"Dispatch, this is 30-David. Show us on scene at Saint Moore's Veteran Retirement Home," Flinch said, gripping the door handle of his squad's armored BearCat. "Gold, on me," he ordered, thrusting the door open.
"30-David, this is TOC. Negotiations with the remaining suspects have failed; they've dug in. We estimate about four are left. Patrol has set up outer perimeters. Go when ready." Came from his radio as he stepped onto the wet asphalt, his eyes adjusting to the plethora of flashing lights and deafening sirens around him, turning the parking lot into a carnival of emergency lights.
"We're on your six, boss," Eli, Flinch's point man, said, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder as the other three members of Gold Team stepped out.
Flinch's radio beeped to life again, "This is Rose team; we're on the east side, ready to breach the east wing. Gold Team, status check, over."
Keying his radio, Flinch replied. "This is Gold Lead, stacking up on the entrance to the west wing shortly. Out." he said, jogging up to the west-wing emergency exit with his squad. There has to still be at least one pair of lungs still breathing. He thought, watching Eli place the breaching charge onto the door. Slowing his breaths, he spoke again, "Does everybody know the plan? West wing, lobby, break room." His squad all nodded in unison.
"Breach charge, ready," Eli said, securing the charge just above the blood-stained door handle. "She's all yours, boss," he said, handing Flinch the detonator.
"Launcher, ready," Lucia said, patting Flinch's shoulder.
Bringing the radio closer to his mouth, Flinch spoke again, "Rose Lead, this is Gold; we're in position; breach on my mark. Do you copy, over?"
"Copy that, we're ready, out," Martinez said.
Taking another deep breath, the grip on his radio hardened. "Breach! Breach! Breach!" he yelled into the radio, double-clicking the detonator in his hand. The door beside them flying off its hinges with a metal clang and a plume of smoke. The deafening clang of the launcher by his ear firing a flashbang into the hallway.
"Move! Move! Move!" Flinch yelled, his vision tunneling in on the red dot in the center of his scope. "Diamond formation," Flinch ordered, the squad forming around him as they advanced down the hallway like a group of choreographed dancers. Slowing down their battle dance, Flinch kneeled, placing his leather-gloved hand on the neck of an elderly man; the man's body slumped against the wall. His wrinkled hand loosely placed on his abdomen, covering the five bullet holes in it. "TOC, we've got a body. Deceased," Flinch sighed, raising his hand, about to pull down the eyelids of the deceased veteran.
"Contact front!" Eli yelled, the squad's rifles immediately snapping to the armed figure down the hallway. Flinch snapped back up to his feet, his sight locked in on the figure. "Put your fucking hands in the air! Now!" he barked, his crosshair right between the red stripe on the figure's mask.
"Mufāja'ah!" the figure yelled, its hand moving to its vest.
"Grenade!" Eli shouted, Flinch didn't hesitate. Squeezing the trigger, two rounds, center mass, the masked man's body crumpled to the ground. "Down!" Flinch dove, pulling Eli down with him, the rest of the squad ducking into the adjacent rooms.
The thunderous roar of the grenade's explosion rocked the building, the shrapnel tearing apart the coarse yellow hallway wallpaper. "TOC, this is Gold Lead. All teams be advised, suspects have access to explosives," Flinch said, taking a deep breath as he pressed himself back up to his feet. "Element, on me," he ordered, continuing down the hallway with the rest of Gold Squad, his breathing shallowing as they approached the terrorist's torn-apart body. The smell of metal and burned flesh filling his nose, the body beside him was split almost in two, bubbling blood pouring out from its eviscerated stomach, a small part of intestine spilling out onto the floor. Flinch blinked, a second longer than usual, keying his radio again, he spoke, "West wing clear, two deceased, advancing on lobby now. Out."
Passing by the gold-plated sign reading "Lobby" both in plain English and in Braille below. The squad's blood-soaked shoes evidenced their every step with a mix of innocent and guilty blood alike. Approaching the twin lobby doors, the smell only got worse, and the distant rings of gunshots got louder.
"Stack up on the right door. Breach on my signal," Flinch said, positioning himself right by its handle before speaking into his radio again, "Rose Team, this is Gold Lead. ETA on arrival to the east entrance of the lobby?"
"This is Rose Lead; we're under heavy fire from three suspects. ETA to lobby unknown," Martinez yelled, Flinch barely making out her words from the bursts of gunfire in the background.
"Fuck," Flinch mumbled under his breath. "Alright… Element, shotgun the handles, bang, then clear," he ordered. His squad moved swiftly, grabbing their breaching shotguns and readying their flash grenades. "Breach! Breach! Breach!" he shouted. The shotgun slugs tore the doors off their hinges, but instead of hitting the hard ground, they hit a pile of something cold. Soft. Tender.
Gold Squad eyed up the lobby from the now empty doorframes. "Lobby clear," Flinch said, keying his radio, then he looked down, the rest of his squad joining his gaze. A pile of bullet-riddled corpses, the metal door they just took down on top of them.
"Fuck…" Eli said, slightly lowering his gun's barrel.
Flinch's shoulders shuddered, his eyes widened, his throat burned as he grabbed the door frame, pulling himself up onto the metal door they just blew down, and stepping down into the lobby, the rest of his squad behind him.
"TOC… we've got several dozen DBs… Over." he said, glancing around the room at the other doors. Their handles were chained together, the piles of elderly bodies at their feet were larger, the pungent smell of gunpowder and burned flesh filled the overcrowded Lobby Cemetery.
"Copy that, entry team, coroner standing by, out."
"Gold… Element. On me," Flinch ordered, straining to get his rifle up again. He sighed, blinking a few times as his gaze locked in on his red dot scope.
"Rose Lead to Gold Lead, two suspects neutralized, one in custody, East Wing clear. Several DBs, any luck on your side, hostage-wise?" Martinez asked, the radio crackling back to static shortly after.
The static slowly died out in Flinch's ears, replaced by silence. Until he finally responded. "Negatory…" he said, his fingers almost snapping off the unmute button on his radio. "Element. On me. Stack up on the door," he ordered, Gold Squad splitting into two stacks on the break room door. "Kick it, then, Flash. Go when ready." He nodded at his pointman.
Eli pushed his heel down, raising his other leg and smashing in the door handle. The last bang of the night rang out as the flashbang detonated in the room, a blinding light pouring out from the shattered break room windows. "Move," Flinch barked, his squad moving in tandem into the room.
"Right side clear!" Eli yelled.
"Left side clear!" Lucia shouted.
The retirement home went silent; only the faint wails of distant sirens remained.
"Fucking—" Eli was about to speak, but Flinch cut him off.
"Quiet!" he barked, unequipping his headset, hearing a faint sound of heavy breathing coming from the breakroom closet. Flinch holstered his rifle, running over to the closet. "Please. Please. Please," he muttered, praying as he swang the door open, first aid kit in hand.
The first aid kit fell to the floor, and so did Flinch to his knees. In the open closet door lay a body of a nurse, a single bullet in her forehead, dripping blood onto her uniform, on which lay a name tag, hanging by a thread, reading, "Hi! My name is Mable!" By her side, a smartphone with a rugged case, something in Arabic written on it in Sharpie, playing the same clip of heavy breathing over and over and over.