El soldado the soldier, p.15
El Soldado: The Soldier,
p.15
Serrano arrived at the end of main street just seconds after Señor Flores, who was getting out of his dump truck. He was armed with a lever action Winchester, and wearing a cartridge belt worthy of Pancho Villa.
Serrano pulled into position so that the pickup and the larger truck were back-to-back, an arrangement that would make it that much more difficult for the enemy to crash through. They shook hands. “Buena suerte,” Flores said.
“You, too,” Serrano replied. “Take cover… This is the real thing.”
Flores nodded soberly. “It will be like the Mexican Revolution.”
Serrano hoped that Flores was wrong, because the Mexican Revolution was a ten-year-long shit show. But he smiled and nodded. “¡Viva México!”
Even though cell service had been lost, the guerillas knew what to do. If we lose contact with each other, we’ll abandon the centralized command-and-control structure, and operate as autonomous teams. Each team will have a leader, and each leader will have a specific assignment. That’s what the fighters had been taught, and Serrano felt certain that they were acting accordingly.
His five-person team consisted of store owner Manuel Mendoza, beautician María López, garage owner Carlos Alonso, undertaker Tomás Pérez, and carpenter Luis Garza. Their responsibility was to defend the steel bridge on the west side of town.
Once across it, attackers could take a right at the foot of the tank, and cruise down main street, killing and looting. Serrano began to run. The town’s lights illuminated some spots and threw shadows over others.
A helicopter roared overhead, hovered, and blew dust every which way as a gunner opened fire with a light machine gun. Serrano zigged and zagged, as bullets splattered around him. That was when a hand grenade fell, bounced, and exploded. Shrapnel flew, and Serrano felt something nip his neck, as he ducked behind a parked car.
The vehicle shivered as bullets struck it and Serrano opened the go-bag. The M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle was loaded and ready to fire.
Serrano was reminded of the Rojas’ hacienda, and the helo he’d been forced to confront there. Same song, different verse, Serrano thought to himself, as he waited for the aircraft to complete a full rotation. Then, with the canopy in his sight, he fired.
*
Martina and her team were responsible for defending the local health clinic, which was under fire when Paco scooted in. Martina was both angry and relieved. “Paco! You’re supposed to be in the church.”
“I don’t want to hide, Mamá; I want to help,” Paco declared.
Martina couldn’t send him back to the church on his own and couldn’t leave her team. “Alright, son… Collect empty magazines and reload them. You know how, right?”
“You taught me.”
Martina sighed. “Yes, I did. Keep your head down.”
A rocket hit the building, a wall crumbled, and people screamed.
*
Benito Ayo’s Humvee jerked to a halt and everyone got out. “There!” Benito said, as he pointed. “That’s the house. If you find a man in there, take him alive. Go!”
There were three narcos. Benito watched them approach the house, and heard the sound of barking, followed by a shot. “Dog down,” the team leader said laconically.
Benito heard a bang as his men kicked the door in, but no gunfire, suggesting that Serrano wasn’t home. Because he sure as hell wasn’t asleep. Not with all the noise.
Benito’s driver, a man named Vega, fell forward onto his face. An arrow was protruding from his back. Fortunately for Benito, he had the presence of mind to throw himself forward. A second arrow whispered through the air above him.
“No one’s home,” the team leader announced.
“Scan the area before you exit,” Benito said. “Vega took an arrow in the back.”
Things were not going as planned.
*
The Church of John the Warrior was sealed. All the doors were locked. The children were in the basement. And the bells continued to toll as someone hammered on the front door. With a rifle butt? Probably.
Father Colon turned to the altar. “Forgive me, Lord, I am about to sin. Not for myself, but for the children, your children.”
And with that Colon turned to face the entrance. Wood splintered. And, when the door slammed open, Colon fired the twelve-gauge shotgun.
The first narco through the door was thrown backward into those behind him. A parishioner named Díaz fired into the crowd. He was praying out loud.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me, and I have an AR-15.”
Father Colon fired, and fired again. The last narco fell. Colon crossed himself. “Thank you, Lord. Come, Señor Díaz. Help me block the door.”
