Текст книги "The Western Front"

Автор книги: Archer Garrett

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

***

The University of Texas at Brownsville was a stark contrast to the bleak neighborhoods to the north.  Despite the occasional indication of having been looted, and the obvious months-long lack of maintenance, the campus was still beautiful.  Amphitheaters, fountains and gardens, they all remained.  The Resaca, or oxbow lake, reflected the occasional star that shined through the cloudy, night sky.  The squad took full advantage of the broad shadows cast by the tall campus buildings as they continued south.

As they crossed the narrow isthmus on Ringgold Road that connected the north and south sections of the campus, they heard the shattering of glass somewhere ahead.  The squad disappeared into the tall grass and shrubs along the shoulders of the road.  They readied their rifles and scanned ahead, looking for the source of the sound.  From behind a distant building, they saw a bottle fly through the air and shatter on the pavement in front of them.

An engine rumbled to life.  Headlights flashed across the pavement.  A large, flatbed truck slowly appeared from around the building and turn north towards the squad.  The two amigos up front were scanning the road ahead, but the half-dozen soldados on the back were drinking and howling as they flung empty bottles at passing signs and windows.  Their rifles bounced and clattered on the bed of the truck beside them.  Unbeknownst to the men, a dozen rifles were trained at them from the darkness beyond.

Barrett followed the driver with his M4 carbine, watching him as he drove the aging diesel unwittingly past a momentarily merciful angel of death.  He wondered what the men’s purpose was, meandering through the city.  Perhaps they were freelance thugs, scavenging the remains of the city.  He considered the thought and decided it was highly unlikely.  They were most likely part of the narco alliance.

The flatbed sentries passed by without incident.  After several minutes, the squad resumed their trek down Ringgold Road.  They crossed University Boulevard, passed the student REK center and disappeared back down along the wooded shoreline of the oxbow lake, continually moving south.

Up ahead, they saw a ruined, smoldering building.  As they approached, Barrett was filled with rage.  He had heard that the National Guard Facility had fallen, but seeing the horrific results first hand was more than he could stand.

The white building had gaping holes in its sides, and was blackened and charred with soot.  Several badly burned Humvees were scattered about, and many more were missing.  The red, white and blue flag that had flown over the facility had been replaced with a red, white and green standard.  The squad noticed the grisly pikes that were prominently displayed around the flag pole in front of the building.  They were adorned in the same macabre fashion as before.

The squad paused upon seeing the horrific sight. Several men made the sign of the cross, while others simply bowed their heads to say a solemn prayer for the brave souls that were lost.

In the distance, gunfire rang out somewhere in the city. Barrett cursed himself for letting the driver of the flatbed pass through his sights and continue to wreak havoc.  The men turned and nodded to each other in an unspoken agreement.  They would not be as merciful next time.

The team crossed River Levee Road and entered Fort Brown Memorial Golf Course.  The greens had seen two seasons without any maintenance.  The tall grass helped conceal the squad as they dashed through the night to the tree line.  They spotted a distant campfire on the far side of the course.  Apparently someone had sought the relative safety of the abandoned greens.  Still, the open campfire was a perilous luxury they had afforded themselves.  The squad maintained a watchful eye on dancing flames as they cut across the course.

After several minutes, they were standing on the bank of the Rio Grande.  It had been decided that they would divide into three fire teams upon reaching the river.  The first team would remain on the American side of the river and provide observation, rear guard and long-range fire support.  The other teams would cross the Rio Grande.  The second team would remain in a defensive position on the Mexican side of the river, and the final team would perform the reconnaissance of the park.

The first team found a high position that afforded them concealment and line of sight, while the other two teams readied themselves for the crossing.  Team Two reached the opposite bank first and got into a forward facing position.

