Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (22 page)

Minutes ticked by like years.  Rob could
hear the rumble from the car engines and the whine of the dirt bike grow
louder.  Every now and then he could hear a Spanish voice or a bit of
laughter.  The headlights grew brighter and bounced around as the vehicles
crossed the rocky tract of land at the border.

“We give ‘em a warning this time?” asked
Lance.

“
Overwatch to teams, that red pickup
with the bullet holes from the…fight….is down there
.”

Rob looked at his radio.  “They don’t
get a warning, Lance.  That sumbitch was here when we gave all the warnings
they needed.”

Lance licked his lips and checked the
chamber in his hunting rifle, an old scoped bolt action.  He, with a few others
of the Regulators, were to be the “long shots” of the night, concentrating on
taking out as many targets as far away as possible, then moving back and
letting the guys with the assault rifles take over.   Lance took out a bandanna
from his jacket pocket then placed a handful of rifle rounds on the fabric,
next to his position, to allow him to reload as fast as possible.

A few more minutes tense minutes
passed.  The sounds of the Mexican group grew louder.  The headlights flashed
and swerved around rocks.  Engines were gunned. 

They have no idea we’re here…they think
they’re being smart sneaking up in the night…
thought Rob.  He grinned.  Invade
his
country, will
they?

“Almost to the border,” called out Jed
over Rob’s radio, his voice a higher pitch.  “Getting close…”

To Rob’s left, someone shifted
nervously, sending a small cascade of pebbles down the front of the ridge.  His
teammate cussed him out and then there was no noise again except the cars and
talking Mexicans on foot.  One of them stumbled and fell, causing a laughing
fit among his comrades.  The sound of broken glass drifted in on the wind.

“
Overwatch to teams
,” said Jed
again.  “
Looks like more ‘n a few of ‘em are drinking’
.”

“This is liable to get sloppy, Rob,”
warned Lance.  Drunken combatants didn’t always take the best of aim, but were
just as likely to hit someone by accident as on purpose.

Rob picked up his radio, breaking his
own self-imposed silence.  “Everyone listen up,” he said.  “No one fires until
I give the command, and everyone stays concealed.  If there’s a few drunks down
there, they could hit you by accident, so don’t get yerself exposed.”

“
They’re at the border
,” called
out Jed.  “
Looks like they’re stopping
.”

The vehicles rolled to a slow, dusty
stop at the approximate location of the U.S. border.  The men on foot gathered
around the lead car while a group of five men, obviously drunk, staggered
forward into U.S. territory.  One of them screamed something in slurred Spanish
that echoed off the ridgeline, making the Regulators tense.  Then three of the
drunks unzipped their pants and relieved themselves, to the quiet hooting of
their comrades.

“Son…of…a…
bitch
…” said Lance
through gritted teeth. He sighted in on one of the men still urinating on U.S.
soil as he was illuminated by one of the vehicles’ headlights and waited for
Rob’s command.  “That fucker’s mine, Rob.”

As the drunks continued their pissing
contest, the rest of the group, all the vehicles included, crossed the border
and moved towards the ridgeline, perhaps 30 yards out.  Rob waited until it was
clear they were all on U.S. soil before unleashing the Regulators.

“Take ‘em down, boys!”

Lance fired as soon as Rob spoke, the
first shot hitting his target just above the eyes, blowing most of the
Mexican’s brain cavity onto the windshield of the dirty car behind him.  A
split second later, muzzle flashes lit up the night all along the ridge as the
Regulators attacked.  The sound of single shot rifles and three round bursts
rolled across the landscape like a hellish thunderstorm.  Every now and then a
tracer burst out of the darkness, streaking to the south, towards the
Mexicans.  The men with the battle rifles had loaded those.

“Teams ten through thirteen, take the
cars!”  Rob said, pausing to take another shot with his Winchester.  He wasn’t
sure in the darkness if he hit the man he aimed for, the Mexican dove to the
right and out of the beam of the headlights just as Rob pulled the trigger. 
“Teams two and three, take the trucks!  Fifteen, get that bastard on the
bike!”  Rob worked the lever action and chambered another round.

