by Reed Hill
"To those who have met us here – on this side of the treacherous border – we give you our deep gratitude. Our victory is greatly aided by liberating more Mexicanos who, like us, crave to be free in our own lands. For every single one that has crossed over with me, we hope to continue to see that he has been joined by another brother who has answered the call to liberty from the imperialist side. I hope that as the victory moves ever closer, we will be joined by many more who just need a small glimpse in order to see how close the Mexico Norte state is to becoming a reality.
"We must secure the city and keep the infidels at bay. We have gained the advantage and we must not let it slip. We have taken many of their jeeps and trucks, and even some tanks and helicopters. They will respond with an iron fist, my friends, so we must now be cunning and smart. Our task is great and this is a time that will try our souls. Are you ready?!"
The crowd responded with a rousing assent of a chorus of "Si!" and "siempre!"
"Spread the word. We move onward to victory for the race!" he held up the rifle high and pumped it above his head, "To victory and liberation!"
*****
Texas State Guard - Domestic Operations - Command, Intelligence and Control Center
Austin, Texas - July 5th, 2017 - 8:55 a.m.
General Dinger snatched up the phone at the sound of its ring. He was expecting a call from Stein at nine a.m. and hoped there would progress made "This is Dinger, C-I-C."
The voice of the woman on the other end was unfamiliar, and it was oddly deep, "This is Deputy Director of Homeland Security, Operations, Coordination and Planning, Alice Webster."
"DHS – that's great," Dinger said. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for some time ma'am."
"General, you don't need to call me ma'am," she said brusquely. "We are aware of the rioting in El Paso and in McAllen, as well as two…" Dinger could hear paper shuffling, "…other border towns…and I wanted to let you know that…we…we have deployed Homeland Security Investigations group Special Response Teams."
"Okay, that's good, I would-"
Webster cut him off and continued, "As you're probably aware, the SRT are our special security squads under Immigration and Customs Enforcement that are tasked with particularly dangerous duties. They are basically the green berets of the DHS."
Does she realize she's speaking to someone from the military? Dinger was puzzled by her tone, the canned quality of her words, but tamped down his irritation.
"Now, as we speak, we have SRT teams on the way to McAllen and…," more paper shuffling, "Laredo…and…Del Rio, Texas." Someone was speaking to her in the background, but Dinger couldn't make out the exact words. "The operations are due to commence at 1000 hours in…Laredo and 1030 hours in McAllen. We do not have an SRT operational for El Paso…at this time. The primary and secondary backup teams for El Paso are…actively engaged in…other areas…and are not actively available."
"We're aware of the problems at Holloman and White Sands," Dinger said. "We have been in contact with them for reconnaissance support for the western sectors."
"We would like to let you know that we will be happy to make their action review accessible to you as soon as it's available. We would even make the team leaders available to you for intelligence and questions, in the interest of good partnering. Should I make a note that you or someone else from the Texas National Guard would like to make arrangements for this kind of debrief?"
She sounds like she's reading from a script. Dinger waited an extra moment before replying, just in case she was just taking a breath. "Well, that sounds fine, ma'am."
"Please, ma'am isn't necessary – Deputy Webster is fine, or Alice if you prefer."
"Apologies Alice, it's meant as a courtesy, and unfortunately for me it's become second nature – it's a fifty year old habit that's hard to break."
"I see…"
Dinger cleared his throat, "Look Alice, the rioting here really has more earmarks of planning and coordination."
"Uh huh…okay" Webster said, as there was someone else talking to her in the room there. Dinger had the distinct impression that Alice Webster was having two conversations at once.
"Our latest intel has the riots as larger in scope than originally thought. If you are willing to stay on the line, I have a briefing with General Stein in a couple of minutes here, and we can all-"
Again, Webster broke in, "That's a gracious offer General Dinger, but I have several more calls to make in the next half hour. Perhaps we can regroup at…say… one o’clock?"
"Fine," Dinger said. "Will the team leaders be online for debriefing at that time?"
"Pardon?" Webster said.
