Northeastern Yucatan, Mexico

July 30th, 2018

0100S

Jawa POV

Task Unit Archangel had been split up temporarily. Alpha Platoon and Archangel's HQ stayed in western Mexico while Bravo—plus an EOD tech and USAF CCT—linked up with the Mexican Navy's Fuerzas Especiales Golfo (FESGO; Special Forces Gulf), whose area of responsibility encompasses the eastern coasts and Gulf of Mexico. We were in northeastern Yucatan, conducting reconnaissance and surveillance (R&S) alongside FESGO operators in preparation of an upcoming raid on a high-value target.

Our R&S involved three elements: the first was one of Bravo's fireteams—Bravo 4, led by the platoon leading petty officer, SO1 Mitchell—accompanied by the EOD tech and five FESGO operators, who dived in and conducted hydrographic recon on the beach infiltration point (approximately 5 klicks from the target). Once their job was completed, they signaled for the rest of us to land with our rigid-hulled inflatable boats, crewed by SWCCs from Special Boat Team 12—one of whom was my father, who coincidentally saved my ass on Father's Day during a hot extract.

The second element for the R&S was another fireteam—Bravo 3, led by SOC Lassard—accompanied by nine FESGO operators, who patrolled in to get eyes on the enemy compound from elevated terrain to the south. They also helped Bravo 4 reach their next objectives: cutting off the main egress routes from the compound, which consisted of two roads through the brush towards the west and south.

Finally, there was the remainder of Bravo—1st Squad (Bravo 1 & 2) led by myself—accompanied by the USAF CCT, FESGO element commander, and his radioman. LT Koenig, as the ground force commander, was also with us. Our mission was to get eyes on the enemy compound from elevated terrain to the west.

Our fighting positions and Bravo 3's would set up an L-shaped formation, discouraging any squirters (personnel running away from the target) from trying to use the roads to escape. Moreover, with Bravo 4 setting up traps, explosives, and more fighting positions along the roads, anyone that tried to use them would get cut down quickly.

This should be interesting.

After an arduous and silent hump (er, march) that took nearly two hours due to necessary detours, we finally made it to the hill where our snipers and machine gunners had to establish overwatch. We were at the top of a hill overlooking a shallow bowl—no more than three klicks south of the coast—inside which a small collection of buildings sat.

This compound was owned by a cartel cell, who used it as a supply depot. Intel indicated that the facility contained a great deal of cash used for bribing local government officials, along with drugs, arms, and several dozen gangsters—including sicarios (cartels' assassins). If bribes didn't work, then blackmail and killing were used, rendering the government corrupt and absolutely inert against the cartel.

Moreover, this particular cartel was none other than the dreaded Los Zetas, who were infamous for their ruthless shock-and-awe tactics, including beheadings, torture, and indiscriminate murder—kind of like the Taliban, al-Qaeda, Islamic State, and some other terrorist organizations you know. Oh, and get this: the cartel was founded by deserters from the Mexican Army's Grupo Aeromóvil de Fuerzas Especiales... who were trained by US Army Special Forces in commando tactics.

Yeah... not a good look on us, I know.

But now it was time to take out the trash. We hid in the shrub-covered hill, establishing our observation post (OP) with our snipers and machine gunners. LT Koenig, the CCT, and our tag-along FESGO operators got together to my left and began communicating with the other elements while I used hand signals to ensure that our OP was secure.

The pointman, none other than SO2 Hernandez, laid prone beside me to my right, pointing his M4 behind us as he covered our six. The prankster/dumbass extraordinaire seemed to be all business, focused on ensuring our OP wasn't compromised... but he couldn't resist cracking a joke.

"Sir?" he whispered.

"What?" I replied.

"Regarding the drugs... does the CIA want the money, does the DEA need a budget justification, or are we burning them?"

"... stay on security, jackass."

"Bravo 3-1, this is Bravo 1-1," LT Koenig called on the platoon net. "SITREP, over."

"3 is at OP-2, over," Chief Lassard replied.

"Solid copy, 3-1. 4-1, send status, over."

"BP-1 (Blocking Position 1) is secure," SO1 Mitchell replied. "And Bravo 4-3 has BP-2 set as well, over."

"Roger, 4-1. OP-1 is set. Stand by, out," LT Koenig signed off before turning towards the Mexicans. "Teniente, all blocking positions and observation posts are ready."

"Assault force is ready: four helicopters with sixty-four commandos, Jefe," the FESGO element commander replied in accented English. "Plus sixteen more arriving by your boats. But superiors are asking for additional confirmation before launching."

