Chapter XLVI: Operation TAKE HOLD, Part V
0800hrs, 17 December 2013, Near Trafalgar Square, London, United Kingdom
"Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few." Winston Churchill.
"London is the only city on earth where people attempt to fight The War on Terror using boredom." Adam Hills.
Police Community Support Officer (PCSO) Kelly Dunn was supposed to be on "high alert," but there really wasn't much that she could do. She was thirty years old, with brown hair, fair complexion and average weight. A graduate of the University of York, but had moved down south and bounced from job to job until she applied to become a PCSO (and got a lot of "Oop North" jokes in the process). She wasn't authorized to carry a weapon, she wasn't authorized to arrest anybody…basically, she was a glorified civilian in a "police" uniform. If she caught somebody in a crime, then all she could do about it was sit on them until the "real" police showed up. She was set to patrol around Whitehall and the surrounding areas, making sure that the tourists were alright and stuff, and on the lookout for any "suspicious" people. At least it was a nice, crisp, clear day outside, and for a change, the sun was actually out. The snow crunched underneath her boots as she patrolled around, trying to look important. She had heard of the terrorist attacks taken place around the world, but it seemed like the UK was dodging the bullet at the moment. Kelly had heard some stories of the Ministry of Defence having its databases hacked, and mobile service was out in certain parts of the country, but if cyberattacks were all that the terrorists could do, there really wasn't much to worry about…right?
There was a TV crew from BBC Two in the middle of the square, doing their thing; terrorist attacks or not, they were going to shoot their show and have it in for the premiere of the new series. One of the hosts of the show, a large, portly man, was by a BMW M3, gleefully showing it off and mocking the other two hosts of the show who were standing by a Mercedes E-Class and a Porsche Boxster.
"And that's why we're checking out why German Cars are the best…in the world," he delivered in a growly, throaty voice. He was kidding around with the other hosts though, and took out a cigarette to light it.
Suddenly, a loud explosion emanated from Whitehall, where the Ministry of Defence was located. There was a meeting of some of the Defence ministers going on, along with some of the MPs and the PM as well.
"Goddammit!" one of the shorter hosts yelled out (he had whitened teeth as well, Kelly noted), ducking behind his Mercedes. "Clarkson, get your fucking head down!"
"Jesus, what was that?" another of the hosts said, with long wavy hair.
"How the fuck should I know?"
"Sierra Oscar to all units, Sierra Oscar to all units, status?" the dispatcher from the command room at Whitehall Police Station announced over the radio. PCSO Kelly was actually on loan to this area of London, due to a personnel shortage concerning the winter holiday.
"This is Sierra 342," Kelly said over her radio. "I'm fine, but there's been a large explosion at Whitehall, over."
"That is affirmative; we just saw that from here. Standby for orders, Sierra 342."
"Standing by." She continued to patrol around, but obviously more alert and on the lookout for strange packages, loose bags or anything that might constitute a bomb.
Several police cars with armed police in them, screamed by with blue lights and siren on toward Whitehall. There was gunfire all of a sudden.
"Sierra 777, to Sierra Oscar," one of the armed police announced over his radio, forgetting to change frequencies. "We have several X-Rays at Whitehall, armed with AKs and pistols, requesting for more CO-19 officers to be dispatched to our location."
"Affirmative, more CO-19 officers are on the way, please…"
The radio suddenly cut out, replaced with static. Kelly hit the transmit button on her radio.
"Sierra Oscar, this is Sierra 342, come in."
Still static. She tried the radio again, but to no avail.
"What's going on?" she muttered to herself. Still continuing around the square, she suddenly noticed some people staggering out of the Charing Cross Underground station, close to where Whitehall was located. Smoke also poured out of the entrance as well, slowly dissipating as it rose up. Kelly ran over there, dodging some traffic that was trying to get away from the explosion. Gunfire continued on in the background, but it was far enough away that Kelly thought people weren't in too bad a fix. Still, they had to get people out of here, and since radios weren't working, she was going to have to make do of a bad situation.
"Johnson!" she yelled to a PC who was escorting people away from the area. "What's going on with the radios?"
"I don't know," PC Johnson replied. "The bloody thing won't work, and there's gunfire all the way down to the police station!"
"Damn," Kelly said. "I'm going to check out the Underground station, see if they're all right."
"Sergeant Devin and Sgt. McCall are on the scene there," he told her.
"Thanks, good luck."
As she was jogging over to the station, she checked her mobile phone, just to make sure that she wasn't missing anything. Service was down as well.