"The team leaders. Will they be available for our one o’clock call?" Dinger said.
"No way of knowing at this point, General," Webster intoned, "I expect that, at a minimum, we will have their reports to review."
"I think General Stein and I would like to be able to speak with them," Dinger said.
"I'll make a note of that and follow-up in advance of our call," Webster replied. "Now, I need to let you go. I have another call to make. I'll be in touch. Thank you General."
The line went dead, and Dinger just closed his eyes and shook his head as he replaced the handset.
*****
East of Rocksprings, Texas - July 5th, 2017 - 9:05 a.m.
Everything was pretty much normal in the Texas hill country on the meandering drive down Honey Creek road and Rock Bottom road. Glen Tucker and Charlie Duggan had arrived a little late, but they got settled into three vehicles – Brodie's 4x4 truck, Finnegan's king cab F250 and Harris' Tahoe – and hit the road. They made it to Highway 41 and worked their west for a half an hour past Highway 83 without incident. They had agreed to keep in touch on CB channel eight, and chatter had been very sporadic. They were monitoring a number of channels including nineteen, which was the trucker's channel, but they made channel eight their main communication line.
The CB crackled to life. It was Finnegan, "Looks like Kerr County is pretty quiet." They had dropped using their handles on channel eight, after it was pretty clear that there was the only regular traffic. Some off-roaders liked to use Channel four in the hill country and out in the canyons further west, but channel eight was almost never used, so the club adopted it as their main channel.
Brodie grabbed the mic to his single-side-band Cobra 148GTL, "Yeah, that's a good thing."
Harris broke in, "Guys go to channel nine, quick."
Brodie flipped over to Channel nine, a channel which was normally reserved for emergencies and acted as a kind of the 9-1-1 channel for the CB world in Texas. "--out there, if you can hear me. I've just passed a…a couple of trucks, full of bad guys. I'm pulling my horse trailer and they took a shot at me as I passed. Real rough types. Highway 377 a mile north of Kerrville road. I repeat, avoid Highway 377 near Kerrville road, Highway 41 – armed thugs in vehicles."
Brodie figured that was about fifteen or twenty miles away, "This is Nick Brodie. My friends and I are heading west on Kerrville road about fifteen miles from your position. Several with us are reserve deputies, so come toward us on Kerrville road-41 if you can."
"Roger, I hear you Brodie, I'll exit at Kerrville heading east. Name is Langston. Coming your way."
There was a bit of a pause, so Brodie spoke into the CB again, "Langston, what is your status?"
"Going as fast as I can with this damn trailer," the signal weakened as they cut through a small swale, "I'm--"
Brodie tapped his CB radio with his finger. "Dammit," he muttered. Even with his Wilson 5000 antenna the effective range in some parts of the hillier areas was limited to about twenty miles, and the signal could come and go at that range when he was in a low area. "Langston, this is Brodie say your status."
Finnegan cut in, "You are cutting in and out Langston - say your status again." Brodie recalled that Finnegan had a Galaxy DX989 and had a powerful top-loaded Firestik antenna, so maybe he might be able to keep the communic
ation going.
There was no response on channel nine.
Brodie hit the gas and pushed his truck to ninety mph, "Langston, we're on our way. If you can hear us, just keep coming and hang in there."
After a couple of minutes of driving in silence, Brodie hit the CB mic, "Langston, this is Brodie. Say your status if you can."
Nothing.
He was tempted to push the truck even faster but thought better of it.
"–on my tail," the CB finally awoke spitting out Langston's voice. "I repeat, one of them is behind me, probably five hundred yards now and coming fast. If you can hear me, I have a truck on me and its gaining ground."
"We copy, Langston," Brodie said. "Just keep coming and say any landmark if you see one. We should have you in sight in a minute or two."
"I just passed Herb Barron's place," Langston said. "Oh dammit, they're coming up on me."
"Okay Langston, we're just past Morris road," Brodie said.
"Bastards are shootin'," Langston's voice was quick, panicky.
