Authors: Joe Nobody
Again, the ranger’s badge moved them to the front of the line. A few minutes after parking, Zach and Sam were airborne, riding in the next available Blackhawk for the short hop to the scene of the ambush.
As they descended, Sam pointed to a row of body bags lined neatly on top of the ridge. There were at least 20. “Oh, shit,” the ranger commented under his breath.
After hopping off their shuttle, the duo rushed to escape the choking cloud of sand and grit blown into the otherwise clear Texas morning. Major Putnam met them at the edge of cleaner air.
“Ranger Bass, Ranger Temple,” the company commander greeted. “Right this way. There’s a temporary operations center just over the canyon’s crest. We’ll get you up to speed quickly, and then you can survey the crime scene.”
“Sir?” Zach said over the drone of the helicopter, “Were all of those body bags our people?”
Putnam’s grimace answered the question without any need for words. As the trio continued walking, he expanded. “Yes. The ROT Marines suffered 23 dead, another 8 wounded. They were on a training exercise and thus weren’t carrying ammunition for their weapons. One of the survivors claims the lieutenant commanding the platoon returned fire, but we’ve yet to confirm that report.”
“Who hit them, sir?” Sam questioned.
“Unknown. We’re still interviewing the remaining Marines, but their stories vary wildly. It was dark. Their unit was exhausted, and the assault was a complete surprise. I’ve heard reports varying from 5 to 50 assailants. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle.”
They arrived at a large tent, several folding tables having been placed in the shade. The state trooper at the roadblock had been accurate when describing the response.
Workers in a wide assortment of uniforms were hustling in every direction. A bank of radios had been brought in, as well as a small generator to provide electricity. Zach spotted military uniforms with insignias indicating the republic’s military high command had gotten involved. The ranger didn’t blame them.
Major Putnam led his two officers to a corner of the tent. After checking a small counter for the latest messages, the senior lawman turned and said, “Come on, I’ll give you a tour of the crime scene… or at least, what’s left of it.”
Their commander led Sam and Zach down a steep trail where several MPs were working around the spray-painted outline of what had been the final resting place of a victim. Scanning the vicinity, Sam could see several similar groups processing a spot where a brave Marine had fallen.
Given her experience as a Houston homicide detective, the first thing the lady ranger noticed was the lack of shell casings around the deceased. The man who had died here had been shot from a distance.
Zach looked around politely, nodding to the MPs as they acknowledged the newcomers. After a bit, he glanced at Major Putnam and said, “Sir, I’d like to see where the shooters were.”
The entire area was marked off with white, yellow, and red tape, denoting sections where it was “safe” to step and other patches where the scene had yet to be processed. Due to the size of the crime scene, quite a bit of evidence had been found and photographed but not yet collected.
Putnam led his team down a narrow path of white tape, occasionally pointing here and there at some potential clue. Finally, they arrived at a zone dotted with small, numbered cardboard markers. Each represented a spent shell casing resting on the ground.
A nearby crime scene tech noticed the new arrivals and immediately approached. “Please be careful where you wander,” he warned. “This section hasn’t been photographed yet.”
Zach nodded and then asked, “Do you have one of the spent casings I could examine?”
“Sure,” replied the tech. “They’re all the same. 5.56 NATO boxed primer. I’ve seen the markings before. The shooters were using ammunition issued by the Mexican military.”
“All the same lot, caliber, and type?” Sam inquired, a frown crossing her face.
“So far. We’ve only recovered about 200 out of what I would guess is close to 400 casings lying around. Every example I’ve seen so far has been identical to the others.”
Zach rubbed his chin while exchanging worried looks with his partner. “How many rifles?”
“You’re the hundredth person to ask me that, Ranger. We don’t know yet. Until I can get this scene processed and examine all of the casings under a microscope, I won’t be able to answer that question.”
Putnam continued the tour that eventually concluded at the bank of the Rio Grande.
“We’re pretty sure they came across here,” the major announced, pointing at a group of officers snapping pictures and making notes on clipboards. “We found drag marks where some sort of boats or rafts were dragged up on shore. There are also footprints and other signs.”
“How many boats?” Sam asked.
“We think two. Our preliminary analysis is that they crossed over, ran into the Marines, initiated the firefight, and then retreated back across the river.”
Zach’s attention was drawn to the southern side of the waterway where he could see a small group of Mexican authorities searching the shoreline. “Any word from our southern neighbors?”
“No,” Putnam grunted with a hint of disgust in his tone. “Relations aren’t the best right now. Our ambassador is waiting patiently for the Mexican authorities to communicate any findings. We’ve offered to send across some manpower but were politely reminded to stay on our side of the border.”
On the way back to the command tent, Zach pointed toward a high outcropping of stone and asked, “Sir, would it be okay if I climbed up on that rock? I’d like to get a little better angle on the whole area.”
“Sure, Ranger Bass. Knock yourself out.”
Sam didn’t want to be left behind. A minute later, she found herself scrambling up an incline, trying desperately to keep up with her partner’s longer limbs.
Zach finally made it to the pinnacle, and after reaching back with a helping hand, he pulled Sam to the plateau.
For several minutes, the rangers simply stood and studied the scene below. It was easy to tell where the evidence was clumped together by the number of men processing each sub-scene. From the elevated perch, Zach started recounting what had happened the night before.
“The Marines’ final objective was Pump Canyon,” the ranger began, pointing to the northwest. “According to the map, that’s less than a mile away. They were working their way down this draw, probably because it was the path of least resistance.”
Sam nodded her agreement, “It’s logical that the shooters from the other side were using it as well. It’s about the only route north unless you’re a mountain goat.”
