“Bravo One, Bravo Three. We are clear,” she said quietly into her headset mic.
“Roger, Bravo Three. Good work. Now get your asses down here.”
“Roger, Bravo One.” Cross moved into a crouch, slung her sniper rifle, and nodded at Amatuzo. “Move your ass, Tuz! Time to earn your pay!”
SCRAPE HIM OFF THE FLOOR
CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
It had been a long terrible drive to the compound. Remiro had barely been able to get the old Durango faster than five miles an hour and all of it in reverse. Sweating profusely from the unyielding heat and in extreme pain from his broken legs, the cartel smuggler had almost given up hope and let the demons take him. A good sized crowd of the undead townspeople were now either running or staggering after the SUV.
Remiro had long ago given up going to church or praying, but now? Now he prayed hard and sincerely to be delivered from the demons that clawed and pounded on the front of his vehicle. Looking through the broken rear window, he could see the front gate and the white of the compound’s adobe walls quickly approaching.
“Yes!” Remiro shouted loudly. “Yes!”
The gunrunner glanced behind him and in the front windshield he could see the mass of demons gaining on him. Remiro knew he couldn't stop at the main gate and wait to be let in; he would have to run it. Once inside, the cartel hired guns would see the demons and swiftly vanquish them with their guns.
Remiro stepped hard on the gas pedal and the Durango groaned and shuddered as it tried to move faster. The aged SUV weaved left and right then, with all the horsepower it had left, crashed through the front gate, ripping it wide open.
“What the hell was that?” Lopez asked as the sounds of Remiro smashing through the front gate and the moans of the undead horde filled the air.
“Front gate!” Rico said, alarmed. He sat straight up in the driver's seat of the Jeep and cranked the engine over.
“Shit!” Lopez slid the straw cowboy hat back on his head. Both men had pulled over in a blind spot and taken a little nap. “I’ll call it in!”
“Not yet.” Rico grabbed the radio out of his partner's hand. “Let's see what it is first. We don’t need Salazar up our ass.”
“Sounds pretty bad, esé.” Lopez wiped the sleep from his eyes as the Jeep sped to the front gate. The camera had been out all day so if it was something bad, their asses would really be in the wringer.
“Just hold on, Lopez. Might be nothing.”
“Sure,” Lopez said, resting his hand on the .45 strapped to his hip. “When is it ever nothing?”
“Jus—” Rico didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. As the topless Jeep approached the front entrance to the compound, Rico’s jaw dropped as he saw the SUV sitting on top of the remains of the gate, engine whining loudly but unmoving. The Dodge Durango looked like it had backed over the big gate and was now caught up on the sheet metal and concertina wire. The driver's side door quickly opened and a wild-eyed man dropped to the ground waving a big handgun.
“Fuck!” Lopez shouted and he quickly drew his .45 and fired at the gun toting madman. Suddenly, several big fireworks illuminated the night sky.
“Lopez!” Rico screamed too late as his partner opened fire.
Remiro had made it through the front gate; that in itself was a major miracle. The smuggler saw the headlights of the outside patrol Jeep quickly approaching and knew he was saved. He grabbed up his pistol and pushed his door open. Groaning in pain, he fell hard to the ground, his gun bouncing up and unintentionally pointing in the Jeep's direction. Yelling for help, Remiro looked up just in time to see one of the cartel men aiming his pistol at him. Remiro heard an explosion in the sky above him. Before he could look to see what it was, a bullet struck him in the shoulder and threw him on to his side. Two more rounds hit him in the chest. Before the darkness could take him, Remiro smiled. His prayers had been answered; he’d been spared death at the hands of the demons.
“Lopez!” Rico shouted, shoving his partner to the side. “That was Remiro you shot!”
“No!” Lopez lowered his handgun as fireworks exploded in the night sky.
“We need to call this in!” Rico started to hurry back to the Jeep when he heard Lopez scream. The cartel man quickly spun in his partner's direction only to see him being tackled to the ground by a strange group of people.
