Skip to comments.THE RAID: New Fiction from the War On Domestic Terrorism
Posted on 02/26/2002 12:59:26 PM PST by Travis McGee
Fifteen year old Danny Edmonds was at his desk hunched over his computer keyboard clicking and typing furiously when his father came into his bedroom.
"Danny, do you know what time it is?"
"Uh, hi Dad, let's see, zero one hundred hours."
"Affirmative. Time for lights out son."
"But Dad, it's Saturday night!"
"So what's the war tonight?"
"Which side are you?"
"I'm Russian this time."
"So what time zone is Field Marshal Von Paulus in? Maybe it's not one am in his bunker."
"Actually, his bio claims he's an Army major at Fort Campbell, so it would be midnight his time. And I'm kicking his butt clear back to the Ukraine."
"One more hour then, until two am, that's it. Tell the Field Marshal that General Zhukov's father ordered him to go to bed by then."
"Oh Dad, give me a break, he doesn't know I'm a kid." Danny's voice cracked, half way between boyhood and manliness.
"So you're whipping an active duty Army major in tactics?"
"Strategy Dad, strategy. It's corps level warfare."
"Right. Pardon me. And you still want to enlist in the Marines in three years?"
"Two Dad, two years."
"You know I won't sign for you at seventeen. Three years and you'll be on your own, free to make your own mistakes."
"Dad, I'll still be an officer, but a mustang officer! The greatest Marine officers are mustangs, prior enlisted."
It was an ongoing contest of wills between them. Burgess Edmonds could get Danny an appointment to Annapolis or West Point with one or two phone calls, but at fifteen Danny was determined to enlist in the Marines "ASAP" and get into the action as a "mud Marine" in the war.
Danny's room told the story. Where other fifteen year old boys had posters on their walls of rock groups and basketball stars, Danny had seemingly every Marine recruiting poster ever made. He had a camouflage poncho liner for a bed spread, he wore Marine combat boots to school to toughen his feet, and sitting at his desk he was wearing bright red USMC sweats, with the gold "globe and anchor" on the front and the Marine mascot bulldog on the back.
Danny was only fifteen, and Burgess had no complaints about him, not really. Danny was carrying a 3.9 GPA at Saint Paul's while lettering in wrestling and lacrosse and would have his choice of colleges, his father just hoped that his son would come around and see the benefits of accepting an appointment to a service academy after high school instead of enlisting. Danny was afraid the war would be over before he could get into it if he waited four more years: Burgess Edmonds did not share that belief, or any eagerness for his only son to experience combat. Anyway, he knew better than to push the issue. Danny and 21 year old Valerie were his "second family", and this time he was not going to blow it like he had the first time around. Maybe he'd mellowed, or maybe he'd just learned not to push them too hard.
"Okay Danny, whenever and however you do get your commission, you'll be the greatest officer the Marines ever had. Two am, all right bud?"
"All right Dad."
Burgess Edmonds turned to the hallway before Danny could see the tears welling up in his eyes. Then he slipped down the hall to Valerie's room, Valerie who was spending the weekend down from college, his little girl Valerie who had so quickly become a grown woman. Her door was slightly open, so he looked in and watched her sleeping under her quilted comforter, her golden hair spilled across her face and pillow. Where had his little girl gone, the little girl he had tucked in among teddie bears what seemed like only last week?
He went back downstairs. His wife Glennis, his second wife, was already long asleep in their bedroom at the other end of the second floor hallway from the kids' rooms.
George Hummel was in the shotgun seat of the lead vehicle in the "Special Training Unit" raiding convoy, a black Chevy Suburban SUV with black tinted windows. It was parked on the shoulder of a dead end county service road under a covering of oak trees a mile from the Edmonds' driveway. Next to him in the driver's seat was STU "Gold Team" leader Tim Jaeger, the ex SEAL officer. Behind them in the back of the truck six more STU team members were sitting on the carpeted cargo deck: the seats had been removed for the operation to give them more room and allow faster exiting. Nearly all of them had prior service overseas with military specops units: the stripped out Suburban was just a "low flying helo" taking them to their latest battle zone as far as they were concerned. They were all wearing black tactical gear, with black kevlar helmets, black balaclava face masks, black gloves, black boots, even black Heckler and Koch MP-5 submachineguns.
