Kevin zoomed in his own rifle scope, looking for targets at ground level. He also thought about the large hard case on the ground next to him. John had sent it with him, taken from one of the supply depots, on the offhand chance Kevin needed it. Within was a Barrett M107. Incorrectly called a “sniper rifle” by many, it was in reality an anti-material rifle meant to make short work of lightly armored vehicles and even low-flying aircraft. Kevin had been warned the muzzle flash and report would be awesome if he had to use it, but if he needed to punch a hole in something his .308 Winchester would not, it would come in handy. He dedicated his full attention to his rifle scope and worked to cover the assault team.
John was the first through the wall, finding nothing but smoldering rubble and the remnants of an apparent guard shack. He quickly sidestepped to the right, with his back facing the wall, and scanned for targets while the rest of his team poured through, keeping close to the wall and passing behind him. Andy roughly clapped him on the shoulder, signaling everyone was in, and John swept to the right following the wall. Their first target was the prisoner barracks, which was on this side of the agent barracks. If they could reach it and clear any prisoners out, they would then be free to engage anyone inside the walls without worrying about friendlies.
John’s mind was a flurry of activity as his eyes scanned in a constant pattern, looking for movement in the dimly lit camp. Kevin was apparently good to his word, as his snipers had made quick work of the agents in the guard towers, and no harassment came from above. His eyes registered movement up ahead, and his rifle came up to his eye as he triggered his light. Seeing two agents, both being blinded by the 600-lumen weapon light, he fired two shots each, dropping them in their tracks. He of all people knew body armor was not impossible to defeat, and the armor-piercing ammunition they had loaded up most of their mags with was more than capable of punching through the armor the agents wore. The same was unfortunately true in reverse though; their armor would not guarantee them that the agents’ returning fire would not slice through their armor.
The eight men continued forward, the barracks coming into sight as John peeled off to the left towards the front door. As they had rehearsed, Andy stuck close to him to be the second man into the room right behind John, while the two men in the rear spread out to guard the rest of the team while they made entry. It was a formation they had rehearsed numerous times and required no additional coordination or verbalizations. John planted his bootheel solidly against the door right by the knob, and it gave as he rushed in, his light switched to constant on to blind and disorient anyone inside as he swept to the left. Andy followed, sweeping to the right. They found no agents, only four terrified people wearing prison orange. John and Andy switched off their lights.
“Listen, we’re here to get y’all out of here.” John spoke loudly and forcefully.
The assembled people eyed him warily, unsure who this bearded man wearing body armor was. The oldest man in attendance approached John. “My name is Eddie. This is my wife and two friends of ours. Who the hell are you?”
“John Arceneaux. I’m here with the Minutemen. Do you want to get out of here or not?” John was abrupt, not having time for formal introductions or small talk. He needed to get these people on their feet and the hell out of the camp before the agents could assemble and get their bearings.
“Hell yeah, we want to get out of here,” the reply came.
“Out-fucking-standing. Here.” John unshouldered his extra pack, tossing it at the feet of the four adults. Eddie opened the pack to find six Glock 17s, loaded, and spare magazines. He also found several lengths of cord with chemlights tied to them. “Each of you grab a gun and a spare magazine; leave the rest there. Put one of those chemlights around each of your necks and snap them. Those will identify you to our men outside so you don’t get shot to shit on your way out.”
“What about you guys?” Eddie questioned.
“We have work to do. You need to get your people to safety. When you get outside the wall, go straight forward and look for a flashing light; that’s our guy waiting for you. Run, don’t walk, straight to him, and get your asses behind cover,” John ordered. “Andy, everyone else ready?”
“Yeah, John, I’ve got two guys pulling security in the doorway. They popped a couple of agents running around half dressed. I don’t think they’ve gotten their shit together yet, but we need to move,” Andy replied.
John grunted. “Alright, everyone, follow me. My team will walk you out. If you see anyone who doesn’t have a red chemlight on them, consider yourselves free to defend yourselves. Get the hell out of here and stay with Randall until this is over.” With that, John turned on his heel, marshalling his team together. “Get ready, guys. Get these people moving right behind me. Keep your eyes peeled. Mike, once we get these people out, you take your three and sweep to the west to clear out any agents you find. I’ll take Andy and our other two and sweep east. We meet at the TOC. Clear?”
Mike nodded vigorously, checking his watch. “Turn your radios on, guys. Kevin ought to be done jamming by now.”
Everyone switched their radios on just in time to hear Kevin’s voice.
“Guys, let me know how things are going in there.”
John replied, “I’ve got four pax heading out, orange jumpsuits marked as friendlies. We’re walking them out now.”
The team charged out of the barracks, running quickly to the hole in the wall. John was ten yards away from the wall when he heard the distinct sound of an AR rapidly shooting from outside the wire.
“Contact southwest guard tower. Someone is up there taking shots at us. Can’t get a bead on them, trying to suppress,” the radio reported.
John rushed to get the prisoners clear of the wall. “Mike, get your guys and go smoke that shithead out. Circle around and burn anyone you find. Don’t take any chances,” he barked.
Mike motioned his men together with a wave of the arm, and they were gone.
