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 4 details the second part of the first big operation.
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 4 details the second part of the first big operation.
The Wolves: Episode 4
Page 1
We left the second motel the next morning, traveling in groups of three to Montana; Ryan’s inherited arsenal was buried there. I intended to use the 3,000 acres to store our vehicle indefinitely and the arsenal bunker to store all the rest of our stuff, maybe even use it as our planning facility.
His aunt and uncle had a small house on the far side of the land near the only road that weaved close to the whole plot. They were no immediate concern though because their more permanent residence was over 80 miles away. Ryan informed us that he visited every year or so to hunt with his uncle, and, as far as he knew, that was one of the only times that his aunt and uncle stayed out there.
En route, questions continued to demand my attention. “What guarantees do we have about the security of the arsenal?”
Ryan “Don’t worry. I have the only key to the armory and my uncle is getting too old to go out to it, let alone maintain it and hunt with me.”
Our conversations, like our briefings, were, by necessity and habit from training, notably terse. Almost all other time spent by Wolves was silent, appreciating our world with the rest of our senses and means of communication. Words to us seemed excessive and inaccurate by default.
Along the way to the ranch, we passed through four states, picking up electronics from Radio Shacks and other computer stores, MREs and some reserve gear from military surplus outlets, and a truckload of tires, batteries, gas cartons, oil and filters, brake pads, and tool kits; all of them bought in with laundered cash in small, random quantities by each of us separately as we pulled off from the convoy in satellite operations to different cities and towns along different highways. There would be no trail to find us by. Our final purchases were nearly a thousand miles away from our destination.
We all made it to the ranch where Ryan, in the first group, led us out to the bunker along a series of dirt and gravel roads. The area was heavily forested; well-concealed from the air. We unloaded everything, passing it down a human conveyor belt, as they called it in the military, to the bunker where it was all tightly and neatly packed in order of likeliest necessity; what we would be using more often was located closer to the door, what was newer was at the back so the older materials would be utilized sooner, et cetera. We had enough for six, maybe seven months of operation –or for life, if we all decided to take an indefinite break and just camp out.
Their support and energy never did cease to amaze me. Apparently each of their “lives” back “home” had been torturously boring just like mine. They were blatantly ready for war again. Damn. It gave me that old, warm, mushy, tingly feeling as I helped them finish setting up the bunker. God, I had missed them; my wolf cubs, as I had come to think of them.
We hid our vehicles en masse above the bunker, covering them in a series of mesh tarps and tree branches. All the license plates and identification tags were removed and taken down into the bunker in a cardboard box. Even though we now knew what our vehicles looked like, it didn’t matter anymore. We all had other vehicles, and could get any vehicle anywhere for a fresh start, and we’d likely never be returning to the realms and lives we’d held onto out of mind-rotting desperation in the purgatories we’d dared to call our homecoming (from deployments) lives. Plus, we’d only be using the van and maybe one of the cars or pickup trucks, so the rest were now just backups for leaving under unlikely circumstances. Our motorpool was ready.
We decided to keep all of our personal stashes secret for now. We had enough with us and ammo didn’t seem to be a problem at all. We didn’t need practice shooting and we hadn’t fired a single shot during Part One of our first reunion operation.
We discussed our new group purpose and expected budget for the coming year. I made it very clear to them that we acted as a group only and always, and that we were not going to destabilize the nation (it was doing that on its own); just use it to further our purpose, to have fun, and to kill the scum that no one else would dare touch. There were to be absolutely no politics, religion, or fighting amongst us, in keeping with our sacred military codes. We were a military unit now; a dictatorship which I commanded by all rites (I had founded it, after all, and they had all agreed to our declared purpose). Jim was second in command. No one was to leave the ranch without everyone else knowing for safety reasons. All supply runs and other ops were to be conducted at night and only with the whole group. The bunker and ranch would be left booby-trapped at all times.
