State of Defense (State of Arizona Book 1)

by Doug Ball

  “I have stinger units, General,” a Sergeant offered with a smile.

  The General thought about that.

  “Julie, get on that radio of yours and see if you can get them on the emergency channel. Ask them to land at Tumacacori for conversations with the General, please.”

  “Oh, yeah, General. I got it.” She walked away from the noise of the crowd and did her job.

  One by one the choppers turned to move back north to the parking lot at the mission. The General looked at the Major and said, “Major, you are now my Public Information Officer, go to Tumacacori and keep them grounded until the battle begins. At which time they may be allowed to lift off and do all the taping and live video they wish. Also, you and one of our experienced spotters get a ride along with one of them, set up communications here with Julie, and keep me posted on the movements of both sides.”

  The Major said, “Yes Sir, on my way.”

  The Captain said, “Great idea, General. Now we have eyes in the air.”

  “Why thank you, Captain, I am glad you approve. We also have one less Johnny-come-lately Colonel and two fewer Majors hanging around doing nothing. Never realized how many of them we had before.” He smiled and patted the man on the back.

  Captain Cartright blushed.

  “Okay, troops, let’s get the company commanders and squad leaders, or anybody with those jobs, down here and get started. We have a bit under two hours to make it happen.”

  At the Capitol

  The Major marched smartly across the Capitol patio as the dancing continued all around him. The Governor was easy to spot sitting on her new horse and he was making a beeline for her. Arriving he said, “Governor, they blew the only road to the ski area in at least two places according to the Flagstaff emergency services chopper crew who scoped it out for us. All the buildings are burning. The ski-lift is coming down one pylon at a time. A flag of unknown meaning with only a buffalo head on it is flying from the flagpole, surely the symbol of their cause. About 25 men in warrior costume are working tearing things down and fifty plus are preparing defensive positions around the site.

  “I have over three hundred troops and civilians ready to move in that direction on your order. We can come in on at least two trails and up the road. I think the road group would be nothing more than a diversion to allow the other two groups going up the trails to get in position. They appear to be covering the road very heavily with a disproportionate number of men drawn from the other sides. Also, the roadblock is down the road a ways and not going to be able to fall back to assist on the site when the other two groups hit.

  “Do I have permission to proceed?”

  “Wait a minute.” She looked around for the Sprit.

  Seeing him, she loped over to the man, “Shaman, can your tribes call off the attack on the Snowbowl?”

  “No, Governor, we tried. They have been disassociated from their tribes, whoever they are. I wish I could help you.”

  “So, if we attack and some get killed, the tribes are not going to change their plans are they?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, they will call for men from the tribes to join in the attack.”

  “I would not have that. Brother against brother will never bring peace. My troops will handle it and will try to do it in the least lethal way possible, but I am sure those men are prepared to fight to win.”

  The Shaman just nodded.

  The Governor turned to the Major, “Make it so, Major. You heard what I want.”

  “You’ll get it, or my resignation.”

  “Don’t want that. I want peace in this state. Too many people are dying already.” The tears rolled freely down her cheeks onto the ruffled blouse.

  The major saluted and ran toward his car, cell phone to his ear.

  34

  1:00 PM

  The remainder of the eastern Mexican force was covering ground at over four miles per hour as they approached I-19. From the heights of the Tumacacori Mountains they could see the interstate. It was difficult to see and looked very strange with no traffic marking its location. That vast expanse of black road without any traffic was beyond comprehension to the Colonel as he stood, chest puffing out as he gasped for air atop a ridge line.

  “We have made great speed. With warriors like these Mexico will regain its territories in the southwest. Now we will go down there and stay behind that ridge that goes east from here so they will not see us coming. Let us prepare for the battle which will begin the conquest.” He gestured as he spoke giving meaning to his directions.

  “Radio. Ask the General where we are to meet him. We will be at the interstate after two more miles of this ground, maybe 45 minutes.”

  “Si, mi Colonel.”

  The Major stood behind the Colonel totally exhausted, but proud of his Colonel. ‘What a rally the man pulled off. Half of his troops were lying on the ground breathing hard and he stands like the conquistador of days gone by,’ thought the second in command. As the Colonel waited for the reply from the General, he drank a little water and sucked on a hard candy from the meal pouch he removed from his leg pocket.

  “Mi Colonel. The General says to stay out of sight until you see his forces directly to your east. He is resting his troops for the battle. At that time, he says probably about 1400, move northeast until you meet the enemy. At which time you will charge together with his units and together we wipe them out.”

  “Bueno, tell the General that we have lost men during the night. I have about 600 men available at this time and we will follow his lead to victory.”

  The Colonel looked at the Major, waving his arm in the signal to move forward, and started down the slope. At his fourth step he appeared to stumble, fell, and rolled to the bottom of the ridge, his body coming to rest against a boulder.

  The Major and a medic scrambled down to him. After a quick look and a touch to his neck, the medic said, “He is dead, Major. No blood. No breath. No pulse.” The medic looked up and said, “I think he had a heart attack, Major.”

