by Bobby Akart
The reports of the gunmen also reaffirmed for Duncan that the refugees were, in fact, armed and dangerous, as he’d surmised. The distress calls coming from the Gaines County Sheriff’s Department made no mention of North Korean infiltrators, but Duncan would be on the lookout for them nonetheless.
The most direct route to Seminole covered over eighty miles, rendering the hour-and-a-half drive for the convoy far from quick reaction, as his unit’s moniker implied. After today’s mission was completed, Duncan would make a point to enlist helicopter support or, better yet, have several choppers assigned to Camp Lubbock for his benefit.
As they approached the intersection of US Highway 62 and CR 104, where they were to rendezvous with local law enforcement, Duncan studied the layout of the town one last time. Seminole was bisected by Main Street, which ran north to south, and the continuation of Highway 62, which ran from the Hobbs border checkpoint to the center of town. The residential areas were laid out in a series of perfect, cross-hatch streets. If they could determine how far the refugees had penetrated into the town, his unit could go house to house if necessary.
But first, they’d need to put out any fires, so to speak. Hopefully, the local cops would provide up-to-the-minute information on hot spots to address.
“Look, there’s a county patrol car,” announced Espy.
Up ahead, a white Chevy Tahoe stood waiting with its emergency lights flashing on its roof and grill. A single deputy stood next to the open driver’s side door. He was speaking into a microphone that was stretched through the opening.
Espy parked the truck, and Duncan was the first to emerge to greet the deputy.
“You folks have arrived just in time. I’m Deputy Jerry Diaz with the Gaines County Sheriff’s Office. Most folks call me Deputy Jerry.”
“Commander Duncan Armstrong, sir,” said Duncan as he stretched out his hand to shake the young man’s. “Deputy Jerry, tell us what you know so far.”
“I can only refer to these people as a herd,” he began. “We didn’t have any warning from the military about them comin’ our way. The checkpoint at Highway 62 and the border is just about twenty miles to the west. I don’t know for certain when they broke through, but they arrived at the Walmart on 62 around noon or a little after. The store had closed some time back and boarded up their windows and doors. I mean, the shelves were pretty much bare, but these people didn’t know that. They broke down the barricades and ransacked the place.”
“How do we get there from here?” asked Duncan.
“It won’t matter ’cause they’ve moved on,” replied the deputy. “Most started going door-to-door in the residential neighborhoods around Forest Park. The residents, at least the ones that are still in town, locked their doors and refused to answer. Eventually, the lack of a response wasn’t enough for these people.”
“What happened?”
“Well, the ones with guns forced their way inside, shot our folks, and then took what they wanted. Those without guns used anything they could find, from knives to hammers, as a weapon to attack our residents. In some cases, our armed neighbors fought them back and even killed a few. Either way, it has turned our neighborhoods into a war zone.”
Duncan rubbed his temples as he considered his options. This would be extremely dangerous for his men. Door-to-door searches in closely packed residential areas could result in taking on fire from scared, nervous homeowners. It would be the same type of nerve-racking operation he’d led in the Middle East on multiple occasions.
He exhaled and then began his assessment. “How many men do you have available to assist?”
“Eight, including myself,” replied Deputy Jerry. “Right now, all of them are protecting the Seminole Hospital and the area surrounding the Wyndham Hotel. I mean, I have to tell ya, most of these people look like they’re on their last leg, you know what I mean? They’re not armed. They’re barely alive. They just need medical attention and a place to stay. And food, of course.”
Just as Duncan was about to ask his next question, Deputy Jerry’s radio squawked to life.
“We’ve got a ten thirty-one, shots fired, Oswalt Pharmacy, seven-oh-one Hobbs Highway. Multiple gunmen. Possible hostage situation.”
“Deputy Jerry, advise your dispatch that we’ll handle this one,” ordered Duncan, who quickly turned his attention to Espy and his lieutenants. “Do this quickly, Corporal. Gather the men and divide them into two groups. Those who’ve had combat experience in Afghanistan or Iraq will come with us. Those guardsmen who’ve remained stateside, send them to relieve the law enforcement personnel at the town’s hospital and the nearby hotel.”
