The Wolves News: Episode 11, the final in the Wolves saga, is now ready for reading.
'The Wolves' Abstract
This is the saga of some of the first Americans to stand up to a long-fallen corrupt superpower and empirical giant; their own nation of birth, which had soured many generations past and was now on the brink of total collapse -even more so than its dire economic status indicated to its struggling, spiritually crippled people. Episode 3 introduces the rest of the team.
This is the saga of some of the first Americans to stand up to a long-fallen corrupt superpower and empirical giant; their own nation of birth, which had soured many generations past and was now on the brink of total collapse -even more so than its dire economic status indicated to its struggling, spiritually crippled people. Episode 3 introduces the rest of the team.
The Wolves: Episode 3
Page 1
The road again.
I’d been driving for days…
Searching…
for the Wolves.
Like all things, my search took time… and money – both of which I had very little if any of.
To save time… well, I just broke every traffic law there was. I smacked a window in on a fancy sports car at my first stop and borrowed the very generous owner’s radar detector. You know; just to be on the safe side. Speed limits, stop signs, red lights; all those annoying things became casual suggestions.
What about money for food, gas, a place to stay along the way? Fuck that.
I’d stored up plenty of gas jugs and MREs over the years. It was part of the reason why I’d been so poor – or, at least, living that way. I tossed a half dozen of the jugs and about two dozen of the MREs in the back seat. As for a place to stay, fuck that, too. My car was as good as any, and I was used to it – thanks to living the life of a truly nomadic warrior in Arabia for a few years.
I could watch my car and my stuff while being only moments away from the highways like that.
Whenever it got dark enough and I got tired enough, I just found a nice out-of-the-way parking lot or apartment complex to park in. The windows went down just a crack for air circulation, all the lights went off to black out the inside, and I just dropped my seat back and nodded off – just like in high school.
The road again.
I’d been driving for days…
Searching…
for the Wolves.
Like all things, my search took time… and money – both of which I had very little if any of.
To save time… well, I just broke every traffic law there was. I smacked a window in on a fancy sports car at my first stop and borrowed the very generous owner’s radar detector. You know; just to be on the safe side. Speed limits, stop signs, red lights; all those annoying things became casual suggestions.
What about money for food, gas, a place to stay along the way? Fuck that.
I’d stored up plenty of gas jugs and MREs over the years. It was part of the reason why I’d been so poor – or, at least, living that way. I tossed a half dozen of the jugs and about two dozen of the MREs in the back seat. As for a place to stay, fuck that, too. My car was as good as any, and I was used to it – thanks to living the life of a truly nomadic warrior in Arabia for a few years.
I could watch my car and my stuff while being only moments away from the highways like that.
Whenever it got dark enough and I got tired enough, I just found a nice out-of-the-way parking lot or apartment complex to park in. The windows went down just a crack for air circulation, all the lights went off to black out the inside, and I just dropped my seat back and nodded off – just like in high school.
團圓
Page 2
I used what little and vague information I had. One by one, I started narrowing down my target areas. False names in phone books and previously provided unlisted phone numbers usually landed me in dead ends, disconnecteds, or answering machines in seldom-visited safe-houses.
Bars were my ticket back into the very active underworld. Be casual, friendly, flash a smile with exposed eyes, offer a light to the cancer fans – you might be surprised what they’ll tell you… what they’ll offer.
Females are the easiest to flirt info out of – especially if you know that the guys you are looking for play your game, too;
“Yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about.”
“You mean Jim? Oh, yeah!”
“Yeah, I know where he lives.”
“That is so cool!”
“Really?”
“Sure. He’s always in here around…”
Bingo. I repressed the urge to flash an evil grin each time some wonderful little dick-crazy bar-girl spilled her guts about my targets just for the sake of riding the social butterfly emotion wave. Nothing against dick-crazy bar-girls, though. God bless ‘em. Especially the hotties who went through men as fast as I went through them. No commitment equals easy livin’. Oorah.
I isolated my first target at a location I knew fit his tastes. I went alone after making sure no one had followed me, parked in an adjacent complex, hopped the alley wall, and walked up to his door.
Mentally crossing my fingers in the luck gesture, I knocked thrice…
I used what little and vague information I had. One by one, I started narrowing down my target areas. False names in phone books and previously provided unlisted phone numbers usually landed me in dead ends, disconnecteds, or answering machines in seldom-visited safe-houses.
Bars were my ticket back into the very active underworld. Be casual, friendly, flash a smile with exposed eyes, offer a light to the cancer fans – you might be surprised what they’ll tell you… what they’ll offer.
Females are the easiest to flirt info out of – especially if you know that the guys you are looking for play your game, too;
“Yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about.”
“You mean Jim? Oh, yeah!”
“Yeah, I know where he lives.”
“That is so cool!”
“Really?”
“Sure. He’s always in here around…”
Bingo. I repressed the urge to flash an evil grin each time some wonderful little dick-crazy bar-girl spilled her guts about my targets just for the sake of riding the social butterfly emotion wave. Nothing against dick-crazy bar-girls, though. God bless ‘em. Especially the hotties who went through men as fast as I went through them. No commitment equals easy livin’. Oorah.
I isolated my first target at a location I knew fit his tastes. I went alone after making sure no one had followed me, parked in an adjacent complex, hopped the alley wall, and walked up to his door.
Mentally crossing my fingers in the luck gesture, I knocked thrice…
Page 3
There were no lights and no sign of inhabitance from the surrounding windows or the breezeway where the only door was, but that didn’t mean shit with our kind.
Not long after I’d knocked, the door opened inward, revealing pitch blackness, and the silhouette of a man aiming a silenced pistol at my face. I didn’t flinch; just slid off my shades and smiled widely, knowing it was him.
The pistol lowered, the man in the shadowy apartment still silent, and I was motioned inside.
As I stepped in, he stepped to the side, closing the door with his foot and flicking on the main room lights.
“Hollllly shit!” he said, imitating my old bar greeting. “You big dirty son of a bitch!”
We smacked palms in greeting and hugged in a rough, soldiery manner.
“Good to see you, too, ‘Jim’.” I laughed, using one of his false names.
“What the fuck brings you back here after my ass?” he holstered his pistol.
I gave him a deadly serious look, excitement at the possibilities way back in the backs of my eyes, “I’m getting the Wolves back together, Jim…”
His eyes flashed with his own excitement.
“It’s our time.”
I could tell he loved the idea as he laughed heartily and we grabbed hands in a fierce buddy-handshake.
“Count me in,” he said, grinning.
There were no lights and no sign of inhabitance from the surrounding windows or the breezeway where the only door was, but that didn’t mean shit with our kind.
Not long after I’d knocked, the door opened inward, revealing pitch blackness, and the silhouette of a man aiming a silenced pistol at my face. I didn’t flinch; just slid off my shades and smiled widely, knowing it was him.
The pistol lowered, the man in the shadowy apartment still silent, and I was motioned inside.
As I stepped in, he stepped to the side, closing the door with his foot and flicking on the main room lights.
“Hollllly shit!” he said, imitating my old bar greeting. “You big dirty son of a bitch!”
We smacked palms in greeting and hugged in a rough, soldiery manner.
“Good to see you, too, ‘Jim’.” I laughed, using one of his false names.
“What the fuck brings you back here after my ass?” he holstered his pistol.
I gave him a deadly serious look, excitement at the possibilities way back in the backs of my eyes, “I’m getting the Wolves back together, Jim…”
His eyes flashed with his own excitement.
“It’s our time.”
I could tell he loved the idea as he laughed heartily and we grabbed hands in a fierce buddy-handshake.
“Count me in,” he said, grinning.
Page 4
Jim and I only talked for a few more minutes before I’d brought him up to speed on what I had in mind. Like a true Wolf will, he listened, thought it all out, made a decision in typical record-time, and got my back, letting me know he would, of course, help out. Besides knowing from experience that we would take a hit for each other, Jim packed some crazy heat, which is always a good thing.
He showed me one of his stashes outside of town and, fuck me, I needed new pants after that sight; ‘arsenal’ just doesn’t cover the top-tier plethora of completely illegal, globally coveted weapon systems he had somehow managed to amass, assemble, or fabricate himself over the years. Good old felon Jim. And I thought I had the guns.
Well, after that pleasant surprise, Jim and I went opposite directions in search of our own half of my list of targets. Being the paranoid professionals we were, as everyone should be, we didn’t look at either of our vehicles. ‘Plausible deniability,’ as they say; in this case, neither of us had ever learned what the other one drove. Can’t help an officer of the law out if you really don’t have any info. Heh.
The days passed by, the gas and MREs got lower and lower, but slowly and surely, I found all but one of my targets.
He’d apparently been killed by typical dumbass pigs in a drug bust he already had under control. Jeff was like that; Mr. Hero even when he should be lying low. Oh well. I’d miss the guy but an old saying came to mind: “Mercenaries don’t die; they just go to Hell to regroup.”
‘I think I have that on a t-shirt somewhere.’
Jim and I only talked for a few more minutes before I’d brought him up to speed on what I had in mind. Like a true Wolf will, he listened, thought it all out, made a decision in typical record-time, and got my back, letting me know he would, of course, help out. Besides knowing from experience that we would take a hit for each other, Jim packed some crazy heat, which is always a good thing.
He showed me one of his stashes outside of town and, fuck me, I needed new pants after that sight; ‘arsenal’ just doesn’t cover the top-tier plethora of completely illegal, globally coveted weapon systems he had somehow managed to amass, assemble, or fabricate himself over the years. Good old felon Jim. And I thought I had the guns.
