Drone Wars 1: The Beginning Page 7

  "With what?” The supervisor asked.

  "A rifle, I think, Sir?"

  "Nobody could hit anything with a rifle out of a moving truck at that distance," the supervisor calmly stated. Just then, the drone exploded. Everybody in the room was speechless as they stared at the main screen after it went blank.

  "We need eyes on the target!” The supervisor shouted. "Turn the last four drones around and reacquire the target."

  "But Sir, those drones don't have any missiles," one of the operators said.

  "We need eyes on the target until we can get more armed drones to the target. Do it now. Do it now!"

  The Rabbit Hole

  We got out of the truck, grabbed our gear, and headed deeper into the mine. Doc led the way with a powerful flashlight. We walked about 200 feet before Doc led us into a side tunnel. After a while, Doc turned into another side tunnel. Eventually, I lost count of the turns we made. We had been walking for about 35 minutes when I begin to see daylight ahead.

  "We're almost there folks," Doc said.

  Doc strode out of the tunnel opening with no hesitation. Toni also showed no concern. I followed, wary as usual, carrying the Ranch Rifle for comfort, if nothing else. We walked along a game trail for about a mile. The trail was well hidden under the trees. Of that I was glad. That meant that if they were going to track us, they would have to use a thermal imaging satellite, rather than one that just carried a camera. I remembered reading that the government did not have full coverage with the thermal imaging satellites yet. In fact, I thought they had said that it would be another year or two before they did? Of course, they might get lucky as I had with the shot at the drone, but I hoped not.

  Doc stopped. "Here we are," he said.

  "Where is here?” I asked.

  "In the middle of nowhere, it appears," Toni smiled.

  Doc began bending some small pine trees over so that Toni and I could see the vehicle that was completely concealed by the small trees and a camouflage tarp. The trees were green, and had been planted around the vehicle. Doc said, "We put the car here about five years ago, just in case."

  "And you think it will still start?” I asked.

  "It should," Doc said. "There's a small solar panel set up to maintain the battery and our people have changed the fuel in the tank every six months and performed maintenance."

  "I repeat, just who the hell are you people?” I asked.

  "It pays to be prepared," Doc grinned. Doc pushed his way through the small trees, took a key hanging on a chain from his neck and opened the car's trunk. I gathered that one key would open the trunks of many, if not all, of the vehicles that these people had scattered around. Doc took a couple small bow saws from the trunk and handed one to me. "Let's cut some trees out of the way so we can get on the road."

  It took us about 15 minutes to saw the small pine trees off at the ground, and drag them out of the way. We climbed into the vehicle, a 5-year-old Chevrolet sedan, and Doc turned the key. The engine roared to life and Doc wasted no time in getting us out of there. I didn't see any sign of a road but Doc drove anyway, weaving his way between trees and over terrain where most people would need a four-wheel drive. After about a mile, Doc turned onto a dirt road and before too long we were on a paved back road heading sedately for somewhere else.

  "Where are we headed?” I asked.

  Toni turned and looked at me from the front seat. "Somewhere as far away from drones as is possible," she laughed.

  Chapter 6: SANCTUARY

  "Luck comes only to those who never quit.” John Debrouillard

  Conference Room, The White House

  Men and women in suits, ties, and various appropriate attire trickled into the conference room. One by one, they chose their seats. Some nodded to one another while others were quietly focused inward. The mood was somber. No one spoke. After all had taken their seats they waited silently for almost 20 minutes. Then, a very large Secret Service agent stepped into the room and said, "Please rise. The president is here."

  The president entered the room. It was easy to tell that he was agitated. He strode to the head of the table and majestically paused. He was a tall, fit man with a momentarily stern visage. Looking one by one at the members of his entire cabinet, he said, "Just what is going on? First, a 5'4" untrained and unarmed woman takes out one of our best ground hounds, and with no assistance whatsoever. That in of itself is absolutely incredible. What is worse, she is still at large!"