We were in agreement, no complaints. We were go for Alpha Tango, Part Two
We left the second motel the next morning, traveling in groups of three to Montana; Ryan’s inherited arsenal was buried there. I intended to use the 3,000 acres to store our vehicle indefinitely and the arsenal bunker to store all the rest of our stuff, maybe even use it as our planning facility.
His aunt and uncle had a small house on the far side of the land near the only road that weaved close to the whole plot. They were no immediate concern though because their more permanent residence was over 80 miles away. Ryan informed us that he visited every year or so to hunt with his uncle, and, as far as he knew, that was one of the only times that his aunt and uncle stayed out there.
En route, questions continued to demand my attention. “What guarantees do we have about the security of the arsenal?”
Ryan “Don’t worry. I have the only key to the armory and my uncle is getting too old to go out to it, let alone maintain it and hunt with me.”
Our conversations, like our briefings, were, by necessity and habit from training, notably terse. Almost all other time spent by Wolves was silent, appreciating our world with the rest of our senses and means of communication. Words to us seemed excessive and inaccurate by default.
Along the way to the ranch, we passed through four states, picking up electronics from Radio Shacks and other computer stores, MREs and some reserve gear from military surplus outlets, and a truckload of tires, batteries, gas cartons, oil and filters, brake pads, and tool kits; all of them bought in with laundered cash in small, random quantities by each of us separately as we pulled off from the convoy in satellite operations to different cities and towns along different highways. There would be no trail to find us by. Our final purchases were nearly a thousand miles away from our destination.
We all made it to the ranch where Ryan, in the first group, led us out to the bunker along a series of dirt and gravel roads. The area was heavily forested; well-concealed from the air. We unloaded everything, passing it down a human conveyor belt, as they called it in the military, to the bunker where it was all tightly and neatly packed in order of likeliest necessity; what we would be using more often was located closer to the door, what was newer was at the back so the older materials would be utilized sooner, et cetera. We had enough for six, maybe seven months of operation –or for life, if we all decided to take an indefinite break and just camp out.
Their support and energy never did cease to amaze me. Apparently each of their “lives” back “home” had been torturously boring just like mine. They were blatantly ready for war again. Damn. It gave me that old, warm, mushy, tingly feeling as I helped them finish setting up the bunker. God, I had missed them; my wolf cubs, as I had come to think of them.
We hid our vehicles en masse above the bunker, covering them in a series of mesh tarps and tree branches. All the license plates and identification tags were removed and taken down into the bunker in a cardboard box. Even though we now knew what our vehicles looked like, it didn’t matter anymore. We all had other vehicles, and could get any vehicle anywhere for a fresh start, and we’d likely never be returning to the realms and lives we’d held onto out of mind-rotting desperation in the purgatories we’d dared to call our homecoming (from deployments) lives. Plus, we’d only be using the van and maybe one of the cars or pickup trucks, so the rest were now just backups for leaving under unlikely circumstances. Our motorpool was ready.
We decided to keep all of our personal stashes secret for now. We had enough with us and ammo didn’t seem to be a problem at all. We didn’t need practice shooting and we hadn’t fired a single shot during Part One of our first reunion operation.
We discussed our new group purpose and expected budget for the coming year. I made it very clear to them that we acted as a group only and always, and that we were not going to destabilize the nation (it was doing that on its own); just use it to further our purpose, to have fun, and to kill the scum that no one else would dare touch. There were to be absolutely no politics, religion, or fighting amongst us, in keeping with our sacred military codes. We were a military unit now; a dictatorship which I commanded by all rites (I had founded it, after all, and they had all agreed to our declared purpose). Jim was second in command. No one was to leave the ranch without everyone else knowing for safety reasons. All supply runs and other ops were to be conducted at night and only with the whole group. The bunker and ranch would be left booby-trapped at all times.
