G S P Chapter 11 13 Fang and the Spirits of the Dead
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Jamal's body tingled with excitement as he eagerly awaited the grenade's explosion. He checked over his shoulder one last time, ensuring that the men crouched behind him were ready for action. The power had just been cut by another member of his team, and the flash bang would detonate at any second. He tightened his grip on the submachine gun. Once the grenade stunned the people sitting around the table, he would rise up and slaughter them; shooting unmercilessly through the kitchen window. They would never know what hit them.
Max's night vision goggles saturated when the flash bang exploded in midair. The trained operative inside screamed to abort the mission. Something was terribly wrong. They could regroup and try again later. But Max's character would allow no such thing. Weakness, no matter how justified, was not an option. He touched his throat mike. "Who's got eyes? Can anyone see? Answer me, dammit."
"Alpha Team here, no movement in the house. What the hell happened? Looks like one of our guys is down."
"I'm near the backdoor. Want me to rush?" Roberto, the man who cut the power earlier, was waiting in ambush behind the house. His job was to cut short any escape attempts.
"Affirmative. Take the backdoor, meet up with Bravo Team out front. Go! Bravo Team you have a friendly inside." At least the operation wasn't completely FUBAR, Max thought. His paranoid nature would save the day, again.
Roberto rose from his hiding spot and raced across the backyard. After cutting the power, he had taken up a position about fifty feet from the house. He kicked in the back door and proceeded cautiously into the sunroom. The normally cheery space, filled with plants of all sizes, was a uniform green glow in his night vision goggles. He swept the room with his submachine gun. No sign of movement.
Roberto proceeded to the living room. There was an open closet door next to the stairs. He crept over, but found only a giant safe with a plaque on it. Inscribed on the plaque was the Second Amendment.
In the kitchen, there was nothing but broken glass and overturned chairs. Roberto reached the front door without encountering the targets. Bravo Team had recovered and rushed in to meet him.
"Boss, it's Roberto." He clicked on the throat mike. "No sign of them. They must be upstairs. One of our guys is dead; they've got at least one gun!"
"Shit!" Max yelled. "Level the fucking house. Kill the bastards! Burn 'em out! Make sure you get rid of the body out front."
"With pleasure." Roberto motioned for the group to exit the house. From twenty feet away, they lined up. The firing squad unleashed a hailstorm of lead. Splinters and paint flew from the house as bullets riddled the second story. No one could possibly escape the maelstrom alive. After exhausting several magazines apiece, it was time to deliver the final blow.
After stripping the dead body of anything of value, Roberto motioned for two men to heave the corpse through the kitchen window. Once they were at a safe distance from the house, Roberto turned, pulled an incendiary grenade from the webbing on his shoulder, called a warning into the mike, pulled the pin, and lobbed it through the window. Two other men followed suit. Within minutes, the house was completely ablaze. The gas line melted and the two story house became a towering inferno.
"Neighbors are on the way," Alpha Team called over the secure communication system. "You have two minutes."
"Load up. You've got thirty seconds before we leave your ass," Max whispered into his throat mike. They were loaded within twenty seconds and safely out of sight before the first neighbor showed up in an old farm truck. There wasn't much left of the house. All they could do was watch it burn.
Alpha Team stayed behind and continued scanning the area with the deadly Barretts until the volunteer fire department showed up. At the sound of the first siren, they melted into the darkness and into a waiting pickup truck.
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