Lance shook his head in displeasure at the utter lack of discipline. “We've been pushing them too hard. I knew it would start to fall apart eventually.” He glanced at his close friend and leader. Rob was lost in thought, his eyes glazed over, facing north.
“I believed for so long that we could make a difference. That we could somehow…stop some small part of it. The destruction of our country,” Rob muttered sadly.
Lance too looked north. Everything in front of the two men on that dusty ridge was the United States of America. As far as they could see to the west, the north, and the east. Home.
Even the ever present smoke that seemed to be all around them as it drifted from the still spreading forest fires in the Coronado National Forest seemed comforting. It represented a pain inflicted on America, and by definition, Americans. It was a constant reminder of what they were up against, what they had fought off.
The radio crackled again, "Cut the chatter, Two. You know the drill."
Lance smiled despite his anguish over the general situation. Ed Franks. Still full of piss and vinegar.
Rob grinned. “That man had to have been a drill sergeant in a former life.” He activated his radio and cut in on the scouts' circuit. "Okay, listen up. Everyone maintain your positions and observe, do not engage. I repeat, just watch them. Just give us regular reports. Over."
"Copy that, One."
"You got it."
"What do you want to do now?" Lance asked quietly in the early morning heat. He couldn't bring himself to raise his voice above a whisper.
"We run."
"What?" Lance gasped, shocked. "Run? Us? The Regulators?"
Rob turned to look at his friend with eyes that had seen too much. Too much crime, too much death, too much hopelessness. Too much that was not fixed by people who had sworn to prevent the problems and protect the land. Too much...everything. "We all knew something like this was coming. Those ragheads told us as much."
"But..."
"But nothing. Holding the line against some illegal immigrants is one thing. We did our job, we fought the good fight. No one else cared, but we did."
"Those people in Nogales that got out alive because we delayed the carrion birds coming across the border—-those people cared! Rob, we saved that city!"
Rob shook his head. "Nogales is dead, Lance. You heard Ed when he got back. Everyone's gone or dead. It's been taken over by the immigrants moving south to get out of this mess," he said, sweeping his hand to encompass the United States. "It's not ours anymore. It's a ghost town for Americans."
"But they got out—they had the chance to get out and get north. If we hadn't taken a stand, Nogales would have been wiped out!"
Rob smiled. "And that's something that we can be proud of." The smile vanished. "What that thing over there means," he said and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Is endgame. It's over, Lance. We done our best. And it's time to—"
"We can still fight!" Lance said, anger rising in his voice. Even though he knew it was a lost cause, part of him refused to give in and surrender their rights to the land that he loved.
"We can. And we will. Just not here."
"Wait, what?"
"Come on, we need to get moving," said Rob. He shouldered his old lever action Winchester and picked his way down the side of the rubble strewn ridge. Lance followed, too intent on finding secure footing to continue the discussion until they both reached level ground and their vehicle.
Once inside the 4 x4, Lance looked towards Rob, behind the wheel. "Mind telling me what the plan is?" he said in a voice that had more attitude than he had intended.
Rob forgave his friend instantly. Pulling out of a fight was never Lance's strong point, even when it was strategic, as Rob hoped it was now. Lance was a loyal friend and slow to anger, but once the fire lit, he wouldn't stop until every last threat was down. That included, Rob considered with a smile, coyotes, street thugs, illegal's or terrorists.
The truck rumbled into gear and began to pick up speed as Rob drove them out of the little gulch and back onto the dirt path they called a road. "Remember all those hunting trips we used to take up in the Apache, in the mountains?"
Lance smiled, caught off guard by the fond memories his friend's question had dredged up unexpectedly. 'The Apache' was their shorthand for the Apache National Forest, northeast of Tucson. He forced the smile from his face. He wasn't in a mood for stories of the golden days of their youth. "What the hell does that have to do with anything."
"I was thinking maybe we should go hunting up there again."
"What?"
Rob took a quick glance at his friend. "It's time we pull out."
