CH. 1: LOS CAZADORES

-Three years ago…

It was the height of Santa Blanca's incursion into Bolivia. Seemingly overnight, they had come into the country and taken over the local narcotics trade either by force or finance. But, usually it was force. In one night alone the police found the bodies of seven 'buchons' or cartel bosses in a warehouse. They'd all been shot in the head, execution style.

Since then, Santa Blanca had dominated the rest of the 'trade' in Bolivia from production to smuggling. And it was more than just the drugs. They also brought in muscle; a full-blown army of its own. And, thanks to the hundreds of millions they had to throw around, they were able to equip them with quality weapons, not half-rusted hand-me-downs. Kalashnikov AK-12 assault rifles, CZ EVO-3 SMGs, H&K pistols, SAWs and PKM machineguns…and they were well trained in their use.

The Bolivian Army brass were running up against a brick wall when it came to dealing with the Santa Blanca Cartel, or SBC. The regular police forces were getting annihilated. Outmanned, outgunned, and outfought at every turn. Even the military police were no match for them. SBC had automatic weapons, mortars, even armored vehicles and helicopter gunships. The cops had old Crown Vics and Jeeps; pistols and shotguns.

Finally, when La Unidad, 'Unity', was created by merging the military police and special forces units they government had a means of fighting back. But, even then, it was an uphill battle, what with SBC's near constant influx of financing. And their operations seemed to be growing. As did the body count. And not just Unidad or regular military, but civilians were getting caught in the crossfire of the ever-escalating conflict.

Then, a young special forces captain, Esteban Rojas, presented to his superiors a plan. It was simple but had the potential to turn the tide: build an elite, handpicked team of operators, trained overseas and then put through an aggressive training regimen. This crack commando team would then be turned loose on the cartel to conduct search and destroy missions targeting the cartel's infrastructure and leadership. No more pitched battles on the streets, but rather surgical strikes.

Captain Rojas sent fifty handpicked special forces personnel to be trained by the best special operations forces in the world: Navy SEALs, SAS, GSG-9, etc. They would then return to Bolivia, pool their knowledge and train themselves into the ground. Whoever emerged would join the elite unit. At the end of it, nearly half had washed out or suffered crippling injuries, leaving only twenty men, Rojas included, had become a new breed of commando; they had become 'Los Cazadores'.

For a whole year Los Cazadores fought the good fight. They destroyed labs, hit convoys, blew up airfields and took out cartel lieutenants. For a while it seemed like they stood a chance of running the cartel out of Bolivia. Captain Rojas felt that, with additional resources, he could even strike at the head of the snake, El Sueno himself. But then, he received a call: they were standing down. The brass had cut a backroom deal with the cartel: tone down the violence and we'll leave you alone.

Rojas was upset. He had thought the mission was to eliminate the cartel, not reduce them to a 'tolerable' level. He wanted to continue the war. But, he was soldier and he followed his orders. He stretched them where he could, but he never did violate them, at least according to the letter. He'd 'walk' into ambushes that he'd then have to 'fight his way out'. Now, if he had to fight his way through a coca lab in the process, happy coincidence. A few times his superiors threatened a court-martial, but they couldn't without letting onto the deal they had cut with the cartel. He was still punished by being passed over for promotion.

Then, the cartel started to wither. Rebel forces were putting the hurt on them in way his team would've struck. They'd hurt them in other ways as well. At first, Rojas thought that the government was circumventing him and working with the rebels. But, after a few discreet inquiries he learned that was not the case. Several Unidad patrols and a couple bases were hit and even partially destroyed. The bodies of a few rebels were found but, more often than not, no other bodies were found. Same went for SBC bases.

To Rojas, the answer was obvious: someone else was hunting the cartel and giving the rebels the credit. But, who? The American embassy had recently been bombed, so it could be them. Retaliation? It was the only thing that made sense. Then, he received a call…

"Do you know who I am?" The voice on the other end of the line said. He had an obvious Norteamericano accent. Not Bolivian, and not Mexican. He sounded gruff and confident.

