In Sheep's Clothing: An Action-Packed Political Thriller (Matthew Richter Thriller Series Book 1) by L.D. Beyer Page A

house on the courtyard.  “We believe El Jefe’s wife and two daughters are inside this house.  His brother’s and his cousin’s families live in the houses on either side.  His mother and an aunt and uncle live in this one, across the courtyard.  There will also be maids and domestic servants inside each building.”  The analyst pointed to two other buildings.  “The chauffeurs and mechanics live in this one here, by the covered parking area.  And the one in the back is for the security force.  We expect there to be at least a dozen armed men in that building as well.”
    “Can you assure me that the family will not be harmed in the process?  That none of the servants will be hurt?”  Monahan was paid to worry.
    “Mr. Monahan,” a new voice boomed, “we will do everything in our power to prevent them from being harmed.” 
    The speaker was Rear Admiral Walt Magers, from the Joint Chiefs of Staff.  Magers was responsible for the Sea, Air and Land Team—more commonly known as the Navy SEALS—tasked with this mission. 
    “We are employing non-lethal technology,” the Admiral continued.  “We hope to neutralize any resistance, at least from the group out in the open.  However, make no mistake, this is a combat operation, and we are going up against a heavily armed enemy who has demonstrated a willingness to use extreme violence.  Rules of engagement are that no lethal force may be used unless we are fired upon first.”  The admiral explained that the guards would be immobilized using a sophisticated military adaptation of stun-gun technology initiated from a remote location.  When pressed, he declined to provide details, citing need-to-know protocol.  Although Monahan had a top-secret security clearance, he decided, for the moment, not to press the point. 
    Monahan knew that the SEALS were leading the planned strike in conjunction with Mexican Special Forces.  Similar to their U.S. Navy SEAL counterparts, the Fuerzas Especiales, or FES, specialized in unconventional warfare, assault, counter-terrorism, and special reconnaissance operations.  Compared to conventional forces, both were highly trained and disciplined and had a far greater chance of executing a mission like this without spilling innocent blood.  
    Rear Admiral Magers looked at the clock.  “The strike should commence any moment now.”
    It looked like a normal, peaceful morning at the hacienda when, suddenly, as if on cue, everyone in view fell to the ground.  Three men at the breakfast table slumped forward, their faces landing in their plates, scattering glasses and dishes in the process.  El Jefe fell off his chair and landed like a rag doll on the stone patio.  One of the pool cleaners fell onto the tile apron.  The other wasn’t so lucky and fell into the pool.
    Monahan jumped up.  “Admiral, we can’t leave that man there!  He’ll drown!”
    The admiral waved him back down.  “The assault team is inbound now.”
    The screens went bright for a fraction of a second then returned to normal.
    “Electromagnetic pulse,” the admiral explained.  “We just knocked out all communications in the hacienda and disabled every piece of electronic equipment within a one-mile radius.  Cars, ATVs, computers, microwave ovens, refrigerators—everything’s dead.”  
    Seconds later, half a dozen guards rushed out from the main house and the security building, their weapons drawn.  Seconds later, they began shooting into the sky, only to be met with a devastating hail of bullets from above.  A helicopter entered the scene, the thirty-caliber mini-gun in its door still smoking.  It hovered, and the assault team began to rappel down.  Three more helicopters quickly followed; additional troops could be seen entering the compound from all sides.
    The admiral turned to Monahan.  “There are medical corpsmen on the ground now.”
    The assault was precisely orchestrated as the SEALS and FES broke into individual teams,