Chapter 6
After he drove out of the village about a mile or so, the road's condition improved to a startling contrast from what he'd bumped and jostled them over the first mile. It wasn't paved, but it might as well have been with its smooth, even, packed dirt. A fine gravel covered it and most likely served as a buffer for the rains. Fortunately that wasn't an obstacle, as the sky was clear and all the stars shone down on the old pickup truck as Sam forced it to keep moving up the road. It strained a bit on the steeper sections, but it kept running. To his surprise, the road leveled off and he skimmed past a couple of buildings made of corrugated metal. No one seemed to be around them, but Sam's instincts told him that it didn't hurt to check them anyway.
Sam applied the breaks and parked on the side of the road. "Okay, let's go check out those buildings."
"No, no!" Diego urged Sam with a voice full of panic as he tugged on the sleeve of Sam's shirt. He spouted off a stream of Spanish, and Sam looked at Hewitt.
Hewitt translated. "Sir, he's saying that those are the buildings where they warehouse large quantities of cocaine, and the kids are put to to work breaking down the bricks into smaller amounts."
Disgust and horror tightened Sam's gut. "Really? That's sick."
"I know, Sir. But that's what they make them do."
Sorrow for the kids brought a sting to the backs of his eyes. In wartime he'd seen plenty of things done to and with children that would make a civilian's stomach turn. He tried to steel himself against such things, but it never got easy. Maybe if it did, he wouldn't be any better than those who committed such atrocities.
Letting out a soft breath, Sam said, "Okay. Let's keep moving. By my watch, we made good time getting up here. It was supposed to be like fifteen miles or something, right?"
"That was what the villagers told us, Sir." Seaver declared from his perch in the truck bed.
"We got up here in about a half hour." He turned to Hewitt. "Ask the kid how much farther to the compound."
Hewitt spoke to Diego, and he replied in Spanish. Hewitt answered, "Another mile, because the road curves around. The kids go up and down a wide path over there, behind the buildings."
Sam raised a pair of night vision binoculars to study the path. "It's clear. We could use it, just go up there and sneak in to get our guys, but we don't know what's up there."
Sam heard the sound of scratching, and he looked to his right to see Diego scribbling on the back of an old official looking piece of paper. He pointed to it and started speaking, and when he finished Hewitt gave Sam the detailed layout of the compound.
"Dammit, why didn't I think of that earlier to ask the kid for a map?" He smiled at Diego and ruffled his hair. "Gracias, Diego."
Diego grinned back and said something else.
"He says that there are three men watching at night. They sleep in the day. So there are even more guys there than we thought, Sir."
"We have darkness on our side," Sam countered. He glanced at the map and by the light of the dash he strategized. "Most likely they've got Mike, Carson and Meyer locked up in the house. We'll get around here into the jungle and approach from that side, do a recon through the windows, and see if we can find them. Look for an easy way inside, do a room by room search, and hopefully be out quick and easy with our guys."
"What about the truck," Hewitt asked.
"We'll see where we can hide it off the road," Sam answered. "Okay, anyone have any objections to this plan?" He glanced at Hewitt, who remained silent and unmoving. He shot a look at Seaver through the back window, and the other man said nothing. "Good. I'm going to pull up a little closer and see if there's some place I can hide the truck."
In the end they wound up parking off the road near a stand of scrub trees, cutting off more brush and camouflaging the vehicle with it. Sam stepped back and studied their work. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.
"What about the kid, Sir? And the others?" Seaver stared at Sam. "You promised we'd get the kids out too."
"I know I did, but with just the three of us... okay, I've got an idea. Hewitt, you break off and approach the dorm with Diego, get the kids up and quietly herd them to the path that leads down to the village. Diego knows where it is." He smiled at the boy. "Seav and I will check out the house and hope our guys can walk out on their own. Then we'll bring them to the truck, load 'em up, and get the hell out of here. We all meet back at the village."
"Hopefully we don't have the cartel following us, Sir," Seaver said. "Those villagers have nothing to defend themselves."
"I'm aware of that," Sam replied with tension in his voice. "I'm trying to do the best I can with our limited resources and save everybody. It ain't easy."
"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." Seaver stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm ready."
Hewitt nodded, his rifle in his hands. "Me too, Sir. Let's do this."
Sam grabbed a rifle from the truck bed and made sure it was loaded. "Alright. Let's liberate everybody."
Hewitt and Diego broke away from Sam and Seaver and the SEAL followed the little boy to the dormitory. Sam and Seaver ducked into the jungle, and with night vision goggles were able to pick their way through the tangled mess to the back of the house. Sam peered into the windows on one end, and Seaver ran up to take the others. He stopped at the first one and gasped, then turned toward Sam, who heard him make the sound.
