Black Flagged Apex

Chapter 31





1:46 PM

North Tract

East of Laurel, Maryland



Officer Warren Donahue turned the Laurel Police Department's Ford Explorer onto Hill Road and cruised at a comfortable speed down the dusty service road. Thick foliage from the trees crowded the dirt lane, creating a shaded tunnel around his vehicle. Newly grown weeds lapped at the sides of the SUV. In a few more weeks, some of the sturdier species of brush would scrape the paint if they didn't get a crew out here to cut everything back. He checked his watch and thought about the end of his shift. Two hours and counting.

Today's shift had started normally enough, despite the increased manning requirements dictated by the most recent Homeland Security threat assessment. Two hours into his eight-hour shift, Donahue had been recalled to base to pick up a passenger. Sergeant Bryan Osborne had decided that today would be the perfect day to get out on patrol with one of the rookies. Donahue really couldn't complain, Sergeant Osborne had even paid for lunch at Pi's deli.

He spotted the turn for Combat Road and debated whether to take his sergeant further into the vast tract of forest or turn west toward downtown Laurel. He drove this stretch at least once during every shift, mostly checking for abandoned cars. His route varied, sometimes taking him to the western edge along the Wildlife Loop. He thought it was a waste of time, but the entire loop only took one of their patrol cars out of town for thirty minutes, so his patrol sergeant insisted that at least one of the officers make the trip. As the shift's rookie, the errand typically fell in his lap.

He decided to head back to Laurel and started to guide the SUV left at the worn patch of grass and dirt serving as the intersection.

"Hold on, Warren. Back up and take a right. I thought I saw something down Combat Road," the sergeant said.

"Roger that, sir."

A few moments later, the SUV headed east toward the outer loop road.

"Right there. Looks like a pickup truck nestled in the woods," Sergeant Osborne said as they approached a small turnoff to their left.

Donahue stopped the SUV and stared down the tight path, which was overgrown with thicket and looked barely navigable by vehicle. From this spot on Combat Road, he could see the back of a red pickup truck, which had been fitted with a commercial cap and roof rack. He wasn't sure how the sergeant had managed to spot the vehicle from the intersection. He probably had caught a glimpse of the red paint through the forest, which was another argument for assigning two officers to each patrol vehicle. He wondered how many details like this he missed on a daily basis, being more focused on safely navigating his vehicle. Then again, Sergeant Osborne had been doing this for nearly fifteen years and had developed instincts and skills that Donahue could only dream of at this point.

"Nice catch, Sergeant. Do you want me to squeeze her down the road to take a closer look?" Donahue asked.

"No. Why don't you park, and we'll take a look on foot."

With the SUV parked several yards back from the path, the two officers walked down the rough vehicle path until they approached the back of the pickup. A cursory examination revealed that the vehicle was a late model F-150, kept in excellent condition.

"Kind of seems out of place here, doesn't it?" Osborne said.

"I was thinking the same thing, sir. The exterior is pristine, aside from the mud kicked up from this little spot," Donahue replied.

The pickup had been forced to traverse thick mud to arrive in a dry patch on the edge of the small clearing. Donahue measured the area and determined that the pickup would barely have enough room to turn around.

"I don't know how they plan to get out of here," he said.

The sergeant just shook his head and stepped around to the driver's door to take a look.

"Door's locked. Hood's cool. Just rained this morning, so they couldn't have arrived last night," Osborne said, pointing at the tracks in the mud.

"Should we call this in and have another unit join us for a look?" Donahue asked.

"Nah. We'll head out a hundred yards or so and see if we can pick up a trail. If not, we'll make sure the next shift swings by to check it out before dusk. Probably some yahoo out hunting."

"I don't know, Sergeant. Check out those patterns in the mud over there," Donahue said, pointing toward the far end of the small clearing. "Looks like they carried something here and put it down. Wheel tracks lead off onto some kind of path."

Osborne joined him at the edge of the clearing and looked back and forth between the pickup truck and the new set of tracks. "Looks like something heavy. See how it sank into the mud?"

