He is one of the many nameless, faceless homeless that exist in every major city. However in the few blocks around Harborview he is known as Cardboard. He is dirty, smelly and drug addicted. He is a regular customer in the ER, usually trying to get out of the cold or dry off on a wet night when the rain destroys his house.
He got his name from the well thought out cardboard structure that he fashions every night on the stoop of a storefront that doesn’t open until later in the morning, long after he is gone on his daily search for cans.
Once again he was turned away for trying to fake symptoms and score some drugs. This day he isn’t trying to get high, he just wants to take the edge off. How can they not understand that? So tonight he is going to teach someone a lesson, a lesson not soon forgotten. There is always a nurse or orderly who sneaks out the back for a cigarette and he will be waiting.
Raelene is getting off a double shift and just doesn’t have the time or energy to track down or wait for a security person to walk her out to her car. However there is usually a guy out smoking that will be happy to walk her to her car. As she exits the building she sees that there isn’t anyone around. Despite the fact they work in healthcare, nurses and doctors smoke like chimneys. So it is a mild surprise that there isn’t a group gathered. She is just too tired to find someone and heads toward the parking garage, which is where Cardboard finds her.
His primal scream freezes her in midstep, instinctively she pulls her arms up to protect herself and curls her upper body down in anticipation for the impact that never comes.
They know they are not supposed to leave their position. They know that they are not supposed to expose themselves, but that bum was acting suspicious. With too many combat tours under their belts, they can recognize the look of someone who is going to bring violence upon others.
Each one of them joined the Rangers because they wanted to be the best. They joined the Army because they wanted to protect their country. It says right in the oath of service, to defend the country against all enemies, foreign and domestic. And this guy is without a doubt a domestic enemy.
They see him sit in ambush and wait for someone to exit the door, as soon as the young nurse walks out he starts to rush forward. At first she is so weary that she doesn’t see the threat, it isn’t until he starts screaming that she knows that she is in trouble. The Rangers are in motion, long before that.
Cardboard is rushing forward, ready to take his anger out on an easy target. Then men in dark clothing don’t appear out of nowhere, they appear out of everywhere. One shields Raelene with his own body, not that he needs to, because before Cardboard can get within striking distance his vision is clouded with a rifle butt to the face.
His body doesn’t even hit the ground before there are hands on him. Honestly he isn’t sure what is more frightening, the five men standing over him, the one sitting on him, the three barrels in his face, or the knife at his throat.
“Are you okay ma’am?”
Shaken, she looks around and sees three men standing around her, they all have rifles slung over their back so as to not appear threatening to her, and while none of them look over 22, their eyes are filled with an ageless compassion. She has seen the same look in police and firefighters, it is the look that heroes give to the people they live to safeguard. When she turns to look at Cardboard, one takes her arm and guides her away.
“Can we escort you somewhere,” he asks in a kind voice.
All she can do is shake her keys and they lead her towards the employee parking area. As soon as they start off two of the men break off, one ahead one behind. They swing their rifles around and pull security as the third leads her away, making sure she doesn’t look back at what his comrades are doing to her would be attacker.
The last thing he will remember is a fist coming at him as he hears, “We do NOT hit women.”
With all their bravado the members of the Ranger Battalion follow some very specific rules. Abuse of women is something not allowed. The strong protect the weak, and the Rangers are some of the strongest. Not just in body, but in heart and mind. Cardboard will wake up miles away and will be instructed not to go anywhere near the hospital. They will be watching and checking up.
“What if I am dying?”
“You die.”
The man steps into a humvee and drives off. He did not appear to be someone you could negotiate with or who has a better nature you can appeal to. For the rest of his travels, Cardboard never again has line of sight with Harborview Medical Center. At first his absence is noticed, never missed, and eventually forgotten.
He is not the only one who suffers from the Ranger presence. Clint absolutely loves the hospital. The long hours, the shortage of staff, especially security, and the egos of the surgeons which gives them exclusive parking spots and the need to fill them with expensive cars.
