Parris shouted into his wire microphone, “Damn it, Stinger! I need a live one. Can’t you just wing one for the team?”
Sand squinted through the night-vision scope again. The green world that he saw revealed flashes from all the weapons, which made it difficult at first for him to find a man crawling in the tall grass. Finally, he spotted one crawling toward the nearby woods. Sand moved the crosshairs from the back of the guy’s head down to his ass, and whispered into his mike, “One winged rag head coming up, boss.” He put the bullet into the man’s right buttock and watched through the scope as the man struggled to get up and run, then collapsed. “One stinger delivered, as ordered.”
In seconds, the fighting escalated into chaos. Parris shouted into his radio, “S and D, troops.”
From seemingly nowhere, tracers crisscrossed, lighting up the grassy area, as the terrorists were determined to fight to the death. Three of them were granted their wishes as the entire team fired into the grass. Two of the men appeared to be more rational as they tossed their weapons aside and threw up their hands to surrender.
A young agent, Gary Wiler, popped up out of the grass near the two and screamed at them, “Down on your bellies! Get down! Now!”
The two acted as if they didn’t understand him. Wiler stared at them, not sure what to do, and then he heard Parris’ voice come across his headset, “Wiler! I said S and D!”
“They’re unarmed,” Wiler protested.
“Put them down! Now!” Parris commanded.
The two men looked panic-stricken. The younger of the two looked like he was only about seventeen. He pleaded, “Don’t shoot! We surrender.”
The second chimed in, “We give up. Please do not shoot.”