The Mourning Missed

by J. Don Wright

  “Tentatively, thirty-seven gang members shot and presumed to be at least seriously injured.”

  The phone on his desk rang and he could see it was the direct line to the Police Commissioner. Setting the glass down, he pressed the speaker button and picked the glass back up, taking another appreciative sip. “Colonel Hollister,” he announced.

  “Duane, Hanson here. I’m hearing rumors you took a group of cadets on raids of gang home turf this morning. What am I missing?” The PC sounded neutral; so far, so good.

  “Commissioner, we had a situation here three days ago which demanded a response. You may have heard Sergeant Martin Bacchus was gunned down in the road outside the gates on Monday morning?” Hollister started.

  “Yes, and I’m still waiting on the report detailing that unacceptable incident. When can I expect it, as it happened five days ago?” Perth asked querulously.

  “I’ll have it on your desk today, provisionally,” the Colonel replied. “Additional details include DDAI Lilly Jackson was with him but was unharmed; physically, at least. We’ve learned the organized crime syndicate in Montrose City has placed a twenty thousand dollar bounty on her head. We’re certain they were actually after her.” The Commandant made it a point of not saying your crime syndicate. There were certain accusations which would have to be leveled face-to-face.

  “That’s preposterous,” the PC exclaimed.

  “Be that as it may, three vans full of gang members - Bloods, Crips, and Skinheads - approached the gate together as a unit on Wednesday. They demanded we surrender Jackson to them by today at dusk. Otherwise, they vowed to attack us and kill every last soul; their words, not mine. I decided a preemptive strike was in order. Every person involved was a certified peace officer. All except Jackson were MCPD.” He hoped the significance of the emphasis was not lost on the PC.

  “I saw the order moving graduation and commissioning up to yesterday, which I thought odd,” the PC remarked distantly. “Then when I didn’t see an invitation to address the graduates I thought it even more odd. What do you say you come down to my office this afternoon and set all this straight, Colonel Hollister?” Using his official rank made the question, in effect, a direct order.

  “Certainly, Commissioner,” the Colonel replied evenly. “If we’re not fighting for our lives, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  “What? Say again?” Perth sputtered.

  “Sir, we’ve just injured or killed three dozen different gang members in three separate altercations. We must assume there will be a retaliatory strike,” the Commandant explained calmly. “If they’re bold enough to come out here as a united front to demand Jackson, they’ll especially come en masse in response to our raid. That was the real reason for the preemptive strike; to thin their ranks. It was the only play I had to defend my command.”

  “At your hearing, I’ll expect to learn your reasoning as to why I wasn’t advised of your intentions for all the steps you’ve taken,” the PC said, dropping the bombshell he’d initially called to deliver. “Until such time, you are officially relieved of your command. Your number two is assigned Interim Commandant. Internal Affairs Division will be at your location this afternoon to take you into custody. I presume you’ll cooperate when they arrive?”

  “Of course I will, Hanson, but make sure you tell them to come heavily armed and in full combat gear. They’ll be walking into a firefight.” He stabbed the speaker button with his index finger, hanging up on the Police Commissioner. After he disconnected, he dialed the dispensary.

  “Yes, sir,” the chief medical technician in residence answered, seeing the office identifier on his phone’s digital display.

  “What is Major Simmons’ condition?” Hollister asked.

  “He’s already gone to his office, sir,” the tech replied. “I ordered him to bed rest for 72 hours. He ignored me and told me to write it up as light duty. His arm is in a sling and soft cast. If he leaves it alone for two weeks, it’ll heal just fine.”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have two weeks,” the Colonel informed the tech. “Make sure you have all the materials you need at hand for treating bullet wounds and performing field surgeries. I expect to be at war today.”

  Disconnecting, he dialed Carl’s number, who picked up on the first ring. “Yes, sir?”

  “I’ve been officially relieved of command. You’re in charge until a new Commandant can be appointed,” Hollister informed him without preamble.

