by Harold Coyle
20 miles east of chinampas, mexico
0705 hours, 30 June
In his haste to get the helicopter back into operation, Blasio's crew chief had stripped the threads of the chip collector, making it impossible to get it back into the main rotor gearbox. Carrying the small spark-plug-shaped chip collector over to where Blasio and the infantry lieutenant waited, the crew chief began to apologize, but was cut short by the infantry lieutenant.
With
eyes wide from shock and disbelief, the infantry lieutenant pointed at the part in the crew chief's hand and yelled at Blasio, "You mean to tell me that that little thing will keep your helicopter from flying?"
Embarrassed, Blasio threw out his hands and shrugged his shoulders.
"There is nothing we can do. Without the collector, there is a hole in the gearbox. We can't fly without it."
The infantry lieutenant, horrified by Blasio's announcement, was unable to speak. He had already lost valuable time waiting in the vain hope that both helicopters could still make it. Now, realizing he had made a bad choice, he spun about and began to run toward the one good helicopter.
Jumping in, he didn't even bother strapping himself in. Instead, he wedged himself between the pilot and the co-pilot, and ordered them to take off immediately and fly to Chinampas. When the pilot told him to sit down and strap himself in, the infantry lieutenant grabbed the pilot by the collar, pulled the pilot's face to his, and yelled at him to fly his damned helicopter. The bulging eyes, red face, and spit that sprayed all over when the lieutenant spoke convinced the pilot that he had best comply immediately.
Without a second thought, as soon as the infantry lieutenant let his collar go, the pilot lifted his collective, depressed his left pedal, and eased the stick forward, lifting his aircraft off the ground and leaving Blasio with his crew and half of the infantry platoon behind.
Chinampas, Mexico
0707 hours, 30 June
From either side of a second-story window in the north wing of the main house, Guajardo and Caso looked out into the courtyard below. Gray and black smoke from the burning helicopter wreckage and tower 2 drifted across the courtyard, obscuring their view of the barracks, the stable, and the river gate beyond, making it difficult to pinpoint where the gunfire was coming from. The mercenaries, no doubt, were also hamstrung by the same lack of visibility. Even so, they were maintaining an effective cross fire that covered every inch of the courtyard, making a direct assault impossible. Although Guajardo had anticipated this, the failure of Group N to appear and seize the airfield made his methodical clearing operations impracticable. Time, instead of being an ally, was now against him.
A quick search of the house by the assault teams revealed that Alaman was not among the bodies there. That meant either that his primary target, Alaman, was not at Chinampas, which Guajardo thought highly unlikely, or that he was now sitting safely somewhere in the barracks building obscured by the whiffs of smoke that drifted across the courtyard. Regardless, Guajardo knew his troops needed to end the fight quickly, or find some way of keeping Alaman's people from reaching the airfield.
Otherwise, the success of the entire operation would be in jeopardy.
At the other side of the window, with his back against the wall, Caso carefully looked down into the courtyard while Guajardo searched for a solution. "As you can see, we are, as the Americans would say, at a Mexican stand-off, sir."
Guajardo didn't care for Caso's attempt at humor at a time like this.
But he said nothing, for he knew Caso was right--and there were far more important matters to be dealt with. His mind was already busy seeking a solution for the problem they faced.
The defenders of Chinampas were in a very strong position and, without Group N at the airfield to the east, they had an escape route. With the helicopters already clear of Chinampas and en route to their rally point, Guajardo had only the men of the assault force available to do whatever needed to be done in order to find and kill Alaman. Direct assault was out. Such an effort would be too costly, and he didn't have enough men for a human-wave attack. The methodical approach was out. Too slow.
Closing his eyes, Guajardo created an image of Chinampas and the area around it in his mind. Blocking out all other thoughts, he forced himself to concentrate on that image, seeking a solution.
