by John Lyman
It was the sort of cloudless, pale blue sky that pilots liked to describe as severe clear. Looking beyond the open doors of the hangar, the men inside could see waves of heat rising above the runways as they sat on the shaded concrete floor and readied their equipment for the coming battle.
After an early breakfast, the men had gathered for a briefing in front of a large screen filled with satellite photos of Acerbi’s compound. Right away, the soldiers could see that his Mexican hacienda had been built on a tall hill, providing an unobstructed view over the rocky Chihuahuan Desert that stretched for miles over open terrain dotted with small, volcanic-looking hills.
Despite the fact that the house had been built in the middle of a desert, it was obvious from the numerous windmills and lush greenery rising up the side of the hill that several water wells had been drilled deep into the earth. Red bougainvillea climbed the white exterior walls surrounding the hacienda, while down below, mesquite and palo verde trees created pools of shade up and down the hillside.
Spreading out from the base of the hilltop compound, small cactus and low-lying scrub brush covered the sandy desert floor as far as the eye could see, making it impossible for an intruder to approach the main house from any direction without being seen. The only deviation from the endless, prickly landscape was a long concrete runway and a new hangar that had just been constructed behind the hacienda, out of sight of the main highway. In short, the location had been perfectly chosen for defense.
After waiting for almost an hour, the men were told that the briefing had been postponed due to some disturbing new intelligence from an advance scouting party down in Mexico. Following their initial briefing with the men the night before, Lev and the force leaders had met to discuss the plan of attack. It had been decided at that meeting that it was essential to send in an advance team on the ground to scout the area around Acerbi’s ranch and report back. Even though they had received satellite photos of the area, nothing could replace boots on the ground for real time intelligence about what was really going on down in Mexico.
Disguised as college students wearing torn jeans and orange and white University of Texas T-shirts, a two-man Israeli surveillance team had made the five-hour drive to El Paso in a specially outfitted, four-wheel-drive Chevy pickup truck painted in brown primer. Due to the long lines, crossing the border into Juarez had taken longer than anticipated. When at last they had finally made it across the Rio Grande River, they could see the faint glow of dawn across the desert as the big Chevy headed down Mexico’s infamous highway 45 toward the city of Chihuahua. Thirty minutes later, their GPS confirmed that they were passing by the western border of Acerbi’s ranch. Right away they spotted the in your face, sun-glass-wearing cartel gang members patrolling the rugged property.
Shiny black SUVs were parked up and down the highway at spaced intervals, and behind their darkened windows, serious-looking men were watching every car or truck that passed. Attempting to avoid eye contact, the Israelis feigned disinterest and looked straight ahead as they drove by the main gate leading into the ranch. Moving only their eyes, the two soldiers noticed that the entrance to the ranch resembled a fortified gateway one would usually see only at a military base. Men with automatic weapons walked the perimeter, while armored military Humvees sprouting M-60 machine guns were parked away from the road under the shade of a tree. Hearing the chop-chop of rotor blades slicing through the air, the two men looked up through the windshield of their pickup truck to see a sleek black helicopter flying back and forth over the desert, making studied sweeps of the land below.
The Israelis were no fools. They cruised down the highway with the knowledge that the sight of an old pickup truck driving by the ranch would be considered routine, but if that same truck turned around for a second look, it would raise suspicion among the sun-glassed men in the SUVs. It didn’t take a military genius to figure out that it wouldn’t be prudent to pass this way again, so the men tried to visually absorb everything they could while taking pictures from a hidden camera mounted just behind the driver’s seat. Heading away from the ranch entrance, the two Special Forces soldiers decided to keep driving until they could find a hill where they could climb to the top and scout the area unobserved.
Two miles further down the road, they rounded a bend and spotted a rocky hilltop that blocked the rising sun. Turning off the highway, they rumbled across the desert until they reached the side of the hill opposite Acerbi’s property. After backing the truck between two large boulders and covering it with a sand-colored tarp, they climbed to the top of the hill and hunkered down in a sandy depression beneath an overhanging rock. It was a perfect spot for them to observe the comings and goings on Acerbi’s property without being seen, and what they saw when the sun rose over the hill and lit the surrounding countryside wasn’t good.
Crisscrossing the desert floor below, they saw tire tracks in the sand that seemed to lead nowhere. Using their binoculars, they saw what the satellite photos had missed. At the end of each set of tracks lay a circle of earth covered by brown camouflage netting. The two scouts exchanged puzzled glances and waited. Twenty minutes later, they had their answer. A cloud of dust marked the progress of a slow-moving jeep as it followed a set of tracks to one of the sites. Two men with assault rifles slung over their shoulders jumped from the jeep and walked toward one of the net-covered circles.
The scouts traded looks once again. These guys looked different. They were wearing desert camouflage uniforms and had the bearing of professional soldiers. They looked nothing like the cartel thugs they had seen back on the highway. After checking the area, one of the men lit a cigarette, while the other bent down and lifted a corner of the net. As soon as he had flung it aside, the two Israeli soldiers leaned forward, almost tumbling from their hiding place, their eyes wide with disbelief. There, sitting in a hole in the Mexican desert, was a gleaming white surface-to-air missile, and it was pointed skyward.