As the final team reached foreign soil, they stripped out of their wet battle dress uniforms and retrieved the dry civilian garbs from their packs.  The clothing was nondescript and typical for the area:  cotton pants and buttoned shirts with ball caps.  Two of the team members wore tattered sneakers.  The other two wore boots and serape capes loosely draped over their shirts.  The two SEALs concealed suppressed MP5s beneath their serapes, while the guardsmen abandoned their M4 carbines for Berretta pistols.  The two teams exchanged their goodbyes and slaps on the back, before the final team disappeared over the hill and into Matamoros.

***

Barrett, Holt and the two other members of the team climbed the steep wooded bank and crossed the empty street that followed the Rio Grande’s meanderings.  They strolled along the sidewalk nonchalantly, like locals familiar with the area.  They split up in pairs as they passed a pedestrian and remained a short distance apart as they continued onward.  After a block or so, they turned right onto Alhelíes.

From their perspective, Matamoros was not unlike many other cities.  The buildings in the area were well maintained, and the sidewalks and streets were reasonably free of trash.  The streets were in rather poor condition, though.  They were cracked heavily and missing chunks of pavement in some areas.  Other sections were no more than a series of patches, the original pavement long since replaced.

There was no access to any property beyond the sidewalks.  Fences, gates and buildings were constructed to the edge of the street’s right of way.  All windows were covered with bars to further protect the viviendas from any matόns that may be looking for an easy target.  Most of the streetlights were not working for one reason or another.  Alhelíes Street was dark, save for the occasional, dim, porch light. Barrett preferred the darkness. He knew that a nosy local would immediately make them for gringos.

The one-way street was lined with old, rusted Fords and Pontiacs.  An occasional Mercedes could be seen behind eight foot wrought-iron fencing with barb wire strung across the top.

As they reached the end of the block, the young guardsman beside Barrett whispered, “There’re four men about a ways behind us. I think we’re being followed.”

“Yeah, they’re definitely following us.  They have been since we first stepped foot in the city.”

“Well, what now?”

“Just keep walking, we’ll round the corner and see what our options are.

***

The four gamberros had watched the fire team appear out of the thicket that covered the banks of the Rio Grande from several blocks away.  They were intrigued by the men and decided to shadow them for a short while.  The strangers seemed to blend into the area well enough, perhaps too well.  To anyone else, the men from the river would have likely been a passing blur in the night.  But to the gamberros, who lived on the streets, something was subtly foreign about the four.

The small-time thugs survived by blade and barrel.  They were thieves, murderers and always for hire.   They terrorized the honest people that lived on the blocks that they laid claim to.  To the gamberros, it was simply the nature of things.  If they did not do it someone else would, so it may as well be them.

As the gamberros warily shadowed the men from a safe distance, the leader of the group retrieved the nickel-plated pistola from the small of his back.  His three compadres gripped their long-bladed puῆales in anticipation of the encounter.  They saw the men from the river glance sidelong and notice their presence.  The four, strange men quickened their pace as they prepared to turn onto Primera.

After the men from the river rounded the corner, the gamberros quickened their pace as well.  Their pulses remained subdued, however.  To them, it was just another mugging.  The leader was the first around the corner with the three others in quick step behind him.  They noticed two of the men from the river, the two in sneakers, standing a half a block away.  The men in the serapes had mysteriously disappeared.  No worries though, they thought, two would be easier to subdue than four anyway.

They never considered casting a glance into the dark alcove as they rushed the two men from the river.  As they hurried past the shallow nook at the entrance of the shuttered store, several muffled shots cracked in quick succession.  The three compadres slumped and fell without uttering a word.  The wounded leader groaned as he turned and aimed his pistol into the darkness.  Before he could finish the motion, he was ventilated by another muffled volley.

He was caught by one of the men in sneakers before his body ever hit the ground.  The other three men from the river were already dragging the remaining bodies into the dark nook.  They stacked the gamberros neatly in the shadowy corner and piled several bags of trash that had rested at the storefront around them.  The team glanced around for onlookers, but found none.  The SEALs straightened their serapes and the team continued down Primera.

