Chapter 25: Things Go Wrong

2km west of San Andres, Riva Palacio, 45 km ENE of Cuauhtémoc, 55 km West of the city of Chihuahua
1230 Hours (12:30 PM) ZPT (1:30 PM MST) Thursday March 29^th 2018{br}

(dialogue is spoken in Spanish, but written in English; some Spanish in italics)

As Soldado ⁽¹⁾ Carlos Gutiérrez gave his last breath, Penelope Cisneros, laid her head upon his chest and wept. She continued holding his left hand as she had been doing for the last half-hour. Carlos’ left eye was still open, as he had been staring at Penelope as he fought for his life. The right side of his face was horrifically burned, and his right eye had burst; his right hand had shriveled from third degree burns. Lesser burns covered most of the right side of his body that had been covered by his uniform. His body armor and helmet had mostly prevented burns. Mostly.

Padre (Father) Patrick Ramireza, gazed upon the tragic tableau for a couple of moments before laying his hand upon the shoulder of the weeping young US Army Staff Sergeant. He had learned that Penelope had served in combat as a medic, before transferring to a Civil Affairs unit at Fort Bragg. Like him, she is twenty-eight years old, and had endured trials physical, mental, and emotional, tougher than 95% plus of human beings. Tough as she is, nearly twelve hours ministering to grievously wounded soldiers imposed physical and emotional tolls.

Father Ramireza said, “Carlos is at peace. Penelope, you must go, clean up, eat, and sleep.”

Penelope raised her tear-stained face from the breast of the deceased teenage soldier and fiercely said, “I can’t! They need me too much. We must ration our morphine and other medicines. I can only ... only—”

Shaking his head, Father Ramireza said, “Child, he is the last. Surgeon Suarez is confident that those who have survived so far should pull through, by the grace of God. We must be wary of infection or other complications, but we have medicine and other measures to prevent, or if necessary, treat most threats.”

Penelope looked into his eyes and said, “Bu-but, I-I ... I must d-do s-something. They Need me! They need someone to hold their hands and listen to them. They are afraid, but don’t want to show it. They’ve been abandoned by everyone they trusted!”

Easing her hand from the dead soldier, Father Ramireza gently said, “We, and their comrades here have not abandoned them. To be able to help these young men, You must take care of yourself. You must wash up, eat, and sleep before you are prepared to continue your duties.”

Shuddering, Penelope said, “Ha-how c-ca-can I s-sl-sleep. I ca-can’t eat. I-I—”

Patrick softly said, “Penelope, the other members of the Nightingales have eaten and gone to take a nap. Surgeon-Captain Montiel has returned to duty after nearly eleven hours of sleep he desperately needed. He and some other Mexican Army medical personnel will care for these men while you prepare for further duty. Food may taste as ashes, but it is fuel you will need. Duty requires you keep yourself fit. You have done more than should be expected.”

Penelope softly said, “We ... I-I should have done more then he’d have Lived! Why did he have to die?”

Patrick gently said, “We all did all we could. Carlos gave all he could. He refused another shot of morphine. He talked with Bernardo, and he understood not just our shortages, but that another shot of morphine would likely result in his passing, albeit peacefully. Carlos knew his odds were slim to survive, but he wanted the chance. You gave him strength and comfort. You were his Rock.”

He sighed, then said, “It was not to be. I spoke to him after I gave him last rights. He told me that years of corruption and lawlessness had caused him to lose his faith. The battle showed him that Hell exists. His comrades renewed his faith. Carlos believed that he felt his courage and strength were bolstered by God, and that You were an answer to his prayers. Hope, as much as our medical skills and science, may be the best thing we may offer these men. Now go, eat, sleep, so you bring these men the comfort and hope they crave.”

US Army Sergeant First Class Fernando Valesco, wearing a uniform of a Mayor of Parachutist Fusiliers walked in to get the most recent casualty report. He witnessed the end the poignant tableau. He stepped up, and guided Penelope Cisneros to her feet and led her out of the rudimentary field hospital. Father Ramireza watched them go, then turned and closed the eye of the deceased soldier. Father Patricio Ramireza felt a deep kinship with the young soldier who lay before him. It was obvious the Mexican lad was of Indio heritage; quite possibly the Raramuri tribe.

“Patrick” Patricio Elan Tlalistak-Ramireza Captain and a Catholic Chaplain in the US Army, wearing a Mexican Army uniform and the rank insignia of a Captain Segundo Parachutist Fusiliers. He had stubbornly included a Christian Cross, the US Army insignia for a Christian Chaplain, despite the fact there are no chaplains in the Mexican Army. Patricio was born not far from here, near the Barranca del Cobre in the Sierra Madre Occidental; the ancestral homeland of the Raramuri tribe, of which he was a member.

