by Reed Hill
El Chacal: Received. Going on a bear hunt.
Papa bear meant that he was going to get another shot at el Gobernador and Raúl smiled. I never like to leave a job unfinished. Of course, neither did the people he worked for, and no results always meant no dinero. No pay meant his lovely Josefina and little Julio would have to live longer in that little shack outside Torreón. Raúl wasn’t going to allow that.
The couple of hours sleep he caught when had returned to the dingy basement studio had done him a world of good. Like back when he was in the Army for los Estados Unidos, he could come back hard when he was able to get a few hours sleep. He still couldn’t believe that the pious infidels had the cajones not only to kick him out of the Army but to deport him, dropping him in handcuffs outside Nogales like some damned dog. When he joined up and they spent all that time training him, nobody cared where he was from. Then one day some gringo officers came in demanding papers, and he nothing they hadn’t given him. He was on a bus the next day, hands in chains like some common criminal. Hell, the criminals got treated better than that.
His stomach rumbled. Raúl knew that he needed a decent meal. He thought about the little burrito joint a couple of blocks over and grabbed his jeans jacket and threw it on along with his sunglasses. That place had the waitress with the amazing culo, and he thought he would just come in and sit in her section. Enjoying a nice burrito and watching her sway that sweet thing around the restaurant, coming by chatting and smiling at him, sounded great to Raúl. He bounded up the stairs and out again, handing the old man another rolled up pair of twenty dollar bills American, “Same story, papito. Keep an eye on the place for me ‘til I get back.”
The old man sat up and nodded profusely again, “No problemo, jefe. Voy a verlo.”
Raúl liked the old man, and reminded himself to grab some shoes and decent shirt from the thrift store down from the burrito house. It scared Raúl a little how well he was getting to know this neighborhood, and he didn’t like the feeling. The sooner he was back in Torréon, the better as far as he was concerned.
Raúl jumped in the cab of the old, rusty truck and pulled down the alley, nice and slow, and made the turn onto Castroville Road heading toward the burrito casa. What an irony that he could get a just as good a burrito up here in Angloville as back in Torréon, and Raúl laughed as he switched on the radio to the Tejano hip-hop station.
Torréon was home, at least until he had the chance to take a house from some Anglos up in the capitol. He wanted a nice big white one with two stories with a nice view of the big Statehouse. That way he could point to where El Presidente de Norte Mexico lived and one day tell little Julio that daddy helped El Presidente get this honor and his house back. He thought about Senór Sifuentes and pictured him standing on the grand stairs of that building waving, with Raúl behind him applauding.
That will be a glorious day for our people.
*****
Three Eagles Ranch
Outside of Hunt, Texas - July 6th, 2017 – 4:55 p.m.
Haslett took a drink from his water bottle, watching Nick Brodie wave the guys by the garage in toward him. Brodie finished the last of his own bottled water and swallowed down the last of the snack his wife had brought out from the kitchen. He appeared to brush the crumbs of a sandwich from his stubble, and smiled as a tall, slender guy gave him a broad grin, “Come on in, fellas. We’ve got to get these patrols organized.” The few that were holding side conversations came back to the picnic table, and others just stood up near the wooden table where they had been sitting.
Haslett limped in and joined Finnegan, the lean guy and several others taking up a spot in the shade of the garage next to fat guy with a thick, dark beard and a short, round-faced guy with a pot belly. Haslett was happy to have the sandwich and took note of Brodie’s slim wife and how hot she was. She sure didn’t have the hips of woman who had three kids, Haslett had thought. Rich guys get all the sweet tail. He saw the daughter out in the garden getting a couple of tomatoes for the sandwiches before her mom shooed her back in the house, and Haslett thought she would be really something herself in a couple years.
“All right,” Brodie raised his hand gently and let it fall to his side to bring the guys to his attention. He obviously knew these men, for them to be acting up so much while he was trying to say something. “The time for relaxing is over. I hoped you enjoyed your little snack, because it’s time for us to get un-assed as it pertains to these patrols, gentlemen.”
