Hostile Borders (6 page)

“So where's Colonel?” Reaper said, asking about the other German shepherd he remembered Hausmann having. “He wasn't that old, was he?”

“No, he wasn't too old,” Hausmann said with some heat in his voice. “There's a bitch we call the snake lover who owns the property just south of mine. She's trying to buy up all of the riparian land around here whenever it goes up for sale, which isn't very often. The government is trying to buy every acre it can but she's got some kind of pull with the local politicos and manages to pick up her share of it.

“She runs some kind of organic food company south of here, has a big ranch and warehousing just a mile or so from the border. It must be successful, she has too much money available for her crackpot schemes. She's trying to make it illegal to harm a rattlesnake anywhere around here, has some kind of thing for the poisonous bastards. At any rate, I found Colonel down by the river about six months ago. He'd been poisoned and I swear that bitch was the only person who could have done it. She hated my dogs, said they scared all of the local animals.”

“You didn't take her to court?” Reaper asked.

“Not enough evidence to prosecute. Or at least that's what the sheriff said. I would sue her myself except that I've been wrapped up in a criminal case for the last several months and haven't had a minute free. Well, paybacks are a bitch.”

Leaning back in his chair, Hausmann took a long drag on his cigar.

“I was really sorry to hear about you and Mary,” Hausmann said, changing the subject.

“Well, we did give it a good try,” Reaper said after a long pull from his beer. “We just finally had to admit that we just weren't going to work out well. We had to finally call it quits before we tore each other apart, and made Ricky's life completely miserable. I think she's happy now teaching school. And Ricky's developing a good set of friends. I see them as much as I can and they both know that I'll always be there for them should they need anything at all.”

There was a flash of sadness that went through Reaper's eyes. Most of the men who had served in the Teams kept their emotions solidly in check, their feelings to themselves. It wasn't that they didn't feel happiness, or sadness, anger, joy, or sorrow. In fact, they felt all of these emotions and more, and they were felt more strongly than the average person experienced them.

SEALs lived on the edge. Even just conducting their training was dangerous. Operators had died over the years without there being an enemy in sight. Emotions could get in the way when a man had to concentrate on his job. They could trip you up during an operation, cause you to fail to achieve your objectives, get you killed. So Reaper didn't show his feelings very much at all. It was an old habit that was hard to get rid of, if he ever could.

Noticing the flash of sadness that passed over his friend, Hausmann kept quiet for a moment.

“Yeah, I understand,” Hausmann said finally. Changing the subject, he went on. “So, what's this I hear on the grapevine that your company is doing contract work for the government?”

“Nothing special yet,” Reaper said. “Doing more work on a consultant basis than anything else. Checking out the new toys, seeing what looks good.”

“Anything over in the sandbox or the rockpile?”

“No, nothing for us in Iraq or Afghanistan. There's quite a lot of contract work over there now. Especially in Iraq. A lot of guys are right in the thick of it.”

“So what finally brought you back to my happy home?” Hausmann said. “Checking up on your investment?”

“Hardly,” Reaper said, “I had business up in Phoenix. Diamondback Tactical has a new vehicle, what they call their Prowler RTV. We're thinking about getting a couple.”

“RTV?” asked Hausmann.

“Rugged terrain vehicle.”

“I wouldn't mind seeing one of those.”

“You will,” Reaper said with a laugh, “they're shipping a pair of them down here. Probably arrive tomorrow. I thought you could help me out and put them through their paces.”

Hausmann's eyes lit up like a kid looking forward to Christmas.

“Hey, cool,” he said, “we can run them out through the foothills of the Mule Mountains. That's just on the far side of the training area.”

Reaper knew very well that Hausmann had been working with several retired SEALs to build up a training site in the Arizona desert. The ranch was only about twelve miles from the border with Mexico and interaction with the local units of the Border Patrol
was common. While with the active Teams, Reaper had cross-trained with the Border Patrol a number of times. They were an excellent source of information and skills on desert work, observation posts, and tracking.

The group Hausmann was with had leased a huge section of desert, a square mile of sand, rocks, and brush, to build up into a training area. The training area began about a quarter mile past a branch of railroad tracks belonging to the San Pedro Northwestern, on the far side of the San Pedro River just east of the house. The Four Horsemen company had invested in the buildup of the training site. They had more than enough cash available and Reaper knew that a desert training area would prove very useful.

“Speaking of your training area,” Reaper said, “how are the range facilities coming along?”

