Liberty's Last Stand

by Stephen Coonts

  “I understand,” JR said, and against his better judgment, he added, “I’ll do what I can, Zoe.”

  Tears burst forth and she closed the door.

  JR got back in the van and headed for the armory.

  The armory was a hive of activity. Bulldozers, generators, trucks, and construction equipment were swarmed by soldiers painting the Texas flag on every flat surface they could find. Plainly, these Texans were willing to fight, but they didn’t have a lot of stuff to fight with: this was an engineering battalion. JR parked his mechanic’s van in a handicapped spot and went inside.

  Wiley Fehrenbach was delighted to see him. He wrung JR’s hand and touched the stars on his camos. The pistol belt didn’t escape his notice. He was wearing one too.

  “I’m in command of the Texas Guard now, Wiley.”

  “Thank God.”

  “I need to know what’s happening in town and at the base. Everything you know.”

  “When the news came out about the declaration, the town went wild. They’ve had it with the federal government. Martial law really ticked them off, then the gun thing. This morning civilian patrols started rounding up illegals and pushing them to the border crossings. The ICE people there tried to stop them, but they were surrounded and disarmed and told to disappear. Civilians shut down the border crossings. Only Mexican nationals can cross going south. All the trucks waiting to cross are lined up—someone said the line is two miles long already.”

  “Okay.”

  “Our people came here as fast as they could this morning. I issued weapons, and it’s a good thing I did. Some colonel and ten army troopers with weapons showed up at ten this morning and wanted to secure all the weapons and send everyone home. I refused, and since they were outnumbered twenty to one, they climbed into their car and left. They’ll be back, and it’s going to be bloody. My troops won’t surrender. Right now, though, I think the army is out arresting civilians. They want all those Republic of Texas people who have been shouting for independence for years. They’ve arrested all of them they could find, plus newspaper people, the television and radio people, the sheriff, anyone who is anybody. It’s all rumors, but everyone heard something and they’re buzzing. Looks like they’ve opened the Jade Helm playbook and are going down the checklist.”

  “Where are they taking the prisoners?”

  “They have some railroad cars equipped with shackles on base. The army got them ready during the last Jade Helm exercise.” JR already knew about the railcars with shackles, which had been hot news and stoked the rumors about martial law being planned. “No one knows for certain,” Wiley Fehrenbach said, “but probably there.”

  “Are you sure your troops will fight?”

  “’I talked to them this morning. Told anyone that couldn’t in good conscience fight for Texas to turn in his weapons and leave. Less than ten percent did. We’re Texans and that’s that.”

  “What’s the situation out at Fort Bliss?”

  “It’s on lockdown. Only U.S. Army soldiers admitted. I’ve had people out watching the gates, and as near as we can figure, a lot of the soldiers living in town haven’t gone in. Maybe a hundred went in since we started watching, all told. You know there are maybe ten thousand soldiers living in town, so that’s good.”

  “Yes,” JR agreed.

  “Parker ordered the television and radio stations shut down this morning, and all the phones and the internet are off. Electricity and water are still on, but who knows for how long.”

  “You need to get some troopers out to the water plant as soon as possible.”

  “Already sent a squad.”

  “Good man.”

  “It looks as if Parker has troopers patrolling the fences around the main part of the base, but you know how big Bliss is. I doubt anyone is out on the fence in the boonies. I don’t know what Parker has planned, but no one has been back to get our weapons, so maybe he has some loyalty troubles. A lot of soldiers may have refused to fire on fellow Americans.”

  JR Hays rubbed his head and tried to concentrate upon the problem. As he looked out the window, he realized the day was almost gone. It was twilight outside, under a gloomy sky. He heard another helicopter shoot overhead. With night-vision goggles, they could see everything that moved on the streets below.

  Wiley Fehrenbach read his thoughts. “Supposed to get some thunderstorms in here soon. How soon, I don’t know. Maybe that will ground the choppers. I didn’t think it wise to deploy my people until they were grounded or had left.”

