Jumping the Fence: The Casuals Series Book 1

By John P. Roberts

It’s supposed to be a simple peek-a-boo mission not far from St. Petersburg, Russia, to check out some specially built garages that block satellite signals. They plan to send casuals from the Tenth Special Forces to go over the fence and take a look. The mission starts off well with Captain Dennison at the helm and privates Eden and Nichols at his command.

Then, in Sweden, the captain is sent home, leaving Eden and Nichols on their own to continue the mission. They’re ambushed at a safe house before leaving for Helsinki, and it’s beginning to look like these men might need rescuing.

The casuals persist, making contact with an anti-Russian organization. Meanwhile, the Americans want their men back, but what of the garages outside St. Petersburg? Eden and Nichols might be in over their heads, as it soon appears a double agent has been working behind the scenes and could risk both the mission and their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665703338

John P. Roberts

Robert Pike, writing here as John P. Roberts, is a highly trained veteran with years of foreign and domestic experience. Formerly a Special Forces Sergeant, he brings his experiences to the stories he tells. Currently, he is involved with his local chapter of the Special Forces Association, and he helped establish Allied Forces Veterans Day in Minnesota. He is also author of the young adult Cadets series from Ballantine Books.

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Copyright © 2021 John P. Roberts.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

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except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,

events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s

imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual

persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN: 978-1-6657-0332-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-0333-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021903294

Archway Publishing rev. date: 03/10/2021

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

CHAPTER 1

The first rule of B and E (Breaking and Entering) is look like you belong there. This was a moto that the small group of adjunct Special Forces men held dearly as they worked to test the security of NATO bases in Germany and elsewhere.

They were a very elite group of men with the talents of illegitimate children born in a prison facility and charged with just being down right uncontrollable. This was compounded by the fact that their boss had to be someone that hated children and carried a big stick, because one of his children broke the boss’s leg by accident on a parachute jump.

One of the unspoken traditions of Special Forces men is their image. It was greatly tarnished during the 1970’s by TV and movie people. As a comeback the ‘hats’ as they were called along with other adjectives decided to upgrade as it were. The end result was there where three types of SF soldiers.

The first type was the Hollywood man. He was handsome and usually well fit for his age. His uniform was always pressed and his belt buckle always shined. But most important was he always shaved. This is the good looking man that would be on parade to show the world how good SF men were.

Then there was the second group. These men weren’t handsome in fact they look so average it set a new standard. They were of varying heights, colors of skin, and usually needed a haircut. Their uniforms fit mostly, but could stand a bit more tailoring. But these men were the warrior class. They were the ones in the field doing the jobs they were sent to do and they got dirty.

The last group was the casuals. They were always in need of some discipline, looked like any other soldier, and spoke like they only made it past the third grade. But it wasn’t their image SF was interested in, it was their natural talents. These men would normally be doing five and ten year sentences for any number of violations to federal and state laws, if they were on the outside as it were.

The casuals were not completely trained as an SF soldier would be traditionally. They would be given instruction on specific topics that would aid them in their duties and their training was never really listed in their 201 files. But more importantly, these men could easily be a traditional SF soldier if it wasn’t for minor indiscrepancies. Also, they were cheaper than the millions spent on the real SF guys.

In fact, these men had several 201 files depending on where they were stationed at the time. If any officer serving in Vietnam in a helicopter company were to do a background check on say a door gunner who screwed up and had previously been one of the casual’s, he would discover that the man was listed as a truck driver for some transportation unit in upstate New York and had never been in Vietnam. Only the individual would know to the contrary.

A privilege was also extended to these casuals; they were allowed to wear the Green Beret with the Unit flash. It was for identification so they could blend in with the real guys. But they never showed up for parades or any special duty, they would be sent some place so they would be out of sight of the management as it were. But if one were to do some real digging they would be astonished at the awards and decorations these men received while in other units. Their exploits while with SF was also highly classified and their contributions would be considerable.

