to be a stray goat, don’t take any chances.”
There were some quiet acknowledgements, and the unit dispersed. John knew that they were all scared; they should be. He didn’t like it, but this was just one night out of the year and he hoped it would pass peacefully.
With the men available, the Border Agents were only planning on six outposts over the sixteen-mile sector. The terrain was rough, with poor dirt roads, so three miles between posts was difficult to support. Gear was issued, and the soldiers departed at dusk teamed up with their Agent counterparts for their outposts. Stokes and the rest of the support team were mobile in a HMMWV, which could cover rough terrain better than any of the Border Patrol trucks. It was going to be a long night with shifts lasting eight hours, twice the normal duration.
As evening fell, Schmitt was tired and knew how all of the team must feel. A few Freight Go!! Trucks had checked through during the day, but they were spaced too far or too close to be the targets. The second team was just relieving the first when a cell call came to Schmitt.
“Talk to me.”
In Spanish, the caller spoke in a hushed tone with the phone cupped near his mouth. There was a Freight Go!! truck crossing the bridge and another was approaching at about the right separation distance. The call ended quickly.
The Mexicans had scanners that listened to all law enforcement frequencies. They would be listening carefully when the drug carrier neared the border. Instead of radios, the plan was based on a phone-tree concept, using mobile phones to alert the Seizure team. They were set when the first truck could be seen at the middle of the bridge, creeping slowly with the traffic toward the U.S. checkpoint.
After calls began, Schmitt moved out of a building half a mile north of the checkpoint into his unmarked pickup truck to oversee the operation. No Government vehicles were parked within sight of the Seizure Zone. About thirty minutes later, he received an SMS message that the first truck had cleared into the U.S. He could see it through binoculars behind a long line of cars and trucks. It was beginning to accelerate and passed his location in less than a minute.
Tension grew as the responders braced for the second truck. Everyone was nervous. Mike wished they could have open communications so that he could give periodic radio checks and pep talks. It would be almost thirty minutes before the second truck exited the checkpoint. Everyone was counting the minutes; some were watching the seconds.
Traffic continued moving past, as they waited. With his binoculars, he saw the truck enter the U.S. Customs check gate with the crossing bar down. The Agents were briefed to ask routine questions, but not to detain the truck for any reason. The crossing bar stayed down about fifteen seconds longer than the surrounding lanes. When it raised, the truck began moving forward, and a few cars emerged from parallel gates before the bars were fixed in the down position as the plan went into motion.
The truck driver didn’t notice the gap forming behind him as the last cars accelerated past him. It would take the truck over a minute to reach freeway speed. As he shifted through fifth gear, the road ahead was void of cars, and there were none coming from behind either. He continued to accelerate while looking in his mirrors. All the gates remained closed, including the car behind him with four compañeros. Through his binoculars, Mike could see the driver animatedly talking to his co-driver as the truck reached about thirty miles per hour.
Several trucks had been in the inspection line parallel to the crossing gates that started rolling immediately after the Freight Go!! truck cleared. They were all empty and could accelerate at twice the rate. Within five hundred yards of the gates, the trucks converged abreast behind the smuggler, forming a rolling blockade. At the same time, trucks ahead began slowing, forming a solid rolling blockade ahead.
Mike now used the radio to alert other team members simultaneously, as the blocking trucks narrowed the gaps and began slowing the procession. The Freight Go!! truck began billowing smoke as the driver began downshifting wildly, trying to find an opening but having to slow down quickly to avoid a collision. He could see a point ahead where dozens of law enforcement vehicles and SWAT were waiting.
Mike got an urgent call on the open radio channel that shots had been fired at the Customs gates and that a vehicle had crashed through the crossing bar. As the convoy passed slowly, he saw a Chevy van through his binoculars with Mexican license plates, coming fast. He made another radio call, and the rear doors of the trailing blockade trucks flung open with a dozen officers in full battle dress aiming M16s from behind sand bags.
