Some Day, Some Way

By Ben DeWitt

Young warriors and old soldiers join forces once again to fight a new kind of war in the Arizona desert. In 1974, illegal drug trafficking has become big business on the U.S.-Mexico border and it’s up to “Houer’s Marauders” to hold the line.

Mark Wilson and his Indian blood brother, ETS (Eagle That Soars) are still recovering from their mission in Thailand when General Al Houer, retired, calls upon them to extract a DEA agent from his deep-cover operation in Mexico. When they discover that a one-eyed German named Wilhelm is involved, the war becomes personal.
With the help of retired CIA agent William Booth, an El Paso police officer, a Mexican cattle broker and a snake named Wilma, the team is determined to win...some day, some way.

Ben DeWitt takes the reader on an unparalleled adventure through territory he knows very well. A native of El Paso, Texas and the son of a Border Patrol agent who served in southern Arizona, DeWitt has also traveled extensively in Mexico and Spain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oso Press
• Release date: Aug 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452451787

Ben DeWitt

Ben DeWitt was an officer in the U.S. Army field artillery for ten years. He served two combat tours in Viet Nam, the first with the First Infantry Division and the second with the Military Advisory Command Viet Nam, living with the Vietnamese military on the Cambodian border. He has worked in the oil fields of Wyoming, Michigan and Texas, mined copper in the open pits of Arizona and worked as a mechanic a thousand feet underground in Wyoming. DeWitt has raced cars and motorcycles most of his life and still does when the time and opportunity present themselves. He currently writes full time in Pueblo, Colorado.

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Some Day, Some Way

by Ben DeWitt

Smashwords Edition

Copyright ©1995 by Ben DeWitt

First ebook publication 2007. Published by OSO Press, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan American Copyright Conventions.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This is a work of fiction. The characters and situations—other than public figures identified by their real names, and documented historical events—are products of the author’s imagination and are not intended to portray or represent actual persons or events.

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Author’s Note

This is the third novel in the Police Action War Series. It takes place at the very end of the Viet Nam war with Nixon as President. Many of the agencies referred to were undergoing significant changes at that time. Their names may or may not have changed. I have kept the names consistent to eliminate confusion on the reader’s part.

The Drug Enforcement Administration we have all grown to know as the DEA was known as the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs answering to the Department of Justice from 1968 to 1973. Because of President Nixon’s problems and some major errors, the Bureau of Narcotics was eliminated in name only.

The DEA roots go back at least to 1915. They were known as the Bureau of Prohibition from 1927 to 1930 then the Bureau of Narcotics from 1930 to 1968. They were under the Department of Treasury for those years.

I will simply refer to them as the DEA.

The FBI Anti-Terrorist and SWAT teams are not new. It seems we have a hard time thinking of life before 9/11. They have been with us a long time as premier operational combat and training units.

As you read Some Day, Some Way, enjoy the adventure.

Chapter 1

The big gray and the small, flea-bit Egyptian Arabian were standing, waiting patiently to be removed from the steel horse trailer. They enjoyed the rides in the mountains as much as the men who rode them. They had traveled over Antelope Pass, into Portal Canyon, north to south, through Playas and Animas Valleys, where they pastured and waited for their riders to come down off Big Hatchet and Animas Peaks, both over 8,000 feet above sea level. It was late winter 1974 and there was snow on Chiricahua Peak at 9,795 feet.

The two riders were blood brothers by Indian ritual. They had terrorized the desert and mountain gods since they were children. They were under 5'8", the blond weighing close to 150 pounds. The Indian with the blue eyes was twenty pounds lighter. Four years earlier they had fought and worked the jungles of southeast Asia together. At that time they had weighed the same, 120 pounds.

The white Dodge four-wheel drive pickup was just over a year old and had close to 30,000 miles on the odometer. It had pulled the rust-colored two-horse trailer all but the first sixty miles of its life. It was now parked next to mesquite limb and wire cattle pens, just west of San Luis Pass in southwest New Mexico.

The search for the perfect ranch had taken most of 1973. It had been therapy for the Indian and a search for identity for the blond.

The Playas Valley would still be my pick, Mark. The water is close to the surface and the lakes hold water most of the year. The cattle would grow fat.

Mark and ETS (Eagle That Soars) wanted to buy the valley but they were too late. Phelps Dodge was going to build a smelter at the south end of the valley and its own company community ten miles north of the smelter. It was a done deal and there was nothing Mark or his money could do about it.

