“How’d you get your hands on it?” Cody asked. “Wouldn’t something like that be restricted or classified?”
Raz smiled. “Supposed ta be. Only authorized for Department of Defense personnel. Or so it says. There’s even a destruction notice on the first page. Says, ‘Destroy by any method that will prevent disclosure of contents or reconstruction of the document.’ Never seen nothin’ like it before. How’s that strike ya? Our fuckin’ sneaky, doin’ things behind our backs government tryin’ ta hide it from the American people. Not bein’ too transparent, huh? Ya can be damn sure the DOD didn’t want this information ta hit the streets.”
“But Raz, how did you get it?” Cody asked again.
“It got leaked a few years back. There’s always someone willin’ ta take the risk and leak or share crushin’ evidence against a corrupt government. Seen it done too many times before. Whistleblowers, disgruntled workers. Someone gits pissed off, or canned, or wants ta embarrass the administration or the Army. Or maybe they just thought the whole damn thing was wrong and they wanted ta warn us citizens.
“Anyway,” Raz paused, “ya can buy it on Amazon now. Believe that? A couple of clicks and a box load of military secrets gits delivered ta ya house. Don’t really matter, though. Nobody wants ta believe this shit. It’s too farfetched. Reads like a Hollywood sci-fi formula, ‘cept it ain’t fantasy.”
“So, is what’s happening now laid out in the book?” Cody wanted to know.
“Pretty much, but there have been changes. Ya see, this Army manual was supposed ta train our soldiers on how ta handle disasters in the country. Ya know, natural catastrophes like floods, earthquakes, hurricanes, things like that. The soldiers was supposed ta work in conjunction with other agencies includin’ FEMA, the Red Cross, ICE, DHS, even the United Nations, ta offer relief and assistance ta survivors. Housin’, food, medical attention, future relocation. Things on the top of the list ta help Americans in trouble.
“The book also instructs the troops how ta contain foreign combatants. Keep ‘em under wraps, feed’em, hold ‘em ‘til someone trades ‘em off or brings ‘em ta trial. Basically, how ta deal with bad guys threatenin’ the United States, or spyin’ on us, or tryin’ ta blow us up. Anyway, that was the original plan.”
“How did it change?”
“Sounds pretty good, don’t it? Well, some of it might have been good initially. It’s sensible ta plan for when bad things happen. Bein’ prepared is bein’ smart,” Raz said. “But, like everythin’, when the dirty no good power hungry politicians and money grubbin’ contractors and commie-liberals and greedy bastards see how they can twist and spin their filthy hands inta a god-damn jackpot of shiny gold, it’s all over. They git tagether and act like God, thinkin’ it’s their right ta fuck the rest of us and do whatever they damn well please. I seen it happen too many times.”
Cody stepped on the brakes of the Humvee as he swerved around a clump of brush. “What the hell is that?” he asked, looking ahead. A herd of strange animals was casually crossing the path in the pitch blackness. Two black, hairy, mean-looking creatures and at least eight baby wild pigs trotting behind stopped in front of the Humvee. They stared into the headlights, their beady eyes red as devil’s.
“Ain’t ya never seen javelina?” Raz chuckled. “They won’t hurt ya, ‘less ya want ta pat ‘em.”
Cody laid on the horn until the wild pigs moved on.
Raz continued. “The plans ta relocate citizens in harms way turned inta an operation ta detain ‘em. They was no longer refugees or evacuees. Instead, the dislocated civilians, officially known as DCs, become military prisoners. They’re no longer categorized as homeless or displaced or medically needy. The entire plan was changed ta control the population instead of helpin’ ‘em. Detainees are identified by their known behavior. Ya have ta remember, the government, the NSA, and other agencies keep tabs on millions of Americans, monitorin’ our daily communications, our Internet searches, our lifestyles. They know everythin’ ‘bout us.”
“What sort of behavior are you talking about?” Cody asked as he continued to drive.