Realizing, too late, that they had been ambushed, the driver turned the steering wheel sharply, flipping the van onto its side, tossing some of the occupants onto the street at high speed. It skidded into the medium with a loud crash, throwing the driver half way through the windshield. The blocking trucks had stopped, and armed SWAT officers jumped from the backs.
With the convoy completely stopped, the rear doors of all lead blocking trucks opened, showing the same SWAT force numbers as the rear trucks. The Mexican truck drivers raised their hands quickly, facing more than a dozen assault weapons.
Mike and several officers went to the back of the Freight Go!!, cutting the lock. The doors were opened carefully with several guns pointed inside. There were no guards inside the trailer.
A short time later in the desert, Stokes and all of the Border Agents received a radio call that the seizure was successful. All understood the significance. The publicity around the largest land seizure in history would help to dull the memory of Billy Ware. But the mood changed abruptly several minutes later when one of the outposts radioed that it was under attack. Diaz was driving the HMMWV and changed course to reach their men six miles away on the unimproved road. Two minutes later, the team under attack made a second call, and then a third call came from a different outpost.
Stokes got on the radio to Ysleta station, but the radio operator said they had no backup, everyone was at the truck stop. The operator called El Paso Sector station and got the same response. There was no time for anyone at the truck stop to get to the border outposts. Stokes, Gorman and Diaz were the only support anyone would get. He immediately called three outposts to abandon their locations and assist. All acknowledged, but it would be ten minutes, at least, before most would arrived.
At the truck stop, Schmitt’s triumphant mood shifted when he learned they were being attacked at the outposts. He called the air operations desk and ordered the helicopter to his location ASAP. He would fly with three other agents to help.
Even as the HMMWV scrambled at dangerous speed along the edge of the canal toward the outpost, they could hear gunfire above their own vehicle noise. Stokes told Diaz to blast the horn, letting them know they were coming. It seemed to work as they got close to their men, gunfire ceased, and he could see two men, a soldier and the Border Officer in dark green. Both were sitting on the ground against the front tire of the white truck with guns beside them. Gorman and Stokes jumped from the truck before it stopped.
They ran to their men who were both wounded. Gorman had grabbed the first aid kit from the truck while Stokes and Diaz moved to the brush boundary. One dead barefoot Mexican was face down ten feet into the brush. It was dark, but Diaz signaled that he was going farther in to check in the direction of some moaning. Stokes covered, as Diaz disappeared in tall brush. In a moment, there was a distinctive M4 gun burst and Stokes charged, meeting Diaz coming out. The sergeant grinned, saying, “Poor soul, he still had his weapon in his hand.”
Stokes walked out behind him toward the truck. “Did you ask him to drop it?”
Diaz showed a wry smile. “Of course I did. Poor guy, I don’t think he understood English.”
Stokes chuckled. As the injured men were stabilized, gunfire sounded about a mile away. Stokes told Gorman to wait for the helicopter and signaled Diaz toward the HMMWV.
They found the white USBP truck three minutes later. A Border Agent was dead, and the Guardsma
n was missing. Hundreds of 5.62mm (U.S. military M16 ammunition) shell casings littered the ground, but no one answered their calls. They received a radio call from the third hot zone. Two Americans were dead along with several dead Mexicans. He called all troops to rally at Gorman’s location.
Hector Cardenas was at his mansion on the coast about to enter a Jacuzzi by his pool, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He had his cellphone to his ear and a glass of Champagne in the other. He was naked, as was the beauty waiting for him. He was so excited on the phone that his erection failed. He let out two loud hoots that distressed the house staff. This had been a perfect day!
He sat on the edge of the bubbling pool while his “friend” beckoned him in. She didn’t speak English, and he gestured with his finger saying, “Uno momento, mi amante,” while dialing a U.S. number. “Amigo, you are a wealthy man. Si, si.” The dialogue ended, and he tossed the phone on a chaise and refilled his glass. He let out two more hoots before eagerly joining his bathing beauty.
Things couldn’t have gone better. The Solidero Cartel had paid a dear price for defying his control of drugs passing through Juarez. Not only that, his shipment was even larger and had been allowed to pass freely