Black Flagged Apex

Chapter 37





11:58 PM

True America Training Compound

Hacker Valley, West Virginia



Tyrell Bishop stood a few steps outside of the headquarters building and surveyed the compound. The full moon directly overhead cast a grayish-blue light on the silent facility, creating a monochromatic collage of shadows among the structures. He took in the crisp night air with a deep breath. Like always, the valley air was pristine, which added to the bittersweet taste in his mouth. He didn't relish leaving the compound. The place had been his permanent home for the past two years, filling him with nothing but cherished memories. He looked up into the hills and pondered the impending attack, which Brown had assured him would come within the next forty-eight hours. A grin spread across his face. Bishop had no idea what they were up against, but Brown felt confident that they could repel any attack thrown at them by the FBI. The amount of firepower at his disposal could hold off a concentrated Taliban attack.

He had removed their four M2 heavy-barrel .50-caliber machine guns from the armory and pre-positioned them in buildings near the fence line. Within minutes, he could put them into action against enemies coming from any direction. Brown had told him to expect a coordinated vehicle and helicopter assault, which was a favorite tactic of the feds. Idiots. By the time the vehicles traversed the road leading to the compound, True America would be ready for a fight. He was willing to bet that the FBI helicopter pilots had never come under heavy machine gun fire on a raid before. He couldn't wait to see them turn tail and fly away when .50-caliber tracer rounds reached out to touch them. Without air support, he wondered if the ground forces would press the attack. He hoped so, since the compound held a few more surprises for them.

His favorite was their armored vehicle. Last year, several mechanics and body shop guys went to work on a Ford Bronco, turning it into a light armored vehicle. Fitted with steel plates on all sides and airless Michelin Tweel tires, the "Road Warrior" was impervious to small-arms fire. The Bronco's rear compartment roof had been removed to provide a gunner's stand for the fully restored German MG42 belt-fed machine gun attached to a swivel mount welded to the truck. Twin protective plates would give the gun operator added protection while mowing down feds with the same gun that had defended the beaches of Normandy. Road Warrior would emerge through the front gate to meet any vehicles that tried to deliver federal storm troopers to his doorstep.

Even a long-distance standoff wasn't a feasible option for Uncle Sam. Bishop's arsenal consisted of nearly a dozen .50-caliber sniper rifles that could reach out and touch anyone hunkered down along the tree line. The furthest point from the fence was roughly 350 yards, easy pickings for one of his sharpshooters, not to mention the heavy machine guns. If the feds showed some tenacity and decided to stick around, he could always dust them off with "thumper." Even the most highly disciplined storm troopers would scurry when he started to walk 60mm high-explosive rounds onto their position. The baseplate and tube could be set up in less than a minute, providing him with unmatched firepower. The mortar crew's training consisted mostly of "dry fire" drills since ammunition was severely limited, but he felt confident that they could rain hell down on their enemies.

If they failed to stop the feds, Brown had ordered him to retreat through the back fence using one of the compound's ATVs. Brown made it clear that Bishop was too valuable to be captured and that he was needed to play a critical role in upcoming events. He could take the surviving camp regulars with him. They had enough four wheelers for about a dozen of them to escape if they doubled up.

The new recruits would have to stay and fight it out, no matter what happened. He hoped it didn't come to that, but Brown had made the options clear. If the feds turned the tide too quickly, Hacker Valley would vanish into obscurity, and there would be no point for him to remain behind. If they could repel the attack and force the government to come back with a bigger force, True America could turn this into another Waco, Texas. Greely's spin-doctors in the media would make this a symbol of government oppression. Brown and the higher-ups had something massive planned for the upcoming days. Ongoing media coverage of the Hacker Valley siege would play right into that plan, so he was told. The key to that plan was holding the fort.

Through the fence line, he could see that a faint mist had started to penetrate the valley, lightly touching the ground in a few patches to the south. He raised his night vision scope and scanned beyond the fence. The light cast by the moon turned the landscape into day, providing a crisp image across the clearing in every direction. They had some night vision equipped rifles, which would come in handy if the attack took place at night. He highly doubted they would attack under a full moon, on a clear night. Then again, he wasn't facing military tacticians. Lawyers and accountants filled the ranks at the FBI. If he were in charge of the federal attack, he would hit the compound an hour before full sunrise. The mist often transitioned into fog by then, stringing thick ribbons of smoky white clouds across the valley. Perfect cover to approach undetected.

He was about to step down from the doorway and take a walk around the compound when an excited voice nearly scared him out of his clothes.

"They're coming! Ty! They're coming."

He ran into the building and took the first door on his left, entering the control room. The small space housed a table with three monitors and a variety of communications equipment. Two of the monitors showed feeds from various cameras located throughout the compound and along the approach road. The third monitor displayed a virtual security window that relayed information from several dozen sensors placed in the forest surrounding the compound. Immediately upon entering, he could see that motion sensors along the approach road had been tripped.

"Rewind the camera feed," he ordered.

The black-haired, bearded man seated at the table clicked the mouse a few times, and the digital feed sped back in time twenty seconds. As the image flashed on the screen, Bishop saw a massive convoy of vehicles enter the screen, headed backward toward Route 15.