The scouts were speechless. They could tell instantly that the missile they were looking at wasn’t some outdated military surplus rocket purchased from a third-world arms dealer, but rather a modern, state-of-the-art surface-to-air missile. From what they could see, there were at least a dozen missile sites in just this one area alone, and there were probably other clusters like this scattered all over the ranch. They were looking at an air defense network of impressive size, which meant that, in addition to his hired thugs, Acerbi’s real military assets on the ground were even more formidable than they had originally thought, and this was probably just the tip of the iceberg. Even more chilling, the two scouts realized that these sites would not have been picked up on satellite photos. It had taken boots on the ground to ferret them out.
If this guy Acerbi had this kind of technology, then he probably had some other technological surprises up his sleeve, which meant they couldn’t use their radios. Also, if that black helicopter even looked like it was headed in their direction, they were going to have to make a run for it. They had no doubts that the chopper had FLIR technology onboard—infrared radar that could sense the warmth of a scorpion scooting across the desert floor from a thousand feet in the air.
It was then that they spotted something that caused them to literally hold their breath. On the next hill over, they saw the glint of what looked like an optical device pointed in their direction. It was time to go. Scurrying down the hillside, they jumped into their pickup just as two black SUVs came charging across the desert with clouds of dust billowing up behind them. The Israelis punched it and spun the tires as they slid out onto the highway and headed for the town of Chihuahua at over 100 miles per hour.
Appearing in their rearview mirror, they saw the black helicopter rise over the highway behind them. There was nowhere for them to go, and if they were captured, the concealed cameras and weapons in their truck would give them away. The two soldiers exchanged glances. The entire mission was now in jeopardy, not to mention their heads. The commando riding shotgun reached down and felt for
the Stinger missile hidden beneath the seat. Slowly, he pulled his hand back and looked at the driver. Both men knew that, if they took out the chopper, it would be confirmation to Acerbi’s people that some major players were in the area. It would have to be their last resort.
Topping a hill, the town of Chihuahua came into view just as the chopper moved into position behind them. The scout in the passenger seat finally decided that they had run out of options and was feeling for the Stinger missile again when he saw something out his side window that seemed out of place. There, in the middle of the desert, were acres of manicured green grass bordered with large trees.
A golf course!
Not only was he looking at a golf course, but it looked like there was some kind of event taking place. The parking lot around the club house was packed with cars, and scores of well-dressed people were everywhere.
The two remembered that, in their intelligence briefing the night before, they had learned that a rival drug lord owned a country club between the Acerbi ranch and the town of Chihuahua. It had only been mentioned as a possible fly in the ointment to their mission, because the men who owned the golf course were currently involved in a turf war with the band of thugs who were guarding Acerbi’s ranch. For obvious reasons, the intelligence people didn’t want the scout team to appear to be connected to a rival drug gang, so they had warned them to avoid the country club.
Now, travelling at over 100 miles an hour with a helicopter and two SUVs chasing them, the scouts were about to turn a potential liability into an asset. They figured that, if they pulled into the golf club, the people chasing them would assume that they were connected to the rival gang. Since neither side wanted a gang war now, it just might work. The men chasing them would most likely give them a pass in the interest of keeping the peace during a time when Acerbi was preparing for his big upcoming event. An incident with rivals could spur reprisals and would infuriate Acerbi and his mercenaries. Heads would definitely roll. If Acerbi’s thugs were smart, they would let it go—and that’s just what they did.
The driver steered the big Chevy off the highway and blasted past the sleepy-looking security guard at the gate before sliding to a stop in the parking lot in front of the clubhouse. Looking out toward the highway, they saw the black helicopter begin a sweeping turn before disappearing over a nearby hill, while the two SUVs slowed but kept going. Looking back over their shoulders, the two scouts reinforced their roles as college students and headed off toward the club house for a drink, while one of them dialed a number on his cell phone.
CHAPTER 54
The report from the scout team in Mexico had raised a murmur of apprehension among the men gathered back at the base in the Arizona desert. With the kind of air defenses Acerbi had in place, it was now becoming obvious that an assault from the air would be suicidal.
Wondering what their next move might be, Leo and Alon walked into the cool hum of the air conditioned mobile home parked next to the hangar. Taking some time to let their eyes adjust from the bright sunlight outside, they spotted Lev and Ben sitting at a table in deep conversation with Colonel Wilson.
“We’d need at least a hundred of the little buggers to pull it off,” Wilson said.
Lev chomped down on his cigar. “How about Fort Bliss in El Paso?”
“I already called them. They only have eight. The rest are in Afghanistan.”
“Did they want to know why you were asking?”
“I told them I was from the general accounting office doing an audit and hung up.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Alon asked.
“Drones,” Colonel Wilson answered.
“Drones? What about them?”
“We were thinking of flying a bunch of drones over Acerbi’s ranch. It might just trick him into firing off all his surface-to-air missiles before our choppers show up.”