“Rico!” Lopez screamed as the crowd fell upon him.
“Hey!” Rico drew his nine millimeter handgun and ran toward the group that was attacking Lopez. As he timidly moved closer, he noticed the foul smell and that they weren't beating Lopez; they were eating him.
“Shit!” Rico shakily raised his pistol to fire on the abominations before him when another crowd of undead pulled him to the ground and proceeded to tear him apart. All the while, beautiful fireworks exploded in the night sky.
“What is that?” Gloria Camacho asked her son at the sound of the explosions outside. Robert still lay on the floor sobbing. Gloria angrily nudged him with her foot. “What is that?”
“Fireworks.” Camacho laughed, drool running from his mouth. “I had fireworks for you, Mama. Big, beautiful ones.” He laughed maniacally. “Big beautiful ones. For you, Mama!” He laughed. “For you!"
"What a shame.” She grabbed her purse off the couch. “Salazar, have them load my car. I am ready to go.”
“Yes, Gloria.”
“And scrape him off the floor. He looks so pathetic.”
“Mama…” Camacho blubbered.
“Quit crying.” She turned her back to him and headed for the door. “You do not want the Americans to think you are a bitch.”
ANY MORE SURPRISES?
OUTSIDE CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
“What the fuck is that?” Morgan spoke lowly into his headset. Bravo team was now complete and in two tactical stacks behind the double rear gates of the compound. Redwood, Morgan, Doc Kegy, Cross, and Duley were on the left gate. Snake, Hale, Vanelli, Amatuzo, and Travis were stacked up on the right.
"Looks like fireworks,” Hale said calmly as a rocket exploded above them.
“Any more surprises? Listen up,” he said into his mic. “Stow the night vision gear. It’s pretty lit up in there with that shindig going on and the NVGs won’t be worth a shit. Second, there is going to be a lot of civilians in there so watch yourselves. I want us all to make it back on that chopper.”
“Cakewalk.” Morgan nodded.
Morgan looked over at Hale who gave him thumbs up. He then gave Redwood a squeeze on the shoulder, signaling they were good to go. Hale did the same to Snake and both soldiers cautiously checked the gate latches. Both were unlocked as promised and free of traps. Redwood glanced over at Snake, who gave him a quick nod. It was time to move.
The lead soldiers pushed the gates all the way open and Hale and Morgan followed them in, sweeping their areas for bad guys and trying to avoid the ‘fatal funnel’ before the rest of the team’s followed them inside.
With no one in sight, Hale’s team took off to the right of the gate and moved along the inside of the big adobe wall. Morgan’s team went to the left, following the painted wall toward the hacienda. Captain Galvan’s men would come in through the front gate and also split into two teams. All four squads would eventually meet up at the hacienda, grab Camacho, and exit out the rear gate. The chopper would be waiting for them at the first landing zone.
There was a lot of ambient noise inside the compound as the small squad followed Hale along the north wall. Music, laughter, and the thunder of fireworks exploding overhead easily covered the stealthy movements of the five soldiers. Snake suddenly stopped, crouched down, and signaled for the others to halt. The rest of the team followed Snake’s lead and hunkered down, each of them watching their separate areas of responsibility. Hale saw Snake make several hand signals indicating two guards were moving toward them. Hale signaled to the rest of the men and they switched to their suppressed Beretta pistols. The two guards casually strolled through the open area, complete
ly unaware of the nearby soldiers. Jabbering excitedly about some gun he’d just bought, one of the guards stopped to light a cigarette. The other man just shook his head and drained the rest of a beer bottle he carried.
Belching, the guard tossed the empty bottle to the side, accidentally striking Vanelli in the chin. The soldier stifled a groan as the bottle made a dull thump when it finally landed near his right foot. Hale and Snake quickly fired two rounds into the guard’s heads. Both of the cartel men crashed to the ground, very dead. Travis and Amatuzo swiftly moved from their positions and dragged the dead men into the cover of the darkness.