Well, after that pleasant surprise, Jim and I went opposite directions in search of our own half of my list of targets. Being the paranoid professionals we were, as everyone should be, we didn’t look at either of our vehicles. ‘Plausible deniability,’ as they say; in this case, neither of us had ever learned what the other one drove. Can’t help an officer of the law out if you really don’t have any info. Heh.
The days passed by, the gas and MREs got lower and lower, but slowly and surely, I found all but one of my targets.
He’d apparently been killed by typical dumbass pigs in a drug bust he already had under control. Jeff was like that; Mr. Hero even when he should be lying low. Oh well. I’d miss the guy but an old saying came to mind: “Mercenaries don’t die; they just go to Hell to regroup.”
‘I think I have that on a t-shirt somewhere.’
Page 5
Two weeks later, all of us that were left had privately and quietly arranged things for our happy little rendezvous out in ‘Podunk, No-name-state’, as we often jokingly referred to our shitty, backwater meeting place selections. ‘BFE’ (Beyond Fucking Egypt) was another frequented misnomer.
After living under false identities in scattered small towns, paying for everything in cash from old savings and “possibly” illegal “operations”, it wasn’t that difficult to disappear for awhile.
Everyone arrived, one by one, at the rendezvous point, parked in different locations within five minutes walking distance, and knocked on the predetermined door. I’d reserved the place in advance under another random name. I trusted the others’ instincts and skills enough to feel safe having all of us in one room –even one in such a small town that I’m sure the government wouldn’t mind bombing or sending one of their lapdog black-ops teams to just to kill us all off.
Still naturally on edge when the last of us arrived, we did our best to enjoy the long-awaited, much-desired reunion. We exchanged handshakes, hugs, and true stories, but not our remaining false identities, backup residences, real identities, or vehicle information, of course. By now it was an unspoken understanding between us to never even mention those things. Difficult? Hardly. We lived for the extreme, shadowy lifestyles now, we’d grown used to being that way, and it had become second nature.
Two weeks later, all of us that were left had privately and quietly arranged things for our happy little rendezvous out in ‘Podunk, No-name-state’, as we often jokingly referred to our shitty, backwater meeting place selections. ‘BFE’ (Beyond Fucking Egypt) was another frequented misnomer.
After living under false identities in scattered small towns, paying for everything in cash from old savings and “possibly” illegal “operations”, it wasn’t that difficult to disappear for awhile.
Everyone arrived, one by one, at the rendezvous point, parked in different locations within five minutes walking distance, and knocked on the predetermined door. I’d reserved the place in advance under another random name. I trusted the others’ instincts and skills enough to feel safe having all of us in one room –even one in such a small town that I’m sure the government wouldn’t mind bombing or sending one of their lapdog black-ops teams to just to kill us all off.
Still naturally on edge when the last of us arrived, we did our best to enjoy the long-awaited, much-desired reunion. We exchanged handshakes, hugs, and true stories, but not our remaining false identities, backup residences, real identities, or vehicle information, of course. By now it was an unspoken understanding between us to never even mention those things. Difficult? Hardly. We lived for the extreme, shadowy lifestyles now, we’d grown used to being that way, and it had become second nature.
Page 6
(pic: everyone spread out in the apartment with name over their heads, all enjoying the reunion)
It took awhile to get through the greetings and stories and on to business, but when the time came, the transition was instantaneous.
“Listen up,” I called out over the others.
Everyone fell silent in mutual respect and military training.
“I don’t know how many of you are aware of why I got us all back together today… Personally, I felt it was about fucking time, though,” I paused to let the scattered chuckles and oorah’s die down. “and beside that… if any of you have been enjoying life as a civilian as much as I have,” again there were scattered laughs at the dry sarcasm, “I’m sure you are bloody good and ready for some fun and games…”
Devilish grins started to appear on their faces as all the possible ‘games’ began to pop back into their heads. They were the grins of feral wolves whose appetites had just been whetted, the proverbial prey flashing before their minds’ eyes, their maws slowly parting open in anticipation of the blood gushing flesh soon to be severed with frenzied jaw clamping and body thrashing. My pack was primed and ready for the next leap.
“What kind of ‘fun and games’ would that be, John-boy?” Richy said in his heavy Aussie accent.
I let the same evil grin spread over my face as I turned to answer him. “Our kind, Richy. The kind that give the sheep a reason to be afraid.”
The others stayed quiet, in agreement and awaiting further details.
(pic: everyone spread out in the apartment with name over their heads, all enjoying the reunion)
It took awhile to get through the greetings and stories and on to business, but when the time came, the transition was instantaneous.
“Listen up,” I called out over the others.
Everyone fell silent in mutual respect and military training.
“I don’t know how many of you are aware of why I got us all back together today… Personally, I felt it was about fucking time, though,” I paused to let the scattered chuckles and oorah’s die down. “and beside that… if any of you have been enjoying life as a civilian as much as I have,” again there were scattered laughs at the dry sarcasm, “I’m sure you are bloody good and ready for some fun and games…”
Devilish grins started to appear on their faces as all the possible ‘games’ began to pop back into their heads. They were the grins of feral wolves whose appetites had just been whetted, the proverbial prey flashing before their minds’ eyes, their maws slowly parting open in anticipation of the blood gushing flesh soon to be severed with frenzied jaw clamping and body thrashing. My pack was primed and ready for the next leap.
“What kind of ‘fun and games’ would that be, John-boy?” Richy said in his heavy Aussie accent.
I let the same evil grin spread over my face as I turned to answer him. “Our kind, Richy. The kind that give the sheep a reason to be afraid.”
The others stayed quiet, in agreement and awaiting further details.
Page 7
There were 15 of us in the room; 13 males, including myself, and two females. There would have been 16 – well, 17 – but Jade had business to attend to, which I didn’t mind at all, and Jeff, of course, was now K.I.A..
“Alright, pukes,” I began.
Jordan put up his hand.
I acknowledged him, “Shoot.”
“Before we all bend over for our wonderful national government, I was just wondering… is this room clean?”
“It’s clean – reserved in person, paid for in cash, and swept over with borrowed equipment from a trustworthy source.”
Jordan nodded.
I continued. “Now… we could all go… steal a plane, set it on a collision course with one of Saddam’s palaces, and bail just in time to watch the impact during freefall…” my sarcastic smirk slowly spread until the others started to laugh and nod subtly, “but I decided against that for two reasons. One, that’s just too damn easy, and two, I just couldn’t live with myself if I planned a mission out that didn’t involve at least a little CQB.”
The others sounded off “Here, here!” smiling widely.
“So I figured something more complicated… dangerous… illegal… and profitable – keyword right there – was needed.” I had their attention.
The ex-SEALs and SAS were especially attracted to the illegal aspect I had mentioned; they were among the ballsiest. ‘Who dares, wins,’ and all.
“Now… for security reasons-“ I was interrupted by moaning and booing.
Jim coughed, “Pussy.”
We all had a good chuckle.
“-For security reasons, I’m only going to tell you the next mission objectives after the satisfactory completion of the previous ones. This way, none of you will be serious risks to the whole mission.”
I could tell they understood and were just fuckin’ around a second ago, like always.
“You will only know what you need to know for each specific part.” I paused to let the seriousness settle in.
There were 15 of us in the room; 13 males, including myself, and two females. There would have been 16 – well, 17 – but Jade had business to attend to, which I didn’t mind at all, and Jeff, of course, was now K.I.A..
“Alright, pukes,” I began.
Jordan put up his hand.
I acknowledged him, “Shoot.”
“Before we all bend over for our wonderful national government, I was just wondering… is this room clean?”
“It’s clean – reserved in person, paid for in cash, and swept over with borrowed equipment from a trustworthy source.”
Jordan nodded.
I continued. “Now… we could all go… steal a plane, set it on a collision course with one of Saddam’s palaces, and bail just in time to watch the impact during freefall…” my sarcastic smirk slowly spread until the others started to laugh and nod subtly, “but I decided against that for two reasons. One, that’s just too damn easy, and two, I just couldn’t live with myself if I planned a mission out that didn’t involve at least a little CQB.”
The others sounded off “Here, here!” smiling widely.
“So I figured something more complicated… dangerous… illegal… and profitable – keyword right there – was needed.” I had their attention.
The ex-SEALs and SAS were especially attracted to the illegal aspect I had mentioned; they were among the ballsiest. ‘Who dares, wins,’ and all.
“Now… for security reasons-“ I was interrupted by moaning and booing.
Jim coughed, “Pussy.”
We all had a good chuckle.
“-For security reasons, I’m only going to tell you the next mission objectives after the satisfactory completion of the previous ones. This way, none of you will be serious risks to the whole mission.”
I could tell they understood and were just fuckin’ around a second ago, like always.
“You will only know what you need to know for each specific part.” I paused to let the seriousness settle in.
Page 8
“Should any of you decide, for whatever reason, to abort your part of the mission, or, to go back to your previous lives, I won’t hold it against you… but I will expect an immediate explanation and your word that you will forget that any of this ever took place.”
There was some scattered nodding and silence.
“Also… if, by aborting, you are endangering one of our lives, …don’t expect the rest of us not to come after you instead. You know the rule; never leave a man –or woman– behind. …Understood?”
Troy sounded off, “Booyah, Master Chief!”
I smiled, repressing a laugh.
Jim looked over at him, “Hey, fuckrag,” being half sarcastic, half serious, “that’s my call-sign.”
