Hawke's War

by Reavis Z. Wortham

  “You boys get out of there. Get behind the car and under cover!”

  It hadn’t occurred to Jerry that they were in danger either from stray or aimed bullets. He and Arturo shared frightened looks, then bailed out to join the grown-ups behind the cars. More vehicles arrived, disgorging armed law-enforcement officers ranging from local deputies, park police, highway patrol, the lone FBI agent, and a Suburban full of Texas Rangers in combat gear.

  Jerry recognized his dad’s boss, Major Parker, when he stepped out as if he’d pulled up in the parking lot of the grocery store. He stood behind his open door, one foot still inside the Expedition. “Nick.”

  The Ranger on the other side was just as unconcerned. “Yessir.”

  “Get that long lens out of the back there and put it on your camera. I want video of what’s going on over there.”

  The tailgate popped open on the Expedition when Major Parker pressed the key fob. Ranger Nick Delgado trotted around back as gunfire continued across the river. He quickly locked a 600mm telephoto lens onto a digital 35mm Canon camera body. He added a tripod to the bottom of the camera that could shoot both still and video. Such a long lens demanded a firm foundation despite its automatic stabilization feature.

  Major Parker pointed. “Video that. Bad guys only. Zoom in and get as many faces as you can. You see what I see?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Get it.”

  Jerry rose from cover and watched the action across the river.

  Chapter 88

  “Not gonna work.” Perry Hale dropped to one knee. I looked past him and saw the Mexican soldiers scattering out on both sides of the street. “They’re moving up to the right.”

  Three collapsed buildings that we could see were once downtown Paso La Carmen. Now they were home to rodents and snakes. The opposite side was fringed with tall cedars, abandoned and rusting cars, mounds of dumped rock, and thick stands of prickly pear. A mix of gangsters and soldiers took cover wherever they could find it.

  “Scatter.” Perry Hale flicked a finger toward both sides of the muddy road. He and I went left. Yolanda and Phoebe split right. Phoebe moved up close behind Yolanda.

  “Leapfrog?” Yolanda called across the dirt road. She wasn’t indecisive or scared. She simply deferred to Perry Hale because he had more experience under fire.

  “Yep. I want one of those Humvees. Sonny, you stick close behind me. Don’t go western on me here. We have a plan.”

  “Any plan is better than what I can think of right now.”

  Perry Hale rose. “Moving!” Weapon shouldered, he sighted down the rifle. I stepped slightly to the side so I could shoot around him and we started forward at a crouch. We stopped fifteen yards later behind a rusted-out Dodge pickup. Perry Hale took a knee. “Move!”

  “Moving!” Yolanda matched his style and pace, creeping past us and ducking behind a hummock of land screened by scrub. She kept her rifle aimed. No one had yet fired a shot. She and Phoebe stopped beside a crumbling adobe wall. “Move!”

  It was our turn again and that’s when someone poked a rifle around the corner of the River Bend transport building at the far end of the street and opened up on full auto. Even though we’d already been shot at, it shocked the hell out of me, and I jumped twice. The second time was when Yolanda hosed that corner of the building before sweeping her rifle across the narrow dirt road to force the others down.

  Perry Hale dropped behind a thigh-high cut of dirt and opened up. “Move!”

  “Moving!” Yolanda rose and I joined in with the unfamiliar H&K. It woke up with a sewing-machine chatter and we threw enough lead to push the soldiers down. Yolanda rushed forward to the next available piece of cover. Phoebe had one hand on her pack and followed as tight as a tick.

  Chapter 89

  A bullet cracked overhead, fired from across the river, causing everyone on the Texas side to duck again. Ranger Nick Delgado swung the long lens. “That came from our people. They’re shooting this way.”

  “That’s because they’re headed home.” Major Parker waved at one of the Rangers who’d been in the command center with him. Ranger Gasch had changed into SWAT gear. “Bill, they’re going to be coming across somewhere. Y’all check that house over there and that other one up top of the ridge. Get the folks out if they’re home. I don’t want civilians to get hurt by stray bullets. Send ’em on back to the store till it’s clear here. Once they’re gone, get ready to move.”

