GWOT - Bulletproof NI

There are six managers in this meeting. I am not the only manager who is not an Employee. I am a lowly contractor, and I should not be here.

The players:

SLE, Site Location Executive. Angry middle aged balding man. Outlived his family, because he was doing some work at the office while they visited Fisherman's Wharf and participated in the thermal effects of thermonuclear fusion.

VP Human Resources. Angry middle aged woman with long red hair. Outlived her husband, an employee of a semi-competitor, because he was giving a sales presentation in the CIty and also participated in ... you get the idea.

VP Facilities: very angry middle aged man with broad shoulders, a beer gut and etched lines where he used to have smiles. Son is a Marine, in China. Wife is missing.

VP Operations: angry middle aged man, tall and lean. Cycled in from home, leaving his family behind. Still kicking himself. They're still there and always will be, because the rescue convoy arrived two days too late.

VP Sales: surprisingly not angry middle aged man. Wife and kids are here. Still dressing in a dapper business suit. Caught him cleaning his razor blades with his toothbrush. Wasn't in the City because our customers don't have offices there.

The current discussion surrounds not what I have done to the physical security of the site - which the SLE has made very clear is not up for discussion - but whether Employees will be permitted to possess weapons on site.

This is a Client decision. Strictly. I have my own opinions and so far I am keeping my mouth firmly shut. I need to make some critical points and I'm not going to waste air time on trivia.

The current screaming match is two to two. The VP of Sales and the VP of HR are adamantly opposed to Employees with weapons. The VP of Operations and the VP of Facilities are insisting on it. I happen to know that both are concealed carrying, right this instant, in defiance of the pre-Firecracker policy. Another reason I am here.

The designated bodyguard to the SLE is cooling his heels just outside the room. I am openly carrying my duty sidearm in a hip holster, the only obvious gun in the room. The SLE is probably carrying, but I don't know for sure.

"The Employees are shocked and traumatized. Who knows what they will do?" the veep of HR is saying.

So are the contractors, bitch, I carefully do not say. Nor do I say that they will commit crimes, kill each other, kill themselves and also have negligent discharges. Because they have and they will continue to.

"If your security manager hadn't had the moral courage to _pass out_ guns during the last attack, we would ALL BE DEAD!" rages the VP of Operations in reply.

Put all the blame on me, asshole. Thanks for nothing, you useless piece of shit, hiding in the Data Center while we had to fight off an open armed assault that got the actual security manager, Mr. Murphy, killed saving your worthless ass. And I'm not your security manager, I'm a contractor manager. It's an essential detail this week.

The venting continues. What is really happening is that the four of them are venting their feelings about the horrors of the FIrecracker War and the ensuing violence, using the discussion as a foil.

The SLE and I meet each other's eyes. We haven't said much. Both of us have a shield against our emotions. His is the overwhelming grief of losing his family. Mine ... can't lose what you never had, right?

Only you can. As a field supervisor, I'd had my guards scattered at sites from Redwood City to Sunnyvale ... and on a nightmarish day of post checks, found them dead or dying as the Bay Area flailed itself into a wreck.

I'm not going to lose a whole second team of guards. Not like this.

It's time.

I draw my firearm, eject the magazine, thumb the slide release, rack the slide and pull the round.

Then I hand it to the VP of HR, who almost doesn't take it.

"That's an object. It's harmless at the moment. Pass it around. Get used to the feel and the weight."

I put the loose round and the loaded magazine down on the table.

"Pre War, we could call the police. We can't call the police anymore. We can call, but they won't pick up. And even then, they're not coming.

"I have forty guards to defend over two thousand Employees and contractors. Most of my guards have just enough training to not kill anyone by accident. That was good enough last week. It is not good enough today.

"I have seven guards with actual defensive skills. If only those seven had been available to fight off the attack, we would now all be quite dead.

"I will keep your guards under your control. But we are not enough. You need to provide for your own defense. But you also need to keep doing the work of the site.

"We need armed Employees. Don't want them. Need them. The question is who do we trust, when do we need them?

"I trust each of you with a firearm. I think all of you should be carrying a firearm, or be followed around by someone who is. That's the need part. Each of you is essential to the operation of the site."

Another phrase I'd coined, that would become part of the glossary of corporate fascism. "Essential Site Personnel."

"So we need bodyguards for the key players. IF they can also be trusted with guns, they can safeguard themselves. But we also need a reaction force. The site's own cops, as it were, because we can't dial 911.

"They don't need to have guns all the time. They only need guns when actually responding, or in training. I estimate we need at least a hundred shooters on the line. Rather have double that. Your own corporate militia. Decide who leads them, decide who gets to be part of them.

"There are legal reasons you should contract us to run your armory for you. But it should be _your_ armory, _your_ rules, your bat and ball and ballgame. This is your property and YOU decide who is allowed to carry a gun or not, in your home.

"I will arm as many guards as are fit and willing to be armed. We are the tripwire, the people who carry all the time. But we are not enough."

I stopped talking while they exploded at each other. Soon they had a compromise.

