by Glen Tate
When the scout vehicle stopped, everyone paused. For a second or two, all the vehicles just sat there. Ted’s voice came on the intra-unit radios in each vehicle.
“This is it,” he said.
Grant motioned for Scotty to hand him the radio. “Let’s go to work,” he said to the whole unit.
With that, they plunged into the darkness and went into combat for the first time.
Chapter 277
“We Got It From Here”
(January 1)
Grant couldn’t feel his legs. He was so jacked up on adrenaline, he was just gliding around. He didn’t have solid control over his muscles. He was just going through motions, like an automated robot. He felt stronger than he’d ever felt. His vision seemed crystal clear, his hearing was sharp. It was like when he shot the looters. His body was pumping adrenaline—human rocket fuel. He was firing on all cylinders.
Grant first ran up to Mendez’s car and the scout car. They were in some scary part of town. All the businesses were abandoned. The street lights were on and they cast a weird yellow shadow on everything. There was garbage blowing around. The place looked terrifying, like a foreboding scene from a movie where only bad things happened.
“You know what you need to do?” Grant asked Nineteen Delta.
“Yes, sir. We’re heading out to get a look,” he said, motioning for Meerkat and Anderson to take up observation positions.
Grant gave him the thumbs up and turned around to run to the semi. Ted was already out of the cab and the semi-trailer door was up. Sap was getting the troops out of the trailer. From a block away, they were dismounting from the semi and running out on foot for two reasons. First, it was important for them to get out now, before the shooting started. Second, they didn’t want any enemy to see that they were traveling in a semi. The enemy could radio that in and then their cover would be blown on the road to Olympia.
The troops were running out and grouping by squad behind trash dumpsters or any other cover they could find. It was interesting, Grant thought. They had practiced rolling out of the trailer back in training. But they never knew exactly what setting they’d be rolling out into. So when the guys exited the trailer for real this time, they were scrambling to find cover to get behind. Oh well. You can’t rehearse for everything.
The Team had gone ahead to help the scouts. Grant and Ted were with the main group of troops from the semi. The chase truck was guarding the rear.
Grant was terrified. Not of the gunfire; he’d been through that before and hadn’t been shot. He was afraid of himself—of making a mistake. Grant realized he had no idea what to do because he had never been in command during combat. Actually, it was worse: he’d never been in combat. But he was in command. He blurted out, “Okay, Ted, what do we do?”
Ted turned and said, “We get in a fight.” He smiled. He loved this. Good.
Ted told Jim. Q to radio to Bennington that they were in place.
“Give the order to move out whenever you’re ready,” Grant said to Ted, embarrassed that he didn’t know what to do, but glad that he wasn’t trying to do it.
Ted got on the inter-unit radio. “Move out. Follow the scouts and Team. Guard the flanks and rear. Let’s go!”
That’s how it started. Everyone just started running, taking cover along the way if possible, and scrambling up the street. The street lights were illuminating them. Grant wished those things were off, but he didn’t want to fire shots to take them out. They still had the element of surprise.
They all ran down street, sweeping the areas in front of them with their rifles. They were moving like a real military unit, just like in training. For the first time, Grant could see how all that training—constantly practicing how to move as a unit—was paying off. As they moved down the street, the 17th Irregulars projected deadly military power and professionalism.
Something else struck Grant: the loudness of their boots. They sounded like a stampede of bulls. But in boots.
“Boom! Boom! Boom!” Grant was terrified. He felt another surge of adrenaline, which he didn’t think was possible, given all the adrenaline he had pumping through his body already. The gun shots were louder than he expected. He always wore hearing protection while practicing, but he didn’t have hearing protection now. And it wasn’t practice. It was all very, very real.
The troops instinctively dropped down and took cover where they could. Ted and Sap were motioning and yelling for them to get up and keep advancing. Most did. A few froze. Ted and Sap were keeping track of who froze. Grant just kept running forward. He wanted to go up the street and be with the Team, even though the gunfire was up there. He was being drawn like a magnet toward his guys. And the gunfire. Because that was where his guys were.
