Book 2: Episode 7

Fuerzas Especiales (FES), Cuerpo de Infantería de Marina

Sonoran Desert, Chrisanto, Sonora, Mexico

Peters stepped out of the civilian SUV, squinting in the bright sunlight.  This part of the Sonoran Desert was full of ironwood, creosote and other shrubs so it was easy for people to hide out there.  Vehicles, not so much.  The tallest “trees” stood little more than ten feet tall, and it was easy to surveil your targets if you had a helicopter.

Which they did.

The heavily armed Fuerza Aérea Mexicana (Mexican Air Force or FAM) Blackhawk helicopter swooped low over a nearby hill, circled the clearing Peters was standing in and came in for a landing.  A commander in full body armor with the word “MARINA” printed front and back hopped out of the chopper and crouched down low as he walked over to Peters.  “Buenos Días, CAPITÁN!”

With a big grin Bustamante gave Peters a handshake which Peters returned with pleasure.  This guy knew his business.  “Thank you, Commander, but I’m a civilian here.  Just helping our buddies.”

“My friend, for getting me out of a very boring staff review meeting tomorrow I am forever in your debt.”  He gave Peters’ hand another firm shake and walked alongside him to the SUV.  The tailgate was open, and maps were spread out across the rear cargo area.  “Ah, our objective for tonight.  We’ve done our recce already and there are vehicles on the road here, here and here.”  He pointed to the dirt access roads leading into the objective.  “There is a new building here and an air strip.  Looks like they have recently paved a large landing pad.  Room for at least two helos or many smaller drones.”  He pulled a pen from his pocket and made notes on the map.  “Our best approach is from here. We have support from this helo if needed; it is armed with fifty cal and zuni rockets.  I have six sherpas, all with M2s and two with 40mm mortars.  The mortar units will set up here on this hill to provide fire support if needed.”  The .50 caliber M2 was ancient but still used around the world, including by the US army.  It packed a punch and could disable most civilian vehicles.

Peters nodded.  This marine knew what he was about.  “Intel says they’ve vowed to fight to the death; we are to use maximum force.”  The Mexican nodded.  “Where do you want my team?” 

Bustamante pointed.  “Here.  Follow this road up to the back gate. Blow it or cut your way through.  If any heavy stuff opens up on you the mortar crews can cover you from their position.  Code word is ‘splinter’ for incoming mortar and ‘firefly’ for helo support.”

“English?”

Bustamante smiled.  “I have worked with your fellow Americans for years.  I trust my people to speak English more than I trust your crew to speak Spanish.”  He smiled again.  “No ofensa, Capitán.”

“None taken.”

Hours later, after driving to the jump off point for the raid, Peters waited with the CIA covert action team.  He considered the path that led him here, at forty years old, waiting in the desert in the middle of the night, hoping everything went well and that the bad guys did the dying and the good guys did the killing.  He snorted to himself.  This is why this is a young man’s game.  Brooding and introspection were old man diseases.  With the window open, he could hear the soft sounds of the Sonoran Desert.  A faint breeze was blowing the scent of pinyon and juniper from the small copse of trees growing down the arroyo from where he was sitting.  Time.

Grinning, he flipped the switch on the modified SUV that turned off all the interior lights, including the dash lights and displays.

“NVG.”  The four other men in the SUV also pulled their night vision goggles down.  With the faint starlight, they could see well enough to drive or fight.  They had picked this time because the moon was already down.  It was about 3:15 AM local which meant that the bad guys would be mostly asleep or at a low state of readiness.  Most cartel employees were only there for the money and weren’t terribly well trained.  Peters didn’t expect much resistance but was still approaching with caution.  Better to take things slow and be bored than take things too fast.  Excitement was to be avoided in his business.

The SUV and the identical vehicle following pulled up to the gate.  It was a simple cattle gate, secured with a chain and padlock.  Peters gestured to the man carrying the large bolt cutters.  A few seconds and the gate was open.  Slowly, the two vehicles moved forward towards the target compound, the men getting more and more tense the closer they got.

Suddenly the deep “BAM BAM BAM” sound of an M2 firing split the night air.

“Hit it.”  The SUV leaped forward to their assigned position behind the main building.  The ten men spread out, each armed with an M4.  Peters surveyed the compound using the 10x optical zoom built into the NVGs.  Not as great as a good pair of binoculars, but handy at night.  The main building was a stone and stucco two story building that looked like a copy of some Italian villa, marble statues and all.  The two outbuildings on the left were just generic metal sheds, about twenty feet by forty.  Movement pulled his gaze to the two Quonset hut type buildings on the right.  They looked large enough to be hangars and there was a large, paved area in front of them.  As he watched, two men ran into a side door on one of the hangars.  Then the lights inside the hangars went out and the doors started to open.

More M2 fire came from the front of the compound.  Then what sounded like returning fire.  Suddenly, a bright light flashed across the compound.  “Shit, they have rockets!”

Then the radio started to chatter.  “Splinter Splinter Splinter.  Grid two zero one.”

Peters didn’t hear the mortars fire, but he certainly heard them land.  “WHUMP!”  Several huge explosions rocked the compound and lit the night.  The main building blocked his view of the firefight, but it sounded pretty serious.  Time to move.

He pointed to the two hangars, held up two fingers, then made a circling motion. Split into two teams, encircle the objective.