We were in agreement, no complaints. We were go for Alpha Tango, Part Two
阿爾法探戈第二部分
Page 2
We spent the next two days cleaning up the prison-like bunker. Calc sealed up the few cracks, handles were screwed into the ceiling to hang lanterns and other light fixtures, air mattresses and sleeping bags covered the concrete floor while we worked on building bunks, the door was re-boarded and waterproofed, all the metal shelves were secured and tested, and the ventilation pipes were all tested, too. All chemicals and water-vulnerable items were stored in plastic coolers. We set up a radio on one of the shelves, fire extinguishers in each of the four corners, and two collapsible tables on either side of the stairwell.
The next few weeks was spent rounding up the few possessions we had at our old homes and either selling them, destroying them, or bringing them back to the bunker. Computers were most desired. We ended up with 4 desktops and 11 laptops.
All but one of each of our former residences around the country were cleaned out and put back on the market. They were all apartments and townhouses.
We couldn’t risk any internet or phone lines in the bunker, so the few calls we might have to make during the year would be made from payphones in random towns. We did, however, keep detailed inventory and mission files on one of the laptops. A second laptop was used during travel to transfer information, and, naturally, all of it was heavily encrypted from the most confusing inner-circle jargon imaginable.
Big-city libraries provided us with all the free ‘net access we needed. One of us would go in wearing civi’s and sporting the usual fake credentials, spend about 30 minutes “researching” (getting aerials, satellite photos, blueprints, et cetera), and leave unnoticed.
The $600+ grand we’d scored during Part One was lasting a long time. We had no bills (almost all of our food was grown on site, as was almost all of our energy harvested), no income tax (none of us worked anymore), and no insurance to pay for anymore (we falsified all of our documentation, the same as our IDs). With no expenses, and massive income from every operation, it would be impossible for us to ever run out of cash. All of our lingering bank accounts remained untouched.
We spent the next two days cleaning up the prison-like bunker. Calc sealed up the few cracks, handles were screwed into the ceiling to hang lanterns and other light fixtures, air mattresses and sleeping bags covered the concrete floor while we worked on building bunks, the door was re-boarded and waterproofed, all the metal shelves were secured and tested, and the ventilation pipes were all tested, too. All chemicals and water-vulnerable items were stored in plastic coolers. We set up a radio on one of the shelves, fire extinguishers in each of the four corners, and two collapsible tables on either side of the stairwell.
The next few weeks was spent rounding up the few possessions we had at our old homes and either selling them, destroying them, or bringing them back to the bunker. Computers were most desired. We ended up with 4 desktops and 11 laptops.
All but one of each of our former residences around the country were cleaned out and put back on the market. They were all apartments and townhouses.
We couldn’t risk any internet or phone lines in the bunker, so the few calls we might have to make during the year would be made from payphones in random towns. We did, however, keep detailed inventory and mission files on one of the laptops. A second laptop was used during travel to transfer information, and, naturally, all of it was heavily encrypted from the most confusing inner-circle jargon imaginable.
Big-city libraries provided us with all the free ‘net access we needed. One of us would go in wearing civi’s and sporting the usual fake credentials, spend about 30 minutes “researching” (getting aerials, satellite photos, blueprints, et cetera), and leave unnoticed.
The $600+ grand we’d scored during Part One was lasting a long time. We had no bills (almost all of our food was grown on site, as was almost all of our energy harvested), no income tax (none of us worked anymore), and no insurance to pay for anymore (we falsified all of our documentation, the same as our IDs). With no expenses, and massive income from every operation, it would be impossible for us to ever run out of cash. All of our lingering bank accounts remained untouched.
Page 3
Batteries of all kinds, along with solar panels, windmills, kinetic energy collectors, Sterling engines, potatoes, and even lemons made power lines to the bunker completely unnecessary. Showers and shits were done at the small ranch house. Pissing took place in a trench away from the bunker which, with weathering and the foliage, would never be filled up or stink noticeably. Like everyone else, the girls pissed in that trench, too, dropping their cutoffs and squatting, thinking nothing of it. Confidence and equal living conditions; such were the ways of the Wolves.
