Battle of Mesquite

by David Pope

  The old man stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the pistol. After a moment he said, “I’m the neighbor.”

  “Shut the door, lock it, and put up your hands,” commanded Upton, pissed at himself for falling asleep.

  The man complied and then, with raised hands, jingled a set of keys. “I was checking on Rachel and Todd. My house is right behind the fence. They gave me a set while they’re gone. I’m not trying to steal anything.”

  “Rachel and Todd aren’t home,” said Upton.

  The man nodded. “Well, I’m just making sure everything is okay.”

  Unsure, Upton hesitated. The painkillers, sleep deprivation, and the soft couch had overwhelmed his ability to stay awake. Now, he had a problem. But the old man seemed harmless. Upton lowered the pistol. “I don’t intend on shooting anyone without cause.”

  “Good,” said the man, his arms in the air. “I appreciate that.”

  Upton considered his options. He’d need to learn more before deciding. “Go ahead and drop your hands. Let’s sit down, and I’ll try to explain. And please keep your voice lowered.” With a struggle, ribs hurting, Upton left the couch and waved his pistol towards an oak table in the adjoining dining room.

  The man dropped his hands and in a slow amble crossed the dining room and sat down. On the opposite side, Upton slid out a chair, laid his M18 on the tablecloth, and with aching ribs, sat on a soft cushion.

  Tanned with deep wrinkles and watery brown eyes, the old man asked, “Who are you?”

  “My name is Upton.”

  The old guy looked around the room, then turned to Upton. “You’re a soldier, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Upton, coming to grips with being discovered.

  “Makes sense. Your clothes, that helmet-looking thing sitting on the floor next to the couch, your gun, what happened yesterday. It adds up,” said the old man.

  Upton looked down at his own fatigue pants and the dark sweater he wore taken from the master closet. There was no reason to lie. “I’m a master sergeant in the ROAS Army of Defense.”

  “You’re hiding?” asked the old man.

  “Yes.”

  “You were in the fight yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow!” said the man. He leaned back and introduced himself. “Russel, Rus Jarvis. I’m a retired widower. My house is right behind this one. When Rachel and Todd evacuated, a day after the US Army showed up, they asked me to keep an eye on their place. They knew I wouldn’t leave. Sometimes we BBQ together. Me and Todd play a little golf.”

  “Got it,” said Upton.

  “Why are you hiding?” asked Russel.

  “You know what happened yesterday?” asked Upton.

  Russel nodded, “Yeah, a big fight broke out. Hell, my house shook to the foundation. I expected the windows to burst at any moment. I spent most of the time crouched in the hallway closet. Then the power failed and hasn’t returned. After the shooting stopped, I no longer had internet or cell service. Outside I saw smoke rising from the border crossing. To find out what was happening, I dug out my emergency satellite radio from the garage and listened to the Truth. I learned the US won the battle. Right after dark, they flew a helicopter over the neighborhood. On a loudspeaker, they told everyone to stay inside. Curfew and martial law was in effect. Anyone caught outside after dark would be considered a looter and be shot.”

  “Have you heard anymore?” asked Upton. Hungry for news, he was also worried US soldiers would be returning. As a hiding place, the house contained drawbacks. There were only a couple of ways out, and he considered the place a trap.

  “Well, yeah. The US kicked butt and wiped out an entire ROAS battalion. Sorry about that. Now, President Tower is saying the ROAS must surrender all of Nevada within two days or else.”

  The ultimatum news stunned Upton. CENTCOM hadn’t mentioned a deadline. Instead, his orders were to stay hidden for a couple of days until the enemy moved out of the area. If the US wasn’t falling back, but instead continued attacking, escaping Mesquite to the safety of ROAS lines would be much tougher. Plus, McMichael’s kids lived in Las Vegas. She’d freak out upon hearing the news. Upton shook it off; he needed to gather more intelligence.

  “Has the US given any more instructions to the local civilian population? Have you seen US troops in the area?” asked Upton.

  “Uh, no. Other than the loudspeaker last night, and a helicopter early this morning, I haven’t seen or heard another living soul. The country radio station out of Vegas has been blaring about a mandatory evacuation for most of Southern Nevada, but I’m not going anywhere. Now, can you tell me what you’re doing in my neighbor’s house?”

