GWOT 2 - Do The Right Thing
May. 30th, 2019 11:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyGWOT 2 - Do The Right Thing
This was not going to be pretty.
The only reason we were here was to forestall Homeland making even more of an issue than they already had of the Client having a militia.
That meant that when they begged for help ... and make no mistake, a mutual aid request from Homeland was begging ... the absolutely worst thing we could do was to send nothing. The next worst thing would be to send a token force.
Instead we had sent everything we could spare.
A clump of sheriff's deputies with rifles were guarding the gate -- but immediately I could see that they were pointing their rifles both ways, and doing the slow random back and not quite forth walk that meant "under sniper observation."
They moved a marked unit and waved us in. I rolled down the window and asked.
"Detention Ops?"
"Main drive. We swept what was left of the parade into the building area. It's a fucking mess."
We rolled through.
It looked a lot like staging for a parade. Except that normally after a parade, you do what is called dispersal. The people go back on the sidewalk, the vehicles go out on the street to go home.
Instead everyone had been swept up in a gaggle, wounded thrown on floats, and shoved as a mass into a fenced off area to be processed.
The first thing I saw was that the people were mad. The second thing I saw is that they were mostly elderly. The third thing I saw is that some of them were armed.
What's the difference between a white parade rifle and the real thing?
Look closely. If you dare.
Oh holy shit. Some of the bayonets have blood on them.
I leaned over to the 'gunner' of the Hate Truck.
"Quaker Gun! Travel position, now, or we're all dead."
'Travel position' was up at a 45 degree angle, secured that way by a strap.
The entire point of the Quaker Gun was that at a distance, it looked like a machine gun. Up close, it didn't.
We were at the rough midpoint of the gaggle, a three block long line of upset people and fucked up former parade floats. Some of the people were obviously wounded and had been given improvised first aid.
The perimeter of the line was a disorganized mass of police officers from several agencies. They'd been given simple instructions, of the form "keep them here." Then nothing else. No command, no control. Probably not even a common radio frequency.
I dismounted and did a roof check. No snipers, friendly or enemy. So far.
"Element will dismount by sections."
Our assigned medic-guard started to heft his trauma bag and go into the crowd.
"Eric, stand fast or I will shoot you dead," I called out on our radio net.
He looked at me horrified. I put my hand on my pistol.
I knew what it was to be a trained medic and ignore wounded. It's truly horrible. But we could get a lot of people killed by mixing in with that crowd.
I walked over to the nearest deputy wearing a reflective vest. He at least had a radio. But from the puzzled way he kept holding it up to his ear, he wasn't in touch with anyone on it.
"Looking for Detention Ops?"
"That's me. Oh, thank God," he added. "See this crowd?" He leaned in close and lowered his voice, "Incident Command says disarm and process for internment."
"Really?"
Let's start with the fact that they'd been trusted to participate in the parade. Then let's add that they were all veterans - that's what the parade is for, right? And that they hadn't been sent to China, which meant they were disabled and/or elderly. But they were trained and wicked pissed.
I could see why no one was moving forward with those particular orders.
There was another variable.
"Is that the Supervisor?"
An incandescently angry man in a very expensive business suit splashed with blood was standing next to two bodyguards with lesser suits both openly carrying automatic weapons.
Supervisor as in County Board Of Supervisors. As in senior public official. As in one of the most powerful local officials in California.
Ain't interning him. Just not happening. Even before we consider the weapons.
"Incident Command hasn't given us the resources for that. We need to calm these folks the fuck down. Permission to act freely?"
The cops he had on the perimeter were barely enough to define the perimeter. Not enough to do anything.
My twenty-odd guards and three vehicles were potentially enough to do something. But we had to be very careful exactly what.
I was asking for a blank check.
Be careful what you ask for. You might get it.
"Do it."
I looked around the scene. We were mid block. That meant we had space, if we were careful how we backed in, to park the two armored trucks side by side and give us some cover in between.
I ordered that.
"Eric, set up a triage point between the two trucks. You will stay in that area. No exceptions at all. Odds fall out, under Eric's control, assist with first aid but maintain immediate local security.
"Evens with me."
I was going for a walk, surveying what we have.
