Battle of Mesquite

by David Pope

  McMichael shook her head.

  Upton knew that ever since the shelling, she couldn’t hear well out of one ear. But then, she seemed to pick up the noise and nodded.

  He could now hear and feel the approaching dread. An engine, metal treads on pavement, getting louder, vibrations emanating through the tile floor.

  “We have to surrender,” said McMichael, her eyes round with fear.

  Upton ignored the statement. Standing up, he looked through a peep hole in the front door. Across the street, the desert and salvation beckoned. He almost reached down for McMichael to make a run for it, when all at once an armored fighting vehicle emerged. The huge machine stopped in the street and in a swift motion swiveled its 30 mm chain gun in his direction. Worse, a second vehicle appeared and, parallel to the other monster, did the same.

  “We’re fucked,” said Upton.

  “What is it?” asked McMichael, still sitting on the tile floor, looking at the door with fear in her eyes.

  “Two Stuarts just pulled up in the street facing us. There’s a guy standing in each hatch.”

  Both Upton and McMichael jumped at the sound of a loudspeaker.

  “This is United States Army Lieutenant Peck. Master Sergeant Upton, you’re surrounded. I repeat, we have the house surrounded. Mr. Russel Jarvis told us everything. Upton, leave your weapons and helmet in the house and come out with your hands raised. You have two minutes to comply, or we’ll level the house and arrest Mr. Jarvis for colluding with the enemy. If you surrender, Mr. Jarvis is a free man, and you’ll receive proper treatment as a prisoner of war. You have my word as an officer. Master Sergeant Upton, you have two minutes.”

  “God, I hate to think what they’re doing to Rus. We need to surrender,” said McMichael.

  “Hold it,” said Upton. He hadn’t mentioned McMichael to the neighbor. Maybe they weren’t aware of her. Lisa could hide in the house while he surrendered. Sure, they’d do a cursory search afterward, but they might not discover her. Later, she could slip away. Mind racing, earlier while McMichael slept, he’d found only one decent hiding place. Yes, his life was finished, but not McMichael’s—not yet.

  Upton unbuckled his combat belt and, getting ready to go out, whispered a plan. “Sergeant, listen. They don’t know you’re in here. In the hall, there’s a ceiling trap door. Grab a broom from the coat closet and use it to push open the door. A cord will drop. Pull on it and a stair ladder will descend. Climb up and pull the ladder up behind you. Hide there until after they leave. Later, head for Bunkerville as planned. Once you get there, use the satellite phone in your pack. Let them know what happened and get home safe.”

  The loudspeaker boomed again. “One minute!”

  “No, they’ll find me. Better if I we go together,” said McMichael, now standing.

  “Negative, take these,” said Upton, and he unclipped the two grenades from his belt and turned McMichael around, dropping them in her pack.

  “Go,” he said, and he pushed McMichael towards the closet. Not waiting, in one motion, Upton dropped his belt and holster onto the tile. Then he removed his helmet and placed it next to the other items. All the while, satisfied with his decision, he noticed McMichael respond. Good. She grabbed a broom from the closet and, without looking back, raced down the hall.

  Relieved by her actions, Upton waited a few seconds.

  “I’m coming out!” he yelled through the door. Then he counted to ten, giving McMichael more time. Satisfied, he twisted the knob and opened the front door.

  Although not quite dark, a floodlight hit him. Without thinking, he raised an arm to protect his eyes.

  “Hands above your head. Walk forward, now!” commanded the loudspeaker.

  Eyes squinting, Upton didn’t play games and raised both hands. Then he moved towards the searing light.

  “Stop, lay flat, spread-eagle, now!” boomed the loudspeaker.

  As he dropped to his hands and knees, the movement jarred his ribs causing a bolt of hot pain to take his breath away. Doing his best to ignore the discomfort, still wearing his combat vest, he leaned forward and went prone.

