"Sexton, Falcon." The call sign had no connection to the F16 Fighting Falcon that was still in USAF service despite the introduction of the F35 Lightning II. Its origin came from the fact that Lauren had spent two years playing for the USAF Falcon's women's soccer team while she had been at the AF Academy. "All copied. Proceed with caution. Out." Her tone was terse as her eyes shifted towards the first subject.

The Air Force Captain shook her head softly when she saw Guillory emerge helmetless. She could advise the former DA but she couldn't order him to follow her advice. Unlike him, Lauren was wearing her Enhanced Combat Helmet, even though she was inside the armored JLTV. "OK, people, let's keep eyes on both sides of the road." The two men could be a diversion, intended to draw attention away from the left hand side of the road.

As she was sitting on the right hand side of the vehicle,  Lauren then reached for her M22 field binos and began to sweep the right hand side of the road from her seat, looking to see if anyone else was hiding there and making a better job of it than the man in the tan ball cap.

Tori stopped the Suburban, keeping the vehicle in drive and her foot on the break.  She kept her hands at ten and two.  "Fifty-fifty the second subject in the bushes is going to bolt if I step out," Tori said to Scott, cognizant that she was wearing police markings on her OD uniform.  "Carissa might be better to take up slack while you sort this out," Rios offered.  "I can stay with Bourbon Street and use it for pursuit or move it forward to block fire, if it comes to that."  Ballistic cover showing up half a minute after you've already started taking fire wasn't optimal, but it beat the alternative.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:04, Sun 22 July 2018.

Cole brought the M2HB into Condition 1 but he didn't reorient the weapon, as much as he wanted to.  Hearts and minds were rarely won over when one party was forced to look down the barrel of a heavy machine gun.  Don't matter though, he thought to himself.  If something went down, he'd quickly swing the gun on target and open up a full rate.  These dudes would get just a few shots off before Anderson would turn them into a fine red mist.

"So what did you do before all of this?" Mike Carswell asked as he put the needle through Lesley Markum's skin. He'd already checked that the local anaesthesia that he had applied to her hand had taken effect so that she wouldn't feel anything as he sewed up her hand wound. She was his second patient of the day, the first having been Devin Taylor.

"I worked for Tyson Foods, in Pine Bluff." Her accent was strong. They were sitting in Captain Franks' office, Mike having turned it into an ad hoc Doctor's office for the afternoon. Gene Prior was waiting his turn in another room. Mike wasn't looking forward to that one. Dentistry wasn't his strong suit. The medic's plate carrier vest and rifle were both propped against one wall, a fresh pair of latex gloves on his hand as he worked.

"Yeah? One of our guys worked for them. The Marshall Islander, Kabua. Don't know where though. You should talk to him when they get back. You might know some of the same people." His head was down, his eyes focused on her hand as he tied off the sutures. He presumed that she had a fair idea where Kabua and the others had gone. Captain Franks didn't look like the type to keep things to himself and in a small town like this news probably spread fast.

"OK, I'm nearly done. The anaesthetic will wear off shortly and the sutures will dissolve by themselves over time, so you don't need to worry about getting them out later, OK?" Mike looked up, smiled. "So, how's life here? You ever get any trouble from anyone?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:29, Mon 23 July 2018.

Scott glances over his shoulder at the medic, who's alone in the SUV's rear seat for this run and, from all appearances, enjoying the extra elbow room.  "Good point, Lieutenant.  I hate to pull the medic out from under armor, but I'm not going to turn down a second set of eyes outside.  Carissa, your call."

He swings open the Suburban's heavy door and steps out, settling the carbine's sling over his neck.  Despite the sun's glare, he removes his Oakleys and slides one temple through a vacant MOLLE loop on his plate carrier, giving himself a moment to scan the area and Carissa to dismount if she so chooses.  "Afternoon," he calls, taking a few steps toward the first subject and raising a hand.  "Governor's Task Force.  What's happening?"

"Don't shoot! I ain't got no weapon! Don't shoot!" the signaler calls, hands raised high, his voice transmitting fear. "We came for help!"

Guillory approaches the men cautiously, carbine pointed unthreateningly at the ground. This seems to reassure the signaler. Keeping his hands up, he gestures to his companion. The second man, Hispanic, emerges from the brush.

