A Police Officer's Story - part 1
by Ben Nettleship

The Patriot City Police Force isn't the most effective police force in the world. Most of the police officer's are on the take, the witness protection program is a joke and the few honest officers are hard pressed to maintain any kind of order in the city.

However, things are about to change in Patriot City.

"So, what do you make of that guy near the park," Officer Patrick Conner asked, taking a drink from his coffee. Patrick was a man of average height, with blonde hair and brown eyes, and he was twenty-seven years old, a few years onto the force. He had already got himself a reputation among the other officers when somebody tried to bribe him, and he responded by stuffing the money down the man's throat.

"Which guy would that be?" Jack asked. Jack was thirty years old. He was a muscular man, with brown hair and blue eyes.

The two police officers were sitting in a diner near the industrial part of town, having something to eat before they want back on patrol.

"You know, that guy who was running around near the park wearing a flag. Smashed up Louie and his gang too."

"Oh, that one. I hate Louie just as much as the next man, but all a vigilante is going to do is make our jobs more difficult."

"True enough," Patrick said, nodding. "Still, can't blame him for wanting to go outside the law, what with the crime in this town."

"I wonder if he had anything to do with that fight down at the factory on Liberty Lane that we heard about on the radio."

"Nah," John replied, shaking his head. "I can buy some civilian taking down Louie and his gang, they're just small time after all, and they were spread out all over six or seven blocks, but an entire factory of armed thugs? They found over two-dozen unconscious people."

"Good point," Patrick said, finishing off his coffee. "Wonder who did that, then."

"I think it's just another gang war. Knock ‘em out, leave the incriminating evidence and we go after their boss. At least, that's what I say," Jack stated, standing up

"Somebody else has a different opinion?" Patrick asked, standing up as well, as he took some money out of his wallet.

"The chief doesn't, but some feddies from Washington came down today. They were talking about some guy called Sukov. Some commie spy. They think this gang is involved with him."

"You disagree, I take it?" Patrick said, paying the bill.

"Yeah, why complicate it? I mean, why would a Soviet spy hire so much local muscle? Doesn't make any sense."

"Good point," agreed Patrick, as the pair headed out to the car. They got in, Jack on the driver's side, and pulled out into the street, back onto their patrol route.

Fifteen minutes later, the two police officers were in the car, at the edge of the industrial district, when the radio came to life. "Shots fired at the paper mill in the industrial area, shots fired, repeat, shots fired. Closest cars please respond to location."

"Dispatch, this is car 56," Jack said into the radio. "We're four blocks away. Responding to the Paper mill, code 3." He turned on the siren and lights, and pulled a U-turn, narrowly avoiding a bus.

"What do you suppose it is?" asked Patrick.

"Don't know," Jack replied, weaving through traffic and then running a red light. "Maybe another mob hit. Rigotti's been pretty aggressive lately."

About half a minute later, Jack slammed on the brakes and pulled to a halt in front of the building.

"Jesus Christ!" Patrick uttered, as he looked at the devastation. Part of the paper mill had collapsed, large parts of the fence had fallen down and the smoke was rising above a building that had caught fire. And strewn amongst the debris were dozens of men, with various weapons in hand.

"This is car 56!" Jack screamed into the radio. "It's a freaking warzone here! We need backup, now!"

"Roger that 56," dispatch replied. "Calling all cars, calling all cars. Report to the paper mill, officer in need of assistance, repeat, officer in need of assistance."

"What the hell happened here?" Patrick said, slowly opening his door, and stepping out, with his .38 Special in hand, using the car for cover.

"No idea," Jack responded, pulling out his gun and exiting the car as well. "Looks like somebody fought a war here."

Patrick crept forward, and knelt down next to one of the fallen men. "Hey, Jack, come here," he called back.

"What is it?" Jack asked, approaching cautiously.

"Isn't this ‘Baseball bat' Charley?"

"Hey, yeah, you're right," Jack said, turning the man's head to look at his face. "What the hell happened to him?"

