“Oh, I suppose it could be something like that,” Hausmann said.
“I kinda figured that,” Manors said. “Nice to know I’m wanted for a skill.”
It wasn’t long before all of the banter was over and the men were heading south to follow the trail of the ambushers. Instead of taking both Prowlers, Reaper had decided on all three men going on one vehicle, Reaper doing the driving and Hausmann and Manors riding on the outside passenger seats. Reaper had his M4A1 secured in the carrying rack that fit horizontally in front of the driver’s position. Both Manors and Hausmann had slung their long guns across their chests.
Before leaving, Reaper had passed out black TC2002 helmets that Diamondback Tactical had sent along with the vehicles. The helmets were the side-cut models so the wearer’s ears would be exposed and they wouldn’t interfere with hearing. Since they were armored to level 3A ballistic protection, they would stop most handgun bullets and quite a few rifle projectiles. Manors reluctantly left his Stetson in the pickup he had driven into the ranch compound and slipped the helmet over his head.
With Reaper in the driver’s seat, Hausmann was in the right-side rider seat, little more than a padded back rest and a flat space on the rear fender right over the back wheel. From his position on the side rider seat on the left side of the vehicle, Manors was able to closely examine the ground in front of the vehicle in the glare of the twin headlights.
Night had fallen and the moon was already up. Reaper had wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to wait until the next day to try and follow the trail in the light. Manors said he could follow a trail well enough at night and didn’t want to wait another day. When they came up to the ambush site, Manors called for a halt while he got out and took a close look at the ground and the tracks that Hausmann pointed out.
“These things were anything but new vehicles,” Manors said as he shone the light from his SureFire 6V light across the ground. By laying the beam from the light down and shining it across the surface of the ground, rather than pointing it straight down, the shadows cast inside of the tire tracks were starkly outlined. They were even more obvious than they would have been with the sun directly overhead.
“What do you mean?” Reaper asked as he bent down over the tracks.
“Drug runners use just about anything that suits their purpose,” Manors said. “But they tend to steal newer vehicles for their runs across the border. These tracks aren’t like anything I’ve ever seen them use. The spacing of the wheels is too wide for any ATV that I know. And the scalloped edges of the tires look like something the military would use more than a civilian dune buggy.
“See these marks,” Manors said as he pointed to the tracks, “the treads are deep, but the tires that made them are notched and chipped in places. One tire has a big divot cut out of one tread that makes it as distinctive as a fingerprint. And all of these tracks are from worn tires, on what looks like two vehicles.”
“So you can follow them?” Hausmann asked.
“Heck, these are easy for right now,” Manors said. “As long as the buggies that made them stay on sand or gravel, we can follow them to the far end of South America.”
Getting back into the Prowler, the three men started to follow the trail of the two ATVs back along the high ground between the railroad tracks and the riverbank. Manors well demonstrated his skill at tracking, even from the side seat of the Prowler.
As they followed the trail, Manors would sometimes signal Reaper to stop. The Border Patrol agent would then get off the Prowler and crouch down on the ground, shining his SureFire light across the sand and gravel. The shadows and highlights of the tire marks told him what he wanted to know. Climbing back onto the side seat of the Prowler, Manors would then point out the direction in which he wanted Reaper to drive.
The three men drove along slowly for about a half mile, weaving slightly across the top of the ridge but staying on the river side of the railroad tracks. The trail turned suddenly to the right and down the bank to the river. From where he was sitting, Reaper could plainly see the tracks of two wheeled vehicles sunk into the side of the riverbank.
Stopping the Prowler at the edge of the water, Reaper turned to the Border Patrol agent. But Manors wasn’t looking at the same set of tire tracks Reaper was. Instead, he was looking closely at a second set of tracks only a few yards away down the riverbank.
Climbing out of the side seat, Manors went over to the second set of tracks and squatted down to look at them. Only the gurgle of the water flowing by and the croaking of frogs could be heard. Some of the bigger bullfrogs were loud enough to be heard hundreds of yards away. But none of that noise affected Manors as he looked at the trails. Knowing he would just get in the way of the skilled tracker, Reaper kept a 360-degree watch around the Prowler.
