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

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"..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.

The briefing broke up and the officers were dismissed shortly after. The rest of the duty day was spent reading mandated intel reports, working out, and conducting rehearsals for the early morning raid. Before the ATG was dismissed to head home early to rest up, Porcaro was summoned to Captain Jenks office.

Porcaro knocked on the door frame and stood waiting to be acknowledged. Jenks, behind his desk, deep in his laptop didn't look up.

"Do we stop in doorways, Officer Porcaro?" Taking the hint, Tony crossed the threshold and approached the opposite side of the desk.

"No sir, we don't."

Still not looking up, Jenks asked: "Why is that, officer?"

"Because doorways are fatal funnels, sir."

"That is correct, have a seat." Porcaro did as told. Finally Jenks pulled himself out of his screen, removed his readers and breathed in deep through his nose.

Tony liked Jenks and part of the reason he came to the ATG was because of a lecture on community policing Captain Jenks gave to Porcaro's academy class. He was balding, short, but Tony was convinced the old man could break a baseball bat with his bare hands. He had been a former JSOC guy, as indicated by a bunch of plaques on the shelf behind his desk, and a framed captured ISIS flag on the far wall.

​

"Talk to me about this morning, Tony," Jenks said.

"Sir?"

"The briefing, what was going on in your head when you spoke up?"

Tony was suddenly suspicious of his captain. His tone was even, but for the first time ever, at least since being on the force, he had a sense of unease from a fellow cop. He squirmed a little, feeling literal heat under his collar.

"I dunno sir, I uh, it was nothing, I just thought," Jenks raised a hand to stop Porcaro.

"You're not paid to think, are you Tony? You're paid to kick in the doors we tell you to, correct?" Jenks was looking at him from over his laptop screen, the way, perhaps, a sniper would be looking over the elevation turret of his scope. Tony locked into his eyes and felt a shiver working it's way up his back.

"Yes sir." Jenks went back into his screen.

"Don't forget it. The ATG is full, there's no room for radical ideas in the MRAP, ok?"

"Yes sir."

"Dismissed Officer Porcaro." Tony stood and saluted, to which Jenks barely glanced up and returned the salute with an absent gesture.

**

Porcaro arrived at the ready room at 0245. A few of his fellow officers seemed cold towards him but he ignored it. He had bigger things to worry about.

He unlocked his gear locker, undressed, and pulled on his Crye Precision blacked out fatigues, boots, plate carrier and battle belt. He tucked his black ski mask into the top of his plate carrier. He drew his M4 and Sig Sauer P320 and all magazines, loaded with 77 grain EBRM. He adjusted his plate carrier a little as he walked out of the arms room.

​

He loved his M4. He had grown up a "gun guy." His father, a GWOT Army vet who fought in both Afghanistan and Iraqi theaters of operations, had taught him how to shoot. His dad had killed himself shortly after the botched exit from Afghanistan in 2022. That event had motivated Tony to drop out of college and join the Nevada State Police.

The ATG received tons of federal funding so the group got only the very best gear. Tony never spent a day in the military (unless you counted a semester doing Junior ROTC in high school), because his father forbade it.

"If the hajj don't kill you, the Army will," Tony remembered him saying one evening at an Applebees.

But he had wanted to serve. He was proud of his family's history of service. So policing felt like a natural fit for him.

His M4 was the same model the current SOCOM operators were using, a 12.7" barrel with a Surefire 556-RC3 and weapon mounted scout light. He ran an EoTech XPS3 with 3x magnifier that allowed him to use it with his department-issued PVS-31s. The fore end also had a L3 PEQ-16 IR illuminator. He often laughed at how easy it was to shoot things in the dark, especially when they couldn't see him.

His sidearm, the Sig P320 he loved less, but Sig Sauer had won an expansive government contract and now outfitted all federal, state and local law enforcement agencies. He was somewhat hamstrung to use the supplied red dot sight that came with it. He found the Sig Romeo X RDS to not function well with his night vision, and many of the more senior men on the ATG felt it was better served as a paperweight.

Tony chuckled, as if they did paperwork in the ATG.

He walked into the parking lot for the operation's final "ramp brief." He was early and some of the fellow officers were in small clumps among themselves. No one seemed to acknowledge Porcaro, so he stood awkwardly by himself with all his kit, sipping a Rip-It in the middle of the parking lot.

"Yo Tony," and Porcaro spun to see Greg Douglass walking up to him. They clapped hands and bumped plate carriers.

"Whats up man," Tony said. Gregg had gone to academy with Tony, and while not achieving the same high marks, he made the ATG at the same time, mostly because Adam Douglass, Greg's dad, was a major donor to a state-level political action committee.

"Yo, you good?" Porcaro pulled a face, as if to say "of course, why wouldn't I be?" but Greg was stone-faced.

"Why, what's up, why is everyone asking about me today?" Tony asked. Greg stepped in and took a glance around.

"Look man, you know I love you, you know I know you got heart, right?" he started. "But some of the guys, they just, I dunno, they think your heads not in the game right now."

"Wait, what why?" Tony asked, looking around.

​

"Shh, shut the fuck up dude, just chill, ok, here," and Douglass produced a Zyn container from his back pocket and Tony absently plucked out a white pouch, pushing it into his gum. The flavors of energy drink and cool mint Zyn tickled his brain.

"Is this about this morning?" Tony asked, his brain rattling. The high anxiety mixed in with the concentrated levels of caffeine and nicotine were making him jittery. He did not like this feeling just before a raid.

"Well, yeah, like, what were you doing questioning the feds? Dude, what's next, are you going to question fuckin' POTUS too? His kids? What the fuck?"

"Yo," Tony looked around to make sure he wasn't being overheard, "I know those neighborhoods man. Those are just regular neighborhoods. Those aren't ANTIFA hideouts or some shit."

"How the fuck would you know? Like the SA said, ANTIFA could be anywhere. Shit, YOU could be ANTIFA." Tony saw Greg wasn't busting his balls. He was being serious.

"I'm not fuckin' ANTIFA, bro," Tony seethed. The chemical imbalance in his system was making him edgy. He couldn't think straight.

"Oh, I know. But these guys," Greg dipped his head towards the rest of the parking lot. "I dunno man."

"So what do I do?"

Greg already had a plan. Tony wasn't sure if it was Greg who came up with it, or the rest of the ATG, but he wasn't in position to argue.

​

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