Edge of Battle aow-2

by Dale Brown

  “But this is our home, so we act like neighbors as well. We live here, but this is also public land, and anyone can travel through these parts. Outsiders are not treated like intruders or criminals unless we observe and know they are breaking the law—merely walking through this area is not illegal, and we don’t treat those we find as illegals. We’ve offered rides on our four-wheel ATVs in case anyone is injured or having trouble keeping up with the others. We offer water, some food, and first aid, just as we would if we encountered any other hikers on the trail.”

  “What does the Border Patrol do after you give them a report on what you’ve found?”

  “If they have a unit available, they’ll meet them down at the end of the trail and detain them,” Geitz said. “If they don’t, they get away.”

  “Get away? Even if you tell the Border Patrol exactly where they are, they still get away?”

  “It’s a matter of manpower, sir. If they don’t have a unit available, they get away.”

  “What do the Watchdogs do in that case?”

  “Nothing,” Geitz said. “We let them go too. We’ll report their direction of travel, whether or not they were picked up by anyone and a description of the vehicle, but we let them go. We don’t have the power to arrest or detain them unless we actually see them breaking the law. Even then, we tread very lightly.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, for example, if we actually observe and record a person crossing the border in this area, we know that’s an illegal act, because you are only legally allowed to cross the border at a border crossing point. But even if we positively identify the offender and have incontrovertible proof he broke the law, we don’t know all the ramifications of why he did what he did.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean. What ‘ramifications’?”

  “For example, Mr. O’Rourke, you can legally cross the border at other than a border crossing point if you feel your life is in danger, or if you are fleeing political persecution,” Geitz said. “A lot of times I know the migrants claim all that just to hope to avoid deportation; it may or may not be true. The point is, however, that the Watchdogs don’t make that call. Everyone is innocent until proven guilty in our eyes, and we strictly enforce that. We simply observe and report—the rest is up to the authorities.”

  “Reports say you try to make citizen arrests on them.”

  “Absolutely not true,” Geitz insisted. “Although I know they’re breaking the law, and I have incontrovertible proof of it, the Watchdogs do not make arrests.”

  “But you and your men are armed. I see plenty of shotguns and rifles, and almost everyone I’ve seen carries a sidearm. If you intercept someone out here in the dark carrying weapons, couldn’t that be considered an arrest?”

  “First of all, sir, I must emphasize that everyone who carries a weapon must have the legal right to do so,” Geitz said. “We do not carry concealed weapons, and we do not brandish weapons—show, operate, or handle them as a means of intimidation or coercion—under any circumstances. We conduct firearms safety courses for everyone in our organization; everyone who carries a weapon is fully trained in gun safety and field procedures as well as marksmanship. Discharging a weapon except in self-defense is strictly prohibited and will result in immediate dismissal and being reported to the sheriff’s department.”

  “‘Self-defense’? From animals…or human beings?”

  “Anyone or anything that threatens us, Mr. O’Rourke, but mostly animals. Many of our patrols have encountered snakes and other predators out here. Most times using a firearm is not necessary—a bright light, a noisemaker, or simply leaving the area does the trick better than shooting a gun off in the dark that might endanger other patrols. Most folks that carry weapons carry only ‘snake loads’—ammunition containing small pellets instead of bullets that are good only at short range and probably wouldn’t kill a person, best suited for killing aggressive varmints.”

  “Varmints are one thing, but what about some of the illegals you intercept?” O’Rourke pressed. “You have arrested illegals before, Herman—I’ve seen the reports. Have they gotten violent? Have they threatened you? Is that the real reason you and your members carry guns?”

  “As I said, sir, no member of the American Watchdogs may discharge or even brandish a weapon except in self-defense,” Geitz said. “Whenever we make an intercept and a person unknown to us is carrying a weapon, we order him or her from the cover of darkness to drop the weapon. This is for our safety and the safety of our fellow citizens. That’s what some in the media have been calling ‘arrests.’”

  “And then what?”

