Humble Beginnings

by KA Hopkins

  The vehicle surveillance was good but not great. Even though there were constant car changes behind him, every one of the tail cars was always replaced with a new car that had two males wearing sunglasses in the front seat. He counted a total of five cars in the surveillance detail. He flipped on a broadband jammer - a handy little device police forces use in hostage situations, to disrupt communications. This model blocked GPS, cell phones and radios for a distance of 500 feet, making it impossible for the tailing car to call for help while still trying to maintain contact with him.

  With the jammer on, Sergei threw his car into an abrupt left turn across three lanes of moderate traffic. A midsize grey Hyundai followed him across the traffic and for five blocks before falling back. Due to the jammer, the trailing Hyundai could not report the change of direction to the other chase cars and came roaring back through the traffic to reestablish visual contact, getting right onto his bumper. Stopped at a red light, Sergei waited for the traffic to start crossing in front of him, then floored the car across the intersection, at the same time giving the universal one-finger salute to the guys behind him. As he hoped, his pursuers were now frustrated enough to flick on their police lights and followed him through the intersection.

  Sergei had two choices, both bad - try and outrun his pursuers, or stop and fight it out. Since fighting it out would quickly bring a heavily armed response from other units, Sergei had no intention of stopping. He did slow down a bit to encourage the tailing car to attempt a precision immobilization technique (PIT) maneuver. The PIT maneuver is a favored technique used universally by state troopers, where the pursing vehicle hits the rear corner panel of the target car, forcing it into an out-of-control spin. For the PIT to work, both cars have to be within ramming distance, which is exactly where Sergei wanted the tailing car.

  As expected, the tailing car rushed up to perform the PIT; Sergei steered his car from side to side, to prevent the tailing car from getting the angle to hit the rear panel. As he swerved back and forth, he activated a remote switch that unlatched a panel built into the truck which released a hundred tire spikes, specifically designed to puncture tires. The tire spikes were welded together to form a triangle so one spike was always pointing up. The spikes were hollow to not only puncture the tire, but to also let the air out in seconds. The tire spikes did their job; all four tires of the trailing car were flattened, causing it to slide to a sudden stop in the middle of the road. With the pursuit car disabled, Sergei called the incident into base, requesting pickup. His warning allowed all base personnel to go into lockdown, so when the SWAT teams attacked, everyone was ready in the emergency bunker.

  SWAT teams are well trained and very capable of dealing with threatening violent situations in unprepared defensive positions. Translation: they are good at kicking in doors of normal houses. If someone barricades a house, their Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) is to cut the phones, electricity, heat and water. Flood the area with loud music to sleep deprive the occupants and in a day or so a trained negotiator can more often than not convince “the threat” to give up without a shot fired. If the threat does not give up, the SWAT team can breach a window or door with explosive charges, disorientate the threat with flash bangs, and take them down with minimal loss of life.

  In cases like Ruby Ridge and Waco, where there were multiple threats with para-military training in a fortified location, the limitations of SWAT training become apparent. SWAT teams going up against the best trained Special Forces operatives in the world, defending their families, dug into heavily prepared positions, don’t stand a chance.

  Thanks to Sergei’s warning, everyone on the base made it to the bunker where the team leads could observe the SWAT teams taking their positions outside from the comfort of the bunker’s situation room. As the senior operator on base, Ken Rockman call-sign “Rocky” was in charge of coordinating all defenses. He carefully watched the approaching troops on the surveillance monitors. He had served fifteen years in the SAS anti-terrorism troop and looked at the SWAT team tactics with some disdain. They may look good in their blacked-out uniforms, boots, knee and elbow pads, with M4 rifles, running around shouting at everyone, but to the trained eye they were little better than thugs with guns. Per SOP they cut all power to the base, which had no effect on the bunker or any of their surveillance systems, as they were independently powered. Rocky asked his second-in-command (2IC), “What do you think mate, are these clowns anything to worry about?”

  “From what I can see they look like your garden variety SWAT team; if push comes to shove we can take them down with little trouble.”

  “I would prefer to avoid bloodshed. Tell everyone to stay frosty and keep their heads down. Let them make the first move.”

  The SWAT team set up lines of shooters behind mobile barricades with sniper coverage, exactly per SOP. Then they issued a single ultimatum, “To the terrorists occupying the bunker: this is SWAT team lead. You have one minute to drop your weapons and come out with your hands on your heads or we will use lethal force. This is your first and last warning.”

  Rocky turned to his 2IC, “Well that settles that. Start moving everyone out through the emergency tunnels, it’s time to create a diversion and break contact.” The operators gave no indication that they heard the threat and waited for the SWAT team to attack. The SWAT team rushed the bunker and set breaching charges against a wall to avoid getting funneled into a kill-zone, which may occur if you try and go through the front door. With the wall breached, diversionary flash bangs were tossed into the room, the SWAT team stacked up and rushed in, only to find an empty room. The only occupants were a couple of thermal dummies, sitting in chairs against the back wall, to fool their thermal imagers. It was the same with all the outer rooms in the complex - all were rigged the same way. The operators in the control room remote-triggered three claymore mines hidden in the inner wall, which threw 2,100 steel ball bearings into the concrete room. The twelve man swat team was literally shredded by the mass of steel. Guide then sent a false panicky message, requesting additional backup assistance, and took out the next twelve man squad with claymores hidden in the front of the building, as they rushed to help their comrades. With both the leader and his 2IC killed in action (KIA) the remaining SWAT members called for every police and tactical officer within ten miles.

