Trial by fire: a novel

by Harold Coyle

  At that moment, it seemed like he had it all. Alaman's call for the mercenaries to continue their agitation in Mexico, at triple the pay they had been receiving, paid in advance, was an offer only a fool would turn down. That in itself would have been more than enough to satisfy Lefleur.

  What really capped the offer was a change in his status within Delapos's small army. The American, Childress, who had served as Delapos's unofficial deputy and advisor, had fallen out of favor. Lefleur couldn't tell for sure what had caused the problem between Childress and Delapos.

  Part of it, he knew, was the fact that Childress was lukewarm to the idea of committing what Childress called murder. Though the atrocities they intended to carry out exceeded what they had done in the past, however, that in itself was not enough to explain Childress's mood.

  No, Lefleur thought. That was not at the heart of the problem. The real problem, Lefleur suspected, was the obvious one, one that neither man was willing to admit. Childress, despite all his training and years as a mercenary, was and would always be an American, just as Delapos could never be anything but a Mexican. The impressions and beliefs left by the cultures that had spawned them and raised them left a mark upon the two men that no amount of money could ever wash away. Childress did little to hide the agitation he felt when Delapos bragged about the manner in which the Mexican Army had beaten the arrogant gringos. Nor could Delapos ignore Childress's use of the words dago, greaser, and such when referring to Mexicans. As the war between their homelands expanded, so too, Lefleur knew, did the gap between the two men. And it was into that gap that Lefleur intended to insert himself.

  No longer able to trust Childress, Delapos began to turn to Lefleur for the advice that Childress used to provide. For Delapos, so anxious to please Alaman, had great difficulty making major decisions on his own, a fact that both Childress and Lefleur had used to their own advantage so many times before. Needing someone he could trust to help him talk his way through to a decision, and unable fully to trust Childress any longer, Delapos accepted Lefleur's counsel more and more. Even the grueling task of reconnaissance, long hours of driving about coupled with the need to dodge or bluff through both Mexican and American outposts and lines, provided another chance for Lefleur to increase his value to Delapos, not to mention his salary. While Childress was left to organize and defend the base camp, Lefleur went out on reconnaissance, familiarizing himself with the ground and seeking routes that could be used for infiltration and vulnerable spots that were susceptible to attack. With intimate knowledge of the terrain and unit dispositions, Lefleur, not Childress, would be able to influence Delapos and future operations.

  Armed with a false passport and other ID that identified him as Paul Perrault, a real correspondent for the French National News Network, Lefleur had no trouble moving about the American sector. Since the other men who traveled with Lefleur carried IDs that supported Lefleur's, and enough camera and sound equipment to support their claims, few Americans at roadblocks and checkpoints bothered to search them or their vehicle. Even if the Americans had found the MP-5 submachine gun under Lefleur's seat, or the weapons each of his men kept concealed within arm's reach, Lefleur felt that he could easily talk his way out of any difficulty. There were, after all, banditos about, and he as well as his crew had the right to defend themselves.

  So when Lefleur and his men came up to a checkpoint manned by half a dozen MPs at the entrance to the gap between mountains that led to Sabinas Hidalgo, where the CP for the American 16th Armored Division was, Lefleur didn't give it a second thought. Still, he instinctively evaluated the situation and assessed his chances should it become necessary to fight his way out.

  After they stopped a respectful distance from the wire entanglement the MPs used to block the road, a lone MP, armed with an M-16 rifle, approached them on Lefleur's side. From the rank on his helmet and collar, Lefleur guessed that he was their leader. Behind him, at the wire entanglement, stood two more MPs. One was armed with an M-16 slung over her shoulder, while the other had an M-203, which is an M-16 with a 40mm grenade launcher attached to the front hand guard. The two vehicles belonging to the MP squad were sitting on either side of the wire entanglement. Lefleur identified them as armored Humvees. Though the vehicles could easily protect the American MPs from the automatic weapons he and his team had hidden but ready, none of the MPs were, at that moment, availing themselves of that protection. Even the MPs manning the weapons mounted on top of the Humvees, an M-60 machine gun on the left and an M-19 40mm grenade launcher on the right, were fully exposed as they sat on top of the Humvee in order to escape the heat of the vehicles' interior. A sixth MP, a female, sat in the shade of the Humvee on the right. With her helmet off and her M-16 leaning against the side of the Humvee, she was busy eating from a brown plastic sack, paying Lefleur and his people no attention. Even before the MP sergeant reached him, Lefleur already had decided that, if push came to shove, they could easily take the Americans.

