Silver Lead and Dead (Evan Hernandez series Book 1)

by James Garmisch

  Mario sobbed and said nothing.

  “It’s OK, baby. Yes, he will suffer, just like your father. He will pay!”

  Jocelyn let her boyfriend lean on her and drape his arm over her shoulder and breast.

  CHAPTER 37

  Swiss Cheese and Hamburger

  Evan, Juan, Tanya, and the remaining men of Bravo Squad moved quickly out of the submarine. The lone security guard stayed within reach of Evan. He had promised to get them through the crowd and alleviate suspicion in exchange for a large sum of cash and freedom.

  Evan had agreed but on one condition: “You wear this explosive device. If you lie or turn on us, your head will explode.”

  The terrified guard agreed.

  Juan had watched and kept a straight face as Evan attached what was actually chewing gum, a watch battery, wires, and duct tape between the man’s shoulder blades.

  Out of earshot Juan had laughed. “You are nuts, Evan. What if we do need to kill him?”

  “Then shoot him, but right now he will only think about the explosive device.” Evan smirked.

  Evan and Juan made it to the pier first and were met by twenty-five men and teenagers with weapons at the ready. The crowd of civilians, which must have totaled about fifty, was milling about on the docks and the LZ in front of the house. Evan surveyed the near-football-field-size area that would serve as the LZ Mario.

  How are we going to secure this thing? Evan mused. He did not want to kill a hundred-plus people, and how was he going to separate the civilians from the armed thugs? The situation was far worse than what he had imagined at the brief, but then again, nothing ever went according to plan. That was a fact you could depend on.

  “Where is Mario?” a short, bald man with a pockmarked face asked Evan. He had tribal tattoos on his neck and face.

  “He is getting a blow job. Told us to leave him alone. You see the girl is missing, huh?” Evan smiled and pointed back to the open hatch of the sub.

  The short, bald thug seemed unconvinced and shifted his eyes among Evan’s men.

  They tried to appear relaxed yet were far from it. All eyes were on them, and surely questions began to move through the crowd as to why everyone was dressed in such a way and carrying weapons.

  The security guard smoothed things over with his comrades, and Bravo Squad began to move toward the house.

  The security guard repeated his lines just as he had been told. He seemed confident and able to deliver. “These men are Ivan’s security detail and crew of the sub. Without them the sub does not work. They were promised food and a place to shower.”

  “Where are the rest of your friends?” another thug asked.

  The guard shrugged. “Still inside. They are coming. Mario wanted them to wait.”

  “A shower? At the house? But they can’t carry weapons around!” A tall man in his thirties who had an air about him of being in command of something had spoken. He stood right in front Evan and crossed his arms. He had a gold necklace around his neck.

  Evan spoke with a warm smile as if making a case to be reasonable. “Why not? You guys have guns! And besides, this is supposed to be a party, a celebration. You guys got what, fifty cals and about a hundred guys milling around on the perimeter?” Evan shrugged and pointed. “Way I see it, we blend in. Only people unarmed are the guests.”

  “Sorry; we have rules, Ivan. I know you are supposed to have free rein, but your men?”

  “Really?” Evan countered. He was taller than the thin commander and tried not to intimidate him. Evan politely moved into his space. “Mario himself said I could pack heat and keep my guys with me. None of my guys have their hands on their weapons; they are all slung. Your men though look like they are set to kill people!”

  “Well, um—”

  “Look, my guys are tired. You ever been in a sub for weeks? No beer, no good food, and no ladies?” Evan smiled and stuffed a one-hundred-dollar bill into his breast pocket.

  The man smiled and showed gold teeth with a diamond stud. “They OK. They OK. Go have fun!”

  Evan watched Juan creep his fingers to his trigger. Evan closed his eyes and reopened them.

  Evan’s earpiece cracked, and he heard El Coyote’s voice. “I got you in sight. Watch that gun truck ten meters to your right. You need to move away from it. Blast radius. Be ready.”

  Evan’s eyes got big. He knew what El Coyote had in mind. Evan looked at the gun truck and watched a kid looking at an iPod leaning on the .50 caliber. The whole crowd would die if these guys started shooting.

