Kevin arrived early. Peter drove in mere seconds after him. Kevin grabbed a water bottle and jogged over to Peter’s truck. “You ready there, mister?”
Peter was smiling, “As ready as I can be. You know I’ve tried to make the team on two other occasions.”
Kevin didn’t know.
“First time, I twisted my ankle on the run; second time, I missed a shot on the pistol course.”
Kevin offered Peter some of his ju-ju—“You’ll be fine Peter. You’re a specimen, always have been, let’s go rip this course a new ass.”
“Easy for you to say Marine Sniper, you were brought up in this shit. You could be the SWAT team.”
Kevin laughed at his friend, offered a few more words, then made his way to the table.
The senior team members had set up a long table at the north end of the testing facility. The place was fairly impressive by any standards, huge range floor, a state of the art shoot house, a five story repel tower, and an obstacle course to rival the one he had faced in boot camp.
Circling the encampment was a track with designated stations for push-ups, pull ups, sit ups, and dummy drag.
As Kevin approached the table one of the senior guys remarked, “Here’s our shooter, how you feeling this morning, Anderson?”
Kevin smiled wide. “I feel like doing my best, sir.”
Kevin provided the respect due to the senior team members. It was a part of this culture as it was in the corps. There were five officers testing for two positions. The first test was pull-ups while wearing twenty-five pounds of gear. The standard test model called for two, chin over the bar pull-ups. Since there were five guys, and only two spots, those testing were told to do as many as they could. In the end, they would all count.
Kevin watched as the first man jumped up on the bar. He was Kevin’s age, several inches shorter, not a hint of body fat. He was capable of five.
Peter was fourth up. He was still lean, still very fit. He mustered ten. When he dismounted, the rest of the guys were clapping. He gave a mock bow and told Kevin good luck beating that one.
Kevin didn’t know exactly how far to go with this. He was capable of fifty pull ups at a go. They were his favorite upper body exercise thanks to Will.
Kevin took his grip and hung in place awaiting the go signal. When it came time, Kevin performed twenty perfect pull-ups. One of the team members administering the test finally told him to get off the bar. The other members of the team were trying not to look impressed. The next station was a 880 yard run. Intermixed in the run were ten up-downs at ten different cones, a 165 pound dummy drag, and a sprint for home. The time allotted was four minutes and thirty seconds.
Three of the try outs came in at just under the 4:30. Peter dusted it at four flat; Kevin crushed it at three minutes and twelve seconds. The guys were scratching their heads when he finished. Everyone else came across the finish line as if they had run a marathon. Kevin, who had maintained a sprint throughout the course, took one deep breath and was normal.
The final P.T. portion was a 40-yard dash from a prone position while carrying a shotgun. The time to beat was eight seconds. Once again, Kevin and Peter had the fastest times. Following this were the shooting portions.
There were two courses of fire. One was a combat pistol course utilizing the department issued SWAT Pistol, a Springfield 1911 45. Second was a rifle course using the M-16 style assault rifle. Kevin had specialized training with both. Both were favorite weapon systems of his.
Peter was first up. He ran both courses flawlessly. His time was within guidelines and his hit count was 100 percent.
He was guaranteed one of the slots.
Kevin went next. Should he make the times and the hits the second opening was his. In this instance the others participating in the test would be dismissed.
Kevin was geared up, his course of fire before him. He remembered Will in that moment, the hours of instruction followed by days of performance. He had shot courses such as these thousands of times, had taken that training to the ends of the earth. This had consumed a major portion of his life and he flowed through it effortlessly.
The day ended with congratulations born of sweat and toil. Kevin and Peter were taken to the SWAT house and issued their sets of BDU’s and load bearing vests. Both would be trained as entry personnel for the first six months.
Following that, they could try out for different assignments within the team.
As they walked back to their vehicles, the day behind them, each wore a mask of contentment. Kevin hadn’t felt what he was currently feeling since he was a child. Peter felt the pride of diligence paying itself off.
