Fortress Doctrine (Maelstrom Rising Book 5)

by Peter Nealen

  He pulled a folder out of the pack he’d brought along and slid it across the table at Hank. “These thefts aren’t like the old-school Los Zetas pipeline taps. That would be a problem—and I think we’ll see more of it as time goes on—but that’s not what these guys have been doing. They’ve been driving trucks right up to the pumping stations, loading them up and driving away.

  “With the oil company’s help.”

  Hank frowned down at the papers in front of him. They looked like corporate paperwork for GSC Energy, Inc. “You’re saying it was an American oil company behind this? Not the Chinese?”

  “That’s where it gets even more interesting. Look closely at some of the holdings invested in GSC Energy.”

  Hank flipped over a couple of pages. “That’s a lot of Chinese names.” He looked up. “I thought Chinese companies weren’t supposed to own vital infrastructure?”

  “They’re not. They took a good crack at it a few years ago, bidding for these very oil fields when the bottom dropped out of the oil market and futures hit negative numbers for a few days. That got headed off—after all, people were finally starting to figure out the CCP’s game about that time, too. But they’re sneaky bastards, as we’ve already seen with their ‘humanitarian aid’ op on the coast.

  “So, while GSC Energy is technically an American company, the majority shareholders are all Chinese companies. To make matters worse, their primary security provider, ARI Risk Management, has a headquarters in Washington State, but no other contracts, no history, and no workable contacts.”

  “Meaning it’s a shell company.” Hank wasn’t asking.

  “Meaning it’s a shell company, and almost certainly staffed by PLA soldiers, not unlike the so-called ‘PMC’ that provided security for their bullshit humanitarian aid mission on the West Coast.” Wallace turned grim again. “Meaning that we’re not just looking at a heist here. This is a planned, coordinated attack on our own national defense infrastructure.”

  Hank looked up at him. “So, if we’re not going after the facilitators in Mexico, what are we going to do about it?”

  “Have you heard the term ‘Fortress Doctrine?’”

  He thought for a second. “Can’t say as I have.”

  “It’s been bandied about among the Triarii plankowners for a while now. Sort of a SHTF scenario, where things go south in such a big way that we can’t fix it in the short term and have to settle in for the long haul. It involved designating certain core territories that could be defended and secured, allowing some consolidation of resources while we tried to keep the enemy off balance elsewhere. It was originally a domestic scenario, but since Slovakia, it’s become bigger than that.

  “Santiago’s signed off on the plan. We can’t afford to let the Chinese and the cartels loot the West Texas oil fields while everything falls apart. We need that oil. It’s our oil. Not theirs. So, we’re going to cut off the incursions and the flow of stolen oil by retaking the oil fields.”

  Hank looked back down at the papers as the waitress showed up with their food. Damn. “That’s going to draw a lot of attention.”

  “That’s not our concern; Santiago and Governor Hollis are handling that. Our task is to get ready to retake the oil fields—preferably as quickly and cleanly as possible. We don’t want them to set the tanks and the wellheads on fire just to spite us.”

  Hank winced. He hadn’t thought of that. West Texas could become a decidedly unpleasant place to be if this went sideways. “Where do you want us?”

  “There’s a hell of a task list. The National Guard is going to be doing a major sweep, but the Triarii and the Texas Rangers are going in ahead of them to secure the pumping stations before the enemy can figure out what’s going on. The Guard is mainly going to mop things up and take out any backup forces they have out in the country. They’re not happy about it, but in large part thanks to your op in Mexico, we have the precision strike and secure mission. I don’t know which one your section will get; that has yet to be tasked out. But you’ll need to modify some trucks.” He grinned. “But there’s something else I need you to do first.”

