Edge of Battle (48 page)

“Any sign of the aircraft?” Díaz asked. “Identification?”

“No, sir,” he replied. “As you know, Minister, there is only one major threat to the government or the Federal District from the air, and that is a special operations commando insertion mission, most likely from the United States. This aircraft was traveling at over three hundred kilometers an hour, which means it was not a helicopter.”

“What, then?”

“Most likely a reconnaissance flight, a probe of some kind, or a warning to us,” the duty officer said. “Too slow for an attack jet—possibly a turboprop plane such as a C-130.”

“A warning?”

“A simple message, sir: we can fly over your capital any time we like, and there is nothing you can do about it,” Elvarez said. “The Americans made many of these warning flights in the past over Nicaragua, Haiti, and Panama prior to the start of hostilities against them—it is a common scare tactic.”

“Contact the Foreign and Defense Ministries and ask if the Americans requested to perform such a flyover—a test of their radar systems, perhaps, or an embassy rescue exercise, or other such reason that was not communicated to us.” Elvarez relayed the order immediately. Díaz thought for a moment, then shrugged. “A probe seems unnecessary—the Americans have been spying on us for decades and have many of our people on their payroll,” he said, thinking aloud. “A warning message sounds more likely…” He stopped, his eyes widening in fear.
“But we can’t count on this just being a warning—we must assume we are under attack unless proven otherwise. Status of our force deployments?”

“All units reporting force deployments fully underway,” Elvarez said. “I have personally received visual staus reports from my staff on the most important locations—those spots will be fully manned within the hour.”

“The Internal Affairs Ministry complex?”

“All defensive systems fully manned and operational, sir. All defense and security sectors reporting fully manned and ready.”

“And the Defense Ministry?”

“Under full surveillance and secure,” Elvarez replied. Although the Ministry of National Defense was located at the Palacio Nacional, the chiefs of staff, the bulk of the defense bureaucracy, and the headquarters of the First Military Zone, the actual military forces assigned to defend the capital, were located at a large base in the extreme western edge of the Federal District, just three miles northwest of the Internal Affairs Ministry complex, known simply as the Campo Militar. The First Military Zone was the largest of Mexico’s thirty-five zones, with just over fifteen thousand infantry, marines, and airmen assigned to a dozen bases in the area; two battalions, about six thousand infantry and marines, were assigned to the Campo Militar itself. “They do not seem to have placed the Campo Militar garrison on alert or deployed any forces anywhere in the Federal District. They responded immediately with a security and status report and gave us a fairly complete equipment list, as required. It has not yet been visually verified that this equipment is indeed available to us but that report will be in shortly.”

“Where is General Rojas? Have you succeeded in locating him yet?”

“It now appears that General Rojas was in the Campo Militar garrison all along,” Elvarez reported, after a quick scan of his notes. “After the alert, one of the command post officers let it slip that the general was en route to the battle staff area; this was later verified by several cellular telephone traces.”

“But not visually verified?”

“No, sir.”

“Then we should assume that Rojas’s whereabouts are unknown,” Díaz said. “I want his exact location pinpointed and visually verified, and I want it done immediately.”

“Yes, sir.” Elvarez relayed the order, then referred to a notebook in front of him, checking off items on a checklist. “Alert plus thirty minutes items appear to be completed, sir,” he said. “Next action items are at alert plus one hour. I shall notify the Palacio Nacional and the Senate and Chamber of Deputies that…”

At that moment they could hear the deep rapid-fire staccato of a heavy machine gun, and seconds later an alarm bell sounded and telephones on the conference table began to ring.
“What is it?”
Díaz demanded.

“Air defense gun emplacements in the Internal Affairs Ministry complex engaged an unidentified helicopter,” Elvarez said after getting the telephone report. The armed forces of the United Mexican States had a grand total of fifty air defense pieces: forty M-55 quad 12.7-millimeter antiaircraft gun units mounted on an M-16 half-track vehicle, most over sixty years old and in various states of functionality; and ten RBS-70 laser-guided antiaircraft missile launchers mounted on Humvees. Of these fifty pieces, eight of the antiaircraft guns and two RBS-70 SAMs protected the Internal Affairs Ministry—the rest were assigned to military bases.