“Guess I’ll see you here tomorrow, team member.”
Peter looked to his friend, felt the world at his feet.
“Yes, team member, you will see me here tomorrow.”
Both laughed like kids. The dream was realized, the best job the department had to offer was theirs.
Kevin sang along with the radio while driving home. It was a beautiful spring day and his foreseeable future seemed brighter than the sky overhead. He walked inside throwing his keys to the kitchen countertop, and after pausing briefly to fish a Gatorade from the fridge, took his new gear into the living room. He dug it all out of the call out bag and placed it on the large coffee table. It was standard issue stuff. Good stuff, but nothing he hadn’t seen before, and some not close to the level of some his previous employer had provided. He tried everything on. He made the adjustments to the load bearing vest, and placed items on the belt and vest where he liked them. It had been a good day. After fixing his gear, he secured it all in the large black bag the department provided. Next, he opened his weapons cases and got to work on dismantling and cleaning both firearms.
He worked at this in auto pilot. He had done this so many times it required very little of his attention.
Work done, Kevin put the call-out bag by the front door, the weapons by his bed. With all of the chores attended to, he put one of his grandfather’s albums on, Marty West, Gunfighter Ballads, while he fixed himself dinner.
A plate of spaghetti, along with a fresh salad and French bread and Kevin was done for the day.
The next morning, Kevin rolled out of bed at 0500 hours. He showered quickly, dressed in P.T. gear and hit the road. The training day began at seven. Kevin and Peter had been briefed about their new responsibilities as the junior men on the team.
Each was tasked with chores at the house, prior to the rest of the team members arriving. Peter was already inside when Kevin pulled up. Gear in hand, Kevin walked through the door and greeted his friend.
"There’s my boy. What’s left to be done?”
"I don’t know, man; I already cleaned the briefing area. You want to make coffee?”
Kevin stored his gear and found the coffee maker. Right next to that was the large tin of Folgers. Kevin learned about coffee from Will, prided himself on the virtue of a good cup. The Europeans had it right; America was still way behind the curve on coffee consumption. With some disdain Kevin brewed the generic swill for the rest of the team, while making a mental note to replace the Folger’s with something more palatable tomorrow. The other members of the team began arriving. Some of the younger members, guys with less than a year or two themselves, walked into the house in the fashion of King Arthur.
“There’s our new bitches” one of them exclaimed.
Peter wanted to say something; he had been with the department as long as the man who delivered the good natured insult. He thought better of it; he understood the unwritten rule about SWAT hazing. Soon he would be a senior member of the team and other newbies would follow for him to look upon with mock disdain. The team formed up outside as soon as the team leaders arrived. There were twenty-four members on the team. Two team leaders, and a team commander.
The alpha squad team leader, Sgt. Lampry, called the men to order.
"Any injuries to report since last training?”
No one raised a h
and, no one spoke.
"Good, let’s get going.”
With that the unit began. The first portion of training was always cardio. Within the SWAT Ranks, the proof was easily found in the pudding. Call-outs lasted anywhere from an hour to four days. If your heart was weak, your endurance suffered along with the team members who depended on you for their lives. The first mile was a slow clip, the second faster, the third more in line with a sprint. Following the cardio session, the men found a piece of earth and began to push. Fifty push-ups down, everyone rolled onto their backs and began a series of sit-ups, flutter kicks and leg-raises. Finally, the men formed up at the pull-up bars, five sets of ten and the P.T. session was complete.
Back inside the SWAT house, the men took seats at the various stations in the briefing area. As the two newest members, Peter and Kevin were forced to stand, making themselves readily available should a ranked team member need anything.
Kevin could tell Peter was a bit cheesed by the whole process; he should have tried the Marines, he could have appreciated this level of embarrassment for what it truly was. Kevin was the gopher for Bravo team.
In the twenty minutes it took Sgt. Lampry to go over the day’s training, and field any bitches or complaints, Kevin had refilled twelve coffee cups, handed out fourteen bagels, and wiped the chin of two team mates. He smiled through it all. Again, Marine Corps boot camp made this seem like a summer day.
