I was hired to find lost Nazi gold. I found Ariella instead.
Based on a post by ronde, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.
The shiny, black, Mercedes X-Class pickup slowly worked its way down the road about a hundred meters from where I was crouched behind a rock. The fact the pickup was alone and had an M 60 machine gun on a pintle mount in the bed told me this wasn't some unit of the Argentine Army. The Argentine Army might have been driving a Mercedes pickup, but it would have been OD green and the machine gun would have been an FN Mag.
The woman nudged me then.
"They'll be on top of us in a few minutes. I'll take out the truck driver and the M 60. That'll slow them down while they're trying to figure out where the shots came from. They might run then, but if they don't it'll take both of us to take out the rest. Are you ready for that?"
I was ready, because I knew if we didn't take out all of them, we'd be running for our lives. I'd experienced that before. I was a former US Army Ranger with two tours of Afghanistan under my belt before I decided civilian life would be a whole lot healthier.
I had no reservations about what we had to do, though it was going to be tough. With it's short barrel, iron sights, and a tendency to overheat if fired quickly, the HK G 36 C carbine I carried lost accuracy fast after about two hundred meters, so they'd have to be closer than that. I could use the old "spray and pray" technique used by some US Army soldiers before the M4 came out with a selector switch for a three round burst instead of just full-auto fire. The problem with that was I only had a hundred and twenty rounds and they wouldn't last long if I did that. After that, all I had was a 9 millimeter Browning pistol. They'd have to be a lot closer before I had any chance of putting even one down with that.
The woman was in better shape for long range shooting. The Israeli M 89 SR rifle she was crouched behind was accurate out to about a thousand meters if she knew what she was doing, and if she did, the thirty rounds in her magazine would be more than sufficient.
She let the truck get to about seventy-five meters from our position and then put one 7.62 millimeter round through the windshield. The driver slumped down in the seat at the same time her second shot hit the M60 just behind the operating handle and effectively froze the action. The truck turned sharply into a rock and then the engine died. The whole thing couldn't have taken more than about five seconds. The woman definitely knew her way around a rifle.
The three guys in the truck bed and the one left in the cab bailed out, got behind the truck, and started looking for the shooter. They were going to have a difficult time finding us. The suppressor on the M89SR effectively hid any muzzle flash and any dust caused by the gasses exiting the barrel. It also reduced the sound enough that it would be difficult for the guys to pinpoint it since the echo from the mountains made the sound seem to come from all directions.
The woman and I watched them for the next five minutes, and it became obvious they weren't battle-trained troops. They were probably considered a serious threat by the local population, but to me they were just amateurs; well-equipped amateurs, but still amateurs.
They were well equipped because they had money, and money was the reason I was in Argentina in the first place. Meeting the woman was just a lucky accident. Well, that's what I thought at the time. I later found out it was no accident.
How it all started.
The whole thing started six weeks before I found myself with the woman crouched behind a rock and waiting to see what the guys behind the truck were going to do next.
After separating myself from the US Army, I needed some way to keep myself indoors and fed. When I looked at what I knew how to do, planning for close combat and then executing that plan was all I could come up with.
Given the domestic and political climate at the time, a lot of former military men were running self defense schools. After reading about a few of the schools, I decided I could make some money that way too.
I'd been deployed for much of my Army career so most of my Army pay was sitting in my bank. I used half of what I had as a down payment on fifty acres in Eastern Tennessee with a house and barn on it, and built a pistol and rifle range.
I was doing OK, teaching a class a couple times a week in basic gun safety and giving the Tennessee concealed-carry class and test. The other days, I taught advanced courses in long-range rifle shooting and rapid-fire pistol shooting. I also sold targets and ammunition. I wasn't getting rich, but I was able to make the mortgage payments, put food on the table, and keep my fridge stocked with beer.
One afternoon after I'd finished up my class on accurate rapid pistol fire, I was policing brass from the range when a guy in a suit and tie walked up and stuck out his hand. He introduced himself as Marcus Richter.