  Limbs now spread, the artificial grass felt warm on Upton’s cheeks, but the pressure on his ribs brought tears. Scared and in pain, he thought of McMichael and hoped she remained hidden. Heart thumping, he determined to keep her a secret, no matter how they questioned him. But he knew it was a lie. The enemy was known to use advanced interrogation techniques, and under enough duress, he’d cave, as would anyone. Still, to give McMichael an opportunity for escape, he vowed to hold out for as long as he could.

  Over the idling engines, he detected heavy footsteps.

  “Give me your name, soldier!”

  Upton shuddered at the command. He lifted his head off the grass and through the spotlight spotted a silhouette. A man stood hovering a few feet away holding an assault rifle.

  “Master Sergeant Corey Upton, ROAS Army of Defense,” he said before dropping his head. The soldier didn’t respond. Instead, Upton detected mumbling and guessed the bastard was passing along the good news. A few seconds later, Upton lost hope.

  Over the booming loudspeaker, Lieutenant Peck announced, “Sergeant McMichael! Lisa McMichael! We know you’re in there! Master Sergeant Upton is in custody, and if you look out the window, you’ll see a platoon sergeant covering him with an M27 assault rifle. You have two minutes to surrender, or Master Sergeant Upton dies for aiding and abetting your escape. Save him by coming out with arms raised. Leave your weapons inside, surrender, and no one gets harmed. Your two minutes start right now!”

  Deflated and defeated, Upton couldn’t fathom how they knew. He guessed it stemmed from their earlier experience with the Custer. Either way, it didn’t matter. Now the focus was on staying alive.

  * * *

  McMichael had just pulled up the stairs, frantic, and was working to replace the attic cover when the loudspeaker bellowed her name. Hopes faded, and she slumped. Somehow, they knew about her. Hiding in the attic was pointless.

  With great reluctance she pushed the flimsy cover aside, dropped the stairs, and descended into the hallway. Alive with fear, she approached the foyer and the open front door. Just out of sight, she pulled off her pack and placed it on the tile. Next to it, she pulled Kinney’s Glock from her belt and laid it aside.

  Committed to the inevitable, she took a final deep breath and stood tall. Determined to stay strong, she walked through the front door, raising her hands. Then, all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  WHAT THE HELL?

  Commander of the ROAS Special Forces Army Recon Company, Captain Jason Bowen, over the last four days had kept his team hidden and ready. But it hadn’t been easy.

  As a precaution, Bowen and half his company, three operational detachments totaling thirty-six highly skilled operators, were pre-staged in Mesquite. Excited about the prospects of war, but unsure of the mission, his team deployed with a wide array of tools and weapons. Hidden, their job was to stay prepared and out of sight until issued orders by CENTCOM.

  Yesterday, hiding inside an industrial warehouse big enough to hold his team and supplies, they became agitated when the sound of guns erupted along the border. Even with the fight raging, begging to join in, their orders remained the same: stay out of sight and wait. Frustrated, they remained hunkered down and later became angered when they learned the fate of the ROAS battalion protecting the border.

  Then, with guile and bravado, as Mesquite filled with US troops, Bowen’s team focused on survival by remaining unseen.

  Still, his team itched for a fight.

  At last, this morning, they received orders to prepare for a mission to support a new effort, Code name Operation Heavy Metal. Stoked by the news, his team poured themselves into planning and preparation.

  Five hours later, everything changed again. Bowen received a direct call from General Story with a different set of orders. They learned of a new, higher-value objective only a half-klick aw
ay.

  Since the call, his team shifted their planning efforts and went into high gear. For years, his Special Forces operators had trained for this day, and now the opportunity to test their skills against real, live adversaries was at hand. Bowen committed a full ODA to the mission, a total of twelve Special Forces operators. Throughout the afternoon, the team bustled with activity and excitement.

  Once ready, Bowen and his ODA slipped out of their warehouse hiding place.

  For over an hour, the team slow-crawled through desert brush, not sure what they’d be facing, but understanding their objective was under direct enemy aerial observation. Throughout the ordeal, the threat of detection persisted. If spotted, they were to scatter. In that case, his remaining force left inside the warehouse was to destroy their well-stocked supplies, create a diversion, and run.