"Stop it there. Play it forward."

Bishop counted the vehicles as they slowly passed the night vision equipped security camera. Eight vehicles inbound, carrying maybe fifty agents. The lead vehicle had been a stripped-down Humvee, probably from a West Virginia National Guard unit. This made sense since none of the vehicles displayed headlights. The Guard drivers could navigate the road with night vision and lead the feds along safely to their target. The convoy was more than twenty minutes out, giving him more than enough time to deploy the compound's defenses. He wondered if they had him under some kind of long-range surveillance. He'd considered the possibility, but his array of motion sensors told him a different story. He'd overseen the placement of this array and had tested it from every direction. If working properly, nothing could get close enough to watch the compound without alerting him.

Still, he didn't want to completely spoil the surprise. He notified each of the barracks buildings with his radio and set them in motion. Within minutes, he'd have two heavy machine guns covering the approach road from the ground and the other two mounted in fixed rooftop positions. Located on opposite sides of the parade field, the rooftop guns could fire in any direction around the compound and would be their first line of defense against helicopters. Sniper positions on the rooftops and along the raised earthen barriers inside the fence could similarly fire in any direction, though he would concentrate their placement in the direction of the approach road.

The recruits would man the entire fence line armed with a variety of automatic rifles, equipped with state-of-the-art optics. Once the heavy machine-gunners made contact, he'd deploy the Road Warrior if they pressed the attack forward. He really hoped they were stupid and stubborn enough to try to breach the fence line. He'd love nothing more than to see the entire group of FBI agents slaughtered as they crossed 350 yards of open field.

He opened a tall metal cabinet pressed against the wall and grabbed his battle gear, which consisted of an AR-15 with 4X ACOG scope and a full tactical vest loaded down with spare magazines. He already wore his pistol in a drop-down tactical leg holster, along with a hand microphone-equipped command radio.

"Stay on the command channel. If you see any movement on the forest sensors, aside from the approach road, you notify me immediately. Understood?"

"I got your back, Ty. I wish I could be out there with you guys."

"You'll get your turn, don't worry. If we have a turkey shoot out there, I'll send someone back so you can empty a few mags."

"F*ck yeah! Save some of those dirt bag pieces of shit for me," he said, as Bishop disappeared.

"All teams report when in position. I want everyone ready in three minutes," he said into the hand mic.

He had a dozen snipers, four heavy gun team leaders, Road Warrior and the mortar team on the command net. Things would get busy very quickly. The recruits would be led by his regulars, separated into groups of ten. If he needed to contact them, or vice versa, the request would be relayed through a different channel that was monitored by his second-in-command, who was sprinting down the hall toward him.

Paul Thomas had been a competent soldier to have at his side for the past year. Wearing a Marine Corps-style "high and tight" haircut that matched his persona, the former Marine staff sergeant got things done around here. He considered Thomas to be an essential camp asset, which was more than he could say about many of the regulars that rotated through the compound.

"Wake your ass up, marine. We have a whole invasion force coming down that road. Make sure the recruits get into position, and don't leave my side. We may need to shift guys around pretty quickly."

"Roger that," Thomas said.

"I want to get down by the front gate to assess the situation firsthand," Bishop said and started running south, in the direction of the front gate.

On his way across the parade field, he saw activity on the rooftops designated to hold two of the heavy machine guns. These boys worked fast. Dark figures dashed in every direction, following orders barked by men and women who had been trained to lead freedom fighters into battle. The sound of equipment rattling sent a chill down his spine. He had never served in the military, but he imagined that this was exactly how it must have felt to be stationed in the Korengal Valley, at one of those hilltop firebases when the Taliban launched a surprise attack. The feeling nearly overwhelmed him as he reached one of the machine-gun positions established beside the gate. He had to stop and catch his breath, woozy from the excitement and adrenaline.

The machine gun was almost fully assembled on its tripod, which had been jammed against the two-foot-high berm. When in position, the barrel would clear the top of the raised earth by a few inches, giving the gunners cover from return fire. He doubted there would be any accurate return fire. With two or three .50 cals pouring hot steel into their vehicles, options would be limited for the agents that managed to crawl out of the wreckage. They could either hug the ground or kiss their asses goodbye.


**

Chief Petty Officer Carroll stared through the lens of his AN/PED-1 Lightweight Laser Designator/Rangefinder (LLDR) and depressed the trigger, firing an invisible, pulsed laser beam at the side of an ammunition can that had been placed next to a sandbag emplacement on the roof of one of the buildings. Within milliseconds, the Joint Fire Support Console connected to the LLDR had calculated the range and elevation to the ammunition can, comparing the data to the GPS signal provided by the chief's sophisticated communications rig. By the time he had released the trigger, the compact JFSC screen presented him with a muted orange, digital readout of the ammunition can's coordinates, which he quickly highlighted and transmitted, along with a brief target description, to the E-8C JSTARS aircraft circling far overhead. A similar process was conducted by DEVGRU teams in three other locations around the compound, aided by laser pointers from at least a dozen weapons aimed into the compound.

