King of All I Survey
Chapter 64: The Battle for La Mesilla

Chapter 64: The Battle for La Mesilla

"Tim," Dad said as we watched the view of the Chiapas forces start to move forward en masse, "I don’t think you should watch this."

I didn’t want to watch it. People were going to be killed. Because of me. Because I wanted to rule the world. I could still stop it. Go back to the fourth grade and just be a kid with nothing more to worry about than how quickly I would be picked for a team to play kickball during recess.

"Tim?" I turned to face Dad and nodded.

"I feel like a should watch it. It’s my fault, my responsibility," I said slowly, desperately.

"No, Tim, these are men who chose to fight and kill and make their way through life by preying on others. The drugs they sell are an evil that ruins lives and kills by the thousands. We’re taking a stand against that evil. The world will be a better place when we’re done. Go down to the house and watch TV or something. Joe has this under control. He can call you anytime if we need you."

I closed my eyes and nodded. Instead of going down to the house though, I went up to the look out tower. With all the information displays turned off, I looked out over the forest at the town in the distance, at the rolling hills and mountains on the horizon. I watched the clouds sliding across the sky. I almost forgot the people about to be killed at my orders.

---

Chucho had his AK-47 in his hands as he jogged across the border into Guatemala. He had been marching for hours, but they had been told to run when they got this close. They were supposed to come in fast and all together as a large force, overwhelming the Guatemalans, crushing them. They would teach them a lesson about defying his gang.

It was his gang now, or rather he belonged to the gang. He was fully accepted as a member after this operation. It was his first action with them. He was chosen to prove his bravery by leading the charge along with other new gang members.

They had simply bullied their way through the Mexican border agents at La Mesilla, over a thousand armed gang members charged down La Carretera Internacional and barged through the gates, ordering the agents to get out of the way. They did. A few of them had handguns in holsters on their hips, but a thousand military grade rifles convinced them not to draw. They had advance warning, they knew about the gang members massing nearby, they stood aside and let them pass. There was nothing they could have done except die if they tried to interfere.

They had expected resistance as they charged toward the Guatemalan border station. Rumors said the Guatemalans had fled fearing the attack, but they still expected gun shots to ring out from behind the walls. One of the more senior gang members called a halt, knelt and fired a rocket-propelled grenade at the main gate. It went high and struck the wall just above the gate. It was close enough, the adobe exploded in dust and debris, the gate was mangled and fell away.

He cheered like everybody around him, their throats already dry from the exertion of the long march and now running. He and the others chosen for the honor of being in the front lines charged forward through the opening, guns levelled. From his left, he heard a burst of automatic fire. They had been told to use only very short bursts. Maybe a second at a time at most, and only when they had good targets. The one to his left fired for at least three seconds before stopping. He looked over to see one of the younger new recruits recoiling from being slapped by one of the senior men. The older man, maybe 25 years old, was yelling at him to remember his orders.

Chucho remembered his. He was one of the first five people through the gate, his gaze sweeping the area beyond for enemies. His ears alert for enemy gunfire. None came. He ran to make way for more of his fellows. The glory of leading them into their new territory was his! None would doubt his bravery after this.

La Mesilla was a decent sized town that melded into Las Champas on the Mexican side of the border. The orders were to spread out with five assigned to each of the side streets. He was one of twenty to lead the way down the La Carretera Internacional, or Pan-American Highway as it was also called, the main road that led through both towns and deeper into the country. They were to be alert for any resistance but not fire indiscriminately at the villagers unless they got in the way.

His eyes scanned the road ahead, the rooftops, the windows. He saw no one, not a single soldier or cop. Not even the townspeople had dared to be here. It was like a ghost town. He was aware of his fellows on either side of him, a larger group behind him. They charged down the street, looking left and right as they passed side streets. Several blocks in, they still hadn’t seen anyone. He heard no gunfire from other streets either. It looked like the town was completely abandoned. They were told that it might be, the scouts had reported people leaving in the last few hours.

If they found it empty they were to go past the Banco Industrial to the next major intersection and set up there, to prevent anyone coming in from the interior. They would use the town as their base. He and the others in the front would hold the main road while those behind would swarm through the town, making sure there was no opposition hiding in the buildings or streets.

He was getting tired he wasn’t used to running long distances. He wouldn’t slow down though. He had to prove himself. He felt and heard fewer of his companions beside him, they couldn’t keep up. They were too weak. A moment more and he realized he didn’t hear anymore footsteps around him. He slowed but kept moving forward. He turned his head left and right looking for the others. No one. He slowed to a walk and turned to see how far back they were.

Back down the street he saw colored piles in the road. Bodies, he suddenly realized. He looked around in a panic, but still saw no opposition, heard no gunshots. He ran to the side of the wide street and pressed himself against the side of a building for cover. Nothing. No enemies, none of the other gang members came down the street. Moving from building to building, he rushed back the way he had come until he reached the first of the fallen. It was Pedro, one of the other new gang members who had been chosen for the honor of leading the charge. He flipped him over with his foot. He was dead, his eyes open and staring.

How? He hadn’t heard any gunshots! He moved back to the edge of the street and sat heavily against the cool adobe wall. His AK-47 still grasped tightly in his hands but forgotten. He looked down the street and saw a line of bodies extending all the way back until the road turned out of sight. They were all dead, the entire group wiped out. He wanted to call out, to see if others were still alive on the next streets over, but he was afraid. He didn’t want to attract the attention of whoever had killed the others. He sat in panic and desperation. At some point, he set his gun down beside him, leaning it against the wall. Should he head back into Mexico? He knew retreat was not an option, cowards would be killed by the gang. He should look for other survivors, he thought. Maybe this was the only group that had been cut down. But there was no shouting, no voices at all. He heard the wind blowing through the empty streets, birds somewhere in the distance, but no sign of human activity anywhere.

He sat there, on the edge of a decision to go back or go forward, to stay where he was and wait or to go inside one of the buildings to hide. He was in a state of shock, unable to think, unable to make a decision, unable to do anything except sit and wait.

Hours later, he was still sitting there, his rifle forgotten at his side, eyes wide and staring, when a group of Guatemalan Army soldiers rounded the turn. One of the men in the front of a jeep stood and pointed at him. The jeep braked to a sudden stop and six men clambered out guns ready. Two pointed their weapons at him, the rest scanned the neighboring buildings and rooftops for any signs of an ambush. One slung his rifle back over his shoulder, kicked Chucho’s gun away, and grabbed his shirt at the shoulder, pulling him to his feet.

Chucho didn’t resist, he let himself be searched and hand-cuffed. They led him back to the Jeep and sat him down on the floor in the open back of the vehicle. The driver spoke into a radio. After a minute, another Jeep came into view and pulled up alongside them. The two drivers conversed for a minute then the Jeep carrying Chucho pulled a U-turn and headed back the way it had come while the other continued down the Pan-American Highway toward the border.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.