because he likely rides a motorcycle that doesn't fit
their aesthetic preferences. Jurisdiction be damned.
We are going to get him."
Within ninety seconds, the alarm klaxons in
the Fort Kendrick motor pool blared.
Four matte-black, up-armored Military Police
SUVs roared to life, their heavy diesel engines
shattering the morning calm. Behind them, two
massive tactical transport trucks—the modern
descendants of the vehicles James used to drive—
fell into line.
The heavy steel gates of the base swung open,
and the convoy poured out onto the highway. Sirens
wailed, not the high-pitched yelp of police cruisers,
but the deep, bone-rattling klaxons of military
emergency vehicles. The convoy moved with
aggressive, terrifying precision, accelerating down
Highway 18 like a spear thrust directly toward the
rising sun.
Chapter 6
The Convoy Arrives
Back on the gravel shoulder of Highway 18,
the situation between Deputy Boyd and Sergeant
Ruiz had settled into a tense, angry stalemate. James
Harris stood calmly by his motorcycle, his gloves
now on, waiting.
The low rumble they had heard from the west
was rapidly turning into a deafening roar.
Boyd stepped out into the middle of the empty
eastbound lane, shielding his eyes from the morning
sun. Over the crest of the hill, a mile down the road,
a line of flashing red and blue lights appeared. But
they weren't the standard light bars of local law
enforcement. They were mounted high, wide, and
aggressive.
Within seconds, the convoy crested the hill and
bore down upon them.
"What the hell is this?" Boyd yelled over the
noise, taking a step backward toward his cruiser.
Four massive, up-armored Military Police
SUVs came screaming down the highway. They
didn't slow down to ask questions. They executed a
perfectly synchronized, tactical blocking maneuver.
Two SUVs swerved across the center line, braking
violently to block both lanes of traffic, completely
shutting down the highway. The other two SUVs
skidded onto the gravel shoulder, boxing in the
county police cruiser from the front and the rear.
Behind them, the two massive tactical
transport trucks hissed to a halt, their air brakes
releasing with a sound like a dragon exhaling.
Before the heavy vehicles even fully settled on
their suspensions, the doors flew open.
A dozen heavily armed Military Police officers
poured out. They wore tactical vests, Kevlar
helmets, and carried M4 carbines slung across their
chests. They didn't point their weapons, but their
hands rested near the grips, and they moved with the
lethal efficiency of a combat unit securing a hostile
zone. They formed a tight perimeter around the old
man and his motorcycle, effectively cutting Boyd
and Ruiz off from their detainee.
Boyd’s hand instinctively dropped to his duty
weapon.
"Hey! Back off!" Boyd screamed, his voice
cracking with pure panic. "This is a county police
scene! You have no jurisdiction here!"
"Keep your hand away from that weapon,
Officer!" a booming voice commanded.
From the lead SUV, Brigadier General Rebecca
Lawson stepped down. She ignored Boyd entirely,
walking straight through the perimeter of MPs. She
approached James Harris, stopped a respectful
distance away, and snapped a textbook-perfect
salute.
James, despite his stiff knee, stood tall and
returned the salute with the crisp, practiced motion
of a career soldier.
"Mr. Harris," General Lawson said, her voice
carrying clearly over the idling diesel engines. "I
apologize for the delay. We seem to have
encountered a logistical error in your
transportation."
"No apology necessary, General," James
replied with a faint smile. "I was just having a
conversation with the local authorities."
Lawson finally turned to look at the two police
officers. She locked eyes with Boyd, who was
standing frozen, his hand still hovering near his
holster, his face drained of all color.
"Who is the senior officer on this scene?"
Lawson demanded.
Sergeant Ruiz stepped forward, swallowing
hard. "I am, Ma'am. Sergeant Daniel Ruiz, Colleton
County Police."
"Sergeant Ruiz," Lawson said, walking slowly
toward him. "I am Brigadier General Rebecca
Lawson, Commander of the 14th Sustainment
Command. Can you explain to me why you have
detained my guest of honor thirty minutes before a
federal military ceremony?"
"Ma'am, it was a routine traffic stop for an
obscured plate," Ruiz said, desperately trying to
maintain professionalism. "My deputy initiated the
stop."
Lawson turned her gaze to Boyd. "An
obscured plate. I see. And did the plate return
valid?"
"Yes, General," Ruiz answered quickly,
wanting to get ahead of Boyd's inevitable lie.
"Registration, insurance, and license are all valid.
There are no warrants."
"Then why," Lawson asked, her voice
dropping to a dangerously quiet volume, "is he still
standing on the side of this road?"
Boyd finally found his voice. "He was... he
was acting suspicious. The motorcycle looks like
stolen military property. I was investigating. He
refused a search and assaulted me!"