CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The rest of Monday morning passed slowly. The men were restless and anxious for some sort of retaliation. Captain Horn spent long periods on the satellite phone without sharing any of his discussions with the rest of us. About noon, four National Guard trucks arrived. One of them pulled a trailer with eight portable potties. Ten men in uniforms began to unload the trucks. They set up a large canvas tent and began putting concertina wire around the perimeter of the staging area. Several of the deputies asked the men questions, but they claimed to know nothing about what was going on except for their orders to set up a camp and prepare lunch. After the canvas tent was up, three men unfolded tables and chairs and began to distribute foil packets of food. I was famished. I decided that military meals have improved since my days in the service, but maybe that was just my hunger distorting my appetite.
At 3:00, the Guardsmen got back in their trucks and drove away leaving their tent and other equipment. Captain Horn still had not discussed his plans with anyone. At 4:15 a Phoenix police car arrived with two officers dressed in black swat gear. They carried rifles with scopes and looked like they were very competent at using them. They reported to Captain Horn, and after what looked like a heated discussion, they walked out to the highest nearby promontory and began looking at the compound through the FBI’s spotting scope.
After his discussion with the police snipers, Captain Horn asked me to join him in a walk around the newly established barbed wire perimeter. When we were several hundred yards from any of the other men, Captain Horn said, “I can’t escape the damn politics even up here, even in an emergency. The governor wants to use the National Guard, but Washington is saying no. Logistical support is all that we’ll get for now. It would be so easy with air support, but that’s just not going to happen. You volunteered to be on one of the teams that will neutralize the bunkers. Mike, I’d like you to be in charge of that effort, but you don’t need to go personally.”
“I’m going in,” I said. “I’m not willing to plan a mission that I don’t participate in.”
“I expected you to say that. It’s your call. We have night vision equipment and the Phoenix PD guys can cover your men as they approach and after the action. Do you think you can take the machine guns out without losing any more of our men?”
I thought it over for a few seconds and answered, “We can take them out, but I can’t promise that there won’t be casualties. If we succeed in surprising them, the odds are in our favor. What equipment did the National Guard provide?”
“We have ten sets of night vision goggles, eight white phosphorous grenades, and two dozen military-strength tear gas grenades,” he said. “I’ve agreed to use the tear gas to drive the gunmen out of the bunkers before we toss the white phosphorous grenades in to destroy the machine guns. If we’re very lucky, there will be no loss of life on either side.”
“Good plan. If we can do it without killing any of them, it will leave us with a better chance of negotiating an end to this. Can I pick the men for this action?” I asked.
“Certainly Mike. Thanks for taking on this job,” he said reaching out a hand to shake. “I assume you’ll find men with some military experience. I’ll leave things in your hands. Be very careful about who you tell about our plan. There have been a number of leaks to the press. Those news people get off on making us look like fools. The gunmen on the inside may have access to short wave radios or other methods of getting the news. If they know we’re coming, it will be a disaster.”
I didn’t explain to Captain Horn, but I wasn’t looking for seven men with military experience to go in with me. I was looking for the seven most levelheaded officers I could find. The last thing I wanted was some hotshot who wanted revenge for the four dead deputies and ten burned men from last night. The only way this siege could end without a great many casualties was through negotiations.
As we returned to the staging area, all eyes seemed to be on me. The men had figured out that I was going to be a part of whatever was going to happen next.
Chad walked up and said, “Well? Out with it.”
“The captain has asked me to plan and lead tonight’s action. Let’s go for a walk.”
We walked outside the encampment, and I told Chad of the plan. Of course, he would be my teammate in taking out one of the bunkers, but I also wanted his opinion on who else should participate. We spent the next hour selecting the men and planning for our infiltration.
About 5:30, Rose called “Mike you may have already guessed it. The Cottonwood Police established that Reggie’s hunting rifle fired the round that was recovered from that Mexican restaurant. It was definitely the gun used in the attempt on your life.”
“Thanks Rose. Any news on our wounded deputies?” I asked.
“The three men who were taken to Phoenix this morning are in serious but not in critical condition. Steven Bradley is getting out tomorrow. He says he’ll be in the office by noon. He won’t take any time off because we’re so short handed with everyone up there. His right arm will be in a sling and it may take a year of physical therapy to recover full use of it.”
“I hope you can get that mess over with soon. There are a dozen calls that we haven’t been able to respond to. The Sedona Police are helping cover things.”
There was a note of scolding in her voice. I’m sure the whole state was tired of this embarrassment by now. I was skeptical that tonight’s action would change things, but I didn’t have any better ideas except waiting to see if Linda could get the ranch residents to even talk with us. I was glad that I’d been asked to lead tonight’s action rather than someone who was out for blood.
I went looking for Allen Peabody before it got dark. He was in his car listening to the phone that was eavesdropping on the compound. As I approached he waved me inside. “Mike, the talk is that you’re leading some sort of retaliation attack tonight. Please tell me that’s bogus.”
“That’s bogus,” I said.
