“Another of our Middle-Eastern friends is due to arrive tomorrow,” Masque said. “He’s bringing with him another package to be taken into the United States. I want you to escort him across the border, after suitable security precautions are taken of course.”
Chapter Ten
As the two men headed out to the parking area, Hausmann stopped at a side door in the short hallway that led from the living room to the poolroom.
“I don’t think I’ll travel quite as lightly as I did last night,” Hausmann said as he opened the door. “Something with a little more range and power than a pistol or carbine sounds good.”
The room past the door was a compact but well equipped exercise area. Dominating the center of the room was a universal weight machine with its various stations for different resistance exercises. For those workouts done better with free weights, there were racks of weights lined up along the outside wall, just on the other side of a large bench. On the opposite wall was both an elliptical trainer and a treadmill for cardiovascular work.
The left-hand wall of the room was completely covered with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. As Reaper watched, Hausmann went over to the mirrored wall and pressed hard on a seam between two panels. There was a soft click and two of the panels unlatched and swung outward, revealing a pair of large safe doors with a combination lock dial on the right-hand door.
A fast series of spins of the combination dial allowed Hausmann to unlock the doors and pull them both open. Inside the safe was a long rack of rifles and shoulder arms along the back wall. The doors were each covered with pegboards holding a variety of handguns and holsters. Several shelves along the top of the safe had stacks of magazines and different boxes of ammunition across their length.
“Got enough guns?” Reaper asked.
“You mean there’s such a thing as enough guns?” Hausmann said. “What an astonishing concept. Must come from all of that city living you’ve been doing back East. These are just what I have to make do with for a while. Besides, this is just the household supply. The rest of the hardware is in the armory at the back of the garage.”
Pulling a Springfield M1A Super Match rifle from the rack, Hausmann pulled the breech open on the big military-style weapon. He reached up to the top shelf and took down a pair of magazines for the rifle. Each gray parkerised steel feed device held twenty rounds of 7.62×51mm ammunition. Slipping one of the magazines into a pouch on the stock of the big rifle, he locked the other into place in the magazine well in front of the trigger guard. An older-model 8-power Leupold telescopic sight was set along the top of the weapon’s receiver in a secure three-point mount.
Leaning the now loaded rifle back into its slot in the rack, Hausmann pulled his belt rig down from the left-hand door. The leather belt still held his Custom Firearms Inc. M1911A1 in its Blade Tech kydex holster. Reaching up to the ammunition shelf again, Hausmann took down a second kydex magazine holder, this one having two full eight-round stainless-steel magazines, the same style as Reaper was using, slipped into its pockets.
“Well,” Hausmann said as he attached the second pouch to his belt, “at least you didn’t have to clean it.”
“I’m just glad I remembered the combination to the gun safe,” Reaper said as he leaned against the frame of the door.
Buckling the belt around his waist, Hausmann picked up the M1A and slung it from his shoulder. Shutting the safe doors, he rotated the locking lever and spun the combination dial. With the mirror panels shut, the space went back to looking like nothing more than an exercise room.
Passing through the poolroom on their way out of the house, Reaper stopped and picked up his M4A1 carbine and M1911A1 from the open Kalispel aluminum gun case sitting across the couch. Reaper had already cleaned the weapon and reloaded his magazines after firing it the night before. Since they were going to be riding in the close confines of the Prowler RTVs, Reaper had decided against carrying his M1911A1 in his Fobus C21 belt holster. The hidden inside pockets of his 5.11 tactical shirt were too small to carry the full-sized M1911A1. So he had put on his 5.11 tactical vest.
The multipocket 5.11 tactical vest looked like just another sleeveless sportsman’s or camera vest. But underneath the first layer of cloth was a hidden pocket on both sides of the vest, pockets that were lined with the pile material of Velcro. A holster that was lined with the nylon Velcro hook material held the M1911A1 securely inside the hidden left-hand carry compartment of the 5.11 vest. In the right-hand compartment, Reaper had secured the Velcro-sided double magazine pouch. Now the ex-SEAL was well armed with his customized Springfield Armory M1911A1 along with twenty-four rounds of high velocity .45 hollowpoints in three magazines. Two spare thirty-round magazines to the M4A1 were in pockets on the outside of the vest, in addition to the pair of magazines already locked into the weapon.
