“CAP Twenty-two, Battle Mountain tower, roger, cleared to land, any runway,” the tower controller responded immediately. “State fuel and souls on board and the nature of your emergency.”
“CAP Twenty-seven-twenty-two, three souls, four hours’ fuel on board,” Patrick replied as he banked steeply toward the northeast-southwest cross runway. “I think someone hit us with gunfire.”
There was a momentary pause; then: “CAP Twenty-two, say again ?”
“I think someone on the ground hit us with gunfire,” Patrick said. “They put a hole in our left wing and back window.”
“Roger,” the controller said, obviously trying to remain calm. “Do you require men and equipment?”
“Affirmative,” Patrick said. “I’m going to land on Runway zero-three. Advise any other aircraft to remain clear of the protesters outside the main gate — I think one of them might have a rifle.”
The appearance of the two squat remote-controlled Avenger air-defense armored vehicles inside the main gate of the air base, with their Sidewinder antiaircraft missile-launcher tubes and twenty-millimeter cannons aimed forward and elevated in a definitely menacing position, only served to enrage the protesters even more. The crowd of about thirty chanted, “Hey hey, ho ho, the killer robots have got to go!” and “Spy planes spy planes, what do you see? Innocent citizens living free! Spy planes spy planes go away, if you come back, you will pay!”
Just then they heard sirens behind them. A convoy of six Nevada Highway Patrol vehicles, sirens and lights on, moved slowly up the road to the main gate, led by a vehicle that somewhat resembled the armored vehicles inside the base. “This is the Nevada Highway Patrol,” a voice on a loudspeaker blared. “You are blocking a public thoroughfare without permission and interfering with freedom of travel. Please disperse immediately . Thank you for your cooperation.” The convoy stopped just a few yards away from the crowd of protesters.
“We’re not going anywhere until they shut down the robots and spy planes!” someone shouted.
“Your grievances will be forwarded to the Department of Defense and the governor and attorney general of the state of Nevada,” the voice on the loudspeaker said. “Be assured, all of your grievances will be promptly addressed. But you are still blocking a public-access thoroughfare and creating a disturbance. Please return to your vehicles and leave the area so free access to this public roadway can be restored. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“We’re not going anywhere until the governor or the president orders all the spy planes and robots out of Nevada!” someone in the crowd shouted. “This is bullshit! You’re flying weaponized planes and operating armed robots out of this base to terrorize innocent citizens! How do we know you’re not looking in on me or my children right now? We want it to stop right now ! Right now! Right now! ” And the chanting and anger level rose once again.
“Please return to your vehicles and leave the area,” the voice on the loudspeaker said over the chanting. “The public roadway must remain clear. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Oh yeah?” someone else shouted. “What are you going to do — blast us with that cannon or those missiles, cop? You gonna drop a bomb on us from one of those CAP planes you got flying around?”
“Thank you for your continued support of our community,” the voice said. “The Nevada Highway Patrol is here to assist you. Please return to your vehicles. Thank you for your cooperation.”
It took several minutes, but soon the energy level of the protesters seemed to decrease, and one by one they turned and headed away from the main gate. A few slammed their signs on the armored vehicles and spit on the Highway Patrol vehicle’s windshields, but the officers did not react.
“Well, this is definitely a new one for me,” Nevada Highway Patrol sergeant Leo Slotnick said. He was standing beside his car, the second in the convoy behind the armored car, talking with his partner. He was wearing a bullet-resistant vest over his uniform that read NHP and POLICE in large yellow letters, a Kevlar riot helmet with face shield, and heavy Kevlar gloves — his riot baton and cans of pepper spray were inside the vehicle, out of sight but quickly available. Most persons passing by him waved hello — no one seemed to be angry at him personally. “A protest march, way out here in Battle Mountain? I think it’s pretty funny. I had to dust off my riot gear— literally dust it off.”
“Whatever happened to the sheriff’s department?” Leo’s partner, a relatively new member of the Nevada Highway Patrol named Bobby Johnson, asked. He was outfitted the same as Leo but with a small digital video recorder affixed to his helmet; Leo was his training officer in his first six-month probationary period. “They’re a no-show?”
“They said they couldn’t spare the manpower,” Leo said. “Technically this road is a state highway, so we have jurisdiction, but they should be out here with us. They never showed when the Civil Air Patrol was searching for that downed plane either.”
“I heard one of your guys thinks he was shot at by someone in this crowd,” Bobby said. “These bastards were shooting at aircraft over the base? Are they nuts? I think we should search each and every one of them for that rifle.”
“Bobby, think about it — there’s thirty of them, and just twelve of us,” Leo said. “If there’s a gun in that crowd, we don’t want it let loose on us. If they start heading off and going home without another shot being fired, that’s a good thing. Next time there’s a protest, we’ll be ready with more guys.” As his eyes scanned the departing protesters, he caught a glimpse of two men, apart from each other but definitely together, walking along with the crowd toward their vehicles but looking as if they were scanning the crowd themselves. “Get a shot of those two tall guys at twelve o’clock,” Leo said.
Bobby turned in that direction but couldn’t really see whom Leo was referring to. “What’s up?”
Leo shook his head. “Just a hunch,” he said. “Remember what you were taught at the Academy about the personalities that create a disturbance?”
“Agitator, instigator, aggressor, and… and…”
“The lemmings — the followers,” Leo said. “Who are the agitators here?”
“The guy who organized this march.”
“True,” Leo said, “but couldn’t you also say it was the Air Force when they rolled out those armored vehicles over there? Maybe the crowd wouldn’t be so agitated if they hadn’t brought those out.”
“Well, then couldn’t you say that we are agitators for bring our armored car?”
“Good point,” Leo conceded, “although then you have to think about officer safety, and that’s a command decision. Now, the instigator is the one who does the first noncivil action — in this case, maybe the ones hitting the armored car with their signs. But he doesn’t usually cause the riot. It’s the aggressors that you have to watch out for — the ones who wait for something to happen, then push everyone around them over the top. Then the lemmings do whatever the aggressors and the rest of the crowd does, and the thing turns into a riot.”
“So if you can find the aggressors, you might have a chance of stopping the riot.”
“Exactly,” Leo said. “The agitators are the hotheads, but they’re usually just lashing out, not attacking — they get the crowd’s attention with an overt act, but the crowd hasn’t turned into lemmings yet. The aggressors do the extreme actions that turn the crowd.”