"Had I known that the Germans would not succeed in producing an atomic bomb, I would not have lifted a finger."
-Albert Einstein
Prologue:
Big Foot
Northern Somali Coast, August 31st, 2015, 0500 Local, 0200 UTC
Four F-32 Mustang II strike fighters cruised nearly three miles above the sea, all but invisible to radar and sight thanks to the pre-dawn gloom. They did not carry a large compliment of weapons to further enhance their stealth - their internal weapons bays carried the missiles and bombs they would deliver this morning.
The strike aircraft deploying their weapons was the first sign for the GLA that they were about to have a bad, and very short, day. Their ad-hoc air defences, built around crude radar vans and old but dangerous SAM batteries, found themselves targets of anti-radiation missiles. Even as they scanned the skies, they shone like a beacon for the GDI weapons. Their main radar, an ancient Soviet machine that looked like it had already taken a few bomb strikes when it had been a half century younger, had apparently been operational only three in seven days according to intel. It seemed to be offline this morning - a laser-guided bomb took it offline permanently. The other weapons hit suspected command structures and a fuel depot, a huge fireball from the latter lighting up the whole area as it climbed into the sky.
With the radar and much of the anti-aircraft weaponry destroyed by the handful of stealthy American strike jets, their more numerous and more heavily-armed Chinese counterparts rose up from skimming the seabed. The sixteen J-15s unleashed hails of missiles, bombs, and rockets upon the main encampment and other main targets. Anti-tank positions, concealed nests and pillboxes, possible minefields, vehicle depots. Napalm was deployed at suspected entrances to the hidden tunnel network in the nearby mountains, a common feature of any long-term GLA activity.
With the Americans now swooping down to gun ranges to add their last contribution to the carnage, the allied strike jets fired on targets of opportunity, aiming to cause more disarray than damage by firing on parked vehicles and anything else that remained and looked like it would be a shame if it got broken. Small arms fire streaked back up at them, along with a few rockets. None of the jets were even close to being hit as they made their quick strafing runs. It had all taken less than a minute, and the entire GLA encampment was now in complete disarray as the jets departed. Racing to the remaining armouries and weapons stores, the terrorists were in for more surprises, such as discovering the guards in most of the structures were already dead.
Some of their killers observed from the hilltops as the guerillas crowded towards their weapons. Eight GDI Commandos, split into teams of two. They were concealed with Ghillie suits and armed with .50 Calibre sniper variants of the M-70 Raptor Rifle, the SR-75 Allosaurus. One team had their hands on the detonators for packs of C4 they'd placed in the last half hour.
"I think we've got enough customers, Parker," Lieutenant Colonel James Burton grinned.
The Lieutenant pressed the detonator. An instant later, a dozen fireballs rose around the coastal region as the charges the commandos had set went off.
"Talk about a blow-out sale."
"Told you this was a nice part of the world, Nick. Just needed a few explosions to redecorate."
"iPathfinder Actual, this is King Eagle, weapons free. I want them running around like headless chickens before the others get there/i," The radio ordered.
"Roger that. You say the nicest things, Colonel..."
"Headless, huh? We can arrange that..." Parker grinned, aiming down the scope of his rifle.
Burton smirked as he aimed his own weapon.
Operations Centre, USS Valkyrie LHD-9
Listening in on the communications channel and watching the feeds from overhead drones, Colonel James Solomon could not help but sigh at the antics of his Special Forces commander.
"I'm regretting assigning him Parker already," He mused.
"They get along like a house on fire, Colonel," His second in command noted.
"Yeah, Carter, because they're both pyromaniacs and borderline sociopaths."
"...Borderline, sir?"
"Did I say which side of the line, J.C?"
Lieutenant Colonel Carter had no reply to that.
"Looks like the strike wing haven't left much for the Marines to do on the surface, Colonel," the ships captain said.
"If we're lucky, Captain Simpson, but that tunnel network in the mountains is probably crawling with angry rebels without a clue."
"Well, at least it's too early for them to be high on khat," Simpson replied.
"Though judging by the napalm the Chinese dropped a few of them might be a bit more than baked," Carter added.
"Let's hope so. Still, between my Marines and your Commandos any GLA in there are going to wish they'd got zapped like their buddies topside."
Colonel Solomon watched the screens as the helicopter contingent began to appear in the field of view of the drones. A mix of Ospreys and Vipers, Marines ready to disembark from the former and the latter around to mop up anything that moved.
A trapdoor opened in the wreckage of the base below after some effort, the GLA insurgent dislodging some fallen timber to do so. As a reward, Lieutenant Parker shot him in the head from his vantage point almost four hundred yards away, sending him tumbling down the ladder into the tunnel network.
"Good shot."
"Not really, I was trying for centre-mass."
"Better luck next time then," Burton corrected as he shifted to shoot an unfortunate insurgent that had broken from cover upon hearing the hum of approaching helicopters.
"Okay, Pathfinders, let's wrap it up, that's our ride about to land," Burton ordered his commando teams.
"Aw, but I've still got plenty of rounds, sir."
"Stow it, MacInnis, we've done our job, let's leave the jarheads to theirs."
The AH-1Z Vipers took the lead, rockets and cannons blazing at the few remaining GLA troopers and heavy weapons. Some of the Ospreys hovered to fast-rope their troops into position, but a pair made their way towards the hilltops.
"Let's move out, Parker."
"Shame we'll miss the rest of the party, the fireworks were fun," Parker grouched.
"I'm not happy either, I hate waiting on boats. But I'm sure the Colonel has a plan," Burton said as they began trudging towards where their Osprey home was hovering.
The other six members of the Pathfinder team approached from around the hills as the chatter of small arms fire began behind them.
"By the way, MacInnis, define 'plenty of rounds' left," Burton said to one walking bush.
"I only fired off thirty shots, sir," The Scottish marksman replied
"And this is what happens when you have snipers from countries where there are no bag limits. They get greedy."
"'Ow many did you fire, sir?" Another Commando with a London accent asked.
"Thirty-three but that's beside the point, Grant."
The Osprey with the commandos took off, as the Marines began mopping up what the airstrikes and snipers had left.