One of these men was named Private E-2 Eden DuFoe, and whose rank was only temporary. It usually went up and down with the sun the First Sergeant would be heard to say. The trouble with Eden was; he was never around when they needed him. He wasn’t a slacker, in fact he was usually busy dreaming up schemes that would reward him financially, or a very large favor would be owed.

It was a Friday night when Eden made his move. He had done his duty for the day and now on his free time he was busy getting ready to start the weekend with a sure fire scheme. But before he could go to town he had to pass through A Company office and First Sergeant Tweed’s domain.

Evening Top, Eden said as he entered the office and stood before the Orderly Room manager.

Your early, it’s only four thirty you go off duty at five. was the gruff reply.

First Sergeant Tweed was a man who had a long career in the military police. Even with his SF training he still looked like a cop about to pounce on some poor soldier who was having a bit too much to drink. His stocky stature and short hair which was not necessarily regulation, gave anyone the impression to not buck the man.

I know Top, but the bus leaves in twenty minutes for Boston and I’d like to be on it.

Got a hot date I suppose?

Well sort of.

Tweed took out the three day pass cards and shuffled through them looking for DuFoe’s name. When he found it he pulled it out and started to hand it to the slightly built and reddish haired man before him. Eden was originally under age to be with SF but that’s what gave him clearance to enter foreign countries on a forged student visa. His description had not hit the rolodex of any countries customs inspectors.

Catching his ride at Ayer bus depot he went into Boston and then catching a second bus he was back out to Framingham where General Motors had a car assembly plant. Armed with his personal tools he went directly to the Village Pub and Brew House which was directly across the street from the factory.

He arrived at nine and took a seat next to the chimney column that clung to the wall like a rock climber hoping not to fall off. His table was small and out of the way of the usual bar traffic which was made up of dozens of auto labors. As the night wore on, so did the escalation of workers priming themselves for the night shift.

At eleven thirty, Eden got up and went into the men’s room to change. It was cramped in the small relief station with lime green walls and scribbling’s of the predecessors, but there was a door on the commode side and he managed to get into his overalls with the GM logo patch on the breast pocket.

From his travel bag he took out a couple of stolen license plates, a razor blade, and a small plastic covered cup of alcohol. Hanging these items inside his overalls he stuffed the travel bag into the tiled celling panels to come back for it at a later date. He then collected himself in the cracked mirror that hung over a rusted sink and entered back into the bar.

Eden was not surprised to see the patrons were now easing out and headed for the front gate of the plant in mass. It was shift change.

The security men at the main gate were happy to check each man as they entered but when hundreds are blowing up it’s better to just open the main gate and let them in. The problem with single line stuff is that it’s constantly overrun by those who waited to the last minute to get to work. Subsequently, the Unions had made the notion that the holdup was stopping production for too long and the practice had to be employed for the benefit of profits.

Looking like he belonged there Eden had managed to embrace the mass and found his way into the midst of them. Once through security he followed the crowd into the plant where the employees dispersed to go to their assigned work stations. He remembered to make a waving gesture to no one in particular to make it look like to the guards that he had friends.

Eden’s destination was the end of the assembly line. Just as the cars rolled off the conveyor a man would be waiting for it. The man would climb in start it up and drive it either into the rows of cars having racing stripes put on, or out into the storage lot.

The cars having the racing stripes would also need to be driven into the storage area when the car was complete. From there the cars were either sent to the back lot where they would be put on transport trucks to be taken to the dealers, or out to the railroad transfer station. This location was outside the plant and a half mile away to the closest rail yard.

Eden gathered with the other drivers and watched as the striping was being put on a bright green 1974 Hurst Cutlass 442. This was one of the muscle cars of that area and it was a beauty to behold. The striping and Mag wheels made it sparkle, and was the most wanting of every GM motor head in the factory.

Eden strolled along the row of cars and then came to a halt behind the green Cutlass. It was nearly ready to be taken out. As he kept an eye on the car he noticed another man standing a short distance away. He too looked interested, but not for Eden’s reasons, but just to be the first man to drive it. What wasn’t known was that this practice sold more cars than anything else in the plant. Just to get in and drive this new vehicle was a ‘I got to have this,’ experience for the workers.