Seaver motioned him over. When Sam stood beside him, he whispered, "They're all in here, Sir. And there's a door around the side. Easy for getting them out."
"There are people sleeping in these bedrooms," Sam whispered in reply, pointing to the sets of windows along the wall. "I have an idea for keeping them there. Stay with our guys when we get inside, wake 'em up, but make sure they stay quiet."
"Yes, Sir."
Sam took a peek around the corner and saw a couple of guards around the perimeter. They didn't have night vision, so Sam and Seaver's entrance to the house would go unnoticed. So far, the plan was going smooth, in a strange, unnatural way. Sam refused to dwell on that. They were still a long way from free. He pulled out a few tools from his pocket and unlocked the door. A sound of voices got his attention and he looked across the open yard to see the two guards rushing toward the dorm. Flashes of small bodies slipping through the opening to the path told Sam that Hewitt was successful in getting the kids up and away. The guards fired at them, but Hewitt fired back.
"Sir..."
"I know, our window just closed." Sam barged into the house and said, "You take care of them. I've got the people in the bedrooms." He raced down the hall, digging into his pocket for the things that would assist him in keeping these people in their rooms. He smiled when his fingers scooped up the coins in his pocket.
Sam approached the first door and heard mumbling on the other side. He reached up to the top of the door frame and slipped one of the coins into the frame. He stuck another two into the side near the door handle. He crossed the hall and did the same to the other door where he heard people rousing. One more room, and he would be done. He dipped into his pocket for more change just as the door opened and a man came out into the hall with an automatic gun.
With the advantage of night vision, Sam was able to strike the man with a well-aimed punch that laid him out on the floor. Stunned, he tried to recover his weapon but Sam kicked it out of the way and pressed the barrel of his rifle into the man's chest.
"You speak English," Sam asked.
"Ahhh, yes," the man hissed. Judging by the sound, he would have a few bruises later.
"Get up." Sam stepped back and ordered him to his feet. "And get back into that room if you wanna live."
The man obeyed and stumbled inside. A woman sprung at Sam from behind the door brandishing a knife, but Sam turned the gun on her and she halted, staring at the weapon. "You too. Drop the knife and get back."
The man spoke to her in Spanish, and in the blink of an eye she turned into a snarling, raging mass of hate. Sam backed up and she came at him, and he fired, taking her down with one shot. The man came at him, and he took him down too. He checked the room for any more occupants and found none, so he turned and ran back to the room where Michael, Carson and Meyer were being held.
"Are they ready to go," Sam asked Seaver.
"Yes, Sir. Meyer's not doing too good, he's got a bad shoulder wound." Seaver and Carson were in the process of picking him up when Sam entered the room.
"Sam." Michael's voice sounded ragged, but glad to see his friend.
Sam turned to him and despite his desire to embrace him, he held back. "You okay, Mike?"
"Yeah. Just a bit bruised, but I've had worse."
"Good to hear. Now, let's get you guys out of here." He approached the door and listened. "It's quiet out there. Too damn quiet."
"Hewitt got the kids on the path," Seaver reported. "The guards probably gave up when they heard the ruckus in here. I took down a couple of 'em when they tried to come into this room."
"Good work, Seav. Okay, that means there's still one out there if there were three guys canvassing the property. There are a lot more of us. Let's get back to the truck and get our people off this mountain." He handed Michael his rifle and pulled out his side arm. "Ready, Mikey?"
"Anytime, Sam. I'm getting a little tired of this place. The food wasn't as good as what we had in the village, and our hosts could use some lessons in hospitality, you know?"
Sam laughed. "Well, it'll have to wait until someone gets them out. Most likely the SEAL team that shows up, unless they break out first." Sam led the way outside and around the back of the house the way they came.
"How'd you secure them in their rooms, Sir?" Seaver glanced over his shoulder at Sam.
"An old trick from college. I pennied their doors."
"Pennied their doors, Sir?" Seaver asked.
"Yeah. You take a coin and stick it in between the door and the frame, more than one if you can, and if it's thick enough, it'll keep the occupants from opening the door from their side." Sam laughed. "The only way they're getting out is if someone kicks the door in, or someone on the other side is really strong."
Sam and Michael carried Meyer between them, his arms draped over their shoulders. The group exited the house and heard kids screaming and rapid fire. "I guess we know where the other guard is," Sam muttered. "Seaver, go back up Hewitt and help get those kids to safety. We're good here."
"Yes, Sir!" Seaver sprinted across the yard and down the path, and before Sam and Michael could get the freed men around the corner, Seaver laid down a steady rain of firepower. It stopped abruptly, and then there was an eerie silence.
"What now, Sam," Michael asked, his voice stressed by the effort of carrying the injured SEAL.