Espy left and began his task, so Duncan immediately turned to Deputy Jerry to give him instructions. “We’re gonna deal with the active-shooter situation first. In the meantime, I’m sending our armored vehicles and a strong military presence to relieve your fellow LEOs guarding the hospital and hotel. I’ll need them to rally with us at, um—how far do you believe the refugees have pushed into town?”
“The pharmacy is the farthest I’ve heard reports on,” replied the deputy. “If you’re looking for a place to circle up, we could use the Texas Department of Public Safety at the corner of Main and Main, as we like to say it. It’s a couple of miles straight down 62 at the center of town and only a few blocks from the pharmacy.”
“Perfect!” exclaimed Duncan. “Call your dispatch and tell them the plan. We’ll get organized and split up into two groups. My group will follow you to Main and Main to deal with the active shooter, and afterwards, we’ll clear the neighborhood.”
As Espy made the personnel assignments, Duncan recalled the Dora residential district of Baghdad. Amid the smashed-up and bullet-riddled storefronts, Iraqis had attempted to make a life for themselves under the constant threat of gunfire and improvised explosive devices.
In the center of this chaotic neighborhood was a U.S. combat outpost with the designation of Gator. Located in a gutted medical clinic with the word swamp scrawled across the window of the outpost’s command center, the swamp became an appropriate metaphor for the lawlessness and the constant pandemonium that pervaded their surroundings in Dora.
The mayhem was caused by insurgent, hard-line Sunni militants who occupied some of the residences. Labeled a no-go neighborhood by Duncan’s commanders, the streets remained dangerous for the residents, the merchants, and the American military personnel.
After a Sunni suicide bomber drove an explosives-packed car into a nearby Iraqi police station, a plan was developed to clear the residential community of the dangerous militants. Many of the Sunnis were armed with AK-47s, and trained snipers waited for an opportunity to shoot to kill a U.S. service member.
Duncan’s unit was ordered to clear the neighborhood of the militants. It was a tense, perilous task to go door-to-door and confront local residents. Each unit consisted of the soldiers, who were constantly scanning their surroundings, a local leader who was familiar with his neighbors, and an interpreter, who assisted in gathering information from the residents about possible militants hiding nearby.
The process was methodical and plodding, but eventually the soldiers assigned to Combat Outpost Gator cleared the area of insurgents, and Dora became a source of pride for what remained of the U.S. forces’ time around Baghdad.
As he prepared to lead his men into the unknown, Duncan mumbled to himself, “Gators, swamp, Dora, and now Seminole. Am I in Florida?”
Chapter 13
January 16
Seminole, Texas
A crowd of uniformed police officers mingled with Duncan’s men from the TX-QRF in the parking lot of the Texas Department of Public Safety. It wasn’t battalion strength, but it certainly provided Duncan enough warm bodies to get the job done. The sheriff was the last to arrive on the scene and immediately drew the attention of his deputies. Without introducing himself to Duncan, he addressed the group.
“Listen up, people. We don’t have any time to chitchat here. We’ve got at
least two gunmen holed up at the pharmacy with Mrs. Oswalt and Mrs. Wright from next door. I don’t know what their demands are, how many people are inside, or if anyone has been injured. We’re going to turn this operation over to those fellas from Lubbock and let them take the lead.”
The sheriff nodded to Duncan, who stepped forward to lay out his plan. “As you know, my men have taken control of perimeter security around the Seminole Hospital District. I need six deputies to step forward to work with my teams in clearing the neighborhood from Main Street westward toward Forest Park. Please, I need those of you who patrol that area regularly and are most familiar with the residents who live there.”
For a moment, the deputies looked at one another, unsure what to do.
The sheriff urged them on. “Come on, people. We don’t have all day here.” This prompted some movement, and four men and two women stepped forward to assist Duncan’s teams.
