Bees… can be trained in a couple of days to pick up the scent of the explosive in the landmine… When released into a minefield, the bees find their way toward the mines … are too small to detect either with the naked eye or high-resolution video at long ranges. So instead, the team employs a laser emitter that sweeps an area like radar or sonar. When the light hits a bee, it reflects, and sensors are able to tell by the reflection just where the bee is. After sweeping several times, the scientists are able to crunch the data and see statistically where the higher occurrences of bees are located.
The Obamaites had collected the knives. The Homland Protection Squadron was a combination of squads from the appropriate government agencies: IRS, FDA, DEA, BATF, FBI, CIA, NSA, FCC, FTC, Treasury, and even the Department of Agriculture. The squadron is near 300 men and women. They were on point against drug gangs, Ponzi schemers, and “religious” sects.
The fat old white man was a retired executive. He’d gotten “religion” during Y2K and had started his withdrawal from the “game”. That’s what he called Wall Street finance. It was a crooked game, where the ability to buy politicians, manupulate the law, and screw the people. He often was quoted that the Street was a “crooked casino”. Y2K was the beginning of his transition. From “player on the Street” to gentleman farmer. He wasnt disappointed that society dodged a dagger by an intense conversion effort. But, he learned a lot about Namibian goats, mules, rabbits, farming fish, and even honeybees. It was fun. He invited schools for trips. It was a Mennonite area and he learned a lot. A lot about animal training.
Homeland Protection’s media review squad eventually found the fat old white man’s blog. He made no secret of his disgust for government. Extremely critical of the Glorious Leader, his holiness, the President for Life. They targeted him for enforcement. And, he did have real estate and, while no paper trail existed, a supposed store of precious metals. It was scheduled for the first Monday of July. It wasn’t til the week before they realized that they had the day off. Fourth of July weekend.
On Monday the Sixth of July, one car from the FDA pulled up to the front gate. The fat old white guy inquired of the dumbfounded Drug Cop. He asked “Wearz everyone?” “Everyone who?” “Never mind!”
Hairs on the back of his head went up.
On Tuesday the Seventh of July at 10AM, the entire squadron moved in. Signs at the gate said: “No Trespassing. No explosives permitted in the test area. This is your only warning.”
The leadership grouped up and, after a short discussion, gave the “forward ho” signal. The mob followed the tanks. He was a short hike to the main house. The fat old white man stood calmly on the porch with his hands in his pocket. The leader told him he was under arrest and to put his hands up. The man put his hands up and one had had what looked like a Staples Easy Button. The leader was afraid. Explosives? With that the man presed the panic button in his pocket.
In minutes, the sky was filled with a golden horde. Bees. They descended on the firearms with their minute quantities of explosives. That’s when the cowards made their mistake. Collectively. Individually. They swatted and smashed. That was an attack on the colony. The pheromones of the crushed individuals sent the swarm into a freenzey.
There was no mercy. The insects were overwhelming.
The local community notified the government that thier squadron could be retrieved at the interstate. Drones showed Amish men in buggies bringing bodies from the targeted farm to the interstate. No one was armed. Guns, weapons, and equipment belts lay on the farm where they were dropped.
The Homeland Security commandos moved in at dark to recon. They had no sooner entered onto the farm then they were best upon.
The next day the Amish brought the new bodies to the interstate.
The President was briefed. The area was declared off limits. They considered how to handle the new threat. The bees were expanding their territory. They were now in a six miles radius of the farm and expanding about one mile per day.
Since peace was mandatory inside their circle, the farm was called “the Garden of Eden”.
Just not to the President’s face.
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