The night was dubbed “The Night of Fire” before it was over.
In the heat of the afternoon gangs of teenagers heaved
Molotov cocktails into the secured areas at the foot of cell towers at
thousands of sites across Cali, from Orange County to north of Sacramento.
As evening set, service trucks came in from “calls” and
parked in their laagers. Since the
advent of the “solar economy” the rhythms of life were clocked by the sun. Work stopped when the sun went down except in
the most dire of emergencies.
Bonita and Miguel approached their
first “hide” after retrieving the weapon they had cached earlier that week when
scouting the target. The ¾ moon was just
starting to rise above the foothills at half past midnight. It had been a slow, dark walk into position.
Miguel was the spotter while Bonita was
the triggerman. Miguel laid the blanket
on the ground. Bonita uncased the
weapon, screwed on the suppresser and tied on the brass catcher. The brass catcher was little more than a sock
with a drawstring threaded through the opening.
The gun was not a standard ‘military’
rifle. It was a bolt action .22 with a
precision trigger and a four power scope. It also sported a bi-pod and Bonita could hit
a quarter at 75 yards with boring regularity when shooting prone. Tonight her targets were much bigger than
quarters.
The utility trucks were parked on the
diagonal, twenty-five along the east side of the laager and twenty-five on the
west side. Bonita and Miguel’s first
hide was on the east side of the facility.
Conversing in whispers, Miguel
suggested that she start with the front tires of the trucks closest to them and
continue up the line. They would move to
a second hide they had prepared if she started missing due to distance.
The closest truck was fifty yards away
and the furthest truck was over one hundred and twenty yards away. She was aiming for the sidewall of the tire
because cut cords in the sidewalls are not repairable. The only times she missed was when bullets
hit the chain link fence and went “whinging” off, into the night. When that happened Miguel would nudge
Bonita’s butt with the toe of his boot and say, “Send another one.”
Unfortunately, she was unable to get a
good “look” at the rear dual tires as they were masked by the bodies of
adjacent trucks.
“Let’s see if we can get a better look
at the rear tires from the second hide.” Bonita whispered.
Miguel shook his head ‘no’ and
whispered, “The angles are all wrong.”
“We have the time and more than enough
ammo. We gotta try.” Bonita responded.
They picked up their equipment and
moved to the second hide about sixty yards to the north.
Bonita was able to see the treads of
the rear tires but the tiny bullets were unable to penetrate fifty millimeters
of rubber, several steel belts and the eight plies of polyester reinforcing.
“Well, shit.” Bonita said. “Now what?”
Bonita did not like investing effort when there was no return.
“You might as well get some practice.”
Miguel said. “Even if you cannot get the
tires you can still shoot the headlights and practice putting rounds through
the windshield. Bullet holes in the
windshields right in front of the steering wheel will give the drivers something to think about.”
Bonita visualized where the head of the
driver would be and she methodically put one bullet hole in each windshield and
then worked her way back up the line putting a bullet hole in each
headlamp. She was able to shoot as more
quickly than Miguel was able to reload magazines.
Then, for good measure, she angled a
shot into the grille of each truck where Miguel said the radiator side-tanks
were most likely to be located.
Then they moved to the west side of the
lot to their third hide. Lather, rinse,
repeat. Ninety minutes later they
broke-down their last hide. They walked
a half hour and cached their equipment.
Then they walked another six miles to where they spent the rest of the
night.
That was the night they became lovers.
Unbeknownst to Bonita and Miguel most
of the bullets that punched through the right headlamps also trashed the engine
control computers that were housed in the right fender. Those vehicles were down-for-the-count.
Similar events happened at hundreds of
vehicle marshalling sites across northern California.
Next Installment
Next Installment
Illustrative of how much damage can be done by a little .22 :-)
ReplyDeleteIt also illustrates how quantity has a quality all its own. Send enough rounds downrange and something important is going to say "OUCH!".
DeleteOne thing to note: while repairing sidewall holes is a no-no legally, it actually CAN be done; I've seen it - and I've seen it hold up very well for a long time. I suspect that in a situation like this one it would be done.
ReplyDelete