I spent two days driving around Metcalf, walking around its perimeter, climbing hills, taking pictures, looking through my binoculars. I was wearing a baseball cap, a black hoodie and sunglasses. No one stopped me or asked me what I was doing. No one seemed even to notice I was there. At the gun range, men walked in and out, carrying rifles in long black cases. Above me, I could hear the transmission lines crackling. They stretched in every direction over the sun-baked hills, off to power the country.
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The physical layer is still the softest target in security. Everyone's worried about zero-days, but a rifle and a pair of bolt cutters don't need a patch.