Piggies,

I'm trying something different this week. Below is a section of a 5-part series of fiction I've put together. I'll be releasing a section every day this week, since the whole story is over 5K words and a lot to read while sitting on the toilet (gotta keep the blood flow to the legs, na'mean?).

This is a work of fiction, names, etc, are all made up. But the theme is very real. Based on an incident that happened in California last week, where a man was arrested and charged with attempting to assassinate Donald Trump, simply because he had weapons in his car as he was driving by a rally. The driver, a Trump supporter, was a mile from the venue and claims the weapons (a shotgun, a pistol and one AR-style magazine) were for his own personal protection since he's had several death threats issued against him. The DoJ is not pressing any charges, but the local sheriff (a staunch Trump supporter) is. Not to sound alarmist, but this is a blueprint for how law enforcement will be weaponized to seize firearms from law abiding citizens. Simply paint a narrative that they're "terrorists" and there you go.

As I write this, Trump is holding a rally exactly .5 miles away from my new home, in downtown Lancaster, PA. Mrs. Pipehawk and I are hunkering down, knowing the already traffic-jammed neighborhood will likely be complete chaos as the day goes on. I'm real on the fence about walking down there and people watching, honestly, but this clam chowdah isn't going to make itself.

ANYway, put your pink little snout into this cautionary work of fiction.

-Jim @ PHC

--

Patrolman Tony Porcaro had been on the Nevada State Police for three years and seen what some considered a meteoric rise through the ranks. After graduating at the top of his class from the Nevada State Police Academy he was highly recruited by the state's biggest agencies, including the State Police ANTIFA Task Group known as "ATG" pronounced
"Attack" among the officers and locals alike.

Porcaro was mandated to do his Field Training Officer time, but after a year he reported to the ATG field office in Delphi, a small non-descript suburb of Reno. The office itself was on the second floor of a mixed purpose retail space. Driving by you'd never know one of the United State's most aggressive law enforcement agencies operated out of it.

​

Today was Porcaro's first day as a fully fledge member of the ATG. He completed his six months of inter-agency training, which to Tony seemed like a waste of time. He cared very little about the "who's-who in the zoo" and the flow charts depicting which agency was responsible for what, when, and how. He was built for the streets. His test scores in physical fitness, situational awareness, cognitive reasoning and marksmanship were the highest the state had recorded in over a decade. At 26 he was still hungry for the job, not burnt out like a lot of his academy instructors presented themselves. Why put on the uniform if you're not going to be about that life, he often thought while sitting in lectures.

He checked his watch as he climbed the stairs to the second floor and saw he had just enough time to grab a cup of Black Rifle Coffee before the morning roll call. The guys at BRC hooked up the ATG with free coffee every month. Perks of the job.

Badging in, coffee in hand, Porcaro dapped up a few fellow officers on his way to the large conference room. The uniform was casual, not at all what he had to wear on patrol. The mandated bright, day-glo yellows and blues (policy set in place by the democratic governor, Tony inwardly rolled his eyes) made patrol officers easier to identify, but impossible to hide and catch the real criminals. How was he expected to do his job, protecting and serving if he couldn't hide in the shadows and catch criminals red handed?

No, the relaxed plainclothes of the ATG was a better fit, Tony thought. When they rolled out to "do work" as some of them called it, they wore all-black fatigues, no nametapes, no badge numbers and certainly no body cameras. The ATG was working with the Department of Justice and the feds were not required to wear any recording devices.

Big Brother doesn't need to look over my shoulder, Tony thought. I'm a good cop.

​

"Alright, good morning team," Captain Dan Jenks stood at the front of the conference room behind a lectern with the ATG logo prominently displayed. It showed a hawk with an AR15 grasped in it's talons, flying through the sky. A few of the door kickers on the ATG had it tattooed on their right shoulders and Tony thought that was the coolest thing you could do.

