Spilling the Kettle

They were so engrossed in their Quaker Prayer session, no one noticed the first wave of the flash mob passing by the open air cafe. In minutes the noise of crowded movements were overtaken by rhythmic chanting of protests.
The differences in appearance were stark. The protesters were much younger, dressed in their demonstration gear, while the prayer group was not less than 55 at the youngest, and wore seasonal lightweight shorts and t-shirts. Before they could register in their minds what was happening, they were surrounded. Worst of all, a significant number were the black-clad kids with light helmets and gloves, snatching up chairs and tables as they passed through. The men quickly withdrew to the far back corner, as the cafe owners had already dropped the metal grating over the only opening.
As they huddled, a blank brick wall on one side, and a high steel bar fence on the other, their hearts raced even faster as they realized those closest to them stopped and set up what functioned as a flash command post: a handful of people with multiple smartphones and tablet computers. While the activists ignored them mostly, they scanned about for the likelihood they might slip out against the flow of traffic. After a brief discussion they had almost decided to go try it when the ad hoc command post began chattering animatedly. Their hearts sank when they heard the word “kettle” repeated, pretty much at the same time they noticed the crowd was no longer moving past, but was packing tightly.
Police tactics had changed in the past few months as social unrest had increased. Kettling was no longer for mere containment. It allowed the police forces to reduce the portion of the crowd they faced until they had localized superiority of numbers. Using heavy tracked vehicles, extreme sound and other crowd driving measures, they would press from one end of the kettle and beat their way through the protesters on the other. Somehow in the midst of this, the police would sort through the crowd, picking out whom they thought were deserving of extra attention. Usually this meant anyone with anything in their hands or strapped to their backs, folks they found wearing skirmish gear, etc. These were tortured with tasers and beaten even more badly, then arrested. Anyone with caught with an actual weapon was likely to be shot on sight.
Building owners in this city had learned long ago to install steel roll-top doors or other means to seal off their buildings, because more than once a structure which had allowed some protesters to escape had been burned down. Official statements blamed the protesters, but no one believed that.
The dozen older men in the prayer group had no sympathies with either side. Dying was hardly something they feared, but they had seen enough violence and began praying again as best they could against the noise of the crowd. Then they discussed things for a moment, and made a decision. Overhearing the command post chatter, they realized the police skirmish line was just a block away. Backed by mounted officers and some vehicles, it was already moving their way. Time was short.
One of the older men approached the command post and asked if there was a tactical leader interested in making an escape. Having overheard one of the narrow side streets was blocked by a heavy cluster of officers and shields, and only one vehicle, they had a plan. They felt this might offer the weakest defense and allow at least some folks to escape the violence. After a few words, the activist began to grin, shaking his head up and down.
It took only a few minutes to find the right people — large people — and some makeshift straps and ropes. Just a few more minutes with the guidance of the older men in the prayer group, and they were ready. The command post began folding up operations and moved behind the lead element. Despite the tension and anger, the sight of this lead element still brought a few laughs from the crowd, as they shifted and parted to allow passage. The older men simply huddled in their corner, praying and watching as the activist leadership moved in tight knot, some as part of their new weapon.
They paused at the corner of the side street they had chosen, as word went up the chain of people toward the front edge where the police line held behind movable barriers. In minutes two more groups formed more versions of this weapon, and the formation moved quickly toward the police line.
At the skirmish line, a handful of masked protestors suddenly attacked the barriers and lifted them aside. As policemen moved forward in a tight formation to restore them, a space opened briefly as the crowd melted apart. Through the opening came barreling a huge battering ram, borne on either side by burly men running in tight cadence. Directly behind them came another, then another. The policemen suddenly found their shields a liability. This tight knot of bodies with their rams mowed down the ranks. In seconds a gap was open, as officers who had been knocked down began crawling out of the way to avoid being stomped further. Once the path was opened, the crowd surged behind the battering rams and the police ended up having to flee for their own safety.
The kettle had spilled.
Only later did the police realize how it was done. Because there was nothing loose which could have been used for this, the protesters had taken two large people with helmets and light body armor to make their ram. Facing head to foot, the two men clung tightly to each other, wrapped in strips of cloth or straps, and turned into a heavy ram. A crew of six, three on each side, then tied the straps over their outside shoulders and waists. Two more at the rear would help push the rest through resistance, so that they were a single, flexible weapon, weighing no less than a full ton. Someone at the rear called cadence while the rest moved carefully in unison, grinding over whatever fell under their feet.
The older men in their prayer group simply huddled in their corner, watching the chaos as the operation fell apart. Their prayer meeting lasted a little longer than they had planned, but they all made it home eventually, unscathed.