  Torn, Upton didn’t want the man involved, but it was already too late. Perhaps the old guy could be of help. One thing was for certain, he wouldn’t tell the guy about McMichael snoozing in the back bedroom or the satellite phone. He came up with a partial story.

  “I was on the front line yesterday during the attack. I got lucky and, except for some bruised ribs, escaped unharmed. My obligation is to avoid capture. So I’m working my way south and west. Early this morning, I stumbled across this house and decided to hide for a while. My plan is to stay low until things calm. Other than a little food, I haven’t disturbed the home.”

  “Must’ve been bad. The noise from the fighting was frightening. I couldn’t image being in the middle of that. Don’t blame you for running,” said Russel.

  “I didn’t run,” snapped Upton. Last thing he needed was the neighbor believing him a coward and worthy of capture.

  “Oh,” said Rus, lifting his eyebrows.

  “I survived,” said Upton, not appreciating the look. “An exploding shell tossed me through the air and cracked my ribs. I was knocked out and buried under some rubble when the US overran our position. Later, long after the battle ended, I escaped. So don’t give me that look. I didn’t run.”

  “Sure,” said Russel nodding his head. “I believe you, and I don’t blame you for breaking into the house. Hell, most folks in the area fled before the fight. They had busses shipping out the retiree’s and old folks. I’m probably only one of a handful still here. Myself, I got no other place. I live alone, just me and the cat. When the wife died, almost a year ago, she left me the calico. It ain’t worth a damn, but I take good care of her. I got kids, two girls, both in Sacramento. But they’re all grown and have their own families. Not much time for me.”

  “Sorry to hear about your wife,” said Upton. He glanced down at his pistol on the table and decided it was time to put it away. Picking it up, he slid it into his side holster.

  “Yeah, well, thanks. Life goes on,” said Russel, his eyes watching the gun as it disappeared from view. “To be honest, I never gave a damn about the ROAS Freedom Party. I belong to the Union Party. Although I don’t agree with what happened yesterday, the ROAS is plain wrong. The sooner the Union’s restored the better. That’s why I listen to the Truth and not the bullshit the ROAS media puts out. I believe in Manifest Destiny and reunifying the original United States.”

  Worried to learn he was dealing with a possible US sympathizer, Upton frowned. Russel was old enough to have lived through secession and the great migration that followed. Conservative, the Union Party supported nullification and a return to the United States. Still, until he could escape, Upton needed Russel. “All I want is to do my duty and return.”

  “I understand,” said Russel. “You’re a soldier. I respect that.”

  “Thank you,” said Upton. Curious, Upton asked, “Was there a reason you came over today to check your neighbor’s house?”

  “I’ve been watching the streets and houses around real close, trying to figure out what’s happening. A couple of times the shades moved, a shadow passed. I thought the neighbors might have returned. So I got up the nerve, grabbed the keys, and walked over to check.”

  “Makes sense,” replied Upton, cursing himself for the carelessness. If he didn’t do a better job staying
alert and remaining extra cautious, things were bound to turn bad. Upton considered his current dilemma. If the old bastard walked out, he might spill his guts to the nearest US troops. But if he forced Russel to stay, he wouldn’t be making a friend, and watching the guy would create a further liability.

  “You wouldn’t tell them, US soldiers, if they came around, about me hiding in here, would you?” asked Upton.

  Russel shook his head, “Ain’t none of my concern. Besides, like I already said, you’re a soldier not a criminal. I can’t imagine living through the fight yesterday. The sound of the guns, I mean, unreal. No, I wouldn’t do that,” said Russel, leaning back in his chair folding his arms.

  “I appreciate it,” said Upton.

  “Where’s home?” asked Russel.

  “Reno.”

  “Not sure you heard, they’re under a voluntary evacuation. Seems, and I don’t want to bring you down none, Nevada is a lost cause. The ROAS should follow Tower’s demand and turn over the state. No offense, but the ROAS military can’t stand up against the US. Best to hand over the whole damn state before lots more folks die.”

  “That’ll make it hard to go home,” said Upton, still trying to decide how much he could trust the old man.