  The Major replied, “You will stay here and protect the body. I will send a stretcher for our Colonel, a true hero of Mexico, after we complete the victory.”

  The medic was afraid the Major was going to cry. “Si, Major.” He sat in the shade of the boulder next to the body of the Colonel and promptly went to sleep.

  The Major led his men to their rendezvous with the General and then the Americanos.

  One mile south of Tumacacori

  1:30 PM

  General Rios and his team were located on the highest ground around, well camouflaged, and dug in. Twenty five older vets were dug in around him as a last resort defensive line, or so the General said. The youngest one was 64 and the eldest was in his 80’s somewhere, said he served in Korea, carried an M-1 Garand, and could shoot the wings off a fly and then hit the fly as it fell. Some folks thought he was stretching things a mite, but no one called him on it.

  Julie said, “The Captain says all is in place and we are late. The Mexicans are mostly sleeping in main camp and the eastern Mexican group has moved to 1 click west of them. Then he said something about beginning the ball.”

  “Julie, you just tell him to start the dance music.”

  “Cool, I like to dance. I’ll tell him.” She stepped back dancing, which caught all the men’s eyes very quickly.

  The Chief of Staff reached in his pocket and broke out a lighter. “Light, General.”

  “Wha? Oh, yeah. Thanks.” He pulled a stogie he had picked up from a quick mart on the way to this part of the war, from his pocket and lit up. There was a second stogie showing which the General offered to the Major, “You?”

  “No, thanks, I’ll just smell yours, General.”

  The Captain said, “Julie, tell the east flank to commence firing.”

  Julie echoed his words. A cacophony of sound rolled in from the east flank as an overture as over 8,000 weapons on the east flank began firing on the Sasabe group.

  As every one’s a
ttention was focused on the east flank, the Captain waited until the Mexican response was totally focused to the east and the 600 from the east moved eastward to join the battle before ordering, “West flank, commence firing.” The symphony kicked in with the percussion roll from the west flank of 12,000 or more weapons as the Arizona troops opened up on the Nogales group. The high ground to the east and west bristled with over 20,000 men and women with all types of weapons, each capable of sending a projectile downrange into the melee.

  Within moments the mariachi section kicked in with sporadic fire from the Mexican troops in all directions which quickly became a concert in itself which drowned out the firing from east and west.

  The Captain yelled to Julie, “North and south lines hold fire.” He still had some tricks up his sleeve.

  The best cover for the 1st Army of Mexico was the median strip of the Interstate. The Mexican General immediately ordered his men into that strip. The eastern 600 were caught in a depression that left them with four choices. They could attack uphill to the north into the face of terrible fire or they could climb the rise to the east and join the main group on the other side. It wasn’t much of a rise, but it left them exposed to the full force of the attack from the west and north all the way to the Interstate median. The remaining choices were to move north or south and hope to find a position to stand or assist the Nogales group. The Major ordered, “Move north around this hump of land and we will join our army.”

  For a few minutes it appeared the Major had made the right choice. The move put a section of the ridge between his group and many of the Arizona west flankers on the ridge which reduced the number of guns that could be brought to bear on his men. The Major breathed a sigh of having made the right choice only to have massive fire from his front punch large holes in the Mexican line.

  The north line of the Arizona front had joined battle.

  “What is this? Move to the east all of you.” The Mexican Major went down with a round through his chest.

  “Medic,” was the cry of voices all around him as he lay in the dirt, bloody bubbles forming on his chest as he tried to continue breathing. He didn’t last long.

  Captain Mejia stepped up and ordered, “The Major is dead. We will charge over the hill to the east and join the General.”

  Six hundred brave men charged over the hill to join the Nogales group in the median of the Interstate while over 37,000 Arizona weapons, dug in and steady, sought them out as they tried to fight and run at the same time.

  As the small group topped the small rise they heard, from in front of them, the General’s bugle blow the charge. “We can do nothing to help them except to fire over the heads of our troops keeping the heads of the putos on the far side down,” called out the Captain as he watched men falling all around him.

  The west portion of the Tumacacori defense line, 12,000 strong, continued to pour round after round into the attackers to their south. “Them Mexicans are gonna learn not to mess with this group right quick,” quipped a Militia Sergeant lying on his back against the berm as he jammed six more rounds of double-ought buck into his shotgun.

  The woman next to him continued to fire her single shot Ruger rifle calmly and with intense concentration as she said, “This is not the way to win friends and influence intelligent decisions, but it is the way to show folks that their methods are not going to win the argument.” She looked through the scope and fired again. A man went down, his helmet flying, it was Captain Mejia. “Chalk up one less officer.” She calmly reloaded as incoming rounds pocked the dirt and made little puffs of dust rise into the air on the far side of the berm. Similar actions took place all down the Arizona line as the Mexican line stumbled to a halt, going to ground, and attempting to dig in the rocky ground with their bare hands.

  As the 1st Army of Mexico lifted out of the median to charge, within steps they were seen by the Arizona troops and the shooters with long shot experience began pouring their shots into the mass of the Mexicans attacking. “Major, our men are coming under fire from the front and the rear. This is not good. What now?”

