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Immediately after the explosion, three muffled pop pop pop noises came from the rear of the station. The Richmond Hill Police Department was under attack.
“Fuck!” Sergeant Chandler pulled out a box of 9mm ammunition from the lower drawer and tossed it to Dickinson as he drew his service pistol. “You both stay here. Hide if you can.”
Angie wasn’t wasting time and began to load the magazines as Chandler looked up and down the hallway. As the sound of a rifle firing echoed through the building, he darted away.
The office window was too small for either of them. “You good?”
Angie fumbled, and a handful of loose ammo spilled on the floor. “Working on it.”
Small arms fire, mixed with a weapon on full auto, made Noah’s heart leap. He quickly stood, quietly closed the office door, and turned off the lights. Screams and shouts were cut short as another burst of rapid-fire drew closer.
Noah didn’t recall doing it, but the coffee mug was on the desk, and the pistol was in his right hand. “Same as the scenario we did for the work-up training with the marshals, but in reverse. Make our way back to reception and out the front door.”
“Roger.” Dickinson stood at his shoulder and tucked the Glock’s spare magazine into the pocket of his jeans. “Ready.”
Noah cursed his left wrist as his partner opened the door. He glanced around the corner. “Clear. Covering.”
“Moving.”
Angie darted down the hallway and took a position behind the kitchen counter. “Covering.”
“Moving.” The next position wasn’t ideal, and he had to cross her line of fire, but it worked. The next office door was locked, and Noah knelt in the hallway. “Covering.”
Dickinson leap-frogged past Noah as a figure looked around the corner at the end of the hallway. The man wore a tactical black Kevlar helmet and gas mask. The M4A1 carbine rifle swung up, and Noah fired.
The first round hit the wall above his head, and the second went through the door to his right. “Target!”
The man ducked back. Angie kicked open the next office door and used it for partial coverage. “Covering.”
As Noah turned to run back, a small round object with yellow lettering was thrown around the corner and landed ten feet away. “Grenade!”
Instead of darting down the hallway, Angie grabbed his shoulder and swung him into the office where they both tumbled to the floor. Two seconds later, the explosion left him momentarily deaf as doors, walls, and ceiling pieces were shredded. Smoke shot out, filled the hall, and rose to the top of the office. Despite landing on his right side, the pain made Noah’s eyes water, and he ground his teeth as he struggled to his knees.
There wasn’t a moment of respite. Full auto fire followed the grenade and flashed past the open doorway. One round hit the frame, and the wood splintered with a sharp crack.
Forward wasn’t an option. The small office had a large filing cabinet inside the door next to a full coatrack, a large desk, and a bookcase to the side. Most importantly was the large window.
“Cover the doorway.”
Noah didn’t wait for a response as Angie swore.
He fired four rounds at the window in each corner. “Dickinson, need your help.”
Noah stepped forward and ripped the blinds down. A series of cracks turned the window opaque. Angie picked up the desk chair and threw it. The firing in the hallway stopped as the window exploded out, and the chair fell four feet onto the grass.
He stood with his back to the window and brought the Glock up toward the doorway. “Go. Covering. Get to the car and don’t stop.”
Angie gave him a funny look but easily leaped out the window and darted away. But Noah didn’t follow.
*****
OLIVER PLACED THE SHAPED charges at the rear door of the station and stepped to the side. He had a limp after the bullet was removed from his thigh. Plans to make the bitch pay were foremost in his thoughts. After a quick final check of his gear, the red button was pressed.
“Breaching.”
Despite being alone, he still called it out. Years of habit. He had left the comms unit with Eric. This was a solo mission and one he had done many times. The others would get in his way.
After the hinges and handle were blown off, Oliver kicked the door down and threw the flashbangs. One second after they exploded, he stepped inside. The rifle smoothly came up to his shoulder. He stood in a processing area, and officers rushed forward, pistols drawn.
Oliver killed the first with a double-tap to the head, and before the body hit the floor, another died across her desk. A bullet glanced off his body armor, and as he turned, his left thumb flicked a switch to full auto. A tall, dark man in a suit died as he walked farther into the building.
A woman in a red dress screamed and died, clutching a file folder, three wounds to her back. The smoke rose to the ceiling as Oliver killed ten people in total. The officers tried to rush his position, but he mowed them down. Civilian workers tried to bolt to safety, but he didn’t discriminate. They all died as he chuckled.
Speed and violence have their own rewards.
When a man charged from a side hall, another round glanced off his chest piece, and he staggered back a step. The carbine spat five rounds in a fraction of a second, and the officer with the tie flew twelve feet back. The smell of gunpowder filled the air along with blood and excrement as they died.
The rifle’s bolt stopped in the rear position. Oliver’s left thumb pressed the release. The empty magazine clattered at his feet as a fresh one was inserted. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. He had picked up on the American saying, and it couldn’t have been truer. Those actions were performed countless times under pressure and the mantra echoed in his thoughts.
After a quick peek around the corner, a wide grin spread under his gas mask. “Target acquired.”
The time for playing was over. Oliver opened the pouch and pulled out an L109A1 HE (high explosive) fragmentation grenade. His left index finger slipped through the ring, and he gave a sharp pullback. Always confirm the pin is separated and in which hand. As his right arm whipped the one-pound grenade around the corner, he ducked low.
Three, two, one.
The concussive wave was felt in his chest and ears as the steel shell sent fragments out at a high velocity. But there was no time to think. Oliver stepped around the corner and fired a full thirty-round magazine into the smoke. After a quick reload, he was disappointed that Hunter wasn’t lying in bloody chunks in the hall.
Fear made him curse when the sound of glass shattering echoed from one of the small rooms. There was no danger to himself, but he knew Noah was getting away.
After darting down the hall, the carbine rifle swept the office, but he only had eyes for the smashed-out window.
Oliver glanced outside and saw the office chair on the grass. When he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned. An arm extended from the mass of jackets on the coat rack.
Bravo, Hunter.
The former SAS officer barely had time for a sense of appreciation when seven 9mm rounds ended his life.