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Praetorium Honoris

Wednesday, May 8, 2024

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?¹

(Source)
Herb Moriarty and Rick Golden parked their van next to a stand of trees just north of the Foundation of Faith Worship Center. It was on King Street, they had a pretty good view of the Rod and Gun Club from where they sat, about a quarter of a mile away.

It was a standard surveillance van, packed with camera equipment, computers, and it also sported a parabolic dish antenna which could be extended from what looked like a sun roof. US-13 was fairly well traveled so they wouldn't be extending that during the day. They planned to visit the building in the wee hours of the morning to plant listening devices around the property.

If they had the time to gain entry into the biggest building, where they assumed any weapons and ammo would be stored, they'd plant pinhole cameras in there. Another team would join them in the morning. If needed, they could maintain surveillance around the clock, the van sported a small cot where one of them could sleep while the other monitored the equipment.

Calls of nature could be taken care of as well, if it was in the most primitive of manners. Resealable containers would suffice, though things could get pretty stinky after a couple of days. Hence the backup team.

Golden was scanning the place, which they had taken to calling "the Armory," hoping to see something, anything. But it was a Sunday afternoon and the place seemed deserted. Oh well, nobody said surveillance was exciting.


Willy Batchelor was near the roof in the interior of a maintenance shed, just south of the Club. They had cut a vision slit near the peak which was nearly invisible unless you knew exactly where to look. He had rigged a small video camera and was looking through its lens to the south of the Club.

Another man, Leroy Beardsley was north of the Club hidden by a thick stand of brush and trees. With his ghillie suit he was nearly invisible. He too had rigged a camera and was just waiting for something to look out of place. When he did, he'd point the camera in that direction and turn it on. It's signal ran by a thin wire back to the Club's main office. As did Batchelor's camera.

Both Batchelor and Beardsley had been in Special Operations when they had served in the military, Batchelor had been in the 75th Rangers, Beardsley in Marine Force Recon. Neither man was in as great a shape as they had been in their twenties, but they were still hard men. Both worked their own fields and Batchelor made a few bucks running fishing charters out into the Atlantic.

Shortly after the last car had left the little church down the road, Batchelor spotted a white van pull onto King Street, make a U-turn then pull over and park, the front facing the highway. Batchelor chuckled to himself, nondescript white Ford van, tinted windows, they might as well have painted "FBI Surveillance Van" on the side. Who did they think they were fooling?

It didn't strike Batchelor that most people wouldn't have noticed it. Why? They weren't looking for such a thing in their everyday, boring lives.


"See anything, Rick?" the big black man turned to his partner and shook his head.

"The crackers seem to be laying low today, Herb. Can't say I blame 'em, it's gotta be 90 in the shade."

"It ain't the heat bro, it's the humidity."

Both men chuckled, neither man saw the watcher to their north, nor the one to their south, as those two men left their hides and headed back into the woods, away from US-13.


Beth Chapman parked her car in the lot at the Department of Homeland Security's St. Elizabeth Campus. Her main office was here, though she also had an office in the J. Edgar Hoover Building as one of her main jobs was liaison with the Bureau. She'd just come back from a meeting at 1000 Colonial Farm Rd, McLean, VA, home of the Central Intelligence Agency.

There she'd been in a meeting concerning the shipment of foreign weapons into the United States, the AK-47 was ubiquitous, cheap, and pretty effective. Domestic criminals were always trying to get their hands on that weapon.

It had been two hours of sifting through rumors and very little hard intel, but she felt that the Company had their eye on the ball on that score. She had given one agent the "stink eye" after being told, for the hundredth time, "it's illegal for the agency to operate within the United States ..." Blah, blah, blah. They did, and often, if it suited their purposes and, most importantly, if they thought they could get away with it. Didn't bother her as long as it kept the American people safe.

There were at least three committees on Capitol Hill screeching about and searching high and low for what they called "domestic terrorists" and "the illegal militia." She seemed to recall that having a strong independent militia had been a key to their freedoms in the early days.

But what did those strutting idiots in Congress know anyway? All they knew was how to get re-elected and how to feather their own nests. Bastards.

"Beth, you got a minute?"

She turned and saw Ephraim Johansen standing outside his office.

"Sure, Ephraim, what do you have?"

"Come on inside." He motioned into his small office.

"Anything come from that meeting at the Agency?"

"Nothing that I can share without authorization." She pointed out.

"Well, I'm hearing chatter on certain channels about a shipment of arms and ammunition coming into Virginia, maybe by sea, maybe by truck down from Canada. Does that jive with what you folks talked about up in McLean?"

She could tell that the slippery bastard was fishing, but why, what was his angle?

