Guano, his aptly named wingman, was uncharacteristically quiet.  Lobo however, knew exactly what his old friend was up to. Guano had slipped the buds of his music player into his ears and was in his own private, techno-trance world.  Lobo reasoned it was most likely one of three or four of the same, stupid songs; probably Danger by CIRC.  Lobo did not seem to mind Guano’s quirks, though.  Whatever kept him calm was a welcome addition.

“Viper Two, What’s your status?”

“Just working on my tan V1.  Permission to fence in?”

“Cross the fence V2; V1 crossing as well.”

Both pilots commenced the procedure of preparing their jets for combat.  The switches were one by one flipped up or down to the appropriate mode as they quickly approached their destination.

“Turn off the chick music, sweetheart; we’re closing in.”

“Roger Viper One, but I don’t come to your office and call you names while you’re working.”

“Negative, you actually do that.”

“Well, in that case...”

“Alright Viper Two, let’s roll at a thirty and point it due west. ETA two minutes, twenty seconds.”

“Wilco.”

The two jets rolled in a formation so perfect and tight, it was as if they were controlled by a single pilot.  They climbed to a couple hundred feet as they crossed the shoreline and flew into Mexico.  As they screamed towards Matamoros, their first target was the Soviet-era air-defense system that had been installed just east of the Olympic Park.  The jets were screaming forward faster than their approaching sound, they had the early morning sun directly behind them and were flying at elevations that were completely undetectable by the old SA-5 systems that were in place; they were invisible emissaries of death.

“Target located and acquired, V1; awaiting command.”

“Let’s rock their world.”

The low-flying jets were below the effective range of the anti-aircraft missiles.  The SA-5 Gammon was helpless against the F-16s.  As the pilots released their HARM missiles, they banked hard to the north and briefly danced back into Texan airspace.  The missiles immediately detected the Gammon’s fire control radar signal.  The HARMs self-guided to their target, achieving MACH 1 prior to impact.  The explosion was massive and was amplified by the 500 pound warheads on each of the six anti-aircraft missiles.  The early morning impact shook the entire city from its slumber.

“Whoo!  Tango Uniform, V1!”

“Roger that V2, let’s roll back south for another meet and greet.

The jets once again banked hard and approached the second system, located several miles west of Olympic Park.  As they reached their target, they released another perfectly-timed volley of missiles. Guano, unable to contain himself, roared in triumph.

The jets turned vertical and climbed several thousand feet, before looping back and aiming themselves towards their main target, the park itself.  As they shrieked towards Olympic Park, the jets released their Maverick missiles and Mk 83 bombs.  The resulting explosions engulfed the entire area, utterly decimating the eighty-plus vehicles stationed there.

“Good job V2, now we just have one final item; hold my hand and let’s pay our friends at the airport a visit.”

“My pleasure; let’s go find some bandit cats.”

As they flew their tight formation over General Servando Canales International Airport, they could see the pilots scrambling to six jets below. The F-5s were over half of the Mexican Air Force’s entire fighter squadron.  They continued their path to the east, putting some distance between them and the F-5s and leading them over the gulf.  They slowed their pace, allowing the jets time to takeoff and gain some ground on them.  After several moments, the first of the blips appeared on their radar.

“Are you going to let me have a dogfight, V1?”

“Absolutely not on my watch; play with your food some other time.  Stay beyond visual range and let the am-rams do their thing.  Besides, there’s too many.”

“Too many?  We might as well be fighting the Wright brothers!”

“The answer is negative.”

“Roger; speed and angels on the left.”

“Speed and angels on the right.”

Speed and angels was the confirmation for the predetermined altitude and velocity at which they would engage the hostiles.  They simultaneously rolled in opposite directions and met again, facing the distant but approaching F-5s.  They each released two volleys of AMRAAM missiles.  The “am-rams” were a fire and forget missile, capable of engaging the defenseless fighter jets from beyond visual range.  Nothing the F-5s had in their armament was capable of countering the attack.

Within several seconds, four of the blips disappeared from the radar and Guano released another of his guttural roars.  As the F-16s streaked by the remaining two F-5s, one of the Mexican pilots abandoned his jet and ejected into the gulf, nearly a mile from the coast.  The abandoned fighter gradually lost altitude as it continued over the gulf, eventually slamming into the surface of the choppy waters.

“I guess that hombre didn’t want to play.”

“I’d hate to have to make that swim to shore.”

“Give me the last one, Viper Lead.”

“Roger; proceed with engagement, V2.”

Guano made his final offensive maneuver and rolled once again to face the last aircraft.  With the push of a button, the am-ram was engaged and on its way to its target.  After several seconds, the final blip disappeared.

“Sierra Hotel, V2! Now, let’s wrap it up and head north.  We’ll need every bit of our juice to get back home.”

“Roger that; lead the way.”

“Drop it low and throttle up.  If I’m lucky, I’ll make it back in time for coffee.”

“Should’ve had a go pill.”

***

Nearly twenty of the ERC 90s managed to escape Olympic Park while the Gammon systems were being destroyed by the aircraft.  The park was engulfed by explosions as they pulled onto Constitucíon; they had barely escaped the carnage.

The six-wheeled vehicles fled south down Pedro Cárdenas Gutiérrez towards San Fernando.  The four-lane highway took the fleeing soldiers and sicarios through the dirty southern slums.  The loud explosions from the north had roused the sleepy locals.  They struggled outside into the morning light and stared in bewilderment at the black smoke billowing from the downtown district and surrounding areas.  They watched as the ERC 90s roared past them, forcing frightened vehicles out of the way and onto the muddy shoulders.

The armored vehicles raced across the bridge at the southern border of the city.  The banks of the drainage ditch below them were already lined with families bathing and washing their clothes in the dirty water.  The intermittent infrastructure was becoming even less reliable than before.  The unsanitary conditions in the slums and the rest of the city were leading to an even higher rate of sickness and death, especially among children.

As the lead vehicles barreled towards them, Barrett and Holt readied their teams on opposite sides of the highway.  The soldiers hid behind two concrete buildings and anxiously waited for their quarry.

“Steady; steady,” Barrett whispered into the radio, “Just a few more seconds… Dragon Teams One and Two get ready…  Go!”

Four anti-tank missiles exploded out of their launcher tubes and raced towards their quarry.  The launch caused one of the men to flinch hard, sending one of the rockets curving upward in a wide arc.

The lead vehicle was hit low, near the front left tire.  As the rocket exploded, the ERC 90 flipped forward and slid across the pavement upside down.  The screeching sound of steel on asphalt was like fingernails on a chalkboard.  A deep gash in the pavement followed the tank wherever it slid.

The second vehicle was sandwiched by two simultaneous rockets fired from opposite sides of the highway.  The top half of the ERC 90 was launched nearly thirty yards skyward and landed hard on the flat roof of a nearby residence.  The building collapsed inward from the force of the impact and sent a great plume of dust into the air.