Zach pointed to a small group of deputies, closer to the river. “They ran into each other right there. You can reenact the battle if you follow the line of evidence north. Still, it all doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Sam flashed a perplexed expression. “Why? It all looks pretty clear to me. The people from the Mexican side were carrying drugs. They ran into the Marines by accident and shot it out with them. After it was over, they retreated. What’s the big mystery?”
Zach pointed again, “Our friends from across the border continued to push into Texas after they knew the Marines were in the region. That doesn’t fit with the typical dope smugglers or coyotes. Normally, if they had been hauling in weed or heroin or whatever, and they had run into a patrol, they would have scattered, retreated, or run like hell. These guys didn’t. They kept pushing and pushing and pushing. It’s like they were invading, not smuggling.”
Following her partner’s explanation, Sam surveyed the crime scene in a whole new light. “You know; you’re right. They continued advancing into the main body of the Marine unit. There,” she pointed, “and there and there. It’s like they were out to kill as many of our guys as possible.”
“But why?” Zach pondered. “Even the most aggressive of the cartels wouldn’t just come across the river and shoot up a bunch of Texans for fun or sport. Why go to all that trouble, planning, organization, and effort? They could have broken contact and faded back across the Rio Grande without any issue. Why all the carnage?”
“Maybe they were running from someone back in Mexico?” Sam offered. “Maybe they had wounded people, or they just changed their minds.”
“Look,” Zach pointed, indicating an area further inside of Texas. “They didn’t stop until the Marines were completely routed and scattered. You can see where they even chased a few down and mopped up. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Sam noticed Major Putnam staring up at them, their boss obviously growing impatient. “We’d better head back.”
As Sam began crawling and sliding down to their supervisor, Zach paused to take in the scene one more time. “Were you protecting someone?” he whispered. “Someone really important? Is that why you didn’t break contact and run for home?”
Shaking his head at the unanswerable nature of his own questions, Zach followed Sam down the treacherous slope, eventually joining his partner and supervisor. The trio of lawmen continued back to the command tent.
Putnam announced, “Here’s your assignment, Rangers. While we’re reasonably sure all of the invaders from the Mexican side retreated back south, we can’t be positive. I want both of you working all of your contacts and informants, trying to fill in as many pieces to this puzzle as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two lawmen were about to leave when a tall, wiry figure dressed in jeans and a western hat appeared on horseback. He dismounted at the major’s corner of the tent, stretching his legs and slapping a layer of dust from his clothing.
Zach’s face spread wide with a huge grin as he stepped closer to the older man and extended his hand.
“Ranger Baylor,” Zach greeted. “I’m surprised to see you here, sir. Did they call you out of retirement?”
The older lawman nodded, clutching Zach’s hand with a firm grasp. “The major asked me to come take a look at the area. How could I say no?”
Zach pivoted in Sam’s direction, “BB, let me introduce you to my partner, Ranger Samantha Temple. This is Bartholomew Baylor, the absolute best tracker I’ve ever met and a legend among the rangers.”
“Call me BB, ma’am,” the man replied with a raspy voice, tipping his hat while extending a leathery hand toward the lady officer.
“I answer to Sam,” Ranger Temple responded with a warm smile.
Sam was intrigued by Zach’s reaction to the older officer. It was the first time she’d ever seen her partner enthralled by anyone or anything other than a short skirt or a new firearm.
BB, for his part, looked more the part of a rancher than a lawman. His denim pants were saddle worn and faded, a large but plain buckle securing an ancient, tooled belt. The knee-length duster hanging from the old ranger’s shoulders had seen so many years its leather was worn shiny in places. As he stretched the saddle-time out of his frame, she spied the flash of a nickel-plated revolver on his hip. The man’s boots had definitely seen better days.
He was as tall as Zach, ramrod straight with a slight bow in his legs. Sam surmised BB was the real deal, a man who spent as much time on horseback as on foot – tough as nails, and cynical to the core. Bands of salt-sweat stained his hat, the brim low and serious. Despite being at least 70 years old, she sensed the retired ranger was still a force to be respected.
“You all can catch up on your socializing later,” Putnam interrupted. “What did you find, BB?”
“Seven men came north across the river, Major. Only two went back,” came a steadfast proclamation.
Putnam was skeptical. “Are you sure? This entire crime scene has been trampled by hundreds of boots for the last several hours.”
“I’m sure, Major. There was one pair of non-military issued soles that left this canyon to the north. They were fancy treads … like a high-end hiking boot. Those same tracks were down by the river in the mud where they came ashore. The owner’s left foot turns in slightly. He’s a slender man, probably just over 180 pounds. I’d estimate he’s about 6” tall from the stride. He was carrying a pack, but it was lighter than the others.
“How far north did you track him, BB?” Zach asked.
“My guess is somebody picked them up on this side of the road,” BB responded with a nonchalant shrug. “I followed the trail right up to the pavement, and that’s where it ended. They never crossed the road, so I would assume their destination is southeast… heading for Del Rio or perhaps San Antonio.”
Rubbing her chin, Sam said, “Must be a pretty ‘influential’ individual to warrant a heavily armed escort. Kind of makes sense, now that I think about it. The bodyguards were willing to shoot it out with our Marines to make sure their charge made it through. Somebody has a critical meeting or is on the run from Mexican authorities.”
So you were protecting someone
, Zach thought.
But who? Who is so important that you would kill 20 plus Marines?
“His security team stayed with him until they reached the road, sir,” BB continued. “Then, two of them hightailed it back to the river in a straight line and made off with the rafts. I’d also hazard a guess they had night vision or some other sort of fancy technology because I found this.”
The old ranger’s hand disappeared into his duster’s pocket, emerging a moment later with a plastic baggie containing a battery. It was an odd size, with Spanish writing on the case.