Shep acknowledged, then spoke to Carl. The two men were sitting just feet apart in the helicopter, but the incredible noise of the machine meant they needed radio headsets to communicate.
“Take us back to the west, low, slow pass.”
Carl said, “I’ll give you low or I’ll give you slow, but you can’t have both. We’ll be a sitting duck.”
“Low and fast, then. I’ve got to thin that herd!”
“Roger that. Hang on for a yank and bank!”
Carl pulled the stick hard and the Eurocopter swung violently to the left.
Shep aimed in on a group of flashes right where A.J. directed him, and he squeezed off a single round, killing a cartel soldier with a shot through the stomach. He shifted fire to the right and sent another round into the foot of a second enemy, taking the man out of the fight.
He poured rounds into the group as they flew fifty feet above the men, the sound of incoming gunfire cracking through the outgoing and the AS350’s engine and rotors.
Shep transmitted as he aimed on another cluster, moving through thick brush off the dirt road. “Harry, be advised. Me and A.J. are giving this QRF a bloody nose, but you’ll still have a dozen or more men at the house in under two mikes. There’s too many of them and—”
Just then accurate automatic weapons fire from the ground pounded the nose of the helo.
“Pulling out!” Carl shouted as glass and metal sprayed around the cockpit. He yanked the stick hard to the right now, sending the Eurocopter into another hard turn. Shep lurched to his right and then slumped back in his seat, his head down.
The Vietnam veteran at the controls nosed his aircraft down to build speed and to flee the gunfire and, as he concentrated on the dark landscape feet under his skids, he called out over the radio. “Papa is hit! Papa is hit.”
Only when he leveled off did he look over to the big man next to him. Shep had taken a rifle round through the throat, and blood spurted out over the controls on his side of the dash. He was ashen and his eyes were closed, his arms at his sides as his lifeblood poured from him.
“Shep! Shep!” Carl tried in vain to get a response from the big man. Rodney and Kareem called over the radio, desperate for an update on their leader, but the pilot ignored them, because now his oil light flashed on his instrument panel.
He had to land, but he also knew he needed to create more distance from the enemy before doing so.
“Report status of Papa,” A.J. demanded now.
“KIA,” Carl replied. And then, “Sorry, boys. And you’ve lost your air cover for now. A.J., I’m putting down about two hundred yards west of you to check this out. You’ve got the fight on the outside now.”
“Roger that,” A.J. replied, before adding, “Harry, Kareem, and Rodney, the fuckers from the bunkhouse are heading your way.”
* * *
• • •
Jaco Verdoorn made it to the row of three black Mercedes G-Class SUVs already idling in front of the house. Cage and Hall were in the second vehicle, with three of Hall’s six men in the driver’s seats of the impromptu motorcade, and one more in the front passenger side of each vehicle.
Verdoorn opened the back door next to Cage, who was seated next to Hall. The South African all but threw Maja inside across from them.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Cage screamed. Cage was panicking and, to Verdoorn, Sean didn’t look much cooler. “Let’s move it!”
Verdoorn didn’t respond to his boss. Instead he looked to Hall. “Remember. She’s the key.”
“She’s the what?” Cage shouted.
Hall nodded to Verdoorn, then turned to his protectee. “Sir, we’ll talk about it on the drive. We have to get out of here before that helo circles back.”
Verdoorn began closing the door, but Cage put his foot out to stop him. “Wait. You aren’t coming?”
Jaco turned around and looked at the house. “Gentry’s here, boss. This is where I belong.”
He shut the door to the G-Wagen and ran back towards the front door of the home.
* * *
• • •
I link up with Kareem and Rodney on the second-floor landing in the center of the building. Both men report shooting two guards, meaning we’ve dropped five in total, and together we’ve found six women and girls, all of whom we’ve asked to shelter in place while we clear the area.
The raid has been going on no more than a minute and a half, but I can see that both my teammates are gassed. Rodney puts his hand out on a wall for a breather, and Kareem is wincing with each step.
“You hit?”
“Hit by time, bro. Bad back.”
Christ.
He sees my concern as he begins reloading his rifle. “It’s all about adrenaline now, anyway.” He snaps a fresh mag in and drops the bolt release. “Let’s rock.”
Rodney gets off the wall and we stack up in a three-man train, then begin heading down to the first floor, but before we make it more than a couple of steps, a group of three armed Latino males spin into view below us. They are looking for threats, but they hesitate an instant as they size us up as targets.
Kareem, Rodney, and I each fire a controlled double-tap, two into each man, and all three tumble back down to the ground floor, dead.
We start down again, but Kareem grabs me by the shoulder just as Rodney tosses a flash bang grenade past my ear. All three of us turn away as it detonates below us in the entry hall of the ranch house.
We descend the rest of the way, where we stumble upon two white men in plain clothing on their hands and knees, disoriented from the banger. Kareem knocks them both flat to the floor while Rodney and I cover back up the stairs as well as the ground-floor hallways leading into both the east and west wings, and a doorway from the entry hall into the kitchen.
The first man on the floor who Kareem checks is unarmed, but the other is lying next to a Heckler & Koch semiautomatic pistol, and under his coat we can see the telltale imprint of a radio on his belt.
Kareem says, “He’s hostile. What do I do with—”
Without speaking, I shift my AK and shoot the man once in the back of the head.
“We don’t have time to give quarter to these motherfuckers.”
Kareem, who is now kneeling on a dead body, just says, “Works for me,” and then he rises and drops back down over to the unarmed man, wincing with back pain as he does so.
This civilian is in the fetal position; he’s pissed his pants and he’s crying like a baby. He’s obviously expecting to lose his life, just like the man on the floor six feet away has.