  Hank’s headache felt like it had just gotten worse, despite the food making him feel somewhat more human. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

  “We need more supporting units.” Wallace, true to form, had gotten serious again. “The Texas National Guard and some of the State Guard are gearing up, but we have five infantry sections, one Grex Luporum Team, and two air sections. That’s it. Everyone else is tasked out; things are getting hotter elsewhere. But the Volunteer Units have started mobilizing. And we’ve got the First Texas and Third Wyoming Volunteers coming down in the next couple of days.

  “Since you did a pretty decent job of training and preparing the local militia in Lajitas and Terlingua, you’re going to be heading up getting the First Texas ready to hold the border to our rear while we concentrate on the oil fields along with the National Guard.”

  Hank put his fork down and rubbed his eyes. “I knew I wasn’t going to like this.”

  Chapter 34

  “Oh, hell.”

  Hank was surveying what he’d gotten from the First Texas Volunteers. And when he considered how little time he had, it didn’t look good.

  It had taken several months to get the Lajitas militia to where they had been before all hell had broken loose. He had two days before his section—and the rest of the assault forces—were supposed to roll out to try to retake the oil fields.

  If the Volunteers had been expected to directly support the attacks on the oil fields and the GSC Energy offices, the sight in front of him would have made him despair. Fortunately, they were just supposed to take up defensive positions in Presidio and elsewhere along the border, freeing up the Texas Rangers, Triarii, and Texas National Guard to evict the Chinese.

  The group in front of him, not really in any kind of formation, but rather just milling around in more of a mob, was more eclectic than the Lajitas militia had been. He saw a similar range of weapons, but gear ran the gamut from thousands of dollars’ worth of high-end tactical gear—often far more than necessary—to a bandolier and nothing else. Fitness levels were equally all over the place. A few looked like they were in good shape, but far too many were either too skinny or too fat.

  And from the looks of them, most of them already thought they knew exactly what they were doing, and were wondering just why they’d been asked to come and gather on the Presidio High School baseball diamond.

  Hank looked around at the group, most of whom were talking amongst themselves—nobody had phones, in large part because the power was spotty and the cell network around Presidio was down again—while the rest stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and belligerence. He lifted the bullhorn that Wallace had gotten him.

  “How many vets do I have?”

  He got a few hesitant raised hands from the front. Most of those in the back ignored him.

  “Listen, fucksticks, if you came here just to try to look tough and talk big, you can go the fuck home right now, because you’re no use to me or anyone else!” His voice crackled through the bullhorn, echoing across the baseball diamond. The side conversations quieted, and every eye was on him now.

  “Holy hell, Hank.” Jim Huck was one of the Ranger Border Recon guys, who’d joined Hank and Tango India Six Four to try to whip this group into at least a passable speed bump to cover their rear area while they tried to neutralize the Chinese. “I think you gave a couple of them heart attacks.”

  “I hope so,” Hank growled, before lifting the bullhorn to his lips again. “Now, how many vets do I have?”

  He got some more hands that time, but still distressingly few. And only a fraction of those had plate carriers, helmets, and what looked like enough ammo.

  “Damn it.” He was momentarily glad that he’d remembered through the weight of his fatigue to lower the bullhorn.

  “Hey, at least they’ve only got to play defense, right?”


  Hank turned a glare on the Texas Ranger, who chuckled. “’Only’ play defense. Right. ‘Only.’” He turned back to the Volunteers, counting. “You, you, you, and you. Over there.” He pointed, waiting until the assigned men moved to their position. “Now, you, you, you, and you. Over there.”

  He proceeded to break his all-too inadequate number of actual veterans into about five cadres. Then he started breaking the mass of about two hundred Volunteers into squads, assigning each to a cadre.

  “These are your companies, since you didn’t have much of an organization before coming out here.” That had been an unpleasant shock. They had a limited amount of time to prepare, and had found that the “Volunteer Units” weren’t really units at all, but were ad hoc groups thrown together when the call had gone out, not unlike some of the flash mobs that the PRA had utilized in major cities across the nation, only with better intentions. So, they were essentially stuck starting from scratch.

