Camp chaos, p.34
Camp Chaos, page 34
part #1 of The Unit Series
“If it’s in the middle of nowhere, do we have anything there?” Amigo asked.
“Actually, yes,” Voice said. “Here, near Bradshaw. We have a remote facility that used to be an old Atlas missile silo.” He popped up a satellite view and zoomed in on the site.
Spud was smiling. “Nice little farm.”
“You’ve been there?” Hank asked.
“Actually, yes. The facility is underground, like this one. We have a caretaker who lives in the house you see, and the facility is underneath the grain silo. There’s an airport nearby in York. Maybe we can contact Crow and Cloud in Wichita to see if the new Latitudes can get in and out of it. Plus, there’s Offut Air Force Base, so if we need to bring in a chopper, we can get one ferried into there by transport and then bring it over to York from there.”
“Maybe bring everything into Offut to avoid any suspicion about what a bizjet and a chopper are doing in York,” Hank suggested.
“Or into the airport in Lincoln, which is closer and certainly can be done with the Latitudes,” Spud said. “Plus, there’s an Air National Guard unit there, so if we need to bring in a military transport with a chopper it won’t seem unusual.”
“FT4, FT5,” Hank began, “how much longer are you two going to be in Wichita?”
“Hank, we finish up our type ratings in two days,” Crow said over the comm link.
“Crow, we have a need to be in Nebraska ASAP,” she continued.
Cloud returned with, “Team, there’s no way we can push the schedule at this point. Our date with the examiner is in two days, and our arrangement with instructors to help bring the birds to Quantico is for the afternoon of the checkride.”
“Damn,” Hank said to no one in particular. “At this point, it will be a two-day wait to get the birds home, so the best we can do is departure in three days.”
“Team, just how critical is it?” Cloud asked.
“Cloud, we haven’t gotten word from NSA of any chatter that would indicate that there’s an immediate threat, but we have narrowed down the location of a possible base of operations, so the sooner we can be wheels up to Lincoln the better,” Spud answered.
“Team, do you have a specific location?” Cloud asked.
“Cloud, not yet. The best we could do was find the nearest cell tower that’s been handling communications for the terrorists,” Voice replied, “which is part of the reason we’re going to need air support. It will be quicker for us to scout locations by air than try to do it on the ground, and we don’t want to spook them by showing up on their doorstep unannounced, either.”
“Team, let our Quantico gunny know that we’re going to need military transport for a helicopter to Lincoln, Nebraska. Once Crow and I return, we’ll get the field team and medical support packed up and ready to go. We only have capability to take one of the Latitudes this time given the planes are rated for two-pilot operations, so get your gear packed and ready to go with the copter by transport. See you all in two days.”
"Now what are you doing?" Amigo asked as he and Hank waited for the helicopter to be loaded in a military transport plane prior to loading the firearms and ammunition they would be shipping out to Nebraska.
Hank sat with her knife and a whet stone, honing the blade to sharpness. “Sharpening my Kermant,” she said. “Edge wasn’t happy with my first attempt. He says I held the blade at the wrong angle to the stone, and that there were little nicks still on the edge.” She wiped the blade with a rag and then rocked it back and forth, noting little areas where the light reflected. Those little areas told her Edge would still not be happy with the state of her knife. “You know, I always thought sharpening a knife was easy. Just use a carbide rod and strop it. But apparently that’s only good for cutting tomatoes, and not for stabbing an opponent.” She proceeded to work at sharpening the knife once again.
“Not quite sure why you’re interested in using a knife as a defense tool to begin with,” Amigo said. “Why not stick with guns?”
“It works like this, Amigo. Here I am, lying flat on my gut with my face on my Sako. And Mr. Bad Guy comes up behind me. I can’t very well swing the Sako around and take him out before he takes me out – that’s a given. So I go for my 1911. To engage him, I’ve got to roll over and draw, which isn’t all that tough – I’ve practiced it ad infinitum. But now say he lands on me after I shoot him. He’s still alive, and unless I got him through the head, he can still kill me. I can’t even get aimed shooting from retention, and shooting him through the back might mean I shoot myself as well. So instead of that, I take out my trusty Kermant and stab him. Unlike a bullet, the blade isn’t going to go right through and get me, too. Make sense? Besides, I don’t always carry a gun, but I’ve always got this knife in my pocket.” She examined the edge of the blade again. “There’s a lot of value in having some hand-to-hand skills.”
“Helicopter’s all set. Ready for the guns,” Spud said, coming down the loading ramp of the military transport.
Amigo pulled out his tablet. “Two snipers, seven M4s, seven handguns, two .308s and ammo for all of those,” he said, looking at the gear. “The rest of our field gear goes on the plane with us.” The three of them formed a line and loaded the gear onto the transport bucket-brigade style.
“I’m tempted to just ride back here with the gear,” Amigo said.
“I tend to like comfort before I have to dash through briars and crawl through mud,” Spud said. He looked at his watch. “Crow and Cloud should be arriving in another two hours. Looks like we have time to go grab something to eat.”
