It Ain't Paranoia if... Pt. 02 Ch. 10

"From our consultant, we learned that the micro-telescopes read fluctuations in air pressure on the surface of the hanging bulbs. Such fluctuations are products of sound waves created during conversation or music, which make the hanging bulbs vibrate minutely.

"An analog-to-digital converter can be used to convert the vibrations from electrical to digital information, and an algorithm has been developed for this passive attack method, which is named Lamphone.

'Yes, as crazy as it sounds, sound can be recovered from the optical measurements obtained from the vibrations of said light bulbs. We've known researchers had worked on such a program, but it was rudimentary, required the telescope to be in immediate proximity, and the data to be read on-site.

"The developers of the system we found at the Mountain Lair have weaponized the research. They use miniature scopes and chips to record the data, and burst-broadcast it to a distant receiver. Honestly, we all agree it is a brilliant adaptation! Perhaps Nobel Prize worthy, if it weren't so dangerous."

"I'm not understanding, Esteban. Can you explain it differently?" I asked.

"Okay; the micro-telescopes catch and record the light bulb variations, and broadcast their recovered data in a quick burst at 3:00 am on alternating nights. We were monitoring the area carefully, but the bursts were so quick they defeated our surveillance efforts.

"They then used some program to convert the data to speech. We thought that was another breakthrough, but no; it's so simple we were able to use Google speech for the conversion, once we acquired the digital data on the 21^st!"

"Good God!" I exclaimed. "You mean this has been going on since before Kaitlyn and our children were kidnapped? They've known what we were planning and doing since then?"

"No, Rob; they only know what you've talked about in those rooms." Esteban corrected. "Most of your planning sessions for business or the insurrection were held elsewhere. Still, they've stolen a lot of valuable and possibly-valuable information. It certainly explains how they knew your family plans; you guys usually talk about that kind of thing while eating or in the living room."

"Damn!" Claude exclaimed. "I never heard of such shit, and I'm in the business! What have you done about it?"

"We removed one redundant micro-telescope/transmitter; the two designated transmitters are still online, and the third is still serving as backup. When we learned the backups do not transmit, we took one for JJ and our other techs to examine in our mobile lab.

"If you want to fill them full of shit, tonight's the night to have the conversations in one or both of those rooms. Today is the 23^rd so the transmission will be at three in the morning, and the next scheduled transmission isn't until after the attack on the 25^th.

"We hope to use tonight's broadcast to locate the receiver, so make sure something is going on in those rooms all day. The more data, the longer it will take to transmit."

After deciding to leave the decision about what misleading information we would provide until after critical decisions were made, I called home, told Kaitlyn to turn music on and dance or workout in the living room. Before she could ask, I told her I'd explain when I got home. She chirped her agreement and told me she was about to start Pilates right now, so she'd move her mat into the living room. I heard the driving beat of one of her favorite songs before we exchanged "I love you" and she hung up.

Though situated distantly from one another, the Texas Command Team proceeded to analyze the extensive data we now possessed, the committee recommendations, consider plans already in place, synthesize solutions to problems raised, and evaluate potential outcomes for each solution.

Lunch was brought to us; some made calls to validate information or to seek input, but we worked straight through until 6:12 pm.

Unanimous consensus had been reached on our revised plans, and each member was charged with conveying the changes and rationale to the field commanders and personnel. Claude and I got the job of calling Generals Yonkers and Lee, whose plans for use of the military would be affected. They expressed skepticism initially, but accepted our plans and rationales after further explanation.

We were cautiously confident, but the biggest remaining concern was a 'blitzkrieg' beginning to the invasion that allowed a wave of aircraft, missiles, and/or cruise missiles to momentarily overwhelm our air defenses. That would allow payloads to hit local targets, or proceed on to distant targets, simply because we couldn't shoot them all down.

We were confident we had plenty of everything we needed to fight and win the battle. The question was; would the invaders and insurrectionists put more offensive weapons in the air than we could counter with the defensive weapons on hand?

