by TW Powell
Pre-Revolution, life on the Rez was tough. Alcoholism, drug addiction, unemployment, and crime had always been problems. Post-Revolution, life on the Rez was abysmal. The casinos closed, as did the smoke shops. The Federal subsidies disappeared. While The Collective elevated the idea of the Noble Redman to near sainthood status, the most native of all Americans were left to starve.
The Collective did send a steady stream of arms, propaganda, and agitators into The Nations, but no food, nor medicine. By Summer 2026, a full-blown race war erupted in Oklahoma that pitted Native Americans vs. everyone else. Once again, the Indians lost. This time, there were no relocations. For the next several months, The Peoples’ News Network featured nightly reports documenting the Native American genocide in Oklahoma and spinning the coverage to suit their narrative. The Collective always made sure that no crisis went to waste.
By 4 a.m. Adam and John were approaching the Corn Creek Southern Paiute Reservation.
“Adam, I don’t see any lights at all.”
“Mr. John, there aren’t any Rez Dogs barking. There should be some dogs nipping at our heels this close to the Rez.”
John just shook his head in disbelief, “Something isn’t right, but we can’t worry about that just now.”
By dawn, John had to admit that Adam was a damned good Marine, “Son, you just marched 32 miles in 8 hours. That’s pretty good for a Jarhead.”
Adam snickered and replied, “That’s quite a compliment coming from an Army puke.”
Team #1 had arrived at Thule Springs. They grabbed the supplies that Delvin had prepositioned under the footbridge, then made for a nearby clump of mesquite, palo verde, and the ever-invasive athels. A good soaking from spring water poured over their heads quickly cooled them both down. Granola bars, apple juice, and elk jerky made a fine breakfast.
John spread out his bedroll to relax, “We’ll camp out here in the shade today and make our way over to Nellis after midnight.”
The Caper
The scheduled motor coach service between downtown Louisville and Elizabethtown was stuck in a major traffic jam on US 31W at West Point, Kentucky. The driver had no explanation why traffic would be all snarled up at 12:25 a.m. This was something that happened back in the real world, but not in the Peoples’ United States.
225 yards south of the stranded motor coach, the 1st Kentucky Volunteers had cut Dixie Highway. Traffic was halted at gunpoint and occupants were ordered out of their vehicles and instructed to move north on the Dixie at a steady walk. No need to run. The vehicles were then positioned and disabled, forming an impenetrable wall of junkers.
5 minutes after the motor coach came to a screeching halt up in West Point, 3rd Battalion of 1st Brigade of the 2nd Kentucky cut the Dixie approximately one mile south of the Depository near the entrance to the now desecrated Kentucky Veteran’s Cemetery. Suffice it to say, upon seeing the vandalized cemetery, 3rd Battalion interdicted the Dixie with extreme prejudice.
15 minutes later, 1st & 2nd Battalions stormed out of the tree line directly across Dixie Highway from the Depository. Two M72 LAWS rockets took out the two guard shacks and the gate out on Bullion Boulevard. That was followed, in rapid succession, by LAWS rocket impacts on the four other gates blocking the main entrance. Finally, two LAWS rockets took out the two pill boxes at the innermost gate.
Before the smoke had even begun to clear, a Super Huey swooped in at treetop level. Butcher and Flipper rappelled down onto the Depository roof. They dropped satchel charges down on top of the four corner strongpoints, blowing them to kingdom come. The two snipers then took up concealed positions on the Depository rooftop.
As that smoke began to clear, the Super Huey came in for a landing on the concrete driveway out front of the Depository. Two Militia guards armed with AK-47s appeared from out of nowhere and targeted Jo, Blaster, The Keeper, and Katz as the exited the Huey. Before the Militia could fire, Flipper and Butcher took them both out with their .50 caliber sniper rifles equipped with thermal imaging scopes.
Jo flashed her two rooftop snipers a big thumbs up as she and Katz escorted Blaster to the Depository entrance.
After setting the shaped charges, Blaster blew the main front doors. The charges were set to actually blow a hole through the heavy steel doors.
