Chapter 75 Task Force 141 in Action—Hunting Obadiah Stane

United States Special Operations Command.

A secure satellite connection was established.

“This is Major General Elena Sheffield calling Task Force 141.”

“This is Price. The team is standing by.”

“One day ago, our intelligence personnel located the target inside a favela in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.”

“Capture him alive if possible.”

“If capture proves impossible, execute him on-site.”

“Task Force 141 copies. The operation will begin in one hour.”

November 26.

The third day of the nationwide lockdown.

While the United States remained trapped beneath an unprecedented lockdown, conditions in Brazil appeared as lively as ever.

Rio de Janeiro was known as a city where heaven and hell existed side by side.

Although it served as Brazil’s capital in this world, it was also notorious as a capital of crime.

Its enormous favela—the largest in the Americas—had produced countless criminals.

The Brazilian government had repeatedly deployed specialized tactical units to conduct clearing operations comparable to small wars.

Yet it had never managed to eradicate the drug traffickers and illegal arms dealers entrenched there.

To put it bluntly, the favela contained more illegal gun stores than McDonald’s restaurants.

The number of privately owned firearms was impossible to calculate.

Gangs controlled everything from water and electricity to the basic order of local communities.

Each gang maintained large numbers of enforcers and armed militiamen.

There was effectively no law.

Even supposedly elite military units would rather confront the most dangerous terrorists than enter the favela with only light weapons.

The entire district resembled a powder keg waiting for a spark.

Yet for certain people, such a chaotic and dangerous place was also the perfect hiding spot.

One hour before the operation—

John “Soap” MacTavish silently examined a photograph.

It showed a bald, bearded man wearing an expensive suit.

“Obadiah Stane. Major shareholder of Stark Industries.”

“He disappeared after attacking Stark Industries CEO Tony Stark shortly before the nationwide lockdown.”

“During the attack, Obadiah stole Tony Stark’s miniature arc reactor and the complete research data for the Mark I armor.”

“We also know that he secretly financed the Atala militants and maintained connections with the Twelve Round Table Council.”

“He may have participated in planning the Black Friday attack, making him one of those responsible for the nationwide lockdown.”

“The target possesses large quantities of classified Stark Industries information.”

“If that intelligence is leaked, the consequences will be incalculable.”

“We are to capture him alive whenever possible.”

“If capture becomes impossible, we are authorized to eliminate him.”

Soap lowered the photograph and glanced at the driver beside him, an operator codenamed Meat.

Ahead of their vehicle, a Chevrolet carrying another group of Task Force 141 operators gradually slowed to a stop.

Soap activated the radio.

“Bravo Team has reached its operational position. Beginning infiltration through the lower level.”

Meat suddenly frowned.

“Wait. What’s with these militiamen?”

“Stay alert,” Price ordered.

Soap watched the armed men stop the vehicle ahead for questioning.

Something was wrong.

Militiamen carrying AK-pattern rifles were a common sight throughout Rio’s streets.

However, these men possessed equipment far superior to the ordinary gang members wandering the favela.

The men approaching the lead vehicle were also wearing masks.

Before Soap could issue a warning, two of the militiamen suddenly drew their weapons and opened fire.

The four operators inside the lead vehicle weren’t wearing heavy armor.

Caught off guard at point-blank range, they were quickly struck and killed.

Soap instinctively ducked.

Meat reacted a fraction too slowly.

Bullets tore through the window and struck him.

His blood-covered face collapsed against the steering wheel, his eyes still open in death.

“Shit! We’re under attack!”

“Return fire! Begin the assault!”

Soap kicked open the door and raised his compact submachine gun.

Two controlled bursts killed the militiamen who had launched the ambush.

A gunfight erupted across the street.

The area instantly descended into chaos.

Civilians fled in every direction, screaming as some were knocked down and trampled by the panicked crowd.

Task Force 141 operators poured from their vehicles.

They wore civilian-style PMC urban combat clothing, tactical vests, and ballistic plates.

The once-crowded street emptied within moments.

Bodies lay scattered across the pavement.

Gunfire thundered as Task Force 141 fought the favela’s armed militia.

The battle quickly became one-sided.

The gang militia remained exactly that—a militia.

Although it had received funding and improved equipment from the Twelve Round Table Council, most of its members were still ordinary criminals with limited training.

Only a small number wore body armor.

Fully equipped fighters with complete tactical protection were exceptionally rare.

Their opponents were Task Force 141.

Every member had been selected from among the finest operators serving the allied nations.

The unit was small, but its personnel were exceptionally accurate, extensively trained, and equipped with advanced weapons.

The opening ambush inflicted painful losses.

Once Task Force 141 recovered, however, it immediately seized control of the engagement and began overwhelming the militia.

The local gunmen knew the terrain and used the favela’s complicated environment to resist at every level.

Yet they remained gang members.

Their combat experience consisted mostly of fighting rival gangs and occasionally exchanging fire with local police tactical units.

Their tactical ability couldn’t compare with Task Force 141.

Although the militia used the terrain and established successive defensive positions to slow the advance, its efforts accomplished little.

When Task Force 141 reached an exposed section of the favela, the defenders deployed a heavy machine gun and temporarily suppressed the operators.

