Invasion Usa: Border War

by Johnstone, William W.

  Long nodded to Tom and said, “With the stuff your guy Stackhouse is sending to us, Brannon, we ought to be well armed, anyway.”

  “Those guns will be here before the day is over,” Tom said. “I talked to Stackhouse this morning and passed along the directions to this place that Joe gave me.”

  It was the next day after Tom’s foray across the border into Nuevo Laredo. He was stiff and sore from the kick that had landed on his side the night before, but like Rodgers, he didn’t have any broken ribs. He could get around all right.

  He didn’t have much choice in the matter. In less than thirty-six hours, the degenerate monsters who planned to bid on those kidnapped girls would be arriving at the old mission. Tom and his allies had to rescue the captives before then, or tomorrow night at the latest.

  Tom hadn’t seen or heard from Rodgers since dropping the wounded Ranger off at his apartment early that morning, before dawn. Injured as he was, Rodgers was in no shape to take part in the rescue mission, but he had promised to keep quiet about it, and said that he would call Tom’s cell phone if he heard any important news or thought of anything that might help. Tom knew that once Rodgers had made up his mind to go along with the plan, he had wanted to join in wholeheartedly, but that just wasn’t possible.

  Besides, he had already done his part by helping Tom get back safely from Laredo with the vital information about the location of the prisoners.

  Long motioned Tom over to a table and took some papers from a briefcase sitting there. As he spread them out, he said, “These are satellite surveillance photos I was able to pull off the government’s satnet. A guy who owed me a favor enlarged and enhanced them.”

  Tom leaned over the table to study the photos, and knew without being told that he was looking at pictures of the Night Wolves’ headquarters compound. He could identify the old mission itself, as well as the various outbuildings.

  Long moved his finger around one of the photos and said, “As you can see, there’s a wall around the entire place. It looks like adobe, but I’d be willing to bet that it’s been reinforced somehow. The area outside it may be mined. But the road into the place isn’t, because vehicles come and go on it.” He tapped the picture. “We’ll have to breach the gate to get in.”

  “Do you have any idea where the girls are being held?” Tom asked.

  “Well, we can’t be certain,” Long said as he shuffled through the satellite photographs, “but there are always well-armed people around this wing here, attached to the rear of the mission itself. We’re pretty sure they’re guards, and the only reason to have guards posted is if there’s something valuable inside there.”

  “Like the prisoners.”

  “Exactly.”

  Tom studied the photographs intently. He agreed with Long’s assessment. That rear wing was the most likely place for the girls to be. It was probably where the priests had lived when the mission was still being used for its original purpose, and those small, spartan chambers could be converted to cells for the prisoners without much trouble.

  “If we go in the front gate,” he mused, “we’ll have to fight our way all through the mission to reach the wing at the back. That might take too much time.”

  “You’re thinking that Guerrero would kill the girls rather than let us have them?” Long asked with a frown.

  “He’s just crazy enough, and ruthless enough, to do something like that.” Tom rubbed a hand over his short-cropped hair as he thought. “We need a two-pronged attack. Is this courtyard back here big enough to set down a helicopter?” He touched one of the surveillance photos, pointing out the area he was talking about.

  Long nodded slowly. “Maybe. Not one of those big choppers like Sonia Alvarez was talking about, though. It would have to be a smaller one, manned by four or five guys.”

  “That would be enough for a quick strike in the rear. Launch the attack on the front to draw Guerrero’s men away from this wing, drop in fast with the chopper, take out the guards who are left back there, and secure the prisoners. Then while the main body of our force is keeping the Night Wolves occupied, the other choppers can land just outside this rear gate here”—again Tom’s finger stabbed at the photo—“and we’ll load the prisoners up and take off.”

  “There’s what looks like a machine-gun emplacement on the wall back there,” Long pointed out. “The gunners manning it will open up on a chopper as soon as it comes in range.”

  “Is there any way to take out the machine gun?”