"Are you crazy? After everything we've done? We've had men—friends!—lay down their lives for this Godforsaken ground, we just can't—"
Rob looked at him again and Lance came to a sputtering halt. "I know, believe me…I know the sacrifices we've all made. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't beg forgiveness from God for things we've done...at my order."
For the first time since everything fell apart, Lance looked, really looked at his old friend from high school. There were lines in Rob's face that he couldn't recall last winter. Circles under the eyes. He looked worn down, underfed and exhausted. He looked...old. Lance looked down at his own rough hands, almost ashamed to speak.
"If we don't get our families out and live to honor those that have already fallen...then what's the point of their deaths? What's the point of anything we did? You want us to stay so we can go down in history as a speed bump to the apocalypse?"
Lance looked up and stared straight ahead out the windshield. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The sage brush and rocks and boulders slowly passed by. They couldn't travel much faster without kicking up a giant trail sign in dust that would be visible for miles. So they slugged along, bouncing with every dip and hole in the "road" and dreaming of asphalt.
"I've been thinking about this ever since we caught those three...animals...and got scoop on their plans," Rob continued, in a tone of voice that was more like a confessional than a conversation. "We can't stay here if what they said is true. Hell, you've seen it with your own eyes. Everything's backwards now. We're not keeping the Mexicans out, they're running hellbent for leather south now. All we have to do is watch 'em and wave. They probably think we're idiots for staying..."
"I think we're Americans. I think this is our land and no one can push us off it."
Rob looked at his friend again. "And what you saw on the other side of that ridge doesn't affect that view at all? Come on, buddy, you know as well as I do that thing was just the tip of the iceberg. It won’t push us off this land, it’ll bury us."
"It was just one," offered Lance in a small puerile voice.
Rob slowed the truck to a stop. "It was a damned armored personnel carrier." No reaction from his friend. "It was flying the damn Chinese flag and when it stopped, three Red Chinese popped out to have a look! You think they really shipped an APC across the Pacific for humanitarian reasons? Really? Come on, man! Think!" Rob snapped at his friend. "This is an invasion, and we're standing right in their path."
A sullen Lance looked out the passenger window as the truck began moving again. "That means we can do something about it. Doesn’t it?"
Part him was worried he was pushing Rob too far, the other that Rob was right and they should have pulled out long ago.
"Yeah, it means we can stand here and get cut down like grass. Those are trained soldiers, with heavy weapons, Lance. They got tanks for cryin’ out loud! I'm all for fighting in the name of our country, the Founding Fathers and all that...but not just to throw our lives away. That would be a slap in the face to everyone that came before us, to every man who died for our freedoms. Why did they suffer at Valley Forge, so we could just stand here and get run over by a Chinese APC?"
"Better than running away without firing a shot!" spat Lance, still not looking at his friend. He could simply not believe what he was hearing.
Rob took another approach, his voice quiet. "If I'm right, and that thing we saw was just a scouting party...then there's a whole army of those yellow bastards heading our way. The two dozen people we can round up now..."
My God...is that all? he thought, mind reeling at the numbers of friends killed in the past weeks.
"That's including women," Rob added soberly with a glance towards his friend. "They won't even be a fart in the wind compared to what's coming. They'll roll right over us. Hell, that one APC had enough firepower to drive right up to the compound and wipe us all out. D'you see the guns on that thing? Lot more bang than my old Winchester."
Lance could see the logic, however much he hated to admit it. "So..." he started, part of him still fighting every step of the way. "So what do we do? Pack up, run for the hills?"
"Well, if you call the Apache National Forest hills, remind me not to go hiking with you anymore."
Lance grinned despite his mood. "All I'm saying is, I don't like high-tailing it out of here without so much as yelling at them. It's a freakin' invasion, Rob. There's no one here to stop them but us."
"And we're not the damned Army. We are a handful of citizens. We're not trained to fight professional soldiers!"
"I bet someone said that at Bunker Hill, too," mumbled Lance.
