Stephen Randel - The Chupacabra

“I’m Brigadier General X-Ray,” the General began. “Commander of the Southwest Texas Revolutionary Armed Confederate Border Operations Militia, STRAC-BOM for short, and these are my Fire Teams. I assume you’ve heard of us.”

“Well, no, I surely haven’t,” replied Agent Martin. “Agent Diaz, you ever heard of a STRAC-MOM?”

“It’s STRAC-BOM,” replied the General.

“Apologies,” replied Agent Martin. “You ever heard of a STRAC-BOM?”

“I’ve heard of civilian militias,” Agent Diaz said as she surveyed the crew of men in ragged and mismatched fatigues. “But not this one in particular.”

“Just what sort of war games are you and your men up to, general?” asked Agent Martin.

“We’re engaged in Operation Land Shark,” replied the General. “A multi-day surveillance and interdiction campaign aimed at eliminating illegal border crossings into our great nation.”

“Wait a minute,” said Agent Diaz, laughing. “Are you the guys that tried to shut down the international bridge in Tornillo awhile back?”

“Yes,” replied the General. “Operation Dam the Gate was not entirely appreciated by your law enforcement counterparts; however, I believe it at least made a symbolic statement of how true red-blooded Americans feel about your inability to stem the flow of illegal aliens washing over our border. After all, as the great General George S. Patton once said, ‘All it takes for evil to flourish is for good men to do nothing.’”

“I don’t believe that quote is attributed to Patton,” Agent Diaz replied.

“Doesn’t matter,” snapped the General. “The point is that we stand armed and committed to succeeding where authorities like you have failed.”

“And just how armed are you?” asked Agent Martin.

“Our battle gear is in the tents,” the General responded. “All properly registered and licensed, I assure you.”

“You know,” said Agent Martin as he dismounted his horse. “Why don’t we just have a look anyway. Bring any firearms in your possession out here and line them up over there under the dining fly. Unloaded, if you don’t mind.”

The General grumbled in protest as he and his men retrieved their weapons and lined them up as instructed. Agents Martin and Diaz surveyed the cache of motley firearms.

“You know, guys,” Agent Diaz said. “It’s not just illegal aliens running through here at night. This is one of the most heavily trafficked border areas for narcotics smuggling, and the cartel soldiers involved tend to carry some serious firepower,” she added, pointing to the pellet gun and wrist rocket in the collection of weapons. “You know what happens when you bring a slingshot to a fight with a Mexican and his Cuerno de Chivo ?”

“His what?” asked Private Zulu.

“His ram’s horn,” she explained. “That’s what they call an AK-47. The curved magazine looks like a ram’s horn, and you’ve got no chance going up against one with this stuff.”

“She’s right,” chimed in Agent Martin. “Sneaking around out here in the dark, you’re liable to get shot, either by drug runners or by us. Now, I can’t make you leave, but I highly suggest you go back to your day jobs and leave this to us.”

“I appreciate your concern,” the General replied. “But our mission is scheduled until Sunday, and we’ll not abandon our campaign. Now, if you don’t mind, we need to break camp and commence transit to Rally Point Dos.”

“All right,” replied Agent Martin. “But first, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about a flare being launched around here last night?”

“Indeed,” said the General. “I was illuminating two illegal alien targets.”

“Actually,” said Private Zulu, “it was some kind of demonic werewolf-vampire coyote. Might have been part zombie as well. Fire Team Leader Charlie saw it!.”

“Really? A vampire coyote?” Agent Martin said sarcastically as he glanced over at Agent Diaz, who was doing her best not to laugh. “They do tend to come out this time of year, don’t they, Agent Diaz?”

“You bet. They call them chupacabras. They drink your blood,” Agent Diaz replied in a spooky voice.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everyone!” Private Zulu said excitedly. “But nobody believes me!”

“General, what happened to the illegal aliens you were illuminating?” asked Agent Martin.

“We left the remains of their bodies down below in the valley.”

“Remains?” Agent Martin asked with an icy stare at the General while Agent Diaz raised her shotgun to the ready.

“Calm down, agent,” the General said. “They were already dead. Had been for some time.”

“Well, why don’t we all go down and have a look, then?” replied Agent Martin as he motioned down toward the valley with his shotgun. “After you, boys.”

Border Patrol Agents Martin and Diaz followed the members of STRAC-BOM down the sloping cut in the ridge toward the location of the bodies the militia had discovered the previous evening. Reaching their location, Agent Martin bent down on one knee to more closely examine the scattered remains. Pulling out a folding buck knife, he used the tip of the blade to poke through the pile of bones and clothes of the first victim before moving to the second.

“Something sure did a number on these two,” said Agent Martin as he closed his buck knife and returned it to its sheath.

“Just a coyote,” said Fire Team Leader Charlie.

“No,” replied Agent Martin as he rose to stand. “I’d say the first one at least was shot. Something awfully high-powered, by the way it shattered the sternum and spine. I’d also say someone did a pretty good job of breaking the bodies up. Maybe to make it easier for the varmints to get at them.”

“Want me to call it in, Hank?” asked Agent Diaz.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Have them send a truck out here to collect the remains.” Agent Diaz retrieved her radio and called the instructions into the border patrol base. “General,” Agent Martin continued as he turned toward the men of the militia, “I’ll ask you one more time to do me a favor and get on back home. This ain’t a place for amateurs.”

“We appreciate your concern,” General X-Ray replied. “But my troops are more than capable of defending themselves if needed.”

“All right,” Agent Martin acquiesced. “But you’ve been warned. Watch you don’t shoot yourselves.”

“Hank,” Agent Diaz said. “The vehicle should be here in a couple of hours.”

“Okay,” he replied. “General, you and your men are free to get back to your little adventures, but I want you to let me know if you come across anything else,” he continued as he handed a card with his contact information to the General.

“We’ll be in contact,” the General replied. “More than likely with a string of detainees in tow. I’ve got a good feeling about tonight.”

“Just remember,” said Agent Martin. “An illegal may not be a U.S. citizen, but if you shoot an innocent person out here, I’ll see that you and your men are charged.”

“We’re fully aware of the rules of engagement,” the General replied. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’re behind schedule for our move to Rally Point Dos.”

“And where might that be?” Agent Martin inquired.

“About five miles east of here,” the General said as he pointed down the ridgeline with his riding crop. “An obvious route of travel for our treacherous prey runs through the desert near there. Tonight we’ll be waiting for them.” The General turned, and with a flourish of his riding crop, rallied his men back up to their campsite to prepare for departure.

“What do you think, Hank?” Agent Diaz asked as she watched the men leave.