Getting off the vehicle, Hausmann stepped to the river’s edge and squatted down to look at the flowing water. When Manors walked back to the Prowler, Hausmann got up and stood with him next to Reaper. Everyone spoke in very quiet voices, little more than whispers.
“There’s a second set of tracks from those same two ATVs,” Manors said. “Only these two are going up the bank from the river. This is where they crossed both coming and going.”
“Pretty poor opsec [operational security],” Reaper said.
“I don’t think they had much of a choice,” Hausmann said. “The river is pretty low right now but there are still damned few places you can cross it with any kind of vehicle. Someone dumped a lot of rocks into the bed here to make a fording spot, just like I did up at my place.”
“So how deep is it?” Reaper asked.
“Looks like a foot or more,” Hausmann said. “Can this thing cross that?”
“She’s fitted with the snorkeling attachment,” Reaper said. “We can cross water up to thirty inches deep without flooding out. No need to take a chance on what the bottom is like. I’ll take her across and you guys follow on foot once I’m on the other side.”
“No,” Manors said. “It’s better if I go across first and scout the trail. That way you won’t tear up the trail if you land in the same spot as they did.”
“Go for it,” Reaper agreed.
Slipping into the water with his Benelli held up, Manors slowly walked across the river. With his M14 in his hands, Hausmann kept watch along the other bank, the bright moonlight making it fairly easy to see. At the controls of the Prowler, Reaper watched as the water crept up Manor’s legs as he walked along the river bottom. At no time did the water go over Manor’s knees, so Reaper knew he would have no trouble taking the vehicle across.
Once Manors was on the other side of the river, he bent over to carefully examine the ground. The occasional gleam of the flashlight was all Reaper saw. Straightening up, Manors turned and waved to Reaper to bring the Prowler across. Slowly entering the water, the light rugged terrain vehicle easily crossed the river. The smooth banks on either side of the river made entering and exiting the water simple. The water flowing through the open sides of the driver’s compartment drained away as Reaper took the Prowler up the opposite bank and stopped.
Hausmann then crossed the river with nothing more happening than his feet getting wet. Once they were all together again, Reaper leaned in close to Hausmann and whispered:
“Just where are we?”
“This is the edge of one of Valentine Dupree’s places,” Hausmann said. “That’s the snake lover I was telling you about. She has a barn and some buildings near here, but there’s no one living on the place.”
“Sounds like the place to look,” Manors said.
While Manors and Hausmann walked up to the crest of the riverbank, Reaper carefully drove the Prowler up the incline. The bank wasn’t so steep that he felt that the tough little vehicle would have any trouble with it, but you didn’t take chances when you didn’t have to.
Pulling up under some trees, Reaper parked the Prowler and pulled his M4A1 from the weapons rack. Moving over to where Hausmann and Manors were b
oth kneeling at the edge of the tree line, Reaper approached them in a low crouch. His compact Carl Zeiss 7×30mm binoculars to his eyes, Hausmann was looking out across an open area to a cluster of buildings a few hundred feet away.
Just past the trees, about ten feet in front of where the men were kneeling, was a long fence. The line of four rows of barbed wire stopped at a wide gate and then continued on the other side to run on out of sight. Pointing, Manors indicated where the tire tracks they had been following went up to the gate, and continued on the other side.
“No movement, lights, or any sign that anyone’s there,” Hausmann said as he handed the binoculars to Reaper.
Looking out across the field, Reaper could plainly see two long pole buildings with corrugated sheet metal roofs and open sides. There was a relatively small shed, about the size of a one-car garage, to the north of the pole buildings. A wide metal-sided barn with a concrete apron extending out ten feet past its wide door was just north of the smaller shed. The bulk of the big barn, which looked to be more than forty feet wide and a hundred feet long, dominated the area. More than a hundred feet farther to the west were parked three long semi trailers.
