Edge of Battle (23 page)

“Screw you, gringo!” the smuggler shouted. “You don’t have no right to do this!”

“Alpha Team, this is Fido. Be advised, we’ve lost our video downlink, but we saw two separate contacts approaching east and west of your position, range less than thirty meters. Recommend you use caution; repeat, we lost the downlink. Do you copy, Alpha?”

“I said, drop those bags,
cagado!
” Geitz shouted, shining his flashlight directly into the young man’s eyes to try to disorient him.

“I…I think Commander Geitz just called that guy a coward, boss,” Georgie Wayne said. “He ain’t gonna like that.”

“¡Me cago en la leche de que mamaste!”
the coyote shouted angrily, and he reached into the right satchel.

“He’s reaching for a gun!”
O’Rourke screamed, his voice rising several octaves in pure terror.
“Watch out! He’s got a gun!”

Everything was a blur of motion at that moment. Georgie
Wayne was right beside O’Rourke with his left hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention, and when the first shots rang out he immediately pulled the radio personality to the ground and lay on top of him. Men were screaming all around them. The gunshots sounded like firecrackers, punctuated occasionally by a loud “BOOOM!” from a heavy-caliber gun.

It seemed like the shooting lasted an hour, but in reality it was only seconds. O’Rourke waited until all the shooting had subsided; then, with all the courage he could muster, said to Wayne in a low voice, “Get off me, dammit!”

“Stay down, boss…”

“We’re not here to hide like chickens, Georgie! Get off me!” Georgie reluctantly slid off him—O’Rourke found himself committed now to get up, even though his legs were shaking so badly that he might not have been able to make it. “What happened? Did the smugglers open fire?” He looked up and saw Herman Geitz walking beside him, with his sidearm still smoking in his right hand. “Geitz! What happened? Were we attacked by the smugglers?”

Geitz looked down at O’Rourke and opened his mouth as if he was going to reply…but instead, a torrent of blood rushed from his open mouth, his eyes rolled up into his head, and the man pitched over and landed face-first on the rocky ground.

“Oh…my…God!” O’Rourke gasped. Years of experience taught him to never say a word unless he had a switched-on microphone in his hand, and the flood of emotions that came forth were all caught on tape. “Jesus, Commander Geitz has been killed, shot in the head…God, the whole back of his head is
gone,
it’s just one big massive bloody hole…the smell of gunpowder is unbelievable, almost overpowering…Georgie, are you okay? Are you all right?”

“Yes, boss, yes,” Wayne responded. “I’m going to see if anyone else needs help.”

“No!”
O’Rourke blurted out, a lot more fearfully than he’d intended. “Don’t leave me…I mean, the smugglers could still be out there! Stay down!”

But Georgie had already taken his recording gear off and was low-crawling along the trail. The members of the American Watchdogs were standing around in dumbfounded shock and disbelief, weapons smoking in their hands, flashlight beams jerking and darting aimlessly in all directions. Wayne moved carefully, not wanting to startle them in case they might start shooting again. He didn’t move very far before he discovered a body. “Oh, Christ, one of the migrants…a woman. Shot in the belly. Another migrant…Jesus, looks like they’re
all
dead, every one of the migrants.”

“This…this is unbelievable,” O’Rourke repeated hoarsely into his microphone. “There has been a massacre on this trail tonight, my friends and listeners, a massacre on an enormous scale. Eight members of the American Watchdog Project, volunteers, men who risked their lives to help patrol this remote and dangerous border region, have…have apparently shot and killed a group of about twenty migrants on this trail. When Commander Herman Geitz ordered the migrants to put down their bags so they could be searched, one of the migrants apparently opened fire, and the Watchdogs returned fire. More shots rang out—shotguns, handguns…the noise and confusion was horrifying. It…it is just plain impossible to put into words.

“Now, just moments later, it appears that everyone…
all
the migrants on this trail are
dead
. Twenty or so illegal immigrants who sneaked across the border and were attempting to infiltrate into the United States of America have been killed, along with the commander of the American Watchdog Project. The smuggler leading this group was afraid of being caught with weapons, afraid of what the Border Patrol might do to them after the horrible assassinations near Blythe, California just a few days ago, afraid of being sent to prison instead of just being released again into Mexico a few days from now, and they were determined not to be taken into custody. So he pulled out a weapon and began firing, and in the confusion, the Watchdogs returned fire, and
now…now…my God, the migrants all appear to be dead, every one of them.”