Haslett grinned at the little jab. He could tell that Brodie had talked to dogfaces a time or two under similar circumstances. He liked Brodie, despite the fact that the man probably thought Haslett needed to tighten up his shit in a major way. Even though he was a hardcase who wouldn’t think twice about putting boot to ass in order get something done, he still had a likeable aspect. He seemed to shoot straight and not pull punches, and yet he didn’t treat you like a stray dog hanging around waiting for some scraps.
“You’re here with me, which means that like me that you’re a little on the tender side of well done. We’ll let the Captain Jacks of the world hang around the house watching my ladies as the troopers flirt with them and eat snacks, while we do the tough work watching the perimeter around this place.” That line drew some laughter from the gang, and Haslett chuckled as he pictured the hulking troopers wandering around raiding the icebox and hitting on the lady of the house.
“I’m going to break you into pairs and walk you through some basics of the perimeter of the property.” Brodie produced a hand drawn map from his pocket and unfolded it on the picnic table, and the men gathered around to get a look. “It’s a pretty sizable ranch as you can see, a little over eight hundred acres – roughly speaking, it’s a rectangle about twice as long running north-south as it is east-west, with a little branch of the Guadalupe that cuts it almost in half diagonally. It’s the better part of a mile running the long way north-south, so I’m going to have Kirk and Finnegan help me pull out the quad runners we have in the barn.”
“Are we going to be using those to patrol?” the fat guy with the thick black beard put his hands in his pockets. “I’ve never ridden one of them before.”
Brodie permitted himself a small grin, “The idea would be to go out to a general area on the quad and then walk your designated area on foot. If someone encounters something, the quad should allow us to converge on and address the problem quickly.”
“It will also keep the turtle humpin’ to a minimum, because God knows I don’t want any of you turd eaters hugging on me any longer than absolutely necessary from the back of one of those damned things,” John Finnegan wagged a finger at Mooch Dimucci and Frank Martin, who laughed and made obscene gestures at the tall redhead.
“Nobody likes to be close to you either, Finnegan,” Brodie quipped, “not even your old lady.” That comment drew a number of hoots and hollers, and Brodie flashed a bit of frown as he tamped down the rowdiness. “But seriously, let’s try to do the bulk of our patrols on foot to keep the noise and light discipline up to snuff. The sun is going to be going down in a couple of hours and nobody wants to be riding around as an obvious Tango for the enemy like some dumb booter.”
“We don’t want to make ourselves a clear target fellas, so don’t make it easy on them.” Finnegan echoed the point, seeing as the ex-Captain was drifting into military-speak drawing a few puzzled looks.
“Okay as to roles,” Brodie held up his hand again. This group sure seemed prone to grabassery to Haslett and Danny scowled a little. “As I said, we’re going to set up in two-man teams. Mr. Finnegan has agreed to grace us with his presence, and he’s going to help get the rest of you paired up based on folks you know and who complements you skill-wise.”
Finnegan stepped and pointed to some of the guys, “Mooch you and Charlie pair up and cover the northwest,” the rotund, bearded man fist-bumped the Italian-looking one.
“Kirk, you take Charlie’s son with you and cover the northeast. He ought to keep
you in line,” the wiry guy with the big smile put his arm around the teenager, turning him slightly so he could flip Finnegan the bird. The young man protested a little but his dad, the fat guy just put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s better this way, son. It’s okay. Kirk’s a lot better shot than I am, so you’ll be safer.”
“I’ll have your dad’s back, kid” the little, swarthy guy’s voice was a quick staccato. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
“Okay, that leaves Ben…,” Finnegan pointed to the owl-faced guy with round glasses and pot belly, and motioned him to other one who by himself at this point, an older guy in the cowboy duds with a thick handlebar mustache, who looked kind of old to be out here, “…and Glen. You two cover the southeast. You’ve shot together at the club, right?”
The round-faced guy with the horn-rimmed glasses gave a thumb’s up sign, “Yeah, no problem.” The older squat cowboy nodded and shook hands with the owl-faced guy and said a few quiet words, grinning subtly. Haslett grimaced a bit. He thought that it must have been nice to have friends like that.