  “I have four helos coming in from Fort Hood. They’re supposed to land at the civilian airfield. Send some armed troops to meet them. Do you have some handheld radios? Our pilots will need them.” The truth was, he thought wryly, he should have thought of that before they left Fort Hood. Maybe he was too tired, or maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly.

  “Sure.” They discussed frequencies and JR made notes. A female sergeant appeared, and he handed her a note that contained a freq, told her about the helos, and sent her off with five enlisted soldiers carrying M4s and four radios with fully charged batteries.

  After they left, JR said, “Wiley, our long-term objective is to take that base. We need all the military equipment they have and all the people who will fight for Texas.” He tried to visualize General Lee Parker’s situation. A lot of his soldiers had stayed home. The base, with base housing running right up to the perimeter fence, was basically indefensible. If Parker had any sense, he would arrange his tanks and loyal troopers into a strong defensive position where the tanks could cover each other and his artillery could provide support. Parker’s helicopters were already patrolling, searching for threats.

  Parker must be very worried, JR thought, wondering if his troops would fight. No doubt he was sending messages as quickly as he could dictate them to Washington, requesting instructions. These messages would go out over the army communications net, which was radio. JR doubted that Parker would do anything without orders from Washington. Then he would move slowly, carefully.

  He and Wiley Fehrenbach discussed the situation as night fell. JR didn’t want a battle, but he suspected he was going to get one before long. Eight hundred or so National Guardsmen in this armory were the only organized military unit in the area, so Washington would eventually tell Parker to take the armory. Parker outnumbered the guardsmen at least ten to one and had enough armor and artillery to invade Mexico and take Mexico City.

  “Will U.S. soldiers fight Texans?” JR whispered to the gods, who didn’t answer back.

  “Food?” Wiley asked.

  JR hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which seemed like years ago. “Hell, yes.”

  He was soon handed a paper plate with three hot dogs in buns smothered in chili, along with a plastic knife and spoon and a bottle of water. JR found he was ravenous.

  He had just started on the first hot dog when the radio on the desk came to life. It was “Milestone One Six,” the senior army aviator, who was flying a Blackhawk—CWO-4 Erik Sabiston, Sabby to his friends.

  “JR, we’re fueling at the FBO at El Paso International. Weather is turning to crap. We flew at a hundred feet to get in here.”

  JR answered, “Fort Bliss has Apaches on patrol. Be careful, but I want you to do a recon over the base. I need to know what they’re up to. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, sir. As soon as we finish fueling. Maybe fifteen minutes.”

  “I’d like to know if there are any units from Bliss out on the street. Your primary mission, though, is to shoot up everything on the flight line at Fort Bliss. Here are the coordinates. Ready to copy?”

  “Go.”

  JR read them off, and Sabiston read them back. “We know the base,” he said. “Trained there many times.”

  JR ended with an admonition. “Shoot and get out, Sabby. Hit them as hard as you can but don’t be a hero. We need to deny them the sky.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  JR attacked the food on his plate and said to Wiley Fehrenbach, “T
hey’re going to come looking for you people sooner or later. You are going to have to abandon the armory. What do you have in the way of munitions?”

  “Dynamite, of course. Locked in vaults out back. And a couple hundred AT4s. Maybe a dozen .30-caliber machine guns. Ammo and grenades.”

  JR felt a bit better. AT4s were handheld, single-shot antitank weapons. They came with the rocket pre-installed and could not be reloaded, so they were discarded after use. They weighed about five and a half pounds each and fired a rocket with a 1.6 pound HEAT warhead, HEAT standing for high explosive antitank. The rocket was marginal against an Abrams, which had the finest tank armor in the world, unless the rocket took a tread off or was fired into the rear, where the armor was thinnest. It was better against Bradley Infantry Fighting Vehicles and whatever other version of the armored personnel carrier 1st Armor had. It was hell on unarmored vehicles, such as trucks, or buildings.

