Chapter 7: Tentative Plans

Dallas, Texas 2:30 P.M. CDT (Central Daylight Time) Thursday March 22^nd 2018

Raul asked Manuel to look up the nearest Home Depot. There were several to choose from, so Raul had Manuel select one near the suburbs. As they drove there, he explained to his companions what his plan was. While he and Jacinthe shopped for tools, and some other useful items, Manuel would go over and speak to any of their fellow Mexicans who were seeking day labor jobs. He should tell them some Gringo would hire him, but only if he could get some ID. Raul gave him fifty bucks in fives and tens. Jacinthe seemed a bit nervous, but Manny assured them both he could handle this. He had heard rumors about this sort of thing, however, if the fellows here were not friendly, they could go elsewhere, he wouldn’t push it.

Jacinthe was pushing a regular shopping cart, while Raul maneuvered one of the large flatbeds. At the front of the store, they found a useful selection of books and magazines; they chose two dozen to purchase. They had only been shopping for ten minutes when Manny rejoined them; his big grin announced he had the information. It only cost him twenty bucks. Then they selected mostly hand tools, both for building, and for gardening. Looking through several of the books to guide their choices. Raul did select a few power tools, he figured he would try to obtain a generator, later. They also picked up nails, screws, and a plethora of other useful items. By the time they were done they had several thousand dollars’ worth of tools, sundries, and books. Fortunately, Raul had a Contractor’s Account, and his credit card for his uncle’s project had not yet been shut off.

Since they had some time, Raul had the kids use their phones to find a used, enclosed cargo trailer for sale. They found a dual axel 6x12 for under two thousand dollars. They drove there, after a quick inspection, Raul negotiated a slight price drop, as well as getting a trailer hitch installed on his Escalade. All three of them transferred the tools and sundries from the back of the SUV to the trailer, before hooking it up. Raul asked Jacinthe to look up a Cabela’s, however, it was too far away. So, instead they drove to another Hilton hotel, checked in, and parked the trailer. Before dinner, they went to a nearby library to conduct some research on survival gear and techniques.

The gift certificate covered most of the cost of dinner, Raul paid for the rest, including a decent tip. He felt much better than when he got back from the bank. They still had some time, so they drove to a chain bookstore and purchased several dozen books and magazines about survivalist matters, living off the grid, and similar topics. Jacinthe suggested some books on medicine, nutrition, and cooking would be a good idea. Each of them carried at least two bags out of the store. Finally, they stopped at a Goodwill ‘secondhand’ store and purchased some inexpensive work clothes for each of them. They drove back to the hotel to unload their purchases, and prepare for their attempt to obtain false identification documents.

Buckley Air Force Base, Aurora, Colorado

1730 Hours (5:30 PM) MDT Thursday March 22^nd 2018

Corporal Thomas demonstrated his driving prowess by getting them back to Buckley AFB from Cannon AFB in just under seven hours. He did not even get pulled over by any state troopers. Nor did he disturb Colonel Wojciechowski who spent much of the journey working on his laptop, or making phone calls. The Colonel was making plans, focusing upon the preferred site just off Air Commando Way, and southwest of the Commissary and the main AAFES Exchange. Not just for the amenities, mostly because of the proximity of an apron where the RPAs could be parked, and the nearby maintenance facilities.

Colonel Wojciechowski called Lieutenant Commander Paul Marshal, who served in the Navy Reserve. They met during a deployment to Afghanistan, when the then Lieutenant had been in charge of a “Sea Bee” (Construction Battalion) Detachment, working for USSOCOM. The Naval Engineer had a ‘Get r dun’ attitude, and demonstrated competence. His family owned a construction firm based in Killeen, Texas; with offices in several other cities. When he wasn’t deployed, Paul Marshal was a General Contractor, and a member of the Board of Directors for the family business. Wojciechowski had called Paul, who agreed to fifteen days of active duty; orders would be cut on Friday, for him to report on March 26^th although he would arrive at Buckley AFB on Sunday afternoon.

