Battle Hymn

CHAPTER 6

NEAR ANTELOPE WELLS, NEW MEXICO

The sun was a bloody smear in the western sky as darkness fell, and the waiting ended. Mac was standing outside the command trailer drinking black coffee from a ceramic mug. Three days had passed since she had arrived, and the company was as ready as it could be under the circumstances. They were going to leave in one hour. Had she considered everything? Were the Confederates staring down from space? Was she going to die in Mexico?

“Robin?”

Mac’s body jerked at the sound of Lieutenant Colonel McKinney’s voice. Had he noticed it? She tried to sound casual. “Yes, sir… What’s up?”

McKinney’s face was a white blur in the dim light. “We’re good to go… And we have a message from the president. ‘Good hunting, and Godspeed.’”

Mac thought about Sloan. “I’m sending you into danger.” That’s what his note said. “Thank you, sir. Did you pass the word?”

“Yes. The troops are raring to go.”

Mac knew it was true. Because even though the mission was going to be dangerous, every man and woman in her command wanted to rescue the POWs. Mac emptied the last of the coffee onto the bone-dry ground. “All right, Colonel,” she said. “I’ll see you in Ascensión.”

McKinney was going to fly in aboard the first C-17. He nodded. “Take care out there.” Then he was gone.

The vehicles were lined up with their parking lights on. Firefly-like headlamps moved from place to place as drivers carried out last-minute checks on their Strykers.

Mac heard occasional bursts of static and the faint strains of a country-western tune as she passed the BETSY ROSS. Platoon Leader Susan “Sixgun” Evers was there to greet her along with Sergeant Major Deeds. “Good evening, ma’am,” Evers said. “My platoon is ready for inspection.”

Archer Company had been divided into two platoons, each consisting of three nine-person squads, plus a two-person crew for each of the six Strykers. That added up to sixty-six people plus Mac, Roupe, and Deeds. Would the force be sufficient? Mac thought so. More people would lead to additional complexity and the likelihood of mistakes.

But what if they were outnumbered? We have night-vision gear, Mac reminded herself. And the Mexicans don’t. Plus, we’ll have a Predator drone circling overhead. So less is more. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Mac said. “Let’s take the tour.”

The final inspection was more for the purpose of interacting with the troops, and maintaining morale, than finding flaws. So things went smoothly. After Mac chatted with the members of the first platoon, she moved on to the second platoon. It was led by Lieutenant Ron Okada. And because Captain Roupe was slated to accompany the second platoon, he was present as well.

There wasn’t much light. But what there was had an orange glow. Even allowing for that, Roupe’s countenance had a sickly appearance. Was he ill? Or simply frightened? He certainly had every right to be. Going back to the place where he’d suffered so much wouldn’t be easy.

But Roupe was the only person who knew his way around the prison. And, if something happened to Mac, it would be his duty to take over. Would he execute her plan? Or switch to his own? Mac would never know. Roupe’s salute was perfect. Mac tossed one in return. “Captain… Lieutenant… Are we ready to roll?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Okada said confidently. “The California Girl was running rough, but the issue was resolved.”

“Good,” Mac replied. “I’d like to say hello to the troops.”

The members of the first squad were standing next to their truck, shooting the shit, when Deeds barked, “Atten-hut!”

Mac said, “As you were,” and paused to chat before moving on to the next squad. And so it went until the inspection was complete.

Mac paused for a private word with Roupe. “You know the drill, Alan. Complete the mission should I fall. And one more thing… Watch our six. There’s no reason to believe that Carbone and her people are onto us. But what if the rebs are watching from orbit? And what if they tipped the Angel off? The bastards could be hiding out there, just waiting to roll in behind us.”

“Don’t worry, Major,” Roupe assured her. “We’ll keep a sharp eye out. There’s no way in hell that they’re going to surprise us.”

“Good,” Mac replied. “I’ll see you in Ascensión.”

Roupe produced a jerky nod followed by a second salute.

