Edge of Valor: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller(51)
The patrol drove two Humvees with turret-mounted M2s and weren’t hard to miss—or evade.
It seemed more like posturing. A warning for desperate citizens to steer clear or face the consequences. These soldiers weren’t here to hand out water bottles and toothbrushes.
Once the patrol passed, Liam’s assault team kept moving.
With the makeshift antennae, Reynoso directed them to the soft target location about eight blocks from the Boulevard Inn. The bulk of the General’s transport and fuel supplies were tucked into the two-story parking garage between a wine store and an auto insurance business.
Four soldiers guarded the entrance, separated into two-man teams. There likely wouldn’t be anyone inside, just the sentries outside along the perimeter. Three males and one female. Two were armed with M60 machine guns and wore body armor with ceramic plates.
The soldiers looked grim, bored, and miserable. Their posture lax, shoulders drooping.
The lack of electricity was taking its toll. The hunger. Constant discomfort and sleep deprivation. Separation from friends and family.
They were soldiers, but they weren’t battle-hardened special operators. Many were probably torn between their duty to country and their responsibilities to loved ones. Each day, they waged an internal battle, a struggle between honor and shame, duty and family.
They didn’t know it, but they were following the orders of a sociopath who didn’t care whether they lived or died, or if their loved ones were safe, sheltered, and fed.
Liam massaged the trigger guard, every muscle taut, his stomach knotted with misgiving.
A fresh surge of loathing struck him. Yet another Sinclair forcing his hand, making him choose between impossible options.
Instead of the peace he longed for, he was going to war.
“Alpha Team Three, this is Alpha One,” Bishop said into his radio. “We’re in position.”
There was no response. They were out of range. Liam looked at his watch. They knew communication was going to be crap, so they’d timed the attack. Any second now.
Several miles away, Hayes led a team to create a diversion. Using a homemade napalm mixture, they’d set a TJ Maxx ablaze. The General’s scouts would send a team to investigate.
Once the unit responded to the diversion, the secondary team would ambush them and pin them down—hopefully, without taking casualties.
In response, the General would send his reaction force, tying them up and wasting precious fuel and ordnance.
Utilizing Michigan’s rolling terrain to their advantage, Hayes had set up an ambush location at a choke point between two exposed hills. They were dug in behind rock and dirt berms to protect them from the M2’s firepower.
The long-range ambush would reduce the Guard’s effectiveness while allowing Team Three to break contact before the soldiers could strike back. It was one of the Taliban’s favorite tactics.
They’d constructed an IED to detonate ahead of the armored vehicle, designed to disable it without killing its occupants. When the guardsmen jumped out of the Humvees to scramble for cover, Hayes’s team would open fire on the vehicles to disable them before making a quick exit.
Team Three would then head back to set up another ambush along M-139 in case Liam or Perez were pursued.
As Hayes engaged the General’s forces outside the city, Liam’s team would eliminate a significant portion of the General’s transports and fuel while Perez’s team targeted the ammo dump site.
Anxiety crackled through him. No plan survived first contact with the enemy. There were a hundred ways this could go sideways, though he’d analyzed each one a dozen times. The stress points and weaknesses.
He’d planned for contingencies. Had back-ups to his back-up plan. Multiple exit strategies.
It still might not be enough.
Liam settled down to wait, the only sound his own shallow breathing. Constantly scanning all sides of their position, checking windows, doors, and rooflines, attuned to the slightest sound, the most imperceptible movement. The telltale glint of a scope.
A minute later, the growl of several engines shattered the still air—the General’s quick reaction force.
Seven Humvees roared north toward Hayes’ team. Thirty seconds later, four more Humvees roared past, loaded with men, weapons, and ammo.
Liam, Bishop, and Reynoso exchanged tense glances.
Liam’s heart rate slowed; his breathing steadied. He was in the zone. This was it. They would only get this one chance to strike first.
They’d better make it count.
Five minutes later, it was go time.
35
Liam
Day One Hundred and Eleven
Using hand motions, Liam directed Reynoso and Bishop to head right to flank their targets and put them in an L-ambush.
They backtracked the way they’d come and circled the targets, coming out to the west of the parking garage.
A second later came the whomp, whomp, whomp of the General’s Black Hawk taking flight in the distance. It was headed north to assist the soldiers Team Three had pinned down.
Hayes would break contact and disappear before the air asset reached them. The Black Hawk would return soon—Liam’s assault teams needed to be long gone by then.
Pressed against the side of a small art museum, Liam tensed, adrenaline spiking. He pulled a flashbang from his chest rig. Removing the safety tape from the pull ring, he gripped the spoon between his right-hand thumb and pointer finger.