Chapter 4 - No Tell Motel

     The rifle cracked loudly from the hotel room doorway. I simultaneously heard the glass shatter across the courtyard, followed by a woman screaming in shear terror. As rear guard I was last in the stack and didn't want to stick my pumpkin out of line for a better look. Besides, I was guarding the team's six, forward was the last place I should be looking, but it was killing me. Was it ours? It had to be. The suspect only had a pistol we were told. Nothing's as loud or has that signature sound like our Remington .308 sniper rifles. Mickey and Rock had been paired up in that upper courtyard room since this whole thing began, overlooking the target room, and we were stacked and ready in a nearby breezeway moving to our final staging point, about 3 rooms away from the crisis point. But everything had just gone to hell in a hand basket…Par for the course. I felt a tug on the handle of my armor, which is on my upper rear shoulder. We're moving. "Assault, Assault, Assault", the radio broke. "Assault, Assault, Assault", repeated through the stack; and swift as the wind Death was coming. 

     The sound of boots hitting the pavement and metal brushing metal as the team members brought their guns up to point shoulder was thunderously quiet. No one spoke a word as the stack moved swiftly toward the room. The radio fell silent as all power and control now went to the Alpha Team Leader.

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     Tony and Michelle had a tumultuous relationship. Their love was more codependent than romantic. Over the past 3 years they had used up every family and friend resource they had, and I mean used up. Their drugs of choice were usually alcohol and prescription painkillers, but if marijuana or something else was available, fine, nothing got turned down. Everything they owned was stored in two suitcases and a purse, with most of the contents strewn about the room. Today’s fight was something special. Michelle had taken the last of the painkillers that morning without talking to Tony, or offering him half. The withdrawal from painkillers is a steep fall into depression, irritability, cramps, and joint paint. The brain is in an altered state on painkillers, which by the way don’t actually kill any pain; they just make the individual not care. As Tony’s depression became acute his actions became irrational.  How was he going to get more and from where? They had used all their money on the room last night. The first time they had slept in a bed rather than a couch in several days. Other times the small minivan outside became the bed. Michelle was 6 weeks pregnant, but her dependency clouded her judgment; and since she wasn’t showing yet, none of it had sunk in. 

     Tony thought he would treat her to a motel room where they could have privacy for a night and he would look for work the next morning. Tony had hit her before, but nothing serious. It usually amounted to him pushing her up against a wall, or grabbing her by her clothes or neck. She had never called the police. She loved him, and knew he loved her, and after all, she had usually started it, or deserved it she thought. Michelle felt the hard impact of Tony’s fist against her left cheek bone. Sheering pain shot through her face, neck, and head. She fell against the bed and slumped to the floor in a semi-conscious haze. “Look what you made me do” Tony yelled as he kicked her legs to get his point across further.  Michelle tried to sit up only to feel the shocking slap of Tony’s hand as it made contact with her cheek again. The pain was excruciating, but temporary. Nothing’s broken. I’m okay, she thought, afraid to say anything to Tony that might make him angrier. The tears came uncontrollably. She sat against the bed holding her face, sobbing, wondering what she had done to deserve her life. Tony retreated into the small bathroom to separate himself from Michelle and his anger. He needed to calm down but the withdrawal was deep seated now, causing a spiraling depression that was way out of Tony’s control. The only way to fix this was with a hit; a Perk. That would calm him down, ease his mind, and make everything okay again. If he could just score everything would be okay; but how? They’d spent all their money on the hotel room. It was broad daylight. Too risky to do a robbery and they didn’t know anybody who would loan them money or give them a boost. Michelle had been to the Emergency Room so many times with fake illnesses asking for pain meds that all the hospitals had her on a list. 