  The crowd of civilians and thugs seemed to be intermixed. Evan estimated about one-hundred-plus people mingling around on the crushed coral and dock. The guards seemed to be staring at the guests and shadowing them, like wolves. The house was a good fifty-yard run. He noted where all the cover and concealment was and then looked at the Happy Mermaid.

  He made out the outline of a familiar face sitting on a golf cart. “Oh, Gerard.” He elbowed Juan and pointed.

  “Nice.” Juan smiled at a female who asked him his name and then he turned to Evan and whispered, “Oscar says he is ready.”

  “Let’s walk.”

  Evan gave Tanya a quick hug and kissed the top of her head. “End of the line for you, cupcake. You are not even supposed to be here.”

  “See you at the plane. Don’t call me cupcake!” She smiled weakly and then turned and walked with two men from Bravo Squad down the length of the sub, and then between a seven-foot-tall colonial-era wall and a stack of shipping boxes. She would get handed off to Oscar and then be put on a Zodiac to zip around the island.

  Evan listened to small talk, jokes, and dizzy houseguests. He smiled, nodded, and moved slowly with his men. The twenty-five men had moved toward the sub and were making their way into the hatch.

  Evan looked at Juan, who was looking at him. “Three, two, one.”

  Juan smiled but was not happy. “You notice that three gun trucks are aiming at the crowd and one at us?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Evan heard Roger’s voice over his earpiece. “Run, you wanker, something is wrong!”

  One second, Juan, or Lucky, was standing next to him; the next, his head and torso vanished in a spray of red. Evan felt the remains of Lucky shower him, and bullets began to slam into the people around him. Bravo Team raised their weapons.

  Someone began laughing hysterically.

  Three teenagers with guns began laughing, cheering, and shooting.

  One of the Bravo Squad operators hit a button, and the top portion of the submarine exploded, killing the twenty-five-man team that was trying to enter.

  The four .50-caliber gun trucks began firing at once, sweeping through the crowd.

  Bravo Squad began to disperse and take casualties.

  Civilians tumbled, and people screamed, clawed, or trampled anyone who was in their way.

  Evan brought his weapon up and squeezed a burst at a group who was pursuing Tanya and her escort.

  Boom!

  The gun truck nearest Evan went up in a fireball as an AT-4 hit it.

  Evan tumbled backward and somersaulted into a group of bodies that lay still. His eye protection had broken, and he tasted blood. He was not sure whose it was but would sort that out later. He heard a ringing in his ears and stumbled to his feet.

  Someone grabbed Evan as he turned to run. He flipped him over his shoulder and put a round in his face.

  Thud! Thud! Thud!

  Two gun trucks began shooting at targets on the beach.

  “They are shooting at Green Team Two. They are cut off!” one of his men yelled.

  Bravo Team’s Team Two began diving for cover and assaulting the gun trucks and thugs, who were beginning to swarm like locusts.

  Evan cursed and spoke into his headset. “Roger, start clearing the ship. Take out the guns! Bravo Team had to help Team Two. They are split up!”

  “Lad! No! Get yur ass on the yacht.”

  Evan felt a round hit the Kevlar plate on his b
ack, and he went down, rolled, and came up firing. He mowed down what looked like a twenty-year-old who was shooting at him.

  Chunks of concrete, dust, screams, and blood began filling the air.

  Evan found himself alone and too far from Bravo Team to help out, and then .50-caliber rounds began punching holes in the concrete and storage containers around him. Something exploded, and Evan moved out of the way.

  Evan sprinted to the Happy Mermaid, yelling into his radio, “Roger, I am coming aboard. Bravo Squad is staying back to fight link up with Team Two!”

  Andre Pena gripped his binoculars and cried out in shock and disbelief. “What?”

  He had tried to call Jorge several times with no luck, and then he tried to call Gerard and other contacts. No one answered. Andre picked up the detonator and armed it.

  “This is over. I knew I should not have come to this messed-up place!”

