A second grenade landed on another vehicle’s hood as the blast shattered the front windshield, killing the driver and front passenger; the terrified amigo in the back seat rolled out onto the ground and plunged headlong into the darkness. Amazingly, the fleeing man was able to avoid the wall of lead from the SAWs that was battering the ground and sending plumes of dust into the air all around him.
“Let him go,” Holt radioed, “I have plans for him; finish off the others.”
Meanwhile, the remaining grenades exploded around the other vehicles, wrinkling sheet metal and sending shards of glass and debris into the faces of the stunned soldados. The SAWs ventilated the SUVs relentlessly as the soldiers with M4 carbines targeted any amigos that had survived the onslaught up to that point and tried to return fire. The men whooped like a Comanche war band as they fired at the narco soldados; their war cries only served to fan the flames of terror and confusion that consumed the amigos in the plaza below. Within several seconds of the start of the overwhelmingly violent ambush, it was over; only one soldado remained as he fled into the night.
Holt radioed again, “Send out the riders.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The terrified amigo tore blindly through the thick brush and shrubs that surrounded the plaza; he groaned as the thorny mesquite, blackbrush and huisache cut his arms and pricked his hands. The poisonous thorns burned and throbbed as they broke off in his skin, but he did not care; all that mattered was to escape.
As he pushed through the edge of the thicket, he stumbled and fell headlong into the dusty alley beyond. A sharp pain shot through his body as his head smashed against a large stone block; he curled his body into a tight ball and cursed the ruins of this place as he writhed in pain. As he pushed himself up from the ground he staggered about momentarily, his head still dazed from the blow.
Clip, clop! Clip, clop! He lurched forward and nearly fell again as the sounds of the hooves could be heard somewhere behind him. He turned and dashed up the narrow dirt alley, searching in vain for somewhere to hide from the dark riders.
Clip, clop! Clip, clop! As he reached the intersection, he darted to the left and ran to the southwest, parallel with and several hundred feet from the shoreline. The yips and barks of two distant coyotes echoed through the night air as they exchanged their nocturnal discourse. He fumbled at his side for his nickel plated revolver, but it was nowhere to be found.
Clip, clop! Clip, clop! The sound of the horse’s hooves grew louder as the rider bore down on him. He could feel the rider’s presence somewhere in the shadows; he knew at any moment, the ghoul would gun him down, or worse. The thickets began to crowd the alley on either side of him once again; he would dive back into the thorny underbrush and hide like a desert cottontail from his pursuers.
Clip, clop! Clip, clop! It felt as if the rider was on top of him now, this was his last chance. As he passed through the second intersection and prepared to dive into the dense stand of huisache, his heart sank as he saw the rider. Everything was moving so quickly, it was hard for his mind to process; it had to be a second rider, because he was approaching from the other road. It mattered not how many there was at this point, they had him; he would fight them though, he would not go easy. He unsheathed his long cuchilla and prepared for the encounter.
The high pitched squeal of the horse was deafening in his ears and terrifying to his senses; he could feel its hot breath on his face as its nostrils passed within inches of him. He slashed wildly at the beast, but his wrist was denied the motion as it connected painfully with a quick thrust from a steel-toed, flat-tipped, western boot. He shrieked in agony and gripped the throbbing hand with the other as the cuchilla clattered to the ground. The horse slung his head in the direction of the man as it flared its nostrils and snorted menacingly at him.
The rider had watched the soldado flee down the alley in shades of dull green, over the tops of the thickets from his high perch. He had seen the other rider swiftly approaching the amigo from behind. He had cut down the perpendicular alley and timed his approach perfectly so that he would collide with the man in the intersection.
He flipped his rifle around so that he was holding it by the barrel, as he met the terrified soldado in the dusty junction; as he effortlessly deflected the man’s blind slice, he swung the rifle in a downward arc as a templar knight might swing a mace. The pointed end of the triangular collapsible stock connected with the side of the amigo’s head, snapping it harshly to the side and sending him into a sidelong tumble. The hombre’s head slammed against the ground with his jaw slack and eyes rolled far back in his head.
“Let’s get him back to camp; Agent Byers will surely want a word with our friend, if he ever wakes up.”
“Wait; do you hear that?” He motioned with his rifle as he held onto the reins with the other, “Go around the thicket; I’ll meet you on the other side.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As the riders returned to the plaza with their quarries, several men from the unit were finishing the task of sinking the SUVs in the lake. They used the two vehicles that were still operable to tow the others into the lake, and then ferried each out into the dark waters with the four aluminum boats, until the depth was sufficient to completely cover the SUVs. Reese preferred to leave no trace of their assaults; the mysterious disappearances only fueled their legend, but it also served more practical purposes. If the cartels did not know who their enemy was, they could not adapt. If they could not adapt, they would not survive.
It has been said that if you know your enemies and know yourself, you will not be imperiled in a hundred battles; Reese had every intention of remaining unknown for as long as possible. He needed time to wound the cartels enough to convince the locals in the region that they could resist and win.
As the last of the vehicles disappeared beneath the surface of the lake, the men began to gather inside del Iglesia de Nuestra Señora del Refugio, the Church of Our Lady of Refuge, on the edge of the plaza. The church’s architecture was distinctly that of a Spanish Mission; its origins could be traced back to the early years of the town, sometime in the eighteenth century.
The roof of the church had been restored years ago in an attempt to preserve the historical structure; aided by the arid climate, the timber rafters were still in respectable shape. The walls and columns of the iglesia, as well as the other ruins in the villa, were constructed without the use of any mortar; the stones were cut and shaped so that they would fit together perfectly; the fact that many of the structures still stood despite the decades of neglect was a testament to the artisans that labored here long ago. The men found the sanctuary austere but alluring as they stepped through the arched entrance; their usually hard demeanors were reduced to reverence and deference as they entered the anointed templo.
In the center of the open sanctuary, the men of the unit clustered around the small fire that crackled and popped, as it cast tall shadows that danced on the sandstone walls and arched columns. The confines of the iglesia would hide the glow of the fire that would otherwise be visible for miles on the open plains; poor light discipline in the borderlands was an open invitation for marauders or cartel scouts. After weeks under the stars, the church was a welcome enclave for the men; the warmth of a fire always seemed to improve morale.
Reese surveyed the group of men as they filtered into the church; they were a mixture of the best that Texas had to offer him. The men had already fallen into the practice of assuming call signs to protect their identities; nearly all of the men had taken their names from the fallen defenders of the Alamo Mission.
The group was eclectic and diverse; the three branches of the Texas military were represented – the State Guardsmen from South Padre Island, Army National Guard and Air National Guard – the latter two were jokingly referred to as the TANGs. There were the six SEALs that opted to stay and defend the island with the guardsmen, the two Texas Rangers that had followed Reese from Houston, and Alejandro, their interpreter and the key to gaining local support.