As Jo jumped through the hole into the Depository, Blaster warned, “Watch those edges, they’re red hot.”
Katz followed Jo into the Depository. They both scanned the interior. It was clear.
“Blaster, Keeper, get your asses in here.”
“OK Keeper, what’s the time?”
“12:58 a.m. Josephine.”
The next two minutes seemed like an eternity as Jo checked and rechecked the interior of the Depository building for hostiles. At 12:59 all hell broke loose out on Bullion Boulevard. Katz peered out through the hole in the front door.
“Talk to me Katz.”
Katz replied in his Queens accent, “We’ve got one fucking nasty firefight in progress out there on Bullion Boulevard.”
The Keeper was at one of the two keypads on the wall adjacent to the Vault door. Jo’s watch clicked over to 0100 hours. Nothing happened. The gunfire out on Bullion Boulevard was growing more intense.
“Keeper, you silly son-of-a-bitch, don’t tell me you fucked up.”
No sooner than Jo spoke, a soothing tone issued from the PA system throughout the Depository.
As The Keeper initiated the Secondary Protocol he yelled out, “Stand clear of the vault door!”
The tone emanating from the PA system suddenly change to a loud warning signal, sort of like the backup signal on a garbage truck.
Jo couldn’t really believe it herself, “Jesus Christ Almighty!”
The 21-ton steel vault door opened wide and the interior of The Vault was bathed in bright floodlights.
The Keeper whispered in Jo’s ear, then pointed at a small crypt over in the far corner of the lower floor. The hardened steel barred door resembled a prison cell door.
“OK Blaster, blow that puppy, then set your charges.”
Unknown to either the Kentucky Volunteers or Jo, several hundred Peoples’ Militia based at Fort Knox were now alerted and making their way to the Depository.
“Stand back!” Blaster blew the prison door with a small charge of plastique.
The crypt was the only dark spot in The Vault. The Keeper pulled a flashlight from his backpack and peered into the crypt. There, in the rear of the crypt, sat the wooden crate bearing the radiological hazard warnings, right where he placed it 15 years earlier.
As Blaster set a series of charges around The Vault, The Keeper and Jo both pulled prybars from their packs and began tearing apart the wooden crate.
“Hey Katz, give us a hand.”
Jo and Katz each carried one of the three cases out of the Depository, the cases’ protective glass still obscured with black paint. They couldn’t help but see and hear the battle now raging around the east and south sides of the Depository complex. Apache had Huey’s rotors turning, ready to bug out at a moment’s notice.
Jo then heard the distinctive pops and saw the muzzle flashes as Butcher and Flipper fired their .50 caliber sniper rifles from the Depository rooftop in support of the 2nd Kentucky out on Bullion Boulevard. Finally, The Keeper and Blaster emerged from the Depository. The Keeper was carrying the third and final case.
“Take her up Apache and circle the yard, low and slow.”
As the Huey slowly circled the Depository, Blaster was busy dropping satchel charges amongst the mountains of steel drums full of DU stacked around the Depository yard.
Jo slid into the pilot’s seat, “Are we clear. Blaster?”
“Clear!”
Jo hovered just above the Depository roof long enough for Flipper and Butcher to grab onto the rope ladder hanging down from the Huey. She did not wait for them to finish their climb. The Super Huey slowly headed west at treetop level. Apache fired a green fare out into the sky over the Depository. It was prec
isely 1:24 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time.
The two Battalions of Volunteers around the Depository and the third Battalion blocking Dixie Highway a mile south of the Depository began a westward fighting retreat. 6 minutes later, The Vault, Depository, and the surrounding grounds erupted in scores of nearly simultaneous explosions. Blaster’s charges down in The Vault blew the HEU toward the center of The Vault as planned and produced intense heat. His goal was to concentrate and, if possible, form a large solid mass of HEU in the bottom of The Vault, a critical mass of HEU.
Jo, let out a loud, “Yee-haw! I can’t believe we did it!”
