by John O'Brien
We scoot out of the cover and dust ourselves off quickly. I feel a branch go down the back of my shirt. It’s just one more annoyance that is forgotten quickly as we run across the small back lot to the side of the building again.
“I’ll go first. Follow when I’m half way up,” I say shouldering my M-4.
“I hope you climb better than you run,” he responds.
“I’m feeling a little gassy. I hope you enjoy your climb,” I reply and take off for the ladder rungs.
I set my feet on the first rungs and reach up. The heated metal instantly sears through my gloves. It’s like holding a boiling pot of water with a dish towel. It doesn’t melt my skin directly to the rungs but it still feels like my hands are going to catch on fire. Looks like I will be scurrying up as it’s hard to hold any one rung for long. I start upward.
Thoughts of being seen vanish as I make my way up. I just concentrate on each rung and climb as swiftly as I can. Each time I put my hand on a rung it seems hotter than before. It’s actually a race to see if I can make it to the top before my hands blister and start smoking. I try to set my boots on the rungs lightly as I don’t want any ringing if there is someone in the area. I finally emerge through a hole in the grating of the catwalk and kneel just around the side of the tank keeping it between the prison and me. Greg’s head eventually pokes through.
“That was fun,” I say still trying to fan the heat off my hands.
“Yeah, you got that right. You’re quite the little monkey,” he replies.
“I notice you weren’t exactly taking your time either,” I say.
“No, that I wasn’t,” he says chuckling.
“If I’d have known they made that ladder out of molten lava, I would have chosen differently,” I state.
Not wanting to have any more contact with the metal but having to, we both lie on the heated catwalk grating and edge forward until the prison comes fully into view. We are higher than the walls and can see inside readily. From this height and angle, the heat shimmers aren’t nearly as bad.
The complex is huge. One extremely large, single story central building sits in the middle of the compound with two buildings on either side of it. The side buildings are made up of three six-sided sections connected to each other in line with four thin rectangular wings jetting out from the end of each one. Those two buildings look to be three or four stories tall and connect to the main building via an enclosed pathway at ground level. Another very large building is connected to the main one as well. There are several HVAC units at ground level and van-like trucks parked at a loading bay attached to the second building.
The pickup trucks we observed earlier are parked next to the cargo trucks with several other vehicles. The interesting thing is the lack of towers and parapets along the perimeter. The wall is certainly tall but the place seems self-contained. There doesn’t even appear to be places for the inmates to be outside. All in all, the place is huge. Not as large as the Madigan complex but it’s daunting to look at. There’s no way we can assault this place with the teams we have and perhaps not with all of our teams.
I draw a quick diagram and make notes as we observe. We don’t have time for an extended recon to note patrols, times, listen to frequencies, or observe any patterns. We have just a few scant minutes before we have to head back. Another walled complex sits to the south of the main prison. There are nine red-roofed buildings that lie within that place. The roofs look like they are corrugated and may even be made of sheet metal. Those buildings do not give the appearance of being able to house prisoners but maybe it’s a less secure one.
“Well. It looks like it’s either a small force entry or none at all,” I say still glancing through a set of binoculars.
Greg is looking through a set of his own. “That’s what I think,” he says. “It’s getting over that wall that’s going to be the hard part. At least there aren’t any towers and it doesn’t look like those walls can be manned. Even if I had a grappling hook and it could latch on, I can’t throw one forty feet high. Can you?”
“Yeah, not so much,” I say. “There is another way in though.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Greg asks.
“I don’t know. Mine involves silk,” I answer.
“Then we are thinking the same thing.”
“Are you trained in HALO — High Altitude, Low Opening — jumps?” I ask.
“I went through the free-fall school at Bragg but haven’t done it in a long time,” he answers lowering his binoculars and looking at me.
“That’s alright. I haven’t jumped in a while either,” I reply with a smile. “It’ll be a hoot but we have to figure out what to do after we come crashing out of the skies into the yard. Or roof.”
“And where will we get the equipment? Bragg’s a long ways away from here and most likely in a radiation zone,” Greg asks.
“They used to teach the PJ’s — Para rescue jumpers — out of Kirtland. I bet there’s still some equipment housed there,” I answer.
“And the chutes were packed when?” Greg asks with a look on his face asking if I’m serious about this.
“Probably in the 70’s,” I answer.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I hope so,” I reply with a chuckle. Greg’s face doesn’t indicate he is getting warm, fuzzy feelings about this.
“Actually, there used to be PJ’s who were stationed there to help train us,” I add before his face falls too much further.
“And that was when?” He asks not at all convinced.
“In the 70’s,” I answer. The look on his face makes it difficult to keep a straight face and keep quiet.
“Just kidding, man. Well, it’s the only way I see in so we can take a look and see if there is any equipment there. And yes, check the tags,” I add. “If there isn’t any, then it certainly doesn’t look good for getting in. Even if we were to get some heavy artillery, we can’t go bashing our way in. We’d make it worse for those inside.”