Padre Ramireza closed the remaining eye of Soldado Carlos Gutiérrez, and was praying again for the young man’s soul; when Cabo ^(1a) Guillermo Gonzales and Soldado de Primero Reyes got his attention, Cabo Gonzalez cleared his throat, then said, “Padre, allow us to take Carlos. We will see to it that he is buried with as much honor as is possible under the circumstances. It is less than he deserves.”

Padre Ramireza nodded, he placed his hands upon the shoulders of each of the soldiers and said, “Carlos is in a better place. I am certain he is being honored for his valiant conduct. I wish I could have known him better. His comrades wish he would have recovered. None of us mortals may understand all the mysteries of life, or of God. Faith can help us struggle on. I will continue to pray for Carlos’ soul, and the other deceased, as well as those of us who remain to continue the fight and those we protect!”

Soldado Reyes beseeched, “Do you really believe that any of us will survive? You actually believe in god?”

Padre Ramireza looked deep into Reyes’ eyes and stated, “I have faith. It is not perfect. I pray, and I continue to do my duties. I was born not far from here, on a small farm. Before I was a teenager my family moved to a tenement in the city of Chihuahua. My father got work as a waiter at Windows of the World on the top floor of the World Trade Center in New York City. He died on September eleventh two-thousand-one. As a teenager I couldn’t understand how God could allow such terrible things to occur.”

Patrick Ramireza paused, then he said, “Because of my father, my family was able to afford a good home el Norte and I got a good education and a scholarship from the order of Saint Patrick. I became a priest, and a soldier in gratitude of the blessings I enjoyed. My faith is at times tested. Many things renew my faith. I can’t promise you faith will make life easy. Faith may allow God to grant you the strength to endure.”

Cabo Gonzales said, “After seeing the splendid cathedrals in Mexico City, and the opulent robes of the bishops, and all the other trappings, what little faith I had in the church was gone. Many poor people could be fed and given homes from all of the wealth of the church!”

Padre Ramireza said, “You are not wrong about money wasted on splendor, rather than to aid those in need. Jesus told his Disciples to sell everything except for what they needed to travel, sturdy sandals, a warm robe, and a sword to protect themselves from bandits. Most chapels I have been in were simple adobe, priests in simple robes with little or no adornment. Opulence is not God. Have faith in God, not in institutions!”

Cabo Gonzales asked, “But Padre you are a Catholic Priest, how can you speak against the church?”

Patrick Ramireza said, “A wise Sargento told me. ‘A Man Must Know His Limitations.’ I cannot tilt at every windmill. The Catholic Church, the USA, Mexico, they are all flawed, yet they also espouse good ideals too. I chose the Order of Saint Patrick because I believe in their core ideals and good works. My Oath is primarily to God. The Catholic church has opulent robes, grand cathedrals, and scandals, but also charity hospitals, schools, orphanages, and members who do good works. Put Your Faith in God, then do good works alongside those whose actions speak louder than words.”

Padre Ramireza, Cabo Gonzales, and Soldado Reyes transferred Soldado Gutiérrez from his bed to a stretcher. Padre Ramireza noticed that the dressings and bandages on Cabo Gonzales’ hands were soiled, and blood was seeping onto the handles of the stretcher. The brawny Cabo maintained a stoic mien as he bore his sacred burden. The solemn procession of four men, only one of whom knew war and pain no more, marched to the austere burial ground.

The two soldiers set the body down. There was no empty grave. It had been hoped that no one else would die. Yet there was more than sufficient space to inter every member of the Mexican (and US) Army present. There were also a dozen more whitewashed crosses leaning against the barn. The bodies of Captain Segundo Muñíoz and twenty-eight other Mexican soldiers had already been laid to rest. Soldado Reyes grabbed a spade; before Cabo Gonzales could do so, Padre Ramireza grabbed the second spade.

Cabo Gonzales stated, “What are you doing Padre?”

Ramireza said, “I am digging a temporary grave. It is not the first time I have turned the soil.”

Soldado Reyes said, “Bu-but You are a Padre. Uh, and an Officer in the Mexican Army ... aren’t you?”

Ramireza replied, “I am a modern disciple of Jesus, and a servant of God.”

Cabo Gonzales said, “We will get in trouble for letting you dig.”

Ramireza said, “I am ordering you to rest, while Reyes and I dig. I take all responsibility. It is not the first time I will have upset some officers if they discovered my actions. It won’t be the last. I am allowing you to pay your respects to your comrade. Immediately afterwards we are going back and getting your hands treated and rebandaged.”