  “Bullshit, sir,” Simmons replied. “If we survive today, we’ll talk about it. If the PC is still alive and in charge on Monday, I’ll worry about my response then.”

  “As I expected, Major; as I expected.”

  “I DON’T GIVE A FLYING fuck what you want, banger,” the mercenary replacement leader named Jefferson said. His nose was two inches away from the face of the Skinhead leader. “If you’re going with us, you’re going my way.” The gang leader puffed up as if to strike but it was only bluster. He and his crew of four were essentially surrounded by nine mercenaries in full combat regalia while his crew only wore leather jackets. Everyone in the room held a small automatic weapon.

  “That Coon killed Eightball and he’s gonna pay,” the Skinhead leader seethed.

  “The way I heard it, your dead leader bit off more than he could chew,” Jefferson replied with a grin. “Some lessons just get learned the hard way.”

  Glaring at Jefferson, the Skinhead turned toward the door. “We’re outta here.”

  “Okay, but if you want to play, be here at four with every man you can bring.” The Skinhead flipped a bird over his shoulder as he walked out. Jefferson just chuckled. “If he comes, I’m pretty sure he’s going to die on the battlefield.”

  Turning to a map on the battered card table against the wall of the warehouse, he signaled to four of the others who immediately pulled in close beside him. “Full Metal, you and your squad push the Crips at the west fence where you can come in from the tree line. The sun will be in their eyes. Blade, you bring the Bloods in from the field to the east. Those pussies would get lost walking through a park, let alone dense woods.”

  “I’ll run the Skinheads straight at the main gate,” he continued. “There’s only one two-man guard shack and they won’t be expecting a full frontal assault. We go for the Armory first, then the Dispensary.”

  “Burro, you and Mullet hit the back door from the woods with your squads as soon as everyone is engaged with the gangs. The Boss says kill them all but he wants Jackson’s head in a box. I want squad snipers at the four corners of the compound; targets of opportunity and any overwatch.” Glancing around the warehouse he asked, “Who has a box?”

  “LILLY, YOU AND GLORIA will need to be on the roof of the main building, along with four other snipers from among the graduates. None of them are anywhere near as good as you two but, you go to war with the army you have. Carl, I’ll need you to run combat ops from the crow’s nest. They’ll have snipers, so keep your head down and use the equipment.” Shifting his steel gaze to the Armorer, he smiled. “Do I need to ask if your resupply teams are ready?” Senji returned the grin and shook his head.

  “Very good. Carl; beat it into their heads that open field advancement is not part of the plan. We’re well defended here and there’s an open field of fire everywhere except the back doors,” he instructed. “Gloria, watch the woods. They’ll come from there, probably after the fight starts and everybody’s engaged.”

  “We don’t have sufficient personnel to cover all four quadrants adequately, and there will be losses. The best we can hope for is to inflict enough injury and loss on their side that they’ll lose the will to fight and leave.” Pausing to consider, the Colonel continued. “Pull the guards off the gates and the patrols off the fences now. I don’t want anyone out in the open when they arrive. Expect them to attack about an hour before sunset. Any questions?” It was rhetorical.

  “I DON’T LIKE THIS AT all,” the driver said to his partner when they stopped at the Academy gate
and no one greeted them. The two IAD investigators had not been warned of what they were driving into because the PC was certain he had quelled the assault before it could start. His calls to Mitchell and Burnside, the Judge’s second, had been explicit. No one was allowed to hit the Academy. Of course, the PC didn’t expect the Boss to override him. He was still fantasizing that he was actually in charge of law enforcement in Montrose City.

  Getting out of the car, both men walked around the front to the swing arm gate. Their intent was to open it themselves. When they discover the bar had been padlocked down, the second man spoke. “Well, ain’t this some shit. Looks like we get to walk to the main building.” They were halfway up the 200 yard drive when the sound of a vehicle approaching the gate caused them to pause and look back.

