Not My Home

By Ed Hurst

He knew better than to believe it could make a real difference, but he wanted to make oppression just a bit more expensive. So with the help of some friends, he hits back, and they succeed beyond their wildest dreams. Unfortunately, he paid an even higher price than those he was fighting, and almost lost his own soul. The biggest adventure of all was winning it back.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ed Hurst
• Release date: Nov 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301743902

Ed Hurst

Born 18 September 1956 in Seminole, OK. Traveled a great deal in Europe with the US Army, worked a series of odd jobs, and finally in public education. Ordained to the ministry as a Baptist, then with a non-denominational endorsement. Currently semi-retired.

Book preview

It was probably the oldest house standing in the city, aside from the two preserved landmarks downtown. The Realtor had listed it as antebellum – in this case, built before World War I. Older folks called it a shot-gun house. That is, you could open the front and back doors, fire a shotgun through either one, and no pellets would hit any part of the interior before exiting the other door. The interior walls were like bulkheads between rooms, but each was a small open area in series, with a straight doorway alignment through the middle. However, sometime after Word War II, the owners had added a room on the back, then a screened-in porch. While the abstract at city hall showed a permit for building the room, the lean-to porch was simply acknowledged and taxed accordingly. This add-on meant the front and rear doors no longer aligned.

This was an important detail to the SWAT Team. A covert survey of the back porch from the alleyway indicated the newer back door opened outward. So while the front assault team would carry a steel ram, the rear entry team would use a crowbar if entry was needed. Both doors were relatively new, but cheap, with deadbolts and no windows. All exterior windows had been kept covered by cheap roll-up blinds. Interior lights had always been dim, and below the window level. SWAT believed there were only two terrorists. The wet clothing they found a half-mile from the house indicated one was rather large and the other fairly small. It was unlikely they had heavy weapons, but there may have been grenades in their possession. Still, they could not take anything for granted. Thus, they planned to mobilize the entire SWAT Team in full gear, with Level III body armor, helmets and goggles. They had rehearsed this kind of thing so often, two hours of planning time between warning order and execution was plenty.

There would be eight men in the front, the primary assault team. The other six would serve as backup from the rear. As soon as dynamic entry had been achieved, the rear team would wait to catch anyone trying to flee out the back. The sides of the house were a mere eighteen inches from the high steel panel fences on each side. These narrow zones would be watched by uniformed officers from the street and alleyway using vehicle-mounted spotlights; no need for them to expose themselves to unnecessary risk in getting too close to the house. If there was no resistance from inside, one of the front entry team would open the back door within 30 seconds. If there were signs of resistance, or it took longer than 30 seconds, the rear team was to enter using the crowbar.

The entire task force included the SWAT van carrying the front assault team, their extra SUV for the rear team, six marked patrol vehicles, and the Chief’s pickup. A block away there would be two ambulances and three fire trucks. After some debate, they decided not to alert any residents. With steel fences to separate them, and moving in at 3 AM, there was little to gain and too much to loose by making the whole operation anything less than a complete surprise. If they captured the terrorists, they could call in the local TV and newspaper reporters. Each media outlet kept people on standby just for stuff like this. If they turned up empty handed, there was no point advertising the attempt. Their targets would know the house was compromised, but not before investigators had a chance to go over the place thoroughly. Thus, the vehicles approached silently from different directions. The rest held back until the rear security team signaled they were two houses away in the alleyway.

The van driver shut off his lights and engine at the corner, and rolled silently to a quick stop just past the corner of the house lot. Even before the vehicle stopped rolling, the rear doors swung open, and caught on latches covered in thick foam padding. The men came streaming out, slightly staggered, in two lines. The two men leading carried the ram between them, weapons holstered. The actual first entry pair was right behind them, running at port arms with their shotguns. The other four, including the driver who was only a few yards behind, carried MP-5s or handguns as well as various tools. Had you been standing across the street with your back turned, by the time you heard anything and could turn around, the ram was already drawn back for the first blow.

The door was much more solid in the frame than they anticipated, but the door itself began to yield immediately. Seeing this, the entry pair jumped from either side of the doorway and grabbed the extra handles of the ram with a free hand and gave it more momentum to break through the door with the second strike. It almost worked, as the door buckled inward, yet somehow still stuck in the frame. However, with all the adrenaline and focused effort, they had not heard the wooden thunk of a frame dropping down from the ceiling 20 feet from the door inside the house. In this wooden frame was cradled a modified LAW rocket launcher, rigged to fire as soon as it dropped. The timing was perfect, for when the ram struck the second time, the missile hit the door on the opposite side at the same instant.