Brodie could see the small dot on the horizon, perhaps a mile away, "We have you in sight. Just keep coming." He turned to Thompson, Simmons and Joe Calderon, "You guys get ready. I don't know what's going to happen here."
He heard Finnegan on the CB, "If any Kerr County or Edwards Country law enforcement can hear us, we have shots fired on Highway 41, Kerrville road just west of Morris road. Civilians responding but we need back up."
"Finnegan, what do you think? Pull off the road or do a hard pass and turn back on them?"
"Dammit, hard pass and light 'em up." Finnegan said.
"Roger that," Brodie said, letting his foot ease off the gas a bit.
They were closing fast and they could see Langston's red Dodge Ram dually pulling a white horse trailer coming toward them. It felt like a game of chicken from when they were kids and they would drive around bombing each other with water balloons. Brodie's world went blurry for a split second – the barrel of the shotgun grew larger. It was held by a Mexican who wore a blue bandana like a bandit, and when Brodie heard the shotgun blast, his vision went hazy.
Brodie could see the Taliban drop out of the truck bed and his mind was swirling as they began firing AK-47s at him and his guys. "Get down, and get me some cover fire on their position. Sergeant Jeffries! Get your squad to those trees. Find some cover dammit!" Brodie clicked his M-16A2 to three-shot position and cracked off a burst toward the old, dusty truck depositing bearded, men in kurtas and shemagh headwear.
"Brodie!" Kirk Thompson yelled in his ear from his front seat. "Brodie turn around!"
Brodie shook his head as he wheeled the truck around, the rear sliding in the sandy dirt shoulder. Finnegan had already turned his rig around and was now in the lead, with Frank Martin hanging out the passenger side with his 887 twelve-gauge. Martin's torso twisted as he brought the short-barreled Remington up one-handed and fired, peppering the lift-gate of the old green Chevy truck. Glen Tucker had the window down on the driver's side back and Brodie could see Tucker's head and shoulders emerge from the window and start to pull out a long gun, but he was back in only after a moment.
Brodie felt the rush of shotgun pellets blowing by his window and heard the metallic ricochet of a couple of the tiny shot hitting his side mirror. He put the gas pedal to the floor and brought his truck up to the left of Mac Harris' Tahoe, nearly side by side. He could see Dennis Evans leaning out the driver's side rear window with a shotgun, but Dennis pulled back seeing how close he was – almost back to back – to Kirk Thompson, who has hanging out the front passenger window of Brodie's truck. Charlie Duggan pointed a shotgun out the window from the passenger side, steadying it on the prominent side mirror, and blew out the right tail light with a shot.
Brodie could see from his side mirror that Joe Calderon rolled down his window and extended his twelve-gauge riot gun, taking aim down the barrel which was just inches from his open window. "Careful with that thing, Joe!" Brodie called. Joe tried to steady himself as Brodie managed the truck with his left wheels off the pavement, but he couldn't get a decent shot.
Finnegan came though over the CB, "Langston, we're coming up behind them. I think we got their attention with a couple of shots. Keep going east and we'll see if we can get them off you."
As they approached the Morris road intersection, the old green truck turned suddenly, heading south on Morris. Brodie grabbed the CB, "Finnegan, you and Mac stay on the truck. I'll stick with Langston."
"Roger that," Finnegan acknowledged.
"Langston," Brodie said into the CB, noticing a few streaks of red on his windshield, "pull over and we'll cover you."
Langston's truck and trailer slowed to a stop on the side of the road, and Brodie pulled behind him close.
"These guys are really going flat out," Finnegan said. "They're running."
"I'd say come back and set up a road block," Brodie said. He motioned to Thompson, "Kirk, get out and check on Langston – we've got blood on our windshield. It might be from him."
"You don't want to follow them?" Finnegan shot back over the CB.
"We ran them off Langston. That's what we were responding to, right?" Brodie said.
"I suppose," Finnegan said, "but these bastards deserve to be taken down."
"And we don't want to be drawn into an ambush," Mac Harris' voice came in. "Langston said there were two trucks. We should head back – circle the wagons."