The two men headed outside to where the Prowler RTVs were parked. Both vehicles were relatively small, barely more than five feet tall. And each was less than eight feet long. A normal man could stand behind a Prowler and grab either side of the just over four-foot-wide vehicle.
The body of the Prowlers were made of formed steel tubing with expanded metal grids along the sides and across the front and back areas. Only the middle of the vehicles had a seat, with the rough travel capability of the RTVs indicated by the five-point safety harness on the operator’s seats.
“Damn,” Hausmann said as they walked around the two vehicles, “these things do look like stripped-down dune buggies, only smaller. Either that, or four-wheeler bikes on steroids.”
“They are a lot smaller than most all-terrain vehicles,” Reaper agreed. “But that helps them be a lot more maneuverable. Their center of gravity is a foot-and-a-half lower than most ATVs, and that makes them stable as hell on the run as well. These things are not modified off-road vehicles. They were purpose-built to protect the operator in military operations. They are just about the most rugged thing out there on wheels. They’re a big improvement even on the fast attack vehicles (FAVs) the Teams were using just last year in Afghanistan. You can secure your rifle in that set of rubber-covered hooks in front of the operator’s compartment.”
Hausmann slipped his M1A rifle into the cradle made by the two hooks Reaper pointed out. The weapon’s mount was on the two roll cage supports on either side of the front of the Prowler. Two flat elastic straps slipped over the rifle and held it low, keeping it from blocking any of the operator’s sight line, but ready for quick withdrawal and immediate use. Over at the other Prowler, Reaper was securing his M4A1 in the same weapon’s mount.
“It does look like the driver is just about completely surrounded by metal when he sits inside this thing,” Hausmann said as he climbed into one of the Prowlers.
“So far, just about all of the Special Operation units and most of the services have been trying them out,” Reaper said. “There hasn’t been an operator injury in a vehicle accident with one yet. So buckle up that harness and try not to be the first one ever hurt, okay?”
As Hausmann slipped the safety harness over his shoulders he noticed that both vehicles were just about the same, but that the one Reaper was climbing into had what looked like vertical wings on either side of the padded roll cage. The extensions had black cloth pads strung up inside their tubular frameworks.
“And just what the hell are those wings for?” Hausmann asked.
“Those are the side passenger racks,” Reaper said. “They’re jump seats so that you can take two more people on board besides the operator. Only thing is that they have to sit on that unpadded metal grid instead of a seat. There’s even a swing-arm gun mount here on the left side that’ll accept an M249 Squad Automatic Weapon or a 7.62mm M240 machine gun if you want. The arm can be locked in place or rotated to give a 360-degree field of fire around the vehicle. They drive pretty much like a car. There’s an automatic transmission, two or four-wheel drive, and standard driver’s controls.”
“Geeze, Reaper,” Hausmann said, “I don’t want to
buy the damned thing. That gun mount does make me wish I had a nice big belt-fed machine gun to go in it. Something useful you know, just in case we find any of those bastards who ambushed us. Of course, with the way my head feels, I think I’d prefer an Abrams tank rather than this Prowler ATV thing.”
“That’s an RTV,” Reaper said, “a rugged terrain vehicle. Not an all-terrain vehicle. And these Prowler’s have an advantage over any tank made.”
“Yeah?” said Hausmann, “and what’s that?”
“They’re smaller, and lighter,” Reaper said with a grin, “they get a hell of a lot better mileage—and they’re here.”
With that, Reaper started up the 660 cc engine on his Prowler and fed it the gas. The wide rubber tires threw gravel as the agile little RTV darted forward. Spinning in a tight circle, Reaper pulled his vehicle up to the electronic gate and punched his code into the keypad. The gate opened and Reaper sped up the road.
