by David Spell
If they’d had suppressed weapons, Fleming would have targeted the cartel members behind the house first. Instead, he chose to make entry on the front side of the mansion to make sure Sanchez did not escape. The Marine knew that Smith was covering them and trusted the former Ranger sniper implicitly.
Andy nodded at Eric and the warriors rose, moving in a crouch up the stairs, checking the door to find that it was locked. Fleming reached for a set of lock picks in his cargo pocket. Suddenly, the sound of engines and moving headlights came from behind them, where the long driveway disappeared into the trees heading back up towards the highway.
Before the men could react, two vans rolled towards the residence. The armed figures dressed in black were standing in plain view at Villarreal’s front door. The driver of the lead vehicle reacted so quickly, sliding to a stop, that the trailing vehicle almost slammed into it. The rear driver just managed to jerk the steering wheel to the right, driving off of the gravel driveway and up a slight embankment before coming to a stop.
Each van held ten of the smugglers who would be carrying the drug-filled backpacks across the river, along with two cartel soldiers to make sure none of the mules had any thoughts of changing their minds. The rear driver jumped out, screaming at his friend who had just caused him to almost wreck his van. He had not seen the intruders. A moment later, however, a thunderous explosion with an ensuing fireball quieted the Mexican as he dove back into his vehicle to retrieve his M-16.
Scotty had watched his companions reach the front of the large house, while also observing the cartel members in the rear of the hacienda. They had loaded all the backpacks and were now stretched out on the deck furniture. Three of them appeared to have immediately fallen asleep, as the other four lit a large joint and passed it around. The ones with long guns had left them leaning against the truck, the former Ranger noted with disgust. Never put your weapon where you can’t reach it, he chided the gangsters silently. Although it probably won’t make any difference in a few minutes, he realized.
The appearance of the vans changed everything, speeding up their time-table.
“Bravo One to Bravo Three,” Andy called Smith over the radio, “do it now!”
The sniper didn’t even acknowledge the transmission, simply pushing the rifle’s safety off, placing the crosshairs over the silver propane tank two hundred yards away, and squeezing the trigger. After seeing the tank earlier, Smith had loaded his rifle with a magazine of tracer rounds, the incendiary bullets ensuring that the gas would ignite. A loud boom rocked the house as a ball of fire shot upwards, taking the roof over the patio with it. Even at that distance, Scotty and Hector felt the concussion, along with the searing heat. All of the windows on the backside of the residence were shattered, as well as a ten-foot by ten-foot section of the brick wall that was blown inwards into the residence. The large metal cylinder was sent skyward as well, slamming down on top of the panel truck.
Six of the cartel goons reclining on the patio were killed instantly by the blast, incinerated as the fire enveloped them. The seventh had heard the approaching vehicles and had moved around to the other side of the house to make sure that it was the drug mules arriving. Partially shielded by the mansion, the survivor was still thrown to the ground by the force of the blast, stunned and temporarily deafened.
The sniper quickly shifted fifty feet to his right so that he could cover his teammates. Four figures armed with long guns were rushing across the front yard towards the house from the vans to confront the intruders. Scotty didn’t see Andy or Eric so he figured that they had made entry right after the explosion. He dropped to a kneeling position, sighting in on the lead gunman. The M1A1 bucked as the .308 tracer punched a hole into the cartel soldier’s chest.
Smith shifted slightly to the left, triggering a second shot. This round caught the next gangster in the throat, blowing out his spine and almost completely removing his head. The two tracer rounds, however, had given away Scotty’s and Hector’s position and the remaining pair of gunmen started pouring fire into the tree line.
The former Ranger hurriedly crouch-walked twenty yards more to the right, taking cover behind a tree, staying in the shadows, with Ruiz following closely as Andy had commanded. Suddenly, from inside the house, the rattle of gunfire carried out into the yard. The gangsters paused for a moment, seeing the muzzle flashes through the front windows.