Within seconds, precise coordinates for all of the compound's heavy weapons and the single armored vehicle had been relayed by the SEALS to the JSTARS aircraft, where computers eliminated duplicate coordinates and packaged the data for transmission to Gunslinger Three One, a three-gun firing section provided by Fox Battery, 2nd Battalion, 10th Marine Artillery Regiment. The section had been delivered by three Marine CH-53E Super Stallion helicopters, under the cover of darkness, to a remote forest clearing located eighteen miles north of the compound. Their M777A2 Howitzers would fire six M982 155mm high-explosive Excalibur rounds in support of the mission. The Excalibur round was an extended-range GPS-guided munition, with a circle error probable (CEP) of less than five meters, allowing for near pinpoint battlefield accuracy. He had to give the Joint Special Operations Command planners some credit for creativity. The use of battlefield artillery against terrorist forces on U.S. soil had never crossed his mind. Then again, he had never foreseen the authorization to use Tier One Special Operations assets either.

He waited for the final list of targets to arrive, which appeared on his console a few seconds later. The list looked good. Four gun emplacements and one armored vehicle. He typed additional instructions for their "fire mission" on the small keyboard attached to the JFSC and transmitted the data.

He diverted his attention from the screen and glanced through the lens at the bright green image centered on one of the rooftops. One of the men picked up the ammunition can and placed it inside of the sandbag emplacement. The three-man crew had attached the heavy machine gun to a fixed mounting bracket and was in the process of loading the weapon. Panning out, Carroll took in a wider view of the compound. Personnel scrambled in every direction, with the majority of the terrorists manning positions toward the front gate. Suspected sharpshooters armed with optics-equipped .50-caliber sniper rifles started to take positions on several of the rooftops. Lasers calibrated to a frequency only visible to friendly night vision equipment reached out from the tree line and marked the shooters, guiding sniper teams from 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta and the Naval Special Warfare Development Group to their highest priority targets.

The plan remained intact, as far as Chief Carroll could tell. The fake video transmitted from the JSTARS aircraft to the compound's security feed had catapulted the sleepy camp into action. Unknown to camp personnel, JSTARS technicians had completely hijacked the compound's security systems, disabling the motion sensors and using the camp's own cameras for close-up surveillance. The compound's commander had reacted in accordance with the battlefield intelligence presented by his hijacked sensors and deployed a majority of the camp's defenders to repel nonexistent vehicles approaching from the southern access road. Carroll's surveillance of the compound was interrupted by a low volume tone in his right earpiece, indicating that JSTARS had sent him an update. His JFSC console relayed fire mission data from the artillery battery.

"FM12-001. Two salvos-3 rds. 1st salvo, 2 bldg gun empls-1 rd, vehicle-1 rd. 2nd Salvo, 2 grnd gun empls-1 rd, vehicle-1 rd. TOF 141s. Ready."

He reviewed the fire mission and highlighted "FM12-001" to bring up options on the screen. Without hesitation he selected "Fire." Thirteen seconds later, his screen provided an update for the fire mission. "Rounds complete." The console kept track of the timing and provided him with a countdown to the estimated Time on Target (TOT). He didn't need the computer to keep track of the artillery rounds. The math was simple: Time of Flight (TOF) for the rounds was 141 seconds, and it took the artillery battery twelve seconds to fire a second salvo. Within 156 seconds, all mission-critical impediments would cease to exist.

There was no need to transmit voice data to any of the teams on the ground. All team leaders were equipped with a wrist-mounted Battle Feed console that relayed the same information. Carroll glanced at his teammate, Petty Officer Stanhope, who was focused on the scope attached to his suppressed Mk11 Mod 0 semi-automatic sniper rifle. Stanhope's rifle utilized a uniquely effective sighting combination, attaching the AN/PVS-27 Magnum Universal Night Sight (MUNS) in front of a Leupold Mark 4 scope.

"One-four-one seconds to impact," he whispered.

"Got it," Stanhope muttered, remaining perfectly still behind the scope.

Several feet away, one of the Delta support teams lay motionless, preparing to eliminate any high-threat targets and provide suppressive fire for the assault groups. Each support team consisted of four Delta operators, broken into a machine-gun section and a sniper section. The two-man machine-gun section operated a night vision equipped M240B belt-fed machine gun, capable of accurately firing 950 rounds per minute at targets up to 800 meters away. The sniper/spotter duo fielded the M107A2 Barrett sniper rifle, which accurately fired the unstoppable .50-caliber 661-grain BMG round to ranges of 1,800 meters.

Five additional Delta support teams ringed the compound, each similarly equipped, bringing the total number of support weapons aimed into the compound to sixteen. In a pinch, Chief Carroll and the other SEAL spotters could pick up their rifles and join the fight, adding four additional guns to the mix. He very much doubted they would be needed. His role was to observe the entire compound and adjust ground-fire support to maximize the neutralization of targets. His weapon would be the AN/PED-1 LLDR, unless a real problem developed. Given the number of weapons concentrated on the terrorist force, and the six inbound 155mm artillery shells, he didn't think the assault teams would encounter any resistance. There might not be anyone left alive in the compound. He glanced down at the JFSC console. One hundred and ten seconds until impact.


