My Magial Run of Luck

357.

Either whomever is shooting at me is the world's worst shot or I am its luckiest inhabitant.

With mini explosions encircling my path, I cut the distance between us in half as I glance to my left and see Mustang making similar progress amid similar conditions. Having left my radio on I scream for her to get to the rear of the ProMaster and course correct to make that blind spot my destination also. I am alternating a zig-zag pattern with a stutter step every few feet to, hopefully, confuse the shooter. When I get to less than twenty five feet I see my worst nightmare: Mustang is down.

Being totally exposed my only hope is to run for the cover of the van itself. In a burst of explosive power I raise the shotgun and get off two rounds in the general direction of the passenger side window. Close enough to identify Turkin as the shooter, I watch with amazement as he attempts to maneuver himself into a better position which necessitates climbing half way out of the van and twisting his torso almost forty-five degrees. I take full advantage of his clumsy athleticism and put on another power burst until I am a dozen feet away. He finally gets himself into a stable position and raises his weapon to unleash more holy hell in my direction. It is his final movement as a pair of nine millimeter hollow points from my Glock leave him doubled over and motionless, his weapon laying harmlessly on the grassy area next to the curb.

I move to the rear of the ProMaster and check on Mustang. I holler but receive no answer in response. Inside, as Shoemaker shouts radio SOS instructions to the remaining vigilantes I hear him order Sheener to drive the truck as close to the entrance as possible and detonate the explosive device. I look to my right and see that there is no response from the order, the controller or the truck. The Queen has done it again!

Automatic fire erupts from inside the van and I drop to the pavement to hopefully get a handle on what is happening in front. The four-wheel drive ProMaster has plenty of clearance and I can see our Escalade approaching head-on at a hight rate of speed. Simultaneously I hear another vehicle approach from the rear. The young agent is at the wheel of the government issue sedan. We are one move from checkmate.

I crawl under the van and shout upwards, "Homeland Security - you have ten seconds to drop your weapons and come out with your hands in the air." The firefight rages on in front as I count it down and fire two shots through the floorboard into the rear cargo hold of the van. I roll to the left, the drivers side, and back my way to the window, taking out the mirror as I go. I signal to AK to launch a flash bang. As it explodes in the exact place I was prone ten seconds earlier I move to the drivers window and blindly fire four shots inside.

In the silence that follows I hear Shoemaker yell to detonate the radio controlled explosive, and Sheener yell back in frustration that his control unit has been somehow disabled. The drivers side sliding door opens and Shoemaker jumps out with what looks like a vintage 1947 Russian Kalashnikov. He is separated from the Soviet automatic shoulder rifle by one shot from my nine and slumps to the asphalt. I wonder what his last meal consisted of, probably not a steak.

Three down and one to go. I take one step towards the open door when I feel the cold steel of a sidearm barrel against the base of my skull. Sheener, using the cover of the smoke, exited from the passenger side of the van and made his way around, covering the last few feet as I efficiently disposed of his partner.

"Drop both guns, and let's slowly make our way back to the parking garage, you are now a hostage and a single questionable move turns you into a law enforcement martyr. You copy copper?"

I do as instructed and lead his prodding back the way we came, asking permission to signal the drivers, Agent Kirkland in the Escalade and the rookie agent still at the rear of the van to let this play out. I understand that the precariousness of the circumstance could very well render that signal untenable.

I place my hands over my head and walk, my magical run of luck apparently over.