  Protected against visible and overhead detection by state-of-the-art active camouflage ghillie suits, Bowen’s squad stopped often to review the latest target satellite imagery. As they neared the objective, looking at the latest pictures, they realized their fears and desires. The enemy was moving, in force, against the same target. In a surge, the squad moved faster.

  Now, as they set up positions in the desert scrub seventy meters from the target, a sense of relief passed over the group. They’d arrived without being spotted.

  Still, the situation was perilous. Almost at once, the team eyed enemy troops on nearby rooftops. To mitigate the threat, Captain Bowen passed along new orders.

  Instructions in place, Bowen signaled for Sergeant Major Sean Ekin and Sergeant First Class Acquon Mason to follow his lead. The rest of the ODA remained in place, spreading out, while the trio slithered forward through the thick brush.

  After a five-minute crawl, Captain Bowen gave another signal, and all three men stopped twenty meters from the street fronting their objective. Silent and lying prone, their ghillie suits blending into the scrub and protecting them from thermal recognition, they readied their weapons.

  Not half a minute later, a low rumble emerged, and within seconds, two US armored vehicles came into view. Both Stuart fighting vehicles clambered through the suburban street and stopped opposite the three hidden men. Captain Bowen watched as the large vehicles pivoted to face the target house.

  Recognizing an advantage, the rear of the Stuarts facing his team with open hatches, over the ODA network, the captain whispered further orders.

  But a final decision remained, and he’d be forced to make it soon. Overall, there were two mission priorities. First, rescue Staff Sergeant Lisa McMichael and, if possible, Master Sergeant Upton. Second, if the rescue of McMichael was impractical, her life was forfeit. Bowen didn’t question the motives but guessed the reasoning. McMichael, the Hero of Mesquite, as a political pawn was too valuable to fall into enemy hands.

  Ready for anything, the Special Forces captain watched the US soldier, his head exposed above the nearest Stuart, get on a loudspeaker. He listened as the man identified himself as Lieutenant Peck and then demanded the surrender of Master Sergeant Upton.

  Bowen guessed the enemy tactic, watched, and waited.

  It wasn’t long before Upton emerged from the target home with arms raised. Within a few seconds, the man was laying prone on the grass covered by a second US infantry soldier holding an assault rifle.

  Next, the asshole US Lieutenant on the loudspeaker shifted his focus and called out for McMichael’s surrender.

  The captain considered his options one last time. Either attempt a rescue or bypass the problem and eliminate the target. He decided and, over the secure network, whispered final instructions.

  Orders issued, locked and loaded, Bowen pulled his MK20 sniper assault rifle tight against his shoulder.

  With the evening growing dark, the sun just set in the west, Captain Bowen concentrated on his breathing. Through the optics of his assault rifle, just past the US Stuart fighting vehicle occupied by Lieutenant Peck, he settled his sights on the front door of the house and flipped off the safety. Heart beating with nervous energy, he focused on slowing. Steady as a rock, it was time to kill.

  * * *

  On his stomach, despondent and listening to the US lieutenant on the loudspeaker, Upton waited and hoped for McMichael to surrender. If she didn’t come out and kept hiding in the house, she could get her hurt or even killed. Disgusted by the game the enemy was playing, using him as bait, he felt ashamed.

  Ribs hurting, he tried to imagine what imprisonment might bring: torture, crippling brutality, confinement, and isolation were in his future. He shuddered against the thought. Yes, he killed the US soldiers in the shell hole, but the bastards were committing a brutal crime. The attack inside the pipe was justifiable, not a war crime. Escaping capture was a soldier’s sworn duty. He figured they’d interrogate him and McMichael for answers. There was nothing to hide.

  Upton heard a crack and a thud, followed by a squawk from the loudspeaker. Confused, he tried raising his head when he bounced into the air. A rush of hot air and a hurricane of noise washed over him, and a moment later, he slammed back down onto the soft artificial grass. Shaken, ears ringing, a second round of thunder hit. Again, he bounced. This time, shutting his eyes, all thoughts of capture vanished as he rebounded off the turf and rolled into a tight ball trying to survive.

