One Down: Citizen Warrior Series - Book 2, page 16
It pleased him to hear the display of such power as the two M60’s came on line. The report of the rounds hitting solid objects reverberated back to him. Looking to his right, the flash and glow of the weapons reflected off a window of a nearby building. Feeling a tap on his shoulder he listened as Corporal Medina wide eyed and fear stretched across his face told him of the other corporal being shot when the two of them attempted to attack the two parked trucks.
Hearing just one of the M60‘s firing and seconds later that one had gone silent caught the captain by surprise. Looking over at the two pickups, he could make out one gunner slumped over his weapon and motionless. From his position he couldn’t see the other gunner who’d fallen into the bed of the truck. Standing there the captain listened to the man screaming in pain and crying out for his mother.
The captain knew their situation was becoming bleak. Two minutes earlier his squad of eight men had just been reduced to four. Who the hell are those guys? They can’t be rival cartel; their shooting is too good. Thinking to himself about what to do next the answer came quickly. Get in their pickups and get the hell out of there.
On the Corner
“They’re heading my way, I’m moving back towards you guys.” Doug heard Mick say over the radio in a hushed and hurried manner. He only could picture what was happening. It was in that moment he understood whoever they were dealing with owned an advanced understanding of strategy. Using the cover of the headlights to move is something he would have done.
“Diego, get on the left back corner of the building you’re on. Conway do the same on the building I’m on. Carter move to Conway’s position. Mike, back up Diego.” Doug said watching his men and Carter move in a smooth choreographed manner. Just when they all acknowledged on the radio they were in position, Doug heard gunfire. To his left Conway opened up and then behind him Mike and Diego engaged.
“Take out the headlights.” Doug said calling over to Carter and Rocco. Rounds were hitting the corner of the building he was on and the sound of heavy hits were on the back of their vehicles. Off in the distance to the west he heard a muffled sound and then another. The rain of lead coming their way stopped. Thank you, Garrett! Both headlights on the lead truck went dark. Looking down the line of buildings lining the road were two figures heading his way. Behind him on the right Carter opened up on them. One went down and the other one ducked behind one of the buildings just south of him, two buildings away. Hearing a commotion to his left to Doug’s left Mick came running around the corner of the building stumbling and falling to the ground holding his stomach. The sound of the gunfire from Conway and behind him became more sporadic.
“Diego, get over to my position, Mick’s hit.” Doug commanded.
“Moving.” Doug hearing Diego’s voice say. In what seemed like just an instant he was on the ground at Mick’s side ripping his medical kit open.
Tango Down
Up on the hill, Garrett already had the first gunner in the cross hairs of his scope when the flashes and sound of firing made their way up to his position. He knew from years of hunting big game not to rush and was methodical in taking a deep breath in and letting it three quarters of the way out. As he hit the sweet spot of his exhale, his body relaxed just as his right index finger met the trigger stop, from there it was a surprise break. The recoil of his rifle was barely noticeable. Staying on the scope with satisfaction he watched the gunner slump over the M60. Less than three seconds had passed since the first gunner stopped firing.
The man in the rear truck was so focused on throwing lead down range he didn’t notice his comrade’s head snapping to the right and his body going limp slumping over his weapon. One moment the rear gunner was firing away and in the next moment he disappeared falling onto the floor of the pickup.
“Two tangos’ down in both pickups.” Garrett said into his radio. He couldn’t help the smile and sense of satisfaction that came over him. It was the same thing he always felt after making a clean kill shot on an elk. This was even sweeter for him. He’d done his job helping his brothers down below.
The satisfaction was short lived as he got back down to business scanning through his scope. Unfolding below him, one of the Federales was on the ground lying still, just next to the road.
“Roger that, good work. Double time it to the line to the gate and open it. Either way we’re picking you up on the fly. We’re extracting in five,” Doug said.
“Roger that.” Garrett said into the radio hearing Doug’s command.
Within fifteen seconds Garrett with rifle and gear started running down the back side of the hill in parallel fashion cutting off as much ground as possible heading north towards the border. Careful, pay attention, don’t fall! He navigated through and around the rocks, bushes, and cactus of the desert floor. He fell into a runner’s breath cadence secure knowing his brothers would pick him up.
Exfiltration
Looking down the road, Carter looked at the man he’d shot lying motionless on the ground. He looked up on the hill to his right and smiled; grateful for Garrett’s silencing of the machine gunners. To his left, Diego worked on Mick.
“Carter, open up the right rear door on your truck and get behind the wheel, we’re getting the hell out of here. Rocco, you’re driving my truck. Everybody else get over to my position and let’s get Mick into Carter’s truck.
