Janie Crouch - Armed Response

“I want to take this bastard out,” the trainee guy said again. What was his name? Paul?

“Hold, Bulldog Two.” This time it was team leader Derek Waterman on the comm unit. He was also out in the darkness surrounding the house.

Lillian’s lips pursed. “Derek, request channel change.”

“Roger that. Go to channel three, Bulldog One.”

Lillian clicked the dial that turned the comm device to a channel so she and the team leader could talk without anyone else listening.

“Go, Lillian,” Derek said.

“We going to have a problem with Newbie?”

“His name is Saul. Saul Poniard.”

Generally Saul was a good guy. Friendly, surfer-boy looks with a ready smile. He was also pretty excitable, which might have been the reason he was turned down for final SWAT training multiple times. The only reason he was here now was the injuries on the team.

Lillian sighed. “I just don’t want him shooting those kids’ dad in front of them.”

“Roger that,” Derek said. “No deadly force unless we have no other options. TC knows that. Carnell won’t make that call unless there are no other options and things are escalating.”

“I know that. You know that. Just want to make sure New Kid knows that.”

Derek grimaced. “Don’t worry. I’ve got him under thumb. I’ll pull him out if I need to. Switch channels.”

Lillian did so. She’d said her piece, and really didn’t have a problem with Saul Poniard except for his excitability, and lack of experience. Derek would handle it. Which was good because she didn’t want to have to go take out baby-SWAT wannabe before taking down that scumbag dad on the inside.

Who she could now hear screaming at his wife.

“Tactical Command, this is Bulldog One. I am at the back door. I have visual on the mom and kids but not the tango.”

She could see them in the kitchen, the woman and children sitting at a small round wooden table. The mom had both hands reached out toward her children, a boy around nine and a girl around seven, and they sat on either side of her, but not near enough to be touching her.

The tango paced into view, gun in hand, but at least pointing down, and he smacked the mom in the head with his bare hand as he stormed past and out of sight from where Lillian crouched at the window. Guy was still shouting.

“I still have a shot. Repeat, Bulldog Two has a shot,” Saul said. He was in a tree on the east side of the house, so Lillian had no doubt the angle gave him a tactical advantage. And yes, if Psycho Dad’s actions escalated, then Saul would need to take him out.

But otherwise Lillian would do everything she could to make sure these kids didn’t see a parent—no matter how terrible he was—die right in front of them.

Not here. Not today.

“Negative, Bulldog Two,” Philip said. “Bulldog One, can you infiltrate without exposure?”

“Affirmative,” Lillian responded. “Especially with all the noise this guy is making.”

“Everyone is in position. Go at your discretion,” Philip told her. The rest of the team—as well as the new kid—was ready to back her up and take out the tango if needed.

Lillian waited until the guy went on another tirade, screaming right in the mother’s ear, both kids sobbing, as an opportunity to slip inside a small crack when she opened the door. The Omega SWAT team regularly used Lillian’s small stature to their advantage. This was no different.

She kept to the shadows as she made her way closer to the kitchen.

“Tango is starting to wave the gun again.” Saul’s voice had reached an excited pitch again. “He’s got it to the wife’s head.”

“Roger that, Bulldog Two. Your shot?”

“Still clear, TC. Just give me the word.” Saul was damn near panting with excitement.

Damn it. She’d rather the team take out the father than have the mother die.

“Bulldog One?”

“I have no visual,” she muttered.

“Okay, Bulldog Two, you are cleared to—”

Lillian saw movement again in the kitchen. “Hold,” she said. “Tango is on the move again. Back to pacing.”

“I’ve still got the shot, TC.”

The frustration was evident in Poniard’s tone, and Lillian couldn’t blame him. Preparing to fire, and being cleared to fire, but then having the order rescinded at the last second, was irritating. But exercising control was also an important part of being a SWAT team member.

“Bulldog One, can you beanbag him?” Carnell asked.

“Roger that, TC. Moving into position.” Lillian grinned, replacing her HK MP5 with the shotgun strapped behind her back. The beanbag round was only accurate up to about six meters, but she was within range. Its blow was designed to cause minimal permanent damage while rendering the subject immobile.

The fact that it would hurt Screaming Dad like hell didn’t bother Lillian a bit. She crawled forward. She was going to have to pull some sort of Tom Cruise roll-and-shoot nonsense in order to get into position in the quickest way possible. She usually went for much less drama. But not today.

Guy started screaming again. Lillian had had enough.

You want to dance, buddy? We’ll dance. Together.

“On my mark,” she whispered to the team. “Three, two, one.”

Lillian pushed herself from her crouched position in the shadows, twisting her body into a roll as she cleared the wall and came into the opening of the kitchen, landing in a kneel.

She saw surprise light the tango’s face. He was swinging his gun around toward her when her finger gently squeezed the trigger on the shotgun, her aim perfect.

The beanbag round hit him square in the chest, propelling him back through the air and away from the table and hostages. The gun fell out of his hand.

Less than two seconds later Lillian was on the tango and the rest of the team was filing through the door, grabbing the children and wife and leading them to safety.

Screaming Dad groaned as Lillian grabbed his hands to cuff them. “Tango is secure.”

“You’re a woman!” The man’s outrage couldn’t be more clear.

Lillian arched a single eyebrow. “Yeah? Well, you’re an idiot. Turn over.”

“I think you done broke my ribs.”

Lillian didn’t give a rat’s ass whether this jerk had a couple of cracked ribs. He was lucky Philip hadn’t turned the trigger-happy new kid loose on him. “Shut up. I’ll break more than your ribs.”

Within a few more minutes the perp was loaded into the back of a squad car and the wife and kids were handed over to the paramedics.

“Nice work, everyone,” Derek said over their comm unit. “Let’s get packed up and back to HQ to debrief.”

Lillian bumped fists with everyone as they made it back to the car. Even Saul, who was smiling like an idiot. Everybody was walking away today. No one seriously injured, even the tango.

That made today a good day.

“Beers on me,” Derek said.

That made it an even better day.

* * *

LATER THAT NIGHT after the debriefing and the beers, Damien Freihof sat in an abandoned warehouse across town, staring at “Mr. Fawkes.” Damien had made it his mission over the last six months to destroy Omega Sector, piece by piece, in payment for taking the life of his beloved wife.

Fawkes, as he so cleverly liked to be called, had proven very useful over the last few months in that endeavor. Fawkes’s inside information on Omega had been quite helpful indeed.

Fawkes still wouldn’t give Damien his real name. Damien wondered how upsetting it would be to the younger man to know that Damien had figured it out weeks ago. The man might be brilliant, but Damien didn’t work with people he didn’t know.

Damien’s and Fawkes’s ideologies were different. Fawkes looked to destroy and rebuild all of law enforcement. Damien just wanted Omega to suffer the way he did when he’d lost his Natalie. Wanted them to know what it meant to experience unbearable loss.