by Lee West
~ ~ ~
Dale Spencer circled through the various points where he’d placed his officers. They were all well trained and highly effective. He had every confidence they would be able to hold the house. His radio cracked to life.
“Sergeant, it’s Miller. You copy?”
Deputy Miller headed the foot mobile team they’d left behind on the trail.
“This is Spencer, copy.”
“We’re about a mile away. Over.”
“The pizza is in the oven,” said Spencer, using their prearranged code for all clear.
“Sounds good.”
The men and women would arrive within fifteen minutes. Their numbers would really bolster the team. He would spread them around the forest, house, outside the shed and house, and even under the porch. Reflecting on the tactical advantage the police had over the untrained New Order thugs gave Spencer some hope that the team might walk out of this fight mostly intact.
Chapter Twelve
Travis Marks drove the first of four New Order cars. The Boss had become convinced that the cops were moving their survivors out of town. Nothing pissed off the Boss more than thinking someone was getting the better of him. As far as Travis was concerned, he couldn’t give a shit, so long as the cops were gone and they could continue to live like kings.
Trying to drive parallel to the trail had been a little bit of a challenge for him and the other three drivers—since no road actually followed the damn trail! They’d zigzagged back and forth on roads close to the trail, following its general direction. Periodically, the men on the trail would emerge from the forest to indicate they were still going in the right direction. Not exactly a stellar plan.
They were moving at a snail’s pace. After a few hours of this nonsense, Travis had finally thought to look in the glove box of the grandma car he was driving for a map. Sure enough, he found a well-worn local map stuffed between a bunch of receipts and car-related paperwork. The map told him everything he needed to know. They’d travel in a northerly direction, looking for roads that led to properties along the trail. The only problem was that they didn’t see many homes or driveway entrances outside town. They’d have to look at the map and guess where a road or driveway might take them, hoping it would be connected to the trail. So much for expediency.
Eventually most of the guys hiking the trail got too tired from heat and exertion to keep walking. They squeezed their sorry asses into the cars like a bunch of clowns in a circus. Only he wasn’t laughing. The vehicle now reeked like a toxic combination of body odor and bad breath. Annoyance mounted as the miles slowly ambled by, one more boring than the next. He had half a mind to force the extra men back out onto the trail, but he refrained. Most of the men in the car were stupid, angry, and armed, a dangerous combination even on a good day.
Thoughts of slamming the car into a utility pole filled Travis’s head as the men got more obnoxious and mouthy. He couldn’t blame them. They were driving roughly parallel to the trail, he hoped, but the road had given them nothing. Fuck it. Maybe it was time to call it good. Best he could do with a car full of smelly losers. Finally, a lone mailbox sat on the side of the road, indicating a residence. If he had been looking at the boring scenery or lighting a cigarette, he might have missed it.
“Reece! Check it out,” said Travis to Reece, the front-seat passenger.
“You think we should stop?”
“It’s the only house we’ve seen on this long fucking boring drive. So, yeah, we stop.”
Travis slowed the vehicle and turned into the driveway. The other three cars followed closely behind.
“Why’re we stopping?” said Twinky from the backseat.
“Why the fuck do you think we’re stopping? The Boss wanted us to check out every house along that trail,” said Travis, finally hitting his stupid quotient for the day.
The long drive snaked through the dense forest, leaving Travis unsure where they were heading. It seemed like a lot of driveway for just one house. Then the large white farmhouse came into view.
“Well, well, what do we have here! Look at this place!” said Travis.
“Yeah, makes where we’re staying look like a shit box,” said Reece.
“Doesn’t look like anyone is home either. Maybe the Boss was wrong.”
“Only one way to find out!” said Twinky, eliciting a round of barely contained excitement from the backseat.
Travis pulled the car through the circular drive like a millionaire pulling up to his mansion. He had always wanted to do that. Growing up in the projects, no one had a circular drive, or any driveway for that matter. To Travis, the driveway alone was a luxury. The other cars crept into place behind him, the armed men piling noisily out of the vehicles.
~ ~ ~
Dale Spencer stood in the front bedroom, behind Officer Lovell, and watched as four vehicles turned into the driveway. The heavily armed men that climbed out of the cars resembled typical gang members. They pounded the tops and hoods of the vehicles, hooting and hollering like a pack of hungry jackals.
“What should we do, Sergeant?” whispered Lovell.
“Give them a minute to get away from the cover of their vehicles.”
“New Order” was spray painted on two of the cars, leaving no doubt in Spencer’s mind who they were.
He lifted his handheld radio and whispered to Officer Stacy, who was in the shed with Officer Roy. “Hold your fire until I give the order.”
“Copy that, sir,” replied Stacy.
The New Order goons gathered in a loose group near the tree in the front yard. He wanted them a little closer to the house to give the few officers only armed with pistols a better chance to effectively join the first volley, but he couldn’t risk the possibility that the group might disburse. If they didn’t take the men down now, while they stood around in a tight group, the advantage would be lost.
“Fire! All hands open fire!”
