by David Pope
“Quiet down!” commanded the general. Chatter ceasing, the room obeyed as the men shifted their attention towards Lawton. The general continued, “Colonel, you have fifteen minutes, starting now.”
Lawton went through a quick summary of his shift, covering items of note, including an update on establishing the ground and air security perimeter. Other status updates followed, covering multiple subjects including civilian evacuations, figures on ROAS killed and wounded, logistics, and other Command Post items. Near the end, he mentioned a pending Custer “search and destroy” mission targeting two suspected enemy combatants. He explained that two ROAS infantry NCOs, apparent survivors of the battle, were on the run and suspected of killing at least three US soldiers. He added that two paroled ROAS medics, both of whom were in military police custody, had aided and abetted the enemy combatants.
“You took twenty minutes, Colonel,” said the general.
“My apologies, sir. Won’t happen again.”
“Lieutenant Colonel, I have a question,” said Senior Federal Inspector Joseph Cone.
All eyes turned towards the inspector. Gist despised the man. Empowered by the president to keep a close eye, it was Cone’s job to monitor the military and report back on any infidelity to the administration. Gist was ready to object when Cone continued.
“Lawton. Do you have further intelligence on these two enemy combatants, how much of a threat they represent?” asked Cone.
Before answering the question, Lawton looked across to Gist and waited for approval.
Reluctant, but knowing the power Cone represented, Gist nodded.
“We know their names and ranks. Both enlisted, lightly armed, walking wounded, not much of a threat. But while fleeing the battlefield, we have strong reason to believe they killed three of our troops. In my judgement, worth the effort of hunting and killing. That’s why, just before this meeting, I approved the seek and destroy mission.”
“Yes, of course. Just curious, though; what are their names?” asked Inspector Cone.
“Cone, why is that necessary? You’re wasting our time,” said Gist. Impatient, he couldn’t see any good reason for the inquiry.
“Please humor me, sir. Colonel, what are their names and ranks?” asked Cone again.
Although displeased by the line of questioning as immaterial, Gist didn’t want to outright offend the inspector. He waved at Lawton to proceed.
Lawton scrolled through his notes and then looked up at the inspector. “I have two names. A Master Sergeant Upton and a female NCO with the last name of McMichael.”
Cone sat straighter, obviously alarmed, he turned to Gist. “Sir, as a representative of the president, this matter is of the utmost importance and vital to our national interest. I’m sure you’d agree.”
“No, I don’t agree. Las Vegas is our highest priority. Chasing two soldiers around the desert doesn’t qualify. Lawton, you’re excused,” said Gist.
Inspector Cone raised his hand and objected. “Colonel Lawton, please remain.” He turned towards the general and explained. “General, in case you missed it, the female soldier glorified by the ROAS press this morning is none other than Staff Sergeant Lisa McMichael. You might recall in the broadcast they stated her name and rank several times. It appears she’s alive and we have her within our grasp. If we let her escape, the ROAS will glorify her even further. Knowing that, our president would want us to intervene and do everything in our power to prevent that possibility. Wouldn’t you agree stopping McMichael is a matter of the highest national urgency?”
Cornered, shaking his head, Gist hadn’t put two and two together. The damn inspector was right, letting McMichael get away would embarrass the president. Unforgivable. He didn’t need the distraction, not with another battle looming. In this case, the political ramifications of not giving the inspector everything he requested were too hot. In a reluctant tone he said, “Inspector Cone, Lieutenant Colonel Lawton has already authorized a search and destroy mission. I’m confident they will accomplish their goal. But as a matter of national interest, what is your recommendation?”
“General, I urge you to place me in charge of that mission right now,” said Inspector Cone.
* * *
The sky was lightening, and with dawn approaching, both Lisa and Upton were on the run.
When the ambulance dropped them off, they struck out due south, parallel to the border. At first, they walked through a narrow strip of desert, which led them into a small housing track. They considered seeking refuge there but decided it prudent to put more distance between themselves and the highway.