A tracer round slammed into the third man’s head, exploding his skull. The fourth shooter realized too late his tactical mistake of staying out in the open, turning to flee back for the cover of the vehicles. Smith had made shots in Iraq at over a thousand yards. This cartel thug was a little over a hundred, a chip shot for the bearded man. The heavy slug caught him between the shoulder blades as he ran, causing the dead man to pitch forward onto his face.
There was no more shooting for the moment, outside or inside, allowing Smith to quickly remove the magazine of tracers from his rifle and reload with standard .308 ammo.
“Stay here,” he ordered Hector, using hand motions to reinforce his words. The fear was evident on the young man’s face. “You’re doing great!”
Smith patted Ruiz on the shoulder and gave him a thumbs-up before moving through the hole in the fence, rushing across the open field to crouch at the front corner of residence. He knew his two friends were more than capable of taking care of themselves but he wanted to be close if they needed him. The sniper glanced back through his NVGs towards the wood line to see Ruiz crouching in the shadows, holding his pistol in shaking hands.
Several more shots erupted from inside and Smith heard footsteps above him, followed by breaking glass.
“Bravo Two to Bravo Three, watch for one making an exit from a upper level window,” Eric’s voice sounded in Scotty’s ear.
A figure exited a window and then jumped down onto the lower section of roof above Scotty. The shirtless, escaping cartel soldier dropped the last three feet to the front yard. He didn’t appear to be armed.
As he spun around to run, Smith smashed him in the face with the heavy plastic stock of the M1A1. The unconscious gangster landed hard on his back. Scotty rolled him onto his stomach and secured his hands with flex cuffs. Another shot came from inside the house.
“Bravo Three to Bravo Two, I got the runner. You guys OK?” the sniper asked, scanning the area through his scope.
Andy had never had a chance to use his lock picks. As soon as the two vans appeared, the former MARSOC Marines knew they had been seen and had to speed things up. The entire house had shaken from the explosion in the rear, hopefully disorienting anyone inside. Rather than trying to pick the lock, Fleming chose the more direct route, driving a kick into the door, cracking the frame but not opening it. A second thrust of the Marine’s right leg sent one of the double-doors flying inwards.
Their mission was to locate Damian Sanchez and take him into custody if they could, or kill him if they couldn’t. The two warriors had worked together for so long that they knew what each other was going to do. Gray knew that Fleming would go right as he dashed into the house, his rifle up and ready. Eric rushed in, moving to the left, his own Smith & Wesson AR-15 tucked into his shoulder, the safety off. Because they had not seen a floor plan for Villarreal’s ranch house, Eric and Andy would have to adjust their tactics as they went. To their left Vincente had a well-stocked bar and a billiards table. To the right was a formal dining room.
Smoke already filled the interior, billowing in from a lower level hallway near the area of the explosion and from the now glassless windows in the large living room directly in front of them, towards the rear of the house. A winding staircase at their two o’clock led up to an open landing that connected both ends of the long home. The living room contained several leather sofas and chairs and looked out over the swimming pool. Flames were already climbing up the walls near the windows, the heavy drapes beginning to burn.
Gunshots exploding from outside the residence let them know that Scotty was engaged. Several vo
ices called out to each other from the upper level of the mansion, bedroom doors coming open as three figures staggered out onto the landing, coughing and wiping their eyes. One of the men was only clad in his briefs, a pistol in his left hand, his right arm missing. Andy and Eric immediately recognized Sanchez from the photos that they had studied.
The sicario reacted quickly, squeezing off two shots from his 9mm Beretta as he dove back into the hallway toward his bedroom. Fleming and Gray each moved two steps in opposite directions, both firing several shots at the gangster. They were rewarded by a gasp of pain as Damian fell out of sight. The other two cartel members on the landing fled down the corridor to the left to avoid the unknown men in black.