"Coming back," Finnegan's voice was slow and very direct. "And not happy about it."
*****
Governor's Residence
Austin, Texas - July 5th, 2017 - 9:20 a.m.
Doyle leaned against the Doric column at the entrance of the war room, watching the fevered pitch of activity. It was amazing to see the number of people actively engaged in the maelstrom of issues at hand. With all the events and forces in play, they decided to leave the TV on in the corner of the room, so they could keep abreast of any breaking news.
"So where are we on putting this attack down? We need solutions on where we can answer this threat and how best to go about it?" Chase said.
"We're due for an update from Adjutant General Stein and General Dinger at ten o’clock." Lopez bit down on the tip of his pen, and Doyle hoped the ink would spill out on his white oxford.
At that moment a staffer alerted them to something on TV. "Information is coming up on the U.S. Attorney General's shooting."
The occupants gathered around the TV as the commercial break concluded and the morning show hosts cut in, "There appear to be emerging details on the shooting of the United States Attorney General, so we take you to University Hospital and Anna Perez who reporting for us live. What's happening there, Anna?"
As Perez began, the camera cut to a shot of a podium and a balding man in scrubs and white lab coat, "We were just notified that hospital administrators were prepared to give an update on the Attorney General, so let's go right to the statement-"
The doctor at the podium was shaking as he adjusted the microphones in front of him and cleared his throat, "Good morning. I'm Dr. Tom Willis, Chief of the Emergency Department here at University Hospital." He consulted his note cards which were trembling slightly in his hands, "We wanted to let you know that we received Attorney General Rosa Ross-Brown in the Emergency Department at eight o’clock this morning in critical condition. Initial assessments were conducted and it was clear that Ms. Ross-Brown had been the victim of a gunshot wound to the head." The doctor looked over to his right for a moment and then went back to his note cards, "Emergency department staff worked feverishly on Ms. Brown for nearly an hour, but our efforts, in the end, were not successful. Ms. Brown was pronounced dead at eight fifty central time."
A volley of questions was being thrown at the doctor, making it difficult for him to continue, "We…we…please…We extend our most sincere condolences to the family of Ms. Brown. We will begin the process of transferring the body of the Attorney General to the Forensic Medical Examiners and t
he Travis County Coroner's office will assume responsibility for her as of nine-thirty a.m."
A female reporter from the press pool shouted a question, "What was the cause of death, sir?"
A male reported stood up, "What can you tell us about her condition when she arrived, doctor?"
"It was clear that she had suffered major trauma…to the head. Our assessments led us to the conclusion that it was a high-impact gunshot wound."
A number of other questions were shouted at the doctor, and at that point a tall mustached man in his mid-forties moved in beside the doctor and began directing him away from the podium, "That's all that Dr. Willis has time for. As you can guess, he's going to need to head back downstairs and begin the long, painful process of transferring the Attorney General."
With the doctor away from the press, the man continued, "Please be patient with us as we manage this difficult situation. We'll make Dr. Willis and perhaps others available at a later time, and my office will be in touch, with any further announcements or information releases. Thank you, that's all for now. Thank you very much."
The camera cut back to Anna Perez, "That was University Hospital spokesman Pete Evander. But, what we know right now is that according to hospital officials, United States Attorney General Rosa Ross-Brown has been pronounced dead at this hour. From University Hospital in Austin, for Action-5 news, I'm Anna Perez."
After a moment of stillness, the atmosphere kicked back into high gear, with perhaps an even greater intensity. As he watched a few members of the legal team begin to gather to discuss the ramifications of the announcement, Doyle caught the eye of Callie and just shook his head. He could tell that she was a bit stunned from the look in her green eyes.
Ted White glanced at some paperwork and fixed his gaze on the Governor, "Sir, I can have our best homicide guy down from Ft. Worth in a couple of hours to work with Austin PD at the airport crime scene. You may know him. He's retired Houston Major Crimes Unit chief Joe Lefevre."