*
The helicopter was a big target. Serrano fired a burst. But the bullets had no visible effect. And the machine veered away.
Serrano turned and ran toward the bridge. He could hear the constant chatter of automatic fire, interspersed with the boom of exploding grenades, and knew his team was outgunned.
The sky was lighter by then… That, plus the burning Humvee, served to illuminate the scene on the bridge deck. Another Hummer was easing forward in the second lane, machine gun blazing, as it squeezed past the wreck.
That was when Serrano noticed the red flag drooping from the vehicle’s antenna. The attackers weren’t fighting for El Cuchillo… They were aligned with Las Rojas! And were determined to get revenge for Elena Ayo and her son Mateo.
Serrano dashed across the highway, took cover behind a bullet-riddled truck, and began to fire short bursts. The second Hummer kept coming. Mendoza appeared next to him. “I’m sorry, Jefe. We lost López and Garza.”
Serrano winced. “Damn it. We’ve got to pull back.”
“They’ll pour into town.”
“Yeah,” Serrano said. “I know. Bring Pérez and Alonso in. We’ll try to slow them down. That’s the best we can do.”
*
Narcos tried to enter the clinic and were repulsed by Martina and the others.
Doctor Villar ignored the furor as she hurried to clamp a bleeder. “Get some normal saline and a suture kit. We’ve got to get his pressure back up.”
Martina felt a rising sense of fear. The guerillas were losing the battle. She could feel it. Should the townspeople surrender? Fuck, no. Martina feared that they would be slaughtered. Men, women, and children.
She glanced at Paco. He was hiding under a table methodically loading cartridges into magazines. Martina bit her lower lip. Then she turned back to the shattered window. “Get ready! Here they come!”
*
Benito was winning and he knew it. That was good. But the real prize had escaped him. Serrano… Where the hell was Serrano?
Benito thumbed his radio. “Ortiz… Where is the worst fighting?”
Ortiz was El Niño’s second in command. “Our guys are still trying to break into the church, and a lot of fighters are holed up in the restaurant. But the health clinic is the worst. There’s a rifleman in every window.”
That’s it, Benito thought. A man like Serrano will be where the fighting is fiercest. He turned to his men. “Follow me! We’ll end this.”
*
Father Colon was out of breath by the time he reached the top of the steeple’s stairs. A parishioner named Nina was waiting. It was hard for the girl to make herself heard over the church bells. “A convoy is approaching, Father! Look!”
Colon accepted the binoculars and looked to the south. Nina was right. He could see vehicles with flags flying. More Rojas? No. The flags weren’t red.
Colon waited for a flag to flap open, saw the dagger symbol, and could hardly believe his eyes. El Cuchillo’s narcos were arriving from the south. But to do what?
The answer was obvious. The Rojas were on what Ramirez considered to be his turf! And, after the attack on his home, The Knife was determined to retaliate. He turned to Nina. “Find Serrano! Find Martina! Tell them that El Cuchillo is about to attack the Rojas. Hurry!”
*
The inside of the health clinic resembled a charnel house. The wounded and the dead lay side by side as Doctor Villar and her assistants sought to save as many people as they could.
Martina had given up hope. Only a handful of defenders remained on their feet and they were running out of ammunition. Maybe they should surrender. Maybe the Rojas would be merciful. Martina smiled crookedly. And maybe pigs would fly.
A wall collapsed as a Humvee struck it and more narcos flooded in. The man who led them shouted. “Drop your weapons! Give us Nick Serrano. That’s all we want. Is he here?”
That confirmed what Martina already suspected. The Rojas were after revenge. For Elena Ayo’s death and that of her middle son. And they knew Serrano was responsible.
Martina was reminded of what Serrano had done for Paco. For her.
Martina stepped forward with her rifle pointed at the blood smeared floor. “No. He isn’t here. Are you the one they call El Niño?”
The man stared at her. Martina could see the madness in his eyes. “Yes.”
“Then you should run,” Martina told him. “Serrano will kill you for this.”
Benito began to raise his weapon. “Perhaps. But you’ll be dead.”
That’s when Martina heard a bang, and saw a hole appear between Benito’s eyes.
