Trail of the Chupacabra

“You bet, General,” Private Zulu proudly replied. “Screwdriver and a sharp knife, and I can light the fire and spin the tires on anything Detroit ever made.”

“Outstanding, Private. Now, Team Leader, get to it. I want you back here with ground transportation by twenty-three hundred hours and not a minute later.”

“Yes, sir,” Fire Team Leader Charlie replied. “Come on, Zulu.”

“And remember,” the General added. “Something that blends in.”

“Right, sir.”

“Now, the rest of you men. Put away those gall-darn cleaning supplies and start organizing the gear. I want a full shakedown in less than four hours.”

Fire Team Leader Charlie and Private Zulu headed to the Team Leader’s pickup while the rest of the men rushed to pack their gear and gather supplies and provisions.

“You got something in mind, Team Leader?” Private Zulu asked. “I’m pretty good at starting up cars, but I never actually stole one before. Well,” he said sheepishly, “I stole a dirt bike once, but it was on a dare from a girl.”

“Let me think on it a spell, Private. I’ll come up with something.”

The two men drove around Tornillo for a while, looking for a suitable target. Over the next hour, they spotted sedans, minivans, station wagons. The only problem was that loads of people around the small town recognized them and waved as they passed by. Pretty soon they both decided that El Paso might have a far better selection of cars for theft and most certainly a whole lot fewer people that they went to church with. After they made their way up the interstate, the outskirts of the big city appeared on the horizon.

“Where should start looking?” Private Zulu asked.

“I don’t know. Got any ideas?”

“How about the impound lot?”

“Naw,” said Fire Team Leader Charlie. “Too much security. Folks coming and going all the time.”

“What about the mall? It’s got a pretty big lot.”

“Same thing, too many people around — plus, they’ve got cameras. Hey, wait a minute, look over there.”

“At what?”

“That school bus lot.”

“The one with the big fence?”

“Sure, I’ve got some bolt cutters in the back. A bus would be perfect for all the boys and our gear.”

“Don’t seem right somehow. It’s like stealing from the kids.”

“For the love of Sam Hill, you’re the one that suggested sticking up lemonade stands. Hell, the kids will love it. It’ll probably give them a day or two off from school. Beside, the government is cutting back school budgets all the time. They’re the ones really stealing from kids. We’re small time. Nobody will notice.”

“All right, good point, but the General said something low-key. Big and yellow don’t spell low-key to me.”

“Of course it does. Buses are downright common. Plus, you ever see a cop giving a school bus a parking ticket?”

“No.”

“Then, there you go.”

“Sounds good to me. Then let’s check it out.”

The two men pulled off the highway and slowly drove around the fenced lot, examining it for weaknesses in its defenses. “You sure we should be doing this in broad daylight?” the private asked. “The General, he says covert operations are best executed under the cover of the dark, with overwhelming manpower, treachery, or all of the above.”

“Good point, but it means we’ve got some time to kill. What do you want to do?”

“How about a movie?” Private Zulu suggested. “It’ll be cool inside. This heat is killing me.”

“Sorry.” The Fire Team Leader apologized for his truck’s clunky air conditioning. “You want to go to that big movie cinema across town?”

“The SuperMegaJumboPlex? You bet, they got all the new stuff,” the private said as he picked his nose and flicked the findings out the cracked window, only to have it blow back in. A bit later, the men arrived at their destination and approached the ticket counter. “What should we see?” Private Zulu asked as they dodged a throng of teenagers.

“How about that one?” Fire Team Leader Alpha suggested as he pointed to the top of the board.

“The Artist?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it about?”

“Don’t know, but I heard it was up for all the awards.”

“Okay by me. Hope it’s got a car chase.” The men purchased their tickets, went inside, and hit the concession stand. Taking their seats, they crammed fists of popcorn into their mouths as the previews rolled. The next several hours left the men rather confused, but less sweaty than before. The movie wasn’t exactly what they expected.

“Well,” Fire Team Leader began as they left the theater. “What did you think?”

“I think I’m never coming back to this place again. We got swindled. The dang audio was busted for the whole movie, and nobody even bothered to fix it. I couldn’t hear a word they were saying.” The two disgruntled men climbed into the pickup and headed back to the bus lot. The sun was going down, and they had to get to work. Pulling up to the depot, Fire Team Leader Charlie pulled over on the side of the road. They could see the gate was locked. “Which one should we swipe?” the private asked.

“Which ever one is handiest, I suppose. Just curious — can you drive one of those things?”

“I guess so. Can’t be that hard, although, come to think of it, that’s what I said about algebra, and that bitch ’bout done killed me. How come they always want you to find X? That sucker is long gone by now.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. All right, let’s get that gate open.” The men climbed out, and the Fire Team Leader grabbed his bolt cutters. Sneaking along the quiet road until they reached the gate, the men prepared to cut the chain around the fence. Suddenly, the sound of grinding gears came from behind them. “Private, take cover, now!” The men dove into a small drainage ditch beside the road just as a school bus pulled up to the gate. The driver got out and unlocked the chain before getting back into the bus and pulling into the lot. He parked it in an empty space. A minute later the driver climbed out and headed for the main office. “Hurry up, Zulu, grab the one that just pulled in. It’s already warmed up. I’ll wait here and keep watch.”

“What?”

“Quick. You may not have much time.”

“I’m going alone? That wasn’t the deal.”

“We didn’t have a deal. Now get moving. I’ll watch your six. I’ll hoot like an owl three times if someone is coming.”

“You better not leave me.”

“You know we never leave a man behind. It’s in the STRAC-BOM Code of Conduct. Right after incoming fire always has the right of way.”

“Yeah, I remember. Okay, cover me.” Private Zulu scampered into the lot and made his way to the bus. The door was open. Private Zulu used his screwdriver to remove the ignition cover and expose the wires inside. “Dang it!” exclaimed the Private, as the colors of the wires were different from what he was used to. Which one is it? He struggled to open the blade on his rusty Swiss Army knife. Gotta remember to clean this som’bitch. Eventually, he got the knife open. Fumbling with the wires, he used his pocketknife to strip the plastic covering off the ends of all of them. Holding his breath and squinting, he twisted two of the wires together. Nothing happed. He tried two more. Nothing. He tried two more. Bang! A filling in one of his back molars exploded. Head spinning, lying on his back, the gearshift between his scrawny legs, he heard a faint sound, another, and then one more. It could have been an owl, but it would have to have been an old, diseased, choking, dying hoot owl, with a pronounced lisp. Actually, it didn’t really sound like an owl at all, but it was enough to get the private motivated. Pulling himself to his feet, he noticed movement in the office. Terrified, he grabbed the wires again, then braced himself and touched them together. Sparks flew, and the engine lurched. Trying one