by J. N. Chaney
He growled at me as I stood back up. He could never get enough love, that one. I stepped in front of the door and it swooshed open, revealing the start of a mild spring day. The pavement was still wet from an overnight rain.
“Wait,” Heather said from behind me. I turned to see her running toward me. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed my mouth. “I love you,” she said softly.
“I love you too,” I said.
“You come back to me, okay?”
“I will. I’ve still got plenty of fight in me.”
“I know you do. Now go take down those bad guys.”
“Copy that, Mrs. Reed.”
The raid was so extensive that it demanded resources from three other precincts. The commissioner himself had worked with the chief to ensure everything flowed smoothly. In the end, however, the big boss insisted that I take point.
“This has been your case all along,” Commissioner Graves said in one of our initial meetings. “There’s no way I’m pulling the rug out from under you now.”
“But, sir,” Chief Lessard said, “don’t you think that the operation should be overseen by—”
“Reed’s more knowledgeable about this case than anyone else I know, don’t you agree?”
Lessard laid his data pad down on the conference room table. “I don’t disagree, sir. But what if one of his officers makes a mistake and he lacks the ability to compensate? Tactically speaking, wouldn’t someone with more experience be a better choice to oversee the raid?”
“Well, why don’t we ask the man in charge.” The commissioner looked to me. The slight against Lessard was unmistakable, and I could see by the look in Graves’s eyes that he was enjoying this. Lessard, on the other hand, looked like he had a bad case of hemorrhoids.
I cleared my throat, then said, “I think the most important thing here is that the squads going in have clear objectives and know how to adjust in the face of the unexpected. I feel confident that the officers under my command know how to do just that. They’ve trained for this scenario, and I’m not going to second guess them now, nor would I want someone new being introduced that might disrupt their chemistry.”
“But I wouldn’t be new,” Lessard said, looking back to the commissioner for support. “They know me, and I should be the one heading up this opp.”
“I’m sorry, Lessard, but Chief Detective Reed has made the call.”
“Chief Detective?” Lessard asked, his voice rising almost an octave. To be fair, I was just as surprised as he was.
“That’s right,” Graves said, opening a folder on his desk. “Effective immediately, you’ve been promoted, Reed.” He turned the paper around and slid it toward me. “The mayor signed it this morning… as a special favor, of course.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
The commissioner stood and extended his hand. “Congratulations, Reed. You’ve earned it.”
I shook Graves’s hand, a surge of pride flowing up my arm and into my chest. “Thank you again, sir. I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’re going to catch these sons of bitches and end the worst glimmer ring in Sellion City’s history.”
“Can do, Commissioner,” I said, shaking his hand with renewed strength. “You’ll have them in holding by sunrise.”
“All units, report in,” I said over comms. I stood in the command truck, parked two blocks from the target warehouse in Sellion City’s south side on Sunset Street. Two rows of screens filled the truck’s side wall while two technical officers switched between helmet cameras, drones, and sensor imaging data. Another tech ensured our comms system stayed clean, while a fourth officer had control over the target building’s internal network… all without the perps having any clue what was about to happen. The fifth tech monitored every individual’s vitals and could call in an emergency drone evac whenever it was needed.
The only thorn in my side was having Chief Lessard standing over my shoulder. I’d wanted to ask the commissioner if he could do something about that, but I knew he couldn’t. Plus, it would only make Lessard more hostile toward me—a sentiment he had been nursing since our days in the academy together.
I never understood why Lessard loathed me so much. Granted, I’d beaten the crap out of him on more than one occasion when we were younger. But that was a long time ago, and the tussles we’d been in seemed disproportionate to the hatred he cultivated for me just below his pasty white surface. Plus, of anyone in the SCPD, he had the least to worry about. His was the easy life, while the rest of us had to slug it out in the trenches. Though I sometimes wondered if that was what made him such an irritating despot. It couldn’t be easy having a former mayor as your father. That kind of shadow was hard to step out of, especially when you kept moving up in the world because someone else was pulling the strings. My old man always said you never appreciated what you didn’t earn yourself. For all the things Harold was wrong about, I think he got that one right.
“Team one,” whispered an officer over comms. I knew his voice better than any other on the force. It was Devin Brown’s, my best friend and partner. “North stairwell, standing by.”
“Team two, west garage door, standing by,” said another officer.
“Team three, south doors, standing by.”
“Team four, east bay door, standing by.”
“Team five, sniper positions on roofs two and four, standing by.”
“Team six, backup position, standing by.”
That was everyone.
“Okay, teams,” I said. “This is it. I want you remembering what these sons of bitches have done to our city. I want you thinking about the kids who’ve OD’d on glimmer. You’ve seen their faces in the morgues, you’ve had to deliver the news to their parents and guardians. Tonight, you have a chance to do something about it, to drive these assholes off our platform once and for all.”
Silence filled the radio as I let my words sink in. These officers already knew everything I’d said. Still, a reminder never hurt. We couldn’t afford to screw this one up. Too many lives were at stake.