"Kelly!" Sgt. McCall yelled to her as she approached the station. "Kelly, help me with this woman over here!"
"Coming!" Kelly kneeled down next to McCall, who was administering first aid to an injured woman about thirty years old.
"Ma'am, ma'am, are you okay?" McCall asked her.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," the woman replied.
"Can you tell us what happened?" Kelly asked, checking over the woman for any signs of cuts, broken bones, etc.
"I was riding the train down from Seven Oaks when a bomb went off," she said, wincing in pain as Kelly found a sprained ankle.
"Inside the terminal?"
"Yeah, yeah, inside. There was a lot of smoke and they stopped the train here…" She trailed off for a second, and McCall stopped her questioning just for a moment to let the woman recover.
"Was anyone else hurt?"
"I don't think so. I saw some of your guys down there though. They passed us as we made our way out of that place."
McCall looked at Kelly. "Our guys?" Kelly asked the woman. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure, they were in police uniforms. They were the armed police."
McCall looked at the lady, then back to PCSO Kelly. She reached for her radio, but stopped when she realized that they didn't work.
"This is not good," McCall said to Kelly. "We need to get this to someone important. Can you run down to the Whitehall station and try to tell the super there that there are terrorists dressed as armed police?"
Kelly looked down the road, and could see some tracer rounds bounce off some buildings as CO19 battled with some more terrorists.
"I'll do it," she said, breathing in deeply. This might be the biggest decision of her life, and perhaps many lives could be saved by her actions.
"Thanks a bunch. Do be careful." Sgt. McCall acted if she was sending Kelly out for take-away from the local Indian restaurant rather than through a war zone. If that wasn't the classic understatement of the day, then nothing was.
"I will." PCSO Kelly took off, running as fast as she could down Northumberland Ave and taking a right, following the Thames down to where Whitehall police station was located. Errant shots whipped overhead, pinging off of the bare trees and skipping into the semi-frozen Thames. Her breath misted in the cold air, and she gasped for more as she continued her run down the street. More bullets whistled overhead, causing her to duck behind a tree. Kelly peered out from her position; she was right in back of the Ministry of Defence, which had smoke coming out of it and many of its windows were shattered. She saw a couple of gunshots from inside the building, and someone screamed from inside.
Kelly swallowed her fear and pushed forward.
From inside the MoD, one of the terrorists saw movement on the road near the Thames. He took aim and fired a couple of shots from his AR-18 assault rifle, made famous by its use by the Irish Republican Army during "The Troubles" (read, another massive case of understatement).
"Ahh!" Kelly dove to ground, huddling near a small wall at the rear of the MoD. "Damn!"
The terrorist continued to fire at her, bullets thwacking and snapping around her, slowly degrading her cover. She was scared stiff, and pinned down by enemy fire, Kelly was almost certain to be killed.
Suddenly, a burst of fire from behind her cut off the fire from the building. She looked behind her to see a CO19 officer running up to her position.
"Armed Police!" one of them yelled at her, pointing his weapon at her. "Oh, sorry," he said upon recognizing her blue epaulettes on her uniform. The CO19 officer slid next to her, taking aim with his G36C at the MoD.
"Thanks for that," Kelly said, her voice shaking from all of the stress and physical exertion.
"Not a problem." The officer squeezed off a couple more rounds before ducking behind cover. "Sergeant Nicholas Angel," he said to her. Kelly looked at his badge epaulette; it read "777". He was the officer from the radio that she had heard earlier.
"Where are you off to?" he asked her.
"I'm trying to get to the police station," she replied, pointing down the block. It wasn't far to go. "I'm trying to see the super there."
"I'm afraid that's not possible," Angel said to her.
"Uh…why not?"
"Well, he's dead." Angel popped up and fired a couple more shots. "And so is the watch commander, and half the command room, and all the equipment is gone…"
"Is that why our radios don't work?"
"Actually, that appears to be…hold on, a second." He fired some more rounds, and then ducked back down. "That seems to be a problem with the entire network throughout London, maybe even outside of it. No phones, no radios, no nothing, everything is down."
Angel fired some more rounds, but it was quickly becoming obvious that there were more terrorists than police responding, and that the situation was rapidly deteriorating.
"Come on, we can't stay here," he said to Kelly, grabbing her by the arm. "We'll get to the station, although I can't say that there's much there."
The two ran down the road, dodging more rounds fired at them, pausing only to throw the shooters off for a second, then continued to run until they reached the police station.
It was completely chaos at Whitehall station, as expected. Several bloodied officers staggered out, and some office workers tended as best they could to the wounded, who were being laid out on the parking lot grounds.
