A Time to Die by Mark Wandrey Read Free Book Online Page A

enough to catch a non-stop out of Fort Hood, refueling over the Atlantic Ocean. It made for a quicker transit time, but also a grueling trip on the notoriously uncomfortable seats of C-17 Globemaster.
    The plane was configured for troops and cargo. Even with more than a hundred of his fellow soldiers, the interior was so god-damned noisy at 35,000 feet that most of them stuck in headphones and promptly zoned out. As soon as they hit the runway and began taxiing towards the huge military hangars, the soldiers ignored regulation and were on their feet gathering gear. Andrew went right along with them, if a bit slower. After so long sitting in the seat his stump felt like ground beef.
    The ramp of the plane was already lowering and hot air flooded through the fuselage like a blast furnace. Many of the soldiers wore BDUs, combat armor, and were shouldering huge packs complete with M-4 rifles. Even in just his Air Force casuals he felt sweat burst out under his arms and start to drip down his back. How the hell the Army boys tolerated it, he had no idea.
    Andrew shouldered his duffel after most of the others had filed down the ramp to the lower deck and followed them. Below, loadmasters were swarming over the six Humvees that were locked down to the cargo deck. He nodded to the airman in charge and headed outside into the full heat.
    He lost a half hour finding a ride to the airbase headquarters, then sat outside the CO’s office for another hour waiting to meet his new boss. When the squadron’s commanding colonel waved him in, he was still on a conference call. Andrew did his best not to listen, and failed.
    “…the over-flights are still pending authorization, Rick,” a voice from the phone said.
    “I understand that contingency,” Andrew’s new CO replied as he nodded the pilot into a waiting chair. The name plaque on the desk read Col. Richard “Tightend” Sommers, and it was a tidy desk too. “We need additional details on the nature of the disturbance, and those flights can provide it, Ted.”
    “I’ll see if we can push the SecDef on this, Rick, but the POTUS is reluctant.”
    “He’s reluctant to do anything except play golf. Get back to me,” he said and pushed the button to end the call. “Lieutenant Tobin, good to have you aboard.”
    “Thank you, Colonel Sommers.”
    “Call me Rick,” the older man said with a sparkling smile, and offered his hand.
    “Andrew,” he replied and took the hand into a firm shake. “Sounds like something heating up over here? Iran?”
    “No, actually, this is a lot closer to home.” Andrew raised an eyebrow. The colonel glanced over Andrew’s shoulder to be sure no one was in the hallway before continuing. “This is all on the down-low, so I didn’t say this.”
    “Understood, sir.”
    “There may be an armed coup underway in Mexico as we speak.”
    “No shit?!”
    “No shit indeed. Official communications channels with Washington fell silent forty-eight hours ago, and at the same time Mexican air traffic control began refusing entrance to their country to all but a few of the western and eastern resort destinations; Puerto Vallarta, Mazatlán, and a few others.”
    Andrew absorbed it all in stunned silence. Mexico had suffered from internal corruption and drug wars for years on end, but no one ever thought the country could fall from an internal conflict. They were, at least, a nominal democracy, and widely considered one of the strongest in the hemisphere behind the USA and Canada.
    “We’ve seen some reports from people coming out of Mexico via ground transportation,” the colonel continued, “and those reports talk about crazy gun battles in more than a few larger cities, and government compounds locked down. An hour before you landed, they closed the Brownsville and El Paso border crossings.” Andrew’s eyes got even bigger. “And there are troops arriving in Tijuana.”
    “Sounds like things are spiraling out of control.”
    “That’s exactly