Reese’s breathing and pulse quickened at the sound of William’s voice.  He struggled to contain his rage.  He exhaled long and slow, and then replied with a smile, “They never saw us coming, eh comrade?”

“Never indeed!  Here have a drink.”  William extended his flask to Reese; he accepted the gesture and took a deep gulp of the vodka.  The strong libation helped to calm his nerves. Reese took a second gulp before handing it back.

“Now, comrade,” William continued, “what brings us here tonight?”

“I’ve decided I want to go to Texas, to help.”

“Relax, your job’s finished; you did well.  I have capable people on the ground.  They’re already helping our new friend’s team get everything into position.  Why would you want to fly across the country now, after just the other day you were up in arms over a phone call?”

“Well,” Reese replied, “tonight was so – perfect.  I believe it could be the tipping point.  We’re on the cusp of something amazing William, can’t you feel it?  You need someone in Houston that you know can deliver. I’ve thought about it and I want all in.  Besides, do we really need a couple of your underlings from Texas handling such a sensitive operation?”

“I appreciate that, but things are moving so fast, I don’t know if you can even get there in time.  We’re talking a matter of days.”

“How soon can I be on a plane?  I want this, Will.”

“Alright, I can make some calls tomorrow morning.  I can probably have you on a private plane by tomorrow night.  I’ll let everyone know you‘re coming, but if something happens - we move without you. I can’t let anything screw this up.  Is that fair enough?”

“Fair enough.”

“Good.”  William smiled, “Now go get some rest, you’ll need it; the next few days’ll be a wild ride.”

“I’m sure they will.  Thank you.”

William placed his hand on Reese’s shoulder for a moment as he smiled.  Reese could feel his stomach turning in revulsion at the gesture.  William turned and walked back down to his bike in the plaza.  Reese watched as he rode away and slowly disappeared over the Potomac.

He turned in a slow circle and stared at the loneliness that surrounded him.  He felt a strong sense of foreboding, as if a thick cloud of evil had enveloped him.  He knew he could not return to his room for the night.  He had no choice but to stay here.  At least here, he would be surrounded by men whose loyalty was without question.  He set off to the west, to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

Ch apter 20

Barrett

South Padre Island

The armored vehicles had left Olympic Park in Matamoros less than thirty minutes ago.  Soon, they would be in Port Isabel and then on to South Padre Island.  There were nearly sixty of the ERC 90s.  They were three-wide on the highway, and their convoy stretched for nearly a tenth of a mile.  Each vehicle was armed with a 90 mm cannon and 7.62 mm machine guns.

As they left the urban confines of Brownsville, Texas, the terrain became open and sandy.  They were surrounded by rivers, canals and lakes on both sides of Highway 48.  The warm, night air felt good on the soldados’ faces as they rode on the tops and sides of the fast-moving, six-wheeled vehicles.  Two-dozen tracked, armored personnel carriers, or APCs, followed several miles behind the swift-moving convoy.  They would only be needed after the ERC 90s had finished shelling the island.

The Capitán Primero was anxious to engage the gringos.  He had lobbied hard to leave Matamoros sooner, but the Z-G lieutenants had denied his requests.  The cartels wanted to wait until the full force of the army was mobilized in Matamoros before proceeding.  Despite his reservations about their decision, he obliged them; they were his jefes now.  They paid much better than the government ever did, anyway.  Besides, even if he had wanted to, it was not as if he could resign from his post.

As the convoy reached Queen Isabella Boulevard, three F-5 Tiger IIs screamed overhead in an echelon formation.  Within a matter of moments they were over Padre Island.  The lead jet unleashed both of his rocket pods simultaneously and battered the island with close to forty Hydra rockets.  His two wingmen released their payloads of Mk 80 bombs.  The island’s infrastructure was decimated.

As the jets performed a cross turn and headed back to the west, the soldiers in the ERC 90s could see tracer rounds from multiple locations on the island.  The bullets flashed skyward in response to the attack.

The convoy proceeded east down the boulevard and stopped in the center of Port Isabel.  Just ahead lay the long causeway that led to the guard’s redoubt.   They aimed their cannons eastward and began to shell the island.

South Padre once again flashed bright from the light of the explosions.  Buildings were erased from the horizon.  A dark cloud of smoke hung heavy in the distance.  With the aid of binoculars, a few peculiar looking units on the island could be seen mobilizing in groups and returning fire.  Soon the counterattack dissipated.  The soldados cheered enthusiastically at their overwhelming victory.

After he was satisfied with the utter destruction of the island, the Capitán Primero ordered the convoy to cease fire.  The attack was violent and swift, and had apparently caught most of the guardsmen by surprise.  They had expected a fierce battle after finding the dead soldados on the roof of the apartment in Matamoros.  They were all but certain that the gringos had discovered their amassing army.  As it appeared, though, their fears were unfounded.

The island was silent and empty in the distance.  The winds from the east began to blow the heavy, billowing smoke from the island over Laguna Madre, and into Port Isabel.  The Capitán opened the top hatch of one of the front vehicles and peered through his binoculars for several uneventful minutes.  Finally satisfied, he ducked back inside vehicle and gave the command to proceed over the causeway.

***

“Golden eagle!  Golden eagle!”

Barrett and his fellow guardsmen rushed to their positions as their radios squawked to life. The code words from the SEAL scout team in Brownsville echoed in their heads.  The army in Matamoros was on the move, and they were coming to the island.

They had been lying in wait for days.  Barrett had expected the assault much sooner, but Providence had withheld it.  The delay had afforded them the much-needed time to plead for reinforcements from Austin.  They had begged for air support from Camp Mabry, but were told none was available.  After a call to the governor’s office and a second call to command control, a plan began to form.  The more they discussed it, the more Barrett and Holt fell in love with it; and if they were lucky, it might even work.

Command control had recently been informed of a discovery in a National Guard Armory; crate upon crate of aging, Dragon missiles had been found languishing in the back of a storage bunker.  It had been decided that the entire stockpile of the M47 Dragons would be sent to Padre Island, along with six of the state’s latest riot control vehicles.

At less than 6’ in length and 4’ tall, the Gladiator tactical vehicle was perfect for urban crowd control.  The small, remotely-controlled vehicles could be outfitted with the SWARM weapon system.  When utilizing less-than-lethal rounds, the Gladiator could effortlessly repel even the most determined rioter.  They looked like miniature tanks as they rolled down the streets of Austin.  Before long, the mere presence of the Gladiators tended to disperse a group of potential protestors.

But even when outfitted with a machine gun, the tiny land drones were still no match for the heavy armoring and large cannons of the ERC 90s.  They would be eradicated on sight without question, but perhaps they could serve another, more sacrificial purpose.  Perhaps they could lend the appearance of an occupied Padre Island.