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Austin “Spatch” Madden
“Let’s go, Old Man.”
The twenty-something cop hops around like some half-assed, wannabe boxer while Kai, Bash, and Cade look on and groan. Their disapproval drifts across the floor, each man mumbling. “Christ,” “There’s always going to be one,” and “Here we go again.”
Keeping my movements casual and my body relaxed, I step forward, popping in my mouthguard, something the young showoff has disregarded for himself. I move onto the sparring square as Laurent shakes his head and laughs, reminding me in a whisper, “Don’t kill him.”
“Pfft. Like grandpa could,” the cop taunts.
The little prick with spiky blond hair and a smartass smirk isn’t a bad guy. Like many before him, he’s out to prove himself on the first day of close-quarters training. Over the last year, Knot Corp has opened its doors for law enforcement to attend a three-day training camp for non-lethal combat. This current group is from St. Louis.
By now, I’ve learned that the location of the police force doesn’t matter. Urban cops, rural cops, they’re all the same. Each group that enters my training room brings the same personalities: the Rocky wannabe like this young buck, the veteran who doesn’t believe cops should change, one that considers lethal force a first resort, and then you have your regular good cops.
As always, on day one, the freshest guy from the academy is the first to volunteer for demonstrations. These rookies assume the apprehension and arrest training they’ve received is all they need. To prove it, these guys want to take me down and show their colleagues that close-quarter combat tactics aren’t needed. Blondie will learn how wrong he is, just like all the others before him.
“Come on, Pops. Let’s do this,” he taunts.
I beckon him forward with my hand, and the man launches with a yell. So predictable. Blondie is on his stomach with his arms wrenched behind him in less than a second. Cade snickers from the sidelines, and the rest of the trainees howl in laughter.
The cop on the floor struggles against my hold, embarrassed that I took him down so quickly and with zero effort. I up the pressure to his shoulder joints and bend down to issue my practiced spiel. “Now that I’ve got your attention, I want you to think about something. I’m letting your buddies get a good laugh at you being shown up. I’m also going to tell you something you might want to remember. The next guy may grab your gun and end your life while his buddies laugh.”
I let Blondie up, and he skulks back to the line. Though tempted, I hold back a snide comment about his hair now being thoroughly fucked up. “Alright. Now that we got that shit out of the way, let’s get started.”
The training ends on Friday, with the officers gaining valuable knowledge, and as usual, appreciating the techniques that might save their asses and protect them from becoming the next social media supervillain.
And, like usual, the cocky young cop shakes my hand before his team departs. All in all, I’d say it was another successful training camp.
The last of the men file out, and Piper trots through the flap door from her outdoor training area. Either she was waiting to come in until the cops left, or she had just finished her self-directed drills. As usual, I set up a few extras for the last day of training camp. The exercises include balance, puzzle, jump, and agility challenges with automatic treat rewards.
I stoop to greet the sable Belgian Malinois, petting her shiny coat. “How’s my girl?”
The six-year-old Bundeswehr-trained military dog barks and turns in a circle. That’s Piper’s sign that she earned all her treats. On the days I introduce new puzzles or increase the difficulty of a challenge, she might not win them all. She always lets me know about it after those sessions.
Piper keeps to my side as I leave the training room. She doesn’t know it yet, but we’re cutting out a little early today. I grab my shit, then instead of walking out the main door, I take Piper out through the gym, leading her to the jogging trail that winds through the woods surrounding our building. I have a special treat for my girl today.
At the mouth of the trail, I issue a one-word command in German, “Wache.” The resulting change in her demeanor is swift. Piper’s ears perk up, and her body tightens. She’s now on guard.
Despite her battle-ready tension, Piper knows what’s coming. She’s my protection detail, and danger hides in these woods. The lethal Mali gets to bite today. And Piper loves bite training.
Somewhere along the one-mile trail, Kai prowls the woods wearing a bite suit. He volunteered to play the criminal and be Piper’s victim, but I don’t think he’s looking forward to it. The anticipation will play hell on his nerves, not to mention the swiftly warming air of a Virginia spring.
At the quarter-mile marker, I pause to give Piper some direction. I have a sealed zip bag in my backpack containing the t-shirt Kai wore all morning. I hold the cotton in front of Piper’s nose and issue a French command this time, “piste.”
Though she’s been given the command to seek, she waits for me to release her before lifting a single paw from the ground. Her discipline isn’t because she’s tethered to me by a leash.
I never harness Piper unless we’re in public. And then, the leash is not to keep her in line. Piper is better behaved than most humans. When I keep her on a lead, it’s for the comfort of moms and kids. Piper can be fucking scary when she’s on guard and someone nearby starts acting like an asshole. And she’s always on guard.
And Kai is about to get a front-row seat. I chuckle to myself and pack his shirt away. The hunt will move fast now, and since the moment is about observing Piper, I want total freedom of movement. I hang my bag on the trail marker and nod my head. “Geh Voraus.” Go.
Piper sets off through the woods, already picking up Kai’s scent. She moves silently through the trees off-trail, only leading me by three feet. The dog is too well trained to lead by more than that. Piper knows I’m her protection just as she is mine.
Ten minutes later, we’re still searching. I’ve got to hand it to Kai. He’s making her work for it. Not only is he backtracking and crossing his path, but his scent is all over the place just from him regularly running the course.
Another minute passes with Piper testing scents, and then she signals. She’s locked on and picks up speed in a straight line. We’re getting close to Kai’s hiding spot. Cade, operating as a decoy and also in a bite suit, runs out from behind a tree into Piper’s path, yelling, “Hot sauce! Hot sauce!”
Piper ignores Cade as she should, her focus remaining where it belongs, seeking out her sole target. She covers fifty yards more, and Kai jumps down from a low branch and charges. I speak the German command for bite, “Fass,” and Piper doesn’t hesitate.
She reaches top speed phenomenally fast and leaps into the air, still five feet from Kai. He blanches but keeps his wits.