Troy piped up again, just as readily as before, “Well why don’t’cha cry about it?”
Jim “I just might,” both of them now chuckling again.
I broke back in, “Alllriiight.”
They all fell silent again.
“Let’s get all the nitty gritty shit outta the way. It’s inventory time, kids,” I said, smirking, knowing how boring this part always was. I got a few over-exaggerated ‘yay’s’.
Each of us knew exactly, almost down to the number of rounds, what we had brought to the meeting, and what we still had hidden back where we’d come from. I scribbled it all out on a napkin as they took turns listing their respective loads.
“Should any of you decide, for whatever reason, to abort your part of the mission, or, to go back to your previous lives, I won’t hold it against you… but I will expect an immediate explanation and your word that you will forget that any of this ever took place.”
There was some scattered nodding and silence.
“Also… if, by aborting, you are endangering one of our lives, …don’t expect the rest of us not to come after you instead. You know the rule; never leave a man –or woman– behind. …Understood?”
Troy sounded off, “Booyah, Master Chief!”
I smiled, repressing a laugh.
Jim looked over at him, “Hey, fuckrag,” being half sarcastic, half serious, “that’s my call-sign.”
Troy piped up again, just as readily as before, “Well why don’t’cha cry about it?”
Jim “I just might,” both of them now chuckling again.
I broke back in, “Alllriiight.”
They all fell silent again.
“Let’s get all the nitty gritty shit outta the way. It’s inventory time, kids,” I said, smirking, knowing how boring this part always was. I got a few over-exaggerated ‘yay’s’.
Each of us knew exactly, almost down to the number of rounds, what we had brought to the meeting, and what we still had hidden back where we’d come from. I scribbled it all out on a napkin as they took turns listing their respective loads.
Page 9
After giving the napkin a good once-over, I decided we were packin’ plenty for at least the first few stages of the mission I’d planned out.
Jordan, a former pro boxer, brought all of his stash; four pistols, two revolvers, and two shotguns. Nothing special, though.
Ryan, ex-NYPD SWAT, brought two pistols, three shotguns, one submachinegun, 16 cans of tear gas, and an electric stun gun. He had more than enough standard and riot rounds for all of them.
Richy, the ex-Australian SAS surfer, brought four pistols, an automatic shotgun, three different submachineguns, two assault rifles, one sniper rifle, a duffel bag with “a bloody fuckin’ lotta them” flash-bangs, as he put it, and some Tupperware containers with “all the shit we need to make plastic explosives”. I was impressed.
Troy, our second ex-SEAL, brought two pistols, two submachineguns, two assault rifles, one sniper rifle, and “a fuckload of condoms”. He claimed they were to waterproof mines we might make – yeah, if he still had any of the condoms left by that time.
Ashley, not a soldier, but an infamous thief, brought two pistols, one revolver, six Mace spray cans (I know, but that’s just her thing), and a lock-picking kit that would make any other thief drool.
Nick, ex-British SAS, brought four pistols, four submachineguns, and a crate full of live grenades. I didn’t even want to know what he had done to get his hands on those. He said “at least a fourth” of them were phosphorous. He also had “silencers out the arse, in case anyone needed one”. With our company, though, we could make more out of just about anything.
Michael, ex-Spetsnaz, brought four pistols and six good old, untraceable AK’s. Yeah, not too accurate, but it would sure leave ballistics guessing who we were later on.
Russell, ex-GSG-9, brought just about everything that H&K made; six pistols, four submachineguns, two G3 rifles, and a “slightly modified” automatic shotgun that fired anti-APC slugs. P.H.A.T. (Pretty Hot And Tempting), as they say in the hood.
Danny, “El Greatness”, our Mexican-American former Marine Force Recon man, brought four assault rifles, one sniper rifle, eight homemade antitank rocket launchers, and 12 Claymore antipersonnel mines. Overkill; that was Dan.
Eric, ex pro football, brought more of the same that Jordan had. They were civilians, after all. Three pistols, two shotguns, and two hunting rifles – single-shot crap, but at least they worked.
Marty, ex Delta Force, brought two pistols, two submachineguns, two carbines, and one sniper rifle. He was a cowboy; the only rounds he used were armor-piercing or high-explosive. That wasn’t traditional for a hostage rescue unit like his, but he had clearly had enough of the Geneva-honoring, kids-gloves approach from that previous employer.
Ellen, both a former Georgian cheerleader and USAF fighter pilot, arguably the hottest of our three girls, brought two pistols and two shotguns. She also brought two “bazookas”, as she liked to cutely call them, which were as distracting as her nearly transparent, ultra-skimpy clothing; traditional sexy cheerleader-leader and bold party slut attire that she would never give up, partially, now, because it was a great way of inconspicuously hiding ‘right out in the open’.
Jacob, pronounced ‘Yakov’ in Hebrew, ex-Kidon Mossad, brought three pistols, two submachineguns, and probably the most finely-tuned sniper rifle I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing described. If anyone and anything could break the Canadian sniper’s long-range world record, it was him and this rifle now resting on display before us.
Last, but definitely not least, was Jim, my oldest and most trusted friend in the room –and, perhaps, anywhere. We had grown up together, breaking the law by practicing to be real SEALs or Marines ASAP. Now, he was a former Marine like myself. He brought four pistols, four submachineguns, and one very rare suitcase gun.
All the ex-military in our group had PNVGs, silencers, armor-piercing rounds, and SCUBA gear back at their previous locations – hard to believe only if you haven’t made five years of connections in active-duty service around the whole world. Most of these guys had military friends and families that had innocently hooked them up along the way, too. Shit builds up.
Ryan also had an inherited redneck arsenal buried under one of his relative’s ranches. Nick knew where he could go to “borrow” from one of his friend’s arsenals. Michael knew how to get a virtually endless supply of AK’s. Russell had an H&K shrine in one of his basements. Danny – a Mexican and a Marine – had so many trigger-happy relatives and Grunt buddies that he didn’t even need his own guns. And Ashley, mafia blood… ‘nuf said’.
There was a wide range of calibers to choose from for each mission now, so there wouldn’t be any pattern establishing for anyone unlucky enough to attempt to profile or forecast us. And, although there were so many different firearms and rounds, a good portion of them were interchangeable; the more locally-common 12g, .40, .45, and .50.
Well, that was our inventory and options list. I’d brought along two pistols and a submachinegun of my own, leaving behind my own formidable, one-man-army arsenal. We were once again ‘armed and dangerous’.
Now… it was time to brief the Wolves on mission ‘Alpha Tango’, part one.
I licked my lips, ran my tongue over my teeth, and grinned sinisterly.
After giving the napkin a good once-over, I decided we were packin’ plenty for at least the first few stages of the mission I’d planned out.
Jordan, a former pro boxer, brought all of his stash; four pistols, two revolvers, and two shotguns. Nothing special, though.
Ryan, ex-NYPD SWAT, brought two pistols, three shotguns, one submachinegun, 16 cans of tear gas, and an electric stun gun. He had more than enough standard and riot rounds for all of them.
Richy, the ex-Australian SAS surfer, brought four pistols, an automatic shotgun, three different submachineguns, two assault rifles, one sniper rifle, a duffel bag with “a bloody fuckin’ lotta them” flash-bangs, as he put it, and some Tupperware containers with “all the shit we need to make plastic explosives”. I was impressed.
Troy, our second ex-SEAL, brought two pistols, two submachineguns, two assault rifles, one sniper rifle, and “a fuckload of condoms”. He claimed they were to waterproof mines we might make – yeah, if he still had any of the condoms left by that time.
Ashley, not a soldier, but an infamous thief, brought two pistols, one revolver, six Mace spray cans (I know, but that’s just her thing), and a lock-picking kit that would make any other thief drool.
Nick, ex-British SAS, brought four pistols, four submachineguns, and a crate full of live grenades. I didn’t even want to know what he had done to get his hands on those. He said “at least a fourth” of them were phosphorous. He also had “silencers out the arse, in case anyone needed one”. With our company, though, we could make more out of just about anything.
Michael, ex-Spetsnaz, brought four pistols and six good old, untraceable AK’s. Yeah, not too accurate, but it would sure leave ballistics guessing who we were later on.
Russell, ex-GSG-9, brought just about everything that H&K made; six pistols, four submachineguns, two G3 rifles, and a “slightly modified” automatic shotgun that fired anti-APC slugs. P.H.A.T. (Pretty Hot And Tempting), as they say in the hood.
Danny, “El Greatness”, our Mexican-American former Marine Force Recon man, brought four assault rifles, one sniper rifle, eight homemade antitank rocket launchers, and 12 Claymore antipersonnel mines. Overkill; that was Dan.
Eric, ex pro football, brought more of the same that Jordan had. They were civilians, after all. Three pistols, two shotguns, and two hunting rifles – single-shot crap, but at least they worked.
Marty, ex Delta Force, brought two pistols, two submachineguns, two carbines, and one sniper rifle. He was a cowboy; the only rounds he used were armor-piercing or high-explosive. That wasn’t traditional for a hostage rescue unit like his, but he had clearly had enough of the Geneva-honoring, kids-gloves approach from that previous employer.
Ellen, both a former Georgian cheerleader and USAF fighter pilot, arguably the hottest of our three girls, brought two pistols and two shotguns. She also brought two “bazookas”, as she liked to cutely call them, which were as distracting as her nearly transparent, ultra-skimpy clothing; traditional sexy cheerleader-leader and bold party slut attire that she would never give up, partially, now, because it was a great way of inconspicuously hiding ‘right out in the open’.
