"Absolutely, sir," replied Colonel Jan. Colonel. He rather liked the sound of that. His parents would be so proud. He couldn't wait to get off of this call, retreat into his tent, and pen a letter to his father.
"Very good, Colonel. I look forward to reading your full report. Please continue with the exemplary work. All of China is proud of you."
THE DOOR TO THE border patrol SUV opened and sunlight exploded into the darkened interior Lance showed no reaction. He sat there, staring at the back of the passenger seat. He knew behind him in the cargo area lay the body of his best friend. Many times they’d rode watch together, drank together, and suffered interminable watches along the Mexican border together. All their plans for the future, the safety of the Regulators and their families…the protection of the country they both loved so dearly…
Gone.
His whole future was gone. Lance looked down at the crumpled, blood-stained Stetson in his lap. It was all he had left of Rob. He slowly turned in his seat and climbed out of the vehicle when Agent Levine politely cleared his throat. Even the intense pain in his side had been numbed by the grief that gripped his soul. The accusing glares of several women at the compound did not help matters. Jerry Baersfeld stepped up and gently placed a hand on Lance's shoulder.
"We thought we’d lost you, brother."
Lance nodded because he figured that was the only reaction that would be expected given the circumstances. Personally, Lance thought it might have been better had he been killed instead of Rob. For one thing, he wouldn’t be faced with the insurmountable challenge set before him now. Rob had been the undisputed leader of the Regulators for years, always with Lance as his trusted right-hand man and second in command. Now Rob was gone.
Lance looked down at the blood-stained hat gripped in his hands. Absently, he brushed some of the dust and soot from the bent rim. His fingers traced a stain on the left side. Was it Rob's blood? Was it someone else's? He'd never know. It didn't matter.
"What are we gonna do now, Lance?" Jerry asked quietly.
Agent Levine gently nudged Lance away from the vehicle and started him toward the door to the main compound. Most of the women and one or two of the walking wounded remained where they were in the gravel clearing. Lance, Jerry, and others wrapped in blood-stained bandages made their way inside where the cool, darkened interior did little to soothe Lance’s raw nerves. As a group they guided Lance toward a chair in the communications room. The chair that had been Rob's favorite. The message was clear. Lance was the undisputed leader now.
Lance paused and looked down at the chair. It had been with Rob since the beginning on that drink-filled night so long ago when the two friends had decided that something must be done about the illegal immigration problem in Nogales. It wasn't long after that the Regulators had been born.
And now the Regulators had died.
Something shifted inside Lance’s soul. The realization that the Regulators were no longer a viable force for good caused his legs to feel week. He let them buckle and sank into the comfort of the chair. Sitting in Rob's chair, holding Rob's hat, he could almost feel Rob's presence in the room…almost see his disapproving frown. Rob’s old lever-action rifle leaned against the wall, almost begging to be held. He looked away.
No, Lance thought. Not disapproving… Sad. Yeah, that’s it. Rob would be sad, but not angry.
Deep in his soul, Lance had always figured they would meet an end like this. They were operating under paramilitary rules out in no man's land. The government didn't want to enforce the law, the people did. They had always known they were going to be left out to dry at some point. Lance just never figured to so many of his friends would die as a result. He never counted on Rob having to die. Lance had always assumed that he would be the first to go.
Lance had always been more willing to take chances, more rash in his decisions, more bold in his plans of action. Rob had always been the voice of caution, reason, and logic. When the two had combined their ideas and plans, the Regulators had proven to be an almost unstoppable force.
And now?
"Lance…I know it looks bad," said George Franks. He had a red bandage tied around his head and his face was darkened by soot and dried blood. His clothes reeked of smoke and he had a wicked cough, but he was on his feet and still had the wild-eyed look of an avenger. "We ain't finished yet… I mean, what I mean is…"
"What George is trying to say…" began Jerry.
