by John Chapman
Once the Judge was safely inside the vehicle’s armor, Kyle picked up the two long guns from the front yard that were no longer needed by their owners. He saw the one he couldn’t immediately identify was a Kel Tec .223 carbine. He was tempted to just leave it there. The guns had such a poor track record he hated to keep it, but maybe one of the hundreds of static security people they were going to need could use it. Kyle unloaded it and the AK, tossed them in the back, then got in his seat. He took a deep breath and told Anson, “Let’s move.” As the team pushed out Councilwoman Musk was still standing motionless in the Judge’s front yard.
*
“This doesn’t look good at all,” Trent told Ernesto as they pulled into the Emergency Room parking lot at the hospital. Ernesto tried to formulate a response but couldn’t. The ambulance bay and ER entrance looked like a bomb went off. The entire north side of the three-story hospital was charred black from fire. Bloody, blackened and frost covered bodies were strewn all over the ambulance bay. Ernesto had been a Marine and cop in a large city, and thought he’d seen the worst humanity had to offer. Every other horror he had experienced paled in comparison.
After the team was parked and dismounted, leaving their machinegunner in place in the turret of the MRAP, Doc Zimmerman led them through the carnage. It was sickening beyond description. All of them knew they would quietly struggle for the rest of their lives with the scenes of dead nurses and doctors, their bodies draped over prostrate corpses of women, children, and the elderly, having obviously been executed from close range trying to protect their patients. In the garden just outside the ER waiting area, they found a pile of bodies burned beyond recognition after being stacked and set on fire. The smell of burned meat and lingering odor of gasoline would haunt their dreams.
Trent stopped the team and asked Doc Zimmerman, “Do we need to go inside?” Doc stopped and slowly began to break down. Once he got control of himself, he choked, “We have to make sure no one needs our help.” They took a moment to collect themselves for the task ahead. Trent finally said, “Alright guys, we have to focus. Harden up.” He was forced to go to each man and touch them lightly, trying to lead them to suppressing their horror and grief long enough to get the job done. He finally said, “First, finish the fight. Come on guys, there might be someone we can help inside.” This truth finally spurred them into action. The team formed up on the ambulance doors and started executing their CQB procedures like the professionals they were.
It took more than three hours to clear the building. During the search, they noticed several bodies of men who had obviously stood and fought; CCW holders mostly, who died in piles of brass trying to slow the horde who attacked. It was to no avail. Those people in the hospital who did not die by gunfire or the flames perished from smoke inhalation. The team did find 11 bodies of what were obviously ghetto rats, all of them armed, who had died from the smoke. It looked like they had gotten lost in the building and died when their ‘compatriots’ set the structure on fire. “Too bad we can’t kill them twice,” Doc Zimmerman commented. Everyone agreed.
By the time the team was done, without having located a single surviving victim, they were numbed. They regrouped at the MRAP, but no one wanted to stay there for a break. Trent had Ernesto drive to a small park on the east end of town on State Street. Once there the team cleaned up as best they could. Trent ordered everyone to eat something, but no one bothered.
It was Doc Zimmerman who broke the silence, “If we had stayed at the hospital there is no way we could have held off a force big enough to do that kind of damage.” No one responded, but they all knew he was right. Given its position at the edge of Ward 5, the indefensibly large size of the property, and the fact that every dirtbag within walking distance knew the building was full of narcotics, the hospital was a lost cause the moment the lights went out. One hundred assaulters would have had a hard time holding that hospital against what was probably as close as you can get to a real-life zombie horde.
Finally, after realizing even he was basically useless after experiencing trauma on that scale, Trent ordered the team back in the truck. When they were ready to go, he told Ernesto to take them home. They rode in silence, their bodies rocking gently with the rhythm of the truck’s suspension. If trauma was the father of vengeance, then Bravo team, 3rd Troop, Black Knight Squadron determined they would be its children.
As they drove north on Arch Avenue, Ernesto was spacing out. He knew they shouldn’t be returning to the FOB by driving through Ward 5, but part of him was hoping they would get attacked. After the hospital, he felt the old hate building in him. While it was a comforting feeling, he knew it would ultimately destroy him. He needed a violent outlet.
