Alaska/British Columbia Border
2 July, 2030 0500 hrs
Black Mike Sullivan held stopped dead
in his tracks and held up his fist at about head height. He was
crouched on one knee with the other boot on the ground, muscles wound
up, ready to spring himself up to his feet in case of trouble.
I stopped in my tracks, Raised my fist
for the guy behind me and stood stock still, my eyes scanning the
forest between Mike and the ridge we were approaching. Nothing but
old growth willows and the occasional towering fir, framing the green
cacophony of mid-level plants and the leaf-brown and moss-green
forest floor. I unfocused my eyes a little, not looking for details,
but rather movement. It took me a minute, but I saw it. Off to the
south, about 50 yards out, there was a large brown mass of fur
rummaging around in a field of large, dark green bushes.
I crept up behind Mike. “Brown.
What's he doing?”
“Something weird.” replied mike
without taking his eyes off the bruin.
“Go around?”
“Hafta. He'll be at this for
hours.”
I scanned the area and pulled up the
map function on my diptych. “If we cut north for about 10 klicks we
can run the ridge south until about a mile north of the target. Easy
walk down the valley to do our recon.”
Sullivan grunted.
“Can't sit here all day Gunny.”
He grunted again “Your right about
that sir. You lead the men on this leg ell-tee, I'm going to take a
minute and watch our friend here, make sure he's not going to be a
surprise for us later.”
I grunted, turned and waved my hand in
front of my face.
New orders. Danger Close. Go left
and form column on me. Noise discipline, move with stealth. Pass
the word. I signed.
I saw thumbs ups
from everyone I could see, which was only Lefty and Ace, the rest
were either too far back in the line of march or too well hidden for
me to see, but I knew that the word would be passed.
***
We humped up the
gentle slope of the rising plateau, making good time after we were
well away from the bear. Between my compass and my diptych I managed
to keep us on course and in 6 hours we made the ridge. Through my
Zeiss Optikas I could see the AlCan snake it's way along the broad
valley with the widening blue bulk of the White River at the southern
end.
The traffic this
time of year was what I'd call heavy, but compared to pics I'd seen
of highways in the lower 48 it was sparse. Perhaps a dozen Semis and
a half-dozen cars per hour rolled past our bivouac as we dug
in.
Oblong pop-up domes lined with thermally reflective material were scattered through the trees on the southern slope of the ridge, forming the base of the camp. Then ghillie netting was strung between the trees covering the tents, and a small area between them and along the southern flank. Beneath that thermally reflective and radio absorbent panels were strung. So long as we were under the panels and we didn't produce too much heat, we were invisible to anything except ground penetrating radar and ground-level, Mark-I eyeballs. Slit trenches dug and covered with the dirt and sod standing by to go back in the ground. Leave no trace was the SOP of the outfit.
Oblong pop-up domes lined with thermally reflective material were scattered through the trees on the southern slope of the ridge, forming the base of the camp. Then ghillie netting was strung between the trees covering the tents, and a small area between them and along the southern flank. Beneath that thermally reflective and radio absorbent panels were strung. So long as we were under the panels and we didn't produce too much heat, we were invisible to anything except ground penetrating radar and ground-level, Mark-I eyeballs. Slit trenches dug and covered with the dirt and sod standing by to go back in the ground. Leave no trace was the SOP of the outfit.
On the military
crest of the ridge, about 100 meters away I ordered an OP rigged (the
same basic setup as the bivouac, but only for 2 guys and using only
one tent. Clear lines of sight were formed through the brush using
gardener's tape and forward and flanking cover was created using
deadwood, rocks and some of the new Spectra panels we'd packed in.
Not enough to hold up to sustained MG or sniper fire, but enough to
deflect or trap the outdated 5.56 or 5.45 rounds that a reaction
force or convoy guards would be rolling with. After all, this was
Canada, eh? Not Islamabad or Tehran.
All the way down
the slope was a forested valley of which about 50 meters ran between
the beginning of the rise and the poorly maintained, two-lane
blacktop of the Alaska-Canadian highway. The mission was, to set up
a marking system on the north-bound side of the road. This would
automatically mark military trucks that moved north bringing troops,
supplies and materiels into Alaska.
Supposedly it was an automated system that used a pressure counter kind of like the DOT used to track road usage. A pressure-sensitive cable that did not respond to less than a certain weight or other than a certain wheel pattern ran across the road and into an unremarkable gray box. A cable from the box ran to the marking device which was basically a giant WD40 nozzle attached to a large reservoir of some kind of clear paint that absorbed sunlight and slowly released UVA. It was invisible to the naked eye save as some kind of transparent film and was supposedly indistinguishable from any of the other road shit that got on vehicles on long journeys.
However, to a UAV operator using a UV filter, the spay stood out like blood on a bridal gown. Made the trucks real easy to pick out and track. Or bomb.
We waited to set up the marking system until midnight.
