“Do we have any more signal flares?”
“Nope,” said Fire Team Leader Bravo. “We used them up at your birthday party.”
“Yes, I remember,” said the General. “Damn near burned down the HQ that night.”
“Yeah, but it was a hell of a party, sir,” Private Tango added. “When Zulu popped out of that cake and started firing off flares, it looked like the Fourth of July.”
“Only problem was that we were inside at the time,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said. “I’ll never forget when the town’s volunteer fire department showed up, all wearing tuxedos.”
“Yep, they sure was pissed off about being called away from their fire chief’s wedding,” Private Tango said.
“Dang it, men, stop reminiscing. We’ve got to come up with a signal, or we’ll be here all night. The thing about Foxtrot is that he never does anything without being told first. Decent trooper, but the boy has all the initiative of a wet turd.” All of a sudden, a huge roar passed overhead. General X-Ray and his men lay prone on the ground as the dry grass around them blew violently back and forth. A high-powered spotlight from above cut through the darkness like a laser, illuminating the courtyard. The guard by the barn dropped his cigarette and began firing wildly at the large helicopter, which bounced and skidded to a halt in the middle of the compound. The guard took cover inside the barn doors and continued to fire blindly from around the corner. Two more guards from inside the barn joined him. Army troops poured out from both sides of the chopper and began to set up a perimeter.
“Signal! Signal!” General X-Ray shouted as he jumped to his feet and began waving his arms over his head in Private Foxtrot’s general direction. “On your feet, men! Signal! Signal!” His men leapt up and began waving their arms with him.
Private Foxtrot ducked his head as gunfire exploded around him. Armed men began to stream out the farmhouse and fire at the helicopter in the courtyard.
“Holy crap,” he said. Striking a match and lighting the fuse to the stick of dynamite, the private went to throw it around the corner. In his haste, he didn’t reach far enough around the corner. It hit the side of barn and bounced back at his feet. The private dove on the sizzling stick of explosives. The hissing fuse burned his hand as he tried to pick it up. When he dropped the dynamite, it landed right in front of his face. From his belly, Private Foxtrot tried to blow out the fuse. It didn’t work. The fuse had already burned halfway down. Scrambling to his feet, he made a break across the open compound and sprinted toward the General and the rest of the men. Halfway across the courtyard, he spotted General X-Ray jumping up and down and waving his hands back and forth.
“The hell with this!” Private Foxtrot screamed as he turned around again and ran. “I never wanted to be in a militia anyway!” Two strides later, an enormous explosion rocked the compound. The force of the blast lifted Private Foxtrot off his feet and threw him in the air. Landing face first in the dirt, he skidded several feet before coming to rest with the trail of his landing stretching out behind him in the dirt.
“Man down!” General X-Ray cried. “Fire Team Bravo, go get him! Everyone else, concentrate your fire on the barn.”
In the dark room beneath the farmhouse, El Barquero woke to the sound of the dynamite explosion. Feeling the knife still in his hands, he began to cut himself free. He remembered Cesar giving it to him, but then things went black. It didn’t take long for him to cut himself free. As he rose to reach the door, a meek voice called out.
“Like, help, man.”
Barquero turned on the light. Across the room, he saw the two men looking at him plaintively. Barquero turned toward the door and then stopped. He turned back around and cut the two men loose. Ziggy kept his eyes shut the entire time. The sight of a naked, blood-covered man twice his size holding a knife was too much for his fragile nature.
“Get out of here. You’re on your own.” Barquero spun around and went to the door. It was locked. Taking a few steps back, he lowered his powerful shoulder and drove it as hard as he could into the middle of the door. It shattered. Reaching through the hole, he released the lock on the far side. Pushing what remained of it open, he ran down the hall toward a set of stairs.
“I’m with him,” said Private Zulu as he sprinted out of the room. Ziggy didn’t move. He was too scared. The sound of automatic weapon fire snapped him back.
“Like, wait for me,” Ziggy said as he crept out of the room.
At the sound of the explosion, the Padre’s dinner guests immediately hid under the heavy table, all except the Padre, Carnicero, and Cesar.
“Carnicero!” the Padre roared. “Get the men!” Carnicero ran from the room, shouting instructions. “The rest of you, follow me. There is a safe room.” The Padre led the dinner party out of the long dining room and down a hall to the left. Cesar lagged behind. When he exited the room, he went to the right.
El Barquero flew up the stairs two at a time. Turning a corner, he ran face first into one of the Padre’s soldiers. Grabbing him by the shoulders, he viciously head-butted the man. The man went limp in his arms. Barquero stripped the man of his pants and put them on. They barely fit, but unfortunately the man’s boots didn’t. Barquero froze; the sound of footsteps from above echoed down the staircase. He positioned himself. Just as the man came around the corner, he grabbed him by the throat.
“No,” Cesar hissed as Barquero’s hands clasped around his neck. Barquero continued to squeeze for a second more, then let go him. “So this was your idea of a good plan?” Cesar asked as he tried to catch his breath.
“It was the only way for me to get close to the Padre. You knew that. Where is he?”
“Upstairs. Jesus, you look like shit, man. Are you okay?”
“I wouldn’t look this way if you had kept up your end of the deal. What took you so long? This was supposed to go down earlier.”
“A dinner meeting with the Padre and some of his top people. I made the decision to wait until we could get them all. Seriously. Are you okay?”
“You made the decision? I’m fine, but waiting wasn’t part of the plan,” Barquero said as he picked up an assault rifle and pistol from the unconscious cartel soldier at his feet. He gave the rifle to Cesar. “Show me where the Padre is.”
“Can I come?” Private Zulu asked from the bottom of the stairs. Cesar and Barquero turned, and both pointed their weapons at him.
“He’s not one of them.” Barquero lowered his pistol.
“Find cover,” Cesar said. “Help is outside. When this is over, they’ll come to get you.”
At the first sound of fighting, Avery, Esmeralda, and El Coyote headed through the kitchen into the sprawling farmhouse. Esmeralda unloaded her massive pistol into two cartel soldiers who burst into the room. El Coyote picked up a third and smashed his head into a wall until he stopped moving. Avery followed the two into the main area of the house. Moving from room to room, they searched for Ziggy and Private Zulu. Bullets from outside slammed through a large plate-glass window, sending all three to the ground. They were pinned down for several minutes.
“Check that room over there,” El Coyote said as he fired at a cartel gunman down the hall. Avery, more than glad to get out of the massive shooting gallery that the compound had turned into, threw open the heavy doors covered in murals. Inside, the room was filled with artifacts and weapons. He spotted a heavy wooden desk.