“The first stage of building is complete right now,” Hausmann said. “We've got all of the berms in and the backstops built up for three shooting lanes. The shooting-house is going in later this year so we can run close-quarter combat. The berms are already up for that so there's kind of a fourth lane you can shoot 360 degrees around a central firing point. Why, you need some trigger time?”

“I wouldn't mind it,” Reaper said. “I stopped in at GG&G in Tucson on my way down here. It's why I was so late in finally showing up. They tricked out my M4A1 for M2, and I waited for them to finish up.”

“They build great rigs,” Hausmann said. “I take it you haven't had a chance to try it out yet?”

“Not really,” Reaper said with a laugh. “I didn't want to be too late for the barbecue. The technicians up at GG&G put the whole thing together for me and boresighted the sights, but I didn't have a chance to live-fire it.”

“Well,” Hausmann said as he looked at his watch, “it's getting pretty close to midnight. You up for a ride in the country?”

“Now?” Reaper said.

“Seems like a good time to try out a night-vision sight,” Hausmann said. “We'll take the short route and ride cross-country. Still know how to get on a horse?”

“It's been a while,” Reaper said, “but I don't think I'll fall off.”

Within twenty minutes, the area was cleaned up and two of Hausmann's three horses saddled. While Reaper was unlocking his Kalispel aluminum weapons case in the poolroom, Hausmann came in from the garage with two large metal ammunition boxes.

“I figured you'd probably need some ammunition since you flew in,” Hausmann said. “Need any magazines?”

“The ammunition would be appreciated,” Reaper agreed. “I brought my rifle and pistol, but that was about it. Even locked up my Emerson in the gun case. I do have some magazines, at least enough to zero the gun in.”

Opening up the case, Reaper pulled out his Colt model 927 M4A1 carbine. The long, ribbed flat top of the carbine held the PVS-14 night-vision monocular just above the receiver with the Aimpoint Comp M2 sight in front of it. Looking through the light magnifi
cation tube of the PVS-14 allowed the user to see in anything but complete darkness. With the Comp M2 mounted the way it was on the FIRE rail, the red dot inside the sight could still be seen through the PVS-14.

There were three thirty-round magazines for the M4A1 inside the case, along with a customized Springfield Armory M1911A1, holster, pouch, and magazines for the pistol. The M1911A1 .45 automatic had been customized by Reaper himself, installing a Wilson stainless-steel barrel, beaver tail grip safety and Ed Brown national match trigger, as well as fitting all the internal parts for maximum accuracy and reliability.

While Reaper thumbed rounds from the ammunition cans into the magazines of both weapons, Hausmann went into the weapons room of the house, just up the hall from the poolroom, and opened up the gun vault. He chose a Custom Firearms Inc. M1911A1 in a Blade Tech formed kydex belt holster already on a 1¼-inch wide leather belt. On the left side of the belt was a Blade Tech combo pouch holding a spare magazine for the M1911A1 as well as a SureFire 9Z tactical flashlight. Heading back to the poolroom, Hausmann was adjusting the belt around his waist as Reaper was finishing loading up his magazines.

One of the magazines to the carbine was slipped inside a buttstock mag pouch that was attached to the left side of the collapsible stock on the M4A1. The other two magazines were locked together with a Mag-Grip dual magazine holder. With one of the magazines locked into the weapon, the second was right alongside ready for a quick reload.

“You always keep the second magazine on the left side of the weapon?” Hausmann asked.

Picking up the M4A1, Reaper clipped the snap shackle on his Chalker sling to the Ambi-Egg attachment plate at the front of his carbine's stock.

“Yeah,” Reaper said, “made it a habit. That's the fastest way I've found to see if the reload's been used or not.”

Rotating the carbine so that the muzzle was up by his left shoulder, Reaper secured it in place with a Chalker Hi-Port weapons catch. Now the weapon hung from both of Reaper's shoulders, secured in place by the shackle and Hi-Port catch. All he had to do was flip the Velcro tab of the Hi-Port catch open with the thumb of his left hand and the carbine would immediately be free to use.

Picking up his pistol, Reaper pressed it into the formed plastic of his Fobus Model C21 paddle holster. The large oval piece on the back of the holster, the paddle that gave it its name, slipped over his belt to rest on the inside of his pants over his right hip. A Fobus double magazine pouch of the same design and material went onto his belt at his left hip. Sticking up slightly from Reaper's right front pocket was the pommel end of his Emerson CQC-7 knife with the Wave. The hooklike Wave on the folding knife's blade would pull it open against the back edge of the pocket when it was drawn.