"Mr. Dale Stevenson; did I get your name right? Ah, good. Mr. Stevenson, I understand you have somewhat of a unique background, a background I would find useful if you agree to my proposal."
I figured he'd gotten that information from my web site. I thought "US Army Ranger" sounded better than "former military" like some of the school web sites used.
I shrugged.
"I can teach you how to fire a weapon and how to defend yourself in an emergency if that's what you mean."
He shook his head.
"No, though the thought has crossed my mind. Fortunately, I have people who take care of those duties for me.
"No, I'm a successful business man in a rather unique business. I trade in world currencies. It is that business that resulted in my visit to your establishment today. I fear the explanation of that business will be quite lengthy, so would it be possible to find a place where we might sit down and out of the sun?"
I'd converted part of the barn into a classroom for my classes, so I led the man there. Once we were seated, he cleared his throat.
"As I said, I am a trader in world currencies and that includes gold and silver in its many forms, from coinage to bullion. My business is of necessity rather secretive, for were some in the precious metal market to have advanced knowledge of my activities, it would have an impact upon the world pricing of said precious metals. It is such advanced knowledge I hope to exploit to my advantage if you agree to perform a service for me, a service for which you will be very well compensated."
I wasn't entirely convinced this guy was on the level, but I had no reason to stop listening to him.
I smiled.
"It sounds like you have some sort of secret mission you want me to do for you."
He smiled.
"Yes, secrecy is of the utmost importance. When you hear the details, you will understand why.
"As you probably know, in the last stages of World War Two, many high-ranking members of the Nazi party and German military realized any favorable outcome to the war was an impossibility. Germany would be defeated and given the atrocities committed, those same people would be prosecuted for war crimes, found guilty, and imprisoned or executed.
"They began making plans to escape before they were captured by the Allies. Argentina was neutral during the war and indeed declared war on the Axis powers a month before the war in Europe ended, but many in Argentina were still sympathetic toward Germany. As a result, Argentina was viewed as a possible haven by those attempting to escape what would surely be their ultimate fate.
"Argentina, in fact, encouraged those high-ranking people to come there. It is well known that many were able to successfully leave Germany and take up residence in Argentina. The efforts of some Israeli organizations that were able to locate some of them and transport them back to Israel for trial is a testimony to that fact.
"What is not well known is how those same people funded their escape and managed to live in Argentina until they were able to find employment. There are suspicions of the transfer of gold either before or after their escape, but no proof. What is known is there were large caches of gold the Nazi's looted from the countries and people they overran in the early stages of the war.
"While much of that gold was gold bars plundered from the repositories in Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Poland, a significant amount was in the gold taken from individuals. To date, some of that gold has been recovered, but a sizeable portion has not and there are only rumors as to its location, until about a month ago.
"Ah, shall we say, a friend of a friend mentioned he had been offered a small bar of gold bullion bearing the imprint of the Heraeus Corporation of Germany. I do not know if you know of this German company, but Heraeus has been in the business of refining and producing precious metals since the late 1800's when they discovered a method of melting platinum.
"During World War Two, one small gold smelting facility of the Heraeus corporation located on the outskirts of Hanau, Germany was taken over by the Nazi party, managed by Nazi party members, and slave labor was used for the smelting process. They began melting the gold looted from the countries occupied by the German Army into bullion. The bullion was stamped with the hallmark of the Heraeus corporation in order to make it appear to be legitimate, though the Heraeus company per se had nothing to do with the operation.
"This knowledge has been common since the war ended, but what happened to the gold bullion produced by the Nazi controlled factory has been unknown until this single bar of bullion was offered to this friend of my friend. The offer was made in somewhat secretive circumstances and the design of the hallmark dated to the period of the Second World War. These two things intrigued this friend of my friend and also intrigued me.
