rather not. Get the second team here on the double.” Briones had ten more men waiting on the far side of the compound as backup. The sergeant murmured into his radio, and forty-five seconds later the additional fighters were crouched with the original team, awaiting instructions.
“They must have motion detectors somewhere inside the yard. Any benefit of surprise is over. Now we need to do this the hard way,” Briones said, and the men exchanged grim looks. “I want two teams. I’ll get the army here with armored personnel vehicles, and when they roll into the yard, we’ll use those as cover. Sergeant, you take the main house. I’ll lead the second team to take out the guest house. There’s no fire coming from the third building, so I think we can assume it’s empty.”
“Yes, sir.”
Briones keyed his radio and relayed his instructions to Major Gutierrez, and then they waited as the sound of heavy trucks rolled down the dirt road from the larger artery around the bend. Three armored trucks approached and stopped a few yards from where Briones and his men were huddled. The lead vehicle passenger door opened, and a captain stepped out onto the dirt. Gunfire chattered from the house, but had diminished in intensity once the men were out of the line of fire.
“We’ll go in together. Let my men open up with the heavy artillery, and then your men can follow up,” the captain said. Briones was torn, but then thought about the six men lying dead inside the compound, and gave his assent.
“Fine. Let’s do this.”
Soldiers poured from out of the backs of the trucks until there were thirty heavily armed men, faces drawn with determination, prepared for the worst. The captain made a hand gesture and the three trucks eased forward through the gates, the soldiers using the first two for cover and the Federales shadowing the last one as the gunfire from the house increased to a barrage. Answering volleys from the soldiers tore through the building’s windows, and bullets ricocheted off the vehicle armor and the driveway pavers as the gunmen in the house intensified their efforts.
Briones motioned to his men and they joined the fray, pummeling the cartel shooters with a deluge of fire. One of the men near Briones grunted and dropped his weapon, and then fell towards him, half his face blown off by a Kalashnikov round. Briones’ jaw quivered and he took the man’s place, letting loose with burst after burst from his M16, enraged at the number of casualties they’d suffered from a supposedly low-intensity home invasion.
One of the soldiers tossed a grenade at the windows and got lucky. The detonation was deafening, and then the shooting from the house stopped. A few more scattered shots emanated from the guest house, and the roar of a big .50-caliber army machine gun silenced them with a three-second sustained volley.
Briones signaled to his men. They fanned out in a loose formation, approaching the house cautiously, crouched, weapons sweeping the area, wary. When they reached the door, the sergeant turned to Briones, anxious for his approval, a thin bead of sweat trickling down his face, grime smeared on it from throwing himself onto the driveway. Briones nodded, and the sergeant gestured to the two assault team members who were carrying an eight-inch diameter iron pipe filled with cement. They slammed it against the door and the flimsy wooden slab tore off its hinges with a crash, and then the nearest officer rolled into the opening, weapon searching for targets.
The interior of the house was a shambles, the grenade’s shrapnel having shredded everything in the main room. Bodies lay everywhere, bloody stumps a testament to the explosive force unleashed by the blast. Briones crept stealthily to the rear hallway and pointed at three of the officers. They edged by him and moved down the narrow corridor to where three doors stood intact – the main bedrooms.
Two of the men framed the first doorway, pressing themselves against the wall, and then the third knelt and pressed down on the bronze lever, pausing for a moment before swinging it open. He rolled out of the doorway and they waited for shots. When none came, the two on either side swung their guns into the room and did a fast search of the guest bedroom. It was empty.
Four more men inched down the hall and repeated the process at the next door, with the same results. The rooms were deserted.