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Behind the wheel was a suspected scrap metal thief who had been combing the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center for spent brass shell casings. His intrusion onto the base was the 12th time in six months that scavengers had inadvertently halted combat exercises.

Bombing ranges have become prime hunting grounds for so-called “scrappers,” who are motivated by soaring commodity prices to take greater risks in their quest for brass, copper and aluminum. The scavenging causes headaches for the military, which cannot patrol every inch of the remote bases where spent ammunition, shrapnel and unexploded ordnance are easy to find.

“This is not just some petty crime. This is dangerous business,” said Andy Chatelin, director of range management at Twentynine Palms, which at 932 square miles is the world’s largest Marine Corps base.

Illegal scavenging of military munitions has long been an issue at military bases. But as metal prices have climbed in the past two years, scavengers have become more numerous, more audacious and more sophisticated.

After he was spotted by troops last December, the pickup truck driver barreled directly at a Marine, who fired five shots at the vehicle. The driver swerved, flipped over and spilled hundreds of dollars in collected metal. He was taken by helicopter to a hospital and later charged with attempted murder.

The military loses hundreds of thousands of dollars every time it is forced to halt training. And when scrappers make off with unexploded ordnance, the public is at risk.

The Pentagon estimates up to 10 percent of all ordnance such as bombs, missiles and grenades fails to explode on impact. Some of it is left behind in training areas.

In May 2007, two suspected scrappers removed a Vietnam-era missile from the Twentynine Palms base. It later exploded in their Barstow home, killing both men and destroying the apartment. Earlier this year, two workers were injured at a Raleigh, N.C., recycling plant when ordnance suspected of coming from nearby Fort Bragg exploded.

“The expense we have to go through, not just to guard against the loss of training time, but the chance of this hazardous material getting out into the public, is enormous,” said Ronald Pearce, who oversees a training range in Yuma, Ariz., where the Marines and Navy practice aerial assaults. “You just can’t look the other way and condone it.”

No one knows how much scrap metal lies discarded on U.S. military bases because there are no records of the tonnage of exploded and unexploded ordnance. The number of illegal scavengers is also unclear because the military can only confirm a theft when there is an arrest.

After meeting with the Defense Department last month, the Institute of Scrap Recycling urged its members to stop accepting military scrap without knowing the source of the material. It also recommended the military create a system to account for the material it uses.

The Pentagon said it’s impossible to calculate the cost in interrupted training — including lost man-hours and wasted fuel — but they have begun tracking lost training time, which can climb into the hundreds of thousands of dollars.

At the Marine Corps Air Station in Yuma, officials estimated they lost nine hours of aerial training between January and March.

To catch thieves, bases are combining technology with foot patrols and relying on help from sheriff’s deputies.

The Twentynine Palms base is using cameras to conduct video surveillance of base borders. It also has assigned Marines from its Special Reaction Team, similar to a SWAT team, to work primarily on nabbing scrappers and trespassers.

But they are often up against a savvy enemy that uses high-tech communications and GPS systems, and often works in teams.

During a recent patrol at the base, Marines hunted for scrappers in gullies, desert washes and mountain crevices where some thieves had previously hid from helicopters under camouflage netting.

Last year, Marines found an abandoned car in the desert and a dead man nearby, plus a second man who was on the brink of death from dehydration. The pair were believed to have been prowling for scrap metal. Similar deaths were reported in Yuma.

The military said most scrappers arrested in the past several years appeared to be either illegal immigrants or drug users looking for easy money. If convicted on federal charges ranging from trespassing to theft, they face up to 20 years in prison.

Because the Twentynine Palms base is so vast, officials cannot erect and maintain fences. Instead, they have posted signs warning against trespassing, only to see those signs stolen for the metal.

Mr. Rosenzweig called the police, patiently citing legal codes to convince them that, yes, grease theft is a crime. He should know. As a legitimate grease collector, he has his livelihood stolen four to five times a month these days.

In March, grease bandits in South Bend, Ind., broke bin locks to get to their oozy booty. One collector, Griffin Industries Inc., has two detectives working cases in Kentucky, Texas, Florida, Missouri, and against an entire grease gang in northern Arkansas.

Grease is a traded commodity like gold or pork bellies, and its price has tripled in the past two years – leading to increased theft. The reason: Grease can be used to make bio-diesel and has seen the same price spike as corn and other biofuel inputs.

“We monitor grease theft on a regular basis. Right now it’s a big issue,” says Christopher Griffin, director of legal affairs for Griffin Industries Inc. in Cold Spring, Ky. The company collects raw grease in 20 states and boils and filters it into “yellow grease,” which is what is used to make biodiesel.

Yellow grease is becoming liquid gold. It now trades on US commodities markets for 32 cents per pound, up from a low of 12 cents in 2006, according to data from The Jacobsen website.

“People who were not in the industry in 2006 are seeing this is a moneymaker,” says Mr. Griffin. The trouble for these grease greenhorns, he says, is that there’s no free grease anymore – it’s all under contract. “So those people, if they can’t get the volume of grease they want, then they will just steal it.”

Rosenzweig’s call brought five policemen, who arrested the alleged thief, David Richardson. He did not have a California permit to collect or haul grease. Reports say his 4,000-gallon tank was half full and he planned to sell it for $1.35 a gallon, meaning he stood to make roughly several thousand dollars.

When grease was much cheaper, restaurants here and around the country would often have to pay to have the grease removed from outdoor bins. Now that yellow grease fetches a good price, Rosenzweig doesn’t charge his clients – some services even pay the restaurant. There’s strong competition for contracts.