Mac returned it, thanked Okada, and made her way back toward the head of the column. Deeds was by her side. “Permission to speak freely, ma’am.”

“Of course. Go.”

“Captain Roupe has been through hell. I think it would be a good idea to keep an eye on him.”

Mac turned to look at Deeds. If there was an expression on his face, she couldn’t see it in the murk. The comment seemed to suggest that someone should protect Roupe. But it could also be interpreted to mean that Deeds considered the XO to be unstable. And if that’s what the noncom meant, he was taking a lot on himself. Many officers would have instructed Deeds to back off. But Mac had faith in Deeds and said as much. “I hear you, Sergeant Major… Use your own judgment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Deeds replied. Then he was gone.

As Mac returned to the head of the column, she was wearing her TAC gear minus the helmet, which was hanging from the BETSY ROSS. Mac put it on. Her RTO was a kid named Harmon. She nodded to him. “Tell the company to saddle up. We roll five from now.”

The BETSY ROSS was in the one slot. The Stryker was equipped with a 105mm gun, and Mac was counting on gunner Alfie Thomas to clear the way if an obstruction appeared.

As Mac made her way through the cargo compartment on her way to the air-guard hatch, she paused to speak with the driver. Her name was Ronda Smith, or Smitty to her peers, and she had an infectious grin. “Hey, Major… You like my whip?”

“I do,” Mac assured her. “Lieutenant Evers says you’re one helluva driver.”

“She got that right,” Smith said proudly. “Don’t you worry none… I’ll get you there.”

“I’m counting on it,” Mac said. “And I’d like to come back, too.”

Smith laughed as Mac turned to climb up into the hatch. The squad was on board by that time, and seated knee to knee in the equivalent of a metal box. Mac’s presence, plus Harmon’s, made the cargo bay even more crowded.

But rank hath privilege, and Mac was free to stick her head up through the hatch and savor the cool air. There was no moon, a high haze was blocking the stars, and the only lights were those that belonged to the other vehicles. They went out one by one. That entailed some risk, of course… But the truck commanders had thermal-imaging gear and could use it to avoid running into each other. Just one of the skills they’d honed while playing capture the flag during the hours of darkness. Even though Harmon was on board, Mac could communicate with the company directly if she chose to. “This is Archer-Six. Watch those intervals… Let’s move out. Over.”

Mac heard the characteristic whine that all Strykers made as the BETSY ROSS got under way. She took the opportunity to turn her night-vision equipment on. Her surroundings glowed green, but she could see quite well and was grateful for that.

Smith and the other drivers had been studying the route for days, and any one of them could lead the column if necessary. The plan was to drive southeast through the desert, cut across a large farm, and enter Ascensión via a secondary road.

That would theoretically enable the company to catch Carbone by surprise. The biggest problem was the need to separate friend from foe to avoid the possibility of a friendly-fire incident. Fortunately, based on Roupe’s account, the prisoners wore bright orange jumpsuits. That would help, but there would still be room for accidents. Her troops would have to be careful.

It was a smooth ride until the BETSY ROSS was forced to slow down and waddle through a dry creek bed. But, thanks to the vehicle’s muscular eight-wheel drive, the Stryker was able to lurch up and out of the arroyo without difficulty.

Mac couldn’t see any obstructions as she eyed the countryside ahead. Smith had the ROSS up to thirty miles per hour by then—and that was likely to be the column’s top speed as it traveled south. If so, the company would arrive in Ascensión within the hour.

Off to her right, Mac could see the cluster of lights that represented the tiny town of El Berrendo, Mexico. Soon after they disappeared, Mac spotted a second set of twinkling lights on the right. They marked the location of a sizeable farm, which, when viewed from above, consisted of buildings surrounded by irrigated crop circles.

So far so good. Next up would be the hills that Mac thought of as “Dos Amigos.” The column would pass them on the left as it angled down to Ascensión. And sure enough… Mac spotted the smaller colina a few minutes later. Smith was following a dirt road at that point. It was the type of backcountry track often used by drug smugglers and illegals as they tried to enter the United States. Except that the flow of ilegales had slowed to almost nothing since the beginning of the war.

