by Pat Price
I didn't need to be carrying a heavy shoulder weapon that would be of limited use in the cave. I removed the magazine from the long gun and operated the slide to eject the round in the chamber. Next I laid the MSG on the ground and tossed the magazine off to the left, shed the ghille suit and covered the long gun on the ground with it then started into the cave. A handgun is more versatile in close quarters because it's easier for a bad guy to grab a long barrel rifle from an opponent than it is to take a handgun away. I moved into the cave entrance, stepping over the body of the first guard I had shot. The shaft moving back into the cave was lit and the dirt floor hand been oiled and rolled to prevent erosion. The roof or ceiling of the shaft was at least ten feet up. About 50 feet back from the cave entrance the floor changed to poured concrete and the walls were shored up with Concrete posts and cross braces.
The muzzle blast from the long barrel MSG-90 is very impressive in the dark or enclosed areas like inside a deep canyon. A blind and deaf man would have heard and seen the two shots I had let off, so if anyone else was inside the tunnel with Olson, they had to know I was coming. Looking down the length of the tunnel I could see that a side shaft branched off to the right about 75 feet back from the cave entrance. I hugged the right wall as I moved back into the interior of the tunnel. I had the Colt up in a two-hand grip. The gun was extended out in front of me at about shoulder level. I was moving with my right shoulder brushing against the wall and taking 1 step at a time with my feet apart so I stayed centered and balanced. I made it to the turn in the tunnel in less than 30 seconds. I figured that Jimmy was somewhere further back in the tunnel and was probably more dead than alive.
I pointed the Colt up and took a quick peek around the corner. It was clear and I was able to see that the next section was about 20 feet long and turned to the left at the end. I turned the corner and took two quick steps and was against the left wall so that anyone coming around the corner in front of me would be exposed if they wanted to get a good shot. The next thought that went through my mind was that they could also just stick one of those MP-5s around the corner and spray my white ass down with 9-millimeter ammo. I repeated the same sequence of moving down the short tunnel until I reached the corner. I stopped and did the quick peek around the corner and made my move. The next corner was 50 feet away and branched off to the right.
I glanced at my watch and saw that I had been inside about three minutes and my breathing was almost back to normal. I stopped a few feet later and took two deep breaths then started moving again. A second later I heard the squeak of a rubber sole shoe on smooth concrete. The sound did not repeat but I knew that someone was around the next corner. I figured that it was probably Olson and that big Python he wore on his hip. I dropped down into a crouch and moved with exaggerated steps toward the next corner.
I stood with my ear next to the corner and listened. A minute passed and I was starting to think that maybe Olson or whoever it was had moved further back into the cave. I took a deep breath and let it out then moved. I pivoted around the corner with the Commander pointed ahead and ready to fire. Someone I had never seen before was standing about halfway between the next corner and me. He had an MP-5 held across his chest in a port arms position. I got the first shot off and hit him dead center in the chest, right on the receiver housing of the MP-5. At twelve feet with my hand loaded hollow point shells, my Colt will deliver over 400 foot pounds of energy to the target at that distance. The man holding the MP-5 was knocked back ten or so feet and bounced off of the wall. As he hit the wall I fired four more shots as fast as the Colt could cycle. When he hit the floor he was dead or so far into shock that it did not make any difference.
The Commander holds seven rounds in the magazine and one in the barrel for a total of eight shots. I had fired five, which left me with three rounds, two of which were in the magazine. I reached down to the pack on my left leg and extracted a spare magazine. I then pressed the magazine release with my right thumb and the Colt's nearly empty magazine dropped to the floor. I immediately inserted the fresh magazine and slammed it home. I was back to eight shots again and almost deaf from the muzzle blast.
I moved toward his body lying at the end of the section of tunnel. I didn't bother trying to listen to any noises around the corner because my hearing was gone and my pulse rate and breathing were back up. I took three quick deep breaths and made the turn. Empty, no one and nothing was there except the end of the tunnel about 100 feet away. On the right side of the wall at the end of the tunnel was a window and a doorway. The window was first and looked about three feet high, five or so feet long, and about three feet above the floor. The doorway was about ten feet further down the tunnel and the end of the tunnel was another ten feet past the door. I pressed against the right wall and quickly covered the distance to the window.
I was down on my knees and looked through the lower right corner of the window into what was a machine shop. The room was about 30 feet by 30 feet in size. The walls were made of concrete block and painted white on the inside of the room. The floor inside the room appeared to be poured concrete, as was the floor in the hallway. All of the poured flooring inside the shop room was finished with what looked like an epoxy painted surface. It was probably finished like that to help keep the dust down. I had to admire anyone who could build this complex this far from the beaten path. It had to have been a bitch getting all of the materials into this place, not to mention altering the cave walls and floor and pouring all of that concrete. It must have taken months if not years to put the complex together ignoring the expense.