On Paul’s recommendation, Colonel Wojciechowski would be requesting orders to mobilize three other “Sea Bees” for at least fifteen days active duty. A Lieutenant JG, a Chief Petty Officer, and a Petty Officer Second Class. Lieutenant Commander Marshal would arrange for their airline tickets, and other travel expenses using his government credit card; which he would have to pay for, then submit receipts for reimbursement. If the Navy Reserve Finance Department balked at reimbursing Paul, then Colonel Wojciechowski would see to it that USSOCOM would reimburse him.

Logistics, finance, other administrative matters, and maintenance issues, not to mention acquiring and managing personnel would occupy a significant amount of Colonel Wojciechowski’s time and concentration. Unfortunately, he had attained a rank where such matters, not tactics, nor even leadership, would be the focus of his waking hours, and probably his dreams, or nightmares as well. The reality of all modern armed forces, never portrayed in movies, or TV shows, was that mundane issues dominated the time and effort of many individuals. Though it might be frustrating, it was also necessary to achieve success on the battlefield. RPV’s could not fly without fuel, maintenance, and coordinating deconfliction with elements from the host base. Pilots, and mechanics needed to be fed, and paid, and have a place to sleep, as well as latrines. He envied Corporal Thomas.

Colonel Wojciechowski asked, “You have a POV (Personally Owned Vehicle) here Corporal Thomas?”

“Yes sir. Why do you ask?” Corporal Thomas said.

Wojciechowski said, “I am going to need a vehicle for the next couple of days, but you will too. Drive to your quarters, or where your POV is parked, whichever will be more convenient.”

“No problem sir, my POV is parked near my quarters.” Thomas said.

Wojciechowski said, “I don’t know the duration of this mission; however, I anticipate you will be on TDY orders long enough they are likely to put your personal items in storage, and reassign your quarters here. We won’t have anything but temporary quarters at Cannon AFB for several weeks, maybe a month or more. None-the-less, you should have all your gear and personal possessions packed and ready to relocate. Will all of your issue gear, and personal possessions fit in your POV?”

“Most, but not all of it, sir. In particular, my mountain bike won’t fit, and I don’t have a bike rack on my POV.” Thomas said.

Wojciechowski said, “Consider if you would rather have what you can’t fit in your POV transported in the back of an FMTV, or in a Connex. You will be reimbursed mileage for driving your POV from here to Cannon. Let me know on Sunday if you would rather leave your POV parked here for a bit, or down at Cannon. We will probably be staying at transient quarters at Cannon for several weeks to a month. I will be pushing for us to get CHUs ASAP. You are going to be very busy for the foreseeable future.

(CHU = Containerized Housing Unit)

“Not a problem sir. I can have my books, stereo, and other gear packed in a few hours. Most of my tactical gear is already packed and prepared for deployment.” Thomas said.

Wojciechowski said, “You will have Friday and Saturday off, I will text you where to report on Sunday at 1200 hours, make sure you have already eaten lunch. We will be on the road to Cannon AFB ASAP. Any questions?”

“None sir. I will be prepared and standing by. Sir.”

Dallas, Texas 8:30 P.M. CDT Thursday March 22^nd 2018 (dialogue is spoken in Spanish, but written in English)

Before they departed from the motel, Manuel had changed back into the clothes he had been wearing during the night of the attack upon the Ranchero Dos Manzano, a week ago. Wearing them, Manny felt a bit like Raul had earlier in the day. None-the-less, he needed to appear to be an illegal immigrant from Mexico in need of some false identity papers. It did not matter that was exactly what he was. He must appear to be authentic to the criminals he was going to buy the various documents from. He could tell his sister was worried, it was no special bond thing; her concern was evident on her face, by her hunched shoulders, and that she was frequently hugging herself, when not hugging him.

