THE EXTINCTION AGENDA

CHAPTER TWO

Kabul, Afghanistan 

1601 hours

12th April 2012.

The Muezzin's voice emanated from the towering minaret of Kabul's Central Mosque located some five kilometers away from the cobbled highway where six Humvees rapidly hurdled their way through the deserted, war-torn city. 

The call to prayer woke him from his reverie 

They had been patrolling through the suburbs of the city and up till now, the potential of likely skirmishes was nonexistent.

He clicked the radio to life and emitted, a sense of exertion evident in his jarring voice: 'Scorpio, how are the boys back there?'

Scorpio was the moniker for Private Rogers Thompson, his sidekick who was manning the third Humvee within the convoy. His reply was hasty: 'We're all good. Can't wait till we get to the base and while out, Captain.'

The mirthful remark of the boys was evident from the background.

Rogers was quick to toss a quip into the conversation: 'soon Is never a term for a group, more for goons.'

 He bellowed out in laughter despite the seemingly hard exertion that had drained every ounce of strength in his body arising from long spells of patrols around the desolate city.

He poked on another button - he also required situation reports from the fourth Humvee.

'Private Petreaus Ross, how are you and the guys faring.'

The young soldier replied zestfully: 'All good, Cap.'

Earning information from the central vehicles provided a relative idea of the front and rear lines of the fleet - pure textbook strategy.

He turned off the radio and turned to the man behind the wheel. Private Ali Omar, an Indian-American, judging by his yellow complexion and slightly wavy hair. His chauffeuring methods could scare a first-timer but for dudes like him who had accompanied Ali on a myriad of rides, getting accustomed over time to his frenzied driving style was not such a difficult task.

'I think we would make a detour to the hinterland, Private.' He said staring at the horizon ahead appearing with a hue of gold.

Ali smirked, adjusting his thick-rimmed sunglasses: 'I guess we better wait for the directives from HQ, Captain.'

He nodded as Ali charged the Humvee down the dusty road encumbered by ruins from past attacks that had decimated the city to a state of ruins and utter remoteness. 

David Allen Smith, who was disconsolately cooped up at the rear of the vehicle was quick to mention his state of haplessness: ' We have been on this fucking rigmarole for days. We are yet to fire a shot or even noticed bystanders I didn't leave the United States to become a National Geographic tourist in Afghanistan.'

Ali shook his head in utter disappointment, casting his eyes at him, the dust from the highway making his facial profile look sallow.

'We should head back to base, right Captain?' he asked shifting his gaze to his side where the bespectacled Captain Crowne 'Buster' Brewster sat placidly. 

The Captain's body, language expressed a sense of lethargy but his workaholic tendency had ironically not doused despite the discomforting and extremely warm conditions confronting them. He felt he was obligated to patrol every nook and cranny of these Kabul streets and ward off enemy threats. 

'We would' Crowne replied, 'I think we should just make a quick one to the Treacherous End before retreating to base.'

'Aye, aye, Captain',  Ali blurted out gleefully, flooring the accelerator in excitement. Smith expressed an impassive look almost immediately. Crowne observed his forlorn countenance through the rearview mirror and pretended not to notice his languid demeanor.

The scorching sun was gradually receding westwards. Crowne took a glance at the clock on the dashboard. It was a few seconds to five. Soon, dusk would set in and then, they would be heading back to base to relax and prepare for another melancholic patrol tomorrow.

He switched his thoughts to Kabul. The city was virtually in a state of dystopia owing to the deadly invasion of Afghanistan. It was desolate and in ruins. Apart from the skirmishes perpetuated by guerilla fighters occasionally, the city was a ghost town.

The motorcade was gradually winding around a tricky curve. Crowne knew these parts very well. They were about a kilometer from the Treacherous End - a unique landmark characterized by a myriad of dunes that spanned about three hundred yards before terminating in a jauntily steep landform that led to a twelve-meter-deep precipice. Locals believed the infamous landmark was God's greatest creative masterpiece. The war had long barred them from paying visits to the end.

His thoughts were broken for the umpteenth time by the radio's sharp squeal. He scooped it up hesitantly: 'Tango to Alpha. Over.'

It was the radio operator from the base, he sounded rather frantic.

Crowne responded wryly: 'Alpha to Tango. Over.'

'We've got a situation. Over.'

Crowne frowned. Ali and Smith, both contriving surprised faces.

The radio operator's stutter was a sign that something was amiss: 'We...we....have been...been compromised....we have lost ...lost..con..control of our systems. We....we...were supposed to contact you earlier.....Tango. Over.'

Crowne felt an icy chill prick his spine: 'What breach, Alpha? Over.'

'An Unmanned Aerial Vehicle...precisely a Northrop Grumman MQ-8 Scout Fire is....is heading your way.'

Crowne allowed his thoughts to drift for a split second. His knowledge of the UAV was apt, from his days at the Farm - where he had acquired elite skills as a ground military operative. 

The Northrop Grumman MQ was a weaponized drone - an unmanned autonomous helicopter possessing fuselage length and width of 7.3 meters and 1.9 meters respectively. With a rotor diameter of 8.4 meters and height - top of tail antenna - 2.9 meters, the vehicle was able to eliminate likely turbulence in the face of/menacing winds. Its gross weight was 3,150 pounds, it equally possessed a robust power plant, Rolls-Royce, 250-C20W turboshaft engine. With a speed of115+ knots and a ceiling of  20,000 feet, the machine was exclusively built to kill. Its total flight time with baseline payload of summed up to 8 plus hours. Fitted with a detachable gun pod possessing a variety of ammunition ranging from M16s to M134s, Crowne wondered if he could somehow circumvent the impending carnage.