“The manual stipulates that all detainees be identified accordin’ ta their known conduct or political tendencies toward the central government, aka the feds. They’re broken down inta groups based on potential risk levels. They’re labeled either cooperative, neutral, or outright combative.”
Raz laughed. “Guess which group we’d be in?”
“Maybe yesterday I would have been one of those neutral guys. But now, definitely not. Not cooperative either,” Cody smiled.
“Once ya know what’s goin’ on, ya gotta stand ya ground. Accordin’ ta the book, biometric information is collected from everyone in custody. They have these internment serial numbers, ISNs, they’re called, ta identify which collection points the prisoners came from, which internment facility they’re in, their ethnic background, their religious affiliation, their education level, and their affinity toward any potentially subversive groups, in particular any political ties, among other things. Sorta like a UPC bar code ya see on consumer goods, ‘cept for humans. They also wear ID bands on their arms. Capture tags they’re called. Ya know ya history, sonny. Don’t this sound a little too familiar?”
“Wait a minute,” Cody said. This couldn’t be right, he thought. People wouldn’t do this to other people. Not again. Would they? Governments wouldn’t roundup its citizens, ship them off to death camps, mark them like cattle, and do what it wanted with them. There was no way in hell what Raz was saying could actually happen here. People wouldn’t allow it. They wouldn’t tolerate this kind of tyrannical behavior. We have laws here. We have the Constitution. We have senators and representatives and civic leaders who watch out for their constituents. We have a justice system backed by the courts and rules of law. Everything Raz said was sheer craziness.
Or was it?
Raz saw the disbelief in Cody’s face. It was understandable if a person hadn’t kept track of the behind the scene activities of those in charge. Raz reached into his canvas bag and showed the actual book to Cody. He aimed the flashlight on the cover so Cody could read the title. “Told ya so,” Raz added, a gravely serious look on his face.
“This book is real and it’s bein’ used against us right now,” Raz said. “It’s the standard operatin’ procedure for trainin’ soldiers how ta identify those who should be detained. It integrates evacuation and control systems and procedures. It determines each person’s status based on their ratin’. It explains how captured citizens’ property and money should be confiscated and handled, includin’ their savin’s in the banks and investments elsewhere. It teaches techniques ta exploit intelligence from the inmates. How ta git ya ta turn on ya neighbor or family member or close friend.
“The manual calls for a quick reaction force, teachin’ proper take-down techniques. The door ta door roundups, the transports. It outlines civil disturbance procedures and riot control measures where deadly force is not only acceptable, but in many cases preferred. It focuses on counter insurgency, detailin’ with reducin’ passive resistance and armed confrontation and re-establishin’ the government’s legitimacy. Ya think these people know what they’re doing? Damn straight they do.”
Raz stopped to breathe, and then continued. “It stipulates how ta segregate people dependin’ on their behavior tendencies, but it also demands the isolation of detainees based on them bein’ obvious leaders, hostiles or agitators or radicals, members of the military by grade, minors, adult males and females, and nationality. It specifies daily food rations and sanitation and medical care and prisoner treatment. It outlines special uniforms and roll calls and forced labor assignments,” Raz ended his list for the moment.
Cody just drove and listened.
“It even has schematics for barracks and tent layouts. It shows how buildin’s should be constructed with specific designs and materials, where fences must be located, how many security lights are needed, the number of guards for every hun
dred detainees, and open clear zones. It advises on the proper use of restraints, contingencies for potential prisoner escapes, dealin’ with hunger strikes, and handlin’ suicide attempts.” Raz looked out the window, still holding his copy of the Army manual with the grip of a steel worker.
Raz continued his recounting of the manual’s highlights. “This one leans toward humane treatment of all prisoners. Soldiers are ordered ta not unnecessarily restrain or harm their charges. It insists on daily nutritional food sufficient enough that inmates won’t lose body weight or fall ill. It demands that all guards act in a professional manner, that any deviation from the rules of engagement shall be rigidly enforced, and that recourse for both guards and prisoners shall be heard by a committee of superiors.”