"South, out of the compound, we've got a truck waiting," Sam answered, and he and Michael hurried to the road that took them past the helopad and down to where the pickup truck still sat in its cover.
Cries of Spanish behind them made Sam realize that he hadn't secured everyone in the rooms, but it was too late now to worry about, and he didn't dare look over his shoulder and risk slowing the progress they were making. He kept pace with Michael and trusted that Carson would hold them off while the duo made it to the truck. Sam signaled to Michael to set Meyer down, and they propped him against a tree trunk.
"The truck's in all this brush. Help me get it uncovered." He pulled at branches and fronds on the driver's side, and Michael worked on the passenger side. In no time the truck was uncovered, and Sam got in to start it.
Michael picked up Meyer and without fanfare rolled him over the side into the truck bed. He jumped in after him and shouted at Sam. "Go! We're in!"
Sam backed up into the road and turned the truck to face downhill. He yelled through the open window on the passenger side, "Carson! Come on!"
Carson had sought cover behind a tree that was fast becoming a stand of toothpicks thanks to the firepower he exchanged with two guards. Carson nodded at his commander and pushed himself away from the tree, using its last bit of protection to get down the slope. A round hit him in the back. Surprise wrote itself on his face and he tumbled down the drive.
"Hang on, Sam. I'll get him!" Michael leaped over the side of the truck and ran to meet Carson.
"I'm okay, Sir. Just got me in the flak jacket," Carson told him when Michael reached to pick him up from the ground. As he found himself being pulled to the truck, he added, "I'm a little shaken up, but I'm fine."
"Good. Get in there and keep your head down." Michael turned and fired at the first guard to show his face over the rise. He grabbed his chest and went down.
"Mike, get in!" Sam put his foot on the accelerator, and he was pleased to see Michael grab the corner of the truck bed and throw himself up and into it.
Michael and Carson let go of a hail of bullets as Sam drove away. Michael said, "Someone must have gotten your captives out, Sam. Or these guys have reinforcements we didn't know about."
In the rearview mirror, Sam saw three of them standing in the road firing at the truck. The road was too narrow to take evasive action by swerving, and he had to pay attention to when the curves came, so he did the best he could. He was coming up on a bend that would get them away from the line of fire, and Sam was tempted to breathe a little easier, but he knew this didn't guarantee they would make it back to the village safe and sound. He felt the strain on the steering and suspension as he pealed around the curve. In the growing light of dawn he could see that the fall wouldn't necessarily be fatal, but it would certainly be ugly. As if in confirmation, a sudden explosion rippled through the truck body, and the chassis jerked toward the precipice.
"Sam, we've been hit," Michael exclaimed from the back.
"Hang on you guys," Sam responded as the muscles in his arms tightened, fighting against the truck's momentum bringing it ever closer to the edge. He muttered, "Damn, why can't you people have guard rails?"
It was a losing battle, two limbs against two tons of steel. The truck tires slipped, tilting the vehicle, leaving it floating in the air for a moment before it plunged off the road. Sam held on tight, but the roof hitting solid ground pried his grip loose from the steering wheel. This was it. After all he'd been through, he was going to die on a Salvadoran mountainside. If he'd had time, his mind would have considered what this meant. Instead, he shut down and went limp, allowing himself to bump and roll in the cab until the carcass came to a stop against a large rock with a dull crunch. He lay on what used to be the cab's roof, not unconscious, but unable to move.
Am I paralyzed, he wondered. He dared to wiggle a few fingers. It didn't hurt, thank God, although the muscles in his forearm felt as if they'd been stretched to their limit. He heard shouts and more Spanish. Jeez, I really need to learn the language if I do any more missions like this! He heard the crunch and swish of someone moving through vegetation, followed by a voice near the wreckage. Sam kept his eyes closed, pretending to be dead. Considering how his head pounded, it probably wasn't far from the truth.
"Están muertos," the voice called.
Sam held his breath until the speaker moved away and he heard voices mingling and becoming more muted by the moment. Even then, he waited a few minutes before attempting to shift his position. After a tumble like that, he had to be careful. Everything seemed fine, but if he cracked a vertebrae or something, he could be in big trouble, or dead. He moved each limb, grateful that each one did what he wanted it to and without much pain. No doubt he would have a crop of bruises on his body when he checked later. Right now, he had to worry about Mike, Carson, and Meyer.
"Mike. Mike, where are you," Sam called out as he crawled from the passenger side window and dropped to the ground. The truck lay on its side at an angle against the rock. Sam walked around the crumpled hulk, every inch of him feeling like he'd aged fifty years in five minutes. Something dripped into his line of sight and he swiped at it with his fingers. He stared at the dark wet fluid on his fingertips. Blood.
