Police Sergeant Tom Willis sat in the back of a SWAT truck. A whole fleet of armored trucks and police cars drove down the streets of South Dallas. They all pulled up to house 2439, this house had been under surveillance for months and they had determined that a Mexican drug cartel was operating there. SWAT operatives jumped out of cars and positioned themselves behind cover with their guns raised. Tom had planned out this entire operation and now watched as his men positioned themselves on the lawn with their fully automatic M-16s trained on the door and windows.

In his left hand Tom held a Glock 9mm handgun, and in his right he held a high powered megaphone. “We have you surrounded, come out with your hands up.” There was no response. Sgt. Willis nodded to a man to his right who raised a teargas launcher to his shoulder and fired a canister of the painful gas through a ground floor window.

Tom and his team waited for something to happen when the front door was flung open and two men sprinted out. For a split second Tom thought it was over, but he was wrong. The men were not surrendering. They both had machine guns in their hands and dove for cover behind an SUV parked in the driveway, beside the house.

“Take’em down,” Tom screamed.
Gunfire exploded all around Tom as the swat teams opened fire on the two armed drug dealers. The two thugs had automatic weapons and sprayed bullets crazily at the line of cars being used by the police for cover. Tom dropped to one knee behind a police car as the man beside him screamed and dropped to the pavement, blood gushing from a bullet hole in his abdomen. Pure rage compelled Tom to dig into his pocket and pull out a grenade. He pulled the pin and lobbed it behind the SUV. The wave of heat rippling from the explosion hit Tom and his men like a brick wall. He could feel the intense heat sear the skin on his face as he thrown off his feet. Dazed he managed to stand up on uncertain feet and assess the situation.

When the smoke had cleared two SWAT operatives dressed in body armor crept up on either side of the scorched SUV. The moment they could see around the other side one of the radioed back “they’re dead sir.”
Tom replied “Roger that, search the house.” Sgt. Tom Willis walked back to his truck, leaned against it, and lit a cigarette. His team of 25 men had just pulled off a major drug raid against a Mexican cartel smuggling Cocaine into the United States.
“We have found 300 pounds of cocaine, sir.”
“Roger that, everyone regroup at the Police Station.”

On the outside Tom was calm, but inside he was ecstatic, the capture of 300 pounds of cocaine would be enough to make his career.

After a congratulatory pep talk with his team Tom got in his car and drove home to his family. Tom ate dinner with his son, Ben, and wife, Margret. He told them about how successful the mission had been; leaving out that he had killed two men with a grenade.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away in south Dallas a cartel leader named Marco was livid, and was ordering his revenge over the phone to one of his men in Dallas. “He killed two of men, so I want you to find out where his son goes to school and kill him tomorrow.”

“But sir, the boy didn’t have anything to do with the raid.”

“Either you do it or I will get someone else to, and you will be punished for your disloyalty.”

“I will do it tomorrow, sir.” The call went dead.

The next day, Ben Willis walked out of his school into a light drizzle. He crossed the school yard and made his way to the bike racks. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a red SUV with tinted windows and jacked up suspension. The car was just sitting there about 20 feet away, engine running. Ben forced the car out of his mind and swung his leg over the seat of his bike. Just as he pushed off, the tree to his left blew apart as bark splinters flew in all directions. Ben stood up on the pedals and pushed the bike with all his strenght. He turned right at the end of the block, while trying to piece together what had just happened. That’s when he noticed the SUV was turning after him. He looked back and was horrified to see that the driver was leaning out the window brandishing a handgun.

Ben’s heart stopped as he heard several sharp cracks of the handgun firing. He glimpsed holes being punched in the concrete in front of him and windows shattering in the house to his right.
He needed to escape for long enough to get help. He wrenched the handlebars and turned the bike into an ally. He pushed the bike as fast as his legs would allow. At this speed each speed bump rattled his entire body. He craned his neck and saw that the car had turned after him and was barreling down the alley. Ben needed to get away, now. He wrenched the brakes and turned the handlebars so that the bike drifted a turn and cut between a house and its fence. Ben pulled the bike up against the house and flattened himself against the fence as the SUV roared past.

Ben could not hide forever, he needed to get help. He dug his hand into his jeans and pulled out his phone. His hands were shaking as he dialed his dad’s number.

“Hello.”

“Dad, it’s me.”

“Ben what’s wrong?”

“There is a car and it’s been chasing me.”

“Are you sure it’s chasing you, not just taking a similar route from school?”

“The driver had a gun.”

Now his dad understood. The drug cartel was trying to get back at him for the raid by going after his son. “Ben, I need you to make your way to the parking lot behind Wal-Mart and we’ll be waiting.” The call went dead and Ben was alone again. The thought of leaving the relative safety of his hiding place was horrible, but he had to trust his dad.

Ben grabbed his bike and rode back into the ally. The Wal-Mart was three blocks away, but right now that seemed like an eternity. Ben pulled out into the street and pedaled cautiously down the street. He was only one block from the Wal-Mart when the SUV came into view ahead of him. Acting totally off instinct Ben slowly inched his way toward the SUV. He could see the driver taking aim while leaning out the window. They waited. Ben was still too far away for an accurate shot. Then Ben had an idea. He raised his hands in the air and got off his bike.
“Get over here,” the driver yelled. Ben dropped his bike and began walking on shaking fee towards the driver. His plan would only work if the driver intended to take him somewhere before killing him. He would die if the driver wanted shoot him here and leave. Ben finally reached the driver and waited to be told what to do.
“Kneel,” the driver ordered. Ben had made the wrong choice. He needed to act now. Ben slowly got down to one knee, but just as his left knee touched the pavement he exploded upwards driving his palm into the drivers nose. He felt the fragile bone crush under the force of his hand. The driver screamed and wheeled around dazed. He fired the gun several times, but all of his shots missed by a mile.
By the time the driver regained his focus, Ben was sprinting for the parking lot. The driver jumped in the SUV that he had left running and pursued Ben. As Ben closed the distance between himself and the parking lot the driver sensed that his prey would escape and he floored the accelerator. This would be his fatal mistake. Just as he was close enough to Ben to run him over, they shot into the parking lot and a whole squadron of SWAT operatives popped up from behind parked cars. He had been ambushed.

The driver would not go down without a fight. He steered the speeding truck at a line of police officers. The officers fired, but their shots did not deter the driver. Ben was terrified that an officer would be run over. Just as the truck came within 30 feet of the officers, there was a soft whoosh and the back the SUV exploded, sending scraps of metal flying in all directions. The front half of the SUV flipped through the air and crashed down on the concrete. What was left of the truck rolled twice and came to a halt on the pavement. Chaos broke out among the shoppers nearby as they all sprinted for their cars.
SWAT operatives swarmed the SUV, and amazingly the driver was still alive. They dragged him from the wreckage and arrested him. He escaped with severe burns and a broken collar bone.
Ben sat down on the curb and tried to get his head strait, why had the car exploded? His question was answered when his dad walked up to him carrying a bazooka. He and his father said nothing for five solid minutes. Finally Tom Willis broke the silence. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is my fault, they were trying to kill you to get back at me, and I shouldn’t have endangered you.” Ben accepted his father’s apology.
Ben’s life returned to normal after that day, and at age 22 he joined the Dallas Police Force.