A lot of angry people in the heat.
But fortunately the second group I saw was a blessing.
Wearing the battered and bloody remnants of ornate uniforms. But still carrying the tools of their art.
"Band leader!" I called.
He sat up wearily. He had been resting in the shade. Waiting.
"I need music. Slow. Funeral. Now."
He blinked. Looked at me again.
"This could get even uglier real quick. Need something to calm this down. _Titanic_."
The last word galvanized him to action.
He started going to his people, picking out people who could still play their instruments.
He picked up his baton. They started playing a dirge.
I moved to the next group - the one with bloody bayonets on their rifles.
They were clumped around their leader. He looked askance at me.
"Who the fuck are you and who the fuck put you in charge?"
This was not the time to give my callsign.
"Just some asshole," I replied. "Anyone badly hurt? I have a medic in between the two trucks."
Without giving him a chance to answer, my team of ten and I swept past and down the line.
I was counting and surveying. I paused to address my team.
"Huddle. Look for heavy weapons. Look for IEDs. Tap my shoulder HARD if you see that. Otherwise stay chill. Do NOT, I say again, do NOT muzzle anyone if you want any of us to see campus again. Break."
There was starting to be a milling motion in the direction of the trucks. I'd counted on that.
My eye picked out someone wearing a clean brown shirt that said MIKE and matching pants. He had a huge set of keys on a carrier at his belt, and a radio that was squawking incoherently.
"Mike! I'm [Echo]. Are you fairgrounds staff?"
"Yes," he said warily.
"These people need water. We need to rig a garden hose. Quick."
"They said don't open the doors, people will go through them."
"OK, you open the door, we keep people from following you. Where can we find a hose?"
So it was that one Facilities guy was escorted by ten gun-toting guards as he rigged up a garden hose. It was immediately put to use as people filled bottles and canteens and passed it around to drink from.
I wanted to keep Mike by me.
Always, always look for the asshole with the keys.
"Mike, is there a PA system?"
"Yes."
"I need access to it. Right now."
I left half my guards at the door as he took me inside a building, to a fire alarm panel, with a microphone attached. The microphone had enough length on the cord that I could stand back in the street as I spoke.
I went hot.
"Folks," I started. It was nearly inaudible. I adjusted the volume control.
"FOLKS" boomed out over the street.
"My name is Security Captain [Echo 18]. We've established a triage point mid-block. We've got a water hose further in. We're working on restrooms and food. You all deserve better for your service. I will be going around to hear everyone's complaints.
"Let an officer know _immediately_ if you see something we need to know about. We don't know who might have joined the parade. Group and float leaders, get a headcount of your people."
I put the mike down and drew my pistol.
A mixed crowd of good people and bad people.
What's going to happen when the good people are told to point out the bad people?
I started breathing deeply, loosening up my muscles and getting ready to sprint. My team saw this and did the same.
"Mike, lock yourself in the building, I'll need you later," I said with an exhalation.
He promptly did so.
We started walking the line briskly, headed for the entry side of the parade line. That would be where the problem would start.
People who are trapped panic, and try to break out.
I'm sure Homeland had something already rigged. Probably machine gun crews.
Just one of the reason I had my pistol actually drawn, low down by my leg.
I saw the knot form at the tail of the crowd and started jogging. My team kept up.
When people start to behave oddly in a crowd, you can see the clumping from a distance.
A knot means they're getting closer to each other than most people like. That can mean something of interest, like a medical. It can also mean a fight.
"Open the gate!" someone cried.
i started sprinting.
That person needed to shut the fuck up, at once.
As I ran in, I had ten seconds to see what I was running into.
- A Homeland MRAP parked sideways across the gate with machine gunner muzzling the crowd.
- Angry men in uniform remnants, of all ages, shaking their fists and yelling.
- Cops starting to back away from the gate area, with those backward glances that say 'shaky, about to break' in a historical military context. And a modern crowd control one.
- A heavily armed team of ... oh shit, the Dirty Mercs, and with grenades!
I ran into the angry crowd, looking for that shouting idiot.
Mr. Open The Gate needed to shut the fuck up, at any cost, right the fuck now.
The way I saw it, no matter what, he was absolutely a dead man, now or later.
