Hawke's War

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  Javier nodded. “Possibly a fuerzas especiales team. But there are only two sets of tracks, and look how small those are compared to the others. Do you think it was them who made the hole?”

  Pepito started. Both men were afraid of American Special Forces and hoped they’d never have to face them. “They lead down this road.”

  “It’s quiet.” Javier raised his face, almost sniffing the air for trouble the same way his ancestors did generations earlier.

  Pepito’s eyes were full of fear.

  The gangsters swiveled in place, scanning the empty buildings. The faint sound of a car engine came to Pepito. He cupped one ear and faced the southbound road.

  “Someone’s coming.”

  Javier pointed at the doorless, roofless ruin of a building. “There.”

  “No. I don’t want to get trapped inside with no way to shoot our way out. Behind the compania de camiones.” They trotted around the side of the metal River Bend Trucking building, rounding the corner and out of sight from the road.

  A black Suburban passed and drove along the riverbank to the bar. Seconds later, one of the lead Humvee’s doors popped open and someone coughed.

  Chapter 79

  Things in the bar went downhill fast when the Mexican officer spoke. “We have been waiting for you. I thought you were nothing more than a legend that parents used to frighten children.”

  El Molinillo’s eyes hardened. “You have found me.” His hands went back into his pockets as if he were shiftless, or lazy. “Or I have found you.”

  Chatto shifted his position, clearly uneasy. The gangsters sensed his mood, setting their feet.

  The officer ran fingers through his greasy hair. He scanned the room and shrugged. “I did not say I was looking that hard, were we, Lieutenant?”

  “No, Captain Perez.”

  The tension eased and El Molinillo removed his hands. I wondered exactly what was in his pocket. Whatever it was, it worried the hell out of everyone in the room.

  No one but me saw Captain Perez and his lieutenant exchange looks. The captain’s head gave an almost imperceptible move before returning to Chatto. “We will withdraw outside of town until you are finished.”

  The gangster’s leader didn’t respond. Instead, he left the table and stopped beside the Grinder. “Where?”

  El Molinillo shrugged. “I don’t know this area.”

  Chatto flicked a hand at the cowboy with a taco hat and patterned blue shirt. His face didn’t have the same look of malice as the others, and I figured he was still in the wrong place at the wrong time. Probably had outstayed his welcome. “Yes.”

  “You know this area. Where can we do this work?”

  “Work?”

  “Where El Molinillo can work without being seen . .. or heard.”

  “There’s a thick tangle of arroyos back there that widens into nothing.” He waved toward the back of the bar. “No one will find you.”

  “Bien.” Chatto dismissed the man. “Is that satisfactory?”

  “Yes.” The Grinder nodded. “But first, he had something I’ve heard about. I want the pistol with the apreton de novia.”

  Chatto kinda deflated and reached behind his back. He came out with my granddaddy’s .45. He handed it over, but it looked like it hurt his heart to give up the Sweetheart Grips. The Grinder brightened and he took the pistol, turning it this way and that to admire the photo of my young grandmother and toddler dad under the Lucite grips.

  “I have always wanted one of these. And it belongs to this guardabosque?”

  Chatto nodded and frowned at the captain, who scowled at him. It was apparent he wanted the pistol, but wouldn’t stand his ground. The Grinder must have been their boogeyman in the flesh.

  The Grinder slid it down into the waistband at the small of his back. “More?” He held out his hand and Chatto produced a spare magazine. The Grinder hefted it, then dropped it into the left-hand pocket of his pants. He turned to the man who knew the area. “You. Go to get my leather apron from the back of the car. I have one more thing to do before we get started. The guardabosque must be anchored.”

  “He is handcuffed, and to that post.” Chatto came forward and nudged my leg with his toe.

  I sure didn’t like the direction their conversation was taking. They were standing directly over me and discussing what was about to happen with the same sense of boredom businessmen have when trying to decide where to eat lunch.