“What’s happening?” Díaz shouted.

“One aircraft hit, sir!” Elvarez shouted. “Very large rotorcraft, type unknown but believed to be American…”

“Of course it’s American—who else would be invading Mexico now?” Díaz asked sarcastically. The lights flickered briefly in the conference room seconds before they heard a loud
booom
! echo through the walls. “Where did it go down?”

“No visual contact yet, sir.”

“The American commandos will already be on the ground—they may have been here days ago,” Díaz said. “Special ops teams usually come in groups of twenty-four.” The former air force offi
cer had received many briefings over the years on procedures for both American and Russian special ops forces. “Tell all security units that we are under air assault. Shut down the complex and order all personnel to repel any unidentified persons at all costs!” He turned to Elvarez and said in a low voice, “Start document destruction procedures immediately—and for God’s sake, get rid of that
evidence
down in the medical center!
Now!
”

Every person not strapped in on board the CV-22 Osprey special ops tilt-rotor aircraft was thrown off his feet by the sudden shock and explosion off the left wing—except for the four Cybernetic Infantry Devices standing hunched over near the open ramp in the back of the cargo bay. “Hang on, guys,” the pilot said on the intercom, “we just lost the left engine. I turned us right into a triple-A truck. Check the auto crossover.”

“Crossover indicating green, but I’m still not getting full RPMs on the left,” the copilot shouted. “Check hydraulics…”

“Got it!” the flight engineer chimed in. “I’m initiating manual emergency hydraulic pressurization—the auto system didn’t activate.”

“Hurry it up—we’re going to hit real hard if we don’t get power…” But even as the pilot spoke, the crew could feel the Osprey starting to pick up speed and altitude. “I think I got it. Stand by, guys, I’m going to bring it around and try for DZ Bravo again—it looks like that triple-A is sitting right on the edge of Alpha. We’ll be facing southwest instead of northeast so your target will be behind you. Gunners, keep an eye out to the southeast—we might have more triple-A or missile trucks inbound. Here we go.”

The digital maps playing in the CID units’ electronic visors told them what the pilot just reported: the initial plan was to drop to the northeast so their target, the central Internal Affairs Ministry building, would be right in front of them, but that was not going to happen now. The Osprey executed an impossibly steep-banked
right turn, the good right engine now screaming at full power. The CV-22 Osprey had an automatic crossover transmission that allowed both tilt-rotors to be powered off one engine—it was generally thought that the system would only deliver enough power to do a controlled crash. The pilot obviously thought otherwise.

Everyone felt their bodies go a little weightless again as they executed the tight turn, but moments later they experienced some extra g-forces as the turn stopped—and then they felt a little weightless again as the Osprey dipped suddenly, then felt the g-forces push down on them again as the flight crew arrested the rapid descent and slowed to drop airspeed. The crew in the cargo bay had never heard screeching noises like that coming from any aircraft before—it sounded as if the tilt-rotor was going to burst apart into a million pieces at any moment.

“Stand by to release recon drones…ready…now.” The assistant flight engineer pulled a lever on the right side of the cargo bay, and a rectangular box containing four grenade-launched unmanned observation system drones shot out through the open cargo bay and disappeared into the darkness.

“Goose One and Two in the green…nothing from Goose Three…Goose Four…nope, lost that one too,” Jason said. “We lost the two southernmost drones, guys. Keep that in mind—coverage to our south might be poor.” He turned to the twelve commandos in the forward part of the cargo bay, then pointed an armored finger at a man handcuffed to them. “I want him with me as soon as we get in that building,” he said. “If he tries to run, shoot him.”

“Yes, sir,” the team leader responded.

“Five seconds.”

Another severe rumble and scream of metal split the air. “Is this thing going to hold together for that long?” Mike Tesch in CID Three asked.

The pilot didn’t dare try to answer that one. Instead, he shouted, “
Green light! Go!
”

Jason Richter and Jennifer McCracken in CID One and CID
Two jumped first. There was no time to practice a good parachute landing fall—students in the U.S. Army Airborne School practiced them for five full days before being allowed to jump from anything higher than a three-foot platform—so Jason’s landing didn’t look much better than the first time he jumped from the Osprey. But Jennifer’s landing looked like she had been jumping from special ops planes all her life. “Good job, Lieutenant,” Jason told her after he picked himself up off the ground. “Done this before, I see.”