     Michelle made her way back onto the bed, sat on the edge, and looked out through the open blinds into the asphalt parking lot situated in the middle of the horseshoe shaped motel. It was virtually empty save for a few beaters here and there. This was not your upscale motel. This wasn’t even your midscale motel. The bed rocked like a bounce house when she sat on it, and the pillows were like Frisbees, flat and hard. She heard the room phone ringing but her head hurt so badly and she was still crying too hard to answer it. After a short pause it rang again, then again. “Who the F*** is calling this room? Who did you tell we were here, b**ch.”, she heard Tony yell from the bathroom. She began to tremble with the thought of him getting angry again, knowing the result of that for her. The depression from her own withdrawal was exacerbating her depression and emotions. She glanced around the room and saw their suitcase by the dresser. She remembered Tony’s gun in there and thought for a moment if she could get to it she could scare Tony into not hitting her anymore; or at least hide it so he couldn’t hurt her or somebody else with it. Tony liked to waive it around when he was high and wear it in his waistline without his shirt on. He thought it made him look like a man, and every man should take care of his own. He had already repeatedly yelled at her how he ought to just kill her now and make his life easier. She knows their neighbors had to hear it. At least one of them had walked by the window and looked in when Tony had her pinned down earlier. She had heard sirens in the distance and secretly prayed that they were coming for her. She didn’t really want Tony arrested, she just wanted the cops to talk to him and scare him a little. Maybe even give her a chance to leave for a little while, you know, until things calmed down like they always did.     
    
     The shower came on in the bathroom and she breathed a deep sigh of relief knowing she had a few minutes of peace and time to make a decision. She opened the suitcase and stuck her hand deep under the clothes, rummaging till she found the object of her search. It was beautiful, shinny, nickel plated, and big. Tony said it was his 3-5-7 equalizer for anyone who didn’t respect him. He always said “God made all men, but Smith and Wesson made them equal.” Her disdain for the weapon was evidenced by the way she handled it; precarious, unsure, fearful of its immense power. She held it in both hands facing the bathroom door. She brought the weapon up to eye level looking over the sites, squinting one eye and getting a feel for the gun. Her finger was in the trigger well and she gently put pressure on the trigger. But her hands began to shake uncontrollably, then her arms, then her knees buckled and she was in a praying position at the foot of the bed, weak, unable to even lift the gun again.

     The phone rang again. It rang, and it rang and it rang. Michelle stared at it, half scared to answer it, still shaking, still holding the gun. Suddenly the bathroom door flung open and Tony walked out in his underwear swearing at the phone again. Then he stopped and fell silent, staring at Michelle still on her knees holding the gun, tears streaming down her face, make-up smeared and mixed with blood from her nose. “What are you doing with that?” he demanded. She just stared at him as the phone kept ringing, aggravatingly ringing and ringing. Tony grabbed her by the back of her hair pulling her head back. “You gonna shoot somebody, huh, huh?” Michelle tried to get to her feet, but Tony slammed her face down on the bed. Pinned her face to the mattress, took the gun from her hands and rammed the barrel into the back of her head. “Not so easy is it. Let me show you!” he said as he climbed on top of her on the bed, his knees on each side of her and cocked the hammer. Now, for the second time today, he had her pinned facedown on the bed with a gun to the back of her head. She prayed for it to be over...which ever way God wanted it to end, it needed to end now.

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      Mickey was the spotter for this evolution as Rocky looked through the scope of the Remington .308 caliber rifle the team had recently purchased. The two had just gotten into position in the second story motel room overlooking the courtyard into the room across from the horseshoe shaped motel.   They were back into the room just in the shadows and used a prefab wooden door stop they carried in their gear to prop the door open. They had moved the dresser perpendicular to the door and positioned chairs behind it so they were up off the floor and semi-comfortable for the length of the mission. It was either that or take out a window and nobody was going to give permission for that at this point. Besides, that's way too much noise and attention this early on; and after all, this was just supposed to be a domestic; but there is such a very fine line between love and hate, and many have been killed or maimed by someone claiming to “love” them.
    
