12, part one
12: “The Des Moines Incident”
The tension in the safe house was almost palpable. We had only hours before we were to move, and nerves were on edge. Corwin, Jeff, and I were again in the basement of the place, suiting up. Like every time before, it was a ritual that we performed in silence. I don’t know how that tradition got started, but it’s always how we did it. None of us spoke while getting our gear on.
I was wearing tiger-stripe camouflage fatigue pants bloused into combat boots and a warm black jacket. Over this I put on my body armor, a level III-A soft vest with level IV ceramic plates front and back. Over the armor, I put on my load bearing vest. It was green, and had four pouches on the chest that each held two FAL magazines. I had my SRK fighting knife lashed to the right shoulder pad, hilt down, so I could easily access it with my left hand. The load bearing vest was connected to a cordura gun belt. On my left hip was a holster for my five-inch .44, with a triple speedloader pouch just ahead of that. On my right side were pouches for several fragmentation grenades.
I pulled on a pair of black leather shooting gloves, and replaced my glasses with Wiley-X prescription goggles that both protected my eyes and wouldn’t fall off. My radio was on my belt, and I threaded the wire for the headseat through my gear before clipping the mic to my ear. I loaded my .38 Snubby, slid it into its little sheath, and stuffed it into my right pants pocket.
Corwin and Jeff both ninja-ed up. They were both dressed in black fatigue pants and jackets. Jeff’s body armor was the kind SWAT-cops use. His ammunition pouches attached directly to it through a series of snaps and straps, and he’d attached enough pouches to hold forty rounds of 12-gauge ammunition, as well as a triple magazine pouch for his pistol and a pouch for his radio. On his right leg was a drop holster holding his Beretta Elite 9mm pistol.
Corwin had a conventional body armor vest, and over this he wore a black tactical vest that held six magazines for his M4 and three magazines for his Sig 226 9mm pistol. That pistol was in a drop holster on his right leg. On his gunbelt he carried several grenades, his radio, a collapsing baton, and a combat knife of some kind.
In addition to all of that stuff, we each carried an assortment of other items that tended to prove useful while on the job. Chemical light-sticks, emergency first aid kits, multi-tools, things like that. As I turned to check Corwin’s gear and make sure everything was lashed down, I realized just how heavy all of this crap was. I grumbled to myself. I didn’t remember it being quite that bad. Our final step was to smear our faces with camouflage paint.
Satisfied, we made our way up the stairs into the main part of the house. I was interested to see what kind of gear our EXODUS comrades used on raids like this. I smiled when I realized that I was the only one not dressed in all black. I looked back at Corwin, and he grinned at me.
“Told you,” he said. I rolled my eyes and handed him a five-dollar bill. Returning my attention to EXODUS, I noticed that their weapons were almost all Russian stuff. The weird thing was that it was brand new Russian stuff, latest generation equipment that the Russian Army would be lucky to get. EXODUS must be pretty well connected, I thought, to get stuff straight off the production line like that. Both Ling’s team and Ibrahim’s were assembled in the foyer, and they were talking quietly amongst themselves.
Looking around the room one more time, I noticed Ling approaching me and smiled. She was wearing all black like her comrades, and had her hair pulled back into a pony tail. She had a radio headset on her left ear, and wore yellow-tinted shooting glasses. Her hands were covered by black leather gloves, and her armor vest fit so well that it had to have been custom made.
Slung from her chest was an Izhmash AK-102, a short-barreled Kalashnikov variant chambered for the 5.56mm NATO round. It was fitted with a Kobra collimating sight. Her CZ-75 was in a holster on her right hip.
“You rather stand out,” she said, smiling.
“Yeah, well…black really ain’t my thing. It’ll be dark anyways. How long?”
“Not long now. We’re getting ready to board the vans. Do you wish to go over the plan one more time?”
“Yeah, I do. Let’s take a walk.” Ling and I left the foyer, and walked out behind the house. There were trees surrounding the house on all sides, and the sun had already sunk below the horizon, leaving only dim twilight and a few early stars. There was little chance some passer-by would see two people decked out in combat gear and get curious.
I was curious, though, when I realized that Ling had offered to go over the plan with me, even though I was to be attached to her team, and that Ibrahim, the other team leader, wasn’t present. Weird.
The plan itself was simple enough to suit me. All plans go awry once the shooting starts, and the more complicated your plan is the more likely it is to turn into a whimsical list of stuff that never happened. In any case, we didn’t have a lot of intelligence on what to expect, as the EXODUS informant had apparently needed to bug out to avoid being exposed.
So, we didn’t know what we didn’t know, and had to work around that as best we could. What we did know was promising. It seemed the farm in question wasn’t frequently used for this sort of activity. Furthermore, the utmost discretion was required, and the clientele that frequented these types of events were not the types that would allow evidence of their activities to be left in the hands of a black market cartel.
This meant that site security would be light. There’d likely be no cameras, and as far as the EXODUS infiltrator had been able to discern, there were no motion sensors or other types of early warning equipment surrounding the property. The people that held the event were relying on physical security, guards and patrols, to provide the necessary coverage.
