Broken Shield

by Ryan Garner

  What they heard had shocked Lieutenant Caspar and Sergeant Blackshear. Not only was Ms. Cherry involved with an apparent leader of Occupy Congress, it also was discovered that he might be involved in the recent attacks on the city. Later events had evidently not gone as Ms. Cherry had planned. It was obvious she had gotten in far over her head and was in some sort of danger; however that particular information was of very little concern to Caspar, Ms. Cherry had made her bed and now she must lie in it. He was more concerned with Mr. Siegal's references to more terrorist activity within the City of Wilmington. Along with the two school bombings and assassinations, New Hanover Regional Medical Center had also suffered a crippling attack. Who knows what else was to come? But, he was going to stop it if he could.

  Having no other leads to go on and with no available line officers to spare, Caspar had quickly put together two SEU teams and rushed towards Darren Siegal's residence. Ms. Cherry’s phone was no longer transmitting any auditory information, but according to its internal GPS software it was still at Mr. Siegal's house. Whether or not either suspect was still there was in question, but information gained from the hastily prepared and sworn search warrant for the residence might yet offer more information on where the two individuals were.

  Caspar watched as the trailing van slowed to a crawl and the two Sierra units consisting of two men each exited from the back of the vehicle. In order to ease in rapid deployment the men on the sniper teams wore only soft body armor under their dark blue BDU uniforms and did not wear any helmets, but they did conceal their appearance with the same black masks that the Selective Enforcement officers wore. One man on each team carried a bolt action Remington Model 700 SPS Tactical Rifle with an attached high powered scope; the other “spotter” carried a standard issue short barreled Smith and Wesson M&P15X. The two individual teams quickly sprinted in opposite directions moving between houses to set up a better sniping position. After dropping the four men off the second van rapidly caught up to the lead vehicle and upon reaching a small intersection within the neighborhood both vehicles came to a stop and began to wait.

  There would be no good tactical way for the SEU team to approach Mr. Siegal's residence other than to drive right up to it. The long straight roadway to his residence offered little cover for a vehicle. Caspar hoped that the element of surprise would assist them. They all waited quietly for a few minutes, the only sound came from the incessant cross talk of the primary dispatch channel that could be heard coming from the van's in car radio at the very front of the vehicle. It was not loud, but everyone was able to make out what was being said. The stillness was further broken by the radio that Caspar held in his hand set to the encrypted radio frequency that only the SEU team could access.

  “Sierra 1 in position.” a hushed voice said over the radio. There were another few minutes of silence before another voiced broke in.

  “Sierra 2 in position.” The voice whispered. Caspar leaned over his seat and looked at the officer driving the van.

  “Let’s go.” he said.

  No sooner had the driver of the vehicle began to accelerate when there was a sudden flurry of activity on the primary dispatch channel. Even though the radio was turned down it was easy to tell that something had immediately changed. The driver leaned over and turned up the volume.

  “I say again, Cape Fear Hospital has been hit!!” a distraught officer screamed over the radio. “One explosion, possibly more! Just came from inside the entrance to the ER! I need any available units for assistance…multiple victims on scene!!” he shouted into the radio.

  “Fuck me...” One of the SEU officers said from the back of the van.

  “A second hospital…” Another team member added with a shocked tone. The officer driving the vehicle was already slowing down. Caspar immediately whipped his head around and looked at him.

  “It's too late to help them now; Siegal is our only lead for all of this...Go! Go! Go!” The officer slammed his foot down hard onto the gas and the van accelerated rapidly towards Darren Siegal's townhome.

  The dark blue Chevrolet Express Van came to a sudden stop directly in the center of the townhome’s short concrete driveway. The second van pulled up close behind. The rear doors of each vehicle burst open and the six man SEU teams rapidly cleared the exit. In a stack formation team one quickly made its way to the front entrance while team two rounded the grassy cut next to the side of the townhome and fast walked its way towards the rear. The plan was for team one to make entry while team two waited near the rear of the home to provide assistance if necessary or to stop anyone attempting to flee through the back door. The Sierra Snipers Units would act as additional spotters and provide further support if needed.

  As team one approached the front door one of the officers in the rear rounded the group carrying a large, black, pipe looking battering ram. The team slowed down slightly allowing him to pass and giving him the opportunity to breach the door. When the hulking officer reached the ornate wooden entryway he heaved the battering ram back and then thrust it forward slamming into the wood which immediately cracked and splintered as the door was flung open. The officer whipped the heavy steel pipe around and released it behind him allowing the ram to go flying across the porch before striking the ground with a clank. He then ducked away from the door giving the entry team full access to the home.

  As the lead officer on the SEU team stepped into the open doorway there was a sudden and loud sound of rushing air and a split second later a massive explosion tore through the townhome. A massive fireball burst through the front door and blew all of the SEU officers away from it as if they were rag dolls instead of well-built officers carrying over fifty pounds of equipment each. Their bodies were flung through the air in all directions and each one came crashing to the ground in a different location. All of the windows in the residence exploded outwards, fire following behind the hundreds of tiny shards of glass. The garage door located in front of the transport van buckled and then erupted in an outward explosion lifting the heavy black vehicle upwards and heaving it over onto its side. Caspar, Blackshear, and the remaining officer inside the van none of whom wore seat belts, were thrown about wildly within the interior, bouncing off every corner and hard object within the vehicle as the Chevy came crashing back down onto its side.

