by Reed Hill
“All right,” Doyle considered that with a rub on his cheeks. “And their casualties?”
“My count is eleven dead,” Thompson was dispassionate as he scratched some blood from his neck. “We loaded the bodies into their vehicles and pulled them around by the barn.”
Harris came back, “The communications effort that Nick put together with John Lott down and Uvalde and the northern group up near Junction was a great idea.”
“Agreed,” Doyle looked at the rifle in the hands of the wiry Harris. “It’s good to know that citizen defense networks organized so quickly, in ways that are quite effective.”
“Yeah, the northern group apparently has a couple of outfits that are fifty strong, and the Uvalde area in the south has over a hundred in three groups I believe.”
“How about for our men?”
“We found John Finnegan out by the garden – dead from a gunshot wound to the head.” Harris paused a moment. “My buddy, Glen Tucker, was killed in the fight too. Shot in the chest.” Harris appeared to be choking up a bit, so he just waited, with his lip quivering slightly.
“There was also Finnegan’s friend, the one with the goatee and tattoos,” Thompson continued putting a hand on Harris’ shoulder. “We found him out on the south wall. He took a round to the head as well.”
“Oh,” Doyle regretted the loss of Haslett. Clearing the Governor became a little more difficult with his loss, but at least they got his statement on video. “That’s too bad.”
“Curious thing about him was that he took a round right in the eye,” Harris frowned a bit.
“What? What’s so special about that?”
“Well, the fact that his scope was broken out, and not just cracked. If I had to guess, I would say that whoever got him shot him right through his scope.”
Doyle just blinked. That’s hard to imagine. “Any other victims for us?”
“Myself and Dennis Evans have second degree burns, although Dennis’ are worse I think,” Mac Harris held out his hands, displaying the pink pustules and reddish skin.
“Yeah, Charlie Duggan has some burns too, although I don’t think they are as bad as Charlie’s and Mac’s,” Kirk Thompson said.
“Mooch took a round in the leg, but I think he’s going to be okay,” Harris leaned on the counter using his elbow but grimaced in pain even at that.
“I found Brodie’s daughter hiding in the stable also,” Thompson shuffled his feet and wagged his head toward the back of the house. “So I brought her back to the house. She appeared to be okay physically, but she was clearly really rattled by what happened out here.”
While the men in front of him were obviously very upset at the loss of their friends, Doyle was quietly very grateful that things weren’t much, much worse. The perimeter was never penetrated and no hostiles ever got inside the house. They had done very well, considering how outnumbered it appeared they had been.
That’s a tribute to Nick Brodie.
*****
July 6th, 2017 – 4:45 a.m.
Brodie felt the air move into his lungs and out again. Damn that hurts like hell.
If it hurts, it means you’re still alive.
Thank God.
Brodie cracked his eyes open and the light flooded him and he was lost in the white noise that rolled over him like a tidal wave. With each breath, it was as if someone was piercing him with a knife, and he let out a little moan. The he felt someone clutch his hand – the touch was gentle and the skin was soft.
Sara.
“Nick? Nick can you hear me?” it was her sweet voice. “Honey, can you hear me?”
“I’m here too, Dad,” he heard Lauren’s voice as the bright luminance began to fade. “Can you hear me, Dad?”
His voice was thin and raspy Sara and Lauren came into focus, “Where am I? Is everyone all right?” The pain was overbearing as Brodie tried to talk.
“Just lay back, honey,” Sara caressed his forehead with a cool, damp cloth. “You’ve been shot.”
Shot?
The memories came rushing back from what seemed like years in the past.
Glen Tucker shooting the Molotov cocktail out of the sky.
Charlie Duggan’s shirt on fire.
The Mohawk.
“The last thing I remember was going at that Mohawked bastard…” Brodie was weak but he tried to sit up, but Sara just gently nudged him back down. Lauren was holding his hand.
“You caught a bullet when you went in after that thug,” Sara wiped his brow with the cloth. “Kirk said you went past the gate, shooting from the red oak we planted when Lauren was a baby. He said you stood shooting until you got hit. You’re lucky he was able to grab you and pull you back behind the wall when you went down.”
“Yeah, he said that you took out a bunch of them, before one of them got you.” Lauren’s eyes were wide. “I was so scared when the guys carried you in here.”
“Hurts like the dickens to breathe,” Brodie felt like he was wheezing as if he had some kind of chest cold.
“Well, it should,” Sara wring out the cloth and dipped it in a bowl of ice and water, before wiping his head and face. “That bullet bounced off a rib and clipped your lung before scooting out your side.”
“What? I can’t believe it,” Brodie’s head spun and he felt a little nauseous.
“Yes, God must have been smiling on you, Nick Brodie,” Sara allowed a little smile as he laid the cloth on his forehead. “Your lung collapsed and I had to do the best I could to get it going again. You need surgery on that lung. You are bleeding and it’s getting down in there, I think. ”
“How is everyone?” Brodie coughed and a little blood came up in his spittle. “Did everyone make it?”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Sara got up and went to the door. “There are a couple guys who want to say ‘hi’ to you right about now.”
