GWOT V - The Choir
Apr. 27th, 2022 09:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyGWOT V - The Choir
The Officer Selection Board met constantly. It was their job. California needed every type of leader, constantly, and especially military officers.
They didn't bother wasting time talking to the officers being assigned.
At present they were batting around a particularly thin file.
What was in it, was worrisome.
What wasn't in it, was more so.
"This guy has leadership experience, and a touch of CQB, but he just got done being a camp commander at two ranks two low. And playing God on the side. I don't want to trust him with a Sector."
"So he can kill two thousand war criminals but he can't run a border control point?"
"I have a problem."
"Go."
"How do we know he's not dirty?"
The dirt she spoke of was nothing so easy to wash off as mud, or even blood.
"Let's give him two weeks playing on the street. They'll test him. We'll find out."
###
Odd. Another TDY, Temporary Duty.
Seconded to the Los Angeles Police Department, for law enforcement familiarization.
Two days at the Academy. Two days in the nearby park. Then three days of ride alongs, three days hanging with SWAT, and another four days they would decide on after seeing what I was made of.
I blinked then shrugged. Orders were orders.
###
The Academy was full of fresh faces of all ages. Very motivated cadets, in various stages of uniform. Unlike the pre-war Academy, of all ages.
I was led to the range, a pistol was put in my hands, and I was put through their qual course cold.
I maxed it.
Then they took me to the shoot-not shoot simulator.
I recognized the software and some of the scenarios. Used it at Site. Maxed that.
A couple eyebrows went up. Someone slapped a California machine pistol down in front of me.
I picked it up, checked chamber, adjusted the balky wing nut on the allegedly sliding stock. Qualified. Not maxed. But qualified. Again cold.
"Keep it," I was told, and issued a couple of its straight magazines.
###
The second day was auditing Academy training. Some lectures. Some skills.
I played bad guy. Not with live ammo, but with paint bullets called Simunition. Fun if you're not training for the real thing. Which of course we all were.
###
I couldn't help but notice the security arrangements for the Academy. No one was trusted. Sharp eyed cops who had seen too much were on the desks, on patrol in the corridors, behind the tripod mounted heavy machine guns now as synonymous with policing as the badge and handcuffs.
This got me questioned. Upon learning what I'd done at Site, they had me spend the last half day auditing the security. Patched some holes, too.
You don't think I'm gonna tell _you_.
###
Says here that the Los Angeles Police Department is the finest police in the world.
Maybe they are.
If so, policing has really turned to shit.
###
What was the same as the pre-war LAPD was the big dinner plate size badges on the left chest. But these were now thick as well as shiny. Doubled as extra armor.
What was different was pretty much everything else.
I still remembered the old recruiting commercial. "Our officers come in one color. Blue." I also remembered ribald commentary about what the locker room just look like.
Now that I actually saw a locker room, and geared up in the guest lockers with a big LAPD type IV tac vest over my Army khaki uniform, I realized.
No joking. These people watched each other all the time. Not watching each other's backs. Watching for who might snap and gift their former colleagues with a grenade. Or worse.
I could see them not trusting me. Just some Army guy.
But they didn't trust each other even when they knew each other.
That was a very, very bad sign.
Kind of like Site just before it all fell apart, just before my arrest.
###
My first day's ride along was with a park ranger. She had a dressing over her left upper arm and... how do I put this nicely... walked funny. I'd learned way too much at Site.
It was a light duty assignment for an injured officer.
We chatted freely about everything except how she'd gotten hurt.
People still wanted to enjoy their weekends. Even if they were staggered now to keep all the factories at wartime production.
We watched at the park gate as entering vehicles were inspected and searched.
I saw a technical. Bright red. Yellow trim.
It was staffed by four unsmiling South Asian - what we call Indian when we don't mean native peoples - men, wearing what I could vaguely recognize as traditional clothing and head gear. Prominently displayed badges to go with their duty belts and firearms and the medium machine gun on the swivel hardpoint.
"Community patrol," she explained. Her name was on her name tapes, but you don't need to know it and she'd not so gently told me not to use it.
?, said my face.
"They're licensed. They've posted a bond and so has their community. It's part of an approved event and they are on the access list. They're cool. Now what you want to be careful of is the Nortenos and Surenos. Even when they're not just Cartel in other people's colors."
I was trying to wrap my head around that. The briefing pack had mentioned amnesties and licensing and community militias. I really didn't get until now what that meant.
People who had been shooting at California military two months ago were now patrolling openly and heavily armed. That was the deal, you see. Amnesty. Keep the guns so you feel safe. Misuse the guns and end up in the body bag you dodged.
They were looking not for machine guns but for VBIEDs. Vehicle Borne Improvised Explosive Devices.
Why kill a few people at a time when you can fill the choirs of heaven, hundreds at a time?
We patrolled. If it hadn't been for all the guns, it would have seemed like an ordinary pre-War park - and keep in mind who I am, if I am saying ALL THE GUNS you may imagine that scene from the Matrix except among picnic baskets and keg alcohol.
I realized that the park ranger was asking about what I liked to do for fun.
I'd given up fun for Lent.
It was testing. Sex, drugs, money. Or something more exotic perhaps? Watching my eyes to see how I looked at the people having fun. Did I have a type? Or a gender preference? Or was I a short eyes? Maybe worse. Sadist? Serial killer? I certainly had the count if not the enjoyment.
Reminded me again of Site, and the gavotte I'd done with my staff as they'd tried to figure me out.
I took pity on her and mentioned Victoria's Secret.
It gave us a safe topic of conversation, frilly panties and what might fill them.
Then the radio shat on what had been a good day.
###
"Cover and out, cover and out! Homicide bomber! Homicide Bomber, Griffin West!"
