“You took twenty minutes, Colonel,” said the general.
“My apologies, sir. Won’t happen again.”
“Lieutenant Colonel, I have a question,” said Senior Federal Inspector Joseph Cone.
All eyes turned towards the inspector. Gist despised the man. Empowered by the president to keep a close eye, it was Cone’s job to monitor the military and report back on any infidelity to the administration. Gist was ready to object when Cone continued.
“Lawton. Do you have further intelligence on these two enemy combatants, how much of a threat they represent?” asked Cone.
Before answering the question, Lawton looked across to Gist and waited for approval.
Reluctant, but knowing the power Cone represented, Gist nodded.
“We know their names and ranks. Both enlisted, lightly armed, walking wounded, not much of a threat. But while fleeing the battlefield, we have strong reason to believe they killed three of our troops. In my judgement, worth the effort of hunting and killing. That’s why, just before this meeting, I approved the seek and destroy mission.”
“Yes, of course. Just curious, though; what are their names?” asked Inspector Cone.
“Cone, why is that necessary? You’re wasting our time,” said Gist. Impatient, he couldn’t see any good reason for the inquiry.
“Please humor me, sir. Colonel, what are their names and ranks?” asked Cone again.
Although displeased by the line of questioning as immaterial, Gist didn’t want to outright offend the inspector. He waved at Lawton to proceed.
Lawton scrolled through his notes and then looked up at the inspector. “I have two names. A Master Sergeant Upton and a female NCO with the last name of McMichael.”
Cone sat straighter, obviously alarmed, he turned to Gist. “Sir, as a representative of the president, this matter is of the utmost importance and vital to our national interest. I’m sure you’d agree.”
“No, I don’t agree. Las Vegas is our highest priority. Chasing two soldiers around the desert doesn’t qualify. Lawton, you’re excused,” said Gist.
Inspector Cone raised his hand and objected. “Colonel Lawton, please remain.” He turned towards the general and explained. “General, in case you missed it, the female soldier glorified by the ROAS press this morning is none other than Staff Sergeant Lisa McMichael. You might recall in the broadcast they stated her name and rank several times. It appears she’s alive and we have her within our grasp. If we let her escape, the ROAS will glorify her even further. Knowing that, our president would want us to intervene and do everything in our power to prevent that possibility. Wouldn’t you agree stopping McMichael is a matter of the highest national urgency?”
Cornered, shaking his head, Gist hadn’t put two and two together. The damn inspector was right, letting McMichael get away would embarrass the president. Unforgivable. He didn’t need the distraction, not with another battle looming. In this case, the political ramifications of not giving the inspector everything he requested were too hot. In a reluctant tone he said, “Inspector Cone, Lieutenant Colonel Lawton has already authorized a search and destroy mission. I’m confident they will accomplish their goal. But as a matter of national interest, what is your recommendation?”
“General, I urge you to place me in charge of that mission right now,” said Inspector Cone.
The sky was lightening, and with dawn approaching, both Lisa and Upton were on the run.
When the ambulance dropped them off, they struck out due south, parallel to the border. At first, they walked through a narrow strip of desert, which led them into a small housing track. They considered seeking refuge there but decided it prudent to put more distance between themselves and the highway.
At Upton’s urging, they continued south, edging past a high school, then down a steep ravine, where they emerged into another housing track. Afraid of being seen, they skirted along the edges, staying near the desert, but always close to the shelter afforded by nearby homes and businesses.
Upton, with his sore ribs, even with the painkillers provided by the medics, stopped often, claiming the need to catch his breath. But Lisa didn’t complain about the breaks. She felt like a walking zombie clomping around in the over-sized shoes provided by the medics. Plus, the pack she wore, also provided by the medics full of supplies, added weight that wasn’t helpful. But driven by the fear of being hunted, they kept the breaks short and scurried onward.
For a mile or more, staying on the edge of the desert, they continued working south. When the houses ran out, they turned west towards the ultimate direction they needed to go, keeping the edge of town on their right.
Throughout their journey, they noticed the blackout. All the houses were dark and didn’t appear occupied. No one was moving about, no cars driving around, just a few vehicles parked on the streets. Even the streetlights weren’t lit, making it obvious the power was out across the entire area.
Both soldiers agreed martial law must be in place, and anyone who hadn’t already evacuated remained locked in their homes, possibly armed and on the lookout for looters. A few times when they passed near houses, dogs barked, and the two soldiers hurried along.
After a while, they came across a bike path with open desert and a river on their left bounded by occasional rows of houses on their right. By staying on the path, they made faster progress and took fewer breaks.
But time ran out.
Now, as the sun emerged, with it came the frightening sound of rotors. On the path, Lisa recognized the noise and from her earlier experience in the shell hole, knew what it wrought. Without saying a word, she froze in her tracks. Upton, walking behind, almost bumped into her. She turned towards her right, pointed at a row of houses on the edge of the desert maybe a hundred meters away. To get there they’d need to navigate through the desert among low scrubs and spindly bushes. Not caring or waiting, fear coursing through her veins, she ran, and Upton, in a shuffle, followed.
In the US Ninth Army Central Command Post Tactical Operations Center, Federal Inspector Cone and Lieutenant Colonel Lawton had just returned from the intelligence briefing to monitor the search and destroy mission. Although his shift was over, Lawton was assigned to provide military oversight through mission completion, while Cone was to act as an advisor in overall command. Both men sat behind a row of monitors, logged into the Army Battle Command System, headsets on, waiting.
Miles away, the chief warrant officer flying a Custer vertical-lift aircraft received an alert generated by his forward-looking infrared system. The fourth-generation FLIR, originally developed by the ROAS, had the ability to see through smoke and fog. Even better, the system could combine those with details such as weapons and facial recognition over a continuous 360-degree observation pattern. Two kilometers towards his front, a target matching the auto-search criteria fed to them by the Battle Command System triggered the alarm.
Now, the chief warrant directed his aircraft to head towards the suspected target. At the same time, he called in the sighting. “Forager One, Valiant Four-Nine-Six has detected possible target. Over.”
Lawton jumped in and answered, “Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Forager One Actual copies. Over.”
“Forager One Actual, Valiant Four-Nine-Six sending potential target grid coordinates now. Over.”
“Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Forager One Actual copies. Over,” replied Lawton.