In unison, the police hidden in the house, tree lines and shed poured bullets into the New Order men. Some of the bullets were personal, retribution for personal losses. Most were in service to the innocent civilians who would be saved by ending the New Order’s savage reign.
The first wave of shots caught the gang unaware. Several men dropped at once, landing on the ground where they had once stood. The survivors quickly ran behind the vehicles and returned fire. Bullet after bullet hit the house, shattering windows and punching through the outer walls. Splinters of wood and glass showered Spencer as he methodically pressed the trigger of his rifle, moving from target to target. With the New Order gang pinned down, it was time to maneuver into position to end this.
“Spicer and Marz, get behind them. I want fire superiority from all sides!” barked Spencer into the radio.
Over his rifle sights, he could see his officers rushing through the underbrush to close off New Order’s only avenue of escape. Before they could get into position and effectively take out the remaining five men crouched behind the cars, one of the men climbed into the front vehicle and tore off down the driveway. Bullets hit the gravel road, chasing the car with no success.
“Watch your fire!” barked Spencer over the radio. “Marz and Spicer are out there!”
The two officers fired several shots at the fleeing vehicle, shattering the rear window, but failing to stop the escape. Having heard the gunfire from their rear, the gang members panicked and repositioned themselves among the cars, effectively exposing themselves to gunfire from every direction. Within seconds it was over, the last New Order gunman taking several hits to the torso before bouncing between bumpers and coming to a rest on the driveway. The yard became quiet once again.
Spencer swept the forest line and surrounding areas with his binoculars. Nothing moved. No additional men were coming.
“All teams report your status!”
“Overlook one. All clear.” The south forest and side of the house were clear.
“Robby two—clear.” The north forest and rear of the house
were clear.
“Central three clear.” The shed and front of the house were clear.
“All units stand down,” said Spencer with relief.
Spencer and Lovell walked out of the bedroom to join the others in the front yard. The second front bedroom sat in quiet contrast to the rest of the house, which was crawling with excitement.
“Peterson? You okay?” yelled Lovell down the hallway toward the officer stationed in that bedroom’s window.
No response.
Spencer glanced at Lovell and said, “I’ll check. I know you two were close.”
“I need to do this for him.”
Bret Peterson’s lifeless body lay supine in an expanding pool of blood—a reddish-black hole in the middle of his forehead.
“I’m so sorry, Kara. He was a good man and a great officer.”
The room seemed to have a stillness of its own as Lovell held her friend and cried. Glancing at the cops gathering on the front lawn, Spencer decided to give her some privacy.
Chapter Thirteen
By Spencer’s count, nineteen New Order men lay scattered around the yard. It was a dent in the New Order’s ranks, but not a huge one.
“Alright, people, let’s get the bodies in a pile about thirty feet into the eastern tree line. We’ll bury them later. I don’t want to draw any scavengers to the house. We’ll be jumpy enough at night,” said Spencer to the group of officers gathering in front of the house. “Line the cars on this side of the driveway, facing west. Take all usable weapons and ammunition off the bodies and out of the cars.”
Standing off to the side, he decided to check in with Green and Shorey. They were sent south, down the horse trail, as the team’s eyes and ears. If anything came down the trail, they would have alerted the team.
“Green, it’s Sergeant. You copy?”
Nothing.
“Green? Come in, it’s Sergeant.”
Nothing but static.
“What’s up, Sergeant?” asked Lovell, appearing on the porch.
“I’m not sure, probably nothing. I can’t seem to get Green to come in. He didn’t respond during the last report.”
“They hiked pretty far into the woods. Maybe they’re out of range?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
He thought about sending a group into the woods to check on them, but if they had somehow fallen prey to a silent ambush, he’d just as likely lose anyone else that ventured into the woods.
Turning to Officer Roy, Spencer yelled, “Roy, get the radio in the shed up and running. We lost communications with Shorey and Green.”
~ ~ ~
Officers Green and Shorey walked side by side along the horse trail. They heard the gunfire, followed by the “all clear” reports. Shorey also reported that all appeared clear on the trail, but he’d never heard back from Sergeant Spencer.
“I think we should head back,” whispered Green. “If they can’t hear our transmissions, we’re no good as scouts.”
He was right. They couldn’t see very far in front of them on the trail. If a group appeared, they’d have no choice but to stand and fight, hoping their gunshots would warn the police at the house. Turning to run, they risked getting shot in the back before they were in radio range. Both options relied on gunshots to warn the other officers. Both options would likely get them both killed. Spencer wouldn’t send more officers blindly into the forest. They needed to get back into radio range. Walking down this trail, even as quietly and carefully as they’d been, didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.
“I agree,” said Shorey. “What do you think happened back at the house?”
“I don’t know. My guess is that it went our way. The whole thing didn’t last very long. I’m just hoping—”
Green dropped to his knees on the forest floor, a bloody arrow protruding from the front of his neck. His stunned eyes pleaded with Shorey as he gurgled through gushing blood for air.
“Holy shit!” screamed Shorey, crouching as low as he could without lying down.
He needed to find cover fast. But from which direction? The arrow seemed to come from their rear, but he couldn’t be sure. He started to sweep the immediate area around him for the threat.