  Ranger Gasch glanced across the river. “You’re not telling us to shoot into Mexico. That’ll be an act of war.”

  “Just get ready.”

  “Yessir.”

  Chapter 90

  We were doing more shooting than the bad guys, but that’s what Perry Hale’s maneuver was all about. The only way to advance against overwhelming odds was to force their heads down. We moved forward in increments. The only problem, we were getting damned close to the muzzles of their guns.

  “Sonny, burn ’em down on this side of the Humvee. Moving!”

  We covered Yolanda with a barrage from behind a collapsed adobe shack. Perry Hale found a target and fired. “Move!

  “Moving!” Yolanda broke cover and advanced, walking her way north, toward the river.

  She stopped. It was our turn to leapfrog again. Perry Hale shouted. “Moving!”

  “No, stay!” Yolanda’s command was flat. “Reloading!”

  We dropped back down. The slap of metal. Another clap. “Loaded. Move!” She opened up.

  We stopped again behind another half-melted adobe fence. “Yolanda, cross behind us when we get set. Sonny, pour it on ’em! Move!”

  “Moving!”

  We filled the air with lead. This time Yolanda cut across the road behind us and kept going, angling farther to our left, keeping enough distance between our two teams so the bad guys didn’t have a concentrated target. We swept our fire to the left also. Perry Hale squeezed off three burst groups, but I was never a great shot, so I took my time aiming.

  People fell, both gangsters and Mexican soldiers.

  The truth was, I didn’t feel bad about shooting those guys. They were all in cahoots and every one of them wanted to kill us. I’d finally gotten past that stomach-clenching idea that I was killing men. Maybe it was the distance between us, maybe because I was sick as a dog, but I emptied the magazine, slapped in my last, and continued firing.

  Our continuous rate of fire pushed them down as we leapfrogged forward, and the next thing I knew, our side of the Humvee was quiet and all four of us were running like striped-ass baboons for the two open doors on the nearest vehicle on our end.

  “Sonny! Drive!”

  We dove inside as gunfire rose again when they realized we’d taken their transportation.

  Yolanda went first, followed by Phoebe, then Perry Hale. I already had the engine going and shoved it into gear, steering around the other Humvee and taking off for the bridge. The back window on the passenger side went down and Perry Hale’s arm flashed outside.

  We were a dozen yards past the lead Humvee when it exploded. I couldn’t help but look back over my shoulder. Perry Hale grinned. “Found a grenade on the floor. This is a whole ’nother country.”

  I turned back forward to see the top half of a man in a blue shirt waving two empty hands from behind the steep bank of the Rio Grande. He looked familiar and I was pretty sure it was Arturo’s daddy, Santiago Estrada.

  Chapter 91

  The cleaning crew who arrived every other day at Marc Chavez’s sprawling Houston home were surprised to find the front door unlocked. Lupe Hinojosa replaced the house key in her pocket and lightly tapped the solid mahogany door.

  She opened it a crack. “Hello?”

  When no one answered, she shrugged and picked up her bucket and mop. Two other cleaning ladies followed with an assortment of buckets, stepladders, and supplies. They filed into the entry. From there most of the open-concept layout revealed the living room, kitchen, and dining room.

  The off
ice to their right was just as they’d left it forty-eight hours earlier, all the way down to the vacuum marks in the carpet. The youngest of the Hispanic ladies flicked a rag at the French doors. “Terminado!”

  Done.

  They laughed and walked into the living room. Lupe headed for the kitchen, but a gasp from the other two caused her to spin around and find a sight that would haunt her until the day she died.

  Marc Chavez’s naked and bloody body was tied at the wrists and ankles in front of the fireplace. His tongue and genitals were arranged on either side of his head, the floor thick with congealed blood. Splatters on the wall and ceiling told a horrific story about how he’d died.

  The rest of the house was pristine.

  Chapter 92

  The stressed observers on the Texas side watched from cover as their friends fought their way toward the river. Every man and woman there had already identified Sonny, Perry Hale, and Yolanda by name.

