by Steven Linde
He told them about the trains that would be arriving under heavy military escort at the end of the week, and a chorus of applause broke out. By now there were people in the audience crying, some in sadness that this all couldn’t have happened earlier, but mostly people happy that it was happening at all. They realized that they would get back to whatever normal living was these days.
He talked about the Air Force and what was going on in Arizona and the Navy and the retrofitting of the ships in San Francisco Bay. The people were blown away by what was going on, they never thought that so much could be done in less than a year. The Colonel had given this briefing before and knew from experience what people were feeling. He told them people were flocking to help and it wasn’t all the military, although the military was leading the charge. He acknowledged there was a lot to do and things were moving slowly, however they were moving. The Colonel spoke for the next thirty minutes before wrapping it up. He told them that the current operation was expected to take a week, and after the week there would be a new command coming in that would take over from there. This new command would help them with adjusting to their new environment and training people on how to take on the bad elements from the outside. He told them it wouldn’t be easy and they would need to be more aggressive. They couldn’t hide behind the barricades.
As the week passed, the sound of gunfire and explosions faded away. The people in the community and the surrounding communities’ nerves were shot: a week of heavy fighting by the Army had really done a number on them. Then one Friday evening the whistle of a train could be heard all over the area. People couldn’t believe their ears, and ran out of their homes to see the huge monstrosity, huge and heavily armored. It was pulling ten cars all filled with some sort of military equipment and personnel.
Others hurried to the station to see it. Word was that regular train service between Monterrey to the Bay area would start within another week, and people were excited. There was aircraft flying into the airport now, C-47’s and B-24’s, with the occasional Mustangs. It was an exciting time for the people of the area. Freedom was coming.
Now almost a year later, the first navy submarine pulled into the bay with the Stars and Stripes flying high over it. For those people watching it, shivers went down their spines. They were proud to see their country’s colors flying high.
The US Navy School was still active, but now redesigned to train all Navy Officers. Life for many was good in Monterrey, and there was some semblance of normality returning. A skiff motored out to the submarine. It picked up the CO and headed back to dry land. The CO was to report to the school and to meet with a Marine Force Recon team and, oddly enough, it wasn’t one of theirs.
Chapter Nine
First Lieutenant Emory Winchell, United States Marine Corps, Force Recon Company, 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, 1st Marine Division, Camp Pendleton, California, was the Commander of the twelve man recon team that had traveled the hundred-plus miles north. His sergeant, Gunnery Sergeant Eric Roy, had been with Force Recon for fifteen years as opposed to the Lieutenant’s two years. Their mission was to investigate rumors of military actions in and around areas of northern California. They were the only team that was sent out, and all bets were on them to bring back any help they could find, if they found any at all.
Southern California was under full scale assault by huge gangs in Los Angeles and from a Mexican Military invasion. The invasion had hampered the military’s ability to establish any type of communications between San Diego and the outside world. Most of San Diego, except the Naval Base San Diego at 32nd street and Coronado, had been lost to Mexico. Camp Pendleton was under attack from an assault pushing up from the North in San Diego, as well of a wave of violence from the South. As a Hail-Mary, the Corps sent out the Recon team to investigate a rumor. That’s how bad it had gotten, investigating a rumor.
Two days ago the Recon team had stumbled their way into Monterrey, exhausted. They had two men that had light wounds and had been nursing them since making their way out of the Los Angeles basin. The team had done their best to keep east of any metropolitan areas, staying in the wilderness and hiding when necessary. They had been acquiring any vehicles they could find that ran, and used them to travel north. They had been in a few gunfights, and always managed to fight their way out so far. The mission was not to engage the enemy, as they were only twelve men and there was no way they could take on any of the large forces they had been encountering.
The team watched Monterrey from a distance for two days before making their way into town. It was quiet and peaceful; people looked to be going on their daily business, just as life was normal. Of course the team could see few cars driving, but there were lots of people on bicycles and, amazing enough, horses. There was electricity in town, but only for certain hours of the day as far as they could tell. They had open markets where food was being sold as well as livestock, and there was water from local wells. It was a flourishing community. For two days they watched for any type of police force. How could the place be so peaceful and people living so well without some sort of armed protection?
The answer came to them one morning when they woke up to find the guards gone. It was hard for the Lieutenant and Gunny to believe that three highly trained men just up and disappeared. The Lieutenant ordered the camp to break down; they were moving out to find the missing men. They don’t leave anyone behind. As the men quickly packed up, they found themselves surrounded and outgunned by the United States Army. How embarrassing for them, how embarrassing for them indeed.
Sergeant First Class Toby McDonald of the United States Army Special Forces Command, 19th Special Forces Group, 1st Battalion, Bravo Company, stepped out of the bushes to address the Marines. “I should have known it was a bunch of jarheads screwing up my morning coffee.”
“Fuck you McDonald,” said Gunny Roy. “You didn’t have to take Tokin and Reyes to make your point.”
“No you’re right, I didn’t; it was just more fun this way.”
