Tier One Wild (41 page)

“You got it.”

*   *   *

Within a minute Raynor, Digger, Slapshot, and two other veteran sergeants in Raynor’s squadron were in the back of one of the Black Hawks, hunched over the laptop, watching real-time feed from a Homeland Security Predator high overhead. Together the men worked on their plan of attack.

The substation was surrounded by wires, which made the helicopter insertion even more difficult. Primary power lines, ground wires, and overhead lines ran all over the property inside the ten-foot-high security fence, and outside the fence, primary and secondary power lines ran north to Nuevo Laredo and west to the highway.

To the south the land was mostly flat and covered with trees and brush, and to the east it was much the same, with the only differing feature being the Arroyo del Coyote, Coyote Creek, a small, shallow, wooded, and winding creek that ran from the northwest all the way to the Rio Grande, two miles east of the substation.

Inside the security fence Kolt and his men counted twelve men armed with AKs, shotguns, and AR-15s in static sentry positions outside, and several more moving around a small complex of buildings in the back of the property.

At least a dozen vehicles were visible from the air, several of which looked like they belonged to the electric company. Of the others, Raynor saw no large trucks, although there was a van near the largest building on the property, and there were several SUVs.

Slapshot said, “Looks like a minimum of twenty-five crows. It’s going to be tough on the helo crews due to the high-tension wires.”

Rocket, the senior recce team leader and one of Racer’s snipers, added, “Look, who are we kidding? These National Guard guys don’t do wires at night. And it’s kinda dumb to be in these things when we know they have SAMs.”

Kolt said, “Rocket is exactly right. This is a cluster fuck in the making. But we need ideas, guys.”

“Are the Black Hawks fast-rope capable?” Slapshot asked.

“No.”

It was quiet for a second, then Digger asked, “What if one of the helos took us a few miles up the highway, and we commandeered a couple of vehicles? Just drove up to the gate. The other helo can come in low to mask sound and insert at the back of the compound.”

Kolt thought that sounded like a decent plan, but just then, on the UAV feed from over the border, the thermal images of three of the civilian SUVs at the substation began moving, heading toward the exit.

“Are those the target vehicles moving?” Slapshot asked quickly.

“Shit,” said Raynor. “Let’s load up. We can talk it over with the helo crews in the air.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Doyle had managed thirty minutes of sleep, but now Henrico had him up and walking down the stairs of the control building, and heading back out into the night.

The Mexican said, “We will reposition inside the city. There is a truck there with a trailer that is cleared for NAFTA crossing. They might X-ray it, but the truck is lined with goods that will not allow the X-ray to pass through. Your cargo will go down the middle of the trailer, and the truck will be in line as one of the first to pass through when the crossing opens in the morning.”

“Excellent,” said Doyle. “When do we leave?”

“Immediately. We need to load the cargo under cover of darkness, and it will be dawn in a half hour. I have some of my men leaving now. They will position themselves along the route into the city to make sure there are no roadblocks by the police.”

Doyle cocked his head. “And if there
are
roadblocks by the police?”

Henrico shrugged. “Then we kill a few police. The rest will leave.”

“Very good,” said David, and he headed outside with Henrico to move the trucks out of the garage.

He called the four men with the SAMs back from their positions so they could recrate the systems and get them back in the trucks, and then they fired up the vehicles.

A few minutes later, just as Doyle climbed inside the red Econoline, he heard one of Henrico’s men shout, “
Helicóptero!
” into the radio. A second later he heard, “
Dos helicópteros!
”

He heard rotor noise just after this, and he wasted no time shouting orders of his own. Miguel, Jerry, and Tim were with him in the van. He said, “Jerry and Tim! Each of you get an Igla out of the back and fire on the helicopters!”

The two men slid open the side door and pulled crates out onto the parking lot. Frantically, they began unpacking and assembling the big weapons.

*   *   *

“Texas two-one is over the border and one minute out,” Chief Warrant Officer Bartow announced as he gorilla-gripped the cyclic and fat-footed the peddles of his UH-60 Black Hawk. Behind him, Chief Warrant Officer Wilkins flew forty meters behind at his five o’clock. The crew chiefs of both helos manned .30 caliber miniguns on the starboard side of their aircraft.