Firing up his own Prowler, Hausmann took off after Reaper, passing through the gate well before it began its closing cycle. The two tan-colored vehicles hugged each curve and turn in the road, the heavy-duty suspension holding the RTVs steady as their deeply ridged run-flat tires tore through the gravel and dust.
“It’s your ranch,” Reaper shouted as Hausmann pulled alongside of him, “you know the way best. I’ll follow your lead.”
With a shouted “Okay,” Hausmann turned off the roadway and headed north to drive around the wall surrounding the ranch house compound. Driving around the grove of trees that lined the north wall of the compound, Hausmann headed down to the river and the ford there. The water over the ford was shallow enough for the two vehicles to cross, but the roll cage of the Prowlers offered little in way of protection.
The roll cages were strong, but very open. Both men slowed their vehicles down as they splashed into the river. The all-terrain tires of the Prowlers threw up foaming waves of water, but both men managed to get across the river without being too badly soaked.
Once up the opposite bank, Hausmann again led off. Following the path they had ridden only the night before, the two men quickly came up to the railroad tracks and soon passed the path leading down to the rope bridge. As the rails and path they were on started to turn, Hausmann stopped his Prowler. Reaper pulled up and stopped alongside his friend.
“This is about as far as I remember going,” Hausmann said.
“Looks about right to me,” said Reaper. “The ambush came from that brush just past the curve. You can see the hoofmarks of the horses and dog tracks in the dirt over there.”
As Hausmann looked down to where Reaper was pointing, he could see the marks of shod hoofs pressed down into the dust. On either side of the hoofprints were the widely spaced padmarks made from the feet of two large, running dogs. Getting out of the Prowlers, both men took their long guns from the racks before walking over to the marks in the dirt. Crouching down, they followed the marks with their eyes as far as they could see.
“That’s where your horse turned and headed into the trees,” Reaper said as he pointed to a scuffed area in the dirt.
“So they fired on us from beyond that turn,” Hausmann said, nodding toward the area ahead.
Getting up, the men slowly walked along the path. Within just a few feet, they came to a point on the path where both sets of hoofprints had turned back. Only the footprints of the dogs could be seen for a few steps before they turned off into the brush on either side of the path.
Twenty feet farther on, the two men were just at the edge of the brush growing heavily along the river side of the path. All around could be seen the shining cases of fired cartridge brass. The shells were mixed and scattered over a wide area. Both short-pistol caliber as well as much larger rifle brass shone and winked from where the sun struck them scattered around the area.
“Damn,” Hausmann said, “looks like somebody fought a small war around here.”
“Someone did,” Reaper said, “and it looks like the guys with the guns lost.”
Pointing to the leaves of a bush, Reaper indicated the dark brown stains of dried blood. After finding the first few splashes among the leaves, both men started to see bloodstains scattered all around the area. Whoever had ambushed them, had either shot at and hit each other in the dark, or the two rottweilers had created some serious carnage the night before. By the amount of brass Reaper could see, there had to have been at least two men armed with submachine guns and as many or more men carrying G3 or HK-91 rifles.
“Take a look at the brass,” Reaper said as he picked up a mixed handful of the very familiar caliber rifle and pistol cartridge cases.
Along the sides of the 9×19 millimeter and 7.62×51mm cases were multiple thin black marks running about half the length of the brass. The marks were spaced out evenly all around the circumference of the cases.
“All of this ammunition looks like it was fired from either a Heckler and Koch submachine gun or rifle,” Reaper said. “Those are the only weapons I know of with the fluted chambers that mark up cases like this when they’re fired. What drug runner wants to carry a heavy battle rifle like a G3 or HK-91?”
“None that I know of,” Hausmann said, “but both the G3 and the MP5 are issue weapons in the Mexican military.
Hausmann closely examined a handful of the fired cartridges.