A young engineer lieutenant, the commander of Group Z, came running into the room where Guajardo and Caso were. Seeing the colonel and the major at the window, he began to head straight for them. He paused, however, when he noticed his path was blocked by a body lying in the center of the floor. The flowing satin and lace of the young woman's nightgown was stained by blotches of blood that seeped from multiple gunshot wounds and soaked up by a vast pool of blood that surrounded the woman's torso.
Though appalled by the sight, the engineer lieutenant stood there for a moment transfixed as he studied, with a macabre fascination, the body of the tall, thin woman with boyish features. Only after Caso, turning to see who had entered the room, warned the lieutenant to stay clear of the window, did the engineer lieutenant move. Pulling himself away from the heap of body, satin, lace, and blood in the center of the room, the lieutenant came up next to Caso, carefully avoiding the open window. "Sir, I am here to report to Colonel Guajardo on our situation."
"The colonel is busy right now. Give me your report."
Looking over at Guajardo, the lieutenant wondered what the colonel could possibly be doing with his eyes closed. It looked as if he were asleep. Since he was a senior officer, and the lieutenant still did not understand the ways of senior officers, he ignored the colonel and rendered his report to Caso.
"Towers one, five, and six are secured. We lost one sergeant dead as well as an officer and a sapper wounded in taking them. Team Z-2 was wiped out to a man when the helicopter crashed into tower two. I have myself, one other officer, two sergeants, and eight sappers left." The lieutenant's voice was slightly hoarse but controlled.
Caso nodded his approval, noticing that, as he spoke, the lieutenant could not help himself as he glanced back at the body in the center of the floor. "This is your first action, Lieutenant. You will soon grow used to such sights."
The lieutenant of engineers looked at the body, then back at Caso.
Closing his eyes as he nodded, the lieutenant indicated that he was all right, wondering if he, or anyone, could really become accustomed to such sights. Opening his eyes, he probed the major's, trying to see if Caso himself believed what he said. Caso's stare, however, betrayed nothing. "Yes, sir. I, I've never really seen anything like that." He looked back one more time at the body in white behind them. "It seems a shame, such a beautiful woman should die like that."
Case restrained his laughter. "Wastage, yes, but unavoidable. Our task was to clear the building quickly and completely. 'She,' unfortunately, simply found herself in the line of fire. It could not be helped." He paused, looked from the body back to the engineer lieutenant, and then shot back: "Status of demolitions?"
"Excellent. We used only one satchel charge in each tower to gain access. All doors and gates in the towers were open. The guards had not had time to close them."
Suddenly Guajardo, without opening his eyes, called out. "Did you capture any machine guns in the towers?"
Turning from Caso to the colonel, the lieutenant responded that they had. There had been two American 7.62mm machine guns in each tower.
All were still operational.
"Do you think your men could work them, Lieutenant?" Guajardo asked, his eyes still closed.
With the confidence of a young officer who believes in himself and his men, the engineer lieutenant responded to Guajardo's inquiry in a manner that bordered on being boastful. "Yes, we can. The sergeants took them right off and checked that out. They are really quite simple weapons to . . ."
Guajardo, his eyes flying open, turned to the lieutenant, firing orders to him as he did so. "Have the team from tower one drop down from that tower, with both M-60 machine gun
s, outside the wall and move toward the north gate. The team from tower six will also drop down outside the wall, take their machine guns, and move to the south gate."
Looking to Caso, Guajardo continued to issue orders. "Leave Captain Castro and half of his Group M in the house to keep the mercenaries busy.
You, my friend, will take the rest of Group M, move through the garden, go over the north wall, join the engineers at the north gate, move to the base of tower three, and set up your machine guns to cover the footbridge and airfield from the north. The engineers, if they can, will blow a hole into tower three to gain access. Take the tower if you can." Guajardo paused, then emphasized his intent. "Regardless of what happens, set up the machine guns and keep anyone from escaping."
Caso thought for a minute. "What about the rollers on the walls?"
"They roll only one way, out. They were meant to keep people out, not in. Your landing may be hard, but you can do it. Any other questions?"