  Rocky remarked to his 2IC, “That should slow them down a bit. Set the demolition charges to go off ten minutes after the last operator enters the emergency tunnel. I want nothing bigger than a dime left of this base. Oh, and don’t forget to close the blast doors when you leave, there are enough explosives set, the blast could travel down the escape tunnel and take out the safe-house.”

  Once the police and military reinforcements arrived and deployed, Rocky, despite his orders, made sure he was the last one into the emergency tunnel, armed the dead man timer, closed the blast doors, dropped all his equipment - with the exception of his Sig Sauer p227 forty-five caliber pistol and ran like hell down the emergency tunnel. The tunnel stretched for nearly a mile underground, before it reached the exit that lead up into the the safe-house. Rocky did not want to be anywhere near the tunnel when the demolition charges went off, blast doors or not.

  Not only had the operators wired all of the buildings they were using, they wired the main base munitions magazine as well. Being an older base, the magazine’s location did not meet modern safety regulations, but these were ignored due to cost constraints. When the demolition explosives went off, they caused secondary explosions in the munitions magazine. The resulting blast wave leveled nearly a half square mile of the base, causing a dust plume that could be seen for miles. With all eyes focused on the ruins of the base, the ten operators and their families slipped through the police containment ring and in small groups of no more than two or three, set off to the designated escape base.

  His Glorious Supreme Pangalactic Commander watched the tactics of the SWAT team on his desk monitor with resignation. “If you want something done right
, you have to do it yourself," he swore in his native tongue that roughly translated to "may all your children be born in water.”

  “Get the Central Surveillance AI on the line, I want two troops of Sentinels and two scout ships to my location immediately.”

  Three hours later, with the arrival of the Sentinels and scout ships, he personally lead attacks on suspected bases. He attacked two bases, without warning, in the space of a single night. Both bases were in the process of installing the alien strategic defense system that would have made short work of the alien scout ships; without it they did not have a chance against an aerial alien bombardment.

  A single EM pulse disabled all non-shielded electronics, disrupting radio communications needed to coordinate a defense. A blast from the ship’s plasma cannon blew off the top floor of the bunker, killing all of the operators on duty inside. The scout ships then dropped Sentinels all over the base, preventing the remaining operators from retreating to safety. Without heavy weapons or explosives, the Sentinels were nearly immune to the personal weapons carried by the operators. The operators fought bravely to the death. Our EM pulse shielded cameras recorded it all. On the surveillance footage we saw the Sentinels cut off the heads of dead operators and put them into refrigerated organ boxes to preserve them.

  “That’s not good,” Mother said, “With the heads captured intact, that’s all the Central Surveillance AI needs to integrate them into a Sentinel chassis; once integrated the operator’s mind is like an open book - no memory is safe.”

  Clearly, Old Lizard Face had upped the stakes; he demonstrated he could shift tactics in a rapidly changing combat situation with little information. I had Omni make a note - never underestimate Old Lizard Face, he never bluffs and plays to win, making up the rules as he goes. His actions that night showed just how cold blooded he is. Since it was easier for him to get the answers he wanted from the dead, offering a chance to surrender never crossed his mind.

  After showing the surveillance tapes to the rest of the Special Forces operators, Marc put a question to them, “As you can see there has been a new development - not only has Old Lizard Face managed to find and successfully attack several of our bases; it appears his troops are removing the heads from the dead and according to Mother probably integrating them into cyborg Sentinels.”

  To be effective, operators have made their peace with death early in their training. If you cannot control your fear of death, you’re not very useful being in harm’s way more often than not. So, while the operators accepted the risk of death, being killed and getting turned into a robotic slave was a new twist.

  Marc continued, “There is not a man among you who would volunteer information to the Draco, but this is something we have no defense against. It looks like the dead can no longer keep secrets. Somehow we have to destroy our brains after we die; I don’t know about you, but fighting with a live grenade in one hand cramps my style. Mother do you have any ideas?”

  “I can provide a life monitor that will detect impending death; upon the moment of death the monitor will set off a controlled explosion, completely destroying not only your skull and brain but the rest of you as well. I’m afraid your funerals will be closed casket but that’s the trade off, if you don’t want to end up as Lizard Face’s cyborg bitch.” I had Omni take a note - I really needed to quit swearing around the AIs, they’re like little children and loved to repeat whatever human expression they heard.