"My interest was passing until I spoke to a man who wished to buy gold as an investment. He related a tale told by his grandfather of watching U-boats berthed at Helgoland, Germany when he was twelve years old. His grandfather had watched the U-boats before as they were fueled, armed, and then sent back out to sea. On a few occasions, this was not the case.
"According to his story, over the course of a week, several men in prison uniforms loaded six submarines with wooden cases that appeared much too heavy to be supplies and not large enough to hold munitions. He thought it unusual that they did not load any torpedoes as they always had before, but assumed the submarines were supply submarines used to re-supply U-boats at sea.
"Once the submarines were loaded, the men in prison uniforms were taken away and a few men in the uniform of the German navy went on board, but not in the same numbers this man had seen before. Instead of a full crew, a number of men in business dress also boarded the submarines. The submarines then left port. Three months later, those same six submarines were again docked in Helgoland and were being once again loaded as before. This cycle was repeated two more times before he witnessed the same submarines being loaded with torpedoes and manned by full crews of the German Navy.
"Another very interesting event happened in Argentina at the end of the war. Juan Peron was elected president and set about nationalizing industries and services while at the same time raising the wages of workers. Most importantly, he paid off the entire amount of externally held Argentine debt.
"Because Argentina does mine native gold and silver ore, I have people there to keep me informed about the latest developments. When I heard the stories about the bar of gold bullion and the German submarines and put that story into the context of what I know about the country, I asked my people there to do some research into the matter. The report I received a few weeks ago offered some tantalizing conclusions.
"At the end of the war, Argentina had external debt amounting to about two hundred million US Dollars. When Peron was elected President, he settled the national debt with payments in gold bullion, which is understandable because gold is the currency of the world. What is not understandable is where Peron was able to find enough gold to do that without bankrupting the country. The entire gold reserves of Argentina at the time were about two hundred and fifty million US dollars. He would have had to drain most of those reserves, but apparently did not. He continued to implement his policies by using that same gold reserve.
"My people were not able to identify how that situation changed so rapidly once Peron was in office nor the source of the gold with which he paid the Argentine debt. They were able to report that prior to settling that debt, the Argentine government ceased operations of a small, older smelter in the foothills of the Andes near Mendoza to bring that facility up to the level of current technology. They learned this from an old man who had been employed at the smelter in his youth. He said he was sent home and told to not report for work for two months.
"The man was interested in what changes were going to be made so over the course of seven weeks, he watched the activities at the smelter. He related to my people that the first week, he saw many trucks drive into the smelter and each truck had armed guards who were all tall men who looked European. He could not see what they did in the smelter, but he did notice the smokestack continued to emit smoke just as it had when the smelter was operating.
"A week before his two month furlough was to end, he witnessed those same trucks with the same armed guards drive out of the smelter and take the road that led to Buenos Aires. He also said when he returned to work, there was little difference from how the smelter had operated before."
I wasn't sure what all this had to do with me. When I asked, his face became grim.
"What I and my people believe is that a very large amount of gold was shipped to Argentina by the Nazis on submarines and used to pay the Argentine government for allowing them to stay there. That is the only explanation for how Peron was able to find the gold to pay off the national debt. It is also an explanation for the unusual loading of the submarine and for the bar of gold bullion offered to, as I said, a friend of a friend. The smelter was shut down in order to melt the Nazi gold and then recast it into bullion that bore the Argentine hallmark."
I was still confused.
"OK, that's all well and good, but again, what does that have to do with me?"
He placed his hands on the table between us and smiled.
"I want to pay you to find the rest of the Nazi gold."
Now, I was confused again.
"The rest? I thought you said they melted it all down and recast it."
He shook his head and chuckled.
"I said they melted and recast enough to pay off the Argentine debt, not that they melted and recast all the gold. The total amount of gold plundered by the Nazis is not accurately known, but it has been estimated at nearly two billion US dollars in the currency of the day. About a fourth of that can be reasonably accounted for as it was transferred to various banks in neutral countries, though some of those transfers are disputed. The rest has never been found.
