* * *
DJ pressed his back tighter to the wall as the second explosion sounded. He barely felt the first one, but the second? It caused enough of a pressure differential that his ears popped.
He could hear the excited voices near the tunnel exit and the men seemed to be disorganized, they paused, unsure what to do next. Slowly edging closer to the rough cut corner, he bent low and chanced a glance down the long tunnel.
The daylight from the open steel door silhouetted the men as they mingled close to the stairs. “Fucking cowards,” he grumbled as he came back to his feet.
He slid the barrel of the carbine around the corner and sprayed their area with an entire magazine. The corner exploded with returned rounds as he quickly changed magazines and charged the weapon again. “Come and get me, you burrito eating cocksuckers!” he yelled as loud as he could then ducked further into the connecting tunnel.
The shooting died down and the men’s voices grew louder, the muffled sound of their boots tromping on the clay covered sandstone floor growing more prominent as they advanced.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers into his ears as the claymore sent pieces of drug dealers flying in all directions. He couldn’t help but smile as the concussion blew bits of sand and debris into the adjoining tunnel, covering him a fine layer of dirt.
He spun around the corner and leveled his rifle, unable to see where the men were as the cloud of dirt hung in the air. “Well, that’s not cool.”
Bullets gouged the walls of the tunnel around him and he dove back to the safety of the adjoining corridor as survivors of the blast returned fire.
DJ rolled to his side and brought his carbine up, pointing it at the junction. “Hey! I was only kidding about the burrito thing!” he yelled. The men continued to shoot blindly and DJ scooted away from the intersection. “You’re still cocksuckers though!”
He shimmied farther from the intersection as the yelling intensified. He kept the barrel of his carbine pointed at where he felt they would show up and wasn’t disappointed when the first man appeared.
DJ held the trigger as the steel jacketed bullets caught the man in the crotch and a neat row of impacts rose up his body to his chin. He rolled to his side and slid his feet under him, coming to a kneeling position. He leveled the barrel on the intersection and when the next man came around the corner, he squeezed the trigger again, planting three rounds into the man’s chest.
He rolled again and came up to a sprinter’s starting position. With a hard push he was on his feet and running down the rock-lined tunnel. His eye caught the bright yellow marking near the floor, indicating where he’d planted his other charge.
Time seemed to slow down for him as his eye scanned for the device buried near the base of the wall. He saw the top of the explosive just as the ground in front of him erupted into sprays of dirt.
With one quick motion, he brought the butt of his carbine up and smashed the light hanging closest to the charge then dove for the other side of the tunnel as bullets gouged the wall where he had just been standing.
DJ scrambled to keep his feet under him and barely slid into the next intersection as bullets ripped through the air just behind him as he ran.
He crabwalked back to the wall and pressed himself against the cold stone, his breath coming in quick pants. He did a quick assessment and concluded that he didn’t have any extra holes in his body then slowly slid up the wall.
He stepped around the corner and sprayed the corridor with half a magazine before slipping back to safety. He watched as the ground near the intersection erupted again. When the bullets stopped, he assumed they were reloading and risked popping his head around the corner.
The men were just emerging from the darkened part of the tunnel and DJ smiled to himself, his hand sliding up his vest to grab the trigger of the transmitter to detonate the dynamite.
He paused, his eyes going wide as he quickly patted down the vest. “What the…” He felt his stomach drop as he realized that the trigger was gone.
“Fuck me.”
41
Near Quitman, TX
* * *
Bridger stood across from the convex mirror mounted high on the wall. He could see the silhouettes of men as they milled near the bottom of the stairs, speaking amongst themselves. He caught the static of a radio and keyed his own coms. “Slippy, hit the jammer.”
“You’ll lose our coms, too. You sure you want to do that?”
Bridger continued to stare at the reflection and nodded. “Do it.”
“See you on the other side,” Gregg’s voice sounded defeated.
Bridger heard the slight squelch in his earpiece and noticed that the outline of men seemed to become more animated.
He felt the earth tremble under his boots and knew that somebody had tripped one of the boobytraps. A few moments later, another reverberated through the rock and he nodded to himself. “Let’s get this shit-show started.”
He gripped his carbine tighter and had prepared to spin around the corner when the closest charge went off, compressing the air inside the tunnel, and he knew it was time to engage.
He spun around the corner and began placing the red dot of his EOTech on each of the silhouettes, squeezing the trigger and sending a suppressed round down range. He knew that he’d dropped at least three of the men before the others began to return fire.
He quickly ducked back into the other tunnel and listened carefully for the excited voices to grow closer behind the cacophony of gunfire. He squeezed the foam earplugs into a cone and shoved them into his ear canals just as the men tripped the first explosive.
The concussive wave that washed down the tunnel was stronger than he anticipated, and he found himself assaulted by shrapnel of rock and sand.
The smell of spent C4 washed over him as the M18 claymore pelted the men with steel shot, shredding protective clothing, puncturing flesh, and splintering bone.