Jacob, pronounced ‘Yakov’ in Hebrew, ex-Kidon Mossad, brought three pistols, two submachineguns, and probably the most finely-tuned sniper rifle I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing described. If anyone and anything could break the Canadian sniper’s long-range world record, it was him and this rifle now resting on display before us.
Last, but definitely not least, was Jim, my oldest and most trusted friend in the room –and, perhaps, anywhere. We had grown up together, breaking the law by practicing to be real SEALs or Marines ASAP. Now, he was a former Marine like myself. He brought four pistols, four submachineguns, and one very rare suitcase gun.
All the ex-military in our group had PNVGs, silencers, armor-piercing rounds, and SCUBA gear back at their previous locations – hard to believe only if you haven’t made five years of connections in active-duty service around the whole world. Most of these guys had military friends and families that had innocently hooked them up along the way, too. Shit builds up.
Ryan also had an inherited redneck arsenal buried under one of his relative’s ranches. Nick knew where he could go to “borrow” from one of his friend’s arsenals. Michael knew how to get a virtually endless supply of AK’s. Russell had an H&K shrine in one of his basements. Danny – a Mexican and a Marine – had so many trigger-happy relatives and Grunt buddies that he didn’t even need his own guns. And Ashley, mafia blood… ‘nuf said’.
There was a wide range of calibers to choose from for each mission now, so there wouldn’t be any pattern establishing for anyone unlucky enough to attempt to profile or forecast us. And, although there were so many different firearms and rounds, a good portion of them were interchangeable; the more locally-common 12g, .40, .45, and .50.
Well, that was our inventory and options list. I’d brought along two pistols and a submachinegun of my own, leaving behind my own formidable, one-man-army arsenal. We were once again ‘armed and dangerous’.
Now… it was time to brief the Wolves on mission ‘Alpha Tango’, part one.
I licked my lips, ran my tongue over my teeth, and grinned sinisterly.
Page 10
“Okay…”
Everyone fell silent again.
I tucked the napkin into my pocket. “Mission Alpha Tango, part one.
Target: Rothschild Bank” I held up a street-view image printed from Google Maps, followed by an overhead map view with all of the needed street names and reference points.
“Time frame: from this moment until one week from now.
Security: moderate; video cameras, stationary.
Motion sensors: night only.
Guards: two, max’, day only.
Vault: approx. one foot thick.
Alarms: silent and monitored locally and remotely.
Police station proximity: three miles, 45 seconds driving time, 3 minute response time.
Entry: subterranean; sewers.” I waited for that last unsettling part to settle in. A few of them were beaming, a few shaking their heads in amusement.
Our form of briefing and debriefing was distinctly contrasted to standard and elite military units, as we had been doing this for so long that we all knew how to deduce a great variety of implied, unwritten, unspoken, and redundant aspects. Administration, logistics, command, and signal were all memorized as fluently as a world-class martial artist has committed to muscle-memory a dozen different fighting styles he can identify, sense, anticipate, and counteract in an instant.
“We’ll take bearer bonds, safety deposit box contents, a few bags of bills to use randomly later on to throw them off our trail and skill level, and all of the access keys and cards for the same purpose. All the rest of the money gets incendiaried. Do as much damage to the structure on the way out as possible.”
“I’ve already scoped it out. Here are the blueprints and some satellite and aerial photographs.” I handed the thin folder I’d put together over to Jim. “Memorize everything in there. Questions?”
The folder started making its way across the room.
Ryan: “Yeah. Why a bank?”
“Anyone in the room that is not rich… raise a hand.”
Everyone except for Ashley, who wasn’t really rich, but had phat connections, put up their hands.
Ryan: “Ah.”
“We need major cash pronto; for food, gas, shelter, possible medical supplies, wardrobes, disguises, ammo, more new fake credentials, vehicles, insider leads, et cetera. This mission just isn’t gonna pay for itself, and our civi’ job bosses sure as Hell aren’t gonna, either.”
Ryan: “Understood.”
“Which reminds me; if any of you need to go back to town and quit your jobs inconspicuously, do so now ‘cause we are now on the clock.”
“Okay…”
Everyone fell silent again.
I tucked the napkin into my pocket. “Mission Alpha Tango, part one.
Target: Rothschild Bank” I held up a street-view image printed from Google Maps, followed by an overhead map view with all of the needed street names and reference points.
“Time frame: from this moment until one week from now.
Security: moderate; video cameras, stationary.
Motion sensors: night only.
Guards: two, max’, day only.
Vault: approx. one foot thick.
Alarms: silent and monitored locally and remotely.
Police station proximity: three miles, 45 seconds driving time, 3 minute response time.
Entry: subterranean; sewers.” I waited for that last unsettling part to settle in. A few of them were beaming, a few shaking their heads in amusement.
Our form of briefing and debriefing was distinctly contrasted to standard and elite military units, as we had been doing this for so long that we all knew how to deduce a great variety of implied, unwritten, unspoken, and redundant aspects. Administration, logistics, command, and signal were all memorized as fluently as a world-class martial artist has committed to muscle-memory a dozen different fighting styles he can identify, sense, anticipate, and counteract in an instant.
“We’ll take bearer bonds, safety deposit box contents, a few bags of bills to use randomly later on to throw them off our trail and skill level, and all of the access keys and cards for the same purpose. All the rest of the money gets incendiaried. Do as much damage to the structure on the way out as possible.”
“I’ve already scoped it out. Here are the blueprints and some satellite and aerial photographs.” I handed the thin folder I’d put together over to Jim. “Memorize everything in there. Questions?”
The folder started making its way across the room.
Ryan: “Yeah. Why a bank?”
“Anyone in the room that is not rich… raise a hand.”
Everyone except for Ashley, who wasn’t really rich, but had phat connections, put up their hands.
Ryan: “Ah.”
“We need major cash pronto; for food, gas, shelter, possible medical supplies, wardrobes, disguises, ammo, more new fake credentials, vehicles, insider leads, et cetera. This mission just isn’t gonna pay for itself, and our civi’ job bosses sure as Hell aren’t gonna, either.”
Ryan: “Understood.”
“Which reminds me; if any of you need to go back to town and quit your jobs inconspicuously, do so now ‘cause we are now on the clock.”
Page 11
Believe it or not, that wasn’t such a big deal for any of them. In fact, half of them already had quit their jobs – in part because it helped prevent attachments, and, in part, because, I’m sure, they had figured any reunion with us would involve something like what we were about to get into.
Before they left, I gave everyone the second meeting location and the day I expected them to be there. They had six days to wrap things up back “home”. Actually, some had 2½ days to drive back, one day to wrap things up and another 2½ to drive to the second location. Whatever.
We disappeared for six more days.
Finally, the time came. I drove over to location 2, walked around the area for a while, familiarizing myself with it, and then “cleaned” the room I’d reserved.
‘Fuck.’ I was nearly out of cash and MREs. The only reason I still had gas was because I’d walked through parks and woods to kill my boredom instead of cruising around aimlessly, getting fat like the rest of the country. This mission had to work out or we’d all be on our way back “home” – or to prison, of course. ‘Goddamned money!’ It always seemed to come right down to the wire like that. C’est la vie.
The room was free from E.L.D.s; ‘clean’.
One by one, they all arrived just as before. Those who had made a long journey to quit their jobs slept for the rest of the day and night, some on the small twin beds, some on the floor. The rest of us shaved all our gun barrels to make them untraceable, if they weren’t already.
Believe it or not, that wasn’t such a big deal for any of them. In fact, half of them already had quit their jobs – in part because it helped prevent attachments, and, in part, because, I’m sure, they had figured any reunion with us would involve something like what we were about to get into.
Before they left, I gave everyone the second meeting location and the day I expected them to be there. They had six days to wrap things up back “home”. Actually, some had 2½ days to drive back, one day to wrap things up and another 2½ to drive to the second location. Whatever.
We disappeared for six more days.
Finally, the time came. I drove over to location 2, walked around the area for a while, familiarizing myself with it, and then “cleaned” the room I’d reserved.
‘Fuck.’ I was nearly out of cash and MREs. The only reason I still had gas was because I’d walked through parks and woods to kill my boredom instead of cruising around aimlessly, getting fat like the rest of the country. This mission had to work out or we’d all be on our way back “home” – or to prison, of course. ‘Goddamned money!’ It always seemed to come right down to the wire like that. C’est la vie.
The room was free from E.L.D.s; ‘clean’.
One by one, they all arrived just as before. Those who had made a long journey to quit their jobs slept for the rest of the day and night, some on the small twin beds, some on the floor. The rest of us shaved all our gun barrels to make them untraceable, if they weren’t already.
Page 12
Random duffel-style sports bags, steel wool, glue, toothpicks, and lighters made our task fairly quick. Eight of us worked into the night to get it all finished, buy the last few inexpensive, over-the-counter things we would need, and repack it all into our vehicles. We bought first-aid items, Nitrile gloves, bottled water, and – at different stores – the cleaning liquids required to make both instant and delayed explosives (everyone was already carrying a plastic spray-bottle of the chemical they would need to make any blood they might leave behind worthless to the forensics fucks. By morning, everything was ready.
