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Globall War of Terror - Night Moves
Globall War of Terror - Night Moves
We loaded up the convoy, peacetime style. Brooke's happy switch equipped rifle was discreetly tucked away, the more incriminating of our contraband was properly stowed in concealed compartments, rifles properly stowed but readily accessible.
It was late afternoon. We would hit Salt Lake City around dusk.
As we had done so many times before, we bypassed the first open fueling station. That would be the one with local police -- if not state troopers or worse yet Homeland - on recon.
At the second open fueling station, I used the Client provided fuel cards instead of the Company cards. They worked.
Buddy again went into the gas station but came right back out again.
He gave me a "thumbs down" signal concealed by his body from the gas station.
I keyed up on radio, which I hated to do anywhere near a populated area.
"Leaving time now," I said forcefully.
Buddy got in, started the truck and drove out. After a moment the other vehicles followed.
"We're famous."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Wanted poster. Stills of the buses at the 84 checkpoint. Armed and extremely dangerous. Call Homeland immediately."
"But not the tow rig."
"For whatever reason, no."
We had to dump all the vehicles. Dammit.
I had a contingency plan for that. It purely sucked donkey balls, but we would have to make it work.
The Salt Lake City offices of the CLIENT are located in a suburb about twenty minutes south of the main town. This allowed us to approach on arterial roads.
Twice we had to drive through small towns.
The second time we drove through a small town, a local police car pulled out red and blue lights flashing and started to close up on us in the lead. Then - mysteriously - it turned off its lights and made a sudden U-turn the way it had come.
Crap.
Finally we were on approach to the CLIENT site. Their gate was fortified like ours, with J-barriers and generator powered lights. And Employer security personnel with rifles.
I made sure my IDs were displayed and my badge was on my belt. Then we followed the gate guard's directions to the first stop point, and I dismounted.
"[Echo 18], [COMPANY] Security in service to [CLIENT.]"
The guard was still staring at the vehicles behind us.
"Let me call my supervisor."
"Good idea."
The supervisor came out.
"I know who you are. Never thought I'd meet you. What is this?"
"One hundred and sixty [CLIENT] employees in distress."
"I take it this was not your first plan."
"Negative."
"What can we do for you?"
"Refuse us access. Then we're going to give you the employees, walking them through your east perimeter. Please don't shoot them. Then we're going to take these very conspicuous vehicles and get rid of them."
"Then what do we do with the employees?"
"Get them inside and cleaned up for now. Feed them if you can. I have some ideas but we need a little time. Oh, and I have an ambulance with three patients in it. They will need medical attention, so page your medical staff."
"We don't have that."
"I'll send the medics in with them."
"OK. Do you have our number?"
"Yes, but our mobile phones don't work."
"Neither do ours. Homeland shut down the cell network. Said it was being used for IEDs. Welcome back to the 1980s."
"Hear that. Bye for now."
WIth that, I raised my arms and ranted a little - acting for the cameras. Then we very visibly got back in our vehicles and drove away out of range. Then came back along the perimeter.
We had four driver positions. I therefore needed to keep five people. Myself, Buddy, the firefighter, Matt and Brooke. But for the moment, Buddy and Brooke would be going where the people were. Brooke had her rifle, but cased.
The refugees were told firmly - get all your stuff. This is why one bag only. What you leave behind could kill us all.
The security supervisor met our crowd at the fence line, where he immediately took bolt cutters to a section of fence to drop it and let us in.
"I'm going out with you. I have a place for you to park the small vehicles."
"That would be awesome. How secure is it?"
"Somewhat."
We left the recovery truck and its flatbed trailer, the interstate bus and the shuttle bus parked on the side road. There hadn't been any passing traffic, we might get lucky.
The nursery van, the barracks van and the ambulance were loaded with most of our portable equipment - and all the weapons and other good stuff.
Completely to my utter lack of surprise, the security supervisor gave us directions on local roads - avoiding major intersections and cameras - to an LDS site. An unmarked warehouse among others in a light industrial area. He took the lead in his personal unmarked Crown Victoria.
He opened the gate, then the roll up doors for the surface level ramp.
"Park where you like."
We did. Then Matt, the firefighter and I piled back into his car for the return trip.
Brooke and Buddy were waiting for us and came out of the bushes when we returned to the buses and truck.
"Are we good?" I asked them.
If the answer was no, my plan was to take the security supervisor hostage, go hey diddle diddle through the main gate, leaving a trail of bodies until we got back to our people, and then mount up and take off with the survivors whose injuries allowed them to be moved.
"We're good. They've got them bedded down in the conference facility for the moment. Both us and them have posted security. Patients are fine. Working the food problem. They emptied the vending machines for us and someone is getting the cafeteria manager to come to work now."
"Let's go do this."