“Remember,” I added, “slow is smooth and smooth is fast. I want this by the book. Clean take downs, make the arrests, and give those prosecutors plenty of court-worthy evidence. I don’t want a single one of these bastards getting off the hook because one of us got sloppy. And if they don’t want to play nice, fight back like your lives depend on it. No one is walking over us tonight.” I took a deep breath, then said, “Move out.”
My eyes started jumping between camera feeds as the four ground teams began infiltration while the snipers provided overwatch. Small blue dots moved over a topographical map as each squad followed their predetermined lines. We had been running simulations for weeks based on three-dimensional deep scans taken of the buildings. Additional yellow dots represented the perps, spread out on multiple levels throughout the massive warehouse. The yellow dots weren’t exact, but they were damn close. The information was derived from thermal imaging data relayed from three drones hovering four-hundred meters off the deck. While no raid was ever a sure bet, the tech we had went a long way to ensuring its success.
Suddenly, Davin’s voice broke over comms. “SCPD! Put your hands where I can see them and step away from—”
He was interrupted by gunfire.
My stomach tightened as I saw muzzle flashes light up the far side of the second floor.
“Take cover!” Devin yelled, stepping behind a metal crate. Bullets could be heard spiraling away in the distance as they glanced off hard surfaces.
“Bring up his squad’s other helmet cameras,” I said to the lead tech, Officer Washburn.
“Yes, sir,” she said, filling the upper screens with Devin’s unit’s cams.
“This is the SCPD!” Devin yelled again, doing everything by the book. “Cease fire and put down your weapons or else we will be—”
More bullets sprayed the crates his team hid behind.
“Screw this,” Devin yelled. “Return fir
e!”
The officers in his unit looked over and around their crates, aimed at the perps on the far side of the room, and opened fire with their assault rifles. Their fire discipline was impressive, considering the pressure I knew they were under. Individual shots rang out, fired with steady intentional precision.
“One down,” said a deep bass voice over the channel.
“Add one for me,” said a woman with a westside accent.
“Contact!” yelled another voice from a different squad.
“Who is it?” I asked Washburn.
“Team four,” she replied. “It’s Rodgers.”
“Bring it up,” I ordered.
A news feed popped up, this one showing a massive space filled with several hover cars and a small shuttle. Muzzle flashes flared over the hoods of the vehicles as the perps fired on Rodgers and her team entering the large bay door.
“Take cover, dammit,” I said to myself.
As if hearing my un-broadcast order and relaying it to the members of her squad, Rodgers said, “Everyone take cover!”
Bullets pelted the officers as their cameras showed them running for cover.
“Sir,” said Washburn, “three officers are showing increased heart rate and rapid drops in blood pressure.”
A beat later, I heard Rodgers yell, “Officers down! Officers down!”
“Godsdammit,” I said. “Get them out of there.”
“Right away, sir.” Washburn looked to the medical tech, who swiveled to an adjacent control surface and brought up a flight control overlay.
“Shot already?” Lessard whispered from over my shoulder. “My, my, my… certainly seems sloppy if you ask me.”
I ignored the comment, disbelieving that anyone could be so flippant at a time like this.
“Status,” I demanded, moving to look over the medical tech’s shoulder.
“Observation drone inbound,” said Simmons, the drone specialist. “Followed by three recovery drones.”
I watched as the man flew the lead drone through the garage door and got a visual on the downed officers. Then he used his finger to circle the wounded, immediately summoning the recovery drones to do their work. I watched the salve drones swoop in and deploy single claws at the ends of reinforced cables. The metallic hands grasped the officers around the collar or vest or anything else they could latch on to, and then began flying away.
Two of the officers were dragged across the floor and out the bay doors, but the third slumped back to the ground as his drone was struck by enemy fire.
“Drone down,” I said, pointing to the camera feed. But Simmons didn’t need my help.
“Replacement already inbound,” he informed me.
I watched as a fifth drone came in and deployed its claw. It grabbed the wounded officer, but unlike the last drone, it stayed low, tilting away from the action and pulling the officer out of the bay.
“Good job,” I said, patting Simmons on the shoulder.
“We’ve got sentries emerging on the roof,” said one of the snipers over comms.
“I see them,” I said, noting the three new perps through his sniper rifle’s sight camera. “Do you have a shot?”
“Affirmative.”
“You’re cleared to engage.”
The words had barely left my mouth when his camera frame jumped. I watched as a body hit the roof, and the corresponding yellow dot began to fade.
The two remaining rooftop perps fired in the general direction of the sniper, but their aim was wide. They were just guessing. The sniper fired again, joined by two others, and within seconds, the remaining offenders were down.
“Roof clear,” the officer said.
“Copy that,” I replied.
My eyes picked up lots of movement in the basement level coming from team three. They’d entered a chemistry lab—right where we’d suspected one would be. Fortunately, it was the first moment in the raid where gunfire wasn’t exchanged. The lead officer ordered everyone to raise their hands and the perps complied. The room held about two dozen women in their underwear, each packing plastic bags with glimmer.
“Gonna need more flexicuffs,” said Plumeau, the team lead.