Walkie-talkies were used for short-range communications on the ranch and during supply runs. MREs made up almost all of our meals until we brought in the first harvest from the vegetable garden, fruit trees, and nearby hunting of deer, elk, moose, duck, and other small game. The ranch house was left just as we’d found it and never visited for anything else.
We used our own weight sets and machines daily, building some new ones, too, and went on group runs in block-formation every morning. We also practiced sparring above the bunker in a small clearing, and fucked the cold nights away –sometimes ten feet below the surface in our new bunker home, sometimes up above, lying in sleeping bags in the beds of our pickup trucks, watching the brilliant sky full of stars, complete with the full galactic arm of the Milky Way stretching up diagonally and steeply out above us, unconcealed by the light pollution of any city.
Getting pregnant wasn’t a concern of ours, as it was part of our sacred code to never breed that way, especially under wartime conditions, which we had now initiated to uphold the other parts of our sacred code. The girls took care of things on that end, being wired to be unable to consider any other way.
Batteries of all kinds, along with solar panels, windmills, kinetic energy collectors, Sterling engines, potatoes, and even lemons made power lines to the bunker completely unnecessary. Showers and shits were done at the small ranch house. Pissing took place in a trench away from the bunker which, with weathering and the foliage, would never be filled up or stink noticeably. Like everyone else, the girls pissed in that trench, too, dropping their cutoffs and squatting, thinking nothing of it. Confidence and equal living conditions; such were the ways of the Wolves.
Walkie-talkies were used for short-range communications on the ranch and during supply runs. MREs made up almost all of our meals until we brought in the first harvest from the vegetable garden, fruit trees, and nearby hunting of deer, elk, moose, duck, and other small game. The ranch house was left just as we’d found it and never visited for anything else.
We used our own weight sets and machines daily, building some new ones, too, and went on group runs in block-formation every morning. We also practiced sparring above the bunker in a small clearing, and fucked the cold nights away –sometimes ten feet below the surface in our new bunker home, sometimes up above, lying in sleeping bags in the beds of our pickup trucks, watching the brilliant sky full of stars, complete with the full galactic arm of the Milky Way stretching up diagonally and steeply out above us, unconcealed by the light pollution of any city.
Getting pregnant wasn’t a concern of ours, as it was part of our sacred code to never breed that way, especially under wartime conditions, which we had now initiated to uphold the other parts of our sacred code. The girls took care of things on that end, being wired to be unable to consider any other way.
Page 4
Under cover of darkness, I rode with my 14 commandos out of the state and across the vast nation. We took Danny’s van and Russell’s SUV. All of us were in prime condition from our self-training. All the males had white-walls –just for the spirit of the shadowy mission, and, of course, because it looks fuckin’ cool. The females had their hair tightly braided and pinned up under their rolled-up balaclavas (keeping them looking like beanies). All of our duffels were in the back of their respective vehicles. There was no sexual activity on the way to our target. Everyone was deadly serious, reviewing in their minds their specific objectives and places in the operation.
We wore civi’s the whole way, stopping only to piss or shit. We took shifts sleeping, guarding, and driving. We ate snacks from four coolers between the seats. In two days time, we reached the west coast and the perimeter of the target area.
We stopped at a rest area on the highway, stripping down to our underwear all at once, passing the duffels around, sliding into our wetsuits, vests, boots, gloves, belts, and balaclavas. In a few minutes, we were all ready to deploy. We’d never left the vehicles during suit-up.
“Radio silence until I break,” I turned to face everyone in the van; to see their eyes. I knew they understood.
Jim was giving the exact same order to everyone in Russell’s SUV.
We took one last breath and gave the order both vehicles were waiting for: “Deploy.”