The car detailer opened the driver’s side door and waved the next man in to take it out. That man was the one Eden had been watching and if he was a bit more alert it wouldn’t have happened. But all Eden could do is watch as his intended transportation slowly backed out of the bay and then out through the door.

HEY YOU! a voice called.

Eden turned and saw one of the other detailers motion for him to take the next car.

It was a stroke of luck as Eden climbed in and with a couple of screeches of the tires exited the plant and was trailing the green Cutlass from a distance through the storage lot.

As he followed the car Eden realized that the driver was on a joy ride. He was supposed to have parked the car in space 283 which was the next parking place because Eden’s was 284. What turned out was, the man put about three miles on the car and never left the lot. Eden on the other hand knew where the car was going to end up so he pulled into his assigned space.

Climbing out he walked back towards the plant but then spotted a man sleeping in the back seat of one of the other cars. That gave him an idea. He returned to his car and climbed into the back seat. He then laid down and waited.

It only took about twenty minutes but the Green Cutlass finally showed up. The rumbling sound of the engine was a dead giveaway and Eden didn’t need to look to see if it was the right one. Laying there he heard the drive side door close with a bang and waited a few seconds before peering over the front seat.

The driver was gone and Eden was ready to make his move. Once out of his car he went around to the Cutlass and began work.

Taking out the license plates he put those on using a dime as a screw driver and then used the razor blade and alcohol and started taking the shipping stickers off the windows. Next thing to get rid of was the plastic mat covers protecting the carpeting which he tossed out the window. Using a rag he picked up in the shop he cleaned the widows of the factory dust that collects on them while in production. When he was satisfied, he started the car and slowly pulled out of 283.

Because of the darkness and the inadequate parking lot lighting, Eden was able to cruise around to the area where vehicles were destined to be loaded onto rail cars. Pulling behind the last car in line he waited and watched. There were at least forty cars ahead of him.

Eden could see that the guard in the shack next to the open gate was busy stamping papers that were to be checked for cars being shipped by rail. The lead driver was there and had a hand full of documents. The process seemed to take a lot of time which made Eden a bit nervous. He could see the other drivers standing around smoking and waiting for their leader.

Eden started to sweat under his overalls that were now holding in body heat. He then realized that he had too much beer at the bar and needed to relieve himself. Looking around all he could see were hundreds of cars parked but in the shadows he wondered if it was possible. Getting out he walked over and went between a new Omega and a Delta 88 and deposited the necessary purified water. As he finished he heard the sound of cars starting up and glancing towards the front of the line he could see the first bunch begun to move into convoy formation for the trip to the rail yard.

As the leader slowly moved out Eden started his car and whipped around the one in front to run up behind the last car going out the gate. Taking the turn nearly on two wheels he rolled out onto Jefferson Avenue like all the rest but he only went two blocks when he made a sharp right and drove into the neighborhood for concealment.

Eden knew the layout of the area and before long taking back streets was on the Massachusetts Turnpike making a run for Fort Devens.

CHAPTER 2

There was something to be said about an Oldsmobile Cutlass, especially the Hurst model. It could fly. Motoring down the expressway Eden started to take a look at the interior. It had leather seats and a swanky console. The dash was well established with gages and alike. But it was the ride that made Eden feel like he should have one for himself. Unfortunately, the car was destined for another.

Earlier in the day a vet who just returned from a European tour of duty had answered Eden’s ad in the local Fort Devens paper. It was an advertisement for the sale of a new car. They talked casually about it on the phone and Eden told the soldier that he was being sent to Vietnam and that he had to get rid of it. The price was reduced because; Eden had run the ad in the paper several times the month before and got no reply. The buyer wasn’t at the post yet that’s why he hadn’t seen the ad.

The new buyer was considering himself lucky to be getting a new car for next to nothing.

