Chương 28: Chapter 27: Operation Doughnut Shop Smash and Grab

Right around eight o'clock that evening, the low rumble of a heavy engine signaled the arrival of Joe, Pete, and Johnny. Out on the streets, a faint twilight lingered—the sun had already dipped well below the horizon, but the sky still held onto a hazy, post-apocalyptic glow. By my mental clock, we had a window of about thirty to forty-five minutes before complete darkness blanketed the valley, providing the exact tactical cover we needed to hit the police department.

I figured if there were still localized law enforcement units actively trying to maintain order in the city, this twilight window would be when they'd deploy their night shifts. The more aggressive looters, scavenger packs, and desperate neighborhood factions usually waited for the pitch-black hours to do their business. Denise came through in absolute, epic fashion, exactly as I knew she would.

Ever since I took the boys and the surveillance gear out to my mom's workshop, she had been quietly working over a massive beef roast. Her method was meticulous: she dredged the meat in a rich blend of flour and heavy seasonings, searing every side in a blazing hot pan with a splash of oil to lock in the juices. From there, she transferred the roast into a deep iron pot to slow-simmer with her custom homemade beef stock, crushed cloves of garlic, coarse salt, cracked pepper, and three whole bay leaves.

As the meat tenderized, she tossed in thick cuts of celery, potatoes, carrots, and sweet onions, letting the entire mixture simmer until the beef literally fell apart under a fork. Once the roast was perfectly tender, she pulled the meat, discarded the bay leaves, and sliced the beef against the grain into thick, two-inch slabs before shredding it entirely and returning it to the pot. What you ended up with was a dense, rich, wonderful beef stew that smelled like heaven.

With a few dashes of hot sauce mixed in and a heavy sprinkle of sharp cheddar cheese melting across the top, there was absolutely nothing better on earth to warm your stomach—or dramatically elevate your baseline attributes in preparation for a major heist. As the guys eagerly dug into their bowls around the table, I cleared a spot, laid out a rough sketch of the municipal block, and walked them through the layout. I affectionately dubbed the mission "Operation Doughnut Shop Smash and Grab."

The police department occupied the northwest corner of 5th and J streets, with the main brick facade facing directly out onto 5th. The facility's high security fencing began right at the edge of the brick structure and tracked south, connecting directly to the exterior wall of the old storage house, though it didn't actually encompass the residential frame itself. The front porch of that old storage house was completely open to the public sidewalk, looking like any other ordinary, run-down home on the block.

Where the house's original concrete driveway sat, the department had installed a massive, automated sliding chain-link gate to control vehicle access to the inner yard. The house's garage was a completely detached structure, sitting deep within the interior of the rear lot, flanked by a wide, covered metal carport. Positioned directly between that carport and the rear of the main police station were three massive, forty-foot steel cargo containers.

Past the far side of the storage house, another thirty feet of heavy fencing extended until it met the back boundary line of the property. The perimeter fencing encircling the entire police compound was constructed from heavy, one-inch square steel tubing, with each vertical bar tapering into a sharp, outward-curving spear point facing the street. It was virtually unscalable without specialized tactical ladders.

On the other side of the western boundary sat a tight, privately owned commercial alleyway running directly behind a local nail salon. The salon owner had previously erected a secondary wooden privacy fence along the department's iron line, which ran parallel until it terminated right at the automatic sliding vehicle gate. To the north, the secure lot was bordered by the brick wall of the historic county courthouse.

A small, iron walk-through pedestrian gate was set into this northern line, situated right next to a secondary automatic sliding vehicle gate that mirrored the southern entrance.

Because of the physical layout—hemmed in by the storage house and cargo containers to the south, the salon's wooden privacy wall to the west, and the massive courthouse structure to the north—the absolute only way for an outsider to get a clear line of sight into the rear lot or the backside of the police station was by staring straight through the iron bars at the front entrance on 5th Street. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

And that structure presented our very first tactical hurdle. Our primary insertion plan relied on forcing entry through the street-facing front door of the storage house. But if there were active personnel milling about in the rear lot or staging vehicles behind the station, the team wouldn't be able to see them from that side of the building. We desperately needed a scout positioned at the front of the complex to maintain an unbroken watch, keeping the extraction team updated via radio if anyone was in the yard.