Sadly, the answer was likely yes, unless we dispersed more MANPADs (man-held SAMs) across a wider area, and their targets remained below the 26,000 foot range of those SAMs. Orders went out, and APCs carried teams and ordnance to selected sites. This solution wasn't perfect, but we knew the population centers to our east were protected by Patriot missiles, anti-aircraft batteries, and both manned and unmanned aircraft - we needed to effectively protect local targets!

****

We ate supper as a family - a family that included the Edwards, the uncles, grandparents, great-grandparent, Ashley, and Clay, and we took time to tuck the kids in bed as a family. They were surprised and pleased by the attention, but they were also tired.

Doc told a long bedtime story to the boys that included a couple of parables, while Beverly's story to the girls was so expressively told I feared they would be up all night. But they were tired, and faded pretty quickly once the lights went off and they were alone.

Security on the Silverleaf Ranch had been increased significantly, so we felt safe leaving the kids in their rooms, with two guards on their floor, while we adjourned to the largest SCIF in the bunker.

In the secure room, Clay, Claude, and I disclosed what we had learned about vibrating lights, and the plans that had been developed. After questions were answered as best they could be with our limited knowledge, Clay gave each person an outline of the conversations we would have when we went back to the living room. Each person had time to process, and then we asked each if each understood his or her role.

Everyone nodded, so we went into the living room. First, we talked about our plans for Christmas in Tennessee. Joe, Brooke, Bill, and Claire led us through that excited conversation, which went on for about half an hour.

Next, we disclosed our plan for the men to return to the Mountain Lair on December 30, to prepare for the attack on January 1, with the women and children remaining in Tennessee. A rowdy discussion ensued, and I learned just what I would have faced had I presented that plan for real.

After a good 70 minutes, Claude ended the discussion by stating that we needed to stick with the plan, but promising we would be careful. That was met with much skepticism, but we were all tired, so we agreed to revisit it tomorrow.

After good nights were said, we went to our rooms, hoping tonight's burst would reinforce the fallacy.

The compañeros were already sleeping in the bunker, which they had stocked with enough food for all of us and a score of Ultimate Solutions personnel. The old guys pulled that trick off by splitting up to buy groceries and supplies in Alpine, Pecos, and Fort Stockton - just in case someone with malicious intent was watching.

Everyone else was in the main house, though Ashley and Clay were sleeping on the fold-out couch in my office.

I never know what's going to happen with Kaitlyn when we get in a bed, and she surprised me again tonight. I was a bit tense and distracted about tomorrow being Christmas Eve, and it being less than 36 hours from the attack that would certainly change our world and possibly kill all of us.

Not my wife; she wanted to be distracted, I guess, or danger made her horny, because she was all over me from the moment I got undressed and climbed in the shower. After wild shower sex, we dried off and she scurried to the bed. I expected round two under the covers, but I was greeted by West Texas' finest ass pointed at me, waggling in invitation.

Okay, I'll admit it: I kinda lost it at that point and set about trying to hammer her into sexual nirvana. My best efforts came close, but when we were cuddling afterward she asked, "Did it work? Is your stress level better now?"

"Much better - thank you!" I replied sincerely, before pulling her even more tightly against me and drifting off into a deep sleep. Just to make sure, my wife awoke around 5:30 as a randy, rowdy cowgirl, who reduced my tension level to zero, but left my body tingling.

It was a very nice start to Christmas Eve, regardless of the ending.

****

Christmas Eve was serving as Christmas Day this year. We began with a light breakfast, in anticipation of an early-afternoon feast of ham and Turkey with all the trimmings. The children engaged in play, loosely chaperoned by their uncles, while the women prepared the meal.

Clay, Claude, and I left for Crescent Moon at 10:30 to attend a meeting to finalize plans and details. Major Rogers brought Addy and Jacki with him, representing the pilots, so we were able to say goodbyes and get hugs from them before returning to Silverleaf and the Mountain Lair.

We changed nothing of consequence, but things started shaking around noon when a dozen fully-armed MQ-9 Reaper RTAs arrived from Ellington AFB. They would be piloted from their base near Houston, but fueled and launched from the Crescent Moon.

