Hostile Borders

by Dennis Chalker

  The hot sun beat down on both men as they climbed up to the fence line around the sanctuary. Pulling out his SwissTool, Reaper unfolded it and cut through the wires of the fence while Hausmann stood watch. They were the only thing moving within sight. The spotless sky showed only the brilliant disk of the sun and nothing else. Not even a buzzard flew high overhead.

  That was a good sign, or at least not a bad omen as far as Reaper was concerned. Now that they were both finally on the move, neither man had anything to say to the other as they went past the fence and headed up along the ridge line.

  Using one of the scattered concentrations of creosote bushes for cover, Reaper slipped up to the edge of the ridge line and looked down toward the entrance to the Blue Star mine. Pulling out the binoculars he had borrowed from Hausmann back at the ranch, Reaper focused in on the area around the mine. No movement met his eyes. The place looked just as it had when he was there only twenty-four hours ago.

  The headset of the Liberator special forces communications system Reaper had over his ears did not interfere with his hearing at all. Except for a slightly muffled tone to the sound, Reaper could hear everything there was around him through the electronics in the headset. As Hausmann crawled up alongside him, Reaper could hear the other man’s breathing as he lay there and watched the front of the mine. Wordlessly, Reaper handed him the binoculars. As Hausmann examined the mine, Reaper looked out across the area below the ridge.

  There was nothing to be seen. It was as if they were approaching a ghost town. Reaper knew well enough that it was when things looked the safest that you could get into real trouble. So he never let his guard down. But the clock was running and they could only hold their position and look for a short time. Tapping Hausmann on the shoulder, Reaper pointed to the mine.

  “We’re going to cross the ridge just a little ways up from here,” he said in a soft tone. It didn’t matter that no one was in sight or hearing. The habits of decades of special-operations experience did not go away for a single mission.

  “We can cross down to the mine under pretty good cover over there,” Reaper pointed. “I’ll take point.”

  Nodding his understanding, Hausmann handed Reaper back the binoculars and slipped over to the other side of the ridge, away from sight of the mine.

  The men moved in a low crouch, their weapons in their hands, as they moved across the back side of the ridge. When Reaper headed up to the top of the ridge, Hausmann closed in behind him. They walked in single file, crouching and finally crawling the last distance up to the ridge.

  Once Reaper cleared the top of the ridge, he got back up into a crouch. As Hausmann took up a kneeling position next to Reaper, he tapped the other man on the leg. Feeling Hausmann’s ready signal, Reaper headed down across the ridge, moving low and fast with his M4A1 held at the ready in both hands.

  Once he had gone about a hundred feet, Reaper stopped and took up a kneeling position. Waving his nonfiring hand in a forward motion, Reaper signaled Hausmann that it was his turn to move ahead. While Reaper held watch, Hausmann moved up to him and passed him, heading down toward the mine. About halfway between Reaper and the mine, Hausmann stopped and crouched down to cover Reaper’s advance.

  At Hausmann’s wave, Reaper moved up and forward on the last jump of their leapfrog movement. He reached the dry old wood of the shack around the entrance of the mine, and knelt down with his weapon up and ready. Once more, Reaper stayed silent and still, listening for the sound that would tell him they had been discovered. The time stretched out as the long seconds passed slowly.

  Reaper was by far the more experienced of the two men. For Hausmann, just kneeling there and watching Reaper stand still was more than hard, it was torture. When you were moving, it was easy to just think about the task at hand. Waiting drew the time out and you had to be careful not to let your mind wander and think about the things that could happen. That’s how you got scared, thinking about what could happen. Watching Reaper was like seeing a predator, a great hunting wolf, moving in on its prey. For a moment, Hausmann felt like a small dog that had attached itself to the wrong pack. He almost had to physically shake his head to drive out the odd thoughts and feelings.

