The real life of an American police officer: Winning over others with virtue

Chapter 202 Specialized Squad
The state troop patrol car, which appeared to be leading the way, drove into the gas station.

Two dilapidated Ford F-150 pickup trucks following behind it also drove in.

This means that Eric's judgment was correct.

Under his watchful eye, the three vehicles slowly came to a stop at the gas station, and then a state trooper got out of the police car.

He walked toward the two dilapidated Ford F-150 pickup trucks that were also parked behind him.

"Holy Spirit."

The state trooper pulled up to the passenger side window of the pickup truck in front of him and smiled at the man inside.

Who else could it be but Theo Stuart?
“Ralph,” he said calmly, looking at the café that had fallen into darkness ahead.

"Have you caught those rats yet? We need to eliminate them before the FBI arrives so that our Holy Spirit Church can continue its great cause and our Paradise can remain untainted by the evil sources of the outside world."

Upon hearing this, Ralph glanced at the coffee shop: "Leon and Whitney were beaten up here. If I'm not mistaken, the people who beat them up were those rats."

Theo Theo Stuart remained calm, but his breathing became almost imperceptibly erratic: "So they're hiding here?"

Ralph said, "It's highly likely, Holy Spirit. Our family members are blocking the way in front and behind. Our family members are everywhere, so they had no choice but to come here to hide."

Although state troop police are often jokingly referred to as highway patrol officers, there are actually many sheriffs who are specifically responsible for criminal investigations.

He was one of them, and his jurisdiction happened to be here.

It was precisely because of this that he received calls from the FBI and his superiors, thus demonstrating his analytical abilities.

“As far as I know, this cafe doesn’t close at this time.” Ralph’s gaze lingered on the SUV outside the cafe.

"And that SUV seems to be our target."

Upon hearing this, Theo Stuart nodded, slowly turning his head to shift his gaze from the café's closed doors and windows to Ralph:

“Ralph, your insight is a guiding light for our actions, and this keen awareness of changes in the district is proof that He chose you.”

Upon hearing this, the almost fanatical light in Ralph's eyes suddenly intensified.

“Yes, the lamb has lost its way and wandered into the pen where it shouldn’t have been,” Theo Stuart suddenly shouted.

“They are inside, those filths that defile the holy land. Go, go, Ralph, as sheriff, carry out the Lord’s will.”

His words carried an inexplicable sense of mission: "Knock on that door and let the Lord's majesty descend."

Cleanse the defilement, bring back or end the lost sheep, for the purity of the Holy Spirit Church, for the peace of this land.

Theo Stuart paused, looking at Ralph, whose expression flashed with fanaticism, and said, "May the guidance of the Holy Spirit be with you."

After saying this, Ralph nodded and then fixed his eyes on the people inside the car.

Now, except for Theo Stuart who remained in the passenger seat, everyone in the two dilapidated Ford F-150 pickup trucks, including those in the cargo beds, gradually disembarked.

There are ten people in total.

They remained silent, but their movements were remarkably synchronized as they took out various firearms from backpacks in the truck bed.

Although he hadn't heard the conversation, Eric, who had been observing the area, twitched at the corner of his eye. Whether these people were genuinely skilled in combat or for some other reason, the guns they carried were all well-known firearms.

The G36 automatic rifle, 5.56mm, 30-round magazine feed, rate of fire 750 rounds per minute.

Extremely expensive FN.SCAR assault rifle, Steyr AUG assault rifle, SG550 rifle, etc.

Each person carries a different type of firearm.

This made Eric a little uneasy, as he had no idea what the origins of this cult that had taken up residence here were.

"Why does this cult seem to have some reputation?" Eric thought to himself, watching the group silently equip themselves with modular accessories such as tactical lights, spies, foregrips, and so on. Their overall movements exuded a sense of professionalism.

If he hadn't been certain that this group of people were cult members, anyone who didn't know better would have thought they were a special forces infantry unit or some kind of infantry squad.

"What the hell is this weird feeling?"

But seeing this situation only made Eric's eyes become more and more focused. He watched as the eleven people in front of him suddenly split into two groups. One group of six people, including state police, prepared to break in through the front door, while the other group of five people went around to the back door to sneak in.

"Does it have to be this professional?" Eric thought to himself helplessly. Seeing that the first team was moving much faster than the second team, he quietly left his spot and headed towards the back door.

This group of people clearly intended to coordinate their attacks from both ends, and they certainly possessed combat skills.

Eric was too preoccupied to care about the RV behind him, as the situation had taken a turn for the worse.

I thought the cult members were just a group of ordinary people, but they turned out to be a group of people with combat experience.

Eric moved quickly and expressionlessly toward the back of the café, where all was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint sound of a highway engine in the distance.

He pulled open the small door that separated the front and back areas of a restaurant from the main dining area, similar to the door that prevents customers from entering, and then casually closed the door and walked into the back area.

As the layout was described earlier, the rear area was narrow: on the left was a heavy warehouse door, and on the right was a room and a wooden staircase leading to the second floor.

At the end is the back door, and below the stairs is a narrow inward-facing space.

Eric opened the two doors on the left, making room for himself to move around if needed, and quickly slipped into the narrow space under the stairs.

This is a good position, completely avoiding direct line of sight from the front and back doors. You can judge the enemy's movements by the changes in light and shadow through the door cracks and extremely subtle sounds. There is also a staircase pillar in front of you as a final barrier, although it is not very thick.

Furthermore, the small door separating the front hall from the rear area can prevent enemies infiltrating from the direction of their movements.

If all else fails, he can retreat to the second floor, maintaining a favorable position throughout the move.

That's why he chose this place.

"Eleven of them are attacking from both sides. They are looking for me, unsure of my location, which gives me the advantage."

"What a pity, the only regret is the lack of a silencer, but it doesn't matter." Eric's last thought echoed as his breathing was suppressed to the point of near cessation, his heart pounding heavily and slowly in his chest.

All senses are pushed to their limits, trying to capture the slightest disturbance in the air.

Suddenly, he actually caught it: the rustling of leather, the slight clinking of metal parts, and deliberately suppressed breathing. These sounds acted like coordinates, instantly illuminating the enemy's location on the map in his mind.

(End of this chapter)