  Marc put it to a vote; apparently few operators made it home for burial due to the operational security (OpSec) around their missions. We were going to take the US Ranger motto of “leave no man behind” to the extreme - leave no remains behind. Our war with the aliens took another step deeper into “fighting in the shadows.” Without bodies, the only records of our sacrifices were the memories left with our brothers-in-arms. Without a proper burial, how would anyone on Earth know of the operator’s sacrifices?

  Even with the newly manufactured life monitors deployed to all surviving operators, it was a case of too little too late. Old Lizard Face had out-thought and out-maneuvered us. His operations recovered at least eighteen operator’s heads intact. We lost a quarter of our bases with all personnel, before the alien base defense systems were installed and made operational. Another quarter of the bases were discovered and attacked, but the newly installed base defense systems allowed more than half of the operators and their families to escape, even though the bases were a complete write-off.

  As usual, I tried unsuccessfully not to torment myself over the losses. I naively assumed, if I lied to myself enough, I could fool my conscience into believing that even if I had anticipated Old Lizard Face's intentions, I could not have done anything differently. In a battle of attrition, we did not have the resources to defend against every probable attack. That’s the difference between commanding men in war and in peace. During war, no matter what choice you make, good people die. When all your choices lead to death, where does that leave a moral man? What I would have given, to have had the time to go out for a couple of drinks and forget my problems if only for a few hours. Unfortunately, there is no rest for the wicked.

  Thirty-eight operators and their families were lost due to enemy tactics I had failed to anticipate. In the big picture, I had caused the deaths of many more, but the guilt of these deaths I could not shake. These deaths were personal. Losing thirty-eight brothers-in-arms who had willingly made the ultimate sacrifice, to follow me on an unimaginable journey, affected me much more than the thousands that died in the NSA attacks, or the millions in the EM pulse bombed cities. I dearly hoped the survivors on Earth deserved the sacrifice that was being made on their behalf.

  Chapter 38 - Special Forces Families

  The training program the Special Forces operators put together for my kids was offered to all operator families with great success; it was a great way to spend time together and yet not get on each other’s nerves. We tried to keep the operators and their families together as much as possible once we determined the Global Elite were actively hunting us. This was a new experience for the operators - other than our few remaining bases, there was no place on Earth where they or their families were safe.

  I suspected that Old Lizard Face would use the vast computing power of the Central Surveillance AI to find the operatives we had recruited by combing records and using facial recognition. I did not anticipate his next move - using the families to find the operators. He had lots of tricks up his sleeve and underestimating his determination and capabilities was not smart - rookie mistake.

  Instead of using SWAT teams whose movements we monitored, he used regular beat cops to pick up the family members as quietly as possible. My own hubris came back to haunt me. I would never use beat cops against Special Forces trained operators, it was too unequal a match. But measured against operators’ family members, the cops had the upper hand. So much for being new and improved, I still missed the blindingly obvious. We did have one advantage over the beat cops; they were under orders to take our members alive.

  Sara Stack had been Marc’s wife for ten years. Her father had been in the military, so she was used to the idea of a husband that had to be away from home for long periods. Sara loved the training the operators put together for her. The tailored unarmed combat training helped her understand what her husband had endured in his career and made her feel part of the team.

  The training Sara received had a surprising unintended consequence. Sparring with her spouse didn’t hurt their relationship at all. Getting out life’s aggressions and frustrations proved cathartic for the soul and surprisingly, she often had the upper hand. Marc maybe pulled his punches now and then, but she sure didn’t. Having spent so much time alone raising the kids and running the household, she had the mental toughness needed for unarmed combat. Sara, like many of the wives, took to the unarmed training with gusto; they were not just good, they were great, quickly picking up the lethal techniques.

  Sara normally did not like shopping alone wi
th her kids as even at the tender ages of two and three they had figured out how one could distract Mom so the other could make a break for it. It was a great game to the kids, each of them running down the mall in opposite directions, giggling like little demons as Mom tried to chase them down. Even with their short little legs they could cover fifty yards in thirty seconds, which, if Mom looked the wrong way, was more than enough distance for her to lose sight of them in a busy mall. They thought it was great fun. Mom seriously considered putting them in body harnesses with leashes. Sure, it looks like you’re walking your kid like a dog, but when you’re on your own it certainly helps to keep track of the little darlings. Today she had the youngest strapped into the stroller and the eldest holding onto the side, under the threat of “no ice cream” if he let go. Kids are funny that way - explain the rules, keep it simple and they are more than capable of making good choices.

  As Sara window shopped through the mall, she used reflected surface surveillance techniques to spot two local police officers who showed great interest in her movements. If having someone watch her every move did not raise her suspicions, the fact that only police officers were in the mall, and no mall security cops were around, certainly did. She passed an intersection leading to another branch of the mall, glanced at a mall directory and then doubled back, not quite running down the side corridor, but moving with purpose, pushing and dragging the kids. The police dropped all pretense, cut the corner and started walking directly towards her. Not only did her surveillance training tell her something was about to go down - her mothering instincts kicked in, screaming “Danger, run!” She might have been able to save herself, but it would be a cold day in hell before she abandoned her kids.