None of the windows that lined the side of the barn showed any lights. There wasn’t a sound beyond that made by the water behind the men and the critters that lived along it. If there was anyone at the buildings, the only way the men would know for sure would be to go up and look for themselves. Which is exactly what Reaper intended to do.
“I want to see just what’s in that barn,” Reaper whispered to the others. “You can stay here or go with me.”
“Didn’t get all dressed up just to miss the party,” Hausmann said.
Reaper smiled at this. Both men were wearing exactly the same black 5.11 tactical pants and shirts, with a 5.11 tactical vest over the shirt to carry their equipment and ammunition. With the vests on, they had enough weapons and ammunition to feel comfortable and not look like a trio of commandos out on an assault—as long as they took off the black TC2002 side-cut helmets they had on.
“If those tracks are from illegals,” Manors said, “or even worse, narco-militarists, it’s my duty to check it out.”
“Okay,” Reaper said. “I’ll go to the gate and cross over, you two cover me. Then you follow on my signal. Hausmann, you keep cover with that rifle and come over last.”
With answering nods from the other two men, Reaper moved out in a crouch. He darted over to the steel-tube gate and knelt down to see just how it was secured. A heavy Ingersol lock looped through a length of welded steel chain held the gate shut. It was an expensive lock to just close off a ranch gate. And the shiny surface of the lock and the chain told Reaper that neither had been exposed to the elements for very long.
The fence itself was four strands of barbed wire strung between steel posts set about fifteen feet apart. That style of fence would keep livestock from passing through, but it wouldn’t even slow Reaper down.
With his M4A1 secured across his chest in the hi port position on his Chalker sling, Reaper stood by the fence post the gate was chained to. Setting the sole of his Bates boot on the second strand of wire, very close to the post, Reaper just stood on that leg and swung up and over the fence.
Once crouched down low on the inside of the fence line, Reaper watched and listened for any sign that his incursion had been spotted.
A full minute passed without any noise or light. There wasn’t even a dog running around the area of the buildings. With his M4A1 held out level in his right hand, Reaper signaled for Manors and Hausmann to come across the fence.
Both men stepped over the fence in the same manner that Reaper had. Never turning around, Reaper kept watch as the men moved up to crouch down next to him. Reaper knew that both Hausmann and Manors were skilled enough to move with him, but the ex-SEAL kept his actions simple and straightforward. Rushing from the cover of one set of scrub brush to another, the men crossed the open area in a bounding overwatch style of travel.
One man would move ahead and take cover while the others watched over him. Then he would wave the others forward and maintain watch while the other two went ahead past him. Only a few minutes passed before the men had reached the area of the buildings and started their search.
The two pole buildings had fully open sides and there were only a few tarp-covered piles under the metal roof. None of the piles were large enough to hide any sort of four-wheeled vehicle, so the three men passed them by with only a cursory search. They went on to the smaller enclosed shed.
The men hadn’t trained together, but both Hausmann and Manors knew the basics of a building-to-building search. With Reaper in the lead, they all moved quickly and quietly to either side of the door that led to the interior of the smaller shed. The building was only about ten feet square with a single door and two windows on each wall. The walls were plywood nailed to supports and the roof simply corrugated metal.
With Hausmann behind him and watching out the way they had come, Reaper looked over to where Manors stood on the far side of the door. Nodding to him, Reaper reached out with his left hand and softly tried to turn the knob on the door. The door wasn’t locked and the knob turned easily.
Looking over to Manors, Reaper pointed to himself and then extended his left thumb and swung it to the left. Pointing at Manors, Reaper then gave the same thumbs-up signal to the right. Comprehending the message that Reaper would move to the left while he was to go to the right, Manors nodded his understanding.
Giving a thumbs-up signal to Manors, Reaper then turned to the door. His M4A1 was held in both hands, muzzle down with the stock up against his shoulder. Manors held his Benelli in the same ready position.