Clint is making his usual rounds of the hospital parking areas when he sees the new Jag of the Chief of Surgery. This is going to be sweet. While it is a rare car and harder to sell, once he finds a buyer, it will be worth big bucks.
The act of trying not to look suspicious is itself very suspicious. Especially when you have people monitoring your actions from the shadows. And while walking from one garage level to the next isn’t unusual, walking up every level and back and forth among the rows can be. Most people would take the elevator if they were going more than one floor in a parking structure.
Clint has no idea that not only is he being watched, but that his movements are being reported from one level to the next. This isn’t his first car prowl as the police call it. So he knows what to look for before starting his crime. Once he is sure that there is no one around he pulls out of his pants the tricks of his trade.
The lock is popped without incident. Why people have car alarms anymore is still a wonder to him. He can deactivate it in seconds and no one really pays attention to them anyway. But every time one goes off in the car he is breaking into, it makes him smile.
Unfortunately that sounds also masks the footfalls of the men rushing up on him. As soon as he gets the alarm silenced he stands up to see if anyone was around to hear. Once he had a staffer asleep in a car nearby and he had to ditch his prize. This time it is much, much worse.
Men dressed in the grey, black and white urban camouflage are all around him with guns drawn. Through the face paint he can see them smiling. One slips his rifle behind him and approaches with a gloved hand out. Wordlessly Clint hands him the slimjim and other tools.
“You are having a really bad night,” he says as the bag slips over Clint’s head.
In addition to chopper pilots, Rangers really like medical personnel. The pilots fly them out of trouble, and the docs patch them up so they can live to fight another day. Stealing from the man who patched up the reason they are all here just isn’t okay. Tonight Clint will see the errors in his way. And tomorrow he will be reformed. It will not be pleasant, but it will be permanent.
The security guards, however, love the addition of more bodies to make their lives easier. Some people are difficult to deal with and more people who have your back is always a good thing. In the ER, people can be especially difficult. Screaming at the nurse will not make things go faster, and it forces the security to remain in the area when they could be doing other things, like escorting some of the female staff to their cars.
For some reason some people don’t understand that hostility is not the way to communicate with someone who is already overworked, understaffed, and greatly underappreciated. Not only is he not the first person to yell at this nurse, he isn’t the first to yell at her this hour. And if she gives in it will send a message that yelling is the way to get things done and then all hell will break loose.
Specialist Bell isn’t happy. His Ranger Buddy is still upstairs recovering. They had gone through Basic Training together, Infantry AIT, and even Airborne School at the same time. It was Bell that talked him into going into the Ranger Indoctrinate Program. Brown had gotten Bell through RIP, and now he is upstairs fighting for his life.
Command Sergeant Major Roc had said that Bell can’t suit up until his head is in the right place. So he has been waiting for news. He was talking to one of the injured Rangers disguised in the ER waiting room, but for the last few minutes he has been sitting there with his head in his hands. Most warriors do not like to show weakness and do not respect weakness in others. However, there are times it is okay for a man to break down, and this is one of those times. Out of respect, the other soldiers ignore him.
It isn’t a lack of compassion, but this way he doesn’t lose face. If he really needs to break down someone will pull him aside, but as long as he holds it together, he is fine. Tomorrow everyone will act like nothing happened. He may be in the Ranger Battalion, but he is still human.
Once again he stands up and goes toward the nurse at the desk. His mannerism is that of a man broken. His posture is slumped and he barely shuffles up to get information on the status of his friend. Since there has been no radio call saying a change of status, his friend is still unconscious. In this case, no news isn’t good news.
He stands behind Jake still looking at the floor as Jake continues his tirade. “This is not productive,” he mutters.
Through his screaming Jake hears a voice behind him and he turns. Looking down, because he must look down he sees a boy that is just breaking five foot six. Compared to Jake’s six two, he isn’t what one would call intimidating. It isn’t even worth the trouble so Jake turns around, and starts yelling anew.