They had passed the two amigos, and were making good time, when Okada spoke. “This is Archer-Two. Half a dozen vehicles are approaching the column from the west! They were hiding between the hills. I see two gun trucks… The rest of them are dune buggies. Over.”

Six vehicles coming in fast… It was a no-brainer. One might represent a farmer. Maybe two. But six? Hell, no. Mac felt a sense of apprehension followed by fear. Carbone knew they were coming. The how could wait. “This is Archer-Six actual,” Mac replied. “The second platoon will turn west and engage. The first platoon will form a line abreast and prepare to deal with an attack from the south.”

The attack from the south might or might not occur, but Mac planned to be ready in case more vehicles were streaming north from Ascensión. Mac turned back in time to see flashes of light as the gangbangers opened fire, and Okada’s platoon turned to face them.

It was no match. The CALIFORNIA GIRL was equipped with a 105mm gun. It produced a loud boom. Something exploded, and as it did, flames lit the surrounding desert.

In the meantime, the UNCLE SAM and the MOLLY WONKER were firing as well. The entire engagement lasted no more than three minutes. Okada’s report said it all. “This is Two… All enemy vehicles destroyed. Casualties, zero.”

That was good… As was the fact that no one had attacked from the south. But the overall situation was bad. Very bad indeed. Mac could turn back, which would make sense given the circumstances, or continue on. In spite of the fact that the assholes knew the Union soldiers were coming. Mac was weighing her alternatives as Roupe spoke. “Archer-Five to Six. Should the second platoon turn around? And lead the way back to the base? Over.”

It was a perfectly reasonable if somewhat leading question, and left no doubt as to what Mac’s XO wanted her to do. And why was that? Mac would have expected the ex-POW to be super gung ho. But there was the possibility of PTSD to consider. Perhaps Roupe was maxed out.

Suddenly, and in spite of Roupe’s expressed preference, Mac made her decision. “This is Archer-Six actual. The second platoon will fall in behind the first. The fact that the enemy didn’t attack in force means they believe that we’ll turn back. And if they believe that, then imagine their surprise when we knock on the door! Let’s roll. Over.” Mac heard the sound of cheering from the troops below and grinned.

Now that the decision was made, and the column was under way again, doubts began to surface. Did Carbone think the company would turn back? Or was the Angel of Death’s failure to throw more resources into the attack part of a clever trick? A way to draw the norteamericanos in? If so, Mac was about to lead her people into a trap. That possibility filled her with dread. Don’t panic, Mac told herself, as the Stryker hit a rough spot. Think. Mac looked up into the sky. She couldn’t see the drone but knew the drone was there. And it was carrying two Hellfire missiles. That could even things up.

Mac’s radio might or might not reach the base. So she ducked down into the cramped cargo compartment and looked at Harmon. “I need to speak with Colonel McKinney… Get him on the horn.”

Harmon nodded. And the other soldiers got to listen in as Mac spoke with McKinney. “They know we’re coming, sir. So let’s give them a big dose of shock and awe. The bad guys live in the east wing of the prison. Let’s feed them a Hellfire missile. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and kill Carbone! But even if we don’t, we’ll grease some of her gang members and mix things up. Over.”

“I like it,” McKinney replied. “But what if some POWs are in the east wing for interrogation? Or to mop floors?”

“It’s a risk,” Mac admitted. “But what about our troops? We need to give them an edge. And the missile strike would do that.”

There was a period of silence while McKinney considered it. And when he spoke, the soldiers sitting around Mac could hear him. “We’ll be in some deep shit if this goes wrong, Major… But if I were sitting in one of those cells, I’d say, ‘Go for it.’”

Sergeant Kris Riker nodded. “Damned straight.”

Her troops produced a loud “Hooah,” which caused Mac to smile. “Roger that, sir… We’re about fifteen minutes out. I recommend that you wait ten, fire one Hellfire, and keep the other in reserve.”