"Understood. We got a P-8 that should be arriving in... twenty mikes, Stein?"

"Yessir," Technical Sergeant Stein—our attached CCT—confirmed. "Twenty mikes. MQ-1's on station now. ISR (intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance) only, though it's got Hellfires in-extremis."

"Hopefully we won't need them."

We fell back into silence, waiting on the P-8 Poseidon to arrive on station. While the MQ-1 Predator was a fantastic ISR platform and the P-8 was more focused on maritime patrol and reconnaissance, we still wanted to ensure that all egress routes were covered and that as many eyes as possible were on Los Zetas' compound. Moreover, the P-8 also had anti-submarine and anti-surface warfare capabilities, which would be helpful in taking down any narco boats or subs... in-extremis, of course, since the Mexicans were supposed to be taking the lead.

I adjusted my MK12—which I preferred over the M4 for its greater range—watching out for enemy foot-mobiles that may have wanted to take a walk out towards either OP... but nothing happened. Like the CIA, it seemed that a majority of military work (even in SOF) was boring and quiet. But unlike the Agency, we could expect thirty seconds of adrenaline-fueled excitement for every thirty hours of boredom.

After a great deal of waiting, TSgt Stein reported that the P-8 finally arrived on station and had established its orbit. The FESGO element commander had also received permission to land his boat-borne commandos, prompting LT Koenig to pass the order on to the SWCCs. The compound hadn't stirred in alarm.

So what's going to go wrong tonight?

Finally, the commanders made a decision: the raid was going to be launched. Four Mi-17 Hips, each carrying sixteen FESGO operators, had launched from a detachment of the Mexican Navy's Gulf and Caribbean Sea Naval Force, and would be arriving in an hour to execute an air assault on the compound. The SWCCs had just dropped off sixteen FESGO operators, who were currently working on setting up their own mini-firebase with 81-mm mortars.

Hey, we didn't have much in the way of close air support, so indirect fires were better than nothing.

TSgt Stein and the FESGO radioman—who was apparently a qualified forward observer—worked together to stack up targets for the mortar crews, with Stein talking to our ISR while the radioman talked to his FESGO comrades. There honestly wasn't much for the mortars to target: a few vehicles and personnel in the open. But twenty minutes before the air assault was to begin, a garage opened, and out came a truck towing what appeared to be an anti-aircraft gun of some kind.

"Stein, enemy's got triple-A (anti-aircraft artillery)," one of my snipers whispered, making the CCT freeze and look down towards the compound. "One—wait, now two—towed pieces. Twin cannons. And you already know about the RPG carriers."

"Okay... guess the mortars got something else to shoot," TSgt muttered, before turning towards his Mexican counterpart. "Pablo, we got anti-aircraft on the deck. Tell your boys."

"All Bravo stations, same plan as before: us and the mortars strike and clear a path for the guys in the helos," LT Koenig said on the platoon net. "Stand by, out."

While the commanders and the guys controlling the incoming fires were conversing, I hailed the rest of the platoon to prepare the deliverance of precise machine gun and sniper fires.

"All Bravo stations, this is 2-1. I need each team to laze its target area. Bravo 2's got the southwest corner. 1, laze yours, over," I called.

"1's got the west, over," Bravo 1-2 called, lazing the area in question.

"3's got the south, over," SOC Lassard said.

"4's handling the BPs, over," SO1 Mitchell added.

"Roger that. Stand by, gentlemen, out," I signed off before turning towards LT Koenig. "Ready, sir."

"Alright, let's stir up the hornets' nest," he whispered. "Pablo, get it in."

"Yes, Jefe," the FESGO radioman acknowledged before hailing the mortarmen. "Tres, dos, uno, vamos!"

Deep "thumps" rang out, with rounds hitting the deck moments after each one. Suddenly, explosions filled the compound, blowing the anti-aircraft guns to kingdom come. With Pablo the radioman hard at work controlling the indirect fire, rounds were soon impacting enemy vehicles and personnel. The men of Los Zetas, much to my surprise, were surprisingly uncoordinated in their response, scrambling about like cockroaches when a light turns on.

They're rookies, complacent, or plain sloppy... maybe we got lucky.

One vehicle, however, was a little too fast for Pablo, however. Four squirters loaded up in a beat-up sedan and made a run for it, crashing through their own gate... right into the waiting arms of Bravo 4.

"BP-2, you have four squirters inbound in a sedan," I warned.

"We got 'em, sir," Bravo 4-3 assured me. Not even thirty seconds later, I could hear a series of explosions—Claymores—and gunshots coming from the south road. "2-1, four tangos down, over."