“Drop it, asshole! And don’t none of you shits shoot him! He’s mine!” yelled a sneering voice from behind.
“What are you doing? Just cap the pig!”
“Nope. We’re bringing him back to the Boss. He’ll love to get his hands on fresh cop meat. And looks like we’ve got a live one here,” said Burner, to a round of laughter.
“How much further should we go, man? I’m getting tired of walking. This sucks!” said one of the men.
The other six men nodded and grumbled their assent.
“We go until we meet up with the guys. From the gunfire we just heard, sounds like they leveled the pigs sitting in their little hidey-hole. I intend to ride back to the Boss in style, with this asshole as my prize,” said Burner.
Strong hands yanked Shorey to his knees. The hands spun him around, and he was pistol-whipped a few times before someone pulled him to his feet. His face had been hit so hard that his eyes started to immediately swell. Green’s radio crackled to life. Crap, not now.
“Green, it’s Sergeant. You copy?”
“Green? Come in, it’s Sergeant.”
Shorey stole a glance at the man they called Burner. He seemed to be deep in thought.
~ ~ ~
Lovell heaved another bucket of cool water from the well, placing it on the wet grass. She had never tasted anything so good. They had been rationing the limited supply of water at the HQ. Creating fresh water at HQ involved hauling and boiling water from the nearby lake. A chore that became more arduous by the day. Everyone tried to drink only what they needed to avoid creating more work. Guzzling cup after cup of fresh well water felt like a guilty pleasure.
Sitting on the edge of a rock, she looked across the landscape. Doris had a great setup. The farm boasted a beautiful house, large garden, water well and plenty of fruit trees. She could get used to this.
She let her mind relax for a moment, taking in the quiet, idyllic scene, until one of the Porter cops dropped to the grass. Her mind didn’t register a problem until another officer fell, and the sound of rapid-fire gunshots washed across the clearing. Holy shit! The men and women in their company ran for cover, darting in zigzag patterns to try to make themselves a difficult target. She watched as her fellow officers were gunned down.
She scrambled to locate the source of the shooting. Flashes appeared in the southern tree line near the horse trail. She had no radio and no way to communicate to the other officers. Lining up the first target, she fired, hitting the mark. One of the New Order men looked down at his dead friend and turned in her direction to return fire. She nailed him in the chest, center mass, knocking him into the thick foliage.
Unable to acquire a new target, she fired bullet after bullet into the group of men hiding in the trees, hoping to at least give the other officers cover. Her suppressing fire worked. The police started shooting back as a group, bullet after bullet ripping through the trees. The gunfire stopped just as suddenly. She knew they needed to be cautious about the amount of ammunition they used. Maybe they were trying to assess the situation.
Two figures emerged from the shadows, the one in front waving a white cloth. She immediately recognized Officer Shorey. The man hidden behind him held Shorey by the shoulder, a gun likely stuck in his back.
“Stop shooting or this asshole goes down too!” yelled the man.
She remained still, centering her rifle sights on the men. No shot. From her angle, she had just as much chance of hitting Shorey.
“Let him go and we’ll talk!” yelled one of the officers.
“No way, hoss. He stays with me. We’re going to take a little drive together.”
The man made his way across the lawn toward the cars, dragging his human shield with him.
~ ~ ~
Mark Jordan and Joe P
rice were on the horse trail, headed to Doris’s house, when the gunfire erupted. Knowing the other police were in danger, the two ran the remaining mile to the edge of the clearing, pausing, exhausted, to assess the situation. From what he could tell, the police had won their first battle. The New Order bodies had been gathered in a pile next to the porch, and a police officer maneuvered the last vehicle into a convoy pointed west, down the driveway.
Joe raised his hand and started to announce their arrival when Mark grabbed him and pulled him down. Joe hadn’t seen the first man drop, but Mark did. A furious gunfight erupted, lasting a few seconds before abruptly ending. Bizarre. He crawled to the edge of the tree line and observed, his rifle barely protruding from the brush. After a brief moment, two men walked out of the forest, waving a white cloth. Mark centered his rifle’s scope on the men.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“What?” said Joe, who had crawled next to him.
“Hostage situation.”
“Can you take the shot?”
“I don’t know.”
Mark had the New Order man in his sights, but the officer’s head kept appearing in the crosshairs when he started to apply pressure to the trigger. Mark needed to wait until he had a perfect, predictably unhindered shot, if that ever happened. The New Order man did a decent job of shielding himself with his hostage. Mark had one advantage in this situation. The guy didn’t know he was in the crosshairs of a former sniper. Given enough time, he’d make a mistake. The problem was time. The two of them were headed toward the vehicles, where time ended for the hostage. If he didn’t find a shot in the next several seconds, the officer was as good as dead.
He kept the crosshairs on the New Order man, breathing as shallowly as possible with most of the pressure off his rifle’s two-stage trigger. Just give me something. Finally, as the gang member stuffed the hostage into the car, Mark’s opportunity arrived. With deadly precision, Mark took the best shot he had. The sound of his rifle cracked through the air as the man slumped to the ground next to a blood-splattered, open car door.