“Will do,” McKinney promised. “Keep me informed. Over.”

Mac gave the mike to Harmon and was about to return to her perch when Riker spoke. She had eight years in, and a no-nonsense attitude. “The colonel was right, Major… And so were you.”

Mac forced a smile. “Thanks, Sergeant… Please leave some gangbangers for the second platoon. They’ll get all pissy if you don’t.”

That got the predictable laugh, and Mac felt guilty as she stuck her head up through the hatch. They trusted her, but should they? Especially since she didn’t trust herself.

The lights of Ascensión were visible at that point. And the glow was so bright that Mac was able to turn her night-vision gear off. Would Carbone attempt to stop them at the city limits? Or was she prepared to defend the prison?

Mac was scanning the area ahead, looking for any indication of a roadblock, when a flash of light strobed the city. The boom was like an afterthought. The Hellfire! That’ll give them something to think about, Mac thought to herself. But what if there had been a mistake? What if the missile struck the west wing instead of the east wing? What if a hundred POWs were dead?

Such fears continued to plague Mac as the BETSY ROSS entered town, left the dirt road for a paved street, and took a right turn. That was when Mac saw the police roadblock and realized what she should have known from the beginning. The policía were on the Angel’s payroll and had orders to stop the column.

The cops were hiding behind a couple of black-and-whites, and they scattered as the BETSY ROSS bore down on them. The Stryker was surrounded by a so-called birdcage, which was supposed to protect the vic from RPGs (rocket-propelled grenades). And when the slat armor struck one of the cop cars, it sent the vehicle spinning away. Mac heard Smith’s war cry over the intercom and was glad the cops were okay. The mission was to rescue POWs rather than kill policemen.

Flames lit the area ahead, and because most of the buildings were no more than two stories high, Mac could see the structure that was on fire. And it was the prison. A sudden explosion sent debris upwards, and the resulting boom rolled across the city. There goes Carbone’s ammo supply, Mac thought to herself. We lucked out.

Or so it seemed until gunfire converged on the column from every direction. Most of it was small-caliber stuff that rattled and pinged as slugs flattened themselves against the truck’s armor. But it quickly became apparent that the gangbangers had some fifties, too… And rocket launchers. RPGs began to explode against slat armor.

Mac’s first thought was to get on her LMG and fire back. But the volume of incoming fire was too heavy, and she was forced to drop into the compartment below. Sergeant Riker’s soldiers could hear the rounds pounding the hull and knew they would have to leave the comparative safety of the Stryker soon. Their faces were grim. Mac smiled at them. “Hey there… I’m hungry. Does anyone have a candy bar?”

All of them smiled as the BETSY ROSS came to a stop, and gunner Alfie Thomas went to work. The truck lurched as the 105mm gun fired. “That’s one,” Thomas said. And Mac heard servos whine as the cannon began to traverse.

“Here,” a private said as he gave Mac a chocolate bar. They heard a thump and felt the recoil as Thomas fired again.

“Thanks,” Mac said. “I hope you don’t mind waiting while we tidy up.” That produced the predictable laugh—and Mac began to chew the candy bar as she listened to the radio traffic.

“This is Archer-One,” Lieutenant Evers said. “Put some fire on the white van… Nice work! Bad man dead. Over.

“Look alive truck three. There’s a guy with an RPG launcher on the roof south of you… Grease him. Over.”

And Okada was equally active. “See the bozos by the gate? Give them some forty mike-mike to chew on. And put some on the door, too… Make a hole, people—we’re going in. Over.”

Mac felt a sense of pride as her platoon leaders not only did their jobs but did them with the sort of panache that was a boost to morale. As the incoming fire began to fall off, Mac issued the order the company was waiting for. “This is Archer-Six actual. Truck commanders will drop their ramps. Let’s go in and bring our people out. Over.”