  Long rubbed his jaw. “We’d need a missile launcher of some sort. You think Hiram Stackhouse might have one in his back pocket?”

  “He just might,” Tom said with a smile. “You never know until you ask.”

  After the planning session, Tom gathered everyone and set up some target practice so that he and Long could see how the volunteers handled weapons. Long hadn’t been able to get hold of enough guns for everybody, so they had to take turns. As soon as the armament being provided by Stackhouse arrived, there would be plenty of firepower to go around.

  The makeshift firing range was behind the old barn. Tom and Long watched carefully as round after round was fired off. Some people were better with rifles than they were with handguns, and vice versa. Tom made notes and kept a list. He was pleasantly surprised to see that everyone shot fairly well, even the ones who hadn’t even touched a gun in years. Wayne Van Sant, Craig Lambert, Wally Chambers, and the others who were regular members of the gun club were all excellent marksmen. Long and the other professionals would be the point men in the attack on Guerrero’s compound, but Van Sant’s people would back them up. The others would form the third wave.

  Tom had already decided that he would be in the first helicopter, the one that would take out the machine gun and then land in the rear of the compound. By the time the afternoon was over, he had settled on Van Sant and Lambert as two of his companions. They were excellent shots, and he had a gut feeling that they would be cool under fire. He hadn’t decided yet who the fourth man would be.

  Sonia Alvarez insisted on piloting the craft. “I can fly any chopper ever built,” she said. “You’ll want a steady hand on the stick when you go in.”

  Tom agreed with that.

  Late in the afternoon, while everyone was taking a break in the barn, a distinctive sound drew them outside. Tom looked up and saw three large helicopters approaching, along with one smaller chopper. He grinned at the sight. He had called Hiram Stackhouse and told the businessman that they needed a small, fast helicopter as well as the larger transport choppers, and Stackhouse had promised to get right on it. Obviously, he had been successful.

  With a deafening egg-beater sound from the revolving blades and huge clouds of dust billowing into the air, the helicopters set down near the barn and the old ranch house. As the roar of their motors died away and the dust began to settle, Tom and Long ran forward to greet the men who hopped down from the cockpits. They all wore plain gray coveralls with no markings, but the military precision with which they moved told Tom that they belonged to Stackhouse’s private security force. He had seen men like that in action back in Little Tucson and knew how competent they were.

  The leader of the group, who introduced himself as Captain Jennings, shook hands with Tom and said, “We’re at your disposal, Mr. Brannon. Mr. Stackhouse has placed us under your orders.” Jennings jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the choppers. “We’re loaded down with guns, ammunition, and body armor.”

  “Let’s get those choppers unloaded,” Tom said to the people who had gathered around. They moved forward eagerly, anxious to get their hands on the hardware that would help them free their daughters from Guerrero’s unholy captivity.

  “You’ll be wanting us to fly these choppers over the border?” Jennings asked.

  Tom shook his head. “No, I’ve got pilots lined up for them. You’ve done enough by bringing them here, along with those supplies.”

  Jennings frowned and said, “Mr. Stackhouse was under the impre
ssion that we would be taking an active part in the operation.”

  Tom considered the suggestion, but before he could say anything else, Sonia Alvarez stepped forward and said, “No way! I don’t care about the transports, but I’m flying that little chopper.” She looked at Tom. “Don’t take that away from me, Mr. Brannon.”

  Tom gave her a reassuring smile and said to Jennings, “Thanks, Captain, but I think we can manage. This is sort of a personal mission for us.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Jennings said with a frown. “I guess you don’t want any help from those guys, either?” He nodded toward the choppers, where more men in coveralls were disembarking. Tom’s eyes widened in surprise as he realized that more than forty of Stackhouse’s security men had arrived along with the supplies.

  Long put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Listen, Brannon,” he said. “This will even up the odds and give us a real chance of getting those girls back. Don’t be stubborn. You need to take any help you can get.”

