by T I WADE
INVASION USA IV
THE BATTLE FOR HOUSTON … THE AFTERMATH
By
T. I. Wade
INVASION USA I-IV.
Copyright © 2012 by T I Wade
All Rights Reserved.
Published in the United States of America
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.
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Library of Congress Catalogue-in-Publication Data
Wade, T I. INVASION USA IV / T I Wade—1st ed.
eNovel FIRST EDITION – July 2012
Editor – Sherry Emanuel, Raleigh, North Carolina
Final Editor – Brad Theado, Stuarts Draft, Virginia
Cover design by Jack Hillman, Hillman Design Group, Sedona, AZ
eBook editions by eBooks by Barb for booknook.biz
Dedication
This Book IV of INVASION USA is dedicated to the U.S. Navy Seals. I would also like to recognize the men and women of the United States Air Force, as well as every person who has served in the Armed Forces of The United States of America.
Thank you for all you do/have done to keep this country safe, and we know many out of you out there will never be recognized for your brave acts.
We can’t imagine what you go through, but we think about you!
So don’t think you are an unknown!
I hope my writing and the depiction of a group of fictional military men rises to the high standards the U.S. military sets for themselves.
T I Wade.
July, 2012.
Note From the Author:
This novel is only a story—a story of fiction that could or will come true sometime in the future. The people in this story are all fictitious, but since the story takes place in our present day, some of the people mentioned could be real people. No names have been given to these people and there were no thoughts to treat these people as good or bad people. Rather, I have attempted to capture people who are living at the time the story is written. Are you ready to survive a life-changing moment that could turn your life upside-down sometime in the near future?
Read on and find out!
If your survival knife isn’t honed as sharp as a razorblade yet, then purchase a shotgun or six and a ton of ammo.
I suppose you are right! Never take a knife to a gunfight.
I hope you enjoy the fourth part of this long saga.
Table of Contents
The Battle for Houston
Chapter 1:
San Antonio invaded
Chapter 2:
Flight from China – May
Chapter 3:
Houston – May-June
Chapter 4:
We have found the bad guys, Sir!
Chapter 5:
Seal Team Six
Chapter 6:
The Hurricane with No Name
Chapter 7:
We need more Men!
Chapter 8:
The Battle of Houston – May-June
Chapter 9:
The End of The Battle For Houston
Chapter 10:
What to do next!
The Aftermath
Chapter 1:
August 1st
Chapter 2:
Trial in Bogotá.
Chapter 3:
The meeting at Capitol Hill
Chapter 4:
The Weddings
Chapter 5:
Who are these guys?
Chapter 6:
Alaska
Chapter 7:
Mike Mallory – The Right Wing Threat
Chapter 8:
Who is in control of this?
Chapter 9:
We’ve found them
Chapter 10:
Cold Bay, Alaska.
Chapter 11:
The time for Civilians is over.
Chapter 12:
Major Wong and The Seals
Chapter 13:
The final clean-up
Chapter 14:
New Government – New Laws
Epilogue
THE BATTLE FOR HOUSTON
* * *
Chapter 1
San Antonio invaded
While General Patterson was fighting his war on the other side of the world, the local war was about to heat up.
Manuel Calderón allowed his men to rest on May 4th and told everybody they would cross into the United States the next day. May 5th Cinco de Mayo was a good day to attack America. He got his two brothers, Alberto and Pedro, together and invited the leader of the new Cartels to the meeting with the five other family commanders from Venezuela and Brazil. With the combined forces of their first American-Latino family they had 150,000 men all together. The Sanchez family of 30,000 waited just south of Laredo in a community called Rio Brava; here they had found a nearly deserted housing community, murdered the dozen-odd people they found there and moved in to wait for their friends coming from the south.
* * *
The Navistar-P satellite was not picking up these congregations of people massing on both sides of the border. If it had remained over the central U.S., where Carlos left it, the technicians would have seen slightly darker moving shapes of masses of men slowly joining together like mercury. The satellite could have shown a group of 20,000 men in one place, and 100,000 would have blatantly stood out.
Unfortunately, the technicians manning the satellite feed were watching the Chinese coast, Hawaii, and to within 500 miles of the Californian coast. Their viewing range was a great distance from Texas.