Three more black Chevy Suburbans were lined up behind them. Tonight the STU Gold Team was the lead element and was taking down the house, the Blue Team was providing the snipers, the recon team, and the perimeter security. STU team on-site commander Bob Beaufort in the trailing Suburban was not masked or helmeted and was remaining at the bottom of the driveway, he would "badge" any local law enforcement which might arrive unexpectedly with his fake FBI credentials. Nothing on the STU team tonight would connect them with the BATF. This was the first time in his long career that Beaufort had carried FBI creds, the irony was delicious after years of being the subject of FBI jokes and put downs.
They all sat silent as death, watching the subdued lighting of the various screens in the front between the leaders, straining to hear their radio earphones which were turned down to a barely audible hiss. The snipers and the recon team had gone out hours before the raiding party had arrived at the forward staging area, dropped off by the STU's phoney "VEPCO" Virginia electric power van, which was now hidden nearby serving as a commo relay and electronic support unit. The "VEPCO" van was already monitoring the house's telephones and electrical usage, and would cut the phones and the ADT alarm system off just before the raid. Unknown to the Edmonds, two of their cell phones were now remotely turned on, providing the STU with audio listening devices paid for and placed in position by the Edmonds themselves.
The two man sniper teams and the recon team carried advanced 3rd generation night vision rifle scopes, thermal imagers, electronic "big ears", and "field detectors". If the Edmonds had infrared or microwave or other alarm systems on their property, then recon team "Romeo" would find and neutralize them before the raiding convoy arrived. The sniper teams with their night scopes and thermal imagers were in position to cover the flanks of the Edmonds 100 acre property, as well as the rear of the house towards the bluffs and the river.
The radio crackled in Hummel's ear, all thirty STU team men heard the report at the same time. "Gold leader, Romeo, all clear, condition zebra zebra, hush puppy."
Zebra zebra was a STU brevity code slang for "z's", meaning a sleeping house. The BATF and other federal law enforcement special response teams preferred to raid in the early hours when people were most deeply asleep. This was safest for everyone, providing the maximum shock for their "speed, surprise, and violence of action". This caused people to quit before they even had the first idea of resisting.
"Hush puppy" meant that the recon team had taken care of the Edmonds' dogs with sound suppressed weapons....
Gold Team leader Jaeger then checked his sniper teams, code named "Daniel Boone" and "Davy Crockett".
"Delta Bravo, Gold leader, sitrep."
"Gold leader, Delta Bravo ready."
"Gold leader, Delta Charlie ready."
"Gold Two ready?"
"Ready" came from the Suburban behind Hummel and Jaeger. Blue Leader and Blue Two reported in immediately after that.
Gold Leader Tim Jaeger flipped his helmet mounted night vision goggles down over his eyes. All four vehicles' engines were turned on. Jaeger hit the gas and all four blacked out vehicles ran up the service road to the county road in tight formation, fast but silent with their oversized custom mufflers. They'd all studied aerial photos of the Edmonds estate taken earlier that day from the newly acquired STU helicopter, they knew exactly where the snipers and the recon team were, they knew exactly where to park and jump out, they knew the locations of the doors and windows and who was assigned to each.
It was 2:45 am, and the STU team was conducting its first "real world" operation. They were primed, cocked, and coursing with adrenaline and testosterone. Payback for the Baltimore Massacre, and the Reston Virginia ambush of the FBI team, and the assassination of Senator Rodman and Sanderson was starting in one minute. They had all been briefed that Burgess Edmonds was the leader and financial kingpin of a shadowy right wing terrorist organization loosely hidden behind the cover of a rural hunting club in southeastern Virginia, an organization responsible for the past weeks' acts of domestic terrorism. And they all believed it: all except for Hummel in the lead Suburban, and Wally Malone, the founder of the Special Training Unit of the BATF, who was up overhead in the helicopter.