“Thank you,” said Duncan. He motioned for Espy to join his side. “All right. This is Corporal Espy. He is going to pair you up with four of our guys. You’re gonna start at Main Street, and each team will be assigned a street to clear.”
Espy raised his arm and spoke up. “I’ve got team leaders for each of the streets from Avenue B through Avenue G. These men have extensive experience in Iraq and Afghanistan in patrolling neighborhoods far more dangerous than this one. That said, everyone needs to keep their head up and eyes open. Deputies, we need your assistance in differentiating between locals and refugees. Study their eyes, body language, etcetera. Although the homeowner may open the front door, that doesn’t mean there isn’t a gun pointed at their head from behind that same door.”
“Okay, thank you, Corporal,” interrupted Duncan. “Everyone team up and move out. Time’s a-wastin’.”
The deputies, with Espy’s assistance, found a four-man unit from the TX-QRF to work with and immediately set foot down Main Street to begin the task of apprehending the refugees. The deputies retrieved zip-tie restraints from their patrol cars as well as their riot gear for protection.
Duncan walked up to the sheriff, who was standing with Deputy Jerry. He noticed a resemblance.
“Thank you, Sheriff, um,” Duncan began as he squinted in the bright sun to view his name badge, “Diaz. I’m Commander Duncan Armstrong stationed at the newly created Camp Lubbock.”
Sheriff Diaz noticed Duncan comparing the two name badges and introduced himself. “A pleasure, Commander, and yes, we are related. This is my son, Jerry.”
“Deputy Jerry,” the younger man added. “Since I was a kid playing cops and robbers, and Dad was sheriff, I got the nickname Deputy Jerry.”
“Not a terrible nickname, considering,” said the sheriff.
“Why’s that?”
Deputy Jerry continued. “Well, most kids wanted to play cowboys and Indians, but I was always the Indian. Indian. Diaz. Get it? It got old, you know?”
“I can imagine,” replied Duncan. He was anxious to get started. “The four of us can ride together in my Humvee. I have six men left to assist. How can we get close to the building without being seen?”
“The best way is from behind, along Avenue A,” replied the sheriff, pointing catty-corner across the street. “The buildings along that stretch are basically prefabricated metal with a brick façade. The problem, as you’ll see, is there is only a single plate-glass window in front and the glass entry door. Getting eyes inside the pharmacy is near impossible.”
“What about a rear entry?” asked Duncan.
“Just a single steel security door.”
Duncan grimaced as he motioned for the sheriff and his son to get into the truck. Espy had completed his duty assignments and instructed the remaining men to follow in an open-bed four-door Humvee with a fifty-caliber machine gun mounted on top. It was a vehicle designed to show any hostiles the TX-QRF unit meant business.
They made their way down the deserted street toward the back of the pharmacy. As they did, Duncan learned more about the situation.
“Your dispatcher mentioned over the radio that shots had been fired.”
“Yes,” the sheriff began. “Dr. David Wright has been an optometrist here for decades. His wife works as his nurse and office manager. According to Dave, she’d gone to Oswalt’s for some gum and a Dr. Pepper when he heard a scream. He ran to his front door and saw two men shooting at the pharmacy entrance door. The glass shattered, and the men stepped inside. He reached our dispatch on his portable ham radio.”
“Do you have eyes on the front of the building?”
“Yes. I’ve got a patrol car parked across the street with two deputies waiting for my instructions. I told them not to engage or do anything to spook the shooters. Commander, I don’t know how many hostages might be inside the building although I doubt it’s very many. Over time, Oswalt’s began to run out of medications and their shelves became bare. Folks around here don’t have much to trade, and their money is considered worthless. I really don’t know why either of them open up shop every day. I’m guessin’ it’s ’cause they’ve got nothing else to do.”
Duncan arrived at the back of the building and parked the truck. “Corporal, quickly. Grab some duct tape and cover that peephole in the pharmacy’s back door.”