In his khaki 5.11 long-sleeved tactical shirt and his 5.11 range pants tucked into camel tan-colored Bates Durashock model 129 boots, Reaper looked to be ready for just about anything but a nighttime horseback ride.

“This your normal outfit for a night out in Detroit?” Hausmann asked with a grin.

Smiling back, Reaper thought about an evening the year before when he had dressed much as he was now just for a night in downtown Detroit.

“Well,” he said. “I know just how cold it gets here at night so I figured the long sleeves would be good.”

“You've got that right,” Hausmann said as he headed for the door. “But what are you going to do when the batteries run out on all of that cool sighting gear you have there?”

“That's why the folding rear sight,” Reaper said. “Besides, this new model vertical foregrip from GG&G has spare batteries for the sights in it.”

“Today's military runs on batteries,” Hausmann said as both men walked back to the barn. “The Energizer bunny would be so proud.”

The barn with the horse stalls was to the east of the house, behind the patio with the swimming pool and the concrete flat of the basketball court. A fenced-in paddock was to the right of the barn, and Reaper could see that there were two horses in it, a black and a roan. Both horses were harnessed up with saddles and bridles ready.

“Vixen, the roan, she's yours,” Hausmann said. “She's a real good ride for someone who hasn't been in the saddle for a while. The stallion's Eagle and he's a bit of a knucklehead so I'll ride him.”

Taking up the reins, the two men walked the horses to the far side of the paddock where it faced the river and the tree line. Opening the gate, Hausmann let
Reaper through and handed him the reins to Eagle while he secured the gate again. Then they walked down to the other fence, part of the wall that surrounded the compound, and repeated the procedure. Once up on the bank of the river, Hausmann put his foot in the stirrup and mounted up onto Eagle.

Competently, but not quite as smoothly, Reaper mounted into the saddle on Vixen and settled in with a squeak of leather.

“Oh, this has been a while,” Reaper said.

“Don't worry, it'll all come back to you,” Hausmann said. “And you can be sure your thighs will remind you about your ride tomorrow morning.”

Though the trees overhead cut back on the moonlight, it was still a bright enough night to see all the way down to the river. The frogs were only quiet long enough for the two horses to pass before building up their normal level of night noise again. Down by the river, the horses paused to drink while Hausmann explained how they would cross the river.

“It took nearly twenty loads of rock,” Hausmann said, “but we managed to build up an easy fording area right here.”

Hausmann pointed to where the path they were on met the river's edge.

“You don't have to worry about where we're going or how to get there,” he said. “This is the same ride I take just about every morning. I rotate through the horses and exercise them just after sunup. This is just a little early for them, is all.”

Crossing the river, they went up over the bank on the
other side and were soon following a railroad line. There was still heavy brush growth close by the river, but the trees were much fewer in number and not nearly so tall and lush. Riding along the rails, the men were about a hundred yards from the house when Hausmann pointed to a trail leading back down to the river.

“There's a single-line rope bridge across the river at the bottom of that trail,” Hausmann said. “It's the only way across without getting your feet wet for miles.”

The river and the rail line curved off to the east, coming close enough together that the larger trees were growing up near the rails. The men hadn't ridden another fifty yards up against the tree line before both horses suddenly stopped. Vixen had pricked up her ears and swiveled them forward, raising her head in the process. Eagle was pulling his head up and did not appear to want to take another step. Raising his right hand, Hausmann closed it into a fist—the silent signal to stop, not the sort of thing Reaper expected to see that night.

Pulling hard on the reins, Hausmann had Eagle under control as he sidled him up to Reaper. Leaning over, Hausmann whispered:

“Looks like we have company up ahead. Probably illegals coming up from Mexico and heading…”

He never finished the sentence as suddenly there was a long burst of fire from a suppressed weapon coming at them from just past the curve. It was only the fact that both men were bending down to whisper, and that most shooters aim too high at night, that kept
both Reaper and Hausmann from being hit in that first burst.

As the bullets went by, Eagle tried to break away from Hausmann's control. With the whites of his eyes shining in the dark, Eagle twisted to the side and down the embankment to the river. The panicking horse smashed Hausmann into a low-hanging branch, knocking the man back and out of his saddle.

Pulling hard on his own reins to keep Vixen from following the stallion into panic, Reaper fought to maintain control of the horse. Seeing Hausmann get knocked from the saddle, Reaper had to move quickly to get to his friend. Pulling his feet from the stirrups, Reaper jumped from the saddle, his right hand on the pistol grip of his M4A1.

