[Civil Affairs] AAR of the Month - Charlie Company
The sun was high in the Altis sky when I arrived at the station, Chief of Police Sung was a hard ass for punctuality and it was already pushing noon. Yeah my boss is a police chief, which means I’m a cop. And my partner? Lt. Col. Wheatley, but in the Force we just call him Wheatles. He watches my back when we’re out on the beat looking for what’s low down and dirty on the streets of Neochori.
After the day’s brief by Chief Sung, we stood in the parking lot eyeing our rides. SWAT got the big hunk of armor plate that was the MRAP while us beat cops had to make due with rusty HMMVs. The jokers up in Traffic got a copter, a real sports car in the sky. They don’t do much arresting but they make a helluva chopped salad.
“Well we got Car 45, 68 or… 59?” the choice was clear but we still went through the motions “59” we said in unison. It was an old joke, but old jokes are the glue that keeps together the fabric of your mind while you’re faced with the hardest criminals that Altis has to offer. You crack some bad ones cause you’ve seen the worst.
Wheatles spun the wheel and gave it the gas as we pulled onto the road. The throaty grumble of 59 once more graced the streets. “HQ this is Car 59 - on patrol and heading southbound towards Harborfront” I called out over the radio.
As we cruised past the Blue Burger, the stinking sour sweet smell of fermenting grease permeated the car and I cranked my window closed. The pungent odor clung to my uniform and vest, not the fashionable kind, the big Kevlar one that says POLICE on it. Though I suppose in my line of work, that’s haute couture. “Stops bullets, not foul odors” I grumbled, my olfactory response going to DEFCON 1. “Barely stop bullets at that” joked Wheatles. Thankfully we’d not had to test our vests, though the City assured us they’d stop all but the most dangerous of pokes.
The first half of our patrol was quiet, chased a speeder and found some illicit morphine on him. Of course that later turned out to be his insulin. A beat cop can’t be too careful!
Suddenly the call came through the radio that one of the other cars was in a gunfight and everyone took off running. As we were coming down the road, a shot glanced off our vehicle and we whirled around to search the area but coming up dry, we returned to our beat. We switched off for a bit and I slipped behind the wheel for a spell. “I hate it when I have to sit in your butt warmth.” This is the kind of bickering a partnership can descend to.
That’s when we saw it - the crime boss was in his box truck and he was tearing off down the road! “Car 59 is in pursuit of box truck heading Northbound towards the highway - requesting air support.” I gunned the engine and we tore off after the truck as it swerved across lawns and between houses. We reached the highway, but as I glanced in the mirror I saw we were in turn being pursued! “Damn drug dealers can hire anyone!” yelled Wheatles from the shotgun seat as he cocked and locked his Glock. “I don’t know if 59 has got the speed to catch this expletive curse word -” before I could finish there was a loud bang and the world spun around and around in slow motion. I saw the armored windows become spider webs, the puffed pastry crumbs from the floorboards rose up in slow motion to hang in front of me like so many buttery flies and behind them floated my once missing now found, lucky rubber band.
The shattered rear axle ground us to a halt and we scrambled from the car. I drew my side arm and quickly advanced on our assailant - the insulin addict from earlier! - only to find that after ramming us, his car had exploded into the nearby stone wall. The polymer front panels could stop rampaging shopping carts but not century old stonework. I returned to our car to find Wheatles crouching next to the now wheel-less back end. “Well we’re out of the fight I guess” I said.
“Not yet we’re not partner” smiled Wheatles. “Air this is Car 59 requesting a pickup” he said into his shoulder radio. I started wrapping my injured legs with bandages while the airborne sports car arrived to set down in the nearby field. Already over the radio we could hear that the crime boss had been cornered in the Church and SWAT was moving in.
“Well damn, guess we’re going to be late to the party!” I thought, the adrenaline from the near miss and fiery death still ringing through my ears like fairy bells in a blender.
The firefight at the Church went bad though and Wheatles and I were called in. Suddenly we were alone, the Chief was dead and it was just Car 59 on the ground. When we arrived at the church is was a war zone. Burning cars and disabled police cruisers, bodies strewn left and right, it looked like a superhero film just before the climax - only this time there was no Superman to get the bad guy - only us.
I pulled the M4 from the police cruiser, the Police Chief himself had handed it to me. Wheatles and I carefully began to move up through the devastation, under the watchful eye of Mr. Hill in his flying machine. “You’ll never catch me alive copper!” I heard echo from the hallowed place of worship. “Criminal and cliched? The sentence is DEATH!” I said as I stepped into the doorway with my weapon at the ready.
Inside I could see the bodies of the SWAT team, maybe even the Chief himself, scattered on the ground. The criminal hid behind the altar, his weapon resting on the polished stone with decidedly unholy intentions. I opened up with the M4, the brass cartwheeling off to my right as round after round burst marble and limestone. In the stone dust I could see the muzzle flashes of return fire and suddenly I was struck in the leg and toppled to the ground. “BERGY NOOO!!” Wheatles shouted as round after round from his Glock snapped over my head. “I’m good! I’m okay” I called as he stepped out of the doorway to cover me. A quick check revealed that nothing was injured too badly. “Get a stun grenade through that window!” I growled as I slapped bandages on my arms and torso. The vest was really being put to the test and as of yet I was finding it wanting.
Wheatles smashed the stained glass windows with a few 9mm rounds sending shards of crystalline rainbows cascading down into the holy vestibules.
Through the cascade of noise I could still make out the metallic tinkle of the stun grenades hitting the floors. I tucked myself in tight against the door frame and waited for the close echoing confines of the church to explode with godly thunder. I didn’t have to wait long and I followed the cacophony by stepping into the door and putting a fresh mag into the altar and the area around it, lobbing a last concussion grenade behind the altar and ducking behind the rear pew to reload. The concussion popped my eardrums, but I didn’t need to hear as I advanced up the aisle towards the drug lord. I found him there, dead, lying in a pile of his own product. “Crime boss down, crime boss down. Car 59 has secured the Church.”
Wheatles sauntered in, holstering his sidearm. “What we got?” I looked down at the drugs scattered around. “Bananas. This shit is bananas.” Wheatles laughed as I tossed him one of the yellow fruit. “All in a day’s work partner, all in a day’s work.”
Written by: 2Lt. Bergstrom
Edited by: Cpl. Langford and SSgt. Brewer
Approved by: CoCA and Battalion HQ