Yes, they had The Charters. The Huey was fleeing the scene westward, crossing Dixie Highway at treetop level. Flipper climbed onboard the chopper with Butcher close behind him. Butcher had just reached the top rung of the rope ladder when a 7.62 mm round struck her in the head. She fell from the ladder, down onto Dixie Highway, dead before she ever hit the pavement.
Team #2
Just after dark, Team #2 carefully skirted the thermal solar plants to their west then proceeded toward Clark Mountain which overlooked the Mountain Pass facility.
One of the advantages of a thermal solar plant is its ability to store heat from the sun in a large reservoir of heat exchange media. That heat can be used to produce steam and power a turbine generator, thereby producing electricity at night. Photovoltaic systems only produce current when the sun is shining. Neither of these systems require many employees, but maintenance and security personnel are omnipresent.
After the Jacksons crossed 6 miles of relatively flat desert, known as Antimony Gulch, they followed a dry wash that headed due west up into Clark Mountain. Once at Clark Mountain, Team #2 spotted another dry wash that led southward from Clark Mountain down to the Mountain Pass complex. This wash was slightly over a half mile wide and ran about two miles from the mountain down to the mine.
“Tommy let’s just camp up here tonight. This is a perfect spot to launch Puma and have her reconnoiter the entire Mountain Pass complex and these wide washes. Look down there at the mine. It doesn’t take Puma’s eyes to see the lights on those dozers and haul trucks stockpiling ore. Isn’t it midnight?”
“Not quite yet, Dad. More like a quarter of.”
“Take the binoculars. Look over there at the mill and processing plant. There’s a lot of construction going on. I betcha they’re working 24/7. That night crew is sure lucky. They don’t have to deal with the heat and that infernal sun.”
Thomas and Tommy sacked out and set an alarm for 4:30 a.m.
The Jacksons were up at first light and Tommy prepped Puma. The slight breeze blowing up out of the Sonoran Desert felt like a hair dryer. Tom turned into the wind and heaved Puma aloft.
“Take her up to about 5,000 feet above the complex. Let’s get some panorama footage showing the entire area.”
“Gotcha Dad. Taking her up and spreading her eyes wide open.”
Tom was now watching and recording Puma’s feed on his laptop.
“Look at that, son. This wash heading south is just one branch. There’s another branch heading due west and it’s also over a half mile wide.”
“Yeah, it goes about 3 miles to the west, then empties out into the desert.”
“A large, mounted force could move up that wash from the west, dismount up here, then attack the complex from the north. I bet all their security is focused down on I-15, to the south.”
“Now take her down to about 1,000 and take a good look at the mine and the stockpiles.”
“Zoom in on that pond. That’s it. Zero in on that equipment.”
“Damn Dad, that’s a pump. There’s a well down there feeding that pond.”
“Yeah, that’s their fresh water source. They probably recycle most of their water. Helps increase product recovery and conserves water.”
“Let’s get some detailed video of the process. Take her down to 500. Man, that’s a large and complex process and they’re expanding.” Puma loitered over the process for several minutes.
“The rail line between Vegas and LA runs several miles south of Mountain Pass. I don’t see any coal stockpiles. They’re probably using natural gas as the primary fuel for drying and roasting. I think a natural gas pipeline runs along I-15.”
“Can’t they use the electricity, or the sun, for roasting and drying?”
“Only in The Collective’s environmental dreams, son. When you need a serious, economical heat source, you gotta burn something, usually natural gas or coal. Now, I’m not saying this desert sun can’t be put to good use, just not roasting.”
“Dad, some of those busses from Primm are arriving and unloading workers.”
“That confirms that the slave labor force is housed over at Primm.”
“Tommy, do you see anyplace around here that could sustain 2,000 horses.”
“There’s no grass anywhere.”
“Make a note of that. The Mormons’ horses will need to be pastured over in Sandy Valley and up around Tecopa.”
As Puma continued to survey Mountain Pass, Tom started thinking out loud, “Okay Tommy, suppose you were making widgets right down there and wanted to ship them to Japan. How would you do it?”