The security supervisor drove alone back into his site, a box of our goodies in his trunk. Just in case.
I sent the firefighter and Brooke back in. Two went out, two come back in. It's a different level of camera review to see _different_ people.
Buddy would be driving the recovery truck. We completely stripped of all contents - including documents and license plates - then loaded the shuttle bus on the flatbed - it was a tight fit, but it could be done. I would ride shotgun with him.
Matt got to drive the otherwise empty interstate bus.
This was going to be _fun_.
We hammered south. Buddy's vehicle had been first to fuel up so it was nearly full tank. After an hour we got on the I-15 south, just in time to encounter another rat trailer and its tripod cameras. Perfect.
Buddy promptly demonstrated that you could in fact drive a recovery truck at over 100 miles per hour, if you knew what you were doing and had balls of steel. Matt - with much less driving experience - slipstreamed behind him with the empty bus.
Fairly suddenly, without signaling, Buddy took an off ramp with the bus following. A few miles down, we literally pulled in behind someone's barn.
Matt promptly abandoned the interstate bus and came to join us as Buddy uncoupled the flatbed trailer, shuttle bus still loaded. He had the presence of mind to bring its very last contents - the folder of legal documents.
Buddy sent him back with a screwdriver to pull the plates. It took only a few minutes.
Now it was the recovery truck and the three of us, and the recovery truck's storage compartments full of anything we cared about.
I decided not to grenade the buses. The longer it would take to find them, the better.
We spent the rest of the night driving a countersurveillance route.
First well east. Then breaking out paint cans and stencils. A recovery truck is a recovery truck, but this recovery truck had been marked with a California company name, phone number, etc. Now it had Arizona plates and a valid Arizona company name and phone number painted on the the side. It also had a new reflective stripe carefully applied along both sides and "don't hit me" roadway safety chevrons on the back. Buddy dismounted the flatbed hitch assembly and rigged for cable towing. Although it was still the same base color, it did not look like the same truck.
Then, bold as brass, taking a different route to the I-15 North and driving past those same rat cameras, northbound.
We parked at a truck stop and Buddy went inside to talk to the fuel desk, arranging permission.
"We're good." We'd already made sure the external compartments were locked and the cab was empty of anything interesting.
One phone call and an hour later, an unmarked Crown Victoria picked us up and took us back to the Utah site. We had to cuddle under a blanket in the back, but that was a small price to pay.
Now we had to work the second part of the plan - getting 160 people from here to Colorado without using buses.
We loaded up the convoy, peacetime style. Brooke's happy switch equipped rifle was discreetly tucked away, the more incriminating of our contraband was properly stowed in concealed compartments, rifles properly stowed but readily accessible.
It was late afternoon. We would hit Salt Lake City around dusk.
As we had done so many times before, we bypassed the first open fueling station. That would be the one with local police -- if not state troopers or worse yet Homeland - on recon.
At the second open fueling station, I used the Client provided fuel cards instead of the Company cards. They worked.
Buddy again went into the gas station but came right back out again.
He gave me a "thumbs down" signal concealed by his body from the gas station.
I keyed up on radio, which I hated to do anywhere near a populated area.
"Leaving time now," I said forcefully.
Buddy got in, started the truck and drove out. After a moment the other vehicles followed.
"We're famous."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Wanted poster. Stills of the buses at the 84 checkpoint. Armed and extremely dangerous. Call Homeland immediately."
"But not the tow rig."
"For whatever reason, no."
We had to dump all the vehicles. Dammit.
I had a contingency plan for that. It purely sucked donkey balls, but we would have to make it work.
The Salt Lake City offices of the CLIENT are located in a suburb about twenty minutes south of the main town. This allowed us to approach on arterial roads.
Twice we had to drive through small towns.
The second time we drove through a small town, a local police car pulled out red and blue lights flashing and started to close up on us in the lead. Then - mysteriously - it turned off its lights and made a sudden U-turn the way it had come.
Crap.
Finally we were on approach to the CLIENT site. Their gate was fortified like ours, with J-barriers and generator powered lights. And Employer security personnel with rifles.
I made sure my IDs were displayed and my badge was on my belt. Then we followed the gate guard's directions to the first stop point, and I dismounted.
"[Echo 18], [COMPANY] Security in service to [CLIENT.]"
The guard was still staring at the vehicles behind us.
"Let me call my supervisor."
"Good idea."
The supervisor came out.
"I know who you are. Never thought I'd meet you. What is this?"
"One hundred and sixty [CLIENT] employees in distress."
"I take it this was not your first plan."
"Negative."
"What can we do for you?"
"Refuse us access. Then we're going to give you the employees, walking them through your east perimeter. Please don't shoot them. Then we're going to take these very conspicuous vehicles and get rid of them."
"Then what do we do with the employees?"
