A white pickup truck, going slow, comes into view on the section of road I can see. Another green pickup is right on its tail. Both of the beds appear to have boxes and miscellaneous gear stacked in them. Both trucks vanish in front of the building and they sound like they are slowing more. I wait for the crunch of the tires hitting the gravel and dirt parking lot in front of the building. A third truck comes into view and disappears.
The sounds from in front increase as the trucks begin picking up speed. They fade slowly until disappearing altogether. I realize I’ve been holding my breath and let it out slowly. I feel grimy from the sweat, dirt, and still pervasive smell. A long cold shower sounds so good that I almost wish for the storms to come back. We wait a few minutes longer to see if the trucks come back our way. If they are heading to the prison, they could just be dropping stuff off and return heading on another supply run. We just don’t have the time to wait though. I don’t want to put us at risk but if we’re going to have a look, we have to do it soon. There are only the faint caws, cackles, and screeches of the distant birds.
“Robert, McCafferty. Keep watch from the rear of the building. If anything happens, radio Horace and get yourselves back. Greg, you’re with me. We’re out of time. Let’s climb this monstrosity and get an eyeful,” I say into the radio.
We scoot out of the cover and dust ourselves off quickly. I feel a branch go down the back of my shirt. It’s just one more annoyance that is forgotten quickly as we run across the small back lot to the side of the building again.
“I’ll go first. Follow when I’m half way up,” I say shouldering my M-4.
“I hope you climb better than you run,” he responds.
“I’m feeling a little gassy. I hope you enjoy your climb,” I reply and take off for the ladder rungs.
I set my feet on the first rungs and reach up. The heated metal instantly sears through my gloves. It’s like holding a boiling pot of water with a dish towel. It doesn’t melt my skin directly to the rungs but it still feels like my hands are going to catch on fire. Looks like I will be scurrying up as it’s hard to hold any one rung for long. I start upward.
Thoughts of being seen vanish as I make my way up. I just concentrate on each rung and climb as swiftly as I can. Each time I put my hand on a rung it seems hotter than before. It’s actually a race to see if I can make it to the top before my hands blister and start smoking. I try to set my boots on the rungs lightly as I don’t want any ringing if there is someone in the area. I finally emerge through a hole in the grating of the catwalk and kneel just around the side of the tank keeping it between the prison and me. Greg’s head eventually pokes through.
“That was fun,” I say still trying to fan the heat off my hands.
“Yeah, you got that right. You’re quite the little monkey,” he replies.
“I notice you weren’t exactly taking your time either,” I say.
“No, that I wasn’t,” he says chuckling.
“If I’d have known they made that ladder out of molten lava, I would have chosen differently,” I state.
Not wanting to have any more contact with the metal but having to, we both lie on the heated catwalk grating and edge forward until the prison comes fully into view. We are higher than the walls and can see inside readily. From this height and angle, the heat shimmers aren’t nearly as bad.
The complex is huge. One extremely large, single story central building sits in the middle of the compound with two buildings on either side of it. The side buildings are made up of three six-sided sections connected to each other in line with four thin rectangular wings jetting out from the end of each one. Those two buildings look to be three or four stories tall and connect to the main building via an enclosed pathway at ground level. Another very large building is connected to the main one as well. There are several HVAC units at ground level and van-like trucks parked at a loading bay attached to the second building.
The pickup trucks we observed earlier are parked next to the cargo trucks with several other vehicles. The interesting thing is the lack of towers and parapets along the perimeter. The wall is certainly tall but the place seems self-contained. There doesn’t even appear to be places for the inmates to be outside. All in all, the place is huge. Not as large as the Madigan complex but it’s daunting to look at. There’s no way we can assault this place with the teams we have and perhaps not with all of our teams.
I draw a quick diagram and make notes as we observe. We don’t have time for an extended recon to note patrols, times, listen to frequencies, or observe any patterns. We have just a few scant minutes before we have to head back. Another walled complex sits to the south of the main prison. There are nine red-roofed buildings that lie within that place. The roofs look like they are corrugated and may even be made of sheet metal. Those buildings do not give the appearance of being able to house prisoners but maybe it’s a less secure one.
“Well. It looks like it’s either a small force entry or none at all,” I say still glancing through a set of binoculars.
Greg is looking through a set of his own. “That’s what I think,” he says. “It’s getting over that wall that’s going to be the hard part. At least there aren’t any towers and it doesn’t look like those walls can be manned. Even if I had a grappling hook and it could latch on, I can’t throw one forty feet high. Can you?”
“Yeah, not so much,” I say. “There is another way in though.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Greg asks.
“I don’t know. Mine involves silk,” I answer.
“Then we are thinking the same thing.”
“Are you trained in HALO — High Altitude, Low Opening — jumps?” I ask.
“I went through the free-fall school at Bragg but haven’t done it in a long time,” he answers lowering his binoculars and looking at me.
“That’s alright. I haven’t jumped in a while either,” I reply with a smile. “It’ll be a hoot but we have to figure out what to do after we come crashing out of the skies into the yard. Or roof.”
“And where will we get the equipment? Bragg’s a long ways away from here and most likely in a radiation zone,” Greg asks.
“They used to teach the PJ’s — Para rescue jumpers — out of Kirtland. I bet there’s still some equipment housed there,” I answer.
“And the chutes were packed when?” Greg asks with a look on his face asking if I’m serious about this.
“Probably in the 70’s,” I answer.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I hope so,” I reply with a chuckle. Greg’s face doesn’t indicate he is getting warm, fuzzy feelings about this.
“Actually, there used to be PJ’s who were stationed there to help train us,” I add before his face falls too much further.
“And that was when?” He asks not at all convinced.
“In the 70’s,” I answer. The look on his face makes it difficult to keep a straight face and keep quiet.
“Just kidding, man. Well, it’s the only way I see in so we can take a look and see if there is any equipment there. And yes, check the tags,” I add. “If there isn’t any, then it certainly doesn’t look good for getting in. Even if we were to get some heavy artillery, we can’t go bashing our way in. We’d make it worse for those inside.”
“Yeah, I really don’t see another way. I really don’t see a way in even if we manage to get past the walls unless we set down, and I use that term loosely, on the roof and go through an access hatch. That structure on top may even house a maintenance door,” Greg comments.
“You know, some prisons have underground passageways for maintenance crews to circumvent portions of the buildings and areas that house prisoners and for guards to move about. I bet his one does as well. That compound to the south looks interesting,” I say. “And abandoned.”