by Dale Brown
“Forget the robot!” Zakharov shouted. “Grab Richter! We’ll use him as a human shield!” Zakharov turned and started running toward the bridge across the Coachella Canal, but he hadn’t gone more than a few steps when he heard the Super Cobra’s cannon fire again. He waited for the slugs to pierce his body…but they were just a warning shot, the shells impacting the ground behind him where he had stood just seconds earlier, hitting so close that he could feel the ground shake. He froze, his pistol out of sight in front of him. He had one grenade in his coat pocket and if he could get a lucky shot off with the pistol…
Just then there was another warning burst of fire, just a meter to his left, the shells whizzing by so close that he felt as if he was being sharply patted down by a police officer. He had no choice: he slowly lifted his hands, the pistol still in his right hand. The cannon roared again, this time close enough to his right arm to blacken his sleeve. Zakharov screamed, and he sank to his knees, clutching his thankfully uninjured right hand, his arms and legs shaking so violently that he thought he would pass out if he didn’t fall down first. Off in the distance he could hear sirens—the police, moving in for the arrest.
It was over. Well, he had managed to avoid capture for many months; he had attacked the U.S. government in its own capital; he had caused untold thousands of deaths and trillions of dollars in damage—and it had finally taken no less than a U.S. Marine Corps Super Cobra gunship to stop him. Even Task Force TALON’s high-tech robots couldn’t…
Suddenly there was a bright flash of red and yellow light behind him, and moments later he was knocked onto his face by a tremendous blast of superheated air and a concussion shock wave. He thought that maybe the Super Cobra pilot had received orders to just kill him and not waste time and money on a trial—but he was still alive. Amid a series of explosions and the sounds of crunching metal and jet fuel–fed fires, Zakharov fumbled for the grenade in his coat pocket, then rolled onto his back, ready to toss the grenade at the approaching police cars…
…when he realized he was lying in the midst of an inferno. The Super Cobra helicopter had been blown from the sky—it had been completely obliterated in mid-air. The whole field around him seemed to be on fire…
…and at that moment he saw two jets flying overhead, less than a thousand feet aboveground, both Northrop F-5 Freedom Fighter air defense fighters. Both were in green, brown, and gray jungle camouflage colors; the leader had one air-to-air missile missing from its wingtip pylon, while the wingman still had both of his missiles, which appeared to be AIM-9L Sidewinder heat-seeking missiles. Had those American jets accidentally fired on a Marine Corps helicopter? He knew the U.S. Air Force and Navy flew the F-5 as an “adversary” fighter, its pilot trained to mimic air-to-air engagement tactics of various enemy air forces; certainly the Navy base at El Centro had several F-5s in its “Aggressor” squadron. But it was incredible that it would accidentally shoot down one of its own aircraft! Zakharov’s head was swimming in confusion. What was going on…?
No, they weren’t American jets, he realized—they were Mexican jets! The Mexican Air Force flew two squadrons of F-5E Freedom Fighter jets as air defense interceptors, one squadron in the south and one over the capital. What in the world were they doing here, firing missiles at American helicopters in American airspace?
Through the smoke and fires raging all around him, four more helicopters arrived—small single-pilot McDonnell-Douglas MD530 light counterinsurgency attack helicopters, their official markings blacked out on the sides of the fuselage, each fitted with rocket launchers and machine guns on their landing skids. While three of the helicopters hovered nearby on patrol, pedal-turning in all directions on guard for any pursuit, one set down on a road intersection across the canal. Zakharov didn’t hesitate—he ran as fast as he could across the bridge. The right side door to the helicopter had been removed, making it easy for him to climb aboard.
“Coronel Zakharov?” the pilot shouted in Spanish when the Russian climbed inside.
“Sí!” Zakharov shouted. The pilot’s face was obscured by the helmet’s smoked visor. “Who are you?”
“A friend. Get in, quickly!”
