CIA Forward Base Echo
Nogales, Sonora, Mexico
Peters woke with a start. He had been napping in the afternoon heat after the long mission the night before, but something woke him. A few seconds later, he realized what it was, a helicopter. Then he heard shouting. Something was wrong.
Grabbing his M4, he ran down the hallway to what they called the “ops room.” It was actually just an old dining room with a bunch of folding tables. This is where they had set up the secure comms, radios and all the other equipment needed to run an operation of this size. Park was in there, looking concerned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Landlines and cell phones are down.”
“Did you hear that helicopter?”
“Yeah, we were just about to report it and call for backup, but we can’t get through.”
“Sat com?”
“Trying now.” Park consulted with one of the comm techs then came back to Peters. “Gear up, I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Should we break out the heavy weapons?”
Park thought for a moment. The operation was supposed to be low profile. It was surprisingly easy to wander around the Sonoran Desert wearing utilities and carrying M4s, but anything larger than a rifle would trigger questions that they didn’t want to answer. However, he wasn’t willing to die to protect the secret of the operation. “Yes, just in case.”
The team had built a secure room with a steel door where they had stored the heavier weapons. Peters gestured to two of his men who had been waiting in the hallway. Opening the door, Peters was greeted by neat shelves of weapons, suitable for a full army platoon. He walked directly over to the M3A1 Carl Gustaf. He handed two reload kits to each of his team members. A recoilless rifle, the Gustaf was Peters’ favorite missile launcher. He had used them while in the Army and the US Special Forces had an affinity for them. The ability to reload the weapon made them a favorite of the Green Berets who were often operating away from supply lines. While a HEAT round was not light by any means, it was easier to carry a Gustaf and reloads than to carry multiple single-use Javelin missiles.
Walking outside, Peters arranged his team into their pre-sighted positions. An Army veteran and Green Beret, Peters was well trained. The first thing he had done upon arriving at the CIA facility was to walk the property and figure out how he would assault it. That allowed him to create a defensive plan that in the worst case would allow them time to evacuate or call for help. Now, it looked like he might need to hold out if worse came to worse. If they were facing aircraft, that wasn’t going to go well for them; they had almost no air defense. The original house was built on a ridge which gave them a commanding view of the countryside around them. There was really only one practical approach for a vehicle, so he had prepared fighting positions on each side of the road leading up the hill. He also sent a pair of lookouts up to the top of the house to be sure nobody was sneaking up the backside, but the terrain there was so rough that only troops on foot could make it. No, he expected a frontal assault if there was going to be an attack. The two on the roof also had the two remaining Stingers, just in case.
Settling into his fighting hole, he pulled out a pair of binoculars and surveyed the desert in front of him. He could hear the helicopter but not see it at the moment. Scanning the road, he could see four vehicles approaching from the north. Looking closely, he cursed. “BMPs. Fucking BMPs? Here?”
The BMP was a favored Soviet-era infantry fighting vehicle. Very commonly used by armies around the world, but not something that you would expect a drug cartel to have access to and not something the Mexican military used. Looking closely, he swore again. These were BMP-2s with the 30mm auto cannon. Not something he wanted to face with two squads of infantry. He picked up the radio. “Park, Peters.”
“Go for Park.”
“If you can call for air support, do it right now. These fuckers have full on BMPs. No idea if we can hold them off or not.”
“Understood.”
If Peters had the recently introduced laser guided Gustaf, he would have felt better. With a precision weapon, he could take shots from long range. He was starting to regret not asking for Javelins. With the Javelin, he could attack right then. With the Gustaf, he had to wait a bit until he had a better chance of hitting them. He had a bunch of reloads but not an infinite amount. Most likely, that meant letting them get into range with their 30mm which didn’t sound like a great idea.
Gathering himself, he issued instructions to his team via radio. The helicopter was keeping its distance, thank God. Apparently, the news of the Stinger attack from last night made it to this crew also.
With a scatter of loose rocks and a grunt, Commander Bustamante joined Peters in his hole. “¡Buenos Dias!”
Peters looked over. “You are awfully cheery for a man about to be killed.”