"Sir," one of the CO19 officers said to Angel. "We've secured the station, but it gets even worse."
"How?"
"They got all the command staff, not just the super. Even the inspector is dead. The highest ranking person around is you."
"Shit."
Seeing her chance, Kelly decided to interrupt with the information about the suspicious police in Charing Cross. "Wait, I have some info," Kelly said to Angel.
Angle turned around "Which is…?"
"We were helping this woman by the Underground station, and she said that she spotted armed officers near there."
"But we don't have any…" That information clicked in his head. "Christ, there's terrorists dressed as us!"
"And without our radios, we can't find who's who in all of this!" Kelly added.
"Dammit, but where would they be going…?"
"Downing Street?"
That made sense. The PM was in his residence and was about to meet several ministers in the MoD to discuss the recent terrorist attacks in America and the rest of the world.
"You're right, I'll take a team over there and make sure everything is okay. "Stay here and try to help out."
Before Kelly could protest any further, he was gone, having taken several armed officers down the block to Number 10.
"Prime Minister, we have to get you out of here." Sir Robert was pleading with the Prime Minister Robinson, who had been just about to leave for the MoD at Whitehall before the attacks began. A couple of minutes after the assault had begun, the power had gone out at Number 10, and the security personnel deployed with MP5s and G36s at the ready but it was becoming quickly obvious that this place was not secure. The gunfight that had raged outside the MoD was starting to creep slowly the short block away from them, and the protection detail was insisting that they leave this very minute.
"Alright, let's get going then." Robinson gathered some paper up and placed them in a briefcase, and started to walk toward the back exit of Number 10, where all the cars were parked in the little square.
"PM is on the move," one of Diplomatic Protection Group officers said on his radio. There was no response. "This is Charlie 61, come in command, over."
"That's strange," the PM said to himself. "What's the problem?"
"Sir, we can't get the radios to work," Charlie 61 said to him, peering outside. There were some armed officers out there, guarding the cars. "We have to keep moving sir. Follow me."
Charlie 61 along with the other bodyguards walked outside to make sure everything was clear.
"It's all cle…"
A hail of gunfire from the "armed officers" outside cut them down.
"Shit!" The PM and Sir Robert ducked back inside Number 10 and slammed the door shut. Bullets bounced off the steel reinforced door as the gunmen tried to make him the first prime minister to be assassinated in 200 years.
"What the hell!" Sir Robert exclaimed, covering his head with one of the red boxes that they carried around with official documents and other important stuff. Their effectiveness against 9mm bullets however, was doubtful.
"Come on!" the PM said to him, tugging at Sir Robert's cuffs to get him moving. "We have to move!"
The PM and Sir Robert raced back down the hall, looking for anyone to help them. But the place was empty, as everyone had fled in the first couple of minutes of gunfire besides the DPG officers and Sir Robert and well, the officers were now dead.
"In here!" The PM and Sir Robert ran into the Cabinet Room and looked frantically around for a way to get out.
"Oh for Christ sake," Sir Robert said, peering out one of the windows in the room. The gunmen had already anticipated that move, and now were waiting outside. One of them fired off a burst, hitting the window that Sir Robert was looking out of. Thankfully, if was bullet-resistant, but as an escape route it wasn't doing much good.
The PM was on one of the phones on the long wooden table, but it was dead as well.
"Did you try your mobile?" Sir Robert yelled from across the room.
The PM looked at his iPhone that he had come to depend on ever since the first one had come out in 2007. No service.
"I don't have any service here, how about you?"
Sir Robert shook his head. "None here, Prime Minister."
A loud bang from around the corner announced the entry of the gunmen, intent on assassinating him.
"Come on Robert," he said to his Cabinet Secretary. "I'm not going down without a fight."
"Where are we going?!" Sir Robert replied, obviously flummoxed and stressed from the entire situation.
"To the Study, I've got something there."
The PM stuck his head out into the hallway to make sure that everything was clear. The gunmen had blown a hole in one of the wall and were pouring into Number 10. It would only be a matter of time before they made him an ex-PM.
But not if he could stop it.
The PM ran across the hallway and down to where the grand staircase was, and with Sir Robert close behind, they jogged up it. One of the faux armed officers saw them and pointed his MP5 at them, letting off a burst.
"Dammit!" Sir Robert exclaimed, making it up the stairs and onto the second floor. "Haven't been under fire since the Falklands." He dodged another bullet. "Or the Troubles."