Sara left bringing in Sam and Jack who rushed to the bed. Sara had to hold them back to keep them from pouncing on him, “Now, boys, just stay by the bed. Dad is till really hurt.”
The boys were so happy to see him and clutched his arm so tight they were almost cutting off the circulation. Sam nearly shouted, “Dad, Mr. Thompson said you saved them from the bad guys. He said you came out from the smoke and saved them all.”
Little Jack looked at Brodie with awe and a bit of sadness, “He said you are a hero, Dad.”
“You guys just remember that a hero is just someone who is just willing to carry-on when things look bad.” The boys just stood with puzzled looks. “Boys, it’s the event that makes the man a hero – I’m no different than I was yesterday. It’s just that what happened to me and how I reacted is different.”
However, down deep Brodie felt that wasn’t completely true. He saw more clearly now. He needed to fight for his family as hard as he would have any battle in a foreign land or here at home. Life was a struggle worth making, and he finally felt as though he had a clear way to do it. He had to fight to be a better man, despite not knowing how to do it. There was no training manual – he just needed to love them a little more each day, and give of himself rather than take from them.
As he lay there struggling to take in air Brodie actually breathed easier in his heart. His head was clear and he knew he found a path to move forward on. His dad would be proud rather than disappointed. His Mom would approve. He had been a reluctant warrior unable to fight his battles at home with the same clarity of vision and commitment he had as a commander in Afghanistan. Things seemed different now, despite the pain and loss of friends.
He spied Kirk Thompson and Mark Simmons in the doorway, smiling. He could see a path laid out before him now, one that led far from his loneliness and anguish. While there may be setbacks and an occasional mine field, he had a wonderful band to lead. He knew they would be okay, if he could believe in them and grow closer together and not apart. Struggles can be overcome if you just stick together and love and trust each other.
*****
Bi
ggs Field - El Paso Intelligence Center
El Paso, Texas - July 6th, 2017 – 5:45 a.m.
Daniel Sifuentes stood atop the Humvee in front of the Intelligence Center rifle in hand and surveyed the more than twenty five hundred men who had assembled with their more than three hundred Humvees, military trucks and APCs and regular 4x4 trucks. The turnout of the voluntarios was truly impressive. Many men had answered the call and quite a few women, and they extended across the huge parking lot and on the nearby open fields.
His Red Viper Guard chanted his name as he raised the rifle above his head shaking it. Sifuentes enjoyed the mantra of “pitón” in unison and gave them a “Viva la raza!” in return. They were poised and zealous to defend the precious ground that some had already died taking. They had been expecting an attack by sunset yesterday, but none had come. Sifuentes thought from monitoring the national news, that perhaps the U.S. Government was hamstrung by its other problems around the country so severely that it could not intercede. Or, perhaps they were allowing Texas to defend itself before intervening. Whatever their motives, the Anglos would be fielding a considerably smaller force than they had prepared and trained for. An equal number of cartel soldiers and voluntarios had moved outside the city during the night and taken up defensive positions on the main passages into the city. They were prepared.
Sifuentes raised his hands in order to gain their attention, and it took several moments for them to settle down.
“Brothers and sisters, listen to me.
“Listen to me my friends.
“My brothers, the revolution is truly upon us. It’s a glorious time for our people, and we celebrate the great victory we have achieved as well as greater ones to come. The enemy stands ready to oppose the gains we have made. They will not go quietly into the night, content with defeat and the insults we have cast upon them. Their arrogance cannot suffer the offense which has been brought to them by us. Make no mistake. They will strike. When they do, we will be prepared.
“By now, you have been briefed. They will have difficulty attacking because of their desire not to harm innocents and minimize the destruction on their precious edifices, these monstrosities which sit as symbols of greed and ego. We will use their compassion against them. Your regimental commanders have given you the orders. Those out in the countryside will engage the enemy and bring them to you like pigs taken to the slaughterhouse. Show no mercy.
“Let me assure you that it will be no easy fight. Many of the infidels have proven their worth in far off lands. We will need to engage them with much vigor and much ferocity. Rout the enemy here and they will have a difficult time mounting future attacks. They will have tasted the bitterness of loss at your hands and will not be eager to go back to that sour cup of defeat.
“Know this my brothers. Remember that decades of injustice ride on your resolve and your tenacity in the next few hours. Generations of abused, discounted and discriminated brothers and sisters cry out for your steadfastness. The revolution that so many have yearned for is at hand. As we speak, brothers and sisters fight to take back stolen lands in Arizona, New Mexico and California. The infidel is at the gate, and we must hold him off here just as our brethren have in these other lands.
“The contemptible, conceited Anglos have grown indulgent and vile. Their society knows nothing but lusts and appetites. It is in dire need of a cleansing. It is our duty to do such purging. We will bring back the land to prosper once more in authentic hands and with legitimate government. Our soil cries out for its proper masters, too long held captive by the treacherous usurpers. With the land cleansed of the iniquities and excesses of the Anglos, we will reclaim it for Mexico! So now, I ask you. Will you follow me and fight for Norte Mexico?
“Will you fight for your lands? Will you rally to aid your people?
“Then, hold your heads high and let the enemy know they cannot have these lands back.