As briefing neared its conclusion, one member of the team, Ben Cooper, let an extraneous length of flatulence release for approximately the sixth time in a ten minute period. The smell of sulfur and heat induced spoiled eggs emanated from his raised posterior. Sgt. Lampry, who up until that time behaved as if Cooper had not polluted the entire house, offered the funniest remark I had ever heard up until that day. Without missing a beat, he stopped mid-sentence, looked to Cooper and said in a ‘Are you fucking kidding delivery’, “Son, you are creeping me out, and your shorts, way too tight around your balls.” The room erupted in laughter as Cooper looked down to see if his shorts really were too tight. Sgt. Lampry raised his hands as if to say, “okay,” then dismissed the team to gear up for movement drills. There were several groans from the audience.
Movement drills meant just that: full call-out gear, unloaded weapons, moving through the various places designated by the team leaders. Besides accurate shooting, it was the bread and butter of the SWAT team. It was akin to the Spartans’ time honored training tradition “tree fucking” where the ranks would file together and in full gear, shield at the ready, push against an immovable tree until they could push no more. The training made them strong and unified, no army of their time was ever capable of pushing through their ranks in a head on attack.
Kevin and Peter were taught the basics of stealth and rapid movement. It was the same principals taught to Kevin long ago by Will. The only difference was now he would have a large group moving with him.
As everything else he would learn among the team, it came as easy as breathing. By day’s end, Kevin was called into the team leader’s office. Sgt. Lampry was seated behind his desk; he looked to Kevin, asked him to sit.
"I was watching you out there, Anderson. I get the feeling you’ve done this shit before.”
"Yes sir.”
"Well, tell me about it. Loosen up, son.”
"I had some excellent training officers in the Corps, sir.”
"I would say so.” Sgt. Lampry was flipping through a folder. He read aloud: “Force Recon, designated marksmen, a dozen or so confirmed kills in the gulf, Silver Star, Bronze Star, and after ten years of exemplary service an Honorable discharge, that you, Anderson?”
Kevin thought briefly of his true confirmed kill count, “Yes, sir, I suppose it is.”
"Yes, well, we don’t usually get new members here with your type of experience and training.”
Kevin nodded.
"Paulson is leaving the team for a position in Dicks. He’s an Alpha team sniper. We’d like you to fill his spot.”
Kevin had been on the team for one day. He had no leverage, no past deeds that would secure any right to a favor. He asked for one anyway.
"I accept, sir. There’s just one thing.”
"Speak.”
"The other new team member, FTO Stone, he and I grew up together, trained together since we were very young. With a precision rifle he is every bit my equal if not better. I would request respectfully that he be assigned as my team mate.”
Kevin was aware snipers of the new age did not work alone. They were paired in teams, sniper/observer. Both were trained on the rifle, both were trained in field craft and observing. It was not an extraordinary request.
Sgt. Lampry yelled past Kevin. Cooper’s immense frame came shadowing the door.
“What’s up, Sarge?”
“Tell Stone to get in here.”
Sgt. Lampry shook his head while looking away as he heard Cooper’s voice boom, “New bitch, Sergeant wants to see you now, and don’t forget your knee pads.”
The rest of the team took time out to chuckle and add their own slew of cat calls as Peter ran red faced toward the office. Peter arrived pissed off but in control. He looked to Kevin, looked back to the sergeant, believed somehow they had already fucked up.
"How’d you like to be a sniper, Stone?”
Peter smiled at Kevin while agreeing that he would like that very much.
"Good. Go by the armory, tell them I sent you, advise them you’ve been selected as the new sniper team, replacing Paulson and his observer. Make sure they give you deployment kits as well. Anderson, I have confidence you know what should be in one.”
"Yes sir.”
"Excellent, now get out of here.”