I saw Jimmy standing with his back to a six inch diameter metal pipe or post supporting the ceiling. His arms and hands were behind him and I guessed they were either tied or cuffed. His blue denim cowboy shirt was stained with what was probably his blood. The fabric was badly wrinkled, and one of the pockets was ripped off. His face looked like it had gone through a meat grinder and his eyes were almost swollen shut. Jimmy never had much in the way of lips but what lips he had were now puffed up and red, matching the mauled flesh of his face. His hair, normally long and held in braids to the sides or a ponytail in the back was now loose and hanging limply down to his shoulders. His head was hanging forward with his chin resting on his chest.
Running Bear Olson was standing off to Jimmy's right side, facing him. Olson was holding a baton in his left hand and a large caliber stainless steel revolver that looked like a Colt Python in his right hand. The Python is easy to spot because of a ventilation rib that runs down the top centerline of the barrel with the front sight mounted on top of the rib. The difference in temperature between the desert outside the cave and that inside was dramatic. Outside it was night and somewhere around 40 degrees but between 60 and 70 degrees in here. In spite of the temperature, Olson was sweating, probably from the stress. Judging from Jimmy's appearance I would have guessed that Olson had been using the baton to try and beat information out of him.
I turned the doorknob as easy as I could; hoping it was not locked. Luck was both with me and against me. The door was not locked and I swung it open. The movement caught Olson's eye and he turned. I was already in a shooting stance with the Commander up and pointed at Olson. I was standing about three feet back from the door with half of my body concealed by the frame of the doorway. Olson looked up at me and snapped off a quick shot from waist level toward the door then jumped behind Jimmy and the post, giving himself cover and a hostage. The baton was not going to do him any good so he tossed it away to his left. The wooden baton hit the hard floor and danced and rolled around making a racket. Olson was now dressed in his Arizona Department of Public Safety uniform with his Captain's bars on his shoulders. He looked like a recruiting poster with his blue tie, held in place with a gold colored tie clip, accenting the tan uniform. If Jimmy could have gotten hold of the tie he would have hung Olson with it.
"Well now," Olson said, peering out from behind Jimmy. Only his right ear and eye were exposed. "Now I have the white man as
well as his sand nigger". The 'sand nigger' reference was meant to denigrate Jimmy.
Jimmy looked up at me with a weak smile on his face and turned his head so as to get a better look with his nearly closed eye at Olson. "I would have expected better than 'sand nigger' from you Running Bear. You being an educated man and all," Jimmy said, his words somewhat slurred because of his swollen lips." Olson had the Python pointed past Jimmy and toward me. His finger was on the trigger and his arm was rock solid. Olson suddenly jumped back about half a step and clipped Jimmy on the left side of the face with his unoccupied left fist. Jimmy had a slight smile on his face and I guessed that he had grabbed Olson by the testicles causing him to back off.
"Neither one of you are walking out of here. I've come this far and I will not be stopped by a white man or a rotten apple." He looked determined and his tan face was stoic and hard. His arm flashed and the pistol was pointed at Jimmy's head. He cocked the hammer in one motion with his thumb. I looked at the Colt and could see that the hammer spur was flared out and wide so his thumb would have a large surface on which to lever it back. The trigger from what I could see was also customized, as were the grips on the big gun. When the hammer is pulled back on a revolver it can then be fired single action. Double action is when the hammer is at rest. Most revolvers come from the factory with a hammer pull of around 15 pounds double action and between 7 and 9 pounds single action. These high trigger weights make a revolver fairly safe and hard to accidentally discharge. Anyone going to the trouble to install a custom hammer and trigger would have also lightened up the trigger pull. If Olson's Python had a single action trigger pull of more than 3 pounds I would have been surprised because that is what is considered a hair trigger, and it's the trigger pull all of my revolvers have.
I become really focused in shooting situations. I looked at Olson's hand and his trigger finger was pressing on the front side of the trigger guard. Being a policeman his training had taken over. He wanted the next shot to be quick and shooting his weapon single action as opposed to double action would give him a few 100ths of a second. In a critical situation, those seconds saved could be the difference between living and dying. Keeping his finger off the trigger guaranteed him that he would not burn off a round while he was moving the gun. I had the advantage of firepower and Olson knew it. He also knew if he shot Jimmy I would have him down in less than a heart beat which was another reason he did not have his finger on the trigger.
I was standing to the right of the doorway as I was facing it and had the Colt in my left hand with my right hand bracing the shooting hand. I'm right handed but I can shoot with either hand. I am not however, as accurate shooting with my left hand as I am with my right. I had the advantage of movement because I was the aggressor in this case. Olson had the end of the Python barrel resting against Jimmy's head, just above his right ear. Shoot someone in the center of the ear and you don't always have a guaranteed kill. If the angle of the barrel is pointing down, the bullet just may come out their jaw and they wind up deaf, drooling, and wearing diapers instead of dying. Shoot someone just above the ear and they are down for the count. I took a couple of quick shallow breaths and jumped to the opposite side of the door opening. Olson snapped the Python out at me and fired. I was behind the left side of the doorframe when the bullet impacted into the wall I was then standing behind. I quickly thanked god for the concrete block walls in the cave. If the walls had been made of two by four studs and drywall the .357 slug would have gone through them and me like a hot knife through butter.
"Thanks for the block wall," I shouted.
"Eat shit and die you white mother fucker," Olson shouted back.
