She knew what the US was doing, and it was disturbing. Bowen, hours earlier, had briefed her and Upton. They were hunting for her.
“Switch the feed to the overhead drone and execute diversion,” said Bowen into his mic.
“Copy that,” replied Acquon.
McMichael glanced at Upton kneeling next to her. He seemed oblivious to her presence and instead appeared focused on his own HUD. Like her, and all the SF operators, he was wearing an active camouflage poncho with the hood not yet deployed. In Upton’s hands, he too gripped a borrowed assault rifle. Seeing him, she felt better, safer. And then another wave of doubt and self-loathing struck. None of them were safe, and it was her fault.
The video on her HUD flickered, and a new scene emerged. From an altitude she approximated at seventy-five feet, the view from above faced downward upon a large black electric SUV parked on the side of a street. She knew the vehicle was several blocks away on a street running parallel to where the enemy was searching.
Everything Bowen predicted and planned for appeared to be coming true. Just a few hours earlier, after a long sleep, she’d awoken feeling refreshed. Before racking out, she and Upton were given new soldier protection systems and combat gear, just in case. When they awoke, Bowen brought them up to speed. While they’d been sleeping, in the early dawn, he received a warning from CENTCOM. It was likely the US would be searching for the Hero of Mesquite. To mitigate the threat, he immediately dispatched a two-person team using active camouflage to break into a civilian SUV. Among other tasks, the team was ordered to hack the vehicle’s autonomous driving system.
During that earlier briefing, she recalled the awful feeling of learning she was a target. Worse, she was the cause for putting everyone at risk. More people could die because of her. She couldn’t shake the guilt, and when Bowen was done explaining his plan, she requested permission to leave. It would be better, she claimed, if she headed out on her own and surrendered. Bowen laughed at her suggestion. Her idea, he explained, was preposterous. Once in US hands, she’d be forced to endure advanced interrogation and, under those circumstances, it wouldn’t take long before the enemy knew everything. By giving herself up, she’d be dooming them all. Reluctantly, she backed down. But she told him, more than once, she wasn’t a hero. From a tactical standpoint, Bowen countered, it didn’t matter. The enemy was after her and so was President Ortega.
And now the US hunters were getting close, and her very existence was the reason. She felt terrible and blamed herself for their present danger.
On her HUD, the overhead view jiggled, and McMichael refocused her thoughts. A breeze, she guessed, must be tugging at the insect drone. Shaped like a wasp, Bowen had explained earlier, the two-inch UAV was programmed to follow the hacked SUV at a preset altitude and pass along driving signals sent from a line-of-sight laser optic controller. She imagined Mason on the roof, holding a joystick, controlling the action.
Just then, the image still bouncing, the civilian SUV began to move. Fascinated, she marveled as the unmanned vehicle with dark-tinted windows drove a few hundred feet before taking a left turn on the street where she now sat. From there, the SUV drove slowly east, towards their warehouse position. As it approached, she envisioned the small drone flying overhead relaying control signals and transmitting video. Before reaching them, the SUV took a left, and the wide-angle lens of the drone picked up a new and dangerous picture. A half a block away, down the street, US soldiers were conducting their search.
“Everyone be ready,” she heard Bowen say through the secure network.
The stealth vehicle traveled twenty yards towards the enemy before slamming to a halt. A second passed, then the SUV went into full reverse, burning rubber in an apparent attempt to escape. High above, the hornet drone wide-angle lens continued to capture and relay the video as the big vehicle stormed backward. Reaching the cross street, the SUV slid to a halt, and with tires spinning forward, it began to take off, but not fast enough.
Although caught off guard, the screeching tires must have caught the soldiers’ attention, as it didn’t take long for the US to respond. Before the SUV could travel ten feet forward, the Stuart machine gun opened-up, sending a hail of lead along the entire right side of the big black vehicle. Sparks flying, a trail of burning rubber in its wake, somehow the SUV gained speed when McMichael saw the right front tire explode. A second later, even though the vehicle had traveled far enough to escape the line of fire, she could tell the SUV was in trouble. The big black vehicle, hurtling down the road on a shredded tire, began to rock back and forth. Before it could stabilize, to her disappointment, the stricken vehicle took a hard-right turn. Eight houses down from the intersection where the US troops searched, the big SUV crashed through the front door of a modest suburban home and came to a sudden stop.
Three seconds later, the Stuart rounded the corner and barreled towards the wreck. As it closed the distance, once again, the fighting vehicle let loose with its machine gun, sending long bursts into the stricken SUV. Coming to a stop in the street opposite the wreck, the Stuart continued its assault, and for long seconds poured hot lead into the exposed rear of the black SUV. At last, with the main barrel of its cannon aimed directly at the wreck, its machine gun sending up a trail of smoke, the Stuart ceased firing. The insect drone stayed on station and transmitted the sight. The SUV was a riddled mess.
Just then, on her HUD, she spotted a group of US dismounted soldiers jogging around the corner. After hesitating for a few seconds, with assault rifles raised, the soldiers spread out and approached the wreckage.
“Mason, wait until they’re close. Follow the plan,” she heard Bowen bark into the radio.
“Copy that. Wished the SUV got farther down the street,” replied Mason.
“Doesn’t matter. Nothing’s changed,” said Bowen.
Watching the scene unfold on her HUD, she hoped like hell there weren’t any civilians in the wrecked house. With her mic on mute, she reached over and tugged Bowen’s shoulder. She didn’t want him to go through with the rest of the plan. No one else should die for her.
Bowen turned her direction and gave a frown. Shaking his head, he pushed her hand away.
“Don’t do it,” she said aloud.
Bowen gave a hard stare and again shook his head.
Angry at Bowen, on her HUD, she observed two grunts separate from their squad mates. Hunched over, assault rifles up and well-spaced apart, both US soldiers approached the destroyed SUV. No, no, she thought to herself and was reaching for Bowen when a massive fireball erupted. Instinctively, she ducked, and two seconds later, the shock wave hit the warehouse, rattling parts upon their shelves.
Grimacing from the force, on her HUD, she watched as chunks of house and flaming vehicle came crashing down around the street. The two US soldiers near the SUV were gone, while the rest of the soldiers around the area lay prone as if mowed down by a windstorm. Meanwhile, the Stuart was in full retreat, backing away from the flames.
Distraught, she knew it wasn’t Mason’s fault for hitting the remote detonator igniting the C4 explosives planted inside the SUV. Sick to her stomach, even though she hadn’t physically depressed the button, she felt responsible for killing those men.
Bowen once again issued orders over the secure network. “Mason, notify CENTCOM over the quantum, we’re on the move. Repeat, we are on the move.”
Without saying another word, Bowen bounced upright and lifted the poncho hood over his head. Then he pointed at the exit. Next to her, Upton stood and flipped up his own hood. Feeling sick, full of guilt and remorse, she arose. Not wanting anyone else to die, especially Upton standing next to her, she gave a heavy nod. It was time to leave.