“Stop yelling,” Bell says to the floor.
“Or what,” Jake spurts quickly turning and moving close enough for Bell to bump into his chest.
“Or I’ll stop you.”
There is no malice, there is no emotion, it is just a calm statement. By now he has the full attention of the Rangers in the area. While none of them move, they are very interesting in the outcome. This also sparks the attention of Jakes two brothers-in-law who previously had been tending to their sister. They are comparable in size to Jake, and both know from personal experience that Jake can handle himself.
Jake figures he can use the stress relief, so he uses his chest to bump the kid back a step and then cocks back to throw a punch, that is as far as he gets before he can’t breathe.
The Rangers aren’t just trained in jujitsu in the Gracie system, but by the Gracies themselves. All, if any, hand to hand in the military will be down and dirty. You will fight to win, and win quick, or you will die. As soon as Jake opens himself up to hit him, Bell lunges in which will prevent any real damage from a punch, then shoves his hand into Jake’s throat.
Jake’s body wants to break the chokehold, and that is its main concern, so he is not ready to for the leg sweep that puts them both on the ground. With one hand Jake tries to open the grip of the young Ranger to provide his body with much needed oxygen, the other is flailing around trying to hit the body on top of him. That arm is quickly locked up and his world is filled with pain.
The two brothers stand up and before they can get three steps a man with his leg in a cast impedes their path.
“You don’t want to do that,” he warns in a sincere voice.
“You want a piece too?”
With that Jordan steps aside. He gave them a chance, if they don’t want to listen, at least his conscious is clear. Various men stand up throughout the ER, all wanting to join the fray, but he stops them with a hand. Bell needs this. The only help he gives is to alert his fellow grunt by singing in a high pitched voice, “Belly.”
Bell hears his name and turns to see two large men bearing down on him. Instinctively he reaches back and pulls his pistol from his waistband behind him. That stops them in their tracks. Jake is losing consciousness, so Bell finishes him off with a pistol whip to the temple and stands up.
Kevin really wasn’t ready for getting a gun pulled on him when he left the party to take his sister to the emergency room. Of course they also thought she had another week before she went into labor. He did what most honest men would do and had to back up his sister’s husband. Jake can be a little abrasive, but he didn’t deserve to have the life choked out of him by some guy.
As soon as he sees that they have reconsidered, Bell puts the gun back in his waistband and addresses the two behemoths. “You don’t want this, pick up your friend and leave now.”
Once the gun is not in their faces they start to relax. Then Kevin does the math, he knows the distance he has to cover, subtract the distance of his outstretched arms, divide by his top speed and the amount of time he has to accelerate to that speed and Bell has “X” amount of time to pull out that gun to shoot him. If the number is a deficit, Kevin will have his hands on the guy before he can pull the trigger, if the number is a surplus Bell will kill Kevin before he can reach him. That thought takes a split second and Kevin figures he knows the answer.
The slight dip in his shoulders before he lunges telegraphs his intention. Bell is of course ready. Unfortunately Kevin’s brother is not, so when he sees his big bro surge forward he is taken by surprise and is a couple steps off.
Bell doesn’t go for the gun which is what most are expecting, he slips low and sidesteps Kevin. Kevin’s large body was blocking his brother’s view of the events. So he is startled to see Bell in front of him. Bell knows that he has to end this hard, and fast. While Kevin recovers, his brother gets a kick to the knee as he passes. As he drops to the ground Bell is already heading back and drives his forearm into the back of the screaming man’s head.
Since he is out of the fight Bell turns his attention to Kevin. “Last chance.”
Kevin isn’t one to give up easily, but once again his path is blocked, this time by a very large black security guard.
“You are going to have to leave.” The mountain says.
“But that guy has a gun,” Kevin pleads defensively.
“Do you have a gun,” the man asks without turning.
“Nope,” Bell states pulling the pistol from his waistband.