After pausing in the hope that I’d say more, Allen said, “If you want my help, I want to know what’s going on. It will be just between the two of us, but Linda is in that compound. I want to know that you guys aren’t planning something crazy.”
“Tear gas into the bunkers, a few minutes later we toss in white phosphorous grenades to destroy the machine guns and their ammunition. Then we withdraw to see if that will encourage some sort of dialogue with the residents. The only way to avoid this will be if Linda can get them talking in the next couple of hours,” I said. “What can you tell me about their defenses?”
“She doesn’t think they have night vision equipment. However, they are used to doing without lights at night. Some of them have extraordinary night vision. That was demonstrated last night when they infiltrated to within a hundred feet of our camp without being seen. They may have some sort of hidden tunnel to the outside. Linda is certain that the main door wasn’t opened after last night’s Molotov cocktail attack. She’s in the house next to the door. The firebombs woke her, and she could have heard the main door open and close for the returning attackers.”
“Was she able to count the number of armed men in the compound?” I asked.
“Bad news Mike. Linda thinks that there are more residents than we estimated, maybe nearly a hundred. They may have relocated to the compound from small cabins located on other parts of the ranch. All the women and even boys and girls of eight or ten are carrying rifles. The whole place is armed, and they act like they know how to use their weapons. Linda thinks they teach the young boys to hunt at a very early age. They supplement their diet with a lot of deer, elk, and small game. She reported that Howard was surprised that we didn’t break camp and leave after last night’s action. He seems to think we’d behave like BLM or Forest Service rangers and withdraw when confronted with armed resistance.”
“Good God, doesn’t he know that they killed four sheriff’s deputies two days ago? How could he think we’d just withdraw?” I asked.
&nb
sp; “Howard hasn’t mentioned the killings in Linda’s presence. She’s not sure what the residents know. Linda explained that Howard Gordon is a man in his seventies who has spent his whole life on this ranch. He has four wives and seventeen living children. Most of the residents are related to him. He’s the patriarch, the head of a clan, and he knows that God is on their side.”
“Is there any hope that they’ll begin to talk to us soon? Is Linda actually making any progress?” I asked.
“Maybe in a few days, but it’s not going to happen tonight. She hasn’t been able to even talk with Howard today,” he said, closing off my last hope of postponing the attack.
After my discussion with Allen, I went to find the two Phoenix Police sharpshooters. The three of us went for a walk in the twilight, and I told them of the latest news. “We’re in touch with someone inside the compound who says that the residents have armed kids as young as eight.”
“I have a son that’s eight,” the young blond officer said.
“We’re not going to kill kids, even if they’re shooting at us. Can you men tell the difference in the dark,” I said.
“Our night vision equipment is very good, but I’m not sure,” said the older man.
“We can tell,” said the blond.
“I’m counting on you to save us if thing go badly wrong, but I don’t want you killing kids. Do you understand your role?” I asked. We had covered their role earlier, but I wanted to make sure.
“We won’t fire our weapons unless we need to save a lawman’s life. You were very clear Lieutenant Damson,” said the older man.
“No kids,” said the blond man.
“You should be in place on opposite sides of the compound by midnight. We’ll start our infiltration so that we can reach the bunkers by 12:55. I’ve decided to add something to the plan. We’ll toss stun grenades into the compound along with the tear gas after throwing the tear gas into the bunkers. That should destroy the night vision of anyone in the compound and make our retreat in the dark easier. Remember to take off your night vision equipment and cover your eyes at exactly 1:00. OK?”
“We understand,” they said. “Exactly at 1:00.”
I was restless but ready for action as we waited for midnight. I didn’t try and sleep. Chad and I discussed the upcoming action, and I told him about my no shooting kids rule.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The Phoenix police snipers moved to their position at midnight. The four teams began their infiltration at various times depending on the length of their journeys. Chad and I were the last to leave the staging area because we were taking out the closest bunker. Both of us were dressed in bulletproof vests under black coveralls. We wore black ski masks and carried M-16A2’s furnished by the National Guard and our collection of grenades. Our hands and faces were darkened with carbon black.
I had spent an hour making certain that each man understood the order in which the grenades were to be used and the exact time to allow between each throw. We counted between throws so that we wouldn’t need to check watches after the 1:00 start time. After six trial runs, the timing was perfect. We also practiced in the dark, using only our night vision goggles to find our way through the rough terrain. Each man knew how close he could get before needing to crawl the final distance to the bunkers.
It was a cold night without a trace of moonlight to give away our positions. I was glad for the cold because it eliminated the risk of finding scorpions and snakes as we crawled the final hundred yards. Chad is very athletic and moved easily along the dry ravine that let us approach in a low crouch to within a hundred yards of the compound. My back ached from the awkward position of sleeping in a car, and my ribs ached from my run-in with Bridger Johnson the previous week. I was sorry that my hot tub wasn’t available for use after the night’s exercise. I’d been three decades younger the last time I did anything like this.