“Well, I couldn’t fly them out. The Collective controls the airports. They also control all the California seaports.”
“You’re right, you would need an alternate port. The Colorado river lies 50 miles due east of here. I’ve heard the Arizona Rangers control every mile of that river from Searchlight, Nevada down to Yuma, Arizona. NV 164 runs directly from here over through Searchlight, then terminates at Cottonwood Cove, right on the Colorado River.
“There’s good highways and considerable navigable water from Cottonwood Cove, down through Arizona, all the way to old Mexico and the Gulf of California, or as our Mexican amigos say, the Sea of Cortez.
“Suppose the widgets you make at Mountain Pass are special widgets. A little bit goes a long way.”
“Dad, sounds to me like we need to make a deal with some Mexican widget brokers.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve been hanging around with Captain Smith just a little too much.”
After completing the reconnoiter, Tommy brought Puma 2 in for another perfect deep-stall landing.
Thomas clapped his hands in approval, “Beautiful crash Private Jackson.”
Thomas wasn’t the only one admiring Puma’s performance. Inspector James Wu had arrived at Mountain Pass earlier that morning. He planned on walking through the rare earth separation and purification circuits before the summer heat became oppressive. As he worked his way through a maze of pipes and storage tanks, he kept hearing a slight buzz. Maybe it was a bee, or a wasp. James was very allergic to stings. Luckily, his sense of hearing rivaled that of Adam Jackson, allowing him to avoid most stings.
“Where in the hell is that bee?” James was eager to avoid a hospital visit, or worse.
Out of shear frustration, James cast his eyes straight up and caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He continued scanning the sky and thought he saw more movement. Then he ran back to his car and brought out a pair of polarized binoculars.
“Holy shit, what do we have here?” James quickly hid amongst the pipes and tanks and followed Puma through his binoculars.
“That’s a recon drone. Where are the operators?” James knew his business. He followed Puma through his binoculars until she completed her mission. James was now looking due north, up toward Clark Mountain. He saw two figures dressed in desert camo and bush hats, up amongst the boulders, in the foothills.
“So, there you are, but who are you?”
James watched as the two figures hunkered down amongst the rocks. Then covered up for the day.
“You don’t like this inferno either. That’s OK. I’m in no hurry.”
James made his way back to the CSS Field Office in the Mountain Pass Administration Building.
“Let’s see, what will I need? Boots, hat, camo fatigues, plenty of water. Be
tter pack a sidearm, just in case. Pencil and sketchpad? Yeah. Topo map? For sure! Thermal scope? Nah, too many hot rocks all about. Night vision, yeah, that’s the ticket. Parabolic microphone, certainly. Oh yeah, toilet paper, don’t forget the toilet paper.”
James turned the AC up on high and settled down on the couch for a nice, cool, nap.
Inspector Wu was not an outdoorsman. He was a city boy detective of sorts. Today, James Wu was not working for the People’s Republic. He was working for the Wu family. Knowledge is power and James would use all the power at his disposal to save his family.
By early afternoon, James was wide awake. He inconspicuously made his way outside and checked out his new friends bivouacked up there amongst the rocks.
“Yeah, they’re waiting for sundown. They’re still hunkered down under that camo tarp.”
Over the next few hours, James periodically checked his quarry. As the sun started dipping below the mountains, James packed up and waited.
“They’re packing up. OK James, you can do this. They’re heading due east.”
James began hiking up a wide and seldom used dirt road that ran northeast, up over the mountains and across Antimony Gulch. He made excellent time along the road, much faster than the Jacksons could hike through the Clark Mountain foothills. On his topological map, James saw the wide wash that began in the mountains to his west and emptied out onto Antimony Gulch.
“They’re going to come down along this wash. I’ll just wait for them right here.”
Inspector Wu hunkered down in a gulley amongst some creosote bushes and waited. He didn’t have to wait very long. 10 minutes later, Thomas Jackson and son casually hiked down the wash out onto Antimony Gulch. They were clearly visible in James’ night scope. As they drew closer, James could hear their conversation using the parabolic mike.