Before the Sun had started peaking up over the horizon, the girls serviced all the guys, getting filled up in each of their three holes with all of their cum, several times over. This was an important part of mission prep for everyone, as it eliminated the second greatest and fatal distracter; horniness, the only thing humans thought about as much as fear of getting hurt or killed. Since everyone never had to worry about how they were going to fulfill their biological imperative, their whole bodies could effortlessly remain completely tuned in to only their critical, life-saving mission functions. Both Ashley and Ellen kept all of the cum inside them for good vibes and good luck, snuggly applying diaphragms, butt-plugs, and maxi-pads inside their spandex jogging shorts to ensure not one drop escaped their well-sculpted, curvaceous little bodies. It was sacrosanct war-fighter tradition to be comfortable being dirty, wet, giving, self-sharing, and well-fucked. This made them feel right at home with the front-lines lives we’d all grown to know and love.
Within ten minutes, everyone was further briefed and out the door. The place looked as if no one had stayed there at all. We ate breakfast at random fast food restaurants closer to our target, ensuring we were never seen together. Another 30 minutes and we were all back in the sewers via different entry points, just below the man-hole cover of an alley half a block from the target.
Our civi’s (civilian clothes) came off and were tightly packed into our sports bags, revealing our wet-suits, combat boots, Kevlar vests, utility belts, balaclavas, leather gloves over the Nitrile ones, and Ka-bars with their belt-affixed sheathes.
Everyone checked their gear over in seconds, then that of the teammates immediately adjacent them, passed out the PNVGs, red lights, and extra mag’s, and began to do a final inspection of their weapons; we each had two pistols, one submachinegun, and a few flash-bangs and tear-gas grenades. Our balaclavas went down, PNVGs dialed on, duffels over our backs, and SMGs set to safe; our trigger-fingers trained straight over the trigger-guards, and our thumbs resting on the firing-selector lever to flip it to semi-automatic the instant it was needed.
Leaving nothing behind, we jogged through the slimy, nauseating labyrinth to the spot exactly below the bank’s vault. Ashley and Ellen were still topside, faking a lunch break while scoping out the bank from one of their cars. If we needed another way in, Ashley was ready to pick or blast the doors open. If any good Samaritans, or off- or on-duty cops showed up, she and Ellen would split up and gun them down before they even got inside, blending in with the outsiders for cover and concealment, constantly shifting their vantages to harass the law enforcement and anyone else for as long as might be required.
Random duffel-style sports bags, steel wool, glue, toothpicks, and lighters made our task fairly quick. Eight of us worked into the night to get it all finished, buy the last few inexpensive, over-the-counter things we would need, and repack it all into our vehicles. We bought first-aid items, Nitrile gloves, bottled water, and – at different stores – the cleaning liquids required to make both instant and delayed explosives (everyone was already carrying a plastic spray-bottle of the chemical they would need to make any blood they might leave behind worthless to the forensics fucks. By morning, everything was ready.
Before the Sun had started peaking up over the horizon, the girls serviced all the guys, getting filled up in each of their three holes with all of their cum, several times over. This was an important part of mission prep for everyone, as it eliminated the second greatest and fatal distracter; horniness, the only thing humans thought about as much as fear of getting hurt or killed. Since everyone never had to worry about how they were going to fulfill their biological imperative, their whole bodies could effortlessly remain completely tuned in to only their critical, life-saving mission functions. Both Ashley and Ellen kept all of the cum inside them for good vibes and good luck, snuggly applying diaphragms, butt-plugs, and maxi-pads inside their spandex jogging shorts to ensure not one drop escaped their well-sculpted, curvaceous little bodies. It was sacrosanct war-fighter tradition to be comfortable being dirty, wet, giving, self-sharing, and well-fucked. This made them feel right at home with the front-lines lives we’d all grown to know and love.
Within ten minutes, everyone was further briefed and out the door. The place looked as if no one had stayed there at all. We ate breakfast at random fast food restaurants closer to our target, ensuring we were never seen together. Another 30 minutes and we were all back in the sewers via different entry points, just below the man-hole cover of an alley half a block from the target.
Our civi’s (civilian clothes) came off and were tightly packed into our sports bags, revealing our wet-suits, combat boots, Kevlar vests, utility belts, balaclavas, leather gloves over the Nitrile ones, and Ka-bars with their belt-affixed sheathes.
Everyone checked their gear over in seconds, then that of the teammates immediately adjacent them, passed out the PNVGs, red lights, and extra mag’s, and began to do a final inspection of their weapons; we each had two pistols, one submachinegun, and a few flash-bangs and tear-gas grenades. Our balaclavas went down, PNVGs dialed on, duffels over our backs, and SMGs set to safe; our trigger-fingers trained straight over the trigger-guards, and our thumbs resting on the firing-selector lever to flip it to semi-automatic the instant it was needed.
Leaving nothing behind, we jogged through the slimy, nauseating labyrinth to the spot exactly below the bank’s vault. Ashley and Ellen were still topside, faking a lunch break while scoping out the bank from one of their cars. If we needed another way in, Ashley was ready to pick or blast the doors open. If any good Samaritans, or off- or on-duty cops showed up, she and Ellen would split up and gun them down before they even got inside, blending in with the outsiders for cover and concealment, constantly shifting their vantages to harass the law enforcement and anyone else for as long as might be required.
Page 13
Standing in the darkness of the sewer, with the faint illuminations of a few red lights closely grouped around me, I turned my mouth toward the walkie-talkie strapped to my Kevlar vest and quietly spoke in a rehearsed baritone mumble, “How’s the day, sluts?” (‘Slut’ was a compliment where we hailed from.)
Ellen responded dutifully, “Beautiful, daddy,” her voice changing from sexily-childish and flirty to serious with no transition at all; “One ‘G’,” (guard) “no ‘Charlie’,” (customers) “three ‘S’,” (staff; bank employees) “ ‘V’ closed,” (vault), green.” (clear to proceed as planned)
I acknowledged her report, “Rog’, doll-face.”
I nodded to the 12 guys positions around me, all of us using hand signs only now; those we’d developed years prior for the predecessor to the Wolves, Elite Team.
Richy nodded back to me, setting his second duffel down silently, removing a suppressed electric drill. Within minutes, there was a thin cylindrical hole in the concrete above us. As Richy packed it back up, Troy produced one of the smaller pipe bombs we’d made and secured it in the new hole. Jim and I met eyes, like we had both sensed thoughts. He nodded before I could hand-sign for him to move away from the blast radius.
Five seconds passed as we all moved to a safe distance, held the ear-pro’s snuggly in place, depressed the radio detonator button, and then ran back into the now-dusty area of the tunnel. We knew the guard was going ape-shit now, having felt the blast at his feet, and that we had about 60 seconds to do our thing; the police typically took much longer than that to respond, even to a bank, but there was still the chance that they were far closer –and on their A-game today.
Another five seconds, and a few of us had cleared the widened hole in the sewer ceiling from the remaining bits of debris, climbed up through it using each other as human-ladders, and were positioned inside the still-sealed vault which was now acting as our best and all-encompassing shield.
Jim stayed below with the rest of the guys covering our exit as Jordan and I climbed up into the vault. 15 seconds passed as we surgically opened every single drawer, safety deposit box, and other container inside that vault, smoothly acting as a choreographed human-conveyor-belt, dumping a few thousand in paper bills, and a few million in bonds and personal effects into the duffels. The bags were tossed down to the awaiting arms of the ex pro football player who caught, cradled, and passed them on down the line of armed men below us. As they were slinging them in preparation to jog our way out of those sewers, we were already quickly placing shaped charges throughout the vault’s compartments to trigger a collapse of the entire building.
It was all set now. I tapped Jordan’s arm once and then followed him, jumping back down through the hole in the floor. We followed the others in a ‘recon shuffle’ jog to our extraction point, leaving satchel-charges along the way to collapse the sewer and some of the city’s streets along with the bank. ‘Nothin’ personal, pigs; just business. Pillage the people, and karma’s a double-bitch.’
Standing in the darkness of the sewer, with the faint illuminations of a few red lights closely grouped around me, I turned my mouth toward the walkie-talkie strapped to my Kevlar vest and quietly spoke in a rehearsed baritone mumble, “How’s the day, sluts?” (‘Slut’ was a compliment where we hailed from.)
Ellen responded dutifully, “Beautiful, daddy,” her voice changing from sexily-childish and flirty to serious with no transition at all; “One ‘G’,” (guard) “no ‘Charlie’,” (customers) “three ‘S’,” (staff; bank employees) “ ‘V’ closed,” (vault), green.” (clear to proceed as planned)
I acknowledged her report, “Rog’, doll-face.”
I nodded to the 12 guys positions around me, all of us using hand signs only now; those we’d developed years prior for the predecessor to the Wolves, Elite Team.
Richy nodded back to me, setting his second duffel down silently, removing a suppressed electric drill. Within minutes, there was a thin cylindrical hole in the concrete above us. As Richy packed it back up, Troy produced one of the smaller pipe bombs we’d made and secured it in the new hole. Jim and I met eyes, like we had both sensed thoughts. He nodded before I could hand-sign for him to move away from the blast radius.
Five seconds passed as we all moved to a safe distance, held the ear-pro’s snuggly in place, depressed the radio detonator button, and then ran back into the now-dusty area of the tunnel. We knew the guard was going ape-shit now, having felt the blast at his feet, and that we had about 60 seconds to do our thing; the police typically took much longer than that to respond, even to a bank, but there was still the chance that they were far closer –and on their A-game today.
Another five seconds, and a few of us had cleared the widened hole in the sewer ceiling from the remaining bits of debris, climbed up through it using each other as human-ladders, and were positioned inside the still-sealed vault which was now acting as our best and all-encompassing shield.
