Command Sergeant Major Peter Birdsall and his squad of ten were baking in a beat-up, unmarked van parked on the street. The men were hot, sweaty, and growing antsy.
They were all recovering from the night on pass cut short. They were a tight squad. Their motto was the squad that fights together, raises hell together, and last night they didn’t disappoint.
They were not supposed to deploy today, but apparently, the brass had received some new intelligence that made it imperative that they mobilize.
It was almost time. The sun was beginning to rise and bathe the cesspool of a town in golden light, purging the sins of the night prior.
The only remaining illumination was that of the holo-panels on parked cars flashing ads for Mexican beer and strip clubs. The cars were obsolescent models, the first generation of electric. The United States was already in its third generation.
Soon the streets would be bustling with people. If they were going to maintain a low profile, they had to move now. Peter cleared his throat.
He was consulting his Mini-com Multi-tasker. Only the size of a pack of gum, it projected a screen that was flashing information.
“Alright, listen up. Intel says that some major players in the Navajas gang are staying in the second floor apartment across the street. There are reported to be only three of them, high ranking members, maybe even a capo, so this is going to be a simple smash-and-grab.”
There was backslapping, high-fiving, and a flurry of macho remarks. Peter put his hand up. They listened.
“But keep in mind that our Special Forces were down here not long ago training the Navajas to help the Mexican government in the war on drug cartels. Unfortunately, these Navajas realized that they could make more money using their new training as security for the cartels, and then eventually they became the cartels.
“These are not debutants. They know our tricks, they know our tactics, and they’re sure as shit going to use them against us.”
Corporal Apone was wearing a sly grin.
“Yeah, well, we’ve learned a few things since then. They haven’t tasted army tough yet.”
The other men hooted and hollered in support. They sounded like a football team in the locker room before the championship game.
Peter raised his hand again, half in recognition of Apone’s sentiment, and half to impress upon his men his point.
“While that is true, these Navajas are not to be underestimated. So listen up. We need to cross the street fast while keeping an eye all round us. Squad Vee formation. Once we breach the building through the front, we switch to two fire teams in squad column formation and take the second floor.”
Corporal Apone nodded, and the men grunted in affirmation.
“Remember your training, because it is that very training that will keep you alive. This ain’t amateur hour, and it’s no time for mistakes. Am I clear?”
The men grunted.
A bead of sweat ran down the side of Peter’s cheek. He checked his watch. He then extended his hand vertically and pointed in each direction. The men dispersed out of their van, covering each other, and proceeded across the street in Vee formation, Peter leading and Apone bringing up the rear.
There was a light breeze, and a stray paper was blowing down the vacant street. In the distance, a three-legged dog was watching them with lazy interest. But its attention quickly shifted to a dog biscuit ad flashing on the side of the nearest car.
They splashed through the filthy gutter as they approached the front door of the storefront. Peter produced his Mini-com Multi-tasker and activated the lock pick application. He began working on the digital lock quickly, but quietly. It was an outdated algorithm, no challenge. The flanks were scanning the quiet street.
All was still. The prostitutes, criminals, and morally licentious were all sleeping off a wild night of drunken debauchery. The city almost seemed decent in the tranquility of morning.
Peter disarmed the lock with what seemed like a pop, but he realized quickly that digital locks don’t pop.
Two men on the right flank were dropped—Spottiswoode and Bertucci.
“SNIPER,” Apone yelled.
Before Peter could bark a command to switch formation, Allen on the left flank was dropped.
“COLUMN FORMATION.”
The men quickly rearranged into two fire teams, and Peter pushed into the building. He felt something graze his shoulder as he dove into the store.
It was some kind of a general store with aisles and shelves. The store was lit, digital sales and prices were flashing on the walls and above the