Rogers told us that the MQ-9 Reaper has an endurance of 14 hours when fully loaded with munitions, and carries a variety of weapons including the GBU-12 Paveway II laser-guided bomb, the AGM-114 Hellfire II air-to-ground missiles, the AIM-9 Sidewinder air-to-air missile, and the GBU-38 Joint Direct Attack Munition (JDAM). It's a deadly flying weapons platform.

More importantly, as it turned out, the MQ-9 carries the Multi-Spectral Targeting System, which has a suite of visual sensors for targeting.

The sensors on a Reaper patrolling about 19 miles east of Fort Davis picked up a group of armed men walking through the mountains. It maintained surveillance from a distant orbit until two Sentinel reconnaissance and surveillance drones arrived at the GPS location it transmitted, then resumed its patrol to the east and south.

Operating at high altitude, the Sentinels identified twenty-two figures moving along a dry creek bed that made a pass through the mountain range about six miles east-south-east of Fort Davis. It's rough territory, strewn with rocks ranging from boulders to loose pebbles, and covered with a variety of cacti, yucca, catclaw mimosa, and other thorny shrubs and trees.

That the men were moving slowly and cautiously and some were limping came as no surprise; the land they had traversed was treacherous.

Rather than intervene, command decided to surveil and listen until their destination was reached. With any luck, there would be more conspirators there.

My lone suggestion for the day was to launch enough high-flying aircraft to grid search the area from Alpine west to see if there were any changes. It turned out to be a good suggestion; unexpected activity was noted around a mine near Shafter, and signs of tracked vehicles were seen. Military-style vehicles were spotted in a previously pristine area of the Chianti Mountains south of Marfa and it was noted that two of the artillery pieces were now pointed toward Raymundo's men and their SAM sites.

Esteban made the call, and Raymundo patched him through to the commander of the endangered soldados. Colonel Adams joined the call, options were discussed, and a plan made. Again, the irony of Americans supporting cartel soldados; but as the bard said, "Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows."

Those discoveries made the decision to go rouge an easy one; our pilots sent two Sentinels into Mexico and over the canyon in which the mixed bag of foreigners was encamped.

The canyon was as busy as an ant bed, and the artillery placements were where we expected.

The Rangers had followed our lead, discovering a sudden convergence at the site they had been told would be a staging area. There were camouflaged armored combat support vehicles, Humvees mounted with .50 caliber machine guns, troops, and even camo-covered tanks sitting on trailers. Experts identified them as Soviet-era PT-76s, most likely made in Russia but maintained by North Korea, as the Russians had moved far beyond the PT-76.

These were smaller than main battle tanks (MBTs), but nonetheless quite lethal. The reality of tanks leading an assault on American soil made me understand and appreciate the proliferation of Javelins and other ground-to-ground missiles in our arsenal, and the arrival of M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicles at both Crescent Moon and the Ranger base west of Big Spring. I had no idea the Bradley was responsible for the destruction of more Iraqi tanks than our main battle tanks, but the Colonel sang their praises.

He was also thrilled at the arrival of two truckloads of Mine Resistant Ambush Protected (MRAP) all-terrain vehicles last night. The moderately-armored Bradleys carry a deadly .25mm chain-driven cannon and TOW missiles, with a three-man crew and six soldiers who can fire out of slots. The MRAPs carry about the same number of soldiers, have a turret-protected gunner, and provide additional safety for occupants due to their armor.

Later that day, the decision to surveil the sicarios paid off when they disappeared into a covered roping arena on a ranch only a few miles from Fort Davis... and from all three of my ranches! A bird-size drone was dispatched, and it got a glimpse inside; there were tanks and armored personnel carriers packed side-by-side. Identification of the personnel carriers wasn't possible from the position of the drone, but the tank on the end was another PT-76. It was a sobering sight.

****

The message "Christmas Feast will be ready in 20; get home!" was received on all three of our phones at 1:40 pm. We exchanged "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!" wishes and prepared to leave. Addy demanded a hug for each of us, as did Jacki.