"I
assume, Colonel, you will do the same in the south."
In his excitement, Guajardo had not told his men his complete plan.
"Yes. That is correct. I will send half of Group D with their commander over the south wall to join the engineers from tower six and set up their machine guns at the base of tower four. That should trap Alaman's men.
With the rest of Group D and the engineers in tower five, I shall begin the process of clearing the garage, stable, and barracks, as planned." Finished, Guajardo looked at Caso, then the lieutenant. "Do you have any questions?"
Both men shook their heads. "Good. Now hurry. Time is against us."
Exhausted from the sudden and unaccustomed exertion, Alaman sat in the corner of a barracks room, forgotten for the moment. Overwhelmed by shock and pain from his rough handling by Childress, El Dueno watched with detached interest the scene before him. It all seemed so unreal, like a nightmare. The sudden and brutal death of his associates before his eyes paled in comparison to the destruction of his beloved Chinampas. Everything that had ever mattered to him was being destroyed, piece by piece, as he sat there, and there was nothing that he could do, nothing.
Across from where Alaman sat, several of the mercenaries, who served as the garrison, took turns firing out into the courtyard and in the direction of the house. The fumes from the firing of their weapons, mixed with the smoke from the burning tower and helicopter, filled the room with a stench that seared Alamn's lungs as he gasped to catch his breath. A few feet away from him, Delapos, his chief of security, and Childress were conferring in English. Though he could only understand half of what they said, with much of the rest drowned out by gunfire, Alaman gathered that they were in agreement that their situation was hopeless and that they needed to escape.
Though he wanted to protest, demanding that they fight for Chinampas, Alaman had neither the physical strength, nor the moral courage, to make such a demand on the armed mercenaries. Although he was confused and stunned, he still had enough common sense to realize that his paid garrison did not possess the same love for Chinampas that he did. Nothing he could say at that moment, not even the promise of more money, could motivate them to do anything to save the place. Survival, the desire to live and collect that which was due to them, was all that mattered to the mercenaries.
As a businessman who had made his fortune dealing with such men, Alaman understood this. Still, the thought of losing Chinampas, and all that it stood for, brought him to the verge of tears.
While their boss struggled to control his emotions, Delapos and Childress quickly reviewed their options. Neither man could understand why the raiders, who appeared to be so well organized and led, had neglected to seize the airfield. Not that it mattered. What did matter was that this error provided them an avenue of escape. That it would soon be closed was without question. The only thing that needed to be decided was how to get Alaman, the man who paid them, and as many of the men as possible, out of the trap they were in before escape became impossible.
Despite the fact that Delapos was in charge, Childress's training as a Green Beret in the U.S. Army equaled and in some ways surpassed the skills and experience of his boss. At times Delapos treated Childress as an equal, even deferring to his judgment. So it was not surprising that, at that moment, Childress took the lead. After all, both men were professionals, and results, not formality, mattered. "Are the pilots still at the airfield?"
Delapos shook his head. "I do not know. Someone said they took off in that direction as soon as the firing started. I assume that they are still there. But even if they are not, we still need to go through there anyhow."
Childress
nodded in agreement. "That's true. Now, who takes Senior Alaman and who covers the rear?"
Before answering, Delapos looked over at the men firing in the courtyard.
At times like this, it was hard to predict how they would react. As much as he wanted to leave with Alaman, he knew he had to stay since he could best control the mercenary force he had built. Looking back at Childress, he ordered him to pick three men, get Alaman to the airfield, and get him away as best he could. He, Delapos, would give Childress two minutes, then follow with as many men as possible.
Stirred from his stupor when he heard that his men were going to I
abandon his beloved Chinampas, Alaman yelled from across the room,
"And how, my friend, will you do that? There are not enough aircraft at the field to get everyone out."
Surprised by Alamdn's sudden outburst, Delapos stood up, put his hands on his hips, and looked at his employer. "That is not your concern.