A second shot followed the first, and was only a quarter of an inch off. The last member of the Ayo family collapsed.
Martina raised her rifle, and the others did as well, causing Benito’s narcos to back away. Fighting for Benito was one thing. But fighting for a dead man was stupid.
Martina turned to look at Paco. He was standing there, holding the .22 with both hands, ready to fire again. “If they’re worth one, they’re worth two,” the little boy said. “That’s what Nick says. Right, Mamí?” Martina began to cry.
*
Word of El Niño’s death spread quickly by radio, causing his fighters to flee. Or try to flee, because El Cuchillo’s narcos were blocking all the exit routes, and immediately opened fire.
The Rojas fought back. But after losing both Benito and Ortiz—who’d been killed near the church—they were little more than a mob. Most surrendered. Those who refused were shot.
Benito’s helicopter circled the town, took fire, and fled south.
Serrano found Ramirez standing on the hood of an ex-army Panhard VBL, shouting at people. “Search the prisoners! Take their weapons. Check IDs.”
When Ramirez saw that his men were pointing weapons at Serrano, he ordered, “Leave El Soldado alone.” Then he jumped to the ground. “We meet again.”
“Yes,” Serrano replied. “You intervened. Why?”
Ramirez shrugged. “Lugar de Paz lies within my territory. And the Rojas attacked my home. That’s reason enough.”
“What will you do with the prisoners?”
“I will hire some of them,” Ramirez said. “And free the rest.”
“Free them?” Serrano inquired incredulously. “They’re murderers. Thieves at best.”
Ramirez frowned. “What would you have me do? Turn them in to the government? Lock them in imaginary prisons? Slaughter them? No, I refuse to do any of those things. What I will do is march them out of town for you.”
That, Serrano decided, was better than nothing. “Are you going to seize the Ayo hacienda?”
Ramirez shook his head. “I predict that the Ortegos will take control of it. They want to create a narco state, and will use their political clout to acquire the Ayo hacienda and the rest of the family holdings. I lack the means to stop them.”
Serrano nodded. “Don’t come back here, Señor Ramirez.”
“Don’t give me cause, Señor Serrano. I understand that today is your wedding day. Congratulations. Martina Blanco is a fine woman. And her son is a good boy. I wish you peace and serenity.” And with that El Cuchillo turned his back and walked away.
It was, Serrano decided, a wedding present of sorts.
Chapter Sixteen
Lugar de Paz, Mexico
The wedding, when it occurred, was thirty days late. The funerals were over by then, for townspeople and narcos alike, and most of the battle-related debris had been removed.
Repairs were underway at Pancho’s restaurant, the health clinic, and the bank—all of which had been hit hard. As for the cell tower, a new one was being assembled, and would be functional soon.
The vows took place in the church, and were presided over by Father Colon, who relished the recitations, songs, and blessings that led up to the exchange of consent—and the giving of rings.
The concluding rites were followed by a processional that led to Pancho’s, and a party complete with food, drinks, and a mariachi band. The whole town had been invited. And most of the citizens were in attendance.
Finally, after retreating to La Casa Bonita and putting Paco to bed, the newlyweds went out to the patio where they sipped drinks, held hands, and discussed the future. It was bright.
Martina would teach, and continue to sing, while Serrano supervised construction of a larger house. And after that? Time would tell.
*
Mayor Aguilar was found three days later, slumped over the wheel of his brand-new car, with a bullet hole in his back. A note was pinned to his jacket. It read: “For those who died to protect the Place of Peace.” A culprit was never identified.
About the Author
William C. Dietz is the bestselling author of more than sixty novels, some of which have been translated into German, Russian, and Japanese.
He grew up in the Seattle area, served as a medic with the Navy and Marine Corps, graduated from the University of Washington, and has been employed as a surgical technician, college instructor, and producer. Prior to becoming a full-time writer, Dietz served as director of public relations and marketing for an international telephone company.
For more about William C. Dietz and his fiction, or to contact him, please visit williamcdietz.com.
You can also connect with him on Facebook at facebook.com/williamcdietz.
William C. Dietz, El Soldado: The Soldier
