The Western Front: Parts 1-3 Part 2

To our surprise the four Humvees accelerated out from underneath us two-wide, straddling the center of 186. Our rear guard opened fire on them, but we never could've imagined what happened next. A booming voice came across their radio.

'Sheee-yit! We're on the same team!'

The booming voice was in that undeniable west Texas cowboy drawl. I immediately felt sick. There was no doubt in my mind that we had American blood on our hands.

Chapter 4.

William Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.

William Galleani smashed his first cigarette of the morning in the ashtray and rolled out of bed. He crawled along the wall to the blinds and gingerly peaked through. He had absolutely no desire to become a martyr for the cause. He crawled a several feet from the window, before standing and walking the remaining distance to the bathroom.

He took a long look in the mirror to size himself up. He was an unlikely leader. William was short and diminutive, with the slightest bit of stubble beginning to show on his face and neck. His short black hair was all but hidden beneath the fleece skullcap as he pulled it snugly onto his head. The dark hair was such a stark contrast to his pale skin. It exaggerated his look of etherealness. His dark brown eyes were deeply set in his skull in a manner that made him look eternally exhausted. After brus.h.i.+ng his teeth, he stumbled into the meager kitchen and started a pot of coffee.

William had started SPARC (Socialists, Political Anarchists, Radicals and Communists) only five short years ago, and now he was a major player in the new political scene. He had the ear of politicians, labor leaders and even several foreign diplomats that represented various countries from banana republics, to former cold-war superpowers, to modern-day players.

To be honest, which he seldom was, more of his organization's financial support came from outside of the country than within. His group had exploded on the scene a mere six months ago when the unrest first started in D.C. While other groups' leaders.h.i.+p was apprehensive at first to openly challenge the police, SPARC would employ tactics to antagonize them into responding with force. William would then flood social media with videos of their agents being beaten while they innocently bleated like lambs.

The videos were soon picked up by the media establishment and delivered into the living rooms of Americans, and across the world. These successful tactics led to the cannibalization of other organizations' members. SPARC's ranks quickly swelled with young radicals of all stripes that were demoralized by the endless marching and shouting they had grown nauseatingly accustomed to.

SPARC had branches in major cities all across the country, and they were adding to their ranks with each new clash with police. William's army of revolutionaries was potentially much larger, since copycat groups had popped up in the smaller cities where he did not yet have a presence. He had plans for them as well. If they did not a.s.similate under his wide umbrella of chaos when he came to town, he would use his powerful contacts to destroy them.

He credited his charisma and powerful rhetoric as the source of his magnetism. In a world of revolutionaries and activists as varied as the colors in the spectrum, he had managed to bring them together and focus their energy towards his goals.

Apparently, his allies in congress were much more powerful than even he had antic.i.p.ated. He had expected a climactic, highly publicized exchange with the Federal government, but they had largely ignored him. A handful of the more radical politicians praised him and were sometimes even spotted at his rallies. Or, perhaps America had truly become a paper tiger, shackled by political correctness. If that was so, it would make things much simpler for him. The local and state governments alone were no match for his agents of chaos. Their budgets were already broken, and their pensions were already drained. All they could do was make idle threats at press conferences while SPARC gleefully burned their cities to the ground. And if the city leaders or police decided to get too heavy handed, SPARC would make a house call and terrorize their families. William did not want complete submission, however. Violence begot more violence, and having an enemy worked to his benefit.

The coffeemaker hissed and gurgled as it finished brewing. William grabbed a day-old styrofoam cup and filled it to the top. Today was an important day for him; today he would up the ante. The riots had been successful in that they had brought him respect and power, but they had also provided him a platform to leverage so that he could transition to phase two.

There were two types of people in the streets, revolutionaries and opportunists. The opportunists used the riots as an excuse to loot. The revolutionaries of course looted as well, of course, but that was not their goal. A paradigm s.h.i.+ft was their end-game, a fundamental transformation to whatever radical ideology that they held dear to their hearts. William needed a third type of person in the street, though. He needed the opposition; the sons and daughters of 'liberty'.

William simply called them the 'opposition'. There were dozens of derogatory terms out there he could have used, but he preferred to anesthetize them. Therefore, if you have an opposition, a mere obstacle, you simply eradicate it. Besides, euphemisms worked better around his more sophisticated supporters, so it was a matter of etiquette to settle on the term.

For the most part, the opposition was nowhere to be seen, actually. They mostly resided in suburban and rural settings and avoided the cities at all costs. Those outlying areas were where SPARC was the weakest. As long as their property was respected and their families were safe, they stayed home. He had expected so much more out of these people. They had been so vocal about rights and liberties; freedom and restoration.