When they walked out, Peter looked back, and then looked to Kevin; he acted as if he were awaiting the punch line. “We’ve been training for one day, what happened in there to get us the upgrade?”
Kevin slowed his pace but kept walking, “I’m not sure, Peter; he asked if I wanted to be a sniper. I said sure.”
Peter laughed, “Is that because you’re the coolest new kid to come along in a while, or because your donger is so long?”
Kevin laughed back and remarked it had to be his donger. Peter stopped his friend just before entering the armory. “What did you do in the Marine Corps, Kevin? Exactly?”
“What do you mean?”
"Stop playing coy dude, I’m not like that shit taster Cooper, which by the way is not far from taking a shot in the mouth, or his fuck pals Denburg or Watkins. I’m Stone, the guy who’s known you almost your whole life so let’s hear it, why are the two new guys being put in a sniper team position?”
"Didn’t I already tell you this my brother, I was a sniper some of my time in the corps, perhaps that was it, or perhaps no one else wanted the slot. Not everyone wants to sit on the anthill a hundred yards away and stare through a scope for eight hours, you know?”
"You’re so full of shit; you probably won the Wimbledon Cup while you were in. That it Kev, you some thousand yard shooting master?”
Peter was speaking with a tongue in cheek cadence but Kevin knew there was more to it, questions he would really like answered. Kevin just let him go on until they were inside collecting weapons and new gear. It could wait for another time, hopefully until they were very old men. Maybe then Kevin could unburden his load.
They had trained together almost every day for the past two months. Peter hadn’t lost his knack for the scoped rifle. Because of Kevin’s modified background, he was placed as primary marksman between them. Peter didn’t mind. With Kevin he had nothing to prove.
The call-out came as most do, middle of the night, a couple of hours into the sleep cycle. Kevin looked to his pager; read the triple three’s that were the standard text for a SWAT Call. He phoned into dispatch, was given a micro-brief: man armed with rifle, holding family hostage. He dressed in a hurry, grabbed his gear by the door and was on his way.
Peter woke his son. The boy stirr
ed slightly, clearly not impressed by the need to get going.
"Daddy has to work, baby. I have to take you over to Janet’s house.” Janet was Peter’s godsend. She never turned him down no matter the time of day or night.
Peter carried Ethan in a blanket. He was at Janet’s house in less than five minutes. “I’ll come by and get him as soon as we’re clear.”
Janet put Ethan to bed in the guest room used only by him. Her children were grown and moved away. She saw her grandchildren only a couple of times a year. Ethan made up for that.
Due to the nature of the call, responding members drove right to the crisis site. Kevin and Peter were quickly donning their gear when the team commander showed up.
"Alright, men, continue getting ready, but lend an ear. We have one white male subject, armed with a hunting rifle. He beat his girlfriend earlier in the night, broke her nose, possibly her jaw. Boyfriend called her at the hospital while patrol was taking her statement. Told her he was going to kill himself, but first he was going to kill her parents.”
The Commander drew out a rough sketch of the neighborhood where the parents were being held on a white board. “Where are my sniper teams?”
Peter spoke up, “Alpha team here, sir.”
"Alpha, I want you two to find a position out in front of the house. Tactically it’s a fucking nightmare. Residential area, houses and street lights everywhere. You’ll have to hide in plain sight. We got patrol blocking off the streets leading in, but we’ll still have folks waking soon, heading out.”
Peter and Kevin ran off into the night, Kevin with his weapon system still encased in the drag bag, Peter with his M-16 at the ready.
The command post where they’d briefed was approximately a ½ mile from the hot zone. Kevin led Peter to a large carpet of grass that intersected with a neighborhood park, and when the house came into sight, they low-crawled the rest of the way.
It was too dark to read house numbers. Both knew from the sketch it was the fourth house from the east end of the block, sitting on the north side. The commander had been right. To fully engage the front of the house they would have to lie in the open. The choices were too limited to count. Peter made a gesture with two fingers to a playground. It was two-thirty in the morning. Kids would not be an issue.
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