  The Major looked around and collected a slug in the back which spun him around to receive another shot in the back from the east flank. He fell at the feet of the Sergeant that spoke to him, “Major?”

  There was no response. He cried for a medic, but there were none available. The Sergeant screamed for a Captain. Again there was no response. He looked around carefully and could not see an officer anywhere. Two other Sergeants were rallying the troops around them. A bugle sounded the charge. The Sergeant ordered the men around him to dig in.

  Men started for the median with an orderly withdrawal until the numbers of men dropping began to rise again and then the untried troops, viewing the carnage around them, broke and ran, many of them throwing their weapons away. Some raised their hands in surrender or sat on the ground with both hands on their heads. Only 5,000 now held the median, filling it with troops for over 300 meters to the south. It was impossible for the Arizona lines to not hit someone when firing at these men.

  Just as the survivors felt relatively safe the encircling south force of Arizona troops, 6,000 veterans strong, opened fire with mortars and small arms. The Mexicans at the south end of the median began moving north. The north end Arizona line increased their firing rate and let loose with three mortars which had just arrived on the line.

  “We got them boxed for sure, General. Any orders?” Captain Cartwright asked over the radio.

  “Pour it to them, Captain, until they all quit.”

  The Mexican firing withered as they spoke, and decreased until only a hundred or so diehards were still firing at any of the Arizona lines, most of them pointed south.

  The shout of, “Alto, tu ganas!” from the Mexican troops was followed by “Me rindo, me rindo. You win, I surrender.” Tentatively at first and then with more boldness, one Mexican trooper after another stood with hands in the air and moved out onto the hot asphalt.

  Captain Cartwright ordered Julie to tell all stations, “Cease fire,” as he rose and moved toward the end of the war. One shot rang out from the Mexican position followed by one behind him. He heard both rounds whiz by within inches. The Captain raised both hands and did a three-sixty yelling, “Cease fire. It is over. It is all over.”

  Julie repeated that on the radio, her face covered with dust and lined with tracks of tears, as she stumbled along behind the Captain. They were soon walking through the dead and wounded. “This is terrible, Captain, just terrible.”

  “War is hell and this is it.”

  The General sat on the nearest rock chair with his half smoked stogie and pulled out his cell phone as he watched Captain Cartwright accept the surrender of the Mexican unit flags on the highway below. “I’ll be danged if I am gonna walk down there and accept their surrender. My cousin can just stew in this moment for the rest of his life and I hope it haunts him.”

  The Padre walked through the dead and wounded making the sign of the cross with his hand as he gave last rites to the victims of this war regardless of the uniform. He, like Julie had tracks of tears down his tanned, dusty face. With his left hand he held the cross at his waist as if all the power he had was in that cross. Some would say he was right.

  3:20 PM

  Crowds celebrated in the streets of Arizona.

  35

  Next Day

  2:00 AM

  “You know something, Officer Brown,” the doctor began, “I am getting tired of working on your body. There just aren’t too many more places to put stitches without messing up the old scars.” He smiled.

  Tan looked at him through half-awake eyes, “Doc, I’m a bit tired of being here, except the nurses are so pretty.” As he spoke, a familiar face walked by the ER door, Robert’s new girlfriend. “Doc, does she know Robert is dead?”

  “Robert who?”

  “The DPS officer I was with last time.”

  “Hell, man, I didn’t even know. Must have been on a shift I wasn’t
working.”

  “Nah, they took him straight to the morgue.” Tan began telling the doctor what happened, but that familiar face came through his room door.

  “Tan, where’s Robert? He hasn’t called today.” She was beautiful when she smiled, but in this case she didn’t smile long.

  An hour later the story was told and a deeply saddened Tan was discharged to leave a crying woman with nothing but memories of a nice guy and a doctor that wondered, “Why?”

  Tan hit his unit and reported his release to duty from the hospital, again. His leg was stiff and numb. He was full of pain killers which did not end the pain in his heart. He had eight new stitches and a new scar where something had torn his leg. The doctor didn’t think it was a bullet. The site of his new tetanus shot hurt like blazes. The antibiotics were in his pocket for him to take over the next seven days. All was well with the world. He called his wife in Texas.

  “Hey, baby. You want a baby?”

  “Well, yeah, but it’s hard to make happen from so far away.”

  “Give it three more days and come home.”

  “Great, three more days with mom. One of these days I’ll learn to do something right.”

  “Okay, how about you leave there tomorrow morning unless I call you, things here a cooling off. The tribes are happy. The Mexicans are whipped.”

  “Cool.”

  “But, I’m serious. Do you want to adopt a baby?” He went into the whole story ending with, “He loves my singing.”

  “He’s deaf?”

  “That’s what dispatch said. Get your own jokes. What about it? Wanna do it?”

  “Okay, if you can make it happen, it works for me.” He could hear her smile, “I’ll still want another one of my own, then we quit.”

  “I’ll work on both.”