The sand and dust kicked up by the explosion slammed into Morales's face like a violent rain.
He crawled out of the bunker, his ears filled with nothing but a high-pitched ringing. The camp in front of him was gone—the command post had become a giant crater, the ammunition depot was still burning, the medical tent had been blown away, and the medical equipment inside was scattered everywhere, like toys crushed by a giant.
"Colonel!" A soldier with his face covered in blood rushed over. "Squid helicopters! To the east! At least ten of them!"
Morales grabbed his binoculars.
The eastern skyline was just starting to pale. Ten AH-64 Apache attack helicopters were flying low along the dunes, their rotors whipping up sand and dust like ten yellow giant serpents.
Their target was clear—the row of Mexican armored vehicles on the east side of the camp that hadn't had time to be camouflaged.
"Notify Viper Platoon, engage!" Morales roared. "Stinger missiles! Get every Stinger out!"