Her concern was so obvious that even Señor de la Cruz was noticing. Despite that, Señor de la Cruz said nothing. Back at Ranchero Dos Manzano most of workers on the hacienda thought it was because he was a haughty Hidalgo. Partially because of what his Nana Maria had told him, more because his job as Señor de la Cruz’s man servant; and now having shared living quarters, and meals with him for a week; Manuel understood that his Jefe was quite shy. Certainly, when supervising construction projects, or dealing with the Gringos, he put forth a bold front; Manuel believed he had glimpsed the real man.

When it was just the three of them, Señor de la Cruz was often quiet, pensive even. Sometimes he was hesitant when he spoke to them, certainly not like any other Jefe speaking to a Peon. At first, Jacinthe and he had feared it was some form of deception. That he was trying to lure them into ... something. Or just that he was trying to lull them, before abandoning them. No Hidalgo could possibly imagine that the words of two teenage Peons would be listened to by the authorities. Señor de la Cruz’s vulnerability was causing Jacinthe to mother him. Something that Manuel would need to keep an eye upon.

Back at the hotel, Señor de la Cruz had given Manny five hundred dollars, four, one-hundred-dollar bills, and five twenties, used bills, that he placed in a cheap wallet bought at Goodwill. Manny had an additional two hundred dollars, in twenties in his shirt pocket, and a bit more than one hundred dollars in small bills, in his left front pants pocket. The three of them discussed various contingencies, emphasizing it was better to be safe; false ID would be useful, but was not worth great risks.

It took about an hour to drive to the location that Señor de la Cruz had chosen to park. It would be foolish to drive directly to the location, and have Manuel hop out of Señor de la Cruz’s Cadillac Escalade. If nothing else the criminals would demand more money. The Jefe located a multi-level parking garage, he would have to pay, but then he would be able to see where Manuel would try to purchase some fake ID. They were in luck, and found plenty of empty parking spaces on the third level, from which Señor de la Cruz could observe the transaction.

Carefully, Señor de la Cruz backed the Escalade into a corner slot, offering the best view. Before they left the hotel, he had ensured that the interior lights would not turn on when the doors were opened. Señor de la Cruz had Jacinthe sit in the driver’s seat, he left the keys in the ignition, but she would only try to drive the huge SUV in a serious emergency. Her duty was to keep alert, and warn Señor de la Cruz of any danger approaching his back. Señor de la Cruz opened the back liftgate, and prepared his concealed rifle. Only if Manuel covered his head with both arms, or it looked like he was in deadly danger, would Señor de la Cruz shoot. If that happened, Manny was to flee for his life.

Once Señor de la Cruz was comfortably sitting Indian style, and was prepared to provide Manny covering fire, he turned and looked him in the eyes. Solemnly, they shook hands. His sister leaned into the back and kissed him on the cheek, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. Manuel took a deep breath, opened his door and stepped out into the garage. He walked over to a staircase indicated by an exit sign. Peeling paint, and flickering lights increased his tension. At ground level, it smelled strongly of piss.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk, carelessly, he allowed the door to slam. Like a frightened rabbit, he looked about in all directions. He paused, and tried to control his breathing. There did not seem to be anyone around, but he could hear faint voices. Slightly louder was music from a tavern about a block away, in the other direction. He took another deep breath, and due to the stench, regretted it, then set off to try to obtain a false identity. Quicker than he imagined, he had arrived at the described location. He could see several people in the shadows.

Manny saw that a shady character was watching him approach, so he walked up close enough to speak to him, took off a battered ball cap purchased at Goodwill, and held it both hands, and said, “Pardon Señor, I have been told I could purchase an ID card for driving and the tax card for showing Gringos. I need them for a new job?”

“Who suggested such a thing?” The shady man asked.

Deliberately gulping, Manny said, “My cousin, she told me to get papers. I met Jose, at the Home Depot, he suggested some places to maybe go. He said I maybe get these two things for three or four hundred Yankee dollars.”

“Ha! Liar.” The shady man said, causing Manuel quite a fright, before continuing, “They are three to four hundred. Each. You seem a good kid, so, maybe seven hundred and fifty, total, for you.”

Backing away, and shrugging, Manny tried to sound sad as he said, “Oh! I am Sorry to have bothered you Señor. I will have to try elsewhere. I do not have that much, and I need the ID quickly, tonight.”