It was the timing of things that gets great deals and they laughed about the chances of the buyer being there at the perfect moment.

The buyer gave his address as an apartment in the NCO section of the post. Family housing was limited but Eden was impressed that the Sergeant got quarters so quickly. He must be a friend of the generals’ Eden thought.

Pulling up to a toll both Eden deposited the forty cents and sped on through. He noticed a police car next to the office building but it was empty. Obviously, Eden thought, the factory hadn’t turned in the stolen car yet.

After twenty minutes Eden pulled off Highway 3 and took the long ramp up to the gate post at Fort Devens. The guard shack was dark but he could see someone sitting in the chair by the desk in front of the large window.

Turing off his headlights, Eden slowed until he was about two hundred feet away and then shutting off the motor and leaving the car in neutral he glided past the shack. Looking through the open door into the structure he spotted the guard was sound asleep.

Once through and a considerable distance away he restarted the car and drove on. Glancing in the rear view mirror he noticed the guard’s head bob up and then back down again. The sound of the motor broke the man’s nap, but not enough to warrant investigating.

What was fortunate was that the Company Area was next to the gate but about a thousand feet away. The forest of pines that grew between the gate and the company area concealed nearly everything.

Making what seemed like a big ‘U’ turn past the NCO club Eden brought the car onto one of the two streets that connected the main base to the Tenth Group area. There was another street farther over which was used for daily runs around Mirror Lake and more to the south was the property line of the post. Highway 3 ran the length of that line and the off ramp was a part of the entry to the gate house.

The company area was a part of the old main post and the barracks dated back to World War Two. There were fifty or so two story billets for the troops but because of the secrecy of the Unit nearly every one of the buildings was empty. There was a snack bar in one of the vacant structures where the lower ranks frequented and Eden had spent many hours there staying out of sight.

With it being nearly one thirty, or zero one thirty; the streets were empty and the area was shrouded in darkness. It was decided to save money that all the street lights be removed and taken to the newer part of post. That effort made many people happy because the old style street lights made the pace look more like the old home town.

Running on parking lights Eden brought the car to the far end of the street that emptied into the motor pool. The gate was pad locked and Eden had to stop and open the Army security device.

When he first got into the wheeler dealer business he made an alteration to the gate. Taking the nuts off the bolts that held one of the two gates to the support column all he had to do was lift the fence gate up and swing it around. As long as he wasn’t bringing in a two and a half ton truck the car could slip right through.

The best thing to do was to park the car on the back side of the repair shops. That way no one would see the vehicle and he would be down early enough the next morning to get the car inside to make any alterations he thought he had to do. Like take out the floor mats and drag them through the dirt then put them back inside. A cigarette burn mark on the arm rest was a nice touch he thought, even though he didn’t smoke.

With delivery time set for the next morning at the main Post Exchange, Eden could get some sleep until then. He would use the car to drive to breakfast at the consolidated mess hall and then make the appointment. It was all downhill for now.

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Eden had left his overalls and other things in the trunk of the car when he went back to the barracks to his bunk on the second floor. The sleeping bay was usually empty on weekends because most of the men had either wives or girlfriends that let them sleep over. He on the other hand had no one simply because he didn’t really care about it.

His thoughts on the opposite sex were to observe and enjoy. But to take part in a relationship that required having to talk about what you did that day was too much of a bother. Then there were the usual financial strains that he had heard his buddies talk about. It seemed like every one of his friends was usually broke and had to go to him for a short term loan. Only single men lenders who were frugal with their coins could do that.

What no one knew accept the bank manager at the National Bank of Boston was how much money Eden had amassed over the last several months. It was in the thousands and he only made withdrawals when he filled the loan requests.

Nearly everyone in the company including Tweed had taken the extra cash especially when Eden had several hundred dollars in the company safe for just such a favor. Eden was never short of money but he made it a rule to not have more than twenty dollars in his wallet at any one time. It was more superstition than necessity.

