by Ricky Sides
The next morning as the crew enjoyed their breakfast, Pol asked a question that changed the course of the future for the peacekeepers when he asked, “Do the peacekeepers need good body armor?”
“Indeed we do, my friend,” Pete said subconsciously adapting some of Pol’s flowery speaking mannerisms in an effort to be friendly with the man who always seemed so lonely. Then he asked, “Have you not seen the cemetery with the graves of our dead, Pol?”
“Indeed I have friend, Pete. It is a most sad place. Nevertheless, you have struck upon such a wonderful concept to have upon a man’s rock. ‘Some gave all.’ That is so very marvelous to have placed upon your rock to explain your slumber.”
Shaking his head and smiling, Tim said, “I swear, Pol, you are the only man I know who can make a person envy the dead. I love the way you talk,” Tim said sincerely.
Good-naturedly, Pol said, “Well, I thought perhaps you opted not to use battle armor. Not everyone likes the armor. Some special operations officers say that it slows men down and makes them dependant upon protection that can never be foolproof.”
“I can agree with that assessment at times, but there are other times when good battle armor would be really nice to have around,” Sergeant Wilcox said rubbing his chest and shoulder absently.
“Well, if you decide you want some, let me know. I know where you can get a large amount,” Pol said grinning.
“Is it good armor?” asked Pete with interest.
“My good friend who took me to see it thought highly of the armor, yes. It is light weight, good against most reasonable ammunition and flexible,” Pol said.
“Reasonable ammunition?” asked Pete.
“Yes, reasonable as in it will not stop a fifty caliber bullet,” Pol explained.
“Neither will most concrete walls,” Pete said.
“It will stop most handgun loads with the minimum protection. Add the fiber plates and it will stop most military rifle loads but not specialized heavy machinegun loads.”
“Well, as I see it, the lighter calibers exist by the million in America, but the really big bore fifty caliber and such exist in much lower quantities. Therefore, the odds of encountering those heavy-duty weapons are significantly less. So battle armor would be good even if it only saves half the men using it when they take direct hits,” Jim stated.
“Where is this armor, Pol?” Tim asked.
“There is a factory in Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri,” Pol explained. A place that does not exist, if you know what I mean,” the scientist said winking. “The factory was run strictly by military personnel who signed those quaint little non disclosure forms before they could work in that factory. They were working on the next generation battle armor there.”
“How did you happen to get a look inside the secret factory?” Pete asked.
“My good friend, the special ops team leader, took me to see it during one of the disaster delays. I was admitted because I had a security clearance higher than the rating required to enter the factory, due of course to my work on the prototype,” Pol explained. Then he winked and said, “You know my friends, the people working in that factory seemed disgruntled. I think they joined the army to get away from factory work and ironically, they were stationed in a secret factory. That struck me as oddly funny,” Pol said, admitting that he found humor in their discomfort.
“There must be a story here, because normally the military buys such equipment from private contractors,” Sergeant Wilcox observed.
“You are quite correct in that assumption, Sergeant,” Pol said nodding. “I made mention of that very thing to the special ops commander who took me to see the facility. He explained that this new technology belonged strictly to the military since its development involved no outside sources for the base armor. The carbon fiber plates were a different matter, but they could be bought independently and added to the soft armor as needed. There were many crates of such carbon fiber components on hand when I visited the facility. They opted to manufacture their own there as well as the soft armor. And the soft armor alone protects against most side arms.”
Jim turned to Tim and asked, “How long would it take us to get to Leonard Wood?”
“That’s better than an eight hour drive but at max speed we could reach the base in two and a half hours. Of course locating the facility is another thing. And if we go there, we really should return to the original hangar for the Peacekeeper. We may’ve left some things there that we can use as well,” Tim suggested.
“Anyone have pressing plans today?” Jim asked.
“Yeah, I want to go to Fort Leonard Wood,” Pete said grinning broadly.
By eleven that morning they had arrived at the base. They stopped by the old hangar first, and working together, they did salvage a few more components that Pol felt would be of use in the future maintenance of the ship, but for the most part, Tim and Patricia had been thorough when they’d taken the ship.
Next, they traveled north on the base to an aboveground building surrounded by an electrified fence that had electronic locking mechanisms. However, since there was no power the fence was not powered up, nor was the gate locked. No guards stood in the guard shack beside the gate. Even if the gate and fence had been secured properly against intruders, it would have been no hindrance to the peacekeepers, who simply flew over the fence, and landed near the entrance.
“Sergeant Wilcox, send in your team to examine the building,” Patricia prompted at Jim’s request while Tim lowered the cargo bay door.
Pol raised a questioning eyebrow at that move and Jim explained, “A formality only, but it keeps us from getting sloppy and the strike team needs the practice.”
“Ahh I see. I was afraid that you suspected I was leading you into a trap,” Pol said with a sad expression on his face. “That I would never do,” he finished.
“I trust you, Pol. Nevertheless, if the team doesn’t practice on the safe runs they’ll be stale on the dangerous trips. So we practice constantly.”
“I understand now, thank you for your trust,” Pol said simply.