Zakharov pulled his sidearm and aimed it at the pilot. “I said, who are you?”
“¿Usted no me cree, Coronel?” the pilot asked in good Spanish, smiling. “If I’m an American agent, perhaps you are captured—but if I leave you here in this burning wheat field, in five minutes you are definitely captured.”
“Answer me!”
The pilot smiled again, then lifted the dark visor. “Believe me now, Colonel? Now get in, sir.” Zakharov smiled broadly, then scrambled inside and hurriedly pulled on shoulder straps. The helicopter lifted off and stood guard. One by one the other helicopters alighted. The CID unit was strapped onto the landing skids of one helicopter; Richter and the Russian commando boarded the other two helicopters, and soon all four Mexican helicopters were speeding southward at treetop level, crossing the border into safety just moments later.
HENDERSON, NEVADA
A SHORT TIME LATER
The recorded commercial message abruptly cut off, and Bob O’Rourke’s voice, shaking and unusually muted, came on moments later: “This flash message has just been handed to me, ladies and gentlemen, from the news wire services. Just minutes ago, down near the California-Mexico border near El Centro, a U.S. Marine Corps helicopter was shot down by a Mexican Air Force fighter jet. The two crew members were killed instantly. Yes, you heard me correctly: reports are that a U.S. military helicopter was shot down by the armed forces of the republic of Mexico, just moments ago.”
O’Rourke paused briefly, making no attempt at all to muffle his labored breathing. He had bandages on the left side of his face from the incident in the Arizona mountains with the American Watchdog Project, along with elastic bandages securing a broken rib, from when Georgie Wayne jumped on top of him; his left arm was in an elastic bandage too from a strain, which he always put in a sling whenever he knew he was going to be photographed. He looked every inch the combat veteran he wanted to appear to be. “Eyewitness accounts made by the Imperial County Sheriff’s Department and the U.S. Navy report that law enforcement agencies, assisted by military search teams from Naval Air Facility El Centro, were searching for terrorists discovered farther north near Niland, California, who were trying to escape across the border into Mexico. The terrorists were armed with sophisticated weapons including shoulder-fired antiaircraft weapons and sniper rifles, and they had apparently attacked other law enforcement pursuers with these weapons. But when an armed Marine Corps Super Cobra helicopter gunship tried to corner the terrorists just a few miles north of the border, it was shot down by an air-to-air missile fired from a Mexican Air Force F-5 Freedom Fighter jet, made in the U.S. and sold to Mexico for air defense purposes. One, perhaps two terrorists are believed to have escaped across the border.
“The death toll—the American death toll—in this whole incredible bloody ordeal is five, with two California Highway Patrol officers killed and one seriously injured when their helicopter was shot down by the terrorists, and three U.S. Marine Corps officers killed and one slightly injured when their choppers were downed, one by the terrorists and one—I still can’t believe this has happened, folks—one by a Mexican Air Force fighter jet. One terrorist was killed by the Marine Corps after he attacked the CHP helicopter; the other terrorist, as I said, escaped in the carnage and confusion.
“This horrible incident follows the initial discovery of the terrorists in Niland, California, a farming community about forty miles from the border in the Imperial Valley agricultural region. Four armed terrorists opened fire on Border Patrol agents, injuring two. The terrorists also attacked several farmworkers, killing seven. The farmworkers killed two of the terrorists with farm tools before the others escaped. The terrorists stole two vehicles as they made their way toward the Mexican border.”
O’Rourke paused briefly, taking another deep, audible breath, before contin
uing: “We don’t yet know who the terrorists were—what nationality, what religious persuasion, what group or cell they belong to. They could be home-grown terrorists, or they could be Mexican, or they could be the return of the Consortium that created so much death and destruction in this country last year. But in the end it doesn’t matter. The threat is real, it exists, and we need to deal with now.