“You ok?” Hale asked lowly into his mic.
“Yeah. Flesh wound.” Vanelli rubbed his lightly bleeding chin, still watching his area. “Been hit in the face with worse things, Sarge.”
“When we get back, tell the Sarge about that he/she in Manila—” Snake whispered into his mic but was quickly cut off by Hale.
“Please don’t. Snake, get going.”
The point man nodded and cautiously moved forward in the shadow of the wall. The music grew louder as the men slowly made their way nearer to Camacho’s hacienda. As Hale scanned the many smaller buildings and dark alleyways that surrounded them, he started to feel more than a little vulnerable inside the enemy camp. The sergeant could smell the faint odor of burning kerosene and wood in the air. Hale thought they might be having some kind of bonfire going along with all the other festivities.
“Smell that?” Amatuzo asked from behind.
“Excuse me.” Travis chuckled.
“Smells close,” Hale said quietly.
“Smells like a bonfire. Maybe some pork too.” Amatuzo’s mouth watered at the thought.
“Probably have some carnitas cooking,” Vanelli added.
“Grab you a big ol' plate of greasy pork.” Travis tapped Vanelli on the back. Vanelli shuddered and gave him the finger without turning around.
“Dude, you know I’m still feeling like shit.”
“Can it,” Hale said into his mic. “All we need is for one of these guys to get lucky and spot us before we grab the target.”
“Roger,” Vanelli said.
“Roger, Sarge,” Amatuzo nodded.
“Good. Snake?”
“Hold up. I have one headed this way. He’s armed and paying attention.”
“Take him when he’s in range,” Hale said, bringing his pistol in close to his chest. From his vantage point, he could see a heavy set cartel man walking straight for his squad. The man hadn’t seen them but he appeared to be looking for someone or something. The man carried a hunting rifle in his right hand and a radio in his left.
“No,” the man spoke loudly in Spanish as he held the radio to his lips. “I haven’t seen Alejandro or Perez. I called them but they do not answer. I’m over near the barracks. I’ll check in when I find them.”
The guard clipped the radio onto his belt and continued walking toward the building closest to the hiding soldiers.
“What did he say?” Hale asked as quiet as possible.
“He’s looking for the guys we shot,” Snake, fluent in Spanish, whispered.
The man stopped several dozen feet away from the squad and checked the door of one of the buildings that was opposite of them. He pulled open the door and went inside.
“When he comes out, take him,” Hale said.
“Roger,” Snake said, eyeballing the door and the route ahead of them.
Suddenly, one of the windows facing the team exploded outwards and Vanelli was shoved off his feet and onto the ground by some unseen force. The ground next to Hale exploded as a bullet smashed into it. The guard had obviously spotted them and was firing at the squad through the broken window.
The four remaining soldiers unloaded on the window. The suppressed rounds crashed through the remnants of the glass and found their mark. The shooting stopped when the guard tumbled out of the window and onto the ground. Hale signaled Amatuzo forward to check the body. The younger soldier hurried over to where the man lay and shook his head. Hale dropped back and knelt down next to the proned out Vanelli.
“Vanelli, you ok?”
“Yeah, shit.” Vanelli sat up grabbing his chest. “Round just grazed my vest. I’m good, just took the wind outta me.”
“Lucky man,” Hale said, helping him to his feet.
“He’s a shit magnet,” Travis said.
“Yeah.” Vanelli nodded slowly as he resumed watching his area. “I wouldn’t stand too close.”
“Thought you bought it,” Amatuzo said as he slid back into the shadows. “Bad guy is a goner. We shot up his radio too.”
“I don’t think anyone heard us with all the noise of the party,” Snake said.
“That’s a plus. Let’s shove his body inside and keep moving.” Hale glanced at his big dive watch. “It’s getting late.”
Hale noticed Vanelli was still rubbing his chest plate. “You sure you okay, Vanelli?”
“Yeah. Hell, I had a girlfriend shoot me in the ass and it hurt worse.”