“Yeah, I really don’t see another way. I really don’t see a way in even if we manage to get past the walls unless we set down, and I use that term loosely, on the roof and go through an access hatch. That structure on top may even house a maintenance door,” Greg comments.
“You know, some prisons have underground passageways for maintenance crews to circumvent portions of the buildings and areas that house prisoners and for guards to move about. I bet his one does as well. That compound to the south looks interesting,” I say. “And abandoned.”
“I don’t see any vehicles around it. You could be right,” he says.
“I wonder if there’s a tunnel between the two facilities,” I say.
“Maybe but we only get one chance at this and if there isn’t we’re pretty screwed for getting in,” Greg comments.
“Yeah, that’s true. So it’s the main compound then,” I say making some final notes.
“I think so. If we can find some equipment and IF the chutes were packed recently,” Greg says taking another look at the compound.
“Yeah, if on both accounts. I’m not too keen on finding out how high I can bounce,” I reply.
“You may not bounce you know. You may just crash through the roof opening a hole for me to float gently through and rescue everyone,” he says with a chuckle stowing his gear.
“I’m glad to know if I collide with the roof at high speed that it may benefit you. You be sure and tell me if there are any more things I can help you with,” I say.
“You’ll be the first to know,” Greg responds.
“We’ll have to plan on how to get out of there if things don’t go well but we can do that back at base. Right now it’s time to get out of here,” I say.
“Lead on,” Greg says.
An Angel’s Wings Unfurl
Michael wakes in his darkened lair ready for another night’s hunt. He thinks again he may have to move as the food supplies have been scarce and harder to find. Sensing other packs in
the area waken, Michael represses the urge to call them together. He is still sorting through these new images and doesn’t feel the time is right.
The lair has a chill to it that has been getting more so with the passing of the nights. The passage of the days when he has rested has been fine but he knows he will have to find a warmer place soon or find a way to keep warmer. His pack members provided warmth by huddling and he knows he may have to call the others together before he is ready. The survival of the packs is paramount.
Michael walks out into the familiar store proper heading towards the broken glass door and the night. The hunt and sating his hunger awaits. He notes, as he lopes down an aisle, that some of the objects on the shelves have fallen to the ground. He mistimes one of his steps and his foot comes down on a bag lying on the floor. The bag crunches under his step and, with a small popping sound, objects are thrown from it. He continues on toward the night’s hunt.
A few steps later, a scent reaches his nose. It’s a new smell and one not altogether unpleasant. It’s not like the musty scent of prey but has a sweeter odor. Stopping, he looks back at the broken bag and the contents that are scattered on the floor. He walks back sniffing at the air. Kneeling, Michael picks up one of the objects and brings it to his nose. There is some familiarity associated with the small object he is holding in his hand, something that he feels he should remember but it hangs on the edge of understanding. He knows he should recall what this thing is but the more he thinks about it, the farther away the understanding retreats.
Bringing the object to his mouth, he licks it. The sensation on his tongue is startling and he recoils slightly at the taste. It tastes so different than the food he has hunted every night. There is not the sweetness of biting into flesh or the taste blood. Or of course the actual thrill of the hunt. He licks at the object again, this time not recoiling as much. Taking small bite, the crunch feels like the crunch of bone but not as hard. He chews another small piece. The crunch and salty taste is both familiar and unfamiliar. Michael puts the whole object in his mouth and bites down. It’s not as tasty as prey but it’s not that bad. He grabs more and begins eating.
Finishing the ones scattered on the floor, he looks around for more. He picks up the bag and more spills out. He eats those before finally pouring the entire contents on the floor and devouring them. Looking to the shelves, there are more of the same packages he stepped on along with different looking ones. Michael grabs a bag and sniffs it. It doesn’t have the same odor. As a matter of fact, he can’t smell anything coming from it. He drops it on the ground and slams his foot down on it. The same crunching and pop occurs spilling more objects on the ground. The same sweet aroma spills out with them. He eats the contents of the bag as before noticing his hunger abates but is not entirely sated.
The shelves around him are a little empty but there are some of the bags. He now knows these contain food of some sort. Again, it’s not like the thrill of the hunt but it is food. Walking down more aisles within the darkened store, he notices other objects on the shelves. They may also contain food, he thinks picking up a round, metallic object. There isn’t any smell from this and it’s harder than the other objects but he drops it on the ground like the bag. It hits the floor with a thud. He brings his foot down hard on the object and howls with the sharp pain. Picking the object up, he sees that it is still whole.
He slams the object on the ground. Looking again, Michael notices it is dented but not broken. He throws it down again. And again. The object breaks open slightly spilling a small amount of liquid on the ground. A more appealing scent rises and he bends down to sniff the little pool. It’s still not like prey or as sweet. It has more of a sour smell but it is closer to the odor of prey than the objects in the bag. He licks at the liquid and is pleasantly surprised by the taste. It evokes a deeper hunger and he knows that this will sate his appetite more.