  Even as Long spoke, Tom knew the man was right. This operation had grown from a small, personal mission to a full-scale military assault. Tom was beginning to feel out of his depth, and he didn’t like the feeling. But the most important thing, of course, was the safety of the kidnapped girls. He had to utilize whatever advantages he might have in trying to free them.

  “All right,” he said, “you can all come along. And thank you. You know you’ll be risking your lives, as well as your freedom once you get back here. There may be federal charges waiting for all of us.”

  “Mr. Stackhouse explained that,” Jennings said. “That’s why we’re all volunteers. We know the lives of those innocent girls are at stake, and that’s good enough for us. We’ll run the risk.”

  Sonia Alvarez said stubbornly, “I still want to fly that little chopper.”

  “I’ll check you out on it, ma’am,” Jennings offered. “Maybe we can arrange something.”

  “Then come on, flyboy. I’ll show you what I can do with that bird.”

  Tom walked over to the area where the supplies were being unloaded. A tall, grizzled man had taken charge. His bearing was evidence of a long career in the military. The salt-and-pepper in his hair and mustache said he was probably retired. He greeted Tom with a salute and said, “Sergeant William Elliott, sir.”

  Tom grinned. “I’ll bet they call you Wild Bill, don’t they?”

  Elliott returned the grin. “How’d you know, sir?”

  “Well, I’ve already run into Roy Rodgers since I came here to Texas. I just figured it made sense they’d call you Wild Bill Elliott. And you don’t have to call me sir. I’m a civilian.”

  “You’re in charge of this operation, aren’t you?”

  Tom shrugged. “Most of it, I guess.”

  “That makes you an officer in my book, sir. After all, this business is pretty much back-channel, isn’t it?”

  Thinking about how the authorities on both sides of the border would likely react if they knew what was going on, Tom nodded and said, “Just about as far back-channel as you can get, Sergeant.”

  Thirty-two

  The next twenty-four hours were a whirlwind of activity as the rescue force, which had now grown to eighty members with the addition of Stackhouse’s men, was outfitted and a plan of attack was developed by Tom, Charles Long, Captain Terry Jennings, and Sergeant William “Wild Bill” Elliott. The two former military men, Jennings and Elliott, were in agreement with the basic plan hatched by Tom and Long. The main body of the force would attack the front of the mission compound while a smaller force would perform a quick, hard strike in the rear designed to free the girls. Destroying Guerrero and the Night Wolves would be a nice bonus if it proved to be possible, but the primary objective was the rescue of the prisoners.

  That night, as the entire group gathered inside the barn, the leaders went over the plan. “When are we going in?” Ed Gilman wanted to know. “We don’t have much time left. That bastard’s having his filthy auction tomorrow night.”

  “We’re well aware of that, Ed,” Tom replied. “In fact, we’ve just been talking about the timing of the attack. Early tomorrow evening seems to be the best time.”

  “Wait just a minute,” Nacho Alvarez said. “That’s cutting it too damned close. If it doesn’t work, we’ll only get one chance at the girls.”

  “You’ll only get one chance anyway,” a new voice said. Everyone turned to look and saw Brady Keller being wheeled into the barn by Roy Rodgers. Tom had talked to them both earlier in the day and given them the latest information about the impending raid. Keller went on. “If you don’t get the girls out of there on your first try, whenever it is, Guerrero will move them, and by the time you could find them again, it’ll be too late. They’ll probably be scattered all over Mexico, maybe even beyond. So you just get the one shot, that’s it.”

  “And who are you, sir?” Elliott asked.

  “Brady Keller. The only one here who’s crossed swords, so to speak, with Guerrero.”

  Tom said, “Brady knows what he’s talking about. We never would have found the girls to start with if it hadn’t been for his help.”

  “It still seems dangerous to wait,” Wally Chambers put in. “We won’t be able to see what we’re doing.”

  “No,” Long said, “the Night Wolves won’t be able to see what we’re doing. We’ll try to get as close as we can before they spot us. The odds are a lot more even than they were, but we’re still outnumbered. We need the element of surprise on our side.”

