In charge of Operation Catcher, back at Division Command Post, Lieutenant Colonel Paulson sat next to his Bravo Company commander, Captain John Barton. It was Barton’s Second Platoon on the ground, responsible for mission execution. Next to both men sat Federal Inspector Dan Cone. Excitement hung heavy in the air.
The plan was basic. Encircle without being seen and then overpower. Two squads from Bravo Company, Second Platoon, eighteen dismounted soldiers, were to surround the target house. Once in place, two fighting vehicles from the platoon were to race up and, with overwhelming firepower, demand the surrender of ROAS Staff Sergeant Lisa McMichael. The rest of the platoon, Third Squad, and two other fighting vehicles were to stay in reserve. As an added precaution, two Custer vertical-lift aircraft remained on standby and, if needed, could be over the target within five minutes.
Paulson felt confident. He’d more than enough assets assigned to achieve mission success. He understood, like most plans, changes evolved based on circumstances. High above the target house, unmanned aerial vehicle surveillance provided continuous coverage and earlier in the day spotted a man entering and spending time in the residence. Intelligence believed the man was a neighbor living behind the target. Paulson decided it was a good break and revised the tactical plan.
The UAV, as had been the case since early in the morning, continued circling high above the house, unseen or heard by the occupants. Flying in a tight figure eight, the unmanned aircraft provided live video to the HQ operational command team.
In the previous hour, Paulson watched as Bravo Company, Second Platoon crept unobserved through the suburban back and side yards and moved into place. Now, on three sides of the target house, other than the desert facing south, his troops lay in wait. Not only were they inside the surrounding houses, but at least one soldier clung to each roof providing overwatch. Only the front of the target, the southern exposure facing a road and the open desert, remained open.
But that was about to change. Engines idling, several blocks from where they’d dismounted their infantry squads, two fighting vehicles awaited orders.
“Remember, we need her alive and unharmed,” said Inspector Cone. He hovered behind the two infantry officers, both of whom stared into monitors watching real-time surveillance video and wearing headsets.
Colonel Paulson ignored the statement.
“I still think Special Forces is better suited for the job. They’re trained in these actions, you know—captures, rescues, and so forth,” said Inspector Cone.
Angry, hearing the words once again, Paulson looked up and glared at the inspector. “Cone, please keep your mouth shut during the operation, or I’ll have you escorted from the command post. And I remind you, General Gist has complete faith in my leadership and the forces under his command. He doesn’t need help from Special Forces, or the Air Force, or any outside units. Gist made that point earlier. Now, act as an observer and stay quiet, or leave.”
Cone was about to open his mouth when the radio came to life.
“Catcher Actual, Catcher Team One. Target C is in custody and talking. I repeat Target C is talking and confirms location of Target B. But Target C cannot confirm Target A and claims zero knowledge of her. Do you copy and should we proceed with phase-two as planned? Over.”
The first curve-ball, thought Paulson. The neighbor, Target C, was claiming knowledge of Target B, Upton, but not of Target A, McMichael. But it dawned on Paulson that this was a better opportunity than he had hoped. Not answering the radio call, instead he turned to Captain Barton. “Tell Catcher Team One to go ahead with phase-two with a minor alteration. We know she’s in there, but let’s act otherwise. Have Lieutenant Peck focus only on Upton. During the surrender negotiation, blame Target C for turning in Upton. Don’t mention McMichael. Once Upton’s in custody, you’re allowed to use whatever force is needed against him to compel McMichael into surrendering. If she doesn’t, move forward as planned. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” said Captain Barton. Two seconds later, he was on the platoon network relaying the new orders.
Colonel Paulson swiveled in his chair towards Cone and laughed. “You don’t mind if we kill Target B, Master Sergeant Upton, do you?”
“Not at all. Just get McMichael alive,” said Cone.
“It’s getting dark,” whispered Staff Sergeant Lisa McMichael, sitting on the tile foyer.
So far, everything remained quiet. Every few minutes, Upton checked the back window and looked through the small crack in the curtains at the neighbor’s drapes. Every time, nothing. As the minutes ticked, Upton doubted himself. Maybe earlier, his eyes had been playing tricks. But he knew better. “I think we should wait longer, give it another fifteen minutes. It’ll be darker.”
McMichael nodded and sitting cross-legged, continued to wait. On her back, she wore the medic pack, and in her right hand, she gripped Kinney’s Glock.
After ten minutes, the stress getting to him, Upton grew impatient. “Time to check the drapes,” he whispered to Upton. Without waiting for a response, on hands and knees, he approached the back window.
He froze.
Upton crawled back, pretending not to notice how hard she was gripping the handgun, and whispered, “Drapes are closed. I knew Rus was a good guy, poor bastard. They must be behind us. We need to move.” He ran McMichael’s game plan through his mind. They’d both dash through the door with hands up. If not confronted, they’d take off through the desert. About to explain, he detected a sound, getting louder. “You hear it?” he whispered to McMichael.
McMichael shook her head.
Upton knew that ever since the shelling, she couldn’t hear well out of one ear. But then, she seemed to pick up the noise and nodded.
He could now hear and feel the approaching dread. An engine, metal treads on pavement, getting louder, vibrations emanating through the tile floor.
“We have to surrender,” said McMichael, her eyes round with fear.
Upton ignored the statement. Standing up, he looked through a peep hole in the front door. Across the street, the desert and salvation beckoned. He almost reached down for McMichael to make a run for it, when all at once an armored fighting vehicle emerged. The huge machine stopped in the street and in a swift motion swiveled its 30 mm chain gun in his direction. Worse, a second vehicle appeared and, parallel to the other monster, did the same.
“We’re fucked,” said Upton.
“What is it?” asked McMichael, still sitting on the tile floor, looking at the door with fear in her eyes.
“Two Stuarts just pulled up in the street facing us. There’s a guy standing in each hatch.”
Both Upton and McMichael jumped at the sound of a loudspeaker.
“This is United States Army Lieutenant Peck. Master Sergeant Upton, you’re surrounded. I repeat, we have the house surrounded. Mr. Russel Jarvis told us everything. Upton, leave your weapons and helmet in the house and come out with your hands raised. You have two minutes to comply, or we’ll level the house and arrest Mr. Jarvis for colluding with the enemy. If you surrender, Mr. Jarvis is a free man, and you’ll receive proper treatment as a prisoner of war. You have my word as an officer. Master Sergeant Upton, you have two minutes.”
“God, I hate to think what they’re doing to Rus. We need to surrender,” said McMichael.
“Hold it,” said Upton. He hadn’t mentioned McMichael to the neighbor. Maybe they weren’t aware of her. Lisa could hide in the house while he surrendered. Sure, they’d do a cursory search afterward, but they might not discover her. Later, she could slip away. Mind racing, earlier while McMichael slept, he’d found only one decent hiding place. Yes, his life was finished, but not McMichael’s—not yet.