by Doug Ball
A mine took out another of the ATVs. A pickup truck behind it swerved and flipped, flinging the standing passengers in the back across the battlefield. The Captain saw one of them get up, only to fall beneath the wheels of an old station wagon. “That’s gonna leave a bruise,” the Captain said as he lined up a shot.
The Guardsmen moved in at the north end of the valley, praying they would get some shots in before it was all over. “Sergeant,” the Guard Captain called, “take two of the armed Humvees and ten men. Set up a blocking site in Canelo Pass. Hold as long as possible if they come that way. If they do not go that way, move down the pass into the valley and hit their right flank. Stay in contact via cell phone. No radios, these walkie-talkies aren’t scrambled.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll pick some good volunteers for that job, Sir.”
“I’m sure you will, Sergeant. Move out. Give ground to buy time.”
“Sir.”
The Captain turned to a very nervous young man next to him, “Lieutenant.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Take the remaining armed Humvees, third and fourth squad, and set up a position to block right here.” He pointed at a spot on the map where Forest Road 58 emerged from the trees into Meadow Valley Flat. “If the insurgents turn in your direction, which they probably will it’s the easiest looking route north through the hills, hold as long as you can and then fall back along the road until reinforced. If they go straight ahead or into Canelo Pass hit their left flank as hard as you can. Got that?”
“Yes, Sir. Hold and fall back, or hit the flank. That’s just like the Russians when Germany attacked. Give ground to buy time.”
“Yeah, conserve your men as best you can. Let’s don’t turn this into another Little Bighorn.”
“I am all for that, Captain, all for that. What else we going to do with most of us having only sidearms?”
The Lieutenant ran for the Humvees shouting orders to the grunts gathered round.
The Captain took first and second squad, what was left of them, and parked them dead center in the insurgent’s direction of travel with his personal position on a slight rise in between the two squads. “Sergeants, we give ground rather than die. Reinforcements are on the way. Got that?”
“You bet, Captain”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Talk to me on the cell phones.” He pulled his out and exchanged numbers with them before adding, “Let’s do it.”
The Captain saw dust and smoke led by eight or ten vehicles down the valley. The noise was a horrible sound of weapons mixed with screams of two kinds, pain and orders, with screams of pain winning out on the volume scale. The sounds of engines revved hard and struggling gave a surreal sound of kettle drums in a long roll. This was nothing like Iraq or Afghanistan, nothing at all, except for the dying. His men and the Militia were all that stood before this invasion of the United States until reinforcements arrived and no one was telling him anything about when that would be.
His phone rang. “Captain Hodge.”
“Runner from the Militia says they are being pushed toward us. Some of their men will be falling back to your position very shortly. The Mex has used that dust cloud as a smoke screen and his men are having a hard time finding targets. The Militiamen will be easy to spot. They are the ones running backwards.”
“Got it.”
“Sergeants,” he yelled to the firing points on either side of him. “Militia pulling back shortly. Watch the direction a target is looking and don’t shoot the ones looking back.”
“Sir!” the two shouted.
The Captain made two more calls on his phone and stood up with binoculars.
The whop whop whop of a chopper approached his rear. The Radioman called to him, “Oscar One says he has rockets on board, where do you want them delivered.”
“Who the hell is Oscar One?”
“The chopper, Captain.”
“Tell him to proceed south and take out any vehicle moving in the bottom of the valley. Do not shoot at anything shooting south or on the foothills to the sides of the valley.”
“10-4, Captain. Oscar One this is Guard 8. Hit the vehicles moving north and don’t touch the foothills on either side of the valley. Oh, yeah, don’t shoot anyone shooting south, either.”
“Shoot north bound, not south firing. Stay off the foothills. We’re in hot.”
The chopper dropped down into the dust and smoke, within seconds the sound of rockets added to the symphony of the battle. The sound of cannon fire shook the earth as tanks entered the percussion section along with the rattatattat of the 50 caliber snare drums. A plume of flame reached through the dust and smoke high into the sky. The Radioman yelled, “Rockets hit a pickup whose gas tank was full.”
Militia men came into view, each running a few steps and stopping to check or fire behind. The Captain saw one man helping a wounded comrade, “Medic, move out and assist. Commence firing on sure targets at your call, Sergeants.”
Not ten seconds later the Captain heard, “Sniper, take out the driver of that blue jeep dead ahead of you,” shouted by the Sergeant on his left just as the jeep broke through the dust cloud moving fast. One shot sounded, the jeep veered to its right and stopped with the right front wheel hanging over the edge of a four foot drop off.
“Nice shooting, Sniper,” shouted the Captain.
Militiamen were passing the Captain’s position at a steady rate and positioning themselves to his rear. One man looked around like he had a purpose. The Captain motioned him over. “What’s up?”
“Lookin’ for the boss hog of this outfit. We ain’t done, we’re just moving to new positions.”
“Have a seat, be right with you.” the Captain looked to his left and shouted, “Corporal Wilde, to me.”