At Upton’s urging, they continued south, edging past a high school, then down a steep ravine, where they emerged into another housing track. Afraid of being seen, they skirted along the edges, staying near the desert, but always close to the shelter afforded by nearby homes and businesses.
Upton, with his sore ribs, even with the painkillers provided by the medics, stopped often, claiming the need to catch his breath. But Lisa didn’t complain about the breaks. She felt like a walking zombie clomping around in the over-sized shoes provided by the medics. Plus, the pack she wore, also provided by the medics full of supplies, added weight that wasn’t helpful. But driven by the fear of being hunted, they kept the breaks short and scurried onward.
For a mile or more, staying on the edge of the desert, they continued working south. When the houses ran out, they turned west towards the ultimate direction they needed to go, keeping the edge of town on their right.
Throughout their journey, they noticed the blackout. All the houses were dark and didn’t appear occupied. No one was moving about, no cars driving around, just a few vehicles parked on the streets. Even the streetlights weren’t lit, making it obvious the power was out across the entire area.
Both soldiers agreed martial law must be in place, and anyone who hadn’t already evacuated remained locked in their homes, possibly armed and on the lookout for looters. A few times when they passed near houses, dogs barked, and the two soldiers hurried along.
After a while, they came across a bike path with open desert and a river on their left bounded by occasional rows of houses on their right. By staying on the path, they made faster progress and took fewer breaks.
But time ran out.
Now, as the sun emerged, with it came the frightening sound of rotors. On the path, Lisa recognized the noise and from her earlier experience in the shell hole, knew what it wrought. Without saying a word, she froze in her tracks. Upton, walking behind, almost bumped into her. She turned towards her right, pointed at a row of houses on the edge of the desert maybe a hundred meters away. To get there they’d need to navigate through the desert among low scrubs and spindly bushes. Not caring or waiting, fear coursing through her veins, she ran, and Upton, in a shuffle, followed.
* * *
In the US Ninth Army Central Command Post Tactical Operations Center, Federal Inspector Cone and Lieutenant Colonel Lawton had just returned from the intelligence briefing to monitor the search and destroy mission. Although his shift was over, Lawton was assigned to provide military oversight through mission completion, while Cone was to act as an advisor in overall command. Both men sat behind a row of monitors, logged into the Army Battle Command System, headsets on, waiting.
Miles away, the chief warrant officer flying a Custer vertical-lift aircraft received an alert generated by his forward-looking infrared system. The fourth-generation FLIR, originally developed by the ROAS, had the ability to see through smoke and fog. Even better, the system could combine those with details such as weapons and facial recognition over a continuous 360-degree observation pattern. Two kilometers towards his front, a target matching the auto-search criteria fed to them by the Battle Command System triggered the alarm.
Now, the chief warrant directed his aircraft to head towards the suspected target. At the same time, he called in the sighting. “Forager One, Valiant Four-Nine-Six has detected possible target. Over.”
Lawton jumped
in and answered, “Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Forager One Actual copies. Over.”
“Forager One Actual, Valiant Four-Nine-Six sending potential target grid coordinates now. Over.”
“Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Forager One Actual copies. Over,” replied Lawton.
Sitting next to Lawton and staring at the Battle Command System, a graphical map of Mesquite appeared, and Cone grew excited. Blue and red indicators outlined the respective real-time positions of the Custer and the target. Most interesting, the blue dot was closing on the red, fast.
“Forager One Actual, Valiant Four-Nine-Six sending streaming video now. Over.” With a push of a button, the pilot transmitted the real-time images from his FLIR to the Battle Command System.
“Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Forager One Actual copies. Over,” answered Lawton as he brought up the image in a corner of his monitor.
Cone nudged closer, wanting to get a better view. In response, Lawton clicked on the image and connected it to a larger overhead monitor, one of many mounted around the command post platform.
Looking up, plain to see on the monitors, Cone spotted two individuals in a green hue walking along a path near a line of houses. With each passing second, as the Custer closed in, the picture grew in detail. Then, the two figures began to run.
