“How is that possible?” Gloria asked, totally baffled.
“How secure is the pig up there?” Lilly asked, turning to the Commandant and pointing nine feet off the floor at the massive boar’s head mounted in an alcove of the vaulted ceiling.
“That had to be bolted into the wall because it weighs nearly 150 pounds,” he replied. “The workers told me I could hang a hammock from it if I wanted.”
“I’m going to jump up there and sit on it, if I may?” Lilly asked politely.
The room was suddenly very still and everyone in it gaped at Lilly. Finally, Gloria found her voice. “This has gone far enough. I don’t know what this is all about, but I won’t be party to anymore.”
Gloria stood from the sofa and turned for the door, then turned back toward the others. She had decided she was going to dismiss any offers she had made of assistance to someone who was obviously not in their right mind. Her mouth was open and finger pointed when Hollister gave Lilly the nod.
Taking two bounding strides across the room, she leapt into the air like a pro basketball player going for a slam dunk. Her outstretched hands caught the boar’s head just above the ears and she used her body’s momentum to swing herself up lightly on top. Gloria swooned and dropped to the sofa, Carl and Duane applauded, and Senji clasped his hands together, bowing at the waist.
TWO DAYS LATER, A VERY pointed message was delivered to the Academy staff and current class. Three vans full of gang-bangers pulled up at the gate demanding audience with the Commandant. The shocking part was; one van carried nine Bloods, the second carried eight Crips, and the third held eleven Skinheads.
They were all there with the same mission; close the Academy. Their message was simple; leave the campus empty by Friday, or they’d return and kill everyone in it. The alternative was even simpler; turn Lilly Jackson over to them.
“WE’RE PUSHING THE NEXT graduating class to finish three days early and I’m getting their patrolman’s badges rush ordered today,” the Colonel said. “We should have two dozen or more able-bodied officers by the end of the week.”
“I’d like to take a day to teach, as many as will learn them, some street-fighting techniques. They might make up some of the difference in their lack of experience,” Lilly requested.
“You’ll need to make sure they understand they’re not for everyday use but life or death only,” Senji commented. Lilly nodded in agreement.
“I’ve also asked for five Fleet Services vans to transport them in squads of five, with one seasoned leader and a second from the staff. If we all turn out, that will leave only a skeleton crew of nine here,” Carl informed everyone. “SSgt Smithers will remain here as senior in command and will man the walls with our best shooters.”
The planned response was a simple thing of beauty. They were going to take the fight to the gangs’ home turf.
Thirty
“EACH STRIKE TEAM WILL abandon its vehicle two blocks from their point of contact,” the Commandant told the assembled group of 45 new officers and faculty. Every person in the room sported ballistic clothing of some sort and all wore sidearms. Long guns were strapped across their backs and the strike teams held their visored helmets in hand for the briefing. It was just after one am.
“Team leads will direct the raids on the known headquarters of the gangs you have been assigned. This is not going to be a vice raid, ladies and gentlemen; there will be few if any arrests. You will go in dark and radio silent.” Hollister looked searchingly around the assembled mass.
“There will be no communications by anyone here with anyone outside this group until we return to base. Does anyone have a mobile phone?” No one replied that they did. He glared around the room before drawing his service revolver from its holster and holding it pointing upward above his head.
“There are rumors the crime organizations already have people bought off here at the Academy. Any warnings delivered will jeopardize the lives of all your fellow cadets who have just become commissioned police officers. I will not have security breaches on this operation. So let me be perfectly clear; if you plan to betray us, lay down your weapons and leave now. You will be allowed to depart unharmed.” He allowed an interminable sixty seconds before continuing.
“Likewise, if you feel you cannot go into your city and take the lives of the criminal element, leave now. If we are betrayed and I find out who the Judas is, I will go to prison. Because I will personally but a bullet in your fucking head. Do I make myself clear?” Hollister roared. The silence in the room was deafening, but fierce warrior grins were visible in abundance.