The only question was how many innocent people he would take with him.
This was not going to be pretty.
The only reason we were here was to forestall Homeland making even more of an issue than they already had of the Client having a militia.
That meant that when they begged for help ... and make no mistake, a mutual aid request from Homeland was begging ... the absolutely worst thing we could do was to send nothing. The next worst thing would be to send a token force.
Instead we had sent everything we could spare.
A clump of sheriff's deputies with rifles were guarding the gate -- but immediately I could see that they were pointing their rifles both ways, and doing the slow random back and not quite forth walk that meant "under sniper observation."
They moved a marked unit and waved us in. I rolled down the window and asked.
"Detention Ops?"
"Main drive. We swept what was left of the parade into the building area. It's a fucking mess."
We rolled through.
It looked a lot like staging for a parade. Except that normally after a parade, you do what is called dispersal. The people go back on the sidewalk, the vehicles go out on the street to go home.
Instead everyone had been swept up in a gaggle, wounded thrown on floats, and shoved as a mass into a fenced off area to be processed.
The first thing I saw was that the people were mad. The second thing I saw is that they were mostly elderly. The third thing I saw is that some of them were armed.
What's the difference between a white parade rifle and the real thing?
Look closely. If you dare.
Oh holy shit. Some of the bayonets have blood on them.
I leaned over to the 'gunner' of the Hate Truck.
"Quaker Gun! Travel position, now, or we're all dead."
'Travel position' was up at a 45 degree angle, secured that way by a strap.
The entire point of the Quaker Gun was that at a distance, it looked like a machine gun. Up close, it didn't.
We were at the rough midpoint of the gaggle, a three block long line of upset people and fucked up former parade floats. Some of the people were obviously wounded and had been given improvised first aid.
The perimeter of the line was a disorganized mass of police officers from several agencies. They'd been given simple instructions, of the form "keep them here." Then nothing else. No command, no control. Probably not even a common radio frequency.
I dismounted and did a roof check. No snipers, friendly or enemy. So far.
"Element will dismount by sections."
Our assigned medic-guard started to heft his trauma bag and go into the crowd.
"Eric, stand fast or I will shoot you dead," I called out on our radio net.
He looked at me horrified. I put my hand on my pistol.
I knew what it was to be a trained medic and ignore wounded. It's truly horrible. But we could get a lot of people killed by mixing in with that crowd.
I walked over to the nearest deputy wearing a reflective vest. He at least had a radio. But from the puzzled way he kept holding it up to his ear, he wasn't in touch with anyone on it.
"Looking for Detention Ops?"
"That's me. Oh, thank God," he added. "See this crowd?" He leaned in close and lowered his voice, "Incident Command says disarm and process for internment."
"Really?"
Let's start with the fact that they'd been trusted to participate in the parade. Then let's add that they were all veterans - that's what the parade is for, right? And that they hadn't been sent to China, which meant they were disabled and/or elderly. But they were trained and wicked pissed.
I could see why no one was moving forward with those particular orders.
There was another variable.
"Is that the Supervisor?"
An incandescently angry man in a very expensive business suit splashed with blood was standing next to two bodyguards with lesser suits both openly carrying automatic weapons.
Supervisor as in County Board Of Supervisors. As in senior public official. As in one of the most powerful local officials in California.
Ain't interning him. Just not happening. Even before we consider the weapons.
"Incident Command hasn't given us the resources for that. We need to calm these folks the fuck down. Permission to act freely?"
The cops he had on the perimeter were barely enough to define the perimeter. Not enough to do anything.
My twenty-odd guards and three vehicles were potentially enough to do something. But we had to be very careful exactly what.
I was asking for a blank check.
Be careful what you ask for. You might get it.
"Do it."
I looked around the scene. We were mid block. That meant we had space, if we were careful how we backed in, to park the two armored trucks side by side and give us some cover in between.
I ordered that.
"Eric, set up a triage point between the two trucks. You will stay in that area. No exceptions at all. Odds fall out, under Eric's control, assist with first aid but maintain immediate local security.
"Evens with me."
I was going for a walk, surveying what we have.
A lot of angry people in the heat.
But fortunately the second group I saw was a blessing.