**

Master Sergeant Ethan McDonald pressed himself against the concrete foundation of the building and checked his Battle Feed wrist monitor. One minute and twenty-two seconds until impact, which he figured would be about one minute too long at this rate. The compound's militia had reacted faster than any of them had expected, and started to arrive at positions along the rear fence line ahead of schedule.

Twenty minutes ago, his assault troop had breached the fence at the northwest corner and spread out among the five northernmost buildings along the fence line, lying flat and melting into the shadows. The troop consisted of eighteen Delta operators, split into three teams of six. Armed primarily with suppressed, night vision-equipped HK416 assault rifles, breaching shotguns and grenades, his troop's mission was to clear the buildings of hostile personnel, starting from the rear of the compound and moving forward.

Mission planners had originally suggested two teams of six operators, figuring that the smaller group would have a better chance at remaining undetected. He agreed with that assessment, until he learned that they would be required to accept surrenders when practical. Taking prisoners would eat up his operators quickly, so he had opted for one more team than mission planners had suggested.

As the first wave of defenders trickled through the buildings to take up positions at the fence, he didn't think they would remain hidden for long. Fortunately, most of them had braced their rifles against the raised berm and scanned the darkness beyond the fence. If one of them glanced back at the unusual dark clumps along the bottom of each building, they would have a problem. With over a minute left until TOT, he couldn't risk detection and the possible discharge of an unsuppressed firearm. They would have to start neutralizing the defenders very shortly. He just wanted to wait until most of them had arrived.

Another terrorist jogged into the open and tossed a smoldering cigarette less than a foot away from McDonald's right elbow. The man kept moving toward the fence without looking back at the orange glow that McDonald had crushed with his fist. They now had eight targets in the open, and he didn't think there was any way their luck could persist.

"Take down in three, two, one…mark."

McDonald raised himself to one knee and quickly leaned his rifle around the corner of the building, searching for any stragglers. He heard the suppressed snapping of his troop's HK416 rifles as he sighted in on a pair of men less than fifteen feet away. One of the men spoke into a handheld radio as he walked, oblivious to the fact that his entire squad had just been neutralized. McDonald placed the EOTech holographic reticle in the middle of his face and waited for him to lower the radio. Less than a second later, he fired a single round through the squad leader's nose, rapidly shifting his rifle to acquire the second man's head.

Through the AN/PVS-14 night vision scope mounted in tandem with the EOTech sight, he registered a look of surprise before puncturing another skull with a single .223-caliber bullet. Both men instantly dropped to the ground, noisily spilling their rifles and communications gear. McDonald waited for three seconds before running forward and dragging one of the bodies behind the building. Without speaking a word, another Delta operator took care of the second body and the dropped equipment, handing the radio to McDonald when he rounded the corner. Other operators surged toward the fence, examining the individual heaps for signs of life. They still had over a minute left on the clock, and they didn't need any surprises. He saw one of his men jam a hand against a terrorist's mouth and stab him in the neck with a concealed blade. No surprises.

He issued hand signals changing their posture from defensive to offensive and watched as the troop formed up on the buildings, ready to move deeper into the compound. Right now, they were spread thinly among five structures, covering every approach to their area between the buildings and the rear fence. A few seconds before the artillery rounds hit, they would consolidate into three teams and move forward. Before advancing through the compound, each operator would activate a Pegasus infrared signaling beacon attached to their ballistic helmets. The infrared beacons had been preset to a specific sequenced flash pattern and synchronized to facilitate rapid identification by support gunners in the surrounding hills and inbound helicopter personnel. Machine-gunners would start with targets closest to his men and work their way forward, allowing Delta assault teams to move forward rapidly without fear of absorbing friendly fire.

He heard two snaps from a position near the northwest corner building. Before he could activate his radio, his earpiece came to life.

"Single tango. Male. Started wandering along the fence toward the northwest corner. We snatched his body without anyone noticing. He carried a radio. Possible leadership."

"Copy. TOT in forty-two seconds."

The presence of a radio on the man was bad news. They had neutralized two possible leadership positions assigned to the compound's perimeter defense, which would certainly draw unwanted attention. Forty-two seconds until impact. A lot could go wrong in forty-two seconds.


**

Tyrell Bishop patted the woman gripping the M2 Browning .50-caliber machine gun's trigger handle on the shoulder. She was sitting down with her legs extended forward, braced against the machine gun's heavy-duty tripod. She looked oddly relaxed in this position, but Bishop could tell by the tension in her shoulder muscles that she was anything but calm.

The two machine gun positions had been placed several yards along the fence, on each side of the main gate, giving the gunners a clear field of fire that extended the entire length of the access road. The .50-caliber bullets, guided by intermittent tracer rounds, would start hitting the federal convoy as soon as it emerged from the forest. He couldn't imagine the vehicles making it halfway to the compound. He considered holding fire until they had closed the distance, ensuring that there would be no way for the agents to withstand the withering heavy machine gun and rifle fire. He glanced at his watch and briefly chuckled. They had another seventeen minutes to get their shit together before the vehicles arrived. He had to hand it to himself. The compound reacted quickly and professionally under his leadership.