The Lieutenant stood there listening to the not-so-funny banter between Gunny and the Army Sergeant. “You two know each other?” asked the Lieutenant.
SFC McDonald answered. “You mean that ugly bastard there, sir? Yeah I know him.”
“Sir,” Gunny Roy said. “Special Operations is a small world. McDonald and I had the privilege of running ops together in Afghanistan.”
SFC McDonald and Gunny Roy stood there staring at each other for a moment. Then Staff Sergeant Ewen, the team’s communications NCO said, “Kiss and get it over with will ya!”
With that, the camp broke out in laughter, and McDonald and Roy shook hands. “It’s good to see you Eric, been a long time.”
“You too old man,” said the Gunny.
SFC McDonald waved the rest of his team in, and there were handshakes and hugs all around. Many of the men knew each other from serving together in Afghanistan and Iraq. Once the team was together, SFC McDonald started a fire, which surprised the Marines. Then he pulled out a coffee pot, filled it with water and a few scoops of coffee he had with him. “Gotta have my morning coffee,” said SFC McDonald.
“You’re not worried about being attacked?” asked the Lieutenant.
“No Sir. We took care of them months ago.”
“We?” asked the Lieutenant.
“We being the Army, Air Force and Marine Corps,” said SFC McDonald, and he went heavy on the Marine Corps when he said, it looking directly at the Lieutenant.
“What the hell?” said the Gunny.
The coffee started to boil, “Anyone wants a cup better pull out your cups now. Have a seat and I’ll tell you a story.” All of the men reached for their canteen cups and filled them up.
SFC McDonald spent the next hour recapping the events after the lights went out and the water stopped running. The Marine Force Recon team was simply amazed at how far they had come in such a short time. The Marines sat there in silence, lost in thought, as obviously the rumors were true but would t
hey be able to help. SFC McDonald asked, “You don’t have shortwave radios down there? I know you gotta; there’s an active MAR there.”
Lieutenant Winchell looked at the Sergeant. “The ones we had went out when the EMP hit, they weren’t tube. Of course after a few weeks we figured out that if we had some tube operated ones we could get on the air. We never got that far, we were being bombarded by Hispanic gangs from the north a couple of weeks after. They wanted weapons and were killing anyone and everyone to get them. At first we went on the offensive but were overwhelmed by their numbers, almost ten-to-one, so we pulled back and set our perimeters and have been defending them since. The parts we need are out in the civilian world. We were still able to get out down south and look around Oceanside, Carlsbad, down to Del Mar. While we were searching, the Mexican Infantry and Mexican Navy Marines were making their moves on San Diego. The invasion happened quickly, far quicker than anyone anticipated. Looking for the radios wasn’t a priority anymore.”
“I’m sorry I’m a bit confused.” said SFC McDonald. “The Mexicans and Hispanics?”
It was Gunny Roy’s turn; he spent the next thirty to forty-five minutes telling them what happened in San Diego. “That’s why you’re hear, isn’t it, for help?” asked SFC McDonald.
“Yeah,” said the Lieutenant. “I’m not sure you can help either.”
“Why do you say that?” asked SFC McDonald.
“You said that ISA was the priority now.”
“I did say that, for the Army it is. Not for the Navy and Marine Corps who I believe should be under way now heading this way. Their mission is to find out what the hell is going on in Southern California.”
All the Marines were thunderstruck by this information. “What’s the Navy got?” asked SSG Ewin. “A couple of row boats?”
“Well it has a fully functional aircraft carrier, the USS Hornet, with aircraft, it has a fully functional battleship the USS Iowa, two Marine transport ships filled with a few thousands of nasty-ass Marines looking for a fight, it also has some of your Force Recon brethren as well as a couple of SEAL Teams. Then there’s the B-52’s up at Travis waiting to bomb the hell out of what’s it called. There are two thousand paratroopers from the 184th Infantry Regiment (Airborne) waiting to jump into LA or San Diego as soon as ordered. We can fly in just about anything on C-47’s and B-24’s ….then there is the last and most deadly 11th ACR sitting at Irwin on trains waiting to move south. Do you think that will do, Lieutenant?”
Lieutenant Winchell was sitting there with his jaw dropped. Gunny Roy looked over at the Lieutenant and bumped him. “Yeah, yeah, that’ll do. There’s a fully functional Armored Calvary Regiment on trains?”
“Yes Sir.”
“We need to get moving Sergeant, we’ve been gone two weeks and who knows what’s happening down south.”
“Roger that, Sir.” said SFC McDonald. “Pack it all up and let’s move. We’ll head down to the Naval School; the USS Pampanito should be pulling into port in a few hours, let’s see if we can get you out to the Hornet.”
“What’s a Pampanito?” asked the Lieutenant.
“Submarine.”
“Figures, they got a sub too,” said Gunny Roy. “Well let’s get moving I want to go home.”