As the ramp dropped, Mac was there to lead the squad out and around the BETSY ROSS. The surrounding streetlights were on—which made it easy to see and be seen. But Mac had an app for that. “This is Archer Six… Kill those lights.”

The lamps went out one by one as a succession of rifle shots were heard. But the east wing was still on fire, and that meant there was plenty of light. A possibility Mac should have considered but hadn’t.

She ran toward the entrance. Mangled bodies lay sprawled in front of the steel doors, but the barriers themselves remained intact. Evers was standing there with a Colt Python in her right fist. It wasn’t reg, but Mac didn’t give a shit what kind of pistol the platoon leader carried so long as she got the job done. Two of her soldiers were busy placing charges against the steel doors. “It’s time to pull back,” Evers said, and followed her own advice.

Carbone’s people began to fire down on the soldiers from above as the officers took cover behind the BOLO II. The incoming stopped as the LMG gunner on the CALIFORNIA GIRL sprayed the second floor with machine-gun fire.

There was a loud explosion as the demolition charge went off, and Mac stepped out from cover to take a look. The door on the left remained intact, but the one on the right was slightly ajar. “Nice job,” Mac said. “Where’s Captain Roupe?”

“Right here,” Sergeant Major Deeds said as he gave Roupe a shove.

As the XO tripped and managed to recover, Mac saw that he was disheveled and unarmed. She turned to Deeds. “What’s going on?”

“The bastard tried to run,” Deeds replied grimly. “Sergeant Haskins caught him.”

The obvious question was why? Was Roupe suffering from PTSD? Or was he a coward? But that would have to wait. Roupe was supposed to lead the company into the prison, and he was going to do it.

Roupe stared at her. “Please! Don’t make me go in there.”

Mac turned to Deeds. “Take this piece of shit into custody and put it on point.”

Deeds grabbed hold of Roupe’s TAC vest and jerked the officer to his feet. “Start walking, sir… We’re counting on you.”

Roupe whimpered as Deeds shoved him toward the steel doors. Mac and the rest of the first platoon followed. Half of Okada’s people fell in behind them. The rest remained outside to provide security.

The steel doors opened onto a passageway that led to the central courtyard and a scene straight out of hell. Flames continued to lick around the edges of the hole in the opposite side of building, and they were reflected in the windows that still had glass in them.

And there, at the center of the courtyard, was a scaffold. A body was dangling from it. Soldiers streamed past as they went looking for the POWs. Shots were heard as they came into contact with the surviving guards.

Mac turned to Roupe. “Where is she? Where is the bitch who runs this place?”

“I-I don’t know,” Roupe said miserably. “Carbone knew we were coming. She could be fifty miles away by now.”

Mac figured that was a real possibility. But if there was any chance of taking the Angel of Death north, she wanted to do so. Certain people, her father included, would have to stand trial after the war. And Carbone would be part of that. “Did she have an office of some sort? A place where she might hole up?”

“Under the east wing,” Roupe replied. “In the basement.”

“Take us there,” Mac said as she prodded him. “On the double.”

Roupe led the way, closely followed by Mac, Deeds, and Harmon, as the sounds of fighting came from the second floor. Smoke drifted in the air, empty shell casings littered the floor, and one of them made a tinkling sound as a boot struck it.

Mac could hear Evers and Okada giving orders over the radio, and it sounded as though they were making progress. A short jog took them to an entrance well away from the flames. Roupe stopped next to the door, pushed it open, and waited to see if he was going to die. He didn’t.

Roupe entered the hall. The lights were out. The corridor turned green as Mac switched her night vision on. A fire alarm continued to bleat as they followed some twists and turns to what had once been a sizeable storage room. It was a chilling place. A wooden riser was located in front of a metal desk. A wooden chair was bolted to it and, judging from the restraints, it had been used to interrogate prisoners.

Was Roupe familiar with the chair? Yes, judging from the way he turned his back on it. “Grab what you can,” Mac instructed as she scooped a stack of printouts off a corner of the desk. “There’s no telling what may have value. Then let’s get out of here.”