Andy charged up the stairs, pausing at the top to take a quick peek around the corner of the hallway to his right. A long smear of blood led into the first bedroom on the left. Eric stood next to his companion, his AR pointed towards the opposite end of the mansion, a number of doorways visible down the hallway. Suddenly, a cartel soldier yelled as he rushed out of one of those bedrooms, sprinting towards the two Americans as he raised an AK-47. The former Gunnery Sergeant calmly fired two shots that caught the runner in the face, dropping him at his feet.
The other gangster decided not to stick around, a sound of breaking glass coming from one of the bedrooms at the front of the house let them know he was making his escape.
“Bravo Two to Bravo Three, watch for one making an exit from an upper level window,” Gray notified Smith over the radio.
“First room on the left,” Fleming said quietly, following the blood trail on the tile floor.
He moved slowly towards the room, wishing he had a grenade. Gray moved with him, his rifle still pointing behind them, making sure no one snuck up from the opposite direction. Andy felt a little better when he saw the butt of the Beretta laying on the floor just outside the room. Of course, Sanchez could have acquired another weapon.
At the entrance to the room, Fleming paused again, taking a deep breath. A groan escaped from the wounded gunman. Andy quietly dropped to his knees, taking a quick glance inside. The man was slowly pulling himself across the floor, trying to get to an M4 leaning against the far wall. Through the NVGs Fleming could see that he and Gray had made several hits on the soldier-turned-sicario, blood smearing behind him on the tile floor.
Sanchez was still five feet away from the rifle when he heard footsteps behind him.
“Doesn’t look like you’re going to make it,” Andy told him, his own M4 pointed at the wounded man’s head.
Damian stopped crawling and used his left hand to push himself over onto his back, allowing Fleming to see gunshot wounds to his left forearm, abdomen, and groin.
“You American? American Special Forces?” Sanchez gasped, the sicario’s life pumping out of him onto the floor.
“Close enough,” the former MARSOC operator answered, pulling the trigger.
The 5.56mm round struck the killer just over the bridge of the nose and allowed the two Americans to mentally tick off one of their mission goals.
“We need to sweep the house,” Eric’s voice came from behind him.
“10-4, let’s do it.”
“Bravo Three to Bravo Two, I got the runner. You guys OK?” Scotty’s voice came over their earpieces.
“Two bad guys down. Sanchez is KIA, but now we need to clear the house.”
“10-4. Four down from those vans. I think all the gangsters behind the house are dead, and the runner is in custody.”
“You’re a one-man wrecking crew!” Fleming answered.
Eric and Andy quickly, but safely finished clearing the upper level of the mansion. They carefully made their way back downstairs, where they found two charred bodies in bedrooms near the blast site, flames already burning drapes and furniture in those rooms. The rest of the residence was empty as the fire increased in the living room, visibility and breathing becoming difficult because of the smoke.
“Let’s go out the other end,” Andy said, coughing. “We need to make sure there are no more gangsters lurking over there.”
The extraction point was the wide-open field behind the house. They couldn’t take a chance on leaving any threats in the area. A door on the far side of the mansion led to the driveway and covered parking area.
Eric carefully opened the door to see a figure sitting on the ground twenty feet away, his head between his knees, blood pouring out of his right ear, a large revolver visible in his hand.
“¿Qué pasó?” he muttered over and over in Spanish. What happened?
Suddenly, Scotty’s rifle boomed from the other end of the residence, followed by automatic gunfire coming from further down the driveway.
“Bravo Three to Bravo One, the two sentries from the front gate just showed up. I got one of ‘em but the other’s shooting at me from behind one of the vans. Can you get a shot on him?”
“Bravo One’s clear, stand by.”
The figure seated outside the door did not react to the gunfire, his hearing evidently damaged by the blast. Gray had considered trying to take the man alive but time was of the essence. He raised his rifle and sighted in on the side of the cartel soldier’s head and pulled the trigger. He crumpled onto his side as Eric and Andy rushed outside, using two pickup trucks parked in the driveway for cover.