Espy reached behind the seat and retrieved a grimy roll of the multipurpose wonder of the world. He muttered as he exited the vehicle, “There’s nothing that love and duct tape can’t fix.”
“I wish that were true, Corporal,” added Duncan, who then turned his attention back to the sheriff. “We’re not gonna be able to force this issue. Let me walk around the front of the building and take a look. I think the only solution to this standoff is talking about the options with the gunmen.”
“I’ll have to trust you on this, Commander,” began the sheriff. “We’ve never had a hostage situation like this other than the time Jason Roberts held his girlfriend and kids hostage with a knife. He finally stood down when she agreed to marry him.”
“She married a guy who held her and her kids at knifepoint?”
“Nah, she lied, and he fell for it.”
Espy returned from the back door and stood outside awaiting orders.
Duncan asked a few more questions. “What’s the layout like inside?”
“Pretty straightforward,” replied the sheriff. “Along the front wall is a long countertop immediately to the left of the entry. There’s a cash register, and behind the counter are things like cigarettes, batteries, you know, pickup items. Then the pharmacy itself is in the back, elevated above the floor level. It’s locked up during the day, but a guy could easily climb over the counter. Other than that, there are probably six or eight rows of shelves that run from front to back full of, you know, stuff.”
“Tell me about the two women held inside,” said Duncan.
“That’s the thing, Commander. These old ladies are fixtures in the community. They’re both in their early seventies and dainty as can be. They’re probably frightened out of their minds.”
“Okay, thank you, Sheriff. Here’s what I need you to do. I’m going to position Corporal Espy on the left front corner of the building, and I’m gonna take the right corner. Is that closest to the entrance?”
“Yes.”
“Deputy Jerry, I need you to watch the back door. If only one comes out with a hostage, shoot him if you have a clear shot. Don’t hesitate unless you’re unsure of your line of fire, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Sheriff, make radio contact with your patrol car across the way,” Duncan continued. “Tell them about our approach to the corners of the building. When they see that we’re in position, tell them to leave.”
“What? But—” stammered the sheriff.
“That’s right, Sheriff. I want these gunmen to get the impression they’re dealing only with one guy, me.”
“Okay, will do.”
The sheriff raised his deputies on the radio, and his son hustled into position. Duncan approached Espy and told
him the plan.
“Okay, Espy, sidearms on this one. We’ll be in close quarters inside, and we don’t have the space to maneuver with our rifles.”
Duncan reached into the pouches attached to his military-issue body armor and pulled out a pair of Dupont Kevlar-lined gloves. The black, tight form-fitting leather gloves were designed for frisking suspects while providing one hundred percent cut-resistant Kevlar protection from razor blades and knives.
“What’s the plan for those?” asked Espy as they set their rifles inside the Humvee and locked the doors to the truck. Duncan didn’t want the hostiles to escape past the young deputy and run off with their truck.
“These,” replied Duncan as he deftly removed two knives from stitched-in pockets in his pants with a motion barely discernible to even a trained soldier like Espy. He rolled one of the blades through his fingers and offered it handle first to Espy.
“Nice.”
“Yeah, they’ve served me well over the years,” said Duncan. “They’re made by United Cutlery. Seven inches of black-coated, high-grade stainless steel. The ring on the end of each knife makes it easy to pull in a fight and also cuts down on wind resistance when I let ’em fly. The black coating matches the Kevlar gloves, so I can mask them in my hands.”
“Can you throw them both at once?” asked Espy.
“I have many times,” replied Duncan mysteriously.
He began to lay out the plan for Espy, who approved. The guys moved in unison to both corners of the front of the pharmacy building. Once they made eye contact with one another, Duncan nodded to the deputy across the street, who started up his patrol car and slowly pulled away.
Duncan pressed his back against the red brick wall and inched toward the broken plate-glass door. He positioned his knives for a quick release and then focused on the muffled voices he could hear inside the pharmacy.
“The cops left, man. Maybe they didn’t know we were in here or figgered we snuck out the back?”