The gunfire stopped as quickly as it began. A car alarm was going off. It was hard to hear anything else but that alarm. Everyone’s ears were ringing. Finally, Grant heard some voices yelling in Spanish in the distance. They sounded scared.
There were also voices in English much closer. “Oh, shit!” one of them said. “Who are these guys?”
Grant had made it up to the Team by now. Mendez was right behind him. All of them and the scouts were taking cover behind some fancy gang cars and SUVs that were shot full of holes. That’s where the car alarm was coming from. Fifty yards away, toward the apparent entrance to the Mexican neighborhood with its guard gate, was a small group of cops. Fifty yards beyond that at the neighborhood guard gate, was a large group of gang-looking young men.
Grant looked back at the 17th. In the street light, he could see most of the unit. They filled up the street and sidewalks and overflowed everywhere. It looked like there were a thousand of them. Grant couldn’t believe how overpowering and badass they looked. Everyone was standing up straight or aiming their weapon properly. Every single person looked serious and attentive. They looked professional.
Grant tried to imagine what a cop or gang banger’s reaction to the sight of the 17th would be. The troops in that street looked like a real military unit. Well, since most had beards and irregular uniforms, maybe they looked more like a unit full of experienced military contractors. But that made them seem even scarier. They looked like mercenaries. Maybe even a rival gang of former military men, not a tightly directed military unit.
The troops looked like they could go off—and in a big way—at any moment they chose. They looked military enough to be very effective, but uncontrolled enough to flip into revenge mode and destroy anything. It was the worst combination for anyone in their way. Good.
“This is Deputy Mendez!” Mendez yelled in English toward the voice that had hollered out. “All of you put your hands up! Cops and gangbangers. All of you. You’re all under arrest.”
The cops were stunned. They had assumed the well-armed soldiers were from the Army or something and were there to reinforce them.
Not one of the cops put his hands up. They were still trying to figure out what was going on.
“Don’t fuck with us!” Anderson yelled out. “Hands up, bitches!” he said in a voice that sounded like he’d wanted to say that to cops for some time.
Hearing that, the cops started putting their weapons down and raising their hands. The Team covered them while the Clear Out Crew cuffed them with zip ties. It was a very dangerous part of the fight.
Soon, lights started coming on in the Mexican neighborhood. People were yelling and vehicles were starting up. It quickly sounded like everyone in that neighborhood who could possibly leave was racing out of there. Dogs were barking and kids were crying.
It took a while to safely cuff all the cops. “Who are you guys?” one of them asked Nineteen Delta.
“Shut up,” Nineteen Delta snapped back. “Don’t distract me or I will fucking kill you. Understand?” He wanted to use his voice to assert that he and his people were in full command of this situation, and that they had the power of life and death over their prisoners. If he could use his voice as a weapon, instead of his rifle, pistol, or kn
ife, Nineteen Delta was a happy man.
“They’re getting away,” one cop yelled as the sound of people fleeing the Mexican neighborhood grew louder.
“Shut up!” Mendez yelled. “Shut the fuck up!” Mendez, too, was trying to use his voice instead of weapons to accomplish what needed to be done.
“Are there any more of you?” Wes asked one of the cops with sergeant’s stripes, assuming he was in command.
Mendez pointed at the sergeant and said, “Yep. He’ll know.”
The dazed sergeant counted up the cuffed prisoners and said, “I guess so.”
“If there are any more of you and they decide to fight us, there could be a crossfire and you bastards will get cut to pieces,” Ryan said. “So, we’ll ask again: is this all of you?”
The sergeant counted again. “There may be three missing.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Grant said. He motioned for the scouts to go find them. They took off. The scouts knew they didn’t need to risk themselves just to get three more prisoners; they were only trying to intercept the three who might be trying to get reinforcements.
