The road narrowed for a period, as the mesquite, huisache and wild olives crowded the ruins around them.  The hairs on the soldados’ necks stood on end as the shrill screams of a herd of javelinas could be heard somewhere in the tall shadows of the distance.  After several hundred feet of tense silence, the restrictive thicket relented to the dusty, open trail that lay beyond.

As they made a final turn, they could see the aluminum boats and their operators at the water’s edge, beyond the open plaza.  The four drug mules wore long serapes and hoods over their heads; they preferred to remain as anonymous as possible on nights like these; each of the mules had dim oil lanterns that served as a beacon for the SUVs.  The eerie scene made some of the men rather uneasy.  The stone ruins of a centuries-old village with dark, ghoulish figures on the edge of a black water lake conjured images of Charon towering over the banks of the River Acheron, as he waited to the ferry damned souls across to their eternity.  All they needed now was an obolus in their mouth to pay the toll, they gloomily thought to themselves.

The darkness was in full effect as they rounded the plaza, now merely several hundred feet from the figures and the rendezvous point.  One by one, the cloaked mules extinguished their lanterns and faded into the darkness around them.  The vehicles slowed as the men inside were perplexed by the odd behavior from their contacts; they peered into the darkness, but the cloaked men were gone.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Reese, Barrett and the two rangers from Houston stood waiting by the water, just east of the plaza; the bodies of the previous owners rested in the bottom of the boats beside them.  Their lanterns were turned down low so that they would be noticed by the cartel soldados, but little else could be discerned; the dull glow from the flames danced on the dark waters behind them as gentle waves lapped the shore.

Barrett leaned over to Reese and whispered, “Sure hope they don’t get spooked and shoot on sight.”

“We’ll probably be fine.”

“Probably?”

Reese smirked and replied, “Sorry, I forget you’ve been out here a while; seriously though, sometimes a sense of humor is all that gets you through the hard times, and we are due some hard times.  Look, over there, we’ve got company.”

Reese and his three teammates watched as the headlights illuminated the south edge of the plaza; they could hear the sounds of the distant vehicles’ tires crunching along the loose cobblestone alley as they slowly approached.  A frightened covey of quail could be heard scattering somewhere across the plaza as the SUVs approached.

The vehicles finally appeared from the depths of the alley, at the far corner of the plaza.  The remnants of an old tower and several stone benches and fountains in the open square were all that separated Reese and his team from their prey.  An M4 carbine hung from a single point sling underneath each of the men’s serapes as they held their lanterns.  They watched as the vehicles turned northeast and followed the perimeter of the plaza; before the SUVs were able to turn south and illuminate the four men, they quenched the flames and disappeared into the shadows.  The men dropped the lanterns and pulled the night vision goggles that had been hidden under their hoods down over their eyes; they dashed through the darkness to several piles of stone rubble that dotted the shoreline just west of the boats.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Holt and nearly a dozen other men slunk back into the shadows of the roofless stone ruins, as the headlights shined below them on the road, and illuminated the fine particulates of dust that hung heavy in the air.  Viejo Guerrero was the perfect venue for an ambush; it had the cover, the ambience to unnerve the superstitious among their quarry, and the bait to lull the others into complacency.

As he focused his attention on the approaching SUVs, the unexpected rushing sounds from the panicked covey of quails caused Holt’s heart to flutter in his chest, as quails are quite apt to do.  Adrenaline coursed through his veins for the moment he was uncertain of the source; his momentary fright had not gone unnoticed by the men around him as they grinned silently and continued to scan the plaza below.  Holt sighed to himself and thought, I will surely hear about this later.

Holt and the other men in the ruins began to ease back into position from the deep recesses as the SUVs slowly passed them without event.  The dozen men under Holt’s command were divided into three fire teams; in addition to two riflemen, each team had a grenadier and a man equipped with a squad automatic weapon, or SAW.

Holt and the fire teams watched from the various ruins around the plaza, as the vehicles advanced along the perimeter road to meet the drug mules by the shore.  As the vehicles prepared to navigate the final turn around the north corner of the open square, the dim lanterns by the shore faded away; Holt slowly counted to five in his head and then whispered into the microphone, “Now.”

As the grenadiers fired a volley of 40 mm grenades from their launchers, attached to the underside of their carbines, the SAW operators unleashed a deafening hailstorm of lead and fury on the four vehicles.  One of the grenades sailed perfectly into an open rear window and landed in the passenger’s lap; the soldados tried to dive from the vehicle, but it was too late.  The windows of the vehicle blew outward simultaneously as the interior of the SUV was decimated; a small fire began to smolder in the back seat as the men in the rear vehicle stared on in shock.

A second grenade landed on another vehicle’s hood as the blast shattered the front windshield, killing the driver and front passenger; the terrified amigo in the back seat rolled out onto the ground and plunged headlong into the darkness.  Amazingly, the fleeing man was able to avoid the wall of lead from the SAWs that was battering the ground and sending plumes of dust into the air all around him.

“Let him go,” Holt radioed, “I have plans for him; finish off the others.”

Meanwhile, the remaining grenades exploded around the other vehicles, wrinkling sheet metal and sending shards of glass and debris into the faces of the stunned soldados.  The SAWs ventilated the SUVs relentlessly as the soldiers with M4 carbines targeted any amigos that had survived the onslaught up to that point and tried to return fire.  The men whooped like a Comanche war band as they fired at the narco soldados; their war cries only served to fan the flames of terror and confusion that consumed the amigos in the plaza below.  Within several seconds of the start of the overwhelmingly violent ambush, it was over; only one soldado remained as he fled into the night.

Holt radioed again, “Send out the riders.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The terrified amigo tore blindly through the thick brush and shrubs that surrounded the plaza; he groaned as the thorny mesquite, blackbrush and huisache cut his arms and pricked his hands.  The poisonous thorns burned and throbbed as they broke off in his skin, but he did not care; all that mattered was to escape.

As he pushed through the edge of the thicket, he stumbled and fell headlong into the dusty alley beyond.  A sharp pain shot through his body as his head smashed against a large stone block; he curled his body into a tight ball and cursed the ruins of this place as he writhed in pain.  As he pushed himself up from the ground he staggered about momentarily, his head still dazed from the blow.

Clip, clop!  Clip, clop!  He lurched forward and nearly fell again as the sounds of the hooves could be heard somewhere behind him.  He turned and dashed up the narrow dirt alley, searching in vain for somewhere to hide from the dark riders.

Clip, clop!  Clip, clop!  As he reached the intersection, he darted to the left and ran to the southwest, parallel with and several hundred feet from the shoreline.  The yips and barks of two distant coyotes echoed through the night air as they exchanged their nocturnal discourse.  He fumbled at his side for his nickel plated revolver, but it was nowhere to be found.