If everything went smoothly, they would seize all strategic zones in one hour and twenty-two minutes, then begin the second round of deployment.
Maybe by tomorrow morning, Somalia would be folded back into Somaliland, and—like a magic trick—a whole string of U.S. bases would appear, tightening control over these waters and, by extension, tightening control over the Suez Canal. And of course, that meant controlling trade across the Middle East.
At that point, they could "give" the canal back.
Maybe that was even part of the bait Roxxon used on those oil lords: threaten them first, then tell them that once the next unlucky bastard appeared, you'll be free again.
The fighting power mobilized for Operation Iron Curtain was only a small fraction of the U.S. military, but it was still a crushing force that the Africans had no way to resist.
In fact, the most time-consuming part of taking Bosaso and Galkayo wasn't even combat—it was simply the travel time for transport vehicles moving the steel soldiers. Total time was still about forty-some minutes.
AK-47s and C4 were only good for terrorist attacks. In real war, they were nothing. Whether local terrorists or other resistance forces, one round of bombs and there would be nothing left.
Sending out fighters was mostly just a show of strength—knocking out a few troublesome militia bases here and there.
The force was overwhelming, but there was no doubt the operation was illegal—at best, a gray-zone action.
Roxxon had money—so much money that every cost of this operation, including fuel, weapons, and even soldiers' paychecks, was covered by them.
As long as everything followed the script, even if the operation was legally questionable at its core, once they won, who would care? Righteous U.S. soldiers had eliminated savage terrorists and restored global trade—who would care about a few dead Black men?
All they needed was one hour. The fighters would seize the chance to destroy large numbers of known militant bases north of Galkayo, then prepare to bomb the areas south of Galkayo.
But at that exact moment, the satellite captured a horrifying scene.
On the sea, the Truman-class carrier—serving as the command center for this operation—twisted into an unnatural bend, like an old man snapping a bone—
The angle wasn't huge.
But it was fatal.
The special plasma layer coating the Rattlesnake electromagnetic round greatly aided penetration. Two thousand five hundred meters per second wasn't that fast, but with a plasma sheath at tens of thousands of degrees, it punched through steel with ease.
Heat and kinetic force tore straight through the hull—straight through into the engine room.
The damage-control officer pushed himself up from the deck. The moment he looked up, he saw the reactor's outer wall pierced through.
At the hole, metal flowed like magma. Charred metal and shattered components littered the floor. Steam and black smoke churned together, and the alarms yanked him out of his daze.
He barely recovered—
And then dread flooded his whole body.
He heard the hiss-hiss of high-pressure steam.
The cooling system had been blown open.
That black smoke wasn't from enemy weapons.
The reactor was overheating.
A choking, acrid stench filled his nose. He stared at the hole. A tiny gap opened in the smoke, and deep inside the reactor core area, everything metal was glowing red.
"The cooling room blew!!!"
Boom!
The entire corridor suddenly warped. Chunks of metal crashed down, sealing off his escape route.
The soldier slammed his head into a steel block, staring in despair at his surroundings—
A sealed space where the temperature kept climbing.
He would be roasted into jerky in here.
And in that moment, he remembered what he'd said to his buddies before the operation started:
At least they didn't have to go to the battlefield themselves.
Huff—
Superheated steam burst outward and slapped his face. His scream was indescribably vicious.
Under the continuous bombardment—electromagnetic rounds and drone bombs—the carrier's island finally buckled. It visibly deformed and slumped toward the flight deck.
But the deck itself, heated by the reactor's runaway, was erupting in violent flare-ups and explosions. Combined with structural damage from multiple electromagnetic hits, the deck warped under the pressure of the waves, becoming uneven and broken!
Soldiers scattered in panic. The aircraft left on deck slid and fell.
The colossus was collapsing.
The chain explosions and thick black smoke made one fact undeniable:
The Truman was sinking.
Since World War II, the first aircraft carrier to be sunk had appeared.
"We did it!!!"
Abdi practically launched himself off the floor, smashing his helmeted head into the ceiling with a crisp clack.
Thank God he was wearing a helmet.
"Boss! Boss!"
His men forced his excitement back down—because their strategic objective was to strike the carrier, but this wasn't only the carrier!
With the water-jet modules still pushing, their ship held above fifty knots, but firing repeatedly at that speed meant the ship endured multiple forces at once. Looking down, the turret base had already lost some bolts.
The electronic monitoring also showed the hull under the turret base wasn't in great condition.
And he could clearly see other escort ships chasing them. Not to mention the submarine below, watching like a predator.
Abdi grabbed the RPG at his side and headed out the door. "How many drone bombs left?"
"Fifteen!"
Boom!
Before Abdi could give his next order, a massive water column erupted behind the friendly ship to his side!
The blast looked like it nearly flipped the vessel. Steel fragments even flew up into the air.
Clearly, the torpedo hadn't hit dead center—but the explosion still splashed damage onto their ally.
"…Aim at the sea. Save everything for the submarine. They can't catch us. Full speed, break away."
He stepped out and looked across the water—
Behind them, the burning carrier was sinking. To the side, shells from the rest of the carrier group slammed down over and over, water pillars soaring.
If this were him a few months ago, he probably would've pissed himself.
But as long as he could see that carrier going under, he felt like he had nothing to fear.
Boom!
A shell struck the ship's flank, sparks bursting outward.
Luckily, it wasn't a direct hit—just deflected, leaving a massive dent in the armor where you could barely see into the internal structure.
The ship lurched violently. Exoskeletons stabilized the crew's footing.
Abdi grabbed the rail, stepped forward hard, and slammed his fist into the hollow section of the walkway. The sound blended with the thunder of shells striking the sea—like some kind of battlefield music.
They'd completed their mission.
Now all that was left was to return in triumph.
"Ku soo dhowow dabaysha, ku soo dhowow hirarka—"
Abdi bellowed at the top of his lungs, turning a sea shanty into a battle cry. The RPG in his hands whooshed out, streaking toward the colossal burning beast behind them!
Would they make it back alive?
He didn't know.
But right now, they had to slap the dust off their ass and leave—like pirates.
[Abdi: The carrier is sinking! We did it! Repeat! Operation Sword succeeded! The carrier has been sunk!]