Influence

by Andrew Snadden

  “Bloody hell Dave, now ain't the time to be screwing around you nob!” an annoyed and nervous Foster snapped.

  “I would've removed it when we got to the FUP” Allen said, laughing along with Evans.

  Foster shook his head at him prior to turning around to finish his conversation with MacNeil and O'Keeffe. As the second in command to Marriot, Simpson the consummate professional he was, sat going over the assault plans again and again to make sure he was fully switched on should he have to take over the Assault Coordinator duties from him.

  O'Keeffe, Foster and Arthur discussed their plan of action when the assault would begin, as part of Red team's second section they had been tasked with crashing their way inside through the main bedroom window at the front of the property, utilising the ladders that were located on top of the armoured Land rover. Simpson, Evans and Allen would simultaneously use a hand held ladder to gain access to the rear bedroom.

  Foster began winding up O'Keeffe, making reference to him scaling the ladder with his fear of heights; something that was ironic given his experience as a Special Forces Operator. O'Keeffe laughed and wittingly replied that at least he wasn't the one going in first. Foster pulled a false smile back at him, knowing that he had indeed drawn the short straw after being tasked to go in first once MacNeil had blown the window out.

  Red and Blue team made their way to the Form Up Point located within a pub car park less then quarter of a mile away from the target address. The snipers and ARVs were already in their support positions having been directed to move covertly to hidden points prior to the teams moving forwards to their Final Assault Points. This tactic made sure that the teams could move in knowing that none of the targets were outside the address or made aware of the approaching teams. After ten minutes, Chief Inspector Murray ordered the SFO's to move forward to each of their respective Final Assault Points. To prevent being compromised the team would have to move slowly and stealthily to their designated spots, creating a slight but totally necessary delay before the entry could begin. Generally speaking the FUPs would usually be closer to the FAPs. However, because of the house's position in the lane, it meant that this would have proven difficult and risked them being compromised. On this occasion the team’s fitness and light footedness would have to serve them well, as clambering around quickly and quietly in heavy kit was not an easy undertaking, especially if you had been lazy with recent physical training.

  “Right lads, Resi's on then” Simpson said to the others inside the back of the armoured Land Rover, referring to the respirators and helmets SFO's wore to protect themselves from smoke and other debris that could fly around a room during such a raid. In the back of the van parked next to them, Blue team were doing the same thing. It was time to step into the 'breach' once more! Foster looked at O'Keeffe and said “I'm so jacked up with adrenaline that I can barely think straight, I hope I don't screw anything up”, his words betraying his alleged cool demeanour. Although Foster had attended his fair share of planned and spontaneous firearms operations since arriving on the unit, he had never been on this kind of high stakes job. O'Keeffe on the other hand with his Special Forces background had carried out a number of similar high level operations in far shittier locations around the world, which meant that he was as cool as a cucumber on the inside as well as on the outside.

  “Mate you're fine, don't sweat it, seriously. We'll get these fuckers out of the way and go for a pint tomorrow night” he replied in a calming voice that made Foster take a deep breath and re-focus his slipping thoughts.

  As planned, Blue team joined by Simpson, Allen and Evans, had been tasked with pulling into Poland lane and quickly alighting about three hundred meters shy of the target address from where they would move stealthily into their assault positions at the front and rear. While a short way back Foster and co would wait a minute before moving as close to the property as they could without compromising themselves using the Land Rover, in preparation of receiving the green light to charge forward and secure access to the main bedroom. It all sounded quite simple!

  “Silver, all units respond if you are in position, Black side containment? White side containment......?” Chief Inspector Murray enquired over the air. Black and white side was 'tactical speak' to identify the different aspects of a target building or structure. Black for the rear, White for the front, Red and left for side aspects.

  The sniper pairs and ARVs clicked their radio transmitters twice in acknowledgement of Chief Inspector Murray from their support positions. From this point on, there would be radio and verbal silence apart from the final command to enter. In these type of high risk operations, silence was indeed golden; and vital.

  “Red team 1 and 2, are you in position?”

  Two clicks from PC Simpson, and two clicks from PC O'Keeffe gave the signal they were ready.

  “Blue team are you in position?”

  The adrenaline was pumping hard now. If Foster had had the time he would have taken off his respirator and thrown up as the nausea he was feeling bubbled up from his stomach. However, now knelt on top the Land Rover clutching his HK MP5 9mm carbine rifle, he was definitely not going to get an opportunity to do so. Next to him MacNeil was knelt holding a pole that was attached to the explosive charge that would destroy the bedroom window. Hanging off the back of his black overalls and tac vest there was also an array of entry gaining equipment that ranged from a spike and hammer, to a Benelli shotgun that could be used to blow the hinges of a locked door too. All of this extra equipment was to help MacNeil in his job as a Specialist Method Entry Officer (SMOE), whose role was to smash their way into a property using any means necessary, even tractors had been utilised before. Op Barrier would have four of these officers to make sure nothing would obstruct them.