  A dark blue service van stopped behind their car and all doors burst opened. Bald men with machine pistols began piling out of every orifice the vehicle had. The IA investigators had enough sense to realize they were in danger. The portly of the pair wasn’t as fast as his partner. Nine millimeter death danced in a line up the asphalt directly to his right as they pounded toward the building. His partner made the door, which sprang open at his approach. The fat man dove into the bushes lining the drive. He rolled over on his belly to face the gate with his service pistol drawn.

  “Get in here when we lay down cover fire,” someone behind him yelled. The war had officially started.

  Thirty-Two

  “NORTHWEST ELEVEN, RESPOND to automatic weapons fire near the Academy. It’s probably range day but we haven’t got the usual call letting us know. There’s no answer when we call out there,” the dispatched said, calling the nearest patrol unit to the area.

  “Roger, show Northwest eleven responding,” came the immediate but puzzled reply. Three minutes later, the patrol unit’s call was in a completely different tone of voice. “Dispatch, Northwest eleven. All call for this location. Repeat; All Call. The Academy is under attack by parties unknown. We have been fired upon by automatic weapons and have taken cover behind our disabled vehicle.”

  The officer’s voice was developing a definite edge of hysteria. “I say again, All Call. Every available unit, respond. Send SWAT, hell, send the freaking National Guard. I count at least fifty assailants. Repeat, five zero assailants. Automatic weapons fire coming from all quadrants of the compound perimeter.”

  “LILLY, START ON THE right, I’ll take the left,” Gloria ordered. “Take them as fast as you can; hitting them is more important than a kill shot. Most of them will cut and run once they catch a bullet.”

  “Got it,” Lilly nodded, twisting the reticle on the scope to bring the front gate into sharp focus. A dozen bald, white males ranged along the area surrounding the gate. They were indiscriminately firing short bursts at the building. Apparently, they hadn’t expected to be stopped this far out, where their weapons were effectively useless. They were still deadly, just not very accurate.

  Sighting on the farthest man to her right, who was crouching behind the corner of the guard shack, Lilly laid the crosshairs on the bridge of his nose. At 200 yards, there was no need for adjustments. Squeezing the trigger, she managed to bring the scope back on target in time to see the man sprawl across the ground. Quickly cycling the bolt, she lined up and took her second shot.

  “I count three down on my side,” Gloria said after they had driven all the Skinheads who could still move back behind their van.

  “Same here,” Lilly replied, eye still on her scope. Her rifle cracked again and she amended her last comment. “Four; some people just have to sneak a peek.” Cycling the bolt, she pulled her rifle down from the balustrade and swapped in a fresh magazine.

  “Contact, back fence,” came the radio call from the building’s rear overwatch. Shots rang out from that direction, with more distant reports indicating return fire from the ground. Lilly turned with her rifle, intent on going to help the pair. Gloria stayed her with a hand. “They’ll call for help if they need it.”

  Almost immediately, the same voice cried out, “I’m hit.” Lilly sprang across the rooftop at a dead run. What she first thought was a hornet buzzed past her head, but she instantly realized someone had a firing angle on the rooftop. Dropping sideways behind the massive air conditioning unit in the center, she poked her rifle scope around the corner of the metal box as she called out to Gloria. “Take cover, there’s a sniper in the trees in back.”

  Gloria had already recognized the situation from the sound of the shot and the impact of the round in the front balustrade. She moved laterally, seeking the same shelter Lilly was using, but at a faster angle. “Tealey, how bad are you hit?” Gloria called to the man on the rear wall.

  “Just grazed my arm but it sure does burn,” he replied. “I’m good. Nichols is wrapping me up.”

  Just then, the sniper on the east wall opened up with two shots in rapid succession.

  “Yeah, I got the bastard,” he cried, jumping up to point at the man tumbling from the top of a tree near the edge of the woods. The falling man was dressed in full military combat armor and camouflaged clothing.

  “Get down, you fool,” Gloria screamed as blood and brains sprayed upward from the side of his head.