"Don't bother, boys." Lance didn't even recognize his own voice, it was so distant. He sighed. "We’re finished." Lance looked up. The concerned faces of the surviving Regulators stared back at him through bloodshot eyes. Every one of them had been injured in the fight. Lance shook his head slowly. "It's over."
"Now come on, Lance," began George. His eyes bulged and the cords stood out in his neck as he tried to restrain himself. "My brother died, just like Rob, just like the rest of… I will not allow—"
Lanced looked down at the hat, his finger tracing the soft felt of the brim. "We couldn't stop them. They rolled in here, masters of the universe, and destroyed everything." He looked up again and met George’s angry gaze with a stare of his own that felt no emotion at all. George blinked and took a step back from Lance. He paled like he had seen a ghost.
"I grieve for Rob too," George said quietly. "But if we just give up, then what the hell did they die for?" He looked at the others in the room. "What did any of them die for? What have we been fighting for these past 10 years?"
"A dream…Just a dream." Lance was so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep, escape into the nothingness of unconsciousness and forget everything. The pain of failure was too much. Everything that he was had been tied up in the Regulators. And it was gone, now. All of it.
"That's not good enough!" hissed George. He slammed his fist down on the desk hard enough to rattle empty coffee mugs. "I will not stand by and just give up! My brother died. You hear me? He died! We've been together all our lives! These Chinese sons of bitches—"
Lance stared at the hat, remembering the last long discussion of strategy he’d had with Rob as they drove north from Nogales. George Franks’ shouting faded to a dull background noise.
Lance was back in Rob's truck, leading the convoy north in retreat from Nogales, from their homes. Lance had been the one that almost gave up, then. A lopsided smile curled the corner of his lip as he remembered Rob telling him to buck up, put his big boy pants on, and get ready for the long haul.
Rob had been reluctant to engage the illegal immigrants—he’d only wanted to act as eyes and ears to help the Border Patrol. Lance had been the one to push for direct contact, for apprehending them, and dragging the immigrants to the Border Patrol. But after the arrival of the Chinese, it had been Lance who’d had the first doubts.
"You know what we’re doing this for?" Rob had said, staring through the windshield as they rolled down the desert highway.
Lance had remained silent.
"We do this because we love this country—we want to leave it better than we found it. And that won't happen if we let the Chinese run roughshod over us."
Lance remembered not answering. He’d stared out the window at the blurred landscape of dry rocks and sagebrush.
Rob had ignored his friend’s silence and continued. "Those men who suffered at Valley Forge, who died by the hundreds and thousands at Gettysburg—they sacrificed everything so that their children would not have to sacrifice. If you look back in our history, doesn't seem to have worked out very well. Seems like every generation we got another war we have to fight to save our children from having to fight another war after us. Now it's our turn…"
Lance remembered being embarrassed by his answer almost as soon as he said it. "Doesn't seem like there's much left to be fighting over anymore."
He remembered Rob had almost run them off the road, so quick had flared his anger. "Don't give me that bullshit! As long as one American, one patriot still breathes, then everything is worth fighting for. The pe
ople that came before us, they hacked this country out of the wilderness to forge this land in steel and blood. The Founders wanted to make this country endure forever. And so far, every generation has defended it against attacks from outside and within. And now, just when we’re on the ropes, everybody wants to tuck tail and run."
"Ain't that what we’re doing right now?" Lance had said bitterly.
"Lance, what we’re doing is called a tactical withdrawal." Rob had laughed. "The Chinese think we’re running, the immigrants think we’re running, the terrorist think were running. We’re simply relocating. When we’re ready, on our terms, we’ll strike back. And you know why we’re going to win?"
Lance had pulled himself away from the window, feeling his spirit return. He looked at his friend, still staring out at the open road, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. "We're going to win because this is our land. Our country. For starters, we have nowhere else to go. They've backed us into a corner, not given us any escape route, and taken away everything we had. You know what that makes us?" He looked at Lance.
"Desperate?"
