Chapter 9

19:50 Monday, June 24th, 1991
Compartidero Flats, AZ

Captain Franks had gotten devious again. This time, they moved the second line of sensors south of the original line by about 1000 meters. His reasoning was they'd already gotten what they could from counterintelligence, the expected foray from the criminal element from within the US. Now that the criminal element presumably felt confident in what they knew of the situation, they'd try to conduct an operation, trusting that they'd neutralized the soldiers' advantage.

The ace in Franks' sleeve was an extra four pairs of radios and sensors to the east of the end of the original line.

Sandy asked. She'd gotten an answer from him, too. "I just feel it'll be to the east, Sparks. It sounds trite, but I've learned to trust my hunches, at least until they fail me once." Captain Franks seemed pleased at his wit. Sandy simply nodded. She'd given up the pretense she was in control after El Paso.

Sandy watched as four soldiers from Third platoon set up the radios. Five hundred meters to the east, Ben did the same. Osvaldo was somewhere between them, headed to Ben's location.

Joachin now knew where the soldiers came from, and when they'd leave. He'd even gotten enough information to know which end of the sensor line they were working. Confident, he ordered his human mules to start north. Benny, Ruben, and Martin would shepherd them, departing about 5:30.

He followed behind them at a distance, with a pair of binoculars and an SKS, a cheap Chinese rifle which chambered the same round as an AK-47, in case he ran into something. He knew the Mexicans were unarmed, but one never knew what might happen in the desert. Martin, that hyperactive little shit, carried an Intratec Tec-9 machine pistol. Joachin was fairly certain Benny was armed, too. Ruben probably isn't, not because he is afraid, but because he doesn't want to make waves.

The twelve of them, eight soldiers from Third Platoon, Sandy, Ben, and Osvaldo, stood at the intersection of the roads again, talking briefly about the deployment. Osvaldo leaned against his truck, playing idly with the radio clipped to his belt, when Ben looked over and said, "Damnit."

Feeling eleven pairs of eyes on him, he said sheepishly, "I left my radio up the slope a little ways."

"I'll go with you and get it." The offer came from Osvaldo, surprisingly, a man who seldom volunteered for anything.

Sandy turned to the eight soldiers. "We're done, anyway, why don't you all go on down the line? If there isn't anything for anyone to do, you can head back to Arivaca."

Their leader, also a Specialist, nodded, and they clambered into their pickup.

"Sergeant, I have something!" The speaker, a PFC manning the desk with the receivers, sounded excited. This was only the fourth event they'd had. The two since they'd gotten those kids from Tucson proved to be false alarms.

The duty sergeant stood up from his makeshift desk, where he'd been doing Sunday's Arizona Republic crossword puzzle. As he stepped over, the PFC said, "Two more, Sergeant, the secondary line to the south."

The sergeant picked up the phone, ran his finger down a sheet of paper taped next to it, and dialed the number to use for the Border Patrol when there was contact in the desert.

Ben led the way to the telemetry radio he'd last worked on. He was certain he'd left the radio there, on a small rounded rock. As he came around the shoulder of the small draw, he stopped.

In front of him was a dirty, sweaty, dark-skinned man, wearing loose brown clothes, and a heavy pack. The man had just taken his hat off, a flat floppy affair, and now drank water from a plastic bottle.

Ben flicked his eyes around the area at the top of the draw, toward the radio. Seeing no one, he waited for the other to move, his heart hammering in his chest. This was different than before, he knew somehow without a trace of doubt that this was the genuine article in front of him. This man had been south of the border only hours before.

Martin had just gathered the other two idiot mules carrying his packs, and set off towards a draw which should lower them down towards the road ahead. The third mule, Manny-somebody-or-other, should already be there.

Manny was a bit smarter than the other two, but that draw was close to the end of the sensor line Benny had found. Martin wanted to keep him to the east of it.

The sun was setting low over the horizon, giving the red light and long shadows Arizona evenings are famous for. Later in the season, there might be monsoon storms, but for tonight there were no clouds. Martin looked forward to the cool of the evening.

Ben didn't know what to do. Slowly, he crouched down, but stopped when he realized his shadow moved with him. The sun was over his shoulder, and the other apparently hadn't noticed him. With a grumble, the other man looked back along his back trail, then started down the draw.

Ben thought furiously. He's looking back. He's got to have someone following along with him. I have to get that radio. Mind made up, Ben strode out to retrieve the radio. It came to life just as he picked it up.

"Delta Eight-six, be advised contact in your area. Delta Eight-six, contact stations bravo six through bravo nine."