***

After another fifteen minutes of travel through Matamoros, Barrett and the other men arrived at the crumbling apartment building.  It was three-stories tall – the tallest building in the area.  From the roof, one would have a clear view of Olympic Park, at least, they hoped.  Barrett peered around the corner from across the street.  He scanned the front of the old brick building and its surroundings. Nothing looked to be out of order.  They waited several more minutes to ensure that they were alone on the street before venturing further.

Barrett checked his watch; they were five minutes late. Holt retrieved a pack of cigarettes from under his serape and offered them to his team members.  He struck a match with his thumbnail and lit each of the men’s smokes.  As the fourth cigarette was lit, a small lamp faintly flickered on in one of third story windows.  Immediately, it turned off again.  Barrett flicked the newly-lit cigarette onto the sidewalk and silently counted to thirty before stepping out from around the corner.

As his left foot reached the stoop of the building, the steel security door opened before them.  They rushed inside without saying a word.  Barrett and the others chased after the nervous man.  He took them up several flights of stairs and down a long hall to a small, dirty flat.  As they entered the small apartment, the man silently motioned them to a worn, wooden table in the kitchen. He leaned his head out of the doorway and peered up and down the hall, before easing the door shut.

The studio apartment had one grimy window that looked eastward.  The walls were bare, except for several faded pictures of the man in times long past.  Beside him was a beautiful, dark-haired amiguita.   In all of the pictures they smiled lovingly and embraced one another with passion.  There were other pictures of the man and the woman with a young girl.

Barrett walked over to the pictures and followed the progression of the young girl into a beautiful woman.  She looked just like her mother.  Her beauty was stunning. He could not remember a face that was more angelic than hers.  Her hair was long, jet-black and fell just past her shoulders.  Her skin was light olive and radiant.  She was short, but not too short; thin, but not frail.  Barrett seemed to get lost for a moment in the picture.  For the first time in days, he smiled.

A battered couch and loveseat adorned the living area.  A shower curtain was strung across the room on the far end of the flat to afford some meager bathroom privacy. The kitchen was small and bare.  An ancient stove and a tiny, rusted refrigerator were the only appliances.

The man hurried into the kitchen and opened the oven. He retrieved a stack of plain maize tortillas that he had kept warming until their arrival.  He placed them on the table along with a bowl of rice, onions and peppers.  The men sat silently as he returned to the kitchen to retrieve a fresh pot of coffee and five cups.  Finally, he took a seat in an empty chair beside them.  As he poured the coffee, he looked up at Barrett and spoke in broken English, “It is good to see you, my friend.”

Barrett sighed in relief, as if a blanket of apprehension had been lifted from him, “Likewise.  How’ve you been, Alex?”

“Is okay.  Is not too good here now.  It is – how do you say?  Mucho peligroso.”

Barrett translated for the others, “He says it’s very dangerous here nowadays.”

The men nodded in agreement, thinking back to the encounter with the gamberros.

“Yes, yes; very dangerous.”  Alex paused, before continuing, “Please eat, you must be hungry.”

The men eagerly spooned the rice onto the tortillas as they discussed the condition of Matamoros and beyond.  Without the remittances from immigrant workers in the United States, many families once considered middle class were left hopelessly impoverished.  At one time, Mexican families received nearly thirty billion dollars from their sons and daughters that worked north of the border.  In an area where the average monthly income was barely over a hundred dollars, an envelope with several hundred mailed south afforded a family a means to live in moderate comfort.  Now, every day was a struggle to stay alive.

The men finished the last of the warm tortillas and contently sipped the bitter coffee. Barrett retrieved a pouch of silver mercury dimes from his pocket and tossed it onto the table.

“Here you go.  Twenty dollars face value in silver, as agreed.”

Alejandro shook his head from side to side and replied, “No good, my friend.  No good.”

“What do you mean?  Wasn’t that the agreement?”

“Yes, but the rule change.  The plata not enough now.”

“Alex, I’m sorry.  This is all I brought.”

“Is okay; I go back with you.”

