THE EXTINCTION AGENDA

CHAPTER THREE

Kabul, Afghanistan 

1712 hours.

12th April.

The Humvee at the rear was in the line of fire. The salvo of lethal slugs from the two drones flying parallel to each other was too heavy for the vehicle to contain. Its tough steel exterior was critically damaged till it lost its resistance to the horrendous blitz of hot lead. 

The Humvee exploded, exuding a ball of fire that engulfed the vehicle.

Crowne whimpered at the sight. 

Smith paused for a second, lowering the M134 by the sheer impact of the ballistic.

Shards of burning metal and flesh splayed in the air.

Crowne recognized the game plan was simple for these birds - pick each one of them out like flies floating in a cup of tea.

Crowne yelled at Smith menacingly:'Fire!'

The petrified officer swiveled the weapon in the direction of the drones that drifted through the ensuing inferno and were charging relentlessly at them. He pulled the trigger, slugs pillorying the arid air and heading for the drones. 

The UAVs exhibited an evasive act that was highly impeccable. This frustrated Smith but he persisted, his years of training egging him to remain relentless if he and his colleagues were to remain alive.

Ali was surging the vehicle forward like a spooked deer. Smith and Crowne's sporadic gunfire did nothing to assuage the barrage of bullets from the UAVs.

Crowne withdrew into the cabin of the Humvee and reached for the radio. He poked a button before scrambling the receiver: 'Scorpio. Over.'

Scorpio's apprehensive voice emanated through the device: 'I don't think we can make it.'

'I think we should split up. Assuming a crow's flight in the current situation ain't working. We would head eastwards, the rest of you, westwards. We should keep these birds far apart to avoid more casualties.'

'Aye Aye Captain,' was Scorpio's firm reply.

The radio screeched dead. Crowne nodded at Ali, signaling the movement of the Humvee away from the cobbled highway to the eastern flank which was an extensively desert terrain.

The wheels of the Humvee bobbled furiously as the vehicle crawled through the massive ocean of sand.

Crowne stole a glance at the rearview mirror. The two Humvees at the rear were frantically heading westwards, advancing to a desert landscape too.

Expectedly, the drones split up, soaring after both evading cavalcades.

He contorted his body through the cabin window and assumed his initial position, positioning his rifle on the hood of the Humvee and maintaining a fire.

He was almost running out of ammo. 

The rugged desert terrain made it cumbersome to hit the UAV with a precise shot. On the flip side, it also diminished the level of precision the drones typically possessed. This seemed to temporarily favor Crowne and his men. The tendency of firing a rocket particularly if a target had been locked by a UAV would only lead to a catastrophic outcome.

The Humvees wheels bobbled, causing its hydraulics to squeak angrily at the plethora of bumps evident in the Kabul desert. 

The chasing drone had covered an ample distance. It was momentarily decreasing its speed and slowly engaging in a deadly glide, rapidly gaining a higher ceiling, this maneuver made Crowne's thoughts go riot - this move was not a good sign. It suddenly halted fire.

He noticed a slight movement underneath the belly of the UAV, the machine gun was ostensibly retracting, and from his knowledge of the Grumman Northrop, it possessed the ability to launch ballistic rockets as well. Soon, the launcher perceptibly drifted out of the hatch underneath the drone.

He yelped in awe, pulling on the trigger recklessly. The bumping vehicle sent the bullets whizzing nowhere. Even Smith's superior firepower had relatively declined following the emergence of the rocket launcher.

The adrenalin in his system was waning as he could see a rocket exude from the launcher with a deadly spurt, discharging hot fumes in the still atmosphere.

The rocket menacingly lacerated the air, assuming a lethal arc and eventually nose-diving at the Humvees. Crowne observed the ballistics projectile - It was making for the second Humvee manned by Private Petraeus Ross.

He slumped into the cabin and ordered Smith to follow suit.

His adrenalin suddenly went wild again, pumping more hormones once more as he ordered Ali to head for the Treacherous End.

Ali was too confounded and frightened to hesitate. Engaging the brakes, he attempted a maneuver that forced the Humvee up a sandy dune in a bid to avoid the advancing rocket.

Crowne swiftly scooped the radio receiver after tapping a button and called out hysterically: 'Petraeus'.

'Captain…,' was the obsequious response from the young officer 

Crowne barked into the receiver: 'Break ranks...break ranks.'

Before Petraeus could muster a response, the rocket pummelled the Humvee resulting in a mind-wreaking explosion. Dust billowed in the atmosphere after the eventful impact.

Crowne shot a glance at the rearview windshield, the resulting conflagration blotting the view from plain sight.

Crowne screwed his eyes to catch a  glimpse of the carnage at the rear when an ear-splitting dissonance rang out. 

It was pathetic. The third Humvee had failed to slow down. it rammed straight at the burning vehicle.

The resulting inferno had the semblance of a cataclysmic apocalypse.

He gritted his teeth and wondered how these metal birds had expertly wasted the lives of men under his watch. How would the command break the tragic news to the individual families of the men of their rather brutal demise? For a split second, he also thought about his own family.

He shifted his thoughts to the peril they were confronted with, ostensibly as the only survivors. He wondered how Scorpio and the others were faring.