With the back of his hand he pulled away the rest and he sucked in a breath as he touched the cut near his hairline. He wiped his hand on his shirt and continued moving around the truck bed, and he craned his head past the tailgate to find the bed empty. Not far from it and the rock, the ground dropped off about one hundred feet to an outcropping below. Sam was relieved to see that no one lay on it.
But where were the others? He turned and scanned the uneven ground upward to the road. Rays of a new sunrise painted the side of the mountain with orange strokes, illuminating the path the truck took down the slope. Sam spied three bodies littering the grasses and other vegetation, and with a knot of fear in his stomach, he noticed that none of them moved. He crawled up the mountainside to the first form that lay face down, and he took care to turn it. Sam swallowed back the bile that rose into his throat when he saw the damage. Meyer was alive, but without adequate medical assistance, Sam was afraid that he wouldn't be for long. He studied the debris field in search of the pack that held their medical gear, and he found it near Carson's body. He scrambled up to get it, checked on Carson and found him breathing and starting to come around.
Carson groaned, "Am… am I really alive?"
Sam smiled down at him. "Yeah, you're alive. Just don't move until I've had a chance to check you out, okay? I've gotta patch Meyer up and I'll be right back."
"Okay." Carson lay unmoving and closed his eyes against the sunlight hitting his face.
Sam returned to Meyer's side and worked on cleaning up the blood from the injured man's face. A long gash ran from his forehead to below his cheek and bled, but Sam pressed a thick pad into it to stem the flow. Meyer groaned in protest and tried to roll away.
"Hey, hey, don't move." Sam pressed his free hand into Meyer's back. "I know this hurts, but I've gotta stop the bleeding."
"Where's everybody else," Meyer asked as he tried to move into a sitting position.
"You shouldn't move until I've checked you out." Sam tried to hold him down, but Meyer was more determined.
"I'm fine, Sir, except for this." He took the gauze from Sam's hand and held it against his wound. "Go on, Sir. Check out the others. I'm fine."
Smirking, Sam declared, "Less than five minutes ago you looked like you were dead."
"I'm sure it looks worse than it is." Meyer returned the smirk, then winced at the pain.
Sam was sure he'd change his tune if he saw himself in a mirror. Nodding, he left Meyer where he sat and climbed to where Carson also sat up assessing his bumps and flowering bruises. He coughed and grabbed his side as the pain registered on his face. "You okay, Carson?"
"Think I have some broken ribs, probably a concussion, but I can make it out of here." He hesitated and added, "Lucinda didn't promise we'd come out of this unscathed, but hey, we're all alive. That's something, ain't it?"
"I haven't checked on Westen yet. If you're the praying kind, put in a good word for him, will ya?" Sam winked and continued up and to the left where Michael lay on his back, limbs spread out, the morning light showing cuts on his face and a massive rip in his fatigue pants. As Sam got closer he discovered the cause and muttered a curse.
"Is he okay, Sir?"
Sam turned and saw Meyer crawling up to him on his hands and knees, favoring his previous shoulder injury.
"I told you to stay put, didn't I?" Sam barked at him.
Smiling, Meyer replied, "Gee, Sir, I must have a head injury affecting my short term memory. I don't remember." The cocked grin he gave him would have earned Meyer a good upbraiding on a normal day, but in that moment when tension was high, his good-natured cockiness deflated some of the anxiety.
"Whatever. You're good enough to walk?"
"I think so, Sir." Meyer stopped on Michael's opposite side. "Is that a femur break?"
"Yes, it is."
Meyer looked ready to gag as he turned white. He dropped on his backside and turned away. "Excuse me, Sir, but I was never much good with field dressing."
"Ha, is anyone?" Sam felt a presence at his elbow and glared at Carson who stopped beside him. "Don't tell me, you're fine too."
"Yes, Sir. Looks like we'll have to take Westen out of here on a stretcher, except we don't have one. Don't worry. Meyer, get off your butt. We'll figure out how to make one with what we've got."
As Sam worked on getting Michael's leg stable for transport and stopping the bleeding, Carson and Meyer devised a way to carry Michael. Their injuries hindered them but they resolved to not let their pain stop them from completing the mission. They were SEALs after all. The sound of an engine brought their heads up and the three looked toward the road to see a pickup truck speeding around the curve. In the back sat several well armed men whose eyes scoured the area around them. They were on the hunt, but none of them seemed concerned with the bodies scattered on the mountainside.
The sound of the engine died as the truck continued down the mountain. When they felt it was safe to move, Sam, Carson, and Meyer got up from their dead man positions. "That was close," Carson muttered. "Come on, Meyer. Let's finish this."
Using a couple of thick branches and some rope they found among the debris, the two men created a sling on which they could lay Michael to carry him down the mountain. It wouldn't be comfortable for the carriers or the passenger, but it was the only way to get him back to the village