Captain Jenks continued as the last few ATG members took their seats at the long table. Along the walls of the conference room were monitors that displayed the same information that was presented on the big touch screen at the front of the room behind the lectern, so everyone could see with ease. In addition, every team member got a printed slide deck placed in front of them by an administrative assistant to the ATG, an attractive Latin woman. As he walked around the table, there was a subdued murmur from the men. Tony noticed that the admin assistant smiled at the obvious derisive comments, but couldn't tell if she liked the attention or not. I mean, she must, he thought, why else take a job here, right?

"Big day today boys," Jenks got everyone's attention back to him as the assistant softly exited the room. A few men let their attention linger until the door clicked shut then turned back to their papers or the screens. "Today the ATG will be launching Operation: Grab. Operation: Grab is a joint task force operation with our friends from DoJ. Here this morning is Agent Bill McCleary from the feds and Special Agent John Holliday from ATF."

Both men stood and lifted a hand in greeting. Tony observed both men were over middle aged, dad-bod types, rough skin and hands. Bill looked like he had been in some shit over the years.

"They'll be working WITH us," Jenks emphasized and there were a few chuckles from the feds and men. "But I'll turn it over to them and they can brief you on the ins and outs of the operations. Gentlemen?" Jenks slid from behind the lectern and the two feds moved in place, with McCleary taking lead and Holliday standing just behind his right shoulder. Both feds wore black polos and tactical pants, their badges dangling from thin chains.

"Good morning everyone, on behalf of John, I'd like to say thank you for letting us team up, we got a big operation coming from POTUS himself, this is nation-wide and being executed at the exact same time across the country. Your attention to the operations plan is highly critical to the overall success of this mission," McCleary glanced around the table of operators. He had their rapt attention.

The slide behind him (and around the room) changed and the officers looking into their handouts flipped forward. "Operation: Grab is a federal, state, and local operation to find, fix, and finish ANTIFA. Through a partnership with our friends at the Federal Elections Commission, we've obtained voter data indicating ANTIFA involvement. We cross referenced this data with filed 4473s from John's office to determine the target houses for our city-wide raids set to go off at 0330 tomorrow morning."

Reflexively the cops around the table glanced at their watches, as if they forgot it was just after 8am. The slide changed to a top-down map with a series of red dots. Porcaro did not need to be told those were the target houses.

"We don't expect heavy resistance, but be ready for anything. The ANTIFA elements, while radicalized, are less prone to violence than other domestic terrorists. We expect that they will mostly be sleeping at the time of the raids and caught unaware but that doesn't mean they won't have lookouts or boobytraps waiting for us.

​

Tony squinted at the screen directly across from him, took a sip of his Black Rifle Coffee, winced at the heat and then decided he couldn't see the street names well enough. He flipped to the corresponding page in his handout and scrutinized the graphic. He recognized some of the streets from his time on patrol; many of these streets were in lower-upper class neighborhoods. These weren't the overpass homeless camps the ATG had been told ANTIFA hung out and recruited from. He actually knew a few people in these neighborhoods personally. They were good, hard working people. There's no way ANTIFA would be hiding among them.

For the first time all morning, he spoke up.

"Excuse me sir, hey, I know these neighborhoods, from my patrol days, these aren't..." he trailed off, looking around the table. His fellow officers were looking at him like they'd never seen him before. Tony suddenly felt very much out of place among his brothers. He cleared his throat and set the handout down.

"I know what some of you might be thinking," Special Agent Holliday stepped to the lectern, McCleary gave him only a little room. "But ANTIFA is everywhere. They're your Uber drivers, they're your janitors, they're your kids' teacher and they're your goddam neighbor. I don't know what type of training you've had officer..."

"Porcaro, sir, Officer Porcaro."

"..Pork-caro," SA Holliday said in a slight sneer, earning a few chuckles from some of Tony's fellow officers. Tony looked for something in his coffee. "but we're the feds, ok, we've got the best intel, everyone's saying it. Only an idiot would question the intel we got. It's the very best." There were nods from around the table as the officers agreed, either out of blind trust in their government or simply not wanting to get called out either. Tony picked the handout back up and pretended to study it with increased interest, as so not to have to look at the fed at the lectern again.

​

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