The men silently watched the exchange.  Barrett rocked back in his chair, closed his eyes and spoke.  “Alex, ῆaῆo, amigo; it is too dangerous to take you with us.  You could be killed. I can’t have anyone else’s death on my conciencia.”

“I may die with you, but I know I will die here.  I go with you this night; it is settled.  Now, if your cuadrilla is ready, we will discuss the plan.”

***

The two rooftop guards were sleepy and irritable.  They had been on sentry duty every night for two weeks.  There was nothing to watch for, and nothing to guard against.  Their only duty was to stay on the roof of the apartment building so that no one else could access it.  They had both gained several pounds during their time on the roof.  There was not much else to do except cook on the portable grill they had brought with them.

They were not supposed to drink while on watch, but they had figured out the routine of their jefe.  If he had not checked in by eleven o’clock, he would not check in on them.  It was now some time past midnight.

The first man was sprawled out on his uncomfortable cot, staring at the cloudy sky.  His amigo was crouched over the grill, alternating between sipping the tequila and splashing it on the chicken quarters.  The man on the cot stood up, stretched and strolled over to the other.  He snatched the bottle of tequila and took a long swig before handing it back.  He leaned over and smiled as he began to mutter something.

Suddenly, his jaw dropped and his knees buckled. Blood sprayed on the second man as he froze in horror at the scene.  He was too inebriated to react, so he simply remained crouched over the grill in shock.  A moment later, he was lying on his side staring at several blurry figures as they rushed across the roof.  He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t.  He did not sense much pain, just numbness.  Slowly, his vision began to tunnel, until he decided to close his eyes to rest for just a moment.

***

Holt reached the sentries first and dropped down to one knee to check the pulse of each; they were both dead.  Three of the team members huddled in the center of the roof, while the fourth man stayed at the door to guard their rear.  The three retrieved their equipment from the small packs they had brought with them and crawled to the roof’s edge.  While they got into position, Alejandro grabbed the chicken quarters and the bottle of tequila and stuffed them into his canvas day pack.

Holt peered through the night-vision binoculars at the Olympic Park.  He studied the scene for several moments, unable to articulate what he saw.  The other men waited anxiously for a report, but none came.  Barrett reached into Holt’s pack and retrieved the high definition camera to see for himself.  He cursed under his breath and rolled so his back now rested against the parapet wall along the building’s edge.

Holt handed the binoculars to the third man and finally said, “Well Barrett, what do you think they’re going to do with all of those?”

“It’s pretty obvious, eh?”

“How long do you think we have?”

“Three days, maybe four at the most.  Not nearly long enough to muster an air strike, given Houston’s response time lately.”

“We’ve got to try. South Padre has the ear of Governor Baker now, so maybe we can contact him directly.  This is epic Barrett.  This is the lives of every man on the island.  And this won’t stop with the island; it could mean thousands of lives in Corpus.”

“I know; we have some tough decisions to make.”

Chapter 14

Jake

West Mississippi

The imposters stuffed the bodies in the trunk and slammed it shut.  They pulled the bullet-riddled sedan farther down the side road so that it was out of view of the highway.  Performing ambushes on the narrow, red-dirt road afforded them the luxury of keeping their diversion on the highway free of the tell-tale signs of a struggle.

After they parked the sedan alongside the minivan belonging to the previous victims, they rummaged through its interior looking for anything of value.  They found several hundred dollars that were nearly worthless.  The prolonged period of high inflation that had hung over the country had all but destroyed the currency.  They continued their search and found an old revolver, some ammo, food, water and a bottle of gin.  They passed the gin back and forth several times while continuing their search, before eventually giving up.  They gathered the few items of value and stuffed them into their satchels.

The imposters walked back to the highway, disgusted with their poor showings so far.  They decided they would wait for one more carload of victims, before turning in for the night.  They passed the bottle of gin around several more times, before reloading their pistols and getting back into position.  They muttered how the next one had better be worth the wait.