  "Howdy. What brings you folks out this way?"

  The casual approach to war and soldiering that Americans reveled in never ceased to amaze Lefleur. In the Foreign Legion, had he run a checkpoint the way this sergeant did and challenged an unidentified vehicle with such a greeting, he would have been flogged. That the Americans won so often in war proved, to Lefleur, that there was no justice.

  When the MP sergeant stopped next to Lefleur, Lefleur pulled out a card that identified him as a correspondent. "My name is Paul Perrault.

  I am a correspondent for the French National News Network." Then he pointed to the others in his vehicle, one at a time. "And he is my cam eraman,

  my sound technician, and my driver and interpreter." Each man in Lefleur's vehicle smiled and waved with his left hand as Lefleur pointed to him, while they kept their right arms close to their side.

  Lefleur's response caused the MP sergeant's smile to broaden. "Oh, then you must be with Congressman Lewis's party."

  Lewis's name rang a bell in Lefleur's head. He was one of the American congressmen who was opposed to intervention in Mexico. Not having any idea what the MP sergeant was talking about, but seeing an opportunity to expedite their passage through the checkpoint, Lefleur responded that they were, but that they had become separated from the congressman.

  The MP sergeant smiled again. "Well, partner, you're in luck. The congressman and his party passed through here not five minutes ago, headed east. If you hurry, you can catch up to them before they get into town."

  Although he still didn't quite know what the MP was talking about, Lefleur saw an opportunity. Looking away from the MP, down the road to the east, Lefleur considered the information the sergeant had so freely given him. As Lefleur pondered, for a moment, what he could do with it, the MP sergeant looked puzzled as to why Lefleur was waiting. "You know, you don't have much time. It'll be dark soon and you'll lose 'em."

  If Lefleur had learned one thing in his years with the Legion, it was to trust one's instincts. Those instincts, at that moment, told him that somewhere, up on the road ahead, there was a prize waiting for him, a prize for the taking. What he would do with that prize, once he had it, he didn't know. But he knew it could not be ignored. And, Lefleur reasoned, if they were going to start a campaign of terror, this was as good a time and place as any to start.

  Lefleur, turning back to the MP sergeant, smiled as he looked into the sergeant's eyes. "Yes, it is true that I do not have much time. But I have more than you."

  Unable to figure out what Lefleur meant, the MP sergeant continued to stare into Lefleur's eyes, never noticing that he was reaching under his seat with his right hand.

  The sudden burst of fire surprised everyone. The MPs at the wire entanglement froze as they watched the body of their squad leader fly backward, away from the vehicle he had been next to. It took them several seconds to realize that he had been shot by the vehicle's passenger, seconds that the vehicle driver put to good use. Rising from his seat, pulling out his own submachine gun as he
did so, the driver popped up over the windshield and fired a short burst at the two MPs at the wire entanglement. The first burst hit the MP with the M-203 just as he was leveling it at Lefleur's vehicle. The other MP, struggling to take her M-16 off her shoulder, paused to watch her partner as he fell over backward.

  Looking back at the man who had just shot him, the second MP

  renewed her efforts to bring her rifle into play. It was, however, no contest. The driver, satisfied that the first MP was finished, shifted his MP-5 to the right a little, took aim, and fired at the second MP at the wire entanglement. As with the first, his aim was true and the impact of his burst threw the second MP back and out of the fight even before she could get into it.

  Lefleur's two men in the backseat didn't need any special instructions from him. Both, like the driver, drew their weapons out and rose up, firing at the MPs manning the heavy weapons on the Humvees as they did so. Only.the MP on the M-60 was able to bring her weapon into play before she was hit. Fortunately for Lefleur, her first burst was high and wild. The mercenary taking her vehicle under fire never allowed her the chance to adjust her aim. Her counterpart, across the road on the M-19

  grenade launcher, went down before he even managed to get the safety off his weapon.

