An anti-tank squad established a firing position on the roof of a half-collapsed restaurant.
Their target was the Ice Cream Monster rampaging through the poppy fields below.
The U.S. military response this ti had been absurdly fast. Faster than usual. Fast enough that even exhausted Army grunts like them had received direct orders to eliminate the monster before any S.W.O.R.D. superhumans could arrive.
If they succeeded, there would be no need to let superheroes interfere at all.
In reality, the nearest S.W.O.R.D. heroes had already reached Afghanistan.
They just weren't being allowed through.
Compared to the economic value of the poppy harvest, civilian casualties barely registered to the people making decisions behind closed doors. If the entire crop was destroyed, though, Arica's hidden revenue streams would take a catastrophic hit.
That was unacceptable.
Outside of the annual two-hundred-billion-dollar "donations" from vampire interests buying political protection for their underground empire, Afghan narcotics remained one of the largest sources of black-budget inco in existence.
Money laundering barely even compared.
The first wave of troops sent against the monster had already been annihilated.
The second wave fared little better.
Their unit was the third deploynt.
The Falcon anti-tank missile system rested across the squad's shoulders in two separate components: the launcher tube and targeting unit.
The launcher's internal cooling and power modules supplied energy to the missile electronics while refrigerating the infrared guidance system before launch.
The missile used a high-resolution rcury cadmium telluride infrared focal plane array. Without proper cooling, the seeker lost all ability to maintain a target lock.
Even with Stark Industries technology behind it, the compact cooling module could only function for four minutes.
If the missile wasn't fired within that window, the weapon beca scrap tal.
A luxury sports car's worth of scrap tal.
"Stay calm. Stay calm..."
The squad leader wiped sweat from his forehead.
Easy words.
Hard reality.
They were hunting a creature that ripped infantry fighting vehicles apart with its bare hands.
Most of the other anti-tank teams had already abandoned their positions and run.
Only this squad had stayed.
BOOM!
The Ice Cream Monster slamd down between two armored vehicles hard enough to flip both of them onto their sides.
The monster grinned, clutching several crushed poppy pods in one massive hand.
"You humans are funny," it said. "You care this much about plants?"
"Now!"
The squad leader activated the missile system imdiately.
Through the targeting optic, he dragged the lock fra over the monster's body. The targeting data transferred automatically into the missile guidance computer.
"Co on... co on, baby..."
The cooling process wasn't instant.
Even advanced Falcon missiles required at least fifteen seconds before achieving a stable lock.
Then the launcher emitted a sharp tone.
BEEP.
Target acquired.
The squad leader nearly moaned in relief.
"Fire!"
The launch motor ignited, ejecting the missile from the tube before cutting off almost instantly.
A few ters later, the primary flight engine roared to life.
Bright exhaust erupted from the rear as the missile accelerated violently skyward.
Under guidance from its onboard computer, the missile climbed at an eighteen-degree angle before reaching attack altitude. The infrared seeker activated, comparing real-ti imaging data against stored target profiles until it isolated the Ice Cream Monster from countless surrounding heat signatures.
The control fins adjusted.
The missile curved downward like a falling star.
Then it hit.
BOOM!
The explosion engulfed both overturned infantry vehicles and a massive section of surrounding terrain.
"Still using old Stark Industries hardware, huh?"
Drex Valen lounged comfortably aboard a luxury yacht over a hundred ters long, looking less like a global power broker and more like a billionaire enjoying an ocean vacation.
Esdeath's long legs rested casually across his lap while Tifa fed him bite-sized desserts one piece at a ti.
Fishing rods leaned nearby.
The contrast with the battlefield in Afghanistan was almost surreal.
"We're about to make an absurd amount of money," Black Queen said calmly. "The U.S. Army's performance has finally convinced the President and Congress to approve large-scale modernization funding. Urd is already preparing the pricing sheets."
As senior executive assistant for a corporate empire dealing in weapons, pharmaceuticals, advanced materials, and energy, Urd had imdiately recognized the signs of an impending military escalation.
She'd followed the breadcrumbs fast enough to uncover the larger operation.
Connections helped.
A lot of people were willing to share information with her.
Pepper Potts had also left behind an enormous network of contacts from her old career, though Tony Stark apparently still hadn't given up trying to lure her back.
"Twenty minutes ago," Black Queen continued, "U.S. forces in Afghanistan formally requested reinforcent support. A chanized brigade from the Big Red One and an attack helicopter battalion are already mobilizing."
Black Queen monitored virtually all Arican communications infrastructure.
The mont orders moved, Drex knew.
"They won't last much longer," he said.
His fishing float twitched.
In a blur, he pulled back the rod and hauled a massive fish clear out of the water.
S.W.O.R.D.'s heroes were currently being delayed through bureaucratic excuses and political interference.
Unfortunately for the people stalling them, they were about to discover sothing ugly.
Even Demon-Level monsters were beyond what modern military forces could reliably handle.
anwhile, under Drex's instructions, the Ice Cream Monster had already destroyed a cannabis plantation hidden deep in the desert.
Estimated losses exceeded 2.5 billion dollars.
The Taliban completely lost their minds.
That plantation belonged to them.
Now even they were forced to redirect forces toward the monster. If the creature kept rampaging unchecked, everyone involved in the region's narcotics economy would bleed money.
And without money?
Taliban leaders tended to suffer unfortunate accidents remarkably quickly.
A massive frozen sphere of ice cream suddenly blasted through the battlefield.
It struck an advancing AMX-VCI infantry fighting vehicle head-on.
The projectile punched through the front armor effortlessly before detonating inside the hull.
The old vehicle exploded apart like a tin can.
Stored ammunition cooked off imdiately, spraying burning rounds in every direction like fireworks while black smoke poured upward from the wreckage.
"OPEN FIRE!"
Soldiers switched their rifles to full-auto and unleashed everything they had.
Machine guns rattled.
Tracer rounds scread across the battlefield.
An HK19 grenade launcher thumped heavily as high-explosive grenades arced through the air.
BOOM!
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