As they travelled, Trent noticed several groups of hood rats, all armed, on the side streets, and commented to Ernesto, “It’s awfully early for the dongs to be awake. It can’t be earlier than 1100. Must be a special occasion.” Ernesto replied, “They don’t want to miss out on the looting. The early dong gets the looted sneakers.” Trent laughed and said, “You hate to see a dong lose a sneaker.”
Trent was still chuckling when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, an obviously unconscious woman being drug by the hair up the porch steps of a house just east of Liberty Avenue on Auld Street, by a male in an all red sweat suit with an AR15 hanging from his shoulder by a sling. By the time he could open his mouth and yell, “Stop the truck!” Ernesto had passed by the cross-street. It took Ernesto an entire block to get the 30,000-pound combat vehicle stopped. Trent raised his voice so the guys in the back could hear him, “Emergency hostage rescue. Two blocks back on Auld Street, to the east of us. Second house on the north, White with brown trim. One unconscious female being dragged inside by the hair by an armed male. Ernesto, circle to the east and come up Auld Street from that direction.” Everyone nodded and started checking their gear as Ernesto got the vehicle moving again. They all happily focused on the new mission, putting the hospital behind them for now.
Trent got on the radio and called it in, hoping someone with a radio was close enough to hear him, “Knight TOC, Knight Three-Bravo-One. We are conducting an in-extremis hostage rescue on Auld Street, two houses east of Liberty on the north side of the street. White house with brown trim. Any units in the area please radio relay to the TOC. If responding, approach from the east. I say again, approach from the east.”
*
The ionosphere must have been clearing up, because every police and fire radio in the city that hadn’t been fried by the pulse, including the one in the TOC, heard Trent’s transmission. From his chair in the TOC, Bones immediately replied, “Knight TOC copies direct.” Bones jumped up and stuck his head out of the tent, and yelled, “I need David in the TOC!” His effort turned out to be unnecessary; David had been monitoring the radio while having a late lunch with his wife and kids in the range office / kitchen building. He was sprinting to the TOC before Bones finished his bellowed sentence.
Trent’s voice jumped into Mark, Kasey, and Gary’s MSA headsets at the same time. Mark had just decided to lead his team back to the FOB and regroup. He had given up on scouting Ward 5. The entire area was a cesspool in the best of times; now it resembled a civil war battlefield. Blocks of burnt out homes, random clumps of dong militia roaming around, and dozens of bodies lying in the street told him everything he needed to know. Since being shot at earlier in the morning, they hadn’t had any more violent encounters, but that was more a function of the speed and maneuverability of their quads than any skill on their part.
Mark didn’t have to give any orders. They were already pointed in the right direction, and were less than a mile from the target. All they had to do was turn left on Auld and they would be positioned perfectly to help. They all sped up while Mark got on the radio, “Knight Three-Bravo-One, Knight Five. Less than two minutes out with three assaulters. Where do you want us?” Trent replied immediately, “Knight Five, we are about 30 seconds out from the target. We had to get turned around. I’
ll advise when we get there.” Mark clicked his radio PTT twice and focused on pushing the quad as hard as he could without smearing himself on one of the stalled vehicles on the road.
Kyle and 3rd Troop’s Alpha team, with Judge Morris in hand, were moving north on Sawburg Avenue when they heard the call on the radio. Not wanting to tie up the radio, he tugged on the machinegunner’s leg and yelled up, “Tell the other vehicle to go to that call.” The gunner nodded and turned the turret to point backwards. He made eye contact with Ken Branch in the rear vehicle and pointed to his own MSA headset, then pointed at Branch, then made a ‘go away’ motion. Branch nodded and the second HMWWV slowed and made a u-turn, then sped away on the quickest route to the hostage job.
Kyle told Anson, “Speed up. I want to get the Judge to the FOB and head back out.” Anson replied, “So you’re telling me to drive fast?” with a grin on his face.