Jim stayed below with the rest of the guys covering our exit as Jordan and I climbed up into the vault. 15 seconds passed as we surgically opened every single drawer, safety deposit box, and other container inside that vault, smoothly acting as a choreographed human-conveyor-belt, dumping a few thousand in paper bills, and a few million in bonds and personal effects into the duffels. The bags were tossed down to the awaiting arms of the ex pro football player who caught, cradled, and passed them on down the line of armed men below us. As they were slinging them in preparation to jog our way out of those sewers, we were already quickly placing shaped charges throughout the vault’s compartments to trigger a collapse of the entire building.
It was all set now. I tapped Jordan’s arm once and then followed him, jumping back down through the hole in the floor. We followed the others in a ‘recon shuffle’ jog to our extraction point, leaving satchel-charges along the way to collapse the sewer and some of the city’s streets along with the bank. ‘Nothin’ personal, pigs; just business. Pillage the people, and karma’s a double-bitch.’
Page 14
At the 30-second mark, we rapidly threw our civi’s on over our commando get-ups; disposable clothes as an over-layer, buying us just enough time to get to vehicles on the surface without our sewer-splashed wet-gear and body-armor being visible and giving us away to the brainwashed xombies (Xian (Christian) zombies). None of us had any interest in reenacting Mogadishu; taking on the whole city of diametrically opposed assholes.
Our guns went in our primary duffels along with the PNVGs and red lights.
I glanced at the face of my wristwatch, secured to the inside of my non-trigger-hand wrist, ’10 seconds left.’
Everyone was ready to extract and exfiltrate.
Hearing no radio traffic to redirect us, I gave the hand sign to proceed up and out.
Like a ballet, orchestrated and awe-inspiring, we flowed up the ladder to the man-hole cover and out and into the hippie van parked at the back of the alley. Our criss-crossing covering-fire aiming, constant movement, and mutual trust was enough to make a General cry. We moved like liquid together, no different from the real deal spec-ops teams (which many of us had participated on and then trained).
Ten more seconds and we were buckled up in the van and casually driving out and onto the street, one block away from the pristine-looking bank and ignorant passersby.
Ellen and Ashley had again changed positions, moving farther away yet still in visual- and weapons-range of the bank, should any of the cops make it there before our operation was over. If so, the two of them would began sniping out the engine blocks, tires, and gas tanks of the civilian vehicles around the bank, creating multi-ton barriers that would channel and otherwise hinder the police sure and soon to arrive. Next, they would snipe out the squad cars’ onboard computers, engine-blocks, and gas tanks to create further chaos; a nearly impenetrable and highly unstable barrier of metal wreckage and burning gasoline. This technique was designed to convince the police that we were still attempting to steal more things from inside the building.
The cameras viewing the inside of the vault confirmed the suspicions of the staff inside who had felt their floor shake. Quietly professionally assessing the situation, they didn’t warn any of the customers standing in line –who probably assumed it was an earthquake and tried to stay away from the door frames instead of running outside where building material would be more likely to fall on them, and vehicles more likely to slide around in the street and hit them. The silent alarm was activated, the police were phoned from a sound-proofed inner office room, and within their three minute response time, they did, with haste, begin to arrive.
Ellen and Ashley, from their latest positions down two different streets away from the bank, began to disable the civilian vehicles with their silenced long-range weapons. Not hearing any gunfire, the police began to blare their horns and power on their sirens and lights, thinking it would hurry the many vehicles out of their way, but, obviously, to no effect; they were now trapped within a growing array of immobilized cars and trucks. Once the giant game of Tetris was complete, Ellen and Ashley continued their silenced engagement, now disabling the squad cars. All of the police radios were destroyed by this precision gunfire before they could get any word out. Dispatch was ignorant of the whole mess.
With every street around the bank now completely congested and blocked off with disabled civilian and police vehicles for 50 yards, Ellen and Ashley both radio’ed in with the second and third uses of the term ‘green’; I had to hear them both say that word before I could safely detonate all of the different explosives we’d placed. My reaction was immediate; “Rog’, sugar-pussies,” and as I said the last word in that flirty, sexiness-and-go-code joint-acknowledgement sentence, my thumb depressed the next detonator button.
Ellen and Ashley had already left the scene and were inbound to meeting location 3 as the whole center of the bank exploded into shrapnel, causing the rest of the building to cave in all around it, launching plumes of concrete dust and hot smoke out all of the shattering windows and rooftop air-conditioning units. Car alarms a block away in all direction went off. The closest vehicles were Swiss-cheesed and sent tumbling like ragdolls. Then several of the streets bent upward in thunderous booms, rapidly dropping back down and into shadowy maws of rubble many feet down into the sewer tunnels. More vehicles were sent tumbling around, then sliding down into the growing, snaking lines of sink-holes where the streets had once been. Streetlights fell in. More buildings began to break down. The screaming started. No wounding sniper shots would be needed this time; the debris would take care of plenty of that for us, distracting ten times the usual amount of response personnel from the whole city and further blocking all lanes of traffic to the point of total system failure. Tow-trucks, medical helicopters, and more would be called in from neighboring cities to help clear up the monstrosity we had created to ensure our egress. It would still likely be another two or three minutes before any of the survivors even thought, in their shocked states, to call 911.
The guys and I were too far down the street to see the bank, but on our smooth drive out of town, we did see a ‘bacon-mobile’ (squad car) race by, siren blaring, just moments after the quaking and faint screaming and metal-screeching ensued. I wondered if he would be one of the ones hit by the remainder of the collapsing buildings. ‘Good luck, piggy.’
We exited the city’s limits, each of our vehicles taking a different route.
Our religious code: any bank that charges any interest, and any law enforcement personnel enforcing unconstitutional or unholy laws (such as protecting institutions that charge interest), is fair game; to be dispatched by any means necessary or desired. Enforcing evil laws makes one evil, no exceptions. We reject the illogical ‘Just doing my job.’ cop-out as much as the cops reject the logical ‘I didn’t know about that law.’ statement. And since total war and unspeakable acts of deception and worse have been waged against us all, we united and now, as one, all always wage total war and equally unspeakable (for OPSEC) acts of deception and worse back on the enemy which has never been defeated and put back in check, historically speaking, any other way. Money, like anything, makes sense. Like communism and democracy, on paper; in theory, it works just fine. In practice, with so many humanoids overrunning us so brilliantly in this day and age, it cannot be allowed at all. Thus, all banks and all money must be destroyed. There’s no time to waste, attempting to explain our case to those who are brainwashed and engineered to never (even be able to) listen or understand, let alone honor or side with our way.
At the 30-second mark, we rapidly threw our civi’s on over our commando get-ups; disposable clothes as an over-layer, buying us just enough time to get to vehicles on the surface without our sewer-splashed wet-gear and body-armor being visible and giving us away to the brainwashed xombies (Xian (Christian) zombies). None of us had any interest in reenacting Mogadishu; taking on the whole city of diametrically opposed assholes.
Our guns went in our primary duffels along with the PNVGs and red lights.
I glanced at the face of my wristwatch, secured to the inside of my non-trigger-hand wrist, ’10 seconds left.’
Everyone was ready to extract and exfiltrate.
Hearing no radio traffic to redirect us, I gave the hand sign to proceed up and out.
Like a ballet, orchestrated and awe-inspiring, we flowed up the ladder to the man-hole cover and out and into the hippie van parked at the back of the alley. Our criss-crossing covering-fire aiming, constant movement, and mutual trust was enough to make a General cry. We moved like liquid together, no different from the real deal spec-ops teams (which many of us had participated on and then trained).
Ten more seconds and we were buckled up in the van and casually driving out and onto the street, one block away from the pristine-looking bank and ignorant passersby.
Ellen and Ashley had again changed positions, moving farther away yet still in visual- and weapons-range of the bank, should any of the cops make it there before our operation was over. If so, the two of them would began sniping out the engine blocks, tires, and gas tanks of the civilian vehicles around the bank, creating multi-ton barriers that would channel and otherwise hinder the police sure and soon to arrive. Next, they would snipe out the squad cars’ onboard computers, engine-blocks, and gas tanks to create further chaos; a nearly impenetrable and highly unstable barrier of metal wreckage and burning gasoline. This technique was designed to convince the police that we were still attempting to steal more things from inside the building.
The cameras viewing the inside of the vault confirmed the suspicions of the staff inside who had felt their floor shake. Quietly professionally assessing the situation, they didn’t warn any of the customers standing in line –who probably assumed it was an earthquake and tried to stay away from the door frames instead of running outside where building material would be more likely to fall on them, and vehicles more likely to slide around in the street and hit them. The silent alarm was activated, the police were phoned from a sound-proofed inner office room, and within their three minute response time, they did, with haste, begin to arrive.
Ellen and Ashley, from their latest positions down two different streets away from the bank, began to disable the civilian vehicles with their silenced long-range weapons. Not hearing any gunfire, the police began to blare their horns and power on their sirens and lights, thinking it would hurry the many vehicles out of their way, but, obviously, to no effect; they were now trapped within a growing array of immobilized cars and trucks. Once the giant game of Tetris was complete, Ellen and Ashley continued their silenced engagement, now disabling the squad cars. All of the police radios were destroyed by this precision gunfire before they could get any word out. Dispatch was ignorant of the whole mess.