  To a person they yearned to open up with everything they had across the river to force the bad guys down. The Americans needed help, and all they could do was stand around and watch. Almost too much, it was like seeing the choreography of a movie unfold after the director shouts “action,” but much deadlier.

  Major Parker leaned over to Ranger Nick Delgado. “Who the hell is that skinny little gal with them? The one behind Yolanda.”

  Squinting into the viewfinder, Delgado kept the camera rock solid. “No idea, sir.”

  Sheriff Armstrong grinned. “Leave it to Sonny to be involved with blowing things up and rescuing maidens in distress.”

  Ranger Gasch trotted up from his recon of the house on the river. “Major.”

  Parker plucked a cigar from his shirt pocket. “Huh?”

  “That house over there’s full of bodies. No one else. We pulled back to preserve the crime scene. The place is shredded from a firefight.”

  The Major grunted and stuck the cigar into the corner of his mouth. “Bet that was Hawke’s doin’, and if it was, it was sure ’nough a war, one that moved across the border.” He pointed to the west. “There’s an oxbow over there. I bet that’s where they’re headed. Set up out of sight from all these people. Help ’em if they need it.”

  Gasch cocked his head in a silent question.

  “You heard me.”

  The order had been given. “Yessir.”

  Chapter 93

  When the two remaining gangsters crashed through the balcony’s French doors, they brought the heavy drapes in with them. One with strands of barbed wire tattooed around his shaved head charged Gabe, growling like an animal. The heavy material fell across the ranch hand’s arms and shotgun, preventing him from pulling the trigger but blocking the man’s furious attempts to slash with a razor-sharp machete.

  The other gangster tripped on the drapes, dropping to his hands and scuttling forward like a crab. Bare from the waist up, his body was nothing but one mass of inked words and drawings.

  Mary fell back, screaming.

  Kelly recoiled at the disturbing sight, the pistol in her hand momentarily forgotten.

  At Herman’s age, and wounded from the knife slash, his reactions were slower than the rest. It took several moments to register the sudden burst of activity.

  Bad guys with machetes.

  Kelly raising her revolver.

  Gabe not giving an inch, driving forward like an offensive lineman, using the temporarily useless shotgun to push Barbed Wire off balance.

  Herman’s thought processes shifted into high gear at the sight of the tattooed face. Words, symbols, crude pictures—it was a vision of lawlessness, cruelty, and death. It was that crabwalking man with spiderwebs inked around his eyes who dropped the tangled machete and pulled a pistol free. He fired.

  The bullet whizzed past Herman’s head and buried itself in the wall. The 870 twelve-gauge shotgun lying across his lap was pointed the wrong way. Rapidly coming up to speed in the fight, but still behind the action, his left hand on the pump’s grip yanked the barrel toward Spider Eyes, who seemed stunned that he’d missed at such close range.

  Kelly was in the line of the swing. Herman lowered the muzzle.

  Still struggling with Gabe, Barbed Wire also dropped his machete and yanked a cheap .38 pistol from his pants and fired at the same instant Gabe yelled in terror and planted his feet. Holding his impotent shotgun at port arms, Gabe shoved, stepped back, and fired. The range was too close and the blast missed the gangster by a hair. He chopped the stock at the man’s head, forcing him back toward the broken French doors.

  Herman finished the swing and pulled the trigger on Spider Eyes, who slapped at the barrel with his left hand. The load of #4 buck nearly severed the tattooed gangster’s left leg. He went down, but raised the pistol toward the old Ranger.

  Catching the fight from the corner of his eye, Gabe shucked another shell into the receiver and shot Spider Eyes in the side. The full load of buckshot from only three feet away dropped him to the floor.

  Barbed Wire regained his balance and tried to bring his pistol to bear. With a roar, the work-hardened ranch hand lowered his shoulder and charged like a bull, trying to shove the gangster back out and over the balcony rail.