“Army Airborne School, class zero-four dash eleven, and Marine Corps Mobile Airborne Training Team certified same year, sir,” she replied. Even in the CID unit, Jason could see the look of confusion in her “body” language. “Are you telling me you’ve never attended jump school, sir? You’ve jumped out of planes twice now and never learned how to land? I’m surprised you haven’t broken every bone in your body, sir.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Lieutenant,” Jason said as he checked his systems. “Let’s go.” He and McCracken had jumped on the very outside of the easternmost spoke of the outer buildings surrounding the central Internal Affairs building. Tesch and Dodd had been dropped off on the other side of the complex. As soon as Tesch and Dodd reported they were on the ground and ready, they headed in.

Automatic gunfire from above erupted almost immediately as machine gunners opened fire from atop the administrative buildings. The GUOS drones picked up activity on the far side of the buildings, and the CID units were able to accurately target their backpack grenade launchers and machine guns on those positions—they had no choice but to run away from the gunfire.

As Harry Dodd reached the end of the southwestern admin building, a Humvee with a large missile launcher unit suddenly appeared. “SAM unit!” Dodd shouted. Just as he set his aiming reticle on the vehicle, it launched a missile skyward. “Poppa Bear,
missile launch, missile launch!
” he shouted, seconds before ordering his grenade launcher to open fire. Just before his two grenades hit, the Bofors RBS-70 missile streaked away.

But as he watched, several dozen streaks of light and blobs of white-hot energy fanned out across the sky less than a mile away, bright enough to light up the Bosque de Chapultepec for miles around—the CV-22 Osprey ejecting decoy flares. Dodd knew that all of the CV-22’s other countermeasures were active as well—an active missile-tracking laser that blinded an enemy missile’s seeker head, decoy chaff, and electronic radar and laser jammers as well. The RBS-70 missile stayed dead on course, but just for an instant. Moments later Dodd could see the motor exhaust flame wobble, slightly at first and then greater and greater. Seconds later it exploded—and there was no secondary explosion.

“Thanks for the heads-up, Talon,” the assistant flight engineer radioed. “I saw that missile coming up at us and thought it was heading right for the blank spot between my eyes. Good hunting down there.”

The CID units spread out once they reached the central headquarters building, with each CID unit taking a cardinal position. On Jason’s order, Mike Tesch sent two grenade bursts into the front entranceway from forty yards away, blowing the doors open. Seconds later came a murderous burst of heavy machine gun fire, followed by several grenade detonations.

That was the signal to begin the real assault. The other three CID units on the other sides of the building began climbing the outside of the Internal Affairs Ministry. Each CID unit would simply leap up to the windowsill above, pull itself up to the window, jump up to the next window, and continue. When it reached its preplanned floor, it climbed inside. Jennifer McCracken continued up to the roof of the building, where she planted explosives around the base of the antenna tower and blew it apart moments later.

“We lost the microwave datalink and all radio contact, sir,” Deputy Minister Elvarez said. “They probably destroyed the antenna tower on the roof. The secure hardwire lines and circuits are
still operational.” He leaned toward Felix Díaz. “The roof of this building is the most vulnerable spot, sir. If they have troops on the roof, it is only a matter of time before they get inside.”

“What is the status of the document destruction?”

“Just started, sir. Magnetic records can be erased in minutes, but the paper documents and any records stored on other than the mainframes and servers will take much longer.” The lights flickered and went out, and this time only the battery-powered standby lights stayed on. “Sir, you will have to evacuate to a secure location, and do it quickly,” Elvarez said urgently. “We may have only moments before this building is overrun.”

Díaz nodded. “All right. The information officers will have to ensure that the data destruction is completed.”

“Yes, sir.” Elvarez picked up a phone and punched in an extension number. “Report…very well, we are on our way.” He hung up the receiver. “We will have to take the stairs because the elevators are out,” he said, “but the tunnel to the Metro system is open and guarded. We have already closed down the number seven and nine lines, and a train is available immediately to take us to the airport. A plane is waiting to get us out of…”