It was just a few steps and Carter was to the right rear door. Knowing it provided cover as he was opening it, he felt a round buzz by the left side of his head and then two more hitting the inside door panel. He felt the sting of glass on his neck and face as the door glass exploded from the round passing through it. Continuing to use the door as a shield, he leaned to his left returning fire down the right side of the buildings. He felt a nudge on his shoulder. It was Doug bumping him with his head motioning him to the get behind the wheel. Behind Doug, Mick was being carried by Diego and Conway. As he got around the door and behind the wheel, he felt the movement of his truck as they placed Mick on the back seat with Diego next to him. The door slammed shut.
“Go!” he heard a voice say and the hard slap of a hand on the right rear door.
Looking over, he watched Doug and the other three get into the other truck. He gunned his Expedition throwing up dirt and fish tailing and lurching forward. Rocco was at the wheel of Doug’s truck trailing behind him with the others.
A quarter mile down the road, racing towards the border, in Carter’s rear-view mirror a large flash illuminated the inside of the truck followed by the shock wave.
Four to Two
“Ok, we’ll run, get in the rear truck and back out of here, keep your heads low using the engine as a shield. On my mark, one, two, three.” He said as the four of them dashed to the Chevy pickup. Reaching it the captain looking straight ahead was as much surprised as relieved, the Ford Expedition and black pickup truck were speeding north away from them.
“I think we’re ok,” he said pointing toward the fleeing two vehicles. He turned to his driver instructing him along with one of the other men to make their way to the front of the two houses with their spotlights on. The captain and the fourth man got out and jumped into the lead truck.
The driver behind him veered to the left and sped up forward. Captain Sanchez took shallow pleasure in thinking the group in the two vehicles were on the run. With spotlights shining north the idea of the fleeing group thinking they were being chased gave him solace. The tail lights came on throwing off a red glow as the Chevy truck came to a stop in front of the two houses.
A huge fireball blinded him with the shock wave of the explosion shaking the ground and the pickup he was in. Stunned he listened as pieces of missiles and other debris rained down on his vehicle.
Wake Up!
Six minutes after leaving the top of the hill and running down the road to the gate Garrett heard a distant thunderous boom. Two vehicles from behind rolled up to him with lights off. Stepping off to the side he let out a sigh of relief. Almost out of here.
Carter’s Expedition skidded to a stop with Garrett yanking open the right front door and hopping inside. Carter punched it again and within moments Garrett was back out and running to the gate.
A half mile inside the border Doug radioed for Carter to pull over. They needed to assess the damage. In the back Garrett listened to Diego talking to Mick.
“Come on Mick, stay with me. Breathe. Stay with me, don’t go to sleep.”
“I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” Mick said in a weakened voice and fell silent.
“Mick, wake up, wake up!”
Missing
Captain Sanchez had been in several confrontations ending in a gunfight. This kind of thing was to expected if you worked for Juan Ortiz or the Federal police. Through the years, he and his men always prevailed. A mix of skill and superior firepower had never failed him to come out on the winning side.
This confrontation had been different, very different. It wasn’t a lack of firepower that whittled his squad down from eight to two; it was the opposing force’s skill level that stunned him and caught him off guard. They were quick and decisive in their response leaving him and his men no time to respond. He never considered a sniper somewhere out there in the night’s black. The quick and decisive precision of the silencing of his two machine-gunners was chilling. Each man with one shot to the head.
“Are you ok?” The captain yelled to his man behind the steering wheel on his left in the pickup cab. Even though they were out of harm’s way with the windows down, the pressure wave of the blast had penetrated into the cab. It felt as though someone came up behind him and slapped both of his ears with cupped hands.
“I’m ok.” The driver yelled back at Captain Sanchez who could see his lips moving but not hear the words.
Neither man realized they were yelling to hear each other. The captain waited five minutes before ordering his man to move forward pulling up behind the turned over truck. Their hearing, led by ringing in their ears, began to return.
The explosion caved in the entire left side and buckled the roof upward from the blast. There was no way the two men inside survived the blast at that such close range. Still, they had to check to see if some miracle had happened.
“They’re dead, captain,” the corporal said after looking inside.
The blast shattered both of the two houses windows and blew the door of the larger of the two in and off its hinges. Shining his light inside, looking at the turned around door, he saw the Gadsden flag. With rifle up, he motioned his man to follow him into the first house. Upon entering the house, he saw the two men hog-tied lying face down on the floor. He and his man went past them, moving through the house to clear it. Leaving the men bound and gagged on the floor, they made their way to the second house repeating their effort. He knew this house was where Juan Ortiz stored the Stinger missiles. Learning of the missing Stingers left him left with not knowing whether they were missing because Juan sold them to the Islamic terrorists, moved them somewhere else or the men he’d just been in a gunfight with took them.
They returned to the first house, and the captain watched as his corporal removed the gags from the two on the floor.
“What happened here?” The captain asked.
“I don’t know, the gringos came through the door so fast we didn’t have time to react. There were four of them. One stayed with us while I heard the other three go outside,” the shorter of the two men said with blood dripping from the left side of his head and left hand. The left sleeve on his shirt along with the left side of his pants had spots of blood on them from chards of glass hitting him from the blast.