  "Also, we have a man, also untrained—never having served in the military—who managed to take out a quad-copter assassin drone with a shotgun. What's more, this guy escaped the following 60 quad-copter assassin drone attack through a tunnel dug from a basement that we didn't even know existed."

  "Now, for the really bad part. When we found him, way out in Wyoming, which I'm here to tell you is a long way from Indiana, he managed to hook up with a hard-core resistance cell. Our intelligence indicates that he should not have even been aware of the existence of this particular cell, yet he managed to avoid detection and go directly there. And, if I am to believe what I was just told, the resistance in that cell is now using chaff to destroy the chaff-proof missiles used in our domestic predator drone strikes. They took out nine missiles using chaff shot into the air from crude mortars in the bed of a pickup truck. And we should've had them," the president paused for effect. "We should have had them. We had ten mini-predator drones on this mission, and we think they were out of chaff after missile number nine. We should have had them. And then, this untrained civilian shot one of the drones down from a moving vehicle—with a fucking rifle, no less. And now we have been looking for them for almost 30 hours now. They vanished. No trace. How is that even possible?"

  The secretary of Defense, a short, plump, effeminate, and graying man, spoke. "But Mr. President, Sir, my technical advisors tell me that is impossible for someone to shoot a drone down with a rifle, except perhaps for the most highly trained of marksman. Is this man a trained marksman?"

  The president looked at a man in the room that most of his advisors did not know. "Ladies and gentlemen, I want to introduce Mr. Saperstein. He is the new White House intelligence liaison to our domestic intelligence gathering effort that spans many different agencies. Mr. Saperstein, will you answer the question?"

  "Yes Sir, Mr. President!” Saperstein was medium-height and tending towards portly. He also wore thick glasses and exhibited a studied look of nerdy elegance. "Ladies and gentlemen, to summarize the data we have on this target, I present the following: This target was slated for removal for influential comment posts on various antigovernment internet blogs. As far as we know, he never advocated or took overt action, or for that matter covert action, against the government. However, his views are decidedly anti-government, as well as specifically against this administration. Our analysis showed his ability to predict our plans in his posts was extremely high. I mean this guy was right on the mark so often it was plain scary. Therefore, either he was lucky, had access to a well-connected whistle blower, or was well connected to the resistance. If indeed he was connected to the resistance, or a whistle blower, we could find absolutely no evidence of that connection."

  "If I may interrupt?” The secretary of Defense requested. "Is it possible that this target was just an unusually discerning, regular, everyday citizen with an anti-government bent?"

  "Sir, our analysts do not believe that is a statistical possibility," Saperstein answered.

  Saperstein continued. "The target never served in the military or in law enforcement. He has never been a member of a militia, a shooting club, or even had a hunting license."

  "We do not know how he obtained his shooting skills and there is no evidence that he has extensive practice with firearms. Therefore, we must consider the possibility that the weapons he used were somehow enhanced over typically available civilian models.”

  "We recovered the shotgun he used to shoot down the quad-copter assassin drone. As best we can tell, it is a
standard Remington model 870 12-gauge shotgun of the kind used by hunters. There do not seem to be any modifications. Other than the fact that it has a relatively long barrel, it is a very typical shotgun.”

  "However, we have not recovered the rifle he used, nor do we have any record of him purchasing a rifle. In fact, the only guns we have a record of him purchasing are a .38 caliber revolver and the shotgun. We also recovered the .38 caliber revolver, the shotgun, as well as several other unrecorded firearms from his residence, or, I should say, what remained of his residence."

  "We have analyzed the imagery from the drone strike, and we believe the rifle he used to shoot down the drone was a Ruger Mini 14 or Ranch Rifle in .223 caliber. These rifles do not have a reputation for accuracy. Therefore, we must assume that the resistance has modified some of these weapons somehow."

  "How is it possible for one of our mini-predator drone missiles to be set off with a rifle bullet?" the president asked.

  "Mr. President," Saperstein responded. "We are using contact fuses on these missiles to save money."

  "Well see that this problem is fixed," the president said.

  "Yes Mr. President," Saperstein said, "it will be done."

