Globall War of Terror - Busted

[drewkitty]

GWOT - Busted

[between the first Bakersfield trip and the first bus convoy run]

In between everything else I do to keep the site running, I also have to build my own skills.

Today I was taking on a new challenge, learning to drive a bus. The bus. The highway bus we'd purchased outside Bakersfield.

Buddy of course was willing to help. Any chance to mock me was a chance he treasured.

So we were both in the motor pool. I'd studied the commercial driver's license manual and the bus owner's manual.

That didn't teach me how to shift. And although I knew how to shift a car, shifting a bus is a different story.

Also we didn't really want to burn diesel.

We'd already taught several guards how to drive, and improved the driving skills of many others, using the simulators in the training center. But we didn't have a truck or bus simulator. (They'd programmed a 'long car' that drove like a limo loaded with lead bricks, but it just wasn't the same.)

Adding insult to injury, literally, my leg still hurt like hell from the arrival of the Utah convoy.

I shifted with a clash of gears. Buddy criticized my timing. The air turned briefly blue.

I got up halfway through his rant, and gestured to the seat.

"Show me," I directed.

He did. Briefly and expertly. I watched carefully, looking for the nuance I had missed. The exact timing of the clutch.

We traded places again.

This time I got it.

His praise was tepid. Downright watery.

Then we reviewed the braking systems. Who knew that trucks and buses had more than one?

I did, now.

###

The next day's convoy included, rather to my surprise, the bus.

Buddy explained, "You need to familiarize your crew with how the bus rolls. Pick your team."

I made some changes. Eight guards, a formidable part of our force, would ride the bus. One was designated an alternate driver, having been a school bus driver for a school year in between many other odd jobs. The other alternate driver was me.

The convoy objective was straightforward. Proceed from here to the freeway ramps, and back again. Along the way, check the road condition and clear any obstacles. Stop once, deploy for practice, and mount up again. Then return.

Barely worth wasting diesel on.

The alternate driver was Mike. Buddy seated him at the controls.

With a clash of gears, we took our position in convoy. So it wasn't just me... this bus had a sticky clutch.

We rolled out, made it across the two intersections I hated most, then Buddy called a convoy halt and "Deploy! Deploy! Deploy!"

I was very sorry that we had cameras rolling, because we sucked.

Three guards piled up in the doorway, tripped over each other, and ate asphalt.

The next two guards held up in the doorway, unwilling to step on their co-workers.

I ran back to the emergency exit, popped it, jumped down, ran up front, dragged the trip and fall hazards out of their own way, and the guards finished their dismount. I had to scream at them twice to get to their appointed corners - you can't see threats nor shoot through a bus.

We had some work to do. Fortunately we could do it with the bus parked.

Then Buddy pulled Mike out of the driver's seat and gestured to me.

"Your turn."

Shit. But I sat down, started the engine, released the brake, and shifted gears.

Then I remembered to close the main door. Ooooops.

We proceeded to our least favorite destination, the freeway ramps.

They now had a new addition. Someone had put in a checkpoint. Several beat up cars clearly intended as rolling roadblocks. A pair of gleaming late model Toyota pickup trucks with racks and lights and hardpoints and oh shit...

We were committed to the contact. The Hate Truck of course was in the lead.

Brooke broke squelch.

"They want a toll."

"Private or public?"

"Capitalists."

"We're not going through. Tell them that."

"They say the toll just doubled."

Looking ahead, I could see the spokesperson put his hand on his pistol. I could just feel it. He was going to draw.

"Light 'em up. Password cordwood."

Standard convoy doctrine was that our most powerful weapon was to be pointed at the hostile spokesperson. Upon hearing the password, our gunner blew him in half at once.

The nice Toyota pickup trucks lost their windshields, engines and front tires.

Screaming, the former crew and the riflemen at the checkpoint threw down their weapons and begged for mercy.

It had taken about twenty seconds.

We secured the prisoners, made them shove the wreckage of their own vehicles out of the way, took their weapons, and permitted them to carry their wounded away.

"Who the fuck are you guys?" one asked.

"Your worst nightmare. Defend your hood, that's fine, but no toll bullshit. Not on official vehicles."

"Are you guys la migra?"

"Do I look like I have my head so far up my ass I can fart myself to Mexico?"

The joys of unmarked white buses.

The prisoners trundled off, grumbling, minus the four we'd killed.

Unfortunately, this was the entire reason we had to do this type of convoy operation. "Show the flag" or "freedom of navigation" or what the military would call a show of force.

I made my way back to the bus.

Buddy ordered, "Turn us around."

I got in the driver's seat, shifted forward, and started my three point turn.

"Where's your spotter?" he barked.

I gestured to the rear view camera. Then I slammed on the brakes, hard, at once.

"Shit!" I exclaimed.

"Smooth move, Ex-Lax. You almost took out a light pole. Mike, dismount and spot for him."

By radio, Mike talked me through the turns.

I only wanted to skin him alive with a rusty file by the time we were done.

I am sure he felt the same way.

I did however stop to let him back onboard. It was a near thing.

###

We pulled back into site, and Buddy took over the driving for the last little bit into the motor pool, angling us into our designated spot.

Then he popped the rear engine cover and walked us through engine checks.

While we were in full gear.

I realized that if shit broke while we were in the field, we'd be in full gear, so this was good.

Still sucked.

###

Finally Buddy was satisfied.

As the guards walked away, he smiled.

"Sorry, boss."

"How so?" I demanded, crossly.

"You didn't almost take out a light pole."

My face apparently darkened. I knew I gritted my teeth.

"You almost took out a fire hydrant."

Shit.