Even now, facing anarchy in the streets and the tightening grip of martial law, they pulled their curtains tight and barred their doors like cowards. Ever the optimists, they hoped to weather the storm, wait for order to be restored, and maybe rebuild their country. William was not going anywhere, anytime soon, though. He needed something to strike fear into their hearts, a fear of losing what they held dear; the kind of fear that motivated men to act.

The pre-paid cell phone vibrated on the counter, rudely interrupting his musings. He strolled to the kitchen and topped off his cup as he checked the incoming number.

"Yes?"

"Hey, how are things there?"

The pleasantries only seemed to annoy William. The man should know by now.

"Fine; how is the procurement process?"

There was a long pause, and then, "It's... taking longer than we antic.i.p.ated. Everyone is paranoid. This is serious, Will."

William rattled a cigarette from his soft pack and withdrew it with his lips. His tone grew sarcastic and abrasive, "I know exactly how serious this is, I wouldn't have called in my favor to you if it wasn't. I'm on a timeline and I need you to deliver me some results. No more delays. Now, tell me the status."

"Well, the secondary objective is complete and awaiting approval to proceed. The primary is still being negotiated. The talks are productive, but like I said, everybody is scared. I think I can have the terms nailed down by the end of this week and delivery by the end of the following."

William lit the cigarette and took a long drag, allowing the realities of the conversation to sink in.

"That sounds acceptable. Two weeks, not three, not five. Two, got it?"

He could hear the relief in the man's voice, "Yes, got it. Perfect. Now, what about the secondary objective, should we execute?"

"Absolutely not. If everyone's paranoid, then that might push them away from the table altogether. Just keep pus.h.i.+ng, but don't push them away. Call me in a week. I'll send you my new number."

William smiled as he ended the call and took another long drag of the tobacco. He strolled to the closet and rummaged for a minute before retrieving a dark hoodie and some jeans. News like this called for a celebration.

After he pulled on the jeans he checked his watch, it was 6 AM. He grabbed the land line and dialed. The phone rang five or six times before a man's voice groaned on the other end.

"What?"

"Great news, get up. Meet me at the spot."

"What time is it? I went to bed like four hours ago, I think. I was torching storefronts and drinking Jgermeister all night. I don't even want to think about drinks."

"Yeah you do, now get up. Meet me there in twenty minutes."

Click.

Days like this were what it was all about. He adjusted the Kevlar vest under the hoodie, before grabbing his Walther PPS and das.h.i.+ng out the door.

Chapter 5.

Barrett South Padre Island, Texas Barrett and Governor Baker pulled out of the heliport and turned north onto Channel View Loop in the four-wheel-drive buggy. The area contained by the loop had been cleared of RVs to make room for the state guards' equipment.

The sky was cloudy but still beautiful. The warm, salty air beckoned to everyone within its domain. Padre Island's wide beaches lay just beyond the edge of the pavement. The waves were larger than normal.

In another time, the island would have been saturated with tourists taking surfing lessons, snorkeling, fis.h.i.+ng the jetty or simply basking in the south Texas sun. Perhaps a beachfront wedding would be taking place behind one of the condos. The bride and groom would be whisked away after the ceremony, leaving the guests to occupy their evening with fried oysters and draft beer at Louie's. Instead, the only visitors were the gulls and black skimmers that patrolled the waters for unsuspecting fish.

Governor Baker surveyed the six Amphibious a.s.sault Vehicles and Strykers that he had begged from the Marines and Army a month ago. The Army had loaned Texas ten Strykers and the Marines had offered up six AAVs. The governor had sent three of each to the island after they were operable. They were in miserable condition when Texas took delivery, obviously pulled from some repair queue. It took nearly three weeks of working around the clock to get them serviceable. Two of the "amtracks", as the AAVs were also known, were still having mechanical issues. Fortunately, there were several, experienced mechanics among the ranks of the guardsmen.

The AAVs were equipped with Bushmaster 25mm auto cannons, and the Strykers were equipped with 40mm automatic grenade launchers. The arrival of the vehicles provided a much needed boost to the morale of the men on the island. Before their arrival, all that the guardsmen had were their Humvees, and more recently, four MRAPs. The official reason for the governor's visit was to deliver the vehicles to the island, but Barrett knew better.

Barrett and the governor had simply shook hands after being introduced, and had not said more than two words since. He knew the governor had not come into a war zone to shoot the breeze with a tired soldier. He s.h.i.+fted in his seat uncomfortably as he waited for the governor to break the silence. Finally, Governor Baker cleared his throat and casually motioned his hand towards the new vehicles.