  JR said, “Get the explosives out of here. Ammo, weapons, radios, whatever you need, let’s get it gone as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get some people with AT4s out to El Paso International. Sooner or later Parker will send a tank column to occupy it. Tonight it is our airport. Let’s get cracking.”

  FOURTEEN

  Governor Jack Hays was in uncharted political territory. He had to deal with threats from the federal government, demands for interviews from newspaper and television reporters, and the myriad of details that had to be addressed and resolved to turn Texas from a state into a nation. He had the leaders of the legislature in his office all morning while he sought consensus on a wide range of issues: the republic’s assumption of U.S. debt held by Texas banks and financial institutions; the issuance of currency by the new republic; collection of federal taxes by the republic; payment of federal pensions and closing the Mexican border; and organizing a system of civil defense that had been pretty much dormant since the end of the 1960s since the feds were threatening military action against targets in Texas. No one knew if that would entail mass bombing of cities, but it certainly might.

  One other thing happened that afternoon that would have far-reaching consequences, not only in Texas and throughout America, but around the world. Barry Soetoro announced that legislation would be introduced in Congress to phase in a completely electronic currency and retire all paper money. The implications were unstated but obvious: the federal government could control or confiscate anyone’s wealth, whether it was corporate, individual, or nonprofit. A more effective way of whipping people into line probably could not be devised. Instead of locking up people, the federal government could simply take their money. Part of it or all of the loot could be used to fund the federal deficit, recapitalize banks, pay off political friends, or all of the above. Passage of the legislation was a foregone conclusion because the president’s bitterest political enemies were already incarcerated, which helped cow the rest.

  Within seconds of the announcement, precious metals prices on the world’s commodity exchanges took off like a rocket. Within a minute, trading limits had been reached and trading was suspended. Hours later, the government announced that all trading in precious metals was suspended indefinitely.

  Texas was already committed to moving from U.S. currency as quickly as possible, but now the urgency became stark. It also hardened the resolve of those legislators who were still unsure they had done the right thing by declaring independence.

  The legislators demanded that the governor make a televised speech to the legislature at midnight tonight, and Jack Hays agreed. When he was going to sort out his ideas on what he might say he didn’t know. He assumed he was going to have to speak impromptu, which might be disastrous if he came across as tired, harassed, scared, or uncertain of the course of the new nation. He asked his speechwriters to consult with Ben Steiner and draft some talking points.

  In the meantime, Jack Hays had an interview with the Mexican consul, Fernando Ferrante. They had a good working relationship, but Ferrante was not inclined to listen politely to protests of Mexican government policy, allegations of corruption, or complaints about illegal immigration and drug smuggling. His job, Ferrante said, was to smooth the flow of trade, not to advise the Mexican leadership on how to run the government.

  “As you know, Señor, we are embarking on a war with the United States to win our freedom,” Jack Hays began. “Unfortunately, we cannot guarantee the safety of Mexican nationals, nor the protection of civil commerce. Consequently Texas must temporarily close the border between Texas and Mexico.”

  Ferrante was sitting up straight. More than $90 billion in Mexican imports passed through Texas every year. A lesser amount, an estimated $60 to $70 billion, passed through Texas on the way to Mexico. In addition, Mexicans in the United States legally and illegally sent home hundreds of millions of dollars a year—for some families, it marked the difference between poverty and starvation.

  Jack Hays lowered the boom. “It is very unfortunate, but for the moment we have no choice but to shut down all financial transactions transferring money into, out of, or through the new nation of Texas.”

  Ferrante protested. Hays cut him off. “I know this will be a severe hardship to people south of the border. It will be an even greater hardship to Texans as we sever our commercial and financial relationships with the people and businesses of the other forty-nine American states. I wouldn’t even suggest such a course were it not absolutely necessary.”