Osvaldo frowned. He didn't have the radio volume up loud, but at sunset, the sounds carried clearly as the wind died. He suddenly became aware of a man in the draw ahead of him.

For the first time in over a month, Osvaldo drew his service arm.

Sandy heard Osvaldo's radio go off as he walked up the draw. Thinking quickly, she started trotting after Ben.

She passed Osvaldo in the draw, recognizing that he had his knee in the small of someone's back, and was using handcuffs, but her focus was on Ben.

Martin saw the soldier standing at the top of the draw with the radio in his hand. The setting sun painted everything weirdly red. The radio came to life again. "Delta Eight-Six..." Martin stopped listening to it. Slowly, he raised his machine pistol, almost pointing it at the soldier. The moment in time stretched out, seemingly impossibly long. Martin had just made up his mind to tie the soldier up, when another soldier came running up the draw.

Martin jerked slightly as he turned to face the newcomer, and the reflex reaction caused the machine pistol to fire, though unaimed. Rock chips and dust flew everywhere. The rounds struck the ground just a few feet in front of Martin, but the cone of chip and rock kicked up encompassed both soldiers.

The male soldier, the first one, grabbed at his leg and went down, cursing. The other one, a blonde woman, suddenly had blood on her face, below her left eye. She stood there, unmoving, while Martin held the pistol on her.
There was sudden movement from the draw. Martin flicked his eyes down it, just in time to see a Border Patrol man on his stomach, with a drawn weapon pointed at Martin.

Then there was an incredible pressure on Martin's chest, and his life dissolved into red pain.

"Forget him, he's dead. There'll be others. You see to Ben. I think he got a fragment in his thigh," Osvaldo snapped, then he moved off, weapon still drawn.

Sandy tied a small compression bandage she ripped from the hem of Ben's BDU blouse over the puncture. She was morosely certain it'd only be good enough to sop up the blood, until Ben could see a doctor and get whatever was in there out.

Ben touched her chin lightly. "I'm OK, babe. Your face is a bit bloody too?"

She responded more to the question in his voice than in his words. "I got clipped by something, but it's OK. It stings a little when sweat drips into it." She stopped, as there was a report from Osvaldo's 10mm only a few dozen yards away.

Ben stood up, a small groan escaping him, as he tested his leg. "It hurts a little, but not bad. Sandy, my Python is in my gear bag in the truck."

Together, Ben leaning on Sandy, they hobbled down the draw to the truck.

Osvaldo began a cautious sweep of the area. He quickly found two more Mexicans, but they were unarmed. He told them to sit where they were, and not move, until the gunplay was over. If they're smart, they'll go back South before I can get to them.

The almost horizontal sun made judging distances and picking out contrasts hard, everything was a deep blood red. Still, the flash of light from the south caught Osvaldo's attention.

A man with a rifle, some sort of assault rifle, Osvaldo thought, moved to the north, crouching low, and moving with purpose. Osvaldo realized his target was making for the road, and with his rifle, he probably could get one of the trucks without argument.

Osvaldo made the fastest calculation of his life. Ben and Sandy will hear the shot if I miss, and go to the trucks. It'll be a few minutes before we get response from the MPs or Border Patrol, but Ben and Sandy can let them know I'm shooting at someone.

He took lead on the moving figure, and squeezed the trigger. Not for the first time, he wished he'd practiced more at the range, as the figure broke into a run, and disappeared behind a clump of ironwood.
Osvaldo turned and ran for the trucks. Halfway back, he remembered the radio at his hip.

"Collins, armed suspect headed to your position. Suspect is armed with a rifle, do not engage." Osvaldo sounded out of breath, like he was running.

Sandy and Ben traded glances, and then he dug in the bag. "You're a better shot, and I'm unsteady on this leg." She accepted the revolver from him, eyes scanning the road to the east.

Ben gave another look at the trucks, wishing he hadn't forgotten his radio earlier, they'd be gone otherwise. As it was, the white-and-green of the Border Patrol's Blazer would draw attention. Feeling slightly sick, he hobbled across the road away from the trucks, and started to lower himself down next to where Sandy lay down on the shoulder.

Osvaldo burst out of the draw, and onto the road, turning around quickly, searching. Ben had just paused in lowering himself down to call to Osvaldo, when a figure appeared about a hundred yards behind Osvaldo. Osvaldo was looking the wrong way, Ben realized, and the figure raised a rifle.

Sandy saw the rifle come up, seemingly aimed at her, though she was lying down on the shoulder of the road. Osvaldo slowly turned in the dying sunlight, silhouetted against the deep purple sky. Ben was sort-of-kneeling next to her, and Sandy suddenly knew.