Fifteen minutes later, the strike team returned and Sergeant Wilcox reported to the control cabin. “Sir, we did see several crates with carbon fiber components, but we could locate no soft armor at all.”
“Did you see battle dress uniforms inside, Sergeant?” Pol asked.
“Yes indeed, sir. Must be thousands of those inside, but no soft body armor,” the sergeant explained.
“My dear, Sergeant, the battle dress uniforms are the soft armor,” Pol said laughing and then he apologized for not clarifying that matter earlier, but he had wanted to surprise them.
“Sergeant, assign a guard detail for the ship. Patricia, warn the men the door is closing in the cargo bay. Tim, give them a moment to clear the door, and then secure that hatch. I want all officers inside to examine the facility. Sergeant, you are with us, so assign good men to guard the ship. No one is to open the door unless it is to let us back inside. I want rifles and side arms all around,” he ordered at the end.
Ten minutes later, they were inside the facility. The upper portions of the sides of the factory complex were made of a white translucent fiberglass material that admitted sunlight. There were also domed skylights interspersed in the ceiling, so the place was illuminated enough for them to see, though it did tend toward the dim. “There is so much here!” exclaimed Patricia. “It would take us a hundred trips to move all of this!”
“We do have a fleet of peacekeeper tractor trailer rigs now,” Jim stated. “And you’re right. It might well take a hundred trips, even for them,” he said as he stared down the length of the room of the factory complex in which they were standing. It was easily the size of a football field, and it was filled with storage shelves upon which sat skids loaded with boxes of the BDU soft body armor. There were four large boxes per skid and the boxes had been wrapped in plastic to stabilize the loads. The shelves each had four racks and each rack held three skids. All of the racks appeare
d to be loaded.
“Looks like they were gearing up for the complete replacement of all battle dress uniforms,” Pete observed.
“Indeed my friend, they were,” Pol said seriously. “A monumental task but one they thought they could accomplish in a few weeks when they were ready to begin.”
“All right, Pol, give us the same tour that the man gave you, and please explain how these uniforms work,” Jim ordered.
“It will be my pleasure, my friend. But to do this we must start at the beginning, for we have skipped to the end of the tour,” Pol explained apologetically.
Laughing, Jim said, “Please lead the way, Pol.”
Pol led the way back through the factory to the other side of the facility. Here, spools of a special thread were loaded onto massive looms. “Please take a moment to examine the weave,” Pol suggested and he passed out the samples he picked up from a display table near the machinery.
“It looks normal enough to me,” Pete said.
“These are the normal fabrics my friend. Please note the density of the weave,” Pol explained. Next, he picked up the other stack of samples and passed those out as well. “Now examine these if you please,” he requested.
“The weave in these seems to be much denser,” Maggie observed.
“It is indeed good, Doctor,” Pol said grinning. “The thread is a special carbon fiber thread. It is very strong and resists cuts and tearing once it is woven tightly in this manner.”
Pol noted that everyone seemed to have gotten the point, so he said, “If you would be so kind as to deposit your samples in the correct stacks, we will proceed with the tour.”
“You make an excellent tour guide, Pol,” Patricia said laughing.
“He’s probably hoping for a tip,” Tim said and laughed at the comical expression on Pol’s face as he affected a greedy look of hope. Then he turned serious once more and led the party to the other end of the loom.
“As you can see, the carbon threads are loaded into the loom at the other end and they proceed through the looming process, and a single sheet of fabric emerges here,” Pol explained.
“How do they make the camouflage pattern come out this way?” Tim asked.
“I asked my tour guide that very same question, my friend,” Pol admitted and he smiled and said, “I shall answer you as he answered me,” he said, pausing shortly for dramatic affect. “I have no earthly idea,” he said and laughed at Tim’s expression.
Turning to the rear end of the loom he said, “The newly woven fabric is drawn to this roller and attached to it. The roller then rolls the fabric until it reaches the desired size and a cutter is activated when the roller stops. Two men then lift the new roll of fabric and stack it over there,” he said and pointed to a heavy-duty plastic skid with stout aluminum side rails. The rolls of fabric were laid on the skid between the side rails, which prevented them from rolling off onto the floor of the factory. There were many skids stored in the five shelves nearby.
Leading the way into the next room, Pol pointed to modern computerized machines. The bolts of cloth were loaded onto one end and then they entered the large machine and a series of cutters cut the components of the uniforms in an efficient manner that created the least waste of material. At the other end of that machine, human stackers would snatch the cut component from the conveyor belt and stack them neatly on a skid. The stackers worked both sides of the line and each took a separate component. There were two stackers on each side as four components were cut at any given time.
Next, Pol led them to the sewing assembly area. “Here, a band of lovely young women labored diligently with these sewing machines to sew together the components. Please note that the thread they are using to join the components is also carbon fiber,” Pol pointed out. “As the women completed a section, it was added to the conveyor belt that runs between the stations. When the woman at the next station was ready for the next stage, she would press a foot pedal and the conveyor would activate carrying her next piece to her. The young women worked quite rapidly. When I was here, the line was moving almost nonstop,” Pol said.
