After crossing into the Mexican border, the convoy grew from four vehicles to twelve, with four additional police pickups at the front and rear. Through the windows, they could see drug enforcement officers manning machine guns mounted on metal frames in the beds of the pickups.
No sirens. The convoy traveled quietly at 80 km/h along the road. According to Ela, without the escort from these federal agents, there was a good chance they'd be mistaken for hostiles and intercepted in certain areas.
"Patrick, our destination this time is the town of Magus."
"Patrick, copy that."
Ela had only informed the Mexican Drug Enforcement Unit of their destination after entering the country. This was done to maintain maximum secrecy—the cartels had penetrated the Mexican government far too deeply, and no one knew who might be working for them.
Under the DEU's lead, the convoy pressed on toward Magus. Along the way they passed various neighborhoods—young men kicked soccer balls in the streets, elderly people basked in the sun from wicker chairs, pedestrians silently watched the armed convoy roar past.
They were now entering the town's central area. Most of the buildings were two stories tall. This wasn't the bustling heart of Ciudad Juárez but rather its outskirts, with a charm unique to small towns.
As they descended from an overpass, they spotted a corpse hanging from the bridge, suspended by rope. It added a chilling undertone to the otherwise warm sunlight. No need to guess—it was clearly cartel work. The hanged man had likely offended someone and paid the ultimate price.
Yet the people on the streets showed no reaction—they were used to it. Some kept sunbathing, others continued their soccer match.
The fully armed convoy wound through the town, advancing through narrow streets. Inside the vehicles, everyone had their weapons ready. Owen kept scanning their surroundings—if a firefight broke out here, it would be dangerous. Alleys, rooftops, windows—threats could come from anywhere.
About ten minutes from Magus, the lead vehicle suddenly slammed on the brakes. The others followed suit, kicking up clouds of dust.
Both Phantom and Omega Squad were immediately on alert—the sharp crackling of gunfire echoed faintly from the distance. Though not nearby, the sound of automatic weapons was unmistakable. Somewhere up ahead, a serious firefight was underway.
"What's going on?" Ela asked over the radio.
"There's a gunfight up ahead, but it doesn't concern us. We'll reroute."
The lead vehicle changed direction, and the convoy resumed course.
Only when the gunfire faded completely did the two squads begin to relax. Mexico really was messed up—gunfights in broad daylight, and what was more shocking was how little the police seemed to care.
"ETA ten minutes."
The voice came through the radios linked to the DEU. All four Suburbans were equipped to communicate directly with the local force, and everyone heard Patrick's update.
"Becky, sync the satellite feed to my PDA."
"OK."
Owen pulled out his PDA. After establishing the connection, a satellite top-down view loaded. He passed it to Ela, who glanced at it and pointed to a building near the edge. "That's the one."
Ela had identified a long, two-story structure. Intel was scarce. Their informant had only confirmed that Guzmán and the hostage were inside—but nothing about their location within the building or how many people were guarding them.
But their mission was to capture Mat Guzmán. Rescuing the hostage was secondary.
The convoy stopped behind a dirt mound. Just beyond that was the target building. Everyone disembarked. Omega and Phantom gathered around Owen, who showed them the PDA. The DEU officers stayed behind in their pickups as planned.
It had been agreed beforehand: the U.S. teams would handle the assault. The DEU was only there to escort and support them and would not directly engage. After the mission, the target would be taken to the U.S.—not left in Mexico.
All this was for safety, and Omega had no objections. Time was of the essence, and intel was limited. Owen quickly coordinated with Phantom Squad. As always, Owen would command, and the teams would split—each entering from opposite ends of the building.
"Memorize Guzmán's face. Capturing him is top priority. Omega takes the first floor, Phantom the second. Sniper teams find positions and shoot freely."
Owen gave the orders and looked at Shepherd, who nodded. Swagg, Fred, and Weaver grabbed their weapons and climbed the dirt mound to scout for sniper positions.
Everyone got back into vehicles, this time trading their Suburbans for pickups. In the coming fight, the pickups offered more tactical flexibility and better cover.
As soon as the snipers confirmed they were in position, two pickups revved and burst from behind the mound, speeding toward the front doors of the target building.
The wooden structure stood no chance. The pickup smashed through the front, tearing apart the walls and sending furniture flying. Inside, two men watching a soccer game barely had time to react before Owen, standing in the bed, double-tapped them into oblivion.
At the other end, Phantom Squad made their entrance the same way. After clearing the initial resistance, they charged up to the second floor.
"Hostage on the second floor."
Weaver's voice came through the earpiece. He had spotted the bound hostage through his sniper scope—but no sign of Mat Guzmán yet.
The building layout was like a motel: a central corridor with rooms on either side. Owen paired with Ela, while Ghost teamed up with Bayev. Each team cleared one side of the hallway.
Close-quarters combat (CQB) was always the most dangerous. In tight quarters, missing was nearly impossible—it all came down to reaction speed. Worse, the wooden rooms couldn't even stop pistol rounds, let alone assault rifles. That meant whoever fired first usually won.
When Ghost and Bayev cleared rooms, Owen and Ela guarded the hallway, and vice versa. Outside, the DEU pickups had surrounded the building, preventing anyone from escaping—or reinforcements from entering.
"Pop pop pop!"
Owen dropped one target with a burst. Another man stepped into view, thinking he had a chance, only to get dropped by Ela's clean shot. With Ghost's team exiting their last room, Owen and Ela moved to clear the opposite side.
Ela's performance was impressive—sharp aim, excellent judgment, and perfect timing. Clearly, she had done this kind of operation many times.
"Bang bang bang—!"
Gunfire continued upstairs. Shepherd fired through walls with his HK416, wounding enemies using furniture for cover. A cartel thug poked his head out from behind a wardrobe—only to have it explode in a red mist from Weaver's well-placed shot.
Weaver cycled his bolt, ejecting the casing and feeding in another round. His scope drifted from window to window, searching for the next threat.
Elsewhere, Swagg mirrored his movements. The three snipers had divided responsibilities—Weaver supported the second floor, Swagg the first, while Fred wasn't acting as a spotter this time but instead roamed in a mobile support role. His attention was outside the building, watching for approaching reinforcements. This was cartel territory—any moment now, backup could arrive.
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