"They say you never hear the gunshot that kills you." . . . Sergeant Jeff Andrews was having that thought when the windshield of his patrol car erupted in an explosion of flying glass.
Moments before, Jeff was dispatched to a call of "shots fired" in the 3000 block of Date Street. A gentle rain was falling on Los Angeles County, which contrasted with the urgency of the call. With emergency lights flashing and siren wailing, the 'black and white' charged aggressively through the evening traffic. When he was three blocks away, Jeff turned off his red lights and siren, opting for a silent approach. Just before entering Date Street, he turned off his headlights and dimmed the glow of his instrument panel and onboard computer.
Jeff picked up the radio mike and announced, "Sam-1 is on scene." He looked down the quiet street and added, "Everything appears normal."
The dispatcher replied, "10-4, Sam-1, Boy-6, Boy-8, and Sam-2 are en route to assist." The "Boy" units are two-man patrol cars. Sam-2, Sergeant Bryan Davis, is a friend of Jeff's, and a supervisor from an adjacent patrol area.
The dispatcher continued, "Attention units, Code-33 in effect," as she commanded radio silence to everyone not associated with the call.
The rain limited visibility and a dim streetlight located mid-block cast faint shadows on the houses. Not wanting his brake lights to expose his position, Jeff gently tapped the parking brake to control his speed. Gliding slowly, the only sound came from the idling engine and rhythmic beat of the windshield wipers.
Jeff was definitely on edge. Gunshot calls have a cumulative effect on the psyche of a cop and Jeff had many in his 22-year career. Some were false alarms and some had very tragic endings. It was the tragic ones that caused him to think, "Is this the one. Is this the time I won't hear that fatal shot." It was at that moment that a loud, throaty roar from a high caliber rifle sent a bullet through the passenger side of his windshield, showering him with shards of glass.
Time was not a friend to the urgent needs that followed. Where did the shot come from? Get out of the 'kill-zone'. Warn responding officers! Protect the neighbors. Create a plan.
Rain was coming through the hole in the windshield and Jeff swept glass and water from his eyes. Squinting, he saw a man standing on the front porch of a house about 100 yards away. The man had a rifle to his shoulder, pointed in Jeff's direction. Jeff heard a blast and the emergency light bar on the roof of his car shattered. Another shot imploded the passenger window, producing an inward cascade of broken glass.
Crouching low in the seat, Jeff fumbled with the gearshift, trying to find reverse. In his panic, he inadvertently jammed it into park and could not get it disengaged. Another gunshot caused his disabled car to vibrate from the bullet's impact. As a last resort, he opened the door, grabbed the radio microphone, stretching its cord to the limit, and fell out onto the wet street.
As the gunfire continued, Jeff yelled into the mike, "Shots fired, shots fired!" "Responding units stage out of the area. Sam-2, establish a command post and organize a perimeter and evacuation."
The elevated voice of the dispatcher broadcast, "Attention units, shots being fired in the 3000 block of Date Street. All units respond Code-3 to the command post. Coordinate with the Incident Commander, Sam-2." As a side thought, the dispatcher asked, "Sam-1, are you ok?" Jeff shouted into his radio, "I'm pinned down and my car is disabled!"
Bits of flying asphalt pelted Jeff's face and body as bullets impacted the street. Wishing he could dig a hole in the pavement, Jeff crawled as far as he could under his car. The reassuring sound of distant sirens told him help was on the way.
In moments the "whomp, whomp, whomp" of the police helicopter was heard and a high intensity Nightsun searchlight turned night into day. The shooting stopped as the helicopter came lower and began a clockwise orbit of the area.
The shooter, distracted by the sudden light, looked up. Jeff crawled about 20 feet on his hands and knees and then ran to a dark oasis alongside a nearby house. Jeff was aware that Sam-2 had set up the command post out of danger two blocks away. Sam-2 became the Incident Commander with a "world-view" of the operation while Jeff took over supervision of the immediate scene. Over his handheld radio, Jeff heard Sam-2 request mutual aid, a SWAT team, fire personnel, and an ambulance to respond and stage at the command post.
Jeff focused back on the scene and was horrified to see that the shooter had recovered from his brief distraction. The shooter had raised his rifle and was firing at the helicopter.
"Air-1," Jeff radioed, "Get out of here, you're being shot at."
The area immediately went dark and the sound of the helicopter faded as it widened its orbit. The shooter turned and ran into his house slamming the front door behind him.
Ten minutes, which seemed like two hours, went by and Jeff saw silent figures moving in the dark, indicating that officers had deployed and were surrounding the shooter's house and evacuating nearby families. Jeff was aware that SWAT had arrived at the command post and radioed Sam-2 to have them meet him just west of his disabled car. Five minutes later, the armored SWAT truck, with lights out, came rumbling down the street.
The lone streetlight cast telltale shadows, which tagged along next to the arriving officers. Jeff recognized the danger and radioed the SWAT Team Leader. "Take out that damn streetlight." The leader assigned his sniper, and with a single shot, the area was plunged into total darkness.
Quick interviews, conducted during the evacuation of the neighbors, indicated that the shooter had mental problems and was upset over an eviction notice he received the day before. Officers learned that he lived alone and there were probably no other people in the darkened house.
As the SWAT team huddled behind their armored vehicle, Jeff used the loud speaker on a patrol car brought up for that purpose. "This is Sergeant Jeff Andrews to the man in the house, put down your gun and come out the front door with your hands in the air." Three hours of repeated announcements ended with no response from the shooter. Jeff realized that it would soon be daylight, which added more risk to the officers. Finally, he made the decision and gave the SWAT team authority to act.
The team leader formed his disciplined group into a single file 'stack'. Once they were organized, he radioed to the officers at the rear of the shooter's house to do a noise diversion on his command. The team then moved slowly toward the front of the house.
"Tac-1 to officers in the rear, begin your distraction."
Officers in the back yard responded by yelling, banging on the side of the house, and throwing rocks at the windows. Simultaneously, two flash-bang grenades where thrown through the front windows and exploded in a blinding surge of white light. A battering ram caved in the front door and the team entered, shouting, "Police officers, drop your gun and show your hands." A small fire, started by the flash-bang grenades, reflected marionette shadows as the SWAT team searched for the shooter.
Jeff radioed, "Attention units, SWAT is in the house, get cover and watch for cross-fire."
Flashlight beams and red dots from gun lasers danced on the walls of the darkened house as the team moved from room to room. Soon, a screaming curse of rage from the shooter echoed through the house followed by shouted orders, "Get on the floor, get on the floor — do it now!" The sound of furniture being pushed aside and running footsteps were heard, and then — silence.
Jeff and the other officers held their positions and waited patiently. Five minutes went by and then the announcement was made, "Tac-1 to all units, Code-4, the suspect is in custody."
It was not long before neighbors, careful not to go beyond the yellow crime-scene tape, returned to their homes. Firefighters extinguished the small fire and Jeff returned to his patrol car, still sitting disabled in the middle of the street. Jeff did not notice that the rain had stopped. He did not notice that one more incident joined the list of cumulative effects on his psyche. He was smiling and feeling thankful that he had heard every shot fired that night. To him, it meant that he had survived—at least for now.