Chapter Ten
General Maximillian Garcia was not a happy man, granted his forces had advanced up to Del Mar with almost no resistance by the US Military or local Police Forces. The problem he faced was that Naval Base San Diego at 32nd Street was still under the gringo’s command. His Commander Colonel Alejandro Hector Delarosa led a brilliant assault against the Norte Americano base, but he and most of the men under his command were cut down. Assault after assault had failed, losing a tremendous amount of Mexican life. He had finally decided to stop the assaults and isolate the base if it was possible, and at this time he didn’t have control over the bay itself. Although he had tremendous land forces, he had no Navy to speak of outside of the Marines.
Their ships like the Norte Americanos were disabled due to the event. They did have smaller boats which they were using as fast attack, and the other problem is that they didn’t control Coronado where Naval Air Station North Island was. Prior to the invasion, the gringos were successful in moving over the USS Midway and ships to Coronado to be worked on. The Silver Strand had been effectively blockaded by US Army and US Marines that had been training in Coronado at the time of the event. The Navy’s Amphibious Base also located in Coronado had fast attack boats that were still operational, as were the San Diego Bay’s Police Force which has shifted operations to Coronado when the invasion happened.
They were also effective on closing off the San Diego – Coronado Bay Bridge, barricading it. Assaults had been futile, and as long as they controlled the bay, 32nd Street and Coronado could reinforce each other. He didn’t know how long the people of Coronado could hold out. Intelligence had informed him the Mexican Army was advancing people from Chula Vista and Imperial Beach and retreating into Coronado, overwhelming the small community. Regardless, the community held together and refused to expel anyone that made it to them.
The Mexican Army and Mexican Naval Marines had moved fast once they left those two areas to their own devices. They had advanced in the East County and along the coast. There were gringos who took them on, and of course the gringos were well armed, however they didn’t have the numbers and were overrun every time. The surprise was when they hit Del Mar and found the United States Marine Corps was there waiting for them. They outnumbered the US Marines five-to-one, yet were unable to break their lines or go around them. On the other hand, the Marines weren’t able to advance south. The General knew the Marines were also fighting on their northern flanks, and the gangs and cartels had consolidated their forces in Los Angles into one huge Army of close to fifty-thousand men and women.
They called themselves the Ejército Libiration Hispana or Hispanic Liberation Army, and yet there was nothing military about these people. They were thugs with guns. The Marines had close to two thousand men fighting ten thousand of them. Like down South, the Marines were holding their own but were unable to break out. Camp Pendleton had easily been able to absorb the communities that surrounded, and there was twenty miles between the Camp and Del Mar where not all of the civilians had evacuated. Many prior service members had made their way north to fight with the Marines, and they were welcomed.
For now, the Mexican government in Tijuana and Mexicali had decided they would place all of their efforts into Southern California. They knew if they could take it intact with all of its military capabilities no one could challenge them. General Garcia and the rest of the Mexican Government were blissfully unaware of the United States Military in Central and Northern California, Arizona, Nevada, and other States. To be fair, so were the US Military in Southern California: their optimism was slowly being sapped away as the days and weeks wore on. It seemed that the Mexicans and cartels had an unlimited amount of manpower. They weren’t causing a lot of casualties, but the when they lost someone there was no one to replace them.
General Garcia had broken down the areas in San Diego to various regions and assigned Senior Officers to oversee them. Many if not most of these officers were very anti-Norte Americano, and if they had their way they would have them all pack their bags and move on. General Garcia was much more practical than the men he commanded, as he saw the need, at least for now, for the gringos. San Diego had suffered a great deal after the event, and estimates of people who had died for various reasons ran into the hundreds of thousands. The invasion had eradicated thousands more.
The General explained to his commanders that the event had hurt their people much more than the gringos. Many Mexican citizens had flooded over the border looking for food and water, only to find the gringo’s were looking for food and water, too. Another point of dissatisfaction noted by the General was that he and his commanders sincerely believed that, like in Los Angeles, the Hispanic population would rise up and join them in overru
nning their gringo oppressors. He and the others learned that San Diego was not Los Angeles, and that they were two entirely different political entities in two cities. Los Angeles, which was a liberal haven and supported liberal ideas such as gun control, open borders, and so forth, found that San Diego was the opposite. Much of San Diego, because of the military presence, was conservative and the Hispanics, not all but most, considered themselves patriotic Norte Americanos.
The areas of San Diego that were under the General’s control were broken down into four regions: Southern, Coastal, Eastern and Northern, each with a brigadier general taking command of a region. The Generals were brutal to the gringo populations, ordering them to be rounded up and placed in re-education camps. This wasn’t as easy as they thought, and it was going to be primarily because all of the manpower needed to do it was up North fighting the Marines. Then there were areas that were still controlled by the gringos that were heavily armed, certain neighborhoods that had become islands unto themselves, refusing to surrender.
The Coastal Commander, Brigadier General Havier Esposa, had to deal with Coronado, and he wasn’t having any success. He was under a great deal of pressure from General Garcia to rid them of the infestation there. The Southern Commander, Brigadier General Stanley Roco, was having his own issues with the Naval Base at 32nd Street. General Garcia saw them as tying up his Soldiers and Marines in the South when he needed them in the North to fight.
