taking a moment to assess the situation, she scanned the area. It was even worse than she had imagined, with the screams of the injured and the terrified filling her with rage. Thankfully, it only took the AI a minute to determine the area was clear. Just as she was ready to order her men forward, she spotted someone heading their way.

As fast as the Marine deployment had been, the local police SWAT team had been even faster. They had been engaged in rappelling training only a few blocks away. Because they were practicing real-world tactical insertions, they had already been fully geared-up for the training exercise, needing only to draw live ammo from the locked chests in their armored vehicle. Barely three minutes after the first panicked call, they were screeching into the parking lot. There was only one cruiser on scene when they arrived, but the number of approaching sirens almost drowned out the continuous gunfire coming from inside the supermarket.

“Thank God you guys are here!” Patrolman LaGere yelled as the SWAT team poured out of their armored transport.

Even as the SWAT team started taking cover behind parked cars, first one, then a second gunman opened fire on them. One of the SWAT team members went down, a high velocity round punching through his throat. As they prepared to return fire, they were forced to hesitate. There were civilians clearly visible behind the gunmen, directly in the SWAT team’s line of fire. Even the two highly trained snipers on the team hesitated. The odds of their shots going through the gunmen and hitting innocents were just too high, no matter how skillful the shot. The gunmen alternated shooting at the police and spinning around and shooting at the terrified shoppers who were being chased toward them by the other two gunmen. The SWAT team could only grind their teeth in impotent fury and pray for even a moment they could get a clear shot as one after another of the innocents went down in sprays of blood.

The gunmen’s plan was diabolical and it was working. Even tear gas was out as an option, since it looked like the gunmen were wearing gas masks. Their gear looked military, and the goggles they were wearing might even prevent flash-bangs from being effective. The two entrances to the shopping market were about ten yards apart and one gunman crouched in each. The SWAT team leader had his team spread out as much as possible, in case one of them could get a long cross shot at the far gunman without risking the civilians. Unfortunately, the doors were flush with the building and the gunmen were far enough back that crossfire was highly unlikely to come close to them. There was no high ground nearby, not even a decent tree, that he could send his snipers up to get a shot. About the only option he could think of was to get men against the building by the doors and rush the gunmen. It might work, at least those two gunmen would be taken out, but the odds of a police officer being shot were almost a certainty, even with riot shields. Not to mention that with their overlapping fields of fire, the gunmen would be able to see any police forces coming up on the other gunman through the parking lot. The only realistic attack would have to wait until they were able to get officers behind the building to come around the sides.

When there were enough responding officers to cover the front of the building, the SWAT team could also attempt entry through the rear of the building, but he knew the doors in the back were steel and bolted closed to prevent robbery. Because the doors were on loading docks, he could not even ram their armored vehicle through a door. All in all, the situation sucked like a hooker when rent was due. There was no good solution that he could see that did not risk his men’s or civilians’ lives.

“Commander, we just got a call. The Confederacy is sending a Marine squad down to help out.”

“God dammit,” Commander Stevens swore. “Just what we need, a bunch of oversized cowboys making things even fucking worse,” he said angrily. Leave it to the damn Confederacy to make a bad situation worse. He was certain those amateur cowards would just get in the way and possibly cause more people to die. Hell, it was not even their jurisdiction, so they better not try anything except staying out of the way!

His opinion changed somewhat as he watched the Marines’ professional deployment out of thin air and took in their incredibly advanced armor and gear. They had fucking teleporters, forcefields, and he was pretty sure they were carrying laser rifles! For a moment, he was angered by the unfairness of the situation. Had they put that type of gear in the hands of real men, it would have saved many SWAT team members’ lives and made their job vastly safer.

Even as the closer gunman opened fire on the Marines, he could see the Marines were just as helpless as the SWAT team, being unable to return fire, which made him feel a little less resentful. The SWAT commander watched that the rounds bounced harmlessly off the Marines’ forcefield. The gunman quickly grew bored and started shooting at cars and police officers again, not always ineffectively as the occasional cry of pain indicated. Cars really did make crappy cover for the most part, but they had nothing better available. Especially nothing like the portable forcefields the Marines were using.

He crouched down and ran over to the Marines, using cars for cover.

“Who’s in charge here?” he asked brusquely.

“I am,” Sergeant Morris responded. Even squatting down, she was obviously much bigger than the SWAT commander. “What’s the current situation?”

“We have the front covered but have no easy way to get in the back door. Can you handle that?”