by J E Higgins
Crane said nothing as he watched the camp for another minute. Then, lowering his binoculars, he placed them into the carrying case strapped to his side and reached for the GM-94 resting just in front of him. “What do you think are the odds they’ll see me?” he asked as he positioned himself on one knee.
Taking another look through his binoculars, Harkness chuckled. “I doubt they’d notice us if we were five feet from them.”
“Let’s enjoy the easy times when we can,” Crane responded as he removed the cover from the weapon’s barrel and lifted it to take aim. The attack would be initiated when Crane fired the first grenade shot. It would be directed at the laboratory, easily the most flammable target, and the one guaranteed to create the biggest explosion. Afterward, the other teams would follow with their own barrage of grenade launchings spreading mass damage and confusion.
Bringing the weapon to eye level, Crane carefully sighted. They were about a hundred and fifty meters from the edge of the camp with another eighty meters to the laboratory beyond. The GM-94 had an effective range at about three-hundred meters with a maximum range of five-hundred meters. Having had ample practice in Paraguay, and confident in his marksmanship skills, he squeezed the trigger.
The first round fired with a pop. There was silence for seconds then the lab exploded, erupting into a large column of fire that shot through the trees well into the sky engulfing the immediate surroundings in a roaring flame that quickly consumed the closest facilities. The sounds from the camp of men yelling and screaming frantically told the mercenaries that they had achieved their intended goal. Soon more structures in the other parts of the camp were exploding and turning into ravenous beasts of fire as the other teams let loose with grenade fire. One facility after another burst into uncontrolled flames showering burning debris in all directions.
Without the binoculars, Crane and Harkness could see the fallout unfolding as the key centers of the production camp disintegrated into torched ash and men raced wildly around in a frantic state of hysteria. Picking up the binoculars, Harkness began scanning the camp. “It’s just like you assumed. Our man is trying to rally his troops and bring some order,” he said, referring to the long-haired chief of security who was grabbing up men as they passed him and directing them to some action aimed at trying to save the camp.
“All units move in!” Crane commanded over his comms. With the attack now in full swing, there was no more need for silence.
“Roger,” chorused the voices over the comms in reply.
Rising from their position, Harkness and Crane began moving diagonally toward the camp. To avoid getting caught in a friendly cross-fire, the teams moved on the camp in a wide V-pattern formation that encircled half the area. Teams five and three moved parallel along the flanks of the western side of the camp as they gradually worked to the center where they would penetrate. Team one, based at the far west corner moved directly towards the far edge of the camp keeping the western portion covered as the other two teams advanced.
Using the cover of the overhanging trees, Crane and Harkness were able to remain hidden, moving quickly to cover a great deal of ground. The ghillie suits also continued to offer protection by breaking up any outline they might have displayed when they were briefly exposed. As they neared the camp, they could hear the commotion from shouting men and the deep growling sound of trucks being brought to life. It was an easy assumption that several of the workers were trying to escape with whatever vehicles were on the premises.
“Team three penetrating,” Crane called into his comms as he and Harkness arrived at the base of the tree line that separated them from the camp. They received another chorus of ‘roger’ over the comms before venturing in. Just before entering, they shed their ghillie suits. They were too cumbersome to use for the next phase of their activities.
Clearing the last few meters they emerged from the thickets into the open space of the camp. With their rifles at the ready, they moved in. Harkness was behind Crane, his weapon aimed towards the rear as Crane led the way forward. Trucks burst out of the entrance of the camp and raced wildly down the poorly defined road in a frantic attempt to get away from the danger. Mixed in with the roaring engines and squealing wheels, individual shouts were heard from men on foot trying to make their escape. It was a good sign that resistance would be minimal. Crane’s only concern was that the wave of traffic and individual stragglers would not pose a problem for Kusaki and McNaulty, who were preparing an ambush.
They had moved no more than a few paces when two men darted from around the corner of a nearby hut and charged wildly in their direction. With only the flickering illumination from the fires in the distance, the men were little more than shadows, but the outline of rifles in their hands was quite distinctive.
His weapon raised Crane quickly squeezed a succession of shots. The muzzle bucked as the steel jacketed rounds sped into the two shadowed figures. Their arms flew out wide as they came to a screeching halt, dropping to the ground. The two mercenaries moved on. As they passed, Crane pumped an additional round into both bodies. Harkness said nothing as he followed closely behind, turning his body constantly to keep a visual of his partner and then turned his attention back to the area behind them.
“Team one penetrating!” shouted a voice in French-accented English. Rubian and Macron had breached the camp.
“Roger!” Crane called back. It didn’t surprise him team one had made it into the camp before five. The terrain on the northern side of the camp where they had staged was denser and would have been more arduous to cross. The two men rounded the corner where the shadows had ended and found it clear. They pressed on to the next building, a darkened shack that looked deserted. They had almost made it when they heard a sudden barrage of gunfire in the distance just behind them.
“We’re taking fire!” the French accent of Macron cried out over the comms.