“What is the hurry friend? What kind of job is it so important that you need ID so quickly?” The shady man asked.

Sweating, Manny said, “It is not a great job, I am to assist a Gringo who manages an apartment, you know fixes things. But he is Old, maybe he retire in a couple of years. It come with an apartment too. It is the Gringo owners, They are Fussy. My cousin, she is Legal. She say they are strict, but pay decently. Better than some who promise more, and not pay at all.”

“Lift open your shirt, hold it so I can see your skin.” The shady man said.

Manuel did as he was told, unsure if the man thought he had a weapon, or a wire; or if it was something else.

“Uh. Why do you stink?” The shady man asked.

Manny said, “My uncle, he get me some work. Day labor, it is hard work, but they pay each day.”

“Well, for you maybe ... Seven ... Hmm, Six fifty. Good enough to make happy these fussy Gringos.” The shady man said.

Taking a deep breath before he said, “My uncle, and he has a cousin, she, both of them want ID too. We pay five hundred each. If he likes what you sell me, I will be back to purchase ID for them too.”

“Six hundred each.”

“Five Fifty.”

“You pay me six hundred. If you come back tonight, the other two at five fifty each. How old are they?” The shady man asked.

“My uncle he is maybe ten years older than me. So, maybe anything twenty-five to thirty, he looks a bit younger. And this is my Si-Cousin, when she was younger, she is maybe twenty-three now.” Manny said, as he showed the shady man a picture of his sister.

The shady man gave a wolf whistle, then said, “She is Pretty. Maybe she would come to meet me to choose her own ID?”

Shaking his head, Manuel said, “No Señor, my uncle he not allow it. He is very protective of her!”

Nodding, the shady man flashed a twisted grin, and said. “Si. Clever man. How bout you? What age do you want?”

Manny said, “I would like an ID at least twenty-one, but not much older. As long as it is good enough to satisfy the fussy Gringos.”

It took the shady man only a few moments to produce a grimy envelope, from which he produced a somewhat tattered social security card, but the name matched with what looked like a new Texas driver’s license; he said, “Six hundred Muchacho.”

Manuel gave the shady man all five hundred dollars from his wallet. He then counted out a hundred dollars in small, wrinkled bills from his front left pocket. Leaving him twenty-five dollars to stuff back into his pocket. Manuel took the envelope containing the ID and tucked both pieces into his wallet. Cautiously, he walked away from the shady man. When he got back to the parking garage, he discovered that the door to the stairwell was locked. He had to call Señor de la Cruz to let him back in. Manny waited fifty paces away to avoid the stench of the urine.

They both went back up to the Escalade. While Manny drank one bottle of water swiftly, Señor de la Cruz examined the ID carefully. Truthfully, he was not certain what to look for. They seemed identical to pieces of ID he had seen while attending Texas A&M. The driver’s license seemed authentic, other than the ridiculous handlebar mustache. Once more he used his optics to confirm that Manuel had not been followed, nor did there seem to be an ambush prepared for him. So, he gave Manuel an additional eleven hundred dollars, and stuffed it into the grimy envelope.

About forty-five minutes after he bought the first set of false ID, Manny returned to the shady man. He regretted having consumed a second bottle of water, now he had to piss!

“What’s wrong Muchacho? Why are you acting very nervous?” The shady man asked, peering in the direction from which Manny had come.

Shaking, Manny said, “I have to piss, very badly, Señor.”

“There are several trees to choose from, Vato.” The shady man said, chuckling quietly, and pointing.

Obediently, Manny slunk over to the nearest tree, hands shaking, he unfastened his pants, and relieved himself; surprisingly, he felt considerably relaxed after doing so. Carefully, he put himself back together, wiped his sweaty hands upon his dirty pants, and returned to the shady man.

Manny said, “Gracias Señor. My uncle, he liked what you sold me. If you have the ID for him and my cousin, I have the cash.”

“Give me the money.”