ETS, the Playas Valley is gone. We need to move on. Joseph wants us to look at the small strip south and west of Cloverdale between the Coronado National Forest and the Mexican Border. We could combine that with the thirty sections south of Rodeo and the land in Arizona, east of Douglas to the New Mexico border and we should have a workable ranch. It will not all be linked together, but it would be close.

The strange part is, my grandmother's father worked and owned most of this land at one time or another. It is correct to be getting it back. ETS was living in the past, trying to regain the present. His past was 1969 in a Thai valley.

Let's unload the horses and take a look around. We won't be able to keep the longhorns this close to the border. They would tear down the fence marking the international border.

Mark's longhorns were becoming one of the bigger herds in the country. He was always bringing in new bulls and breeding cows to improve the herd. He took trips to Oklahoma and east Texas to find strong, big-horned breeding stock. Joseph, ETS' father and Mark's adopted father, was always raising hell about the beasts. But when it came time to sell a few off, Joseph would find pasture to put them on at his ranch located near Sierra Vista. He always said the market was not quite right and they should wait until the price was better. But they did give away or sell longhorns to other ranchers as pets.

The ritual of saddling the horses had turned into a game over the past year. The gray would stand and let ETS do everything but tighten the stomach strap. Then she would bloat up, trying to keep it from being too tight. This had created a few exciting moments when the saddle would slip under the gray, usually at an inopportune time. ETS had enough of looking at the belly of the big gray, so he would watch her swell, pull the cinch tight, then knee her in the stomach and force her to blow air out, sometimes both ends, then pull another notch or two.

Mark and the Arabian, named Major, would wait for ETS and the gray's morning fun before they saddled up. The Arabian was easy to handle except for the bit. He had been ridden with a hackamore most of his life before Mark purchased him. Mark would have used the hackamore too, but every time the Arabian felt the need to run, Mark could not pull him up. He made the mistake, once, of pulling Major's head back against the stirrup at a dead run, only to get bitten. The Arabian did not give up easily. If Major had not been smart and durable, Mark would not have put up with his personality. Thus the rollover bit. To bit Major, Mark would put on his leather gloves, grab Major's upper lip and twist, much like using a twitch. Major would then and only then allow Mark to insert the bit.

The reins and the bit were only used to stop the horse. The Arabian worked off cues from the rider's knees. Pressure with the right or left knee would move Major left or right. Squeeze him with your legs and he would trot, a little harder, gallop, and with a little kick he would run, relax and he would slow down. All of it very civilized until Major got a hair up his ass for some unknown reason and wanted to run flat out. Mark never had to wear spurs with Major. When he had them on, Major's eyes would bulge and Mark would have a serious problem trying to get his attention away from the shiny spikes.

Mark, I hate for the search to end. This last year has helped me find my old self. The years of war are behind me. The jobs we have done for Al Houer and his organization have been simple, without conflict. I think I can become one again with the earth. ETS was starting to look like his ancestors. He had worn a flat-top haircut most of his military life, but his last haircut was over a year ago. His gloss-black hair was shoulder-length. He started drinking after the Thai operation and did not handle it well. Mark watched his friend and world class athlete turn into another drunken Indian. He would sober up when given a mission by General Houer, then return to the bottle. The inactivity was killing him, thus the search for the new ranch that was to be his and Mark's.

The early morning was crisp and the horses and riders were enjoying it. They crossed into Arizona and onto the old Johnson ranch homestead before they turned back to find the Dodge. This would be their last ride before buying the land for the cattle ranch. They would buy cattle in Mexico and cross them either at Agua Prieta-Douglas or Antelope Wells. Antelope Wells bordered on the state of Chihuahua and Douglas on the state of Sonora.

The ride back took longer than planned. They stopped at the old Ghost Town of Cloverdale and talked to a Mexican couple in a 1953 Chevy pickup that looked brand new. They were looking for ranch work and said they were legal workers, having been pickers for a number of years in El Paso and Phoenix. ETS and Mark convinced them to travel to Sierra Vista and talk to their father. The new ranch would need help very soon. Mark gave them $500 to secure their employment. He wondered if they would take the work or just the money. Mark had more money than time to look for hired help. Besides he had a good feeling about Juan and Maria Salas.

Mark's parents died in a car crash his senior year of college. His stepfather was a wealthy man and left his estate to Mark. He still had a few years left on a dividend from his stepfather's mine near Silver City, New Mexico. His years in the military and the missions he did for Al Houer's organization enabled him to leave the principle of his estate untouched. He never managed to spend the interest in most years. He was getting ready to invest half of his estate in this ranch.