Supposedly it was an automated system that used a pressure counter kind of like the DOT used to track road usage. A pressure-sensitive cable that did not respond to less than a certain weight or other than a certain wheel pattern ran across the road and into an unremarkable gray box. A cable from the box ran to the marking device which was basically a giant WD40 nozzle attached to a large reservoir of some kind of clear paint that absorbed sunlight and slowly released UVA. It was invisible to the naked eye save as some kind of transparent film and was supposedly indistinguishable from any of the other road shit that got on vehicles on long journeys.
However, to a UAV operator using a UV filter, the spay stood out like blood on a bridal gown. Made the trucks real easy to pick out and track. Or bomb.
We waited to set up the marking system until midnight.
***
***BEGIN
CHATLOG***
[IRC2][Dalnet:
Grogan's Garden] [ALL AGES PLEASE WATCH YOUR LANGAGE SFW ONLY]
2037 hrs [UTC-0], 3 July 2030
2037 hrs [UTC-0], 3 July 2030
FragileMouse
[UTC-8]: Started doing roadwork today. So fucking
tired....
Anishababy [UTC-7]: Roadworkers are so hot. Always hardbods but never the shitty attitude gymrats have.
Anishababy [UTC-7]: Roadworkers are so hot. Always hardbods but never the shitty attitude gymrats have.
Gogher
[UTC+2]: Anishababy, you think everything is
hot.
RangerDanger [UTC-5]: Yeah she does. Little tramp.
Anishababy[UTC-7]: I do not. And I am NOT a tramp you @$$hole!
RangerDanger [UTC-5]: Yeah she does. Little tramp.
Anishababy[UTC-7]: I do not. And I am NOT a tramp you @$$hole!
Canucklehead
[UTC-6]: You're gonna be sore AF tomorrow Mouse. Be sure to use
some Tiger Balm or you're gonna have a hard time of it,
yah?
Anisahbabay [UTC-7]: Tiger Balm is so hot.
FragileMouse [UTC-8]: Yeah, I know. I'm just glad this is a union gig, y'know? Lots of hours, good pay, can't really get fired.
Anisahbabay [UTC-7]: Tiger Balm is so hot.
FragileMouse [UTC-8]: Yeah, I know. I'm just glad this is a union gig, y'know? Lots of hours, good pay, can't really get fired.
RangerDanger
[UTC-5]: Lol$lut.
Gogher
[UTC+2]: kek
***END
CHATLOG***
And
that was how I informed my command structure that we were
operational. Via a secure satellite uplink that let me use 4 year
old tech to tell a room full of teens, dorks and nerds that I finally
had a job. Except that Canucklehead wasn't a Canadian. He was a
sixty-odd year old black man from Michigan who'd moved up to Willow
10 years ago, after spending 30 years in the US army signal corps.
He'd bounced his access all over the fucking place until anyone
looking into him would swear on a stack of bibles he was in Edmonton,
Alberta.
After I logged off, I turned to Black Mike. “You want to sleep, I'm still kinda wired.” He'd rejoined us just about the time we'd just finished setting up the OP and he didn't look unpleased with my efforts. Yeah, I know I was the officer and her was the non-com, but I'm an air force brat. I've been around enough to realize that he knew better than I did how this op should go and what all to do. I asked his advice anytime I was uncertain of what to do. I usually followed it. Gunny Sullivan had been in the Corps a long time.
After I logged off, I turned to Black Mike. “You want to sleep, I'm still kinda wired.” He'd rejoined us just about the time we'd just finished setting up the OP and he didn't look unpleased with my efforts. Yeah, I know I was the officer and her was the non-com, but I'm an air force brat. I've been around enough to realize that he knew better than I did how this op should go and what all to do. I asked his advice anytime I was uncertain of what to do. I usually followed it. Gunny Sullivan had been in the Corps a long time.
“No
thanks, sir. After my quiet time with brother bear, I'm good for
another 8 hours and you've been up and running since this time
yesterday.”
“OK.
What was wrong with him anyhow? Berries shouldn't be ripe for
another month.”
“After
a couple hours he moved off enough for me to check the patch.
Half-ripe watermelon berries. About a half acre of them. The
collapse of the pacific salmon fishery has fucked his life up the
same as the rest of the Pacific Northwest. He headed off to the
south. I don't expect to have any trouble from Mr. Bear.”
I
grunted. I hadn't even thought about the bear being an issue. Damn.
“Ok. I'm gonna rack out then. Wake me by 1700?”
“Aye-Aye
sir.” he answered reflexively.
I
crawled into my tent and closed my eyes, certain I would have trouble
sleeping. My mind was awash with worries about the op. Would we be
discovered? Would the marker work properly? Would someone notice it
if it did work properly? There was always the threat of drone
strikes. And now I was worrying if the Salmon fishery would recover
in my lifetime? In my kids' lifetime? Fucking Japs. Fucking
Fukushima. Fucking DNR. Fucking....