19 Feb Turning the Tables on the Poacher: A Fourth Generation Warfare Vignette by Bill Buppert
Publisher’s Note: I pay zero attention to the nonsense surrounding the competition to wrest the Offal Office from the latest homicidal scoundrel plotting in it. But I will note that at least Bernie Sanders is a man of integrity and philosophical backbone. He is the collectivist antitheses to Ron Paul. Now that does not excuse his totalitarian sympathies, economic illiteracy or nonsensical view of caging humanity on vast tax feed lots to be managed by their government ranchers.
But Bernie Sanders is an unadorned and accurate representation of all the candidates on truth serum. Monsters walk among us, even kindly looking planetary serial killers like Sanders and his government supremacist colleagues, which is the entire breadth of both tickets in the kabuki of party distinction that is American electoral nonsense.
It’s amusing to see the inmates clamor for a new national warden every four years.
The wheels are coming off so get busy for the coming festivities; sportiness continues apace.
Black sites have become all the fad among the secret and not-so-secret political police nation-wide and now what the empire practices abroad is, of course, coming home. The following is a cautionary tale. Just to clarify, all government cops from the local to the Federal level are a political policing mechanism much like the Stasi or NKVD and all its bloodthirsty successors.
Some more can be found here. –BB
“The thing worse than rebellion is the thing that causes rebellion.”
– Frederick Douglas
Sometime in the near future.
Chicagoland. 0336 hours.
It occupied a single city block.
The night was wet and dreary, the darkness penetrated only by the subtly buzzing sodium vapor street lights stealing between the raindrops.
The address was a nondescript if decrepit building downtown. One would almost think it abandoned if not the occasional light that bled eerily from a window on the third floor. Light discipline was incomplete and that had been the first clue to pinpoint the purpose of the building. The brick bled as if it hadn’t seen a refit in a half century. It hadn’t. Construction records would indicate an interior refit by a shell company based out of the Canary Islands. The only tell that showed any use whatsoever was the shiny new gate curtain that shielded the primary entrance to the underground parking structure.
The old cars idled a block away. One truck, three cars and a parcel van. The lead vehicle was a rusty truck with a massive ‘roo bar on the front.
Jeremy lifted the radio to his mouth: “Factory, Chain-gang; we are thirty seconds out.”
Jeremy blew the last of the nicotine that filled his lungs into the interior of the cramped car. Passengers shifted about in the cramped quarters and clanged metal and exhaled stale breath. Muscles cramped by stillness slowly loosened under adrenal rush.
Transmissions clanged and the small rusty flotilla started to ease toward the gate at the bottom of the building; as the cars steamed forward, the truck revved and hit the gate at forty miles an hour, shattering it and dragging remnants of it into the cavernous garage space. The other vehicles followed behind the truck inside and the parcel van stopped outside the rendered mouth to the parking spaces below.
Men leapt from the cars before they stopped and started disabling the government cars and trucks in the garage. Each man very deliberately spiked sidewalls on tires, lifted hoods and seated five gallon jerry cans of gas on top of the engines and a road flare on the cowling.
On the rooftop along the street across from the building, shadows started to ease to the ramparts to overwatch the ancient urban pile.
“Raptor, Chain-gang; we are in, green light.”
A muffled crump sounded from the rooftop of the brownstone down the street as a M224 belched three 60mm HE rounds which descended on the targeted roof followed quickly by a single smoke round.
Molotov cocktails started to arc gracefully through space landing on the rooftop and a raucous blaze started to ignite the debris on top of the building. A faint chorus of alarms inside the building began their monotonous buzzing. Rifles on the rooftop started to scan the emergency exit doors of the building that had been plotted by earlier reconnaissance.
Chris looked around at the dozen shooters on the rooftop in various mufti crowding the edge and scanning the building below.
Chris: “Shoot anything that comes out with a weapon in hand and be careful of any trailing pax who look confused and unarmed. The whole idea here is to retrieve our kidnapped folks alive. Heads and hips, boys and girls, heads and hips.”
The first door slammed open and a bearded man in full tactical kit cautiously peeked out following his rifle barrel, he stepped out and spun as three rounds drilled into his pelvic area. The man crumpled down and a pool of blood quickly spread from his body. Two men quickly high stepped out with their weapons and swung them up in the direction of the shots that had just killed their colleague, fire spat from the rifles but the ineffective response was reciprocated with deliberate rounds that careened home and pasted organs and shattered bones. Two other doors opened around the corner with similar results.
Those positioned across the street on the roof opposite the underground garage could hear shouting and gunfire in the decrepit building. The third floor on the corner lit up as a grenade exploded inside and the window blinked a bright red.
Engines roared and echoed in the parking garage followed by more gunfire. The staccato rhythm of the rippling fires intensified as vehicles started coming out of the garage.
“Floodlamp, Chain-Gang, exfil in progress, bogies behind. We have about four minutes before other gremlins arrive on station”
A lone man on the rooftop opposite the garage gazed down through his insect-like night vision optics and picked up the IR strobes on the friendly vehicles. Count was wrong but the next trucks had no IFF strobes and were granted weapons free for opportunity fire. As the last friendly vehicles exited the garage, a large black Ford Expedition roared out behind them. As it met the street curb, it appeared to lift gracefully off the ground and connect with the plume that rocketed from the rooftop to meet it. It careened on its side and started to burn slowly.
The garage reverberated as the torched government vehicles started a conflagration in the basement that would later consume the entire building.
Domestic Terrorists Destroy Local Police Facility in Chicago with Dozens of Officers Slain and Wounded
Chicago, IL (AP) – Federal authorities held a press conference to deny the emerging testimony on the internet of the alleged detainees in the “black site” in Chicago. The men, women and children who have created the affidavits’ of abuse, torture and sexual exploitation at the state facilty are being branded a sophisticated propaganda effort by domestic terrorists to undermine the legitimacy of various detention programs to protect the American people. The city of Chicago in coordination with the Department of Homeland Security are conducting an investigation into possible wrongdoing but have assured the press and the American people that no abuses are apparent and a full Internal Affairs investigation will most likely turn up nothing.
Funeral services for the 22 police officers and investigative officials who died in the terrorist attack on the facility will be feted and mourned on Saturday, it is expected that more than 2200 police officers from departments around the country will be attending…
Jeremy breathed out the cigar smoke and it plumed up to the ceiling and drifted. He picked up the burner phone inset with a voice scrambler.
“Hey Fred, all the deer tickets are in from Fish and Game and we expect to be in the blinds by midday. I’d say we can expect a big season. Should cost over two thousand dollars for the day.”
Translation: “Roger, we have a reported two thousand plus inbound and expect several thousand auxiliaries in addition to a likelihood of increased ISR activity. We have inside data already on parade routes and plotted over-watch positions.”
The chair is against the wall, indeed.
Resistance is fertile..
“The best things in history are accomplished by people who get tired of being shoved around.”
– Robert A. Heinlein,