A man ran up, “What you need, Captain?”
“Take this man and his men and set up a new covering position as far up this road as you can go and still see us, but no further than 100 yards. Stand until relieved. We’ll probably be there within twenty minutes. Call me when you are in position.”
“Sir.” The Corporal turned, “Come on, big guy, let’s roll.”
“I’m with you, just lead.” He hitched up his camo coveralls and trotted along behind the Corporal.
They ran back, yelled at the men gathered there, and all of them trotted off to the new location. As more Militiamen came along they were also sent back to the new position. .
“First squad, send a man down to assist the medic. Cover him carefully.”
“Bently, take off,” came from his right.
“On my way.”
Bullets and buckshot began hitting the rocks around the stopping force set up by the Captain. Individuals could be seen emerging from the dust firing toward the repositioning Militiamen and the Captain’s position. “Sergeants, turn them loose.”
“Yes, Sir, with pleasure. Commence firing at will. Conserve ammo, aim, really aim, just like on the firing range, only this time the targets are real and moving, and remember, you’ve only got 30 rounds or so for those sidearms. Conserve.”
Five miles north of the battle
5:20 PM
The chopper landed making a cloud of dust from which emerged an Hispanic man in uniform with two stars. He had an M4 in his hand, a pack on his back with every ammo pouch full. The troops stood in confusion when General Rios shouted, “Who’s in charge here?”
“I’d say you are, General.” A First Sergeant said snapping to attention and saluting. “First Sergeant William A. Browning at your service, Sir.”
The General smiled at his old friend, “Report, First Sergeant.”
The man gave his report short and sweet, “General, we got 300 men here. All armed. Some civilians and mostly Guard. I am senior man. We are headed for the noise and smoke. I have two trucks and four unarmored Humvees transporting as the rest of us walk. Major Whitley went with the first load. I assume that’s where the fighting is, Sir.”
The general looked around taking in the
force around him. Troops in camo armed with military issue weapons alongside a few civilians, one of which had a six-shooter on his hip and what appeared to be a Marlin lever action in his left hand. “Thank you, let’s keep moving on that plan. New info for you. The invasion is coming up a valley with foothills on both sides. This road is the best way out of there, or for us, the best way in. A Militia unit and the Guard are holding so far as near as we can tell.” He handed the Sergeant a radio. “Hang on to this, that chopper and I will recon and let you know. There’s a very thin line with a very experienced Captain in charge down there slowing them down. I’ll be in touch. Does the Major have a radio?”
“Yes, unscrambled channel 8.”
“Move out.”
The Major General moved back into the dust and within moments the chopper lifted off banking toward the noise of battle.
The Sergeant’s voice belted through the cacophony, “Okay, men, on the double before we miss the fun.” He began trotting down the road without even looking to see who followed.
12
The Battlefield
North end
“Sergeant, send a runner back to the group behind us and tell them to come up. This attack is faltering.”
“Yes, Sir.”
At their front the number of attackers was dwindling. A shot could be heard only occasionally from the men of Captain Hodge’s position. Shots from the valley below were spaced apart indicating a lack of targets or low ammunition. The dust cloud was settling enough to see deep into the carnage. There were not many of the enemy moving north.
Piles of cars and trucks lay in disarray surrounded by the dead and dying. A few of the invading force were behind cover, firing less and less. Many could be seen standing still in the open with their hands in the air with more joining them with each passing moment. Firing from the hillsides had ceased for the most part.
The Captain grabbed his phone calling his two flanking units. He told each one, “When you see my unit move forward, you move forward,” and hung up. “Radioman.”
“Sir.”
“Loud and clear, all units move forward, .50’s take the lead down the valley to the south. Make sure of your targets. Caution is the word.”
“Sir.”
The Captain stood and began the walk downhill toward Mexico. At the bottom of the first slope he grabbed his phone again and dialed 911.
“911 what is your emergency?”
“Send every medic, ambulance, and doctor you can get to the Santa Cruz River Valley along the San Pedro Road. There are two to three thousand dead and dying here.”
“May I have your name and phone number please.”
“Captain Hodge, Arizona Guard and my phone number is on your screen. We have just stopped an invasion and there are many casualties. Move them, lady, and move them now.”
“Sir, I will need your physical address.”
“Santa Cruz River Valley, along the San Pedro Road, one mile north of Mexico.” He hung up.
As Captain Hodge and his troops, augmented by the surviving Militiamen, had almost reached the border, a chopper landed behind them. The General stepped out watching the retreating invasion army, or what was left of it, moving past the border and further south out of range of the hand held weaponry standing against them except for three guns. He lifted his radio to his lips and said, “On direct order of Major General Rios, tanks, give us two rounds of HE from each tank if you will. Try for the center of that retreating army.”
The sound of three barrels expelling high explosive rounds was heard. If they planned it and practiced it, they could never get off six rounds that sounded like two again. The rounds whistled overhead before landing amidst the exiting group of Mexicans with disastrous effect.