When it came my turn, Jacki gave me the tightest hug anyone ever got, stepped back, looked at the three of us, and promised, "My aircraft will be overseeing the defense of the Mountain Lair and your wonderful families! I love you guys and I'm going to do my damnedest to keep you safe! Stay in the bunker and let us handle this!"

I picked the sexy little pixie up, hugged her to my chest, and twirled her around. "We love you too, and we know you'll do everything you can. YOU GUYS stay safe! Okay?" She beamed and promised; I beamed back. I'm a married man now, but that tight little body still felt really good.

"Sumptuous banquet" was the only descriptor I could come up with, and to top off an overflowing dessert table, Chris had stacked dozens of pieces of his secret-recipe pecan divinity that was as sinfully smooth and rich as he promised.

We ate until we couldn't, rested, and enjoyed mid-afternoon snacks.

As evening approached, anticipation grew. The pile of presents was waist-high around the 12' fir, and the kids were getting antsy about why we should wait until six to open them. The kids were excited about the plethora of presents, and thrilled that they were flying to Tennessee tomorrow to open more presents at their grandparents!

That's the plan we enthusiastically discussed last night in the living room, and the story we told our kids over breakfast - while sitting at the dining room table, just in case someone had another download tonight. In reality, there were some presents waiting in Tennessee, but it might be months - or maybe never - before they got opened.

In a case of severe cognitive dissonance, Claude, Clay, and I were being kept apprised of events via text with attached photos and videos... while we celebrated with our loved ones on Christmas Eve.

When the kids were little, Kaitlyn and I read them a children's book highlighting the story of Christ's birth - the Virgin Mary, the census, Bethlehem, no room at the inn, the manger, the shepherds, and the angels.

Even though they were old enough for the biblical version, we decided to stick with their traditional story. Each adult would read a section, and pass it on. Beverly insisted you could not tell the story of Jesus' birth without singing the fitting Christmas carols. She streamed each song to the TV with lyrics at the appropriate time. When Mary and Joseph were ensconced in the stable in the city of Bethlehem, we sang "Silent Night, Holy Night," followed by "Away in a Manger" when the babe was wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in the manger. "Angels We have Heard on High" and "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" were next, and we ended with "Joy to the World!"

Our abbreviated twenty-minute story took twice that long with the songs, but the kids were enthralled, and the adults were moved by their reverence. The Christmas Spirit had descended upon us!

One little matter kept it from being perfect: Clay, Claude, and I kept receiving alarming updates about the upcoming warfare, which seriously conflicted with the message of the reading.

My brain was already numb from embracing the joy of Christmas between texts about impending death and destruction; the text we got while singing "Joy to the World!" was the final straw.

"We have learned that cruise missiles are being arrayed at an old airfield in eastern Sonora State, and the PRK MiGs are out of their hangers."

After the song ended, I excused myself from the table and walked into the hallway. The Edwards brothers quickly followed behind, either curious or concerned about my reaction. I called the base.

"Colonel, when does this dance begin? Do we wait for them to position their tanks, jets, missiles, and troops, and hit us with everything they've got before we fight? We have eyes on a barn full of tanks and sicarios; why not just blow it up, and then preemptively blow the rest of their shit up?

"Are we going to wait for them to put it all in the air and start blowing OUR stuff up before we make a move?"

He sighed. "Sir, I understand your frustration, but we can't start this - they have to! Right has to be 100% on our side - we are in defensive posture only!"

"Is that going on the tombstones of all the civilians and troops that are killed in that first volley? 'You're dead and we could have prevented it, but we had to be 100% in the right!'

"I call bullshit! We know what we know; they are doing exactly what we knew they would do; it's time to take the fight to them!"

"Sir, we can't do that! I'd like to, but my orders are absolute. The first shots they fire, we'll strike! The first ignition of a missile headed out way, we'll strike. The first jet that crosses the border, we'll shoot down. But we simply can't be the one that start it!

"You and your family need to open your presents, gather your belongings, and move into the bunker for the night. We'll use the secure communication system down there to keep you informed. Just remember that everything that has happened we anticipated, and we have plans and means to thwart their plans."

"I beg to differ, Colonel! Nowhere in all this planning did I hear mention of tanks three miles from my door!"