Because of the mission’s clandestine nature, Task Force 141 had brought almost no heavy equipment.

Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley found an advantageous firing position and raised his M14 EBR.

He aimed at the gunner suppressing the team.

One shot.

The gunner’s head snapped backward.

Another militiaman hurried over to operate the weapon.

Ghost killed him with a second headshot.

After losing two gunners in rapid succession, the militia finally abandoned the heavy machine gun.

Time continued passing.

Fearing that Obadiah might escape, Task Force 141 stopped holding back.

The favela’s complicated terrain forced the operators to begin using grenade launchers and hand grenades against concentrated militia positions.

Under normal circumstances, the local gunmen should already have scattered.

Instead, they continued resisting with surprising determination.

Then Soap received a transmission from Captain Price.

“Move faster! Obadiah is escaping!”

A member of Bravo Team spotted Obadiah running under the protection of several militiamen.

“There! The target is moving toward Sector C!”

“Copy. Charlie Team is flanking from the side.”

Soap rapidly closed the distance.

He killed seven or eight armed men blocking his path and was about to catch Obadiah when another militiaman lunged from a nearby corner.

The attacker tackled Soap and stopped his pursuit.

Sergeant Gary “Roach” Sanderson shot the militiaman twice before helping Soap to his feet.

“Forget about me! Capture the target!”

Obadiah felt as though his lungs were about to explode.

He had spent years living in comfort and luxury.

Never in his life had he been forced to flee in such a miserable state.

However, the thought of what would happen if he were captured drove him onward.

He endured the burning pain in his lungs and continued running, gasping for breath.

The pursuing operators drew closer.

Obadiah became as frantic as an ant trapped on a hot pan.

He reached the edge of a rooftop and prepared to leap across the gap to a neighboring building.

A figure slammed into him from behind.

“Target captured!”

“I repeat, the target is in custody!”

Price fastened handcuffs around Obadiah’s wrists while reporting over the radio.

Watching through the drone feed, Elena Sheffield finally breathed a sigh of relief.

She rubbed her stiff cheeks and studied the footage of the completed operation.

After receiving authorization from Ethan, she had used Foundation intelligence to track Obadiah.

He had stolen all of Tony’s Mark I armor data and a miniature arc reactor.

His identity also made the situation unusually sensitive.

Obadiah possessed a vast amount of classified American intelligence and held enormous influence within Stark Industries.

The operation therefore had to remain secret.

Without conclusive evidence, they couldn’t openly eliminate him.

That was precisely why Task Force 141 had been necessary.

Fortunately, the unit’s first operation had been a success.

It suffered casualties, but its members resolutely completed their mission and captured Obadiah.

Once he was transported to a secure base, they could interrogate him in secret and extract everything he knew.

Elena’s satisfaction didn’t last long.

Task Force 141 placed Obadiah aboard a UH-60 Black Hawk and began transporting him back toward the United States.

Then an unidentified humanoid object approached the helicopter under powered flight.

The pilot, Nikolai, noticed the anomalous radar contact and immediately tensed.

“Possible missile approaching!”

“Prepare evasive maneuvers and deploy countermeasure flares!”

“Incoming!”

The operators saw no missile.

Instead, a humanoid object slammed against the helicopter with a heavy impact.

Something had latched onto the fuselage.

The additional weight and drag immediately reduced the Black Hawk’s speed.

“What the fuck is that thing?”

Before Price and Soap’s shocked eyes, the cabin door began to deform.

Then it was forcibly torn open.

A suit of armor resembling an oversized version of the Mark I clung to the side of the helicopter.

Obadiah became ecstatic.

“Get me out of here, Iron Monger!”

Iron Monger tore away Obadiah’s restraints and pulled him from the cabin.

Everything happened in an instant.

However, Task Force 141’s operators reacted immediately.

They raised their weapons and opened fire on the escaping prisoner.

Iron Monger shielded Obadiah from many of the bullets.

Unfortunately, Obadiah’s large body remained mostly exposed as the armor dragged him from the helicopter.

Seven or eight rounds struck him.

He screamed in agony.

Seeing Obadiah wounded, Iron Monger abandoned any attempt to attack the Black Hawk and accelerated away.

The Task Force 141 operators stared at the deformed cabin and Obadiah’s empty seat.

“General… We were attacked by something resembling Iron Man.”

“Obadiah was extracted.”

“However, we hit him multiple times before he escaped. His wounds may be fatal.”

Elena watched Iron Monger rapidly disappear from the drone feed.

Her slender right hand clenched into a fist and slammed against the table.

“That bastard!”

Obadiah’s condition was indeed critical.

He had suffered at least eight gunshot wounds, and Iron Monger’s high-speed flight only worsened his injuries.

By the time they reached a secure location and landed, he was barely alive.

With trembling hands, Obadiah removed an injector from his pocket.

When he saw that none of the bullets had damaged it, relief appeared on his bloodless face.

“In that case…”

“I’ll have to use it early.”

Obadiah muttered to himself and drove the injector directly into his heart.

Iron Monger’s armor then opened and swallowed his body.

Obadiah began mutating at an inconceivable speed.

His flesh fused with the Iron Monger armor until the two became a single entity..