The ranch was really two ranches, which made up about 76 sections, or close to 49,000 acres. There was another fifty sections of BLM land available to lease if they wanted. Mark and ETS would have preferred being closer to Sierra Vista but the land value around the small town had tripled in the last eight years due to its growth and nearby Fort Huachuca.

Mark and ETS were dismounted, walking in front of their horses, giving them a break. Little brother, are you sure this is what you want to do? My investment in Mexican cattle will be much smaller than yours for the land.

It was close to dark and getting cold. Mark could see his breath in the air and steam coming off the horses. ETS, you worry too much. We will do fine. If the ranch makes money or even breaks even, we'll live better than most. I'm sure General Houer will give us work. We might even get to work with Booth and Cam again. The mention of Booth and Cam brought a smile to the Indian's face.

Yes, it would be good to see the old CIA team again. I understand they are getting ready to retire and move to Arizona. Moving to Arizona was not retirement, it just meant that Booth had worked out some of his differences with Houer and they were going to work together again. They would make a formidable team. Cam was Booth's Cambodian bodyguard that had been with the CIA for close to fifteen years, all of it spent with William Bonney Booth. They had risked everything to save ETS and Mark in Thailand, 1969.

Booth and Houer worked together during the Korean War. They accomplished a lot as a team until their last mission, when Houer's integrity almost got them killed. Houer continued in the military, following in his father's and grandfather's footsteps. Booth chose the CIA and worked in Asia. They were legends among their contemporaries.

Mark and ETS were two miles from the truck when they mounted their horses and picked up the pace. Major had a comfortable trot but the big gray had a hard, jarring gait that covered a lot of ground but left most riders beat up. ETS could ride her all day in that pounding trot. In less than fifteen minutes they had reached the vehicle. They removed the saddles, brushed down the horses and watered at the cattle pens.

Mark, that is the third light aircraft to fly in low since it got dark. They must be trying to avoid radar. I certainly would not want to fly after dark in these mountains at that elevation.

And they all appear to be civilian planes. You know, we should learn to fly. I have never heard of an Apache pilot but you could be the first. Mark thought it would make buying and selling cattle a lot easier using an airplane. He was sure they would need one to handle the Mexican side of their business as well as control the ranches. There's a good flight school at Tucson where we can get our licenses. What do you say older brother? Deal?

Deal.

The plan had been to return to Sierra Vista that night, but since they were running late, they decided to sleep over in Douglas at the Travel Lodge and have a meal at the Elks Club if it wasn't too late. The Travel Lodge had filled up during the winter months and had no vacancy. Mark and ETS decided to eat and maybe make the hour-long drive to Sierra Vista. At the Elks they ran into Paul Watson.

Paul had known ETS and his father for over thirty years. He had just retired from the Border Patrol and was living in Douglas. Paul's house was just across the street from the Travel Lodge and it had a bunk house built into the workshop, with a 3/4 bath and a bunk bed. Paul offered to let them spend the night. The young men accepted. They had slept in much worse conditions in different parts of the world.

Paul was one of the finest gunsmiths in the world. He made the actions and barrels, then shipped them to another retired Border Patrol officer who would do the stock and inlay work, all of it specific for the individual. Since Mark loved almost anything mechanical, he and Paul spent most of the night in the work area talking guns. ETS managed to hang on until midnight.

Paul had known Mark's father. They graduated from the Border Patrol Academy together and were stationed in Benson, Arizona as their first duty. Mark never knew his biological father who was killed during WWII.

What was my father like? Was he tall, big, mean? You know what I mean. Mark wanted Paul to remember back to the early 1940s.

When your father and I were a team, he was younger than you are now. He was a lot like you, except taller and his hair might have been darker. He was a good guy. He had been a better than average athlete in school and not a bad student. His intelligence came from his exceptional memory. He never forgot anything. This drove most of us crazy at the Bug Station in Benson. He would remember cars, names, the time things happened. We had the horse patrol then. Your dad always took the wildest horse. That was usually the big gray. Everyone but your dad was afraid to ride him. A lot of the men had never ridden a horse until they joined the Border Patrol. What else. Paul lit his last cigarette for the night. He was a three-pack-a-day man.