  Andre watched as the area in front of the house was cleared by machine-gun fire. Less than half of the guests had made it into the house, where he was going to blow them up. Problem was, he had no idea why Mario’s men had started shooting. Andre had second thoughts about blowing up the house. He had to escape. If Jorge was dead, what was the point of blowing up the house? The whole mission pivoted on Jorge blaming Mario for an atrocity and then living to be seen as the reasonable one or the savior.

  Andre felt his heart race as he watched the scene before him.

  The Scorpions had been ambushed, and then someone ambushed and began driving back Mario’s army. The Scorpions had rallied, and he could see that they had the remaining two gun trucks.

  “Two armies fighting Mario’s guys? Huh? Then they fight?” Andre shook his head and considered three things: First, he looked at the seaplane, which was a mile run down the beach. Second, he looked at his detonator. Third, he raised the binoculars to his eyes and saw four, maybe five, specs on the horizon.

  “Boats? The navy?”

  Then the front of the Happy Mermaid blew up, and he made his decision. “Screw this. I am out of here!”

  CHAPTER 38

  Fish in a Barrel

  Evan was done with explosions. He knew this one was coming, but it still hurt. He plugged his ears and gritted his teeth. The bow weapon system of the Happy Mermaid went up in a massive explosion that tilted the ship for a second and then caused it to dip down. The second explosion was a breaching charge that tore off a section of the hull and allowed Roger and Team One to spill into the yacht from the ocean side and away from the slaughter at LZ Mario.

  “You gonna stand there looking at the beach, son, or you gonna join us?” Roger yelled to Evan.

  Evan shook his head and focused his eyes on Roger. His ears were ringing, and he still tasted blood. “What squad?”

  “Stay with me and Alpha Squad. We are going to the top deck—gonna look for Mario in his observation suite. Bravo secures the middle deck, keeps anyone from boarding. Charlie secures the lower deck!”

  “And you want Team Two to keep fighting for the LZ?” Evan asked while wrapping his sling around his bicep.

  “Aye, Napoleon, you got a better idea?”

  “No,” Evan admitted.

  “Let’s go!”

  Evan packed a dip and then spoke while he followed Roger. “This better end soon. I got half a can left!”

  Evan had trained in his early enlisted years with force reconnaissance before he became a marine corps pilot. He knew the value of being one with your team. And he had not been training with this squad.

  Alpha Squad had trained together, breathed together, and bled together. Evan hung back near the rear and covered the flank. Roger, of course, was up front barking orders, like an ancient Scottish warlord.

  The stairs to the top deck were guarded by three men, who, by now, knew they were coming. A hand grenade and brief firefight ended any delusions that they could hold off Dark Cloud. Doors were kicked in, rooms were marked as clear, and the advance was made. The noise outside was getting more and more muffled. Evan did his best just to keep up.

  Evan counted six bodies as he stepped over them.

  Evan heard the double thud of dueling .50 calibers right outside the ship. A round tore through the double hull and bulkhead and splattered Fernando in two. He had been standing several feet away from Evan. He was one of the most cautious men Evan had met on the team. He kept his gear immaculate and triple checked every angle before he spoke or moved. He was not a hesitant person, just thoughtful. Now he was dead.

  “Shit!” Evan hit the deck.

  “Scorpions are assaulting the yacht!”

  Everyone heard the same message at the same time. The radio headsets came alive with chatter.

  “Move!”

  More holes began to appear throughout the walls as if they were walking through Swiss cheese.

  Alpha Squad moved through a door at the end of the carpeted, smoke-filled hall and began moving quickly up a wide set of ornate wooden stairs. Half of Alpha Squad made it up the stairs to the final hallway that led to Mario’s private observation deck and bunker.

  That’s when the ambush happened.

  Oscar made it to the Happy Mermaid unseen until he began climbing on board via the tiny rope ladder that had been left behind. The bullets sounded like BBs pinging off the sides of the yacht as he climbed. Mario’s men were taking potshots as he climbed onto the stern of the yacht. He leapt over the rail and felt a burn in his calf as he ducked and dragged himself behind a low bulkhead. The shooting stopped, and he heard a voice in his earpiece. It was one of his snipers.