  The Mexican consul tugged thoughtfully at his lip. “May I smoke?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Hays said, and produced an ashtray from a desk drawer.

  When Ferrante had a cigarette alight, Hays continued. “Since we cannot guarantee anyone’s safety, we’re asking Mexican nationals to leave Texas as soon as possible, and I’m asking you to let Texans in Mexico return to Texas.”

  “What about the citizens of other American states?”

  “If they cannot prove Texas residency, they will be refused entry.”

  Ferrante was shocked. He took a moment to organize his thoughts, then said, “Factories producing goods for export are the economic bedrock of the Mexican economy. Shutting them down for any significant period, more than a weekend, gives the drug cartels more recruits. People must feed their families.”

  “Mexico is in a hell of a hole,” the Texan acknowledged, “that you folks dug for yourselves. Mexico has dumped its problems on us for a great many years.”

  “Mexico is a democracy,” the Mexican diplomat shot back, “and elected politicians cannot ignore the will of our proud, poor people. It is in Texas’ best interest that Mexico remain a democracy governed by the rule of law. A fascist dictatorship on your southern border will create many more problems in Texas than it will solve. You have a phrase: don’t throw us under the bus. While you and your government are making policy, do not forget that the United States is the world’s largest, richest market for recreational drugs of all kinds. Your ‘War on Drugs’ has been an abject failure. We are in the unfortunate position of being next-door neighbors to this hedonistic hell of addicts and abusers with too much money and not a shred of honor.”

  “I know, and I agree that a great many federal programs, including the ‘War on Drugs’ and the ‘War on Poverty,’ to name just two, were ill-conceived or abject failures,” Jack Hays replied. “But we’re going to change that. The Republic of Texas is no longer going to be a pawn for feckless politicians in Washington who play to the mobs elsewhere and ignore the real problems we face here. We hope to be a better neighbor to the Republic of Mexico, but both our nations need to get our houses in order.”

  “When will Texas cease to isolate itself and resume free trade with my country?”

  Jack Hays engaged in a diplomatic lie. He planned on using trade as a weapon to force the Mexicans to stop illegal immigration, or at least to choke it down on their side of the border, and to crack down on the drug cartels and corrupt officials. He thought Mexico needed to clean the sty with a
fire hose. Without Mexican help, the problems of the border would never be solved. Trade was the only issue that would force Mexico to change, Hays thought. At least he hoped it would, because it was the only big lever he had. He didn’t voice this opinion, however, but said, “As soon as our position with the other American states stabilizes. I cannot foretell the future. A week, a month, a year…”

  “Would Texas consider lifting this trade embargo if Mexico recognizes the new Republic of Texas?”

  “That would certainly help,” Jack Hays said warmly. “In fact, it would be a precondition.”

  The governor’s answer committed him to nothing, a fact that did not escape the consul, who merely said, “Our conversation will be passed along to my government, of course. When I receive their instructions, I will call you to arrange an appointment to discuss matters.”

  Hays stood, signifying the interview was over. He escorted Ferrante out of the office and reception area, which was packed with people all wanting a few minutes of his time.

  One of the people was Charlie Swim.

  Swim was an ally that Jack Hays absolutely had to have, so he lightly grasped his elbow, escorted him into the office, and closed the door.

  “Sit down, Charlie, please.”

  Charlie Swim did so and took a folded sheet of paper from an inside pocket of his jacket. “Governor, we’ve got a marvelous opportunity to finally do something positive for poor people in Texas.” He tapped the paper and then passed it across the desk.

  As the governor scanned it, Swim explained. “Liberal progressive policies for the last fifty years or so have devastated the poor people of America. Welfare; aid to dependent families; food stamps; essentially free medical care; schools that try to prepare everyone for a four-year college degree, when only a fraction of the poor people will ever want or get one; lack of technical training; the breakdown of the black family—all those things have led us to where we are.