While Judge Morris couldn’t hear the radio traffic, because everyone was routing their radios through their headsets, he could tell something was wrong. He leaned forward and asked Kyle, “What’s up?” Kyle turned around and told the Judge, “Another team is dealing with a hostage situation over in Ward 5. I sent the other half of our team to help, and we will go after we drop you off.” Judge Morris replied, “You don’t need to drop me off, I can take care of myself.” Kyle shook his head and said, “Sorry Sir, but no way. Ward 5 is a war zone; Chief Stone would kill me if I took you in there.” The Judge sighed and nodded his understanding. He sat back and tried to relax. He had known Kyle since before Kyle went in the Army, and the Judge was a college student at Mount Union. He trusted Kyle, and if he said it was a bad idea, it probably was.
In less than five minutes Anson was guiding the HMWWV to a stop in the FOB parking lot, just inside the gate. Kyle jumped out of the HMWWV and helped the judge get his door open. He quickly escorted the Judge to what he thought of as the ‘city tent’ and found Chief Stone. He told the Chief, “I have to go Chief. We good?” Chief Stone said, “I heard the call. Go.” Kyle nodded then jogged back to the HMWWV and jumped in. Anson had already turned the vehicle around, and as he was getting the door closed Kyle said, “Push out.” Anson grinned and said, “Let’s go kick some dong!” Kyle sighed and said, “Seriously bro, how long have you been saving that one? You’re better than that.” Anson laughed.
Chapter 22
710 Auld Street, Ward 5
Alliance, OH
Pain and nausea filled Carol’s mind as she regained consciousness. The pain seemed to be constant, radiating from her back, hips and abdomen; while the nausea came in short but intense waves. As she struggled to remember why she hurt, she opened her eyes. Everything was blurry, and it took Carol a moment to realize she was looking at the faded pink baseboard and stained white paint of a wall, from about five inches away. Where am I and why do I hurt so bad? Carol thought. She was very cold, and realized whatever she was lying on was damp. It smells like mold in here, she thought.
Carol closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. She had to move, but fear of more pain made her hesitate. Finally, she opened her eyes again and sat up. The pain was worse than she feared, and she had to put her left hand on the damp carpet to keep from falling back onto her side. The cold wet feeling on her hand helped her focus, and she was able to finish sitting up. Carol kept her eyes closed as she let the waves of nausea wash over her. Once her world stopped spinning, she opened her eyes and tried to figure out where she was. When she looked behind her, moving slowly because of the pain, she saw two women huddled together in the corner. They looked like they were asleep, sharing a dirty zip-up Cleveland Browns hoody as a blanket. Where the hell am I? Carol demanded her brain to work.
Then it all came rushing back. Jeff, the sales manager at the Brickyard, had convinced her to let him walk her home after the lights went out. When they got to her house Jeff had refused to leave, telling her it was too dangerous to be alone. Carol asked Jeff to walk with her to her daughter’s babysitter’s house to pick her up, but he had been insistent that they stay in her house because it was too dangerous. Hearing gunshots outside had convinced her Jeff was probably right. A longtime victim of abuse as a child and teenager at the hands of her father, Carol seemed incapable of resisting even the mildest forms of manipulation by men. Her subconscious mind would find reasons to agree with whatever man she happened to be with at the moment.
Once it got dark, Jeff told her it was best to leave her daughter at the sitters for the night. They would walk over and pick her up in the morning after things calmed down. She wished now she had just gone on her own. During the night, Jeff had joined her in her bed, and she had done what he wanted, more out of a habit of submission than any desire to be with him.
When they woke up in the morning, it took several hours of crying and begging to get Jeff to walk with her to get her daughter. About half a mile into the three-mile trek, they were attacked by a group of young men. One of the men had shoved Jeff down on the ground, then shot him with a handgun a bunch of times. Carol had tried to run away, but was quickly caught and beaten until she lost consciousness. It was the last thing she could remember before waking up on this cold, damp floor.
Carol dragged herself to the other women and collapsed against one of them. She curled up as close as she could and began to cry. When she heard several very loud bangs from inside the house she made herself even smaller and prayed they weren’t gunshots. The thought of escaping through the window right in front of her never entered her mind.
