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Globall War Of Terror - Single Casualty
Sep. 3rd, 2018 06:35 pmThe alert tone on my radio woke me up.
"Echo 18, call the Command Center. 10-56 Tango in progress, Golf Five."
I blinked twice as the codes filtered through my head and I shrugged on my vest and pants.
"Responding. Page Romeo One Five. Confirm two Reaction Team and Fire Brigade response?"
"Confirmed."
I put my boots on, used my keys to unlock the padlocked door, and moved quickly to the front of the Data Center, waving my badge and entering my code at each control point between the racks and the outside.
Shane Shreve was waiting for me, golf cart turned on and flashing light turned off. As I boarded, he pulled out, headed for G as in Golf building.
The problem was fairly obvious as we pulled up. A naked man stood on the ledge of the fifth floor balcony, teetering with his feet on the narrow metal rail.
It wasn't exactly a popular hang out spot. Once upon a time, it had been a good view of the San Jose hills. It also hadn't needed to be swept twice a day for hot spots from fallout.
Fire Captain Janine hadn't arrived yet. Even she has to sleep sometime. But one Fire Brigade cart was present - and I noted disapprovingly, with its flashing light turned on.
"Turn that off," I snapped. Normally, I would ask the fire department if they had a jump net or an air bag system. I didn't bother - I knew for a fact that our Fire Brigade did not.
"Echo 18, H5 Executive, battlesight," I commanded over the radio.
There was a pause.
"H5 Executive copies. Query battlesight?"
In other words, why are you having me point my rifle at the naked man?
"Battlesight!" I snapped angrily.
We had designated rifle-armed guards - I refused to use the term riflepeople or countersniper or marksperson or some other euphemism for "person with a rifle who knows how to use it and will kill people on command."
If nothing else, this was good training for them - to hold a human being in their sights and be very ready to kill that person.
"Copy battlesight," the reply came back immediately.
I wasn't about to have a shouted conversation with him from ground level. I gestured to two guards and two half-dressed employees -- "Keep this area clear!" and made my way inside, then up five flights of stairs.
Thanks for the cardio workout, buddy.
Why didn't I take the elevator? Because elevator is spelled D-E-A-T-H-T-R-A-P.
As I reached the fifth floor landing, the elevator dinged and Dr. Betty Rize - callsign Romeo One Five - came out wearing a nightgown and high heels.
"Thank you for joining us on such short notice, Doctor. Now lose the heels. Under no circumstances are you allowed to grapple with the suspect."
She pouted but kicked them off. Pro tip - when dealing with a suicidal person, try not to add additional suicidal people to the situation. Sadly impossible here.
One employee-provided Reaction Team held the corridors leading to the balcony. A second was set up inside the break room adjacent to the balcony.
My eye caught a note written on the back of a piece of printer paper, weighted down with an employee badge clipped to it.
I briefly read it, then pointed it out to Rize. She read it. Our eyes met.
Loser.
But it was not just my job to save the lives of people who wanted to live.
"Echo 18, H5 Executive, special instructions. Suspect is unarmed. You are authorized to attempt to shoot the suspect in the legs. Repeat authorized. Copy back."
"H5 Executive, special instructions, we are authorized to shoot the suspect in the legs."
"Confirm."
Details are important. Authorized is not ordered. Nor is it the magic "ordered and directed" language, when I expect to hear the crack of a rifle firing when I reach the second syllable in the word "directed."
I had given permission. But it wasn't a requirement.
The second Reaction Team had between the five of them:
- five vests and five armbands, without which they risked getting shot at once for unauthorized possession of weapons
- one hard hat ("TL" for Team Leader)
- two rifles, both ARs
- one pistol, a polymer sidearm carried by the Team Leader
- one long piece of wood cut to resemble an AKM medium machine gun from a distance, with old network cable tied to form a sling and carried accordingly, called affectionately a "Quaker Gun"
- four polished clubs with leather thongs, which showed their baseball bat heritage, carried in place of pistols by the other four members
- a single radio, belonging to the team leader while on duty
- a single first aid kit in a backpack
- a roll of duct tape
- a handful of zip ties per member
Nowhere among their equipment was anything that would help with this situation.