“There you have it.”
Bell bends down to the slowly recovering Jake and puts the gun in his moth. “You will unfuck yourself or I will unfuck you for you.” No one doubts the truth in his words.
“I will not deny any of you treatment if any of you are injured,” the security guard continues, “now can I expect you to play nice with each other?”
That is when Jordan circles a finger in the air giving the rally signal. All of a sudden, most of the young men in the vicinity stand up and stand behind Bell.
Once again Kevin does the math, he has one crippled brother, Jake is 100% but peeing his pants, and then there is the sister in labor, he is looking at about twenty men in very short haircuts and the staff have made it clear that these guys will be able to act with impunity. At least there are few better places to be injured than a hospital. “I think we are okay,” Kevin states as he picks up his brother who is holding his shattered knee and moaning in pain. Jake nods over and over chattering his teeth on the barrel.
In movies they like to uncock a pistol by pulling the trigger and using your thumb to slow the travel of the hammer. That is just asking for it to discharge. The safest way to put the Beretta 92 series 9mm pistol into a non-firing mode is to click the safely. In truth it isn’t a safety, it is a decocking lever. And the “click” of the hammer going forward on safe is almost deafening when the gun is still in your mouth. Plus is it some intimidating than the Hollywood way.
It does not take long for Jake to collect his wife in the middle of a contraction and help his in laws out the door.
“As a trauma hospital Harborview is the best, but I recommend Swedish for the birth of your child,” the security guard calls after them.
“Thanks,” Bell says walking back to his seat.
“Airborne,” the guard answers. For those close it sounds like Air-born, but for those who know it sounded more like Err-bone. The way that only a true paratrooper says it.
“Rangers lead the way,” Bell says smiling.
“Hooah.”
He was never a Ranger, it wasn’t the life he wanted, but he did spend his first couple tours with the 82nd Airborne. And those that wear the silver wings are all one big family.
Just as Bell sits down, Chong goes running past, and taps him on the arm urging him up, “Payback time,” is all he says without slowing.
A few short miles away in a dark room the only sound is a young voice reciting:
“Gallantly will I show the world that I am a specially selected and well trained soldier. My courtesy to superior officers, neatness of dress and care of equipment shall set the example for others to follow.”
Bravo Company had inserted by helicopter in two trips. The Arms room was open before the first troop got on one of the whirly birds. The Rangers fall under different rules and so they have rounds in the arms room. What good is a unit you can deploy anywhere in the world if they don’t have bullets for the fight. It does not take long to issue weapons and night vision and they are on their way. The other units are prepping and planning. Charlie and Delta just hope there is still a city standing when they get on line. You hate to get pumped up and not have a fight to go to.
Alpha Company formed one large convoy. Mostly humvees and cargo trucks. Due to the limit of helicopters they have to drive the 50 miles into Seattle. Of course they have a place to go. One of the shipyards is empty at this time of night and gives them a good place to set up behind all the containers. There is even a nice large spot for the choppers to land for rest or refuel. By this time CW4 Lancer has woken everyone up and given the lowdown on what is going on. The only snag is getting bullets for the choppers. There isn’t a single flight crew member not on board.
All the activity near the waterfront attracted the attention of the Coast Guard. It takes the full talent of their world class bullshitter to get them not only to back down but to give them a wide berth. There is no reason to get them involved.
There continues to be organized chaos until the Blackhawk touches down. When the two guys with hoods over their heads are taken out, everyone noticed. Prisoners can mean a good thing, or a very, very bad thing.
They are brought into a tent that was set up a part from the rest. There is triple strand concertina circling it, the only tent with that. The people who occupy the tent brought their gear in rolling pelican boxes and no one has seen them since they went it. Things do not bode well for the persons under custody or “PUC” as is the abbreviation. Especially considering that is the tent with the biggest generator. It is also the smallest tent, and they have battery powered lanterns. How much power do they need? Hopefully the loud generator noise will drown out the screams.