  “If they drop their weapons, we inspect the weapons and search the individuals to make sure they don’t have any more weapons, and then we report the contact to the Border Patrol and sheriff’s department,” Geitz said. “We comply with whatever instructions we receive from the authorities, which is usually to stop what we’re doing and wait for help. If the migrants don’t comply with our orders, we don’t approach them, but we try to keep them in place until the authorities arrive.”

  “In other words, you arrest them.”

  “We make it clear to them that for our own safety, they will not be able to leave until it is safe for us to allow it,” Geitz said. “They don’t have to attack us first for us to be fearful for our lives. We won’t let a stranger with a machete just walk away from us with the thing still in his hand—that wouldn’t be too smart. If that’s what the media calls an ‘arrest,’ so be it.”

  “What if they’re carrying guns?”

  “We don’t allow them to take any firearms,” Geitz said firmly. “Absolutely not. That’s too dangerous for everyone involved. We confiscate all dangerous weapons and turn them over to the Border Patrol or the sheriff’s office. We’ve turned in hundreds of weapons, everything from swords to bombs to machine guns.”

  “But what about their protection from animals and predators?”

  “Mr. O’Rourke, I’m more concerned about the safety of my members. This is our home. An unidentified alleged illegal immigrant carrying a firearm or any other dangerous weapon near my men and women will not be tolerated. I may not have the legal right to take away another man’s freedom or weapon on public property, but I am legally permitted to defend myself if I feel my life or property is threatened, and I will do so. Without hesitation.”

  “I commend your bravery and honesty, Commander Geitz.”

  “Fortunately, we haven’t run into too many illegals with firearms,” Geitz said, “and the ones that do have them surrender them to us without incident. The sheriff tells me that if I take any kind of possession whatsoever—a backpack, knife, handgun, bazooka, or even a nuclear bomb—from anyone, that person has the right to swear out an arrest warrant for armed robbery and assault and have me thrown in jail. But so far no one has done that,” he added with a satisfied chuckle.

  “But what if some human rights, civil liberty, or migrant advocacy group goes after you with an army of their attorneys?”

  “I’m not too concerned with what an illegal or their lawyers might do to me,” Geitz said confidently. “Frankly, I’d welcome a day in court. We have nothing to hide here, and we’re doing a public service. We document every second of every intercept with both video and audio, beamed to our relay unit and digitally recorded before it’s uploaded to our Web site. We use GPS technology to pinpoint our location, so there’s no…” Geitz froze, listened in his headset, then said, “Time to get ready, Mr. O’Rourke. They’re almost here.”

  Bob O’Rourke was quivering with excitement as he dropped the microphone mask and stowed his gear. “Now remember, our men have tiny blinking red identification lights on the back of our belts, so you should be able to follow us in the dark if you stay close,” Geitz said into his whisper mike. “In case you do get separated, all you have to do is stay put, wherever you are, and wait for us to come back for you.” He pulled several plastic tubes from a utility belt pouc
h, bent them almost in half, shook them vigorously, then handed them to both O’Rourke and Wayne. “Put these around your neck. They’re identification ChemLites.”

  “Mine’s not working.”

  “You can’t see the light unless you’re wearing night vision goggles, as all of the Watchdogs are,” Geitz said. “But we can see you as clearly as if you were carrying a flashlight.”

  O’Rourke held his ChemLite up to his face as if looking closer would allow him to see the light, but he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness. He could hear the sounds of men getting ready to move all around him, and he could barely contain himself. “Damn,” he muttered, “now I have to take a piss.”

  “It happens all the time—the excitement of the hunt,” Geitz said gleefully, like a kid getting ready to get on the rope swing for the first time. “You have to hold it until we make the intercept and take control of the targets. Don’t be embarrassed to piss in your pants if it gets too uncomfortable—you wouldn’t be the first one to do it, I guarantee it. It won’t be long now—they’re coming right at us.” The thought of any of these rough, tough Watchdogs seeing him, big-time radio celebrity Bob O’Rourke, with urine-stained pants was unthinkable, and he strained harder to hold it in.

