Dale Brown - Edge of Battle

“TALON wasn’t made to guard a base or stay in one place—we’re hunters, not rent-a-cops,” Jason said bitterly. “As long as TALON is here, we’re sitting ducks for the Consortium. TALON was successful against the Consortium because we were aggressive and offensive—we took the fight to them . Here, they don’t have to hunt us—they know exactly where we are, and they can take all the time they want planning an attack.”

Richter’s hands were subconsciously clenched into fists, and his voice was shaking with anger. “This will not happen again, Kelsey—I swear it,” Jason went on adamantly. “I don’t care who it is—federal agents, illegals, or terrorists—I will not allow this task force to work with its hands tied behind its back, anywhere, but especially on American soil.”

“Ease up, Major,” Kelsey said, her voice firm. “This is not a personal crusade, and Task Force TALON is not alone out here. You’re part of a team—start working like it.”

“That’s what I’m doing here, Miss Director…”

“By having Falcone inside a CID unit grab two U.S. marshals and use them to club down another federal agent?” She didn’t like Jason suddenly turning sarcastically formal on her, but he had it coming—he was still acting like Task Force TALON was his own private personal boys’ club. She pointed to the ruined TEMPER units, surrounded now by National Guard soldiers starting to repair the damage. “What are you going to have your CIDs tear down next, Jason—the Border Patrol regional headquarters, after you get shut down? The federal courthouse, after they arrest Falcone for assaulting a federal officer? Are you going to take on the entire Justice Department because you want to run this assignment your way?”

She stopped and put her hands on her hips; Richter stopped but only half-turned toward her. “You haven’t changed much since we began the task force, Richter—you haven’t learned a thing. You’re little more than a spoiled laboratory nerd out here playing army with your fancy high-tech toys. It’s getting tiresome. Sure, you had some victories—but that’s only when you worked with others like the FBI and the rest of the U.S. military. But now the stakes are higher—there are lives at stake here, not just terrorists but peaceful, unarmed, regular people. Maybe this job isn’t for you.”

“Bull, Kelsey. This is my job. TALON can do anything we’re assigned…”

“Sure it can—but maybe you can’t lead it,” Kelsey said. “Maybe you ought to turn this assignment over to someone else and go back to your lab where you belong. In fact, I think I might recommend that to the AG. After this morning’s incident, I think he’ll do it to avoid a mutiny in his own department—at the very least, he’ll have to do it to avoid an international incident and official government protest. Until the White House decides what to do with you, Major, I suggest you adopt an extremely low profile—for the sake of this operation as well as your own career.”

“Kelsey, I may just be a nerd engineer with no field experience,” Jason said, “but I was chosen to lead this task force, and my task force was deployed to this location, so I’m going to do the job I was assigned the best way I know how. The President or Ray Jefferson can shit-can me any time they feel like it, for whatever reason—or for no reason. Until then, I’m going to operate my men and equipment my way, following whatever guidance or directives I’m given. I’m going to…”

He was interrupted by a beep from his command radio: “TALON One, TALON Two,” Ariadna radioed. “Condor has detected several large vehicles heading our way from the south across the border, about six kilometers out.”

At the same time, Ben Gray radioed, “TALON One, we have a possible situation out here at the south perimeter.”

“On my way,” Jason responded. Both he and Kelsey hurried off.

They found Gray standing on the roof of a Humvee, scanning the area to the south with binoculars. “Three armored personnel carriers, about five klicks south of us, spread out about two klicks along the border,” he reported when Richter and DeLaine ran up. “The one closest to us looks like an old World War Two half-track; the others are M-113s, with 12.7 mm machine guns mounted on the gunner’s turrets. I see flags of Mexico on their radio antennae.”

“Do they look like the real thing?” Jason asked.

Both Gray and DeLaine looked at Richter curiously—obviously neither of them had considered that they might not be official Mexican government vehicles. Gray scanned them again. “They look real enough to me,” he said, his voice definitely a bit more strained. “They look…hold on…they’re dismounting troops. I count…ten soldiers coming out of each vehicle carrying heavy packs and rifles.”

“We’re outgunned,” Jason said. “All we have is small arms and the CID units against three APCs and a platoon of infantry. It’s no better than even right now, and if we lost the CID unit, we’d be toast in minutes. Ben, better organize your security forces and stand by for action.” Gray blanched slightly and hurried off.

“‘Lost the CID units’? What are you talking about, Jason?” Kelsey asked as Gray sprinted past her. “You think the Mexican army means to attack us?”

“I’m not assuming they’re Mexicans,” Jason said, “or if they are, they’re not part of the Mexican army.”

“Who do you think they…?” Kelsey stopped—she finally figured out who Jason was worried about. “You think they might be Consortium? ”

“Yegor Viktorvich Zakharov was a pro in recruiting local military personnel and getting his hands on all sorts of military hardware, all over the world,” Jason said worriedly. “That slimebag recruited dozens of American military men and stole hundreds of millions of dollars of weaponry, including helicopters, armored vehicles, and even a multiple rocket launcher, to assault Washington, D.C., and the White House. The bastard even stole Secret Service uniforms and equipment and got his hands on the President of the United States himself during his attack on Washington. If he could do that, he can certainly get control of Mexican military hardware and personnel.” He clicked the mike button on his command transceiver. “Ari…”

“I’ve got a call in to Jefferson at the White House, J,” Ariadna said. “They told me to stand by. I’m sending Condor imagery to TALON headquarters at Cannon to see if we can identify any of those soldiers.”

“What do they think they’re going to do?” Kelsey asked. “Are they going to assault the base?”

“It’s a possibility,” Jason said. “If it’s the Consortium, and their attack is successful, they could throw the entire continent of North America into a terrorism panic.” He changed channels on his command transceiver. “CID One.”

“I’m receiving the downlink from the Condor,” Falcone responded. “I’m in the aircraft maintenance hangar. What’s the plan?”

“Stay out of sight until we see what they’re going to do,” Jason said.

“Wilco.”

“Break. CID Two.”

“I’ve got them on my datalink too, sir,” Sergeant First Class Harry Dodd, U.S. Army, piloting the second Cybernetic Infantry Device, responded. “I’m eight point seven miles east of Rampart One. I can be there in thirteen minutes.”

“Negative. Hold your position for now. You’re guarding our east flank. Sound off if you see anything going on.”

“Roger.”

“This might just be a show of force, or some kind of probe,” Kelsey said. “They must know about our CID units…” But she fell silent—she knew she could not afford to assume anything right now.