  “Hell, quit the military. The US will welcome you; just take a loyalty oath. I’m sure they’ll come up with something like it. Same as when secession occurred, kicking off the great migration.” The old man sensed a kindred spirit and laid out his complaints. “As a military member, you must disagree with the ROAS Freedom Party and their ilk. Hell, they took away the second amendment. I gotta register my hunting rifle every year, just like my car—complete bullshit. Couldn’t have an AR if I wanted one. Now, with US troops knocking on the door, bet you the Freedom Party wishes they never did that. They could damn sure use the firepower. Damn Freedom Party cares more about foreigners, people of color, gay people, and non-Christians than hard-working folks. They expect the government to do everything for them.”

  Upton didn’t need the lecture. There was no way in hell he’d quit the military, not now. And if Reno were overrun, it would just give him more incentive to fight back. But he didn’t want the old man as an enemy. Still, he couldn’t let it go. “Don’t fool yourself. No amount of armed civilians with AR’s would have stopped the combined armor facing us yesterday.”

  Russel spread his hands. “I know, it’s just the point of the matter. Trust me, I ain’t no right-wing nut job, or racist, but I’m an American first, and the ROAS don’t give a damn. I should’ve migrated when it first happened. But me and the wife had two sandwich shops in Oroville; that’s a small town above Sacramento. It paid the bills, and the rest of the family felt … anyway, we stayed. Couple years ago, I retired and sold everything. Moved here to Mesquite. This town is the closest I could get to the US without having to void my ROAS Social Security. And you know this, ROAS taxes are horrendous. Universal income, healthcare for the lazy, free higher education for every dumb-ass. If you watch the Truth Network, you’d learn how much better they have it in the US. A man can be free.”

  Russel paused as if waiting for an answer. Upton disagreed with the opinions, but he needed to be careful. He decided to push back a little.

  “Russel, what do you think about the US only having one party to vote for? Doesn’t that bother you?” Before Russel could respond, Upton sensed the man building for an argument, and he didn’t need the hostility. In a softer tone he continued, “Politicians are all fucked. Like I mentioned, I want to get back in one piece. That’s all. Can you blame me?”

  Russel eyed the sergeant for a long moment before responding. “No, I don’t blame you. If the US soldiers come asking, I’ll play dumb. I got no axe to grind with you. But in two days, the ROAS accepts the US offer or else. Either way, the US is taking over. Until then, I don’t think they’ll be coming around here too much. But if they do, I won’t say nothing.”

  Upton gave Russel a weak smile. For one long second, he considered holding the old man hostage, but it wouldn’t work. Too difficult and time consuming. Instead, he had an idea. “Russel, you live behind this house, right?” he asked.

  “Yes, that’s my place,” nodded Russel at the living room window.

  Upton turned towards the window at the opposite end of the room facing the patio. Through darkened drapes, just a crack of sunlight beamed. Upton pointed in that direction. “I noticed your drapes, behind us, are open about a foot. After you return, for the next couple of days, if you spot US troops in the neighborhood, can you signal me by shutting those tight?”

  “That’s the guest bedroom,” Russel replied, looking across the room. “Sure, I can shut the drapes if I spot anything.”

  “Thanks,” said Upton, signaling the end of the conversation by standing up. With Russel in the mix, he was more convinced than ever the house was a death trap. Plus, knowing the US was threatening all of Nevada, he determined to flee. He’d tell Lisa and let CENTCOM know his decision during the next satellite call.

  “My pleasure,” said Russel.

  Upton looked at the old man. “You better get back and go right home. If I was you, I’d stay in the house for a few days. Until then, stop by tomorrow evening before dark, and we can compare notes.”

  Russel nodded and got up, holding a stiff back. “You think they’ll come back?” he asked, looking around the house.

  “Who?”

  “You know, Rachel and Todd.”

  Upton hadn’t considered the implications. If Nevada fell, what would happen to the displaced civilians and their property? He didn’t have the answers but sensed the old man needed reassurance. “Sure, they’ll return. Soon, this whole episode will blow over, and folks will go home. Neither government will keep people from their homes and businesses as they both respect property rights. Things will go back to normal.”