Rob thought for a second. "The British didn't have night vision, rockets, guided missiles and air support or tanks. These guys do. But are we are like the Minutemen in some respects. So yeah, you're right. We've got some guns and guts. That's about it." He waited for a response and when Lance remained silent, Rob continued.
"And what's more, we don't even have a chance in hell of stopping that one APC, let alone an army. You really want to stand and fight, just to make a point about holding a border that even our own military seems to not care about?" asked Rob.
Lance waved a hand to dismiss the question. "They're more concerned with the real invasion on the east coast—you heard the HAM broadcasts last night. Paratroopers from Germany in New York and Boston, French commandos in Charleston, the Russians in D.C. and Baltimore..." Lance trailed off.
Rob’s mind clicked two pieces of the puzzle together. He looked at Lance and recognized the blank stare. Lance had just figured it out as well. They're more concerned with the invasion on the east coast. Oh my God.
Rob could almost hear his friend's thoughts. "See what I mean?" he said quietly. "I was skeptical of the ragheads when they told us about the Chinese. A Chinese army? Really? In Mexico?" Rob chuckled. "Then we heard about that news conference...ChiComs sending humanitarian relief to Mexico...oh, and by the way it's already on its way."
"Bet that caused some Navy guys to crap their pants. How the hell did they let all that slip through?" asked Lance in a sullen voice. His dad had been a Boatswain’s Mate in Korea. He could see his father's frown in his mind's eye.
"Then, when word got out on the HAM nets that foreign troops were dropping into east coast cities..."
"The bombers over New England..." added Lance.
"Yeah," said Rob quietly as they navigated a rough patch in the "road". "Everything suddenly got very real, very quick. It's either the biggest coincidence in the world, or the world just Rope-a-Doped the United States."
Lance sighed and leaned his head against the window as the truck rolled and rumbled forward. "What the hell is happening..." His dad would be rolling in his grave. "We've got to..."
Rob resolved himself. "No. There's no way we can stay here any longer. We got to pull out and head north. It's what?" he glanced at the truck's clock. "Eight thirty? Okay, we get back, load up every vehicle we got left with as much gas, food and ammo as we can carry...we can be on the road by noon. "
"What about the scouts already on the lines?"
"We'll get their wives to pack everything up for them, leave them out till the last minute. They can meet us on the road north. I don't want us all back there packing and loading and have no eyes or ears out there. If that thing came towards us we'd be sitting ducks. All of us. If they spot the army..."
Lance looked at his friend. "We'll, I guess you're right..." he shook his head. "This is just unreal."
"I know. I like it even less than you. Believe me." Rob focused on driving for a few moments. "I want to send someone on ahead of the main body. Someone to scout things out . Makes no sense to get us all out of here just to head north into an ambush, y'know?"
The two men froze as the radio on the dashboard crackle to life. "One, you read me?"
Rob glanced at Lance before he picked up the mic. "Go ahead, Two."
"Uh...that thing is still sittin' there...looks like five tangos walking around now. Three are in full gear, rifles, packs, the works. Serious dudes, you know? Other two look like officers, I guess. They're glassin’ the hills."
"Well, stay the hell out of sight, for cryin' out loud," Rob replied with a little more emphasis in his voice than he would have liked.
"I am, man. You think I want to be spotted by that thing? Oh, hey, there's another one, just came over the horizon. Must be moving pretty fast too because there’s a BIG dust cloud following it."
"Shit," said Lance in resignation.
"Three, you got a visual on the incoming?" asked Rob.
There was a slight pause then the radio broke squelch. "Hang on...no. I see the dust, but...wait, there it is! Uh...it's got friends. I got a visual on three more of them things comin’ towards us. I repeat, there are three more coming! I don't like this..."
"Three, you got a tango heading your direction. One of the soldiers is making his way towards the ridge. One, he has crossed the border!"