“When you kick down the doors in these locations, expect to be met with unbridled resistance. Remember also that many of them are equipped with TEC-9s or similar fully-automatic machine pistols. Take prisoners if the opportunity presents itself but do not anticipate surrender. Do not shoot to wound. Do not put yourself in unnecessary jeopardy. Are we ready?” He called the question. An uproarious reply of yes, sir rattled the walls. “Mount up.”
Several young officers shifted their feet nervously but none departed. Squads moved to their designated vehicles, where Sergeants Andersen and Aiko led teams designated for the Bloods and Crips gangs. Anderson had insisted on running the Bloods team and had vengeance on her mind.
When someone had mentioned revenge while they were all seated in the Academy theater during the briefing she had stood from her seat, her silence demanding the floor. When every eye was on hers, she spoke. “We are not in the business of revenge; that is an act of passion. We are in the business of vengeance, which is an act of justice.”
The Colonel had been adamant about leading a team personally. His team was headed for the known hangout of the Central Division brute squad with the express intent of taking them alive if possible. Major Simmons would lead the Skinhead team for much the same personal reason as Sgt Andersen. As a black man, his people had been terrorized by the white supremists for far too long.
Lilly would lead the team which would confront the mercenaries. Like all the other teams, they expected to be outnumbered. They prayed the elements of surprise, body armor, and superior tactics would carry the day. In just the one day before their planned assault, Lilly had been taught the basics of marksmanship and had not surprised anyone with her skills at long-distance shooting. She was the designate sniper for her team and carried a scoped Remington model 700P.
As the five vans rolled out the gates at 1:20 am, the remaining nine staff of the Academy lined the drive. They were all turned out alongside the gate in full riot gear, standing at attention. When the first van approached SSgt Smithers called out the order to present arms and they held their salutes until the last van passed.
LILLY’S TEAM ROLLED up on the bar which intelligence had suggested the mercenaries might have set up as their new watering hole. Once the van stopped, Lilly turned to face the other six. “I’m going to recon the building and see if they’re here. I don’t really want us busting in the place just to find a bunch of drunken derelicts. That word would spread like wildfire and could possibly jeopardize the other teams. I’ll be back in ten; if not, come and get me.”
Leaving her sniper rifle in the van, she circled the building, looking for a place to stash her body armor. She intended to leave it just long enough to sneak inside and look around; at least that was the plan. As she slowly opened the back door, the music was loud and the stench was overpowering. The door was suddenly pushed open, almost knocking her over.
Wondering how she had been spotted, she prepared to defend herself as best she could only to discover the guilty party was just an amorous couple headed for a van. They hadn’t seen her, being very inebriated and focused on each other. As she turned back to the door, Carmichael stood framed in the dim light from inside.
“Hello, bitch,” he drawled as he launched a ham-sized right fist at her head. Ducking easily beneath the drunken swing, Clint hit him hard just beneath the exposed armpit in the nerve plexus at the same moment Carmich
ael’s fist hit the metal-clad door. A bellow of pain and rage got everyone’s attention inside as the ogre’s leg threatened to collapse and his arm failed to respond. His baggy cargo pants hid the outline of the dressings Lilly knew must be on his upper thighs.
Other mercs began moving toward the rear to witness whatever fight was about to ensue. Lilly realized she couldn’t let this drag out, so she snap-kicked his wobbly leg right where she knew the bullet wound would be. His scream of agony nearly deafened her but she refused to give any quarter. Launching off her back foot, she jumped up and forked Carmichael’s head with her legs.
Locking them at the knees around his skull, she threw her body weight back over his shoulders. As he toppled over backward, she rode him to the floor until the last moment when she reached and grabbed the top of the bar, releasing her leg lock. Carmichael hit the concrete flat on his back and his breath whooshed from his lungs. His head bounced off the floor and he lay twitching for a moment.
