HLM -Chapter 1230 Hurry to the Reinforcements

April 1st, 10:30 a.m.

A Holden mid-size bus drove out of the airport. A large police emblem and the New Zealand flag were emblazoned on it, with a line of words along the side: Royal New Zealand Police College.

More than thirty police officers were aboard—men and women alike, some burly, some refined—ranging in age from their twenties to their forties.

As the bus sped along, a white man with a buzz cut stood up and said, “Colleagues, my name is Buckerd, from the Dunedin Central Police Station. I think we should get to know one another.”

The stiff atmosphere in the bus began to loosen. Officers reached out to those beside them, shaking hands and introducing themselves.

After a while, Buckerd added, “Guys, there’s something I have to say in advance. We’ve all trained at the Police College—we know about their tradition of pranks, right?”

Someone raised a hand and said, “And today is April Fools’ Day, so we really should be prepared and watch out for pranks.”

A Māori officer stood up nonchalantly and said, “No need to worry, everyone. I had a friend look into it. The 180th unit ahead of us is just a bunch of rookies. They’re off doing pre-post training—they couldn’t pull off anything fancy.”

Another officer laughed. “Exactly. They’re rookies. Nothing to worry about. What could a bunch of rookies possibly do? Buckerd’s making a fuss over nothing.”

Buckerd shrugged. “Maybe. But we can’t afford to be careless. Still, you’re right—it’s just a bunch of rookies. No need to take it too seriously.”

The bus continued forward at high speed, racing along. Some officers dozed off, others chatted enthusiastically, and a few played on their phones.

Just as the bus was about to leave the highway and enter a smaller road, the radio crackled with static, and a red light began flashing rapidly.

Seeing this, the driver opened the radio in confusion. “This is Vehicle 19. May I—”

“Wilbur, this is Superintendent Ferguson. The situation is urgent. You listen, don’t interrupt me. You’ve entered the suburbs—you’re at the Sansha intersection now, correct?” A hurried voice came through.

“Yes, Superintendent.”

“Good, good. Do you have our officers on board?” The voice grew increasingly urgent.

“Yes, Superintendent.”

“Good, good. Then turn around immediately and head to Futu Town. There’s a bank robbery there—a major case. The robbers are heavily armed with dense firepower. Local police have been suppressed and need your immediate support!”

The driver said in shock, “What? Superintendent, today is April Fools’ Day—”

“To hell with April Fools’ Day! To hell with April Fools’ Day! This is not a joke and not a drill! Take everyone on board and get to the reinforcements—get to Futu Town immediately! I can’t explain everything right now. Turn on the New Zealand Police radio; they’re reporting on the case with detailed information.”

Ferguson hurriedly finished speaking and hung up.

The radio fell silent. The driver slammed on the brakes. Several half-asleep officers were nearly thrown from their seats and began complaining:

“What the hell was that?”

“Did we get into an accident?”

“My God, my head’s about to split open!”

The driver turned back and glared fiercely at the complainers, bellowing in a rough voice, “You all heard what the superintendent said, right? Are you carrying guns?”

As he spoke, he turned on the vehicle radio and tuned it to the police channel:

“…An exchange of fire has already occurred. Police firepower has been completely suppressed. At present, there are approximately fifteen to twenty suspects, armed with more than ten automatic rifles.”

“We have just received information that one police officer has been injured. All nearby police personnel are requested to proceed immediately to provide support. The location is the West Pacific Bank in Futu Town.”

“…We’ve also learned that the Wellington AOS squad is being urgently assembled, but it will take time. Therefore, the request stands: nearby police personnel must move in to provide immediate support!”

A gentle yet composed female voice continued to broadcast updates. The officers on the bus stared blankly as Buckerd stood up and asked, “Instructor, is this real? Today is April Fools’ Day…”

“Yeah, yeah, could this be some kind of April Fools’ prank?”

“Ten rifles? More than a dozen robbers? Damn it, I must be crazy. Are these even robbers anymore? This is a freaking terrorist invasion!”

The driver glared at Buckerd and roared, “Whether it’s April Fools’ Day or not, you’ll find out soon enough. Right now, I just want to know—are you carrying guns? We’re about to provide armed support!”

Buckerd said blankly, “Instructor, we don’t carry guns in our regular duties. We’re here for training—how could we have brought guns?”

The driver pressed, “Not a single one armed? None of you brought guns?! This is an emergency—don’t joke around. If anyone’s armed, speak up now!”

Everyone shook their heads together, faces full of panic.

They were police officers, yes—but they had never experienced a battlefield of flying bullets like this.

Some still clung to hope. “Maybe it really is a prank?”

A burly Māori officer shook his head. “Probably not. That’s the police radio. The announcer is Officer Rebata—I know her voice well.”

“Yes, that’s Rebata’s voice. If a bunch of trainees could bribe the police radio station, then it wouldn’t be a prank anymore. Even Commissioner Miller wouldn’t dare do something like that.”

“So… we’re really going to provide support?” A female officer was on the verge of tears.

The driver said nothing more. With a grim face, he floored the accelerator. “Hold on tight.”

The bus surged forward, speeding onto a nearby road.

The police radio kept reporting the battle. The police weren’t just suppressed—they were surrounded. Fortunately, the Police College had dispatched a reinforcement team, forcing the robbers back into the bank.

The bus soon entered Futu Town. The town was in utter chaos. More than a dozen police cars raced through the streets. One police vehicle on the roadside was engulfed in flames, the fire raging fiercely.

Across the street stood a bank. Many of its windows were shattered, bullet holes riddled the doors and walls, and two police cars parked nearby also bore bullet impacts.

As soon as the bus stopped, a white police officer rushed over and shouted, “What unit are you providing support from?”

The driver quickly replied, “We’re from the Police College—”

“The 181st unit, right? Good. I’m Officer Salinch from the 180th unit. I’m one of the on-site commanders now. Everyone, get off the bus!” the officer yelled.

At that very moment, a window on the third floor of the bank thrust out an AK-47. Muzzle flashes erupted with the crack of gunfire, and a string of shell casings clattered onto the ground.

A police officer crouched behind a patrol car, took aim, and fired a single shot. A figure tumbled from the window and crashed heavily onto the ground, crimson blood spraying out in an instant.