Chapter 21: Deniable Acts

9,500 feet above San Andres, Riva Palacio, 40 km West of the city of Chihuahua
2357 Hours (11:57 PM) MST Wednesday March 28^th 2018 (10:57 PM ZPT)

Peaceful is an extraordinary term to describe the sensation of freefall; but it is accurate. Paratroopers shuffle-step off the tailgate of an MC-130J, the next step is into eternity. Plunging into the slipstream you are buffeted by hurricane forces winds as you are soaring at more than a hundred and twenty miles an hour. The muffled thunder of four Rolls-Royce AE 2100 turbo-prop engines swiftly faded away. Four seconds is all it takes to fall the distance of a football field!

Adrenalin rushing through your veins, blood pounding in your ears, wind tugging at your clothing and gear; almost an overload of sensation. Discipline and training assert, and you arch your body so as be stable before you deploy your parachute. Glancing about, the night vision goggles present a world in tinges of green. You see your comrades, close by but not too close. In the corner of your vision the intermittent flashes of the marker lights of “Bach’s Kar” already more than a kilometer away.

Exhilaration that is practically indescribable, unless the person you try to communicate your experience has done something similar. Perhaps comparing it to racing a “crotch-rocket” motorcycle on a straightaway; except without the motorcycle! Soaring like a hawk diving upon its unsuspecting prey. Or, the uncouth might describe it as a brick plummeting earthward. Glancing at the GPS on your left forearm, you realize it is time to take charge of your commute, and get to work.

Quietude approaching serenity. Focus, another glance around to reduce the chances of a mid-air collision as you position your body to deploy your primary parachute. Pulling the ripcord activates the parachute. Fluttering, similar to a sail luffing as you change tack is the sound the material of your parachute makes as it deploys, and then fills with air. The sudden deceleration is a shock; your body rotates, now your feet are facing the earth; tilting your head up, and craning your neck, you check your canopy.

You will likely live through this parachute insertion. No blown panels, nor holes larger than your helmet, the risers are not tangled or severed. Quick survey of your nearby airspace; you are clear and in no immediate danger. Checking your gear, it doesn’t appear that you have lost anything, nor has anything shifted, which might create a hazard. Peering towards the ground, you realize the overcast makes it so that you are unable to identify any navigational aids; so, you consult your GPS; then monitor your fellow parachutists.

Sergeant First Class Trueta is the first to deploy his parachute; as planned. He was the second to jump from the aircraft, merely a second or two after Lieutenant Suarez. Sergeant Trueta’s action is a spur to the less experienced parachutists. In quick succession Sergeants Valesco and Maldonado deploy their parachutes, then Sergeant Cisneros, and Father Ramirez pop their chutes too. Above them, seeing that all the neophytes have good canopies, Technical Sergeant Aguilar, the Pararescueman pulls his ripcord; he will be the last to land, alert for any of his comrades who might be having difficulties.

Pathfinder, Lieutenant Suarez delays activating his parachute so as to get a bit of separation. He has an infrared beacon that should only be visible to those above his; acting as a guide for his fellow paratroopers. He is one of the three most experienced parachutists, having participated in numerous HAHO and HALO insertions, in training and on missions. He is also one of the team members with significant time deployed and in combat. Even with modern NVGs (Night Vision Goggles) or NODs (Night Observation Devices) it is difficult to read a GPS, or to sense depth perception; so, he would navigate, and the less experienced would follow his lead.

“Seven good Chutes,” Sergeant Aguilar articulated over the tactical net.

Coronel Ehiztari plummets past the other members of Operation Nightingale; his parachute has not deployed. He has not assumed the ‘starfish’ body position to stabilize his body to facilitate the proper deployment of the RA-1 airfoil parachute. His arms are tight against his body, his feet and knees together, he is angled at sixty degrees head down. Intending to precede the rest of his team, and secure the hastily chosen DZ inside the Mexican defensive perimeter; “El Cid” would ensure it was secure before the people he selected lacked the option to divert.

A person falling to earth accelerates at ten meters per second, per second, until they attain terminal velocity. On this modified HAHO jump from 13,500 feet above sea level, they are roughly 8,800 feet AGL. Most of his fellow parachutists deployed their RA-1 parachutes in four to six seconds, falling only some 100 to 200 meters, or 330 to 700 feet. Lieutenant Suarez waited eight seconds and fell about 360 meters or a thousand feet. Coronel Ehiztari delayed nearly twenty seconds, diving more than a thousand meters.

