State of Defense (State of Arizona Book 1)

by Doug Ball

  Southern Border

  Sasabe

  1:45 PM

  The General cruised along in his Humvee chatting to his old friend the driver, an old Sergeant he had known since his days as a Lieutenant Colonel. The Sergeant had refused promotion many times, not wanting to lose his job as the General’s driver when needed. When he wasn’t driving the General around, he was the CEO of a trucking outfit out of Phoenix.

  The gunner standing in the roof opening surrounded by armor yelled, “Units just up ahead a bit, General.”

  “Thanks, Lew.” The General lifted his binoculars up to his eyes and looked the approaching scene over. Lew had been the General’s body guard and left hand man for just about as long as the Sergeant had been his driver. The three of them had been through first Iraq, second Iraq, Bosnia, and Afghanistan together. Lew didn’t care much about rank either. He had left the regular Army after being a SpecOps guy for six years and decided he liked his wife too much to leave her home alone so often. When he had come home from the last op, his four year old son said, “Are you really my dad? Tom’s dad is home every night.” He went into the Guard a month later.

  “Pull up over by that cluster of Humvees behind the rocks.” He pointed.

  The General was making the rounds of as many units as he could get to before the war got serious. A few peppy words, pats on the shoulders, and face time never hurt combat troops. If the General said we could whip them, we can whip them, or die trying.

  Maricopa County Superior Court

  The Honorable Judge Raul Chavez presiding

  “Having listened to the preliminary statements of the plaintiffs and reading all the information presented, the court finds that the plaintiffs, Manuel Villasanchez and Rubia Romero have no standing concerning the matter before the court. Neither plaintiff is a citizen or legal resident of the United States of America and therefore cannot sue the Arizona state government as to the constitutionality of its laws and processes. The court rules for the state of Arizona and asks the Deputy in the back of the room to take Mr. Villasanchez and Ms. Romero into custody for deportation to Mexico, their legal residence. For further reference, the Court finds that the actions of the Governor and the Legislature concerning illegal aliens to be in accordance with the Constitution of the United States and the various current federal and state immigration laws. Court is adjourned.”

  Mayor’s Office

  Flagstaff

  “She said what?” asked the leader of the Northern Arizona Student Team for Native American Rights. “How can she say we cannot see her or participate in further negotiations with the tribes?”

  “Very easily and quickly. Put it in writing and deliver your statement to the Governor’s office. Now I need you to leave. I have to figure out how to get ready for war with the tribes you are so quickly coming to defend. According to the Governor, the tribes are rising up to retake their native land. Flagstaff is on the sacred land of the Navajo. You might want to pack up and get out of town until school starts, if it does.” The mayor shuffled them out the door and called his Police Chief.

  The leader of NASTNAR looked as if she was in shock.

  The Mayor didn’t have a bit of sympathy. He was very familiar with political maneuvering.

  General’s Humvee

  4:00 PM

  The General shut his phone. “Get this thing rolling. I need to be in Arivaca in twenty minutes. My chopper is coming in with the lead men from all outposts. Looks like the Mexican Army, fifty thousand strong, will be attacking at dawn tomorrow, or sooner, or later. You never know with us Mexicans, especially the ones still in Mexico.”

  “You got it, General.” The roar of the engine increased a few decibels and the wind coming through the gunner’s hatch increased considerably. “We’re about 25 minutes out right now at the speed limit. I doubt if the Highway Patrol is down here, and if they are they wouldn’t stop a General, would they?”

  “Let’s test that theory, and while you’re doing that, I’ll update the Governor.”

  White River Apache Reservation

  Fort Apache, AZ

  6:00 PM

  Six men and three women sat around the table at the Burger Doodle. “How many cars come down US 60 today?”

  One of the ladies answered, “There were a couple thousand during my seven to three shift. Every one of them was ready with their three bucks, too.”

  The tall man at the end of the table said, “Must have been over four thousand going north through Salt River Canyon. A few mentioned they were getting out of Phoenix until things settled down. No problem with the money.”

  Another lady broke in with, “The only comment I had was they wanted to know if we were going to sell annual passes. Something is weird about all this. I expected a hassle and didn’t get a single one.”

  “Me, too,” was the consensus comment.

  23

  Monday

  17 June

  Arivaca

  8:00 PM

  The General and twelve officers, ranking from Captain to Colonel, stood around a large map of Arizona weighted down on a rest-stop table alongside the highway near Arivaca. None of them were talking. Each of them was lost in his or her private thoughts of the coming battle. The General was praying in the back of his head for some serious intervention. After all, his own state was being attacked by his own people, relatives, cousins, and, in some cases, friends that he had known since childhood.

  ‘Now I know how men in the Civil War must have felt as the armies lined up for battle and they knew there was a possibility of them killing their own brother or father in the coming battle,’ he thought. ‘Ideology directs the lives of all mankind.’

  One of the Captains asked, “So you want us to fight like demons, but give ground rather than sustain serious casualties; is that right, General?”

