Meanwhile, at eight thousand feet, three minutes out from Aldo Village, an AC-130W Stinger II cruised on a steady heading. Inside the dark cabin, crewmembers moved with practiced calm.
"One minute to the AO," the navigator said into his headset. Beside him the co-pilot scanned instruments. Behind them the flight engineer monitored engines and fuel.
In the weapons station sat the fire control officer, young, focused, fingers dancing across a multi-screen console. He had Predator's live feed up on one screen, the Atlas net on another, and a digital map in the center. Next to him the sensor operator watched thermal and EO feeds, annotating clusters and calling out movement.
"Weapons are online, off the trigger," said the fire control officer of the gunship.
"Comms get me Atlas Actual," the navigator said.
"Done," the communication's officer confirmed.
"Atlas Actual this is Spooky-1, entering the AO in a minute, gun's hot."
"Spooky-1, this is Actual." Albert's voice came sharp over the net, steady even though the ground under his boots hummed with gunfire. "You're cleared to engage the enemy cluster in the north field."
"Actual, Spooky-1 copies."
From the heads-up display of the navigator, he could see the flickering tracer rounds hurtling towards the goblins on the treeline.
Ten seconds until they arrived at the station.
Ten seconds later, the AC-130 arrived and started circling around the AO. With its signature banking, the AC-130 settled into a slow, lethal orbit over the kill zone. Its sensors painted the field in sharp thermal contrast. The fire control officer had the northern cluster boxed and locked.
"Run one in five… four… three…" he counted down.
On the ground, every man froze. NVGs tracked the aim point like a laser. Alpha and Bravo kept rifled muzzles down. No one moved except the medics ready to run.
"Run one," the officer said.
The 30mm woke and barked. The first pass was a roar and a line of orange tracer that swept the meadow. Rounds slammed into brush and bodies, ripping open the gathered mass. Torches went out. Screams cut off mid-phrase. The effect was brutal and immediate: where five hundred had pressed, only scattered pockets remained.
"This is Atlas Actual, good shots! Fire for effect!"
"Copy Actual. Run two in ten," Spooky replied.
The gunship tightened its arc and came back down on the same lane. The 30mm opened again, short, vicious bursts that shredded whatever tried to stand up after the first pass. Then, he moved the joystick, aiming further north where there is another cluster of goblins. He switched to the Bofors, a 40mm cannon, and the weapon spat thudding impacts further north. Those rounds packed more blast and sent up showers of dirt, rock and splinters. Wherever the Bofors hit, goblins were thrown off their feet or turned into piles of limbs and cloth.
On the ground the effect was immediate. The pockets that had tried to reform broke apart and ran. Torchlight winked out as survivors scattered into the trees. The heavy guns from the C-130 kept the pressure on long enough for Atlas and MARSOC to move.
"Run two complete," the fire control officer called. "Holding for overwatch. Secondary contacts scattering west and south. Ammo status good."
"Spooky-1, this is Atlas Actual. You leveled the entire fucking forest. You have my gratitude. Now I need you to fire your missiles further as Predator One confirmed large clusters of goblins."
"Copy that, Actual. Checking for target…" The fire control officer toggled his display and zoomed in on a dense mass of white thermal signatures far beyond the treeline. The Predator feed confirmed it, a huge wave of heat, all moving south. "Actual, target sighted. Large concentration detected roughly two clicks north of your position. Firing one Hellfire."
"Cleared hot," Albert replied.
Inside the cabin, the fire control officer gripped the joystick and guided the targeting reticle. "Missile armed… missile away!"
Outside, a sharp thud echoed through the gunship's wings as the Hellfire dropped from its pylon and streaked downward, vanishing into the darkness below.
On the ground, the men of Atlas and MARSOC saw a faint glow in the sky, then the world split open. The missile hit dead center in the forest, and a blinding orange explosion erupted across the horizon. The shockwave rolled through the fields, flattening trees and lighting up the night like dawn. Even from the village walls, they could feel the heat wash over them.
"Direct hit!" the fire control officer shouted.
Albert's voice came through calm but firm. "Good kill, Spooky. Now I want you to chase those survivors out."
***
From Aldo Village, Harvin and Rowan stood frozen near the wooden palisade. The other villagers, farmers, hunters, and young militia, stared toward the blazing treeline with wide, terrified eyes. The explosion's echo still rumbled across the valley.
"What… what in the Goddess's name was that?" one villager whispered, clutching his chest.
"The gods…" another said shakily. "The gods have answered our prayers…"
Rowan's voice trembled with disbelief. "That wasn't divine power. That was them…" He looked toward the soldiers, those strange outsiders with their metal weapons and calm discipline. "They did that. They brought the wrath of heaven itself."
Harvin's hands trembled as he clasped them together. "So this is what they meant… weapons that can kill from afar. Their magic is too strong!"
Around the square, villagers murmured in awe and fear. Some dropped to their knees, muttering prayers, convinced that the foreigners were either blessed by the gods or gods themselves. Others simply stood in silence, watching as the burning forest illuminated the night sky.
A young militiaman turned to Rowan. "Sir… are they really men? Or divine warriors?"
Rowan looked at the line of soldiers outside the gate, still firing in disciplined bursts, completely unfazed by what had just happened. "They're men," he said quietly, "but their power… it's beyond anything we've ever seen."
Harvin nodded grimly. "And tonight, that power saved us all."