“Forager One Actual, the target is Oscar Mike towards civilian housing. Shifting to fast hover three, zero, zero, meters from target at angels one, five, zero, zero. Do you copy? Over.”
“Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Forager One Actual copies. Over,” replied Lawton.
On the video, Cone observed both subjects as they ran. He could tell the lead person was a female; she wore no helmet. Behind her a bigger person, obviously a male soldier, followed in a stumbling trot. Ahead of them, through the desert, was a row of houses. The video provided clear evidence. These had to be the two renegade ROAS soldiers and, sure enough, on the video, a facial recognition alert popped up naming the female as McMichael. Cone watched as both exited the desert, ran across a street to a nearby house, and tried to get inside. The targets had just made a big mistake. Even if they got in, they’d end up trapped. Pleased at the turn of events, Cone smiled.
“Forager One Actual, Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Arming AG one, one, four, locked on target, permission to engage. Over,” asked the pilot.
On the monitor, an aiming reticle now centered on the modest suburban home, and Cone grew more excited.
“Inspector, the pilot is ready to launch a JAGM surface to ground missile. The payload carries a massive wallop capable of destroying a tank or a re-enforced building. More than enough for a small house. Just give the word,” said Lawton.
* * *
Lisa could swear she felt the wind from the Custer at her back as she raced towards the front of the nearest house. It was a single-story, newer adobe-style track home occupying a corner lot. Without hesitation, she ran to the front door and turned the handle. Locked! Not waiting, she ran around the side and discovered another door alongside the garage and tried again. Still no luck! Again, she made a quick decision and, using her shoulder, shoved hard. But the door didn’t budge! In the background, the deadly beat of whipping rotors continued.
Out of nowhere a panting Master Sergeant Upton was beside her. He lifted his leg and, using the flat of his foot, with a huge grunt, kicked at the door. A loud crack ensued, and the wooden frame splintered, causing the door to bang open.
Driven by fear, Lisa pushed past Upton and entered a two-car garage devoid of vehicles. A good sign, she thought. No one was home.
Upton followed and tried closing the door behind them, but she could see it wouldn’t stay shut. Holding it closed, he stretched out a foot and nudged an old car battery against the broken door.
With the door sealed, Lisa moved towards the only other exit in the garage, leading into the house, and tried the handle. To her surprise, it turned. Pausing, she pulled out Kinney’s sidearm then pushed open the door and entered. With the Glock swinging right and left, she discovered an empty kitchen. Upton followed and shut the door behind them.
From outside, with the door closed, the rotor noise diminished but didn’t go away. Lisa knew the bastard still hovered somewhere nearby.
Regardless, she recognized the need to clear the house. Jogging out of the kitchen into a dining room then a living room, she kept her Glock trained. Nothing. Down the hall she went, Upton trailing behind with his sidearm out. Together, they checked all three bedrooms, two bathrooms. Nothing—the house was empty. To Lisa, it appeared as if the people who lived there tidied up before leaving. Someone made all the beds, cleaned the kitchen, the house devoid of clutter. By looking at the pictures, the furnishings, she guessed an older couple owned the home. She didn’t care.
The house cleared, now standing inside the master bedroom, hidden from the flying beast, Lisa still detected the sound of rotors.
Standing next to Lisa, Upton cocked his head and said, “They must have spotted us. If so, we’re sitting ducks. They could put a missile into us at any second. The safest spot is the center of the house, the hallway bathroom. Let’s go there.” Upton turned, holstered his side arm and, gripping sore ribs, hobbled in that direction.
Not knowing what else to do, Lisa followed.
* * *
Federal Inspector Cone sat dazzled by the image on the big screen, a house on a residential street with an aiming reticle centered on the middle roofline. It would be awesome to watch the home blown apart, but he needed to intervene. “Colonel Lawton hold off on engaging the target. We need her captured alive.”
Lawton spun around. “You’ve got to be joking. We have ’em. Let me give the order and carry out our mission.”