Under cover of darkness, I rode with my 14 commandos out of the state and across the vast nation. We took Danny’s van and Russell’s SUV. All of us were in prime condition from our self-training. All the males had white-walls –just for the spirit of the shadowy mission, and, of course, because it looks fuckin’ cool. The females had their hair tightly braided and pinned up under their rolled-up balaclavas (keeping them looking like beanies). All of our duffels were in the back of their respective vehicles. There was no sexual activity on the way to our target. Everyone was deadly serious, reviewing in their minds their specific objectives and places in the operation.
We wore civi’s the whole way, stopping only to piss or shit. We took shifts sleeping, guarding, and driving. We ate snacks from four coolers between the seats. In two days time, we reached the west coast and the perimeter of the target area.
We stopped at a rest area on the highway, stripping down to our underwear all at once, passing the duffels around, sliding into our wetsuits, vests, boots, gloves, belts, and balaclavas. In a few minutes, we were all ready to deploy. We’d never left the vehicles during suit-up.
“Radio silence until I break,” I turned to face everyone in the van; to see their eyes. I knew they understood.
Jim was giving the exact same order to everyone in Russell’s SUV.
We took one last breath and gave the order both vehicles were waiting for: “Deploy.”
Page 5
The back doors on the van opened and my eight poured out onto the dark asphalt, running into the woods with their mesh strap-on suits (ghillies) rolled up in their backpacks.
The side doors on Russell’s SUV immediately followed; his three pouring out and running in their own way.
As the two teams made their ways through the woods alongside the highway, Russell and Jim stayed in the SUV for extraction later, and Danny and I stayed in the van but moved up the road to an exit ramp out of sight with the SUV.
I checked my Indiglo watch display. Danny kept an eye on the highway.
The seconds slowly turned into minutes, the corresponding hand on my watch passing over the 60th tick mark… five times. I picked up my walkie-talkie as Danny accelerated off the shoulder and down the exit ramp.
“Sierra and Echo, green, minimal chatter.”
Both teams rogered up.
The back doors on the van opened and my eight poured out onto the dark asphalt, running into the woods with their mesh strap-on suits (ghillies) rolled up in their backpacks.
The side doors on Russell’s SUV immediately followed; his three pouring out and running in their own way.
As the two teams made their ways through the woods alongside the highway, Russell and Jim stayed in the SUV for extraction later, and Danny and I stayed in the van but moved up the road to an exit ramp out of sight with the SUV.
I checked my Indiglo watch display. Danny kept an eye on the highway.
The seconds slowly turned into minutes, the corresponding hand on my watch passing over the 60th tick mark… five times. I picked up my walkie-talkie as Danny accelerated off the shoulder and down the exit ramp.
“Sierra and Echo, green, minimal chatter.”
Both teams rogered up.
Page 6
Almost silently, the eight Echo team members darted and zigzagged across the target-house’s backyard, the whole time covering all angles of their surroundings and never once passing their lines of fire across one another; the gun katas of Equilibrium were finally being realized and further developed.
Within seconds, they were at the base of the two-story house. Echo team commander Troy hand-signaled for them to cut the power and enter. Jordan produced a pair of bolt cutters and snapped the cables running through the power usage meter on the side of the house. They all secured their PNVGs, flicked them to ‘on’, and knocked the back door in.
Like lightning, they appeared from nowhere; Nick, Michael, Ellen, Ryan, Jordan, Ashley, Marty, and Troy. Remembering the house’s floor plan, Troy hand-signed for Marty to take three up the staircase while three others followed him to clear the first floor. Just like that, Nick, Michael, and Ellen were gone, moving with Marty fluidly up the stairs.
We’d all decided, long before reaching this site, how we were going to move through the house to clear it; the hand-signals were just finally confirmations, based on on-site observations and instincts, to proceed as planned.
Troy led Ryan, Ashley, and Jordan through the first room to the first floor hallway. Troy crossed at the same time that Ryan strafed to cover him. Jordan covered Ashley the same way as they all entered the second of five rooms on their floor.
-clear-
They moved to the third.
-clear-
The fourth.
-clear-
The fifth.