"Get them inside and cleaned up for now. Feed them if you can. I have some ideas but we need a little time. Oh, and I have an ambulance with three patients in it. They will need medical attention, so page your medical staff."
"We don't have that."
"I'll send the medics in with them."
"OK. Do you have our number?"
"Yes, but our mobile phones don't work."
"Neither do ours. Homeland shut down the cell network. Said it was being used for IEDs. Welcome back to the 1980s."
"Hear that. Bye for now."
WIth that, I raised my arms and ranted a little - acting for the cameras. Then we very visibly got back in our vehicles and drove away out of range. Then came back along the perimeter.
We had four driver positions. I therefore needed to keep five people. Myself, Buddy, the firefighter, Matt and Brooke. But for the moment, Buddy and Brooke would be going where the people were. Brooke had her rifle, but cased.
The refugees were told firmly - get all your stuff. This is why one bag only. What you leave behind could kill us all.
The security supervisor met our crowd at the fence line, where he immediately took bolt cutters to a section of fence to drop it and let us in.
"I'm going out with you. I have a place for you to park the small vehicles."
"That would be awesome. How secure is it?"
"Somewhat."
We left the recovery truck and its flatbed trailer, the interstate bus and the shuttle bus parked on the side road. There hadn't been any passing traffic, we might get lucky.
The nursery van, the barracks van and the ambulance were loaded with most of our portable equipment - and all the weapons and other good stuff.
Completely to my utter lack of surprise, the security supervisor gave us directions on local roads - avoiding major intersections and cameras - to an LDS site. An unmarked warehouse among others in a light industrial area. He took the lead in his personal unmarked Crown Victoria.
He opened the gate, then the roll up doors for the surface level ramp.
"Park where you like."
We did. Then Matt, the firefighter and I piled back into his car for the return trip.
Brooke and Buddy were waiting for us and came out of the bushes when we returned to the buses and truck.
"Are we good?" I asked them.
If the answer was no, my plan was to take the security supervisor hostage, go hey diddle diddle through the main gate, leaving a trail of bodies until we got back to our people, and then mount up and take off with the survivors whose injuries allowed them to be moved.
"We're good. They've got them bedded down in the conference facility for the moment. Both us and them have posted security. Patients are fine. Working the food problem. They emptied the vending machines for us and someone is getting the cafeteria manager to come to work now."
"Let's go do this."
The security supervisor drove alone back into his site, a box of our goodies in his trunk. Just in case.
I sent the firefighter and Brooke back in. Two went out, two come back in. It's a different level of camera review to see _different_ people.
Buddy would be driving the recovery truck. We completely stripped of all contents - including documents and license plates - then loaded the shuttle bus on the flatbed - it was a tight fit, but it could be done. I would ride shotgun with him.
Matt got to drive the otherwise empty interstate bus.
This was going to be _fun_.
We hammered south. Buddy's vehicle had been first to fuel up so it was nearly full tank. After an hour we got on the I-15 south, just in time to encounter another rat trailer and its tripod cameras. Perfect.
Buddy promptly demonstrated that you could in fact drive a recovery truck at over 100 miles per hour, if you knew what you were doing and had balls of steel. Matt - with much less driving experience - slipstreamed behind him with the empty bus.
Fairly suddenly, without signaling, Buddy took an off ramp with the bus following. A few miles down, we literally pulled in behind someone's barn.
Matt promptly abandoned the interstate bus and came to join us as Buddy uncoupled the flatbed trailer, shuttle bus still loaded. He had the presence of mind to bring its very last contents - the folder of legal documents.
Buddy sent him back with a screwdriver to pull the plates. It took only a few minutes.
Now it was the recovery truck and the three of us, and the recovery truck's storage compartments full of anything we cared about.
I decided not to grenade the buses. The longer it would take to find them, the better.
We spent the rest of the night driving a countersurveillance route.
First well east. Then breaking out paint cans and stencils. A recovery truck is a recovery truck, but this recovery truck had been marked with a California company name, phone number, etc. Now it had Arizona plates and a valid Arizona company name and phone number painted on the the side. It also had a new reflective stripe carefully applied along both sides and "don't hit me" roadway safety chevrons on the back. Buddy dismounted the flatbed hitch assembly and rigged for cable towing. Although it was still the same base color, it did not look like the same truck.
Then, bold as brass, taking a different route to the I-15 North and driving past those same rat cameras, northbound.
We parked at a truck stop and Buddy went inside to talk to the fuel desk, arranging permission.
"We're good." We'd already made sure the external compartments were locked and the cab was empty of anything interesting.
One phone call and an hour later, an unmarked Crown Victoria picked us up and took us back to the Utah site. We had to cuddle under a blanket in the back, but that was a small price to pay.
Now we had to work the second part of the plan - getting 160 people from here to Colorado without using buses.