Harmon found a canvas shopping bag that the others filled to overflowing before herding Roupe into the hall. The central plaza was a madhouse. Some of the POWs stood in groups. Others lay on makeshift litters, awaiting transport. Evers hurried over. Her eyes flicked from Roupe to Mac. “We have all of them, ma’am… We checked and checked again.”

“Good. How many?”

“Two hundred and seventy-seven,” Evers replied. Mac swallowed the lump in her throat. Two hundred and seventy-seven out of an estimated two hundred and ninety-six. She’d been hoping for more. “Have you heard from the colonel? What’s the ETA on the planes?”

Evers opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted as a scarecrow-like POW uttered a scream and came rushing at them. He had a knife, taken from a guard perhaps, which he held high. “Roupe! You traitorous bastard!”

Deeds was fast. So fast that he was able to step in and disarm the man in a matter of seconds. Roupe turned and tried to run. Harmon tripped him. “Guard him,” Mac ordered. “Kneecap the bastard if you have to.”

Mac knelt next to the POW. He was lying on his back with a massive boot on his chest. “I’m Major Macintyre… You know Captain Roupe?”

“All of us know the rotten, stinking son of a bitch,” the man said bitterly. “The guys were planning a breakout. A big breakout. And Roupe ratted them out. So the Angel let him go. But not before she ordered the guards to execute fourteen prisoners. He stood by her side as they died.” The POW struggled at that point and tried to push the boot off his chest.

Though shocking, the news made sense. No wonder Roupe’s rescue plan was flawed. He wanted the strategy to fail. And how had Carbone known that the company was coming? Because Roupe told her. Mac looked up at Deeds. “You can remove your foot, Sergeant Major… And help him up.”

Mac’s eyes went to the POW. “Don’t worry, soldier… You’ll get a chance to take Roupe down. But not with a knife. Your testimony will help put him away for good.”

The man blinked. “Thank you… I’ve been praying for this day.”

Evers was waiting as Mac stood. Her voice was grim. “We’ve got trouble, Major.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“According to the Pred operator, the local army unit left their quarters next to the airport, and they’re rolling toward Highway 2. We’re talking four French-made Jaguar EBRCs along with two Humvees and a couple of trucks.”

Although Mac had read about the French vehicles, she’d never seen one. She knew they had six wheels and were roughly the same size as a Stryker but more heavily armed. Whereas the BETSY ROSS mounted a 105mm gun, Jaguars were equipped with 40mm cannons, plus side-mounted medium-range antitank missiles. Any of which could reduce a Stryker to a pile of burning scrap.

What’s more, the Jags were equipped with day/night vision, nuclear, biological, and chemical (NBC) protection, a laser warning system, a threat missile-detection system, and they carried gear that could jam radio communications. So the Jaguars were a threat Mac couldn’t take lightly. But why were they headed for Highway 2? Was that a matter of coincidence? Or were the Mexicans acting on intelligence provided by Carbone? The answer seemed obvious. All of it flashed through Mac’s mind as she looked at Evers.

“Congratulations,” Mac said. “You’re the XO now… I’m going to take some Strykers and intercept the Jaguars. Tell the colonel that the C-17s need to circle the city while we secure Highway 2. In the meantime, set up a defensive perimeter, prepare the POWs for transportation, and secure the prisoners. Got it?”

Evers nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Come on, Harmon… Let’s go.” Time was of the essence, so Mac began to jog. Harmon followed. They passed a group of prisoners who wore hoods and were seated on the ground, with their hands secured behind their backs.

Once outside, Mac keyed her handheld radio. “This is Archer-Six actual to trucks one, two, and three. Mexican armor is heading down Highway 2 to intercept our planes. We’re going to stop them! Crank ’em up and let’s move.”

Mac led Harmon into the BETSY ROSS and ordered Smith to head for Highway 2. Mac fell sideways into a seat as the Stryker jerked into motion. Harmon sat across from her. “Get that Pred operator on the horn,” she told him. “Pronto.”