  That left only the female MP who had been eating. Lefleur, satisfied that the most immediate threats had been dealt with, turned his attention to the last MP. When he looked where she had been, however, only a discarded brown plastic sack and her helmet marked the spot. For the first time, Lefleur was worried. Knowing she couldn't have gone far, he began to scan the area around the Humvee she had been leaning against.

  A three-round burst, and a scream of pain from the man standing behind Lefleur, announced the last MP's presence. Though he knew that the noise behind him was the sound of the body of one of his men hitting the pavement, he paid no attention. After catching a glimpse of the offending M-16's muzzle disappearing behind the front left tire of the Humvee, Lefleur leaped out and ran toward the right side of the Humvee.

  Covering the distance in four or five easy bounds, he didn't pause, but continued around to the rear of the vehicle. As he did so, he ran into the last MP as she was slowly backing around to the rear of the Humvee from her side. Without a second thought, Lefleur leveled his submachine gun at his side and squeezed off a burst into the back of the last MP, who was now less than a meter from him. The kick of the submachine gun caused the strike of the rounds to climb up the MP's back, with the first round hitting her at the base of the spine and the last one in her right shoulder.

  Several more rounds flew over her shoulder, but that didn't matter. As her body collapsed, Lefleur knew she was finished.

  For a moment, he stood and looked at her. What a waste, Lefleur thought, of a good woman. The idea of raping her entered his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. While such an action would have been in line with their program of atrocities, Lefleur had bigger game in mind. Lowering his submachine gun, he fired into the MP's body until the thirty round magazine was empty. That would have to do for now, he thought, as he ran back to his vehicle.

  His driver, with the engine running, was ready to leave. Behind the vehicle were the other two members of his team. One man, a Colombian, was lying on the ground in a pool of blood. The other man, a Canadian by birth, was kneeling over him. Lefleur walked over, looked at the Colombian, and asked how he was. The Canadian looked up and shook his head. "What the hell did you start shooting for? We could have gotten through and they would have been none the wiser."

  Lefleur was not used to explaining his orders to anyone. Besides, the Canadian knew just as well as any other man in the group that the last thing they could afford to do was to leave witnesses behind. The MP

  sergeant had seen his face and would, no doubt, be able to put two and two together when the congressman showed up missing. Besides, Lefleur thought, what a great way to start a terror campaign. Ignoring the Canadian's question, he asked how the Colombian was.

  "He's bleeding like a stuck pig. He won't make it if we can't stop the bleeding and get some serious medical attention quickly."

  Lefleur looked at the Colombian, then to the east. "All right then, take his ID and weapon. We need to get moving."

  The Canadian hesitated. "We're going to leave him?"

  Lefleur looked down into the Canadian's eyes. "You yourself said he would die if we didn't get him help right away. We have no way of doing that. Besides, he looks like a Mexican. When the Americans find his body here, they'll think that he is a Mexican, and blame them. It will help our efforts. Now, get moving. We have to catch up to the congressman before it gets dark."

  The Canadian looked at his wounded comrade, unconscious and breathing irregularly, then back at Lefleur. Realizing that Lefleur was right, and that they had all signed on for what they knew was going to be a difficult job, the Canadian emptied the Colombian's pockets and hopped into the vehicle. Lefleur looked down at the Colombian one last time before he followed suit. He had considered finishing off the Colombian, but decided against that. To do so in front of the other two would be a bad business practice. You do not, Lefleur knew, inspire confidence and loyalty by shooting your own wounded. Besides, the American high command had placed a mandatory restriction on unnecessary movement at night. With no prospect of anyone coming by that checkpoint before daybreak the next morning, the Colombian would die anyhow, on his own. Without another thought, Lefleur walked around, got into his seat, and ordered his driver to move out to the east as fast as he could.

  5 kilometers west of sabinas hldalgo, mexico

  1945 hours, 15 September

  When the driver of the Humvee Ed Lewis was in saw the flashing headlights of a vehicle coming up behind him, he slowed down.

