Trial by fire: a novel

by Harold Coyle

  Standing up, Cerro looked about the van. Such thoughts were, at times, mind-boggling, especially for a not-so-young-anymore infantry captain. Turning to the operations NCO, he asked what was for lunch.

  Reaching down into a box of MREs under his desk, the sergeant grabbed a brown plastic sack, pulled it out, and read the label.

  "Gee, sir. You're in luck." Tossing the plastic sack to Cerro, he waited until Cerro had caught it before he announced, with a great flourish,

  "And the captain gets, ta-da, pork patties."

  Making a face, Cerro looked at the black lettering on the pouch to confirm the sergeant's verdict. Then he turned to the other people in the van and said, "Well, it's a dirty job, but someone's got to eat 'em." With that, he pivoted and left the van in search of a quiet, shady spot where he could choke down his lunch unmolested by the thoughts and noise of war.

  More accustomed to critics, Jan was, for a moment, speechless. The sincerity of the compliment, given at such a time, by a man who had much to do, struck a chord in her heart. Here, she thought, was a man of great passions and thought. A man who, despite his heavy duties, felt the need to take the time to personally thank her for something she would have done anyway. For the longest time, she struggled in an effort to come up with a response that was appropriate. In the end, she could not. The best that she managed was a simple thank you, whispered in tones that told Guajardo her words were heavy with emotion.

  For a moment, there was an awkward silence, the kind of silence that fills a room when great passions are alive and where there are a man and a woman, alone. Clearing his throat, Guajardo offered Jan another cup of coffee. Though she didn't want one, she accepted his offer. Freed from the silence by action, Guajardo leaped from his seat and walked to where the coffeepot sat, and back to Jan's chair. As he poured for her, he turned to the next matter at hand.

  "You realize, Senorita Fields, that you are the only American who has availed herself of the opportunity to talk to each and every member of the council since the twenty-ninth of June?"

  Jan hadn't thought of that. In a way, the idea appealed to her. She could use that angle. Then, in the next instant, what he had just told her hit her like a slap in the face. Her country, her beloved America, which at that moment was in the process of invading his country, had not taken the time to sit down and talk to the people who were its declared enemies.

  How could that be? Looking up as Guajardo resumed his seat across from her, she pointed out that she knew that the American secretary of state had met with Foreign Minister Barreda on three different occasions and that a special White House envoy had been to see Colonel Molina, the president of the council, twice.

  Guajardo chuckled, leaning back into his seat. "You did not listen to what I said, senorita. I said, talk to us. Your representatives did not talk to us. They lectured us, they threatened us, they even tried to dictate to us. But talk, as you and I have, never. Not in July. Not in August. Not ever. A meaningful dialogue cannot be established between men when one enters the room with an arrogance nurtured by an assumed superiority that his culture and position encourages. Though each of your nation's representatives was an educated man, each thought--correction, knew--he was right and we were wrong. Every representative that your president sent could never overcome the idea that the person he was talking to, my brothers, were poor, misguided soldiers, untutored in the skills of politics and diplomacy. In the same way that Lyndon Johnson viewed Ho Chi Minh as a peasant and terrorist and based his policies accordingly, your representatives see us as petty dictators and buffoons."

  Guajardo paused. He realized that his tone had turned bitter and harsh.

  He could see it in Jan's face. Grasping the arms of his chair, he looked up at the ceiling, taking deep breaths in an effort to compose himself before he continued. Ready, he looked back at Jan, who sat wide-eyed and waiting.

  "Forgive me, Senorita Fields. But these are very trying times. I did not mean to frighten you or take my frustrations out on you. I am afraid that your pleasant visit has been ruined by my lack of self-control."

  Jan shook her head and shrugged, telling him that it was no problem, that she understood.

  "Senorita Fields, I would like you to do one more thing for me, a personal favor, if you would?"

  Jan told him she would, anything.

  "Your CIA, no doubt, knows,you are here this morning. I made no effort to keep it a secret. They, the CIA, will, no doubt, contact you. When they do, tell them you have a message from the president of Mexico, a personal message that is for the ears of the American president only."

  Jan blinked. God, she thought to herself. Joe Bob was right. She should have stayed away. Now she was becoming involved in secret messages, the CIA, and God knew what else. Still, she simply nodded and said she would do her best. What else could she do? To start with, she was, she realized, at that moment the original captive audience. The image of Princess Leia telling Darth Vader to piss off popped in and out of her mind in a flash.

  As real as that thought was, accompanied by an uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability, it was not the deciding factor that made her accept Guajardo's "request." The idea of being offered an opportunity to do something real, something tangible to end this war, was very compelling to Jan. It was more than a sense of duty to God and country, though that was present. Instead, she was being offered the chance to do something that would take Scott out of harm's way, to do something to protect the man she loved from the dangers he so willingly thrust himself into. That alone was justification to deliver Guajardo's message.