  The General’s bubble of privacy burst, “That’s right. We do not have the manpower, even with the volunteers and the militias to hold the line. In many places the terrain itself dictates that it is impossible to hold without being in a seriously unfavorable defensive position. It’s not like we are dug in all along the border, many places are so open that cover does not exist. We have the numbers in some spots depending on how the enemy is dispersed. The Nogales sector is the logical one for an army that desired to take Phoenix. The Sasabe sector would rank second in my book, even though Lukeville would be the shortest route to Phoenix. With all the two lane roads of marginal quality and long miles between water and gas stops, I rule it out. I wouldn’t use it if I were planning the attacks. Yuma is too far and Douglas has poor roads. The interstate and side roads through Tucson provide for rapid movement of anything with wheels or tracks. Fuel can be commandeered from stations along the route meaning we will have to torch all gas stations as we fall back, if we fall back. I believe we can hold most places depending on where the Mexican artillery is. They don’t have much and what they do have is old, but it all shoots and they do that well.

  Again we play Russian and fall back to gain time and stretch the supply lines of the enemy. Why? We will need all our men if the tribe’s revolt has any strength at all. If only six or eight of the tribes present a strong attack it will be at our rear and we have no reserves to speak of to deal with them.

  “I want all of you to check your watches and match them up with the clock my driver is holding up. All comms will be on tac-7 scrambled. Challenge word is Turkey and the reply is Bacon. Get that to all unit leaders down to the Sergeants or as low as is needed for security purposes.

  “Any further questions?” He glanced around the table and into the eyes of each man seeing only confidence and concern. “My staff is currently working with all local hospitals and clinics to take care of any casualties we may incur in their areas. Civilian ambulances will augment ours and a few doctors are willing to move up to triage points to the rear of each battle zone as they develop. Look at it this way, you are going to see a lot of Arizona that you would have never seen if you hadn’t
been here today. Good luck and good hunting.”

  The volume of sound grew as each officer dealt with saying positive things to his friends and fellow officers, setting watches, and taking one last look at the map. Within ten minutes the General and three of his staff were all that were left, standing over the map searching for anything they might have missed.

  The First Sergeant looked around noticing an abandoned gas station just down the road and stated, “That looks like a fine place to have a scrumptious supper of whatever MRE you get stuck with and then bunk out before the coming dawn attack, if it comes.”

  No one disagreed.

  Little Horn Mountains

  9:30 PM

  The heat was slacking off and the smell of death faded as the meat wagon crew lifted the body out of the motor home and into a body bag. There was a sense of urgency in their movements. It was dark. Somewhere out there beyond the circle of headlights was a killer and they were on stage under the spotlight if that killer decided to up the number of dead on this spot. Yuma County Deputy Sheriff Carl Loury had made numerous circles in his vehicle and on foot looking for tracks leaving the site and checking for a hidden shooter. There were some tracks of a small motorcycle, but nothing else.

  The medical examiner arrived on scene at 2013 according to Carl’s log and the dust of his van leaving was still hanging in the air. He had not been a happy man having to come all the way out to the motorhome to look at a dead man he could have just as easily examined on his table in Yuma. It had been a long day for him with this the fourth call and murder victims found in the heat of the desert were never a favorite of his. Every time he had to check out a patient, that’s what he called his subjects, who had been dead for a few days in the midst of the heat, dust, and flies, his nose got so filled with the stench it took days of Vick’s under his nose to get rid of the smell. ‘You’d think you’d get used to it after all these years. Maybe it’s time to retire like Martha wants,’ his thoughts were always the same at this point in a patient’s relationship with him.

  His last remarks to Carl were, “He’s dead. Shooter unknown. Large caliber handgun, .45, I would imagine. Close range under two feet. Powder burns. Probably about twenty-four hours. I’ll forward a copy of the autopsy to you, unless you wish to attend the autopsy and get your information first hand.”

  Carl gagged at the thought. He’d done two autopsies before and that was enough. “No, thanks. I’ve had my fill of them. If the Sheriff wants me there, I’ll have him give you a call. No rush, no rush at all.”

  They shook hands like old friends and separated.

  The techs lifted the bag onto the gurney, strapped it down, and slid the whole thing into the back of the meat wagon, the oldest ambulance in Yuma County still in operation. The sole purpose in its old age was transporting the remains of deceased individuals for the ME’s office. The two techs had seen all forms of death and found many lost and lonely remote places in their days of travel in Yuma County.

  After locking the back doors they climbed in, waved at Carl, and stomped the gas pedal leaving Carl in a cloud of dust. It was as if the old ambulance still had to show that it had life enough to spin the wheels and be the real hurry-up wagon it once was.

  “10Charles22, please contact my bride and inform her I will be home soon, barring the unforeseen of course.”

  “10Charles22, no problem.”

  Carl moved like an old man toward his unit as the wrecker crew finished hooking up and began their long slow journey to the impound lot. His hand went to the shift lever, found Drive, and moved quickly in front of the wrecker, gaining the dust free travel of being in front and not behind. His problem was getting around the meat wagon without having to eat its dust.