After running a quick mental inventory of our character sheets, it was confirmed that I was the only individual in the fire team who had unlocked the [Sneak] skill. By default, that observation post fell directly on my shoulders. If the situation went south and I needed to rapidly breach the interior to assist them, I would have to utilize the northern walk-through gate. The locking mechanism on that specific pedestrian frame was an old-school, purely mechanical non-electrical push-button keypad.

Fortunately, having worked the property for years, I knew the master bypass code by heart. I didn't think the administration had actually changed that combination in thirty years; to be completely honest, I wasn't even sure anyone currently on the municipal payroll even knew how to reprogram the mechanical tumblers anymore.

Our operational movement was straightforward: we would park our insertion vehicle—a massive, matte-black and primer-gray Chevy Suburban owned by Joe—in the dark commercial alleyway directly behind the salon's wooden fence. Once the vehicle was staged, I would dismount solo, sneaking around the dark courthouse side of the property to establish a hidden observation post right at the corner of the brick building where the masonry met the security fence.

The county landscape crew had planted a thick cluster of ornamental bushes and small palm trees in that exact corner, providing the perfect natural concealment for me to melt into. If my initial sweep indicated the rear lot was completely cold, I would radio the team to immediately force the front door of the storage house. At that point, I would slip through the mechanical walk-through gate, cross the asphalt, and link up with them on the backside of the house near the cargo containers.

From there, we would use heavy bolt cutters to snap the padlocks on the steel containers, rapidly transfer the ammunition crates and tactical gear into the back of the Suburban, and vanish into the night. However, if there were active personnel present in the lot, but they were holding positions on the opposite side of the compound, the team would still proceed with the storage house breach, executing the entry as silently as humanly possible.

If any of the officers detected the noise or moved to investigate the structure, I would instantly alert the team over the airwaves and take immediate diversionary action. My job would be to either aggressively engage the threat or draw their attention completely away from the storage house by creating a distraction on the courthouse side.

In the absolute worst-case scenario—if we arrived to find the rear lot crawling with an unexpected number of armed officers or staging units—the team would immediately cut and run. They would jump back into the Suburban, pull out of the alley, and execute a high-speed extraction, picking me up a few blocks north as I slipped away through the shadows of the courthouse. It certainly wasn't the cleanest, most sophisticated tactical plan I had ever drawn up in my career.

But without real-time aerial intelligence or a definitive headcount of the personnel currently inside the station, we simply couldn't afford to project our movements any other way. With the parameters firmly established, the team finished off the last of the beef stew and began collecting their gear from the table. I made a conscious tactical decision to leave my recurve bow and quiver of broadheads securely mounted to the wall of the house.

I had absolutely zero intention of using lethal force against any local officers tonight; the men on that roster were good, hardworking guys trying to survive, and I wasn't going to drop an arrow into a former colleague. I restricted my loadout strictly to my broadsword, my heavy framing hammer, my tactical knives, and my holstered handgun for emergency self-defense.

Joe decided to leave his massive metal round shield behind to maintain a lower physical profile, opting instead to shoulder his tactical AR-15 rifle while keeping his bearded axe securely seated in the leather thong on his duty belt. Johnny and Pete likewise chose to leave their heavy melee weapons stacked in the corner, prioritizing their semi-automatic handguns and long tactical daggers to keep their movements tight and fast.

Before we left the house, Chad stepped up and handed the three of them his last three operational handheld radios, complete with low-profile tactical earpieces. He gave them a stern, unyielding look, instructing them to return the hardware in pristine condition the absolute second the mission was concluded. The guys completely understood the immense value of functional comms right now, nodding respectfully and thanking him for letting us draw from his personal inventory. I turned to Denise to say my goodbyes.

She looked up at me, her worried eyes boring straight into mine as she reached out to check the straps on my tactical vest, giving me a silent, stern warning to be careful out there. With a final nod, the four of us moved out and loaded into the frame of the Suburban. Dog scrambled cleanly into the rear cargo space, his heavy paws settling against the floorboards as he took up a rear-guard watch. I slid directly into the driver's seat.

Thanks to my active [Dark Vision] skill, I was the only individual in the fire team capable of navigating the fractured, unlit neighborhood streets at high speeds without needing to activate the vehicle's headlights. I turned the key, the heavy V8 engine sparking to life with a low, muffled rumble. I shifted the transmission into drive, turned the vehicle away from the safety of the driveway, and pointed the black silhouette of the Suburban straight toward the dark heart of the city center.