  In a sudden flurry of activity, the Watchdogs ran into the darkness for several dozen yards, then stopped suddenly. “I…I’m following Commander Herman Geitz of the American Watchdogs as best I can—they’re moving quickly down a path that is completely invisible to me.” O’Rourke spoke into his microphone mask, trying but failing not to breathe too heavily and reveal how completely out of shape he really was. “My legs feel as if they’ve been bull-whipped by running through the scrub brush. Good…good, we’ve stopped.” He whispered for Geitz, who turned back to O’Rourke. “Why did we have to run all of a sudden like that, Commander?”

  “A little confusion, sir,” Geitz whispered, raising his night vision goggles away from his eyes. He pulled a small GPS map device from a pouch and checked it. “Our lookouts initially reported the migrants’ position on one trail. But Fido positively identified the migrants on a different trail, so we had to move quickly to intercept.”

  O’Rourke looked skyward as if expecting to see the drone watching him. He felt somewhat reassured that the electronic eyes were watching them, although it still didn’t prevent things from getting a bit chaotic. “So we have two groups of migrants out here tonight?” he asked nervously.

  “It appears so,” Geitz said, a bit of concern evident in his voice. “More than likely the first group split up. But the group we’re headed for is very large—the tactical reconnaissance operators in the mobile control van count at least twenty individuals on foot. As soon as we intercept the first group, we’ll turn our attention to the others.”

  “Shouldn’t you order your second unit to intercept the other group?” O’Rourke asked. He noticed the worry in Geitz’s voice, which made him doubly concerned. “What if they get away? They could be the smugglers.”

  “We’ll use Fido to keep an eye on the smaller group.” Geitz turned back to his radios, leaving O’Rourke alone with his fears. This just wasn’t smelling right.

  Thankfully they were apparently in the right position, because they didn’t have to run off again. In just a few minutes the night got very still again. All O’Rourke could see in the total blackness was the tiny blinking red light on Geitz’s belt—staring at it seemed to make it revolve in slow clockwise circles, which was starting to make him a little nauseous. He felt his canteen on his hip—the one filled with bourbon, not water—and thought about reaching for it when he heard…voices. He froze.

  They were right in front of him, O’Rourke realized with shock. He could hear their feet scraping the rough earth, hear their anxious voices, hear someone spit, hear another stumble and curse. They sounded rather…workmanlike, like you would hear a group of factory workers or farmers walking together on their way to the entry gates or the barns, getting ready for a hard day ahead. O’Rourke had expected them to sound like guerrilla fighters carrying machine guns and ammo discovered by Special Forces along the Ho Chi Minh trail, not worker bees carrying their lunch pails and thermos bottles.

  “I…I can hear them.” O’Rourke spoke into his microphone mask. “I can’t see them, but I can hear them. Commander? You’re using night vision goggles: what do you see?”

  “It’s a group of…I count twenty-three individuals,” Geitz whispered, his strained voice barely audible. “I can make out two women. Those on the Internet will be able to view our night vision images on our Web site in just a few minutes. I see the usual assortment of backpacks, garbage bags, numerous one-gallon jugs of water, and rucksacks the migrants carry while traveling. It’s hard to tell their ages, but they look pretty young. I don’t see any children this time.”

  “What about calling the Border Patrol?” O’Rourke asked nervously.

  “Our tactical control van is relaying the information now,” Geitz said. “We haven’t heard a response about whether or not they’ll head up here yet.”

  “Are they carrying any weapons? This sounds very dangerous, Commander…”

  “I don’t see any weapons, but I see several persons carrying suspicious bags that could contain weapons, so we’ll have to confront these individuals and do a citizen’s search of their belongings for weapons.” Geitz swung O’Rourke’s microphone away and spoke into his tactical radio.