  The president raised his arms and then motioned downward with them. "Please be seated ladies and gentlemen. We have a lot of work to do today."

  Leaving Wyoming

  We drove across the country. Their planning impressed me. Doc removed ball caps from the trunk of the car, put one on, and gave the others to Toni and me. The ball caps appeared to be perfectly normal. Toni showed me a switch inside the cap and told me to turn it on.

  "These caps are equipped with small LED lights that blind surveillance cameras so your face cannot be identified. The batteries are sewn into the caps and should last about 100 hours."

  We switched to a second car. This car was parked in the parking lot of a small plumbing business located on a side street in a small town.

  There were new clothes in the trunk for each of us. We took turns changing clothes in the bathroom of the plumbing establishment. No one else was in the building. I assumed they must have left through the back door when we arrived. OPSEC again, I suspected. The clothes appeared to be chosen to change our look and did a pretty good job of it.

  When we switched to a third car, there was an additional car waiting with a driver, a blue Ford sedan. Doc got into the passenger seat of the Ford and waved goodbye to Toni and me as they drove away. I was a bit puzzled, but not particularly surprised.

  "You drive," Toni said. "I'll tell you where to go."

  Toni and I drove for about 14 hours, taking turns driving while the other napped. I was worried about being stopped, but with the change of clothes came new ID. And it looked good—actually it looked official. I wondered for the umpteenth time just whom I had fallen in with?

  Once, when we stopped at a gas station, I saw a federal cop staring at us. That made me nervous. Toni ignored him. I had my Browning tucked into my pants under my shirt and wondered if I might need to use it? I had just finished filling the car with gas when the cop walked toward me. I did my best to ignore him. Toni had gone into the gas station, which like all gas stations today, was really just a quick stop, to buy bottled water.

  The cop walked within two feet of me, nodded, and kept going. Relieved, I smiled, and nodded back. I hoped he could not tell my knees were shaking. Just about that time Toni returned with the food and drinks, and we left.

  "Did he get a good look at your face with his lapel cam?” Toni asked.

  "Yes he did," I replied.

  "Time to make a change," She said. Toni took a cell phone from her purse, dialed a number, and before it was answered, hung up.

  "What was all about?” I asked.

  Toni smiled. I found I really liked it when she smiled. Toni was a very attractive woman. Even in my state of shock over the loss of Susan and the events that had occurred since, I could tell that. But it wasn't her attractiveness that got through to me; it was the fact that her smile had a slight mischievous bent. That simply intrigued me. She said, "We need a change of car and outfit."

  "And you did that without even talking to anyone?” I asked.

  "Well," Toni replied. "You know all personal calls are monitored by our illustrious, although less than legitimate, government. Why should we give them anything to go on?"

  Toni gave me driving directions for the next hour and then motioned for me to pull into a small restaurant parking lot. That surprised me, because we had been avoiding restaurants the entire trip, just as I had when I was running from the drones, Toni seemed to think the fewer stops the better. That's why I was surprised when we stopped at a restaurant a little while after we had eaten sandwiches from an ice chest left for us in the car.

  The restaurant was small and old. It seemed to have had more than one owner in the past because the sign supports were too big for the current sign. The restaurant was called Aunt Myrtle's Diner. We got out of the car and entered the restaurant. I held the door for Toni, and she walked in ahead of me. I thought she would choose a table. Instead, she walked straight through the dining room into the kitchen. I followed her. In the kitchen she turned to me and said, "Don't worry, this place is safe."

  Apparently, Aunt Myrtle was a 6'6", 360-pound guy. He hugged Toni warmly and shook my hand. "Everything is set up and ready to go. There are changes of clothes and hats for both of you in my office, and here is your new ID.”

  My new ID said I was a retired cop. Myrtle reached into his pocket and pulled out a 9 mm Beretta. Looking at me, he said, "Give me your pistol and take this one. You will get yours back later. Cops, even retired cops, don't carry Brownings.”

