Chapter 17 - THE BATTLE FOR CONSTITUTION AVENUE
Rebecca didn't wait behind cover. In urban warfare, static defense against a superior force was a death sentence.
She vaulted over the concrete barrier, dropping into a low combat crouch between two abandoned civilian sedans. The lead shooter of the kill team was advancing in a tactical wedge, his rifle raised, scanning the wreckage of her truck.
Rebecca leaned around the bumper of a taxi, firing a controlled three-round burst. The rounds struck the lead operator in the upper thoracic cavity, punching through his armor and dropping him instantly.
Before his partner could adjust his aim, Rebecca sprinted across the gap between the cars, closing the distance with terrifying speed. She slammed her shoulder into the second man, knocking his weapon off-line, drawing her combat knife in a fluid, reverse-grip arc that sliced the tendons of his gun arm. He cried out, collapsing, and she used his falling body as a human shield against a volley of fire from the third operator fifty yards down the median.
Rounds tore through the mercenary’s body armor as Rebecca returned fire from over his shoulder, her carbine barking twice. The third attacker dropped behind the wheel of a minivan, neutralized.
"Samir! Flank left! Suppress the van!" she yelled.
Samir, despite his head injury, laid down precise single-shot suppressing fire from behind the overpass barrier, forcing the remaining two shooters to pin themselves behind the open doors of their tactical van.
Rebecca seized the window of initiative. She sprinted toward the rear of a municipal bus, climbed the maintenance ladder in three violent pulls, and emerged on the flat roof of the bus with a commanding high-ground vantage point.
Through her holographic optic, she locked onto the remaining operators. They were attempting to arm a shoulder-fired thermobaric launcher aimed directly at Samir’s position.
"Not today," she muttered.
She squeezed the trigger twice. The operator holding the launcher collapsed backward, the weapon discharging harmlessly into the sky, detonating against an empty billboard in a blinding fireball of orange and black smoke. The final operative threw his weapon to the ground and raised his hands, terrified as the silhouette of the female commander appeared on the edge of the bus roof, her rifle trained squarely between his eyes.
Rebecca dropped from the roof, landing lightly on the hood of a car before stepping down to the street. She walked up to the surrendering mercenary, kicking his fallen weapon away.
She grabbed him by the tactical vest, slamming him against the side of the van. "Who signed the operational order?"
The mercenary spat blood, his eyes wide with adrenaline and terror. "Check the news, Captain... it's already over. Sterling just announced the emergency committee session is closed to the public. They’re swearing in the testimony right now. Your father’s convoy... it never left Alexandria. They took him to an offshore barge three miles off the coast."
Rebecca's heart went cold. "An offshore barge?"
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"It’s a black site," the man wheezed, smiling through bloody teeth. "No federal judges. No press. No Ghost Commander. By noon, Charles Vance will officially die of a massive coronary event, and his suicide note will name you as the mastermind of Vega."
***