VP Operations would lead the corporate militia. HR would get a veto on who didn't get to be part of it. The officers of the corporate militia would be picked by the four VPs with a veto from the SLE. There were enough military veterans among the Employees that they could run their own training program. Security (us lowly contractors) could support and participate but not be part of the corporate militia.

My gun ended up being used as a talking stick. Whoever holds the gun gets to talk. I think it was mostly because no one wanted to hand it back to me, but also for fear that I would get it back and drop another bombshell.

The VP-HR cradled the gun in her hands.

"What happens when someone misuses a gun?"

She passed it over to VP-Facilities.

"Same thing as when someone misuses a forklift. We retrain them, yell at them, write them up, or take away their forklift license."

VP-Sales reached for it.

"Do they get to keep their gun in their office? Or where?"

The SLE snagged it, and gave it to me.

"Echo 18?"

Sigh.

"Trusted Employees, your bodyguards and militia officers, carry pistols and keep them stored when asleep or away. Gun locks, small safes. The general militia members, you will need rifle and shotgun storage near their work locations. Locking racks, like we have in the Security Office. Small armories in each building, even each floor, so they can get their weapons in a hurry but don't have them all the time. The main armory is under centralized control, like it is now, but with better procedures and a two person rule."

I passed it to VP-Operations.

"We can work out the details. But the principle is, those Employees in the militia follow the rules. Or they're not in the militia any more and we take their guns away."

"The _well regulated_ militia," the VP-HR said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Exactly," snapped the VP of Facilities. "Well regulated, meaning under regulations. Under rules. Break rules around guns, and Security cuts you a new ... " ... he flinched, realizing VP-HR was literally in the room ... "... opportunity."

I reached for the firearm. I loaded it, racked the slide, dropped the magazine, topped up the loose round, loaded it again and holstered.

"Just like any other rule, we will enforce firearms related rules. Politely, with good customer service skills, but with a realization that firearms are dangerous. Those rules apply to the guard service as well."

The SLE took over the meeting with a slight shift of how he sat in his chair.

"We have an agreement. HR will work up a licensing process. Facilities will work on the storage spaces and equipment. The Security contractor will draft procedures for our approval. Operations will head up the militia. Sales will work on unified messaging and recruitment for it. I want a sign over the main entrance."

What, boss, Service Guarantees Citizenship?

"'Code Wins Wars.' This country is in a war. We have to stay operational so we can write the code that will win this war. I don't want the militia to be a distraction from our core mission. But I am convinced that we need it. Echo 18."

"Sir?"

"You will not use the militia off property. You will not use the militia to augment normal security functions. You will not exercise command and control over the militia except in a life threatening emergency. They are like calling 911. You call out the militia, they solve your problem, they give the site back when they are done with it."

"Sir."

"Ops."

"Sir?"

"You don't fuck with Security. They do their thing, their way. No militia officer gives orders to a guard, other than stand aside. If Security calls, you haul. But you hand it back to Security as soon as you can. Under no circumstances will a militia call out last more than one hour, that's sixty minutes, without my personal OK and involvement."

"Sir."

"HR. You disapprove of all this. I'm glad. That's good. That's why you are in an oversight role. Security or militia do anything you don't like, either one, and you call them on it. Then you fully inform me. I am exercising personal authority over both functions, especially with respect to weapons and use of force."

The VP-HR nodded.

"One more thing. Militia do not make arrests. Only Security makes arrests. With respect to Employees and their dependents, I am the courts and the jury and the judge and the executioner. I reserve what would be the entire criminal justice system to myself. Echo 18, you will personally inform me of the fact of any arrest of an Employee or dependent immediately, at any time, day or night, and I will decide their disposition. Which may be to put them back to work and kick you out the gate on your ass. But don't hesitate to arrest if you need to in order to prevent violence or save lives."

"Yes, sir" I acknowledged.

"The old ways don't work any more. We can't lock ourselves into closets and wait for the second worst SWAT team in the County to come save us. Who the hell names their SWAT team 'MERGE' anyway? Sounds like CHP gone horribly wrong. I know there are risks to doing it this way. It's better than the certainty that we were all facing yesterday afternoon. E18, a question.

"Infirmary list, please."

I took out my phone and scrolled.

"There are one hundred and eighty four people on sick call status, unable to work. Of them, fifty are in the infirmary - every bed we have - and another sixty six on doctor ordered bed rest with bedside visits. Of the fifty, the ten bed ICU is full. Of the fifty, at least seventeen are not expected to survive their wounds. None of this includes first aid or working wounded."

"Can any of the seventeen be moved?"

I think about it for a moment.

"Four for certain. Another three, it won't matter, they can be moved but no hospital could help them anyway. The rest I would have to check with our doctor."

"Assemble a convoy and take the four, plus any who could benefit and can be moved, to Valley Medical Center."

"Sir, they refused to take them."

"Make a scene of it. Record video."

"I do not think this is wise, sir."

"Why not?" he snapped.

"Deputies fired on the last ambulance to approach without escort, sir. Wasn't ours." I started to add Thank God and realized that none of us had anything to thank that bastard for.

"I will make some calls."

With that, the meeting ended.

He did in fact make some calls. But no convoy with wounded left, no one was moved, and over the next two days, twenty three people died of their wounds.

That's Apocalypse for you.