  At the wordless count of sixty, Reaper signaled Hausmann to come up to the wall. The time had seemed an eternity to the man who had been kneeling on the side of the ridge, feeling exposed and alone while Reaper listened and watched. When Hausmann was once more at his side and squeezed his shoulder, Reaper went forward to the old door he had slipped through the day before.

  The doorway looked to be undisturbed from when he had left it. Reaper could see the slender dry twig was in place. He had left the indicator leaning against the low door when he had come back through it the day before. Since it was still leaning up against the gray wood, Reaper could be fairly certain that the door had been undisturbed since he had last been here. The lock hasp was in place, but Reaper knew that the nails that had held it were in the brush behind him. It was an easy, and silent, matter to open the door and wave Hausmann through.

  Then Reaper bent over and scuttled through the door. It was an uncomfortable but quiet way to gain access to the interior of the mine. Still secured across the front of the mine was the tall steel gate and impressive lock and chain.

  Inside the Blue Star mine only Reaper had any knowledge of what they would see ahead of them. Walking silently next to Reaper, Hausmann looked into the beds of the Gator vehicles when Reaper pointed to them. Not a word was spoken as Hausmann looked at the black stains against the green paint.

  As they approached the elevator shaft, Reaper pulled out his flashlight and pushed the back button. The brilliant beam illuminated the entire area around them. The white beam was shining on the elevator shaft, but the side light was more than enough to see the cable system going up over the pulleys at the top of the shaft and over to the winch at the side. Leaning out over the deep shaft, Hausmann could see the iron staples that made up the ladder driven into the rock.

  Slipping his light back into his pocket, Reaper let the dazzle leave his eyes before going over to the ladder. Stepping out into the shaft, he slipped over the side and disappeared. Hausmann quickly followed.

  The hundreds of steps took them deep down into the earth. Astonished to see that the shaft was actually growing lighter rather than darker, Hausmann looked down. As Reaper had been the day before, Hausmann was still surprised to see the lights, even though Reaper had told him about them. The mine took on an otherworldly appearance as they kept moving down into the light, past the rock walls and the interminable iron steps.

  “Something else, isn’t it,” Reaper whispered as they both stood at the bottom of the ladder.

  “Even though you described it,” Hausmann said, “it’s still incredible to actually see it for yourself.”

  “I know,” Reaper said. “Come on, it gets even more amazing further on.”

  The two men moved quickly but cautiously down the tunnel. Knowing better than to question the other man’s experience, Hausmann just followed Reaper’s pace. Going at almost a jog, Reaper wanted to get out of the tunnel as soon as they could. In spite of not expecting anyone to come along from the southern end of the tunnel, Reaper still hated the trapped feeling the rock walls gave him.

  When the tunnel moved downward to meet the cave, Reaper slowed to a walk. As they passed into the huge open area far underground, Reaper just stood on the trestle for a moment as Hausmann looked about them.

  Hausmann thought the cave was as incredible as Reaper had. The natural beauty and majesty of the place filled him with awe. The lights along the tracks shone out across the vast area and reflected from a thousand points of crystal or water. Then, the faint stench of decay reached Hausmann’s nose.

  As they went forward, the stench grew stronger. Finally, Reaper stopped and pointed. The yawning black opening of the pit was just a short distance away. As Hausmann subconsciously started to walk toward the pit, Reaper reached out a hand.

 
; Normally, Reaper never interfered with another partner’s experience. It was up to each man to learn what he could about the world around him. That was something Reaper fully believed. But the sight of those bodies was something Reaper would see to his last day. It wasn’t necessary that Hausmann also view that vision of hell.

  “Don’t,” Reaper said softly.

  Looking at his friend, Hausmann thought he knew the favor he was doing him. Nodding, he turned and the two men once again moved out across the cave floor. Under the hanging stalactites and around the growing cones of the stalagmites, they jogged along the route of the underground, very underground, railway.