"Well then, maybe you can help out then," the PM dryly replied. They made it to the study, and threw open the door.
"Behind Maggie!" the PM yelled to Sir Robert, shutting the door and closing the lock. He started to pile up furniture in front of the door, even though it would only buy some time since there were at least a couple more doors that lead into the study.
"What?" Sir Robert yelled back.
"Behind the Thatcher painting!" Good old Maggie, still lording over everyone.
Sir Robert went over to the painting and lifted it up. Behind it was a large safe.
"Coming through!" The PM finished barricading the door and had pushed Sir Robert aside. He messed with combination lock, and although Sir Robert didn't get the full combination, he swore he could have seen the Numbers from LOST.
After a second of getting the combination right, the PM opened the safe. There was a gleaming L85A2 Assault Rifle in there, along with two P226 Sig Sauer pistols in 9mm caliber, with ammunition, magazines, and bullet resistant vests.
"Wow," Sir Robert, said, looking at the equipment in there. "Impressive."
The PM tossed his Senior Secretary a vest. "Put this on. If I'm going to be the first PM assassinated in 200 years, then I'm not going down without a fight." He gave one of the P226s to Sir Robert, along with some magazines. "You know how to use one of those?"
"It's been awhile, but yes." Sir Robert put one of the magazines in the pistol and cocked it, checking to make sure the feed didn't jam or something like that.
The PM was also checking his assault rifle, putting in a magazine, charging it, and looking down the optical sight.
"I'm ready here," he said. "You good?"
"I am ready," Sir Robert Baiden (GCMG, KBE, MVO), replied. Prime Minister Michael Robinson (PC, KBE, BSc (LSE)), readied his weapon, and looked to one of the entrances to the study. He could hear the pattering of feet as the gunmen came up the stairs, and started banging away at the study door.
"He's in here!" he heard one of them yelled out. It sounded like he had an Irish accent…maybe from Cork or something like that?
"Shut up you bloody fool!" another one said. "Find another way around!"
A couple of rounds blasted through the door, in an attempt to get through. The PM fired back, pumping several bursts into the door.
"I'm hit!" one of the gunmen yelled out.
"Who the fuck is still armed! We cleared this place out!"
There was more gunfire, as the terrorists tried desperately to break through the impasse. Bullets snapped about the room, destroying vases, ripping apart books, tables and chairs, and causing a mess of things. The PM and the Senior Secretary slowly backed out of the room, exiting by the door near the fireplace. It led to another room, where the protection detail usually sat, but to the PM's dismay, three of them lay dead on the floor, their throats punctured by a very sharp knife.
"It would appear that this attack happened sooner than we thought," he noted to Sir Robert.
"It would seem that way, Prime Minister," Baiden softly replied back. They stared for a moment, but the banging on the doors quickly reminded them that there were bad guys after them, and they hunkered down, waiting for help to arrive.
Sergeant Angel ran across the street, from Whitehall to Number 10, flanked by CO19 and Ministry of Defence Police (MDP) officers, all armed with a variety of high powered weapons, from G36s, MP7s, MP5s, and M4 carbines.
"Spread it out!" he yelled to the officers. They were almost to Number 10…
Angel saw the dead bodies of the police assigned to guard the front gate and the door to Number 10. Shaking his head, he rushed past his fallen comrades and signaled for his team to stack up by the door. There was still gunfire coming from inside the house, so somebody was fighting back. Angel peeked around the entrance to the house; the door was open and he could see evidence of a fight.
Another burst of gunfire, this time, it sounded like it came from the second floor.
"Okay everyone, listen up!" he called out to the armed officers that had gathered around him. "I'm going to divide you up into three teams. Team one…" he motioned to about five officers to the right of him, "You will be going around to the back and make sure that everything is clear. Team two…" he partitioned off another five officers. "You will be clearing the first floor. The rest of you, you're with me. Okay? Move out!"
The armed officers ran to their respective assignments, while Sergeant Angel and a couple of other officers stacked up to the open entrance to Number 10. More gunfire could be heard as the terrorists engaged the police in the back. Team two went in first, sweeping the conference rooms and the hallways downstairs. Angel went in next, his G36 in the firing position as he climbed the stairwell leading to the second floor. A terrorist suddenly popped from around a corner, dressed in black fatigues as they had ditched the police uniforms when they entered Number 10. He was surprised to see a large contingent of armed officers climbing up the stairs. He started to raise his MP5A4 to fire but Angel cut him down with a burst of fire.