“She was probably aiming for your face and couldn’t tell the difference,” Travis said and, without turning to look at Vanelli, slapped him on the shoulder.
“Let’s move.” Hale signaled for Snake to take point again. “It’s getting late.”
DIPSHITS WITH TOO MUCH MONEY
CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
“Tigers?” Redwood said quietly as they moved slowly past the big cage. Both of the huge felines were fast asleep after having dined upon the unfortunate Manolito. “Who keeps tigers?”
“Dipshits with too much money,” Cross said, glancing around.
“It’s not right to pen up such magnificent beasts.” The big Native American shook his head sadly.
“What the hell do ya feed ‘em?” Duley asked.
“Your rivals.” Morgan signaled for the squad to halt and pointed ahead of them. Redwood—who had the lead—nodded, crouched down, and brought his rifle up to his shoulder. The other four also ducked down and raised their weapons, still watching their fields of fire. Something was moving very fast ahead of them. Redwood couldn’t get a good look, but whatever it was headed straight in their direction at a rapid pace. A few more feet and they would collide with the hidden squad.
Not wanting their position exposed, the big point man fired. The suppressed rifle recoiled slightly in the giant soldier's arms as he pulled the trigger. Quickly raising a gloved hand, the sergeant hurried over to the target and hauled it back over into the shadows.
“A fucking goat?” Doc Kegy chuckled in his mic. “You killed a goat.”
“Bad, bad,” Redwood said quietly.
“Shee-it.” Duley shook his head. “You took old boy's head clean off.”
“It was somebody’s pet.” Cross reached down with a Kevlar gloved hand and tugged at a bloody collar that was around the remains of the animal's neck. “Elsa,” she said, reading the name tag. “You killed a domesticated animal. Even had a name.”
“What’s that mantra?” Morgan watched the area around them. “All enemies foreign and domestic. Don’t feel bad, Redwood, it was a clean kill.” The sergeant smiled.
“Bad karma to kill a goat.” Redwood shook his head. “Not good at all, Sarge.”
“Elsa.” Duley threw a quick look at the dead animal. “That’s fucked up.”
“Let’s get a move on.” Morgan tapped Redwood on the shoulder. “The hacienda’s not too far away.”
“PETA.” Cross said in a hushed voice as the squad started to move. “PETA would probably consider that a war crime, Redwood. I’d leave a throw down piece if I were you, say she shot first.”
“Waste of a perfectly good goat,” Duley said sadly. “Some hot sauce on that…”
THE SMELL
CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
Hector stumbled through the far end of the compound. He was pretty wasted and feeling really horny. The girls at the party had all rejected his advances; maybe it was him scratching his crotch constantly.
He shook his head. Damn whores were never that picky. He would have grabbed one of them and forced them to relieve him but some of the other members at the party weren’t in a sharing mood tonight.
Hector took a big swig from the half-empty tequila bottle. Some of the cleaning girls that didn’t party had to be around somewhere. With no witnesses, he could grab one and do what he wanted. There were a few bungalows that held some of the older women; they’d be home sleeping. The cartel man had to take a piss, so he stopped by one of the buildings and unzipped. As he started to pee, he grumbled at the usual burning pain. Hector would eventually have to take care of that.
“What the hell is that?” Hector cursed in Spanish as a horrible smell filled his nostrils. “Oh man.” He shook his head at the smell. “I really need to get that looked at.”
Above the sounds of the band playing and the party noise, Hector could hear a loud moaning; it kind of made him hornier. The moaning was coming from behind him. The cartel man finished urinating then turned around to see a hungry group of undead heading right for him. Even with his bladder drained, Hector still managed to piss himself.
‘Demons!” he screamed as he fumbled for his pistol. “Demons!”
Cold dead hands reached out for the cartel man as he struggled to un-holster his weapon. Before he could remove the gun from its holster, he accidentally jerked the trigger and blew off part of his right foot.
Operation Zulu: Dos Page 25