"Towers one, five, and six are secured. We lost one sergeant dead as well as an officer and a sapper wounded in taking them. Team Z-2 was wiped out to a man when the helicopter crashed into tower two. I have myself, one other officer, two sergeants, and eight sappers left." The lieutenant's voice was slightly hoarse but controlled.
Caso nodded his approval, noticing that, as he spoke, the lieutenant could not help himself as he glanced back at the body in the center of the floor. "This is your first action, Lieutenant. You will soon grow used to such sights."
The lieutenant of engineers looked at the body, then back at Caso.
Closing his eyes as he nodded, the lieutenant indicated that he was all right, wondering if he, or anyone, could really become accustomed to such sights. Opening his eyes, he probed the major's, trying to see if Caso himself believed what he said. Caso's stare, however, betrayed nothing. "Yes, sir. I, I've never really seen anything like that." He looked back one more time at the body in white behind them. "It seems a shame, such a beautiful woman should die like that."
Case restrained his laughter. "Wastage, yes, but unavoidable. Our task was to clear the building quickly and completely. 'She,' unfortunately, simply found herself in the line of fire. It could not be helped." He paused, looked from the body back to the engineer lieutenant, and then shot back: "Status of demolitions?"
"Excellent. We used only one satchel charge in each tower to gain access. All doors and gates in the towers were open. The guards had not had time to close them."
Suddenly Guajardo, without opening his eyes, called out. "Did you capture any machine guns in the towers?"
Turning from Caso to the colonel, the lieutenant responded that they had. There had been two American 7.62mm machine guns in each tower.
All were still operational.
"Do you think your men could work them, Lieutenant?" Guajardo asked, his eyes still closed.
With the confidence of a young officer who believes in himself and his men, the engineer lieutenant responded to Guajardo's inquiry in a manner that bordered on being boastful. "Yes, we can. The sergeants took them right off and checked that out. They are really quite simple weapons to…"
Guajardo, his eyes flying open, turned to the lieutenant, firing orders to him as he did so. "Have the team from tower one drop down from that tower, with both M-60 machine guns, outside the wall and move toward the north gate. The team from tower six will also drop down outside the wall, take their machine guns, and move to the south gate."
Looking to Caso, Guajardo continued to issue orders. "Leave Captain Castro and half of his Group M in the house to keep the mercenaries busy.
You, my friend, will take the rest of Group M, move through the garden, go over the north wall, join the engineers at the north gate, move to the base of tower three, and set up your machine guns to cover the footbridge and airfield from the north. The engineers, if they can, will blow a hole into tower three to gain access. Take the tower if you can." Guajardo paused, then emphasized his intent. "Regardless of what happens, set up the machine guns and keep anyone from escaping."
Caso thought for a minute. "What about the rollers on the walls?"
"They roll only one way, out. They were meant to keep people out, not in. Your landing may be hard, but you can do it. Any other questions?"
"I assume, Colonel, you will do the same in the south."
In his excitement, Guajardo had not told his men his complete plan.
"Yes. That is correct. I will send half of Group D with their commander over the south wall to join the engineers from tower six and set up their machine guns at the base of tower four. That should trap Alaman's men.
With the rest of Group D and the engineers in tower five, I shall begin the process of clearing the garage, stable, and barracks, as planned." Finished, Guajardo looked at Caso, then the lieutenant. "Do you have any questions?"
Both men shook their heads. "Good. Now hurry. Time is against us."
Exhausted from the sudden and unaccustomed exertion, Alaman sat in the corner of a barracks room, forgotten for the moment. Overwhelmed by shock and pain from his rough handling by Childress, El Dueno watched with detached interest the scene before him. It all seemed so unreal, like a nightmare. The sudden and brutal death of his associates before his eyes paled in comparison to the destruction of his beloved Chinampas. Everything that had ever mattered to him was being destroyed, piece by piece, as he sat there, and there was nothing that he could do, nothing.
Across from where Alaman sat, several of the mercenaries, who served as the garrison, took turns firing out into the courtyard and in the direction of the house. The fumes from the firing of their weapons, mixed with the smoke from the burning tower and helicopter, filled the room with a stench that seared Alaman's lungs as he gasped to catch his breath. A few feet away from him, Delapos, his chief of security, and Childress were conferring in English. Though he could only understand half of what they said, with much of the rest drowned out by gunfire, Alaman gathered that they were in agreement that their situation was hopeless and that they needed to escape.
Though he wanted to protest, demanding that they fight for Chinampas, Alaman had neither the physical strength, nor the moral courage, to make such a demand on the armed mercenaries. Although he was confused and stunned, he still had enough common sense to realize that his paid garrison did not possess the same love for Chinampas that he did. Nothing he could say at that moment, not even the promise of more money, could motivate them to do anything to save the place. Survival, the desire to live and collect that which was due to them, was all that mattered to the mercenaries.
As a businessman who had made his fortune dealing with such men, Alaman understood this. Still, the thought of losing Chinampas, and all that it stood for, brought him to the verge of tears.
While their boss struggled to control his emotions, Delapos and Childress quickly reviewed their options. Neither man could understand why the raiders, who appeared to be so well organized and led, had neglected to seize the airfield. Not that it mattered. What did matter was that this error provided them an avenue of escape. That it would soon be closed was without question. The only thing that needed to be decided was how to get Alaman, the man who paid them, and as many of the men as possible, out of the trap they were in before escape became impossible.
Despite the fact that Delapos was in charge, Childress's training as a Green Beret in the U.S. Army equaled and in some ways surpassed the skills and experience of his boss. At times Delapos treated Childress as an equal, even deferring to his judgment. So it was not surprising that, at that moment, Childress took the lead. After all, both men were professionals, and results, not formality, mattered. "Are the pilots still at the airfield?"
Delapos shook his head. "I do not know. Someone said they took off in that direction as soon as the firing started. I assume that they are still there. But even if they are not, we still need to go through there anyhow."
Childress nodded in agreement. "That's true. Now, who takes Senior Alaman and who covers the rear?"
Before answering, Delapos looked over at the men firing in the courtyard.
At times like this, it was hard to predict how they would react. As much as he wanted to leave with Alaman, he knew he had to stay since he could best control the mercenary force he had built. Looking back at Childress, he ordered him to pick three men, get Alaman to the airfield, and get him away as best he could. He, Delapos, would give Childress two minutes, then follow with as many men as possible.