Page 2 of Operation: Silent Angel
“Bring up the previous satellite image of this area,” Yvette said. Then she looked back at the monitor with Bulldog’s mission. The team was nearly upon the convoy. The six heavily armored trucks were far enough off, but not for long.
“That little ridge to the north of the building wasn’t there in the last satellite footage from last week,” Dupont said. “Sherlock, proceed with extreme caution.”
Yvette’s eyes flickered to the two side-by-side images on the monitors. “What do you think? Weapons? Bodies?”
“I’m thinking a cache of weapons,” Dupont said. “Those trucks are normally people transporters, but they could have been loaded with weapons.”
Believing he had it well in hand, Yvette’s attention turned back to Bulldog’s mission. All that separated them from the five-vehicle convoy was a rise. “Target’s ETA, two minutes,” Yvette transmitted. “Shopper, deliver the package.” Shopper was the callsign of the jockey piloting the unmanned MQ-9 Reaper drone.
“Roger that, Control,” the pilot replied with a heavy Texas twang. “You’ll see the package before the convoy arrives at your twenty, Bulldog. It’s coming in right over your heads.”
Yvette clicked her keyboard and added the visual transmission from the drone on a monitor beside the satellite feed. The drone flew low to the ground, within twenty-five feet, speeding over the desolate landscape. Within seconds, it buzzed over Bulldog’s two vehicles just as they neared the crest of the rise. “Package arriving at target,” she transmitted.
“See it, Control,” Bulldog acknowledged as four of the eight AGM-114 Hellfire missiles the drone carried, launched at the two front and two rear vehicles in the convoy. A split second later, four concussions rocked the ground as fireballs erupted high above the blazing, dismantled vehicles.
The drone looped around and came back over the carnage just as Bulldog’s team engaged the survivors of the attack. Bulldog’s Team’s vehicles came in fast, multiple men firing at the few stunned Tangos who were just pulling themselves to their feet, having been thrown clear of their vehicles when the missiles hit. Most of the enemy went back down fast.
The bursts of the automatic weapons fire and the loud purr of the armored vehicles filled the control room, and the one earphone Yvette had in place over her left ear, the other worn behind her right ear. A separate speaker filled the room with the sounds from Shanahan’s team, which at that moment were the quiet conversations of the team. There was the ability to turn off and isolate specific mission feed when two missions were going on at the same time to reduce the chaos in the Ops Center,but Yvette and Dupont rarely did that when they were on duty together.
Yvette’s attention went back to the six armored vehicles moving in from the northwest. They were close enough that they would have seen the fireballs and smoke. “Bulldog, you have maybe six minutes before your party’s crashed by uninvited guests.”
There were several more blasts of gunfire, which Yvette knew meant the team was still encountering resistance. Bursts of dialogue confirmed two of Bulldog’s men were hit. Their medic transmitted their conditions, neither fatally wounded.
“Moving in on the target vehicle now,” Bulldog transmitted. “This fucker better be worth it.”
More gunfire erupted, and then an explosion Yvette knew was a flashbang going off. There was shouting in Arabic, the sounds of metal doors slamming open, more gunfire, and screams of pain. They’d breached the armored vehicle.
“Target acquired,” a voice transmitted. It wasn’t Bulldog’s voice. “Bulldog’s been hit, get us an evac!”
Not that hitting the force coming in from the northwest, which was now way too close, was a part of the plan, it was now. Yvette toggled the communications link to go back to the drone pilot. “Shopper, we need another pass. Can you take out the six vehicles closing in on the first target?”
“Negative, Control, can’t take them all out. But we can engage and slow them down,” the drone jockey replied.
“That works,” Yvette transmitted. “Keep them busy for as long as you can. I need at least seven minutes.”
“You’ve got five,” the Texan said.
Yvette toggled back to Bulldog’s group and conferenced in the chopper pilot. “Primary LZ evac now! You’ve got five minutes to get in, load up, and get the hell out of Dodge before your party crashers from the northwest are on you.”
“Roger that, Control,” the chopper pilot answered.
Checking the radar, Yvette saw that the chopper was screaming in low over the terrain, coming in from the south. She heard through the feed when it landed, heard the muffled voices of Bulldog’s team as they loaded their wounded, and she heard the deafening concussions when the grenades they tossed into their vehicles exploded.
“Clear from the scene with the target. He’s wounded, but he’ll live,” Bulldog’s second in command transmitted.
“What is the condition of the team?” she asked.
“Three injured, no casualties, en route to base. Have medical personnel standing by.”
“Roger that,” Yvette acknowledged. “ETA?”
“Forty minutes,” the chopper pilot answered.
Yvette switched off the mission feed. If the pilot called back for any reason, it would come into her headset. She turned her attention to the satellite images that were still displayed of the site that Shanahan’s Team was investigating.
“They’re just entering the structure,” Dupont told her.
The thud of a wooden door splintering as it was kicked open was followed by bursts of gunfire, screams, and grunts. Yes, Yvette and anyone who worked Ops knew the distinct sounds associated with a wood door being breached compared to a metal door. Having seen countless missions on camera feed, which this one was not, she could easily envision the scene playing out from the sounds alone — gunfire, flashbangs, grenades. They all had distinct and defined sounds.