“Team six,” I said. “Assist team four. South side. Multiple arrests, more flexicuffs needed.”
“Copy that, sir,” replied a gruff voice. “On our way.”
Team two had also found a fairly compliant room full of accountants, each man and woman stripped down to their underwear. They raised their hands and lay down on the ground as they were told.
With all teams engaged, I looked back to Devin’s squad and watched as they continued to face heavy weapons fire from their perps. We had suspected that the second floor was home to the kingpin himself, but intel was hard to come by. Based on the level of resistance, however, our hunch seemed to be right. Devin and his squad held their position, but they were taking even more enemy fire from additional thugs coming up from the lower floors.
“Devin,” I said, hailing my best friend by his first name on purpose. “You’ve got more heat coming.”
“Copy that!” he yelled.
I tapped the tech officer in charge on the shoulder. “Anyone we can send up to Officer Brown’s position on floor two?”
“Negative, sir,” Washburn replied. “Teams two, three, and six have more arrests than they can handle, and team four is taking heavy fire. There are simply more personnel in this building than sensors could identify.”
“Seems someone may have bitten off more than they can chew,” Lessard mumbled behind me.
I spun on my heels and got in the chief’s face. “Unless you’re willing to go out there and risk your skin to help your officers, I suggest you shut up, Lessard.”
“Is that a threat, Reed?”
“No, sir. It’s a test, to see if you’re worthy of those stripes on your shoulder,” I said, flicking the epaulettes. The chief recoiled, clearly unable to say anything back at the moment. He seemed paralyzed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
I reached for my tactical helmet and swapped it out for the knit cap on my head. Then I reached into the truck’s armory locker and pulled out my assigned assault rifle.
“Officer Washburn, you have command of the truck,” I said.
“Understood, sir,” she replied.
“And just where do you think you’re going, detective?” Lessard asked.
“To show I’m worthy of the stripes on my shoulder.”
As I approached the warehouse, I could hear gun fire resonating within the sheet metal. It was so loud, I wondered how any of the officers under my command had heard me speaking over their comms.
It wasn’t all gunfire, however. Two of the teams were busy leading their collars out of the building, running them to safety in the makeshift holding cells we’d erected around the corner. I saw several officers in riot gear who didn’t seem to have an immediate task. They stood up a little straighter as I walked toward them, probably not expecting their Chief Detective to appear from around down the street.
“You four have jobs?”
“Just crowd control, sir,” replied the closest one. His name tag read Wilber.
“Come with me, then.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, gesturing for the others to follow.
“Cover our advance, would you six?” I asked over comms.
“Will do, sir,” the lead sniper responded. “We see you coming.”
Having overwatch always made me feel like the gods were watching out for me. Only better. The four other officers and I ran along the west side of the warehouse, then broke right and headed around back. We hit the stairs in a run and bounded up them three steps at a time. The sound of heavy gunfire grew louder the higher we climbed. By the time we reached the top, the smell of spent gunpowder permeated the air while flashes from automatic weapons fire lit up the floor like a fireworks display.
“Heads down, eyes forward, pick your targets!” I yelled to my four officers. “Let’s go!”
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We ducked inside and immediately found ourselves involved with more than a dozen assailants on the far end of a massive space set up like a lounge. It boasted couches, tables, and chairs, even a long bar. Several offices sat along the far wall, including a third-level balcony that looked down on the scene.
These perps had been ready for a fight. Even though it was two in the morning, they’d still been packing serious firepower. Being the city’s largest manufacturer of glimmer probably made you do that sort of thing for nights just like this.
The thugs were spread out all across the room too, making any forward advancement by Devin and his squad impossible. They’d taken cover behind tables, couches, the bar, in the offices, and even in the balcony.
Compounding the dizzying fire fight was the fact that someone had turned on the lounge’s entertainment system. Lights strobed, holo-feeds rotated, and music blared so loudly that it competed for that of the gunfire for top prize. It was truly deafening.
“I’m on your six!” I yelled to Devin. If he had heard me, he didn’t show it. So I yelled again just to make sure I was there to back him up. “ON YOUR SIX!”
Devin looked back. His eyes went wide in surprise when he saw me. Whatever sense of relief he was feeling, I also knew he would be concerned. You knew things were bad when the boss left the command truck to come help you.
“Welcome to the shit show!” Devin yelled back.
Automatic weapons fire pelted the crates we hid behind, tearing into the floor, and ricocheting off the railings. Me and my four new officers joined Devin and his remaining squad as they picked off the drug thugs one by one. While the enemy had overwhelming firepower, they lacked discipline. For every ten rounds they expended, we fired one, but where theirs were aimed wildly, ours had pinpoint accuracy.
The asshole bobbing up and down from behind the bar was far too predictable. I shot him through the chest and neck on his fourth appearance, sending him flying back into the glass wall of bottles. Another thug beside him stood up in a furious attempt to hit us. He sprayed a stream of bullets from a submachine gun, swinging the weapon back and forth, but failed to come close to our cover. I placed a single round in the middle of his head. His body flew backward and brought the entire mirror crashing down on his body.