  Noticing the reduction in speed, Lewis leaned over and asked what the problem was. The driver, twisting his head around and looking out his window to see if the van with Jan Fields and her camera crew was also slowing, didn't answer at first. Lewis repeated his question. The driver, looking back to the front, eased his Humvee over onto the shoulder of the road and stopped it before answering. "Sorry, sir, but there's someone coming up fast behind us that either wants to pass or wants us to stop."

  The young lieutenant, a public-affairs officer who was serving as Lewis's escort, had been asleep. It wasn't until the Humvee hit the gravel on the shoulder of the road that he realized they were stopping. "What are we stopping for, Jackson?"

  Specialist Jackson, the driver, repeated his explanation to the lieutenant.

  Opening his door, the lieutenant saw the four-by-four coming up, horn honking and lights flashing. Since they were already stopped, the lieutenant saw no harm in finding out what the people in the vehicle wanted. As a courtesy, he asked Lewis, though he had no idea what he would do if Lewis told them to keep going. "If it's all right with you, Congressman, I'll find out what the problem is with these people."

  Lewis, having been in the National Guard, understood these things and simply nodded his approval. Besides, he needed to get out, stretch his legs, and take a leak.

  Behind the Humvee, in the van, Jan asked the same question. Joe Bob, who had been driving, just shook his head. "Don't know, boss lady.

  They stopped and I thought it would be a good idea to stop too."

  Though Jan didn't like Joe Bob referring to her as "boss lady," she said nothing. Instead, she opened her door and began to get out, just as the four-by-four that had been racing up the road to catch them went screaming by. Jumping back into the van and closing the door behind her, Jan looked out the window to see if there was another vehicle coming before she tried to get out again.

  "Guess now you know why we stopped, hey, boss lady?"

  Jan shot Joe Bob, who was laughing, a dirty look. "I'll get you, smartass."

  From the backseat, Ted woke up and asked Joe Bob what was going on. "Piss break, my friend."

  Jan ignored Joe Bob's comment. "Let's get out and see what's so hell-fire
important."

  The strangers in the four-by-four, parked on the other side of the road, didn't get out right away. Instead, they waited until the public-affairs officer crossed over to them. While the lieutenant was doing so, Lewis, along with Jackson, the driver, had moved around to the far side of their Humvee where each man took up position before one of the Humvee's tires and began to relieve himself. Joe Bob and Ted got out and did likewise behind their van.

  As he sat there, watching the American officer approach him, Lefleur considered his options. Logic told him that the quickest and most efficient means of dealing with this was just to kill everyone there outright and leave. That would conform nicely to their strategy and tactics. But Lefleur also knew that this group of Americans was no ordinary group. Had they been simple soldiers, like the MPs at the roadblock, he wouldn't have given the matter a second thought. But a congressman, along with a news correspondent to boot, now this was something entirely different.

  The fact that one of their own was missing might spur the rest of the American congressmen to drop their differences and press for further, more severe measures, an effort the American media would, no doubt, give great coverage to, since one of their own was also involved. Besides, Lefleur thought, he could always have them killed later if things didn't work out and deposited somewhere that would be embarrassing to the Mexican government.

  Jan, ignoring the joy that Lewis and the rest got from peeing on tires, began to walk across the road to see who the strangers were. The man seated in the passenger seat, as well as the one in the rear, had already gotten out, but remained on the far side of their vehicle. They too, Jan thought, were getting ready to pee. Just as she was beginning to wonder if she was the only one who could control her bladder, she heard the front passenger in the four-by-four identify himself as Paul Perrault. Jan froze.

  Looking at the man in the growing darkness, she knew that whoever he was, he wasn't Paul Perrault. Jan and Paul had been lovers when Jan had worked in Paris years before. When Jan heard him continue, stating that he was a correspondent for the French National News Network, she knew they were in trouble. While there was a possibility of there being two Paul Perraults, the odds of both of them being correspondents and working for the same agency were just too great. Without waiting to hear more, Jan turned and began to walk back-to the van as quickly as she could without raising any suspicions.