Tactical Tommy Guards the Jail

So there I was working the night shift at the Moose Ass County Jail with just two other jailers, both “female”. One of the inmates that night decided he needed to go to the bathroom at the end of the hall at 2AM. I knew that nobody went to the bathroom at 2AM and the fact that this inmate in particular was a 72 year old KNOWN traffic offender only heightened my awareness to his being “System Savvy”.

So I go to the gear room and suit up in my riot gear because I know that having 2 female backup Officers only creates a liability. Once geared up, I stuffed one of our new tasers in the front of my pants in case things get out of control and I have to put him down hard. I grab my capture shield and baton and proceed to the cell.

I hold the baton under my left arm with the capture shield “SHOCK” plate pointed away from my body so as not to inadvertently zap myself. I took the initiative to zip tie the trigger on the handle in case I have to get it into action quickly and don’t have time to get my arm through BOTH of the grips. Experience count’s here.

I carefully unlock the cell door and slide it to the side. As I tried to get the key out, this crafty codger had rigged the hole to hold the key in the lock. I bent down to remove the key and struck the top of my helmet against the bars which knocked me back flat onto my butt. So as not to be caught at a disadvantage, I immediately grabbed my baton and rolled to my left, unfortunately right on top of the capture plate, but I knew that I could use this to my advantage, so while I lay convulsing on top of the shield I began to plan my next move.

Once the battery had run dry I jumped to my feet and tried to swing the riot baton at my assailant. He deftly evaded my blow by standing right in front of me behind the bars. This caused me to shatter the baton, and lose feeling in my hands. I was prepared for such a maneuver and instantly went to my tear gas grenade. I pulled the pin and let loose with the spoon, flinging the grenade at the bars of his cell, the inmate then let the bars of the cell deflect the grenade right back at me and it fell down the front of my riot vest. Being the hardened professional that I am, my instincts kicked into level RED. I immediately “stopped, dropped and rolled” to put the flames on my riot gear out.

I knew at this point, that I was dealing with no mere criminal but instead a criminal master mind of tactical maneuvering.

The inmate feigned laughter as I screamed rolling on the ground while tear gas filled my suit and helmet causing snot and tears to flow freely. I knew however that he was about to make a fatal mistake. He ran from the effects of the gas yelling “HELP” towards the front of the jail, but I knew that he was in reality attempting escape. It was go time.

I reached for the taser, but since my hands were numbed from the baton, and my vision was obscured from the result of the tear gas, I accidentally discharged the taser down the front of my pants. The urine left over from the capture shield incident conducted the electricity and grounded, causing me to let out a tactical shriek, which shattered windows for the entire cell block causing a hazardous situation to the escaping inmate due to broken glass. This had worked to my advantage.

I recovered from the initial shock and low crawled my way towards the inmate trying to ignore the effects of the ever pouring teargas and the electrical prongs that were now hooked into my privates. I could not allow myself to be defeated; I must not allow myself to be defeated. I had no feeling in my legs at this point.

As I crawled I tried to remember my training. I crawled over the glass into the cell the inmate had left. I snapped the key off in the lock and pulled the door shut behind me. I then removed the gas grenade from the front of my vest, ignoring the 3rd degree burns on my chest and hands, nothing a simple skin graft couldn’t fix.

I then used a sheet to cover myself under the bed in a tactical withdraw until backup could arrive.

Tactical Tommy Guards the Mall

So there I was, pinning on my mall security badge. I knew that at that moment, I had reached the pinnacle of my calling, to "protect and serve" or as my company motto says, to "evade and report". I had just received my official state security commission which allowed me to be armed; I was now part of the ELITE of mall security. As I holstered “Excaliber”, my Stainless Glock 21 in .45 ACP I took a moment to appreciate the gold filigree inlay that had been expertly applied by a blind Austrian jeweler whose life had been devoted to bringing Glock to the forefront of functional art.  With this weapon upon my hip I knew that if it got hairy out there I would be ready. I placed my Benchmade tactical automatic knife which had been honed to a razors edge by Honduran Bushmen into my pocket where I knew it would be ready at a moments notice.

I mounted my 2 wheeled Segway which had the full “police package”, lights, siren, performance brakes and suspension and of course I secretly removed the “governor” so that I could get that extra kick of horsepower when I really needed it.  This thing was two wheels of silent rolling retribution. As I cruised my beat that afternoon I received a radio dispatch of possible loitering in the food court. I quickly stepped into the Men's room and press checked my .45 Glock 21 ensuring it was stoked with 10 uranium depleted Hornady Tactical Elephant Dissolvers with one extra round in the chamber "just in case".

