“Nope,” replied Fire Team Leader Charlie.
“Kind of creepy out here. I sure don’t like it.”
“It ain’t that bad. Could have to share a foxhole with the General.”
“I don’t know,” said Private Zulu, taking a sip from his canteen. “Lots of unexplainables out here.”
“Unexplainables? I don’t even think that’s a word.”
“Whether it is or ain’t, this desert got some weird things in it.”
“Like what?” Fire Team Leader Charlie asked as he took the canteen from the private and drank.
“Like werewolf coyotes.”
“Well, I bet there’re plenty of coyotes out there, but not werewolves. You watch too much cable.”
“Oh, no, they got them werewolf coyotes in this part of the country. Or vampire coyotes, I can’t keep ’em straight. Either way, they’ll kill you right dead and eat your bones in a heartbeat unless you shoot ’em with garlic bullets.”
“So how many garlic bullets did you bring with you?”
“None.”
“Well, I guess you’re out of luck, partner. I’ll be sure to let your family know you died heroically.”
“That ain’t funny,” Private Zulu said as he snatched his canteen back. “Hey! What was that?”
“What was what?”
“Down there,” the private said, pointing to an area straight below the cut in the ridge. “Something moving.” The two men stared intently at the area for a few minutes.
“Could be something,” Fire Team Leader Charlie said. “Bet it’s just some kind of animal.”
“See! There it goes again. Call it in! Call it in!” implored Private Zulu.
“Okay, but if it turns out to be nothing and the General has a conniption, it was your idea,” the Team Leader said as he reached for his walkie-talkie. “Command center. This is Checkpoint Charlie. Do you read? Over.”
The noise of his walkie-talkie startled General X-Ray so much he dropped Private Zulu’s confiscated handheld videogame, on which he was busy playing Zombie Slaughter 5.0.
“Checkpoint Charlie, this is Command Center. Over,” the General replied.
“General, Private Zulu thinks we got something down here. Might just be animal movement but we aren’t sure. Over.”
“Hold your position, Fire Team Leader Charlie,” the General said as he shoved the videogame back into his pocket. “I’m on my way. Over.” The General leapt from the command center and double-timed his way to their position. “Situation report,” he said as he crashed into the cramped foxhole with his men.
“Down there, sir.” Fire Team Leader Charlie pointed. “A pretty good ways below that cut in the ridge.”
“I don’t see anything,” said the General.
“Definitely something there, general,” replied Private Zulu.
“Okay, steady, boys,” the General said as he readied the flare gun he retrieved from his belt. “Aim your weapons and prepare to fire.” Fire Team Leader Charlie looked down at the pellet gun and wrist rocket on the ground beside him. He decided on the pellet gun because he didn’t have time to find a suitable rock. Private Zulu shouldered his single-shot, twenty-two-caliber rifle and aimed in the general vicinity of the movement.
“Launching flare!” the General announced with gusto. With a whoosh, the flare arced a small, circular, flickering red flame up and over the valley below. A few seconds later, the flare ignited and illuminated the terrain of the valley as it slowly floated back down from the desert sky.
A small grey coyote lifted its head from its meal and froze in place. Sensing danger, it sniffed the wind. Grabbing one more bite from its prize, the coyote slunk back deeper into the shadows of the valley and slipped away into the night.
“Did you see those eyes?” Private Zulu cried in terror. “They were glowing! Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus! It’s got to be one of those vampire coyotes!”
“A what?” the perplexed General asked.
“Don’t get him started, sir,” Fire Team Leader Charlie replied. “Just your garden-variety coyote eating something.”
“Not with eyes like that!” the trembling private replied.
“I don’t care what it was,” the General said as he picked up his walkie-talkie. “We’re going down there to recon the area.” The General keyed the “Talk” button on his walkie-talkie. “Fire Teams Alpha and Bravo, this is General X-Ray. I’m taking Fire Team Charlie and Private Zulu with me to reconnoiter the valley. Over.”
“Roger, sir,” Fire Team Leader Bravo replied over his walkie-talkie.
“Jesus, general,” Fire Team Leader Alpha responded. “That flare scared the pants off us. Give us a heads-up next time.”
The General, Fire Team Leader Charlie, and the extraordinarily skittish Private Zulu made their way down the cut and approached the area where the coyote had been feeding. The remains of the two Mexican drug couriers, Ernesto and Victor, had been fed upon for several days. Their bodies were hardly recognizable as human. Only the presence of their shoes and clothes indicated that they were ever human at all.
“Help me, Lord,” cried Private Zulu. “No regular coyote can break a man up like that. We got to find some garlic fast!”
“Compose yourself, private!” the General commanded. “Just a couple of illegal aliens who snuck into our beloved homeland that got what was coming to them. I don’t know how they met their fate, but we’re taking the credit. STRAC-BOM: two, Mexico: zero!”
The General returned to the top of the ridge with Fire Team Leader Charlie and Private Zulu and gathered up the remainder of his troops. He congratulated his exhausted men on Operation Land Shark’s glorious and overwhelming first victory against the scourge of illegal immigration. Sensing the sun was coming up soon, the General suspended the evening’s surveillance activities and ordered the men back to the base camp. The dusty and tired men literally fell into their sleeping bags, and within seconds the snores of the soldiers of STRAC-BOM filled the early morning desert sky.
PART TWO
CHAPTER SIX
I Walk the Line
In the morning, El Barquero woke early to the sound of the roosters announcing the arrival of the dawn. He quickly showered and dressed before heading downstairs. In the kitchen, the Padre sat drinking coffee and reading a newspaper while one of the female house servants prepared frijoles, tortillas, and fried eggs. A disposable prepaid cell phone rested on the table in front of him.
“Come, sit down, my friend,” the Padre said as he noticed the large man in the doorway. The woman at the stove poured a cup of coffee for El Barquero and placed it in front of him. “Did you rest well?” the Padre asked.
“Yes, Padre,” he said as he drank from the delicate china cup. “Thank you for having me as your guest.”
“After your good work these last few months, it’s the least I could do. Well, besides pay you!” The Padre laughed loudly.
The woman brought plates and silverware to the table, quickly followed by a large platter of food.
“Anything else, Padre?” she asked humbly.
“Not now,” he replied. “You may leave us.” The two men spent the next few minutes eating their breakfast in silence as the Padre continued to thumb through his newspaper. “Ah, you see this?” the Padre said, breaking the silence as he pointed to an article on the new police chief in Nuevo Laredo. “That is why I’m heading to Nuevo Laredo this morning.”
“I didn’t think they had a police chief.”
“They haven’t, at least not for the last year. Someone kept killing them,” the Padre said with a smile. “This one is different. He works for me. He’ll be crossing the border on a regular basis to work with a Texas law enforcement task force concentrating on stopping illegal drug traffickers. Ironically, each time he travels to Laredo, the tires of his police car will be filled with exactly what he is charged with interdicting. You finished with breakfast?”