“That part doesn’t sound so bad,” Cody said.
“The problem is,” Raz said, “this book and all its detailed policies and procedures ain’t bein’ followed by the new people in charge. Madmen have changed the rules. They’ve thrown out all the humanity called for in here,” he lifted the book, “even in a confined environment, and enforces the severe and brutal measures of a narcissistic dictator.”
“Oh.”
“That’s what we’re up against, my friend. And we better be ready.”
Cody had a twisted look on his face. “But tell me, why would our President do this? Why would he and his men betray us? We believed in him. We supported him. It’s us who voted him into office.”
Raz shuttered. “Just for the record, it wasn’t us. Never trusted the guy from the git go. Let me tell ya somethin’, Cody. And ya need ta remember this. People believe in the wrong people all the time. People sometimes throw their support behind leaders for the wrong reasons. People regularly vote for the wrong guy based on frivolous or false information. Most assholes in this world have a horde of backers. But, they’re still assholes.
“The President is not solely in charge. Ya think a nobody from the back streets of Chicago with absolutely no leadership experience could become the President of the United States without a powerful and rich support basis? This President didn’t win the presidency. It was given ta him. It was handed ta him with certain conditions attached. Shit flows down hill, sonny. We’re on the bottom, but the President ain’t at the top, even though that’s what most people think.
“I assure ya that the President is takin’ orders from someone or some people much higher up the food chain. There’s too much at risk ta take a chance. The big boys runnin’ the show have bought and paid for their man, and if he don’t do what he’s supposed ta do, then he goes away too.”
“So, if that’s the case, then who’s the real boss?” Cody asked.
“Not exactly sure, though I have my suspicions.” Raz grunted. “That’s what we have ta find out. But first things first.”
Cody nodded and continued driving the Humvee.
Chapter 35
Raz checked the map again. “Looks like we’re ten, fifteen minutes from the camp. Think I can make out a dim haze of light up yonder.”
There was a faint halo effect of reflective mist a couple miles ahead. It came from the security lights at the detention center bouncing off the low hanging sky.
“What do we do when we get there?” Cody asked.
“One step at a time, sonny,” Raz grumbled. “One step at a time.”
The men were tired and hungry. It was nearing midnight and they would have to rest before they took any action at the camp. They had no idea of what they were heading into and could not imagine what they were about to see.
The path wound around a clump of desert creosote brush, scrub mesquite bushes, and ocotillo cactus. Cody eased up on the gas. The Humvee suddenly slid off the dirt road and dove forward a dozen feet into the hard desert sand. Everything went black. Cody’s chest struck the steering wheel with a severe brunt force. Raz’s head banged into the unpadded dash and windshield, his hands blocking his body from most of the impact. Both men were dazed from the unexpected crash, but they seemed uninjured.
“What the hell?” Cody yelled. The contents from the back seat had slammed forward over the front seats, blocking his view of Raz.
Raz looked out the window straight into compacted earth. “Ya okay?”
Cody tossed some supply boxes and water bottles behind his chair. “Think so.”
It took several seconds for them to shake off their dizziness. Raz caught his door handle and shoved. The headlights were still on, although they were half buried in the desert dirt. He rolled out of the vehicle and rested on the ground for a brief moment. Then he maneuvered around the Humvee toward Cody’s side. He cracked Cody’s door then pushed it forward.
“I’m fine,” Cody said. “Took it in the chest, but I’ll live.”
Cody got out and stood unsteady on his feet. “Where the fuck’s the road?”
There was a twenty foot gap in the dirt path, like a monsoon wash had wiped it away during a torrential thunderstorm. But it hadn’t rained in months. It would be impossible to get up the bank on the other side. Cody and Raz inspected the damage and quickly assessed their situation.
Raz spoke first. “This hole in the road ain’t caused by no gully washer.” He could see the trail had been dug out. “There’re tire tracks everywhere. The son-of-a-bitches trenched out the road with heavy equipment ta prevent access ta the camp from this direction. Dirty bastards!”