  “I agree,” said Jennings. “We’ll hit them before moonrise.”

  Craig Lambert protested, “That means the auction will already be going on, doesn’t it? There’ll be more men there, and some of them will probably have bodyguards with them. Plus the girls may not be in that rear wing anymore. They might have already been moved to wherever those bastards are going to be bidding on them.”

  “Guerrero likely won’t bring them out until all the bidders are there,” Tom said. “That’s why we’re going to hit them early in the evening, just before the auction is ready to start.”

  “How do you know when that will be?” Lambert asked insistently.

  “Well, we don’t, for sure,” Tom admitted. “But wherever the girls are, we’ll find them, and the idea of hitting the place from two directions at once is still good, regardless.”

  Lambert still looked a little doubtful, but he nodded. “I suppose in something like this, you have to rely on guesswork and luck to a certain extent.”

  “It ain’t brain surgery, friend,” the grizzled Sergeant Elliott said. “Comes down to it, you go in hard and fast, kill all the bad guys you can find, and hope for the best.”

  The rescue force was broken up into smaller squads, each civilian squad being under the command of one of Long’s group of law-enforcement professionals, while Stackhouse’s security men had their own cadres already established. While the squads were going over their particular roles in the mission, Tom went to Elliott and said, “Wild Bill, I need another man in that first chopper with me. How about taking the job?”

  Elliott’s leathery face creased in a grin. “Sounds good to me. Who else is gonna be with us?”

  Tom waved Van Sant and Lambert over and introduced them. Elliott’s eyes narrowed slightly as he shook hands with Van Sant. “Desert Storm?” he asked.

  “That’s right. My tank group was one of the first into Baghdad.”

  Elliott nodded. “Thought you looked familiar. I was there, too.”

  “Really? What unit?”

  “Civilian contractor,” Elliott said shortly.

  “Oh.” Van Sant knew quite well what that meant. In all likelihood, Elliott had been working for the CIA at the time. The man had black ops written all over him.

  Elliott turned to Lambert. “You were the fella who seemed to have some doubts about this.”

  “I believe in asking questions when questions should be asked,” Lambert said.

  “Uh-huh.” />
  The balding man bristled. “What does that mean?”

  “Means I like goin’ into battle with a fella who wants to be there, who’s eager to do the job.”

  “Mister,” Lambert said between gritted teeth, “my daughter is in the hands of those bastards and has been for days now. There’s nobody here who’s more eager to do the job than I am.”

  Elliott nodded slowly. “I reckon you’ll do, then.”

  With those introductions out of the way, Tom sought out Keller and Rodgers. The Ranger was still moving stiffly. “How’s that wound in your side doing?” Tom asked.

  “It’s healing fine,” Rodgers said. “I’ve been changing the bandages and keeping a close eye on it. You and Mrs. Brannon did a good job of patching it up. I hope you’ll pass along my gratitude to her.”

  “I’ll do that,” Tom promised. “I’ll be talking to her later tonight.”

  “Are you going back to Mrs. Simms’s house?”

  Tom shook his head. “Now that we’re all here, we’re staying here until it’s time to head for that old mission. We don’t want to take a chance on the authorities finding out what’s about to happen.”

  Rodgers made a wry face and said, “It wasn’t so long ago that I was one of those authorities you’re talking about. I suppose this is the end of my career as a Texas Ranger.”

  Keller snorted. “Why in the hell would you say that, Roy? None of your superiors know that you’re mixed up in this.”

  “I know. And if I can close my eyes to something so illegal, I’m not really fit to be a lawman, am I?”

  “That’s the biggest load of bullshit I ever heard,” Keller said hotly. “Every lawman who carries a badge knows that there are times you can’t go by the book. At least the ones who really try to do their job the right way know that.”

  Rodgers shook his head. “The law’s got to mean something, Brady. You can’t just pick and choose how to apply it.”