  I shrugged, removed my Browning from my waistband and handed it to him. He handed me the Beretta, and I checked to see if a round was chambered, tucked it into the inside the waistband holster and dropped my shirt over it. Aunt Myrtle smiled and said, "Now don't use it unless you have to."

  Toni went into the office and came out looking entirely different. In fact, she looked about 10 years younger and had a different looking hairstyle. I guessed it was a wig. Aunt Myrtle laughed and said, "Now that's the girl I don't remember."

  I went into the office and found the set of clothes waiting for me. They were unlike the jeans and oxford shirt I would normally wear, but I figured that was good and put them on anyway. Just like the other set, they fit perfectly. I wondered again how these folks communicated so well without the government snoops knowing. I also picked up the hat, which looked like something out of a Raiders of the lost Ark movie, and joined Toni and Myrtle in the kitchen.

  Aunt Myrtle said, "Well, you look different too," he laughed. His laugh was deep and genuine, as was the smile on his face. "I think that's a good thing."

  Toni turned to me and said, "We are going to separate now, but I will see you at our destination.” She stepped over, stood on her toes and kissed me on the cheek. "Be careful now, you hear?” Then, she turned and determinedly walked out of the kitchen through the back door, only glancing back once. A couple of minutes later I heard a car start and drive out of the parking lot.

  Aunt Myrtle draped his huge arm across my shoulders. "Don't worry kiddo. You're going with me.” We waited in the kitchen for about two hours. I fell asleep on a stool until Aunt Myrtle woke me. We went out the back door into the parking lot and got into a rather unremarkable car. I was surprised that Aunt Myrtle fit inside, but he did, although I am sure not very comfortably. In the ensuing seven-hour drive, I got to know Aunt Myrtle a bit and discovered that I really liked him. He was almost as old as I, and was retired from the military. He laughed when he told me that and said, "I've gained a bit of weight since then."

  "So, tell me about the Myrtle moniker," I asked.

  "My real name is John," he said. "Same as you."

  "So, why don't you go by John?” I asked.

  "When I retired from the military, I was only 38 years old. I joined the Army at 18 and got out when I
had 20 years in service. I cast around for something to do for a month or so and ended up with a job as a dishwasher in the diner. There was a real Aunt Myrtle then. She was an odd old lady, to say the least, but I liked her, though few others seemed to. She was a loner, like me, and didn't have any family. When she died, I was cooking for the diner. She left me the place on the condition that I never change the name of the diner, so I didn't. The patrons started calling me Aunt Myrtle as a joke and it stuck. Now I answer to Aunt Myrtle, although I prefer just plain old Myrtle. Somehow, it suits my sense of perversity.” Myrtle smiled at me. "Besides, with my size, not many guys are willing to pick a fight about it. Too bad, I love a good fight."

  "Where are we going anyway, Myrtle?” I asked.

  "I can't tell you, John. OPSEC, you know," Myrtle replied.

  "I understand," I said. "I am just curious."

  "I would be too in your situation," Myrtle laughed. "Anyway, we are almost there."

  I looked around. We were in just about the last place I would suspect could provide a haven for these folks, but I had been surprised a number of times by them already. The piney woods flowing past the window looked different to me than what I was used to in Indiana. We were somewhere in the central part of the state of Mississippi. For the most part Mississippi looked like anywhere else in the US; the stores and restaurants were the same old chains in the towns we drove through, although the towns seemed a bit more spread out than in Indiana. Everywhere that I looked, there were mostly pine trees. Myrtle said that making paper was big here and most of the pine trees were grown to make paper.

  I guess I had always assumed that any underground resistance to the government would be located either in the American Redoubt (Wyoming, Idaho, and Eastern Washington), or at least in a state like Michigan, where militias are common.

  We drove for another hour and then stopped in the parking lot of the mall on Highway 98 (Hardy Street) in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Myrtle said, "Just leave your stuff in the car and follow me. Our stuff will be with us by tonight.” I followed Myrtle into the mall. We walked from one end of the mall to the middle and then sat down at a table in the food court.