Osborne raised himself up and pointed his pistol, signaling that they should move forward. Donahue's heart started racing as he watched the sergeant move forward and realized he had no choice but to follow. Every step filled him with dread. The possibility of taking on three suspects in the middle of nowhere was a bad idea, even with backup inbound. They were already too far into the forest to immediately benefit from assistance. He couldn't imagine what these people were doing out here with heavy machinery.
With every step, he prayed that Sergeant Osborne would change his mind. They could even crouch down right here and direct the backup units toward them. Sergeant Osborne stopped again and lowered himself. His signals indicated that the group of men was directly ahead of him. Donahue squinted, trying to pierce the thick leaves and ground brush with his eyes, but was still unable to spot anyone. The next hand signal scared the hell out of him. Osborne wanted Donahue to join him. He didn't relish the thought of crossing the path this close to the suspects, but he liked the idea of safety in numbers. He felt extremely exposed by himself in these unfamiliar woods.
With the racket of machinery covering his own noise, he approached the path as quickly as possible, keeping his eyes focused north. When he peeked around the last tree trunk before the path, he caught a glimpse of movement less than fifty feet ahead of him. They were way closer than he had suspected. The figure stayed within view for several seconds before disappearing behind an impenetrable layer of brush and crowded trees. Overhanging branches dipped low on the path, keeping him from seeing a face, but he could tell the man was Caucasian by his hands. After he was certain that the man had completely vanished, Donahue crossed the path, staying low until he reached Osborne.
"Fifty feet ahead, behind all of the shit up there. I saw one of them," Donahue whispered.
"I saw three guys through a break in the trees just for a second. They're working some kind of portable digger," Osborne said.
"Hey…maybe they just bought the property and are digging a well?" Donahue said, still trying to catch his breath.
"Nobody digs a well carrying an AR-15," Osborne said.
"AR-15s? We have to back off and call in SWAT. They might have more people patrolling the forest," Donahue said.
His heart thumped faster, and he knew that he was coming close to having a panic attack. This was too much for two municipal police officers to handle. Three men armed with AR-15s. This could be anything, from some wacko militia group to drug dealers. They were less than three miles from Fort Meade, so maybe this was some kind of terrorist attack. They could be burying a mortar in the ground to fire on the National Security Agency. The possibilities were endless.
"We can take this crew down quickly. You saw one of them down the path. That'll make everything easy. Quick approach. They'll never hear us coming. We'll achieve complete surprise. Trust me. Nobody will move when we pop up out of nowhere with drawn weapons"
"I'm not trained for this kind of tactical situation," Donahue said nervously.
"Look, Warren," Osborne said, making direct eye contact, "I used to head one of our tactical teams. This will be over in less than five seconds. You have to trust me on this."
Donahue nodded and tried to shake the doubts that weighed heavily on him.
"I'll take the lead. We'll rush up the path and spread out once everyone comes into view. You aim at the guy farthest to the right and alternate with the next one to his left. I'll take the furthest left and alternate with the middle guy. That way they see that we have them all covered. Follow my instructions once they raise their hands and we have them under voice control. You good to go?"
"Yeah. I'm good. Let's do this," Donahue said, trying his best not to sound doubtful.
Osborne patted him on the shoulder. "Good man. How far out is our backup?"
"Hold on," he said and put a call through to dispatch. After receiving a response, he said, "They just turned onto Columbus Road."
"Perfect. They're less than three minutes from our truck. We'll have this wrapped up before they step out of their vehicles. Stay close, and stay low."
Sergeant Osborne walked briskly toward the path, pointing his weapon at the opening in the brush less than thirty feet ahead. Donahue followed in his footsteps, careful not to point his weapon at Osborne. His finger kept returning to the trigger, and he had to make a conscious effort to listen to Osborne's previous advice. An accidental discharge right now could possibly kill both of them. His sergeant reached the edge of the thicket and went down on one knee, waiting for Donahue.
"Here we go. On three. One. Two…Go!" he hissed, and the two officers sprinted down the path.
Sergeant Osborne cleared the brush and aimed at the first target that materialized, which turned out to be a dark-haired man wearing a long-sleeve khaki shirt and blue jeans. He was facing away from the sergeant and cradling an AR-15. Osborne didn't hesitate. The first rounds to leave his service pistol struck the man high in the back before Donahue stumbled through the opening. He shifted his aim to the man operating a portable digging machine and fired three rounds in rapid succession. One of the rounds skipped off the contraption's raised auger bit, saving the operator from a clear shot to the forehead. The remaining two rounds burrowed through the thick muscle of the man's right shoulder and collarbone, barely moving him.
Still in the game, Osborne thought, as he sighted past the auger and focused on another headshot.
Before he could pull the trigger, Donahue's pistol roared to life, spraying bullets into the two standing men. Osborne had counted on this type of reaction from the rookie. He figured that once the shooting started, Donahue would unload his pistol. He could see the panic in the young officer's eyes a few moments earlier. He knew there would be no trigger discipline, just a maelstrom of steel erupting from his officer's gun. Osborne pulled the trigger of his own weapon, hitting the machine operator between the eyes as three bullets from Donahue's pistol stitched across the man's chest. A quick glance at the third suspect confirmed that he was out of the fight, with two holes in the center of his gray polo shirt.
The third man dropped to his knees and toppled to the right, trying to jam the stock of his rifle into the soft forest floor, in a desperate attempt to arrest his fall. When the shooting started, Osborne realized too late that he had underestimated the reaction speed of their suspects. The third man had almost managed to bring his AR-15 to bear on them. Fortunately, Donahue had turned out to be a better shot under pressure than he had expected.
Osborne rushed to the fallen suspect and snatched the assault rifle from his grip, kneeling down to examine the man's wounds. Donahue lowered his pistol and muttered "what the fuck" several times before addressing Osborne.
"What the fuck was that all about? You started shooting without any kind of warning," he said, surveying the scene. "You hit that one in the back, Sarge? Shit. We're fucked!"
From his lowered position next to the dying suspect, Osborne holstered his weapon.