"It is my estimate that the Nazis shipped at least four hundred tons of gold to Argentina on those submarines. In the currency of the day, that would be about half a billion US dollars. In 1945, the Argentine debt was about two hundred million US dollars. That leaves us with a difference of about three hundred million which would be a little over one and a half billion US dollars at today's market price."
I said I didn't think that was feasible because of the weight of gold. It wouldn't fit on a submarine. He smiled.
"Yes, gold is heavy but also very dense and does not require much space. The normal armament for a U-boat of the type loaded at Helgoland was fourteen torpedoes that weighed a little over a ton and a half each. Each submarine could have carried over twenty tons of gold if the torpedoes were not on board. The six submarines making four trips could have carried that much gold and many passengers. With a range of about nine thousand nautical miles, they could easily have made the trip from Germany to Argentina and back in about three months at sea.
It sounded like another Nazi conspiracy theory to me, but it was interesting so I decided to play along for a while.
"So, you want me to find this gold and then what? Hire a bunch of trucks to bring it back to the US?"
He smiled and shook his head.
"No. I only want you to confirm its location from the information my people have developed after almost a year of research. Near Mendoza in Mendoza province, my people located the ruins of what they described as a replica of The Berghof, Hitler's residence in Bavaria. The surrounding area is mostly unpopulated now, but was once the site of a now closed led mine. We believe the building was built to house German Army and SS officers who fled Germany and surmise the gold must have been secreted in the led mine. Once you have confirmed the gold is indeed at that location, others will orchestrate its removal and transport.
That little bell in your head that tells you something's not right started to ring.
"Mr. Richter, if your people know where it is, why don't those others you talked about confirm the gold is there and then remove it?"
He pursed his lips.
"My people in Argentina are carefully watched by the Argentine government to detect any financial dealings they might attempt. It is highly likely some in the Argentine government are also aware of their findings. Were my people to investigate that mine, well, the current government of Argentina would consider the gold to be the property of Argentina. It is not, but Argentina would be very upset were they to find it has been discovered and removed from the country."
The little bell in my head was now clanging.
"So what you're asking me to do is illegal? I don't much like the idea of spending time in an Argentine prison."
He shook his head.
"Your involvement will only be to locate and enter an abandoned and unguarded mine, confirm with photographs that the gold is there, and then bring those photographs and an accurate location back to me. It will be as if you were a tourist seeing the countryside and just happened upon the mine during your travels. There is nothing illegal about that.
"You will be well compensated for your efforts. I am prepared to offer you transportation to and from Argentina, a vehicle and other equipment for your use while there, and the sum of one hundred thousand dollars. I have arranged for twenty thousand dollars to be transferred to your bank account immediately upon your arrival in Argentina and commencement of your search. You will, of course, be provided with a small sum for travel expenses. The balance will be transferred upon your return, assuming you are successful. If not, the transfer will be for an additional twenty thousand dollars as payment for your services. The transfers will be from a Swiss bank account and will be untraceable."
As the old saying goes, "If I'd known then what I know now, ", but he had just waved a lot of money in my face. I was happy running my school, but it could use some improvements like an actual classroom and a better range. A hundred grand would take care of that plus put some life into my starving bank account.
"Just one question. What are these skills I have that are going to be required and why do you think I'll need them?"
Mr. Richter rubbed his palms together.
"It sounds as if you might be willing to accept my offer. I had hopes you would do so. As for those skills, the mine's location is somewhat of a mystery. My people know the general area, but it has been abandoned for almost eighty years. The area is relatively small, perhaps five hectares, but it is likely the mine entrance has been overgrown if not partially collapsed over time. We know it is not visible from the air because my people have flown over the area multiple times without seeing it. You have the skills to navigate over unfamiliar and rough terrain. Once you are there, you can use the GPS unit included in your equipment to pinpoint the location so my people can find it easily."
Two weeks later I was on a flight from Knoxville to Houston. From Houston, I'd fly to Sao Palo, Brazil, and then on to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I had a room reserved at the Hilton Buenos Aires. Mr. Richter said when I checked in, the clerk would give me an envelope containing instructions as to where I was to pick up my car and equipment.
