Date: Thu, 8 Mar 2007 21:35:40 -0800 (PST)
From: resq merman <merman_resq@yahoo.com>
Subject: Responders chapter thirteen

Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction.
Certain characters are based loosely on people known
to the author, other similarities to actual persons,
places, and events are purely coincidental. This story
also includes graphic homosexual acts, some by minors.
If this material offends you or is illegal in your
area please stop now. The name Aquatic Rescue Response
has been used with permission of Aquatic Rescue
Response of Maine. Thank you.


On the off chance that everyone thinks this chapter is
not up to the same standards as the previous twelve,
I've decided to add this. I no longer have the same
person proof reading my chapters and this particular
one I wrote in less then one night. Hope you enjoy it.


Chapter Thirteen: Trouble Brewing


Brad walked across the parking lot of the supermarket
slow; cautious; watching. His normal carefree trip for
groceries had been going just fine until he had, not
paying attention, walked his cart into a guy in the
frozen foods section. The guy had reacted completely
out of the normal expectations of how someone should.
Brad had been courteous and apologized. The guy, on
the other hand, had completely lost his temper.

Watch where the fuck you're going, you fag!!!

Sorry, I just wasn't looking.

You want me to kick your ass, fucking queer!?!

Whatever! Brad thought, and walked away. Seeing the
guy glaring at him from behind a display as Brad was
being rung out by the cashier, he knew it wasn't over.
That is why Brad was now at his heightened state of
alert.

Hoping he was in the clear when he didn't see the guy
in the parking lot, Brad loaded the groceries into the
back of his truck, put the cart back in the corral,
and then returned to climb in. Just after Brad
unlocked the door, he sensed someone close behind him.
Brad opened the door fully so as to have access to the
cab then turned to see who was approaching. Of course,
Brad had hoped it was someone he knew but was not at
all surprised to see it was his new friend from frozen
foods. The guy looked like he had spent most of his
life behind bars, most of that at the weight pile no
less. Six foot four at least and easily two hundred
eighty pounds, the guy had Brad by about seventy
pounds and four inches of height. Tagging along behind
were two equally muscle bound gorillas of men. Doing a
quick threat assessment, Brad knew he was far out
manned. He took a single step back, centering himself
in the open door. Gorilla one and two, as he decided
to call them, stopped on the other side of the open
parking spot next to Brad's truck, while UMF, short
for Ugly Mother Fucker, came up just out of arms
reach. Getting into the truck and just driving off had
not been an option; construction at the parking lot
exit had traffic at a stand still.

You want to run into me now, faggot? Huh?

Look, it was a simple accident, I wasn't watching
where I was going, and walked into you. No one was
hurt; no harm no foul, right?

No, no, you're foul, you pansy. I think you need your
ass kicked. You'd like that, wouldn't you, you cock
sucker?

Come on, I apologized and it wasn't on purpose anyway.
I don't want any trouble.

Trouble, you don't want trouble? You should have
thought of that before you ran into me, Mary. Why
don't you start by giving me your wallet, huh?

With that, UMF and the two gorillas pulled out knives.
Just by the way the men held the knives Brad knew they
had never had any formal training, but their stances
and grip showed that they had fought before, making
the potentially more dangerous then a professional.
This just confirmed Brad's assessment that these guys
had been guests of the penal system. Three against one
isn't a fair fight in anyone's book, but then again, a
fight isn't supposed to be fair; and Brad was a firm
believer that although God created all men, Colonel
Sam Colt had made all men equal. With what easily
could have started as a twitch landed Brad's foot
squarely on UMF's chest. Unfortunately, running
sneakers are not as effective in this maneuver as
combat boots, but it gave Brad the space he needed to
reach under the center arm rest on the seat of the
truck, grab what was there, and push the red distress
button on the mobile radio on his way back out. UMF
had recovered from the kick and was advancing again,
with the gorillas not far behind. By this time, in
Brad's mind the men had gone from street punks to
domestic terrorists, albeit small scale, but
terrorists (tangos, for those in the know) none the
less.

NO ONE MOVES! OR EVERYONE DIES!