He'd received reports from all but one of his regulars. Good ole Buddy Tyler hadn't passed on a readiness report from the rear fence. There was no real rush, since they had fifteen minutes to spare, but it still annoyed him that Tyler couldn't muster a total of ten men, including himself, and move them one hundred yards from the barracks to the rear fence. There was a reason Tyler had been assigned to guard the opposite end of the compound. Despite his loyalty and enthusiasm, the man lacked a sense of urgency. He really shouldn't have been surprised that Buddy would be the last to report, but he had just talked to him less than a minute ago, which made the situation even more unbearable. The guy had been "five seconds" out from the fence. How long could it take to count nine people and report back? He'd sent John Thibodeau from the western perimeter to check on his progress, but now he couldn't raise Thibodeau. He knew what was happening. Buddy and John were arguing, while he sat on his thumb waiting for one of them to send a f*cking report. He turned to Paul Thomas, who was squaring away the other machine gun position.

"Paul!" he yelled. "Can you run back and inform Mr. Tyler that I would like to receive a readiness report before the sun comes up!"

"I'm on it," Thomas replied and took off running north through the compound.

Bishop felt bad sending Thomas on a 400-meter round trip just to deliver a message, but it appeared to be the only way to get anyone to report from the back fence. He'd be back in time for the main show. Thomas was a physical machine, who led daily calisthenics and physical conditioning at the compound. From what Bishop could tell, the man never slowed down. He watched the former recon marine run parallel with the western barracks along the edge of the parade field.

A massive explosion rocked the compound, obliterating the southern side of the barracks building. The point detonation of 23.8 pounds of TNT encased in high-fragmentation steel sent debris flying in every direction, along with a shockwave that lifted the loose soil from the ground nearby, instantly obscuring Bishop's view of the barracks and Thomas. The .50-caliber machine gun behind him roared to life, but his gaze was still transfixed on the explosion. The smoke and dust thrown up by the explosion obscured the fact that a total of three Excalibur rounds had simultaneously hit the compound, neutralizing the two rooftop gun positions and the Road Warrior.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face the machine-gun position next to the gate. He could barely hear what the frenzied man was yelling at him over the ear-shattering sound of the heavy-caliber machine gun's continuous blasts. Why the f*ck was she firing? Tracers showered the distance, skipping skyward when they struck the ground. Still in shock, he stared at the light show for a brief second, before he regained enough sense to assess the situation. The woman he had just patted on the shoulder was missing the top of her head.

"Jesus. Get her off the gun!"

Nobody moved toward her, so he lurched forward and yanked the woman off the gun, splattering his face with blood and sticky matter when the rest of her head snapped backward. The gun fell silent, but he still heard machine-gun fire. The other rooftop gun must have engaged targets that he couldn't see. Had the sensors missed an earlier convoy? Maybe the one he saw on camera was a backup team. Bishop had no idea what was happening. He remained upright as the rest of the recruits instinctively lowered their bodies in response to the gunfire. He saw a few of them stagger backward and fall to the ground, but couldn't tell what had happened to them. The moonlight permitted him to see detailed shapes, but the rest of the picture remained washed out by the darkness. None of this made much sense to him.

Finally, the familiar snap and hiss of incoming small-arms fire reached his ears, propelling him back into his role as camp commander. He saw their situation with full clarity, as machine-gun fire raked the defenders stationed along the front fence. Controlled, staccato bursts of gunfire echoed across the small valley, making it perfectly clear to Bishop that they weren't under attack by the FBI. This was something bigger. He could see flashes in the forested hillside. They were barely visible due to flash suppressors, but he could see them. He'd teach these federal sons-of-bitches a hard lesson about combat firepower.

Bishop tossed his rifle to the ground and swung the barrel of the emplaced heavy machine gun toward the forest. He perched his thumbs over the trigger and waited for another flash to appear. His wait was interrupted by the simultaneous arrival of three M982 Excalibur artillery rounds, one of which landed six feet away from his position.


**

Master Sergeant Ethan McDonald heard the second series of explosions and waited a few seconds for any shrapnel to pass. The Excalibur rounds had landed nearly 200 meters away, which was well outside of the typical 155mm high-explosive shell's casualty radius, but he'd seen too many anomalies in his twenty-two-year career to discount the possibility of taking a wild fragment from any artillery strike. While waiting, he received a quick radio transmission confirming that all targets had been destroyed.

He passed a hand signal back to his team, transmitting the order to advance to the other team leaders through his helmet microphone. From this point forward, each team would work independently to clear structures and provide their own security. If they encountered any unusual resistance, he would consolidate teams into a larger group to handle the threat. Given the distinctive echo of .50-caliber sniper rifle fire, combined with uninterrupted bursts of machine-gun fire from their Delta brethren in the forest, he doubted very much that their work would be interrupted. He tapped the operator in front of him on the shoulder, and the entire team moved in unison through the gap between the buildings, shifting their weapons to cover every conceivable angle that posed a threat to them.