The wave of screams that echoed through the tunnel brought back memories he’d rather not deal with, and he quickly filed them away with all of the other monstrous atrocities he had committed in his life. It had become too easy to justify killing. It was especially easy when they were trying to kill you, but he’d rationalize that later.
He spun back around the corner and sprayed .308 rounds down the tunnel. When the magazine was empty, he quickly dropped it and jammed another in its place, charging the weapon.
He took off at a quick trot, putting as much distance as possible between himself and where the survivors would eventually emerge. He noted the secondary charge of dynamite and pulled the transmitter from his BDU pants.
He slowed as he neared the adjoining tunnel and stood near the corner, waiting to hear the men approach. He brought the carbine up and peered down the corridor. “I should have used brighter bulbs,” he muttered.
He caught movement in the shadows and opened fire, not really caring if he hit anyone. He only needed to enrage them enough to bring them closer to the next blast zone.
The shadows scattered, returning fire. Bridger ducked back around the corner and waited, doing his best to time the detonation correctly.
He held his breath, straining his ears to hear past the foam inserts, listening for their approach. He glanced to the ground, hoping for a sign that they were closing the distance.
He was just about to bounce his head out and gage how close they were when something landed in the soft dirt of the tunnel beside him. He glanced down and it took his mind only a fraction of a second to recognize the two stick bundle of TNT he had partially buried along the wall of the tunnel.
The red LED attached to the blasting caps flashed, indicating it was armed and he glanced at the transmitter in his hand. When the dirt around the explosive began to dance, he knew they were shooting at it and he dove away from the charge, praying he could put as much distance between himself and the blast as possible.
He didn’t feel the concussion that threw him into the wall.
* * *
Director Jameson paced the aisle of the viewing area as the techs worked feverishly to locate the right satellite and angle the camera properly.
His head snapped around as the large screen overheard popped on and the camera zoomed in on North Texas. “Let’s hurry this up, shall we?”
“Working as fast as we can, sir.”
“Can you use infrared? Show me heat signatures?”
“With this bird, yes sir. We just have to verify the coordinates, first.”
Jameson ground his teeth as the camera slowly zoomed in, panned to the side slightly, then zoomed in again. “TODAY, please.”
“Sir, we’re limited to the physical capabilities of the camera,” the technician deadpanned.
He breathed a sigh of relief as the blast area that was once Bridger’s home came into view. “That’s it! That’s where we need to be. Zoom in!”
The technician ignored his exuberant yells and made the proper adjustments. “Going to IR.”
Jameson watched as the screen turned to black and white and a half dozen heat signatures registered. He fished his cell phone from his breast pocket and quickly pressed the redial button.
When the voice answered, he smiled. “Commander, be aware that you have six men milling around the area.”
“Is that all?” he asked.
“That’s all that show up on screen.”
There was a short pause before he came back on the line. “That doesn’t sound like much of a hit squad to try to take out seasoned operators.”
Jameson’s frazzled mind made the connection and he had to agree. “That’s all that shows in infrared.”
The unit commander’s voice held a twinge of disbelief when he spoke again. “Based on the structures we found at the other location, what are the odds that your man has an underground base of operations at this location?”
Jameson had to agree, the assumption made sense. “The structure that he was using as a domicile was, in fact, an underground structure.”
“Copy that.” The commander’s voice held a tone that Jameson couldn’t identify. The line went dead and he stared at the phone.
“Yes, well…you’re welcome.”
Near Quitman, TX
* * *
DJ clenched his jaw and spun around the corner, shooting along the base of the wall near where the men stood. Most of the cartel enforcers either turned and ran or dove to the side, bringing their weapons to bear on his position.
He knew that the magazine was nearly empty when his eye caught the light yellow marking on the wall. He brought the barrel to that position and angled towards the ground, praying.
He didn’t have time to react as the dynamite blew, spraying sandstone and rocks outward like a shotgun.
He threw himself behind the corner of the intersecting tunnel and rolled to his side, his skin suddenly on fire. He brought his hands up to his face and saw the tiny droplets of blood beginning to form where the sand had been embedded in his skin.
“Fucking great,” he groaned as he struggled to get his feet back under him.
He staggered along the rock hallway, trying to force another magazine into the rifle as his feet tripped and stumbled.
He paused at the midway point, his vision blurring and his ears ringing. His hand groped at his vest and he keyed his coms. “Top? I fucked up, man.” He continued to stagger along the wall, trying to make his way back to the staging area. He waited for a response then keyed his coms again. “Slip? Are you there? I can’t hear you man…my fucking ears are…”
He slowed his approach and felt his legs weaken. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it to ya, bro.”
He slid down the rough rock wall and landed hard on his knees. He chuckled to himself as the carbine dropped from his grip. “Do me a favor bro…bury me face down…so they can all kiss my ass.”
Near Quitman, TX
* * *
Mauk searched the tunnel carefully and peered down the length behind him. Ever since he’d triggered the second claymore, he’d heard nothing.
He bent lower, his eyes watering from the grit and dust, praying he could locate the TNT he’d planted along the wall. “It’s got to be close.”