"X-Ray down!" he yelled out. More gunfire from around the corner. Angel stacked up and took a peek at what was going on; several more terrorists were trying to get into a locked room. One of them tried a side door, and upon finding it open, went in. A report from a L85 and some bullets knocked the terrorist down. Whoever was in there, they were putting up a good fight.
"He's in there!" one of the surviving terrorists yelled out.
"Get him!" another yelled out.
"Time to put a stop to this," Angel muttered to himself. Motioning to the other officers, they charged up the stairs and rounded the corner, aiming their weapons down the hall. Angel did the same.
"Stop!" he shouted. "Armed Police!"
Now that Angel had a clearer view, he could see that there were four gunmen, armed with MP5 SMGs and wearing ballistic vests. They hesitated at his command.
"Drop the bloody weapon!" another officer yelled out.
"Put the fucking weapons on the ground!"
Seeing that they were in a no-win situation, three of them dropped their weapons and put their hands in the air.
The last terrorist was still in indecision mode, and was wavering with his MP5 in hand, halfway between dropping it and bringing it up to shoot.
"Drop it!" Angel yelled out. "Last chance!"
The gunman sighed and dropped the SMG on the ground. The other armed officers also exhaled, and moved in to arrest the gunmen.
"You're nicked!" one of them said. "I've always wanted to say that."
Angel rolled his eyes and moved to the door that the terrorist had been trying to open. He knocked on the door, but stayed away from standing in front of it. He didn't want to get shot, that's for sure.
"Armed Police!" he yelled out. "Open the door!"
There was a moment of silence, then there was a scrambling of feet as someone came to open the door.
Sergeant Angel couldn't believe it.
The Prime Minister of the UK stood in there, armed with a L85 assault rifle, and with him, the Cabinet Secretary, holding a P226 pistol in hand. And he thought Americans were crazy with their guns.
"Thanks for showing up," the Cabinet Secretary said, a smile on his face. "We were in some trouble back there."
"Ppppp…Prime Minister?!" Angel spat out, trying to remain calm. He snapped a salute to the PM.
"No need for that…uh…" PM Robinson tried to get a look at the officer's name tag.
"Sergeant Nicholas Angel, CO19," he replied, regaining his calm.
"Nice to meet you," the PM smiled back. "I wish it was under better circumstances though."
"Of course, Prime Minister," Angel replied. "What are your orders?"
"Well, I would like to get out of here, and to a secure location. Can you provide some vehicles and an escort to RAF Northolt?"
"Yes sir, I'll ride along personally."
"Very good. Dispatch some officers to Buckingham and make sure that the Royal Family is secure and that they're out of there."
Angel nodded. "Of course."
"That's all for now. Let's get the hell out of here!"
The PM, the Cabinet Secretary, and Sergeant Angel walked out of the room. Angel immediately started barking order to the armed officers there, some for an escort detail, some for the securing of Number 10, and some to go check on the Royal Family to make sure that they had gotten away safely. Within five minutes, they were in a convoy of SUVs (not shot up by the recent gunfight), and were travelling at high speed toward RAF Northolt, through the besieged city of London.
It was later found that The Grenadier Guards, the stewards and protectionary detail of the Royal Family, were decimated, many of them gunned down in Wellington barracks across from Buckingham Palace. A whole company of elite soldiers, taken out when a NAAFI supply truck loaded with mercenaries and other types who had a beef with the British Army, entered through one of the gates at Wellington Barracks and made their way inside, slaughtering all they found. No one was spared, even the members of the esteemed band were gunned down in their rooms or trying to flee from the onslaught. A surviving platoon managed to fight their way out and to join up with a detachment at Buckingham palace, protecting the Royal family and ensuring their safety.
Police Community Support Officer Kelly Dunn was tending to the wounded outside Whitehall police station when she saw the convoy with the PM leave. She smiled at that, knowing that she had done her bit in the scale of things today.
"Kelly!" Sergeant McCall had made it over to the police station was out of breath, ostensibly from dodging all those bullets. But the gunfire was becoming less and less frequent as CO19 and the MoD Police retook the Defence Building.
"Yeah?"
"Did you tell them?" McCall gasped, trying to catch her breath.
"Yes, they just left." Kelly pointed to the convoy, which was now turning right on Parliament street.
"Very good then, carry on."
"Of course, Sergeant."
"Sergeant McCall!" Another one of the officers called out to her, and she was running toward the police station, trying to get a handle on the mess that had been created. Kelly went back to bandaging a wounded officer, making sure that all of his wounds had been cleaned, that he wasn't in too much pain, and all of that good stuff.
It was Britain's Finest Hour.