He picks up the metallic object and walks over to one of the outside concrete walls. Throwing the can against the wall, it finally breaks open spilling its contents against the wall and onto the floor. Chunks of something are in the liquid. He cautiously picks up one of the chunks and sniffs at it before putting it in his mouth. This is tastier than the other food. It’s still not quite like prey but he knows he has found more food. He spends the night going through the shelves breaking one object after another. Some of the objects have very offensive odors and he knows instinctively that they are not food. One of the larger objects, not as hard as the metallic one but more so than the bag, breaks open. The scent that emanates from the liquid that spills out has a sharp odor that actually causes pain to his nose when he sniffs at it and causes his eyes to water.
The night passes with Michael testing object after object. He has found another food source in case the nightly hunt comes up empty. He opens himself to the others to send the images of the objects on the shelves and associates it with food. Feeling sated and contented, he shuts himself off again and walks back to his lair to rest the day away.
Greg and I climb back down meeting up with Robert and McCafferty. I quickly relay the information we found. Our time is short so I can only give a brief synopsis.
“Do you think we can get in, sir?” McCafferty asks anxiously.
“I think we have a plan but we need to get back. We’ll also have to fly back to Kirtland to see if we can find some equipment. If we can get in to see about your parents, we will,” I answer patting her on the shoulder. McCafferty nods in understanding.
“I’m not sure Lynn would like your definition of a plan, Jack,” Greg comments.
“Yeah, most likely not. Okay, let’s call it more of an idea,” I say.
We make our way back in the same fashion as our arrival with the sun lowering in the sky. The heat becomes even more oppressive as we draw near Horace’s position. I radio our progress letting her know when we are near so we’re not shot coming in.
Meeting up with the others, I give the same synopsis promising to brief more when we arrive back at the aircraft. We mount up and crawl our way back the way we came. The trip is still conducted slowly as we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. If the group in the prison knows others are about, especially armed ones, they may beef up their defenses.
Following the reverse of our route, we make it back to the freeway heading back to Canon AFB. At the town we had to battle our way around, I stop at the fringe of where we can visually see it. I do not really want a repeat episode so we take a large detour through the fields. The day is moving on with the sun settling more into the west. If we had more time, I would venture around slowly so as not to kick up a line of dust but time is one thing that is not really afforded to us right now. We move off the road and sweep further to the south than our previous route. I have Greg and Horace take stations to the side and behind; hidden in the dust from the distant town. Denton replaced Henderson on the top gun and he keeps an eye around us, concentrating on the town but he reports the area clear.
We hook up with the highway again on the far side and make our way to Canon AFB. The sun is just above the horizon when we drive onto the ramp. We are sweaty, dirty, and exhausted. This day seems like three and it’s good to be back. I would love a shower but we’ll have to settle for using the rest of the day to eat and take turns sponge bathing in the aircraft. Miguel arrives with another group shortly after and I let him know what we are planning.
“We won’t be leaving for a few more days,” I tell him.
“Whenever you’re ready. We’ve lasted this long, I expect we can last a few days longer,” Miguel says in response. “I’m not a fan of gangs muscling others around. I could gather up a few of my amigos and help.”
“I don’t really think additional numbers is the answer, but thanks. If I thought we could take the place with numbers, I’d fly back and pick up the other teams,” I reply.
We spend the rest of what is left of the day eating and taking said sponge baths. Wiping the grime from the day is refreshing but it isn’t a t
otal cleaning. I was once used to going days without showers but I was also younger then. It’s kind of like camping. Sleeping on the ground is no problem when you’re young but nothing beats an air mattress when you get older. I would often contemplate taking a small air mattress on missions but I didn’t want the added weight. A few pounds after hours and days of humping matters. The horizon covers half of the sun in a gorgeous sunset of reds, oranges, and purples and then, after loitering for a moment, it sinks quickly below as if dropped. Miguel and his group leave and we button up for the night.
She rises from her slumber, warm and content yet eager for the nightly hunt. Looking at the others huddled together, she feels pleased with her pack and their ability to find food in the area. It’s been getting scarcer but with their increased pack size, they’ve been able to track down enough to sate them each night. She rubs her belly as if touching her young one growing within. She isn’t showing yet but neither are the other females in her pack. Soon, she will and so will they. Soon she will not be able to run with the hunt and will need the others to bring her food for a short time. Until then though, she will enjoy the thrill.
Several males, which are huddled around her, stir with the coming of the night. The former pack leaders vie for her attention and the position closest to her during their sleep. She hasn’t allowed any one of them to catch her attention as she has the pack and her young one to think of. She doesn’t want them fighting amongst themselves either and has been able to keep that in check so far. She rises and heads down to the lower level and outside to empty her night’s waste. She has made each of them empty outside rather than pollute their comfortable lair.
The night is clear but with a chill in the air. Colder times are coming but she feels their lair will keep them warm and dry. She sniffs the air searching for the scent of food. There are a few hints of prey in the area and she waits until the others join her outside. She then leads them on one of the trails leading into the woods nearby. Finding some food within the wooded expanse, she follows other scents to where the two-legged ones once lived. The hard ground under her feet is not as soft as within the trails of the forest but she only notices it as an afterthought as she has picked up a strong scent.