Fleming glanced behind the mansion, the flames intensifying as they consumed the wooden deck. The two operators saw the empty vans several hundred feet away. There was no sign of the smugglers, the gunfire having sent them fleeing into the darkness.
The sentry was keeping his head down, bouncing between the vans, using them for cover as he blindly sprayed automatic fire from his AK-47 towards Scotty’s position. He had already burned through at least two magazines forcing Smith to keep his head down.
Andy moved around a black Ford F-250, finally getting a glimpse of the gunman. He was focused on trying to hit the sniper and was now on the passenger side of the front van. He was hidden from Smith’s view but not from Fleming’s. The Marine leaned across the hood of the pickup, taking a second to line up his shot.
Andy squeezed the trigger, his round striking the gangster on the right side, puncturing his ribs, lungs, and heart. The cartel soldier dropped to his knees facing the house. A second shot caught him dead-center in the chest, finishing what the first bullet started.
“Bravo One to Bravo Three, he’s down.”
“Charlie One to Alpha One and Bravo One, confirming the scene is secure? We’re about to lift off.”
Brownsville, Texas, Wednesday, 0523 hours
Clark had waited until the two teams were almost back together, monitoring their radio traffic. There was more shooting going on than they had hoped for. But, they were dealing with a violent cartel so that wasn’t really a surprise. The good news was that McCain’s team had the cartel leader in custody and had not taken any casualties. When Chuck had said they were leaving the warehouse enroute to Villarreal’s ranch, Kevin had given the support team orders to get loaded onto the helicopter and for Anderson to get them ready to move. From the gun range to their extraction point would be about a ten-minute flight.
As the colonel was boarding the aircraft, Vargas rushed over. She had been monitoring the Mexican police radio channels.
“Hey, boss, FYI, the cops are on the scene at the warehouse. They arrived five minutes after our guys left. They’re reporting multiple dead and wounded. There were also a couple of explosions there and police are requesting ambulances for the wounded and the FD for a fire on one end of the building. Right now, they’re talking about another cartel being responsible. Also, fire units are responding to a report of an explosion and a fire at Vincente’s ranch.”
“Damn!” Clark shook his head. “Thanks, Gabby, call me if anything else comes up. Hopefully, we’ll see you soon.”
Kevin pushed the transmit button on his walkie-talkie. “Charlie One to Bravo One, confirming your scene is secure? We’re about to lift off.”
�
�Bravo One to Charlie One, affirmative. Scene is secure.”
“Alpha One to Charlie One, our ETA is five.”
“Charlie One is clear. Be advised that the FD is enroute to Bravo One’s location. Try and figure out a way to block the driveway, if possible.”
“Alpha One clear.”
“Bravo One clear.”
“Ready to go, Joey?” Clark asked, after strapping himself in and slipping the headphones on.
“Yes, sir,” the pilot said, firing up the rotors on the Sikorsky S-92.
“Whose helicopter are we flying?”
“A friend who I do a lot of work for,” Joey answered, checking all the gauges and dials.
I hope your friend isn’t going to be too upset if we get arrested and his nice helicopter gets seized, Kevin thought. He had already notified General Perkins and Thomas Burns of how things were progressing. Perkins had answered on the first ring, tension and concern in his voice.
“Please alert me immediately if there are any issues with extraction or getting back into the US.”
“Will do, sir.”
Agent Burns would notify his counterpart in Brownsville to take custody of Villarreal. They would work out where to meet after everyone was back on United States soil.
Five minutes later, the Sikorsky was up and racing towards the border, Anderson flying nap-of-the-earth to avoid radar detection. The former Army SOARs pilot had plotted a route that was mostly desert terrain, allowing him to skim the earth at fifty feet, his NVGs helping him to watch for any obstacles. Just before they crossed the river at the southernmost point of Texas, Joey had to pop up to a hundred feet to avoid a wooded area.