The Rest of the Story
Let's hope it remains a work of fiction.
If you're still looking for a publisher, have you thought about eBooks? A friend of mine lives south of Indianapolis, and there's an up-and-coming electronic publishing firm that's fairly big cheese in that area. If you'd like, I can gather some info on that option for you. Let me know.
I've noticed that my wife's new cellfone, which we leave constantly on, has a habit of "randomly" lighting up when it's connected to the charger and laying on the kitchen counter unattended. Ya think... ?
I mean that man, keep me up to date on how things go.
Like Orwell, good fiction can help us avoid potential pitfalls in the future...
To avoid having your cell phone used against you, you need to pull the battery out.
Can't wait to read this particular part in the context of the entire thing.
As I said before, I completely understand and agree with the premise that writing so straight forwardly about such things can help warn and awaken the populace to insure that they never become reality ... while providing a good and exciting story at the same time.
However, I believe that many of the forces/motivations/etc. are already in place and that your story about what "may" happen is probably more grounded in reality than most citizens (including myself) would like to contemplate.
I do believe that "wet" operations of this sort have been conducted and I believe they can find people to conduct them ... look at Lon Houruchi for example. Finding a way to eradicate such operations and keep them from expanding to more wide spread occurrences is the key.
Hopefully, your story, with your credibility and background, will be a part of that combination.
Regards and again ... GREAT writing! Let me know if I can help in any way when it comes time to get it out the door.
LOL! Now there's an idea. Poor-man's psyops.
In all honesty, if the BATFags have nothing better to do than try and listen in on my family and me during episodes of "SpongeBob SquarePants", they are REALLY fishin'!
It's about a highway roadblock, part of the "Firearms Inspections to Stop Terrorism" (FIST) program. Things go completely out of control when an old WW2 veteran of the Battle of the Bulge flips out when he sees two black clad BATF JBTs beating and pepper spraying a civilian who refused to open his trunk and get out of his car for a "consent search".
The old vet uses his WW2 GI issue .45 on the "Nazi SS bastards", people panic, and the National Guardsman in the Humvee with the M-60 opens up on the line of stopped cars in the confusion.
You know what, after reading this first excerpt, I'm sure hoping Edmonds get's away so he can serve up a little retribution ... but that's just me.
Great work. Ping me when the book is finished.
Needless, to say, a respect for the Constitution is not as paramount to them as "getting results".
The STU Team is a careful distillation of these "just get results" bad apples and "good old boys" all under one command, answering to a psycho (Wally Malone) with a secret agenda and no moral scruples whatsoever.
Concerning the other self-contained chapter you mentioned:
National Guardsman in the Humvee with the M-60 opens up on the line of stopped cars in the confusion.
Does the media report that the WW2 vet fired on them (the cars) with his .45? Not that the story is predictable - the media is. I have lots of other questions, but I'll have to anxiously wait for the book.
Once again - great job. Can't wait to read more.
But the dead gunsmith's daughter Ranya Bardiwell is VERY pissed, and goes to one of her father's buried caches and takes out a very nice Thomson Contender pistol in .223 and gets busy.
This begins with the bogus "stadium massacre" falsely blamed on "right wing terrorists" and continues to the very end.
So the sheeple watching "Pete Broker" on "CBA News" ("the most believed man in America") have a very different understanding about what is going on from the folks who surf the internet and get the real inside scoop from "freeamericans.com" and other sources of the unvarnished truth.
"I was never really what you'd call the activist type. My idea of subversion was surfing websites like 2600 and TAP. I liked my country and all, but my idea of "patriots" was that they wore camo and played games in the woods, so I was pretty surprised when I heard that knock on my door.
