by

Jonathan Foust
 

“Two minutes to target!” the pilot’s voice called through the comm set to all the onboard crew.

Colonel Solomon felt the throb of the Blackhawk’s engines course through him as his command chopper approached the last known location of attack group Katana.  He had been in charge of this operation to bring down Mexican crime kingpin Mario Lopez de Tecate.  Intel had put all manner of nasty doings square on the head of Mr. Tecate, but it was when the word “invasion” started to pop up that things got really serious.

Weapons, mercenaries, planes. . .the buildup was so obvious that it was hardly worth the $4 billion satellite’s time to point it all out.  Even the Mexican government was concerned enough that when the U.S. State Department started to talk about military options they opened the door and put out the welcome mat.

The plan behind Operation Southern Sword was simple: fly in a few squads of SPECOPS troops and blow Tecate’s cartel out of the water before they had a chance to cross over and do any harm.

At 0530 the plan changed.

Last report was that the chopper carrying Lieutenant Decker and his team was coming in low over the desert when they suddenly went down hard.  Lieutenant Corey’s chopper moved to intercept and was likewise grounded.  Both choppers went silent.  Both teams unaccounted for.

Solomon knew that the place where they went down was inside the continental U.S.  It might not have been enemy action.  It could just be a coincidence . . .one amazing coincidence.  He also knew that he was now riding at the head of what would be called the single largest domestic military mobilization during peacetime. 

“Peacetime,” the colonel half-laughed half-coughed to himself.  Was there really any such thing?

            
“One minute to target,” a swarthy mercenary in a floral shirt sneered over the small radar set propped in his lap.  Next to him another man squinted into the sight of his Soviet-made anti-aircraft rocket. 

“General de Tecate,” the man called into his radio.  “The Bull, she is in the ring.”

General Tecate smiled a foul yellow smile behind his smoldering Cuban cigar.  “Kill it, Ignacio.  Kill it like you did the others.”

“Thirty seconds, Colonel!”

Colonel Solomon crossed himself and gave the ready orders.  He knew that, whatever he found once he hit the ground, this war had already begun.  It was up to him and his men to stop it.  This threat would be stopped here, now.  He had twenty-four hours to put a lid on this before word leaked out and panic spread.  He tightened his helmet strap and looked at the men around him.  All of them were good soldiers—good men—and now it was up to each of them to do his duty.

“Lock and load!” he called.  “I’ll see you on the ground!”