Ehiztari’s chute cracked open barely five thousand feet above ground level. He would have to maneuver aggressively to reach a position directly above the intended Drop Zone while he was still at least three thousand feet above the Mexican soldiers and police. Rarely do people look up and scan for danger. Overcast skies would discourage any casual stargazers. This is not “El Cid’s” first rodeo, and he was confident he could alight undetected, unless Lady Luck chose the wee hours of darkness to be a Bitch, once again.

After his RA-1 smoothly deployed, and he is sure it is fully functional, Coronel Ehiztari spoke into the microphone, saying, “eight chutes deployed.”

“Acknowledged,” Staff Sergeant Brussels said crisply.

Travelling at three miles per minute the MC-130J “Commando II” called “Bach’s Kar” accelerated back to cruising speed, after having slowed to jump speed to deploy the paratroopers. Reliable communications between Staff Sergeant Brussels and the members of Operation Nightingale would be interrupted in a few minutes as the aircraft disappeared out of range. Succinctly, Brussels communicated what she could see on her monitors, transmitted from the MQ-9 “Reaper” RPA orbiting the Mexican battle position.

As Sergeant Brussels voice seemed to fade away, the airborne soldiers experienced a sense of tranquility. Danger was present all about them; their future was in doubt. Drifting above the earth, their feet dangling above the clouds, the cares of the world seemed absurdly far away. Keen senses probed for lurking threats. Veterans are often hyper-aware, yet many of them also appreciate the wonders of the world; perhaps because they are aware that such pleasures are often fleeting.

Humans are usually most focused on our sense of vision, when adrenalin surges colors may seem sharper, although a person’s field of vision may narrow down. Veterans tend to learn to adapt, and maintain better situational awareness than the average person. Wearing NODs you view the world in shades of green; perspectives are altered. Experience mitigates the disorientation; it is possible to mentally ‘translate’ what you are seeing.

Each of them wore a headset connected to their JTRS (MBTR) tactical radio; the earphones/muffs also electronically reduce loud noises such as gunfire or explosions. The headsets are significantly more effective than the issue earplugs that all too often failed to prevent hearing damage. Enhanced perception didn’t seem to usually apply to the related senses of smell and taste. When deployed people often become “nose blind” (inured to the stench of themselves, others, and the environment).

Perspective from five thousand feet above the ground is quite different, in particular that there is nothing other than your boots to block the view. Exhilaration! Undeniable, despite facing mortal danger. Life is sweeter when death is looming at any moment. Adrenalin Junkies; many in the special operations community are thrill seekers; they may also be the “Quiet Professionals” and most only rarely show their zest for life.

Roughly five minutes after he had jumped from the MC-130J Coronel Ehiztari had traveled sixteen kilometers, and he had achieved his intention and was circling three thousand feet above the Mexican Army battle position. He was below the overcast, although there was little luminosity, due to his light-intensification NVGs, he has a Hawk’s Eye view of the objective.

Soldiers of the Mexican Army had been practicing reasonably good light discipline during the hours of darkness. However, understandably, they had been focused upon potential threats at ground level, not so much considering potential observers from the air. The Ejército Mexicano (Mexican Army) also includes the Fuerza Aérea Méxicana (Mexican Air Force); between the two they have in 2018 approximately 150 helicopters, 200 light aircraft (mostly manufactured by Cessna or Pilatus), a dozen surveillance aircraft, and a handful of Remotely Piloted Aircraft. Thus, soldiers in regional battalions rarely, if ever train with aircraft.

Hidalgo Task Force is benefitting from the lack of consideration of arial observation. Nor do the invading aliens seem to be aware of potential arial observation (or attack). While this means, at least for now, it is possible to obtain information easier than against the Chinese, Russians, Taliban, or Daesh; the Mexican Army is a modern force and reasonably well trained. The alien invaders have demonstrated cunning use of terrain for concealment and cover.

Using his light-intensification goggles, Coronel Ehiztari confirmed that about a dozen men were still on duty at the Entry Control Point; just as he had seen earlier aboard the MC-130J, using the data feed from the MQ-9 “Reaper” RPA. Similarly, there were what looked like HMMWVs, one at each of the four corners of the compound; each vehicle appeared to have only a couple of soldiers on duty; similar to the ECP, those soldiers too were focused outward.

On the earliest video feeds a couple of dozen people could be seen outside of the buildings. Now there were only a couple; one or two appeared to be smoking, and another was walking with a purpose to what Coronel Ehiztari surmised to be an open-air latrine. Observation of the helicopter LZ and the surrounding area seemed to indicate that none of the Mexicans were monitoring the area; although the ECP was only some 600 meters away. For now, the Mexican soldiers and Federal Police seemed to be concentrating on potential threats outside their perimeter.