"If you're calling me then you know who I am," Rojas replied. He checked the number. He'd seen it on reports about SBC's training program for recruits. "Why are you calling me instead of your bosses?"

"Because this is something only real operators like ourselves can talk about and deal with. You're a real go-getter, one of the few your country really has. Making you the only one who can take care of this problem we're having."

"I don't appreciate gringos coming into my country and telling me what to do."

"Then call your esteemed General," he replied condescendingly, even pronouncing 'general' in a mock Hispanic accent. "He'll confirm the presence of foreign mercs 'disturbing the peace'. And that is the purpose of this mission. But, if it'll make you feel better…try checking your bank account. Don't worry, it'll pass muster."

"I will not be bribed!"

"Call your general, son! These mercs are upsetting the balance and the bloodshed could start anew. But, if you take care of it, SBC will ensure that your family will not want for money. No strings, no nothing. Just quit your bitching and do what you're paid to do." And with that the call ended.

Rojas called the general, who confirmed it. He was being ordered to stand-by for rapid deployment. For now, he'd be sent to FOB Jaguar to ready his team. Batches of the newest gear had arrived: suppressor equipped CZ805 assault rifles, Kriss SMGs, FN pistols and H&K LMGs and sniper rifles. They even had a pair of Blackhawks attached to them to fly them to their insertion point.

Intel on who they were facing was lacking, as always. They had a few pictures of men wearing mostly civilian clothes and carrying a variety of weapons. But, who they were and who they were working for was a mystery. Rumor was that the rebels had confiscated a large cache of cartel funds and decided to use that to hire a team of foreign mercenaries to aid their fight against the cartel.

Plausible, but it didn't add up for Rojas. These men seemed to know exactly where to hit and how to hit the cartel. It wasn't random, hit and run guerrilla tactics like how the rebels operated. It was too surgical, this team had backing from somewhere. Backing and support. Again, Rojas couldn't help but assume them to be either Americans or employed by the American government.

Either way, he now had orders to go after them. The irony was not lost on him. Here he was, in command of a unit he had put together and trained for the explicit purpose of taking down the cartel. And now, he was taking that unit to hunt down another team trying to do that exact same thing. And worse, they were essentially doing it to protect the cartel. For the first time, Rojas began to question what he was fighting for.

"We believe they are somewhere in the Caimanes jungle," Colonel Silva explained to Rojas. Silva was a 'regular' recipient of cartel bribes. Last year, Rojas was on the verge of proving that Silva was deliberately trying to sabotage his operations against the cartel when the mission was stood down. Now, he was under Silva's direct command, to protect the colonel's cartel sugar daddies. "A cartel squad was ambushed and one of their choppers shot down. No survivors. Locals report a large volume of gunfire but did not see anyone leaving the jungle."

"They could've moved on," Rojas theorized. If they were professionals then they wouldn't stay in an area where they could be found.

"Then try to pick up their trail," the colonel ordered. "This happened last night so they couldn't have gotten far. Pick up their trail, run them down and kill them."

"You don't want them captured?"

"You know how Santa Blanca 'handles' prisoners, si? Consider this mercy killing." The Colonel stood upright. "You have your orders. Get to it."

As he gathered his men and directed them to the choppers, Rojas vowed this would be his last mission. He'd taken an oath to protect his country from monsters, not help the monsters. This mission was violating that oath. He was a soldier and he'd follow his orders. But, once he got back, he'd be done with it all.

He adjusted his maroon beret as he boarded the lead Blackhawk. His senior sergeant was reviewing the map of their op area and marking waypoints on his GPS unit. Others were securing their thermal imaging/night vision goggles on their helmets or harnesses. These were hardened men, forged by the most difficult training and then tested over and again in countless firefights against the cartel. They could handle anything thrown at them. Instead, they were going to hunt down men who were perhaps trying to do their country a favor. It made Rojas ill.

From what he's heard, the Irish countryside was a nice place.