sense out of the chaos in the garden.
Just short of the patio, a young private in front of Guajardo suddenly threw his arms out and went sprawling across the grass. He had been hit in midstride. His forward momentum carried him forward while his automatic rifle flew out of his hands. Without pausing, Guajardo continued past the dead soldier, grabbing the rifle and exposing himself to the same gunfire that had struck the soldier. That he was doing so did not occur to Guajardo. In fact, very few conscious thoughts crossed his mind in his mad rush for the main house. All that mattered was to reach the house and clear it as quickly as possible.
Only the quick action of Childress saved Alaman from going down in the first volley of fire that had taken out most of the associates he had been meeting with. The speed, violence, and overwhelming force of the attack made an organized defense of the house impossible. Childress realized this immediately and acted accordingly. Rather than stand and fire at the attacking Federales in what would be nothing more than a futile gesture, Ghildress grabbed Alaman in an effort to hustle him out of harm's way as best he could, leaving the others on the patio to fend for themselves.
The sudden and violent takedown, as well as the weight of Childress's body on his, knocked the air out of Alaman's lungs. Not realizing what had happened, he began to get up onto his hands and knees, shoving Childress aside as he did so. Back on his own feet, Childress rearranged his hold on the collar of Alaman's jacket and began to push Alaman off the patio, through the house, and out the front door.
As they reached the door, Alaman began to protest. 'Maria! We must get Maria! She is upstairs!'
Childress, however, ignored his plea. Without a word, he shoved Alam's, assisted by a knee in the back, out the front door, glancing over his shoulder toward the patio as he did so. Alaman's organized, businesslike meeting of less than a minute ago was now a scene of bedlam and horror. Several of the men who had been with Alaman were already lying lifeless on the ground or draped across the table and chairs in awkward positions. One man, a fat dark Mexican whom Childress recognized as Diaz- Bella, jumped up from behind the body of one of his fallen associates and began to lumber toward the door of the house. An unseen assailant from somewhere in the garden ended Bella's flight with a hail of gunfire. Hit from behind, Bella jerked straight up, arching his huge belly forward as if punched in the small of the back, before he fell forward, crashing through the glass doors that led from the house to the patio.
Once in the open courtyard, Alaman looked about as the American hustled him toward the barracks buildings. To his left, the entire tower next to the north gate and the twisted wreckage of a helicopter were engulfed in flames. The fire created a thick, choking smoke that lingered in the courtyard. To his front, figures with weapons at the ready rushed out of the smoke, passed them, and ran into the house. They were members of the garrison. Childress considered stopping them and telling them that the house couldn't be held, but decided not to, not in the middle of the open courtyard.
As if to underscore how bad things were, Childress and Alaman began to take fire from somewhere to the right. At first, Childress thought the guards in the tower next to the south gate were confused by the smoke.
This time he did pause to yell at them to cease fire. Then he saw the tan uniforms and dark helmets of the federal soldiers popping up over the edge of the tower as they fired down into the courtyard below them. The tower had been lost. In a few more seconds, the house would be too.
Unless they reached the barracks before that, they would be caught in a deadly cross fire.
With another great push, Childress shoved Alaman toward the barracks and kept him going.
Guajardo, flanked by two soldiers, rushed past bodies of the criminals who had been gathered on the patio and behind overturned furniture.
Without pausing, he went through the open patio doors and into the house. As they reached the base of the spiral staircase, Guajardo and the two soldiers with him ran head-on into two of Alaman's mercenaries coming through the front door. Surprised to see the soldiers, and realizing the soldiers had the advantage, both of the mercenaries threw down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender.
Unfortunately for the occupants of the house, giving quarter to his enemy had never entered Guajardo's mind. With his blood up and seeking to strike out, Guajardo stopped, turned toward the nearest mercenary, leveled the rifle he had picked up, and squeezed the trigger.
The mercenary who was his first target took the full burst in the chest and was thrown against the wall. Even before the first mercenary had crumpled into a bloody heap on the floor, Guajardo turned on the second.
Seeing that the federal soldiers were in no mood to compromise, and determining that he had thrown his own weapon too far to grab it back, the second mercenary pivoted and ran back out the door.
Guajardo had no intention of letting him escape. Bringing his rifle up to his shoulder, he took careful aim this time before he squeezed off another burst. Panicked, the mercenary made no effort to bob or weave, providing Guajardo an easy mark. The first rounds struck in the lower back. The climb of the gun muzzle, lifted by firing on full automatic, raised the strike of the following rounds up the mercenary's spine to the back of his head.
Like a man who had just quenched a burning thirst, Guajardo stood motionless for a moment. With the rifle still tucked to his cheek, he looked down the barrel, through the open doorway, at the corpse of the mercenary lying in the courtyard. For a second he was oblivious to everything and everyone about him. The scurrying of the soldiers who had accompanied him into the house did not break his concentration. Nor did the popping of gunfire and roar of grenades upstairs and in rooms to either side bother him. Instead, he just stood there, savoring his success and enjoying the exhilaration of the kill. Months of stress and strain, fear and apprehension, self-doubt and second thoughts, were suddenly forgotten in the heat of action.
Only the sudden appearance of his deputy, Major Caso, snapped him back to the present. That, and the announcement that Group N was missing.
In his haste to get the helicopter back into operation, Blasio's crew chief had stripped the threads of the chip collector, making it impossible to get it back into the main rotor gearbox. Carrying the small spark-plug-shaped chip collector over to where Blasio and the infantry lieutenant waited, the crew chief began to apologize, but was cut short by the infantry lieutenant.
With eyes wide from shock and disbelief, the infantry lieutenant pointed at the part in the crew chief's hand and yelled at Blasio, 'You mean to tell me that that little thing will keep your helicopter from flying?'
Embarrassed, Blasio threw out his hands and shrugged his shoulders.
'There is nothing we can do. Without the collector, there is a hole in the gearbox. We can't fly without it.'
The infantry lieutenant, horrified by Blasio's announcement, was unable to speak. He had already lost valuable time waiting in the vain hope that both helicopters could still make it. Now, realizing he had made a bad choice, he spun about and began to run toward the one good helicopter.
Jumping in, he didn't even bother strapping himself in. Instead, he wedged himself between the pilot and the co-pilot, and ordered them to take off immediately and fly to Chinampas. When the pilot told him to sit down and strap himself in, the infantry lieutenant grabbed the pilot by the collar, pulled the pilot's face to his, and yelled at him to fly his damned helicopter. The bulging eyes, red face, and spit that sprayed all over when the lieutenant spoke convinced the pilot that he had best comply immediately.
Without a second thought, as soon as the infantry lieutenant let his collar go, the pilot lifted his collective, depressed his left pedal, and eased the stick forward, lifting his aircraft off the ground and leaving Blasio with his crew and half of the infantry platoon behind.
From either side of a second-story window in the north wing of the main house, Guajardo and Caso looked out into the courtyard below. Gray and black smoke from the burning helicopter wreckage and tower 2 drifted across the courtyard, obscuring their view of the barracks, the stable, and the river gate beyond, making it difficult to pinpoint where the gunfire was coming from. The mercenaries, no doubt, were also hamstrung by the same lack of visibility. Even so, they were maintaining an effective cross fire that covered every inch of the courtyard, making a direct assault impossible. Although Guajardo had anticipated this, the failure of Group N to appear and seize the airfield made his methodical clearing operations impracticable. Time, instead of being an ally, was now against him.
A quick search of the house by the assault teams revealed that Alaman was not among the bodies there.