He played on the softball team and refed the high school basketball games. I liked your father. Not many people are aware of it, but your dad volunteered to be drafted. He didn't have to go into the Army. His position in the Border Patrol would have kept him out of the service. But he couldn't stand not being part of the fight. I doubt if your mother ever found out. Paul relived as much of his time with Mark's father as he could remember. He told about wild jeep rides, multicolored snakes and unbelievable shots made and missed. It was three in the morning before they both called it a night.

Mark asked Paul if he would build a rifle for him. He wanted a 250-3000 to carry with him. He liked the flat shooting round and the light recoil. Paul quoted Mark a good price and would take Mark's measurements in the morning. In six months he would return for the final fitting of the rifle. The man that would fit the stock lived in Flagstaff and was stuck in a wheelchair. Paul and his partner had been making rifles for men all over the world for many years. The hunters and guides whose lives and the lives of their clients depended on using the best equipment, bought Paul Watson's merchandise.

It was noon before ETS and Mark were able to get out of bed, shower and get ready to go. Evelyn Watson fixed a brunch and Paul gave Mark a picture of his father and himself and their Border Patrol graduating class. It was easy to identify both men in the photograph.

I took your horses out of the trailer about sunup and let them graze on the grass in the sideyard. I didn't hobble them, but you should be able to catch them.

Paul, thank you for everything. I will see you in six months if not before. Mark was holding the old photograph clutched against his chest. He was surprised that it had such a dramatic effect on him.

ETS, you tell that old goat Joseph to come see me. He has more time than I do and it's only sixty miles. Paul shook hands, then watched as they rounded up their horses and loaded them in the trailer. Paul figured they couldn't be much over thirty years of age. They seemed much older.

The ride to the ranch near Sierra Vista was uneventful. ETS, who never talked much, said nothing and Mark, who was a chatter box compared to ETS, only commented on how warm it was for February.

The next ten days were spent transferring funds, making offers and counter offers to purchase two parcels: one east of Douglas and the other southeast of Rodeo. They were not the only buyers for the section of land that had the big house, barn, corrals and airstrip. The real estate broker informed them that a hippie bunch wanted to have a commune on that land and was countering with unrealistically higher offers. Mark said he would not purchase any of the land unless he got it all in one package. To lose the sale on 76 sections of land because of a group of communist hippies didn't compute, so the broker made up the difference in the cost on the one section of land to ensure the sale.

The hippies were not happy about it. They owned land near Benson, but apparently wanted to be more isolated. They had money and were actually separatists, not the love and drugs hippies they appeared to be.

Chapter 2

ETS, are you ready to live up to your name? We are set up to start training tomorrow in Tucson at the Eagles Nest Flight School.

I thought there was a waiting period to get into that program. How did you arrange it?

Actually, Carol set it up. We are going to have company with Booth and Trent going through training with us. In fact Houer is picking up the bill. The General figures he can charge more for our services if we are pilots. We're scheduled for fixed and rotary wing training. If there is time, we'll get our instrument tickets and commercial licenses.

General Houer had worked most of his life in Military Intelligence or special operations, primarily Special Forces. He had been force-retired and moved to Sierra Vista, where he worked with the MI headquarters newly stationed at Fort Huachuca. His organization gathered information and did special missions at the request of the President of the United States. The organization's funding initially was from the President's Special Fund. After several years of hard work, the organization was making a profit, selling information to different agencies, countries and companies. It also offered a travel service, real time satellite photos (thanks to the SRO), classified and unclassified information from NASA and E Systems. All of it was for sale, if you had the need to know and clearance from the President.

Carol Cooper was the imagination behind Al Houer. She was attractive, intelligent and still in love with Mark Wilson, her one weakness. Mark was afraid to be in love with anyone. He had loved Carol once but had lost a lot of himself in Asia. He did not know when one of Houer's missions would end his life and he did not intend to leave a wife and child behind, as his real father had.

ETS was surprised General Houer would pick up the tab. The man was stingy when it came to any kind of frills. How long will we be at this?

It depends. They are ready to work with us for six weeks. We can go as far with the training as the six weeks allows. We also have a cattle buying trip to think about and a mission for the Marauder. They had been called Houer's Marauders at one time and the name stuck with Mark. Houer did not like theatrics and had refused to give his organization a name. In reality it was many different entities and each had its own name and operational responsibility; some even paid income tax. They all fell under General Houer's umbrella, but that was about it. Carol Cooper kept the organization running in the pure sense of the word. Houer was the CEO and Carol the operations manager.

We will be gone six weeks?

Yes, ETS, that is correct.

Thank you, Mark, man of many words.

"We should be back on weekends, though. After a couple of weeks we can fly down. There is a