Rob shook his head, and a wicked smile spread across his face. "That makes us the most dangerous enemies they could possibly have. We got nothing left to lose, brother."
"—lost everything, already!" yelled George. Jerry almost looked ready to fight.
"The Regulators are dead."
The three men in the room paused in their argument and as one turned to stare at the titular leader of their doomed organization. George opened his mouth to protest, but Lance held up a hand and stalled his voice.
"You know it, I know it. We’ve suffered too many losses," Lance said quietly. "Between firefights on the border with them illegal immigrants, being harried by the Chinese, and now this mess I've let us all into…"
“You did what you had to do to rescue Rob and the others—"
Lance shook his head. "I will always blame myself," Lance said sadly. He flashed a quick smile at George. "I appreciate you saying otherwise, but it was my fault and everybody out there knows it," Lance said with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder. He'd seen the looks on the faces when he exited the vehicle. He came back, but too many others didn't.
"No, the Regulators are finished." He looked at the men for a moment. "There's only a handful of us left, the last ones who can walk and fight. Everybody else is dead or so wounded that they can't move out of bed. Sure, we got a dozen or so Border Patrol guys still with us, but that's it. Less than 20 men against an entire army of foreign invaders. It just ain’t gonna happen, boys. We’re done."
"But," stuttered Jerry. He looked around the room and pointed at the radio behind them. "What about those folks from Tucson? They’re on their way here, right now. They've got a couple hundred people with them! Not to mention all the families that made it out Tucson before the Chinese burned to the ground…"
Lance nodded. "Yeah, and how many will be left after we make another attack on the Chinese? A hundred? Fifty? Don't you get it? It's always going to end in the same result. They're military. We're not. They got bigger guns, better training…No matter what we do, we’re going to get cut apart. We can't fight them toe to toe."
Lance's statement seem to take the air out of the room. All three of the Regulators before him found seats and sat heavily. George was the last one standing. He simply collapsed on the edge of the desk and stared at the floor.
"But…” Lance took a breath.
This land is still worth fighting for…
He could almost hear Rob’s voice in his head. When Lance spoke again, his voice had more strength. “Just because the Regulators are finished as an organization doesn't mean I'm willing to give up."
"Well, if the Regulators are done…What’re we gonna we do?"
"I know what I'm going to do," Lance said. Dark thoughts flashed through his mind, a way to find escape from the pain, a way to atone for his sins. For the deaths of so many friends. "I'm going to load up on all the ammo and weapons I can carry and track down these Chinese fucks and take as many of them out with me as I can."
"Lance, going after them for revenge…" said Jerry. “It’s…”
"Oh, it's well beyond revenge. I will not be satisfied with revenge. I seek cold, hard, retribution."
George jumped to his feet. "I'm in!"
Lance stood, decision made. He felt the spirit return to him. A sudden strength returned to his damaged body. He ignored the pain and smiled. "It feels good to have a purpose again."
"Whoa, boys. Let's think about this, okay?"
"I'm done thinking, Jerry" said Lance. "That's all I've been doing since I woke up under that pile of rubble down in town. This may not be for everybody—hell, I'd be disgusted if it was."
"So what do we tell the families? The widows?"
"I don't know. Sorry won’t cut it. I don’t think anything I tell them will help." Lance shrugged. "Let them take all the food and supplies they want. They can carry out Rob's last order and head north if they want. Hell, they could head south, east or west. But me and anyone who wants to come with me—we’re going after the Chinese. And we’re bringing death with us."
CHAPTER 31
Scavengers
ERIK LOOKED UP FROM the open tin can and scanned the empty parking lot. He savored the taste of the jellied, processed meat as it slid down his throat and filled his stomach. As Erik leaned against the supermarket’s wall, he could feel the heat of the day through the bricks. He rolled his eyes in ecstasy.