Lilly couldn’t risk that he might already be down for the count. Dropping knees-first onto his stunned chest, she chopped him in the throat before dropping her ass into his gut. As she landed, she slammed both heels of her tactical boots onto his face. One heel shattered his nose and the other smashed his eye so badly the pain and trauma would have rendered him unconscious if he wasn’t already.
Scrambling to her feet, she met the next patron as he rushed her with a pool cue. Clint informed her that this was Vanderbilt, one of the brute squad from Central Division. As the cue was swung handle-first at her head she dropped flat and pivoted on her hip, swinging both legs at the assailant’s feet.
Upended, the man dropped the pool stick as he crashed backward into a table and chairs near the door. Falling across the small round table, he knocked the pitcher of beer and three glasses setting there onto the floor. The three men immediately grabbed him and began pounding on him with their fists. They probably didn’t know who he was, or care; he had spilled their beers.
The third man to approach her had a pair of brass knuckles on one hand and a hunting knife in the other. He moved toward her in a knife-fighter’s crouch. His ass was stuck out behind him like he was about to sit down. His shoulders were centered over and just ahead of his feet. His stance was wide and he held his hands and arms close to his body.
This was an experienced fighter and Lilly had to reassess her odds of not getting cut, stabbed, or bludgeoned. Clint let her know this was McElroy and that he was a vicious killer. Deftly retrieving the pool stick from the floor between them, she danced around as she unscrewed the two pieces of the custom cue. Grasping the heavy bottom half at the midpoint, she prepared to parry with it while she struck with the metal threaded end of the lighter piece.
Her opponent feinted several times from too far out, which Lilly ignored completely. Swinging the knife in a shallow upward thrust, he targeted her belly. Clint hit him behind the right ear with the heavy pool cue base from an obtuse angle neither the man nor Lilly had expected.
When his knees hit the floor, Lilly struck the knife from his fist with the smaller half of the stick as Clint waylaid him on the back of his head. The force of the blow drove him face-first onto the kick rail at the bottom of the bar. He laid unmoving, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.
“That leaves Michael Frey,” Clint informed her. Looking into the dim interior, they saw a fleeting figure run out the front door. Struggling through the packed crowd of gawkers, she fought to reach him before he could escape. He would spread the word of where she was and the army of those anxious to claim the bounty would descend.
“We’ll never catch him,” Clint complained as they ran through the bar toward the front door.
“We have to try,” Lilly chided him.
When she slammed through the front door, they were surprised to see four members of their team holding their quarry on his knees. He was handcuffed and apparently had resisted arrest as evidenced by the blood running from the corner of his mouth and down the side of his head. Dropping to one knee in front of him, she considered his hardened face.
“The mercs aren’t here, but I’ll bet this one knows where they hang out,” Lilly remarked.
“Like I’d ever tell you, bitch,” he snarled. Clint thumb-webbed him in the throat and he sagged in the grip of his captors, retching.
“Can’t you gutless wonders come up with another word?” Lilly griped. “I’m so tired...,” she grunted, emphasizing the word as Clint kneed him in the stomach. “...of being called...,” she shouted as she switched feet while rising and kicked him in the balls. “...a bitch,” she screamed the last word as she stomped on the side of his bent knee.
After each impact, the shackled man grunted, groaned, and finally screamed, but the team members held him fast. Dropping to both knees in front of his wretched face, she held his sagging head up by his hair. “Last chance to play nice,” she offered. When she received no reply, Lilly held a hand up over his head.
“Knife,” she commanded. One of the four team members placed a K-bar fighting knife in her outstretched palm, handle-first. She immediately used it to cut the crotch out of the man’s jeans and briefs. That she may have intentionally nicked him several times in the process didn’t seem to matter to her or the team. The captive man was hyperventilating as he realized her intention, and was gasping the word no over and over again as she finished exposing him.
