HP and the print jobHe was as calm as possible. Everything was going as planned. The heavily armed convoy was still half a mile away and had not the faintest idea about the perfect ambush he had set up.
Numerous times he had already checked his walkie-talkie and the gun. He checked it again. Nothing would go wrong, he assured himself. Not this time. More than two years of meticulous preparation would finally pay off.
The convoy came closer. He picked up his binoculars and studied the lined up vehicles. Two armored cars in front, two at the back and between them three big trucks with the payload. It would not reach the destination, he would definitely take care of that. All his comrades were ready, ready for the word given, ready to strike and make the world a different place.
The convoy was closing in. He desperately tried to persuade himself to stay put until they were close enough to strike. Don't move. Don't do anything stupid. Stick to the plan. They were nearly close enough, nearly.
When the first armored car crossed that invisible line he made up, he used his walkie-talkie for the first time:
"Get ready, but wait!"
He knew, they would listen to him, reading his lips. They all knew how important timing was to pull this thing off.
"Phase one, now!"
The word was given. Too late to change the course of history. On a mountain top in a distance a big explosion attracted the attention of the convoy guards. It worked. It always worked. For no reason at all they convoy slowed down and finally stopped. He could not see it but was pretty sure somebody was picking up a mobile phone now. This somebody would soon realize all aerials nearby had just been blown up and some jamming transmitters had taken over all frequencies.
Hidden nozzles right and left of the road began to spray that fine mixture of instant foam and superglue that would immobilize everything within 10 seconds. The guards realized now, that something was not according to schedule, grabbed their guns and left the cars. Again for no reason.
The sharpshooters now aimed for the guns. All over sudden glue foam balls spread over the guards and their weapons. Within seconds the resistance was frozen. He heard some gunfire from the end of the convoy.
"No problem!" said the radio. "The guy can't move anymore, but he can still waste his ammo." Nothing to worry about. The front armored car tried to break free, in vain. They couldn't even open the doors anymore. Everything covered with that hardening foam now, you could not even shoot through. The gunfire of people trying stopped. The knew, they were beaten.
The trucks had to stop too. Hopefully the gluey foam had missed them. From their well hidden dens his comrades went for the cargo. The drivers were civilians and unarmed. No resistance there. One minute later they were bound at the side of the road and the trucks moved again carefully avoiding the areas covered with foam.
The remaining team checked the guards, removing the foam with hydrofluoric acid wherever necessary to avoid people from suffocating beneath the stuff. So far everything went without bloodshed. Just as planned.
Then the fog came in, artificial fog of course. If there was any aerial surveillance, nobody should be able to see where the trucks and their valuable payload were going to.
A little later the trucks had reached that small airbase where 5 stolen cargo planes were already waiting to spread the stuff all over the country. The doors of the trucks were forced open and while the loot was loaded into the cargo bays, he took the first look on the just acquired treasure that would make him a rich man. 300 000 copies of the latest Harry Potter book, two weeks before the official release.
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