“Here’s something really interesting,” he said. “Look at the headstamps on these cases. This stuff is practically fresh from the arsenal.”
Around the bottom of each cartridge case were letters and numbers surrounding the central primer. They identified both who had made the rounds and when they had been manufactured. The letters on the base of the cartridge were FNM while the numbers were 03.
“FNM,” Reaper said. “That’s Mexican isn’t it?”
“Yup,” Hausmann agreed. “Mexican military. And it’s usually in short enough supply that they don’t sell it on the surplus market. Besides, that 03 means it was made just last year.”
“So,” Reaper said, “we have new-issue military ammunition having been fired in weapons known to be used by Mexican forces. Sounds a lot like a bunch of stolen hardware in the wrong hands south of the border.”
“More likely a rogue bunch of Mexican soldiers,” Hausmann said. “Mexican military forces don’t get paid all that well. But they don’t commonly sell their guns or ammunition on the black market. Instead, they rent them out complete with operators. More than a few soldiers have supplemented their incomes by hiring out to guard drug shipments across the border. There’s commanders of units who hire their men out as private security forces to the drug lords. And they’ve been coming across the border for years. More than one Border Patrol unit has come under fire from guns in the hands of the Mexican military all along the border.”
“And now it looks like they’re coming after you,” Reaper said. “We’re going to need some help on this one.”
“Local law enforcement can’t do a damned thing about them,” Hausmann said. “Even the Mexican military has the average sheriff’s car badly outgunned. Before a SWAT or U.S. military unit can be called in, they cut back across the border and the government denies the incident. The feds haven’t been able to do anything about the problem diplomatically. And the U.S. government sure as hell isn’t going to authorize an armed invasion of Mexico. And that’s about what it would take.”
“Who said anything about authorized?” Reaper said. “But let’s see where these blood trails lead before we go charging across the border.”
There were some areas in the brush where the ground was torn up and the leaves were heavily spattered with blood. These obviously were the spots where the dogs had grabbed hold of individual gunmen. Fired brass, especially 9mm brass, was all around the area. Dozens of rounds had been fired in all directions. It looked like it was only the darkness of the night and the black coats of the dogs that had saved them from being shot and killed.
As far as either man could tell from the volume of blood all around,
the gunmen may have accidentally shot each other in the confusion. Even though the gunmen wouldn’t have shown either of them mercy, neither Reaper or Hausmann cared to think about what it must have been like for the gunmen when the slashing teeth and powerful jaws of the rottweilers had come up from the black of the night.
The trails of blood spatter and bootprints in the dirt and gravel headed south along the pathway on the riverbank. This was the direction Reaper and Hausmann traveled as they followed the trail. The two men had their rifles in their hands as they left the Prowlers behind them.
Both Reaper and Hausmann had some experience following a trail and reading signs in the dirt. Their skills were strained trying to figure out just how many gunmen had been facing them at the ambush. At least one man had been bleeding heavily, and the prints looked as if he had been carried by one of the other men in the group. One set of prints ran straight in the dirt while another walking right alongside had long scuff marks from both feet. Others stepped into the prints of the men who had walked in front of them, confusing just how many sets of footprints there were.
Finally, the footprints all stopped just a few hundred yards farther away from where the ambush had taken place, in a small clearing in the brush, where the heavily cross-hatched tracks of several all-terrain vehicles began. The tread marks were too close together to be from a jeep or other full-sized vehicle, but they were spaced too far apart to be from a four-wheeled bike or the like. What was obvious was that the gunmen had climbed aboard vehicles and were well out of the area.
“We need someone with better tracking skills than you or I have,” Reaper said, “if we’re going to follow this track from the RTVs and make any time.”
“I know just the guy,” Hausmann said. “He’s a Border Patrol agent who’s probably one of the best trackers in the area.”
“I thought you said you were on the shit list for every law enforcement department around here,” Reaper said, “especially the Border Patrol.”
Hostile Borders Page 10