Moving down to the end of the sewing machine section, he stopped at a table on one side of the line, opposite another on the other side of the line. “These two stations are quality stations,” Pol explained. “Here, an inspector checked seams for strength, and at random inserted the carbon plate inserts to ensure correct fitting.”
Picking up a pair of pants on the line he reached down to a stack of carbon fiber thigh guards grabbing one and shifting it to the hand that was holding the waistband of the pants. Next, he ran his free hand down the waist of the pants into the pant leg, deftly turning one leg inside out. He slid the insert into the thigh pocket that was sewn into the leg and grunted with satisfaction. “A good fit, yes?” he asked.
“My god, that’s like a football uniform thigh pad being inserted into the uniform pants!” Tim said in amazement. “What a novel approach.”
“Wish I’d had that when I fought the tiger,” Bill Young said in a deadpan voice.
“So do I!” Maggie concurred. “That might have prevented the majority of your most serious injuries.”
“There are also shin guards, side panels, a chest, and back plate, but those could not be realistically worked in as inserts and must be slipped on underneath the uniform. The idea was to conceal the armor so that the enemy does not automatically target the wearer’s face,” Pol said frowning, and he added, “That is a major drawback to wearing body armor, is it not?”
“Yes it is,” concurred Pete, and then he said, “You mentioned crates of the carbon fiber plates?”
“Ah, yes, friend, indeed I did. Please follow me,” Pol said, and then he led them through the factory into a section they had not yet visited.
“We’re coming up on the maintenance area,” Sergeant Wilcox said. “Just wait till you see the forklift fleet they have here,” he added grinning.
Pol paused in the maintenance department so that the rest of the party could examine the many forklifts arranged in a neat row beside the wall. There were twenty assembled in good to great condition from the looks of them.
Moving on, Pol entered another department where the carbon fiber body armor components were manufactured. “Here, skilled technicians operated the automated machinery. Raw material goes in one end and is extruded from the other in the form of hot malleable sheets, which are then run through presses and then the units are cured in ovens to change their molecular structure. This part of the process is fairly complex,” he said apologetically. “But as you can see, several different work stations are involved,” he added pointing all around the large room.
Leading the way once more, he entered another room where items were stored. In this case, it was the completed body armor carbon fiber plates.
“Oh My God!” Pol exclaimed, and then he explained, “When I was last here, there wasn’t nearly this amount of stock stored here. There were only a few crates at that time.”
“Well in the weeks that followed, they must have been running the factory nonstop in an effort to catch up then, because it sure looks packed now!” Patricia exclaimed.
“I’d like to see samples of the rest of the components,” Pete said in excitement.
They all wanted to see the samples at once, so Pol said, “All right, my friends. Am I the only member of this party who feels as if it is Christmas?”
“I’m with you there, Pol!” Sergeant Wilcox stated emphatically.
The boxes were labeled, which facilitated the examination of the armor pieces. “The female chest armor has breasts!” one of the women exclaimed causing some of the men to laugh.
“The men’s armor has abdominal muscles,” Tim said laughing.
“As if that would fit you then,” Pete said smirking and causing Tim to laugh and point at Pete’s own stomach.
“I’d look like a Roman gladiator in this getup,” Bill said grinning. “I’m glad you wear it under the uniform. I’d feel like a n
ut wearing this if others could see what it looks like.”
“They are much lighter than you’d think,” Sergeant Wilcox observed.
“There is one more thing that you should consider,” Pol said, “There are also winter coats made from the same bullet resistant fabric. And when worn in layers the protection is considerably stronger.”
“I’m sold. I’ll buy a whole set. Hell, I’ll buy a dozen,” Sergeant Wilcox said with such enthusiasm that the others laughed.
“There is one more thing that you should see,” Pol said in a neutral tone of voice. He led them through the facility and turned into an area near the maintenance department that they had not yet visited. They came to a heavy steel door and he opened it.
They entered a test room that was sealed away from the rest of the facility. The light in this room was too dim, but Jim saw a bay door to the left where supplies for the target range were delivered. He went to the door and found a manual chain that could be used to open it, and then he unlocked the door and raised it. Turning back to the room once more, he was impressed by what he saw. He saw a series of dummies made from some soft ballistics like substance that simulated human flesh. Walking over to the dummies, he saw a stack of clothing. “Maggie, you will be our test judge,” he instructed. “Please examine the test dummy for damage before we suit him up for a demonstration.”
Maggie did so, and with a marker she took from her pocket, she circled each wound that she located. Next, the team struggled to dress the dummies. Tim caused them all to laugh when in frustration at the difficulty of dressing the dummy he punched it in the side and said, “Now I know why they call you dummy!”
It was difficult, but soon they had the dummy dressed in the soft armor. Sergeant Wilcox radioed the security team in the ship that they were about to fire several test rounds and added that he would alert them when the test was complete. Pete took his sidearm and suggested everyone get well to the rear and when everyone was clear, he fired several rounds at the test dummy. Sergeant Wilcox radioed that the test firing was over for the moment, and then he helped to disrobe the dummy. The man wearing the uniform would have been severely bruised in seven places but no bullets penetrated the soft armor.