  "Tell your president about us. Tell him what you think of us. Use your words to create in his mind an image of each of us, as people, not as members of the enemy government. Then tell him what you saw, and what you think of us, of Mexico, and what we are doing. If you have gotten this far, and he is still listening, then give him this message. We do not want trouble with the United States. Our futures, like our histories, are interwoven. One cannot exist without the other. We are, in many ways, the same. We are both, in our own eyes, great people, with a pride in our heritage and dreams for a better future. All we ask for is an opportunity to work for that future, in peace, as we see fit. We are asking for nothing that we do not already have, except peace and respect. And tell him, Senorita Fields, if he cannot see fit to grant us peace, then tell him we have no choice but to fight for that respect on the field of battle, a field of his choosing."

  5 kilometers west of sabinas hldalgo, mexico

  1830 hours, 11 September

  Arriving late in the afternoon by helicopter, Guajardo prepared himself for the first major confrontation between his forces and the Americans.

  Noting the time on a wall clock, he knew it would be dark soon, time for his soldiers, like the predators of the desert, to begin to stir.

  From a commandobservation post hidden near an old mining operation, Guajardo could observe American units moving into positions.

  Though he was interested in what units they were and where they were, he also knew that, like his own, they would reshuffle themselves under the cover of darkness. Much of what the Americans were allowing him to see was for his benefit, a deception. Like a poker player, the American commander was holding his good cards close to his chest until it was time to play them.

  Not that it would make any difference. What the American commander in this sector did in the next few hours, and during the upcoming battle, would not cause Guajardo to change his own plans for the defense of Monterrey. After having exercised great caution, with a few exceptions, in their advance south, the American 16th Armored Division had paused, closing up its combat power north and northeast of Monterrey. With one brigade concentrated north of Monterrey around Lampazos, another south of Vallecillo, and the third, to the south of Agualeguas, the 16th Armored Division was positioned for a move on Monterrey.

  The distance between American brigades told Guajardo that the commander of the 16th Armored Division was not concerned
about a counterattack by Mexican forces. Had he been, he would have kept his brigades closer together, deployed so that they could provide mutual support. Superior communications, as well as numerous aviation units capable of patrolling the gaps between the brigades, provided the Americans the ability to disperse their combat power and threaten Monterrey from three directions. Any offensive action against one of the dispersed American brigades by a mechanized unit larger than a company would be easily detected and parried by ground attack aircraft and attack helicopters well before the Mexican force could close with American ground units.

  Guajardo, however, had no intention of throwing his valuable mechanized units away in a futile counterattack, at least not yet. He, like the American commander, used deception. Like a poker player with few blue chips, he did not want to throw them away early in the game. So, from the beginning, Guajardo was prepared to cede this hand, the battle of Monterrey, to the Americans. It was, after all, theirs for the taking.

  But while he had no intention .of playing any blue chips in the defense of Monterrey, neither was he ready to give the hand away cheaply.

  Though he could not beat the Americans here, he could bleed them a little, perhaps make them a little cautious. In the course of the play, if Guajardo was attentive enough, he might even be given an opportunity to cause real damage to the Americans. Such opportunities, Guajardo knew, had to be made. So Guajardo prepared his units to play the opening game for Monterrey.

  With that thought in mind, he deployed his forces. Two battalions of infantry, both militia units, were deployed to the north in and around the city of Villaldamo. There, they would be able to delay an attack coming down the valley from the north by the American brigade located at Lampazos.

  In the Mamulique Pass, two infantry battalions, one militia and one regular army, reinforced with an antitank company, covered the direct route from Laredo, to the northeast, into Monterrey. To the northeast of Monterrey lay the Sierra Picachos, with the Mamulique Pass in the west and open flatlands to the east and southeast. In that area, centered on a town named Nuevo Repueblo, a small regular army brigade with one infantry battalion, one mechanized infantry battalion, one militia battalion, two batteries of artillery, and a mechanized cavalry troop were deployed to defend against a sweep south of the Sierra Picachos. It was here, in the east, that Guajardo expected the American 16th Division to make its main effort. A move from Lampazos would force the Americans to advance down a long, narrow valley, dotted with many villages and towns. An attack through the Mamulique Pass would force the Americans to fight on ground favorable to the defender. Only in the south, around Nuevo Repueblo, was the ground favorable for wide, sweeping maneuvers by mechanized forces. The American commander had, to date, used every advantage he had to avoid direct assaults on positions that could easily be defended. Guajardo did not expect him to change.

  For that reason, he stationed the only powerful force he intended to sacrifice in the defense of Monterrey, a battalion of Nicaraguan T-72

  tanks, south of the city in the town of Marin. From there, the Nicaraguan tanks could move to the north to hit an American force coming south out of Mamulique Pass, or east to hit an American force moving through Nuevo Repueblo. These tanks had been moved from Nicaragua under great secrecy. Every trick had been used. The thirty tanks that composed the battalion had been moved at night, along the most roundabout routes, individually. It had been a great effort, too great an effort in the opinion of some, especially since even Guajardo expected American attack helicopters to make short work of this force. Still, it was not their added combat power that Guajardo counted on. It was the there appearance of Nicaraguan tanks, especially T-72S, this close to the United States and so early in the campaign, and the resulting shock that such an appearance would generate, that Guajardo aimed to achieve.