"Maybe we should call this in?" Donahue asked again.

"All right. Call it in to dispatch, and have them send a unit to assist. Tell them to wait at the Explorer until we get back. We'll poke around the woods for a few minutes and head back to meet them."

While Donahue called it in using his shoulder-mounted microphone, Osborne followed the wheel tracks deeper into the forest. Initially, they had to push through light bushes, which showed damage from whatever had preceded them, but within twenty feet, they broke out onto a worn path. The tracks became less apparent on the dry, packed ground, but freshly broken branches on both sides of the trail assured them that the wheeled contraption had been moved forward.

"What do you think we're dealing with here? Meth lab?" Donahue asked.

"F*ck if I know. Whatever it is, I guarantee they're up to no good."

With Sergeant Osborne in the lead, they casually walked about one hundred feet until the sound of machinery caused them both to freeze in their tracks. Osborne cocked his head as if trying to determine the direction of the noise. At the same time, he released the strap on his holster and drew his semiautomatic service pistol. Donahue did the same, pointing the Glock 22 downward at a forty-five degree angle.

"What do you hear?" he asked, moving closer to the sergeant.

"I don't know, but I don't like it. Sounds like some kind of serious work going on out there. Turn your radio down. We're going to split up and figure this out. Let's stay within sight of each other. Are you familiar with basic hand signals? Eyes on, stop, move out, down, retreat?" he said, mimicking each signal to emphasize his point.

"Yeah, I got those, Sarge. We use the same signals hunting," Donahue said.

"Good. Move slowly and quietly. If you step on a branch, get down. We'll see how they react. If we're quiet, I think we'll be able to walk right up on them."

"Maybe we should wait for backup," Donahue suggested.

"Let's see what we're dealing with first. You head out maybe 50 feet on the left side of the path, I'll take the right side, and we'll move forward until we make visual contact. Keep your finger off the trigger. You don't want to trip and fire off a round."

"Yes, sir," Donahue said, taking his finger out of the trigger well.

The two officers split up, fighting through the brush before stopping to establish visual contact with each other. Donahue saw his sergeant wave his free hand forward and start walking north along the direction of the trail. He stepped through the brush, trying not to break any branches or step on anything that looked like it would snap. It turned out to be a nearly impossible task.

Fortunately, the machine working in the distance would likely drown out any noise created as they pushed through the forest. He felt certain of this, since he couldn't hear the sergeant's equally noisy efforts across the one-hundred-foot divide.

He alternated between watching his footfalls, scanning ahead for the trespassers, and keeping an eye out for the sergeant. As they drew closer to the noise, Donahue recognized the sound of a small generator between the more pronounced mechanical bursts of sound that had originally attracted their attention. Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed that Osborne had stopped moving forward. He turned his head toward the sergeant and saw him lower to one knee. Donahue immediately mimicked the sergeant's action. The sergeant turned and signaled him by pointing two fingers at his eyes, followed by a single finger pointed north. He had spotted someone ahead of them. Three fingers held upward indicated three people. Shit. Three was enough to wait for backup. He anticipated the next signal to be a wave in the opposite direction, but Sergeant Osborne had other ideas.

Osborne raised himself up and pointed his pistol, signaling that they should move forward. Donahue's heart started racing as he watched the sergeant move forward and realized he had no choice but to follow. Every step filled him with dread. The possibility of taking on three suspects in the middle of nowhere was a bad idea, even with backup inbound. They were already too far into the forest to immediately benefit from assistance. He couldn't imagine what these people were doing out here with heavy machinery.

With every step, he prayed that Sergeant Osborne would change his mind. They could even crouch down right here and direct the backup units toward them. Sergeant Osborne stopped again and lowered himself. His signals indicated that the group of men was directly ahead of him. Donahue squinted, trying to pierce the thick leaves and ground brush with his eyes, but was still unable to spot anyone. The next hand signal scared the hell out of him. Osborne wanted Donahue to join him. He didn't relish the thought of crossing the path this close to the suspects, but he liked the idea of safety in numbers. He felt extremely exposed by himself in these unfamiliar woods.