He glanced behind him again and tried to judge the distance. He turned back to the task at hand and continued the search.
A muffled blast sounded far too close, and Mauk sat up, his eyes trying to cut through the haze and tears. He listened intently and thought he heard somebody talking.
He struggled to come to his feet and abandoned his search for the dynamite. He approached the connecting tunnel between him and DJ and strained his ears to listen. He could hear laughter and knew that it was DJ.
“Joe!” he called out. He strained to listen and shook his head, trying to push the ringing out of his head. “Dammit, DJ, answer me!”
He ran his hand along the wall to guide him and was actually surprised when he saw the connecting tunnel come into view. “DJ!”
He paused and listened again. A low groan was all he could hear.
He took a deep breath and leveled his rifle, ready to cut down anybody that wasn’t Bravo. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying he could wipe some of the grit from his vision and when he opened them again, he saw the dark form of somebody lying on the ground.
He pointed his rifle at the still form and slowly approached. “Talk to me.”
DJ rolled to his back and stared up at Mauk pointing a rifle at him. “Fuck me. Please don’t let your ugly ass face be the last thing I ever see.”
“DJ?” He knelt beside him and tried to blink his vision clear. “Why didn’t you answer me when I called to you?”
“What?” DJ practically yelled.
“What happened to you? Shotgun?”
“What?”
DJ groaned as Mauk helped him to a seated position. “You okay, man?”
DJ shook his head at him. “I can’t hear shit, bro.” He struggled as Mauk helped him to his feet and had to lean against the wall to remain upright. “I fucking lost the detonator for the dynamite,” he yelled. “They were right up on it so I shot the damned thing.”
“And blew yourself up doing it.”
“What?” He leaned closer, trying to listen. “I can’t hear shit, man.”
Mauk nodded and hooked an arm under DJ’s. “Come on, dumbass. We gotta get you looked at.”
“What?”
“I said your sister ain’t half as good as your mom in the sack.”
DJ smiled at him, no clue what he said. “Thanks man.”
Near Quitman, TX
* * *
Laughlin slapped at his tactical vest and gave Lisa a frightened look. “I’m out.”
She fired more rounds around the corner and ejected the magazine. “That was my last, too.” She pulled her pistol and met his gaze. “Where’d you stage the ammo?”
Laughlin gave her a surprised look. “I don’t…” He shook his head. “It was a side tunnel but…I’m turned around.”
“Great.” She turned and fired blindly into the tunnel. When she turned back she raised a brow at him. “A little backup please?”
He smirked and pulled his own pistol. “Like Butch and Sundance.” He leaned around her and emptied the magazine into the tunnel then leaned back in, his slide locked back.
“You’re an odd bird, Matt.” She tripped the slide release, ramming another round into the chamber. She was about to turn back into the tunnel when the corner of the wall erupted, AK47 rounds chiseling the soft sand stone away in huge chunks.
“Screw me!” Laughlin yelled. “I think they’re getting closer.”
“No shit!” She bent low and sprayed 9MM rounds down the tunnel. The rifle rounds didn’t stop. She peered up at Matt. “Either they’re taking turns reloading, or that son of a bitch has a drum magazine.”
He tugged her to her feet. “This way!” He pulled her down the corridor and towards the next interchange. “Any idea how
many?”
“No clue.”
The walls beside them erupted and Matt felt something punch him in the back of the leg.
Hard.
He went down, nearly taking her with him. He rolled to his back and fired blindly back behind them while screaming at Lisa, “Go! Go! I’ll cover you!”
“Never leave a man behind!” She gripped his tactical vest at the top and tried to drag him with her. “Come on, dammit! Work with me!”
She screamed when the middle of his vest erupted and he slipped from her grip. Her head shot up and she locked eyes with Mario, a gold plated AK 47 in his hands.
“Hello, Sparrow.” He brought the rifle level with her face and she felt her blood run cold. “It’s been a long time.”
She noticed the men filing in behind him and she began to shake her head. “No. It can’t be you.” She stood to her full height and glared at him. “I fucking MOURNED you!”
“Crocodile tears, no doubt. Drop your gun.” He waved the barrel at her and she stepped away from Laughlin’s still form, her pistol falling to the earth. “Slowly,” he cautioned. “I know just how deadly you truly are.”
“I can’t believe that you’d turn on us, Mario. How could you…and for what? Money?”
He scoffed. “Is that what you think?” He motioned her back. “Keep going, but very slowly.”
“Why don’t you just shoot me now?” The venom dripped from her voice.
He laughed and it made her skin crawl. “You are my bait. I will use you to bring the rest of Bravo to me.”
“They’ll shoot through me to get to you. You do know that, don’t you?”
He laughed again and she felt the bile rise in her throat. “I doubt that very seriously.” He stepped over Laughlin’s body and closed the gap. “Never leave a man behind. Remember?” His face turned to stone. “But you left me.”
He pushed her, forcing her to turn around. “So what? They patched you up, and with your undying gratitude, you went to work for them?”
Burning Bridges Page 26
