NOVEL WEB Song 30: The silence that precedes the explosion
Yasini became Chrome Hill's strategist. He was the only one in Chrome Hill with any expertise on the subject. When he received word from spies that the Fourth Estate was preparing for an attack the next morning, he organized the soldiers on the hill. He defined groups of half a dozen, each with a leader.
The Central Command would opt for a guerrilla war line of defense. The streets below were barricaded with cars and alligators, which are spiked metal structures that prevent the enemy from advancing. In the streets above, iron and concrete poles were installed, as well as burning garbage cans.
Women and children were evacuated to the dump, and a group stayed there to protect them. Everyone who could hold a gun, from fourteen to sixty, stayed behind. It was the first time that many of them had fingered the trigger. Some were excited by the adrenaline of the moment, without measuring the future consequences. Others felt fear freeze their spine, they knew they were going to die.
Yasini knew that the war would not take place vertically, in other words, the Fourth Estate would not go up to the slum to take control. It would be like the Sanko Sakusen, the same 'Three Everything’s' of the summer of 1941 on the plains of Hebei and Shandong: the militia would kill everything, burn everything and loot everything.
It was a war driven by revenge against an overprotective brother. The medium knew better than anyone that this was the worst kind of enemy, the adversary with no ambition of his own, driven by pure hatred.
To placate Ata's fury, he adopted the Coup de Main strategy. There would be five lines of defense of five hundred meters each, in ascending order of men. The first line would give the initial fire with light weapons, in a quick and direct attack. Then the second line would retreat, and so on until the last.
In the interval between the lines of defense, groups of light artillery would go on a raid. They would ambush the militia besiegers, confident that the defensive lines had retreated. They would use rocket launchers and hand grenade launchers, as well as tracked machine-gun turrets, .50 ammunition, with a movement sensor. Lines of wire were installed to slow down the enemy's advance in the narrow alleys of Chrome Hill.
Spin Bonb, Akachi, Okafor and volunteers installed a belt of firework sword bundles with a high concentration of gunpowder, with rusty nails inside. These would serve as improvised shrapnel bombs. Without electronic detonators, they would be difficult to trace. They were hidden inside garbage cans, with a wick that would last ten minutes.
Gathered in a room, Yasini gave his last orders. He asked Spin Bomb to stay in the last line of defense, but she insisted on being in the vanguard and helping with the detonation.
"Are you crazy, Spin Bomb? Ata must see you as the main target. If Chekandino catches you in the middle of the mess, no one will save you."
"And what fun is that? If you're going to die, let it be in the lead."
"I'll go with her, Master Yasini."
"You're just as reckless as she is, Akachi. I'm not your nanny, do what you want!"
A soldier from the slum entered the war office of the Central Command. He asked permission to speak to Yasini.
"What, is the enemy already moving?"
"No, sir. It's a journalist."
"Another culture vulture, send him away."
"No, Yasini. I don't know much about war, but I do know something you can't deny, bro: the power of the press. Beating the enemy in the media will improve my mood too. Drug dealers have their vanities too, you know?"
"All right, search him. Make sure he hasn't been bugged, get his ID…"
"We've already done that, sir."
"All right, send him in!"
A man almost two meters tall, wearing a beautiful dark matte slim suit entered the room. He adjusted the narrow rectangular frame of his dark glasses and smiled gratefully. Yasini felt a shiver run down her spine at the sight of the slender, confident man in front of her.
"Who are you? I don't want any corps getting in my way."
"I'm not a corp, rest assured. I'm a gonzo journalist. I'm not going to write a story describing the events of this war, I'm going to take part in it objectively. My writing will convey the fact through my subjectivity. There will be no distinction between my point of view and the factual"
"I didn't understand a fucking word that guy said, Yasini. If you're going to shoot around, at least hit our enemy, hahahaha. It won't be free, Kinyua here needs to pay the bills at the end of the month. You know, business. What's your name again?"
"My name is Mr. Nobody."
"A mysterious journalist, with even more mysterious purposes. Are you sure you're going to allow this guy to circulate among us, Chief Kinyua?"
"What's a fart to someone who's already shit? Leave this guy there, if you pay me well, you can go on your urban safari, Mr. Nobody."
"Thank you, gentlemen, I promise not to interfere… too much."
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Ata gathered his private army. He felt a taste in his mouth, it was the taste of power. There were two thousand men at his disposal, dressed in state-of-the-art combat armor. The logistics of war were favorable to him. He had two helicopters with fly-by-wire technology, rockets, anti-tank missiles and 7.62 mm gatling guns.
Four three-meter-high armored bipedal tanks. On the right shoulder, it had an adapted SIMBAD-RC missile launcher with mistral short-range surface-to-air warheads. On the left shoulder, a medium-range cannon-taser. On the left arm, a 122 mm automatic reloading rocket launcher. On the right arm, a retractable bayonet-flanker with an overheating blade.
Finally, two hundred jetpacks. This would allow for an effective air-to-surface attack. Ata knew that all the force multipliers had been set up. He had such confidence that nothing could shake him at that moment. Facing his well-trained and heavily armed men, he climbed into his bipedal tank and gave a speech with the cockpit open:
"Today will be the great day of victory and justice. We will avenge our dead against the Central Command!"
Those present raised their weapons. Their morale was high. They would follow Ata into hell if they had to.
"These dirty drug dealers will no longer defile our community. We're going to bring the peace that the state and its corrupt institutions haven't brought to the slums. Our military strategy will be Kill Box. Each unit will advance in a semi-autonomous and coordinated manner on the battlefield. Each unit will only respond to our War Control Center. Advance without mercy or pity."
The Kill Box was in purple mode, meaning it covered air-to-surface attacks without the need for command authorization. The Chrome Hill slum was divided into a grid, like a chessboard. Three-dimensional blocks of thirty miles by thirty miles followed one another until they filled its 877,575 square kilometers.
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Chrome Hill would be a free-fire area. The territory would be controlled without its respective domain. It would facilitate the engagement of Fourth Estate troops and the mutual support and protection of troops. The Kill Box had a life cycle: open, activate, operate and close. It was like wrapping a genocide as a present.
The militiaman saluted, which was reciprocated by all his men. The soldiers marched off. The helicopters were already turning their propellers outside the shed. Suddenly, a particular video call appeared on the monitor: it was the Head of the Juta Drug Trafficking Division. His eyes were bulging, he was rushing down the corridors:
"Ata… arf… burf… are you all right?"
"What's the matter, why are you so scared?"
"The… urf… The Cupola of the Fourth Estate has been attacked. They're all dead in our building."
"Stop snorting, man! I don't understand anything. Speak slowly."
"No, I had to run away. It was an attack by Central Command. They're all dead, Ata. Even Lovelie. Damn it, they're coming after me…"
"Don't hang up, you cowardly son of a bitch!"
The militiaman swallowed. He punched the control panel. He screamed without anyone being able to hear his suffering. Hatred flowed through his veins and accumulated in his heart. He activated the controls and left the shed. Ata didn't know it, but at that moment he had lost the parade.