Deflecting him, she asked, "Chatter where?"

"A couple of websites on the dark web, bulletin boards for people looking for things, people selling things. That sort of chatter."

Chapman shook her head, the guy thought he was wired in, but he didn't have a clue. A rank amateur really.

"I'll pass it along, Ephraim, that's all I can do."

As she left his office, she wondered just what the man did all day other than chase rumors and make up some of his own. She'd heard his little hiss as she'd left. She smiled, a few words in the right circles and we'll see 'who's the bitch,' guy was an asshole.



¹ Latin: Who will guard the guards themselves?

Editor's Note: 72nd revolution around this system's star commences today.

58 comments:

  1. Who watches the watchers? Congrats on #72 Sarge............ :)

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  2. "Cauta est et ab illis incipit uxor."
    (The wife made her plans and begins with them)
    Have people truly forgotten their "Satir" that you felt like need to translate it?

    Scary stuff. Put me in mind of the FB I infiltration of Roman Catholic parishes that offered the Tridentine Mass, suspecting the members of being domestic terrorists.

    Or the California DOJ and our kaw requiring all gun shops to have surveillance cameras covering areas where guns are displayed

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    Replies
    1. Roger that sarge, some of us are dumb asses. Only speaking for myself, not the royal "Us".

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    2. I don't consider myself particularly well educated or above average intelligence. And I'm often awed by the intellects of the regulars here.
      Out of my depth. But I've known that phrase since Hector was a pup and from whence it comes since Christ was a corporal. One of those well known phrases of Western Culture.

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    3. It is, yet not all recognize it, rather like this one:

      Kein Operationsplan reicht mit einiger Sicherheit über das erste Zusammentreffen mit der feindlichen Hauptmacht hinaus. - Helmuth von Moltke

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    4. (sniffs pompously) Well, the language of the dastardly Hun is "hardly" a classical language! Something about plans of operation not extending beyond contact with the main opposition force. Roughly.

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    5. No plan survives contact with the enemy in the vernacular.

      Deutsch ist die Spraches des Himmels. (Or so my old German teacher taught us. Danke, Herr Stolz!)

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  3. Sarge,
    Happy Birthday! With hopes for many more!
    juvat

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  4. Watchers watching watchers watchers ...

    Happy birthday, Sarge!

    All of you: get your eyes checked every year. If your place decides not to do them, find another. Every year.

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    Replies
    1. 3rd

      In 2005 I came within a few short months of dying. A surgery to remove melanoma from my eye. Three months prior I had my annual full service eye exam. All A-OK.

      It was explained to me how quickly a lesion, cyst, or melanoma can metastasize on the eye.
      The irony was the melanoma was discovered because of an accident. It was that one time me not wearing safety glasses resulted in specks of ferrous metal in my eye. A true blessing in disguise.

      If not for that accident, I would have likely died from a melanoma which formed, metastisized, probable death in less time than the 12 months between annual exams. Since then I get a full check every six months.

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    2. Oh, and the eye surgeon said he sees about ten of these each year. That seems an astounding large number considering it is from a small rural population. But it speaks to it being more common than one may think.

      I am long winded on this, really harp about it, because the consequence is so grave yet the remedy is so simple.

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    3. Rick #1 - Totally agree, you dodged a bullet, big time!

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    4. Rick #2 - That is a lot. Harp away, folks need reminding.

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  5. Felicitations on making it another year.

    How much wrongdoing and evil has been done in the name of "protecting the (insert nation, state, or nation-state here) people"?

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    Replies
    1. Thanks!

      And yes, we must "protect" the (insert cause/people/wildlife species here)

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    2. C.S. Lewis spoke of the cupidity of the do gooders. Working their wickedness with the approval of their conscience.

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    3. Mr. Lewis was an amazing man.

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  6. Enjoying the tale.

    Congrats on another milestone in superannuation. I've hear most 72 year old described as happy retirees...... but there are exceptions.
    JB

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    Replies
    1. Sigh ...

      I'm starting the 72nd revolution around the sun, I just finished the 71st. So I am how many years old?

      Sorry, we old farts get cranky in the morning. 😉

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    2. You're 71. Birthdays celebrate the day you were zero old.
      You have a couple years on me but I refuse the moniker of old man. Truly, thems fighting words.
      Yet some say, I agree, I have been practicing all my life; grumpy with little to none tolerance of BS.
      Happy birthday, stud.

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    3. Roger that! I am enjoying life, "old" is a state of mind.

      I ain't there yet!

      Thanks!

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    4. "Old is a state of mind."

      Hogwash! Balderdash!