  After dropping Reaper and Hausmann off at their insertion site, Manors carefully drove back along the track he had made coming in. The trio waiting at the other truck had a map overlay on which Manors had marked the likely border crossing points. That map could get the guys into Mexico, but it would be a whole lot better if he took them across. And he couldn’t do that if he got stuck or had a flat tire.

  If the two Prowlers didn’t get across the border and set up their fire support, Reaper and Hausmann would have to rely on the limited backup plan. The very least the two men could do would be to blow the mine entrance, denying its use to the drug cartels and the terrorists. At the same time, they would destroy the munitions and weapons stored there.

  Nailing the drug cartel was of great appeal to Manors personally. He had been fighting the drug and people smugglers across the border for years. Taking out a powerful drug cartel and disrupting their operations was an accomplishment, one he wanted to be able to say he had a hand in. Of course if they broke up a terrorist operation at the same time, that would be icing on the cake even if it would probably classify things so much that he couldn’t talk about them.

  When Manors drove up in his truck, Mackenzie, Warrick, and Column all breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. The mission was a go and their teammates were on their way. Pulling his truck up to the side of the other, Manors leaned out his open window.

  “Okay,” Manors said. “Now it’s our turn, follow me.”

  Having been standing by the open passenger door of the pickup, Warrick climbed back into the cab. There was more room in the cab of Manors’s truck, so Column trotted over and climbed in with him.

  The two Prowlers and piles of equipment in the back of the trucks made big mounds under the secured tarps. But none of the few drivers they passed on the road paid them the least amount of attention. Turning off of State Route 92 near Palominas, Manors started down some dirt roads that finally turned into little more than twin ruts in the gravel. They were about three miles from the Heart Ranch area when they started approaching a dry streambed that Manors was familiar with.

  It was one of the crossing points Manors knew of closest to where Reapers and Hausmann had inserted. At that time of day, there shouldn’t be any Border Patrol agents watching the area—if the schedule hadn’t changed. He knew the men who normally patrolled the area and they didn’t like it as a spot for daytime crossings. At night, things would be a different story. But Manors expected to be back long before that time came. And if he wasn’t back by then, then he probably wouldn’t be in a position to care one way or another.

  There were several washes along the streambed that cut deeply into the banks. Pulling his truck up into one of the larger washes, Manors stopped and parked. The other truck had enough room to pull up alongside of Manors and stop. The wash was one of the best places they would have to hide the trucks and unload the gear. For just a second, Manors stopped with his hand on the door latch. Now was the last chance he had to turn back. But others were now depending on him. The decision had been made, and Manors opened his door and stepped out.

  The Prowlers were quickly unloaded and checked over. If they were stopped, there wouldn’t be a chance in hell of their explaining that they were just joyriding around the desert. No Border Patrol agent or sheriff’s deputy would believe a line like that, not with all of the hardware they had on the Prowlers. The men strapped on their gear and weapons. Once they were all ready, Manors started out to lead the way.

  The border itself in the area was a twin row of tall cyclone fence topped with razor wire. It was hard to climb and hard to cut through. Sensors in the wire would know if the wire was cut. And there were ground sensors scattered all around the desert as well. Manors knew the locations of the ground sensors, and he could bypass the fence alarms long enough for the two Prowlers to get through. Watching the coyotes over the years had taught him quite a few of their tricks. This was the first time he was actually putting them to active use.

  The ground by the border itself was mostly flat and open to observation for a long way. There were well-maintained roads on both sides of the border so that law enforcement from either country could respond quickly. In the distance a few miles away, Manors knew there was a watchtower that they were in plain sight of. It wasn’t supposed to be manned at that time, but things change.

  They had to get through the fence quickly to cut down on the random chance that someone would see them. There could always be an odd aircraft flying overhead just sightseeing, or some real off-roaders running near the border. Mr. Murphy always picked his own time and place to slip up and screw with a plan. The trick was to cut back on leaving chances open for him to work.