I've always been a bit paranoid, or at least I have ever since I served time in juvenile for hacking some old DARPANET systems. A crazy, gay ACLU attorney finally got my record expunged just before I graduated college, so I was able to get a decent job, but his advice to me was to stay so straight (there's irony there) and paranoid that I'd never be busted again no matter what.
I cracked my door and looked out. There they were. Two aged men, wearing stereotypical camos that had seen better days. It wasn't until the one in back spoke up that I realized I knew him.
I let them in against my better judgement, but my judgement never has been very sharp (just ask my last two girlfriends). Then again, what do you say when you see the cop who busted you as a teenager? If you haven't been there, you probably wouldn't understand, but there he was. He retired years ago, he explained to me, and now he needed a favor.
Well, that was rich. I can think of my screaming parents, two trials, and three years behind concrete and barbed wire with freaks who had an entirely different concept of survival than I did as reasons enough not give this guy any favors. I could still taste the concrete and remember him reading me my rights, and I told him so. Man, that felt good to finally be able to speak back to him. Old memories were flooding into my mind, and now this guy needed me.
But his story rocked my myopic little world. People weren't getting their rights read to them anymore, he explained. Police commissioners were all UN appointees, and all cops and paramilitary forces were under their direct local supervision. The rules were different, too. The Treaty of Global Good Governance was viewed as the supreme law of the land, and it didn't have a Bill of Rights.
"So why are you here talking to me", I finally asked.
"We need a hacker."
My hands went numb. I felt my face go flush. Ten years later the same cop wants to send me back to jail? What an obvious setup! I tried to stand and tell them to leave, but I just couldn't. My knees wouldn't move and I just sat there staring at them.
They didn't seem to notice. Maybe I was crazy but it looked as though they were figeting. Now that's rich, I thought. They're nervous, but I'm the one that's going to go to jail if I don't get smart fast.
My old arresting cop started to continue. It's our cell phones. We know that they've been turning them on to track us and listen to us, and we want to trap them.
"More power to you," I managed to stammer.
Then it grew quiet. "You don't understand. It's all over. It's not the cops versus criminals or Conservatives versus Liberals anymore. Our government is gone. The Constitution is gone. Our rights are gone. Our soverignty is gone. The police commissioner for this town is from Nigeria, and the precinct captain is from Yemen. Over them both is a regional council that's comprised of two Communist Chinese and a mullah from Iran."
This was actually news to me. I tracked the news on the web, and no one had mentioned any of this to me and I told them so.
"They all have cover stories. The news is only allowed to mention and show their American puppets. A UN Fairness-in-Media committee insures that each news agency carries only the official news, and who's in charge isn't part of that."
I told them that I'm not buying any of this spiel. That I'm not hacking anything for them and that I'm not going back to jail. Finally, I felt the strength begin to return to my legs. I stood and showed them the door.
The ex-cop that I didn't know finally spoke. "OK, I understand your position, but can you at least answer a technical question for us?"
"Is the Pope Catholic," I laughed?!
"Just tell us, can you detect when someone is trying to remotely access your cell phone?"
I laughed again. "Of course. The signal to activate and the codes for functions are all clear-text, unencrypted."
That's when I noticed it. They both sighed and relaxed. Man, maybe I had these two pegged wrong. Nobody in a sting relaxes when their prey refuses to cross the line into illegality.
"Well, even if you won't help us per se," the quiet ex-cop said, maybe you can one day feel comfortable enough with us to tell us how we can detect that signal."
I must've still been in shock, though, because as they were leaving I told them to bring a laptop and the cell phone that they wanted for their trap back and I'd tell them how to do it.
And then I bolted the door shut and prayed for the first time in seven years...
I'd really suggest that you read Bowden's book "Killing Pablo", and consider that it covers 1993 tech.
Just to help edit your work, if Rodman and Sanderson are both Senators, you should write "the assassination of Senators Rodman and Sanderson"
Anyway, I like it!