If necessary, we will evade the Federales on foot and work our way f
north." Turning back, he looked into Childress's eyes, lowering his voice so that Alaman could not hear, as he continued to issue his orders.
"Now, my gringo friend, get our fearless leader out of here. If he doesn't get out, none of us will get paid."
Childress laughed. "Ah, a true mercenary to the last." His face serious again, he asked Delapos where they planned to rally.
"Meet us at the old training grounds, the one with the airfield, in five days. If we are not there by then, enjoy your bonus. Now go."
Guajardo had no sooner sent Caso and the engineer lieutenant off than he regretted not giving himself a more active role in the plan to finish Alaman and his men. Though it made sense in that it nearly conformed to the original plan, Guajardo didn't feel comfortable delegating such important and dangerous tasks to his subordinates while he stayed safe, secure, and worse, unable to personally expedite their execution. With everyone gone, alb he could do was wait and watch. After a few more seconds of thinking and looking around the room, now empty except for himself, one soldier firing from another window, and the body in the center of the floor, Guajardo decided to vent his nervous energy through action.
Leaving the main house through the back patio doors, Guajardo circled around to tower 5. The part of Group D that had been ordered over the wall was preparing to move out when he reached the tower. The other men of Group D, who would go with him into the garage, were already waiting at the base of the tower. Telling the sergeant in charge of that group to stand by, Guajardo entered the tower in search of the engineers.
His climb up the stairs of the tower was hindered by the bodies of three dead mercenaries, left where they had been shot by the engineers who had seized the tower. For the first time, he realized that he had yet to come across a live mercenary or member of Alaman's staff. This should not have surprised him: the same rage that had driven him minutes before to kill two unarmed mercenaries had infected all of his soldiers. That morning, in the heat of intense and close combat, no one was taking any chances. Dead men, after all, were not a threat.
Just as he reached the firing platform of the tower, a burst of automatic fire from the barracks across the courtyard hit the protective wall and roof, showering chips of concrete all over Guajardo and the engineers in the tower. Lunging forward for t
he safety of the wall, Guajardo plowed into the back of the engineer sergeant in charge of the team in tower 5.
The sergeant cursed, then apologized when he saw it was Guajardo.
Twisting themselves about so that their backs were against the wall facing the enemy fire, Guajardo assured the sergeant that it was all right, then asked him for a report. "They have increased their rates of fire.
They're not hitting anything, just firing very fast and all over."
Concerned, Guajardo turned around, got to his knees, and began slowly to raise his head up to the edge of the protective wall in order to see what was going on. A volley of bullets, some smacking the other side of the wall while others streamed overhead, convinced Guajardo that this was neither the time nor the place to expose himself. Dropping back down, he thought for a moment. They were probably getting ready to break and run. The increased rate of fire by some of the mercenaries was to cover the escape of the rest. Time was running out.
"Have any helicopters landed at the airfield, Sergeant?"
"No, sir, not that we have seen or heard. Of course, they could have driven a train through the gate below us and we wouldn't have heard it, or seen it. Here, we are pinned and useless."
Guajardo looked around at the four engineers in the tower, all crouched and seeking cover as best they could. In their faces he could see what he took to be anger at being ordered to such a position, with their lives so endangered, and unable to do anything. The sergeant was right. They were useless there. Turning back to the sergeant, Guajardo issued his orders, ignoring the steady hammering of bullets on the other side of the wall that offered both of them protection. "Yes, there is nothing you can do here. Take your men, go to the base of the tower, and blow a hole big enough for a man to crawl through into the space between the tower and the garage. When you have done that, and before you blow a hole into the garage, open the south gate. Do you understand?"
"Yes, we will do that." Happy to be ordered away from the tower's firing platform, and to have something to do, the sergeant smiled, got the attention of his engineers, and ordered them down to the base of the tower. As soon as the last one was gone, Guajardo stuck his head up quickly, looked about, then ran down the stairs behind the sergeant.