The Officer Selection Board met constantly. It was their job. California needed every type of leader, constantly, and especially military officers.
They didn't bother wasting time talking to the officers being assigned.
At present they were batting around a particularly thin file.
What was in it, was worrisome.
What wasn't in it, was more so.
"This guy has leadership experience, and a touch of CQB, but he just got done being a camp commander at two ranks two low. And playing God on the side. I don't want to trust him with a Sector."
"So he can kill two thousand war criminals but he can't run a border control point?"
"I have a problem."
"Go."
"How do we know he's not dirty?"
The dirt she spoke of was nothing so easy to wash off as mud, or even blood.
"Let's give him two weeks playing on the street. They'll test him. We'll find out."
###
Odd. Another TDY, Temporary Duty.
Seconded to the Los Angeles Police Department, for law enforcement familiarization.
Two days at the Academy. Two days in the nearby park. Then three days of ride alongs, three days hanging with SWAT, and another four days they would decide on after seeing what I was made of.
I blinked then shrugged. Orders were orders.
###
The Academy was full of fresh faces of all ages. Very motivated cadets, in various stages of uniform. Unlike the pre-war Academy, of all ages.
I was led to the range, a pistol was put in my hands, and I was put through their qual course cold.
I maxed it.
Then they took me to the shoot-not shoot simulator.
I recognized the software and some of the scenarios. Used it at Site. Maxed that.
A couple eyebrows went up. Someone slapped a California machine pistol down in front of me.
I picked it up, checked chamber, adjusted the balky wing nut on the allegedly sliding stock. Qualified. Not maxed. But qualified. Again cold.
"Keep it," I was told, and issued a couple of its straight magazines.
###
The second day was auditing Academy training. Some lectures. Some skills.
I played bad guy. Not with live ammo, but with paint bullets called Simunition. Fun if you're not training for the real thing. Which of course we all were.
###
I couldn't help but notice the security arrangements for the Academy. No one was trusted. Sharp eyed cops who had seen too much were on the desks, on patrol in the corridors, behind the tripod mounted heavy machine guns now as synonymous with policing as the badge and handcuffs.
This got me questioned. Upon learning what I'd done at Site, they had me spend the last half day auditing the security. Patched some holes, too.
You don't think I'm gonna tell _you_.
###
Says here that the Los Angeles Police Department is the finest police in the world.
Maybe they are.
If so, policing has really turned to shit.
###
What was the same as the pre-war LAPD was the big dinner plate size badges on the left chest. But these were now thick as well as shiny. Doubled as extra armor.
What was different was pretty much everything else.
I still remembered the old recruiting commercial. "Our officers come in one color. Blue." I also remembered ribald commentary about what the locker room just look like.
Now that I actually saw a locker room, and geared up in the guest lockers with a big LAPD type IV tac vest over my Army khaki uniform, I realized.
No joking. These people watched each other all the time. Not watching each other's backs. Watching for who might snap and gift their former colleagues with a grenade. Or worse.
I could see them not trusting me. Just some Army guy.
But they didn't trust each other even when they knew each other.
That was a very, very bad sign.
Kind of like Site just before it all fell apart, just before my arrest.
###
My first day's ride along was with a park ranger. She had a dressing over her left upper arm and... how do I put this nicely... walked funny. I'd learned way too much at Site.
It was a light duty assignment for an injured officer.
We chatted freely about everything except how she'd gotten hurt.
People still wanted to enjoy their weekends. Even if they were staggered now to keep all the factories at wartime production.
We watched at the park gate as entering vehicles were inspected and searched.
I saw a technical. Bright red. Yellow trim.
It was staffed by four unsmiling South Asian - what we call Indian when we don't mean native peoples - men, wearing what I could vaguely recognize as traditional clothing and head gear. Prominently displayed badges to go with their duty belts and firearms and the medium machine gun on the swivel hardpoint.
"Community patrol," she explained. Her name was on her name tapes, but you don't need to know it and she'd not so gently told me not to use it.
?, said my face.
"They're licensed. They've posted a bond and so has their community. It's part of an approved event and they are on the access list. They're cool. Now what you want to be careful of is the Nortenos and Surenos. Even when they're not just Cartel in other people's colors."
I was trying to wrap my head around that. The briefing pack had mentioned amnesties and licensing and community militias. I really didn't get until now what that meant.
People who had been shooting at California military two months ago were now patrolling openly and heavily armed. That was the deal, you see. Amnesty. Keep the guns so you feel safe. Misuse the guns and end up in the body bag you dodged.
They were looking not for machine guns but for VBIEDs. Vehicle Borne Improvised Explosive Devices.
Why kill a few people at a time when you can fill the choirs of heaven, hundreds at a time?
We patrolled. If it hadn't been for all the guns, it would have seemed like an ordinary pre-War park - and keep in mind who I am, if I am saying ALL THE GUNS you may imagine that scene from the Matrix except among picnic baskets and keg alcohol.
I realized that the park ranger was asking about what I liked to do for fun.
I'd given up fun for Lent.
It was testing. Sex, drugs, money. Or something more exotic perhaps? Watching my eyes to see how I looked at the people having fun. Did I have a type? Or a gender preference? Or was I a short eyes? Maybe worse. Sadist? Serial killer? I certainly had the count if not the enjoyment.
Reminded me again of Site, and the gavotte I'd done with my staff as they'd tried to figure me out.
I took pity on her and mentioned Victoria's Secret.
It gave us a safe topic of conversation, frilly panties and what might fill them.
Then the radio shat on what had been a good day.
###
"Cover and out, cover and out! Homicide bomber! Homicide Bomber, Griffin West!"