With every street around the bank now completely congested and blocked off with disabled civilian and police vehicles for 50 yards, Ellen and Ashley both radio’ed in with the second and third uses of the term ‘green’; I had to hear them both say that word before I could safely detonate all of the different explosives we’d placed. My reaction was immediate; “Rog’, sugar-pussies,” and as I said the last word in that flirty, sexiness-and-go-code joint-acknowledgement sentence, my thumb depressed the next detonator button.
Ellen and Ashley had already left the scene and were inbound to meeting location 3 as the whole center of the bank exploded into shrapnel, causing the rest of the building to cave in all around it, launching plumes of concrete dust and hot smoke out all of the shattering windows and rooftop air-conditioning units. Car alarms a block away in all direction went off. The closest vehicles were Swiss-cheesed and sent tumbling like ragdolls. Then several of the streets bent upward in thunderous booms, rapidly dropping back down and into shadowy maws of rubble many feet down into the sewer tunnels. More vehicles were sent tumbling around, then sliding down into the growing, snaking lines of sink-holes where the streets had once been. Streetlights fell in. More buildings began to break down. The screaming started. No wounding sniper shots would be needed this time; the debris would take care of plenty of that for us, distracting ten times the usual amount of response personnel from the whole city and further blocking all lanes of traffic to the point of total system failure. Tow-trucks, medical helicopters, and more would be called in from neighboring cities to help clear up the monstrosity we had created to ensure our egress. It would still likely be another two or three minutes before any of the survivors even thought, in their shocked states, to call 911.
The guys and I were too far down the street to see the bank, but on our smooth drive out of town, we did see a ‘bacon-mobile’ (squad car) race by, siren blaring, just moments after the quaking and faint screaming and metal-screeching ensued. I wondered if he would be one of the ones hit by the remainder of the collapsing buildings. ‘Good luck, piggy.’
We exited the city’s limits, each of our vehicles taking a different route.
Our religious code: any bank that charges any interest, and any law enforcement personnel enforcing unconstitutional or unholy laws (such as protecting institutions that charge interest), is fair game; to be dispatched by any means necessary or desired. Enforcing evil laws makes one evil, no exceptions. We reject the illogical ‘Just doing my job.’ cop-out as much as the cops reject the logical ‘I didn’t know about that law.’ statement. And since total war and unspeakable acts of deception and worse have been waged against us all, we united and now, as one, all always wage total war and equally unspeakable (for OPSEC) acts of deception and worse back on the enemy which has never been defeated and put back in check, historically speaking, any other way. Money, like anything, makes sense. Like communism and democracy, on paper; in theory, it works just fine. In practice, with so many humanoids overrunning us so brilliantly in this day and age, it cannot be allowed at all. Thus, all banks and all money must be destroyed. There’s no time to waste, attempting to explain our case to those who are brainwashed and engineered to never (even be able to) listen or understand, let alone honor or side with our way.
Page 15
One hour later, after another long drive to another small town in another state, and lots of high-fives, oorah’s, and victorious whooping like Native Americans would on horseback, we arrived at location 3, not even remotely winded or shaken. God bless the battle-hardened!
Nick checked the area out and then the room at our new overnight residence. I stayed in the van with the others, radio on, waiting for any news or eye-witness accounts. The story had aired, but as no robbers had been seen (the video footage of us was destroyed in the demolition, along with the only two eye-witnesses; the bank staff who had seen the camera’s view of three of us), there were no eye-witness accounts of what we had done; only the apparent earthquake and pipes bursting that had led to the damage in the streets. Authorities were letting the blame go to mother nature, even though there were at least a few cops (the dispatcher who took the bank’s call for help, the surviving cops in their disabled cars at the scene, and whoever else they had notified since we had escaped) who knew the alarming truth. We could have cut the communication lines to the bank on our way in, but letting a brief word of our existence get out was another tactic designed to confuse and terrify; ‘fear of the unknown’; knowing only that there is something powerful and terrible moving around unchecked somewhere.
The next hit would be made to look like a random terrorist group, or a cartel, or an environmentalist organization; whatever suited us, leaving their tell-tale calling cards or planted evidence after operating in their traditional garb. Getting random enemies or any outside parties to lock horns was a fantastic tactic for keeping the heat off of you. We might also make up some group, or make it look like a sloppy attempt at copycatting. There were so many wonderful options left to us at this stage in the game.
Ellen and Ashley’s vehicles were nowhere to be seen. ‘Good girls. Good training,’ I mused.
Nick flicked the room’s blinds open, signaling us.
“Russell, Marty,” I turned in my seat to look back at 11 cramped guys in the van, “clean house.”
They both sounded off with a quiet “Sir,” immediately exiting the van and strolling over to the room’s door, entering, and then joining Nick in finishing the check and ‘cleaning’.
While the rest of us waited, the other 9 guys behind me counted, organized, and repacked every single newly-acquired, crisp, clean dollar bill. God damn, the van smelled good after that; fresh money! Good stuff.
We were now $623,500 richer… or less poor. That would be more accurate. Go, team.
One hour later, after another long drive to another small town in another state, and lots of high-fives, oorah’s, and victorious whooping like Native Americans would on horseback, we arrived at location 3, not even remotely winded or shaken. God bless the battle-hardened!
Nick checked the area out and then the room at our new overnight residence. I stayed in the van with the others, radio on, waiting for any news or eye-witness accounts. The story had aired, but as no robbers had been seen (the video footage of us was destroyed in the demolition, along with the only two eye-witnesses; the bank staff who had seen the camera’s view of three of us), there were no eye-witness accounts of what we had done; only the apparent earthquake and pipes bursting that had led to the damage in the streets. Authorities were letting the blame go to mother nature, even though there were at least a few cops (the dispatcher who took the bank’s call for help, the surviving cops in their disabled cars at the scene, and whoever else they had notified since we had escaped) who knew the alarming truth. We could have cut the communication lines to the bank on our way in, but letting a brief word of our existence get out was another tactic designed to confuse and terrify; ‘fear of the unknown’; knowing only that there is something powerful and terrible moving around unchecked somewhere.
The next hit would be made to look like a random terrorist group, or a cartel, or an environmentalist organization; whatever suited us, leaving their tell-tale calling cards or planted evidence after operating in their traditional garb. Getting random enemies or any outside parties to lock horns was a fantastic tactic for keeping the heat off of you. We might also make up some group, or make it look like a sloppy attempt at copycatting. There were so many wonderful options left to us at this stage in the game.
Ellen and Ashley’s vehicles were nowhere to be seen. ‘Good girls. Good training,’ I mused.
Nick flicked the room’s blinds open, signaling us.
“Russell, Marty,” I turned in my seat to look back at 11 cramped guys in the van, “clean house.”
They both sounded off with a quiet “Sir,” immediately exiting the van and strolling over to the room’s door, entering, and then joining Nick in finishing the check and ‘cleaning’.
While the rest of us waited, the other 9 guys behind me counted, organized, and repacked every single newly-acquired, crisp, clean dollar bill. God damn, the van smelled good after that; fresh money! Good stuff.
We were now $623,500 richer… or less poor. That would be more accurate. Go, team.
Page 16
Yes, even with that much moolah, we still had incredible mutual trust. Plus, we all were fully capable of robbing anyone –even a special warfare operative or spy, taking anyone’s money, hacking nearly any account, or making money any number of other ways (legitimate or otherwise) with our diverse and highly-coveted skill-set portfolios, not to mention our abilities to survive in the wilderness indefinitely. Money, even when we were broke, didn’t concern us.
While everyone else drove back to retrieve their randomly parked cars, using the van and wearing only civis and their pistols, I stayed at location 3 with the money bags, the girls who had just arrived, and Danny. Once the others got back, we were gonna take Ellen’s latest ‘borrowed’ vehicle to get Danny’s, Ashley’s, and mine. Danny’s was the van, which would be left there. In this way, only one more car would show up near the motel (one of the girl’s), then the van would only leave once, moving from each remotely-parked vehicle’s location until it stopped far away at the final one.
An hour later, the last four of us waiting at the motel (Ellen, Ashley, Danny, and me) got to go retrieve our’s. Half an hour after that, we all got back in our usual sneaky ways.
Breaking a few of the bills at random convenience stores while we were retrieving our vehicles (making it look like only one small, inexperienced group of bank robbers lived just one state over, and were spending the cash all in the same area), we succeeded in laundering the first batch of cash, using the clean bills we’d gotten in exchange to buy $150 worth of top-end Mexican take-out. While the authorities had to wait weeks or even longer to trace the bills, our true enjoyments would be masked by this process; they would only have records that the stolen money was spent at gas stations and the like, but never at any of the places where we got healthy and artisan food and other goods.
Back at the motel with all of us reunited, the girls enjoyed an hour of triple-penetration as everyone took turns getting fucked, sucked, and emptied by them, while those not actively engaged in the orgy posted security with their loaded assault weapons from the shadowy corners of the rooms; one form of combat-sex; the others being 1) sex so rough it doubles as combat, and 2) sex that requires combat to earn it. Like a SWAT team stack outside a doorway, ‘tag-team’ procedures were in place to maintain the highest security coordination and overlapping shifts in addition to the overlapping sectors of fire; whenever someone was done cumming inside both girls and back in gear and armament to post up, he would lightly tap or bump the guy he was relieving from watch, immediately fluidly moving into his shadowy position as the man on watch got back into the fucking and sucking rotation. There was likely zero threat whatsoever, as we always did an exception job of confusing and ditching our potential enemies, but we enjoyed this form of sex and free love; it was fun; our form of play time.