“Is there any doubt in your minds now, my friends, that America is in a real shooting war with terrorists—and that the Mexican border is now their primary avenue of infiltration and escape? Is there any doubt of the Mexican government’s duplicity, if not their complete and total involvement, in terror attacks against American law enforcement, attempting to coerce our lawmakers into enacting more open immigration legislation? A more important question here is: how should the United States respond to this horrible, bloody attack?
“There is no question in my mind, ladies and gentlemen, that the U.S.-Mexico border should be considered hostile territory, and any persons found crossing the border or even approaching the frontier should be considered hostile enemy combatants, not just illegal migrants. Every one of those one million illegal immigrants who make it into this country every year should be considered threats to American peace and security and possible terrorists and insurgents. If the intruders are wearing uniforms, they should be stopped by all means necessary, including use of deadly force, and if captured they should be treated as prisoners of war under the Geneva Conventions. If they are not wearing uniforms, they should be imprisoned and treated as spies and saboteurs, not subject to the Geneva Conventions; and if found guilty of any crime against the United States, they should be executed. No exceptions!
“I call on President Samuel Conrad to declare a federal state of emergency in all of the border states, and to immediately dispatch the National Guard to seal off the borders and use all means necessary, including deadly force, to repel anyone approaching the border. Full air defense measures should be instituted, including round-the-clock air patrols and Patriot air defense weapons, to prevent any more incursions into U.S. airspace.”
O’Rourke paused once more, and his producer Fand Kent saw something in his face that made her skin crawl. She hit the intercom button: “Bob, what are you going to say now?”
“You know what I’m going to say, Fonda,” he said darkly.
“I’m going to commercial. Let’s talk about it first.”
“No.”
“Bob, take a deep breath, and send us over to commercial,” she said, quickly cueing up two minutes of recordings. “I’ve got two minutes in the computer right now, and then we can go to news a little early and put in another ninety seconds…”
“I said no.”
“Bob, we need to discuss this first,” Kent insisted. She picked up the phone. “I’m calling the general manager.” But there was no need—he was already in the booth with O’Rourke moments later. He had cut off the intercom, so she could barely hear. Their voices got louder and louder very quickly, and soon O’Rourke pushed the GM away, yelling at him to get out. The GM turned to Kent, said and indicated nothing, then left.
Bob O’Rourke readjusted his headphones and microphone, and when he resumed, his voice was shaking even more: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Bob O’Rourke, and you’re listening to The Bottom Line. I am reacting to the recent news of an attack on U.S. military and law enforcement by unknown terrorists and by the Mexican Air Force. I…I am trying to remain calm and think rationally, but frankly I think the time for thought and introspection is over, don’t you? America has been attacked, again, and this time it has come not from some shadowy underworld figure from Russia, but from our neighbors to the south. America is under siege, and the enemy is Mexico.”
O’Rourke grabbed the microphone and rose out of his seat, his voice quickly rising in intensity. “You know something, my friends? Do you want to know what I think? Do you want to know the truth? The truth is I don’t believe President Conrad is going to do a damned thing about this brutal attack. He will call for investigations, maybe put a few more Border Patrol agents or troops on the border to try to show how tough he is, but in the end it’ll be business as usual. President Carmen Maravilloso of Mexico will claim it was all a horrible mistake, beg forgiveness, blame the United States for increasing tensions on the border with Task Force TALON and the National Guard, and maybe fire or imprison some low-level bureaucrat or general. After a week or two, it’ll be over and forgotten—except of course by the grieving families of those officers and Marines slaughtered by the terrorists and the government of Mexico. In short, my friends, Mexico will get away with murder, and again our government will prove that it is either unable or unwilling to protect its citizens and its borders in the name of political correctness and expediency.
