Present
Days after having returned to his home in Germany, Michael was back on his way to yet another place. One eight hour flight to Texas, a drive into Arizona to a border town. A motorcycle ride into the desert.
Inside his shanty little wood shack, there lay a dark skinned man on an old army cot. Michael knew he had a friend here, but part of maintaining security was that nobody knew the exact days and times of his arrival. To announce himself, he slid the back of his bike and faced it toward the door of the shack and began spinning the back tire, throwing rocks and dirt at the little building.
Waking up to the sound of revving dirt bike and clattering rocks, Marcus went to the door and stepped outside with a laughing grin. His hair was dark gray, his skin was a darker espresso brown. His complexion was rough from years of summers in the desert. A glock 21 sat in a holster on his hip. He stood outside chuckling as Michael dismounted the bike.
“Ya know,” Marcus said with his sarcastic smile, “For a super ninja, you’re a noisy motherfucka.”
Shrugging, Michael pulled out a pack of tribal cigarettes. “I could racialize half your ass next time,” Michael said as he handed the smokes and fresh lighter to Marcus, “Maybe you want menthols.”
Marcus chuckled, wasting no time opening the pack to get a cig in his mouth and test his new lighter. “For a nonsmoker, you sure know your shit old boy”
Michael nodded. “I sure had a bunch of you to teach me all about that smoking dipping vape shit.”
As Michael stepped into the shack, Marcus pointed him to a duffel bag that sat waiting for him. Inside the gear bag sat a couple rifles and some clothing. Tan combat shirts, multicam combat pants, and a tan plate carrier with magazines already loaded and placed in their pouches.
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The first rifle he pulled from the bag was an M4A1 with a custom upper receiver, comprised of a 10 inch barrel, chambered in .300 Blackout. His magazines were loaded with 220 grain subsonic ammo, which his red dot sight was very much zeroed for. Also attached was a PEQ-15 infrared laser emitter and a four inch government grade silencer and a mount space behind his optic for placing a night vision device.
The other rifle, sitting in a bag inside the duffel, was a customized AR10 with a 20 inch stainless steel match barrel. Attached was a variable power scope with a front focal pane bullet drop compensator reticle. Under the barrel was an old harris bipod. The stock was an adjustable five position stock. This weapon was zeroed for surplus match ammo, 175 grain M118LR, this weapon had very consistent performance at just slightly beyond military requirements.
Putting on his equipment, he listened to Marcus explain the details about how the cartels were getting emboldened with a continuation of the Mexican government's inaction against them, as well as a small deconstructed portion of the Arizona Mexico wall. Local law enforcement was under equipped to handle the cartels heavily armed incursions. Michael and his very small team were the locals only hope at getting any kind of advantage over the roaming bandits. The only problem Marcus really saw, “At a distance, the police don’t know where you’re from.”
“We’re invisible to the law here,” Michael tried to assure Marcus, “We’re making their jobs easier.”
Marcus shook his head. “I know society came a long damn way, but I’m black and brown. They gon’ hate my ass twice around here.”
Michael rolled his eyes, refusing to care. “You’re American, we both know that,” Michael grumbled. “Anyone unable to grasp that, they’re too far gone.” Slinging his M4 to his side, Michael grabbed and gently shook his drag bag with his AR10 in it. “Nobody’s getting that close to us anyway. If they do, they won’t live long.”
Marcus grinned, enjoying Michaels way of reassuring people with his forecasts of violence. He geared up, grabbing his AKM with a drum and a fixed 4 power optic. He was not the expert shot that Michael was, but he was quite proficient at placing volumes of fire on his enemies.
Once both of them had everything, Michael and Marcus got on their bikes and rode south towards their intended ambush point. There was a drug smuggling route that they intended to disrupt, as well as a possible arms shipment that they planned on taking and giving to a local militia in hopes of causing problems for the cartels and bandit operations in the area.
Basic kind of work for soldiers or guerillas. Not so doable by the sheriff, binded by laws and policies.