***

The Bronco was quiet for maybe an hour after they left Hank and the other men.  Jake was lost in his thoughts as he drove. Geram stared into the night, trying to locate any trouble before it lashed out at them.  Kate sat in the back and quietly rubbed Sasha’s head.

They drove by the light of the fog lamps, hoping the dimmer lights would be less noticeable.  Jake drove as fast as was safely possible, usually just a few miles over the speed limit.  The fog lamps greatly reduced his sight distance, but he reasoned the tradeoff for a slightly lower profile was equitable.

The drive had been uneventful. They had seen only a handful of vehicles abandoned on the side of the road and had encountered no one.  The highway was dead.  There didn’t seem to be another soul on the road.

Finally, Geram spoke. “Would you have shot them if they’d made a move on you?”

Jake thought for several moments before replying, “I don’t know.  I told them I wouldn’t have, but maybe.  It’s hard to say what you’ll do.”

“There may come a time when you have to shoot someone you don’t want to.”

“If I don’t want to shoot them, I won’t.”

“That’s not what I mean.  What I’m saying is things are grey now. Not every situation is going to be black and white, right and wrong.”

Jake replied with an annoyed tone, “Things have always been black and white.  There’re absolute rights and absolute wrongs.  There’s no such thing as a grey situation.  Relativism is partly to blame for where we are now.”

“I disagree, Jake.”

“Okay, that’s your prerogative.”

“Look, I’m sorry.  This was horrible timing. I’ve always been bad at timing.”

“I think it’s perfect timing.  Give me an example.”

Kate interrupted, “Jake, please; not now.”

“It’s alright; we’re fine.  Geram, give me an example.”

He thought for several moments before replying, “So, you’ve got this farm, okay?  You’ve done everything right; you’ve prepared at the expense of luxuries in your past life.  Your family is well taken care of, but food is still scarce.  One morning, you catch the neighbor’s kid in your garden stealing food.  What do you do?”

“I give her what I can spare.”

“You don’t have any to spare, you’re already rationing what you have.”

“Alright, I take her home and warn the family I can’t afford to spare anything, and they can’t steal from us.”

“You catch her again the next day.”

Jake sighed and said, “We take her in and we stretch what we have, even if it means adding sawdust to the flour; we make it work.  We help the father start his own garden but they’re on their own, they’re adults.”

“What if he has five children?  What if you catch the father in the garden the next day?  Do you shoot him then?”

Jake had become irritated. He growled, “Geram, anybody can keep throwing ‘what ifs’ in until you’re left with no choice.  My point is stealing, murder, whatever, it’s always wrong, no matter the circumstance; there is never justification.  As far as being on the receiving end, you help out when you can, and you pray for guidance when you can’t.  You don’t kill someone over property.  If it escalates to violence, that’s another situation.”

“If it’s property that’s keeping you alive-”

Kate intervened again, “Please, this is not the time.  We need to be a team right now.  We’ve all been under a lot of stress.  We can’t take it out on each other.”

The men did not respond.

As they rounded a sharp curve in the road, they saw two sheriff’s cars that were parked trunk to trunk across both lanes.  Jake slammed on the brakes but they were already on top of the cruisers.  Before he came to a complete stop, two deputies had already climbed out of the cruisers and were quickly approaching the Bronco.

“What do we do?” Kate exclaimed.

“It’s too late; they’re on top of us.  If I try to run now, they might open fire.  Just be ready for anything.”

The deputies split up and approached both sides of the SUV.  Geram handed his rifle back to Kate and concealed his pistol under his leg.  Jake rolled down the window and waited for the officer to approach.  He studied the cruisers and uniforms; everything looked legitimate.

Geram whispered to Jake and Kate, “Something is off here; we’re in the middle of nowhere.  We haven’t seen any traffic the entire night and these guys set up a road block?”

Jake nodded, “It doesn’t look good.  Their cruisers are blocking the entire road.  They don’t plan on letting us through.”

Geram exhaled deeply, trying to remain calm. “If you see an opportunity to get us out of this, take it.”