I then responded to the scene of the crime just in time to witness at least 3 fourteen year old male suspects. I placed my hand on my gun and returned the biggest teens menacing glare. As I approached the ringleader, I noticed a movement, out of the corner of my eye. My advanced security training immediately screamed "AMBUSH". My 2 hours of video instruction kicked in like a well oiled machine.

I whipped my ASP baton out just as I began to spin and meet the threat but the clever teenagers had strategically placed a spilled coke underneath my feet, so I lost my footing and landed flat on my back, my level three armored plate absorbing most of the impact. I was prepared for such an attack however, and even though my baton went flying 15 feet away and the wind was knocked out of me, my warrior instincts had polished me into an unflinching justice machine and I recovered quickly using my inhaler only twice. I quickly rolled to my right getting to my knees and dove for cover in the water fountain. I went for my mace, but the water on my Oakley replica sunglasses obscured my vision so I depressed the cap and shot a burst of mace directly into my own face.  I have been maced before so I knew how to handle it. I ran in a circle screaming so as to confuse the opposition and then threw myself prone into a middle aged woman’s lap who was sitting in a booth. I knew at that moment that she would provide a body shield for any attacks that may occur. As I ordered her to stand in front of me, I reassured her of my abilities by showing her how a true professional can take a knee to the groin…twice.

As I writhed in pain on the ground, it would have appeared to the untrained eye that had lost control of my bladder. But in reality, this is a clever ruse to lure the predator to the trap.  As onlookers approached in curiosity I sprang the trap and leapt to a crouched position running to retrieve my ASP baton. I could see my human shield running away from my position bravely distracting the teenagers from my movements. I then picked my ASP baton up and whipped it into a semi-arc and with all the vengeance I could muster, I knocked my sunglasses right at the leading perp in a display of deft ability and superior training but he was not to be dismayed and held his ground. 

It was time, I had trained for this moment for all my life…well…actually more like 4 hours and a multiple choice test but still, this was the moment I had anticipated with both dread and trepidation.  I dropped my baton and went for the Glock; it was “go” time.  My level 3 retention holster was the best money could buy, made by the same company that built the Fort Knox gold safe combination lock, unfortunately I was distracted and unable to perform the correct sequence of movements necessary to draw my gun from it.  I couldn’t remember the sequence, was it “down, left, right, wiggle the pinky finger” or was it “down, left, right, wiggle the index finger”?  In all the confusion I began losing precious initiative.  I was prepared for just such an occasion however I heaved my weight into the gun butt, intent on ripping it free from the leather.  Unfortunately this process caused my holster to strike the automatic knife in my pocket which then deployed into my thigh. The stabbing pain only heightened my awareness to the dangers I now faced.  Though I did not successfully remove the gun from the holster I did manage to tactically tear my belt loops free from my uniform pants causing them to drop around my ankles.  I was able to kick the pants free and turn the situation to my advantage as I could now move like a mall security cheetah, unencumbered by the restrictive polyester material.  I deftly leapt towards my baton still lying on the ground I snatched it up, wielding it menacingly, like a steely phallic symbol of justice.


Somehow, possibly through the mastery of a rare Bulgarian version of Thai Chi, the perp managed to evade my baton strike in such a manner as to cause me to strike the bridge my own nose with the tip of my baton. I knew at that point I had met my match but I wouldn’t give in, I followed the Sun Tzu strategy of winning using the offering of “no target” by quickly passing out.  Upon my awakening I was in an ambulance, wearing a straight jacket which had been cunningly placed upon me during my tactical nap.   To my deft opponent touché’ whoever you are.

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictitious; any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental and hilarious. 

Tactical Tommy Goes to the Store

This story is dedicated to my friend and co-author Bill Caughran, 1st Cav. Division, Vietnam

I used to really be into guns, shooting sports and just anything firearm related.  Well after years of listening to “war stories” in gun shops and reading countless gun oriented magazines I began to develop a taste for the ridiculousness of it all.  I really, really began to enjoy listening to them drone on about how a 12 gauge cocking sound will scare bad guys or that women should only carry revolvers because they can’t learn how to properly use an automatic but my favorite stories were from the tinfoil hat wearing types.  You know, the guys who think the government is out to get them, that the world will end at any moment and everyone else is too stupid to realize it.  These guys could always take the most mundane errand and turn it into a survival story, usually recalling their gear in explicit detail and previous “classified” or “top secret” training they had.  At one point everyone was a former Navy SEAL but once that got comically clichéd they started to tell the stories sans Special Forces names (especially since the danged internet made it too easy to debunk them).  Anyhow a veteran of the Vietnam War named Bill Caughran (who was with the 1^st Cav Division)  and I both found their stories to be hilarious while other people just rolled their eyes and would walk away.  Eventually Bill and I sat down and wrote the following fictional story in honor of those gun shop commandos, mall ninjas and general tactical weirdo’s out there that we couldn’t get enough of. 