  At least the Volunteer Units wanted to defend something, not just tear things down and set city blocks on fire.

  But they were mostly unorganized and untrained, and Hank really didn’t have time for this.

  “Now, give me the most experienced man out of each cadre. Just one per group.” He knew it was a little hit or miss, but he was out of options. He, Huck, Torres, LaForce, and one of Torres’s guys named Lee were the only ones set to this task, while Spencer and Torres’s assistant section leader, Dallas, were getting vehicles ready for the assaults ahead. That mostly consisted of affixing convincing GSC Energy and ARI Risk Management decals to the doors of otherwise innocuous white pickups and vans, but there were a lot of other little things that had to happen to make the vehicles ready to fight from. There was more to it than just throwing gear and weapons in the back and going.

  Picking out the cadre leaders took far too long. And while that was happening, a pair of unmarked but very official-looking vehicles pulled up in the parking lot outside the diamond.

  Hank’s eyes narrowed as he watched them. One was black, the other was gold, but they both had government plates. He nudged Huck, who nodded. He’d seen them too.

  “Let me handle this.” Huck clapped him on the shoulder and started down off the bleachers. He wasn’t in a full uniform, but his Texas Ranger badge was still prominently displayed on his jacket, and his 1911 and full duty belt weren’t regular everyday carry for anyone but a law enforcement officer.

  The two vehicles were getting curious looks from more than a few of the Volunteers. And the leaders who were moving up to the bleachers had noticed, too. Most of them were watching the vehicles, rather than Hank. The little spiel Hank had had in mind had been almost driven out by the new arrivals.

  Maybe he was being paranoid, but somehow, he didn’t think that they were there to help out.

  “Come on, bring it in.” He had to fight his own curiosity and paranoia a little to get himself back on track. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  The Volunteer leaders gathered around at the base of the bleachers, though a few curious glances were still being cast toward the newcomers as Huck approached them. Hank found his own gaze turning that way from time to time, as well.

  “All right, we don’t have time for a full train-up, so what we’re going to do is get you set into defensive positions and help you prepare patrol routes and schedules.” He looked around at all of them, who were starting to stare at him with furrowed brows. “How much have you been told about what’s been going on?”

  “Told?” The lanky man in a white cowboy hat with a Multicam plate carrier and high-end AR-15 spat a stream of dip spit on the ground. “Hell, I’ve been here for most of it. Ever since the first VBIED attack on the border crossing.”

  Hank nodded. “Okay. How much of the big picture do y’all have?”

  The man in the cowboy hat looked around and shrugged. “Cartels attacked across the border. What else do we really need to know?”

  Hank thought about that for a moment and then shrugged a little. It wasn’t quite the attitude he’d encourage in his section, but under the circumstances…

  Close enough, I guess. He ain’t wrong. Still…

  “While that might be enough, you should probably have some explanation as to why we’re going to set you in on the front line and then disappear. Seems that somebody on our side of the line is facilitating these attacks, and we’re going to go after them, along with the Rangers. We need you to watch our backs.”

  As he was speaking, he saw Huck finish talking to the men and women at the two SUVs. They got back into their vehicles and slowly drove away as Huck stood there, his fists on his hips, watching them go. Then he hurried back toward Hank and the bleachers, pulling a radio off his belt.

  He was speaking rapidly into it as he circled the volunteers and stepped up onto the bleachers next to Hank. Getting an acknowledgment, he shoved it back onto his belt and faced Hank.

  “Raise your right hand.” Hank did so, and Huck nodded. “Good. You’re now deputized.” He turned to the rest of the volunteers and grabbed Hank’s bullhorn. “Everyone, raise your right hands.”

  It took a minute for all of them to get their hands in the air; there was a lot of looking around and curious muttering. Hank bit back a curse. These guys might be willing, but their discipline sucked.