The troops' plan had been hastily rehearsed at Dover Air Force base, on a cluster of buildings sharing a similarity with the compound layout. Hundreds of airmen had been evacuated from an isolated grouping of two-story barracks buildings, while McDonald's team practiced the mechanics of the operation they would now execute. Based on details provided by DEVGRU surveillance teams, the five buildings situated along the rear fence should be empty of compound personnel. The center-most building, which McDonald brushed against rushing forward, had been identified as the armory. If the door was locked and couldn't be breached by shotgun blasts, they would rig a claymore mine to detonate if the door was opened from the inside. A similar procedure would be followed by the teams flanking McDonald's. Each of those teams was responsible for either clearing or booby-trapping the rest of the structures.

McDonald's team would move to the next row of buildings as soon as the armory was neutralized. The headquarters building lay just ahead of the armory, and the SEALS hadn't detected any side or rear doors. His team would have to go in through the front door, exposing themselves to the vast parade field. They would be exposed to fire from a 180-degree arc while crossing the front of the building to reach the entrance. He heard the deep thumping of rotor blades in the distance, which signified the arrival of two MH-53J Pave Low III helicopters, carrying twenty-four DEVGRU operators. The helicopters should be overhead in a matter of seconds and would present a serious problem for anyone trying to fire on his Delta troop.

He flipped down the AN/PVS-14 night vision scope mounted behind his EOTech holographic sight and stacked up with three members of his team on the armory door. Another operator rushed forward and fired three Hatton breaching rounds from a short-barrel, pistol-grip shotgun into the door handle. The soldier in front of McDonald kicked the door with the bottom of his boot, smashing the door inward on its hinges before rushing inside.

McDonald entered behind him and peeled off to the right, immediately clearing the "fatal funnel" created by the doorway. In room-clearing situations, most bullets funneled into the breach as defenders instinctively tried to plug the gap. Normally, they used a diversionary device to briefly incapacitate defenders and allow the team to clear the "fatal funnel" unhampered. They had decided against the use of flashbangs in the armory for one primary reason: mission intelligence suggested the presence of recreational muzzle-loading rifles and cartridge reloading equipment in the armory. Gunpowder and the magnesium-based pyrotechnic substance used by the M84 stun grenade didn't play well together, especially within confined spaces. He had been nervous enough about the limited amount of kinetic sparking created by the Hatton rounds upon hitting metal.

They activated powerful rifle-mounted flashlights upon entry and scanned the armory. Most of the racks stood empty. He quickly spotted several flintlock rifles and a variety of bolt-action World War II-era rifles. A shorter rack held at least twenty submachine guns, mostly Uzi's and MP-5 variants. Upon initial visual inspection, he didn't see any conceivable hiding place for an adult. The racks sat flush against the wall, and the oversized wooden workbenches stood tall enough to easily scan underneath. He swept the darkened room one more time with his flashlight.

"Form up," he said to the team, taking a moment to pass on a situation report through his headset.

"Armory secure. No sign of 60 mike-mike."

"This is Overlord. 60 mike-mike neutralized by Overwatch."

"Understood. Proceeding to Hotel-Quebec," McDonald said.

"Front door is open. No movement detected inside. All rooftop threats neutralized," replied Overlord, one of the SEAL surveillance teams in the forest.

"Three-one controls access to armory," another voice reported over the digitally encrypted radio feed.

Three-one was one of the Delta sniper teams located to the west of the compound. The first number determined the team designation and location. "Three" represented one of two teams firing laterally across the compound. The second number indicated the type of support. "One" signified that they were snipers. If any non-friendlies approached the armory, they would be taken down by .50-caliber sniper fire. Apparently, the snipers had run out of high-value targets. He wasn't sure if this was a good or bad sign.

The team formed up again without prompting, and they moved down the western face of the headquarters building, rapidly approaching the front corner. The point man paused briefly at the edge of the building, scanning the area for movement. The dirt and debris cloud caused by the Excalibur rounds hung in the air, obscuring their view across the parade field. Nobody on the team carried any thermal imaging equipment that could see through the haze and night vision would be utterly useless in this situation. He decided that speed would be their best ally here.

"Bobby, you got anything?" he whispered.

"Negative. But I can't see shit," his point man replied.

He held up a closed fist long enough for the team to see. The fist changed to a flat hand, which he moved rapidly back and forth.

"Go. Fast," he said and slapped the point man on the shoulder.

The point man took off, and the team dashed toward the small concrete stoop in front of the entrance door, which stood less than twenty feet away. They left one operator at the corner to cover the approach to the front door. He had closed three-quarters of the short distance to the door when Staff Sergeant Robert Chamberlain appeared to stumble. The sound of a suppressed weapon from his rear and a double tap gunshot from the parade field immediately followed. Chamberlain collapsed and tumbled forward under his own momentum, colliding clumsily with the side of the building. McDonald could see a dark stain on the wall where he had hit.

"Man down," he hissed into his headset.