As we moved along the ravine, it occurred to me that it was probably the same route that the residents of the ranch had used to reach our camp with their Molotov cocktails the previous night. As we neared the compound, we left the shelter of the ravine and began our crawl. I checked my watch and found that we were about fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. I signaled for Chad to hold up for ten minutes. I didn’t want to spend any longer than necessary huddled immediately below the bunker. We both moved into the darker shadows of nearby trees to wait.
As I crawled under a juniper, my hand felt wood with a texture as if it was covered with sandpaper. I explored the feature with my hands until I established that it was a two-foot square slab of wood that had been painted. Sand had been applied while the paint was still wet to camouflage what was probably a trap door. As I fumbled to raise it slightly, I discovered that one edge was hinged. This was probably the route that last night’s infiltrators had used to return to the compound. Linda had reported that they hadn’t needed to open the main gate to allow the attackers back into the compound. I made careful note of where I was in relation to our camp and to the compound wall so that I could find the door again.
The crawl was unpleasant, and my hands were cut and raw in spite of my gloves by the time we reached the base of the bunker. I heard two voices through the narrow opening. It sounded like a mature man talking with a boy. I could see the M-60 machine gun’s barrel protruding from the bunker’s aperture against the starry sky. We were ready for the 1:00 start of our action.
We took off our night vision goggles and put on our gas masks for the attack. Exactly at 1:00 my watch beeped softly. I heard two simultaneous clicks as Chad and I prepared the tear gas. We reached up and tossed the canisters into the bunker. We tossed additional tear gas canisters over the nearby walls, followed quickly by stun grenades. The stun grenades illuminated the area with a searing light even though we’d both closed our eyes and covered our masks with our hands. Anyone in the area would be suffering from the tear gas and temporarily blinded by the flash. The first steps had taken only seconds.
After a sixty-second wait, we threw our white phosphorous grenades into the bunker and immediately crawled away into the darkness to move out of the tear gas. After the intense flashes of the grenades, we heard secondary explosions as the machine gun rounds began to fire from the intense fire. We moved quickly away from the bunker, afraid that the light from the bunker fire would reveal our position to anyone on the walls who’d not been disoriented by the flashes and tear gas. We waited in the darkness for five minutes, then removed our gas masks and put on our night vision goggles. We crawled back to the ravine. We’d accomplished our objective without a shot being fired, and I hoped that the other teams had been as successful.
When we finished the crawling portion of our trip back to the staging area, my adrenaline-fed energy was exhausted. Two nights with almost no sleep and the action against the bunkers had left me numb and witless. My body continued on toward the staging area following two paces behind Chad, but my mind sputtered off like a generator that was out of gas.
When we climbed out of the ravine near the staging area, I glimpsed the Freedom First Ranch in the distance. My mind restarted briefly to process the incongruous display in the otherwise pitch-black night. White fires burned in the bunkers. There was the occasional retort of an exploding fifty caliber round. Old-fashioned Christmas lights had hastily been hung on the outside walls to allow the residents to see anyone approaching. My exhausted mind wasn’t certain if the compound looked like Christmas or the Fourth of July was being celebrated.
I soon found myself grasped in a hug and patted on the back by Captain Horn. The chatter of the other lawmen hardly penetrated my sleep-fogged mind. I wasn’t willing to find a bunk until the other teams returned to the staging area. After fifteen minutes, everyone was back. I found an empty cot in the tent the National Guard had set up. I was asleep before my body hit the canvas.
In my dream, I was in an all-you-can-eat breakfast restaurant with Margaret. The place was noisy with the clatter of hundreds of people enjoying thei
r breakfast. I’d stacked a plate with at least a pound of bacon, but Margaret was lecturing me about my cholesterol. She wanted me to eat a watery porridge instead. I opened my eyes and realized that I was on a cot in the mess tent where breakfast was being prepared. Chad and several deputies from the Sedona office were eating at a nearby table. I sat up.
“Morning Mike,” Chad said. “Everything worked perfectly last night. No one on either side was killed. Join us for breakfast.”
After a little clean up, I got a plate of bacon and eggs and joined them. “So what happened after I collapsed last night,” I asked as I devoured food like a starving jackal. “Any news from the compound?”
“That FBI guy isn’t saying anything to us although he mentioned that no one inside was badly hurt in our attack,” Chad said. “Maybe he knows more. He might talk to you. Nothing much happened after you hit the sack. I turned in soon after you. I understand that the fires burned for several hours, and part of the wall near one of the bunkers collapsed from the heat.”
“I hope they’re willing to negotiate now that the defenses are significantly reduced,” I said. “They might realize that they can’t hold the compound without the bunkers.”
“Captain Horn drove down near the compound at first light. He tried to talk to them through the loudspeaker in his Explorer, but they just took a couple of shots at him. Put a hole in his windshield,” one of the deputies said.
“This damn standoff could go on for months if they won’t even talk,” Chad said.
My mind drifted back to the previous night’s action, and I recalled the wooden covering I’d found under the juniper. I didn’t want to encourage an attack in force, even if it was through the passageway that was probably under the trapdoor. However, it might be important. “Maybe it won’t take months,” I said. “Can I borrow your phone Chad?” I wanted to call Margaret.
The Victim at Vultee Arch Page 21