R
AMPART
O
NE
F
ORWARD
O
PERATING
B
ASE
,
O
CATILLO
, C
ALIFORNIA
T
HE NEXT MORNING

The Mexican Army forces stationed on the border south of Rampart One had just raised their flag, played the “Himno Nacional Mexicano,” and were now policing up their encampment when the new unit arrived. An additional six M-11 ULTRAV armored reconnaissance vehicles and HWK-11 armored personnel carriers, and thirty-three infantrymen, pulled up to the encampment in a cloud of gray dust and noise.

The commander of the new unit, Major Gerardo Azueta, dismounted from his American-made Humvee and stretched his aching legs. Azueta was way too tall and thin to comfortably ride in the bumpy, creaky Humvee, but any opportunity to get out of the garrison and into the field was welcome, especially on a low-risk, cushy, and high-visibility assignment such as this. The current unit commander greeted him with a salute. “Welcome, Major,” Lieutenant Salinas said, introducing himself. “Lieutenant Ignacio Salinas, commander of this detail. Good to see you again, sir.” All officers in the Mexican armed forces were graduates of Chapultepec, the Mexican military academy in Mexico City; the officer cadre was very small and officers in the same state knew and saw each other often. “How was your trip from Mexicali?”

“A nightmare, as usual,” Azueta replied, brushing dust off his olive green uniform. “General Cardenas did not want to send any more companies from state headquarters, so we had to move almost the entire force from Ensenada. It took all day. The regimental commander there said he could not spare any infantry to
go along with the vehicles, so he rounded up a bunch of Rural Defense Force militia to accompany us. They are worse than conscripts.”

“We have several in my detail, sir. They shape up quickly when they are away from the garrison.”

“I know you and your men are anxious to get home, Lieutenant, but I am afraid these militiamen are going to go berserk if there is any trouble,” Azueta said. “It will only be for a few days, a week at the most.”

Salinas had already received the notification from his company commander. Most men liked duty in the garrisons, but Salinas was young and liked assignments that took him away from town, no matter how trivial or menial the task. He motioned to a nearby tent and offered the senior officer a canvas camp chair and a plastic bottle of water, which Azueta accepted eagerly. “No problem at all, sir. We are happy to assist.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Status report, please.”

“Things have calmed down considerably these past couple days, sir,” Salinas began. “I am sure you are aware of the recent incident in Arizona.”

“Yes. A bloody act of murder, plain and simple. The American government is entirely to blame, allowing those vigilantes to operate in the border region.”

“I agree completely, sir,” Salinas said. “I hope the president does not let up on her pressure on the Americans to stop this campaign of violence. Fortunately, despite that brutal incident, the situation is quiet here. The American military presence is all but nonexistent as far as we can tell from our position and from American news reports. They are making some attempts to repair and rebuild the facility, but it does not look like the base has been fortified, and there has been no sign of those manned robots. We see the reconnaissance airships and unmanned drones on occasion, and we must assume they and the regular Border Patrol units are operational.”

“And the media?”

“They haven’t been back since yesterday,” Salinas responded, “although I would expect them to return for comments on the murders in Arizona.”

“Let me handle the media now, Lieutenant.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

“What about smuggler activity?”

“None in our entire patrol sector, sir,” Salinas said, “which was expected. Having smugglers push all the way to remote sections of Arizona was fully expected; and after the incident here, I would have expected much American vigilante activity. Of course, Mexico will be blamed for what has happened here and in Arizona.”

“It was only a matter of time before someone else got killed by vigilantes or right-wing extremists,” Azueta agreed. “The Americans are not stopping the level of violence whatsoever. That will be our biggest challenge: keeping the violence down until the politicians get off their fat asses and come to some sort of agreement.” Salinas nodded. “Let us go inspect the camp, and then we will inspect the border area. Maybe I will even get to meet one of those infamous robots.”

Salinas recalled the armored personnel carrier patrols so Azueta could meet every one of the men in the detail. He was tough but not as tough as in the garrison—he understood the need for discipline, and demanded it, but he also knew they were in the field and certain things, like keeping boots perfectly polished or uniforms perfectly spotless, was going to be difficult at best. He loudly and harshly admonished the noncommissioned officers and men for missing equipment, dirty weapons, or men sleeping at their posts, but he was careful not to openly criticize anyone for not shaving or for rolling up their sleeves in the desert heat. There would be time enough for that back at base.