“We’re moving toward you!” Crane called back. Diverting from their path the two men changed course and began moving toward the gunfire. The conflict was loud and easy to follow. They edged their way forward keeping close to the wall of the hut and staying deep within the dark shadows the hut provided. Reaching the edge of the hut, Crane retrieved a small side view mirror from his pouch. Peeking past the hut he was able to see the reflection of Long Hair directing a group of men from a covered position just down the way. They were laying down a heavy base of fire at who could only be the Belgians. As predicted Long-Hair had managed to rally some of the troops and was returning a respectable response.
Just then, they heard Espinoza’s voice call over the comms announcing his team had breached the camp. Seeing that Long Hair had positioned his men behind a hut and a short wood fence, it left an opening for someone to attack from the flank.
Crane called back, “Team five, flank the aggressors. Team One will pin them down in a crossfire.”
“Roger,” Espinoza replied.
At that, Crane and Harkness moved around the hut, with Crane standing and Harkness kneeling just below him. Calmly they took aim and began to fire at the men who were positioned behind the fence ─ they were the easiest targets. Crane’s first target was Long Hair. With careful aim, he sighted on the man’s back. Aided by the glow of a nearby burning hut, they had a perfect view of the guards. Squeezing off a quick burst, he watched the rounds tear into Long Hair’s back, cutting into his spine. Long Hair dropped instantly to the ground. Harkness followed up with shots at some of the men who were staged behind the wall and still oblivious to the gunfire coming from behind. They managed to pick off three more until someone took notice and called for everyone to take cover in the wedge between the two huts next to them.
Gathering into the small space, some of the guards turned and directed their fire at Harkness and Crane. However, the two mercenaries were well covered behind the hut and concealed by its dark shadow. Their flash suppressors cloaked their muzzle flashes. The guards couldn’t make out their precise location and began firing wildly.
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Ramon Espinoza and Pedro Sandoval had moved into the campsite. They slid from the bushes like two ninjas and crept along slowly keeping close to the huts and staying within the shadows. They could hear the rattle of automatic gunfire in the distance and began moving towards it. The sounds got louder, accompanied by a litany of excited shouts in Spanish.
The two mercenaries slowed their approach as they got closer. At one point they paused at the sight of two guards who were crouched by the corner of a hut next to the where the heavy firing was coming from. The guards’ attention was focused in the opposite direction oblivious of the two men approaching. Coming up behind their targets, the mercenaries lunged simultaneously penetrating their targets with double bladed stiletto knives.
The movement was sharp and well-practiced as both men grabbed hold of their targets’ shoulders, thrusting the blades of their weapons deep into the back of each head, slicing through the brainstem, killing both guards instantly and quietly. Their quick and silent actions went completely unnoticed by the guards gathered at the other side of the opening, who were preoccupied with being in the crossfire delivered by the other two teams.
Lowering the limp bodies to the ground, the mercenaries turned their sights to the rest of the guards. Taking up positions at the corner of both huts the two mercenaries raised their weapons and opened fire. Their suppressors muffled the sound and cloaked the flash as they delivered a barrage of fire down the narrow opening onto the unsuspecting and unprotected guards. One after another dropped like dominos as bullets tore into their bodies. The muffled gunfire of the mercenaries’ weapons was drowned out by the loud reports of the guards’ own AK-47s rendering them unaware of the attack coming from behind. In a matter of seconds, the gunfire fell silent and all that remained of the opposition was a pile of bullet-riddled corpses.
Espinoza signaled to the rest of the teams that all was clear. It was followed by a command from Crane to have all the remaining structures searched. The teams quickly fanned out and conducted a series of methodical searches through all remaining huts and structures. They found no one else, the camp was deserted.
Next, they produced several bricks of Semtex sheathed in plastic, which they set around the shacks housing the finished cocaine, laying the charges next to the packaged bricks of white powder. Apparently, it was the Black Crow’s next big shipment ready to be sent. Looking at the neat bricks piled several feet high it was an easy guess that they would be costing the cartel millions after tonight. This would have to get the attention of Gutiérrez. If not, the next phase certainly would.
With the charges laid, the team pushed back out into the jungle leaving Crane to complete the finishing touches. Setting the detonator for ten minutes he threw on his Bergen and quickly moved toward the tree line. With several pounds of Semtex no longer in his pack, his burden was greatly lessened enabling him to move more quickly. Slipping into the trees he followed the path that he had used to infiltrate the camp. He was able to quickly add distance between him and the impending explosion.
He met the rest of his team at the initial point he and Harkness had staged. A quick wave of the hand had everyone up and moving in a tactical formation as they continued snaking through the foliage. Harkness took point while Macron watched the rear.
Crane made a point of checking his watch. With ten pounds of Semtex explosives preparing to go off and a certainty that news of the attack had reached Guzman and his people, he didn’t want to waste time. The mercenaries moved at a brisk pace. With the guards all dead or having retreated, there was little concern of being ambushed so there wasn’t a need for intense tactical precautions. The focus instead was in reaching the remaining teams and preparing the next phase of the operation.
The loud thundering roar of the Semtex charges going off in unison shook the jungle like a ferocious mythical beast asserting its dominance. From the power of the explosion, they could feel the growling rumbles of the earth vibrating beneath them. The mercenaries continued along unabated.
