"Patrol Report"
by Benjamin Fortier
“This guy is fucking with us,” Sancho projected a despondent whisper up to the cabin of the battered SUV. He tried his best to immerse his body into the shadows of the rear seat quarters, but an uneasy shift alerted his team mates that their gunner was getting antsy. “He’s not gonna let us through.”
“Let’s so how this pans out,” E, the seasoned team leader reassured the young man. She remained stoic; she had worked with him enough times to know he had a tendency to get wound up.
E, Sancho, and Petunia had been tasked by the 15th Specialty Command at Camp Myles Standish to perform a surveillance mission inside the port city of Fall River. Once home to Southeastern Massachusetts’ bustling ferries and mills, the densely populated city was now under control by a well organized militia. The team was to confirm that the militia headquarters was still inside an old naval destroyer that had been docked in the city for half a century where it was partly utilized as a museum until society gave in on itself.
After the fracturing of the Union, federal aid to the states slowly diminished. In an attempt to maintain control, the Council of Governors of New England voted to collapse their command center into the Greater Boston area where they maintained a meager sense of normalcy as the rest of the country seemingly tore itself apart. For a few years, the once flourishing megatropolis that was the Greater Boston area returned to its old roots as a seaport, relying on the harbors, farmlands, and industries to continue manufacturing goods for overseas trade. Once again, European ties became a lifeline for the people of New England.
In 2018, the equilibrium of power began to shift. Starving families outside the walls of Greater Boston began to rely more and more on local militia for security. These security personnel quickly became sheriffs. Sheriffs quickly became town managers and governors. By 2020, Greater Boston was surrounded by pockets of growing resistance. Farmlands like Berkley, Carver, and Westport were under the watchful eye of the increasingly hostile rebellion (as the state liked to put it).
“And as far as I’m concerned…” the old farmer talked slowly on the recording that E sat with the day prior to moving out. She smirked at a closing remark he made about telling the head honchos in Greater Boston where to stick his crops. The recording cut off with a sudden, static hiss. She understood the man’s plight. She sympathized with him, but he wasn’t paying her. The suits up in said city had gotten to her first. They had paid and equipped her team very, very well. The shit box SUV was used to blend in with the wastelands and not draw any attention.
As the moments crawled by at the checkpoint, she was starting to wonder if they had drawn any undue attention. While she could easily push the truck through the shoddy barbed wire gate and plow over the closest guard, it wouldn’t be long until a pack of motorcyclists would be on hot pursuit.
Then, after several minutes of gunfighting, they would be out of ammo, overrun, and likely dead by the end of the week. That didn’t sound like the idea of a successful outcome, so E did everything she possibly could to avoid it.
The gate guard slowly returned, handing E back the phony paperwork. Instead of walking away, however, he continued to lurk.
“Stay on this road until you reach the rotary,” he gruffly ordered. “Then head South and don’t come back this way.”
He was sending them away from their objective. Petunia’s eyes shifted to watch E’s reaction.
Barely missing a beat, she complied.
“Sure thing,” she said while putting it into drive. The truck groaned and heaved as it struggled up the hill that had once been President Avenue.
Sancho watched behind them as the guards stared. The Taunton River gleamed in the fading sunlight. Remnants of monuments at Bicentennial Park were chipped, vandalized, and pissed on. Names of fallen soldiers, campaigns, and foreign places. He thought of whose names might be engraved in stone in a future place of honor? Who would raise the statues and flags and claim peace, glorifying their fighters for their obedient sacrifice?
Whoever can win this war, he thought to himself as he settled back into his seat. The realization that they were off track wasn’t enough to further agitate him - he actually enjoyed surprises every now and again.
“Got a plan?” Petunia sounded relieved they were able to make a getaway without guns blazing.
“Ditch the truck and move in on foot,” she confidently replied. “We’ll have to be fast.” “Fast?” Sancho’s aggravation was back on the rise. “Like how fast?”
“Ditch your plates and extra gear,” E’s command sounded like a death knell.
“Whoa, whoa,” Sancho said with disdainful surprise. “What about these guys having optics?
Won’t they see us?”
“It depends on where they’re looking,” E remained cool as she backed the truck into a nook.
They were flanked by two dilapidated buildings that had crumbled in on themselves.
“No way, E,” Sancho shook his head furiously. “Low and slow, like we talked about.” “Then stay close,” E said as she quietly slipped out of the driver’s seat. “And take up overwatch.”
Petunia mimicked her team leader, hopping out of the truck and pulling the night optics over her eyes. She double checked that the infrared laser on her weapon would activate, and did one last glance over the dangling bits of her gear.
“Go to channel three,” E said to Sancho. “We’ll check in every ten minutes.” “Five. Five minutes.” Sancho demanded.
“Fine. Five minutes,” she clicked the talk button on the radio twice, showing him how she would silently check in. “Channel three.”
“I don’t like this,” Sancho said glumly as the pair of women disappeared into the night.
Native Rhode Islander and self-proclaimed Renaissance Man, Iraq veteran Benjamin Fortier is a multi-talented writer, musician, and technology geek. He is currently in school (again) studying computer networking and cybersecurity. His day job is in service to his rescue dog, Princess Peppa Pig the American Bully. He is the author of Stones of the Wooded Valley and The Silent Whispers of Omens.
Hear Benjamin Fortier live at the Savage Wonder Festival of veterans in the arts on May 29! Have you gotten your tickets yet? Tickets are only FREE until April 1.
If you give monkeys enough time, can they really write Hamlet? How did Leon Trotsky actually react to finding an axe embedded in his head? What does it take for two strangers to fall in love without screwing it up? Are you having a bad day or are you simply stuck in a "Philadelphia"? The VetRep 2022 season of staged readings kicks off with an evening of fast and funny staged readings featuring the whimsical comedy of David Ives.
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