Not half a minute later, a low rumble emerged, and within seconds, two US armored vehicles came into view. Both Stuart fighting vehicles clambered through the suburban street and stopped opposite the three hidden men. Captain Bowen watched as the large vehicles pivoted to face the target house.
Recognizing an advantage, the rear of the Stuarts facing his team with open hatches, over the ODA network, the captain whispered further orders.
But a final decision remained, and he’d be forced to make it soon. Overall, there were two mission priorities. First, rescue Staff Sergeant Lisa McMichael and, if possible, Master Sergeant Upton. Second, if the rescue of McMichael was impractical, her life was forfeit. Bowen didn’t question the motives but guessed the reasoning. McMichael, the Hero of Mesquite, as a political pawn was too valuable to fall into enemy hands.
Ready for anything, the Special Forces captain watched the US soldier, his head exposed above the nearest Stuart, get on a loudspeaker. He listened as the man identified himself as Lieutenant Peck and then demanded the surrender of Master Sergeant Upton.
Bowen guessed the enemy tactic, watched, and waited.
It wasn’t long before Upton emerged from the target home with arms raised. Within a few seconds, the man was laying prone on the grass covered by a second US infantry soldier holding an assault rifle.
Next, the asshole US Lieutenant on the loudspeaker shifted his focus and called out for McMichael’s surrender.
The captain considered his options one last time. Either attempt a rescue or bypass the problem and eliminate the target. He decided and, over the secure network, whispered final instructions.
Orders issued, locked and loaded, Bowen pulled his MK20 sniper assault rifle tight against his shoulder.
With the evening growing dark, the sun just set in the west, Captain Bowen concentrated on his breathing. Through the optics of his assault rifle, just past the US Stuart fighting vehicle occupied by Lieutenant Peck, he settled his sights on the front door of the house and flipped off the safety. Heart beating with nervous energy, he focused on slowing. Steady as a rock, it was time to kill.
On his stomach, despondent and listening to the US lieutenant on the loudspeaker, Upton waited and hoped for McMichael to surrender. If she didn’t come out and kept hiding in the house, she could get her hurt or even killed. Disgusted by the game the enemy was playing, using him as bait, he felt ashamed.
Ribs hurting, he tried to imagine what imprisonment might bring: torture, crippling brutality, confinement, and isolation were in his future. He shuddered against the thought. Yes, he killed the US soldiers in the shell hole, but the bastards were committing a brutal crime. The attack inside the pipe was justifiable, not a war crime. Escaping capture was a soldier’s sworn duty. He figured they’d interrogate him and McMichael for answers. There was nothing to hide.
Upton heard a crack and a thud, followed by a squawk from the loudspeaker. Confused, he tried raising his head when he bounced into the air. A rush of hot air and a hurricane of noise washed over him, and a moment later, he slammed back down onto the soft artificial grass. Shaken, ears ringing, a second round of thunder hit. Again, he bounced. This time, shutting his eyes, all thoughts of capture vanished as he rebounded off the turf and rolled into a tight ball trying to survive.
With hands up, walking towards the light, McMichael was about to step off the porch when she heard a crack and saw the US soldier standing over Upton stagger and drop to a knee. At the same instant, she heard the lieutenant on the loudspeaker yell something undiscernible.
McMichael tried to register what it meant when the world exploded, knocking her backward. Dazed, she fell on her butt, landing on the aggregate concrete patio.
Not thinking, she raised her right arm to ward off the heat as a fireball erupted through the hatch of the nearest fighting vehicle. Before she could comprehend, a second explosion ripped through the other Stuart, and a second shockwave punched her in the chest, knocking her flat. She rolled away from the heat, turning her back towards the burning wreckage. On her side, panting, stunned, and confused, her broken eardrum began to bleed.
Across the street, lying prone, wearing an active camouflage suit and well hidden in the brush, Captain Bowen spotted Staff Sergeant McMichael exiting the target house. With practiced ease, he swung his MK20 assault rifle away from McMichael to the US soldier standing over the prostrate Master Sergeant Upton. Bowen hoped his prior command to disable the US drone circling high above their position with a high-energy laser had worked because it was time to shoot.
With his night-vision scope connected via a wireless signal to his visor, the captain sighted center mass, and squeezed off a single shot.
The MK20 plastic-cased, high-velocity 7.62 mm round developed by the ROAS with smart-bullet technology was built to penetrate body armor, and it did, causing the stricken US soldier to stagger and drop to a knee. The shot signaled the start of the attack.
On either side of the captain, even though the distance was danger close, Sergeant Major Sean Ekin and Sergeant First Class Acquon Mason each fired a hand-held Javelin III missile. The missiles hung in the air for a second until the rocket motors kicked in, giving the operators a moment to duck.
Neither enemy fighting vehicle was expecting a missile attack and had their hatches open, disengaging their Active Protection Systems. Unimpeded, the missiles climbed into the air, where they traveled a short distance before turning and plunging downward.
The first missile slammed through the hatch of the Stuart Fighting vehicle occupied by Lieutenant Peck. Armed with a tandem warhead to defeat and penetrate reactive armor, it exploded. Inside, the driver and gunner turned into a gelatinous mass. As for Lieutenant Peck, he never felt a thing. The Javelin ripped through his body on the way down, vaporizing him milliseconds later when it detonated beneath his mangled corpse.
An instant later, the second fighting vehicle erupted, taking a direct missile hit. The resulting destruction was significant, sending shards of shrapnel and chunks of steel hurtling through the air. Meanwhile, the remaining ROAS Special Forces took the queue, and from fifty meters behind their captain, they executed the next phase of the assault.
Well hidden in the desert brush, using XM30 grenade launchers, four ROAS operators pumped electronic-sighted, high-explosive 40 mm grenades at the enemy troops occupying the houses ringing the objective. Developed by the ROAS, using AI guidance based on offline satellite map optics to avoid GPS jamming, the projectiles exploded with extreme accuracy. Designed to explode above the target, the grenades rained death and destruction. Within a minute, twenty-four grenades detonated with pinpoint precision, and the four ROAS operators were under orders to continue launching until they ran out of ammunition or were commanded to stop.
The coordinated grenade attack was merciless. Shrapnel ripped through rooftops and turned adobe tiles into lethal flying objects. Shards of glass and metal whistled through the air, shredding any exposed flesh. Amid the chaos, screams and shouts emerged from the men under siege.
“What happened to my video?” questioned Lieutenant Colonel Paulson, looking up from the monitor on which he’d been watching the final stage of Operation Catcher. Until now, the mission was going as planned, everything smooth. With Upton in custody, they’d been waiting for McMichael to emerge when the screens went blank.