"Those ought to make a difference down here Sergeant... ah, I didn't catch your last name."

"No sir, we don't use our names down here. It's too dangerous for our families. You're welcome to call me Sergeant or Barrett, and yes sir, they'll make a world of difference; thank you."

"My pleasure, Barrett. I'm just sorry it didn't happen sooner."

"I understand. There's more red tape than usual, I imagine."

The governor snorted in disgust, "I seem to be surrounded by it and at the top of everyone's blacklist. Texas can't seem to catch a break. If it ain't trouble down here, it's the wildfires, or the drought, or the riots, or the Feds," he sighed and said, "I just don't know anymore."

Barrett nodded in agreement as he followed the loop north. They had almost made it back around to the heliport. Governor Baker looked out over the cras.h.i.+ng waves and motioned once again.

"Turn off here."

They eased off the pavement and onto the beach. The buggy easily managed the sandy terrain. They navigated around the exposed pipeline that audaciously blocked the path. Barrett drove out to the water's edge to give them a smoother ride. An occasional rogue wave would crash into the side of the buggy and splash the governor's well-worn boots.

Baker smiled as he gazed out across the horizon, before he said, "I used to come here in the off season with my wife. I've always loved this place. As you're coming over the causeway you feel like you're leaving Texas. Then you see the pipeline on the beach and you know you're still at home."

Barrett grinned.

"This is far enough," Baker said, "stop here."

They had traveled nearly a mile north from where they turned on the beach. They were parked in front of several large dunes nestled between two vacant resorts. Barrett turned off the engine so that he could hear the waves cras.h.i.+ng on the sh.o.r.e. He listened to the calming sound and waited for the governor to speak.

"Barrett, I'm sure you know why I'm really here."

"Yes sir, but you probably should debrief them, or our commanding officer. I don't know how much I can help."

"That'll come soon enough. I wanted to talk to you first." Governor Baker stepped onto the beach and casually strolled to the water. "So they've been locked up for about ten days?"

"They've been on watch for eleven days, sir. They've had free reign of one of the barracks. They eat what we eat and have a deck of cards and some other things to keep them occupied. We even gave them a radio so they can listen to Lonestar."

Radio Lonestar was an initiative by the governor to get the truth out to Texans, as well as the citizens of the surrounding states. The Federal government had effectively nationalized all media outlets and severely limited internet communications. They had complete control over what information was disseminated. Talking heads stiffly read from prompters and bantered back and forth in orchestrated displays like wooden marionettes. Radio stations played loops of their respective genres without interruption from an on-air personality. Talk radio had disappeared except for a few closely-monitored outlets.

Radio Lonestar had been the first shot across the Fed's bow. Immediately after it began airing, the Federal government began to pull funding and military support from Texas. All Federal air support had been withdrawn from the state. Most of the ground forces had been removed, with the exception of a few strategic locations, such as Corpus Christi. The Feds acted independently and refused to share intelligence with Texas. Except for the support of a few neighboring states, mainly Oklahoma and Arkansas, Texas was on its own. New Mexico and Arizona were sharing intelligence with their neighbor, but could offer no logistical or financial support because of their own problems. The states that were helping were mostly doing so to prevent the border disaster from spilling into their own territory.

The governor stood in silence for several moments. Finally, he spoke. "There're only six of them. I was told there were originally twelve. Where're the rest?"

Barrett expected the question and had been considering the best way to respond. He had decided that the whole truth would be his best route.

"We let six soldiers leave on a supply boat headed back to Pascagoula."

"That's an awful brazen decision on the part of this facility, son. I wasn't informed of this prior to my arrival. Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't discharge every officer on base, or worse."

"Sir, with all due respect, we tried for three days straight to contact command control at Camp Mabry. We didn't get a response until day five. By then, they were gone. I know Austin is under a lot of pressure right now, but we're not getting any support. It's like we've been forgotten. Some of the boys have taken to calling this place Alamo Island, for more than one reason. Our situation is extremely dynamic. We don't have a week or so to make decisions down here."

"The whole d.a.m.n state's situation is 'dynamic' sergeant! I've cities on fire and refugees on the roads. Good people're looting to keep from starving. Petro is twenty dollars a gallon. Trucks've quit their routes, shelves are empty and now I hear that the Feds may've tried to a.s.sa.s.sinate soldiers under my command and y'all let half of 'em go!"

Governor Baker cursed furiously and kicked at the beach. After a few moments of the uncharacteristic display, he carefully removed his aviator's sungla.s.ses and gently wiped the lenses on his b.u.t.toned s.h.i.+rt. He closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts, before placing them back over his eyes.