The Mexicans, taken completely by
surprise, stood for a few seconds as rounds tore through their ranks.  A half
dozen men dropped to the ground writhing in pain as the fire from the
Regulators peppered the ground around them.  Only then did the startled
would-be-invaders return fire, and haphazardly at that.

“
Six, you got three illegals making a
run for your position, they’re coming right at you!”
Jed’s voice cut
through the staccato of gunfire on everyone’s radio.

Ed and George, team six, both focused on
their immediate vicinity—they could see movement in front of them.  Like
wraiths appearing out of the shadows, three Mexicans armed with pistols and
shooting at random came clambering their way up the slope.  The two brothers,
using controlled bursts, one from an AR-15, the other an SKS, riddled the
Mexicans with holes.  Before the bodies had finished rolling and sliding down
to the base of the ridge, the brothers had switched targets according to Jed’s
instructions.

An explosion momentarily caught
everyone’s attention to the west.  The flash lit up the night in all
directions.  Bits of flaming wreckage tumbled down the ridge.  “Take
that
,
you sonofabitch!” hooted someone over the radio as the Mexican motorcycle
disappeared in a ball of fire after a rifle round pierced its gas tank.

“Cut the chatter!” barked Rob.

Almost as soon as Rob finished speaking,
Jed cut in, “
Two and Three, watch it, those trucks are moving around to your
west!
”

“They’re trying to flank us!” hissed
Lance, ejecting a spent casing and inserting a new round.  He slammed the bolt
home and took aim.

Rob grabbed
his radio and said, “Right flank, fall back!  Two through nine, fall back to
your next position!  Go!  Go!  Go!”

The fire pouring down on the Mexicans
from the western line of Regulators stopped eventually as the individual teams
crested the ridge and began moving north, towards their next position, ready to
cover the rest of their comrades.

Despite Jed’s constant instructions on
directing fire, the Mexicans were gaining ground.  There were just too many of
them, especially considering the fire teams were concentrating on stopping the
faster moving vehicles, loaded to the gills with combatants.

The two pickups disappeared from view
behind a small hill.  Rob cursed.  “Left flank, fall back!  Get to your next—”
Rob flinched as a stray bullet ricocheted off a rock in front of him.  He
dropped to the ground as more rounds passed nearby.  “Shit!”

The Regulators on the left flank of the
U began crawling and sliding their way backwards to the north, continuing to
lay down fire in the direction of the Mexicans.   Rob, Lance, the Franks
Brothers and one other team remained in the center of the U.

“
Get out of there, Rob!”
said
Jed’s insistent voice.  “
They’re closing in!”

“Left and right flanks, cover us, center
is moving back!” said Rob.  He got to his knees and fired another shot from his
Winchester.

The gunfire, heavily in favor of the
Regulators now seemed to be equally coming from the Mexicans.  Both sides were
relatively blind, except for Jed’s instructions, the Mexicans would have been
at an advantage through sheer numbers.  As it was, roughly half the Mexicans on
foot were down, killed or wounded.  Those who remained, realizing that their
enemy was on the run, surged forward.  The vehicles picked up speed, racing up
the sides of the ridge to get around behind the Americans.  In less than five
minutes, Jed was surrounded then passed over by the Mexicans, unseen.  He
climbed over his perch and faced north, giving his comrades a view from behind
enemy lines.

The Regulator vehicles, parked behind
the ridge, came to life and were thrown into reverse, team members hanging on
for the ride and shooting at the Mexicans cresting the ridge.  The Regulator
line fell back, leaving Mexican bodies in their wake.  In the confusion of the
ordered retreat, three Regulators went down, two wounded, one dead.