This also worked in our favor. The security would have to be subtle, to say the least. Outside patrols would likely be few, less some hapless farmer notice the unusual activity and get suspicious. Furthermore, many of the potential clients would be bringing personal security of their own. While this meant we’d have more bodies to deal with, it also meant that their overall security situation would likely be disorganized, uncoordinated, and inadequate.
Apparently, from the intel that Ling had gotten, the people that were selling the slaves here had gotten cocky. In other places, she told me, an event like the truck being hit in Michigan would cause the entire slave sale to be relocated and rescheduled. But EXODUS operated so rarely in the United States that the slavers seemed not to be concerned. They’d been operating with near impunity for so long that they’d gotten complacent.
You know what? Complacency kills. The farm itself was far off of the road, and the cluster of buildings were surrounded by trees, ensuring privacy. The target compound was actually away from the dairy production part of the farm, which was actually in operation. The target area consisted of the main house, a guest house, a large garage, and a few outbuildings.
There were no nearby neighbors, but the sound of gunfire can carry a long way, so we’d have to move quickly. Two EXODUS snipers would position themselves in the woods along the road that led to the farm, as would a machine gun team. A third sniper team, consisting of a shooter and a spotter, would position themselves behind the building, to the north, covering any egress from that direction. This would allow them to intercept anyone trying to flee, and give early warning of anyone coming up the road.
The two assault teams would leave the vans far behind, and approach on foot, under the cover of darkness. We’d essentially have to sneak through the pasture, which were covered with a little snow, but once we got closer to the house the trees would conceal us. Ling’s team would hit from one side, and Ibrahim’s would hit from the other. We believed that the actual sale was being held in the farm house’s substantial cellar. The informant had passed on that they’d set up an auction room of sorts in what had once been a storage room, and that this is where the event would take place.
Despite that information, we’d have to sweep the entire target area, to make sure we didn’t miss any slaves nor leave any witnesses. Fortunately, the informant had been able to confirm that the functioning dairy farm part of the place was not being used to hold any captives. This greatly simplified things for us.
I chewed my lip as Ling and I discussed the situation. I didn’t like it. There was a lot we didn’t know about the place, and a good sweep would take us a lot longer than I was comfortable with. But it had to be done. We’d just have to do the best we could.
When the shooting was over and the area was clear, we’d call in the vans and egress as rapidly as possible. The plan was simple enough, but nonetheless there was a lot that could go wrong. Despite this, Ling seemed remarkably collected. We sat together on the back porch, listening to the gentle breeze rustle the barren trees.
“Are you scared?” I asked her. I regretted it the instant the question slipped from my lips; it’s bad luck to be so negative right before a job. Ling just smiled at me though.
“I’m terrified. The last time I went on a high risk operation like this one of my people was killed, and another seriously wounded. Worse, the mission had to be abandoned, and for our failure several victims were doomed to a life of suffering. I’m afraid that my people will die. I’m afraid that we will fail.”
“But you’re not afraid for yourself,” I noted.
“I am,” she said, “but why concern myself with that when there are more important things to worry about? There are things worse than death. I have experienced some of these things. My real hope is for our mission to be successful, regardless of whether I live or die. I truly fear dying in vain.”
“Want to make it a good one, huh?” I asked, chuckling.
“What?”
“An old gunslinger once told me that you only get one death, and that you should try to make it a good one.”
“That is a good attitude, I think,” she said, looking at the stars. “What about you?”
“For the first time I can remember, I’d rather die than fail. When you’re a mercenary, you’re there for the money. The only things you care about are your teammates and getting paid. You complete the mission because that’s how you make your money. This is different, though. If we fail…Jesus, I don’t even want to think about what’ll happen to those poor people.”
“It’s refreshing to live for the sake of others, isn’t it?” she asked me, eyes shining in the darkness.
“I’m not used to it,” I said. “But yeah…I’m comfortable with what we’re going to do. Hey, I want to give you something.”
“Give me something?” Ling asked, sitting up, adjusting her rifle sling.
“Yeah, here,” I said, digging in my pants pocket. I retrieved a photograph, folded in half, and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked. “Oh! It’s a picture of you! Thank you. But why?” Butterflies danced in my stomach as I realized that she’d actually thanked me for giving her a picture of myself. Dude!
“There aren’t a lot of photos of me out there,” I said, looking off into the distance. “Aside from the one you saw on TV, there are only two that I can think of. Well, recent pictures, I mean. You’re holding one of those two.”
The picture wasn’t anything special. Becky had snapped a photo of me with a disposable camera one fine Saturday while we hiking across the wooded cliffs that overlooked Marquette Harbor. I wasn’t really looking at the camera, and was holding up a bottle of water. There was a stupid grin on my face, and a Band-Aid on my forehead covering a scratch from a tree branch. It was actually a pretty bad picture.
“But why give it to me?”
“I don’t know. Proof, I guess.
“Proof?”
“Proof that I existed. If I die tonight, that photo’ll be all the legacy I’ll ever have. I just…you know.”
Ling was silent, but her eyes said plenty. She touched my arm, smiled at me, then carefully folded the picture and placed it in her pocket. She then stood up.
“Come now,” she said. “It’s almost time.”