The Team took over as the observers and then covered the scouts as they advanced forward.
“So,” Grant motioned Ryan as the two were up front as observers, “what was all that shooting about?”
Ryan shrugged. “Dunno. This happened all the time in Afghanistan. People would start shooting. It was hard to tell right away what set it off. This is war, Grant. Crazy shit happens,” he said with another shrug.
After a few minutes, which seemed like hours, the scouts came back.
Nineteen Delta came over to Grant, Ted, and Mendez. “Okay, here’s what it looks like. We got all the cops in this area. Three, or whatever, got away. Most of the gang bangers took off. It sounds like lots of women and children got left behind. Real gentlemen, huh? The women and children are terrified. There are probably enemies in that neighborhood,” he said, pointing to the MexiZone, “But, I gotta think, most of the armed men took off.”
Ted looked at Nineteen Delta, and shrugged. “Guess we’ll see.” He paused. “Now it gets interesting.” The last thing Ted wanted was some distraction, like urban fighting in Frederickson, which would slow them down on getting to Olympia. But if that’s what was required, he’d do it.
Jim Q. came up to them and handed Ted the radio. “Gall Bladder Surgeon wants to talk to you.”
Ted took the radio. “Gall Bladder Surgeon, this is … you can call me Ted. I’m with the cavalry.”
“You in a place where what I say won’t get to the wrong ears?” Bennington asked. The prisoners heard the voice of Bennington, who they assumed was on their side, and were even more confused than ever.
Ted looked around and saw the prisoners watching him. “Standby,” Ted said and he motioned for several guys to stand around him so they would shield the sound of the radio from the prisoners.
When the sound was successfully muffled, Ted turned the volume down. “Okay, go ahead.”
“I’ve got a posse here at the courthouse,” Bennington said. “They’re coming down to you. Same deal: draped in an American flag. We’ll take over. The gangs took off from what we can tell. They’re heading toward Olympia. We have their radio frequencies and are hearing them say that the whole Army showed up. They’re scared to death. They are running away. Not what I expected.”
“Need anything more from us?” Ted asked.
“Are you free from enemy ears?” Bennington asked.
“Affirmative,” Ted said.
“Okay, I’m going to say that we have another unit like yours coming into town any minute. I want the prisoners to hear that so they spread that rumor. Get back to a place where they can hear you and I’ll shout out a head fake.”
Ted liked his idea. This Bennington guy was pretty bright and crafty. He was exactly what they needed to pull something like this off.
“Will do,” Ted said to Bennington. Ted turned the volume back up, motioned for the human sound shield to break up, and then walked over toward the prisoners.
Ted acted like he was oblivious to them standing there. “Say again?” he said into the radio.
“Your reinforcements are coming down from Bremerton,” Bennington said. “Two more platoons. Some Marines from the Bremerton naval base who are now under Patriot command. Bradleys. The whole shebang.” Bradleys referred to Bradley fighting vehicles, which were armored personnel carriers. No one in Frederickson had any defense against them.
“Roger that,” Ted said, half remembering the Marines used LAVs instead of Bradleys, but who would pick up on that? “When they getting’ here?” Ted asked, playing along with the charade.
“They radioed in with an ETA of twenty minutes,” Bennington said.
“Great,” Ted responded. “We can get back to our Humvees.”
Which, of course, didn’t exist. Ted wanted the enemy to be on the lookout for Humvees, not for a harmless looking semi-truck and a couple of pickups.
Ted and Bennington were trying not to laugh out loud. The rumor of two platoons of Patriot Marines just about to arrive in Bradleys and that a bunch of Patriot fighters were moving in Humvees would spread among the Limas in Frederickson, and out to Olympia, in no time. The bad cops would surrender. The gangs, if any were left, would probably take off.
Ted decided to have some fun with the prisoners, who were hanging on every word he and Bennington were saying. “You want us to shoot the prisoners?” Ted asked.