-clear-
…Jackpot. Troy motioned for Ashley to get to work on a large safe sitting in the corner. She approached and kneeled in front of it, sliding several tools out of her belt.
Meanwhile on the second floor, Marty hand-signed for Nick to follow him to the master bedroom while Michael and Ellen cleared the other rooms. They obeyed without hesitation. Marty kicked open the master bedroom door and sprayed the target down with 9mm. Nick emerged from behind him half a second later and put three rounds in the wife’s head. She didn’t even have enough time to scream.
Our religion: Those who keep the company of evildoers are evildoers themselves. Secret agents, spies, and moles had all better get out of our way in time, lest they be counted amongst those they are working. No one is left alive to recover and seek revenge. Gender, age, affiliation, and political significance have zero meaning to us. Only the aura, the soul, the heart are weighed against the feather –the feather defined by only us. We do not claim to be good by any particular belief system or local standard. We do not claim to be pure or holy. We are just mopping the floors once and for all. Someone has to do it.
Marty radioed in “Tango neutral.”
Nick followed that with “And tango’s bitch.”
I copied. “Plant and extract.”
Troy copied, and radio silence resumed.
Marty and Nick dead-checked the bodies, then met Michael and Ellen back out in the hall. They hand-signed ‘all clear’ and massed to move downstairs in another SWAT-style stack.
Ryan and Jordan met them in the hallway on the first floor while on their way to cover their exit.
Marty hand-signed for his three to set and arm their mines in the predetermined spots. As they fragmented into three different rooms, he turned into the last room where Troy was covering Ashley who now had the safe door wide open.
Marty gave Troy the thumbs-up as he stepped in and away from the door. A few seconds later, the others had finished placing the mines and were waiting at the back door with Ryan and Jordan. Marty and Ashley dumped all the money, jewelry, and papers into their backpacks, re-secured them, and left. Troy followed them, meeting up with the others who began to run outside and assume cover-fire positions for those behind them.
Ten seconds later, Echo team vanished into the pitch black woods. Sierra team waited for awhile to make sure they weren’t followed, then vanished themselves.
The radio crackled on again.
Almost silently, the eight Echo team members darted and zigzagged across the target-house’s backyard, the whole time covering all angles of their surroundings and never once passing their lines of fire across one another; the gun katas of Equilibrium were finally being realized and further developed.
Within seconds, they were at the base of the two-story house. Echo team commander Troy hand-signaled for them to cut the power and enter. Jordan produced a pair of bolt cutters and snapped the cables running through the power usage meter on the side of the house. They all secured their PNVGs, flicked them to ‘on’, and knocked the back door in.
Like lightning, they appeared from nowhere; Nick, Michael, Ellen, Ryan, Jordan, Ashley, Marty, and Troy. Remembering the house’s floor plan, Troy hand-signed for Marty to take three up the staircase while three others followed him to clear the first floor. Just like that, Nick, Michael, and Ellen were gone, moving with Marty fluidly up the stairs.
We’d all decided, long before reaching this site, how we were going to move through the house to clear it; the hand-signals were just finally confirmations, based on on-site observations and instincts, to proceed as planned.
Troy led Ryan, Ashley, and Jordan through the first room to the first floor hallway. Troy crossed at the same time that Ryan strafed to cover him. Jordan covered Ashley the same way as they all entered the second of five rooms on their floor.
-clear-
They moved to the third.
-clear-
The fourth.
-clear-
The fifth.
-clear-
…Jackpot. Troy motioned for Ashley to get to work on a large safe sitting in the corner. She approached and kneeled in front of it, sliding several tools out of her belt.
Meanwhile on the second floor, Marty hand-signed for Nick to follow him to the master bedroom while Michael and Ellen cleared the other rooms. They obeyed without hesitation. Marty kicked open the master bedroom door and sprayed the target down with 9mm. Nick emerged from behind him half a second later and put three rounds in the wife’s head. She didn’t even have enough time to scream.