It’s been years since I’ve written this and it was originally published on a discussion forum, but I’ve decided to republish it here, in honor of my friend Bill whom I have not seen nor heard from in many years.  This one’s for Bill.

(original title) So there I was....what really happens to tactical "tools" in a fight

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As I was leaving my house I stuffed my Glock 10mm "man gun" Mexican style in my pants. My backup is a fully customized 1911 with all the IPSC add on options in my $500.00 leather pancake holster custom made by Belgian Monks who have devoted their lives to silence and holster making. These are the ones used by SEAL Team 6, which I used to be a part of but all records of my activities were destroyed in a fire "accident".

I put on my Royal Robbins photographer vest to match my pants while wearing a T-Shirt underneath reading "from my cold dead hands", that away nobody can see what I'm packing.

I had my Centennial .38 Special in my ankle holster, just like the gun rag guys carry.

Lastly I had my "Covert Sniper" I.D. Card in my wallet with my "Concealed Weapons Permit Badge". I was ready for anything.

I drove my Bug Out Truck to the 7-11 for some beer, cause you never know. It is a performance styled Subaru BRAT with 4 cylinders of ground pounding fury.

As I pull up to the 7-11 store I notice a nefarious looking girl scout eyeballing me from the back of her mother's SUV, a likely cover.

The mother returned to the truck and went for the keys in her purse, but I knew from my years of combat honed instincts that she was actually making a furtive movement for an offensive weapon.

I attempted a tactical shoulder roll, but fell flat on my face, kind of flopping on the pavement to avoid any incoming rounds and to make look like I meant to do that. The store owner called 911 which is good because I then did a roll and attempted to draw my Glock.

Unfortunately, since I did not have a holster, the gun "went off" and the bullet creased my wiener.  But I was prepared for that and bit down on a 10mm casing to take my mind off the pain as I dove for the garbage barrel. That’s when I noticed the Girl Scout shouting something to her mother who began to take cover. I knew they were closing on me so I drew my custom trusty 1911 Wilson COMBAT....I knew that they would be impressed with that. I then duck walked to the front of her SUV but my gut kinda’ got in the way and I fell on my ass, which caused me to swallow my 10mm casing.

I then tried to roll to my right, but didn't want to scuff my holster so I attempted a mid air conversion and just threw myself into a telephone pole, but I landed on right side anyway. So I fired one shot towards the woman’s SUV to pin them down as I recovered my wind.

And before the mother knew what was happening, I charged her and I threw my groin into her knee. I knew that as I vomited on the ground in front of her that I had interrupted her OODA loop, I had the advantage of surprise now. As she ran screaming for the Girl Scout (I knew she was going for backup) I made for my Super Charged BRAT tactical truck. I jumped into the driver seat forgetting that I had left my rare Israeli contract AR 15 Bayonet on the seat honed to a razors edge. I could handle it though; half my ass is an implant from war wounds. As I attempted to start my truck police and paramedics arrived on the scene. My truck would not start and instead backfired once and caused the police to taser me, at which point I tactically soiled myself while in convulsions. My custom 1911 then fell out the window but I still had my Centennial .38.  I knew that I had to take out the woman with the purse.

So I aimed my revolver at her at which point the first police officer fired once striking me in the chest, fortunately I was wearing my level 3A body armor. I didn't want to hurt the cops, they had obviously been duped by the evil temptress who was now embracing her partner in crime and crying to the police in the background, I knew it was a ruse.

I pulled out my concealed weapons permit badge and showed it to the officer who shot me and yelled out "I'm one of you guys", he continued to cover me and ordered me to drop my .38 so I lay it down, I still had my bayonet embedded in my ass after all. The cop walked toward me and upon reading the badge maced me right in the eyes. Fortunately my Oakley shooting glasses stopped most of the spray and I was able to rip free of the taser cords easily, it only cost me one nipple, easily replaced. I dove for the passenger side of my truck and began to run zig zag for a ditch, unfortunately the bayonet sticking out of my ass slowed me down, I knew it would have to be hand to had now. I knew the cop couldn't take me when I saw he merely carried a 9mm Glock 17 and not a man’s gun. So I immediately threw my eye into his right hook, followed by a knee into his mag light. As I lay thrashing on the ground I took the heel of my Bates enforcer boot and kicked at the cops ankle, I knew that from my classified experiences in Tajikistan that once breaking the ankle, the cop would fall down and I could "stun kick" him in the head, knocking him out but without hurting him.

Apparently the cop had also been to Tajikistan because he side stepped me and struck me in the back with his ASP baton, but my trauma plate absorbed it. I then drew my Benchmade auto knife and was promptly tased again, but I was ready for it this time and only wet myself a little bit.

Next thing those cops knew I was unconscious. That'll teach 'em.