  The fight occurred with breathless speed, but Kelly finally responded, sticking the five-shot Airweight under Gabe’s arm and into Barbed Wire’s chest. She pulled the trigger three times on the hammerless revolver as fast as possible in a roll of muffled thunder. The gangster went limp, and Gabe pushed him out and over the rail. The body landed with a hard splat on the flagstones.

  Kelly backed away from the window, left hand over her mouth.

  Gabe took the pistol from her fingers. “I killed that man.”

  She tore her eyes from the shattered glass doors. “No, I . . .”

  His voice was firm. “I picked up your pistol and shot him.”

  “That’s what I saw.”

  Kelly whirled to see Herman nodding his head. The wound in his arm had reopened and blood soaked his sleeve. “Gabe shot him and that’s what you gals are gonna say. High school teachers ought not shoot people.”

  Herman held both hands into the air as Mary unlocked the hotel’s door that slammed open, nearly knocking her into the wall. “Clear here, boys. It’s over.”

  Deputy Malone and two other deputies poured into the room, filling it with big men and guns.

  Chapter 94

  Lordy, the seat in that Humvee felt like pure heaven even though it was worn to a frazzle, but it was the most comfortable thing I’d felt since I climbed out of my truck what seemed like a year ago.

  One-handed, I turned the Humvee left and slowed beside Estrada, who by then had gained the top of the bank. The vehicle was between him and the guys that opened up on us with everything they had left. Rounds slapped the sides of the vehicle, and I hoped none of them had smarts enough to aim for the tires.

  Taking my foot off the accelerator, I slowed enough for Arturo’s dad to jump up on the running board. “Hold on!”

  He probably couldn’t hear through the thick glass and steady shooting, but he got the idea as we followed the ragged edge of the riverbank. We rolled right over scrub brush and short cedars that scraped the undercarriage, the Humvee bouncing and jumping like a bronc.

  We hit an open spot and the ground smoothed. By then I steered around some of the bigger clumps of vegetation and sped up to get out of range. Estrada yelled, but I couldn’t hear him.

  “Sonny, slow down for a minute and let him get in.” Perry Hale leaned forward and slapped my shoulder. “We have enough distance now.”

  I glanced into the side mirror and saw no one was following. Knowing better than to hit my brakes and throw our passenger off, I slowed enough so he could take two fast steps off the running board and yank the door open. He jumped inside and I accelerated again.

  Without taking my eyes off the riverbank to our right, I put a little distance between us and the four-foot drop-off to frothing muddy water. “You’re Arturo’s d
addy, right?”

  He was shocked that I recognized him. “Sí, Santiago Estrada.”

  He cut loose with a lot more in rapid-fire Spanish, and I didn’t understand more’n two words. Yolanda leaned forward and translated. “Arturo’s step-daddy. He says we can cross up ahead.”

  “Where? I know for a fact there’s no bridge anywhere in this direction, and the water’s too high to drive across.”

  They had another jabbering session, and I vowed to take Spanish lessons when I got to feeling better. “He says there’s a narrow horseshoe bend up ahead. He has a boat there.”

  “A boat?”

  She grinned. “Him and some other guys were going to use it last night to cross. Figured it was the perfect time, but then Chatto showed up at the bar and his friends ran off.”

  Made sense.

  “Where? Dónde?”

  He showed me a mouthful of gold teeth in a smile that spread from ear to ear.

  I accelerated and the big tires threw up fat chunks of mud in a plopping rooster-tail behind us.

  Phoebe’d been watching out the back. She finally turned around. “We’re leaving ruts deep enough to plant corn. They won’t have any trouble following us.”

  “Aquí! Aquí!” Estrada gripped the hard dash with both hands and braced himself.

  I hit the brakes and we slid and slid until there was nothing in the windshield but river and Texas. Now that it was light we could see the churning, chocolate-milk-colored water flowing past. We’d come to an oxbow, a horseshoe bend in the river that brought Texas a hair closer where the water choked to a narrow point. Only problem was, that increased the velocity in a Venturi effect.

  We detrucked in record time and gathered on the edge of the steep bank. This time the water was more of a deep, thick chuffing sound. I didn’t like that noise one whit. “Where’s that boat?”