There were six people inside that they knew of – five men and one woman, who appeared to be El Gato’s seventeen-year-old sometimes-girlfriend. If they could be captured without shooting, it would be another coup in a year of them for Cruz – between capturing El Rey and several other high-profile operations, he appeared to have the Midas touch, even if nothing much changed in the criminal underworld besides the names.
Briones sat back, his leg bouncing impatiently, anxious to get the operation underway. Every minute that passed increased the odds of something going wrong and alerting the target – an all-too-common occurrence when the army was involved. Even though all the soldiers on these offensives were vetted and trusted, the truth was that in a world where their pay was three hundred dollars a month, it was all too easy to buy information. He would know soon enough, he supposed. Once the soldiers had sealed off the perimeter he would send his officers in, and then it would be over quickly.
His other radio issued a burst of static, and then a deep male voice cut through the hush in the van.
“Lieutenant Briones. This is Major Gutierrez. We are in position. Are there any changes or additions to our orders?”
Briones shook his head. “Negative. Just seal off the roads and make sure nobody gets in or out. We’re going in. Hold your positions unless I expressly tell you not to. Understood?”
“Roger that. We will hunker down. Consider the perimeter sealed. Out.”
Briones stood and donned his helmet and Kevlar vest, and over it pulled a dark blue windbreaker with Federales emblazoned across the back. He reached down and grabbed an M16 assault rifle and chambered a round, then looked at the remaining three men in the van.
“Time to roll. I’m headed to the first squad. Be there within two minutes. Come on, Santiro. Let’s hit it.” He gestured to the other man in assault garb, who nodded and slipped his vest on and then gathered his weapons.
They exited the van and trotted down the dirt road to where Briones had twenty crack officers waiting in the dark. He had been through countless similar assaults with these men, and everyone knew the drill. Hand signals only, fire only if fired upon; the objective to take as many of the cartel members alive as possible.
When the two men reached the others, Briones frowned at the squad leader, a hard-faced sergeant with a decade of assault experience, and gestured to the iron gate in the perimeter wall that sealed the three buildings of the compound from the street. The sergeant nodded and the men moved out, their rubber-soled boots thumping on the dirt as they jogged to the gate. Earlier that day an undercover officer had made multiple slow runs by it and confirmed there were no cameras mounted outside – a positive for the assault force. The sergeant motioned to one of the men, who moved forward with a set of picks and quickly opened the lock. Another man sprayed lubricant on the hinges. Two of the officers pushed it open, and the rest moved into the large area in front of the main house, weapons at the ready.
Briones stood by the perimeter wall, anxiety nagging at him. This was all too easy. Something wasn’t right. He debated calling the men back, but then choked down the unease. Sometimes things went well. It wasn’t necessary to expect mayhem on every operation. The buildings were quiet, no signs of life, nothing stirring. Perhaps gratitude was more appropriate than agitation.
The group was halfway to the house when a window slid open, and then the night exploded with gunfire, automatic weapons chattering from two of the three buildings. A round caught the officer next to Briones in the chest. His vest absorbed the blow, but the force knocked him off his feet. In the courtyard, a handful of the Federales were cut down in as many seconds – a disaster that left the rest without any shelter, sitting ducks for the cartel gunmen.
“Fall back. Now,” Briones hissed into his com line, all the officers’ helmets containing similar communications gear as well as night vision goggles.
The Federales returned fire, trying to buy themselves breathing room, but when they regrouped outside the walls, only fourteen men were left of the original twenty.
“Lieutenant. Do you want to get the soldiers here?” the sergeant barked, panting, watching as his men fired measured bursts at the house.