  Pulling up to the fence, Manors got out of his Prowler and pulled a small box from his pack. From the front of the vehicle, he took a pair of thirty-inch-long bolt cutters and a roll of wire. The second Prowler pulled up and Warrick climbed out. He went over to Manors’s vehicle and got into the driver’s seat. When Manors opened the fence he would have to go to the second wall and cut that one open as well. Warrick would follow Mackenzie through into Mexico to save time.

  To speed up the penetration of the fence line, Column also got out of Mackenzie’s Prowler and picked up another set of bolt cutters. Going up to the fence, he watched as Manors fiddled with the little box and hooked it up to the wires. Once the lights were on to his satisfaction, Manors looked up at Column and nodded. The bolt cutters would make quick work of even the tough, hardened wire of the fence. As Column started cutting from the bottom of the fence up, Manors took his cutters and started from the top down. Soon, they had a wide flap of the fencing free and tied it back on either side with the wire Manors had.

  The second fence was also quickly penetrated. The Mexican side of the border had very few sensors along its length. But there was still the random Mexican border patrol to worry about. Not all of the sweat that was pouring down the men’s faces came from the heat of the desert. When the two flaps were both up, Warrick and Mackenzie barreled through with the Prowlers. Before releasing the flaps, Manors recovered his little box. They might need it again to cross back through the fence line. For now, they had just conducted an armed invasion of a sovereign country. That thought went through Manors’s mind as he tied the flaps of the fence together quickly with his coil of wire.

  Crossing over the Mexican desert, the two Prowlers made very good time. There were few roads in the area and that made for much less traffic than on the U.S. side. They could drive along at speed and make up some time. Even so, both Mackenzie and Manors were careful in their choice of travel routes. If the vehicles were to break down, they would all be in a world of hurt, both the men on the Prowlers, and their partners far down in the tunnels under the earth.

  The only Mexican town of any size around them was Naco, some ten miles to the east of their present location. The bright screens of the Garmin Rino GPS locators and radios showed their locations in reference to the roads and towns around them. That gave little detail of their immediate surroundings showing on the screens. Looming up ahead of them was a line of peaks and ridges. From there, they would be looking down on the Crystal mine and the hacienda.

  It was a long thirty-minute drive for the two Prowlers to cover the distance from where they cut through the border to the side of the hill where they could see the hacienda. Th
ey had slowed down to barely a crawl as they approached the top of the ridge. Stopping near some brush, Manors got out and slipped up to the top of the ridge, crawling the last few feet on his belly. He didn’t need binoculars to see the mine and the hacienda less than half a mile away. Looking to the west, he could see the small saddle, a depression in the ridge, where Reaper suggested they could set up the fire base. They had hit the target almost dead on.

  Slipping back to the vehicles, Manors quickly told the others what he had seen. Getting back in his Prowler, he pulled out ahead, again moving slowly so he didn’t raise a plume of dust. The saddle was an obvious landmark, and there was a large stand of brush and cactus filling the center of it and spilling down to either side.

  Slowing the Prowlers near the brush, the two vehicles carefully approached the top of the ridge. In the center of the saddle was a ravine cut by the intermittent heavy rains that hit the area. That ravine would be where they would set up the Mark 19 and park the Prowlers. The dusty yellow-tan paint on the two vehicles was intended to blend them in with the desert sand. It was doing its designed job very well.

  They were still inside of their schedule as the Prowlers came to a stop. The ravine opened up to a wide wedge at this point. There was a clear field of fire leading out to the west and east. The hacienda was about half a klick, 500 meters, off to their left. To the right, about 700 meters away according to Warrick’s trained snipers eyes, was the opening of the mine.

  With the Prowlers parked under the concealment of some tall brush, Warrick moved forward along the ground to find his preferred sniper’s position. The rest of the team began unpacking and setting up the Mark 19 grenade launcher. The big gun was actually a machine gun that fired high-velocity 40mm grenades out to a range of 2,200 meters. It was a crew-served weapon, far too big for one man to move on his own. Unfolded, the tripod was almost as big as Mackenzie was tall.