  Coconino County Sheriff’s Office

  Meeting Room

  7:30 PM

  “You stenographers got all this down? I don’t want a word missed.” After getting a positive response from the stenographers, he added, “Type it up in the morning. I want it on my desk by noon. Understood?”

  Again, positive answers to his questions.

  The Sheriff looked to Tan and Robert. “You two got anything more to add?”

  “Not a thing, Sheriff. Not a thing,” Tan replied.

  “There is nothing I can add or that I have left out, Sheriff. Thanks for letting me work this case with Tan. He’s a good man,” Robert answered.

  “Both of you ought to be disciplined for taking off on your own and faking the death of an officer. But, crazy people get away with stuff when things work out well. If you had really screwed the pooch on this one, you both would have at least been demoted, if not let go.” The Sheriff looked around before sticking out his hand to Robert, “Robert, if you’re ever looking for a job give me a call, I like the way you think.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” Robert fell back into his chair and leaned back. “Thanks for the loan of the deputy for a while.” He was smiling all the way across his face, from eyebrows to chin.

  “Like I had a choice.” The Sheriff left the room holding his empty coffee cup on his left hand pointy finger. “One more cup and I’m going home.”

  The deputy and the Sergeant looked at each other and smiled as if to say, “I guess we got away with it.”

  Tan spoke first, “Ready for something to eat. I ain’t had a bite, except for the stale donuts they brought in, since before lunch?”

  “Youza, how about a very large steak?”

  “I’m with you, let’s roll.”

  “Oh, crap.”

  “What now?”

  “I was supposed to call Andrea today and forgot all about it.” He grabbed for his phone.

  “Don’t call her now. We need to go eat.”

  Robert thought about it for a whole three seconds, “Nah, gotta call her now.”

  He did.

  Ten minutes later the two officers sandwiched the lovely Andrea in the middle of the seat in Tan’s truck on their way to the biggest trio of steaks that could be found at 10 PM in Flagstaff. They hit three closed places before they settled for the All Night Diner on old highway 66.

  The Home of Crazy Man Ted

  11:00 PM

  Ted closed his phone and set it on the nightstand and fell back on the pillow. His informant on the Yuma County meat wagon had just dumped the whole picture in Ted’s lap over the phone. It only took moments to realize that Johnston had been killed within an hour of his visit with Ted on that lonely, dusty road.

  A shiver with trembling rose up his spine at the thought that he might be the next target if the shooter had been following or somehow monitoring all of Randall’s activities. He wrote himself a note to call the Yuma Sheriff’s office in the morning for more information concerning the killing and timing.

  Governor’s Bedroom

  Art rolled to his side of the bed before gently putting his arm around the Governor’s neck and drawing her into a tight snuggle.

  She sighed, “How is it you know just what I need when I need it?”

  “Just experience, I’d guess, just experience.”

  She smiled into the dark, thinking, ‘I will be tough enough, for this man, and for Arizona.’

  24

  Tuesday

  18 June

  The Southern Border

  5:00 AM

  The quiet scurrying of men leaving their warm sleeping bags, ripping at a MRE pouch, eating, and manning their defensive firing station reminded Captain Hodge of many other mornings when his troops prepared for battle. He had surveyed each firing point the evening before as he sauntered over the ground they were to defend, determining the effectiveness of the field of fire addressed, and the availability of an escape route should they be forced to give ground. Two of the sites he had found faulty in one aspect or another, and required the Sergeant to move men to another position hopefully more advantageous to the winning of the battle.

  Captain Hodge had no doubt it was going to be just a battle and not the war. The war they would win, the battle was d
icey. Ammo reserves weren’t what he would have liked. There were no reserve units to plug holes in the line or to take advantage of a break through. Most of his men had not seen any part of a battle except the killing ground of last week’s fight.

  He looked off across the border 500 meters away and saw cooking fire smoke and heard the clanging of military equipment being readied for war. The sound of emptied ammo cans hitting each other played snare to the bass drum of artillery ammo containers bouncing upon each other. The shouts of the Sergeants and officers put melody to the composition of the preparations for war. He took out his cell phone, calling his wife and kids. “Hey, Lover, how’re you and the kids?”

  Frank Carter, Captain of Militia, rose to the smell of coffee boiling and bacon frying. His men were bellyaching and verbally slamming each other. He knew he had a happy crew and a happy crew that was going to fight well. Every single man he had was blooded on the battle field. He had given all a chance to go home after the last battle and not one man had chosen to leave. A few asked for better battle weapons than their old bolt action rifles or pump shotguns, and received them from a grateful Guard. He grabbed his cell phone and called the Sergeant on the other end of the battle line they would hold when the Mexicans crossed the border. There was a feeling of security from the two armored Humvees atop the hill behind them ready to open up over the top of his men. Those two fifties were the only thing they had that could make a showing against any kind of armor.