Smith had loaded the M134 and continued his sporadic fire, trying to dissuade the UAVs from engaging in another onslaught.

Ali was vehemently charging the Humvee forward, oblivious to the need to negotiate the rugged desert terrain. The wheels of the vehicle thudding in ruts and bumps. 

As they advanced, the UAV soared after them and once again resumed its shower of deadly slugs.

Crowne hoped they could end this macabre by shooting their way to the Treacherous End where the drones might become derelict.

The drone was gradually gathering momentum, and gearing for a final onslaught, descending from its ceiling and maintaining ninety-yard proximity to the Humvee.

The rain of slugs was whizzing past them. Crowne wondered if they could make it out of dodge - alive.

A lightning shot suddenly caught Smith. He reeled into the cabin, Blood was seeping profusely from the left side of his neck his jugular as other slugs continued to pummel the Humvee with a rattling sound.

The ferocious bombardment of the Humvee from the drone seemingly made the duel one-sided. Crowne and Smith were unable to muster a killer shot at the Grumman Northrop.

The drone made another maneuver, gliding effortlessly to the left flank of the Humvee, clobbering the vehicle with a hail of bullets. 

Crowne ducked low, sensing the plethora of hot lead smashing the vehicle's exterior with an unrelenting vehemence.

A bullet, unfortunately, plowed his shoulder in the process. He screamed piercing, allowing his gun to fall to the cabin floor. He clasped his bleeding shoulder and remained still

The bullets were coming in drones - while most mangled the vehicle's exterior, others whizzed into the Humvees cabin. Two bullets seared Ali's occipital bun resulting in the emission of blood and tissue which spattered on the dusty windshield.

Smith was screaming in trauma.

Crowne's heart was racing wildly. It dawned on him at that instant that they were done for.

 Ali slumped on the bucket seat lifeless, his hands were limply on the wheel and his feet were off the accelerator 

The Humvee came to a petulant halt.

Smith was writhing in extreme pain. He was hideously drenched in his pool of blood.

The UAV had halted fire and assumed a pensive margin. It glided to the rear of the dilapidated vehicle, ostensibly scanning the damage meted on the vehicle. 

Crowne was also reeling in pain, blood seeping from his shoulder copiously. He glanced at Smith who had lost a large amount of blood and was gradually drifting into a state of somnolence.

The notion that Crowne and the other occupants of the Humvee were all dead would seem glaring to whoever was manning the controls of the deadly Grumman Northrop.

Crowne tried gathering his fleeting wits, his mind dwelling on several options. The humming sound from the belly of the Humvee meant one thing - the gun was been substituted for a lethal rocket.

He eyeballed the loaded M134 installed on the hood of the battered Humvee. He had to act now before the rocket attained conspicuity.

Ignoring the discomfort of his bleeding shoulder, he lurched swiftly through the hatch of the Humvee, clutching the M134, he flung the weapon at a murderous angle, ensuring it was positioned within the range of the UAV. He took a swift glimpse of the still drone through the telescopic sight of the gun. He emitted a blistering curse: 'Fuck you!' and aimed.

Whoever was remotely in control of the drone would be unable to fathom the speed at which Crowne made for the M134 and fatally put the Grumman Northrop out of commission. The rocket was gradually assuming operational status before it was blown to smithereens.

The drone exploded, creating a spontaneous ball of fire in the air. Fragments of burning steel and aluminum clattered to the desert scape following the impact.

A sigh of relief was how he heralded his triumph. He took a glimpse of the disheveled cabin of the Humvee. 

Smith was inert - lifeless.  Ali, dead cold, lifeless, his body already in a state of rigor mortis.

Tears welled in his eyes. These were guys he had known for about a year, now they were all dead. A routine patrol had become a blood bath - a captivating headline for the tabloids.

The smell of blood and death pervaded his senses, he could hardly think straight. He wondered who could have pulled this dastardly act. The idea that this was carried out by the Taliban was ludicrous. They were a bunch of bearded fanatics who wielded a gun and possessed a penchant for fighting in the desert or engaging in some kamikaze stuff. They were simply not sophisticated outfits.

Unless this was an inside job.

He reached for the radio and jabbed a button: 'Alpha to Tango. Over.'

There was an air of relief in the voice of the radio operator: 'Alpha to Tango. What's your status? Over.'

The throbbing pain in his shoulder coupled with a sense of extreme grief and strain rendered him almost listless. He replied in a jaded voice:'Officers down. A lone survivor currently nursing a bullet wound. Over.'

A feeling of downheartedness was evident in the operator's voice: 'Can you furnish us with relevant information about your whereabouts?'

He took a quick gaze at the digital compass lodged on the dashboard and read out the coordinates.

He was losing blood and soon, giddiness set in. He felt he was slumping into an abyss...

The radio operator hastily remarked: 'We are coming for you, Tango. Just hang in there. Over and out.'

His stream of consciousness was befuddled as the events of the last thirty or so minutes replayed in the kaleidoscope of his mind. 

The deadly drones and their continual reign of fire...

The mind-wrecking explosions...

The men screaming in pain...

The trauma and smell of blood and death...

He could feel his body go numb as his senses lulled into a state of unconsciousness. 

His eyelids were extremely heavy. He shut them and soon a shadowy haze blotted his senses.