“Negative,” Bennington said, playing along. “We have the posse coming to you in a minute or two. We have a jail for them. We’ll give them a chance to change sides or we’ll kill them.” That wasn’t true but the rumor would spread instantly among them. Perfect.
“You sure you don’t want us to kill them?” Ted said, while acting like no one was around to hear it. “It’s no problem. It’ll save you guys time and resources.”
“Nah,” Bennington said casually. “We’ll give them a chance to give us some intel and change sides first.”
“Okay,” Ted said like he disagreed. “We’re out of here unless you need something else.”
“Nope,” Bennington said, deciding at the last minute to throw in some more disinformation. “Your unit can head to Seattle as planned.” That added even more confusion.
“Roger that,” Ted said. “Grim Reaper out.” He added that call sign just to screw with the prisoners and add another crazy detail to the rumor that would undoubtedly be spreading. Ted was trying not to laugh. It was almost childish, but all of the disinformation had a powerful tactical effect. Rumors in the enemy’s head could have more effect than bullets.
Ted walked back to the main group of the troops and started telling them to prepare to head back to the staging point once they got the order. He reminded them to be alert for a counter attack.
Everything was quiet. There were occasional shots, but not many. The wind started to blow. It was weird: a hundred well-armed troops staring silently at about a dozen handcuffed cops, surrounded by silence. No one had anything to say, and it would seem unprofessional to chat. The troops’ job was to quietly hold their positions and cover the prisoners until they were ordered to do something different.
Pretty soon, the posse showed up and, to everyone’s surprise, Bennington was with them. He should have stayed in the radio room, but he really wanted to see this Pierce Point unit firsthand.
When Bennington arrived, he asked the Team, “Who’s in command?” They pointed to Grant.
He went over to Grant. “Thanks for stoppin’ by.”
“No problem,” Grant said. “Thanks for preparing things for us. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
Bennington nodded. He couldn’t contain his pride. He broke into a smile, saluted, and said, “We got it from here.”
Chapter 278
The Lake Isabella Boys
(January 1)
It was time to get out of Frederickson and off to Olympia. Grant motioned for the Team to he
ad back to Mark’s truck.
As soon as they got to the truck and started getting in, Pow smiled and said to the them, “This never gets old.” It was a huge tension breaker and a sign that things had calmed down, at least momentarily. No one was talking like that when they headed out from Pierce Point. Everyone was silent and serious. Now, with their first engagement having gone so well, they could relax a little.
As the Team got into the truck, they regained their swagger. They weren’t cocky, because they never were, but they were enjoying this again. They had taken a few hours off from their normal gung-ho smiling selves. The old Team was now back.
Grant could feel it and emphasized it. He wanted to fire them up, as well as himself. As Ryan and Wes were getting under the tarp, he said to the whole Team, “Is there any place you’d rather be?”
“Hell no!” they said in near unison.
Pow was smiling to himself. When he and Grant got into the rear cab, Grant asked, “So you were a little quieter than usual a while ago. I see the old Pow is back.”
Pow nodded and seemed relieved. “I haven’t killed anyone in a couple of months,” he said, in a matter of fact tone, referring to the raid on the Richardson meth house. “I didn’t enjoy doing it.” Pow looked a little embarrassed. “I’ve had some dreams lately, as the trip to Olympia got closer.”
“Dreams about what?” Grant asked.
“Having to do it again,” Pow said. He looked out the window. Smiling Pow was gone again and deep thinking Pow had replaced him.
Suddenly, Pow turned back to Grant and smiled again. “But I got over it. You know how, bro?”
Grant shook his head.
“I’ve been talking to Pastor Pete a lot. He helped me figure it out. I’m supposed to be doin’ this. You, me, us,” Pow said, pointing to all the troops around him. “All of us. We’re supposed to be doing this. We’ve been put here to do this. There’s no other explanation. Too many coincidences, bro, too many coincidences.”