Wearing the battered and bloody remnants of ornate uniforms. But still carrying the tools of their art.
"Band leader!" I called.
He sat up wearily. He had been resting in the shade. Waiting.
"I need music. Slow. Funeral. Now."
He blinked. Looked at me again.
"This could get even uglier real quick. Need something to calm this down. _Titanic_."
The last word galvanized him to action.
He started going to his people, picking out people who could still play their instruments.
He picked up his baton. They started playing a dirge.
I moved to the next group - the one with bloody bayonets on their rifles.
They were clumped around their leader. He looked askance at me.
"Who the fuck are you and who the fuck put you in charge?"
This was not the time to give my callsign.
"Just some asshole," I replied. "Anyone badly hurt? I have a medic in between the two trucks."
Without giving him a chance to answer, my team of ten and I swept past and down the line.
I was counting and surveying. I paused to address my team.
"Huddle. Look for heavy weapons. Look for IEDs. Tap my shoulder HARD if you see that. Otherwise stay chill. Do NOT, I say again, do NOT muzzle anyone if you want any of us to see campus again. Break."
There was starting to be a milling motion in the direction of the trucks. I'd counted on that.
My eye picked out someone wearing a clean brown shirt that said MIKE and matching pants. He had a huge set of keys on a carrier at his belt, and a radio that was squawking incoherently.
"Mike! I'm [Echo]. Are you fairgrounds staff?"
"Yes," he said warily.
"These people need water. We need to rig a garden hose. Quick."
"They said don't open the doors, people will go through them."
"OK, you open the door, we keep people from following you. Where can we find a hose?"
So it was that one Facilities guy was escorted by ten gun-toting guards as he rigged up a garden hose. It was immediately put to use as people filled bottles and canteens and passed it around to drink from.
I wanted to keep Mike by me.
Always, always look for the asshole with the keys.
"Mike, is there a PA system?"
"Yes."
"I need access to it. Right now."
I left half my guards at the door as he took me inside a building, to a fire alarm panel, with a microphone attached. The microphone had enough length on the cord that I could stand back in the street as I spoke.
I went hot.
"Folks," I started. It was nearly inaudible. I adjusted the volume control.
"FOLKS" boomed out over the street.
"My name is Security Captain [Echo 18]. We've established a triage point mid-block. We've got a water hose further in. We're working on restrooms and food. You all deserve better for your service. I will be going around to hear everyone's complaints.
"Let an officer know _immediately_ if you see something we need to know about. We don't know who might have joined the parade. Group and float leaders, get a headcount of your people."
I put the mike down and drew my pistol.
A mixed crowd of good people and bad people.
What's going to happen when the good people are told to point out the bad people?
I started breathing deeply, loosening up my muscles and getting ready to sprint. My team saw this and did the same.
"Mike, lock yourself in the building, I'll need you later," I said with an exhalation.
He promptly did so.
We started walking the line briskly, headed for the entry side of the parade line. That would be where the problem would start.
People who are trapped panic, and try to break out.
I'm sure Homeland had something already rigged. Probably machine gun crews.
Just one of the reason I had my pistol actually drawn, low down by my leg.
I saw the knot form at the tail of the crowd and started jogging. My team kept up.
When people start to behave oddly in a crowd, you can see the clumping from a distance.
A knot means they're getting closer to each other than most people like. That can mean something of interest, like a medical. It can also mean a fight.
"Open the gate!" someone cried.
i started sprinting.
That person needed to shut the fuck up, at once.
As I ran in, I had ten seconds to see what I was running into.
- A Homeland MRAP parked sideways across the gate with machine gunner muzzling the crowd.
- Angry men in uniform remnants, of all ages, shaking their fists and yelling.
- Cops starting to back away from the gate area, with those backward glances that say 'shaky, about to break' in a historical military context. And a modern crowd control one.
- A heavily armed team of ... oh shit, the Dirty Mercs, and with grenades!
I ran into the angry crowd, looking for that shouting idiot.
Mr. Open The Gate needed to shut the fuck up, at any cost, right the fuck now.
The way I saw it, no matter what, he was absolutely a dead man, now or later.
The only question was how many innocent people he would take with him.