I had two guards present besides myself and Shane Shreve. Samir and Anderson. Samir was unarmed except for his baton - but I had seen him tune up a Marine with it. Anderson was in full battle rattle, and a casual glance at his gear revealed that 1) he'd been Army and 2) knew what he was doing.
"Break," I said into the radio. "I need two Tasers at Golf 5, immediately."
We owned four total. One was the civilian vaguely banana-shaped piece of shite and had exactly one cartridge for it left. It lived in the H5 Executive office area, in the Dragon Lady's desk drawer. Two were law enforcement issue XM-26. One was an older Mark unit.
We had plenty of hand held stun guns but they were useless for this situation. They merely hurt.
The Tasers might be useless too, but gave us an option in between wrestling with the crazy naked man, beating him senseless with sticks, or splattering him all over the balcony at the waste of a bullet.
"Copy, en route."
I was personally going for the 'beat him senseless with sticks' approach. But right now, that would just push him over the edge.
"Hi, Fred," Doctor Rize introduced herself.
He took one look at her, night gown and all, and did a spit-take. Unfortunately for him, this caused him to overbalance.
"Check fire!" I roared as I rushed forward, racing the Team Leader to the railing.
The Team Leader even had the presence of mind to grab the railing hard with his left hand as he reached over with his right. I anchored him with my body weight.
To no avail. We watched angrily for the two seconds it took for him to smack into the ground at about 35 MPH.
He struck head first. I could see the spurt of blood.
"Incident terminated," I said wearily on radio. "Cancel Tasers. Cancel reaction. Page one stretcher bearer team. I will handle Golf Five crime scene."
Would I code this as a suicide, or as an accident?
An accident.
Doctor Rize put her hand on the railing.
I looked her directly in the eyes and shook my head.
She pouted but went back inside.
Don't ever let anyone tell you a clinical psychologist can't save lives.
"Echo 18, call the Command Center. 10-56 Tango in progress, Golf Five."
I blinked twice as the codes filtered through my head and I shrugged on my vest and pants.
"Responding. Page Romeo One Five. Confirm two Reaction Team and Fire Brigade response?"
"Confirmed."
I put my boots on, used my keys to unlock the padlocked door, and moved quickly to the front of the Data Center, waving my badge and entering my code at each control point between the racks and the outside.
Shane Shreve was waiting for me, golf cart turned on and flashing light turned off. As I boarded, he pulled out, headed for G as in Golf building.
The problem was fairly obvious as we pulled up. A naked man stood on the ledge of the fifth floor balcony, teetering with his feet on the narrow metal rail.
It wasn't exactly a popular hang out spot. Once upon a time, it had been a good view of the San Jose hills. It also hadn't needed to be swept twice a day for hot spots from fallout.
Fire Captain Janine hadn't arrived yet. Even she has to sleep sometime. But one Fire Brigade cart was present - and I noted disapprovingly, with its flashing light turned on.
"Turn that off," I snapped. Normally, I would ask the fire department if they had a jump net or an air bag system. I didn't bother - I knew for a fact that our Fire Brigade did not.
"Echo 18, H5 Executive, battlesight," I commanded over the radio.
There was a pause.
"H5 Executive copies. Query battlesight?"
In other words, why are you having me point my rifle at the naked man?
"Battlesight!" I snapped angrily.
We had designated rifle-armed guards - I refused to use the term riflepeople or countersniper or marksperson or some other euphemism for "person with a rifle who knows how to use it and will kill people on command."
If nothing else, this was good training for them - to hold a human being in their sights and be very ready to kill that person.
"Copy battlesight," the reply came back immediately.
I wasn't about to have a shouted conversation with him from ground level. I gestured to two guards and two half-dressed employees -- "Keep this area clear!" and made my way inside, then up five flights of stairs.
