The border was mostly dark when we arrived, which I took as a very bad sign. We moved through the empty Mexican border station on foot. Everything was barred to prevent cars from coming in, but those couldn’t stop anyone on foot. What surprised us the most was the lack of any Mexican personnel. We had thought we would have to talk our way into getting across. We crossed the bridge over the Rio Grande and approached the border station. Metal trash cans had been set out on the road, filled with something flammable, and lit on fire. The dumpster fires gave some illumination above the canisters, but the light was dimmer closer to the fence.

“This is gonna be a nightmare, sir,” Andy said. “Where is the Mexican Guard?”

“We stick to the mission,” Eyes said.

“The mission is already fubar, sir,” I said.

“We stick to it as close as possible. We are in enemy territory. We passed through the checkpoint on our way in, and we are going to try to pass through the checkpoint on our way back out.”

“Yes, sir,” Andy said.

“Let’s go.” With that, Eyes stepped around the corner of the building. Andy was right about one thing though - where was the border guard? We passed by the Mexican border gate without being challenged, and for a moment, I was worried the US border would also not be secure. I did not have to wait long, however. As we passed by one of the trash cans, the foul contents inside burning with an acrid stench, I heard a raised voice.

“The border is closed for the night!” someone yelled.

“I want to speak to whoever is in charge!” Eyes yelled back.

“No one in or out until light. You try to leave the perimeter, and I blow your head off. Now, back off slowly.”

“Look, my name is Captain Ares of the US Army. This is my team behind me. I’m under orders from the Pentagon to report back as soon as my mission is completed.”

“Then you’re SOL, Captain. Ain’t no communications online. Ain’t no way to verify your story neither. And only way you’re gettin’ into the US of A is through this gate if you can show the proper papers.”

“We are a black ops team in enemy territory. If we were discovered, we wouldn’t exactly have papers to identify us, now would we?”

“Sorry, sir, but I can’t exactly take your word for it neither. Best I kin do is inform my superior, and she kin determine the next step.”

“Fine. May I speak with her, please?” I could sense some movement beyond the border station like I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, but it disappeared as I tried to follow it.

“Damn, hope she’s a nice GS-13,” Yankee said. “Some of them get real finicky about their position since it’s tough to promote. They don’t like doin’ anythin’ that ain’t by the book.”

“This entire shit-show ain’t by the book, Yankee,” Andy said.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” Eyes said.

We waited longer in silence. Out in the open. The hair on the back of my neck was standing on end, and the space between my shoulder blades twitched at the thought of someone putting a bullet between them. I turned back to look at the far end of the bridge we’d crossed. My nose began to twitch, and I knew something was wrong. That’s when I heard the gunshots. I dropped to a knee and hunched further, the guard rail of the bridge covering me. Looking back, I saw the others follow suit. Several even had their sidearms drawn. The shots continued, despite our cover. It took a moment to register that they were not aimed at us. There was no report of impact near us, and it was coming from too far away, closer to the center of the city we’d just left.

“What in the hell did you all do?” the voice came from the border again.

“That’s classified,” Eyes answered back. Despite the lack of danger, none of us rose from our hunched positions on the bridge.

“Won’t be classified for long,” the answer came back. “Sounds like it will be all over the news tomorrow.” Eyes didn’t have anything in return.

“ETA on speaking to your senior officer.”

“I just got here,” came a distinctly male voice. “What in the hell did you do?”

“With all due respect, sir,” Eyes answered, “our mission is classified. I can provide certain information in confidence, but not the details of the mission itself until we’ve debriefed with the Pentagon.”

“Hmm, yes, I can see the predicament you are in. I hope you can understand the predicament I am in as well, with communications down.”

“I’m open to suggestions, sir, but I have to report the situation to Washington. If power were to come on tomorrow, and you were found to hinder the information I’m required to report, you could be held responsible.”