"Roger, four tangos down, out."

"Jefe, no rounds left!" Pablo said, which explained why the mortar fires had ceased—81-mm ammo's pretty heavy, from what I know, so it's not like they could bring a lot with them.

"All stations, light the bastards up!" LT Koenig ordered, eliciting a hail of lead from both firing positions as the snipers and machine gunners went to work. Given the range afforded to me with the MK12, I joined in, sending 5.56 at enemy foot-mobiles scrambling for cover and shooting back. Right after I downed one, a new sound filled the air: the firing of a heavy machine gun.

"Fuck, they got a .50-cal, northeast rooftop!" SOC Lassard called. "OP-1, do you have a clear shot?"

"Uh, did you say northeast rooftop?" one of the snipers beside me called.

"Affirmative!"

"Roger that, hang on... okay, I see him." The sniper lined up the Zeta machine gunner in his sights and began taking shots with his MK13. Five rounds later, the .50-cal was silenced. ".50's down. Any chance somebody can hit that nest with a rocket?"

"Keep that MG covered, 1-3. Partner forces coming to us with a SMAW," LT Koenig calmly said.

From that moment on, the only resistance that remained was small-arms fire. Our snipers neutralized RPG carriers and anybody that tried to man the machine gun. And since the Mexican Marines' mortar fires neutralized the heavy weapons, our machine gunners could easily keep the Zeta gunmen in place with their MK48s. Oh, and two FESGO operators arrived shortly with a SMAW, quickly setting up and blowing the machine gun nest to hell with an HEDP rocket... with made Hernandez a very cheerful man.

If Chip were here, he'd probably be a little sad... poor Ma Deuce, being stuck in the hands of a bunch of cartel gangbangers.

Minutes after the destruction of the machine gun nest, the four Mi-17s finally arrived, with its commandos fast-roping from the helos. Once all sixty-four were on the deck, the FESGO assault force stormed the compound, methodically clearing every room, nook, and cranny. Nothing was escaping them. A few enemy personnel surrendered while some insisted on continuing to fight, resulting in the latter ending up severely wounded or killed.

All the while, we maintained overwatch, protecting the guys in the compound and watching out for any sort of enemy quick-reaction force... but none came. All in all, it was an incredibly successful mission. At dawn, we buttoned up and exfiltrated, returning to the Mexican ships on which we were stationed with 21 arrestees, 93 pieces of armament—all, conveniently enough, being property of the Mexican Army—7,000 pounds of drugs for destruction, and the equivalent of roughly $8,750,000 in pesos.

Oh, and how could I forget the notebooks, hard drives, thumb drives, and laptops recovered during the FESGO assault force's sensitive site exploitation? While this particular detachment of Los Zetas were not particularly good fighters, I was quite impressed at their bookkeeping. We now had more names and locations, not just for cartel members, but for their associates—especially corrupt government officials.

And to top it off, the Mexican Navy decided that they didn't want the area to be reopened by Los Zetas or another cartel... so they had an Allende-class frigate use it for target practice, blowing the whole place to smithereens with its 5-inch gun. I'll admit, I wasn't quite sure what that would do—any construction company worth its salt could work with razed land—but I decided on optimism. Hopefully it sent two messages.

To Los Zetas and the cartels: the Mexican Navy would do anything and everything to take them down.

To the innocent people hurt by the cartels, whether directly or indirectly: these narco-terrorists were getting what they deserved.

Okay, maybe I'm being overly optimistic... but hey, I'd be happy as a clam if I were living in a city afflicted with gang violence and the police showed up and chucked the sons-of-bitches into prison.

All in all... not a bad first deployment... even with Hernandez as my pointman.

Man oh man... the War on Drugs is always a fun subject. Too complicated for my keyboard warrior brain to fully grasp, but it provides some interesting material to make a story out of. What a wonderful first deployment for Jawa: going into Mexico and fighting the cartels when the US is technically taking more of an advisory posture south of the border. And despite Hernandez—the menace of SEAL Team 3 (remember, the command master chief knew who he was)—being present, no bullshit occurred!

Who says Chip should be getting all the action?

But I digress. Thanks again for reading, and be sure to leave a comment! Make sure you stay hydrated and out of the road—unless, of course, you're wearing a PT belt... in which case, have at it, because you'll now be able to withstand RPGs, SUVs, UAVs, and STDs.

Oh, and a very belated Happy Father's Day to all!

And more memes by me (previous ones from the Internet):

Until next time,

- ADF-2