Carlos would be told the bad news in a couple of days when he would then give the technicians orders to change the satellite’s orbit back to its original position. It would take Carlos and his technicians at least two weeks to get the pictures back over the Texas area and currently he, was just leaving the satellite’s viewing field; he was 700 miles away from Elmendorf in Alaska—the U.S. coast—in the AC-130 Gunship Pave Pronto.
* * *
Manuel Calderón slowly and carefully entered the Unites States of America on May 5th, his personal army of 2,500 loyal men with him. He entered five miles south of Laredo and about a mile south of Rio Brava.
The Sanchez family had been waiting for him for a week and they had sourced dozens of small boats from the area around Rio Brava to help ferry the men over the Rio Grande. Here the river wasn’t very wide and there was a large island in the middle; this meant that it was a hundred yards or so from each side of the island to dry land, and an easy task to transport Manuel Calderón’s rested men and their equipment with no one getting wet.
The whole secret operation took no more than twelve hours of darkness to get the 2,500 men across. On the Texas side the Sanchez family provided several old trucks for their pre-planned trip into Laredo to take out the military guard at the only bridge over the Rio Grande in the area, and get the larger army in the U.S. Manuel had selected Laredo due to its being the only U.S. border city having smaller army bases and its location 180 miles south of the only real Air force Base, Laughlin Air Force Base, 5 miles east of Del Rio. Carlos Sanchez checked out the area days before the arrival.
An hour after Manuel had driven into the base, the border control post and area had been taken using pistols and silencers given to him by Carlos Sanchez. A platoon of thirty U.S. Army soldiers lay in their own pools of blood.
Two army radios were attacked first, their operators quickly dealt with, so that word couldn’t get out. Manuel was also handed a working satellite phone found on the lieutenant’s bloody tunic. He had never used one of these in his life, but knew that if he used it the people he was ambushing, and who he did not want to know he was there, would have a direct line to him. He crushed it with a rifle butt breaking it into small pieces, and then he urinated on it.
Carlos Sanchez showed him the several small military barracks in the town: a U.S. Army Reserve depot where another thirty men had been shot dead and the National Guard station by the international airport where the army platoon stationed there, had met the same fate. His orders were that no American soldiers would be left alive. Manuel didn’t want them to come back and haunt him.
Other than the soldiers, several unknown civilians were seen, mostly carrying guns and, without asking questions, they met the same fate. The city was now empty of people. Manuel suggested to Carlos Sanchez that the military had pulled the population back as a buffer zone in case of attack. Carlos Sanchez laughed at him and said, “What population?” Most of them were dead, shot by his men.
Sanchez also told Manuel that the army had come through here in large numbers a month earlier and had ordered any civilians to pack up and head north.
“One week there were people shooting at us, the next week it was a ghost town. We heard the army was coming, thousands of men and small civilian aircraft, and they rounded up the people and left. We had to cross the border to escape being noticed. Even the stinking dead bodies were counted and burned in huge piles of thousands,” he told Manuel. “The city was cleaned of dead and the area left to the three army stations to control.”
“How far north have they gone, the people, I mean?” asked Manuel.
“I sent out some guys to head up I-35 and Highway 59, north and east and they got as far as San Antonio before seeing anybody. Even then soldiers were still moving people northwards. It will be hurricane season soon and I think they have moved people out of the coastal cities like Houston as well. The men I sent in that direction, to Houston, will be back in a few days,” stated Sanchez.
“What about the air force base to the north?” Manuel asked over a meal of fruit freshly shipped over from Mexico. He watched thousands of his men stream over the bridge spanning the Rio Grande. The deserted city of Laredo was filling up again with his men.
The loud roar of weapons being fired around the three small military installations had attracted men, mostly Latinos, hiding in the countryside around the area. Any men other than Latinos were shot on sight.
By the time they rested and had a good night’s sleep in real beds, 300 Latino men had arrived at the guard posts, armed and ready to join the army. The commanders slept in a heavily guarded motel, a ransacked, but still usable Days Inn on the outskirts of Laredo.
It was at midday May 6th, when they again got together at the Days Inn; Sanchez’s men still hadn’t returned as they sat down to a good meal to discuss a battle plan. It was the first time Manuel Calderón and his brothers had ever visited the country; he had sent over billions of dollars of drugs, but had never set foot in the United States.