  “Snipers at the corners of the compound,” Gloria announced over the net, realizing what she had witnessed. Thrusting her rifle around the side of their cover, she scanned the treetops slowly for any sign of additional marksmen. Her rifle barked and Lilly caught movement in a second tree near the corner of the rear fence. A scoped rifle clattered out of the tree and stuck, barrel first, into the mulch at the base.

  “Make sure there are no others before you move,” she told Lilly. “He was targeting Carter on the west wall.”

  “I’m taking accurate fire from the southwest corner,” the man on the west wall now transmitted from where he had scrambled for cover from the rear snipers. Lilly scanned the trees once more, asking Clint if he saw anything.

  No, there appears to be only one sniper per squad. That’s standard configuration for US military training, he informed her.

  “Well, I do hope they’re following standard configuration,” Lilly grumbled aloud as she rose and ran, crouching, to the southwest corner of the roof. “Picture in your mind where the corner is,” she told Clint as she prepared to shoot at the hopefully unsuspecting sniper there.

  Checking her scope, she dialed it to 100 yards as Clint filled her mind with visual imagery of the western-facing grounds. Easing it slowly over the parapet, she laid the barrel on the surface and brought her face up to the scope where she could see slightly down. She was looking at the corner brick anchor pillar for the spiked wrought iron fence. There, prone behind it, she saw the sniper’s legs and left hand on either side of the post. He was focused on the man at the northwest corner of the roofline, waiting for him to appear.

  Realizing the hand was too small a target to hit with high probability, she moved slightly to align her shot with the shooter’s right knee. Checking outside the scope with her left eye, Clint noted the fence bars would not interfere with the bullet’s path. She sent the round. Hearing the cry of pain across the yard, she looked to see him twisted on the ground, clutching the shattered joint. Carter’s rifle barked and the wounded man stilled.

  “Let’s set the other’s up in the same crossfire,” Gloria directed as she moved to the northeast corner.

  Tealey, at the rear wall, fired three times in rapid succession, cursing. “Eight of them just rushed the back and I only hit one.”

  “Command, breachers at the back doors,” Gloria transmitted over the Academy’s discreet tactical frequency.

  “Copy,” Carl replied.

  An explosion from the rear told them charges had been detonated and the main building had been breached. She only hoped no one had been near the back doors when they went off.

  THE SEVEN MEN RUSHED through the destroyed rear double doors, the leaders signaling silently for them to move in pairs as they fanned out into the kit
chen. Each was dressed like their comrade who had been in the tree behind the compound. Multiple doors exited the area and the dining room beyond was filled with tables and chairs.

  The kitchen staff had either been sent to the Command Post as non-combatant coordinators or armed and posted throughout the building. Six of these men and women, along with four others from reserves held at ready in the staff dining mess, had just settled into prearranged defensive positions from three side of the dining room. When the seven-man squad burst out of multiple kitchen doors, withering crossfire took four of them down scant feet inside. The remaining three mercenaries danced back inside as bullets ripped through the metal batwings.

  “Command, four down in the dining room, three holed up in the kitchen,” radioed the head chef.

  “Roger, discharging Halon system,” Carl replied. A staff maintainer triggered the system remotely from the control room down the hall. Moments later, the three burst from the hole in the building’s rear, gasping and coughing to clear the offending gas from their lungs.

  “Get on the ground, now,” Gloria commanded from the center of the roofline. She held her head and upper torso flat against the top of the low retaining wall. Her rifle was leaning against the parapet and she held an M9 pistol pointed at the three. She silently hoped she was out of sight from the snipers at the corners of the perimeter fence but wasn’t about to let these three escape.

  All three turned in unison and began swinging their machine pistols in the general direction of her voice. They were still blinded by the tearing and coughing spasms caused by the Halon gas but were unwilling to surrender. When Sergeant Anderson’s first shot penetrated his throat just above the sternum, Tealey and Jackson thrust their upper bodies over the parapet in support.