Brad roared, loud and clear, sounding like a military
drill instructor. The three tangos froze, gorilla one
and two a single step behind UMF, whose nose was no
more then an inch away from the gapping hole that was
the business end of the barrel on Brad's 1911A1 .45
ACP combat pistol.

DROP THE KNIVES! STEP BACK AWAY FROM THE KNIVES!

Two knives hit the ground immediately, gorilla two
hesitated for just a moment, as if deciding to try
anything and must have thought better of it, he too
complied with the armed, ex-SEAL's orders. The radio
in Brad's truck squawked something that was not
clearly heard by any of the four men.

LOCK YOUR FINGERS TOGETHER ABOVE YOUR HEADS! DROP TO
YOUR KNEES! HOOK YOU RIGHT ANKLE BEHIND YOUR LEFT
KNEE! FALL FORWARD! DON'T CATCH YOURSELVES! NOW, GRAB
YOU LEFT ANKLE WITH BOTH YOUR HANDS! You're going to
stay that way until the cops get here.

Sirens wailed in the distance rapidly approaching,
barely slowed by the construction traffic. The first
Dodge Charger police cruiser screeched to a halt in
front of Brad's Ram Pick-up, just as the unmistakable
red and white ARR helicopter came over the store at
tree-top level. None other then Chief Boatswain's Mate
(ret.) Mike Harris was dangling out the pinned open
side door cradling an immaculately kept M-60 7.62mm
machine gun. Behind him was Luke, in full tactical
gear, with a modified M-4 carbine across his chest.
Now normally, a civilian aircraft must be unarmed by
law, but there happens to be a loop-hole, ARR works
closely with the US Coast Guard, US DEA, BATF, US
Border Patrol, Immigration and Naturalization, and US
Homeland Security on interdiction and enforcement of
maritime law. Knowing the character, training, and
caliber (so to speak) of the men, these agencies
turned a blind eye on the rare occasion when arms were
needed for other purposes, such as now. Besides, a
gunship gives a regular cop a warm fuzzy feeling as
back-up, as long as it's on his side.

County sheriff's deputy Samuel Hardy climbed out of
his cruiser, H & K USP .45 ACP in one hand, three sets
of hand cuffs in the other.

Pissed in the wrong bowl of Wheatie's, didn't you
fellas?

As four more cruisers pulled up, surrounding the scene
from various angles, Brad lowered his side arm and
placed it back under the console from which he had
easily drawn it. Hitting the right combination of
buttons to cancel the distress signal, Brad picked up
the hand microphone.

One-Zero-One, Dispatch. PD on scene, scene secure,
Air-One can RTB.

Ten-Four, One-Zero-One. PD On scene, Air-One return to
base.

Air-One Copies, returning to base.

Putting the microphone back in its rack, Brad turned
to the police officers, who were finishing searching
the last attacker and herding him into the back of a
cruiser.

Sorry about the extra paperwork, guys, but I figured
you were bored!

With the likes of you around how could we ever be
bored?

Lieutenant Dennis James, the shift supervisor for the
local police department, had left the shooting range
just for this call. He even still wore his red jacket
with INSTRUCTOR emblazoned front and back.

Damn, DJ, I didn't know you could teach. I though you
sat around all day, eating doughnuts!

Hey, if I don't watch my figure, no one else will! So,
how's your mom?

Oh, she's good, driving dad nuts now that they're both
retired. How's the wife?

Pregnant^Å eight months and counting, isn't that a
pisser? Anyway, starting from the beginning, what
exactly happened here?

If I knew, you think we'd be here? Seriously though^Å

Brad went on in as much detail as he could. Dennis
took notes, stopping Brad to ask questions every once
in a while. Finally they got to the point were Dennis
had arrived just after Deputy Hardy handcuffed the
first of the men.

Well, I think that about takes care of it for now. I
will, of course, need a signed statement; you can just
drop it by the station later.

Don't worry; I'll do that as soon as I get home. Can I
go now; my ice cream is starting to soften?

Brad waved goodbye to his childhood friend, promising
to pass a hello along to his parents on Dennis'
behalf. Ten minutes later, Brad was pulling into the
driveway, Luke had beaten him home.