Hitting the ground in a roll, Reaper quickly got to his feet and remained in a crouch. The incoming gunfire had stopped, but Reaper could hear bodies carefully moving through the undergrowth. Snapping off the Chalker Hi-Port catch, Reaper swung his M4A1 into firing position. Snapping switches with his left hand, he turned on the PVS-14 night-vision monocular and the Aimpoint Comp M2 reflex sight as his right hand thumbed the safety selector switch to the full automatic position. Now he could see in the dark, probably better than whoever it was facing them. And they probably weren't expecting to be facing an armed and highly trained ex-Navy SEAL.

With the M4A1 solidly against his shoulder, Reaper moved up to where he had seen Hausmann fall into the underbrush. In the sparkling screen of the PVS-14,
Reaper could see the world in tones of green and shadow. There was movement in the brush ahead as Reaper saw armed men moving toward them. The men were armed with at least one suppressed submachine gun, and two of them were carrying what looked like heavy rifles, possibly German G3s, to Reaper. If this was a bunch of illegals just crossing the border, they were pretty damned heavily armed.

Moving forward, Reaper came to where Hausmann was lying on the ground. The man had a deep gash on his forehead and was moving weakly. Before Reaper could pick his friend up and get him out of there, he had to slow up the approaching men.

Taking careful aim, Reaper placed the red dot in the middle of the chest of one of the men. Squeezing the trigger, the night was split with the sound and flash of the fourteen-inch-barreled weapon as Reaper sent a three-round burst at his target.

The man Reaper had been firing at dove into the underbrush. But he was moving too well for Reaper to have hit him with his first burst. The damned sights may have been off. Tracking the weapon around, Reaper sent several short bursts of fire across the bend in the rails, strafing the area with high-speed M855 5.56mm projectiles.

He didn't have enough ammunition with him to be lavish with such fire. But Reaper knew that the only way to break an ambush was to go right through it with as much firepower as you could bring to bear. The trouble was, he didn't have all that much firepower.

Deciding on a course of action, Reaper dumped the
rest of his magazine in a long burst of fire across the area. Crashing in the brush and the sudden booming roar of several 7.62mm rifles firing on full automatic told Reaper that he had gotten the men's attention. The bullets snapped by overhead, screaming through the trees and knocking leaves down onto Reaper's head.

Quickly Reaper pulled his empty magazine from the M4A1 and immediately inserted the fully loaded one that was attached to it. Slapping the bolt release sent the bolt carrier forward, stripping off the first round in the magazine and loading the weapon. That gave him twenty-eight rounds at the ready with one round in the chamber and twenty-seven in the magazine. It wasn't a lot, but it would have to do.

Bending down, he picked up Hausmann and slung him over his left shoulder. He would do his best to pull out with his friend, there wasn't any possible way he would leave him behind. But right now, John Wayne and the cavalry coming in would be a very welcome sight.

There was a sudden thundering noise coming up behind Reaper. Before he could even swing his weapon around, two deadly black shadows charged past him as Sarge and Grunt arrived on the scene. The rottweilers were just black shapes in the dark of the night as they silently ran forward. No barking, no growls, only muscular power and shining white teeth. In spite of his situation, Reaper suddenly felt a little sorry for the ambushers in the brush.

High-pitched terrified screams rang out from the woods, along with a roaring growl as the rottweilers
moved in for the attack. Reaper had never heard a dog make a sound like that. It wasn't a growl or a bark. If anything, it sounded like the deep-throated roar of a lion. Gunfire lashed out in all directions, but there were no answering yelps to indicate a dog was hit.

Taking advantage of the situation, Reaper started heading back toward the compound with Hausmann across his back. It was obvious to the ex-SEAL that the dogs could take care of themselves very well. Hausmann was hurt, probably a concussion at the very least. And Reaper had to get him to a hospital.

Coming to the path that led down to the rope bridge, Reaper passed up on it to cross at the ford. Hausmann was starting to move around more and Reaper didn't want to risk crossing a V-shaped rope bridge with a possibly struggling man on his back.

Moving down the bank to the water, Reaper heard the thudding noise that indicated the approach of the two dogs. Up ahead, Major and Jarhead were barking madly and running up and down the fence. The two rottweilers must have jumped over the fence, Reaper thought just as the two dogs appeared from out of the darkness.

Neither animal looked hurt, but the glistening shine from their short, broad muzzles told Reaper the story. Someone, or a group of someones, had learned first-hand that night just how powerful a rottweiler's bite could be. He wondered if there were some bodies back in the brush to be found by the sheriff after Reaper called the incident in.