From Jed’s position, the muzzle flashes
from rifles and pistols—and if his ears could discern correctly through the din
of battle, someone was using a shotgun—sparkled like firecrackers on the 4
^th
of July through the night vision goggles.  He could see the more numerous
flashes coming now from the reformed Regulator line to the north up the dirt
road.  The flanks had already been called on to retreat to the ravine.  Jed
could still see the glow of the headlights from the Mexican vehicles as they
moved along the sides of the fighting, heading straight for the ravine.

“Rob, the two trucks are coming up on
the crest of the hill just south and east of the ravine.”

Jed could see the firing from Rob’s direction
stop, then start again faster than ever when the first of the pickups breached
the ridge and started down.  Someone must have hit the driver, Jed figured. 
The truck swerved erratically, then lost its traction and tumbled sideways down
the hill, throwing debris and wreckage in all directions.  Jed could see men
jumping from the back of the truck when the Regulators began pouring in fire.

“
You got guys jumping off that
truck!  Heads up!”

“Everyone to the ravine!” called out Rob
over the radio, his voice straining against the noise of the running battle. 
“Fall back!”  

Lance scrambled from his truck and
dropped down into the ravine, bringing up his rifle on the southern lip. 
Standing, he could just rest his weapon on the southern face of the ravine, using
it like a fox hole.  Around him, the other Regulators, many wounded and limping
jumped, climbed and simply rolled into the ravine.  Approximately two-thirds of
the Mexicans were down, and roughly one half the Regulators were wounded in
some way or another.

A man crashed into the ravine to his
right, panting with his injury.  It was Ed Franks.  He grunted and tore open a
bandage pack from his gear.  A curse was muttered when he tied it around his
bleeding left arm. 

“Took one in the shoulder,” he said,
gritting his teeth against the pain.  His brother George tumbled into the
ravine shortly after Ed.  All along the new line, Regulators were scrambling
over the edge and dropping down into the ravine for cover.

“I’m running low!” someone further down
the ravine called out.

“Here!” came the terse reply of his
teammate handing over another magazine for his AR-15.

“Overwatch, talk to me!” said Rob as he
peered over the southern edge of the ravine, standing next to Lance and just to
the left of the rocky bridge.

“
They’re being funneled right to you
guys
…” Jed spoke into his radio as he scanned the battlefield, saw the last
Mexicans on foot heading towards the ravine with the cars just behind.  The
ridgeline made a small canyon with the ravine cutting directly across.  The
only way up and out was on the other side of the American position.           

Rob could hear bullets striking the
handful of trucks behind them, their escape vehicles should their position get
overrun.  Realistically, he knew this was a last stand—by the time it took them
to get out of the ravine, into their trucks, start them and…

A few rocks and pebbles were kicked up
by a bullet striking the lip of the ravine two feet in front of him.  Rob
flinched and scanned for targets, thoughts of escape gone from his mind.  He
saw a man slinking his way towards the ravine, cautiously peering to his right
and left, about fifteen yards out.  One moment there as only a dark shape, then
it was obvious the shape was a man.   Rob took aim and squeezed off a shot, clipping
the Mexican in the leg.  The man went down and screamed, causing a hail of fire
from his comrades.  Two of the others went to pick up the fallen Mexican, only
to have all three shot by a Regulator with a rifle set on full auto, further up
the ravine.

“Save your ammo!  Controlled bursts!”
warned Rob.  Every man was responsible for their own ammo needs, but he didn’t
want people running out because they thought they had enough.  As it was, he
checked, he was nearly half out.  He paused, ducking down into the ravine to
reload the Winchester.  He took a quick look up and down the line, seeing here
and there a few men reloading magazines, or tending to the wounded.  He
guesstimated they were down to half strength, what with the wounded and those
helping them.  The driver’s side window of his truck shattered with a direct
hit.  He frowned.

“There’s the other truck!” someone
called out, further to the east. 

Rob stood and spotted the headlights. 
The truck was gaining speed, tearing down the ridge and driving past and
through the debris from its companion.  “Take ‘em out!” said Rob, aiming his
rifle at the windshield.