“Hermano de mi corazón, you cannot control the enemy, you can only control yourself.” He examined the oncoming BMPs with binoculars. “Besides, I am not going to be killed by amateurs like this, amigo. Look how they move.”
Peters watched a bit longer. It was true that the BMPs were moving a bit tentatively. Not with the authority he would expect. “Do you think they are battle taxis?”
“Si, mi hermano.” Despite the fact that infantry-fighting vehicles had been around for over fifty years, there were still disagreements about how they should be used. Many commanders felt that they were basically just taxis to get the infantry into the fight, the so called “battle taxi” approach. Experiences with Bradleys in Ukraine had shown that a much more aggressive approach worked better. Get in quick, engage the enemy with the vehicle and only dismount right at the end. The Ukrainians had raised holy hell with their Bradleys and the US Army had taken note. Apparently, the Mexican Marine officer was also a student of infantry tactics.
Sure enough, as soon as the BMPs were at the extreme range for their 30mm auto cannon, they began to engage the house and hillside. Park held his fire. Range was a bit long for a shot with the Gustaf. His men were well hidden and in a raised position. Except for a lucky shot, he wasn’t worried about the long range 30mm fire.
The troops inside the BMPs started to dismount.
“Jesus, they are going to walk up this hill under fire?”
“Madre de Dios.” Bustamante adjusted his grip on the M4 and checked the underslung grenade launcher. Unlike the helicopter last night, the fragmentation grenades on the M4s would be deadly for any infantry attempting to hike up the hill.
“Blue team, fire when they reach marker one. Grenades at marker two.”
Various acknowledgements rang out. Because he had pre-sighted the property, the team knew their ranges exactly. The M4 had taken criticism in Afghanistan for its shorter range when compared to a rifle shooting 7.62, like the M14, but the smaller ammunition allowed each soldier to carry more of it. He had placed discrete markers on the hillside showing optimal rifle and grenade ranges.
In a few minutes, the troops down below came under fire. The attackers were taking losses. Each man on Peters’ team had a scope and were taking aimed shots instead of the spray and pray approach that was common in Vietnam. If anything, the 30mm fire intensified. The defending team was going to take losses facing that amount of fire, but there was nothing to be done about it. The troops below continued their cautious advance.
A few minutes more and the attackers had reached the second marker. “GRENADE!”
First one, then half a dozen fragmentation grenades flew down the hill. While they didn’t make the kind of fireball explosion you saw in the movies, grenades were deadly to troops on the ground. Of course, Peters didn’t have to kill the enemy. He’d be satisfied with simply wounding them to get them out of the fight. He was outnumbered, so any sort of reduction in the attacking force was a good thing.
The attackers were brave enough; they kept coming even though Peters could already count half a dozen casualties. They approached the third marker.
“FIRE IN THE HOLE!!!” With a deafening roar, the claymore mines he had pre-positioned went off. Smoke and dust rose in the air along with rubble and various parts of the attacking force.
This was enough, the troops began to fall back.
However, the BMPs decided that they needed to help out and started to advance again. Something was strange about the last BMP in line. He hadn’t realized that only three had turrets until they turned again to move up the road.
“SHIT, MORTAR!”
Peters grabbed the Gustaf and popped up to take a shot. Bustamante dived forward to get in front of the blast. The joke was that the Carl Gustaf was the only weapon that was more dangerous to the rear than the front. Peters’ assigned assistant gunner did a quick visual check behind them and gave the all clear as loudly as he could. “Backblast Area Clear!!!”
Peters sighted the last BMP and fired. The blast of the recoilless rifle was insanely loud and probably did irreparable damage to everyone’s hearing. Peters could not have cared less. Not waiting to see the impact, he threw himself on the ground and gestured for his assistant gunner to reload. A loud “WHUMP” announced that the mortar team below had finally gotten their weapon working. The ensuing blast shook Peters in his hole and rained dirt and debris down on him. Exchanging hand signals with his assistant, he prepared to fire again. Bustamante put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve marked our position for them.”
“Nothing for it. Grab your ass and hold on.”
Peters braced himself and popped up again. Quickly scanning, he realized his first round had missed, and he targeted the last BMP again.