After a shave and shower Eden had to check with Tweed to make sure the motor pool was going to be open and who was on duty. It didn’t really matter who was in charge it’s just that certain motor pool sergeants tended to be a bit late in opening up. This wasn’t a big deal because many of the men could work on their own personal cars during the weekend. It was a perk that kept morale higher than what it might have been.

Tweed was at his desk when Eden came in dressed in civilian clothes. The way Tweed was sitting reminded Eden that the man was more like a mannequin than a human because it didn’t look like he moved off the spot. He could only recall one time that Tweed was standing by the file cabinets when he came in and that was months ago.

Morning Top, Eden said as he came up in front of the gray metal desk.

So you got another one, Tweed said snidely.

How did you know Sarge? Eden asked curiously

I did my inspection this morning and I saw it.

Right Sarge.

Look, you’re supposed to break into NATO bases not car factories! Tweed said.

It was becoming a habit for the senior NCO to berate Eden for his extracurricular activities, but then it always seemed like a waste of time.

Just keeping my skill set sharp Top.

You know you could get twenty years for this shit?

Yup, that’s what makes it fun.

Well stop doing it!

Right Top. How does the CO like his new Omega?

Get the hell out of here before I call a cop.

You wouldn’t do that Top, you’re a cop. Besides, why can’t we get a break once and a while?

How do you mean, Tween asked with his hands folded on his desk.

Okay, so the factory makes cars and special tools to make certain repairs with. Those tools are made by the factory; they then send these tools to dealerships so the repair can take place. Now the dealership charges the customer for the tool which is usually in the hundreds of dollars. But the local mechanic can also make the same repair but he doesn’t have the tool. So some of these guys in the plant steal the tools and sells them to the local mechanic. Now the customer can get the repair done for a third of the cost. The factory is short the tool but their making millions on car sales. So who’s the winner here? The customer right? After all he paid for the damn car.

So are you selling these cars to others?

Yup, need to make up my expenses as it were, Eden replied with a grin.

Going back to the dealer part of your little story. You’re not a dealer are you?

Nope, I checked into it and you have to sell at least fifteen cars a year and be sponsored by a dealership to get a license.

So you’re not a licensed dealer?

That’s right Top. I only sell a couple a year and that makes me an independent seller and I can sell up to eight cars a year without a license.

Tweed was beginning to get a head ache from the stress of dealing with the Private E-2. Back in basic training Sergeants were notorious for drilling into the ground most Privates for their lack of ingenuity, but Eden was far from that point in time. In Tweeds mind he could only feel sorry for the NCO’s that had to deal with a man that was too fast to catch.

Right Top, so who’s running the pool?

Sergeant Louis is on duty, why?

Good, he doesn’t ask questions, Eden replied

You know Eden, sometimes you’re just too fucking simple to argue with. Get out!

The Private turned and walked out the orderly room door making sure not to slam it. Eden wasn’t mad he just didn’t like the harassment that went with his position in the military. He always considered himself officer material, but it was the responsibility he couldn’t cope with. So staying at or near the bottom of the rank column was really the best place. No Queen ever made a fuss over a worker bee.

The gate to the motor pool was open and as Eden walked through he automatically checked to see if the nuts had been put on the hinges. They weren’t and he was glad of that. Making for the shop that had a back room full of wall lockers where everyone had a set of work clothes to put on so the daily uniform didn’t get greasy, Eden found his locker, but because there were so many lockers and so few soldiers there were plenty of empties to hid things in.

Eden’s locker had to be registered with the office so during inspections the officer knew who owned the locker. But he had picked one of the lockers that had been tossed into a back room for storage and put a pad lock on one of those. This is where he kept his tools as it were.

Once he had cleaned out the Cutlass and made it look used, he hoped in and drove to the mess hall where he had a quick breakfast. From there he drove over to the main post library where they had off set some small rooms for typing. He connected with the librarian on duty and signed up for a room at the back.

When the manufacture of cars sends the vehicle to its destination it is customary to put a temporary ownership card in the glove box. So if the car gets lost there is a paper trail which was part of the paperwork needed to be done