Pressing the trigger on the .50 caliber machine gun, Baako watched the rounds blast through the back window of the SUV ahead of him. For an instant, he clearly saw two heads poked up from the protection of the seatbacks. But after a fresh blast of gunfire, both heads disappeared again. He knew that all the SUVs had been armored, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t be stopped. After all, they were machines, and machines did not like to have pieces cut off or perforated by huge bullets. The soldier in the Land Rover next to Baako’s vehicle began firing. As each bullet entered the body of the SUV, a white dot appeared, exposing the grayish armor and primer beneath the shiny black paint. The fragmented glass sheet of the Suburban’s back window fell inside. With the glass sheet out of the way, Baako had an unobstructed view into the SUV, but he still saw no one.
Baako checked how much ammo was left on the belt feeding his machine gun. He fired another quick volley through the naked back window. He saw the front windshield of the vehicle crack into a glistening spiderweb of glass, but it didn’t affect the direction or speed of the SUV. The Suburban was still going fast, maybe
75 miles per hour. But Baako knew they couldn’t maintain that speed for long. Up ahead, the road that led from the runway to the bridge dipped down and then made a sharp right turn. They would have to slow considerably, and that was when he would—
The Land Rover next to Baako exploded. It went sailing into the air above him. It all happened so fast that he had no opportunity to react. The white Land Rover was next to him. A second later, the side of Baako’s face was burning, and the Land Rover was thirty feet in the air. The soldier who had been manning the vehicle’s gun flew from the vehicle. The top half of his torso went in one direction, but his lower half headed in the opposite direction. Almost instantaneously, the shockwave hit Baako’s Land Rover. Baako felt their vehicle lift. All four tires magically hovered over the runway like they were riding a magic carpet. Amazingly, the driver could maintain control when they landed — at least for a few seconds. And within that time, someone had started a chainsaw and a swarm of bullets began tattering their Land Rover. Baako looked down from his turret and saw the driver go limp. He then felt something nick his right shoulder and right wrist. He crumpled back into the vehicle and sat down hard on the soft leather seat. The driver’s face limply fell on the steering wheel. Fortunately, the bridge of his nose wedged into the steering wheel, preventing the Land Rover from turning either to the right or left. Baako clutched his gunshot wounds and watched the black Suburban ahead of them tumble down the runway. His vehicle began to slow, and there was nothing for Baako to do but wait, content with the fact that at least he was not flipping down the asphalt. Up ahead, the SUV finally came to a stop, miraculously ending up on all four of its mangled tires. With his good arm, Baako began fumbling for the gun in his waistband. His hand found the weapon, and even before they had come to a complete stop, he had opened the door. Baako jumped out and began running toward the battered SUV.
Rond Point Port — Aboard the Hail Proton
Jason Wilson pressed the trigger and Foo Fighters opened with a barrage of fire from its fully automatic 5.56×45mm mini-gun. The stubby barrel released a dozen rounds in less than a second, and its fire was directed at one of the two Land Rovers below the drone.
“I’m coming in fast,” Alex Knox, the Foreigner’s pilot announced. “Any preference on weapons or targets?”
Hail told him, “I don’t care which Land Rover you take out — just make it disappear.”
Knox switched from guns to missiles and locked a laser beam on the Land Rover to the left.
The pilot nudged his finger under the fire protection cover and pressed the little red button.
“Missiles away,” he said nonchalantly like he fired deadly missiles daily.
Hail’s team watched the video stream from Foreigner’s camera. They watched as the missile flew from its left pylon and streaked toward its target. In less than a second, the LOCO missile hit the tail end of the white Land Rover. And just as Hail had requested, the vehicle disappeared, lost in a fireball and a black cloud of debris.
A moment later, the Land Rover’s remnants crashed down to the ground, looking more like a crushed tin can than a car. Its contours were rearranged. It had no tires or wheels. The frame had been bent at a 90-degree angle. The passenger compartment had been blown free from the vehicle’s mangled frame. Any material that was flammable was now ablaze and black smoke poured from the Land Rover’s carcass.
As Foreigner flew past the wreckage, Hail saw the black Suburban fishtail, try to correct and go sideways before it began flipping over.
“Damn,” Hail said.
After Foreigner had passed over all the vehicles, Knox put it into a steep banked left turn.
Jason Wilson flew Foo Fighters over the demolished Land Rover and aimed its gun sights on the remaining white Land Rover below.
“You are really low on power,” Captain Nichols told Wilson.
“Let him go,” Hail told Nichols. “Kara needs backup. We’ve got nothing else until Foreigner can make another pass.”
Hail turned to look at the third screen with video being shot from Seagulls. The birdlike drone was flying in lazy circles a hundred feet above all the action. Hail could see the SUV barrel roll as the other Land Rover slowed, closing on it. From this vantage point, the crew could see puffs of smoke coming out of the Land Rover’s .50 caliber gun. Hail could only guess what Kara was experiencing.
“Get some lead on that guy,” Hail commanded.
Foo Fighters’ pilot sent another stream of bullets into the Land Rover, crisscrossing the car with his sights, using the spray and pray tactic, trying to cause maximum damage.
“Is that Land Rover slowing down?” Hail asked.
“Yes, it is,” Captain Nichols confirmed. “The question is, why is it slowing down?”
Alex Knox reported, “I’m bringing Foreigner in for another pass.”
Hail saw a black man, who looked very much like Afua Diambu, exit the Land Rover. He began running toward the SUV, and Hail saw that he had a weapon in his right hand.
Hail told Wilson, “Get Foo Fighters in his face. Don’t kill that guy unless I give you the order.”
Captain Nichols told Hail, “Foo Fighters is almost out of power, Marshall.”
“Then have him land Foo Fighters next to the SUV,” Hail said sounding desperate. “All the drone requires is enough power to pull the trigger.”