The noise from the front of the building continued to escalate.  More rockets were fired, more mortars and the almost continuous sound of the M2s firing.  Suddenly, every light across the compound went out.  Either the mortars had hit something vital or the people running the show over there had wised up.  Nothing worse than trying to fight an enemy in the dark when you’re blinded by your own lights.

Keeping well away from the main house, Peters and his team worked their way behind the two hangars and split into two teams.  Peters led the left team up to the small door on the side of his assigned hangar.  A quick glance through the window and he could see normal tool carts, hand trucks and various other things you would expect to see in a hangar.  A longer look and he could see two men working on a large helicopter, their backs to the door.  Peters signaled to his men and slowly eased the door open.  He darted to one side, weapon ready, but the two men didn’t notice him or the rest of the team.  Soon, he realized why.

The whine from the turboshaft engines suddenly cut across the small space.  He knew helicopters were loud, but the noise was insane inside a building.  Belatedly, he realized the two technicians were wearing ear protection.  One of them ran forward to the small tractor and started pulling the aircraft out of the hangar.  Peters hesitated for a second, not sure what to do.  By the time he decided, the helicopter was part way out of the building and the main rotor started turning, slowly.

“Fuck, they are going to take off!”

He yelled to the other men in the squad, but nobody could hear him.  He was certain they would all have hearing damage after this.  He gestured urgently at the helicopter and started running towards the open main door.  After only about half a dozen steps, the technician who had remained outside of the tractor turned and saw the armed men running at him.

Screaming something Peters couldn’t understand, he started to pull the pistol from the holster at his side.  All five men in the squad opened fire with their M4s.  The mechanic was hit half a dozen times and fell to the ground.  Meanwhile, the helicopter began to really spool up its engines, the main rotor becoming a blur.  Peters shifted his aim to the helicopter and began to fire.  He wasn’t sure, but the helicopter appeared to be armored.   The fire wasn’t having any visible effect.  His underslung M203A2 grenade launcher was loaded with a fragmentation round, not high explosive, but he fired it off anyway, trying to get close to the intakes on the front of the helicopter.  No effect.  He swore as the helicopter started to get airborne. 

Continuing to run forward, he exited the building only to realize that a similar scene was playing out on the other side, but the other team hadn’t been as lucky.  Only four CIA officers came out of the other building, firing wildly at another helicopter.  As the helicopters continued to rise, he could finally hear his radio.  “Firefly Firefly Firefly, two tangos coming up from the compound.  You are authorized hot, Firefly.”

The FAM pilot was certainly brave.  The heavily modified Blackhawk swept up the canyon behind Peters and popped up just feet above the hangars, firing zuni rockets at the retreating helicopters.  Zooming forward, he began to engage the nearer helicopter with pod-mounted guns, probably M2s also.  This got their full attention.  The two helicopters split, turning away from each other.  The FAM pilot made his choice, banked right and poured fire into the trailing ship.  Cutting the corner with an aggressive right turn, he closed the range to less than 100 yards and fired his zuni rockets again.  One caught the enemy just behind the main cabin where the tail joined.  There was a muffled explosion, and the tail began to separate.  The helicopter entered a violent spin and cartwheeled into the ground.

In the meantime, the other bird completed his turn, coming in behind the Mexican Air Force helicopter.  A blaze of gunfire erupted from a chin-mounted cannon with a loud ripping sound.

“Jesus Christ, is that a Hind?”

It was too much for the lightly armored Blackhawk.  It took several hits to the main cabin, lost power and went down abruptly in a massive fireball.  The Hind rose up several hundred feet, turned and started firing on the Marine units which were still firing at it using their vehicle mounted M2 machine guns.  They were heavily outgunned; the Hind had a much longer range and a higher rate of fire.  That along with the helicopter’s maneuverability meant the troops on the ground were doomed.  Within seconds, two of the armored scout cars were in flames.  Then a faint streak flew up from one of the remaining cars.  Within seconds, another.  Both missiles struck the Hind, damaging the main rotor.  The big bird fell with a shower of sparks into the desert, setting the brush aflame.

Peters pointed to two of his men and then at the hangar.  “You two, take these fuckers prisoner.  They give you shit, shoot them.  The rest of you, with me.”  He began to run towards the less damaged Hind.  The first one was scattered in pieces all over the valley.  The second one was still mostly in one piece but looked like it would be on fire shortly.  He could see black clad shapes running towards the FAM Blackhawk, but he seriously doubted anyone survived that crash.

Breathing hard after running five hundred yards, he came up to the crash site.  The pilot looked unconscious, slumped over his controls.  Swearing, Peters burned his hands getting the door open and wasted precious seconds trying to figure out how to unclasp the harness that held the pilot in place.  Grunting, he got the man out of the bird, dragging him along the ground.  After a few seconds, another member of his team grabbed the other side of his flight suit.  A third team member checked on the co-pilot, but he was dead.  As they retreated, something cooked off and there were several explosions.  Within minutes, the entire helicopter was engulfed in flames.

“Alpha, Bravo One.  I have one man down.  Say status.”

“Bravo, alpha one, we have two vehicles down, unknown casualties, twenty effectives at the moment.  I have called for medivac and additional support.  Inbound in ten mikes.”

“Was that you on the MANPAD, Alpha?”

“Roger, gracias a dios por los Stingers.”