Harmon did as he was told and gave the handset to Mac. “This is Archer-Six actual,” Mac said. “We’re going to intercept those Jaguars. But the surface-to-surface missiles they carry can kill any one of my vehicles in a matter of seconds. I want you to smoke the lead vehicle with your remaining Hellfire. Here’s hoping the officer in charge is riding in it. Then I want you to crash the Pred into Jag two.”

“That’s a roger regarding the Hellfire,” came the response, “and a negative on the Pred. Those suckers cost four million each. Over.”

“I don’t give a shit what they cost,” Mac replied. “You will crash that Predator into Jaguar two—or I will fly to Colorado, find the fucking basement that you live in, and blow your brains out! We’re trying to rescue some POWs, and money doesn’t mean jack shit. Over.”

Another voice chimed in at that point. “This is Victor-Six actual,” McKinney said. “You have your orders… Carry them out now! Over.”

Harmon’s eyes were wide. “What are we going to do?” he wanted to know.

Mac forced a smile. “After our buddy in Colorado kills those Jags, we’ll tackle the others… And we outnumber them.”

Harmon’s expression brightened. “Okay then. We have this.”

The BETSY ROSS lurched as Smith rounded a corner. Mac hoped that her optimism would be justified. She keyed the radio attached to her vest. “Archer-Six actual to trucks one, two, and three. Prepare to operate independently if necessary… The Jaguars may be able to jam our radio transmissions. The key is to get in close and hammer the bastards! Don’t let up. Over.”

Mac heard a series of clicks as she made her way over to the bench where she could access the air-guard hatch. Most of what happened next would be up to Smith and her gunner. But Mac wanted to see, and firing the LMG would give her something to do.

Mac arrived up top just in time to see a flash of light and the crack of what sounded like thunder. The Hellfire! But was it on target? Harmon’s voice crackled through her earbud. “This is Archer-Nine… The Pred operator confirmed a bug splat. Over.”

Mac knew that a “splat” was a hit. She opened the intercom. “Aim for the flames, Smitty… That’s where the bastards are.”

A second boom was heard, and Mac saw the explosion. It was smaller, however… As if fueled by the Predator’s propellant rather than the gas in the Jaguar’s tank. “This is nine,” Harmon said. “The second target was damaged but not destroyed.”

Ah well, Mac thought. It’s better than nothing… I’ll take it.

That was when a Mexican missile hit the DON’T TREAD ON ME and obliterated it. Mac felt the pressure wave hit her from behind and heard a thunderous BOOM. She turned, saw that the burning hulk was falling away behind them, and knew that both of the Stryker’s crew members were dead. Shit, shit, shit.

Engines roared as the remaining Strykers raced past a brightly lit cantina and out onto Highway 2. Mac stood ready to fire the LMG as she eyed the brightly illuminated area ahead. The lead Jag had been reduced to a pile of burning scrap. But beyond it, and still headed for the section of road where the C-17s were going to land, she could see the other vehicles. And they were turning to face her! The enemy was going to fight.

Mac keyed her mike. “Step on the gas! Get in close! What are you waiting for, Thomas? Smoke the bastard.”

The criticism was unfair. Thomas fired as Mac spoke, the BETSY ROSS lurched, and Mac heard a loud clang as the empty casing hit the street behind the vic and tumbled away. The 105mm shell landed short of the lead Jaguar but just barely.

The enemy unit’s 40mm cannon began to chug, and the BETSY ROSS shook as a burst of shells exploded against the front of the vehicle. The armor held, but Mac knew that it was just a matter of time before the incoming rounds found their way in. As Mac dropped into the cargo compartment, Thomas uttered a loud whoop of joy. “Got the bastard!”

Two to go, Mac thought to herself as she climbed back up. The situation had changed. Now the surviving Jaguars were turning off Highway 2 in an attempt to escape the Strykers. And, thanks to some aggressive driving, the range was closing fast. Could the Mexicans fire their missiles at a target located behind them? Mac hoped they couldn’t.