The first officer reached Jake’s window and was polite but stern in his greeting.  “How’s everyone tonight?”

Jake smiled and strived to project a feeling of calm confidence as he replied, “We’re fine, sir.  Is there a problem ahead?”

“License and registration please.”

Jake handed them over.  The officer studied the documents with his flashlight as he continued, “We’ve been having problems in this area with looters, Mr. Sellers.  Can you tell me your purpose for being on the road tonight?”

“We’re going to stay with some family for a while.  We’ve had the same kind of problems not far down the road.”

“I understand, not many places are safe these days.”  The officer motioned to his left, “Can I ask you to pull onto that side road so we can perform a quick, precautionary search of your vehicle before we get you on your way?  It’ll only take a minute.”

“A search for what?”

“Just for any contraband or stolen goods; it’s standard procedure.  We’ll have you folks back on the road in just a few minutes.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we’ve broken no laws and there’s nothing suspicious about us.  We’ve a long drive ahead still.  Can’t you just let us go now?”

Both officers brought their right hands to rest on their holsters.  The first officer leaned forward and spoke in a commanding tone, “That was not a request Mr. Sellers.  Pull off the highway immediately.”

Jake cursed under his breath and stared straight ahead.

“What did you say?  Alright, we’ll drag you out one by one and do the search right here.”

Both officers retrieved their pistols from their holsters and brought them up to the windows.  The first man reached into the Bronco with his free hand to grab Jake by his shirt.   As he broke the plane of the window, a vicious blur struck from the back seat. It snarled and sunk its fangs deep into the stranger’s hand.  The man screamed in pain as he fought to free his hand from Sasha.

The louder he screamed and the harder he tugged, the deeper Sasha’s fangs sunk into him.  The officer’s partner recoiled in shock.  Geram slid his pistol out from under his leg and fired his entire magazine at the man.  The man screamed at first, then tumbled backwards into the ditch.  Geram slammed another magazine into the pistol and racked the slide, calmly readying himself for a follow up exchange.

Jake had already jammed the accelerator to the floor.  The Bronco roared to life and lurched towards the parked cruisers.  He aimed for the point where the two back bumpers met in the center of the road.  Sasha still had the hand of the first officer in her vice-like jaws.  He screamed and pleaded for mercy as he was half-dragged alongside them.  Jake boomed a command in Czech and Sasha released her grip just as they reached the cruisers.  The momentum carried the man forward and he collided with a crunch into the rear door of the left vehicle.

Kate wrapped her arms around Sasha to save her from being slung forward.  The light-weight rear-ends of the cruisers bounced forward as the Bronco’s winch connected with them.  The sound of metal scraping and ripping was all they could hear.  As they tore through the road block, Kate handed Geram his rifle. He leaned out of his window and aimed at the cruisers.  Geram connected several well-aimed shots with their tires and hoods.  Satisfied with his work, he eased his back into the SUV.

Jake and Geram stared at the road behind them through the mangled, side-view mirrors. Kate rubbed Sasha and whispered soothingly to her.  As the adrenaline high they had experienced began to recede, they felt exhausted and anxious.  Kate was the first to speak.

“Were those really deputies?”

“Impossible.” Geram replied.

Jake concurred, “Geram’s right, their first victims were probably the owners of those cruisers.  If they were deputies, they’ve fallen a long way from grace.”

“Are they – dead?” She asked.

“I know mine is.  I must’ve hit him a half-dozen times in the torso at point-blank range.”

“Mine may not be dead, but he’s probably down for the night,” Jake replied, “I think Sasha hit an artery, and I watched him hit the cruiser pretty hard.”

“Yeah, your guy is in a world of hurt to say the least.  By the way, Jake, have I told you how awesome your dog is?”

Jake smiled, “That’s my girl.”

Kate interrupted, “Guys, we’ve got to get off this road until daylight.  This is too dangerous.”

“You’re right; let’s see if we can find somewhere safe to stop for the night.”