  “You OK? I got the bastards shooting at you. They are grouping it looks like near the south portion of the wall. Can you swivel that thing around enough to hit the two gun trucks that are putting holes in the yacht?”

  Oscar cursed and wrapped a bandage around his calf.

  The sound from the two .50 calibers was deafening. He knew Team One would not survive long under that much firepower. He also knew that the .50 calibers were laying down fire so that the Scorpions could maneuver and outflank. After all, they had all had the same training.

  “Took one to the calf. Went clean through. Open up on those guys. Keep their heads down,” Oscar reported back to his squad.

  Bullets pinged sporadically around him as he lay underneath the twenty-five-millimeter chain gun. Oscar looked at the weapon. It appeared to be functional and loaded. He crawled and peeked underneath the railing of the yacht. He figured he could possibly hit one of the gun trucks. They were close, but the twenty-five-millimeter chain gun could only pivot so much.

  “Contact! Contact!”

  Evan heard Roger’s voice as he sprinted down the hall to cover the last operator going up the steps. He fanned back to look at their rear and saw muzzle flashes.

  “We missed some!” Evan yelled.

  Three, maybe four, things happened at the same time, none of which could be controlled. Evan felt bullets thud into his body armor and the bulkhead near him as he backed through the door, protecting Roberto, who was moving up the stairs.

  Suddenly, Roberto called out and screamed, “I am hit!”

  That was the last thing he said. Evan thought about Roberto’s six kids and three wives, two in the States and one in Mexico. A massive explosion from the deck above Evan’s head rocked the yacht.

  “Booby trap!” someone yelled over the net.

  “Retreat!” Roger’s voice could be heard and then stopped.

  Evan heard static as Roger’s voice cut out and went silent.

  The rounds kept thudding around Evan, and he realized that there must be a secret compartment or hiding space where this group of men who were assaulting their six was shooting from.

  Evan took out two shooters and ducked into the stairwell.

  “Don’t come back down the stairs!” Evan yelled.

  It was too late. Eduardo and Alejandro leapt down the stairwell in their retreat and were shredded by rounds.

  Evan found a hand grenade in his cargo poc
ket, pulled the pin, and prepared to toss it.

  Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

  “This is Bravo Squad. We are getting our ass kicked! Scorpions have breached! Reinforcements now!” The voice on the radio made Evan pause. This is not good, we are surrounded.

  Evan peeked quickly around the six inches of steel that had been protecting him near the ladder. He was stuck. If he went upstairs, he was dead; if he stayed where he was, he was dead.

  Evan tossed the hand grenade into a group of six men who were running toward him, more like barbarians assaulting a fortress than soldiers.

  Boom!

  Oscar had not fired a twenty-five-millimeter chain gun in years. It was, however, like sex: you never really forgot how to do it, and it was always over before you knew it and was way more messy than you remembered. Oscar annihilated the concrete wall protecting the house. He first started down by the swimming pool and walked the gun to the right, chewing up and vaporizing rock and pulverizing stone into fine dust. The rounds shredded and leveled the wall in moments and began to tear huge holes in the house. The dust and debris shot so high in the air that it was almost as if he were vaporizing his targets. The slow methodic boom, boom, boom of the chain gun drowned out the .50 calibers.

  Oscar had no choice but to expose himself. He swiveled the chain gun around as far as it would go and caught the gun truck just as it was backing up to get a bead on him.

  They both fired at the same time.

  “Mine is bigger!”

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Thud! Thud! Thud!

  “Finish this thing! This th—”

  Oscar’s last words motivated Pablo, who was watching and listening to the whole ordeal from a semicovered position.

  “Let’s go!” Pablo stood up and sprinted with the buttstock of his M-4 squarely in his shoulder. He used his front-sight post to find targets and squeezed off rounds. Team Two, which now consisted of about twenty men who could run and five who had to just lay and shoot, bounded over their walls and covered the distance toward the Scorpion’s force, which began to retreat down the gangplank and off the yacht.