After the equipment inspection, they got back into the Humvee again and began to drive toward the border area. They hadn’t gone very far when Azueta ordered the driver to stop. He immediately got out of the vehicle, stood on the hood, and peered north. “Lieutenant, when was the last time you did a tactical map of the
border and scouted out all of the American patrol units and emplacements?” he asked.

“We redo the map every three hours, sir,” Salinas responded. “The last one should have been done an hour ago.”

“Either your men are liars or they thought they were going to be relieved and did not do it,” Azueta said. “Get up here and take a look.” Salinas did as he was told…and although Azueta handed him his binoculars, he didn’t need them to see the change.

“Two…three…I count three Humvees to the west,” Salinas breathed. “My God, they were not here at daybreak, sir!”

“I count two more to the east, spread out about a kilometer apart,” Azueta said. “They appear to be up-armored scout vehicles with .50 caliber machine guns mounted on the…”

“And TOW missiles, sir,” Salinas interjected excitedly. “It appears every other unit to the west has TOW missile launchers on the gun turrets!”

“That explains their deployment—they are spread out just far enough to have overlapping fields of fire for their TOWs,” Azueta said. “It is the same to the east.” He lowered his binoculars. “Well, well. The Americans have raised the stakes out here. We have a report to make to Mexico City, Lieutenant.”

T
HE
O
VAL
O
FFICE
,
THE
W
HITE
H
OUSE
,
W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.
A
SHORT TIME LATER

“Mr. President, I must protest this latest move of your military,” President Carmen Maravilloso of Mexico’s voice cried over the speakerphone, echoing throughout the historic room. Even the usually unflappable National Security Adviser, Raymond Jefferson, was startled when he heard the voice as he entered. “Again, you have put armed military forces on our border without consulting or even notifying us beforehand! This is not right, sir! This is not the action of a good and peaceful neighbor, sir.”

“Madame President, as you well know, the United States is not obligated to report the movement of its military forces to Mexico or anyone else, no matter how close to the border.” U.S. President Samuel Conrad responded as calmly as he could. He had been expecting this phone call since issuing the order to Secretary of Defense Russell Collier minutes after receiving the report of the massacre in the Coronado National Forest in Arizona, and he had his cabinet and their staffs working since then to bring him up to speed on the myriad of treaties and agreements regarding military and police action on the U.S.-Mexico border. “This troop move
ment is in direct response to the murders of twenty-three Mexican nationals in the…”

“I am very well aware of what has occurred, sir,” Maravilloso interrupted, still refusing to use President Conrad’s official title. “But I would have expected an investigation by the local sheriff’s office, perhaps assisted by the FBI or the Arizona State Police, not the American Army National Guard—and certainly not in California. What do you intend to do, sir—invade Mexico with the California National Guard? Those troops on our border have missile launchers!
Missile launchers!
What will be next—ballistic missiles and stealth bombers?”

“Madame President, the United States intends on pursuing all legal options available to us to ensure the safety and security of our citizens, our nation, and any who are here legally…”

“Do you intend on using the National Guard to hunt down Mexican citizens whose only goal is to do the work that Americans do not want to do themselves?” the fiery Mexican president asked. “That is a hateful and brutal policy, sir, akin to totalitarian regimes in North Korea or Myanmar. The people of Mexico are honest, hardworking, nonviolent, and law-abiding people. True, a few—a
very
few—have been corrupted by drug dealers to carry drugs; others respond to abuses by gangsters, white supremacists, and corrupt law enforcement officials by arming themselves. Will you condemn them all just for the actions of a few?”

“Madame President, a horrible crime has been committed in Arizona last night,” the President said. With him in the Oval Office was his Chief of Staff, Thomas Kinsly, the Secretaries of Defense, State, and Homeland Security, the President’s National Security Adviser; and the one-star general in charge of deploying those National Guard forces to the southern border, all listening on a listen-only speakerphone. “It was broadcast around the world on the Internet. Nearly two dozen persons were horribly murdered by unknown assailants. The only evidence we have so far is the American Watchdog Project’s own Web broadcast…”

“Do you refer to the right-wing radio instigator Bob O’Rourke
and his lackey?” Maravilloso asked incredulously. “Surely you would not for a moment consider them credible witnesses, sir? Bob O’Rourke is one of the world’s most well-known and well-documented racists, a man who has been calling for the elimination of all nonwhites from the border region on his radio show for years. I am
positive
that he orchestrated this entire murder campaign in order to stir up a campaign of hate against all persons of color…”

“I don’t think that’s an accurate characterization of his opinions, Madam…”

“You
agree
with this racist? You support his contention that all Mexicans should be hunted down and forcibly removed from the United States?”

