by Frank Perry
any attention, and then the entire group stood upright cradling their weapons, a mix of AKs and AR15s. Peter kept his weapon lowered and raised his hand to talk. Several Mexicans yelled in Spanish and made threatening gestures as the Americans walked closer. “Do any of you speak English? Who’s in charge here?”
“We all speak. What is it, Gringo? Tell before we kill!”
“We are American soldiers here to take our men home. We don’t want trouble.”
“You got balls, man! You know we could kill you!”
Peter responded looking at the spokesman, “It’s not so easy, you know. Why not just let us take our men? No trouble, no pain.”
The Mexicans didn’t seem to comprehend what was going on. The de facto leader stepped toward them, “Are you crazy? You gonna die, man. It’s only how slowly.”
Peter looked at him saying, “It’s not that easy, Amigo. We have you surrounded and give you this chance to let us leave peacefully.”
“You got us surrounded?” The big man snickered. He said something in Spanish that made the Mexicans laugh. As they did so, one gunman began moving to the left of the pack to the side of Peter and Josh.
Peter had been speaking with an open microphone, heard by all his team. He quietly said, Stinger 1, chop 1, my ten o’clock.”
The reply was, “Roger, Six” (Army slang for leader).
A split second later, the upper half of the flanker exploded in red mist when the Barrett fired. An arm and most of his right chest and organs ripped from his torso. It was the most violent gunshot any of the Mexicans had ever seen, and was over in a millisecond. The 50 caliber bullet has a range of over three miles and is the most violent sniper weapon used by the U.S. military.
All the Mexicans recoiled. Peter and Josh raised their weapons. Peter sighted the spokesman while Josh panned the group. None raised their weapons. “Are there any more questions!”
Hysterical, the leader screamed, flailing his arms, “Hey, man! Hey, Man! What was that? Who did that? That was mi compadre!”
Peter sighted down his weapon, speaking loudly, “So are the rest of these idiots. Now, here’s the situation. There is a gun like that pointed at each of you. On my command, there won’t be enough of you left to put in an open coffin. You can drop your weapons, and do as we say, or you die. I hate killing, but you’ve seen us do it.”
Initially, the Mexicans were confused. The Americans patrolling the border never shot anyone in cold blood. Peter moved closer to the talker, pointing at his face and yelling, “Are you next? How many do I kill?”
The big Mexican dropped his weapon in the dirt and held up his hands. The others followed.
Within twenty minutes, the Americans were headed north in Gorman’s truck with their wounded men and a pile of weapons.
Nearing the border, Gorman used his CB radio, tuned to the Guard Channel, “Sergeant First Class Dias, this is Gorman, over.”
Several moments passed then, “This is Diaz, Lieutenant, over.”
“Jimmy, we’re headed north across the bad lands toward checkpoint Oscar with wounded men, do you copy, over.”
“Copy, L-T, please state ETA, over.”
“Ah, I don’t know, Sergeant, its rough terrain, figure 20 to 30, over.
“Roger that, L-T, I’ll manage the checkpoint, do you need special assistance, over??
“Yes, we need medevac and Corpsman when we arrive. Two down.”
“Okay, Sir. We may have to use ground ambulance. Our H60’s (Blackhawks) got called into a major bust today, over.”
“Just make sure they have critical care EMTs, our guys are bad, over.”
“Roger that, Sir, out.”
An hour later Peter was on the phone. “Carolyn, it’s Peter.”
She choked momentarily, “Oh God, Peter! Is he dead?” She could hardly speak.
“No, honey, we got him. He’s in the Emergency Room and going into surgery in a few minutes.”
“Oh, God! Oh, my God, he’s alive!”
He didn’t speak for several moments, letting her compose herself, “Look, Carolyn, you should get a flight to El Paso as soon as possible.”
“Oh God! Oh no! Peter, is he ... is he going to be okay?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t know. He was shot and hog tied for a long time before we got to him. I just don’t know. You could help him by being here.”
“Okay, okay. I’m on my way, Peter. I’ll arrange for the kids and get to the airport. Let John know I’m coming.”
“I will Carolyn, I will.”
Then he called Rachael. “Hi” was all he could muster.
“Peter! Is it over? Did you get John? Are you all right? Is John all right? Oh, Peter, I was so worried. I want you home.”
“Ah, yes, yes, yes and no.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“So John isn’t okay?”