HEY! YOU BUM! Get out here and help me with these
groceries!

Promise not to shoot me?

Luke came out the door from the screened in porch,
grabbed two bags, kissed Brad lightly on the lips.

You ok, babe?

Better then most, a lot better the some, and you?

Fine, now^Å didn't know what to think when your trucks'
EPIRB went off.

Yeah, well, I'll tell you all about it at the station,
after we put these groceries away, I have to write a
statement, and I don't want to have to repeat myself a
hundred times.

I wouldn't think so. Come on.

Off into the house Luke went. The two men made short
work of putting everything away, and then took Brad's
truck down to the station.

There he is! Captain Courage himself! Single handedly
stomping out crime!

Bite me, Chief!

No way! You'd like it!

That got a round of laughs from everyone. As he sat at
the computer to write his statement, Brad proceeded to
regale the others with the story of his afternoon.

You know, that button worked great, I wouldn't have
wanted to have been standing there alone much longer.
They're in all the trucks right, Chief Harris?

Yeah, except the new kids', he's getting a new vehicle
soon, so I decided to hold off on installing a radio.

Ok, good. I want all our radios to have a distress
button linked to an Emergency Position Indicating
Rescue Beacon from now on. I've got a feeling this
won't be the last time one of us needs help in a
hurry. Questions? No? Good, then get back to work,
what am I paying you for, to just hang around?

As the guys went about their various daily station
duties, Brad picked up the phone and punched the
number one speed dial.

Dispatch, can I help you?

Hey, Virgil, it's Brad. How did the EPIRB work?

Man, I about jumped out of my skin when it went off!
The gong went off, my screen flashed red, and you
position came right up immediately. I tried you once
on the radio, like I'm supposed to, and when you
didn't answer, I sent in the cavalry. My asshole
brother got there first?

Virgil Hardy was half of a set of twins that Mrs.
Hardy had the steel resolve to raise. Just barely on
the right side of the law as kids, Virgil and Samuel
Hardy had given their mother each and every one of the
grey hairs on her head. Fortunately their antics had
never injured anyone severely, nor landed anyone in
too much trouble. While Samuel was rising in the ranks
quickly with the Sheriffs' office, Virgil had joined
the US Coast Guard as a Search and Rescue Swimmer,
through which he had met Brad, but was now stuck
driving a desk. While on leave in Puerto Rico, Virgil
and his crew had come across a car accident. The car
was hanging off a guardrail with a little girl
trapped, unconscious, inside. Doing what came natural,
Virgil and his crew attempted to secure the vehicle as
best they could, and rescue the child. With no real
equipment and the car teetering, Virgil had climbed in
and had no more then passed the girl out the window to
another Coast Guardsman when the car slid. The sudden
movement pitched Virgil out through the shattered rear
window and onto the ground behind the car. For a
moment it appeared the car had settled on its trunk,
then it continued downhill flipping end over end.
Virgil couldn't move fast enough. The roof rolled over
both his legs, crushing his left femur and severing
his right leg just below the knee. Quick attention by
a US Navy Corpsman, who had also happened by, is the
only thing that saved Virgil's life. Now with a
titanium shaft in place of his femur and a stump; a
prosthetic knee, lower leg, and foot when he felt like
wearing it; in place of his right leg, Virgil was
considered unfit for duty. He received an early
discharge, in good standing, with medical pension from
the Coast Guard, and had gone to work as a dispatcher
for ARR the day after his discharge came through.

Yeah, he did. Was glad to see him! Well, I just called
to make sure everything worked; I've got a bunch of
paperwork to do now. Don't be too surprised to see
more activations, I don't think this is the last we'll
hear from those guys.



Thank you for reading at least this far. This has is
my first story I have been confident enough of to post
online. Feedback and comments are welcome, however if
you feel the need to flame I will, as the firefighter
I am, assume that you are on fire and take appropriate
action comenserate with my training. Also, I apologize
to those of you reading this story from outside the
United States. Depending on your country of origin, I
may or may not reply to your comments for security
reasons. Thank you again. Merman_Resq@yahoo.com