"We came from down the road. Things are out of control there, man. We barely got out alive."

Guillory studies the two civilians as the spokesmen- he gives his name as Tyron (pronounced Tie-run) expands upon his cursory explanation. Tyron's shirt is too small. He's tall- over six feet- and thin; his sleeves, unrolled, stop a couple of inches short of his wrists. His dark skin are peppered with darker scrawls of crude ink- prison tats. He cops to it as soon as he's challenged.

"Yeah, we inmates, but we ain't tryin' to escape- we came to get help. You gotta believe us, man. It's fuckin' crazy in there."

From his elevated perch in the J-LTV's armored turret, Anderson scans the area, looking for signs of an ambush. After a minute or so, he's fairly confident that the two strangers are alone.

Tyron recounts a tale of violent revolt, and a bloody aftermath that could be summarized as Lord of the Flies on bath salts. Apparently, almost a week ago, at the height of the storm, there was a disagreement between inmates and the administration at the Varner Supermax unit. The inmates wanted to leave their barracks to save their crops planted in the yard, but the admin wouldn't allow them outside in the heavy weather. After several days of fruitless negotiations, cooped up in their humid, leaky prison accommodations, the hungry prisoners snapped and started rioting. Giving no quarter, the inmates quickly overwhelmed the guards and broke out of the prison buildings. After settling old scores with the guards, and other inmates, some of the rioters, now armed with prison weaponry, set off from the conquered Varner unit to liberate their fellow cons incarcerated at the nearby Cummings unit (Tyron claims that he and Luis were inmates at the latter).

This time, the guards, assisted by some of the Cummings prisoners, were able to hold off the attackers- for a time. After a two-day siege, the prison administrator called for negotiations with the besiegers. The Varner rioters' leadership promised to allow Cumming's guards to leave, with their lives, weapons, and loved ones (from the nearby housing area), if they surrendered the prison. Naively, it turned out, the guard contingent agreed to the arrangement, only to be massacred once out in the open. Tyron claims that, when he and his companion (Luis) escaped the savagery the previous morning, some of the guards and their families were still holding out in Cummings village, just north of the prison. The citizens of tiny Varner, however, were not so fortunate. According to Tyron, they were all but wiped out in a two-day orgy of rape, torture, and murder. Some of the prisoners ("mostly white-boys", Tyron describes them) took all of the working prison vehicles and headed south on the 65 to look for some rumored "Peckerwood Homeland" (this is Tyron's name for it; perhaps reading his audience, he immediately apologizes for using the racially-charged, segregation-era term for white people). Tryon estimates that there are probably about 150 "rebel" inmates spread between Varner and Cummings, maybe half of them armed with captured guns (most of the rest have improvised edged weapons and clubs). Inmates that refused to participate in the violent bacchanalia were tortured and killed. If Tyron's tale is to believed, this would have been his and Luis' fate had they not escaped.  If things are indeed as Tyron has described them, the situation at the prison complex is as bad, maybe even worse, than What Guillory and Cao suspected.

Meanwhile, back in Grady, Mike Carswell treats the town's sick and injured. His preliminary examination of the boy suggests that Devin is suffering not from simple bronchitis, but double pneumonia. Something particularly strong, from the former EMT's modest stock of antibiotics, may be able to halt the infection, but it will take a couple of days to know whether the boy's condition is on an upward trajectory. If it gets much worse, the boy will probably need oxygen, maybe even a ventilator, to be able to breath, and neither STAR Team Sierra nor the tiny town of Grady have access to either of those items. Having done all that he can for now, Carswell moves on to his next patient.

The sutures Carswell completes quickly and smoothly. In a few days, the stiches can come out, and Carswell reckons the patient won't even have much of a scar to show for it. As for the medic's first stab (pun intended) at field dentistry, the results are mixed. He gets the tooth out easily enough, but there's signs of infection in the socket. He can administer yet more of his precious supply of antibiotics, but the old man really needs to be seen by an experienced dentist.

While Carswell is with his patients, Murray gets to work on the fallen oak. She proves handy with a chainsaw, quickly segmenting the hard word into more manageable chucks. Ace Hardware, freed from its trailer, should be able to drag the massive, heavy truck out of the property owners' parlor.


Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:34, Thu 23 Aug 2018.