With the racket of machinery covering his own noise, he approached the path as quickly as possible, keeping his eyes focused north. When he peeked around the last tree trunk before the path, he caught a glimpse of movement less than fifty feet ahead of him. They were way closer than he had suspected. The figure stayed within view for several seconds before disappearing behind an impenetrable layer of brush and crowded trees. Overhanging branches dipped low on the path, keeping him from seeing a face, but he could tell the man was Caucasian by his hands. After he was certain that the man had completely vanished, Donahue crossed the path, staying low until he reached Osborne.

"Fifty feet ahead, behind all of the shit up there. I saw one of them," Donahue whispered.

"I saw three guys through a break in the trees just for a second. They're working some kind of portable digger," Osborne said.

"Hey…maybe they just bought the property and are digging a well?" Donahue said, still trying to catch his breath.

"Nobody digs a well carrying an AR-15," Osborne said.

"AR-15s? We have to back off and call in SWAT. They might have more people patrolling the forest," Donahue said.

His heart thumped faster, and he knew that he was coming close to having a panic attack. This was too much for two municipal police officers to handle. Three men armed with AR-15s. This could be anything, from some wacko militia group to drug dealers. They were less than three miles from Fort Meade, so maybe this was some kind of terrorist attack. They could be burying a mortar in the ground to fire on the National Security Agency. The possibilities were endless.

"We can take this crew down quickly. You saw one of them down the path. That'll make everything easy. Quick approach. They'll never hear us coming. We'll achieve complete surprise. Trust me. Nobody will move when we pop up out of nowhere with drawn weapons"

"I'm not trained for this kind of tactical situation," Donahue said nervously.

"Look, Warren," Osborne said, making direct eye contact, "I used to head one of our tactical teams. This will be over in less than five seconds. You have to trust me on this."

Donahue nodded and tried to shake the doubts that weighed heavily on him.

"I'll take the lead. We'll rush up the path and spread out once everyone comes into view. You aim at the guy farthest to the right and alternate with the next one to his left. I'll take the furthest left and alternate with the middle guy. That way they see that we have them all covered. Follow my instructions once they raise their hands and we have them under voice control. You good to go?"

"Yeah. I'm good. Let's do this," Donahue said, trying his best not to sound doubtful.

Osborne patted him on the shoulder. "Good man. How far out is our backup?"

"Hold on," he said and put a call through to dispatch. After receiving a response, he said, "They just turned onto Columbus Road."

"Perfect. They're less than three minutes from our truck. We'll have this wrapped up before they step out of their vehicles. Stay close, and stay low."

Sergeant Osborne walked briskly toward the path, pointing his weapon at the opening in the brush less than thirty feet ahead. Donahue followed in his footsteps, careful not to point his weapon at Osborne. His finger kept returning to the trigger, and he had to make a conscious effort to listen to Osborne's previous advice. An accidental discharge right now could possibly kill both of them. His sergeant reached the edge of the thicket and went down on one knee, waiting for Donahue.

"Here we go. On three. One. Two…Go!" he hissed, and the two officers sprinted down the path.


**

Sergeant Osborne cleared the brush and aimed at the first target that materialized, which turned out to be a dark-haired man wearing a long-sleeve khaki shirt and blue jeans. He was facing away from the sergeant and cradling an AR-15. Osborne didn't hesitate. The first rounds to leave his service pistol struck the man high in the back before Donahue stumbled through the opening. He shifted his aim to the man operating a portable digging machine and fired three rounds in rapid succession. One of the rounds skipped off the contraption's raised auger bit, saving the operator from a clear shot to the forehead. The remaining two rounds burrowed through the thick muscle of the man's right shoulder and collarbone, barely moving him.

Still in the game, Osborne thought, as he sighted past the auger and focused on another headshot.