Sure enough, when the hotel clerk handed me my key card, she also handed me an envelope addressed to Mr. Dale Stevenson. When I got to my room, I opened the envelope. In it was just a short note.
"Mr. Stevenson, at nine o'clock tomorrow, take a taxi to this address and ask for Mr. Rodriguez. He will have your vehicle with your equipment and supplies."
A Reluctant errand.
When I gave the cab driver the address the next morning, he looked back at me and frowned.
"Señor, are you sure you want to go to this place?"
I said I was. The driver muttered something in Spanish, but pulled out into traffic. Half an hour later and after driving through some unpaved areas between outdoor shops and some ramshackle buildings, he stopped in front of a building with a sign over the overhead door that said "Reparaciones de Autos". The "Autos" told me this place had something to do with cars, but I hadn't seen even one car or truck since the cab had left the paved road.
"Señor, this is the address. I can wait if you want but it will cost extra. This is not a safe place."
When I said no, he shook his head and again muttered something in Spanish. As soon as I got out of the cab, he drove off. I walked up to the building and opened the door.
There was a man behind the counter who didn't really look like the typical Argentine I'd seen since I landed in Buenos Aires. He was taller, and his hair wasn't black. His face was a lot more severe looking too, and he didn't speak with a strong Spanish accent. His accent sounded more European.
I asked to speak to Mr. Rodriquez. He frowned.
"Who are you and why are you here?"
I gave him my name and told him about the instructions on the note. He frowned again.
"I need to see some identification and the note before you talk to Mr. Rodriquez."
I showed him my passport and the note. He smiled then.
"Come this way, Mr. Stevenson. I am Mr. Rodriquez. I have everything ready for you."
After the expensive hotel, I'd expected a car that was also pretty nice. What it was, was an older Land Rover that was straight out of a safari movie. The paint was gone down to the bare metal in several places, the fenders were beat to hell, and the seats had several ripped places. It had a greasy looking winch on the front bumper and a rusting snorkel for the air intake.
Mr. Rodriquez chuckled.
"Not what you were expecting, I take it. It might not look like much, but the reason is so you don't attract attention. A new, shiny car would tell certain people that you have money, money they'd like to have. Don't worry though. The engine, drive train, and tires are new, and she'll go through anything you've got balls enough to try, assuming you know how to drive a four-wheel drive vehicle. It's my understanding that you do.
"Your equipment and supplies for a month are loaded in the back and the tank is full of fuel. There are four, 30-liter cans of fuel in the back, and sixty liters of water. The GPS unit is in the dash, but covered to look like a radio. Just flip up the cover when you want to use it. The route is already programmed to take you to San Luis. Look for 'Hotel' on the GPS list of destinations. That will take you to a site about ten kilometers from San Luis to a house where you can stay the night. The next morning, look for 'Site 1'. That will take you outside of Mendoza where your search will start.
"There is a hand-held GPS unit in your supplies as well. The coordinates of your destination have been entered as 'Site 2', but it's just a guess. There's a military map and compass in your equipment. When you stop for the night, you will be given some more equipment it would have been unwise to give you here in Buenos Aires.
"When you leave Argentina, do not bring the vehicle back here. Drive it to the airport and leave it there.
"A word of advice. There are two groups of people you should avoid, and I am told you're very capable of doing that. One is the Argentine military. Should they catch you, they will want to know what you are doing and why. That is because of the second group. Argentina is experiencing an increase in human trafficking and those organizations operate in areas away from the cities near the border with Chile. With the Argentine military, you risk being mistaken for a trafficker and thrown in prison. With the traffickers, you risk being killed."
Saint Luis Bound.
As I followed the GPS directions to the highway to San Luis, I was impressed by Mr. Richter's organization. It reminded me of how the CIA ran its operations in Afghanistan; very low visibility to anybody who was watching, but manned by extremely capable individuals with a lot of knowledge.