Kolt replied in his headset. “Roger, one minute. Just stay as low as possible and put us on the biggest roof you see. And watch those wires.”

Kolt then reached down and found his radio knob, turned it three clicks to the right to switch from helo common to his assault net, and he keyed the mic near his left shoulder. He communicated with Rocket in the other aircraft, Texas two-two. “Rocket, you’ve got the squirters. Your helo will head to the road to the highway and land there so that no missiles escape.”

“What if they split up?” Rocket asked.

“Then go after any truck that looks like it could be hauling missiles.” Kolt was surprised he answered that quickly. He wasn’t trying to be a smart-ass, but it may have come out like that.

Rocket responded, “Sounds like a plan, boss. We’ll load back in the helo and follow the trucks that can shoot us down before we can tell what color they are.” Rocket made no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

Moments later, with both doors open and a door gunner in the port-side window, Texas two-one crossed the outer chain-link fence, passed a massive silver-and-rust-colored water tower on the right, and headed straight for the long two-story building bookended by large transformer power lines.

The operators unhooked their safety belts and slid on their rear ends to the edge of both doors, letting their boots and calves hang over the end and catch the powerful wind blast. At thirty seconds out, Kolt removed his headset and moved into a kneeling position to exit quickly behind his men.

“Shit! That’s them!” Kolt yelled as he saw three big International TerraStar trucks hauling ass for the front gate. Three SUVs led the trucks by fifty meters. Raynor felt certain he was looking at the AQAP cell with the missiles, all heading toward the blocking position being set up by Texas two-two and eight operators.

Kolt neither wanted nor needed to stay on the roof engaging Zetas if his targets were heading out the front gate.

But Chief Bartow was lowering Texas two-one’s three rubber wheels down to the roof, concentrating on missing the high-tension wires all around, just like Racer had instructed him to do.

Kolt grabbed his wipe board and frantically scribbled,
Stay on helo!
He tried to pass it around, but everyone was focused on the hard landing to come.

They slammed down hard and the assaulters unassed the bird in two seconds, going prone on the roof. Kolt fought with the headset, trying to get it back on to tell Bartow not to take off just yet. He wanted to reload the helo to chase the fleeing convoy.

On the roof Slapshot fired his HK416 in short bursts at a group of men near an open garage. He dropped two, but a third spun around the corner of the building and aimed an RPG at the helo above him. The master sergeant screamed, “RPG!” as the weapon fired.

But his scream was lost in the thunderous engine noise from the Black Hawk.

The smoke trail raced just over Slaphshot’s head, and he turned to look behind him just as the finned grenade sailed straight through one open door of the helo and exited through the other open door, missing Major Raynor by a foot and a half.

A perfect shot and a perfect miss.

As he knelt in Texas two-one, Kolt’s eyes widened like softballs as the grenade passed. He dove out of the chopper, onto the roof, as Chief Bartow lifted back up into the dark sky, clipping two high-tension wires that snapped and sparked.

The Black Hawk raced off to the south.

“Somebody find the stairs!” Kolt yelled. He wanted his men off the roof and out of the line of fire before recalling Texas two-one.

*   *   *

Chief Warrant Officer Wilkins brought Texas two-two to a hover above the road halfway between the substation and Highway 85. Utility poles holding power lines ran along the south side of the road, so he brought his craft a touch to the north before landing just off the blacktop. Rocket and Digger and six other men leapt out of the helo and found cover in the greenery on either side of the road, as the headlights of the lead Los Zetas SUV closed on them from the east.

Wilkins lifted back into the air and rose to a hundred feet above the earth.

*   *   *

Kolt and his team moved down the stairs to the second floor and smashed windows that gave them a view to the substation’s grounds. A few Mexican sentries opened fire at the building now, so Racer and his men took aim on each and every muzzle flash in sight.

Canine, a thirty-year-old assaulter, took an AK round to the side of his helmet that knocked him flat on his back. He lay stunned in the substation’s control room, shaking the blur out of his eyes.

A medic crawled over to assess him, but Canine sat up, feeling his face for blood around his goggles and forehead. Finding nothing but a hot crease in his ballistic helmet, he climbed back to his feet and hefted his HK.