John grabbed his microphone strapped to his body armor. “Pax coming out. Hold fire.” He then looked quickly to Andy. “C’mon, let’s not stand around with our pants down, waiting for someone to notice.”
John’s team backtracked along the path they had just travelled, heading towards the agent barracks. John had no illusions about the next phase of the plan, there could be a dozen agents in that barracks, and by now even the most inept of them had to be ready for a fight. John motioned Andy over and dug in his pack, looking for his trump card, a couple of CS tear gas grenades. When John had found these in the agency equipment depot, intended for riot control, he immediately seized them. Andy didn’t see the immediate utility in them, but John had explained at the time: people who can’t see or breathe can’t fight.
John approached the barracks, followed closely by Andy and his other two men, cautiously looking for evidence of an attack. As they rounded the corner, they came face-to-face with an agent clutching a Glock 17 in his hands and apparently without his rifle. He motioned to point at John, but John, already at the ready with his rifle, was faster. John fired three rounds, the first two striking the agent’s plate carrier, the third bisecting his collarbones.
“Andy, grenades!” John shouted.
Andy passed one grenade to John as he pulled the pin on his own and hurled it through the unguarded door. John’s followed soon after.
“You two,” John ordered his team, “post here and shoot any of these fuckers who try to run out, and stay clear of the doorway. Andy, with me!”
The two of them ran towards the back door of the shotgun-style barracks. John watched for agents while Andy shot the lock and doorjamb before kicking the door in. When the door gave, both men stood shoulder to shoulder and liberally hosed down the entire barracks with their rifles. With the mist from the CS, their lights lit up and blinded anyone inside if the gas had not done its job already. They aimed for the shadows created by their lights, and for the windows. John had recognized that in order to clear the room, he would have t
o enter, but doing so without a mask would be tough. Blowing out the windows would clear the gas enough to only be irritating, not debilitating.
John left Andy at the doorway, with the rest of his team securing the other door, and entered the barracks after slapping a full magazine into his rifle. The gas was clearing, but enough lingered to scratch at his throat and tear up his eyes. He thought back to basic training when he had first been exposed to CS, and remembered well how badly it could disorient people. Unfortunately, the agency had never taken the apparent time to expose their agents to it in order to train them and build up any sort of tolerance, as was common in the military and most police forces. John walked along, finding several dead or dying agents and finishing the ones not already thoroughly perforated. He was most of the way to the other side of the barracks when he felt an impact in his back and a searing pain in his shoulder. Then he heard the noise. He had been shot.
In the wood line outside, Kevin heard the radio: “John’s down. I repeat, John’s down!”
Kevin snatched the radio off the ground to his right. “Is he okay? What’s going on?”
Andy’s voice came back. “He was clearing out the barracks; someone took a shot at him and hit him in the back. We’re checking him now.”
Kevin’s stomach turned. His worst fear was for this attack to result in casualties on their end, and his thoughts shifted to Rachel and Kay. How would he go back to the compound without their husband and father and tell them what happened? How could he? He was thoroughly caught in his own anguish when he heard the rumbling of an approaching vehicle.
“Everyone, give me eyes. Why do I hear a vehicle approaching?” Kevin plead into the radio.
“Agency Humvee approaching, turret-mounted weapon. It’s coming down the road towards us!” Randall’s voice warned.
Kevin looked to his right with terror as he realized too late, not all of the agency personnel had been back to camp yet. He looked at the black Humvee, with its armor plating and a belt-fed machine gun in the turret, approaching the detention camp.
“Oh Jesus,” he said to himself. “Assault, you have an up-armored Humvee, belt-fed machine gun, approaching the camp!”
No Plan Survives First Contact
Andy ran into the room after John, without regard for the stinging of his eyes or the protesting of his lungs. He hurled himself through the barracks, barely diverting his attention from his fallen friend to put two more rounds into every agent who had fallen. He would not be victim to another agent playing possum. He was out to make sure they all were on their way to their maker. He reached John, transferred his rifle to his left hand, and roughly yanked on the grab handle on the back of John’s armor, pumping his legs hard and pulling urgently to drag his friend facedown through the room towards the front door, where the rest of their team was pulling security. He hazarded a glance down to see blood soaking into John’s armor close to his left shoulder.
When he reached the doorway, he yelled to the other men, “Get your asses in here. One of you watch each door and keep behind cover. Kevin just said there’s an agency Humvee approaching with a belt fed!”
The men took up positions watching for hostiles while Andy reached for the clips on each side of John’s armor.
“We don’t have time for this shit, go!” John shouted, trying to shove his friend away.
“I’m not going home without you, motherfucker!” Andy replied, shoving John roughly down to the floor and yanking the back of his armor up over his head. He saw the wound, just above the armor plate on John’s left side, and ripped his T-shirt to expose a surprisingly minor wound. “You lucky son of a bitch, the armor caught the round. You got cut by the spall!”
“If it isn’t that bad, then we’ll deal with it later. Did I hear you say belt fed?!” John shouted while sitting up and securing his armor back to his body.
