“All right, let’s keep it cool. Everybody lower your weapons.” She raised her hands in a gesture to stop.
Unfortunately, that was when lightning struck with a crack and a flash of light. It only took that moment for the whole thing to go to hell.
She didn’t know who fired the first shot, but heard it clearly, the crack of a rifle, immediately after the lightning strike. The second bullet hit Karen square in the middle of her Kevlar vest. She spun to the ground, her vision going black. Above her, she heard a burst of shots.
“Oh, no.” She struggled to her feet. Her hands were scraped bloody from her landing. She pushed herself up and her vision cleared. Rainwater poured off her helmet.
Hagarty lay on the ground, blood pumping out of a hole in his neck, mixing with the half-inch deep water on the pavement. One of her men writhed on the ground, screaming, his knee shattered by a bullet.
“Cease fire, goddammit,” she tried to shout, but she couldn’t get her breath. She tried again. “Cease fire! Cease fire!”
She tried to make sense of the situation. Two or three DHS agents were crouched in the doorway of an apartment building, rifles out. They huddled down, trying to stay out of the line of fire. She saw a muzzle flash. The air stank of the acrid smell of gunpowder.
The men and boys apprehended by the DHS were still on the sidewalk. Bound by plastic cuffs, they tried to get out of the line of fire as small arms continued to go off around them. One boy, who couldn’t have been older than fourteen, squirmed underneath a car, and the plate glass window behind the men shattered from a bullet. The man guarding them ducked behind the car, little more than his rifle showing.
Behind her, her own men fired from behind the HUMMWV, and several more ran forward from their positions on the perimeter. Corporal Stanson lay on the ground, and a pool of blood stained the rainwater around him. Blood pumped from the center of his chest—he wasn’t wearing his vest.
His face was white and his arms flapped around.
“Mama!” he screamed.
“Cease fire!” She waved her arms. “Cease fire! Cease fire now!”
Her head jerked to the left as a bullet glanced off her helmet. It knocked her to the ground again. Then, miraculously, the firing stopped, and she could hear nothing but the rain slap into the pavement.
She took a breath, then another. The DHS men stared out from their positions, shock on their faces. She glanced behind her. Her own soldiers were just as bewhildered.
Oh, God, her head hurt. She stood, one hand on her neck, where sharp pain radiated from a pulled muscle.
“You.” She pointed at Larry Harris, one of the only agents she recognized. “Take your men and move over to the other side of the intersection. I don’t want any goddamn arguments. And call for ambulances, right now.”
Unfortunately, that was when lightning struck with a crack and a flash of light. It only took that moment for the whole thing to go to hell.
She didn’t know who fired the first shot, but heard it clearly, the crack of a rifle, immediately after the lightning strike. The second bullet hit Karen square in the middle of her Kevlar vest. She spun to the ground, her vision going black. Above her, she heard a burst of shots.
“Oh, no.” She struggled to her feet. Her hands were scraped bloody from her landing. She pushed herself up and her vision cleared. Rainwater poured off her helmet.
“Cease fire, goddammit,” she tried to shout, but she couldn’t get her breath. She tried again. “Cease fire! Cease fire!”
She tried to make sense of the situation. Two or three DHS agents were crouched in the doorway of an apartment building, rifles out. They huddled down, trying to stay out of the line of fire. She saw a muzzle flash. The air stank of the acrid smell of gunpowder.
The men and boys apprehended by the DHS were still on the sidewalk. Bound by plastic cuffs, they tried to get out of the line of fire as small arms continued to go off around them. One boy, who couldn’t have been older than fourteen, squirmed underneath a car, and the plate glass window behind the men shattered from a bullet. The man guarding them ducked behind the car, little more than his rifle showing.
Behind her, her own men fired from behind the HUMMWV, and several more ran forward from their positions on the perimeter. Corporal Stanson lay on the ground, and a pool of blood stained the rainwater around him. Blood pumped from the center of his chest—he wasn’t wearing his vest.
His face was white and his arms flapped around.
“Mama!” he screamed.
“Cease fire!” She waved her arms. “Cease fire! Cease fire now!”
Her head jerked to the left as a bullet glanced off her helmet. It knocked her to the ground again. Then, miraculously, the firing stopped, and she could hear nothing but the rain slap into the pavement.
She took a breath, then another. The DHS men stared out from their positions, shock on their faces. She glanced behind her. Her own soldiers were just as bewhildered.
Oh, God, her head hurt. She stood, one hand on her neck, where sharp pain radiated from a pulled muscle.
“You.” She pointed at Larry Harris, one of the only agents she recognized. “Take your men and move over to the other side of the intersection. I don’t want any goddamn arguments. And call for ambulances, right now.”
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