  From my position on the floor, a brief burst of soft light lit the Grinder’s worn shoes as the lieutenant slipped out the door along with the local. There were dark stains on them shoes and I instantly knew it was blood. He needed an apron to keep the blood off his clothes.

  “That is not what I mean.” The Grinder pointed at my boots. “You will have to uncuff him. I do not want to take any chances here or out there. Manea lo.”

  Their entire discussion had been in Spanish, but I picked out enough to know what they were talking about, but that last short sentence stumped me. It was slightly familiar, but I couldn’t put my hand on it. Something Gabe had once said.

  Chatto grinned.

  The Grinder wants my boots?

  “Take them off.” He pointed to a table of men who hurried over. Something wasn’t right. You don’t steal a man’s boots when he’s alive and kicking.

  Cuffed and on the ground, fighting back was hard when they dropped on me like vultures. One of them sat on my legs and they yanked my boots off seconds later. They were grunting and breathing hard, like men at work.

  As they yanked at my boots, I remembered exactly what Gabe had said a year earlier when he told me he had to hobble Dad’s horse one night when the corral gate was broken.

  Manea lo was hobble.

  My boots were gone, but those guys stayed on me. The looks on those sonsabitches’ faces told me I wasn’t going to like what happened next very much. I knew exactly what it was when the old man pulled out a wicked-looking knife.

  He was going to cut the tendons on the back of my ankles.

  Chapter 80

  Hiding behind the metal building, Javier saw a soldier stroll down the muddy road and meet with his comrades loafing in the street. Smoking and at ease, they stared across the river at the old Bronco parked in a turnaround fifty yards from the bridge.

  A man with a lieutenant patch on the sleeve of his fatigues joined them and spat into a mud puddle. “The captain will be out here in a moment. We will stop south of town and hold the road until those men in there finish their work.” He jolted his men into action. “Load up. He does not want to wait when he gets here.”

  One private hesitated. “I need to pee.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You know I can’t with everyone watching me.”

  “Go around there, then.”

  Javier wished he could see the men. He started when an armed soldier with barely a wrinkle on his forehead appeared around the corner. All three froze for a second before the startled soldier in his twenties fumbled with the Heckler & Koch assault rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “Hold it!” Pepito held out both hands to show he was unarmed. “We mean no harm.”

  “Halt!” The smooth-faced private finally pulled the strap off his shoulder and held the H&K aimed at the two gangsters. “Put up your hands!”

  “They’re already up, brother.” Javier’s breath caught when the frightened man’s hands trembled. “Easy. We’re with Chatto.” The sounds of running feet made him swallow.

  “Then why are you out here? Why aren’t you in there with him?”

  Javier felt the blood drain from his face. “Chatto, here?”

  “Yes.”

  Others rounded the corner, drawn by the loud voices. Javier and Pepito suddenly found themselves staring down the barrels of even more automatic weapons.

  The lieutenant arrived and waved for his men to lower their weapons. “Don’t shoot. Look at their ink. These men are Coyotes Rabiosos.”

  The experienced soldi
ers were stunned to face living legends and lowered their weapons before the two gangsters killed them all with their bare hands. Two crossed themselves. The lieutenant surveyed his frightened men and sighed. “Take them to Chatto, and tell Captain Perez we are ready when he is.”

  * * *

  “Sheeeit.” Perry Hale whispered. The commotion between the gangsters and soldiers was mere feet away, just on the other side of a cracked cinder-block wall.

  “See anything?” Yolanda’s view was to the east, away from the metal building.

  “No. But they’re all out there.”

  “This is about to go bad.”

  “Not about to.” Perry Hale stepped back when he saw the lieutenant point at the hole they cut in the fence. “It already has.”

  * * *

  Javier and Pepito led the way toward the bar with three soldiers trailing behind. The last thing they wanted to see was Chatto, and Javier was trying to think of something to say that would keep them from going inside.

  His opportunity came when he saw that same two sets of tracks leading across the road. The Suburban’s tires cut them off in the muddy road, but the footprints continued up a slight incline and into a deteriorating building on their right.