**

It didn't take Paul Thomas long to figure out that they were seriously f*cked. An incredible explosion had rocked the top of the barracks building, showering the parade field with debris. A large, twisted chunk of smoldering timber had fallen several feet in front of him, stopping his sprint toward the rear fence. Engulfed in dirt and smoke, it took him a few seconds to realize that the machine-gun position located on top of the building across the parade field had been simultaneously hit by a separate explosion.

The Road Warrior had been disabled by a third explosion that landed less than fifty meters away, in the southeast corner of the parade field, but the impact had been close enough to the other that it never registered to him as a separate hit. Thomas had defied the statistics of battlefield artillery. Located just outside of the fifty-meter kill radius, he had been saved by the fact that the Excalibur round had landed on the opposite side of the Road Warrior, which had absorbed most of the shrapnel sent in his direction. It didn't register with Thomas that he had been spared by the very vehicle he had secretly deemed as one of Bishop's more asinine ideas.

Thomas dove to the ground behind the smoldering timber and assessed the situation. He could hear short bursts of machine-gun fire from every direction, competing with the sound of one of their .50 cals at the front gate. The heavy-caliber gun continued to pound away at something. So much for short, controlled bursts of fire. He knew it was a stupid idea to put that crazy bitch on the gun, but Bishop had insisted. Equal opportunity or something like that. None of that mattered now. They were in a fight for their lives.

The sound of small-arms fire intensified from every direction, and he could tell that the compound was putting up a spirited defense. The .50-caliber machine gun stopped firing, which unmasked something he hadn't been able to hear. Repeated, single booms echoing throughout the compound. He knew that sound very well from Iraq. He lifted his head above the thick piece of blackened wood and watched a body sail horizontally into the parade field from the top of the armory, still spinning as it struck the ground. One of their snipers had been hit by a .50-caliber sniper bullet, which had imparted enough kinetic energy to toss his body off the roof like a rag doll. Thomas stayed low, not wanting to tempt the snipers firing with impunity from hidden positions in the valley.

The second salvo of Excalibur shells landed just as he pressed his body flat against the ground. Thomas once again defied the odds, avoiding the shower of steel fragments released from the artillery round landing near the Road Warrior. He remained in a prone position, scrambling to process his options. He considered running into one of the buildings, but figured that the doors were under observation. They'd send a Hellfire missile right through one of the windows, instantly vaporizing him. This could be the only explanation for the accuracy of the strikes he had witnessed. Drones overhead.

This thought spurred a separate line of thinking. Predator drones were equipped with thermal imaging equipment for nighttime strikes. Sitting here would have the same result. He might have a better chance in one of the structures. If he could get inside the command building, he could send a warning to Brown before they overran the camp. He had to act fast. The cloud of debris would clear up soon, making him an easy target for snipers. He raised his head slowly, along with his AR-15 rifle, scanning for threats near the command building. He started to rise up on one knee, when he detected movement down the side of the command structure.

A small team of soldiers moved briskly along the wall, approaching the front corner. He recognized their fluid tactical movements immediately. Special Forces. There was no way he was going to make it into that building. He lowered his head and glanced behind him, in the direction of the front gate. He could see that the forward machine-gun positions had suffered the same devastating fate as the rooftop emplacements. F*ck. He wasn't going to make it through this one. His luck had finally run out. He closed his eyes for a second and paused before peeking at the soldiers. They had already started to move toward the front door. Without thinking, he quickly raised his head and sighted in on the lead soldier. He placed the illuminated green crosshairs of the C79A2 3.4X combat optic at center mass and fired two rounds, shifting the sight picture to the next soldier in the line.


**

Sergeant Gabriel Castillo searched for movement. He stared past the parade field at different points in the distance, never fully focusing. He allowed his mid-peripheral vision to do most of the work, knowing that the light-sensitive rod cells responsible for peripheral vision could detect motion better than the cone cells that dominated center vision. Several dark clumps of oddly shaped wreckage littered the field, presenting a considerable challenge for one man.

Something moved in the pile of glowing rubble on the far left side of the field. He sighted in on top of the debris heap through his night-vision scope and fired a round instinctively. As the rifle recoiled into his shoulder, he still hadn't formed a detailed picture of the target. All he knew was that the round shape he had identified didn't belong to the debris.

His night vision flared bright green, which meant that the target had probably fired a round at the same time. He didn't have much time to process any of this before hearing the words "man down" in his headset. He flipped the night-vision scope down and fired three rounds at the hazy silhouette of a human head still poking above the top of the pile. Overkill, but he had to be sure. The target had been quick enough to acquire and hit one of his teammates before he could react…and there had been no problem with Castillo's reaction time. He wondered if there were more like this one in the compound.


**

"Stinger lead, this is Overlord. We have a man down near the LZ. Recommend Stinger two-one deploy medical team with the assault group. Prepare for immediate cas-evac, over," Carroll said.

He watched the first of two MH-53J Pave Low helicopters cruise at rooftop height over the headquarters building. He hated to break the pilot's concentration on approach to a hot LZ, but the Delta operator might require immediate evacuation to save his life. The casualty report had been passed seconds ago, with no clarifying information. The helicopters could deploy the SEALS as planned, leaving the second Pave Low on the ground for a few moments to deal with the casualty.

