Raymond Long: author of fiction and non-fiction

"Raid on a den of vice"
'Load with baton round,' Jeri ordered. She pulled out her one clip of plastic baton ammunition and slapped it home. Her ammo counter changed to G-54, 40 baton, grenade, 24 gas. She shifted in her seat, getting her feet braced to jump out, readjusting her grip on her weapon.

'All units from control. Prepare for operation go. Twenty seconds.'

She drew in a long, deep breath, felt the inevitable shiver. She looked around, taking in the positions of people in the street.

'Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, go.'

The doors slid up. Jeri launched herself out, barging her shoulder into a fat woman who let out an absurd squawk. Ignoring her, Jeri bent low and powered herself down the street toward Peachy's. Twenty meters – fifteen – ten – her heart was pounding as she sprinted close. Then she slowed, and dropped to one knee. She pulled the G-54 tight into her shoulder and aimed up at the window nearest the door on this side.

She squeezed the trigger. The weapon bucked in her hands, but her grip was sure and her aim true. The window burst in a shattering spray of glass. Her shots were angled up, and should hit the ceiling inside. They were only baton rounds, but still she didn't want to hit innocent people. The girls who worked here weren't the real bad guys.

She armed the grenade launcher and shot, then pumped a second and a third grenade in through the window. Then she stood and ejected the empty ammo clip from the main body of the G-54. There was no time to lose. She pulled another clip from her chest pack – live rounds this time, light amour piercing – and slapped them in, stepping forward as she did so. Her ammo counter read: G-54, 40 LAP, grenade, 21 gas.

'Air-lights, right side, arm!'

'Vocal command accepted.'

A girl and a man came staggering out of the doorway, coughing. Jeri barged them roughly aside and dropped her body, falling to one knee and reaching her weapon around the door.

'Air-lights, release!'

Bright round balls of glowing light shot forward over Jeri's right shoulder into Peachy's, illuminating the inside. People were falling, writhing on the floor from the effects of the gas. Jeri stood.

Corrigan crossed behind her to the other side of the door, knelt and reached his weapon inside. Jeri stood and stepped in, shifting sideways out of Corrigan's line of fire. The air-lights were starting to drift up to the ceiling. Most of the occupants were on the floor now, some unconscious, others still writhing. She stepped cautiously forward, feeling for bodies with her feet.

'Corrigan, check the door on the left! Door ahead's mine!' Her voice was hoarse, shaking with excitement.

'Yes ma'am!'

Jeri stepped forward, picking her way across a floor strewn with bodies. On the view inside her helmet, a small red triangle appeared low down. It was over the prone, still body of a man. A moment later the word handgun appeared above the triangle. Another triangle appeared ahead and to her right, another suspicious object in the corner of the room.

'Mapping! Internal!' She was shouting, hands tight on the grip of the G-54. Inside the gloves of the armored suit, her fingers and palms were slick with sweat.

'Vocal command accepted.' Superimposed over the lower half of her field of vision, yellow lines appeared, mapping out of the inside of the building. Hollow sky-blue circles showed the positions of the four police officers.

Jeri took another step forward, and a red triangle appeared in the middle of her vision, superimposed on the door ahead of her. Before she was even conscious of it, her finger tightened around the trigger. Her body followed the training, keeping her rifle level against the recoil. Then her brain kicked in and she released the trigger, dropped to one knee and hunched down to get her head out of the line of returning fire. The red triangle on the door dropped. There was a mangled hole in the plastic door, all torn splinters. She aimed at it and shot off a gas grenade, but it went wide and bounced off the door. She shot another two, and the third went through. Then she emptied the remaining bullets in her clip at the handle of the door. The plastic around it disintegrated.

Eject clip, take another clip of live rounds from the chest pack, slap it in. Glance to the ammo counter at the left side of her view: G-54, 40 LAP, grenade, 18 gas. Stand up again and step forward. Red triangle still there, moving up again. Another triangle appearing, higher up. Kick the door. What's left of it swinging in, fragments breaking off. Human shape in the dim corridor, leaning back against the wall. The red triangle over its hand. The legend AK-47 above it.