With a single deep breath, Reaper pushed the door open and immediately rushed into the building. Darting to the side, Reaper stood with his back about a foot away from the wall, the muzzle of his M4A1 up and sweeping the room. “Cutting the pie,” Reaper cleared the left side of the single room in the building while Manors came through the door and moved to the right.
Looking through the PVS-14 night-vision monocular mounted to the rail of his M4A1, Reaper could see the interior of the room in shades of green and black. The red dot of the Aimpoint Comp M2 sight in front of the PVS-14 indicated exactly where Reaper’s round would strike if he pulled the trigger of the weapon. Earlier that afternoon, Reaper had gone behind the garage at Hausmann’s ranch and checked the zero on his weapon’s sight, firing into a target he had set out at a carefully measured distance. Now, Reaper knew exactly where his weapon would hit if he fired it.
No movement showed in the sparkling green field of the PVS-14. Three sets of double bunks lined the walls of the building, along with a table and chairs in the center of the room. A cupboard and bottled-gas stove made up the rest of the room’s furnishings. It was an unoccupied bunkhouse and nothing more.
All of this information Reaper took in with his eyes in scant seconds from his entering the room. He said “Clear” in a quiet but firm voice. From the other side of the room, Reaper heard Manors say “clear” in the same way that he had. Their voices were loud enough that Hausmann could hear them both through the open door, but they wouldn’t carry much farther, even in the still night air.
A quick search of the building turned up nothing of interest, not even any personal belongings. Within a minute of having entered the bunkhouse, both Reaper and Manors were back outside with Hausmann. Now they would be taking down the biggest target, the steel barn only twenty feet away to the north.
Weapons up and ready, Manors and Hausmann crossed over to the barn at Reaper’s signal. The muzzle of his M4A1 pointed slightly down in a safe ready position, Reaper kept watch while the other two men set up at an open window in the side of the barn.
Seeing that the other two men were ready, and that there hadn’t been any sign of their being spotted, Reaper rushed over to the side of the barn. As they had been moving around the building compound, the men had seen that there were four long compound
windows on the sides of the barn, but only three doors. Two of the doors were large, overhead rolling doors that would make the devil’s own noise if they raised them. Next to one of the overhead doors was a smaller steel door with an obvious lock and hasp on it. The whole structure was set on a cast concrete slab. There wasn’t any quiet way into the barn except through the window.
Hausmann and Manors had their backs turned away from the window to watch in opposite directions. Lifting up his M4, Reaper looked through his PVS-14 into the dark interior of the barn. Even the incredible fifty-thousand-time magnification of available light through the PVS-14 was not enough to show much in the way of details inside of the barn. About eight feet from the open window was the wall of an enclosure, and that was all that Reaper could see.
Turning back to Hausmann and Manors, Reaper pointed to Hausmann’s M14 and then to his own boots. Nodding that he knew what Reaper wanted, Hausmann held out the buttstock of the rifle to Manors. Letting his Benelli hang from its sling, Manors took up the buttstock of the M14 and braced himself. With a nod to Hausmann, Reaper set his left boot on the middle of the M14 and stepped up into the window. Sitting on the edge of the window, only about five feet above the ground, Reaper swung his legs over the sill and dropped into the dark interior of the barn.
His booted feet hit a sandy floor with a very muffled thud. For some reason, the enclosure that Reaper had landed in had a floor completely covered with sand scattered deeply over the concrete slab. With the M4A1 at his shoulder, Reaper could see the walls of the enclosure more clearly now through the PVS-14. The walls were smooth plywood and extended up about five feet from the floor. There was a door that Reaper could make out only a few steps away.
As he moved forward, Reaper noticed a distinctive musty stink in the air. It was more than the smell of the sand dust he had kicked up. And a sudden sound in the darkness behind him told Reaper exactly what that smell was. The sound was the dry, buzzing crackling made by the specially formed horny scales found on the end of a rattlesnake’s tail. Somewhere in the dark behind Reaper, there was a pissed-off rattlesnake warning him—and the snake didn’t need light in order to successfully strike the SEAL standing right in front of him.
Hostile Borders Page 13