Sitting on metal chairs the hoods are abruptly removed. Except for the canvas sides, this looks like any other interrogation room (now called interview rooms since it sounds better) in any police station around the country. A couple metal chairs, a metal four sided table in the center and the single hanging light bulb. The two uniformed soldiers in the corner are a new twist, and the guy sitting across from them is wearing a polo shirt and not the cheap shirt and tie most detectives wear. But these two guys know how to handle this situation and feel confident that they will outsmart whoever this is.
Usually the interrogator flips through files to look official or like he has some secret information but this one is oddly cool.
“I am sure you are familiar with good cop/bad cop,” he starts, “but this is a new situation for you. Today we are playing ‘no cop’ and it isn’t as fun.”
He lets that sink in for a minute before continuing, “I am not a police officer, I am a soldier. Which means that your world just got a whole lot worse. I am sure that you have heard of the Geneva Conventions?”
“You do know it is conventions and not convention,” he says digressing, “there was more than one. You don’t think that so many countries agreed upon the rules of war in one sit-down did you?”
“So the military has the Geneva Conventions,” he replies getting back on track and enunciating the ‘S’, “part of the Geneva Conventions cover prisoners of war, and how humanely they will be treated. The conduct is very specific for the captors.”
That very though puts the two at ease and they exchange a glance that shows that they are of the same mind.
“Unfortunately, you are not prisoners of war.” He lets that thought hang in the air, “so this is new territory, legally I am free to do pretty much what I want. However, never let it be said that I am not fair, I will give you one chance to tell me the information I want and you will walk out of here. You might limp, but you will be alive.”
Now they decide to play the one card they love to play above all others, a quick rattling in a foreign language to play that they don’t speak English and they are at a stalemate. Both smile smugly as the guy has to figure out his next move. Without a word he walks out.
Carter Mann is a Staff Sergeant in the United States Army. Currently he is attached to the S-2 section of the 2nd Ranger Battalion. He is an intelligence analyst, and a damn good one. However that makes him a pogue, someone who has a non-combat arms Military Occupational Specialty. While he can be Airborne, with his MOS he will not be allowed into Ranger school. Even if they change the rules, there is no way he will get the chance in the Ranger Battalion. He will always be an “untabbed bitch” and he has come to terms with it.
There are two types of Soldiers in the Ranger Battalion, those with a Ranger Tab and those without. Those without are untabed bitches. Of course they are still called Rangers. Anyone who wears the Ranger Scroll unit patch is a Ranger. Having the tab just means you finished Ranger School, or as those inside the fence of the Ranger Batt will call you a tabbed soldier, you aren’t a “real” Ranger unless you were in the Batt.
They don’t overtly look down on him, but he knows that they will never consider him equal. As always when it is time for him to work, they look at him like he has all the answers. There is no way that he is going to let some punks make him look bad, not after all he has been through. Especially since time is of the essence, he doesn’t have the time to play fuckaround. Fuckaround is not a game you play with angry Rangers.
They are still smiling when he bursts back into the tent. “Sorry you don’t speak English, you won’t understand what I am saying, but I will tell you anyway.” With that he throws a large net over each person.
“Okay, here is the deal. You don’t speak English and since I am not a police officer, and you are not prisoners of war, I am not obligated to set you free. I will however let you go, of course I am letting you go over the water in the middle of Puget Sound.”
Then he starts cinching the nets closed with padlocks.
“These are nice heavy duty cargo nets. They can support a lot more weight than either of you have. So here is the deal, I am going to close them with these locks. The keys of these locks will be worn with the dogtags of the squad members of those that you attacked. Every time they look at them they will think of you, of course you will be crab food.”
“We are going to weigh these nets down with ammo cans filled with dirt and rocks, then we are going to load you up one at a time one the choppers and throw you out over the water.”
As if on cue, they can hear the helicopter spooling up.