"Look, I know it is tough down here. We're asking a lot from y'all. I know support from Austin is abhorrent, but please tell me you've got a better excuse."

Barrett squared up with the governor in a respectful, but forceful stance.

"Sir, I was a SEAL; those men are my brothers. I've spent a lot of time in places that this government will deny that I ever visited. I've captured and interrogated targets that are still officially wanted. I lived for the extraction jobs, but interrogation was what I did best. It wasn't the kind of interrogation you're thinking though. I just sat and talked with them, usually before the advanced techniques started. It's the subtle tells that give us away; the words that make our eyes dart away or twitch, the questions that make our breathing change or our pulse quicken. Places, names, dates I could dissect someone without ever picking up a scalpel. If you don't believe it, ask anyone here to saddle up to a poker table with me. Those men had no idea what they were being ordered to do. I stake my honor on that."

"That's a little better excuse." Governor Baker thought for a moment while examining the man beside him. "So, you're sure they'd no idea your men were in those Hummers?"

"Yes sir, as far as they knew the Humvees were stolen by cartels. They also couldn't have known that we'd up-armored much of our fleet. Had they known that, they would've showed up with heavier armaments."

"Why were they sent? Why not just call in an air strike?"

"Well, you did sign Amy's Law after the incidents in Dallas. Plus, the Feds know the border is flush with our own drones. Even if they used jets, the Air Force has been gone so long they probably reasoned it'd raise a flag. The Feds likely figured that some friendly fire casualties by ground troops could be explained away much easier than a calculated attack from above. That's my speculation, at least."

The incidents in Dallas three months back were three Federal drone crashes in one week. The Federal government accused Texans of shooting them out of the sky, further escalating tensions. The third crash killed a three year old girl named Amy Montenago and her mother in their loft apartment. The state legislature drafted a bill overnight that banned all Federal drones in Texas airs.p.a.ce. The local media took to calling the measure 'Amy's Law'. The Feds threatened lawsuits and the withdrawal of transportation funding, but the damage was done; the public was outraged. The Feds eventually relented because their problems were widespread already, and they did not want to risk a confrontation with the popular governor. Baker was well known for his fiery speeches on states' rights and individual liberties.

"Sounds like you've thought this through." Governor Baker turned and stared aimlessly down the beach, as if he was searching for guidance. "I swear, if this holds up to scrutiny..." his voice trailed off until it was lost in the sounds of the waves. "We have so much trouble coming our way. I don't even know where to begin."

Barrett took a few steps back without saying a word and sunk into the seat of the buggy. He let out a sigh and struggled to find the rights words, but nothing came. The governor turned and slowly walked over. As he reclaimed his seat, he said, "Let's go."

Barrett cranked the engine and spun the wheels for a moment. Finally, they gained traction.

As they rode down the beach, the governor looked at Barrett and asked, "But why let the six go? I don't understand."

"Those men forfeited their lives when they refused to execute those orders, and they knew that. They could've killed us all out there, but they chose a more honorable route. They'll surely suffer for it. All those men have left in this world are their families, and we couldn't keep them from that. And the men that stayed, all they've got is us."

Baker nodded. "Fair enough. Now, take me to the men that may've put the Republic back in Texas."

Chapter 6.

Jake West Mississippi Service started at dusk, but the next date would not be set until the end of the meeting. The church council randomly selected their meeting times; Tuesday morning, Friday night, Wednesday evening. Sometimes they would just convene at a church member's house instead. Wherever they met, they parked their vehicles out of site of the highway. They were afraid their homes would be targeted while they were gone, so they tried to keep the outsiders guessing.

Church was more important than ever, but it wasn't just the service they came for. After song and wors.h.i.+p, Reverend Lenton would preach a short sermon. Then, the after-service meeting would begin. The after-service meetings usually lasted about an hour, and mostly consisted of local word of mouth news.

Several in the congregations were HAM radio operators, so they were able to bring news from across the country and around the world. The collection and distribution of information had truly become a vitally important service. Communication items as basic as a scanner and a CB radio could be used to spread alerts through the community. Given enough time, neighbors could be rallied, threats could be repelled and lives could be saved.

Jake and Geram had their rifles slung across their backs as they made the final preparations for the short trip. The evening had brought with it unusually cool winds from the west. The breeze stirred the oaks and maples in front of the house and whispered of the storm clouds that were gathering on the horizon. Jake crossed the short distance between his home and Frank's. Kate cranked the Bronco and Geram hopped in the back seat.

Jake knocked on the door and yelled, "Frank, it's Jake. You ready?"

Several moments later, the old man opened the door and asked, "Ready for what?"