"Oh my God, this tastes so good…"
Ted mimicked a retching sound from the other side of the corner and chuckled. "Man, I couldn't eat that shit back before the world ended. Now that it's been expired for a few months, I don't think I'd be able to chew on it any better. I think I'll skip."
"What?” asked Erik. He looked at the can of SPAM in his hand. “This stuff lasts forever, right? Besides, I haven't had a decent meal, in…" Erik shoveled another spoonful of the pink, salty meat paste into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully. "Honestly, I don't even know the last time I had a decent meal. Probably back in Sarasota. Remember that night on the Tarpon Whistler? That fish we grilled up on that little spit of land?"
Ted's eyes never stop roaming the deserted streets of the small town they had discovered. "Oh yeah," he said in a hushed voice. He scanned the streets with his rifle checking the distance to see if anyone was following them. "That was some damn good fish."
"Yeah," Erik said quietly around a mouthful of SPAM. "I remember you coming back on board the ship—"
"Boat. That little thing was a boat," Ted said.
"Boat, whatever… You scared the shit out of me that night when you climbed up out of the water." Erik laughed as he scraped the sides of the can for the last dredges of meat and gobbled it without a thought to manners. He tossed the can on the ground and winced as the sound echoed around them.
"Would it kill you to be a little less noisy?"
"Come on, man, you don't think there's anybody still in this town, do you? The Russians must've been through here already. Anybody that hasn't left yet is either dead or on their way." Just to be safe, though, Erik peered around before he opened a can of peaches. "Man, these things smell good. Sure you don't want any?"
Ted chuckled. "Nah, go ahead. I filled up earlier. I've been eating high on the hog since you were captured." Ted glanced around the streets once more. A frown creased his face. "I don't have much of an appetite lately, anyway. Can’t stop thinking about Susan and the kids, you know?"
Erik slowed his ravenous consumption of the sweet fruit chunks. "Yeah… If I didn't know that they were being fed better than the men, I'd be a lot more concerned." He sighed and looked at the half eaten canned fruit. "I guess I don't have much of an appetite anymore, either."
Ted glanced over his shoulder. "For fuck's sake, don't waste it. Man up and finish it off."
Erik brought the can to his lips, careful to avoid the sharp edges and drained the can of juice before sc
ooping up the last of the fruit. He carefully placed the can on the ground next to the other empty cans from his meal. As he stood, he dusted off the front of his shirt and re-shouldered his pack.
"You ready?" asked Ted. "I don’t think we’ll be lucky enough to find any more food here… So, the sooner we find some cover, the sooner I’ll feel safer. Something don't feel right."
Erik drew his Russian pistol. He pulled the slide back, made sure there was a round in the chamber and brought it up to scan the alley behind them. "I guess I'm ready. Where we headed now?"
"South. Now that we've looped up north and west away from the camp, it's time to come down and pay a visit to our Russian friends from a direction they're not expecting." Ted started to walk down the length of the front of the building, his rifle at the ready. Erik followed and made sure to check behind them every few steps.
He had to admit, the little town of Bigby, Florida, did have a certain creepiness factor about it. They hadn't seen a single Russian soldier, but they'd seen the handiwork of their foragers. Most of the shops had caved-in walls. Scorch marks and bullet holes—big holes—peppered just about every building and car they found. Erik had yet to see a single intact window in the whole place.
Erik realized the food and drink the American captives at the prison camp had been enjoying had likely been lifted off of small towns like Bigby. The Russians were like locusts in that regard. They stripped the land clean as far as they could in every direction.
"Stay frosty back there…” Ted whispered. “Something is making my trigger finger itchy…"
Erik tightened his grip on the pistol and looked behind them once more. He thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye by the rear of a building down the street. The drug store. He immediately froze and dropped to one knee. "Movement, behind us,” he hissed.
"Got a target?" whispered Ted.
"Nope, but I think I saw somebody duck around the corner down the street. By the drug store.” He shook his head. “I don't see anything now. "
Sic Semper Tyrannis Page 41