"Copy. Stinger two-one will remain in LZ for evac."

Done deal.

"Delta One. Overlord. Pass casualty to Stinger two-one medical team for immediate evac."

He didn't expect a response. Delta One had just stormed the headquarters building.


**

McDonald hovered over Staff Sergeant Chamberlain, searching his unresponsive body for the wound. As the third operator in line stopped to help, he grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked him toward the door.

"Stack up," he said and called Castillo over from the corner.

"You did the best any of us could do. Stay with him and cover us," he said and continued the quick search.

He started with the head and quickly determined that Chamberlain had not suffered from a headshot. Neck was fine. Upper chest…not sure. No way McDonald could tell in the dark. He listened to the broadcast from Overlord to the approaching helicopters. They'd take care of Bobby.

"Make sure the second helicopter takes him out of here," he said and stacked up behind the last man crouched outside of the door.

The lead Delta operator didn't wait for orders or hand signals. As soon as McDonald reached the stack, he tossed a flashbang inside the door. The seven-million-Candela flash illuminated the field in front of the building, followed by a thunderous 180-decibel explosive sound. Anyone standing inside the doorway would be incapacitated long enough for his operators to engage safely. With their rifle-mounted flashlights illuminated, they disappeared through the opening and assessed the structure. A long hallway ran from front to back, with two doors on each side. Not a word was spoken as they lined up on the first door to the right. The position of several antennas over the front right corner of the building suggested that this might be their communications room, making it their highest priority.

A flashbang detonated in the room, prompting the Delta operators to enter. As the last man in the stack, McDonald immediately pivoted upon entering the room and covered the doorway across the hall. He had seen enough upon entry to know that he would not be needed. A bearded man in a camouflage-patterned jump suit yelled for mercy, with his hands over his head. Within seconds, McDonald's team had slammed him to the ground, secured his hands with plastic zip ties and placed dark green duct tape over his mouth. The man tried to yell through his taped mouth and nose, making loud grunting noises, prompting one of his men to lean down and threaten to cut his throat if he didn't shut up.

The man quieted down, and McDonald heard his men ask a series of yes or no questions to determine if any other personnel had remained in the compound. The man wasn't one hundred percent sure that the building was clear, but he was the only one assigned to the communications center. The sounds of the interrogation were suddenly drowned out by the overpowering chop of the Pave Low helicopter's rotor blades and the intermittent buzz-saw bursts of its 7.62mm miniguns. Dirt and loose debris from the open field flew through the front door, filling the hallway and swirling darkness. DEVGRU had arrived.

"Pack him up. We need to clear these rooms!" he yelled.

Less than ninety seconds later, McDonald's team emerged from the front entrance. The first helicopter had already departed, firing long bursts from both of its side-mounted miniguns at the remaining terrorists along the front fence line. Stinger two-one sat in the middle of the field with its rear ramp down. SEALs hustled down the ramp and formed up near the buildings flanking the field. The first contingent of SEALs had already disappeared into the compound, presumably headed toward the front fence. Based on the volume of fire directed by the helicopters toward the south, he assumed that most of the remaining enemy personnel were clustered along that fence line. A sudden increase in small-arms fire to the south confirmed his suspicion. The SEALs had already reached the front fence line.

Two Air Force Pararescue operators lifted a medical litter holding Chamberlain's inert form and started through the pelting dirt storm kicked up by the Pave Low's rotor wash. McDonald sprinted over to them.

"What's his status?"

The Pararescue in front turned to him and shook his head. "He's dead. Rounds punched right through his side plates and out the other side. AP rounds. Sorry."

McDonald nodded as they carried his good friend away. F*ck.

"Overlord, this is Delta One. Man down classified as KIA," he reported.

"Understood. Delta Two and Three have finished clearing structures on your immediate flanks," Overlord responded.

"Roger. Delta units will secure the northern half of the compound and continue clearing," McDonald said.

"Copy. Six-two will assist."

The second wave of DEVGRU SEALs, known more affectionately to the public as "SEAL Team Six," would join his men and secure the compound behind the first wave of SEALs. He couldn't imagine the fight lasting much longer. The compound militia had their back up against a fence, and nowhere to run if they could find a way over it.

He jogged back to his team and broke the bad news. Nobody said a word. They simply nodded and formed up to continue their mission. He'd assign Delta Two to guard the prisoner and any others they collected. He didn't think it would be a good idea to leave his own team in charge of this scumbag's safety. They showed little reaction to Bobby's death, but he knew what they were thinking; the same thing he was thinking. His team would be much better off clearing structures.

Less than seven minutes later, they had cleared all of the structures not taken down by DEVGRU during their assault on the front part of the compound. Beyond the heavy drone of helicopter rotors in the distance, the valley had fallen silent again, punctuated by the occasional cry for help from the fence line. He hoped the men and women watching this in D.C. didn't ask him to turn around and help the traitorous f*cks they just massacred. He wasn't feeling very charitable toward them right now.