“Now what?” Cody asked in frustration.
“We could walk, but we can’t carry much with us,” Raz growled.
Cody climbed back into the driver’s seat. “We need this vehicle,” he said. The engine was still running so Cody jammed it into reverse and stepped on the gas. The rear wheels spun wildly, barely touching ground. He tried to rock it forward and drive, but at such a sharp angle resting on the edge of the road dipping into the gap, it was no use. He turned the engine off and almost threw the key away, but he didn’t. “Damn thing!”
“Let’s git what we can carry,” Raz recommended. He didn’t like the circumstances either, but they had to keep moving. “Shit happens and ya just have ta deal with it,” he said in a gruff voice.
They were digging through the pile of supplies for only the absolute necessities. Rifles, pistols, ammo, flashlight, binoculars, water bottles. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about, what happened next came as a huge surprise.
Two sets of headlights quickly came up from the rear and stopped a truck length from the Humvee. The first thing Raz thought was, they were sentries from the camp patrolling the nearby perimeter. But they were on the wrong side of the gutted trail. He automatically unslung his rifle and aimed it toward the trucks.
Four large figures exited the trucks, which appeared to be older Dodge pickups, and stopped. “Hold on right there boys,” Raz said to them. His and Cody’s rifles were aimed dead center. They had been through this routine too many times for one night.
“We ain’t lookin’ for no trouble,” Raz informed them.
“Whoa, amigo,” one of the men calmly said. He put his hands in the air as a friendly gesture.
“What ya doin’ here?” Raz yelled across.
“I was going to ask you the same question,” the stranger said.
Raz answered. “We’re just goin’ ‘bout our business.”
“You’re on our land,” the big man said. “Just wondering what you’re doing here.”
“Ya land? This here’s government property,” Raz growled.
“Afraid you’re wrong, friend. Last I looked this piece of miserable desert was given to our people by your government.”
“Reservation?” Raz asked, realizing his bearings may have been off kilter.
The big man moved closer to the tilted Humvee. “Yup. Every square foot paid for in blood, sweat, and misery. You’re on the Pascua Yaqui Reservation.”
Raz and Cody lowered their weapons. They had no beef with the Indians. “Just passin’ through,” Raz said.
The rest of the tribe came up behind the fir
st man. They smiled in a non-threatening way even though it was cold as an ice storm. “Name’s Pete,” the man said. “These are my brothers,” he pointed to the other men.
Raz introduced himself and Cody. “Ran inta a bit of a problem, as ya can see.” He turned toward the disabled transport. “Damn road’s gone!”
“Yeah, the Army did that awhile back,” the Pascua Indian said. “Not the real Army, never saw uniforms like that before. They cut the road to stop any intruders from this direction. It’s our land, but they do whatever they want.”
“Tell me ‘bout it,” Raz said, his bearded jaw tightening up. He spit on the ground.
“Where are you headed on such an awful night?” Pete asked.
“There’s a detention camp up a ways,” Raz volunteered. “We have some business ta take care of.”
Cody jumped in. “They kidnapped my family.”
Pete nodded and looked at his brothers. “It’s more like a prison, if you ask me.” He pointed into the darkness. “It sets just over that ridge. We’ve been watching it for some time.”
“So ya seen it,” Raz said.
Cody perked up.
“Yup. Been real busy over there since this morning,” Pete began. “The lights are on, lots of guards, Army and school buses going back and forth dropping off hundreds, maybe thousands of people into the night. The prisoners don’t look too dangerous. Lots of old men, women with their children. No soldiers as far as we could see. I don’t know what they’re doing there, but it can’t be good.”
“Believe me chief, it ain’t good,” Raz added. “We been chasin’ the buses from the fort down south. They probably beat us here.”
Pete spoke up. “Some Army buses came in through the southern road. A couple of hours ago, I guess. There were four of them. The last one was shot up pretty bad. Windows blown out, bullet holes in the sides. Must have been some trouble along the way.”
Treasonous Behavior- in the Beginning Page 23