Having made it to the rally point, they were met by a short blob of shrubbery that seemed to emerge from the darkness. It was Kusaki. “We have your place scoped out,” were the first words out of his mouth.
“Good,” Crane replied. “With all the trucks and stragglers streaming out of the camp, have you had any trouble with the deserters coming by?”
The giant bush that encompassed Kusaki’s head shook from side to side. “No, everybody who came through was speeding by just trying to escape. Even if we were out in the open, I doubt they would have paid the slightest never mind.”
“Then let’s get to the next phase,” Crane waved his hand signaling his men to move on.
Kusaki took point, leading the other mercenaries through the carpets of thick vegetation. To avoid leaving any marks or breakage that could alert the quarry of their presence, Kusaki took them behind where the other two teams had staged along the flanks of the road. He led them across the road, through some foliage and up the side of a small hill. Having spent a considerable amount of time recceing the road they had found the perfect location. After Kusaki led them a good distance up the hill, they edged off to the side until they were heading back in the direction from where the other teams were staged.
Moving past the locations of Teams Two and Four they continued nearly two-hundred meters farther. They took positions in a blanket of foliage overlooking the road. From their vantage point, they had a perfect kill zone. Below, the road moved up the hill in a steep incline to a gently rounded bend. On the other side of the road was a long wall of trees grown so closely together no one would be able to get through it. The road itself was narrow allowing only enough room for one-way flow of traffic and no means to turn around or perform any other type of maneuver.
Carefully observing the position, Crane set about placing his people into position. He spread his men out around the circumference of the hill. Slowly they removed their packs and set them to the ground as they positioned themselves into the concealment of the foliage. As they settled into place, they retrieved the equipment they would need for the coming encounter from their Bergens. They had no machine guns, such as Minimis or 240 Golfs, to lay heavy suppressive fire so they would have to rely on the grenade launchers to provide most of the serious firepower.
Having done his part, Kusaki left to return to his post, leaving the remaining mercenaries to make the finishing touches. Since they had no means to intercept the communication between the camp and Guzman, it was only an educated guess that reinforcements were en route. Having no precise timeline to work from, they couldn’t be sure how far out those reinforcements were or if they were even moving. That meant they had to work fast to be ready.
Calling on the comms Crane made contact with Teams Two and Four. Sally and McNaulty were heard responding. They were in position. McNaulty and Mugrane were ready to go while Sally explained that he was still waiting for the ‘little nip’ to get back. Sally’s words were cut short by a loud thwapping sound coming over the comms followed by the curt voice of Kusaki correcting the previous information and a warning to his teammate of painful repercussions if he used the term ‘nip’ again.
“I bloody hate the downtime in situations like this,” Harkness griped in a deep whisper, as he fingered his rifle anxiously.
“I don’t know anyone who doesn’t,” Crane replied. Down the line, he heard the occasional whispered utterances in various languages. Though noise discipline in the field dictated verbal communication be relegated only to an absolute necessity, human nature dictated that trivial conversation was inevitable in some cases. People needed to talk, especially in stressful situations. In their current location, the Welshman felt no need to curtail the minimal conversation that was going on. Besides, in the darkness, it was a sign that his men were at least awake. Being professionals, the noise eventually died out on its own.
A grumbling noise of approaching vehicles echoed in the distance. Crane perked up at the sounds of what had to be large h
auling trucks moving rapidly in their direction. From the assortment of uneven sounds, it was obvious there was more than one. The clanking sound of weapons being taken up and prepared resonated all around as the mercenaries prepared themselves for the approaching battle.
“All teams get ready,” Crane called out over his comms set, to which he received a litany of quick squelches in reply.
It wasn’t long before headlight beams warned of the enemy’s approach. Crane gripped the GM-94 as he slowly placed himself in a kneeling position that allowed him to aim at the road below. This was followed by the others who moved into similar positions. Their rifles would be of little use at this point, thus every man armed himself with grenade launchers.
The rumble of the powerful diesel engines became louder as the trucks geared down to start up the hill. Their headlights had gone from beaming sabers of illumination to powerful glowing circles that lit up the entire night.
“Teams Two and Four, initiate the attack once the first truck is in the bend,” Crane ordered. He received a double click reply from both. The convoy started to make its way around the bend. From what Crane could see, there were six vehicles with five large hauling trucks and a large civilian HUM-V in the rear. That was likely Guzman’s. Apparently, the boss wanted to be the furthest away from any probable gun battle. The strain of mounting the hill was a slow exercise for the already heavy vehicles. As they made their way up the incline, they slowed to about half the speed they were originally traveling. This was what Crane had anticipated and planned for.
The trucks began to navigate the bend. Though only a gentle turn, in the narrow space offered between the belly of the hill and the uncompromising wall of trees, it ensured the trucks had little flexibility. The first truck was in the final stages of its move around the bend when the cab of the vehicle suddenly erupted into a bright fireball that lit the sky. That was accompanied by a deep earth-shaking explosion. The convoy came to a screeching halt.