“Finnegan has the southwest,” Brodie glanced over at the tall ex-grunt, “so that means you have our backsides. That southwest corner backs to the Wildlife Preserve and makes us a little vulnerable, so keep your eyes open out there.”
“Roger that,” Finnegan snapped a playful, phony salute. “No screw-ups, sir.”
“I will be on one of the quads as a go-between for the outer patrols and the house security.” Brodie looked at a couple of the parings. “I should be able to make it to any of the locations quickly if something comes up. Each pair will have one of our two-way radios, so designate somebody to be the radio man in your duo. We’ll use channel eight, sub-band eleven as primary, with channel eleven, sub-band eight as alternate, so dial those into channel eight-eleven and do a radio check before you leave and again in five minutes. Be smart about the radios and stay in contact. Call in every five minutes, even if the report is that there’s nothing to report. When in doubt, call in on anything that even looks a little suspicious.
“Get to know your areas while you still have some light and look around for any potential blind spots, alleys or other problem terrain. Okay, stay frosty out there. Let’s get to work.” Brodie dismissed the men with a couple of quick claps of his hands, and he started off toward the barn with the tall, wiry guy with the big teeth, the guy he thought folks called Kirk.
Finnegan came up to him, just a few inches from his face, “You’re with me. We’ve got a lot of orchards to cover and the little canyons and ravines beyond.” The big ex-Army sergeant brushed past him and stopped wheeling around. Haslett wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but then Finnegan smiled and waved him over, “You got my back and I got yours. Don’t screw the pooch on me, all right?”
“I don’t plan to.” Haslett breathed out a deep sigh as he walked over to the massive former ground pounder. He saw disbelief in the eyes of his friend. He knew he had done a lot of bad in his life, but Haslett was committed to trying to make up for it from here on out, “I ain’t gonna let you down, man. You can count on me.” He doesn’t believe me. Nobody does.
“That’s good to hear, Danny. That’s really good to hear.”
*****
“I think we need to chance it, sir,” Jeff Doyle took a last bite from the turkey sandwich and washed it down with a long drink from the tall glass of ice water. “General Dinger and General Stein are supposed to have their battle plans ready by now and will be expecting our call.”
The dining room where they sat was spacious and had proven useful for letting the Governor work. Of course, Mrs. Brodie was very accommodating and helpful as well. Even their daughter had appeared and assisted with a number of things, mostly with a smile and nod. The pair of boys only made an occasional appearance from the back of the house to get into the fridge or ask their mom something. They looked like they were just happy to have a summer to day enjoy, but a little off of their routine. The pair of boys had a lot of questions about the important visitors but did a great job of staying out of the way. The teenage daughter mostly just ignored everyone when she did emerge from the back hall, earphones on, to get something from the fridge or interrupted to ask her mom a question. Typical teenage stuff. Less than most parents had to deal with, and a lot less than what Doyle’s parents had gone through. The little boy complained about not being able to go swimming. Those trivialities were the extent of the negative stuff Doyle saw. Brodie had a family he could be very proud of, and Doyle contemplated the life with a bit of envy. Maybe I should slow down and really try to find someone.
“Mr. Doyle,” Governor Chase tapped his finger on the reddish wood table, “are you positive that we should risk a call out?” His upraised eyebrows emphasized the point. “My working assumption was that our electronic communications would be tracked and that’s not something we want.”
While the Governor had a point, Doyle didn’t think leaving the Texas Guard without clear direction and not getting updated information from them in return was a viable option either. “I think we should risk a short call, using the landline. Just to see how the preparations are going and…”
“Let them know that I’m still alive and kicking?” Chase leaned an elbow on the table and offered the overblown smile of a used car salesman, teasing the Deputy a bit.
“I was going to say ‘in command.’” Doyle offered a grin in return as he sloshed the last remnants of his water around in the cheap, plain glass, letting the ice clink around, “but the point is the same.”