“Forager One Actual, Valiant Four-Nine-Six, I repeat, target is locked. Request permission to engage. Over.”
Cone shook his head.
Lawton appeared frustrated with the decision. He answered, “Valiant Four-Nine-Six, Forager One continues to evaluate target video, standby one mike. Do you copy? Over.”
“Forger One Actual, Valiant Four-Nine-Six standing by one mike. Will maintain angels one, five, zero, zero and keeping eyes on target. Out.”
“Thank you,” said Cone. By capturing the woman and using her, his career and prestige would prosper and, most important, the president would be pleased. Once she was in custody, with a little persuasion, she’d denounce the ROAS and apologize for her actions. In doing so, she’d turn from a martyred hero into a loathed traitor. He knew the president would love that scenario. The supposed hero of Mesquite turned into a farce, her face and treasonous words splashed across the Truth Network. Other than preventing her escape, killing her outright contained no big upside. Cone explained it to Lawton. “I want her captured alive. The United States needs her to counter ROAS propaganda. Consider her capture vital to our national interest.”
“Well, shit!” replied Lieutenant Colonel Lawton shaking his head. “You understand putting boots on the ground is no guarantee she won’t get killed. Hell, she’s not alone. There’re two ROAS soldiers in that house with small arms, including grenades. I suspect they won’t give up without a fight. Meanwhile, until we launch a raid, the house will need continuous observation. One mistake, and they’ll slip away. Trust me, it’ll take time to plan the operation and undertake it. Plus, someone will have to sell General Gist on the idea. You and I both know Gist is focused on Las Vegas and any deviation will cause a shit storm. Inspector Cone, I strongly recommend you seize the initiative and let me eliminate the target, right now.”
Cone ignored the argument. His mind made up, he said, “Colonel, the general has already agreed to let me take the lead, and capturing her is in the best interest of the United States. Now, who should I work with to make it happen?”
Lawton considered the statement and then answered. “For the record, I think you’re making a mistake. With that said, in my opinion, the best man for conducting an operation of that nature is Lieutenant Colonel Paulson. With your consent, I’ll call off th
e bird and make sure reconnaissance remains in place. Then, we can walk next door and see the general. It’s your call.”
Cone was already daydreaming, envisioning the successful capture of the ROAS bitch. The inspector imagined a beaming president and future promotions. Thoughts half elsewhere, he replied, “Yes, please call off the attack, keep the house under observation, then we’ll see the general.”
* * *
On the bathroom stool, the lid down, Master Sergeant Upton sat holding his SIG Sauer M18 in his lap. Next to him, Staff Sergeant McMichael, sprawled in the bathtub, held Kinney’s suppressed Glock against her chest. Ten minutes had elapsed since they had entered the dark hallway bathroom to hide from the hovering Custer.
Without electricity, the tiny space was dark save a small ray of early sunlight filtering below the door. Upon entering and shutting the door, they no longer detected the Custer but weren’t taking any chances. At first, they waited for a missile or cannon attack, but after the minutes ticked away, they began to relax. They weren’t sure if the Custer had spotted them or if it was conducting a routine patrol. Still, having the aircraft so close was frightening, and at first, they were positive the machine was stalking them. Now, they were less certain. They also debated the likelihood of the Custer dropping off troops nearby or calling in for ground support. Both agreed that if the bird had spotted them, it wouldn’t waste time by asking for re-enforcements.
“I can’t sit here any longer not knowing. I’m going out to check,” said Upton.
“Be my guest,” replied Lisa, her eyes closed lying in the tub.
Upton got up from the stool, unlocked the bathroom door, and cracked it open. “Can’t hear anything,” he whispered.
“Good,” replied Lisa.
“I’ll peek outside. Be right back.” Before going through the door, Upton flexed his back and his ribs barked in protest. After waiting a moment for the pain to subside, he slipped out of the bathroom.
Ears tuned to detect the slightest noise, he worked his way through the hallway into the dining room. Pleased, the house remained quiet. No detectable noise inside or out. Best of all, no fucking rotors.
