large red barn. “Foxtrot. Do you have the ordnance prepped?”
“Roger, sir,” Private Foxtrot said as he pulled a stick of dynamite from his back pocket and clamped it in his teeth like some kind of retriever. “Foxtrot go boom,” he mumbled with the explosive in his mouth.
“And your detonation device?”
Private Foxtrot held up a pack of matches. “My lighter ’ain’t working so hot.”
“Good enough. Now, I want you to head toward the edge of the barn. Once I give the signal, blow the door. We’ll attack across the courtyard and meet you inside. With Private Zulu incarcerated and Private Foxtrot working demolition, we’re down to only one full Fire Team. Bravo, that means you. You’ll lead the charge. And remember, boys, if you aren’t shooting, you should be loading, and if you aren’t loading, you should be shooting.” Private Tango and Fire Team Leader Bravo looked at one another nervously. “Once inside the barn, we’ll move in a series of zigs and zags, forming a search matrix until we find the HVTs.”
“What’s an HVT?” Private Tango asked.
“High Value Target.”
“What’s a High…” Private Foxtrot mumbled before taking the dynamite stick out of his mouth. “What’s a High Value Target?”
“Private Zulu and the civilian, or anything that looks like it’s worth something. This enemy we’re facing is composed solely of cutthroats and thieves. Technically, it’s not stealing if you steal from stealers. See if they have any flat-screen televisions or digital watches. Foxtrot, be sure to wait for the signal.”
In the dark night sky, high above the farm, a stealthily silent drone, on loan from the United States military, made lazy circles around the compound below. It sent a stream of images and data via satellite to a Mexican Army mobile command station ten miles away.
“General Morales. We have an issue with the target.”
“What is it, Sergeant?” The elderly Mexican commander put down a field radio and crossed the room to the view screen.
“Infrared is picking up movement around the perimeter of the compound. I don’t think it is our men.”
“It better not be. All assets were to hold position until the go signal was issued. How many men?”
“A group of three closing from the south and a second group of six from the north. Here and here.” The sergeant pointed to the small glowing figures on the blackish green console.
“It could be another cartel,” General Morales said as he stroked his mustache. “If we knew the Padre and his associates were going to be there, maybe they did, too. Spin up the assault team helicopter and have them hold two miles from the target. We’ve been waiting way too long as it is. I’m not letting that bastard get away again. Have all assets put on alert. Go signal is imminent.”
A cartel sentry walked the perimeter of the fence south of the farmhouse. He set down his rifle as he stopped to relieve himself before fishing a cigarette from his pocket. Just as he was about to light it, a pair of burly arms grabbed him from behind around the chest.
“I kill you now!” El Coyote whispered as he crushed the wind from the man’s lungs. In a few seconds it was over, and El Coyote let the man’s limp body, full of crushed ribs and collapsed lungs, fall to the dry ground.
“Not bad,” Avery said as he and Esmeralda emerged from the bushes. “But I could have done it quicker.”
“Follow me.” El Coyote bent over and ran to the back corner of the farmhouse. A door was open. Inside, the smells of the kitchen wafted out. The scents made Avery hungry. From inside, the sound of heavy boots walking across a wooden floor approached the open door. “You want this one, my friend?” El Coyote whispered to Avery.
“That’s okay. You need the practice,” hissed Avery. “Besides, I couldn’t find the right sticks.” As the man came out of the doorway, El Coyote threw a massive roundhouse punch at the man’s face. He never saw it coming. El Coyote caught the unconscious man before he could fall to the ground.
“Take care of him,” the brawny man said as he peeked into the kitchen. Avery and Esmeralda dragged the unconscious cartel soldier by his feet into some nearby bushes.
“Stop staring at my breasts!”
“I wasn’t.” Avery looked away from her chest.
“Pervert.”
They used a roll of duct tape to bind and gag the man before rejoining their companion. Avery looked to check his watch before realizing he didn’t own one.
Private Foxtrot crawled to the edge of the barn. He couldn’t see the door, but he knew it was a few feet around the corner. He could smell cigarette smoke and the occasional shuffling of the guard’s boots on the gravelly ground. Slowly, he pulled the stick of explosives from his mouth. Taking out his pack of matches, he waited for the signal.
The army sergeant viewed his computer monitor. Three glowing figures huddled by the back of the farmhouse, and another one appeared next to the barn.
“General Morales,” the sergeant said. “Whoever they are, I think they are preparing to breach the buildings.”
“Goddammit!” General Morales swore. “They’re going to blow our operation. That’s it. We’re out of time. Send them in. Send the go signal.”
“Sir, the air assets will get there well before the ground troops have time to arrive.”
“I don’t care. Send the go signal.”
“What about Colonel Beltran?”
“He’s on his own.”
“Can you see him?” General X-Ray asked.
“No,” replied Fire Team Leader Charlie. “It’s too dark in that corner by the barn, but he should be there by now.”
“Well, send the signal and cross your fingers.”
“What’s the signal?” Fire Team Leader Charlie asked.
“The signal. The signal to blow the doors!”
“I don’t think we have one.”
“What? Does anyone here know the signal?” the General asked. Nobody responded.
Closing on the compound at a high rate of speed, two Mexican Army helicopters skimmed low across the desert floor. One was a large transport helicopter carrying a team of Mexican Army special forces commandos; the other was a smaller gunship.
“Helo one-niner, this is little bird. Over.”
“Roger, little bird. Over.”
“Bring it in fast and shallow. Put her down in the courtyard between the two main structures. I’ll fly high cover with the sniper team. Over.”
“Roger, little bird. Going in now.”
“Are you sure we don’t have a signal?” General X-Ray asked. “I’m pretty sure we had one before. Maybe a whistle or something?”
“Naw,” said Private Tango. “The whistle meant retreat, or maybe chow time. I can’t rightly remember.”
“Was it a hoot owl?” asked Fire Team Leader Alpha.
“No, we gave up on that one. Remember, nobody could get it right,” replied Fire Team Leader Charlie. “It always sounded like the owl was dying.”