The Captain thought, “I wonder who will call 911 for them.”
“General, nice to see you, Sir.” He saluted.
“Captain, looks like you and the Militia did very well.”
“Sir, we are down to our last rounds of ammo. The Militia and my troops are hungry.”
“Never fear, Captain. The dust you see coming down the road is the relief. We will hold this position until they get here.”
“Nothing to hold but body parts and blood. Damn, I hate war.” The Captain sat on a rock, putting his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He was trembling.
“Me, too, Captain, me, too.” The General reached for his phone.
Governor’s Office
“Thank you, General. I want to pin some medals here, even if we have to invent the Arizona Defense Medal to do it.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Don’t call me, Ma’am.”
“Right, Gov.”
They both laughed in relief over the small, very small joke.
The Governor hung up and cried, not for herself, but for the lost and wounded, and their families. “I didn’t sign up for war, only peace.”
I-17 near Flagstaff
8:00 PM
Randall Johnston stood against a tree alongside the Interstate fingering a .357 Magnum Smith and Wesson handgun. He had called the crazy reporter three hours ago and told him to meet here if he wanted to know what was going on with the tribes. Ted Fuerte said he was moving.
“He should have been here an hour ago. Well, now, I ain’t calling him from here so they can locate me from the cell signal,” he said climbing into his car.
Ted Fuerte was alongside the highway twenty miles south changing his right front tire. Somebody’s trash in the road he had not seen in time had punctured his tire. It took him twenty minutes to find the jack in the borrowed car he was using due to his own car deciding to die in its parking spot. Now the spare only had 20 pounds of air pressure. He’d be driving slow to the next exit with a gas station.
West of Flagstaff
I-40
9:00 PM
“Tan, I don’t know what to do now. You got any ideas?” The DPS Sergeant was a rumpled mess with hair singed off the left side of his head and his left hand in a bandage oozing blood.
“You just stay right here and I’ll go get some new bandages and clothes for you. Mine sure won’t fit you and the guy who said I could use this place for a week or so isn’t anything around your build. I would think you just lay low here for a couple of days while I do some digging and then we’ll close in on the scum that did this to your house.”
“It’s those Indians I tell you. They want me dead. Something I know has them scared. I just wish I knew what it was. We ought to at least let my Supe know I’m okay, they’re gonna have a call out for me soon.”
The deputy looked around, turned on the TV to the Fox news channel, and grabbed a soda from the fridge, “You want one?”
“Yeah.”
“Look, I grabbed you and stuck you in my unit as soon as I got there. I was first on the scene and you were down and out, smoldering. The crooks are gonna think they got you until the crime scene investigators can’t find a body. I’ll go by your boss’s office on my way back through and let him know what’s what. Then I’m going hunting Indians. When I find something I’ll get in touch. In the meantime, I’ll use the phone and see what I can find out from my contacts, no Indians and no sob sisters on my list.”
“Got a reporter friend of mine, Crazy Man Ted, who might just have some answers. He has contacts that no one else would have. Maybe he can shine some light on this.” Robert squirmed in his seat a bit, “I just don’t like sitting. Let’s get to the action.”
Tan smiled. He understood completely. There is no way he was gonna sit around when the action was calling. The fact that his wife and the kids were gone and safe, freed him to do what he needed to without having to worry about their safety. Robert had no family to worry about. “Hey, I know a deputy that is your size. Let me see if he has an old uniform you could wear and you can be my ride-along. Nobody would get wise and we could work on this together. Whatcha think?”
“Beats sitting here like a maiden aunt at the box lunch auction.”
The Battlefield
8:00 PM
“That’s the last one, Major.”
“Thank you, First Sergeant. Don’t you hate it when all you get is the cleanup and not the battle?”
“With all due respect, Major, I hate both. This was senseless slaughter. Two thousand wounded in the invaders and 600 or more dead already. Twenty-two dead in the Militia and 70 wounded, most will survive. Six of our own dead and twelve wounded. Hell of a price to pay just to prove a point. And, I don’t know what the point is supposed to be. More Mexicans than that used to come across this border every month and now we get to kill them. If we had been able to do that for the past twenty years there would not have been this battle or the current cause.”
“You’re right, First Sergeant. I don’t believe this battle will be fought again. The point has been made that we will not tolerate invasion, nor will we allow an open border. Let’s go find some coffee.”
“Yes, Sir. I know just the place.”
Sunday
Crazy Man Ted’s Apartment
8:00 AM
The phone woke him up after the second round of rings. “Hello.”
“What happened to you? I waited where I said for over an hour.”
“I got a flat tire on a borrowed car. By the time I got there I was two hours late and you were gone. I honestly didn’t expect you to be waiting. Can we meet again?”
“One last time, Crazy Man, start driving west on I-10 about 9 AM. I will call you along the way and tell you when and where to be. My trust level is a bit down. You want my information, I guarantee it.”
“It had better be good. I don’t like getting jerked around.”