Once back at the unit’s facility, Hank, Spud and Amigo made their way to the kitchen. As they made sandwiches and grabbed fruit, Voice entered and said, “Library – NSA has chatter.”
They dropped what they were doing and followed him. “They intercepted a message originating from our Nebraska cell tower and ending at a tower in Benton Harbor, Michigan.” He went to the table in the library and dropped his tablet down on it. Bringing up the monitor, he showed a map of the area. “It’s located on Lake Michigan, about forty miles north of South Bend, Indiana. This is a community of about ten thousand people, eighty-five hundred of whom are black.”
“That fits the terrorists’ profile for victims,” Hank said.
“That’s not necessarily a good thing for us. It means we’ve got a town full of targets,” Voice said.
“Which one is the most prominent one?” Edge asked.
“The city’s mayor. Not only is he black, but he’s been making some noise lately with the state regarding an issue they’re having with their water being contaminated,” Voice said. “But it’s virtually certain he’s the target. The communication talked about ‘Cousin Bill,’ and the mayor’s first name is William.”
“We cannot let this terrorist group harm this man, nor anyone else in Benton Harbor,” Spud said. “But, we’re in the middle of a deploy to Nebraska.”
“Our materiel is already headed to Nebraska, but I say get Crow and Cloud to get us up to Michigan,” Hank said. “Amigo and I can rooftop with a couple of .308s in case our perp gets to be too much of an immediate threat. Luigi has spares in the armory. We can try to ID our perp before that, though, and get him into custody for interrogation. That could get us to our suspected base of operations in a lot less time than scouting out an area forty-five miles in radius by air will. Any idea why this particular time has been chosen?”
“City council meets tomorrow,” Voice said.
“Crow,” Hank asked over the comm link, “when are you and Cloud on the ground?”
“Team, landing in twenty.”
“Crow, Cloud, we’re going to need you to do a quick turn. We have an incident in progress. Destination will be Benton Harbor, Michigan.”
“Team, roger, Benton Harbor, Michigan. See you in twenty. Be ready at the ramp. Get our Quantico gunny to have refueling ready for us.”
“Alright, team, time to scramble,” Spud said. “Hank and Amigo, to the armory. Everyone needs to have street clothes for this one, so Amigo, give Voice access to your quarters so he can grab some clothes for you. Hank, I’ve got you covered. Edge, notify Doc Wright and Jana – they’re medical for this one. Let’s go, everyone.” Spud tapped out commands on his watch, and immediately an alert tapped on the watches of everyone in the unit, accompanied by an insistent message through their earpieces: “Unit, scramble, Unit, scramble, Unit, scramble.” The facility erupted in organized chaos as support personnel ran to their duty stations with communications flying back and forth between various people relaying their needs to those who would fulfill them.
“This is what I’ve been waiting for,” Amigo told Hank as they headed to the armory.
“I’d just as soon never have to scramble,” Hank said. “But it’s hard to get some people to realize that the energy they devote to criminal acts could be better spent devoted to more legitimate purposes. Ones that wouldn’t leave them watching over their shoulders for people like us.”
“How many of these missions have you done?” Amigo asked as they gathered up firearms and ammunition from Luigi.
“Counting this one? One.”
“For real? I had you taken for a veteran.”
“FBI veteran. I didn’t get to this unit much before you did,” Hank said.
With gear slung over their shoulders and ammo cans in their hands, Hank and Amigo made their way back around to the staircase leading up to the BEQ and out to where a van awaited to take them to the airstrip. The other members of the team were also piling aboard, throwing their gear in the back and taking a seat. Page was in the driver’s seat, taking stock of who was present. “Medical 1, Jana... present. FT1, FT2, FT3, FT6, FT7... present. I hope you all went wee and turned off your irons before getting in, because we’re not returning for anything you missed.”
“I forgot my teddy bear,” Edge said, getting everyone laughing.
“Our Quantico gunny knows we’re on the move?” Page asked as she pulled out.
“He’s been notified. You can put your foot in it, Page,” Spud said.
Hank and Amigo were unprepared for the speed that Page drove from the unit’s BEQ to the airstrip. “I should have warned the two of you that all of the nurses can drive like state troopers,” Spud said by way of apology.
“Getting updated information from Hal,” Voice said. “The most recent communication intercepted indicates the event is planned for tomorrow morning. I suspect it’s likely to coincide with the arrival of the city council members at city hall. I’ve got Hal trying to get us information on where the mayor usually parks by researching old aerials of the building and identifying his vehicle. As of right now, we know the building has three entrances: one in the front and one in back, as you’d suspect, and one on the left side of the building as you look at it from the front.”
“I see you’ve been doing a little programming of Hal since the last mission,” Spud said. “Seems like you’ve got a lot more info on this mission than even the last one.”
Voice was paying more attention to his tablet than he was to Spud. “No reason you shouldn’t get all the info you can,” he muttered. “There’s an airport right there in Benton Harbor. Southwest Michigan Regional Airport. Crow,” he began, initiating contact via the comm link, “you have an airport right in Benton Harbor. Southwest Michigan Regional. Identifier KBEH. Currently ceilings overcast twenty-seven hundred, winds currently two-niner-zero at nine knots. They have an ILS on runway two-eight, runway length of six thousand five feet, elevation of six-four-niner feet mean sea level.”