Before he could pull the trigger, Donahue's pistol roared to life, spraying bullets into the two standing men. Osborne had counted on this type of reaction from the rookie. He figured that once the shooting started, Donahue would unload his pistol. He could see the panic in the young officer's eyes a few moments earlier. He knew there would be no trigger discipline, just a maelstrom of steel erupting from his officer's gun. Osborne pulled the trigger of his own weapon, hitting the machine operator between the eyes as three bullets from Donahue's pistol stitched across the man's chest. A quick glance at the third suspect confirmed that he was out of the fight, with two holes in the center of his gray polo shirt.

The third man dropped to his knees and toppled to the right, trying to jam the stock of his rifle into the soft forest floor, in a desperate attempt to arrest his fall. When the shooting started, Osborne realized too late that he had underestimated the reaction speed of their suspects. The third man had almost managed to bring his AR-15 to bear on them. Fortunately, Donahue had turned out to be a better shot under pressure than he had expected.

Osborne rushed to the fallen suspect and snatched the assault rifle from his grip, kneeling down to examine the man's wounds. Donahue lowered his pistol and muttered "what the f*ck" several times before addressing Osborne.

"What the f*ck was that all about? You started shooting without any kind of warning," he said, surveying the scene. "You hit that one in the back, Sarge? Shit. We're f*cked!"

From his lowered position next to the dying suspect, Osborne holstered his weapon.

"Calm down. There are three guys with assault rifles. One of them almost put this into action against us. We didn't have a choice," he growled, aiming the rifle at Donahue.

"This is absolutely f*cked," Donahue stated, oblivious of the barrel pointed at his head.

"Sorry about this," Osborne said.

"Sorry doesn't undo the fact—"

The sentence was interrupted by a short burst of automatic fire from the rifle pointed at his head. Officer Donahue never changed expressions as his body went slack and hit the ground with a muted thump. Sergeant Osborne jammed the rifle back into the wounded man's arms and drew his handgun, firing three rapid shots into the suspect's head. He stood up and glanced at the scene. A bright red, portable digging machine vibrated on oversized inflatable tires, drumming out the echoes of gunfire. Everyone was dead from what he could tell.

He looked back at Officer Donahue's crumpled body and cursed himself. They had insisted that he would need another officer on the scene to avoid any suspicion, but he had been wary about this idea from the start. He knew it would have to be the rookie. The more seasoned members of the force would have refused to proceed into the forest without backup. They would have certainly never agreed to charge an armed group in the middle of the forest. He needed someone he could pressure into following him. He just wished the young officer had reacted differently, so he could have kept the kid alive.

He'd argued this point extensively with Brown. He saw very little upside to having another officer on the scene, especially an idealistic rookie. He had to make sure every one of the suspects were killed in the gun battle, which meant he had to go in with guns blazing. There was no other way. They couldn't take the chance that one of them might actually surrender. Brown had made this point crystal clear and saddled the sergeant with a severe handicap. They obviously wanted it this way. He had to admit, the scene was compelling. Two local police officers unwittingly stumble onto the scene of a planned terrorist attack, taking out the terror cell, but not before one of the heroic officers is killed in a fierce exchange of gunfire. It made one hell of a story.

He checked his watch. With any luck, their backup had just arrived. He rushed over to Officer Donahue's body and heaved the dead weight into a fireman's carry. He struggled through the forest, screaming for help while trying to ignore the blood and brain matter that gushed down the left side of his uniform. He had to make this look good for the officers that came upon him. Donahue's sacrifice would catalyze the nation into action. Both of their actions would be recorded in True America's secret operational files, to be unceremoniously, yet handsomely rewarded at the appropriate time. The New Recovery would usher in a new era of prosperity, never forgetting the risks taken and sacrifices made by a handful of dedicated patriots.

He stumbled forward a few more steps before spotting a familiar navy blue uniform shirt racing through the trees. As the voices approached, he found himself able to conjure up tears. The final act of his performance approached, and he wanted to win an Emmy for True America.