“He’s in bad shape. A gunshot to the lower abdomen was untreated. His shoulders were dislocated and without circulation to his arms. His legs were tied behind his back without full circulation for the whole time. These were some cruel guys.”
She hesitated for a few moments. “Is he ... will he be okay?”
“Rachael, it’s too early. He’s going into surgery. Carolyn is on her way.”
She remained quiet for several seconds. “Peter, are you okay?”
“Sure, I didn’t get hurt.”
“As long as you’re not in a hospital bed!”
“Rachael, I’m fine. Thank you for caring.”
“Peter, you know I’ll always care.”
“It’s just nice talking to you. I ... ” He wasn’t sure what else to say. He shifted subjects, “Josh came out and really saved all of us.”
“Give him a long hug for me!”
He was exhausted and afraid of what he might say next, so ended, “Rachael, I should go. I need to check on the guys and get some rest.”
She was quiet for a moment, seeming reluctant to end the call, “Okay, Peter. I understand.”
A few minutes later, LTC Colson found Peter sitting in the waiting room with his head back and eyes closed. She sat by him trying not to wake him.
Peter stirred. “Oh. Hello, Colonel.” He started to stand.
With her hand on his forearm, “Sit. Sit, Major. I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“It’s okay, Ma’am, I haven’t had much rest for a couple days.”
“I know, you just rest. I wanted to be here with our boys along with you. I called Stokes’ wife and she said you had talked to her. I guess you guys are all pretty close?”
“We’ve been through a lot together, Ma’am. John and Carolyn mean a lot to me. He has two little girls, you know.”
“Yes, that’s what she told me. She should be here in a few hours.”
Peter asked, “How’s the other man? I don’t know him, but he’s got a family too.”
“Yes. Corporal Tilman’s wife and folks live in Abilene. They’re driving here now.”
“How is he?”
“I don’t know. He’s also in surgery, but may be worse than Stokes. He was wounded a couple days before the Captain and infection may be too far gone.”
“I wish we could have been here sooner.”
“Look, don’t blame yourself. The entire U.S. Government couldn’t help him. You got him out while on vacation! It was a vacation you were on. Am I right?”
“Oh, yes, Ma’am. Vacation.” Peter smiled for the first time in days.
“Good. And I understand you had some friends along on an elk hunt. Is that right?”
“Ah, yes, Ma’am.”
“Good!” She patted his knee as she stood up. “Now, get some rest if you can. I’d like to see you at my office in 24 hours to debrief. It’s been a big time in El Paso the past couple days, so get some rest, and we’ll catch up.” With that, she sat quietly beside him, leaving him to his solitude. Carolyn was coming.
It was several hours
later, and the sun was shining when he awoke from sleeping in his chair. He heard Carolyn’s gentle voice and thought he was dreaming until she repeated his name.
Sitting upright, she was leaning across the arm of his chair close to his face. “Peter.”
He stood and they embraced as she sobbed, “Peter, I just got here. They won’t tell me anything.”
He held her against his chest, “He’s in surgery, Hon. They don’t know anything more right now.”
She quivered and didn’t look up as he said, “Come on. Let’s go find some coffee.”
The Cafeteria was downstairs. After getting coffee to go, both were anxious to get back up to wait for the doctor’s report. Entering the waiting area, a young woman was sitting with an older couple.
Carolyn followed as Peter approached them, “Mr. and Mrs. Tilman?”
The older woman said, “Yes.”
“Hi, I’m Peter Shields and this is Carolyn Stokes. I’m so sorry about your son.” He was still in his desert fatigues, dirty and unshaven.
Their eyes were red and tired looking. Mrs. Tilman said, “This is our daughter-in-law, Steve’s wife, Hilary. Are you one of the men who got Steve out of Mexico?”
“Yes, Ma’am. We got him here as quickly as we could. He’s in surgery along with Carolyn’s husband.”
“Oh dear, was he shot too?”
Carolyn answered weakly, “Yes,” and the women all hugged.
Mr. Tilman asked about the events and how his son looked when they found him, which Peter described as gently as he could.
Some hours later, a surgeon came through the double doors asking for the Tilmans. Peter and Carolyn were seated across the room, and could hear the doctor explain how they were unable to save Steve’s wounded arm, and were concerned about the spread of gangrene around his body. They would not