“Thank you,” said General Story, pleased. “We’re ahead of schedule in several areas, but behind in others. Every extra bit of time is useful.”
“I thought you’d like the approach. How is everything else, your confidence level?” asked the president.
Operational success depended upon too many variables. How it would play out was anyone’s guess. “Madam, we’re doing everything in our power to make Heavy Metal work. Our folks seem excited and morale is high. Everyone is giving it their all. I can tell you we won’t have a Mesquite on our hands. This time, we won’t be surprised.”
“Good. I’ll inform you if significant changes occur on the political front,” said the president.
The general was about to thank her when he remembered the good news. “Have you seen the updates on Staff Sergeant Lisa McMichael, our little war hero out of Mesquite?”
“Nothing since yesterday. Is there more?” asked the president.
“Yes, ma’am. It should’ve been in your noon briefing package,” said the general.
“Sorry, I haven’t had time. I’m all ears.”
Pleased for the opportunity to give the president something positive, the general smiled as he spoke. “Well, she’s alive and holed up with another soldier, a Master Sergeant Corey Upton. They’re hiding in a suburban house within Mesquite. So far, they’ve evaded enemy capture. Earlier today, they contacted us via satellite phone. Both have minor wounds but, considering the circumstances, are in good shape.”
“That is excellent news,” said the president sounding pleased. After a pause, she continued, “I want her in San Jose, now.”
Surprised by the demand, the general had other priorities. Besides, he’d already given orders and had the situation under control. “She should stay where she is, well hidden. Mesquite is ringed by enemy units, roadblocks with eyes everywhere. For her safety, we’re keeping the news about her classified. After Heavy Metal, we can consider an extraction and getting her to San Jose.”
“General, the country needs her. I need her. Besides, can you imagine if the US captures her? They will manipulate and use her as propaganda against us. We can’t let that happen. Get her out of there, now.”
He regretted bringing up the subject. There were more important items requiring his attention. But he tried to see it from Ortega’s point of view. Losing McMichael, the Hero of Mesquite, would be an embarrassment. Instead of a hero keeping the populace supportive, Ortega would have a PR nightmare. Political support for the war might plummet, along with civilian morale. Still, based on circumstances, the best way for McMichael to get home alive and avoid capture was to follow the orders he’d given. “Madam President, Julia, you have my word. I’ll keep a close eye on her. For now, McMichael is following my orders. The wisest and most prudent course of action is for her to lie low until after Heavy Metal. We’ll get her home, not now, but soon. Trust me.”
After a long pause, in a hesitant voice, Ortega agreed. “Okay, General, you run the military show. I’ve listened to your reasoning, and I trust you. Just make damn well sure to get her home soon. If she falls into enemy hands, the political repercussions, well, they aren’t pretty. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am, I understand. I’ll keep her safety a top priority. Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” replied the president. “If you learn anything else about McMichael or run into problems preparing for Heavy Metal, please inform me right away. I’m here to help. Agreed?”
“Yes, ma’am,” answered the general.
“Okay then, I’ve got to run, talk soon,” and the president ended the transmission.
Relieved the conversation was over, General Story bent over his tablet and examined the latest updates on Heavy Metal. Damn! The defensive engineering tasks around the outskirts of town were slipping. He’d need to make a call and kick some ass. But he couldn’t shake off a bad feeling. He’d made the president a promise and told her to trust him. Looking up, he waved over his aid.
“Sir?” asked Simpson as she approached.
“I need an update on Lisa McMichael. Any changes?”
“Yes, sir. Good timing. The S2 detected a US UAV surveillance drone doing high-altitude circle eights centered above the house where she’s hiding. I’ve asked them to conduct a risk assessment and put together possible contingency plans. They’re working the problem now and should have it mapped out within an hour. I intended to brief you then.”
“What the hell! Why wasn’t I told earlier?” exclaimed the general. If the enemy was circling over that specific house, it meant only one thing. He ran the scenario in his head. McMichael and Upton were under orders to call in every eight hours. Until they checked in, six hours from now, they wouldn’t have any idea of the danger lurking overhead. By then, it might be too late, and he didn’t need a damn risk assessment to tell him otherwise.
McMichael, shaken awake and coming out of a deep sleep, focused her eyes and recognized Upton. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was, and then the sinking feeling of her predicament settled in. She’d taken a nap in the master bedroom, and they were in danger. “What time is it,” she asked.
“16:00 hours. We’ve still got two hours until we’re supposed to contact CENTCOM again.”
McMichael sat up, and in her view, Upton appeared a new man. Tall, with a strong build and brown hair and eyes, his rugged looks were magnified by the black sweater he wore. He smelled clean and she appreciated having him and couldn’t imagine struggling alone.
“There’s still enough time for you to get some rest,” she said.
“We had a visitor while you slept,” said Upton with a frown.
“What?” she said as a jolt of anxiety hit her stomach.
Upton raised a hand and explained. “The neighbor, an older man named Russel, dropped by.”
“Yeah?”
Upton brought her up to speed. He explained how the neighbor was a complication, but Upton was confident the man meant no harm and would help keep an eye out for any enemy movement. He also explained how CENTCOM hadn’t told them about the pending US demand to turn over Nevada. In his estimation, the house was a trap behind enemy lines—lines that were about to be extended, making future escape that much harder.
Pissed with CENTCOM for the deception, McMichael agreed with Upton. They needed to control their own destiny. Together they agreed on a plan. Tonight, as soon as it was dark, about an hour after informing CENTCOM, they’d get the hell out of dodge and seek extraction.
Plans in place, Upton explained he was exhausted. After telling McMichael to watch the neighbor’s drapes and extracting a promise to awaken him before the next check in time, Lisa got up and Upton took her place.
While Upton slept in the master bedroom, feeling better, another painkiller helping, McMichael tried to be productive. She filled their packs with canned food from the pantry, emptied and refilled two hydration systems. Tucked in her belt, she pulled out and checked the ammunition in the suppressed Glock. The magazine was six rounds short. Deep in her mind, she remembered Kinney squeezing off rounds in the pipe during their death struggle, and she shivered.
On the floor in the master bedroom, next to the sleeping master sergeant, she discovered Upton’s combat vest and belt with two grenades still attached. Inside she dug out a spare magazine for his M18 and ejected a half dozen 9 mm-caliber bullets. They’d work in her Glock. With bullets in hand, she refilled the magazine to capacity. Satisfied, she tucked Kinney’s pistol back in her belt and walked into the living room to check the drapes. Through the rear window, across the yard, the neighbor’s shades remained untouched and the sight was reassuring.