Past Tense

Past Tense by Dan Pasquale Get Author Circle Updates. Join Now to receive promotions related to this title and author like special advance previews, sweepstakes, updates and more! terms

How do you lose an officer during a firefight? This isn’t the Army. There is no such thing as “missing in action” in police work! Sergeant Dave Bertram had thirty years’ experience. How could he be missing?

Prologue He rolled halfway down the slope, crashing through a wall of brush and landing face-first in the gravel. Staggering to his feet, he tried to stay small and out of sight as he cut hard to his left and continued moving downhill. His left leg felt numb and useless, forcing him to limp badly as he struggled on. Behind him, he heard shouting and more gunfire. He ejected the empty magazine from his Sig and replaced it with a full one from his belt. He knew he’d been hit, but hoped the body armor would protect him. He spotted a large tree and threw himself behind it. He held his breath, listening carefully, trying to locate his pursuers by sound as he reached slowly for the shoulder mike to call for help. “S32, officer needs help! Shots fired! Shots fired!” His only reply was a fusillade of shots from his pursuers. He continued sliding to the bottom of the slope and away from the others. Again he called for help, whispering desperately into his shoulder radio, but again there was no response. Out of habit, he reached down to check the mic connection for the radio. His fingers discovered only the jagged remains of the cord. He knew he’d have to take a chance. He ran clumsily across the dry creek bed, dragging his numb leg, and began to claw his way up the hill on the other side. A powerful blow struck him in the ribs, knocking him from his feet. He felt a sharp, stabbing pain under his right armpit, in an area the body armor left bare. He slid into a tree and turned back in time to see a figure emerge from the brush a few feet away. He fired a single shot and was satisfied to see the man drop. He forced himself to crawl farther into the brush and shadows, keeping his head low. He was breathing in ragged gasps now; his side felt as if it were on fire. Time seemed to slow as he hacked with his bare hands through the forest, frantic to stay out of their reach. He suddenly realized that he might die tonight. He’d been in danger before, but he’d never thought he would die. Sure, he knew he could get hurt—but not fatally wounded. That happened to other people; he didn’t make the type of mistakes that could get a man killed. He finally came to a small hollow at the base of a tree where he would be hidden from anyone more than three feet away. He couldn’t go farther now; he had to rest. Pulling some loose brush around him, he tried to slow his breathing and wait. Backup should be on the way. Stay alive and wait, he thought. Help will be here soon. He thought of his wife and wondered what she was doing. I don’t want to die. Chapter 1 The pilot fought both crosswinds and poor visibility as he tried to bring the chopper in for a landing. Low clouds and a row of trees lining the road made the task more difficult, even though the landing zone was marked by highway flares and lit with the headlights from two police cars. A firefighter in turn-out gear was gesturing with his arms high over his head, trying to guide the pilot in. Detective Mike Sheridan stood behind one of the patrol cars and watched. No matter how many times he had seen a helicopter pilot delicately land his craft onto a hastily marked landing zone, it always impressed him. The pilot of this Life Flight helicopter obviously knew his stuff. He landed smack in the middle of the road without a bump. While the chopper’s rotors were still spinning, the side door opened and two nurses climbed out. As they clutched their gear and made their way out from under the rotors, the firefighter waved them over. All three then disappeared down the embankment on the right side of the road. Like numerous other cities in the San Francisco Bay area, the population of the City of Mission had increased steadily, and as it did, the locals began using the country roads more frequently. Deercreek Road was a two-lane stretch of asphalt that skirted the side of a newer housing track, following the path of Deer Creek, which flowed out of the hills and west toward the bay. From the stretch of road where Sheridan stood, the creek rolled along to his right and a steep hill rose skyward on the left. The dirt shoulders on both sides of the road were wide enough to allow a car to safely park, although signs posted every seventy-five feet or so proclaimed “No Parking Any Time.” Deercreek Road was busy with traffic during the day, but rarely traveled at night. Tonight, however, was different; Deercreek was teeming with vehicles of all sizes. In addition to what looked like most of the Police Department’s night shift, Sheridan spotted three fire engines, a Fire Department Command SUV, two ambulances and the helicopter with its rotors still spinning. The heavy night mist, mixed with the diesel fumes and car exhaust, gave the area an oppressive, closed-in feeling. As he trotted past the copter toward the center of activity ahead, his mind was still reeling from the information the dispatcher had given him. How do you lose an officer during a firefight? This isn’t the Army. There is no such thing as “missing in action” in police work! Sergeant Dave Bertram had thirty years experience. How could he be missing? Continues...