      My mind tells me I'm about 40. My common sense tells me I'm about 12.

      My body on the other hand keeps reminding me of all the stupid stuff I did between 12 and 40 when I was immortal and unbreakable.. "HEH! You REALLY think you can still do that? Oh...you're going to be in so much pain tomorrow!"

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    5. HEH! (again) I just opened SASS Wire Saloon and found https://forums.sassnet.com/uploads/monthly_2024_05/image.thumb.png.860d65444ed15404da1d88bb3b133a52.png

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    6. Joe #1 - Hahaha! Completely agree!

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    7. Joe #2 - Yup, looks and feels familiar.

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    8. Yes, age is a state of mind. And I have a vivid imagination.

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    9. The best kind of imagination!

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  7. Happy birthday, enjoy your day! (I used to take my birthday off).

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    Replies
    1. I normally do, but my co-workers promised me donuts!

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  8. 72, huh!
    I''ll be happy to switch with you any time you like.

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    Replies
    1. I have to admit this whole stroy arc is making me extremely uncomfortable... at the same time I could see that this could happen

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    2. Same here, which is one of the reasons I decided to write it, catharsis of a sort.

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    3. 71. Sorry, my error.
      In that case I'd be more than happy to switch with you!

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  9. Happy Birthday! What time did you start the first revolution as an independent being? My wife and I just celebrated the occasion of fifty years of married bliss and we did not count it as done until the anniversary of the actual time that it was pronounced that we were married. It might not really matter though as our marriage license said on its face that it expired after thirty days. We ponder the effect of that from time to time. On the other hand, I don’t think that birth certificates expire at a time certain and I hope that you don’t need a license to be born. I can understand why you do not want to age any sooner than needed. We older farts go from cranky to silly in the morning. Keep up the good work. Mark

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    Replies
    1. 12:09 Eastern Daylight Time, so I'm 70 for a few more minutes. 😂

      Thanks, Mark!

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    2. Congrats on making another successful revolution! Thanks for the great stories and Latin lessons. I'm a bit into 73 but because I'm a retarded dumb ass, I seem much younger. Works for me, so does "better to be lucky than good". Thanks again for your titillating tales.

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    3. I also have that kind of charm, I'm sort of a demented 12-year old in a 71-year old body.

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  10. Okay, here to spoilsport the future of this story...

    The Feebies, Batfats, Homeland Security, CIA, EPA, ERA, EIEIO all storm the facility and find.... boxes and boxes labeled "ACME" this and "ACME" that and find a coyote trying to light a rocket he's strapped to. After perforating the stuffed coyote with enough lead to cause brain damage to said agents (and about a quarter of them being caught in the crossfire) the agents begin to wonder who really needs a 1,000lb anvil, parachutes, roller skates, paint, fake dynamite, rubber balls, containers of motor oil, huge rubber bands.....

    Happy Barfday to you.
    You work in a zoo.
    You smell like a monkey.
    And you act like one too.

    Any progress on convincing The Missus to allow you to eject from the job?

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    Replies
    1. 1) I really like that story line.

      2) Thanks!

      3) Uh, that's a negative, good buddy. But we have not yet begun to fight!

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  11. "The crackers seem to be lying low, Willy."

    I'm confused. Was Rick talking to Herb or Willy?

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  12. Depending on the discount, I use 85 or 86. But come to think of it, it doesn't seem to matter much. One can say "I have 71 years" or one can say "I'm in my 72d year". Go back to your Y2K literature to fine out when a countable year is ended. Just like leap year - we're really at 7 May. ;-)
    A most Happy Birthday day Sarge. Keep up the good work in everything you do and begin to think about how you're going to ease in to more time at home.

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    Replies
    1. I spend a lot of time thinking about retirement.

      And thank you, Sir.

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  13. Crusty Old TV Tech here. Happy Birthday Sarge. Number 47 it is, if one counts in Base 16. Ahh, hex, it is a blessing for those of us over 40!

    The story is revving up for something. Waiting to see what that something is. Give Musie a seegar for your birthday, she's earned it.

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  14. Many happy and healthy returns of the day, Sarge! Regardless of the number of revolutions you've been through ( see what I did there?) you've done some mighty good things with many more to come.
    Best wishes for this being the last year before your retirement.
    Boat Guy

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    Replies
    1. Many revolutions, all non-violent. Hopefully that trend will continue!

      Thanks, BG!

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  15. Replies
    1. Are you calling me an old dog? (S'okay, it fits.)

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  16. Nearly 40 years ago my godson first spoke what has become a family birthday greeting; "Happt to you day"! Saludos y Feliz Cumpleanos !

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Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)
Can't be nice, go somewhere else...

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