“Voice, we’re waiting for you on the ramp, getting an extra two thousand pounds of fuel aboard. And we have two rather puzzled gentlemen to get back to Wichita. Thanks for the info. We should have our IFR clearance by the time we’re loaded and ready to go.”
Arriving at the ramp, Spud hopped out and went over to the aircraft that was being readied for the flight. “You must be our instructors from Wichita,” he said, approaching two men standing on the ramp.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” one of them said, extending his hand. “I understand you’re the boss?”
In his earpiece, Spud heard Edge whisper, “Spud, how come you’re always the boss?” Spud smiled and ran a thumb across a temple touched with grey.
“You understand correctly,” Spud said, shaking and then putting his hands in his pockets. “I hope you also understand that you should not discuss anything you’re seeing right now, nor should you ask any questions.”
“Your pilots gave us the head up on that.”
“Good. This can work out well for you. There might be a place here for you in the future if you prove dependable in this regard,” Spud said, holding out the standard carrot. “At the very least, we’ll be asking for you specifically for recurrent training for our pilots.”
“I think I can speak for us both when I say we appreciate that.”
“Our driver will make arrangements for your return flight to Wichita, including hotel accommodations if we can’t get you home tonight. As you can see, we’re rather busy at the moment, so I’ll apologize for making this a short conversation,” Spud said. He smiled, looking all the part of a businessman dressed in casual pants and a dress shirt open at the neck. “Some deals require rather hasty action to complete successfully.”
“Thoroughly understand,” the instructor pilot said. “You’ll love your new Latitudes, sir. Your pilots are already well-versed in the aircraft, so enjoy your flight. I hope we meet again in the future.”
They shook hands again, and Spud climbed aboard, followed by the rest of the field team and medical personnel. Cloud and Crow were standing on the ramp, flipping a quarter. “Damn!” he heard Cloud say. Crow then climbed aboard and took the captain’s seat in the cockpit while Cloud grumbled and closed the airstair, then made his way to the first officer’s seat.
“Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen,” Crow announced from the cockpit. “My name is Crow, and I’ll be your captain today as you enjoy a one-hour, twenty-five-minute flight to Benton Harbor, Michigan aboard one of two brand new Citation Latitudes procured for your exclusive use. Please enjoy the new airplane smell. Cloud has received our clearance, and we will be wheels up as soon as we can taxi and receive our take-off clearance from our humble hosts at Quantico.” He glanced back to where Hank and Spud sat opposite each other, their legs stretched out and feet entangled. “And for our married couple,” Crow continued, “mile-high operations are not authorized.”
“Well, fuck,” Hank said playfully.
“He just said mile-high operations are NOT authorized,” Edge emphasized, having overheard Hank’s remark and getting the rest of the people aboard the aircraft laughing.
“Then what’s the bench seat for?” asked Spud, getting them laughing harder.
“Here’s our building that Voice told us about,” Hank said, pointing out a building across from the Benton Harbor City Hall. “It’s the public library, so we should be able to BS our way onto the roof by claiming to be doing an inspection. Right here is a cooling tower, so we can say we’re checking it out for any signs of problems. If we make our way over to this area,” she added, pointing out the spot on the aerial view, “we should have a good location from which to observe our mayor when he comes in plus see if we can identify our perp.” She and Amigo slung their AR10 rifles down the front of their bodies, then pulled on loose work coveralls to conceal them. Going inside and their ruse being successful, they made their way up to the roof, made their way to the location that would give them the best view of the area where the mayor usually parked, and laid down with binoculars to watch.
From their vantage point, they could see Edge and Spud, similarly dressed in work coveralls, pulling weeds and raking in a small area across from where the mayor typically parked. Across the street they observed Voice parked in a rented panel van such that he could easily observe the entrance to the city hall as well as parking areas near the building. In their earpieces, the team could regularly hear his reports detailing movements of people and vehicles around the building’s entrance.
“Team, a vehicle just arrived in the parking lot on Sixth,” Voice reported. “Driver is walking northwest toward the library.”
If he wanted to go to the library, why didn’t he park in the library’s parking lot? Hank thought. She tapped Amigo on the shoulder and whispered, “Amigo, stay here. I believe that’s suspicious activity,” pointing to the portion of the roof that overlooked the library’s parking lot. “Edge, Spud, go across to the library and work in the flowerbed in front. Suspicious individual headed your way.”
Hank made her way to the corner of the roof and looked down. The man she’d been watching was now directly below her, leaning against a tree. Every so often, he would stand up and survey the street in both directions. She noticed he was fidgeting, shuffling his feet, and had his right hand stuck in his pocket, never removing it, even when he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. Always your left hand, never your right.
“Team,” she whispered, “our man is standing next to a tree on the southeast corner of the library, smoking.”
“Hank, are you sure?” Spud asked.
“Spud, positive. He’s nervous, he’s watching the street in both directions, and he’s guarding something in his right pocket. Consider him armed – it’s probably a gun he doesn’t want to take his hand off.”