Our religion: Those who keep the company of evildoers are evildoers themselves. Secret agents, spies, and moles had all better get out of our way in time, lest they be counted amongst those they are working. No one is left alive to recover and seek revenge. Gender, age, affiliation, and political significance have zero meaning to us. Only the aura, the soul, the heart are weighed against the feather –the feather defined by only us. We do not claim to be good by any particular belief system or local standard. We do not claim to be pure or holy. We are just mopping the floors once and for all. Someone has to do it.
Marty radioed in “Tango neutral.”
Nick followed that with “And tango’s bitch.”
I copied. “Plant and extract.”
Troy copied, and radio silence resumed.
Marty and Nick dead-checked the bodies, then met Michael and Ellen back out in the hall. They hand-signed ‘all clear’ and massed to move downstairs in another SWAT-style stack.
Ryan and Jordan met them in the hallway on the first floor while on their way to cover their exit.
Marty hand-signed for his three to set and arm their mines in the predetermined spots. As they fragmented into three different rooms, he turned into the last room where Troy was covering Ashley who now had the safe door wide open.
Marty gave Troy the thumbs-up as he stepped in and away from the door. A few seconds later, the others had finished placing the mines and were waiting at the back door with Ryan and Jordan. Marty and Ashley dumped all the money, jewelry, and papers into their backpacks, re-secured them, and left. Troy followed them, meeting up with the others who began to run outside and assume cover-fire positions for those behind them.
Ten seconds later, Echo team vanished into the pitch black woods. Sierra team waited for awhile to make sure they weren’t followed, then vanished themselves.
The radio crackled on again.
Page 7
Troy “Extract Echo.”
I copied.
Danny turned the van around and made his way back to the rest area where the SUV was still parked, lights off, engine running.
Just as Danny and I pulled up in the van, Echo team emerged from the woods and jumped up inside. Sierra team, waiting for Echo to be clear, then followed suit; running to the SUV and jumping inside to complete the extraction.
It was now 0220 hours. The entire operation had taken 20 minutes –only four of which had been spent inside the target house; less time than it takes the police to respond even deep within their own city. That was pretty good, considering that Echo had cleared two floors, killed two people, cracked a safe, and mined the whole place.
Another couple of minutes and everyone was back in their civi’s, gear and loot packed tightly away, and a detonator in Troy’s hands. I turned to face him. The instant I gave him the thumbs-up, he gave the detonator’s button the thumbs-down.
-click-
The muffled roar of a house being vaporized in a giant fireball sounded in the distance. Many happy memories of similarly concluded special operations in Kuwait, Iraq, and Syria flashed back before my mind’s eye.
We casually drove back out onto the highway and left the state, returning home two days later.
Mission:
Part:
Status:
Troy “Extract Echo.”
I copied.
Danny turned the van around and made his way back to the rest area where the SUV was still parked, lights off, engine running.
Just as Danny and I pulled up in the van, Echo team emerged from the woods and jumped up inside. Sierra team, waiting for Echo to be clear, then followed suit; running to the SUV and jumping inside to complete the extraction.
It was now 0220 hours. The entire operation had taken 20 minutes –only four of which had been spent inside the target house; less time than it takes the police to respond even deep within their own city. That was pretty good, considering that Echo had cleared two floors, killed two people, cracked a safe, and mined the whole place.
Another couple of minutes and everyone was back in their civi’s, gear and loot packed tightly away, and a detonator in Troy’s hands. I turned to face him. The instant I gave him the thumbs-up, he gave the detonator’s button the thumbs-down.
-click-
The muffled roar of a house being vaporized in a giant fireball sounded in the distance. Many happy memories of similarly concluded special operations in Kuwait, Iraq, and Syria flashed back before my mind’s eye.
We casually drove back out onto the highway and left the state, returning home two days later.
Mission:
Part:
Status:
Alpha Tango
Two
Completed
Two
Completed