Reaching with her free hand, she forcefully grabbed his tripod and wrapped her hand around the base. Placing the blade edge alongside her index finger where it wrapped around the base of his manhood, she pressed softly. “One chance to tell me where they are and then you get to sing soprano for the rest of your miserably short life while you learn to piss like a woman,” she growled in his face.
“WOULD YOU REALLY HAVE cut him off?” One brave soul in the van asked Lilly after they had left Frey handcuffed to a light pole in the parking lot and called it in anonymously.
“I guess we’ll never know,” she replied.
The stars were fading as they stopped near the warehouse Frey had told them about. This was where the mercenary squads were holed up and, as an added bonus, where they were also holding Phillip. Lilly debated calling the DA for about three seconds before dismissing that idea. She had no clue where his loyalties lay.
“One and two, cover the front and find the best cover to fire from; anticipate hostilities,” she directed the team. “Three and four, cover the rear; five and six, take the side entrance. Same drill for all. We go in as soon as I take a look inside, or once shooting commences. Wait ten seconds after shooting starts to attempt entry in case the rats come scurrying out. If they do, command them to surrender but be prepared to kill them all at the slightest resistance. We go immediately if I give the command to breach.”
Lilly had noticed an exterior staircase on the adjacent building and had seen the glimmer of lights from within their target. She wanted to make sure Phillip wasn’t in the line of fire before bullets started flying. Ascending the stairs, she could see clearly through the ceiling windows along the top of the walls. The scope on her rifle brought everything in really close.
In a far corner near a deep-well sink, she could see a figure strapped to an inversion table with a towel over its head. As she watched, a merc carried a bucket from the sink and handed it to the man standing by the upright form on the table. The merc lifted the towel from the figure’s face, and Lilly gasped as she recognized Phillip.
His eyes were swollen nearly shut and his lips had been split in several places. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth as he vomited water. His chin hung on his chest and when the man next to him turned his face toward her for a moment, she recognized Matthews. He looked almost as bad as Phillip, with his nose taped and a massive bruise covering the central portion of his face.
Phillip shook his head in response to the question Matthews asked and the towel was returned to Phillip’s face. His head was lowered below his waist and Matthews picked up the bucket. It
was clear they were water boarding him for answers. It was just as clear Phillip was nearly all in.
Lilly brought the rifle to her shoulder and rested her face against the cheek piece, centering the cross-hairs on the back of Matthews’ neck. When she had a clear firing solution, she keyed her tactical radio. “Breach, breach, breach,” she commanded, and pulled the trigger. The bullet made a light tinkling sound as it punched a tiny hole through the window, just before it snapped the mercenary leaders’ spine.
Thirty-One
“ALL FIVE VANS MADE it back, which is better than we anticipated,” the senior staff doctor told the Colonel. Hollister sat at his desk nursing a sprained wrist on his off-hand and a half full whiskey glass in the other. “The miracle is; everyone who left came back alive. As a bonus; Lilly rescued Samuels. He’s pretty beat up but will recover. Three graduates have knife wounds requiring stitches. There are dozens of contusions, abrasions, and gashes. One through-and-through bullet wound to the upper thigh on Sgt Aiko and one fractured radius on the Major.”
“How, pray tell, did that happen?” Hollister mused.
“He went toe-to-toe with one of the Skinhead leaders who insulted his heritage, his lineage, and his momma; all in one breath.”
“Is the fool still alive?” The Commandant asked with a wry grin.
“He was probably taken to the hospital if they wanted to keep him that way,” the sergeant replied. “I’m told it took three men to pull Simmons off him. Speaking of how; what happened to your hand? Are we sure it’s not fractured?”
“Similar situation,” was all the Colonel would offer. “I want the compound to remain locked down. No one goes out in the open, period. Guards in pairs, in Kevlar at all times, relieved every two hours. Everybody gets as much rest as they can because I’m expecting retaliation. Do we have a body count yet?”
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