This city, Laredo, looked like most of the cities he had passed on his journey northwards. Panama City was a massive city; their police force tried to find out who the traveling men were, and after several hours of fighting, retreated, leaving hundreds dead on the often dirty and low-income suburban and shanty-town battlefields where they had collided.
The same had happened in Honduras and other countries they passed through. The partially destroyed communication systems prevented the country’s leaders from knowing what was going on, and the armed forces fighting against the Calderóns didn’t have backup or the stomach to take on the large well-armed groups more than once. In the U.S., it was the first time the brothers had seen empty towns and cities.
Something was different here. Manuel could see by the large numbers of local banditos arriving to join his invading army that the men had already helped themselves to local military or civilian weapons.
“Why are they making this large piece of country empty of people, Alberto? Pedro? Carlos?” Manuel asked the group the next day over a lunch of good American steaks. A large bull had been found totally mad and wandering around the outer city area a few days before their arrival and Carlos Sanchez had it shot and butchered. After hanging the meat for a couple of days, it was soft enough to eat.
“The men think that there were so many dead bodies,” stated Carlos Sanchez, “and so many civilians being shot, that the American government decided that they cannot control the whole country. I think they have moved all the remaining civilians into smaller areas to protect them. These American banditos told me that they have all killed many people for anything they had: food, money, old trucks, farmhouses, beautiful women, even for a new cell phone which they know doesn’t work. Some of these people are pretty crazy people, Manuel.”
“Get me some of the new arrivals who have travelled the furthest to get here, let us find out what they know,” ordered Manuel to several of the group commanders and they headed out to search. “We will meet with them tomorrow over lunch.”
The next day, over a large bottle of bourbon provided by Carlos Sanchez, a group of three men arrived to tell their stories.
“Name!” ordered Manuel to the first man. He was a mean-looking ox of a man, six feet tall and had one tooth sticking out of his smiling mouth. He was filthy, the smell from him worse than their dirty bodies, but he was a killer, a real killer and a real asset to his army.
“Antonio Pedro Muñoz Izquierdeas, Señor Calderón. I used to sell cargo from you in Dallas and Fort Worth.”
“Where have you come from, Antonio, and how did you know I was here?”
“A man who I used to deal with from Señor Sanchez’s family told me that an army was coming, Señor, your army, and that if I wanted to shoot soldiers, it would be better to fight with your army. I met the man at our old connection point outside Austin and came south with him last week.”
“Tell me what you have seen north of here,” demanded Manuel.
“Lots of dead Americans, Señor! Lots of dead people, mostly shot by other Americans, and helped by other friends I know. There were no American police after February. We shot anybody who had a uniform and a gun, sometimes three or four a day. In Fort Worth where I live, I had to kill several men who even attacked my own house. Lucky, I had several machine pistols and shotguns and I killed those men. There were others who killed my neighbors and I shot them and then ate the food they had stolen. At one time, at the end of January, there were bands of police trying to keep law and order, but snipers killed them one by one until they didn’t come around anymore. Then the National Guard arrived and more army soldiers and the fighting got very bad. These soldiers were better equipped than the stupid policemen and many of the banditos left town. So did I, and me and my family crossed the border into Mexico to stay with my wife’s family south of here. I returned, Señor, and got as far as Austin, before coming up to roadblocks and small aircraft flying around looking for us.”
“Why did you come back?” Manuel asked.
“Hey, Señor! There’s lots of stuff to steal here. Even though there was little food, many people were protecting their houses full of things to steal. In one house alone in San Antonio, Señor, I found $100,000 stashed away in the farmer’s mattress. $100,000, Señor, is a lot of money and American dollars still buy things in Mexico, Senor Calderón; a lot of Tequila and nice things for pretty girls.
“How much money did you find, Antonio?” was Manuel’s next question.
“A lot, Señor…millions! I worked with this team of five men during March and April, until I heard about you. We killed about a hundred gringos and black people, and often their whole families. We even killed scared Latino families; some of their women were very pretty and would do anything we asked once their husbands and sons were dead. One even c
leaned my clothes,” he laughed, the men around him grinning at the joke. “We always killed everybody and burned their houses, Señor. Now that the army is patrolling San Antonio, and they have moved all the people to the north, many of the men we knew were shot and so I left the city. There were only a few thousand soldiers, Senor Calderón, but for us, there were too many.”