Reyes glanced at Cabo Gonzales, who shrugged, then nodded. Gonzales has been serving as Teniente Coronel de Ribera’s batman and personal security man for more than two years; Reyes had been the colonel’s driver for nearly a year. Both men had been personally selected by de Ribera for their competence and discretion. The two Mexican soldiers obtained a perspective on Mexican Army officers most other soldiers didn’t have. They understood that Coronel de Ribera was quite unusual for a senior Mexican Army officer.

These new officers were different even compared to Coronel de Ribera and some of his other associates. Both soldiers had overheard Coronel de Ribera and Mayor Jiménez talking about the elite Parachutist Fusiliers; four of the new officers wore their uniform, including the Padre. They had never even heard of, let alone seen a chaplain in the Mexican Army; but they also knew the regional battalions and other units lacked personnel and equipment that units near Mexico City had. They were nearly certain there were no women in the Mexican Army. If Coronel de Ribera was not questioning these strange officers, neither would Gonzales nor Reyes.

Ramireza and Reyes finished digging the shallow grave, only a meter deep. It was planned that the soldiers buried here would be re-buried in a proper cemetery ... at some future date. Gonzales and Reyes laid Soldado Carlos Gutiérrez in the ground while the Padre said a prayer. Padre Ramireza gently placed one “dog tag” ⁽²⁾ in the mouth of the deceased soldier; he kept the other to give to Subteniente Villanueva Aide-de-Camp for Coronel de Ribera, and acting S-1 ⁽³⁾ for the 25^/a Batallon de Infanteria.

After taking a moment to pay their respects, Ramireza and Reyes shoveled dirt over the body to fill the grave. Meanwhile, Gonzales got one of the whitewashed crosses and a handy mallet and pounded the marker in at the head of the grave. Padre Ramireza attached a copy of the graves registration card with Soldado Gutiérrez’s rank and full name to the temporary grave marker. Later, one of the soldiers who had some talent would paint the rank and name of their comrade; it was a small tribute, demonstrating pride in the regiment.

Yesterday a whitewashed cross three-meters tall had be erected, carefully pained upon it:

(in Spanish)
Honored Dead
of the
25^/a Batallon de Infanteria
Faithful Comrades Never Forgotten
⁽¹⁾ Soldado = Private; Cabo = Corporal; Sargento = Sergeant

⁽²⁾ “Dog Tag” = identity tag for military personnel; typically, each soldier is issued 2; if they die in the field one is placed in their mouth because experience has shown it is least likely to become disassociated from the body in that location.

⁽³⁾ S-1 Adjutant and/or Personnel Officer; usually also attends to other administrative duties

Jefetura 23^/a Batallon de Infanteria, El Herradero recreation area 15 km west of the center of the city of Chihuahua
1300 Hours (1:00 PM) ZPT (2:00 PM MST) Thursday March 29^th 2018{br}

(dialogue is spoken in Spanish, but written in English; some Spanish in italics)

The GPS coordinates provided to Teniente Coronel Esteban Mendoza for the location of his battalion’s headquarters was a reasonably good site. A hard-surface parking area for a camp ground, just 150 meters west of the road that provided the most convenient access to both of his battalion’s assigned battle positions. There was even a restaurant nearby, since the Battalion Trains (logistics), including the Mess Section was located several kilometers away.

They had appropriated an unoccupied building, rather than setting up the tents intended for that purpose; doing so was much quicker, and provided more room. Capitan Segundo O’Malley the Battalion Adjutant (S-1) had arrived a bit more than an hour ago along with the last of the vehicles and personnel to be accounted for, several having to be towed. Capitan O’Malley and Teniente Navarro, Coronel Mendoza’s Aid de Camp were creating a to-scale sketch of the battalion area.

The battalion has been assigned a frontage of approximately 8 kilometers. The 1^st Company has a front a bit less than 2 km from the south of Presa ⁽⁴⁾ Chihuahua to the high ground just south of Carretera Federal 16. The body of water created a gap of more than 2 km between the first and second infantry companies. Presa Chihuahua was much longer on its east-west axis, some 8-10 km; the battalion HQ was some 500 meters east of the east end of the lake.

The 2^nd Company is in a much more difficult position. Their fighting positions started some 300 meters north of the Presa, coving that gap with fire. Their positions were in echelon to the northeast, refusing their flank to the approaching enemy (Whoever that might be). The 2^nd Company front was nearly 3 km, and supposed to be adjacent to the left flank of the 18^/a Batallón Blinda Reconocimiento. However, they had yet to be able to find, or even communicate with that unit.