“As it is, I cannot let you into the country freely. My runner informed me you claimed to be a black ops organization on a classified mission. A very convenient excuse to allow terrorists into the country during a blackout. So, what I suggest is we bring you in, unarmed, and put you in holding cells until full power is restored or we can come up with some other way to verify your identities.”

Eyes thought for a long moment. I knew what was going through our leader’s head. If power could not be restored, then we could potentially be in holding cells for a very long time. Only the Pentagon could verify our identities. It was the key to getting stateside after our clandestine mission.

“Agreed,” Eyes said after he, no doubt, thought through all these things and more.

“Excellent,” the officer replied. “Please, holster your weapons and come to the gate. Keep your hands where they can be seen. Under the circumstances, my men are jumpy, and I would hate for an accident to happen.”

We did as instructed, rising from our positions. I could still hear the sounds of gunfire in the distance, and this made me increase my pace. Not because I was nervous about the violence in a city that had just been so quiet. No, not nervous at all. As we got closer to the gate, our chems brought the guard post into the light. Their guns were trained on us, but I could see no hostility in their eyes. Not that I could see much of their eyes to begin with.

The gate was opened a few feet to let us squeeze through one at a time. Once one of us was on the other side, we would put our weapons on the ground, and the next would go through the gate. Then one of the border patrol agents patted each of us down. Only once we were cleared did a group of men approach from the shadows.

“I’m Watch Commander Flores,” he held his hand out to Eyes, who accepted.

“Captain Ares.”

“We will see your men to their accommodations. I apologize we can’t keep them somewhere more comfortable, but it would be less secure. If you would follow me to my quarters, we can discuss it there.”

“Yes, sir,” Ares turned to the rest of us and said, “Go with them and do whatever they tell you, so long as it doesn’t violate prior orders.”

“Yes, sir,” Andy said, and we all saluted.

Three border patrol agents, each carrying an M4 rifle, escorted us north of the Customs and Border Protection office. One led ahead while the other two trailed behind, in a familiar escort formation. I’d been part of the same formation dozens of times in the field, hundreds of times in live ammo practice runs, and thousands of times in training runs. A three-man team was light for an escort of six, but I guessed they had no more bodies to spare. This late at night, any agents on duty would have been deployed for actual patrol down the border, rather than being housed on guard duty at the main entrance. My thoughts flashed over to those on patrol in ATVs, boats, or other vehicles, all stranded in the dark.

I shivered, despite the warm night air. This far south, it didn’t matter that it was September. At midnight, it was cool enough that you wouldn’t sweat through civilian clothing in minutes. Of course, we were in our tactical vests and black BDUs, so we would soak through our clothing quickly anyway. I realized the shiver had nothing to do with the temperature. The gunfire had stopped.

“You hear it?” I said to the others.

“Yeah,” Yankee said. “Waddaya think?”

“I think whatever was happening is done now.”

“So, you have no clue.”

“Nope, no clue.”

We walked for a little longer in silence until we reached a building. A couple of flares on the concrete outside gave enough light to read the sign out front. Border Patrol Fort Brown Station. While I’d never been inside, I remembered driving past it. My wife and I had come through the Veterans’ entrance after I was on leave and returning stateside before my next deployment. We tried to come through the vet’s entrance and were chewed out by border patrol because I was not a veteran, just an enlistee at the time.

We went inside, and let our chems light the way through the hallways, deeper into the building.

“We’ll put you in two family rooms for holding,” the lead agent said, as he gestured us toward the first room. X-Ray, Chewy, and Crash went in, which left me with Andy and Yankee in the next room. That was fine by me since Chewy was the big, smelly one and Crash snored a lot. Granted, Yankee talked a lot, but I figured we’d be mostly sleeping anyways.

“Thank you,” Yankee said before he went in, the perfect picture of Southern politeness. Even if he was telling you to go to hell, it sounded like a compliment. I said nothing as I went into the jail cell. It was square, ten feet by ten feet. The first thing that came into my head as I looked in was that there would not be enough room for us to pace. Put a bunch of high-energy, competitive GIs in a confined space, and we would use as much of it to move around as possible. There was enough space to pace, but not for all three of us to do so simultaneously. There were two bunk beds on either side of the room, but they were the standard three feet wide by six-and-a-half feet long. With the frame, that left less than a four-foot-wide row to pace down. I guessed that only one of us would be pacing at a time.