“That’s what Kevin said. Humvee, machine gun in the turret,” Andy replied. He worked to marshal his emotions back to the task at hand. Later, much later, he would admit he had been driven nearly to tears in equal parts by the fear of his friend dying in front of him and the realization that the injury was minor.
“Dammit!” John shouted, exasperated. He reached for his mic on his armor. “Everyone on channel, put eyes on that Humvee and report. We need to neutralize them right the hell now!” Then John heard the rhythmic thumping that could only be an M240B medium machine gun. John well knew the balance of firepower had just shifted heavily in the agency’s favor, as the medium machine gun could pour out a volume of fire none of their assault rifles could match, and the Humvee’s armor would shrug off anything they could throw at it. They only had one chance…
Kevin was hunkered down in the wood line behind a fallen log, hoping it was enough cover to protect him from the maelstrom of flying lead the Humvee was pouring into the wood line. It was readily obvious their gunner could not easily see his targets but had a good enough idea where they were to hose down the area.
“John, we’re taking fire out here. One of my snipers is down. No one can get a shot on this guy while he’s trying to cut down the whole damned forest,” Kevin shouted into the mic over the roar of the machine gun. His men would occasionally spray a thirty-round magazine towards the Humvee in vain as the armor of the truck and turret did their jobs. They had come to this fight with the advantage in numbers and surprise, but the momentum of the battle was quickly shifting as the agency Humvee brought overwhelming firepower and protection to their side.
Back inside the camp, John raced out of the barracks with the rest of his team in tow. “Team two, meet me at the south wall, buster!” John shouted, unconsciously using the term buster, military jargon for bust your ass, or hurry. The tone of his voice communicated loud and clear the urgency. The eight men quickly converged at the south wall, conscious of possible attacks from their rear but laser focused on the Humvee trying to tear apart the rest of their forces.
“Kevin, you still have that hard case I left with you?” John shouted into the mic.
“Yeah,” came Kevin’s response. “But I can’t reach it with this going on.”
“Got it. Pop smoke to give you some cover; throw the smoke grenades out in front of your position. When you hear us start firing, get that damned Barrett up yesterday. It’ll punch through their armor. Hit the turret with a full mag then aim for the engine and driver. Randall, check in,” John ordered.
Precious seconds ticked by before he heard Randall’s voice. “We’re behind cover. Don’t think the Humvee sees us.”
John looked to his men. “Alright, guys, you two,” he started, picking two men at random, “pull security on our asses and make sure no one tries to sneak up on us. Everyone else, when I say the word, start laying it in on that Humvee. Aim for the turret. Let’s see if we can get that smartass to put his head down.”
The assault team took cover behind the wall on either side of the breached section, while the security guys put their backs against their teammates, watching for a possible ambush from within the camp. Then John flipped his AR from safe to semi, raised his rifle towards the turret, and began taking as well-aimed shots as he was able. He knew the turret setup from his Army days; it was armored and shielded fairly well from a ground-level assault in all directions. He could just make out the top of a helmet above the armor and had little hope he could actually take out the gunner. His intention was simply to get his attention away from the south sniper team until Kevin could get the M107, a semiautomatic .50-caliber anti-material rifle, set up to take the Humvee out. With its thick armor and bulletproof windows, none of their rifles stood a chance of hitting the men inside. Their only hope was with the big .50.
The rest of his assault team joined in, most following John’s lead, using semiautomatic fire to conserve their ammo. Unlike the teams outside the camp, who were stationary and had brought extra ammo, John’s team had to stay mobile and could not afford to be wasteful. Every shot was meant to hit the turret gunner, or at least get his atte
ntion. It did not take many shots before they saw the turret quickly swivel in their direction.
“Get back!” John shouted just before a torrent of .30-caliber lead filled the air, spraying back and forth to both sides of the opening in the wall. “Kevin, get that rifle up RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!” John shouted into his mic, barely hearing his own words over the noise of the machine gun and the impacts on the wall.
Kevin yanked the handle on the hard case, pulling it to him behind the log. He scrabbled for the latches, then flung the case open, diverting his attention to make sure the Humvee was not angling back towards them for another attack. The tracers loaded along with the ball ammo in the gun’s belts gave the impression of a stream of light in the dark pouring towards his teammates, who had taken cover behind the wall to escape the withering fire directed at them. Kevin looked down into the case to see the enormous rifle in two halves, as it would be for transport. The Barrett was a nearly five-foot-long rifle when assembled and was typically packed into its case in two halves, which had to be assembled prior to use. Kevin cursed himself for not having paid better attention when John explained how to put this damned thing together.
“Kevin, what’s the holdup? Those guys are screwed if we don’t get that rifle going,” Donnie shouted.
“Gimme a second. Some assembly required,” Kevin hollered as he jogged his memory and started fumbling to put the rifle together.
At the wall, John’s team was waiting for brief moments when the machine gun stopped between bursts, to crane their rifles around the corner and spray a burst of fire towards the Humvee, both to hold their attention away from the wood line and to encourage them not to approach. John held little hope that would last long, as their armor gave them an advantage, and eventually they would run out of patience. If that Humvee reached the wall, they would have nowhere to hide, and Kevin would have no shot at the Humvee to take it out.
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