“That’s not what he…”

“Obviously you do, because you are doing precisely what Bob O’Rourke has been calling for: putting the military on the border, repealing Posse Comitatus, and removing all Mexicans from the United States. You, sir, are following his hysterical xenophobic fascist ranting to the letter! Please, Mr. President, I urge you: get control of this situation quickly before it gets out of hand.”

“Madam President, I assure you, I’m doing all I can to defuse the growing crisis and deal with the illegal immigration problem,” Conrad said. “Placing National Guard forces on the border is a temporary measure until Congress approves a more comprehensive immigration reform package.”

“Sir, Mexico is here to assist you any way we can,” Maravilloso said, “but it is hard to support you and your government when you make bold, radical moves such as this without consulting us first. You can help me help you by conferring with us beforehand. Good day to you, Mr. Conrad.” The connection terminated abruptly.

“Who does she think she is, speaking to another foreign leader like that?” Thomas Kinsly said as he deactivated the listen-only receiver he had been using to monitor the call.

“She’s using these circumstances to full political advantage, that’s what,” the President said, rubbing his eyes wearily. “I’m get
ting hammered, and she’s looking like a tiger. She’s taken the complete moral high ground here, and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.”

“Why not let State handle her calls from now on, Mr. President?”

“Because heads of state talk to each other, not to the bureaucracy,” the President replied. “I’ll handle her calls just fine. She’s looking for anything I say to use against me—if I didn’t talk to her, no matter how rude she becomes, I’ll be the coward who didn’t take her call.” Kinsly had no response. The President turned to Attorney General Wentworth. “What do you have on the investigation, George?”

“The FBI is still collecting evidence,” Wentworth said, “but it appears that the migrants
were
shot by the Watchdogs. The caliber of the weapons used matches the ones the Watchdogs were carrying.”

“Oh, Christ…!”

“Has there been an actual match with the weapons, Mr. Wentworth?” National Security Adviser Ray Jefferson asked.

“Not yet. Those results will be in later today.” He looked at Jefferson closely. “The caliber matched the weapons the Watchdogs were carrying. Why do you want an
exact
match?”

“Those weapons could have been planted.”

“C’mon, Sergeant Major, that’s overly far-fetched, especially for you,” Kinsly said. “Let’s stick to the facts, shall we?” He turned to the President. “We have
got
to keep this quiet. If word gets out that the Watchdogs slaughtered those migrants, all hell will break loose.”

“But the video was tracking another group of unknowns,” Jefferson said. “Geitz said they were more migrants, part of the original large group that just split up. What if they
weren’t
migrants?”

“Who, then?” Kinsly paused, then rolled his eyes. “Oh, you think it was the Consortium, right?”

“I think it’s not just possible—I think it’s
probable
,” Jefferson said. He raised a message form he held in his hands. “I have an important report from Task Force TALON commander Richter…”

“He’s not still out in the field, is he, Sergeant Major?” Chief of Staff Thomas Kinsly groaned.

“Major Richter met with FBI Director DeLaine yesterday in San Diego, after being debriefed by the FBI and Justice Department after the incident at Rampart One. They spoke with a survivor of that attack on the Border Patrol agents.”

“Say again, Sergeant Major?” the President remarked. “There was a
survivor?
”

“A veteran Border Patrol agent, shot in the back by the terrorists,” Jefferson said. “Name’s Paul Purdy. He had the wind knocked out of him and fell into a ditch, where he was left for dead. But he’s positive that he heard some of his assailants speaking Russian, and he identified two of the individuals at the scene of the shooting: the Mexican insurgent known as Ernesto Fuerza, and…Yegor Zakharov.”

There were a few moments of stunned silence; then: “Is he positive, Sergeant Major?” the President asked.

“Not one hundred percent, sir, but close. It was dark, and he saw them only at a distance, but Purdy is a reliable, trained eyewitness…”

“It’s not enough to link Mexican insurgents with the Consortium,” Chief of Staff Kinsly said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

“There was another survivor: the smuggler that brought one of the terrorists across the border, the one identified as Victor Flores,” Jefferson said. “Director DeLaine wants to go after that smuggler. Purdy thinks he still might be in the United States, where he was born, possibly somewhere in the agricultural region of southern California. If they find the smuggler, he may be able to gather information on where the others were heading.”