  “We saw those earlier. Do they belong to your men?”

  The officer shrugged. “How would I know?”

  “They came from across the river, like us.”

  The soldiers stopped, uncertain what to do. The lieutenant slipped a hand into the pocket of his fatigues as if looking for the answer there. Bareheaded, he scratched at his hair. He glanced over his shoulder at the barricaded bridge and his eyes widened when he saw the gaping hole high in the chain link. “Someone cut through.”

  His men tightened their grips on the H&Ks. The fresh-faced private stepped back, surveying the crisscrossed footprints in the mud. The lieutenant watched the man work out the tracks in his head.

  The private stiffened and swept his arm from the bridge, up the road, and into the nearby collapsed building. “Sir, I think maybe they’re in there.”

  The officer drew his sidearm, a Sig Sauer semi-automatic. “Check it out.”

  * * *

  Across the river, the boys in the Bronco watched the soldiers milling in front of the cinder-block structure to the left of the metal building. Despite the drizzle, Arturo saw one of the soldiers point at the empty doorway.

  “They’re going inside.”

  The only thing Jerry could do was lean on the horn and hope Perry Hale knew what to do.

  * * *

  When he saw a young private point toward their position, Perry Hale sighed. “Here we go.” He had no intention of fighting a defensive action inside the building. The rising sun had revealed the interior tangled with splintered beams and boards from the collapsed roof. Though there was a warped wooden door still standing at the back, he had no idea what lay on the other side.

  A car horn on the Texas side surprised the soldiers. To a man they turned toward the source, giving Perry Hale a half-second lead on the men standing in the road. Thanking whoever had honked the horn, he took advantage of their inattention and stepped outside, rifle at his shoulder, and aimed at the officer in charge. “Hands up, now!”

  They’d been speaking Spanish, but he had no intention of trying to communicate in a relatively unfamiliar language.

  Yolanda followed, covering the startled soldier and gangsters. She spoke fluent Spanish. “Manos arriba!”

  Heads snapped back around at the two people in camouflage who suddenly appeared, aiming automatic weapons at them.

  Perry Hale swept the group with the muzzle, giving them a good look down the black tube. “Good, now boys, y’all put those guns on the ground.”

  Yolanda repeated the order in Spanish and shouted at those sitting in the Humvees. “You in there. Come out without weapons or we shoot your officer and these men!”

  Those under the muzzle of the AR-15s disarmed themselves, gently laying their rifles on the ground. Perry Hale turned his attention to the lieutenant. “Y’all do what she says, then back away.” He stepped forward and pushed the rifle a couple of inches to urge them to move. They backed up a step, then another with a second jab.

  The problem was the men in the line of parked Humvees. Several had been loafing in the road. They froze in their tracks, shocked into immobility. One stepped back behind the huge vehicle and out of sight.

  “Perry, we have a problem.”

  It came when still another man rolled out of the second Humvee and snapped a shot at Yolanda at the same time the guy hiding behind the first vehicle popped up like a jack-in-the-box and fired.

  The standoff went to hell.

  Chapter 81

  Gunfire from outside started the ball rolling in the bar. The bad guys forgot about me and rushed toward the door like water pouring down the drain. I waited until the Grinder followed them through the door and gave that post I was chained to a hard yank.

  Another gun fired out there, and it seemed like a dozen weapons went off at the same time, all on full automatic. The support post came loose just like I expected and I slid the cuffs free at the same time the ceiling groaned and something cracked way overhead. I crab-crawled to the door and stood to the side.

  Quick as a wink, I dug the key from my watch pocket and had the cuffs off. Another groan and snap in the rotten roof overhead told me bad things were fixin’ to happen. The next thing I knew, the Grinder popped back inside like his ass was on fire.