With the authentic Mexican feast now cooled down to the perfect warm temperature for eating in big bites, we continued celebrating quietly (so as not to attract any unwanted attention) in a close circle around the TV, watching an episode of Dark Angel, arguing playfully about who could get the lead actress in the sack faster, who could belch and fart the loudest, and whether Superman VS Batman was a fair fight. We talked into the night and had a great time, always being mindful of our volume, always with a few of us posting security from the shadows.
When it came time for the majority of us to sleep, and the fire-watch (nighttime security shift) to begin, Ellen and Ashley leaned over to each other and shared the longest, sloppiest French kiss I think any of us had ever seen. They were just doing it to get our attention (even thought they were, of course, bi; one of the most important prerequisites for any female to be considered for membership in our tightly-knit team) and a good laugh and shock, which they sure did. It was the only totally silent five minutes of our celebration.
Yes, even with that much moolah, we still had incredible mutual trust. Plus, we all were fully capable of robbing anyone –even a special warfare operative or spy, taking anyone’s money, hacking nearly any account, or making money any number of other ways (legitimate or otherwise) with our diverse and highly-coveted skill-set portfolios, not to mention our abilities to survive in the wilderness indefinitely. Money, even when we were broke, didn’t concern us.
While everyone else drove back to retrieve their randomly parked cars, using the van and wearing only civis and their pistols, I stayed at location 3 with the money bags, the girls who had just arrived, and Danny. Once the others got back, we were gonna take Ellen’s latest ‘borrowed’ vehicle to get Danny’s, Ashley’s, and mine. Danny’s was the van, which would be left there. In this way, only one more car would show up near the motel (one of the girl’s), then the van would only leave once, moving from each remotely-parked vehicle’s location until it stopped far away at the final one.
An hour later, the last four of us waiting at the motel (Ellen, Ashley, Danny, and me) got to go retrieve our’s. Half an hour after that, we all got back in our usual sneaky ways.
Breaking a few of the bills at random convenience stores while we were retrieving our vehicles (making it look like only one small, inexperienced group of bank robbers lived just one state over, and were spending the cash all in the same area), we succeeded in laundering the first batch of cash, using the clean bills we’d gotten in exchange to buy $150 worth of top-end Mexican take-out. While the authorities had to wait weeks or even longer to trace the bills, our true enjoyments would be masked by this process; they would only have records that the stolen money was spent at gas stations and the like, but never at any of the places where we got healthy and artisan food and other goods.
Back at the motel with all of us reunited, the girls enjoyed an hour of triple-penetration as everyone took turns getting fucked, sucked, and emptied by them, while those not actively engaged in the orgy posted security with their loaded assault weapons from the shadowy corners of the rooms; one form of combat-sex; the others being 1) sex so rough it doubles as combat, and 2) sex that requires combat to earn it. Like a SWAT team stack outside a doorway, ‘tag-team’ procedures were in place to maintain the highest security coordination and overlapping shifts in addition to the overlapping sectors of fire; whenever someone was done cumming inside both girls and back in gear and armament to post up, he would lightly tap or bump the guy he was relieving from watch, immediately fluidly moving into his shadowy position as the man on watch got back into the fucking and sucking rotation. There was likely zero threat whatsoever, as we always did an exception job of confusing and ditching our potential enemies, but we enjoyed this form of sex and free love; it was fun; our form of play time.
With the authentic Mexican feast now cooled down to the perfect warm temperature for eating in big bites, we continued celebrating quietly (so as not to attract any unwanted attention) in a close circle around the TV, watching an episode of Dark Angel, arguing playfully about who could get the lead actress in the sack faster, who could belch and fart the loudest, and whether Superman VS Batman was a fair fight. We talked into the night and had a great time, always being mindful of our volume, always with a few of us posting security from the shadows.
When it came time for the majority of us to sleep, and the fire-watch (nighttime security shift) to begin, Ellen and Ashley leaned over to each other and shared the longest, sloppiest French kiss I think any of us had ever seen. They were just doing it to get our attention (even thought they were, of course, bi; one of the most important prerequisites for any female to be considered for membership in our tightly-knit team) and a good laugh and shock, which they sure did. It was the only totally silent five minutes of our celebration.
Page 17
Being sympathetic to all the once-again boner-stricken men in the room, both Ellen and Ashley got back to giving blowjobs until they’d swallowed all of our cum once again. Then they ate each other out, each girl making the other cum and them smothering her face merrily in it, licking it all up just the same. We all wanted to fuck them again, but our bellies were full, farts were imminent, and we needed our rest for a shit-ton of more driving the next day.
Staying naked, as we had grown accustomed to ever since the platoon-sized group showers in our military training programs, Ellen snuggled up between two of the men, and Ashley did the same with another two; both girls helping slide the cocks –of whichever men rotated over to be their ‘sandwich’ during the course of the night and our fire-watches– all the way snuggly up inside their pussies and assholes. Sexual cuddling was an important part of relieving stress and treating most other ailments, we all knew from experience.
Checkout from the motel was at noon, so, as you can imagine, everyone was up bright and early, immediately engaged in a second lengthy orgy that lasted until we all had to quickly shower and leave. Those two girls were so happily sore and wobbly by the time we left that sexpot of a room, they were all smiles, practically radiating fulfillment.
I went and checked out while the others tended to the pile of bags, guns, gear, and money in our remaining, closely-parked vehicles. I returned after bullshitting with the motel owner about good places to visit around the town. I wasn’t going to go to any of them, of course; it was all just another diversion, in case our trail was somehow amazingly traced here. To him, I was a carefree tourist on my way to California with my wife. To me, he was just what he really was. Gotta love having the upper hand in a world like this. Knowledge really is power.
In our widely-dispersed convoy of three very different-looking vehicles, we departed for yet another state in a completely different direction. It was someone else’s turn to drive, so I took their spot next to Ellen in one of the side-to-side back seats, we mutually snuggled up to one another, and I slipped one of my hands up into her shirt to rest around her nearest breast. Already calming down to meditate into another round of sleep, she faintly smiled and moaned, squirming a bit to settle in beside me. I fell asleep with her nearest leg draped over mine, my arm around and over her shoulders, her head resting on my shoulder, her nearest hand down my pants, softly cupping my balls, and my hand subtly flexing against her warm, silky breast. Three more heavenly hours drifted by nice and slowly.
That evening, when everyone in the convoy had woken back up, we shared another motel together, shared another meal together (again paid for with the cash we’d laundered in the same previous city), and shared another long orgy together. It was nightfall again when I briefed them on part 2 of Alpha Tango. They perfected the plan and we went over how we were going to operate for the next year; randomly across the nation, always as a complete team, taking maximum precautions every step of the way, and having no contact with anyone back “home” until we were finished.
Everyone understood. Everyone loved being back together. IT was gonna be a good year.
Mission:
Part:
Status:
Being sympathetic to all the once-again boner-stricken men in the room, both Ellen and Ashley got back to giving blowjobs until they’d swallowed all of our cum once again. Then they ate each other out, each girl making the other cum and them smothering her face merrily in it, licking it all up just the same. We all wanted to fuck them again, but our bellies were full, farts were imminent, and we needed our rest for a shit-ton of more driving the next day.
Staying naked, as we had grown accustomed to ever since the platoon-sized group showers in our military training programs, Ellen snuggled up between two of the men, and Ashley did the same with another two; both girls helping slide the cocks –of whichever men rotated over to be their ‘sandwich’ during the course of the night and our fire-watches– all the way snuggly up inside their pussies and assholes. Sexual cuddling was an important part of relieving stress and treating most other ailments, we all knew from experience.
Checkout from the motel was at noon, so, as you can imagine, everyone was up bright and early, immediately engaged in a second lengthy orgy that lasted until we all had to quickly shower and leave. Those two girls were so happily sore and wobbly by the time we left that sexpot of a room, they were all smiles, practically radiating fulfillment.
I went and checked out while the others tended to the pile of bags, guns, gear, and money in our remaining, closely-parked vehicles. I returned after bullshitting with the motel owner about good places to visit around the town. I wasn’t going to go to any of them, of course; it was all just another diversion, in case our trail was somehow amazingly traced here. To him, I was a carefree tourist on my way to California with my wife. To me, he was just what he really was. Gotta love having the upper hand in a world like this. Knowledge really is power.
In our widely-dispersed convoy of three very different-looking vehicles, we departed for yet another state in a completely different direction. It was someone else’s turn to drive, so I took their spot next to Ellen in one of the side-to-side back seats, we mutually snuggled up to one another, and I slipped one of my hands up into her shirt to rest around her nearest breast. Already calming down to meditate into another round of sleep, she faintly smiled and moaned, squirming a bit to settle in beside me. I fell asleep with her nearest leg draped over mine, my arm around and over her shoulders, her head resting on my shoulder, her nearest hand down my pants, softly cupping my balls, and my hand subtly flexing against her warm, silky breast. Three more heavenly hours drifted by nice and slowly.
That evening, when everyone in the convoy had woken back up, we shared another motel together, shared another meal together (again paid for with the cash we’d laundered in the same previous city), and shared another long orgy together. It was nightfall again when I briefed them on part 2 of Alpha Tango. They perfected the plan and we went over how we were going to operate for the next year; randomly across the nation, always as a complete team, taking maximum precautions every step of the way, and having no contact with anyone back “home” until we were finished.
Everyone understood. Everyone loved being back together. IT was gonna be a good year.
Mission:
Part:
Status:
Alpha Tango
One
Completed
One
Completed