They could not have known about the legal-pad sized, quarter-inch steel plate attached to the door on the inside face. Its purpose was not to bolster the door, but to enhance the shrapnel yield from the shaped-charge warhead on the old anti-tank missile. The plate had been deeply scored in one-inch squares. The force of the blast drove the ram back into the four men who had made the mistake of clustering behind those swinging it. The force of the blast, the fragments of the plate, and the molten jet of metal produced by the warhead were mostly absorbed by the four men swinging the ram. Standard tactical body armor was no match for such weaponry, or the large, heavy steel ram, now with jagged edges, flying fast as a bullet. The ram spun across the lawn and embedded in the door of a cruiser on the street. For a short time, a few of the SWAT Team were semi-conscious, wondering what had happened, as they lay bleeding in a pile of splinters from what had been the front door and frame.

The security team outside the back porch heard what sounded like a double explosion. The old LAW rockets had solid propellant motors which ignited in such a way as to burn almost completely at launch, with a fairly loud boom itself. The warhead detonation was muffled somewhat by being inside the house, and also by being aimed out the front door. Still, the force of the blast broke out the windows in the front, and the rear team took it for a concussion grenade, a sign of resistance inside.

Charging onto the back porch, they forgot all the rules and clustered almost too close to the man wielding the crowbar. The lead man stepped to the far side of the door, turning his right side toward it. He planted his right foot on the back step below the door, reared back with the crowbar over his left shoulder, and slammed it into the crack between the door and frame level with the lock. Switching his grip while in motion, he swung is body around the other side of the door, brushing against two of his partners in the cramped space on the back porch. His body slammed to a stop as arms strained against the leverage. It held just an instant, and then suddenly the door burst open.

It’s not likely any of them saw the claymore mine mounted at waist level on the inside face of the door. Stopped suddenly by the wall behind it, the door caught on a latch mounted in the wall just as the mine exploded. Even the steel fence outside the porch was perforated by some of the steel ball-bearings projected by the claymore. Later on, it required some careful DNA testing to determine what lump belonged to whom, scattered from the door, through the gaping hole in the porch wall, all the way to the fence.

To the neighbors on both sides, the whole thing sounded like three quick explosions, the first two in rapid succession, all entirely too close to their homes. Those three were followed by sirens clearly audible through now-cracked windows on the side facing the little old house. But that was not the worst of it, for there were a series of smaller muffled explosions, followed by choking fumes from burning plastic. There was another loud explosion, later determined to be from gas leaking under the house. Within minutes everyone was being evacuated, as the shattered wood structure was totally involved in flames. The black smoke and heat made it clear parts of the interior had been coated with highly flammable accelerants. It looked as if the stuff had been applied in long, thick patches from ceiling to floor, about a foot wide, puffed out like foam. Each patch was a column of blazing heat which could not be easily extinguished. Also, there were continuing small explosions from inside the home. This kept the firemen at a distance; all they could do was keep the fire from spreading by hosing down drifting sparks. They considered it good fortune the temperature had not yet dropped to freezing.

As the sun rose, all that was left was a low smoking heap. The outer layer of the roof survived from the sheer volume of water, but little of it had run down inside. Much of the spray directed from a safe distance at the open windows was evaporated by the intensity of the heat. Even the steel panel fences had buckled some from it. Residents on the entire block and the one opposite had been hustled out, some violently. A few had carried luggage, wisely reading the situation and packing for an enforced vacation. News crews were kept back. The remains of the rear security team were a little easier to find, because the back porch had somehow partially survived the flames. The front entry team was covered by a portion of the roof, as the house had collapsed forward into the front yard. What was found was badly charred.

The chief was still sweating in spite of the cold morning air. He was also covered in smoke and small cuts from the explosions, even though he had been standing on the far side of the street during the assault. There were gashes in his palms and a tear in one pants leg from trying to pull burnt splinters off the bodies of his SWAT crew. To one of his captains he said, The Feds will be here, I’m sure. They can have it. Give them what they demand, if you can, and stay out of their way. He stood up from where he half-sat against the tailgate of his pickup. As he walked around to get in the driver’s door, he turned and spoke back over his shoulder. We’re going to have all we can do with the City. They’re gonna want our heads. Fourteen of the highest paid, best trained tactical officers in the state – gone in one operation, along with nearly all their equipment. Five million dollars in matching federal grants and we might have enough left to put in three caskets. With a choking laugh, he said, Wonder what the City will tell the Feds. The tears in his eyes mixed with the sweat, cooling his face as he drove away in the crisp winter morning.

The Feds did, indeed, come. It was an assortment of FBI, BATFE, Homeland Security Officers and who knew what else. They arrived to find the municipal crime scene investigators had just finished locating and marking, but not removing, any of the human remains. Having been warned, the local police simply surrendered everything and tried to get out of the way. All the notes, cameras with pictures, drawings, etc., were seized. Some had quickly made copies, and already hidden them. It might now be a federal investigation, but it was their friends and comrades who had died. They had learned from the law enforcement grapevine if they complied with federal demands in an obvious way, no one