“Do you know what happened to the missiles stored in the building next door?” the captain asked.
“They’re not there? Those men must have taken them. They were there earlier in the day. I saw them when I helped our mules pick up some loads of marijuana to take across the line.”
The news of this and the gun fight meant the captain would have to call Juan and tell him what happened. Something he didn’t relish doing. Looking at his watch he debated whether to call his boss now or wait until morning. Either way he’d have to deal with him and put up with his ranting and ravings. He pulled his cell phone out and punched in the Sr. Ortiz’s number.
“Hola.” The captain heard the slurred sound of a woman’s voice on the other end.
“Let me speak with Sr. Oritz.” Even though it was late, he knew Juan sometimes liked to party late into the night, especially if young women were available. When they weren’t, he’d send Pablo out to kidnap a local beauty to bring to him. And with his financial means young women were available all the time. He listened hearing the phone moving away from her mouth as she yelled out to Juan. In the background he could hear his boss scolding her for answering his phone.
“Puta, go in the other room.” The captain heard what sounded like the slap of flesh and a drunk Juan yelling at the woman.
“Que paso! Who’s calling me so late?”
“It’s me Sr. Ortiz, Captain Sanchez. I got to San Miguel a little while ago with eight of my men. Before getting to the house we got in a gun fight. Six of my men are dead. Sr. Ortiz......the Stingers are missing. Did you move or do something else with them?”
The captain didn’t expect condolences of any kind from Juan about his men. What he expected is for Ortiz to go ballistic......and he did.
“No, I did nothing else with them. What the fuck do you mean they’re missing? Who took them? How could you and your men allow this to happen? What do you mean you got into a gun fight? Who was it?”
“I don’t know who it was, but I think most likely gringos.”
“How do you know it was the gringos?”
“Two things; they headed north up the road to the border and the other reason is it’s what they left on the inside of the front door. A Gadsden flag.”
The captain shared with Juan in detail about their approach to the town and the resulting fight.
“Gadsden flag! It has to be the same men who killed three of my men last year. Why didn’t you go after them?” Captain Sanchez did everything he could to keep from reacting to Juan’s question. He knew better than try to defend himself or his men. Years ago he’d learned to give him short answers. Captain Sanchez wasn’t one to take abuse off anyone. However, with Juan Ortiz he made an exception to this.
“We couldn’t. They set a large bomb off killing two of my men. If we’d pursued them to the border I don’t think I’d be talking with you right now.” The captain waited for another explosion of anger from Juan but it didn’t come. For over a minute there was no sound coming from the other end. He wondered if they’d lost their connection.
“Are you there Sen˜or?”
“I’m here. How about my men?”
“One is lying dead on the porch and two are bound and gagged laying on the floor in the house. They roughed them up but other than that they’re ok.”
“Stay there. I’ll be there in the morning with my cousin Mario. Oh and leave my men as you found them. I’ll deal with them in the morning.”
“Ok, see you in the morning.”
Hanging up the phone the captain looked down at the two men and then stepped out onto the porch across from the destroyed truck. After a moment of studying the wreckage he looked into the dark of the night towards the border. Who the fuck were those guys, and what are they going to do with the missiles?
He lit a cigarette watching the flame on the match fade away. Behind him he heard one man pleading with him to cut the flex cuffs off of them.
1:32 A.M.
Upon the third ring a sleepy Mario reached for his phone doing his best not to awaken his wife. He got up from the bed and made his way out into the hallway off of the bedroom carefully closing the door behind him. Squinting in the screen’s glare on the phone he saw it was from his cousin.
“Hola”
“I want you to pick me up tomorrow morning at seven. We’re going to San Miguel. When’s the last time you spoke with that pocho fat-ass Granada? I want to know when that next shipment of Stingers is arriving,” An agitated Juan said.
“Recently, he said he’d let me know but I haven’t heard from him. I can call him in the morning and see if he knows anything. What’s going on in San Miguel?”
“Someone stole the Stingers we had there. Say nothing about that to Granada.”
“I won’t say a word. I’ll see you in the morning.” Mario said hearing his cousin hang up. Who could have been bold enough to do something like that against his uncle? A bad feeling crept into his mind. He hoped his wife’s uncle, Hector Granada, would have a good answer for him about more missiles. He hated being the middle man and dreaded any idea of disappointing his cousin.
“Who was that?” Mario heard his wife ask.
“It was my cousin. He wants me to pick him up in the morning. I’ll be gone overnight.”
Monday, 7:48 A.M.
San Miguel, Mexico
The ride from Hermosillo in Mario’s Ford Explorer so far was a quiet one. Juan sat brooding under a heavy coat in the front passenger seat looking like a dark volcano smoldering before it erupts. The cold and overcast morning seemed fitting. Other than his scolding Mario for being five minutes late, and his graphic descriptions of what he would do to whoever stole his Stingers, Juan Ortiz was quiet. Too quiet.
