American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop

Chandler City was about 30 kilometers southeast of Phoenix—just a quick drive away. After half an hour of bouncing around in the police armored vehicle, everyone's faces looked grim.

This "Bearcat" police vehicle was essentially a modified Ford F-550 pickup, fitted with heavy armor and bulletproof glass. However, the extra weight severely impacted its suspension, making the ride anything but comfortable. After being tossed around in a metal can for over twenty minutes, it was a miracle the young officers hadn't lost their lunch—a testament to their training.

The term "Bearcat" was interesting. It's closer to the literal meaning of "panda" than "Panda" itself, as it also implies fierceness and bravery. Those familiar with fighter jets might recall that in the late stages of World War II, the Grumman F8F Bearcat was the last piston-engine fighter produced by the U.S. and represented the pinnacle of propeller-driven aircraft.

This police Bearcat was certainly living up to its name. Once Jane confirmed that the second team was in position, she gave the order. The driver shifted the vehicle into reverse, floored the gas pedal, and the Bearcat roared toward the villa's front entrance.

Unlike LAPD-SWAT, which would ram a battering ram into the wall, reverse, and then send in the team, Jane's group took a more aggressive and efficient approach.

With a thunderous crash, the Bearcat's rear smashed through the front gate and part of the wall, sending half of the vehicle into the villa's front hall. At the same moment, the officers sitting at the back flung two flashbangs through the rear window.

Boom! Boom! Two loud explosions rocked the room, and the Bearcat's rear door, designed like a landing craft, lowered instantly. Officers poured out, their voices booming through the chaos.

"Get down! Get down! Don't move! Don't move!"

One guard, seated in the front hall with a spoon in his hand, was left dazed and confused by the flashbangs. He obediently knelt on the ground, hands on his head, not daring to move.

Two officers approached him—one cuffed him while the other stood guard. The rest of the team pressed forward. There was another person in the kitchen, similarly incapacitated by the flashbangs.

"Legs together! Hands up!" Two more officers rushed in and quickly subdued the second guard, handcuffing him as well.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team moved ahead, pushing through the front hall and into the hallway.

"Police! Search warrant! Don't move!"

Their warnings echoed through the villa. Unlike military CQB tactics, law enforcement has to follow the principle of minimum force, so the loud shouts from the officers served as a powerful deterrent.

Jack followed closely behind Jane, with the rest of the team in line behind them. As they approached the first room, Jane stopped, and Jack placed his left hand on her shoulder, giving it a light tap to signal readiness.

Two other officers moved past them to the second room, while the remaining officers stood guard at the hallway entrance, ready to stop anyone from rushing out.

In CQB terminology, there's a term called the "fatal funnel"—it describes narrow areas like doorways, stairwells, or entryways. The imagery is vivid.

Once a door is in place against the wall, the space inside and outside forms a perfect hourglass from a bird's-eye view. Operating within the "fatal funnel" is extremely dangerous.

CQB tactics break down a room-entry maneuver into many steps, all designed to minimize casualties. It's a combination of courage and luck.

Compared to military special forces, who have more tools at their disposal, law enforcement often faces less skilled opponents but higher risks.

Jane stood against the wall, her hand on the door handle, and exchanged a glance with Jack before turning the knob and pushing the door open. Jack immediately ducked low, swinging his body in as he pivoted along the doorframe, his rifle aimed at the farthest corner.

As Jack entered, Jane's aim swept across the near corner of the room, covering him.

"FBI! Don't move!"

Narrow doorways like this weren't suited for two people entering at once. This type of entry coordination was the safest option in the situation.

No one liked CQB operations. Even the most seasoned special forces teams could suffer heavy casualties in close-quarters combat.

Fortunately, Jane's anti-kidnapping team wasn't up against highly trained opponents. The drug dealers and smugglers they encountered might have used guns for a few days, but their tactical skills were limited. Proper training minimized the chances of unexpected incidents.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

The room was empty, the sunlight blocked by drawn curtains, leaving it dimly lit—another disadvantage in CQB operations. The human eye takes time to adjust to light changes, and an enemy hiding in the shadows could easily strike first.

A foul stench filled the room—a nauseating mix of paint thinner, wall plaster, and the unmistakable reek of excrement and urine. Jack and Jane, following close behind, called out to their teammates in the hallway.

"Clear! Moving out!" They raised their rifles and stepped back into the hallway, continuing to clear rooms in alternating fashion until they reached the last room in the middle of the villa.

The rear of the villa was being handled by the second team, who had breached through the back door. Once this final room was cleared, the teams would meet in the middle.

Meanwhile, a sniper team was stationed on a nearby hill, ready to take out anyone who might attempt to escape through the windows or respond to other threats.

Jack crouched beside the wall as Jane prepared to open the next door. Just as she turned the knob and pushed the door, a deafening blast erupted. The flimsy wooden door was riddled with holes from a shotgun blast.

Jack dived low, sliding into the room while firing his rifle in quick bursts.

The M4A1 carbine, when its safety is rotated 90 degrees, operates in semi-auto mode. Another 90-degree rotation switches it to full-auto, with a blistering rate of fire of 900 rounds per minute. Holding down the trigger would empty a standard 30-round magazine in just 2 seconds.

In this situation, Jack couldn't afford to use full-auto—who knew if there were hostages behind the gunman.

Luckily, there was only one shooter. Three 5.56x45mm NATO rounds pierced the Mexican man's abdomen, chest, and neck.

"You okay?" Jane entered the room cautiously, staying at the door, her gun trained on the downed shooter.

"I'm fine. Clear!" Jack quickly got up, kicking away the shotgun from the man's hand. It was a Mossberg M590 pump-action, a common weapon known as the "trench cleaner."

He removed his gloves and checked the shooter's carotid artery. Confirming he was dead, Jack wiped his greasy hands on his pants and slipped his gloves back on.

"Squad leaders, report status!" Jane yelled out.

"Clear!"

"We're all clear, Captain!"

"Two suspects apprehended!"

Reports from the rest of the team came through the earpiece, and Jane exhaled in relief.

"Why did this guy even open fire? This place is just a stinking empty house, not even any basic furniture," Reggie, the young black officer, began chattering incessantly.

"Call CSI and inform the higher-ups. We've got a bigger problem."

Jack approached Jane. He had indeed come looking for evidence, but he didn't expect it to present itself in such an extreme manner.

"But we haven't found any hostages. What's going on?" Jane asked, confused.

"The hostages are here," Jack said, engaging the carbine's safety and slamming its buttstock against the wall. A nauseating stench immediately filled the room, almost palpable.

"What the—what the hell?" Reggie, still clueless, leaned closer and nearly gagged from the overpowering smell of decay.

"The internal structure of this house is wrong. There's no reason for the drywall to be this thick. The cracks in the corners are full of dead maggots."

As Jack explained, he pulled away the drywall, revealing a series of wooden partitions. Each compartment held a corpse, all standing upright.

Each body had a bag over its head and was dressed only in underwear. There were both men and women.

[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [[email protected]/Mutter]

[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]

[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]