Grady:

Saul watches Murray work, helps out where he can and tries to keep the locals far enough away that nobody gets smacked with flying debris or heavier bits of wood.  More than anything, he tries to radiate an official stance of "here we are, we're here to help," to the local towns people. he did have to shoot a couple dirty looks at a few locals who were making jabs about a woman working a chainsaw.  Even the Apocalypse contains yokels, it seems.  When Xandra finally climbs down from the zone of kinetic wood destruction shes's been working in, Saul hands her a fresh water bottle.

"Seems like enough work to me," he tells the younger woman who is covered in sawdust.  "After all, there's a fine line between 'let's get you back on your feet,' and 'why don't I sit here complaining about saw technique while you do all the work.'"

It's not much of an exaggeration.  People want to know that someone has their back and while they think they want to be coddled, it usually turns out sideways and less than ideal.

With a limp, he moves over to start backing Watkins into position to haul the trunk away.

Carissa doesn't blanch, exactly, at the story the inmates are spinning.  She's heard enough horror stories over the last several years that it doesn't exactly surprise her that a bunch of formerly cooped up, former meth-heads would go on a rampage, but she does question the point of it.

Some people just want to watch the world burn, she can hear her dad quote that ancient Batman movie.  Yeah dad, or they don't want to be in jail and other people's opinions aren't really that important.  Or their lives.

"Rabid dogs," she mutters from her guard position behind Guillory.  It's not an insult.  It's an observation and a suggestion how to deal with the problem.  The cowgirl side-eyes the self-proclaimed inmates of good and tries to get a read.  What would dad say?  They're here, they could have run.  It could be a trap, but these guys are dead if it is.  Might be dead anyway.

All in all, Carissa is sure that most road-trips have started off better than this one.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:51, Sun 22 July 2018.

Scott chuckles at "Peckerwood Homeland."  "Shitkicker heaven," he offers, not really expecting Tyron to get the reference.  "Okay, Tyron.  I'm gonna pat you guys down.  If you've got anything in your pockets that's gonna make my day worse, tell me now.  You know the drill.  If I don't have a problem here, I'm not gonna cuff you."  He looks at Luis.  "¿Comprende?  ¿Se habla inglés?"

Once he's certain Tyron and Luis aren't holding anything unpleasant, he directs them to the shoulder of the road and tosses them a couple of water bottles and a packet of homemade trail mix.  "Hang out there, guys.  If anyone from Varner shows up, we'll deal with them.  Stay out of the fight and run that way."  He points northeast, across the overgrown median.

"Shit, man."  Tyron looks as if he isn't sure whether or not he's being insulted.  "You got guns to spare."  It's not inflected as a question.

Scott chuckles.  "Yeah, and I'm pretty sure you know how to use 'em.  Vice Lord."  He points at Tyron's ink.  "Geyer Springs Crew, am I right?"

"Not anymore," Tyron responds warily.  "When I was younger.  How you know that?"

Scott flashes a hand sign and a hard grin.  "I worked Southwest Division nights when I was younger.  I don't think I ever caught you, though."

"Hell, naw, old man, you ain't never catch me.  I's too fast then."  The convict laughs.  "Okay, okay.  Damn.  I knew I shoulda signed up when the recruiter came around.  Mama always said the cops and the army was just the biggest gangs."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:02, Mon 23 July 2018.

"What country do you think this is?" Luis responds in an Arkansas twang. Although he seems genuinely offended, he cooperates fully. Tyron cops to having a shiv in his back pocket. Guillory relieves him of the prison knife and has a look. Its short, thin blade is made of shaved or melted plastic, with a rubber band grip. It contains traces of blood. Tyron notices Guillory noticing the dried blood.

"Had to stab a motherfucker to get away," Tyron confesses with a mixture of guilt and pride (60-40). "Self defense," he adds, without a wink.

-

Xandra gratefully accepts the water.  She pours a handful of it into the purple paisley bandana that's been tied over her hair and replaces it on her head before taking a long pull at the bottle.  "I'm about done abusing this little guy anyway."  She hefts the 28" Husqvarna by way of emphasis.  "God didn't intend two-strokes to burn alcohol.  I need to tear the engine down and clean the seals before they disintegrate."