The damaged machine was trailing smoke. And even though the Jag’s gunner should have been able to spin the 40mm gun around, it was facing forward. Was that the result of incompetence? Or had the turret jammed?

That became a moot point as Thomas fired again and scored a direct hit. The shell hit the Jaguar where its armor was the thinnest and punched a hole through it. The resulting flash of light strobed the surrounding buildings. And as pieces of fiery debris fell out of the sky, the surviving vehicle sped away into the desert.

“Let them go,” Mac ordered as she watched the surviving Mexican vics drive away. “Harmon… Get on the horn. Tell the colonel that the planes can land and tell Evers to get ready.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harmon replied.

Mac keyed her mike. “This is Archer-Six actual… It’s time to set roadblocks at both ends of the landing strip. Truck one will block Highway 2 at the Del Carmen intersection, and truck two will block the road at Farm Road 3. Don’t let anyone pass in either direction.”

The BOLO II rolled past as Smith turned out into the road. Ideally, they would have had some soldiers along to manage the roadblocks, but they didn’t. So it was up to Mac and Harmon to handle things at the first checkpoint, while the BOLO’s two-person crew took care of the second. Fortunately, it was late, and there was very little traffic.

Mac jumped down onto the highway and looked up at the sky. She could hear the C-17s, but she couldn’t see them. Not until the first plane’s landing lights came on. The big four-engine jet transport was very low—and approaching from the northeast.

According to Mac’s calculations, there was enough room for the Globemaster to touch down on the center of the highway and clear the telephone poles that ran along both sides of it. And those numbers had been checked and double-checked.

Still, what if something had changed since then? What if a wing clipped a new billboard? The plane might crash, killing the crew and leaving the POWs without a way out.

That concern plagued Mac as the plane came straight at her and roared over her head. The rush of air associated with the Globemaster’s passage was so powerful that it almost knocked Mac off her feet. Tires screeched as the C-17 touched down, and the thrust reversers came on. They slowed the plane and reduced the possibility that foreign objects would be sucked up and into the engines.

No sooner had the cargo jet rolled to a stop than the rear hatch opened, lights appeared, and a ramp was deployed. Mac felt a sense of pride as a specially equipped bus loaded with medics rolled down onto Highway 2 and pulled away from the plane. An Air Force Combat Control Team had deplaned and had taken charge of the makeshift runway. The first C-17’s engines began to scream as it took off and another plane came in for a landing.

Mac turned to Harmon. She had to shout. “Tell Evers to send two Strykers. We should provide escorts for the buses.”

A Globemaster landed, delivered a bus, and took off again. The MOLLY WONKER and the UNCLE SAM had arrived by then and took up protective positions at both ends of the column, which departed seconds later. The prison was ten minutes away, and the operation was running on time.

Mac debated whether to return to the prison or remain in the landing zone, and decided on the latter as the fourth C-17’s pilot cranked the thrust reversers up—and backed her plane up the highway. It was something to see, and Mac was staring at the strange sight, when Lieutenant Colonel McKinney materialized out of the gloom. There was a big grin on his face. “Hello, Major… Fancy meeting you here.”

They exchanged salutes and spent the next few minutes bringing each other up to speed. McKinney was sorry to hear about the loss of the DON’T TREAD ON ME, but pleased to learn that the prison had fallen, and the evacuation process was proceeding smoothly.

The officers were still talking when the medical bus arrived from the prison, rolled in behind the C-17, and propelled itself up into the ramp. Once the vehicle was inside the cargo bay and properly secured, the jet’s ramp came up. The noise produced by the C-17’s engines increased. Moments later, the transport was thundering down the makeshift runway even as another Globemaster landed to pick up another bus loaded with POWs.

After the prisoners were loaded onto the last plane, and Mac’s personnel were assembled next to the highway, she shook hands with McKinney. “Take care, sir. I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” McKinney told her. “Watch your six.”