     At 100 feet per second muzzle velocity the .308 Remington delivers roughly 2500 foot pounds of energy per square inch at impact. That's the approximate strength of metal molding stamp machines used commercially. It's comparable and interchangeable with the military .30 caliber round and has been the preferred weapon of most snipers since the inception of SWAT in Los Angeles in the 1970s. The bullet has a slight drop at long range, which is why many military teams will use the .300 Winchester Magnum. The WinMag, a favorite of SEAL Sniper Chris Kyle,  has a higher muzzle velocity, which helps reduce the bullet drop at range.
     Mickey nudged Rock, “you seeing this?” “I got it”, said Rock. “He’s gonna shoot  her”, Mickey said half under his breath as he tensed up behind his spotter scope, "it's cocked, the pistol's cocked!" Rock pressed his finger against the trigger guard, stretching it, relieving the tension, then thumbed the safety off, and tightened his grip as he pulled the weapon back into his shoulder deeper. The trigger pulled smoothly and evenly. The rifle jumped to life, recoiling sharply with a tremendously loud rapport. The window across the courtyard shattered and fell in and down creating a smoke like haze in the room. "He's down", said Mickey. "Looks like he fell against the wall on the opposite side of the bed. I have No Joy." Mickey keyed the radio, "SHOT OUT, SHOT OUT!"
     "Shot out" rang through the radio as the team shuffled swiftly down the covered walkway and told us what we already knew, it was our rifle, our team, our decision, and now ours to live with or die with.
     The stack compressed as we approached the hotel room door. "Breacher up", said the Alpha Leader into his headset, so monotone one might have thought we were having a cigar on my deck in conversation. The breacher, about 5 men back in the stack quickly moved around the team to the front and positioned himself ahead of the shield bearer, our point man. The short two handled ram arced back to above shoulder level and pivoted hard, smooth, and fast until it made contact with the metal door just under the handle. The door bent, a second swing of the 35 pound maul sent the door flying open and pounding the wall. The breacher stepped aside as he dropped the ram, then turned and raked the rest of the glass out of the large window. The Alpha Leader motioned for two more to move up in the stack and go guns in on the window. The shield team, comprised of the shield bearer and controller, paused at the door taking in the scene. A tattered white female, scantily clothed, knelt on the far side of the bed, between the wall and bed. She was sobbing and screaming hysterically. A spattering of blood could be seen against the far wall. "Stand up and show your hands", came the order from the Controller. The doorway was just big enough for the Shield Team and the Controller leaned out over the shield as he pointed his UMP-45 caliber assault weapon at the female, "ma'am, stand up, do it now!" Rocky and Mickey were still on over watch as they stared intently through their scopes into the room, ready to respond in an instant to any furtive activity that might occur. The female slowly rose, pushing off the male lying supine against the wall. All that could be seen at this point were his legs. The woman was blood speckled except for her hands, which looked to be painted a deep rich red. Sobbing, she stood and gave her attention to the team. The orders came quickly and with great authority, "put your hands up to your face, turn around, and walk backwards to me!"
     "You killed him. You didn't have to kill him. Why did you kill him?" she shouted at us as she was quickly removed from the doorway, handcuffed, and whisked to the back of the stack. The Alpha called out into the room searching for anyone else alive. Most of the room could be cleared from the doorway, save for the bathroom and the wall behind the bed. "Move in" came the order from the Alpha Leader. The shield bearer came up from his knees where he had been resting behind the shield. The Controller pressed himself against him and they moved as one, the Controller's long gun up to point shoulder as he looked just over his sites as they cam upon the first threat, just behind the bed. The team stopped at the corner of the bed and the wall and peered over the bed, guns to the ready. The male lie motionless, supine, with a large amount of blood covering his chest and the floor under him. There was a large cavity in his center chest that extended to one side of his body. His eyes were half open, glazed, empty, dead.The team continued the clear. A sharp push exposed the small, empty bathroom with the open shower curtain.  "Check all secondaries",  barked the Alpha.  The team broke out and dug the corners of the room, lifting what little furniture was there to expose any threat, no matter what it might be. "All clear" came the final radio traffic from the Alpha Leader to Command. "Assemble on me", and just like that the team filed into formation behind him like the closing of a wooden fan. We moved out solemnly, with purpose, and a little bit in shock at what had just happened.

Michelle complained to the press in a loud and grotesque manner that the police had murdered her boyfriend. She was still in shock; suffering from Stockholm syndrome, where the victim sides with and defends the abuser. It's sad. It hurt our feelings; created depression and a sense of hopeless about our mission and purpose for while. But the bottom line is that our snipers saved her life that day. There was no doubt in my mind then, and none now.

"Respect All, Fear None" is the mantra we live by. Ours is a culture of trust, honor, integrity, loyalty, and commitment. Something most people will never understand unless you've been there. Those that meet us head on will be crushed. But the thing is, they may not ever even see it coming.      

    

TBC