Daddy Defender

And people had died.

Ashton shrugged. “Well, I don’t think Summer is going to be interested in dating the guy who could’ve saved her husband’s life.”

“You know, Joe Matarazzo already tried to claim blame for Tyler Worrall’s death. Summer wouldn’t let him. What makes you think she’s going to hold you at fault?”

Because she didn’t know—nobody knew—about that second shot Ashton could’ve taken as the man was pulling out the hand grenade from his pocket. Ashton’s hesitation had lost the shot, then cost everyone in the room their lives.

Ashton shrugged. “Gut feeling.”

Derek slapped him on his shoulder. “Well, sometimes our gut feelings about women leave a little to be desired.”

Ashton stood up. “Let’s go battle with tear gas. That should be more fun.”

* * *

A GOOD MAJORITY of the SWAT team’s time was spent in training. Running different scenarios so they would be more prepared once they were out in the field.

A lot of exercises—like the obstacle course they did this morning—were for physical fitness and general team building. They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses. The team often had to go into situations with multiple unknown or rapidly changing variables. Their training exercises ensured team cohesiveness.

Most of the training was routine: do it once, do it again, until there were no mistakes. They spent hours at the firing range together. In simulators together. Rappelling down walls. Studying hostage rescue, shields, vehicle assaults, even tactical medicine.

Despite the jokes this morning, most of the SWAT team’s training was taken seriously by everyone. It required focus, tenacity and teamwork. Often pushing themselves to the brink of mental and physical exhaustion.

It was hard. But that’s why not everyone did it. Only the ones who made the cut.

You could damn near see the excitement in the room now as everyone on the team gathered around the training techs to hear about the new challenge they were about to undergo.

Facing something new as a team had them all itching with enthusiasm. You never got a second first chance.

“Alright, boys and girls.” Steve Drackett, director of the entire Critical Response Division, was present for this inaugural training session. “Sadly, responding to tear gas and airborne elements is almost becoming routine in this day and age. We need a place where all SWAT teams can train. It won’t be just us using this facility, but departments from around the country.”

Drackett turned to the half dozen people standing around—some in lab coats, some in suits, a few from other SWAT teams besides Omega Sector’s.

“The designers—made up of analysts, computer experts, airborne terrorism experts, chemists and some of the best video game developers in the country—have pulled exactly zero punches with this new training facility. This is about as real as it gets outside of an actual combat zone, including actual tear gas.”

Steve smiled, but nothing about the facial movement felt comforting. “Participants might wish it wasn’t quite so real by the time they’re through, including the physical stimuli that will occur when someone gets shot. But I can guarantee you will be more prepared for your next critical response call involving gas or a possible airborne bioterrorism attack.”

Ashton shifted from where he was leaning against the doorframe. “Sounds like the developers are taking a little too much joy in our pain, boss.”

One of the men in a lab coat, complete with pocket protector and glasses, shrugged. “If you don’t get shot by anything, there won’t be any pain.”

Ashton cracked a smile. So the nerds wanted a fight. “Fair enough.”

He saw Lillian’s fist stretch out from where she stood next to him and he tapped it.

“The sensors are worn over your normal gear,” the lab coat guy continued. “Light and flexible enough that it shouldn’t impede your movement or speed in anyway. It will just...notify you when you’ve been hit by a subject’s weapon.”

Everyone noticed the slight hesitation and ghost of a smile on the tech guy’s face as he said notify. Evidently the notification wouldn’t be pleasant.

“Enough talk.” Roman Weber smiled, although no one in their right mind would call the facial expression inviting. “Let’s get to the action. Bring it on.”

The SWAT team was dressed in full tactical gear, just as they had been when they ran the obstacle course this morning. It only took a few minutes to get from the briefing room to the warehouse-sized simulator. Knowing everyone would be watching from the briefing room kept the pressure up, but that would be the least of their worries in a few minutes.

“We’ve got a big audience, people, so you can expect that they’re going to be throwing everything at us, up to and including the kitchen sink,” Derek told them. “Look sharp and watch each other’s six.”

Because the scenario involved possible tear gas but didn’t guarantee it, none of them had their masks on yet. The ability to get the masks situated quickly was an important part of a real-life airborne attack.

They stood inside the holding room. In just a moment, the door would open and the clock would start. One of the revolutionary parts of this simulator was its ability to mechanically reset rooms and situations. Every time the door opened, the team entering would be facing a different scenario.

Just like real life.

The door flew open and they got into formation, entering the darkened hallway so that everyone was facing a different angle. Using abbreviated sign language, the six-person team motioned to each other about who would take the lead and who would bring up the rear.

Everyone was focused but had the slightest smiles pulling at their faces. The team lived for this sort of challenge.

The scenario was a dark alley, amazingly lifelike. Ashton reached over and touched one of the “city” walls. He couldn’t feel the texture through his gloves, but it obviously had weight behind it, like a real wall.

An announcement from what would be the equivalent of dispatch came in through the earpieces they all were wearing.

“SWAT team, we have intel that a group of five men is attempting to exit a bank two blocks to your north. Be advised suspects have hostages and have released tear gas into the vicinity.”

“Masks on, people,” Derek said as they began jogging toward the north, staying close to the wall. Soon they were around the corner from the bank.

The bad guys the team was combatting resembled lifelike robots. They had sensors on their frames that could pick up on any movement or sound within human parameters. If a person could see or hear the SWAT team, the robots would be able to also.

And shoot accordingly.

Not real bullets of course, but the entire team’s gear was covered in a netting that held sensors. The same ones the lab guy had explained would notify them when they’d been hit. Shots the bad guys took and the team received would be marked and counted against them. A direct shot to the head or enough shots to the chest—even with vests—would “kill” the SWAT member and they would be unable to help the team any longer.

Basically it was a game of laser tag but much more intense.

“Ashton, Liam, I want you to find some way to get to higher ground so we can take shots if needed. Lillian, Roman, keep lower.”

The sound of gunfire—scarily realistic—could be heard throughout the building.

Everybody scattered, each going to their assigned place.

It really was an amazing facility. Ashton jumped up and grabbed a fire escape ladder and pulled it down. It easily supported his weight as he climbed up. If he didn’t know he was in a simulator, he would swear he was on a city street at night. The creators had captured the chaos of a hostage situation with eerie accuracy.

Ashton spotted the window he wanted to get to. It would give him excellent vision into the bank.

He looked at Liam. “I’m heading up to that window.”

“Roger that. I’ll stay here.”

Ashton had to make a pretty big leap over to the next “building,” but grabbed the balcony and pulled himself up with no problem. He eased along the ledge to get to the window he wanted. Carefully.

Simulator or not, a fall from twenty feet would do some serious damage.