The drive to my first stop was a very boring six hours. When the GPS told me to, I turned off the highway onto a dirt road that led into some trees. I was just out of sight of the highway when I came to a house, an actual house with doors and windows and made of brick.
When I knocked on the door, it was answered by an older woman who also didn't look like an Argentine. She spoke English with almost the same European accent as the guy at the auto shop. She showed me to a room and said she'd have dinner ready in half an hour.
While I waited, I checked on my equipment and supplies. It was pretty standard military gear; a small tent that looked like British WWII surplus, the hand held GPS unit with a solar recharger for the batteries, a hatchet, a shovel, a first aid kit, and enough U S M R Ease to last for a month. The water and fuel were there too, in plastic NATO standard containers.
The woman; I never learned her name; had my dinner on the table when I went back inside. She didn't come back, so I left the dishes on the table and went to my room.
Bed and Breakfast.
When I woke up the next morning, I smelled coffee. After dressing, I went back to the dining room. The woman was there with a pot of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs, ham, and fried potatoes. She poured a cup of coffee and motioned to a little pitcher of milk and a cup of sugar and then left. I was finishing my second cup of coffee when she came back. In one hand, she had a pretty dirty and beat up HK G 36 C carbine, and in the other she was struggling to carry a set of M O L L E system equipment exactly like I'd used in Afghanistan.
She laid the G 36 C on the table and then hoisted the MOLLE stuff up on the table too. It looked heavy and I soon discovered why.
All she said was, "This is for you to use. You must leave it here when you leave Argentina." Then, she left the room. I heard a car start and saw her driving an old Toyota sedan past the dining room window.
Well, I'd suspected this whole thing was probably on the shady side of legal since I'd talked with Richter, but it was a challenge and it seemed as if it might be a little more exciting than teaching self-defense classes. The G 36 C and what was in the pack on the MOLLE gear made me stop and think for a while.
In the pack were four sets of Argentine Army B D Use in my size and a pair of Argentine Army boots, also in my size. Beneath that was a Browning Hi-Power 9 millimeter pistol in a holster that would attach securely to the MOLLE system, a thousand rounds of 5.56 in magazines for the G 36 C and another thousand rounds of 9 millimeter in magazines for the Browning.
The B D Use and boots were something I could use because I'd just worn jeans, a shirt, and my running shoes for the flight. I'd shot and was proficient with both weapons because of my Ranger training, so they weren't of any concern to me. What was of concern is why Mr. Richter thought I'd need camo clothing and weapons if all I was going to do was stroll around the country like a tourist and take some pictures.
Having that much firepower on me and being dressed in an Argentine Army uniform if the Argentine police or military caught up with me probably meant they wouldn't believe anything I told them, and I'd end up sitting in an Argentine prison for a long time.
Maybe the human traffickers were the reason, though I wasn't fool enough to think I could take on very many by myself. I'd just keep out of their sight like I'd done dozens of times when avoiding Taliban patrols. I did have a fleeting thought about just leaving everything on the table, driving back to Buenos Aires, and flying home. I'd probably lose the twenty grand Mr. Richter had promised, but I wouldn't be any worse off than when I started.
The thing was, I couldn't talk myself into doing that. US Army Rangers don't back away from a challenge, no matter what the challenge is. Now, we're not like the actors in the movies who go charging in with rifles on full auto and kill all the bad guys. That would be fucking stupid, and would be a sure way to get at least some of the team killed or wounded.
We're trained in how to assess a situation and how to plan and act accordingly so we accomplish the mission and everybody gets to come home alive and in one piece. We'd much prefer to go in, do what we were sent to do, and then back out with no one knowing we were even there.
I decided I'd play this the same way. I'd avoid meeting any people by doing my recon and assessment of any area I was going into. I'd carry the G 36 C and the Browning out of an objective assessment of the reality the situation could become, but I wouldn't use either unless there was no other option.
Climbing.