“We’ll get you some food in a few minutes,” the agent said before closing the solid metal door on us. I heard the bolt slide home in the lock. At least we still had our chems. Those would probably last at least another seven hours, maybe eight if they worked as the military promised. In the heart of the station, we wouldn’t know when the sun came up. I guessed that by the time the light on the chems ran out, it would be close to noon since we had activated them just after midnight.

“Who wants to take the first watch?” Andy said as he sank onto his cot.

“Arm-wrestling?” I offered.

“Hell, naw!” Yankee said, but he laughed while he did it. Chewy was the strongest on our team, but I had him beat on the technique side of arm-wrestling, and so I was the de-facto champion on the team. “Anyone got a coin?” I shook my head, and Andy did the same. “Guess we do this the old-fashioned way, then.” He held one hand out, palm flat, and let his other rest on top of it in a fist.

That was how three of the most bad-ass MFers in the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment settled the contest of who would take first watch. With a rock, paper, scissors contest.

The worst part about taking the first watch in the cell was that there was no way to tell definitively how much time had passed. My wristwatch was no longer ticking away, a fact that annoyed me since it was the most low-tech piece of equipment I owned. But since it wasn’t a wind-up watch, it had stopped the moment the blackout happened.

The best part about taking the first watch was that I had plenty of time to think. I missed my wife. I missed my daughter. She was turning three soon, and Penny and I needed to look at schools. I wanted to put her into a private school. Penny was worried she wouldn’t have opportunities to participate in extracurricular activities.

“It’s important for our daughter to be exposed to a wide variety of interests,” she would say to me. “She should be able to play soccer, basketball, or join the swim team.” I pointed out that there was always a summer league for those things, and a private school would give her a top-notch education and better postsecondary opportunities. I didn’t want my daughter growing up like her old man - no degree and no future outside of basic labor.

It was an age-old argument between us, and I knew we would have it again. I also knew that Penny would come over to my side eventually. She was good like that, loyal and patient with me. Even when I was wrong.

I gathered my thoughts again and found other ways to pass the time. I counted my heartbeats. I counted Andy’s breaths. I counted Yankee’s breaths. My head snapped up. Yankee’s breaths were not the regular rhythm of sleep. They were rising and falling quickly. The man could be wide awake, but even then it wouldn’t explain his breathing. The man was good at controlling his breath. We all were; it was part of the job.

“Hey man, snap out of it,” I said, shaking his shoulder. Andy sat up a moment later, his eyes clear of any drowsiness. I guessed that he hadn’t slept well either. “Yankee, man, wake up,” I said again, shaking him harder.

“Forrest,” he said. “Look at his face.”

I stopped shaking my friend and looked at his face. The black man’s skin was fading to a chalky white in front of our eyes. When it stopped changing color, his breathing also slowed, almost to a crawl. Suddenly the room began to shake.

“What the hell?” I said, grabbing the bunk bed frame so it wouldn’t topple onto us. The shaking grew worse while Andy and I hauled Yankee out of the bed and near the door. The beds tore themselves free of where they were bolted into the floor and came crashing down together. The door behind us twisted - or rather the frame twisted and squeezed the door out of position. The damage continued for another ten seconds as I huddled in the hallway, then the earthquake stopped. I took a moment to put my fingers to the side of Yankee’s neck, feeling for a pulse. When my finger touched him, his eyes snapped open and immediately locked onto mine. I’d laughed with this man - this friend - for years. We’d gone to the movies together. He had a son a year older than my little girl. We’d fought through the pain and loss of comrades for the last five years together.

The man who opened his eyes and looked at me was not the same man. There was no recognition or the usual laughter in those eyes. It was a look I also knew well. It was the look he gave a target before a kill.