“Not a good idea. A move like that will just alert them to the fact that an attack is imminent.”
“They’ll know we’re coming sooner or later, Alon,” Leo said. “I like the idea. In fact, it’s pretty darn creative. It’s better than being shot out of the air before we’re even over the target ... isn’t it?”
“You know, Cardinal, you’ve been hanging around us too long. You’re starting to sound more and more like a soldier every day.”
“I am a soldier, Alon. I just belong to a different army.”
Alon laughed as he clapped Leo on the back. “I hate to disagree with you, Leo, but I think this drone nonsense is a bad idea. Once Acerbi’s men have been alerted to the fact that an attacking force is on the way, we will have lost our element of surprise. Those missiles the scouts discovered scattered around his ranch are probably his primary defense against fighter jets. He probably has other defenses against choppers.”
“Like shoulder-fired missiles?”
“Those would be useless against our choppers,” Wilson said. “All of our Blackhawks have new laser defense technology. We don’t want a repeat of Blackhawk Down. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter, because without helicopters this mission is dead in the water. We need to neutralize those missiles.”
“Well, from what I just heard, it doesn’t sound like anyone has enough of the things to do the job anyway,” Leo said.
“There are a hundred and twenty of them locked inside those two hangars across the field.”
The men turned to see Ariella standing in the doorway behind them.
“What did you say, Ariella?” Lev asked.
“I said the two hangars across the field are full of them. This field was rented from the U.S. government last year by a private company that manufactures them. I just walked over and looked inside one of their hangars. I counted 120.”
The men looked at one another without speaking.
Ariella crossed her arms and waited. “Well, you want to go look at them or what?”
Lev and Ben were already pushing their way through the door as Leo found himself unconsciously following along behind with Colonel Wilson and Alon. Crossing the hot concrete runways, it took twenty minutes for the small procession to make it to the hangars across the field.
Peering through the dusty windows, they saws rows of brand new, gleaming white drones, and it appeared like they were being readied for shipment.
“I thought they just tested these things here,” Wilson said.
Lev was busy brushing the fire off his shirt after smashing his cigar against the hangar window when he was peering inside. “Well, evidently they manufacture them here too, and from the looks of things, these drones are headed for the Navy.” Lev pointed to the USN markings on the wings. “I wonder where all the employees are?”
“The company was forced to close up shop for the duration of your mission for security reasons,” a voice called out behind them.
The surprised group turned to see a short, middle-aged man standing directly behind them. He had a low slung stomach that advertised the fact that he enjoyed his beer, and was wearing a white western shirt, jeans, and a pair of expensive-looking cowboy boots. He was also holding an assault rifle.
“We’re based across the field,” Wilson said quickly. “Military.”
“I know who you are, Colonel Wilson. I’m Jack Beck ... CIA. We’ve been guarding the perimeter of this field since you arrived. We had to clear out the folks who own this little airplane business before you all landed. We even had to handcuff the owner for awhile until he settled down. They were some pretty unhappy campers.”
“I can imagine,” Lev said. “They’re going to be positively thrilled when they return and find we’ve taken all of their drones.”
“You don’t say. You got orders for that?”
Wilson smiled at the man. “No sir, but we will.”
“I’d love to know what you people are up to, but even we’ve been left out of the loop. Whatever you’re doing has been classified at the highest levels.” The man paused for a moment as the group stared back at him in silence. “Do you guys
know how these things fly?”
Lev and the others adopted blank stares.
“Didn’t think so,” the man said. “Each one of those little puddle jumpers in there has to have its own pilot.”
“But they’re drones,” Lev said.
“Yes, but they’re still flown remotely by pilots sitting in a little control room somewhere. Sometimes they’re flown from thousands of miles away via satellite uplink. The closest control facility is located at an air force base in Tucson, but they’ve only got four little cockpits in a couple of plain-looking trailers. I know ... I checked. I used to fly model planes as a kid. I wanted to fly one of these things.”
“They don’t have autopilots?” Wilson asked.
“Nope. They’re not like cruise missiles. You can’t just fire them and forget them.”
Alon pressed his face against the glass and looked at the rows of drones. “I guess that’s that.”
The CIA man chuckled. “I’ll leave you good people to carry on. If you have any problems, just shoot up a flare or something. I’ll be around.”
With that, the stocky man turned and disappeared around the side of the hangar as the group began trudging back across the field in the blistering heat. It was quickly becoming apparent that their plan of attack was beginning to fall apart.
“The drone thing probably wouldn’t have worked anyway,” Alon said. “With them or without them, we’re still going in, but I’m afraid there’ll be a lot of casualties in the first wave of choppers.”
Ben looked up at the hulking figure of Alon walking beside him. The man was talking about the possibility of being killed as if he were planning a trip to the grocery store. “I’m going to ask for some better satellite photos. We may find a weak spot in their defenses we haven’t spotted yet.”
“Well then, Ben, I have good news and bad news for you. The good news is that we just received some new, fine-resolution satellite photos for you to look at. The bad news is that there’s a good possibility none of us will make it out of there alive.”