An hour after I changed clothes, I drove the Land Rover up a steep, gravel road that led into the foothills of the mountains, and stopped where the GPS told me. About thirty meters off the dirt road, I saw what had once been a pretty large building with a lot of rooms. It had been built of wood, and most of the walls had rotted away, but when I prowled around a little, I could see what had been a very large room with a very large fireplace at one end. There were also several rooms I guessed were bedrooms, a huge kitchen, and what had probably been a study because I could see the remnants of a desk and a bookcase.
There didn't appear to be much else to see there, so I looked on the hand-held GPS for "Site 2", then took out the map and looked to see where I was and where I was going. Where I was, was at the end of the road on my map. I looked in the direction of that road and there appeared to be a gravel path of sorts, but it would probably be faster to walk it than try to drive it.
The terrain was going to be tough. The foothills weren't especially high in this area; they were more like high ridges with valleys in between then; but I'd be walking a kilometer or more just to get a couple kilometers further. I also knew from experience that terrain like this was ideal for someone who didn't want to be surprised. If there were human traffickers in the area and they had half a brain, they'd have a sentry or two on the tops of the ridges and in their camp down in the valley. I'd have to keep my eyes open.
I put a hundred rounds for the G 36 C and a hundred for the Browning in the pockets on the front of the MOLLE system, then put another full magazine in both. I wasn't sure how long I was going to be gone, so I put five days worth of M R Ease in the pack too. I left the ballistic vest and the rest of the equipment behind. Climbing up those foothills was going to be hard work, and I didn't want anything weighing me down unless it was absolutely necessary. I hadn't seen any other vehicles on the road anyway, so the place was probably just as deserted as the area around the house where I'd spent the night and I wouldn't need the vest. I'd slept without a tent more times than in one so that didn't bother me either.
It took me an hour to slowly climb to the top of the first ridge, an hour of quietly climbing for a few minutes and then five minutes of scanning in all directions with my binoculars and listening. Once I got to the top, I spent half an hour at this vantage point doing recon of the valley below.
That valley looked empty and I couldn't see even a faint track that might have led to a mine, so I went down the other side of the ridge, across the valley, and then started up the next ridge, all the while walking a little, keeping to what cover there was, and looking and listening a lot. That took another hour and a half. When I got to the top of that ridge, I found a relatively hidden spot, got down on my belly and started glassing the valley below.
It didn't look much different than the first valley, and when I looked at where the mountains started, there was nothing to indicate there had ever been a mine there.
That's how it went for the next three days. I'd climb a ridge, glass the valley for signs of other people and a mine, but I never found anything. Nights weren't comfortable, but I'd lived without much sleep before. I'd just find a place with some cover, front and back, eat my M R Ease cold and then try to catch some sleep. I'd been climbing and walking for three days, but by my map, I was only a couple of kilometers from where I'd left the Land Rover.
The fourth day, I climbed the ridge, found a spot where I could see but not be seen, and started my recon of the valley.
The first thing I saw was another gravel road, more of a path than a road, but it looked like someone had cleared some of the brush from the sides and I could see tire marks in the dust. Through my binoculars, I followed that road up the valley. It disappeared into some trees, but then appeared again in a clearing about fifty meters across.
Clearings in trees do not usually happen all by themselves, and this one was no exception. In the middle of it were two small shacks with corrugated steel roofs, one maybe three meters square and the other a little bigger. Smoke was coming from a chimney on the smaller building.
There were three men dressed about like I was sitting on a log in front of the smaller building. Their rifles, what looked like AK-47's, were leaning against the wall of the building. There were four more men with rifles walking around the larger building. Those men were guarding whatever was in that building. The men sitting were just taking a break.
I scanned the ridge above and below me as well as the entrance at the trees and couldn't see any sentries. That told me they weren't military, though I was already pretty certain about that. The military would have been encamped using tents, not rough buildings, and the men were pretty casual for military men. I also knew the military of Argentina issued FN FAL rifles, not AK-47's, but several other South American countries did, and it was a favorite of the drug cartels. It wouldn't have been difficult for almost anyone in Argentina to get as many as they wanted if they had the money.