  Russel seemed relieved and stuck out a hand. “Well, I’ll head back. I wish you the best, and if I spot something, I’ll close those drapes. Godspeed to you.”

  Upton accepted the gesture and shook the old man’s hand. “I appreciate your keeping quiet and an eye out. Everything will work out.”

  “Always does,” said Russel, and he gave Upton a tight smile.

  * * *

  Lieutenant Colonel Simpson, sitting at a table in Central Command, reached over and tapped General Story on the shoulder. Annoyed at the disruption, examining updates on battlefield supply and engineering timelines for Las Vegas, the general looked up with a frown. Simpson pointed at her headset, “President Ortega, sir, on the line for you.”

  General Story nodded in acknowledgement, activated his own headset, and leaned back in his chair. “General Story here. How can I help, Madam President?”

  “Sorry for interrupting, but I have news,” said the president.

  “I’m all ears,” replied the general.

  “After deliberations, meetings with key people, the ROAS won’t give in to the latest US demand.”

  Unsurprised, General Story expected the decision. Still, hearing it made his heart flutter. “Understood,” he said.

  “Yes, well, after exploring all options, Operation Heavy Metal is a go. To offer the longest runway for preparations, we’ll keep the US guessing right up through their deadline. I won’t announce our decision. Instead, we’ll act as if the choice for accepting is still under consideration. I’ll be calling an emergency session of Congress tomorrow, where we’ll conduct a full-blown debate about acceptance of the latest US demands. I intend for rancorous discussions, stretching through the evening into the following morning. My hope is the enemy will delay their offensive while we squabble, maybe beyond the forty-eight-hour deadline, giving you more time for preparations.”

  “Thank you,” said General Story, pleased. “We’re ahead of schedule in several areas, but behind in others. Every extra bit of time is useful.”

  “I thought you’d like the approach. How is everything else, your confidence level?” asked the president.
<
br />   Operational success depended upon too many variables. How it would play out was anyone’s guess. “Madam, we’re doing everything in our power to make Heavy Metal work. Our folks seem excited and morale is high. Everyone is giving it their all. I can tell you we won’t have a Mesquite on our hands. This time, we won’t be surprised.”

  “Good. I’ll inform you if significant changes occur on the political front,” said the president.

  The general was about to thank her when he remembered the good news. “Have you seen the updates on Staff Sergeant Lisa McMichael, our little war hero out of Mesquite?”

  “Nothing since yesterday. Is there more?” asked the president.

  “Yes, ma’am. It should’ve been in your noon briefing package,” said the general.

  “Sorry, I haven’t had time. I’m all ears.”

  Pleased for the opportunity to give the president something positive, the general smiled as he spoke. “Well, she’s alive and holed up with another soldier, a Master Sergeant Corey Upton. They’re hiding in a suburban house within Mesquite. So far, they’ve evaded enemy capture. Earlier today, they contacted us via satellite phone. Both have minor wounds but, considering the circumstances, are in good shape.”

  “That is excellent news,” said the president sounding pleased. After a pause, she continued, “I want her in San Jose, now.”

  Surprised by the demand, the general had other priorities. Besides, he’d already given orders and had the situation under control. “She should stay where she is, well hidden. Mesquite is ringed by enemy units, roadblocks with eyes everywhere. For her safety, we’re keeping the news about her classified. After Heavy Metal, we can consider an extraction and getting her to San Jose.”

  “General, the country needs her. I need her. Besides, can you imagine if the US captures her? They will manipulate and use her as propaganda against us. We can’t let that happen. Get her out of there, now.”

  He regretted bringing up the subject. There were more important items requiring his attention. But he tried to see it from Ortega’s point of view. Losing McMichael, the Hero of Mesquite, would be an embarrassment. Instead of a hero keeping the populace supportive, Ortega would have a PR nightmare. Political support for the war might plummet, along with civilian morale. Still, based on circumstances, the best way for McMichael to get home alive and avoid capture was to follow the orders he’d given. “Madam President, Julia, you have my word. I’ll keep a close eye on her. For now, McMichael is following my orders. The wisest and most prudent course of action is for her to lie low until after Heavy Metal. We’ll get her home, not now, but soon. Trust me.”