Both men looked at each other. The invasion had just begun. Rob got back on the radio. "Alright, you two, stay calm. No movements. Now listen…they couldn't have seen you from your positions, right? Don’t panic. That guy's probably just going to climb the ridge for a better view. Do not engage unless fired upon. Do you read me? Sit tight. I know that's asking a lot of you. We're working on something but we need a little more time. Just hang tight, boys."
"Roger that, One."
"Okaaaaay."
They rode in silence for another moment, then Lance said, "So, now what do we do? I mean, I get the whole load up the wagons and head out idea, now. But, what do we do, y'now?"
Rob smiled. He hadn't been sure what they were going to do either. Until that moment. He had figured they would pack up their families and get into the mountains in a couple of days, get the old hunting camp fired up and stocked for the winter, then lay low and see what happened. The men they had were all ranchers and crack shots with rifles. They all hunted, to a man, and some of the women—back when the lights were on and the only real threat was the border runners. They could bring seeds from their family gardens and live off the land in the protective mountains. There were turkey, deer, pronghorn, all kinds of animals up in the Apache...But...what would they do? Now Rob knew.
"Every rock, every blade of grass."
Lance arched an eyebrow. "Huh?"
"We're going to do something that will make those Chinese bastards feel like the Redcoats after Lexington and Concord."
"Okay, you lost me. What?" asked Lance. "What does that have to do with the Chinese?"
"We can't just stand out there and slug it out with them, not without some tanks and serious manpower. We're not the Army."
"No shit, Sherlock," grinned Lance.
"But we are the Regulators. We're ranchers, we're hunters, we know how to survive. We have the gear, we have the tools, and for now, we have the ammo. This is our land. We know these hills and rivers and forests like our own backyards, because they are. We get up in the mountains and let them come to us. On our ground, our homeland. We put a rifle behind every rock and tree and blade of grass and we start hunting. Might not seem like much...."
Lance remembered the story well. The British had just forced the first two Battles in the American Revolution by taking an overwhelming force of Army Regulars and attack
ing two bands of ragged, scared farmers who made up the militias of Lexington and Concord. The Redcoats accomplished their mission, bloodied the nose of the upstart militiamen, ransacked their armories, and headed back to Boston. On the way, Minutemen from all around began to pour into the woods along the route. Soon the Redcoats were outnumbered and still the Minutemen came to the call. The Americans picked off Redcoats every step of every bloody mile back to Boston.
The result had been a horrifying loss of life for the British and an uplifting moral victory for the Colonials. What started as ineffectual and irritating for the English had turned into a real threat to the survival of the entire force that marched to Lexington and Concord that April day. When a few thousand armed men was considered an army, loosing hundreds was damn near a complete disaster.
"Maybe we can kill a dragon through a thousand pin-pricks," Lance said with a grin. "Never hunted me a dragon before..."
"Or at least we can keep it occupied until a tank runs it over," replied Rob. He picked up the radio and said, "One to base, One to base, over."
"Go ahead, One," came the almost instant reply. It was George Franks' turn to man the radio this morning.
"You remember what we talked about this morning?" Rob winked at Lance. "I thought something might be up when you asked me to come 'see something'. Me and George had a quick conversation. He's on board. By the time we get back, he'll have everyone packing."
"Roger that," was the reply.
"Do it."
NORAD
Kingmaker
THE PRESIDENT RUBBED his temples and stared at the monitors on the wall. Each one depicted a different crisis. There was New York, skyline obscured by smoke, streets lit by fire. A destroyer sat in the harbor, watching. Several helicopters flitted in an out of the wall of smoke. It looked for all the world like September 12th, 2001.
Just below was Atlanta, or rather, a map of Atlanta. The red colored sections were considered "Total Loss". The whole city was red. So were most of the suburbs.
Next was Los Angeles. This screen had a picture in picture view. The main view showed a skyline shot, much like New York. Fire and smoke everywhere. No lights on in the city of Angels, just fire. In the background, the hills around the city were aflame as well. The wall of fire was eating its way downtown and the thin line of defenders was running out of time. The small picture was a rotating flash view of street cameras, patched in from the department of transportation.
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 61