She brushes ineffectually at her T-shirt, upon which a green-faced Medusa proclaims, No Sugar, No Spice, Not Particularly Nice from behind a veil of sawdust.  "It's just axe work now.  I think Uncle Oglesme over there can take care of that himself."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:03, Mon 23 July 2018.

"A country without the ACLU now," Scott replies dryly.  "No offense.  You hadn't said much."

"Self-defense it is," he agrees.  "Nobody's gonna prosecute you for that shit.  Okay.  Sit tight.  I'll be back in a few."

Scott closes out the pleasantries, leaves the ex-inmates under Carissa and Tori's watchful eyes, and walks back to where Cao waits with the JLTV.  He passes on the take from Tyron, his face back to its usual impassivity.  "This is looking like it's about to blow up into a regional insurgency," he concludes.  "And we are definitely outnumbered beyond any reasonable chance of winning a gunfight.  Not to dodge responsibility, but I think that puts it in your court.  What are you thinking?"
This message was last edited by the player at 00:59, Mon 23 July 2018.

Once Scott had patted down the two prisoners, Tori parked the Suburban and moved to assist the former Prosecutor.  After hearing a bit of the story, she made a few notes.  When Guillory left to brief Captain Cao, Tori shifted into detective mode.  First she cuffed both prisoners. Then she separated them, taking Luis back to the Suburban.  She grilled each separately, on several details.  Who had Tyron stabbed?  Who started the revolt?  Which click/gangs had they run with back in prison?  Who were the leaders?  Tori re-questioned each on information they'd already provided, to see if they story changed, either from the first iteration, or between them.  Discrepancies were noted.  Corroborating information flagged.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:23, Mon 23 July 2018.

Lauren Cao stepped down out of the JLTV as Guillroy approached, her eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of her Wiley X ballistic sunglasses. The Air Force officer was making no attempt to appear unthreatening other, perhaps, than the fact that her carbine was held at the low ready rather than pointed directly at the two escaped felons who, for all she knew, could be the local equivalents of Charles Manson and Jeffrey Dahmer.

Relaxing slightly – but only slightly – when Rios cuffed the pair, she looked over her shoulder at Anderson, up in the JLTV’s gun ring. ”Sergeant, if you see anyone coming down the road put a warning burst over their head. If they keep coming...” she paused, realized that she wasn’t ready to declare guns hot on unidentified targets. Yet. But nor could she put responsibility to fire on Anderson. ”If they keep coming hold your fire until I give the word.” She then slapped a gloved palm against the JLTV. ”Kabua, dismount and cover the road ahead.” She wanted more eyes on the road. And more weapons.

The dark haired Air Force officer then considered Guillroy’s question. This was like Carthage. Carthage, Texas. Where her unit had almost been overrun by the Allianza. Only worse. At least in Carthage the enemy had worn uniforms. Most of them anyway. ”You’re right.” She said after a moment. ”We don’t have the resources to deal with a mass uprising on our own. We need to call this in to Little Rock.” If she remembered correctly the State Guard had some mortars.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:05, Mon 23 July 2018.

Tyron and Luis bristle at being cuffed, complaining loudly that "that other guy" (Guillory) had said they wouldn't be, but they don't resist. Separately, they corroborate the account delivered to Guillory. Taken separately, their stories line up perfectly. Both claim not to have run with a prison gang. Apparently, there was a group of openly gay prisoners at Varner who looked out for one another but, unlike other prison gangs, there was no hierarchy, no one giving orders, and "members" were allowed to associate with anyone outside the group that they pleased. Tryon and Luis were part of this clique. Once the inmates controlled both prisons, the gays, who didn't participate en bloc in the revolt and vengeance killings were targeted for victimization. The man Tryon stabbed had tried to rape him.

They claim that the biggest Latino set, Los Diablos, instigated the riot at Varner. The African-American (Gangsta Lords, mostly) and white (Arkansas Aryan Alliance) prison gangs* assisted in overwhelming the guards there. Once Varner was in gang hands, fighting broke out between the Diablos and Gangsta Lords on one side, the AAA on the other. That may be why the whites left en-masse. According to both men, the Diablos-Gangsta alliance is tenuous at best and cracks have already appeared. Most of the inmates are still wearing their orange (Varner) or white (Cummings) prison jumpsuits, although some, like Tyron and Luis, have managed to change into civilian clothing.

