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‘That’s great, we need to get out of here soon. There’s trouble heading this way.’
58
DROOPY MOVED HISbody position in the gorse bush on the opposite side of the river Inver, and put the night vision monocular to his eye, allowing the green images to settle.
Across the small expanse of water was the white building with the blue-and-white police sign over the door. There was a marked cop van parked to the side of it and in front on the hardstanding was a Lexus. By increasing the zoom to the maximum he could just make out the shape of someone sitting in the driver’s seat, wearing the chequered baseball cap often worn by firearms cops. He shook his head at the incompetence of it all. Literally sitting right outside the target premises for everyone to see. He could even see the vapour coming from the exhaust pipe, indicating that the lazy bugger had the engine on to keep warm. Light was coming from the windows in the office and main house, all diffused by Venetian blinds.
He reached for the pressel switch for his radio, pressed and spoke in French into the mic that was clipped on his tactical waistcoat. ‘Piotr, I’ve a long view of the front from the opposite side of the river. One target at the front of the premises in a Lexus. A lone cop from what I can see and he has the engine on. Can you see the rear?’
Piotr replied, also in French, his voice a hoarse whisper in Droopy’s earpiece. They always spoke French on operations, just in case they were overheard. Unless, of course, they were in France, in which case they used German.
‘One at the back, in a BMW X5, I can’t see inside it from my angle,but the engine’s on. Lights on at the back of the house, but I can’t see in because of the blinds.’ After being dropped off by Droopy, Piotr had taken a tactical position on the small hill at the rear of the police office, also carrying a night vision monocular.
‘Roger that. Looks to me like they’re sitting ducks. I’m told that the single cell is via the office door, and then in via a corridor. Keys kept by the desk sergeant. Chico, you receiving?’ Droopy whispered. Chico was the third member of the team. A Spaniard, also ex-FFL, and a good man, if a little impetuous. Chico tended to shoot first and then ask questions later. He was on foot in the kids’ playground just to the left of the war memorial, about fifty metres away.
‘Yeah, I got you.’ Chico’s heavily accented voice was tight with anticipation.
‘Any movement along the front?’
‘Negative. All quiet. I’m ready.’
Droopy looked at the illuminated dial on his watch, noting that it was almost eleven, a good time to engage. ‘I’m going to move to the forming up position now. When I give the go ahead, Piotr, move in and neutralise the threat at the rear. Chico, you drive up and engage hostile at front, I’ll then effect entry from the front with the breacher and neutralise any threats in the office, and then forward to the cell to take out the objective. Are we all clear?’
‘Piotr, clear.’
‘Chico, clear.’
‘Wait for my command, I’m moving up now.’ Droopy eased back out of the gorse bush, and jogged over to his Mondeo, which was parked across the river from the objective. Before getting into the car, he did his final mission equipment check, as he always did before action. He knew that his kit was in order, but it was almost cathartic to perform the ritual. He removed his Glock from the holster, and worked the action, putting a round into the chamber, before returning the polymer weapon back and checking it was secure. He checked his spare magazines were secure in his ops waistcoat, and that theretaining flaps were tight. He then reached into the car and pulled out the matte black Mossberg 500 tactical shotgun. He’d already preloaded the five-round magazine. Two breaching rounds, designed to defeat the door, no matter how tightly it was locked, followed by three rounds of buckshot designed to flood a space with a devastating spray of shot. He returned the shotgun to its space alongside the driver’s seat. He took in three cleansing breaths, eyes closed, holding each for four seconds before exhaling. His eyes snapped open, and he was filled with a sense of anticipation at what was to come. And peace. As always, during these moments just prior to a violent incursion, he felt more at peace with himself than at any other time. It was why he did it.
He slid into the Mondeo, started the engine and then headed off, north towards the crossing point, just two clicks away.
The journey took just three minutes and soon he was heading to the centre of the tiny village where Chico had moved away from the kids’ playground and up to the road edge. Droopy eased to a halt, and Chico jumped into the Mondeo, and reached under the seat where his pistol, a Glock 19 was stashed. He worked the action, checking it was ready to fire, and held it in his lap, ready to go.
‘All good?’ he said, looking at Droopy.
‘All good. You ready, my brother?’ Droopy held out his hand.
‘Legio patria nostra, bro,’ he replied as they shook hands. His eyes shone with excitement and anticipation. ‘Legio patria nostra.The Legion is our country.’
‘Honneur et Fidélité,’replied Droopy, and they both laughed at the motto, which translated as ‘Honour and Fidelity’, just as they were about to go into the police office and slaughter everyone in there. They didn’t care, not even one bit. This was a job, nothing more, nothing less. Droopy nodded, and both men pulled on tactical gloves, with Kevlar knuckle protectors, and lowered the cotton balaclavas that they’d been wearing rolled up as hats.
Droopy pressed the radio pressel again.
‘Final approach, are you ready, Piotr?’ he said, feeling the knot of excitement in his gut, his synapses firing with the pre-battle buzz.
‘Ready and waiting.’
‘Okay. Masks down. Moving up now, counting down, and engage on my mark.’ Droopy engaged the gears and began to move steadily down the road towards the station. The final advance to contact.
‘Counting down, five, four, three, two, one. Mark!’ Droopy said, his tone not changing, his demeanour relaxed as the Ford pulled in front of the Lexus, blocking it in. Their doors flew open, and both men exited the car with deliberate, almost methodical movements. Acting at speed, but not rushing, not panicking, and ready to engage. Droopy had grabbed the Mossberg 500 and hefted it to his shoulder as he made for the door of the police office. He didn’t stop to engage the driver of the Lexus, being totally focused on his objective, which was breaching the door, hence the Mossberg. Chico’s Glock was bucking, sparks shooting out of the barrel, as he unloaded five rounds through the side window and door of the Lexus, immediately shattering the glass, and punching holes through the metal. Droopy caught sight of the chequered cap jerking as the bullets entered the driver’s body, but he didn’t pause. He heard, but barely registered the four or five reports from the back of the house, as Piotr was taking out the cop at the back.
Droopy strode without hesitating to the door, raised the Mossberg and shot directly at the handle. The frangible breaching round smashed into the mechanism, disintegrating, and totally destroying the lock without causing lots of rebound buckshot that could have injured him. Droopy racked another breaching round into the weapon, and hit the top of the door with another blast. Racking the weapon once more, he kicked open the door, the Mossberg in his shoulder, ready to engage whoever was inside, but this time with the heavy-grade buckshot strategically loaded into the weapon. He’d planned the loading of the shotgun with exactly this scenario in mind. Two breaching rounds for the door, followed by buckshot that would tear anyone inside the office to pieces.
The office was empty. Completely and totally empty. Droopy pressed the button on the transmitter. ‘Office is clear, begin sweep of the rest of the building whilst I find the keys to the cell.’
‘Received,’ crackled in his ear.
Droopy looked about the room, his eyes halting at the main desk, which was empty apart from a laptop computer, and a clipboard with a pen next to it. A half-finished cup of tea sat on the desk. Droopy picked it up and held it against his cheek. It was still warm.
