Chapter 28
T HE RELEASE OF ELEVEN lab workers stopped the full Hostage Rescue Team assault and opened up communications again. The police commissioner and the chief of detectives appeared on the scene and talked with Captain Moran. So did a couple of ministers from the community. Late as it was, the TV crews were still here shooting film.
At around three, we got word that we were going inside after all. Then there was another delay. Hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait.
At half past, we got the go. We were told it was final.
A few minutes past three thirty, Ned Mahoney and I were up and racing toward a side entrance into the building; so were a dozen other guys from HRT. The good thing about protective gear is that it might stop a fatal or damaging bullet; the bad thing is that it slows you down, makes it harder to run as fast as you need or want to, and forces your breath to come in gulps and gasps.
Snipers were taking out windows, trying to keep resistance from inside as low as possible.
Mahoney liked to call this drill “five minutes of panic and thrills,” but I always dreaded it. To me, it was more like “five minutes closer to heaven or hell.” I didn’t need to be here, but Ned and I had done a couple of assaults together and I couldn’t stay away.
A booming, earsplitting explosion took out the back door.
Suddenly, there were swirling clouds of black smoke and debris everywhere; then we were both running through it. I was hoping not to catch a bullet to the head or some other exposed body part in the next couple of minutes. I was hoping nobody had to die tonight.
Ned and I took fire right away, and we couldn’t even tell who the hell was shooting at us. Drug dealers or the SWAT guys. Maybe both.
The sound of submachine guns and then grenades was deafening in the hallways and as we inched up a set of winding stairs. There was a whole lot of firepower inside the building now, maybe too much for it to hold together. The noise level made it hard to think straight or keep any focus.
“Hey! A*sholes!” I heard somebody shout from above us. A volley of gunshots followed. Flashes of blinding light in the darkness.
Then Ned grunted and went down hard on the stairway.
I couldn’t tell where he was hit at first; then I saw a wound near his collarbone. I didn’t know if he’d been shot or struck with flying debris. There was a lot of blood spilling from the wound though.
I stayed right there with him, called for help on the radio. I heard more blasts, shouts, male and female screams coming from above us. Chaos.
Ned’s hands were shaking, and I hadn’t seen him show fear of anything before. The firefight raging in the building only added to the terror and confusion. Ned’s face had lost its color; he didn’t look good.
“They’re coming for you,” I told him. “Stay with me, Ned. You hear me?”
“Stupid,” he finally said, groaning. “Walked right into it.”
“You feeling it yet?”
“Could be worse. Could be better too. By the way,” he said, “you’re hit too.”