“You okay, ma’am?” Private Tango asked quietly.
“Do I look okay?” Esmeralda shot back. “Those bastards just killed my sister. No, no, I’m not okay!”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Private Tango said sheepishly.
“And for the record, my name isn’t ma’am.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing to me!”
“Calm down,” El Coyote said.
“Don’t you tell me to calm down!” Esmeralda screamed. “It’s all your fault. You let these stupid gringos into the club. All they do is just sit around watching me dance and don’t even tip. And then, if that’s not enough, they bring the Padre right to us. Everything is gone, Lupe is dead, and it’s all your fault!” Esmeralda punched the bus seat in front of her with the butt of her pistol.
“What are we going to do about Zulu and the civilian?” Private Foxtrot asked.
“They’re with the one they call the Padre,” replied El Coyote. “I know where his farmhouse is. I’m sure he’s keeping them there. We’ll get them out, if they’re still alive, and then we’re going to take our revenge. I’ve had enough with these damn cartels. This town is full of good people. No more turning our backs and pretending everything is okay. Enough is enough. El Coyote has had enough.” He looked at Esmeralda and reached for her hand. Esmeralda slapped it away.
“Mr. Coyote,” General X-Ray said, “my men are trained professionals…”
“Your men are fools,” Esmeralda interjected before she turned her head and stared out the window.
“As I was saying, my men are professionals, and even if we had the proper equipment and time to recon and plan a full-scale search-and-rescue mission, we’d be outmanned and outgunned.”
“I have a plan. Driver, head toward the hills over there.” El Coyote pointed across the desert. Fire Team Leader Alpha pulled off the road and headed away from the village. “Esmeralda, you don’t have to come with us,” El Coyote said.
“Screw you. I’m coming. Someone is going to pay for Lupe.” Esmeralda spun the cylinder on her long pistol. The group sat in silence for the next few minutes. Avery watched as the dark red sun settled below the horizon to the west. He wondered if Ziggy was okay. The little hippy was his only real friend, even if Avery rarely treated him like one. For the first time since he’d lost his mother, Avery felt genuine remorse for another human being.
“They’re, like, going to come and get us, right?” Ziggy asked.
“Shhh…you’re going to wake the big Mexican.”
“I’m, like, serious, man. They won’t, like, leave us here. Will they?”
“Well, the General always says never leave a man behind,” Private Zulu replied as he wiggled against his restraints for the hundredth time. “It’s in the Code of Conduct. Right before the part about recycling spent shell cartridges.”
“Dude, like, they left us behind once already.”
“Fair enough, but I’m sure the General has a plan. He always has a plan. I reckon he’s probably out there right now, scouting the place out. He’s a right genius when it comes to operational logistics, and he comes from a long line of war heroes. One of them even singlehandedly sunk a Nazi submarine with his bare hands. Why, I bet the General can’t wait to come in here with guns blazing and bust us out.”
“I really think we should consider calling the American embassy,” General X-Ray said as he wrung his pudgy hands. Sweat dripped down his face. “Maybe they have some hostage negotiators they can call in. If we head back to the border right now, we can be home by sun-up.”
“I can’t believe you want to leave Private Zulu behind,” Fire Team Leader Bravo said.
“Don’t think of it as leaving him behind. Just think of it as leaving him where he is. It’s his own damn fault he got captured. He was clearly instructed to fight to the death. I’m considering court-martialing him posthumously.”
“Don’t you say that, General,” Private Tango said angrily. “Don’t you say Zulu’s dead.”
“Men, we have to come to grips with the fact that he may be KIA. By now, the Mexicans probably know he’s a member of the Southwest Texas Revolutionary Armed Confederate Border Operations Militia. They’ll obviously know our reputation and torture him to death. It’s the unfortunate price of our notoriety and success. I hope he doesn’t give them the HQ’s mailing address.” The General wiped his brow.
“Private Zulu wouldn’t talk. Not in a million, billion years,” Private Tango said.
“Really?”
“Well…maybe.”
“General, must I remind you of our contract,” Avery said as he searched in his fanny pack, hoping to find a snack. “We’re going after them.”
“It’s hopeless,” the General replied.
“With my superior intellect, hardly. We simply define our objectives, identify all the possible variables, and plan accordingly.”
“Pull up over by those three rocks,” El Coyote said. Fire Team Leader Alpha stopped the bus. “Keep the headlights on, and grab your shovels and follow me.” El Coyote led the group to a spot in the middle of three large rocks arranged in a triangle. “Now dig here.” The men dug into the dry ground while Esmeralda repeatedly spun the cylinder of her pistol. Soon, Fire Team Leader Charlie’s entrenching tool hit something made of wood. “That’s it. Now dig it out,” El Coyote instructed. In a few minutes, the top of a wooden crate was exposed. Using his brute strength, the barrel-chested former wrestler pulled the rectangular crate from the ground and opened it.
“Oh, baby,” said Private Foxtrot, as he looked at the collection of pistols and assault rifles inside.
“Gentlemen, welcome to my museum of carnage,” El Coyote said with aplomb as he lifted an AK-47 from the pile and inserted a long, curved magazine. “That’s the ram’s horn.” He winked.
“Where’d you get these?” the General asked.
“Mostly from people who left them in my nightclub,” replied El Coyote as he chambered a round and raised the assault rifle to his shoulder. “People who drink too much tequila tend to leave things behind by accident. I keep them here for safety, because people who drink too much tequila also tend to steal things. Feeling better about our chances now, General X-Ray?”
“It’s certainly an upgrade from our current arsenal, but I don’t know. We still have time to call the police.”
“With all due respect, General,” Esmeralda said as she pulled a box of forty-four-magnum pistol ammunition from the crate. “Shut the hell up.” El Coyote passed out the weapons to the men.
“Forget the guns, amigo,” Private Foxtrot said as he pulled out a half dozen sticks of dynamite from the crate. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about.” He held the explosives to his nose and inhaled deeply, like they were fine cigars. “I’m the demolitions expert ’round here,” he said to El Coyote.
“No, thank you,” Avery said as El Coyote offered him a nine-millimeter automatic pistol. “I’m trained in the deadly art of hand-to-hand combat, namely Monkey Style Kung Fu, but Filipino stick fighting is my specialty.”
“Take it. You don’t fight the cartels with sticks.” Avery accepted the pistol and tucked it in under the strap of his fanny pack.
“Now, then,” Avery began. “We’re not far from the farmhouse. Our first order of business is to eliminate their communications capabilities. I noticed a type of transponder while scouting for chupacabra signs. I’ll tackle that. Second, we’re going to need a diversion. General, I’m leaving that up to you and your men. Lastly, we need to locate Ziggy and Zulu. My bet is that they’re in the main building, but we better split up to be sure. For the main house, Mr. Coyote and the stripper will come with me…” A devastating punch to his liver sent Avery crashing to the ground.