“I don’t care if you understand me, but you should believe me. I will promise you this, whichever one learns English the fastest gets to live, the other one will feed the crabs. And before you think it is a trick that I am going to take you out and drop you off one at a time, it is because I have too many grunts who want to ride out with us and try and shoot you on the way down.”
“The reason for the nets is so that your bodies will not float to the surface or wash up anywhere on shore. The loops in the net a large enough for the fish and crabs to feed on you.”
His tone is full of malice and his face is stone cold. Once he has one wrapped up tight, he tells the other one, “don’t go anywhere.” And has a couple large Rangers pick him up, net, chair and all. They carry him and heave him onto the floor of the chopper.
Once it lifts off it gets very real. They waste no time flying out over the water. There is no fly in circles and let the tension build. In less than a minute, Carter is pushing him towards the edge.
“I SPEAK ENGLISH!!!!” He screams at the top of his lungs. “I’LL TELL YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT TO KNOW!!!”
Carter just looks at him with dead eyes and points to his ears. He mouths, “I can’t hear you.” And points straight up, the rotors are drowning out his voice.
With that the captive understands that he waited just a few seconds too long. He is shaking his head back and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Finally he feels something clamp over his ears and the loud rotor noise gets muffled.
“Ready to talk?” The intercom voice says?
It is the most complete confession, anyone has ever heard. Carter’s reaction is unexpected.
“Sorry,” he says pushing him toward the edge, “your stupid get away driver was not on the same sheet of music, he already talked, you have to give me something more.”
That is when he gets into as much detail as he can. Hoping that there is just one piece of information that will save his life.
“Thanks, that was helpful.”
And with that, Carter pushes him out the door. He falls screaming, for about four feet. He lands with a splash into the zodiac being helmed by two Rangers. They steer him back to shore as the chopper flies back.
“Nice bluff,” Lancer says over the headphones.
“I wasn’t bluffing, if he hadn’t talked, he was going in.”
Lancer mentally crosses off SSG Mann from his list of potential poker buddies.
As soon as they land Carter jumps out of the chopper and yells, “Saddle up, we have a target. And a live Ranger!”
He looks at the sobbing get away driver and thinks that was the fastest he has ever broken a man. Then back into the tent, best thing to do is to confirm the story from three different angles. When he opens the tent it is rank with the smell of urine. This is going to be easier than he thought.
The senior man for Homeland Security in Seattle has been getting calls all night. There have been reports of armed men running through the streets and helicopters flying all around. The reports give the impression of something BIG going down, but he hasn’t heard of anything. And if the streets are full of armed men, where are the reports of gunfire? He needs to get to the bottom of this right away. Few things will get him out of a warm bed in the wee hours of the morning, this is not going to be a good day for someone. If he knew how right he was, he would have stayed in bed.
They have the worst duty of the rest. But as is true in the military like any other organization, even the worst jobs are still necessary for the group to function well. So while they do not enjoy it, it must be done. Someone has to scour the morgues for the bodies of their comrades.
It doesn’t take long to come across a body they recognize. He died at the scene with a shotgun blast to the chest. Had he been wearing his ranger body armor, he would have a tough time breathing, but he would be okay. However no one carries the RBA out to the clubs. When they call to report in there is good news and bad news. They provide the bad news to inform the commander that one of his soldiers is dead. The good news is that the last one is accounted for, and possibly alive.
The captives spill their guts. They are part of a new predominantly Vietnamese gang operating in the International District called by outsiders as “Chinatown” Seattleites consider themselves too progressive to use such a limiting term. Especially since there are so many Asian groups there, to refer to them as one seems insulting. Of course it is the Caucasians who use the term ID, like everyone should just know. They are snobbish in their progressive mindset.
This gang is different than the rest. They have no set territory, no clear membership, and no name. The members of most groups like to give themselves a cool sounding name. So you feel like you belong, these guys know that once you have a name, the police will have something to call you and have something to target. This way there is no organization to chart, if they have no name, do they even exist?