Neither man is sure about which sets currently control which parts of the prison complex (From nearest the 65 to furthest from it: Varner village, Varner Prison, Cummings Prison, Cummings village), but if the gangs are attempting to control all of these individual sites simultaneously, they must be divided into four groups. Tyron and Luis reiterate that at least part of Cummings village may still be in guard hands but probably won't be for much longer, unless the gangs just give up and cease their attempts to take it.

*Leaders:
Diablos: "Panchito" Villa
Gangsta Lords: King Loc
AAA: Blond Sam

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:36, Thu 23 Aug 2018.

"Take it easy gentlemen, this for your safety," Tori said as she finished cuffing both.

Once she finished interrogating them, she escorted Tyron back to the Suburban where Luis was.  She tersely explained the situation.

"You are being taken into protective custody.  You two are prime witnesses to multiple homicides.  I'm going to ask the State to remand you to witness protection.  Which is probably going to look a lot like house arrest in nearby Grady, but it'll certainly be better than jail.  More importantly, you'll be safe there until we can get this situation under control.  If any of those gangs find out you just spilled your guts to a former Prosecuting Attorney, you'll be at the top of all of their hit lists."

"Hey man." Mike Carswell nodded to Saul as he eased his way through the crowd of onlookers who had gathered to watch the repair work on the roof, eyes that were hidden behind Oakleys thn turning in Ms Murray's direction. "Xandra. Lookin' good." He nodded towards the ongoing repair work, as if to make clear he was talking about the roof. His hands were in his pockets, his rifle slung over his shoulder.

"So, clinic's done." the paramedic said, turning back to Saul. Carswell oozed casual informality, his accent still that of his native New York State despite the fact he'd lived in Arkansas for nigh on twenty years. "The kid's got pneumonia. I've given him some drugs but if they don't work we'll probably need to think about getting him up to UAMS in Little Rock." He didn't elaborate on what treatments would be needed. Saul didn't need micro details. He just needed to know that the kid might need medevac'd.

"And if we're sending the kid back I'd send the dude with the bad tooth as well so a proper dentist can have a look at him." Carswell caught Saul's look, shrugged, grinned. "Hey dude, I always said I was a shit dentist. But do you know how many kids I've delivered in the last couple of years? We all have our talents."

Saul chuckles, somewhat darkly, at Mike's last statement.  "Yeah, I think we're all in different wheelhouses now." His eyes unfocus for a second at that, the faces of his two surviving children flashing in  his mind.  This certainly wasn't the life he'd envisioned for them.  "Mike if you say medevac, I'm going to say medevac so we'll get the ball rolling on that one.  People need to know that there's still people who care."  Or at least people who aren't going to sit by idly and watch a kid die because it's too hard to do something about it.

"We'll see what our people find out about the prison and get our report set up.  Meantime, let's see what we can find out about our missing Junebug and maybe Carissa can track her down while we wait for the medevac.  That girl has a way with horses..."

”OK,” Lauren said after Tori had passed on the results of her interrogation of the prisoners. They were hardly the most reliable of witnesses as far as the dark haired Air Force officer was concerned, but they were all that they had. ”We can call this in to Little Rock but by the time help gets here the guards that are holding out might be dead.” And then what? The prisoners spread out across the countryside razing a community to the ground and then moving on to the next one?

She looked over at Scott. They wouldn’t be recovering Robert Elkins right now. Either he was with the hold outs or he was already dead. ”I don’t see any point in going further down the road. We might lose the element of surprise.” Or drive into an ambush was left unsaid. And pressing on now meant the possibility of the inmates spotting them, which Lauren would rather avoid. If they were going to try and rescue the guards surprise would be one of their force multipliers.

”Let’s get everyone back in the vehicles and back to Grady.” Her tone was such that it just hovered on the side of being a suggestion rather than an instruction. Just. This was a military problem as far as she was concerned, requiring a military led solution but she didn’t want to throw her weight around, so for now was simply offering the civilian team leader ‘advice’. ”Once we’re there we can tell Captain Franks to alert his Deputies and plan a rescue mission to get the guards out. Today.”

