Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Michaels rode with the sniper team and was in position when he heard Day give the command. The five SWAT trucks approached from every side of the warehouse. All of the men jumping out and swarming the building. God and his men were in the second vehicle, facing the front side, and Michaels slowed his breathing and watched through his scope. The SWAT team moved with precision behind them. An announcement was made through the bullhorn that the building was surrounded at the same time that the door was bashed in. He had a good view of his men through the dirty windows. God and Day were back-to-back, arms extended, weapons drawn. They moved like they’d been partners all their lives. Each step in perfect synchronicity with the other’s, they became the dynamic duo that everyone talked about. God barked out orders that were loud in Michaels’ ear, but he didn’t dare wince. He kept his eyes wide-open, watching his team’s back through his scope. Suspects quickly went down in front of them.
Taken by surprise, several of them were surrendering, going down to their knees with arms raised high before they were restrained by the SWAT members and pulled out of the building. Michaels saw movement further inside. “You got bogies towards the back,” he murmured.
“Copy,” Day answered, quickly. He saw him throw up some hand signals to Ruxs and Green, and they charged forward like reckless bastards. Michaels had a clear view from his vantage point. Ruxs came from up top, leaping up on a stack of crates, while Green attacked from below. A powerhouse move if he’d ever seen one. Green hit a man in his jaw with the butt of his shotgun, taking him down and driving a knee into his back. Ruxs’ guy didn’t even get fifteen feet away; he was tackled and manhandled until his arms were secured behind his back. Looking further back, they noticed three men were running towards the back doors with weapons in hand. “Men coming out the back, weapons drawn.”
“Don’t sit up there looking pretty Michaels,” God growled.
Michaels took in a breath, held it, and squeezed the trigger of his M24 sniper rifle. A single shot pierced through the window over his team’s heads and hit his target in the thigh, sending him crashing to the ground. Michaels slowly released the breath. He saw the man’s buddy look back horrified and then he turned and aimed his weapon back inside the warehouse. Again. His eye precisely three inches from the scope, focused in on his target, he inhaled and hit the slick man in his shoulder, opting not to take the kill shot. Green was on him. Throwing him to the ground and zip tying his hands.
“Heads up, Ruxs. Twelve o’clock,” Michaels warned hurriedly, and Ruxs and Green both dove behind a concrete post right as shots fired towards them. The man was firing an automatic from behind another crate that had to be one of the ones with weapons inside it.
“I don’t have the shot.” That was all Michaels had to say right before the SWAT sniper on the far end took the suspect out with a shot to his neck. Michaels tried never to take a kill shot if he didn’t have to; he took perps down enough to protect his team. With SWAT, you gambled at your own risk.
He heard the weapons beside him but didn’t turn to look. Eye always in his scope, always on his team. He saw the SWAT snipers were sending warning shots to the ground at the west side as men scurried out of the one door on that end. They stopped immediately and raised their hands into the air. After watching a few more seconds and not noticing any further threats he heard Day call out the “clear.”
“Nine o’clock,” the man to his left called after Michaels had moved back from his rifle. Looking to his left he didn’t see anything.
What the fuck?
“About a hundred and fifty meters,” the man said into his mic, looking up the block.
“Goddamnit,” Michaels growled, when he looked and saw a man with a large duffle bag on his shoulder running away. Michaels looked back through his scope. “Fuckin’ hell. It’s Switch!”
“Go get him, Michaels. If you lose him, you’ll be sorry,” God growled. He saw his Lieutenants running back through the warehouse right before he made it to the door on the roof. Barreling down the stairwell, he took the steps several at a time, using the rail to keep himself from face planting on each landing. The building was only eight stories and by the time he busted through the door he saw the helicopter hovering over the street a couple blocks up. Fuck me.
Taking off at a sprint, he ran as fast as all his gear would allow him. Looking up, he saw the chopper moving farther up the street. Pumping his legs faster, he heard sirens in the distance, but knew he couldn’t rely solely on them to catch their perp. This was their bust; they were responsible. Please don’t have the drugs. Please don’t have the drugs. He chanted as he turned the corner, praying he’d see a cruiser soon. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out how that guy got past them. Not only the men outside but all four snipers as well. Unless there was something underground. Augh. He still had a half-block to go and a turn to make on McDaniel Street.