“Be fierce in your defense of Norte Mexico and be strong for your people. We will overcome their assaults.
“Long live Norte Mexico!
“Viva la raza!”
*****
Three Eagles Ranch
Outside of Hunt, Texas - July 6th, 2017 – 5:45 a.m.
Streaks of orange began to show on the tree line to the east as the older, slender black man did a final adjustment to the radio in the cab of the SUV and gave a ‘thumbs-up’ sign to Doyle and the Governor. The radio was ready. The troops were listening. After this, the Texas Guard would be walking into harm’s way advancing on the taken cities. Final plans had been settled and last minute maneuvering had taken place. After the turmoil most of them had even managed a few hours of sleep.
Everyone was ready.
Doyle thought the Governor seemed calm, noble despite the tiredness that shown on his face, and the Governor didn’t immediately take the radio when he walked to the truck. Chase closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and stepped forward to the radio with a strong aspect. Doyle admired his constitution and resolve. This ordeal would have crippled most men.
Closing his eyes momentarily, the Governor put his hands together in front of his lips as if to pray before taking the handset. He glanced at Doyle and Brodie as he breathed in the warm air, and looked off toward the cedars on the horizon.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we face the test of our generation. A test we cannot fail. History and fate have chosen us in this time and place to determine our future as a free republic. I won’t downplay things. We face considerable forces and unfavorable odds.
“On the one hand, our land is threatened by invaders bent on occupying our precious soil and unlawfully possessing it as their own. My fellow Texans, the path to what they now hold has been paved with many dead citizens. Their presence in our cities is an insult to us as Texans and an offense to those who have lost loved ones to the criminals who subjugate our cities.
“They came as a thief in the night and have stolen, raped and destroyed. Their actions demand justice, and the blood of so many Texans cries out for vengeance. We cannot and will not be deaf to their cries. They do all of this using our great Texas people and land a shield for their terror. They sit in our cities daring us to respond. So, I come to you now with the news that’s difficult, it’s hard but it’s true. Texas will not sit by idly while infidels roam the streets of our cities and towns.
“On the other hand, we find ourselves the object of an oppressive national regime that offers us no assistance and only hinders us when we try to do for ourselves. The tyranny that now passes as leadership at the highest levels of government proves that the system no longer functions for the good of ‘we the people’ but rather exists to serve its own interests. The ruling class, in cities far away, designs our lives for us and threatens us with the worst kinds of recompense for any resistance. And, their threats are not idle or insincere. All institutions now have cast aside their noble aims and any sense of reason in order to support the gloried vision of some idealized utopia. If we do not give our consent we will be forced to do so, at gunpoint if required. Well, we in Texas do not agree to abide by this tyranny. We choose to resist.
“So, my fellow Texans, we move ahead with the knowledge that through suffering comes great triumph. Like a woman who labors to deliver a child, we act through this conflict for the sake of freedom and justice. This is what it is to forge a new freedom, and a new way of life. You are tested by flame and fire, and laid on the anvil. You are struck by liberty’s hammer and formed into a new nation.
“It has happened before, nearly two and a half centuries ago, commencing on Bunker Hill and finally ending after almost eight years of struggle. Looking back now, not one of us would have said that the pain and conflict suffered by that founding generation was not worth the cost. Liberty is precious, and demands a high price.
“And liberty now calls upon us to once more rise up and answer her call. I thank you for your courage in the face of danger and an uncertain path ahead. In victory, we will face hardship. However, any hardship
faced in the sunlight of a free Texas is better than a false prosperity lived in the darkness of tyranny.
“May God be with you today and may God bless Texas, now and forever.”
*****
Outside of El Paso, Texas - July 6th, 2017 – 6:55 a.m.
A spray of bullets tore across Mathews’ Humvee giving off the distinct peel of lead on metal.
Thank God for armor plating.
They were on their way in. Delta Company of 2nd Battalion, Mathews’ unit, was moving on El Paso as part of Operation Hammer, the operation to liberate El Paso from the insurgents. Adrenaline was pumping in Mathews’ veins now, as they sped through the desert parallel to the road. Nothing like a little gunfire to give you a Red Bull moment.
Their job was to come in hard from the east and strike at the heart of the enemy FOB – forward operating base – which was the captured El Paso Intelligence Center. The big push would come from the north where 1st Battalion and 3rd Battalion would swing down engaging the opposition in an attempt to command the attention of the opposition’s main forces. So far so good.
They had come in on state highway 62 until they got through the mountains east of the city, where they went off-road in the scrubby desert. The enemy was in a defensive position spread in at the north end of a neighborhood of mobile homes and pre-fab houses. Captain Jackson was taking Alpha and Bravo companies at them from the north, so Mathews was tasked with taking Delta and Echo in from the south. This normally would have been the job of a Major or an experienced Captain, but those were in short supply with any field experience in the Texas Guard. Captain Murphy, a grocery store manager, insisted on Mathews being lead, so he did his duty and accepted.
As they infiltrated following Flagler Street north, they started taking fire still a half mile from the engagement zone. Now they were in the weeds where the plans all go to hell and you’re just fighting to keep the guy next to you alive.