When everyone began to move Lauren stepped towards Scott, lowered her voice so that no one else could hear them, her eyes still on the road ahead of her. ”And Mr Guillory, the next time you get out of the vehicle in a threat situation I’d prefer if you kept your helmet on, Sir. I’m responsible for your safety and I wouldn’t want to have to explain to the Governor how you got shot in the head on my watch.” Her lips curled into a brief smile.

Scott returns Cao's brief smile in equal measure while he sorts through possible responses.  He settles on the one that's most likely to not further complicate his working relationship with the Air Force officer while having the added virtue of being honest.  "At this point, Captain, I think the mission is more in your wheelhouse than mine.  This is hostage rescue and counter-insurgency.  Cop policy for the former involves enveloping the suspects and talking them to death, which obviously isn't feasible here, and I've got no clue how to go about the latter."  Though his expedition to New Orleans did generate several ideas well outside the approved use of force continuum...

He scans the roadside over Cao's shoulder before returning his gaze to hers.  "As for the other, you don't have to worry about explaining anything to Steve.  He's well aware I'm likely to do a lot of things you'll consider," he edits the "stupid" he was about to use - probably accurate but it might come across as passive-aggressive - and settles on, "unadvisable, and one of those might be terminal.  But I've found that the more I'm SWATted up, the less likely people are to trust me.  There was some research before the war that suggested it's particularly provocative and depersonalizing with anything that obscures the face.  You're right from a threat assessment perspective but I'm looking at the civil affairs part of our job.  So I'm probably going to have to keep expanding your ulcers when I've gotta get out for contacts."  He quirks his mouth and half-shrugs in apology.  "Having said that, I think I did just say something about us being in insurgent country..."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:08, Sat 28 July 2018.

Lauren nodded, her own eyes still hidden behind her polarized lenses, the use of the Governor's first name not escaping her as she turned her attention back to the problem at hand. "I think the military policy for our current situation would be to use shock and awe, Mr Guillory." Her voice had returned to its normal tone, signifying that their private conversation was concluded. For now. She had little doubt that there would be others. She presumed that her use of shock and awe would give him a clue as to what she was thinking.

Taking a step away from Scott, Lauren then called out to the others. "OK, everyone mount up! We're headed back to Grady."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:59, Sat 28 July 2018.

Captain Franks' initial response to the unwelcome news of the prisoner uprising is, understandably, alarm. As if to underline the seriousness of the situation, he whispers to the nearby Sierras, "Reckon it's time to put some bullets in Offut's service piece." Despite his obvious discomfiture, Franks doesn't lose his grip. He seems reassured, bolstered even, by the promise of the STAR team's continued presence and assistance- their air of cool, competence, and their firepower. Their can-do attitude rubs off on the veteran police officer. After radioing his counterpart in Gould (the next town south of Varner) to apprise the neighboring town of the worrying situation at the prison complex*, Franks immediately begins rounding up the Grady militia, assembling them in the shadow of the silo-top lookout at the east end of town. Standing on an old tractor tire, he addresses the assembly.

"So that's the situation. I want y'all to meet back here in half-an-hour. Lock your doors when you leave. If your loved ones know how to handle firearms, make sure they've got one. Come up with a password and response, and make sure all your family knows 'em. We [the activated militia] could use some more people. I'll deputize anyone else who wants in on this, as long as they are ready and willing to follow my orders. Pete, I know I said 15 is too young, but if your son's still willing. Now, I need a couple of volunteers to go along with Sierra Team- to help bring back any survivors. This is a support role; the professionals here be at the tip of the spear. Your job will be to drive- that's it. You'll need to provide your own vehicles, though, and, of course, your guns, just in case."

Two Gradyites volunteer. Ed Armstrong, a former tanker who saw some action in Desert Storm, and Tom Beasley, a former Marine (with no combat experience). Both pre-computer, multifuel-converted pickup trucks. Ed brings along his AK-47, Tom a tricked-out AR-15 platform. Franks assures Sierra command that the two are solid.

While Franks rallies the locals, Cao and Guillory deliver a SITREP to ASDF HQ in Little Rock, describing the reported situation at the Varner-Cummings prison complex. HQ returns with with the promise of a company-sized reaction force, with the caveat that it will take at least 24 hours to assemble, equip, and get on the road to Grady. The ASDF's quick reaction capabilities are, at present, still developing.