“What does Richter have to do with any of this?” Attorney General Wentworth exclaimed. “He shouldn’t be involved in this operation any further.”

“Director DeLaine has requested Task Force TALON’s assistance in hunting down Flores and the ones that were smuggled
into southern California,” Jefferson said. “She wants full authority over TALON to provide the high-tech surveillance support and firepower she needs to take on the terrorists.”

“Those robots—in the hands of the FBI?” Kinsly retorted. “No way, Jefferson.”

“The FBI has plenty of firepower of its own already,” Wentworth said. “They don’t need TALON. TALON was designed for military operations…”

“TALON was designed to replace a light armored cavalry unit or special ops platoon with a single, highly mobile, highly effective weapon system, General Wentworth,” Jefferson said. “The FBI’s Hostage Rescue Teams are the best of the best, but they don’t have nearly the capabilities of a Cybernetic Infantry Device. Judging by what we’ve seen in southern California and now in southern Arizona, I think CID is exactly what we need. And if the Russians Purdy identified turn out to be Zakharov and Consortium terrorists, we’re going to need all the firepower we can get out there.” He turned to the President. “This episode in Arizona could have been one massive setup. The Consortium had plenty of time to plan this ambush in order to make it look like the Watchdogs killed those migrants. They could have even jammed the transmissions from the unmanned aerial vehicle the Watchdogs used to monitor their operation…”

“That’s really stretching credibility, Sergeant Major,” Kinsly said. “No use in speculating until we get more information from the FBI.”

“Until then, we need to prepare in case the word
does
get out and it does precipitate unrest,” the President said. He turned to the one-star Army general standing in the center of the Oval Office. “General Lopez, I’m impressed you were able to deploy those troops so quickly.”

“Thank you, sir,” the commander of Operation Rampart replied. “I had seven Army National Guard units standing by with orders to deploy on short notice. They were all units previously tasked for border protection duties with Customs and Bor
der Protection—I just put them on a higher readiness level. The California unit was on the highest readiness level and was able to roll within two hours of the incident in Arizona. The Arizona Guard units are rolling now. We’ll have two additional Guard companies on the border in California and Arizona within eight hours, and another seven units in place in all of the border states within seventy-two hours.”

“Outline the plan for me, General.”

“Yes, sir. The plan is simple: reinforce Border Patrol sectors with Army National Guard infantry, reconnaissance, intelligence, and light armored cavalry forces as quickly as possible in order to better patrol the U.S.-Mexico border,” Lopez said. “Our goal is to assign one National Guard company to each sector within the next seventy-two hours. Each company is generally comprised of between seventy and one hundred soldiers, which on average is an increase in manpower of ten to twenty percent in each sector, dedicated solely to field operations.

“Each company fields between six and twelve vehicles. To save on cost and increase maintainability, we rely mostly on reconnaissance and light mechanized infantry units that use the M-998-series Humvees. Each Humvee has two soldiers on board, although for special missions or situations it can have as many as six. They are lightly armed, mostly with infantry weapons such as rifles and sidearms. Their job is to observe, report, and act as directed by the Border Patrol sector commanders.”

“What missiles was Maravilloso talking about, General?”

Lopez looked down at his spit-shined tanker boots for a moment, then stood straight as he replied, “My decision was to beef up the El Centro Border Patrol sector that has those Mexican armored vehicles stationed on the border near Rampart One, sir. I sent in a platoon of Humvees with TOW antitank missiles on board. I thought it was important to counterbalance the Mexican force quickly and effectively, but not raise the ante too much.”

“Christ, no wonder she’s pissed,” Kinsly breathed. “That’s a major provocation!”

“I don’t hear anyone accusing the Mexican Army of a major provocation by sending in armored vehicles across from Rampart One, Mr. Kinsly,” Secretary of Defense Collier said, scowling at the President’s Chief of Staff. “General Lopez did recommend sending Humvees with TOW missiles on them, and I approved the idea, Mr. President. I was more concerned about evening the odds than what Maravilloso or the media might think.”

“Rotate the TOW missile vehicles out of there as soon as possible, General,” the President said. “We’re not trying to start a war here. The Mexican Army isn’t going to attack us. Machine guns and rifles are okay.”

Lopez shuffled uncomfortably and glanced at Collier. The Secretary of Defense stepped closer to the President. “Sam, do you think it’s a good idea to second-guess your field generals at this early stage of the game?” he asked in a low voice.