  Blue team had now made it to their FAP on the side of the house, camouflaged by darkness, trees and mud; lots and lots of mud. The crappy conditions made Sgt. Marriot fantasise about how things might have been less messy and pleasant if Mahood had waited until summer. In the front of the line of six men that made up Blue team, PC Collins stood covering the front door with his MP5 Whilst PC Lewis 'Conan The Barbarian' Durant, a huge imposing man who had previously been a semi-pro body builder, anxiously waited with his Benelli shotgun in preparation of blowing the door clean of its hinges, allowing the stick of five men behind him to rush inside. The first section of Red team were now in position too, with Simpson covering the window above them with his gun while Allen and Evans waited with the ladder and window charge. There may have been verbal and radio silence, but the sound of the officers collective heart beats inside their masks could not be suppressed, the vein bursting adrenaline making them beat loud and rapidly.

  “SILVER, SILVER. TEAMS STAND FAST, STAND FAST!” Murray suddenly blasted over the radio, causing the members of Red and Blue team to look at each other with wide eyes as they tried to fathom out why the entry was being delayed.

  Foster looked to O'Keeffe for answers, but his eyes returned the same confused look that Foster's had. A stand fast at an FAP was unprecedented; and for good reason. The longer an entry team waited in such close proximity to the target, the higher the risk of being compromised. It was now or never! Not wait a minute while command decided what they wanted do.

  Unbeknown to the two teams, one of the ARV crews that was parked on the main road that led to Poland Lane, had detained a resident of the Lane after he had refused to wait for the road to re-open. Due to his attitude they became concerned that the male might have had links to the address, so the officers arrested him, but not without a fight, which resulted in the male being tasered. The situation had panicked Chief Inspector Murray who was now worrying about the identity of the man and whether the operation had been compromised.

  “Sir they have to move now, forget the arrest they've been there for almost five minutes, it's too long to wait, call the strike now”

  PC Phelps implored Murray as he continued to hold an unnecessary dialogue with the ARV offic
ers to try and ascertain the male’s identity.

  “But what happens if they've been compromised??” Murray responded, the trembling tone in his voice indicated that the pressure had got to him.

  “SIR, they've been there for too long already, you can't wait any bloody longer. For God's sake call the strike or I fucking will”. Phelps said before picking up the radio.

  Murray grabbed the radio from him and raised it up to his mouth to speak with his hands trembling under the pressure, beads of sweat beginning to roll down his face. At the side of the house the members of Blue team were growing more concerned by the second. PC Robert Jones, a Welsh man in his late thirties, turned to look at Marriot, his eyes reflecting everyone's thoughts.............. 'What the bloody hell were they waiting for?'. Marriot, confused himself, looked back at Jones and nodded with a slow calmness, signalling to him to remain sharp and to face forwards again.

  “STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE” Murray abruptly boomed out over the radio with Phelps screaming that he should have given the team some warning after the unexplained long wait.

  The members of Red and Blue team jumped to attention like racehorses reacting to a starter pistol as the instantaneous call of strike took them by surprise. The armoured Land Rover's powerful engine roared into action as the vehicle raced towards the front of the house. At the same time Blue team ran up to the front door as Simpson's second section of Red team slammed their ladder against the wall and began rapidly scaling it. Within seconds of the Land Rover arriving at its destination, O'Keeffe sent the ladder on top of the vehicle crashing against the front of the house, landing with pin point precision beneath the main bedroom window seal. Without any delay they flew up it as if the four stone of kit they were wearing was as light as a feather.

  BANG, BANG, BANG. The sound of 'Conan' blowing off the front door's hinges echoed around them. The door had barely come to a rest on the floor before Collins threw a stun grenade into the hallway, the device delivered nine loud bangs and vision distorting flashes before Blue team charged in after it. As if part of a well-choreographed ballet, Evans and MacNeil, Red team's SMOE officers, simultaneously placed their charges against the double glazed windows above their heads and detonated them.

  BOOM, BOOM the percussion of the explosions echoed out into the distance. The combined flash of the charges making the lane momentarily appear as though it was day, lighting up each and every one of the black clad, respirator wearing officers smashing their way inside.

  Inside, Jennings fell to the floor clutching his throbbing ears that were suffering with ringing akin to an extreme bout of tinnitus from the explosions. In the front room the four middle eastern men cowered down low in fear. Collins joined by Jones and Palmer entered the room after throwing yet another stun grenade, the ear drum bursting bangs sent the four men reeling to the ground, unable to deal with the hardcore assault on their senses. With the room spinning, the men opened their eyes just in time to see two large, blurred shadowy figures flying into the room.

  “POLICE, DOWN ON THE FLOOR NOW, GET DOWN, GET DOWN!” Collins and Palmer screamed at the four men who were in no position to do anything else.

  Semi-blind, with their ears still ringing, the four men laid face down on the floor with their hands on their heads. Any remaining fight they may have had (if there had been any in the first place) was now completely gone. Jones stood in the door way, covering the hall whilst being ready to move in and assist them should they have required it.

  Above their heads, the two sections of Red team barrelled into the house through the destroyed windows, guns raised up as each and every one of them jumped off their ladders and into the rooms, preceded by more stun grenades. Once inside they progressively began smashing their way through their respective pre-determined 'limits of exploitation', a term used by firearms officers to describe a designated area where a team would work within, and not beyond, preventing them from running into each other.