2km west of San Andres, Riva Palacio, 45 km ENE of Cuauhtémoc, 55 km West of the city of Chihuahua
2305 Hours local (11:05 PM) ZPT (0:05 PM MST) Wednesday March 28^th 2018
(dialogue is spoken in Spanish, but written in English; some Spanish in italics)

Soldado Primero Herrera winced while he fumbled his way through the routine motions of lighting a cigarette. The medicos nagged him about using his right arm, and insisted he keep it in a sling. Damn it, he was right-handed, and it took two hands to light a cigarette. He needed a smoke! The stench of corrupted flesh, blood offal, and Madre Dios only El Diablo knows what else in the stable turned charnel house! How the medicos managed to cope with all this crap he couldn’t comprehend.

Herrera wanted to return to his routine duties. Wrinkling his nose, he figured that getting a job at a Maquiladora would be better than any job in the army! Bathing wounded soldiers, mopping up blood and shit, and other menial chores were worse than anything he had to do in garrison. Admittedly, anything was better than the horror of the battle yesterday. Being surrounded by the whimpers and moans of the injured and dying were an unwanted reminder of how close he was to be lying on a pallet with them. Or dead.

Turning away from the troubles of this world, he searched the skies in vain for a star to wish upon; when he was disturbed by Soldado Salazar saying, “eh, Bato, are you praying to your god? There is no big Gringo in the sky.”

Soldado Primero Herrera said, “don’t blaspheme! We are too likely to be begging at the gates for Saint Peter to let us in.”

Soldado Salazar said, “what are you actually looking for?”

Herrera said, “I think there is a hawk up there, circling. About to pounce.”

Salazar scoffed, “nah. Not a hawk. Probably it is an owl, I think. When the medicos had us sweep out the barn before dragging in these mewling corpses, I saw some owl feathers, droppings, and mouse skeletons. Besides, hawks hunt during the day, only owls hunt at night.”

Herrera took a drag, and arched an eyebrow at his fellow young soldier’s statement.

Salazar whined, “gimme a smoke Vato, I’m out.”

Scowling, Soldado Primero Herrera tried to shake out a smoke from his second to last pack, using only his left hand.

Sneering, Salazar snagged three cigarettes, not just one, and began walking quickly towards the enlisted men’s latrine. His fellow Private, Herrera noted, perhaps not surprisingly, Salazar’s limp wasn’t noticeable when he was going somewhere he wanted to go, and no officers or NCOs were watching. Not his circus, not his monkey. Soldado Primero Herrera took a final drag on his cigarette, tossed it to the ground and crushed it with his boot toe; then returned to his assigned duties in one of the temporary hospital wards.

Helicopter Landing Zone / Operation Nightingale Drop Zone 2km west of San Andres, Riva Palacio
2309 Hours local (11:09 PM) ZPT (0:09 PM MST) Wednesday March 28^th 2018

Coronel Ehiztari swooped in as if he were a bio-mechanical raptor. The moment before he landed, he flared his chute, alighting with a few quick steps, nimble as cat leaping off the kitchen counter just before his mistress caught him. “El Cid” acknowledged it was a punk move, and at his age he should have done a PLF⁽¹⁾. His excuse to himself was that he did not want to lose situational awareness as he tumbled to the ground. Years of experience paid off; this time, he did not twist an ankle or any other foolish injury.

He gathered in his chute, bunching it with his left arm, with his right hand he disconnected the leg straps of his parachute harness. He grabbed his pilot’s kit bag that he habitually tucked between the leg straps and his family jewels. Stuffing his chute and risers into the kitbag as he waddled a hundred and fifty meters towards the Entry Control Point. Once he was clear of the DZ he laid down, unfastened his rucksack, then used it as minimal cover.

“LZ is green,” Coronel Ehiztari said quietly, using his hand to shield the microphone.

Fortuitously one of the pick-up trucks parked in the ECP had its engine idling; Ehiztari supposed the indigs might consider it chilly. Using his NODs he could see several of them chatting, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying at this distance. It didn’t seem any of the Mexicans had noticed him land. The barn on the far side of the LZ/DZ meant he wasn’t likely to be skylighted. Never-the-less, he felt like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs!

This was their time of greatest vulnerability; while they were separated; people still in the air. Distracted by the need to concentrate on landing and then getting out of their parachute harnesses. If they were detected now, they would have to make spit-second decisions, most critical would be if any of them could divert, should they, and split the team. Being compromised would be a problem, but not a disaster. As long as no one began shooting. If they all got down undetected, then they would face their next crisis; first contact.