  “Commander Geitz is relaying instructions to his teams,” O’Rourke said. Geitz reached behind him and touched O’Rourke’s arm, telling him to be quiet. “I’ve been told to be quiet,” O’Rourke whispered into the mask. “I don’t know if they can see us, but I’m sure as soon as Commander Geitz judges it’s safe, I’m sure he’ll…”

  “Attention! This is the American Watchdog Project! You are surrounded!” Geitz suddenly shouted, using a bullhorn. Then, in stilted but understandable Spanish, he ordered, “¡Levante sus manos y no harán daño a usted de ningún modo!” Powerful flashlights popped on, illuminating thirty or forty feet of the trail. The men and women blinked at the lights in confusion and slowly raised their hands. The coyote in the lead of the column of migrants had two cloth pouches over his shoulders. “Drop those pouches, señor,” Geitz ordered. “Deje caer todas sus posesiones!”

  The pollos started to comply, looping their backpacks and trash bags off their shoulders. “This is incredible!” O’Rourke said, switching from his microphone mask to a regular handheld mike. “We’ve just burst out of the darkness and surrounded this group of migrants. We have eight men plus Georgie and myself, Geitz’s Alpha Team plus the Bravo Team on the other side of the trail, just carrying flashlights. We’re not showing any weapons, none at all. But the migrants are giving up. They’re stopping and raising their hands in surrender.”

  The coyote was a little more defiant. “Hey, whoever you are, vete a la mierda!” he shouted. “We don’t answer to you or nobody!”

  “I am Commander Herman Geitz of the American Watchdog Project,” Geitz said over the bullhorn. “Your presence is being reported to the U.S. Border Patrol right now. There is no use running. La permanencia y nosotros le daremos el alimento, el agua, y la medicina.” More migrants began to find a place to sit on the rocky trail—it was obvious they had had enough. “If you try to travel north into the United States, we will track you and continue to report your whereabouts to the U.S. Border Patrol.”

  “And if you do not leave us alone, hideputa, you will feel the wrath of Comandante Veracruz and all who honor freedom!” the smuggler shouted back. “Now get out of here! Leave us alone!”

  “Alpha Team, this is Fido Control,” came a message from the Pioneer unmanned observation plane’s control team. “How copy, Alpha?”

  “Stand by, Fido,” Geitz radioed back.

  “Just be advised, Alpha, video is intermittent from Fido, repeat, we’re losing video. Very strong interference. Will advise when it’s back online.”

  “Commander Geitz ha
s just offered the migrants food, water, and medicine if they give up and wait for the Border Patrol,” Bob O’Rourke said, after getting a translation from Georgie Wayne. “The leader of this group is a young man with long dark hair, what looks like a green military-style fatigue cap, a red bandanna around his neck, and military-looking boots, probably in his early to mid-twenties. He is carrying two canvas satchels and he hasn’t dropped them yet like most of the migrants have done. He is obviously the coyote, the smuggler. But he is quickly losing control of his clients. Commander Geitz seems very nervous about this young man, mostly because he’s still got those satchels and they look like they could hold a lot of guns and ammo. The situation appears to be getting very tense now.”

  “¡Déjenos en paz!” the smuggler shouted. “¡Veracruz de comandante dice que estamos en el suelo mejicano!”

  “What did he say?” O’Rourke asked.

  “Something about someone called Commander Veracruz saying he is on Mexican soil,” Georgie replied.

  “Is he high? Is he crazy? This is America, not Mexico!” O’Rourke said acidly. “This Veracruz guy is nothing but a rabble-rouser and drug dealer who thinks he’s some hot-shot Mexican version of George Washington.”

  “I say again, drop those bags immediately!” Geitz said over the loudspeaker, ignoring the radio call from his observation team. “Usted no será dañado, prometo. You will be allowed to pass after we have searched your possessions for weapons.”

  “Screw you, gringo!” the smuggler shouted. “You don’t have no right to do this!”

  “Alpha Team, this is Fido. Be advised, we’ve lost our video downlink, but we saw two separate contacts approaching east and west of your position, range less than thirty meters. Recommend you use caution; repeat, we lost the downlink. Do you copy, Alpha?”

  “I said, drop those bags, cagado!” Geitz shouted, shining his flashlight directly into the young man’s eyes to try to disorient him.