The two vehicles parked in front of the small building were also a giveaway. The Argentine military had a lot of Mercedes trucks, but they were OD green, not shiny black. No, they had to be the traffickers I'd been warned about.
No matter what they were, they were in the way. My GPS unit said the mine might be located in this valley and the fact there had been a road into it at some point made me think that could be right. I couldn't just walk down the ridge and into the valley without being seen. I'd have to try to come up that dirt road, staying behind cover until I got to the camp, and then figure out a way to walk around it. I'd done the same thing many times in Afghanistan. It was just a matter of staying quiet and sticking to cover.
After another hour of working my way back down the ridge and then out to the gravel road, I started up that road and into the valley. That road curved where it ran into the main road, and I was half way around that curve when things went to hell.
There wasn't much cover, but that didn't worry me too much because I hadn't seen any sentries from the ridge. I didn't think of the fact that the same curve in the road I thought would give me cover might also hide a sentry. I realized that after I heard "Stoppen!" off to my right. That sounded like "stop" and the tone of the man's voice told me I didn't want to ask for a translation. I started running for the nearest cover, a big rock pile off to the side of the road about five meters away.
I was two meters from the rock when the first shot hit the dirt in front of me. There was a second shot and I was surprised it hit the rock instead of me. Evidently the traffickers didn't get much target practice.
I made it to the rock and then peeked around the edge. The guy was walking toward me with his AK at waist level. He waved the muzzle of the rifle up and said something in Spanish.
He thought he had me and wanted me to stand up. I suppose that worked with some of the locals, but I figured as soon as I stood up, I'd be catching a bullet from that AK.
I ducked back behind the rock, un-holstered the Browning and checked the chamber for a round. Because I'd been climbing some rough country, I hadn't cocked the hammer, but I did then and flipped the safety to fire. Then I tossed the G 36 C about two meters from my rock.
The guy did just what I expected him to do. He turned his head at the sound of the rifle hitting the dirt. That gave me the two seconds I needed to stand up and put a round from the Browning in his chest. He went down hard without firing another shot.
I dropped back down behind my rock as soon as I made the shot, and I lay there listening for a full two minutes before again peeking out from the side. I'd missed one sentry and I didn't want to miss a second one that might have been hiding while the first one took care of business. I didn't see anybody else though, so I figured the guy must have been alone.
I took a chance and crawled out to retrieve the G 36 C. Nobody took a shot at me, so I figured I was safe for a couple of minutes. Running away wasn't really an option. My Land Rover was at least two kilometers away, and there was no way to get there before the sound of the shots brought more men from the camp. I could change positions and find some better cover though.
There was a bunch of rocks on the other side of the road to the camp, and that's where I ran. Instead of meeting them head on, I'd be flanking them and could probably take out several before they realized where the fire was coming from. If nobody else came, I'd just slip quietly away, circle the area, and make my way back to the Land Rover. It would take me a while, but I'd still be alive. I'd come back another day with a better plan.
I hunkered down behind the rock, slapped the magazine home on the G 36 C in case it had been jarred out of the well, then checked to make sure that I'd chambered a round. I flicked the safety to fire, then started watching the road from the valley. I was so intent on watching that road I missed the sound of someone slipping up behind me until I felt a rifle barrel touch my shoulder.
I was caught and there was no way I was going to shoot my way out of it. I slowly put the G 36 C on the ground, raised both hands, and then turned to see who was holding the rifle.
Packed and Stacked.
She was maybe twenty-five, and even in the battle dress she was wearing, she looked slender. I couldn't tell much else about her except she looked a little the Arabic women I'd seen in Afghanistan. I was sure about two things though; the rifle was an Israeli M 89 SR sniper rifle, and she sounded very serious when she spoke.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
To be continued in part 2, by ronde for Literotica.