  I hit that mean little bastard in the jaw as hard as I could. He seized up, already unconscious on his feet. I grabbed his arm and snatched my .45 from his pants. Two gangsters pushed through behind him, trying to get away from the firefight, and must have thought the Grinder’d tripped or something, because they did their best to climb over him.

  The big .45 roared as soon as I shoved it against one guy’s side. He gasped and fell sideways and I shot the other, then put one square in the chest of a third man following them inside. With gunfire coming from both inside and out, the gangsters were confused and terrified. Shouts and screams came through the door at the same time bullets cracked past and buried themselves in the walls behind me.

  Crouched on the floor, I dug my spare magazine out of the Grinder’s pocket. With three bodies blocking the door, I couldn’t close it and I sure couldn’t get out that way. Another crack came from above when a corner of the ceiling sagged dangerously low.

  A closed door at the back right-hand corner of the bar was my only option. I shot the Grinder in the side of the head to save someone else’s life down the road, and took off across the bar in a sprint. A small war was going on outside by the time I turned the knob.

  It led outside, and I popped through as the ceiling completely collapsed with a splintering of wood. I glanced over my shoulder to see it take down half of the building’s front wall and then there was nothing but a gray cloud of dust.

  Chapter 82

  Bullets snapped between Perry Hale and Yolanda. They instinctively ducked as the soldiers behind the Humvees laid down covering fire for the men who whirled and raced for their lives toward the Humvees, leaving their rifles in the mud.

  Perry Hale threw a triple-tap at the soldier behind the big vehicle who started shooting first. He swung toward the retreating men, but held his fire. He’d always considered himself a lot of things, but being a murderer wasn’t one of them. Some of those men might be crooked, but they were brothers in arms and had not, to that point, threatened him with harm.

  Shouts from behind gave the Americans just enough warning to know they were under attack from the rear. The gangsters pouring outside began firing as soon as they saw the Americans. Some carried automatic weapons and they chattered to life, mixing with those of the military.

  He and Yolanda fell back, squeezing off three-round bursts, and ducked around the abandoned building, putting it between them and gunfire coming from two different directions. She kept her rifle pointed at the corner. “Whadd
a ya think?”

  “The bar. That’s where Sonny is.”

  A gangster rolled around the corner of the bar, spraying the world on full auto. Yolanda dropped him with a double-tap. She glanced back and forth between the Humvees and the bar to their right. “That’s right into the teeth of the lion.”

  “That’s where he is.”

  “Then let’s go get him.” She shouldered the AR and led, looking down the sights with both eyes wide open. “I have the point.”

  Perry Hale mirrored her posture and covered their rear. They were still protected by the decaying building. The soldiers were unloading with everything they had at absolutely nothing. Bullets pulverized the corner of the empty cinder-block building. Ricochets whined off and Perry Hale wondered if the soldiers’ tactic was to throw enough lead to keep them from firing back. It didn’t matter, because they suddenly found themselves facing even heavier gunfire from the Suburban parked in front of the bar.

  To their left was the empty dirt track bordered by knee-high scrub brush. To their right an open area with the same scattered brush and small cedars. Bullets cracked past, and they separated to present a wider target area.

  “Too hot!” Perry Hale shouted and returned fire. “Around back!”

  Maneuvering from the line of fire, they rushed to put the American Vista Bar between themselves and the heavily armed gangsters. Caught between two groups, they could no longer try to reach Sonny, if he was still there.

  A small wooden shed sat off the back corner of the bar. “Around there!” Perry Hale dodged a clump of prickly pear.

  Rounds cracked past again and Yolanda ducked. “Soldiers!”

  He dropped to one knee and put two shots into a uniformed private who tempted fate by stepping into the open and spraying on full auto. Yolanda twisted at the waist and squeezed off a short burst in response at the same time Perry Hale double-tapped the man. The firing stopped and they rounded the shed. “Reloading!” She dropped the empty magazine and slapped in a fresh one.

  “Hey, you guys speak English!”

  The voice came from inside the warped shed. Perry Hale sighted on the leaning structure. “Who’s there!”