  Mahood fell against the bathroom wall, startled by the sudden explosions. He knew what was going on from the very second it had started. There was no way he was going to spend the rest of his life in a cell, so he composed himself and burst out of the bathroom into the hallway looking for a safe route to escape through. As he paused to quickly weigh up his options, he could just about hear the voices of Simpson, Allen and Evans calling out to each other from inside a bedroom to his right through his dulled hearing. This was definitely not the way he was going to go. Mahood turned on his heels and ran back towards his bedroom at the front of the house, he would jump clean through the window if he had to.

  As Foster moved inside the room, the torch on his MP5 lit up the corners of the large bedroom, revealing a king sized bed, sofa and walk in wardrobe, all of which would need checking. Knowing full well that O'Keeffe and MacNeil would carry out a swift search behind him, Foster moved towards the door whilst trying to recall the floor plan in his head as to what lay beyond it. With less than ten feet to go, Foster raised his MP5 up so that it was ready to cover the door in preparation of O'Keeffe and MacNeil joining him to move into the hallway.

  Just before he reached it, the door abruptly and without warning burst open, startling Foster in the process. His huge, surprised eyes locked on the dark figure marauding into the room. In the split second that he caught a glimpse of the figure, Foster knew it was Mahood.

  BANG, BANG the sound of the MP5 discharging two 9mm rounds reverberated around the room. Mahood who was still in full flight was sent tumbling into the dresser adjacent to the bed, sending photo frames and ornaments smashing through the air in his wake. He crashed to the floor with a thud, making no effort to break his own fall and came to a rest face down.

  The first 9mm round had torn through Mahood's jugular causing the large artery to blast a large volume of blood equal to the English channel across the floor. The second had entered his chest cavity, deflating his right lung in the process and inducing a catastrophic bleed inside his chest cavity that would have been impossible to stem.

  Foster instantaneously felt a deep sinking feeling as he realised what had just happened; he had shot a man, and perhaps killed him. MacNeil ran past him and covered the door as O'Keeffe started carrying out first aid on Mahood's motionless body. They could have had all the equipment necessary to carry out open heart surgery but it still wouldn't have saved Mahood. He was now nothing more than another dead terrorist.

  “Where's the gun, where's the gun?” Foster desperately asked O'Keeffe who unable to see the gun, didn't answer.

  “I know I saw a gun, I'm sure I saw a gun!” Foster repeated again and again.

  But there wasn't a gun! As a result of the door unexpectedly flying open in the darkness, a surprised Foster had reacted to movement and instinctively fired off two shots in a panic at the emerging figure of Mahood who was dead before he hit the floor.

  “I've screwed up, shit what am I going to do. He wasn't armed!!” Foster continued.

  Downstairs, Marriot with PC Alex Moore, an officer in his twenties, and Conan were rapidly clearing the remaining rooms without a sign of the other suspects. Until all six men were accounted for and the building was declared a hundred percent clear, there was still a threat. The three officers reached the kitchen which was the last room to be searched, still totally oblivious to the situation unfolding upstairs only feet above their heads. Marriot checked the door.

  “It's locked Conan, sort it out” Marriot commanded.

  Conan moved up to the door and aimed his shot gun at the top hinge, waiting to blow it off when his two colleagues were ready in position to move in neutralise whoever was inside. However, Jennings who was on the other side of the door had other ideas and like Mahood, he was not going to come quietly. He grabbed the AK47 that he had been cleaning, loaded it and cocked it, placing a round into the chamber ready to be fired at anyone or anything that showed itself through the door. From his training with the Taliban and rebels, Jennings knew that a stun grenade would come crashing into the room f
irst, so he trained his rifle on the doorway and closed his eyes to prevent him being blinded by the flash. He would then wait a split second before pulling the trigger, knowing for a certainty that the officers would be entering straight onto automatic gunfire. There wouldn't even be a need to aim.

  BANG, BANG, BANG, Conan blew the hinges off the door and stepped to one side to allow his colleagues unobstructed access to the room. Watching the last hinge fly off, Marriot and Moore braced themselves before charging into the kitchen. As they did, Jennings pulled the trigger on his assault rifle and sprayed a wall of bullets at the doorway, timed to perfection.

  The first 7.62 round went straight into Marriot's left leg and tore through his femoral artery whilst the second, third and fourth sliced through his protective ballistic vest. Stumbling for a couple of footsteps, he then fell lifelessly to the floor. Directly behind him Moore felt a searing pain as a bullet entered his right shoulder and came out of his back. A split second later he felt another huge impact as a second bullet hit him square in the chest, smashing the extra ceramic plate that was housed inside his ballistic vest. Moore's MP5 dropped to the ground as he landed on his side with 7.62 rounds peppering the walls above him, covering his face and body in plaster and brick dust. Outside the room Conan stood frozen as he hugged the wall, trying desperately to shield his huge body from the hail of bullets coming towards him. Inside the room there was a sudden silence. Jennings opened his eyes and looked down at his rifle which had ceased firing after running out of rounds.