He returned to the fight within seconds.

Kolt thought he and his men were getting control of the resistance down below them. He got the idea that most of these Los Zetas gunmen who’d not left with the convoy had either tossed their rifles to the ground and jumped into vehicles to make a run for it, or else they were running off into the surrounding brush on foot.

To his right Raynor saw a pair of cars crash through a small rear gate of the substation and bounce out toward the lightening sky to the east. Kolt doubted the little two-door beater vehicles would be carrying SA-24s, so he kept his focus on the hostiles inside the grounds.

“Racer, this is Rocket.”

“Go for Racer!” Kolt said as he fired.

“Multiple hostile vehicles. Plus or minus seven in all. The three target trucks are in sight. Engaging dismounted enemy.”

“Roger that,” said Raynor. “We’re going to try to get a lift over to your position to help out.”

Kolt then leaned into his mic and tried to raise Chief Bartow. “Texas two-one, Texas two-one, over.”

“This is Texas two-one, over.”

“Chief, the missiles are leaving the compound in a seven-vehicle convoy. I need you to come pick us up immediately so we can assist.”

“Roger, inbound, one minute.”

So far, Kolt was pleased that his radio worked, that many of the Mexicans seemed to be surrendering, and that Chief Bartow was willing to come back so soon after almost eating an RPG on the roof.

Kolt ran to a window near Slapshot to begin moving everyone back to the roof. As he began shouting in Slapshot’s ear, both men watched as Texas two-one approached the building. Without warning, the door gunner in the Black Hawk opened up on a position behind a cluster of transformers on the north end of the facility. Two seconds later, a burst of AK-47 rounds rose up from another position near the transformers, piercing a hydraulic line behind Texas two-one’s thin skin. Heavy black smoke started to pour out, swirling above the rotor blades.

Kolt keyed his mike and yelled as he watched, “Texas two-one, abort, abort, abort.”

“Aborting,” said Bartow, and his Black Hawk peeled off to the south, away from the target area.

Kolt knew things didn’t look good for Bartow and his aircraft. Kolt wasn’t in a position to help him, and as much as he wanted to, there was still the problem of Doyle and the missiles. He keyed his mic again. “Texas two-two, Texas two-two. Lame duck, divert to service two-one with SAR, over.”

“Texas two-two is on the way.”

Kolt and his men rained fire on the position from where the AK rounds had come, sending several dozen 5.56 rounds into a twelve-foot-high substation transformer there. The transformer exploded, knocking two men from behind it, blinded and stunned.

All over the facility the lights went out. Kolt and his men had night-vision goggles on their helmets, but before any of them could flip them down over their eyes, from behind the garage ahead on their right a huge flash erupted, and a missile screeched into the predawn sky. Racer’s heart sank, knowing one of the Black Hawks was about to go down.

*   *   *

Chief Warrant Officer Wilkins, his copilot, and his crew chief/door-gunner were alone in Texas two-two, turning back to the east, when Wilkins’s headset came alive with the warning of an inbound infrared missile. The UH-60’s infrared countermeasures engaged automatically, and Wilkins banked hard to try to avoid the incoming warhead.

But the missile was on him in just seconds, and there was no time to avoid it. It slammed into the tail rotor of the Black Hawk and sent the big craft spinning clockwise. Wilkins and his crew lost all control and they lost altitude; the windscreen in front of them showed a high-speed revolution of dawn to the east and then darkness to the west, of city and country and city and country again.

Texas two-two crashed hard on its belly just one hundred meters north of the Delta men on the road.

*   *   *

Raynor had seen the helo take the hit a kilometer to the west, but he did not wait around in the window to watch it go down. He and his team now ran out of the front of the control building, bounding and covering for one another as they headed for the garage from where the SAM had launched. They passed Zetas who had dropped their weapons and raised their hands in the air, terrified of the fast-moving men in black who swarmed around them.

But Kolt and his men had time neither for prisoners nor for getting bogged down outside, so they kept moving to the next large structure, leaving only one of their operators behind to flex-cuff the Mexicans. The rest converged on the garage, shone the lights of their weapons into the big space to find it empty, and then closed on the far corner of the building.