  Debris cascaded down all around the scene as car alarms throughout the neighborhood could be heard going off, a result of the sound wave created by the large explosion. Curious and terrified onlookers immediately began to leave their homes to see the carnage that had befallen their once peaceful gated community.

  ….

  Chief Herman Stickel sat quietly in his lavish office; his elbows up on the desk, and his head buried in his hands. Even though he was still dressed in an immaculate and perfectly pressed dress uniform he was a far cry from his normal confident self. Events within the city were spiraling completely out of control and everything seemed to be falling down around him. Riots, two horrific school bombings, command staff assassinations, attacks at the two largest hospitals in the city, and now an entire SEU team had been taken out while conducting a raid on what Lieutenant Caspar had informed him was their only current lead into the terrorist activities. It appeared as if Caspar might have been right, albeit at the cost of at least three officers’ lives.

  This situation was certainly not going to help him politically. He had hoped to parlay his rank as chief into an eventual position as an elected sheriff, then maybe the state’s attorney general, and who knew after that. However, being known as the chief of police who was present for the virtual destruction of Wilmington would certainly not do him any good. Worse yet, with the deaths of Deputy Chief Schenberg and Major Tyler his options for a scapegoat had become severely limited. Blaming dead officers would be severely frowned upon within the law enforcement world.

  There was Major Chasidy Antoine-Dennison, but she was just an administrative paper pusher. He doubted anyone would actually believe that she had been placed in comma
nd of anything important enough to merit blame. Plus, she could always play the female minority card and any and all criticism of her would suddenly “vanish” only to fall back into his lap. No, criticizing her would never work. Chief Stickel let out a long and exhausted sigh; the news media was going to have a field day with him when this was all over.

  The phone on Stickel’s desk began to ring, the caller ID showed that the call was coming from an internal line. He picked up the phone answering with a gruff, “What now?!” After hearing what the person on the other line had to say his tone immediately shifted, “Oh…well, uh…let him in.” he said.

  Within a few moments Lieutenant Kent Fearon marched confidently into Stickel’s office. As always, his uniform was flawless and pulled taught against both his muscular body and bullet resistant vest that he wore under his dress shirt. His uniform hat was tucked neatly under his left arm and the patent leather of his equipment belt gleamed even under the dull florescent lights.

  “Chief Stickel, it’s good to see you again.” Fearon stated as he held out his hand and walked over to the desk where the chief was now standing. Even though Stickel’s hands were large, when he returned the handshake Fearon intentionally tightened his grip in an attempt to create discomfort on Stickel’s part. It was a subtle way of letting the chief know who was still really in charge. Fearon then sat down in one of two chairs facing the desk at the front of the room.

  “So it appears as if things have gone quite awry for you.” Fearon stated in a very direct tone.

  Stickel stuttered as he tried to come up with an appropriate response. “Well, I uh, we’re doing our best to control the situation. I have confidence that with the assistance of the National Guard we will effectively be able to contain and control these events and once again return order to the city in as short an amount of time as possible. After that, reconstruction efforts will immediately begin and all those affected by these tragic events will be able to return to their normal lives as soon as possible.” Fearon laughed the moment Stickel finished talking. It was the first time Stickel had ever seen the man show any type of visible emotion.

  “Have you been rehearsing that one for the news media?” Fearon sarcastically shot back. Before Stickel had the chance to respond Fearon cut him off.

  “Let’s cut the crap shall we chief.” He said, “…Large scale riots have broken out in your city, your deputy chief and one of your majors have been assassinated, two of your primary hospitals have been bombed, and from what I hear your only lead ended in one of your SEU teams being taken out in a massive explosion.” Fearon looked Stickel over like a cat looking at a wounded mouse. “Does that about sum up the situation you’re in right now chief?” he asked in a snide tone.

  There was a few seconds pause before Stickel finally responded, “That’s correct…” he said in a defeated tone as his head dropped.

  Fearon had always hated commanders such as Stickel and he looked for any opportunity that he could to both privately and publicly humiliate them. He had been crushed under their heel for far too long as a municipal police officer before finally transferring over to the NGP. Nevertheless, even in his current position he still had to put up with “administrators,” but now he was at least given more latitude. If he achieved results without making too many waves his methods were seldom questioned.

  “I’ll be honest with you chief…I have a way out of all this for you.”

  Stickel’s eyebrows immediately perked up. “What is it?” he asked. A faint yet unmistakably evil smirk danced across Fearon’s face.

  “It’s time to take the gloves off…” he said with a smile.