I changed gun hands and stepped back from the doorway, keeping my concealment so that Olson did not have a clear target. I had the Commander back into a shooting posture and eased my head out just enough to give me a thin view of him and Jimmy. Olson had the gun back at Jimmy's head with his finger off the trigger. His police training was paying off for me. Never have your finger on the trigger unless you want to shoot. He pulled the hammer back once again, placing the Python back into in a single action mode.
"Come on Olson, you are not walking away with the bombs. I might be your white devil but I'm not completely stupid. I called the Calvary from outside the cave and the recovery team will be here before you can walk, even if you kill both of us." At least that was what I hoped he would believe.
"Wrong again whitey, you didn't call anyone. Cell phones don't work out here and I have a man inside your precious agency. I know for a fact that no one is coming to bail your white ass or this nigger's ass out of this one."
He sounded like he knew what he was talking about so I resolved myself that one or more of us were going to die in here. I eased out for another look and Olson snapped his pistol toward me. I watched his arm swing and the gun did not come up level with his eye. I knew then that he was not going to shoot at me. He had already fired two shots that I knew of. The Colt Python, like all modern large frame revolvers, holds six bullets. Olson fired two, so simple math said he had four rounds left. A man in a desperate situation with four rounds is dangerous but he has options. A man in a desperate situation with one round is also dangerous but he is without options and that forces people to make stupid decisions. Olson would not shoot Jimmy as long as he had two or more rounds left. He knew it and I knew he knew it. At this point the advantage was to me.
Jimmy looked up at me and smiled through split lips. "Shoot this son of bitch so we can go drink some beer."
"Shut up nigger," Olson said, still pointing the gun toward me.
"Shut up yourself. Take the shot," Jimmy yelled, twisting his head around at Olson and spitting at him.
"I said shut up nigger," Olson said, whipping the gun back to crack Jimmy on the forehead.
As Olson's big Python started its swing in a long arc toward Jimmy's head I took about a half step to my right giving me a better sight picture. Everything shifted to slow motion and Olson's words slowed down and took on a deep bass quality. The word nigger was prolonged and seemed to be drawn out forever. The light in the room seemed to change in hue from the blue tint of the fluorescent lights to sepia tone and the contrast between objects became greater. Swat and sniper training teaches you that a shot centered on the side of the head above the ear, in the back of the head just where the opening at the base of the skull starts, or an eyeshot will stop all motor control in the body. If a person holding a gun has his finger on the trigger and he receives an eye shot or a brain stem shot he will fall like a sack of wet cement and his finger will not be able to spasm and pull the trigger. This is not to say that the gun will not go off when it hits the ground but it will not go off because the shooter consciously pulled the trigger.
I took up the trigger slack on the Commander as I was moving my body to the right of the doorframe. I was almost through the trigger pull when I centered the bright yellow dot on the front sight between the two bright orange dots on the rear sight and settled all of them just below the center of Olson's right eye socket. I felt the Colt's trigger fall off of the sear and gun recoiled back into my hand and I heard the soft prolonged boom from the shot. I saw the right side of Olson's temple bulge about the same time as I heard the barrel of his Python crack on Jimmy's forehead. A red mist appeared behind Olson's head and he went down. His knees folded and his arm swung toward the floor because his brain stopped sending signals to his muscles. He fell to the floor as fast as the Colt fell from his hands and both rolled to my left, away from Jimmy.
"Take the shot," Jimmy yelled again, "take the fucking shot." I don't think he was aware of who actually fired the shot. Motion around me went back to normal speed and the sepia tone quality of the room vanished. I looked to my right to see if anyone was coming down the hallway. It was still clear so I lowered the barrel of the Colt and stepped into the room. I took two steps toward Olson's now still body and picked up the Python. The hammer was still back. I lowered it and slid the gun into the fron
t of my waistband.
"Shoot this bastard," Jimmy yelled. His eyes were shut and I'm not sure he wasn't almost deaf from the sound blast of two full up magnum rounds being fired inside the room, I know I was. I stepped over to him and put my right hand on his left shoulder and squeezed.
“I already did,” I said.
-48-
Jimmy was bound to the post with a set of Arizona Department of Public Safety issued handcuffs. I pulled a key ring off of Olson's accessory belt and found the key to the cuffs. Jimmy had sagged forward, his weight being held upright because of the cuffs holding him to the post. I unlocked the cuff from his right wrist and caught him, easing him to the floor and into a setting position. I removed the cuff from his left wrist then pocketed the key ring. Olson's cartridge belt had two speed loader pouches holding six rounds of .357 magnum cartridges each. I pocketed both of the speed loaders in my left front pants pocket. You can’t have too much firepower or ammo.
"Water," he said in a croaking voice. "Any water in here?" I looked around the room and saw a standing water cooler with a half full bottle setting on top of the sheet metal box against the wall next to the right of the doorway I had come though. You find bottled water in all kind of places. A small metal table with several coffee cups on it was standing to the right of the water cooler. I took a cup that still had an inch or so of coffee in it and tossed the coffee onto the floor. I filled the cup with water and brought it back to Jimmy. Kneeling down next to him I held the cup while he sipped the water. He pulled his knees up and leaned his head on them.