"Looks like somebody beat him about the head with a club," Patrick noted, running his eyes over the man's injuries. "Doesn't look too serious," Patrick had gotten a lot of experience at this type of injury during the last few years on the force. "Unusual," he wondered aloud.

"I'll say," Jack muttered, checking out the nearby area, his gun in a firing position. In the distance, they heard more sirens as police cars and ambulances converged on the paper mill.

"I mean, the type of people who do these sort of things tend to try to kill the guy, not leave him alive. Hell, he's barely bleeding."

"You've got a point," Jack admitted. "Not a gang war then. Any evidence?"

Patrick stood up and dusted off his hands. "Nothing I can see at the moment. Detectives might find something, though."

Three more police cars and an ambulance screeched to a halt next to car fifty-seven. Six police officers exited, four with .38s and two with riot guns.

"Good God, what the hell happened here?" one said, looking over the devastation.

"No idea," Jack responded. "Let's go find out."

The policemen slowly advanced into the paper mill, with their weapons at ready, but it quickly became apparent that there was no need for them, as nobody was going to put up any sort of resistance.

Soon, there were over twenty officers searching the paper mill, handcuffing thugs and hauling them away. The more badly injured ones were being taken away in the ambulance.

"Hey, come take a look at this," one of the officers called.

"What is it?" Jack asked, walking over.

"Take a look at this. Looks like some liquid nitrogen tanks burst," the officer said, pointing an area that had been frozen.

"So?"

"This is a paper mill, what's liquid nitrogen doing here?"

"Good point, call it in and check with burglary. See if any tanks have been stolen."

"Will do."

As Jack was talking with another officer, Patrick was talking with a thug. "Who did this?" Patrick demanded, kneeling down next to one of the thugs, who had just regained conscious, and was groaning slightly, but otherwise okay. It looked like he'd been hurled into the wall from an explosion.

The thug groaned, and stammered out a reply. "Some crazy guys, one was dressed in some sort of weird uniform, looked like it was made out of a flag, uhhh, called himself Minuteman. The other one was bald and had a green cape. They busted in and started smashin' us up."

"Excuse me," a paramedic asked. "Can I take over here now?"

"Sure, sure, go ahead," Patrick said, deep in though, then walked back to the car.

"Find out anything?" Jack asked. "Looks like this place was just storage for stolen goods."

"You aren't going to believe this," Patrick replied. "But the thug I talked to said that the same guy who took in Louie was the one who dismantled this place with the help of another. Calls himself Minuteman."

"What the hell?" Jack uttered, astonished.

"You heard me right. We've got a couple of vigilantes. How they accomplished this, I don't know."

"Might as well call it in," Jack responded, after a short while. That was one thing about him, he never remained surprised for long.

"This is car fifty-seven," he said into the radio. "Suspect identified, he wears a colonial soldier's costume, goes by the name of Minuteman."

"Are you sure about that?" dispatch responded.

"Sure, why?"

"Interrogation reports just came in, man of the same description and name is responsible for taking down the gang which was located at the factory on Liberty Lane."

Jack looked up from the radio. "What the hell is going in this city? One guy doesn't take down three different gangs, all of which are heavily armed. It just does not happen."

"I'm with you on this one," Patrick agreed. "There's something we don't know about. It can't be just one guy. Louie, maybe, but not the other two."

Three police officers walked by the car, herding two handcuffed thugs into the back of a police van.

"Let's just get back to work," Patrick suggested. "Speculating isn't going to do anything at this point. Let's leave it to the detectives."

"Yeah, I know," agreed Jack, and started walking back into the mill, with Patrick walking next to him. "I hope that he pops up sometime soon, so I can get a look at him, and ask him a few questions."

"Arrest him?"

"Maybe not, but have a talk with him about following the rules. If he could take down three gangs on his own, even if he did have help, which is what I suspect, he'd make a great cop."

"Yeah, you're right. I'd like to talk with him a bit too. Let's hope we get to see him soon."

Neither Jack nor Patrick knew how prophetic their words would turn out to be.

To be continued...