Ali noticed the uneasiness written on the countenance of the Captain. He revved up the vehicle for a dash. 

Smith sprang up from the rear seat and wriggled through the hatch of the Humvee. He reached for the recoilless M134 machine gun fastened to the hood of the vehicle alongside two steel shields. 

Crowne's thoughts returned with a squeak by the radio. He asked in a much more composed voice: 'What's the position of the weapon, Tango? Over.'

'About eighty meters, Alpha. Over,' was the reply.

Crowne attempted to gather his fleeting thoughts. It was impossible to shoot down these metal buzzards without a casualty.

Smith suddenly screamed: 'I can see them, Captain.'

Crowne bit his lip as he could feel his heart racing wildly in his chest. The sound of the UAVs lacerating the warm arid air was becoming apparent. He shot a brief glimpse at the rearview mirror and remembered the radio was still engaged. He asked: 'How many of them heading our way, Alpha? Over.'

'Two of 'em, Tango,' was the curt reply.

'We would try and handle 'em. Over and out.' He clicked a few buttons and waited for a response.

Smith was yelling through the hatch: 'Fifty meters and still gaining.'

Crowne could feel the adrenalin pumping in his gut. His sense of enervation vanished into oblivion. 

The radio screeched, breaking his flitting thoughts. He screamed into the receiver: 'Scorpio, what's your status?'

He could feel Scorpio's apprehension: 'What's the matter, sir? I can see Smith holding the M134 and making remarks at the sky. What sounds am I hearing? Rockets?'

'A fully armed drone is right on our tail. Seems enemies have compromised our security systems and launched one of our deadliest arsenals at us,' he said as Ali sent the vehicle thudding over several ruts on the road. 

He could hear the rotors of the drones getting closer.

Scorpio's voice was fraught with fright and confusion: 'How the fuck did that happen?'

 Smith yelled again: 'Locked and ready to load.'

Crowne ignored Smith as he took a peek in the rearview mirror - the drones appeared like tiny dots in the yellowy-dusky skies.

'I do not know. I want you to radio the others. We may have to abandon the highway and break ranks. From my estimates, these drones are only active within a 6 kilometers radius. The base is about 4 kilometers off. So they have another 2 kilometers to spare. We have the option of either shooting down these buzzards or making it out of dodge.'

Scorpio was skeptical about both options. He could not but voice his frustration:'Why were we not put on red alert earlier?'

 'As I said earlier there's been a breach.' Crowne emanated.

Smith let out another indignant yell: Forty meters, Captain, I'm about to go crazy on these birds.'

 Crowne ignored him, yelling into the receiver, doses of adrenalin egging him to muster the drones in a shootout: 'I want all shooters out now, let's engage these freaking buzzards in a shootout and break ranks as we make for the Treacherous End.'

'Aye, aye, Captain,' Scorpio replied.

Crowne disengaged the radio and whipped his head out of the cabin of the vehicle. The deadly drones were fully in sight, advancing with their whirling rotors which sliced the dusty air menacingly.

Ali's feet were fully on the accelerator, his hands firmly clenching the wheel as he allowed the Humvee to gather momentum with a peevish growl.

His heart skipped a beat when a deadly burst of staccato gunfire from the drone spurted behind them.

Several shots whizzed past the Humvee he was in, one hissing shot knocking the hood of the vehicle, missing Smith by an inch.

This left Smith flustered. He opened fire - a dozen shells clattered on the hood and in the cabin of the vehicle.

Crowne gritted his teeth, squirming his frame through the vehicle's window, he leaned on the hood, assuming a bolt and upright position with the door of the cabin acting as support. He positioned his rifle on the hood of the car and tried to catch a clear sight of the two drones slicing through the air and opening intermittent fire from the M134s jutting from beneath their bellies.

Alongside Smith, they mustered several aims and sporadic gunfire. The rutty highway coupled with the deadly flying finesse exhibited by both drones made it cumbersome for Crowne and his boys to engage both UAVs in a shootout.

The six Humvees were all surging at ferocious speeds away from the blazing drones. Above the various hatches, just like Smith, the boys bucked shots, rattled by the lethal barrage emanating from the drones.

Crownes thoughts were running wild. Each of the six Humvees had three men, eighteen in all. He was in the recesses of his faculty trying to evolve a strategy to halt this reign of fire. He wondered who or what had caused this macabre in the first place. He thought of Clara, his spouse, and Lucille, his daughter. Was this the end?

A slug hissed past him and sent his thoughts reeling back to reality. He noticed the drones had slowed down and were hovering around them, they were engaging in gliding maneuvers.

It was clear they were out to pick them out with deft precision.

The men fired sporadically. On his own, he was focused on the telescopic sight of his machine gun and took several shots. 

The drones read the shots with such accuracy. They glided and soared with deadly elegance. 

Crowne recognized a gun duel with their metal buzzards was an exercise in futility.

The drones halted fire and swirled in an imaginary murderous arc across each other and opened instantaneous fire with swift spontaneity.

What happened next was inevitable.