“BACKBLAST AREA…” the last word was lost in the deafening concussion of the rocket firing. 30mm fire landed all around him as he quickly fell to the ground again. Another “WHUMP” made him cringe. He was definitely the primary target for that mortar down there. Another loud explosion and screaming made him realize that the other fighting position on the other side of the road had also drawn the mortar fire. An even louder explosion made him peek over his rock wall only to see the fourth BMP hidden by a huge fireball. Their ammunition was cooking off following a successful HEAT round impact. That left three more. He gestured to have the Gustaf reloaded.
Bustamante shook his head. “We move. Now.” The troops below were also launching grenades up the hill. Various explosions littered the area all around them.
“Right, across to position two. On three. One, two, THREE!!”
Bustamante was first up, firing his M4 down the hill as he sprinted to his left. Peters took two steps before an explosion behind him knocked him off his feet. The Gustaf went flying down the hill. Stunned, he collapsed to the ground, unable to move for a moment. Before he knew it, Bustamante was back, dragging him towards the defensive position. After a second, he was able to help but would not have made it on his own. Finally lying behind the wall of the position, he was able to get his bearings. “Blue Team, Red Team report.”
The answers he got back were not good. Half his team was gone. They had grenades but both Gustafs were out of action. There was no way they were going to stop those BMPs from coming up the canyon.
“PARK, PETERS. They are coming in, evac if you can.”
“HEADS DOWN. DANGER CLOSE.”
Peters turned to Bustamante and pulled him down. During the war, he had several encounters with danger close air support and knew full well what could happen. He just wished he was wearing a helmet.
With a deafening roar, an F-16 passed over their position, banked hard and was gone. Ten seconds later, their wingman passed over. Several objects detached from the aircraft. “INCOMING!”
The bombs seemed to hang in the air as time stopped. Fascinated, Peters watched them fall below where he could see behind the wall. Seconds seemed to pass, then several massive explosions rocked the entire canyon. Ten seconds later, a third F-16 made another pass. More explosions. By the time the fourth aircraft passed overhead, the dust and smoke must have obscured the objective because they didn’t release any weapons.
“CHECK FIRE!! CHECK FIRE!!”
Suddenly, it was quiet in the canyon. Peters peeked over the rock wall. All four BMPs were burning. There was still movement in the valley. “PARK, PETERS. We have movement in the canyon.”
“AFFIRM.”
Thirty seconds later the lead F-16 returned, dropping a large canister. Falling away from the aircraft, it disintegrated into hundreds of pieces. The cluster munition spread out over a huge area until each bomblet reached a pre-set height. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. The hundreds of explosions merged into a single ripping sound as hundreds of the anti-personnel weapons exploded a hundred feet above the ground.
Peters used his binoculars to peer through the smoke and dust. No movement.
“PARK, PETERS. Hostiles down.”
“PETERS, PARK. Understood. Hold position. We are going to evac the entire compound. We have medical holding at the border, evac air in ten. We will airlift the wounded; effectives will take the vehicles out.”
In an amazingly short period of time, two helicopters arrived with medical teams. The wounded were identified, placed on stretchers in some cases, and loaded onto the helicopters. Within 30 minutes, all the wounded and the three dead were gone. During the entire evolution Bustamante had remained silent, a speculative look on his face. Once the last helicopter was gone, Peters got his remaining men organized and began to load the vehicles.
Bustamante pulled Peters aside. “My friend, I think it’s time I paid a visit to my uncle.”
Peters nodded and held out his hand. “Thanks for all your help.”
Bustamante smiled and shook the offered hand. “My friend, I do have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“How is it that your government had heavily armed aircraft ready to attack inside my country like that?”
“Sorry?”
“I have worked extensively with your air force. They are amazing at what they do, but an airstrike normally takes hours to plan and execute. Those F-16s were here in less than 20 minutes from the first call.”
Peters had hoped to avoid this discussion. “I think that’s above my paygrade.”
Bustamante smiled, then winked. “We should play poker some time, my friend. I think I would win quite easily.” He made an expansive gesture around him. “I think you know very well why your country is ready for war here in my country.” He walked over to his black Humvee and got in. “And I don’t think I will enjoy knowing the answer.”
Great chapter!