  CHAPTER 21

  Chris was more than furious, he was livid. He sat quietly at the front desk check-in area of the District 2 station house and rocked methodically back and forth in the soft leather chair. The interior of the building was growing darker by the minute as the late evening sun was setting in the west. He had not yet bothered to turn on any of the florescent lights since he was the only one inside. He found the building to be eerily quiet. Other than the sound of his police radio, the only other noises came from the numerous droning computer and laptop fans that were located in the offices that jutted off from the two main hallways that were on either side of the counter where he sat and the central air conditioner that continued to blow cool air through its vents. Chris drummed his fingers against the arm rest of the chair. This wasn’t what he had signed up for; he wasn’t a damn security guard. Slowly, but surely he felt as if he were being pushed out of the job he desperately wanted to do.

  As the situation in Wilmington grew steadily worse with the assassinations of Deputy Chief Schenberg and Major Tyler and the attacks on local hospitals and schools the department had been put into a state of high alert. Fearing that more attacks on emergency services might be coming Chief Stickel had ordered that no police station be left unattended. At least one officer had to be present to “guard” each structure. Being the low man on the totem pole with the least amount of experience Chris had been “volunteered” for this assignment. It didn’t matter that the city was rapidly going straight to hell, SEU teams were being blown up, and innocent civilians were being killed. Someone had to stay behind to make sure no one stole paperclips from the captain’s office…or at least that’s how Chris felt.

  His insufferable Field Training Officer Morrisey had only made the situation worse by joking that Chris had it “lucky.” To Morrisey, the opportunity to stay behind meant that Chris could get some sleep after working the long shifts they had been assigned, maybe get something to eat from the snack machines, sit back and relax, cruise the internet, and otherwise take it easy while all of his fellow officers were risking their own lives. There had even been snide remarks by Morrisey implying that guarding empty buildings was the only thing Chris was good for now.

  Chris knew that he had become a cop to help people, not to be stuck behind a desk twiddling his thumbs, or to be berated by a fat, lazy, FTO who would rather evade the ongoing chaos simply because it would be easier on him. Other officers were dying, innocent people were being hurt, and the city was tearing itself apart and Chris was being forced to sit at a desk doing absolutely nothing.

  And as if this were not bad enough he had overheard a few supervisors talking about the events surrounding the botched raid by the Selective Enforcement Unit on a suspected terrorist’s home. The event had ended in total disaster with most of the house being destroyed by an explosion and at least three officers being killed. Further complicating the matter, Karina Cherry, John’s friend had somehow become involved with all of this and had apparently been kidnapped by one of the terrorists. So far no useful information had been obtained from what was left of the suspect’s home and no one had any idea where Karina was or even if she was still alive. Of course, the department administration seemed barely concerned with this minor detail; they were more preoccupied with the city as a whole. This thought process did make some sense to Chris, but where did that leave Karina? Did he have a duty to tell his friend about what was going on? Did John even know that Karina was in danger?

  From what he could hear on his police radio and the local news the riots were growing progressively worse and much more violent. Thousands might be involved by this point. Soon the National Guard and NGP would deploy in full force in order to contain and control the situation, but until then the insurgents ruled the land.

  It was a forgone conclusion that Karina was already lost in the fog of war with a high likelihood of becoming a forgotten causality; at least to the city that is. Chris could only sit quietly in his chair rocking back and forth considering the situation and trying to decide what he should do…or not do.

  ….

  “NO JUSTICE!! NO PEACE!!”

  “NO JUSTICE!! NO PEACE!!”

  The large crowd chanted as it marched curb to curb down the two lane residential street, the low hanging sun burning brightly behind the unruly horde. Hundreds of angry rioters flowed into the
once quiet middle class neighborhood. From a high altitude the composition of the crowd would have given an airborne onlooker the idea of innumerable army ants swarming into the peaceful community; each one hell bent on destruction and ravenously searching the area for any treasure it might find.

  NO JUSTICE!! NO PEACE!!!”

  The crowd continued to shout as it made its way further into the neighborhood. Some individuals within the group carried banners proclaiming numerous different inflammatory slogans:

  “Stop white on black violence!”

  “We demand a living wage!”

  “End racism!”

  “More jobs for minorities!”

  “Stop conservative racism!”

  “Free healthcare for all, not just the rich!”

  Many in the crowd were adorned with various types of symbolic clothing, from the red anarchist “A” symbol, to gang clothing; others wore faded “Justice for Trayvon” and “Hands up, don’t shoot” t-shirts. With absolutely no police presence the mob was completely free to do anything it desired. Marching past houses and vehicles, rioters smashed out windows with bricks, beat vehicles violently with hand held weapons such as baseball bats, crow bars, hammers, rocks, or anything else that could be utilized as an instrument of destruction. Any person that had been foolish enough to leave a political sticker on their vehicle with the name, “Matt Richardson” President Jordan's last presidential opponent, suffered an even more ferocious outpouring of violence on their property. Others within the mob spray painted gang graffiti where ever it suited them. As the intensity of their actions grew some members of the massive horde began to pound viciously on the doors of houses demanding entry. While most of the civilian homeowners in the area had taken shelter inside the presumed safety of their homes; that security was dubious at best.