With the Sierras, Franks maps out a route to approach Cummings Village- where the last of the prison guards and their families are reported to be holding out- along infrequently used back roads, most just glorified farm tracks. With the recent heavy rains, they might be a bit muddy (this could mean slippery and/or sticky driving conditions in places), but the damp should significantly reduce the amount of dust thrown up by the rescue convoy's passage.

It's about 3pm, the hottest hour of the day- the humidity is like a warm, wet blanket draped over everything. 4-5 hours of daylight remain. If it is to carry passengers, Ace Hardware will need to be at least partially unloaded. Sierra's vehicles all have blackout lights (Bourbon Street's, improvised). Unfortunately, there aren't enough NODs to go around, and Beasley has ever driven while using them before.

*Gould's Police chief is not unaware of the trouble to his town's northwest. Two days prior, a prison bus and several other DOC vehicles drove through Gould. One of the vehicles stopped. Shots were exchanged. Two Gouldites and four inmates were killed in the confrontations. The Gould militia has been on high alert ever since.

Your Turn.

-
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:11, Fri 31 Aug 2018.

Saul sits in on the sitrep call, leaning on his walking stick and nodding his head along like a the wise adviser he figures he's supposed to be.  That or just the resident old man, he think with a silent grin.  The situation doesn't rate an actual smile, even if it is at his own expense.  Things are bad out there.  Escaped prisoners, massacres, and growing chaos and mayhem.  It's like Afghanistan, only this time the country folk speak English and spout racist gibberish instead of corrupted Islamic gibberish.

He wonders what he would have done in the locals place when it came to dealing with the prison.  Left the inmates locked up?  Decided that violent crimes wouldn't be tolerated?  Or naively let them go in the hopes that they would reform on their own?  Probably somewhere in the middle, just like had happened here.  Try and make do and hope it didn't blow up.  Shame the psycho's overpowered the poor-life-decision-ers and decided to make with the ultra-violence.  A lot of innocent people paid for that choice, it sounds like.  Hell of a choice.  Safety or your soul.

"Far be it for me to interrupt on lesser matters," Saul says gently at a break in the radio report. "But we do have a couple townsfolk who could use a medevac back to civilization.  And that's assuming we don't gin up a few more injuries in the next twelve hours.  If HQ can send a doc that would be great, otherwise let's make sure they can haul our priorities back to where they can get some help.  That'll help the Grady folks understand we're trying to deal with all of it."

Scott nods.  "By the time the QRF is here, we'll be done with tonight's operation.  We'll probably have some rescuees who need a higher level of care, too."  He scrawls a note on his legal pad.  "MEMS has a mass casualty ambulance bus.  Let's see if they can get it running and include it in the convoy."

Lauren nodded when Saul interjected into the conversation. Even with her jacket off she was still sweating, some darker patches visible on her coyote t shirt, others concealed by the plate carrier vest that she was still wearing. Her helmet was with her jacket, in the JLTV. She was counting on Captain Franks' advance warning system to give her enough time to grab the helmet if she needed it.

If this plan doesn't work it might all be a moot point. People were counting on her team but they were also counting on her, for this was a military problem, it was her responsibility to offer solutions. That's why she was on the team. And if her solution went south the people of Grady might suffer the same fate as those in Varner Village. Lauren could feel the weight of that particular responsibility bearing down on her shoulders as the radio exchange continued.

When Little Rock had signed off she took a sip of water from her camelback before she spoke. "I need to clarify one thing. Little Rock said as the people on the ground they would back our calls." Which really means my calls. "When we launch the operation I intend to treat all escaped inmates as unlawful combatants. That means we will be operating a shoot on sight policy regardless of whether or not they are openly carrying a weapon. If they attempt to surrender after being engaged we will accept their surrender but I do not intend to issue any warnings before we open fire. Mr Guillory, I think you have our only suppressed weapons so I may be asking -" she really meant 'telling' - "- you to shoot potentially unarmed men without any warning."

"If anyone -" the comment was addressed to all of them, not just Guillory "- has a problem with that, now's the time to say." Her tone was level, no challenge intended. The blood would be on her hands, not theirs, but she knew that they came from various backgrounds, that for some of them what she had just said might be contrary to years of experience, training, and instinct.