Captain Barton, seated next to the colonel, threw his hands in the air. He had the same problem.
“Fix it!” said Paulson.
The captain didn’t hesitate. He stood up and barked at the S1 team to find and correct the problem. Within seconds, the intelligence group explained the UAV high-altitude surveillance drone was offline and no longer responding.
“Sir, we’ve lost our drone coverage,” said Barton.
“No shit. Get another UAV in the air now!”
“Yes, sir,” said Barton, and he began barking orders into his headset.
Inspector Cone watched the action with a look of concern and began typing notes in his pad.
Then, urgent radio calls came in reporting troops in contact. Neither Section A fighting vehicles were responding. The rest of the deployed platoon in the surrounding houses reported being under high-explosive indirect fire. Pinned by a rain of explosions, the troops couldn’t pinpoint or fire back at their attackers. Across the radio, disturbing calls trickled in as the platoon started taking casualties.
Paulson tried to make sense of the chaos. He glanced at the big-screen tactical awareness monitor hanging on the far wall of the command post. The airborne warning and control system showed no air threats, nor were there any enemy units near Mesquite. Over the target, UAV surveillance throughout the day, other than the neighbor, had detected zero enemy movements. Paulson realized it had to be a small unit action, on foot, suited to avoid detection.
On his blank monitor, he shifted from the dead UAV feed to recent satellite imagery. With the target centered on his screen, the incoming enemy attack vector became obvious. The unexpected assault had to be coming from the south, originating in the desert. Operation Catcher was turning to shit, fast, but he knew where the enemy was, and there couldn’t be many.
Paulson stood and turned to Captain Barton. “I’m assuming tactical control of the fight.”
Barton, on the radio in mid-sentence, paused and looked up with uncertainty.
Not waiting for Barton or caring if the subordinate approved, Paulson issued commands through his headset.
First, he ordered both standby Custers into the air. He needed eyes above the scene, now, with killing power.
Next, he ordered the Second Platoon reserves, containing the two remaining fighting vehicles, and Third Squad, into action. He directed them to move forward and deliver suppressive fire into the desert just south of the target.
The combined power of the fresh reserves and the vertical-lift aircraft would force the enemy to run or take cover. Once the enemy in the desert was under suppressive fire, he’d swarm the original target house and find or kill McMichael.
As a precaution, even though they wouldn’t arrive in time, he ordered the rest of A Company, totaling two mechanized platoons supported by eight fighting vehicles, into the fight. He didn’t need the extra troops, as they were overkill, but insurance never hurt.
After issuing the quick string of orders, Paulson sat in his seat with rising confidence. Yes, the enemy surprised Barton, but it was nothing he couldn’t fix. He wasn’t sure why the enemy had attacked, but he guessed the bastards were after the same objective. It didn’t matter; he’d lead his troops to victory.
Confident in the outcome, Paulson considered but rejected requesting more assets. He could ask for an artillery barrage on the desert, but in soliciting the extra firepower, he’d have to explain the urgent need. No, he had no wish to escalate up the chain of command. Besides, under his leadership, with the assets assigned, he’d plenty of resources to regain the initiative and destroy the enemy.
Lemonade out of lemons, Paulson thought to himself as he reached into his pocket and felt the ragged name tag. Turning the cloth between his fingers, he smiled.
With the burning hulks of the two fighting vehicles illuminating the scene, thirty seconds into the attack, Captain Bowen gave the signal. Together with Ekin and Mason, he jumped up from their hidden position and dashed across the street.
On the run, leading the way, Bowen pointed at Upton curled on the lawn and Mason veered in that direction.
Still moving, Bowen and Mason continued forward reaching Staff Sergeant McMichael. Bowen took a knee next to the female while Ekin, assault rifle at the ready, covered their position.
Bowen had no way of knowing if she was alive, wounded, or dead. Collateral damage caused by the missile attack was more than possible. Regardless, his orders were clear, fetch or eliminate Staff Sergeant Lisa McMichael.
With Ekin providing coverage, Bowen reached down and rolled the woman onto her back. To his amazement, McMichael stared back, face ashen, eyes round in fear, a tooth missing, but alive. Over the roar of the nearby grenades, he yelled, “Are you okay?”
At first, McMichael recoiled at the sight of the soldier hovering above her. Then it seemed she recognized his camouflage and put it all together, and she nodded in the affirmative.
Bowen grabbed McMichael by her combat vest, and despite possible injuries, tugged her upright. She wobbled but stood. Worried of secondary explosions cooking off from ammunition inside the burning wrecks, holding her by the vest, with no time to waste, Bowen dragged her away.
Forced to take a wide detour around the flaming hulks, Bowen got past the vehicles and pushed McMichael across the street into the desert brush and forced her to the ground. Kneeling beside her, he pulled a packet from his suit vest, tore it open, and extracted a folded camouflaged garment made of a thin material. Over the pounding of grenades, he pantomimed his wish.
McMichael appeared to understand and took the material. With Bowen’s help, she stood and slipped the garment over her head and adjusted the attached hood. Loose fitting, the sleeves covered her arms well beyond her hands, while the length extended to the ground.
Bowen grabbed McMichael’s shoulder and turned her towards the desert. With a silent wave, he pointed the direction they should head, and bent low, leading the way, he started to jog. Close behind, McMichael followed in the growing darkness. Together they scrambled through the brush, away from the sound of blasting grenades.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
FRIENDS AND ENEMIES
Lieutenant Colonel Paulson swore into his headset, but the tirade wasn’t working. One of the two standby Custers was reporting a failure on its anti-missile Active Protection System and refused to launch. The Aviation Battalion wasn’t taking any chances, not with missiles in play. Based on the loss of a Custer the day before due to a failed APS, they wouldn’t budge.
Now, only one vertical-lift aircraft was available with an ETA of three minutes. Even while arguing with the major in charge of the Custer squadron, Paulson believed the lone bird offered enough firepower to finish the job. Paulson gave in but requested a secondary replacement Custer, just in case. In response, the Aviation Battalion agreed but gave an ETA of fifteen minutes. To keep pressure applied, Paulson urged the major running the Aviation Battalion to move faster. For now, he’d have to make do with a single Custer.
Meanwhile, the Second Platoon B Section reserves comprising two Stuart fighting vehicles carrying Third Squad were on the move. Assigned to block the two streets in and out of the target subdivision, they weren’t far away. Within two minutes of the order, both Stuarts approached the burning wrecks of their sister vehicles.
Not knowing what faced them, fearing what happened to the fighting vehicles in A Section, they stopped a half-block away from the target house. There, they disgorged Third Squad with the order to fan out and approach the target with caution.
Paulson didn’t care for the tactic. He wanted the Stuarts to charge forward and rake their main 30 mm chain guns into the desert south of the target position. But when he issued the order, the fighting vehicles resisted, not with two dead Stuarts burning towards their front. Instead, the Stuart section commander requested permission to hold fire until the inbound Custer was over the desert and his dismounted troops were in position.