Thanks for the cardio workout, buddy.
Why didn't I take the elevator? Because elevator is spelled D-E-A-T-H-T-R-A-P.
As I reached the fifth floor landing, the elevator dinged and Dr. Betty Rize - callsign Romeo One Five - came out wearing a nightgown and high heels.
"Thank you for joining us on such short notice, Doctor. Now lose the heels. Under no circumstances are you allowed to grapple with the suspect."
She pouted but kicked them off. Pro tip - when dealing with a suicidal person, try not to add additional suicidal people to the situation. Sadly impossible here.
One employee-provided Reaction Team held the corridors leading to the balcony. A second was set up inside the break room adjacent to the balcony.
My eye caught a note written on the back of a piece of printer paper, weighted down with an employee badge clipped to it.
I briefly read it, then pointed it out to Rize. She read it. Our eyes met.
Loser.
But it was not just my job to save the lives of people who wanted to live.
"Echo 18, H5 Executive, special instructions. Suspect is unarmed. You are authorized to attempt to shoot the suspect in the legs. Repeat authorized. Copy back."
"H5 Executive, special instructions, we are authorized to shoot the suspect in the legs."
"Confirm."
Details are important. Authorized is not ordered. Nor is it the magic "ordered and directed" language, when I expect to hear the crack of a rifle firing when I reach the second syllable in the word "directed."
I had given permission. But it wasn't a requirement.
The second Reaction Team had between the five of them:
- five vests and five armbands, without which they risked getting shot at once for unauthorized possession of weapons
- one hard hat ("TL" for Team Leader)
- two rifles, both ARs
- one pistol, a polymer sidearm carried by the Team Leader
- one long piece of wood cut to resemble an AKM medium machine gun from a distance, with old network cable tied to form a sling and carried accordingly, called affectionately a "Quaker Gun"
- four polished clubs with leather thongs, which showed their baseball bat heritage, carried in place of pistols by the other four members
- a single radio, belonging to the team leader while on duty
- a single first aid kit in a backpack
- a roll of duct tape
- a handful of zip ties per member
Nowhere among their equipment was anything that would help with this situation.
I had two guards present besides myself and Shane Shreve. Samir and Anderson. Samir was unarmed except for his baton - but I had seen him tune up a Marine with it. Anderson was in full battle rattle, and a casual glance at his gear revealed that 1) he'd been Army and 2) knew what he was doing.
"Break," I said into the radio. "I need two Tasers at Golf 5, immediately."
We owned four total. One was the civilian vaguely banana-shaped piece of shite and had exactly one cartridge for it left. It lived in the H5 Executive office area, in the Dragon Lady's desk drawer. Two were law enforcement issue XM-26. One was an older Mark unit.
We had plenty of hand held stun guns but they were useless for this situation. They merely hurt.
The Tasers might be useless too, but gave us an option in between wrestling with the crazy naked man, beating him senseless with sticks, or splattering him all over the balcony at the waste of a bullet.
"Copy, en route."
I was personally going for the 'beat him senseless with sticks' approach. But right now, that would just push him over the edge.
"Hi, Fred," Doctor Rize introduced herself.
He took one look at her, night gown and all, and did a spit-take. Unfortunately for him, this caused him to overbalance.
"Check fire!" I roared as I rushed forward, racing the Team Leader to the railing.
The Team Leader even had the presence of mind to grab the railing hard with his left hand as he reached over with his right. I anchored him with my body weight.
To no avail. We watched angrily for the two seconds it took for him to smack into the ground at about 35 MPH.
He struck head first. I could see the spurt of blood.
"Incident terminated," I said wearily on radio. "Cancel Tasers. Cancel reaction. Page one stretcher bearer team. I will handle Golf Five crime scene."
Would I code this as a suicide, or as an accident?
An accident.
Doctor Rize put her hand on the railing.
I looked her directly in the eyes and shook my head.
She pouted but went back inside.
Don't ever let anyone tell you a clinical psychologist can't save lives.