  Not everyone agreed with the use of the Nicaraguans this early in the fight. Guajardo's decision to deploy them was opposed by some of the Council of 13, a body of men that was becoming more and more divided.

  A few felt that by using the Nicaraguans, they would be forcing the Americans to broaden the conflict. The threat of an invasion of southern Mexico, or a bombing campaign throughout Mexico, to isolate the country from the rest of Latin America frightened some of the council. It would not be wise, they warned, to anger the Americans in this way.

  Others insisted that the initial part of the conflict should be an all-Mexican affair, keeping other national forces out of the fighting. It would not do, they insisted, to give their rivals to the south the impression that Mexico could not fight its own battles.

  Both Guajardo and Barreda, however, agreed that it would be a good thing to let the Nicaraguans bleed a little. While it was true that such an action would broaden the conflict, the same action would also serve as a warning to the Americans, showing that the war could be broadened beyond their control. The Americans had, after all, come to Mexico in search of security, not to start an intrahemisphere conflict. Furthermore, if the council involved its allies early, and let some of their blood be shed, those allies would be more committed. So long as the other Latin American countries were left out of the actual shooting, it would be easy for them to change their minds and withdraw their forces and support. Once bloodied, however, they could not do so without losing face in the eyes of their own countrymen and the other Latin American nations. Blood, Barreda pointed out, would bind them together.

  In private, Guajardo confessed to one more reason for committing the Nicaraguans. He knew that he could not win the battle of Monterrey. He knew that the fight would be quick and bloody. A defeat involving only Mexican forces would be an embarrassment and would leave the ability of the Mexican Army open to question. By involving the vaunted Nicaraguan Army, and allowing them to share the defeat, Guajardo could humble some of the Sandinista officers who were trying to tell him how to do things, and show them, and the other allies, that American technology and combat power were not to be taken lightly.

  With his plans set and dispositions completed, Guajardo's role in the upcoming battle would be simple. He had only two decisions to make, and two orders to issue. The first involved where and when to commit the Nicaraguan tanks into battle. Once he knew where the main American effort was, he would make that decision and issue the appropriate code word to launch that counterattack. The second decision would be when to break off the battle. That decision would be made when, in Guajardo's opinion, his forces had done all they could do and further sacrifice would be pointless. When that point was reached, he would have the code word transmitted that would allow his subordinate commanders to break contact with the Americans. Withdrawing to new positions south and west of Monterrey, they would regroup and wait as the initiative moved back into the hands of the politicians and diplomats.

  12 kilometers southwest of vallecillo, mexico

  1840 hours, 11 September

  With nothing to do before the lead units of the division crossed their lines of departure, and too keyed up to sleep, Big Al and Dixon sat in the G3

  Plans van in the division main CP and rehashed how they saw the battle developing the next morning. Of the three options available to the division, Dixon still favored punching through the Mamulique Pass with the main effort. It had, he pointed out, the advantage of being the least likely choice while being the most direct into Monterrey. Eventually, since the hills on both sides of the pass needed to be cleared anyway, an assault on the pass would be necessary. The division, Dixon claimed, had more than enough direct and indirect firepower to suppress the defenders in the pass while dismounted infantry were airlifted to the flanks and rear of the defenders to isolate them. Once in control of the high ground, the dismounted infantry would be free to rout out those defenders still wanting to resist.

  It was not that Dixon lacked imagination or was, by nature, bloody minded. It was important, he pointed out to Big Al, and anyone who would listen, to demonstrate early in this war the effectiveness of American firepower, the dama
ge it could inflict, and the American resolve to use it. In a set-piece battle, such as Dixon was advocating, all the weight of the division could be brought to bear on a single point. The slaughter of the defenders, which would be great, could not be ignored. Besides, by taking the best-defended and most difficult position, the division would be making it clear to the leadership of the Mexican Army, in a less than subtle manner, that no position, regardless of how well defended, could be held. The technique of attacking into the teeth of apparent strength was often used by the Opposing Force Brigade at the National Training Center at Fort Irwin in order to shake the confidence of units training there.

  Dixon, having been on the receiving end of one of those attacks, understood the psychological value of such an action.

  Big Al, however, was a maneuver man, a soldier who preferred to use the tracks of his tanks rather than their guns to achieve victory. The end run south of the Sierra Picachos, where the ground was more open and therefore more conducive to maneuver by mechanized forces, appealed to him. The Mexican defenders, notoriously weak in mechanized forces and totally lacking modern antiarmor weapons, would be quickly overwhelmed by a mounted attack. Besides, Big Al's preference just happened to coincide with the general order from the Department of the Army that major confrontations that would result in high casualties and protracted combat be avoided, when possible. That order, coupled with a restriction on both Air Force and Army aviation that limited it to no more than fifty kilometers from the forward edge of friendly forces, bothered Dixon. It was as if,.Dixon quipped, they were being ordered to kill the Mexicans only a little. Though Big Al agreed that it was ludicrous to establish such limitations now that they were engaged in a shooting war, he, as the commander, had no choice but to comply.