  * * *

  With hands up, walking towards the light, McMichael was about to step off the porch when she heard a crack and saw the US soldier standing over Upton stagger and drop to a knee. At the same instant, she heard the lieutenant on the loudspeaker yell something undiscernible.

  McMichael tried to register what it meant when the world exploded, knocking her backward. Dazed, she fell on her butt, landing on the aggregate concrete patio.

  Not thinking, she raised her right arm to ward off the heat as a fireball erupted through the hatch of the nearest fighting vehicle. Before she could comprehend, a second explosion ripped through the other Stuart, and a second shockwave punched her in the chest, knocking her flat. She rolled away from the heat, turning her back towards the burning wreckage. On her side, panting, stunned, and confused, her broken eardrum began to bleed.

  * * *

  Across the street, lying prone, wearing an active camouflage suit and well hidden in the brush, Captain Bowen spotted Staff Sergeant McMichael exiting the target house. With practiced ease, he swung his MK20 assault rifle away from McMichael to the US soldier standing over the prostrate Master Sergeant Upton. Bowen hoped his prior command to disable the US drone circling high above their position with a high-energy laser had worked because it was time to shoot.

  With his night-vision scope connected via a wireless signal to his visor, the captain sighted center mass, and squeezed off a single shot.

  The MK20 plastic-cased, high-velocity 7.62 mm round developed by the ROAS with smart-bullet technology was built to penetrate body armor, and it did, causing the stricken US soldier to stagger and drop to a knee. The shot signaled the start of the attack.

  On either side of the captain, even though the distance was danger close, Sergeant Major Sean Ekin and Sergeant First Class Acquon Mason each fired a hand-held Javelin III missile. The missiles hung in the air for a second until the rocket motors kicked in, giving the operators a moment to duck.

  Neither enemy fighting vehicle was expecting a missile attack and had their hatches open, disengaging their Active Protection Systems. Unimpeded, the missiles climbed into the air, where they traveled a short distance before turning and plunging downward.

  The first missile slammed through the hatch of the Stuart Fighting vehicle occupied by Lieutenant Peck. Armed with a tandem warhead to defeat and penetrate reactive armor, it exploded. Inside, the driver and gunner turned into a gelatinous mass. As for Lieutenant Peck, he never felt a thing. The Javelin ripped through his body on the way down, vaporizing him milliseconds later when it detonated beneath his mangled corpse.

  An instant later, the second fighting vehicle erupted, taking a direct mis
sile hit. The resulting destruction was significant, sending shards of shrapnel and chunks of steel hurtling through the air. Meanwhile, the remaining ROAS Special Forces took the queue, and from fifty meters behind their captain, they executed the next phase of the assault.

  Well hidden in the desert brush, using XM30 grenade launchers, four ROAS operators pumped electronic-sighted, high-explosive 40 mm grenades at the enemy troops occupying the houses ringing the objective. Developed by the ROAS, using AI guidance based on offline satellite map optics to avoid GPS jamming, the projectiles exploded with extreme accuracy. Designed to explode above the target, the grenades rained death and destruction. Within a minute, twenty-four grenades detonated with pinpoint precision, and the four ROAS operators were under orders to continue launching until they ran out of ammunition or were commanded to stop.

  The coordinated grenade attack was merciless. Shrapnel ripped through rooftops and turned adobe tiles into lethal flying objects. Shards of glass and metal whistled through the air, shredding any exposed flesh. Amid the chaos, screams and shouts emerged from the men under siege.

  * * *

  “What happened to my video?” questioned Lieutenant Colonel Paulson, looking up from the monitor on which he’d been watching the final stage of Operation Catcher. Until now, the mission was going as planned, everything smooth. With Upton in custody, they’d been waiting for McMichael to emerge when the screens went blank.

  Captain Barton, seated next to the colonel, threw his hands in the air. He had the same problem.

  “Fix it!” said Paulson.

  The captain didn’t hesitate. He stood up and barked at the S1 team to find and correct the problem. Within seconds, the intelligence group explained the UAV high-altitude surveillance drone was offline and no longer responding.