In the living room a couple of hood rats in their early 20’s, known on the street as P-Hound and Jelly, were chilling on the couch sharing a blunt, when they heard a loud diesel engine rolling up the street. “That got to be them cops I saw creepin’.” Jelly said. They both jumped up and grabbed their guns, and Jelly said, “I ain’t takin’ this no mo’. Can’t be that many of ‘em.” P-Hound replied, “I’ll go keep ‘dem bitches quiet. Keep da cops out da house. As soon as the hood hears us shootin’ they will all come rollin’.” Jelly said, “Ah-right. I can’t wait to use my laser site on ‘dem po-po,” and readied his rifle, an older Bushmaster AR15 with a cheap red laser clamped to the barrel, and no sights. He took the gun in a residential burglary several years before, but the laser sight was his customized touch.
As P-Hound bounded upstairs to guard their new ‘ladies’, Jelly cautiously peeked out the living room window through the curtains, and saw a big tan armored truck with a cop sticking out the top pull to a stop about two houses east of his house. Maybe them dumb asses are going to the wrong house, Jelly thought. He brought the rifle to his shoulder and started shooting at the truck
*
Trent crawled back into the troop compartment and briefed the team. “Some of you new guys don’t have radios, so in case you missed it, we are doing a hostage rescue in about one minute.” Trent said loudly, speaking over the roar of the engine. “It is a white house with brown trim, and will be on our passenger side front, about two houses in front of us. When we exit the back of the truck, go to the driver’s side. We will form up there, and I will lead us up to the target.” Trent paused as Ernesto wrestled the vehicle around a sharp right turn, jostling everyone around. He continued, “Remember the priority of life puts the hostages above us. The hostage I saw was a white female adult, and the suspect was a black male adult in a red jumpsuit.”
One of the new guys, a SWAT assaulter from Akron PD, asked, “So we are containing and making contact?” Trent looked exasperated and said, “No! Brother, the old way of police work died yesterday. You were at the hospital with us, you know things have changed bro. We will immediately assault the house and rescue that hostage.” The Akron guy nodded his head, and said, “I gotcha, still trying to flip that switch.” Trent nodded his understanding and said, “Me too. I still have to remind myself bro. We are only 20 hours into this thing.”
Trent felt the truck brake hard and heard Ernesto say, “Last Turn!” Trent looked each Bravo team member in th
e eyes then said, “We’re all we got.” The team responded, “We’re all we need!” Trent nodded and said, “Good. When we go out the back, go right and form up. Go right and form up.” Trent swiveled on the hard steel deck to face the door, thankful for his Crye pants’ integrated kneepads, put his hand on the doorlatch, and waited for Ernesto to stop the vehicle. He knew that unless Ernesto said something else, his ‘last turn’ call told the team that when the truck stopped again they would be in front of the target.
The truck began to brake and Trent looked out the thick ballistic windows on the back doors. He saw Mark, Kasey, and Gary coming up fast on their quads behind the MRAP, and smiled. He pushed his PTT and said, “Knight Five, Three-Bravo-One. I see you.” He heard Mark respond, “Roger. On you.” The truck stopped and Trent broke the seal on the left rear 160-pound door, then pushed and held it open as he exited. He waited at the top of the MRAP’s back stairs until the next assaulter was able to hold the door. He carefully climbed down the stairs, not wanting to fall the three feet to the pavement in 50 pounds of kit. Not only would it suck to fall, he’d never hear the end of it.
Trent made his way to the driver’s side of the MRAP and met Ernesto there, out of sight from the target house behind the truck. As he came up on line with Ernesto, getting two guns on the threat area, a fast string of rifle fire came at them from the target house, about 40 yards away. Muzzle blast carried the stained curtains through the now broken windows, giving the Black Knight assaulters a great target indicator, as rounds snapped overhead and struck the front of the MRAP with loud clanging smacks that rang like a bell. Ernesto immediately took a knee and sucked up to the MRAP near the front, at an angle where he could shoot at the window while exposing as little of himself as possible. Trent sucked up close and put his carbine over Ernesto’s head, with the muzzle past his body, but neither of them returned fire.