  “Great. According to the Texas Code of Criminal Procedure, Chapter 8, Article 8.01, you’re now all deputized citizens assisting the enforcement of the laws of the Republic of Texas.” He turned to Hank. “That’s going to go for all of you Triarii, too, though the only sticking point is that all the Volunteers and Triarii will have to be accompanied by a Ranger until this is over.”

  “Are there enough of you to pull that off?” Hank glanced at the Volunteers as he spoke.

  “Should be. It means that we’ll have to break up the Recon team and assign each Ranger to an element—might mean that we’ve got to break your boys up a little, too, to cover all the targets—but we’re getting back to the days of ‘One riot, one Ranger.’” He grinned. “I think we can pull it off, but we’ll have to go back to the drawing board on some of the operational planning.”

  Hank grimaced. As if this wasn’t already complicated enough. “Have we got time to finish tasking these guys out?”

  “Let’s make it quick, but I think so.” Huck jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the retreating government vehicles. “They’re going to have to go back and talk to their bosses, and I think we can have everything squared away by the time they’ve adjusted their orders.”

  “Great.” Hank turned toward the Volunteer leaders, who were frowning as if wondering just what they’d gotten into. Welcome to the club, gents. “All right. You, take your section and go here…”

  ***

  Wallace ran a hand over his face tiredly. “Okay, everybody’s here. Lay it out for us, Ranger Huck.”

  Huck looked around the room, which was one of the administrative offices in Presidio High School. School was out due to the emergency; the power was back on—at least sporadically—in most of Texas, but things had been unstable enough since the attack that school had fallen by the wayside. A couple of National Guard officers, the Triarii leaders, and a bunch of Texas Rangers had the office packed.

  “Well, about an hour ago, while Hank here was starting to prep some of the Texas Volunteers, a couple of vehicles with government plates pulled up to watch. I went to talk to them. They were evasive—wouldn’t tell me which agency they’re working for, but they had a lot of questions about what we’re doing.

  “My suspicion is that they work for Homeland Security, the ATF, or the FBI. And I don’t think their curiosity was innocent.”

  “What makes you say that?” Wallace’s voice was even, his face impassive. He probably knew the answer, but he wanted it all out in the open.

  “For one thing, I’d love to play poker with those clowns. Their opinions were all over their faces. It was like they couldn’t help themselves. They think we’re
playing around, a bunch of racist redneck hicks trying to pick a fight with Mexico.” Huck looked like he wanted to spit on the floor. Hank suspected that the Texas Rangers had gotten a lot of that from Federal authorities over the years, especially during the times when DC hadn’t wanted to see any steps taken to secure the border.

  Huck looked Wallace in the eye. “I don’t know how much you’ve been read in yet, but the governor’s been getting a lot of pushback about even mobilizing the National Guard. The folks in Washington don’t want anyone ‘stirring up more trouble,’ so any actions we take that have the potential to get them more noise from Mexico—or China—is bad. I think that they’re so discombobulated by what’s happened in the last few months that they’re terrified of losing what little control they’ve got left, so they’re trying to smack down anyone who might be ‘taking matters into their own hands.’ Trouble is, they don’t have the manpower or the political will to actually do much of anything, so everybody suffers while they dither.”

  “Plus, it’s easier for them to try to smack down anyone who tries to impose order—and therefore has a ruleset—than it is to actually deal with the chaos.” Torres had his arms folded, his face thunderous.

  “Probably.” Huck shrugged. “At any rate, I had a brainstorm, and just got official confirmation from the governor’s office. Since these companies have committed crimes on Texas soil, against Texans—or have been observed being complicit in said crimes—this is now a law enforcement matter. If things get a little sporty in the course of investigating these crimes, then that’s not our problem. So, the Triarii, National Guard, and the Volunteer Units are now all deputized by the Texas Rangers under Chapter 8, Article 8.01. So, if things get violent, we just were very, very well-prepared, and not conducting offensive paramilitary operations.”

  “Is that going to fly?” That was one of the other Triarii section leaders, a guy named Bering. Hank didn’t really know him.