“I therefore urge my fellow Americans to do everything you can to protect yourself, your families, your community, and your place of business,” O’Rourke went on. “You have to do more than just be aware of your surroundings—you have to act to defend yourselves and your property. There are enemies in our midst, my friends, dangerous criminals and murderous terrorists that will do anything, especially steal and kill, to escape justice or carry out their plans of destruction. They have sneaked in across our borders with ease by the millions because our government has refused to seal the borders, American employers have skirted the law simply to increase their profits, and the Mexican government wants the money the illegals bring back into their country and they don’t want the burden of finding jobs and creating a better life for their own people. The result of this conspiracy of neglect, greed, and corruption is death in our own backyards, with no end and no solution in sight.”
“No, Bob,” Fand Kent spoke into the intercom. “That’s far enough. Don’t go any farther…”
“I urge my fellow Americans to do everything in their legal and Constitutional powers to help law enforcement track down, capture, and bring to justice anyone who might be in this country illegally,” O’Rourke went on, ignoring his producer’s pleas. “If you are legally allowed to bear arms, I urge you to do so—you might be the only person who stops a terrorist or illegal from stealing your possessions or committing murder and mayhem in your schools, churches, and the places you frequent such as restaurants and supermarkets.
“I also strongly urge my fellow citizens, everyone concerned about terrorism and the out-of-control rise in illegal immigration in the United States, to report anyone you might think is an illegal alien to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement,” O’Rourke went on, shaking his head at his producer. He gave ICE’s toll-free telephone number and Web site address. “You can anonymously report anyone you feel might be in the country illegally, but I will tell you now that if you make an anonymous report, the government will put your report at the bottom of a very large stack of reports, which means it will probably never be investigated. That’s because anonymous reports are always considered retaliations by other illegals, most often warring gangs or families. Don’t be afraid to give ICE your personal information—that way, your tip will much more likely be acted on. If you have any doubts or questions, contact my producer Fand by e-mail or phone and I’ll help you get it straightened out.
“One more point: do not, I repeat, do not waste your time trying to contact local law enforcement about illegals living or working in your neighborhood. Ninety-nine percent of local law enforcement agencies in the United States will not do anything with the information you give, citing such nonsense such as states’ rights, localities not required to enforce federal law, lack of resources, fear of civil rights lawsuits, and similar cowardly dodges. States and municipalities are required to care, educate, feed, provide medical, welfare, and legal services to all their residents, but for some bizarre reason they will not ask for proof of citizenship or residency; and unless the illegal person has committed a crime, they will not call Immigration and Customs Enforcement to have the person deported. There’s something twisted and backward about t
hat policy, and we’ll discuss that on a future show.
“If you feel these persons are a threat to you, your family, or your community, then by all means dial 911 and report it,” he went on, “but your responsibility is to protect your life, the lives of your family, and your property, so I urge you to do so to the utmost extent your state and local laws allow. You are making a big mistake if you expect the government to protect you. We have the right in this country to keep and bear arms, guaranteed to us by the Second Amendment to the Constitution, and if you do not take advantage of this right, at best you may someday lose this right—and at worst, you could lose your life to someone who values neither your rights nor your life. Don’t be stupid, naïve, passive, or impartial. Do what you must to protect yourselves and the ones you love, right now. This is a war, ladies and gentlemen, and it’s about time we started taking the fight to them.
“Of course, I predict the government will whine and cry that my message this morning has resulted in a flood of bogus and paranoid-fueled reports that they are completely unable to contend with—and it’ll be all my fault,” O’Rourke went on. “That excuse is unacceptable. If the alphabet-soup list of civil agencies we have to secure our borders, control immigration, and combat terrorism can’t deal with the problem, we need to make sure that the government does whatever is necessary to deal with it, or we need to take matters into our own hands. I don’t care if they call in the National Guard and have soldiers link arms and create a human wall of protection on the border—they need to do something about the illegal immigration problem, now. No more excuses, no more deaths, no more political correctness! President Conrad needs to get off his backside and get some troops out here immediately to secure our borders and hunt down these terrorists, or the American people will!