“Ha. Señor, I am young, and foolish. Not that foolish. Show me the IDs, por favor.” Manny said.

Smiling, the shady man pulled out two more soiled envelopes, each containing a serviceable set of IDs; the driver’s licenses looked brand new. Manny examined each, briefly. He then handed over the first envelope, now containing eleven hundred dollars. The shady man carefully counted it, then tucked it inside his coat. Grinning he faded into the shadows once more. Manuel, his limbs trembling, backed away several paces, then turned and began walking quickly back to his sister and Señor de la Cruz.

Faintly he heard, “Eh. Bato. Vaya con Dios.”

Manuel replied, “Vaya con Dios, Señor.”

75km West-North-West of the city of Chihuahua, Chihuahua state

1:10 AM ZPT (Zona Pacifico) Friday March 23^rd 2018 (dialogue is spoken in Spanish, but written in English; some Spanish in italics)

There was mostly static on the radio, now. Perhaps, faintly, there could be heard some screaming, or something. Since noon they had been having difficulty with their radios. Having abandoned the tall radio antenna, they had set up at the roadblock, did not make communications any easier. Panicked requests for help on the radio had been quashed by that vicious martinet, Official Almador; who ordered draconian measures in the futile attempts to drive the refugees back in the direction of Cuauhtémoc. The tanks for the water cannon were soon exhausted, as eventually was the supply of tear gas grenades.

The use of lethal force was the only measure that seemed to be driving back the masses. Even those Policia who were reluctant to fire upon their fellow citizens were hoist on a petard. The mob was now shooting at them. Mostly shotguns, and a few hunting rifles, and perhaps pistols. They also had a few Molotov cocktails. Most terrifying, the maddened mob, pushed beyond their limits, were willing to swarm any Policia who did not use firepower, or at least the threat of firepower, to keep them at bay. Some of the Policia had been dragged down, pummeled with stones, hacked with machetes, or other gruesome fates. Thus providing a few citizens with equal firepower, although limited ammunition.

At least two of Suboficial Fernandez’s men had been hit by machinegun bullets fired by the Federales. This caused his Peloton to lag back, and to drift ever further north. Suboficial Fernandez ignored the frenzied edicts of Official Almador to “Hold The Line!” By action, and word, he convinced his men to use the minimum force necessary to protect themselves. Blatantly, they ignored any of the people more than two hundred meters distant from their fragile skirmish line. Most of the refugees were prudent enough to bypass Suboficial Fernandez’s ad-hoc Peloton.

Occasionally, elements of the mob, enraged by the wonton violence committed by the main column of Federales would attack the men of Suboficial Fernandez. Sadly, this caused escalating losses upon his Peloton. By dusk, most of the Policia had abandoned the quixotic attempt to drive the miserable refugees back to their former homes. The traffic on the radio became increasingly desperate. Suboficial Fernandez was tempted to turn it off, however, it was their only source of information. Other than some staticky music, they could not receive any clear transmissions from the stereo in their truck.

They had almost run out of gas for their Ford F-250, when sharp eyed Benito spotted a battered Chevy pickup, barely visible, down in an arroyo. They guessed that the person driving had been trying to sneak north, past the Policia, and had broken an axel. Cabo Morales and Felix Carlito rigged up a syphon to refuel their truck. Benito checked, and found a twenty-liter gas can in the bed of the truck, that was nearly full too. Suboficial Fernandez climbed out of the cab to stretch his legs, and provide security. While Hugo Castro manned the machinegun, Policia Carlos Flores checked the cab of the Chevy for anything useful.

“Nada, Jefe.” Policia Flores said.

Nodding his head, Suboficial Fernandez said, “of course not.” He took off his Stetson Boss of the Plains gaucho hat, wiped his brow, and said, “Muchachos, we have performed our duties beyond what should be expected. As soon as that Pendejo began wantonly shooting our fellow citizens, I should have opposed him. The fault is mine. I do not believe it would be wise to head to the city of Chihuahua. We should have enough gas, water, and food to make it to Ojo Laguna.”