Coronel Mendoza had ordered the Cazadores (Scout) platoon, commanded by Teniente Ayala to go out and look for the 18^th armored reconnaissance battalion; so far with no luck. Coronel Mendoza had sent his Operations Officer (S-3) Captain Primero Sandoval to assist Captain Primero Diaz the commander of the 2^/a Compania Fusileros coordinate the fields of fire of his machineguns and other crew served weapons with the battalion mortars, possible artillery support, and tie-in with the 18^/a BBR. Mayor Enrique Lorenzo, the Battalion Executive Officer, was inspecting the progress of Captain Primero Morales commander of the 1^/a Compania Fusileros.

For some reason they couldn’t get any signal for their cellphones, and there was lots of static on their assigned radio frequencies; Coronel Mendoza was notified of an urgent radio message from Mayor Lorenzo; Mendoza had to put a hand over his left ear and listen carefully, “—ey Jefe... Problem! Cor— Mora –xecutive— Zona— demanding ... relocate immediately—”

Coronel Mendoza ordered his Aid de Camp Teniente Navarro to man the radio and try to communicate, if possible, that he was enroute to the 1^/a Compania Fusileros Battle Position to find out what Coronel Mora, the Military Zone 5 Executive Officer wanted. Mendoza’s driver was standing by his Chevy Tahoe command vehicle. He didn’t bother trying to use the vehicles radio, considering it was almost impossible to communicate using the more powerful radio and long-range antenna set up at headquarters.

It didn’t take long to get to the CP (Command Post) for 1^/a Compania Fusileros, although Teniente Coronel Mendoza noticed considerably more traffic headed east on Carretera Federal 16 than had been the case this morning. Mendoza watched as Coronel Mora, Mayor Lorenzo, and Captain Morales were waving their arms, and apparently shouting at each other. All work to complete the fighting positions had ceased.

As Teniente Coronel Mendoza was climbing out of his government issued SUV, Coronel Mora stalked up to him and yelled, “Your incompetence disgusts me!”

His face flushed, Teniente Coronel Mendoza yelled back, “Enough! I am sick of personnel from Zona Cinco providing me and my men inaccurate information, Then sending flunkies of Brigadier Allende to yell at us for Their Mistakes!”

The tall and baldheaded Coronel Mora was acting like a martinet as he screamed, “You Insubordinate—”

Mayor Lorenzo interrupted, saying, “Coronel Mora, if you would just provide us the locations where we need to be now.”

“Here are your assigned coordinates,” Mora said as he handed Mendoza a slip of paper, then Coronel Mora said, “This location is your secondary fallback position. Your negligence in digging in here has caused a panic, and now even more refugees are streaming into the city! Disorder will not be tolerated. The Gobernador, and the Alcaldesa of Chihuahua are both complaining about the refugees that are already overcrowding the city. You must curtail these unauthorized relocations!”

Teniente Coronel Mendoza said heatedly, “I only have some three hundred infantrymen to hold a front of seven kilometers! Get the Federales to manage traffic control. Among the critical information I have been denied, Who in God’s name are we supposed to Fight!”

Hands on his hips, Coronel Mora stated, “Invaders! Conquistadores! Monsters! Don’t Believe me? You will. You will see! You are the Only bulwark between the people of Chihuahua and the Enemy. You are responsible for the Honor of the Mexican Army!”

Teniente Coronel Mendoza shouted, “Madness! The government has debunked those rumors and charades. How am I to get my men to believe we are to fight some Hollywood Ring of the Lords! Are they led by Darth Vader! ... or maybe Godzilla?”

Mayor Lorenzo said firmly, “Gentlemen! Please! Our soldiers can hear.”

Coronel Mora said, “You have your orders. Hold until ordered to withdraw. Those orders will only come from General Brigadier Allende or myself!”

Teniente Coronel Mendoza saluted stiffly, but said nothing. Coronel Mora returned the salute, executed an about-face, then marched to his DGIM HMMWV with four radio aerials, and departed in a cloud of dust. Mendoza and Lorenzo exchanged long looks; then Mendoza shook his head. Mendoza gazed off to the west for a couple of moments, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Mayor Lorenzo said nothing, but he got out a notebook and pen.

Coronel Mendoza said, “Mayor Lorenzo, go back to the Jefetura, get them moving to their newly assigned location. Delegate that to Captain O’Malley, he is capable. The radios are unreliable, you must drive out to present the new orders to Captain Primero Diaz and his 2^/a Compania Fusileros. Then take charge of the Battalion Trains, and personally see they relocate to their newly assigned position. I will conduct a leader’s recon and form a tentative plan.”