“Keep it short and just check-in, very briefly.” Chief of Staff Joe Lopez pushed his plate from him toward the center of the table, leaving much of the sandwich untouched.
“Dial it.” Chase placed his hand on the table and looked at Doyle.
Lopez gave Doyle the number and he dialed it on the old green wall phone where it lay on the long dining room table. He laid the phone down with the old curved handset on its back facing up, and the faint ringing could be heard from one end of it.
All three men instinctively leaned in toward the phone when they heard it answered, “C-I-C, this is Dinger.” The deep drawl of Hum Dinger was unmistakable even from the tinny, small speaker of the old telephone.
“General Dinger,” Chase leaned down and hovered very closely to the phone, “this is the Governor.”
“It’s good to hear from you, sir. You had folks tied up in knots for a while. Some even thought you were dead.”
“I bet. Listen, we can’t talk long on this line,” the Governor spoke quickly looking up at Doyle leaning down to hear. “Tell us where we are with the Guard mobilization.”
“All is going according to plan sir. The Regiments are assembling at the rally points, and we’ve gotten word that a few platoons of Fort Bliss soldiers have re-grouped and formed up with the 2nd Regiment at San Angelo.”
“That’s good news, General. How are we doing with hardware and material?” Chase glanced at Chase who provided a quick wave of approval.
“It’s precious and scarce, and of course we wished we had more, but what we have will do. We have the APCs and Humvees that we train with on week-in week out basis. Our largest deficiency is, of course, air assets and heavy armor, but we don’t train with those often, so the men mostly don’t know what they’re missing. Some veteran men will but most won’t.”
“General, will we be ready by 0600 tomorrow?” Chase was direct and firm.
“Affirmative, sir. We will be ready for whatever the opposition will try to throw at us. We have preliminary battle plans in place and will convene in an hour or so to refine them. Shall we call you with a summary?”
“Yes, let’s talk again at, say, 2000 hours? Is that enough time for you and the Command Staff?”
“Yes, sir. That’s fine.”
“Okay, we’re going to clear the line, now. We will call you at 2000.” the Governor stood up while Doyle replaced the handset on the phone.
Chase got up from the t
able, “So, now we just have one other call to make. Just not this second.”
“To whom?” Lopez looked at the Governor with a furrowed brow.
“The President of the United States.”
*****
The White House – The Oval Office
Washington D.C, - July 5th, 2017 – 5:15 p.m.
“I can’t believe it!” President Denton balled her hand into a fist, crinkling the note to a tight wad. “Who appointed the buffoon who made the ruling? Probably that idiot Bush.” The President rose from her desk and went to the side table in hall just outside the office door, poured herself a double of some dark liquor and returned, glass in hand. She glowered at the young aide as she returned to her desk.
“I don’t know Madam President. I suppose we can look into that, but I don’t--”
The snide look and dismissive wave forced the Deputy Chief of Staff to stop answering her rhetorical question, “Where is your boss?”
Young woman paused, adjusted her gray suit jacket and looked at her papers, “He went downstairs to receive Secretary of Defense Jabarra and debrief him on the way up. I can go find out for you, if you like.”
“Why don’t you go do that?” It wasn’t as much a question as an order, which made the staffer shuffle off rapidly.
A few moments later Secretary of Defense William Jabarra entered the Oval Office with a quick knock by Chief of Staff Al Fiorino, the tall, broad-shouldered former House Minority Whip from New York. He combed his salt and pepper hair and greeted the president with that charming grin, his teeth obscenely white against his tanned skin, “I’ve been bringing Will up to speed. I assume Shelby told you about the District court ruling in Austin?”
“An unfortunate setback, Madam President,” William Jabarra was a short, stocky man of Filipino descent, about sixty, with start black hair and large thick glasses. Jabarra had been a two-star in the Air Force before holding a couple of prime DoD assignments under Obama, eventually rising to be Deputy Defense Secretary before taking the big desk. He looked down to supervise the smoothing of his three piece charcoal suit, and looked a little haggard after the eight-hour flight from London. “Obviously, they’ll re-file under one of the sub-states, and we will be there to stop it.”
