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GWOT VI - Formula One
GWOT VI - Formula One
He was in an odd position.
Logistician. Sergeant. California Expeditionary Forces.
But his expedition was in Iowa and he was in California, overseeing pallets in secure warehouses next to an airfield frequently visited by commercial, civilian and even American military aircraft.
Certain loads couldn't fly certain ways. The Americans would completely lose their shit if he tried to fly detocord. Not the explosives risk, they carried such materials constantly. Shipping them to Iowa was the problem. Iowans were Americans, after all. Well, kind of.
Civilian air carriers would handle certain loads the commercial ones would not touch. But they were both less reliable and more expensive.
The lead time for ground was just too long. Only California's own Red Ball Express ran trucks with armed drivers from relatively stable Minnesota to the Iowa border. Only a handful of semi-secure items, like rangefinders and replacement gun truck parts, could be entrusted to DHL for flights to Rochester.
Then there were the small loads that a white unmarked van picked up. Those were mostly mortar shells and deto cord until today. Presumably flown in on covert light aircraft, but he didn't know and didn't want to.
Now he had a valid and authenticated change of mission. No more explosives.
Cans of powder.
He shivered for reasons having nothing to do with temperature.
###
"This is not authorized! We are talking about thousands of lives!"
"Exactly! Without this material, thousands will die."
"Die where? In Iowa? Or here in California? Read my lips. FUCK IOWA. The cans stay."
"I have a valid and authenticated requisition."
"I revoke it utterly. This is sensitive materials, manufactured with great difficulty and much of the precursors imported. It is inconsistent with my oath to permit its removal."
"With respect, Colonel, you do not have that authority."
"A jumped up Major certainly doesn't. Not even with a Governor's priority. That's for material to support his operations. This is an escalation!"
"Colonel, the field commander has that authority. Not me and not you. I will have to call General Stewart."
The commanding general of California's expeditionary forces.
"Do it."
###
"This is a major mistake. I want my official disapproval logged," the Colonel said firmly, and left the warehouse.
The cans of powder were carefully wrapped in plastic and the two pallets consigned to DHL.
"Property of the Republic of California. Deadly force authorized."
DHL would transport two guards with the cargo, California MPs armed with pistols. Also replacements for Iowa casualties.
###
Rochester Airport
The MPs used borrowed pallet jacks to wheel the pallets across several hundred feet of tarmac to the Red Ball Express rented hangar.
After exchange of passwords at gunpoint, they presented the manifest. The only other California soldier present, a corporal whose eyes stared through all, carefully counted and signed.
Everyone else was a "G" according to their armbands. But they carried firearms and drove forklifts and trucks.
"Absolute priority item. Put red diamonds on the van. I want you on the way in ten minutes."
He had a good working relationship with the airport police. They would escort the cargo off property.
He called the State Police.
"Oh, throw these red diamond armbands on."
"Corporal?"
"Armed escorts for life saving supplies are protected under Geneva. You will pick up Red Lion mercs at the Iowa border. Oh, and use your lights and siren. Code 3."
###
Red Lion Camp #7
The Helper carefully opened the can and mixed it according to the label.
Handled every item as if made of brittle glass. Carefully sterilized.
Only when each nipple was in a mouth did he allow himself a deep breath.
The listless infants were now sucking hungrily.
That was _close_.
He was in an odd position.
Logistician. Sergeant. California Expeditionary Forces.
But his expedition was in Iowa and he was in California, overseeing pallets in secure warehouses next to an airfield frequently visited by commercial, civilian and even American military aircraft.
Certain loads couldn't fly certain ways. The Americans would completely lose their shit if he tried to fly detocord. Not the explosives risk, they carried such materials constantly. Shipping them to Iowa was the problem. Iowans were Americans, after all. Well, kind of.
Civilian air carriers would handle certain loads the commercial ones would not touch. But they were both less reliable and more expensive.
The lead time for ground was just too long. Only California's own Red Ball Express ran trucks with armed drivers from relatively stable Minnesota to the Iowa border. Only a handful of semi-secure items, like rangefinders and replacement gun truck parts, could be entrusted to DHL for flights to Rochester.
Then there were the small loads that a white unmarked van picked up. Those were mostly mortar shells and deto cord until today. Presumably flown in on covert light aircraft, but he didn't know and didn't want to.
Now he had a valid and authenticated change of mission. No more explosives.
Cans of powder.
He shivered for reasons having nothing to do with temperature.
###
"This is not authorized! We are talking about thousands of lives!"
"Exactly! Without this material, thousands will die."
"Die where? In Iowa? Or here in California? Read my lips. FUCK IOWA. The cans stay."
"I have a valid and authenticated requisition."
"I revoke it utterly. This is sensitive materials, manufactured with great difficulty and much of the precursors imported. It is inconsistent with my oath to permit its removal."
"With respect, Colonel, you do not have that authority."
"A jumped up Major certainly doesn't. Not even with a Governor's priority. That's for material to support his operations. This is an escalation!"
"Colonel, the field commander has that authority. Not me and not you. I will have to call General Stewart."
The commanding general of California's expeditionary forces.
"Do it."
###
"This is a major mistake. I want my official disapproval logged," the Colonel said firmly, and left the warehouse.
The cans of powder were carefully wrapped in plastic and the two pallets consigned to DHL.
"Property of the Republic of California. Deadly force authorized."
DHL would transport two guards with the cargo, California MPs armed with pistols. Also replacements for Iowa casualties.
###
Rochester Airport
The MPs used borrowed pallet jacks to wheel the pallets across several hundred feet of tarmac to the Red Ball Express rented hangar.
After exchange of passwords at gunpoint, they presented the manifest. The only other California soldier present, a corporal whose eyes stared through all, carefully counted and signed.
Everyone else was a "G" according to their armbands. But they carried firearms and drove forklifts and trucks.
"Absolute priority item. Put red diamonds on the van. I want you on the way in ten minutes."
He had a good working relationship with the airport police. They would escort the cargo off property.
He called the State Police.
"Oh, throw these red diamond armbands on."
"Corporal?"
"Armed escorts for life saving supplies are protected under Geneva. You will pick up Red Lion mercs at the Iowa border. Oh, and use your lights and siren. Code 3."
###
Red Lion Camp #7
The Helper carefully opened the can and mixed it according to the label.
Handled every item as if made of brittle glass. Carefully sterilized.
Only when each nipple was in a mouth did he allow himself a deep breath.
The listless infants were now sucking hungrily.
That was _close_.