Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (72 page)

Almost time
to drop the sail.  He was planning on waiting until the last possible moment
before he swung the boom around and shoved the tiller to pivot quickly to kill
momentum. 
That is, If I don’t capsize us in the process.

"Hold
on, this is gonna be
close!
" called out Erik.

One of the
soldiers on the pier heard a voice on the water behind him and turned around. 
Soon the soldiers were falling back towards the tip of the pier.  They were
behind the last barricade and putting up a stiff volley to keep the attackers
unawares.

"Corporal,
start the smoke screen!" Ted yelled as the boat began to slow and turn. 
When the sail swung wildly to the starboard on the boom, the little sailboat
careened on its side and for a split second, motionless just a few feet from
the pier.  Erik let the main lines go and the sail dropped with a tired
whoosh.  He left the motor running on idle and threw a line to the nearest
soldier.

"Pull
us in, let's go!" he said.  Bullets were chirping into concrete and
slapping the water all around them.  Again, Erik noticed immediately the
deafening noise of the firefight.           

The first
soldier dropped onto the deck with a heavy
thud
and latched on to the
mast as the little boat wobbled.  "Easy!" said Erik to the next man. 
"I didn't risk my ass to have you guys flip us!"

The next
few soldiers got aboard in a more orderly fashion after throwing a few smoke
grenades towards the attackers.  "They're gonna know something's up,"
muttered one of the men.

"Shut
up, Hicks," barked another.  "Check your ammo."

Finally
Corporal Stillman crawled off the edge of the pier and carefully lowered
himself and his gear to the crowded deck.  "That's everyone, let's get the
hell out of here!"

"Fine
with me," replied Erik.  He hit the throttle on the little engine and
steered them straight west in line with the pier.  "I hope this
works," he muttered to himself over the whine of the struggling little
motor.  One of the soldiers took his cue and pulled up the sail. 

Damn,
there's a lot of holes...

"How's
the smoke holding?" asked Ted from the front.  His view was now partially
blocked by camouflaged helmets, men, and rifles.

"Looks
solid.  They're still shooting but they can't see shit," replied
Stillman.  "Can't this jalopy go any faster?" he asked Erik.

"Dude,
it's a
sailboat
," replied Erik with a sarcastic smile.  He looked
over his shoulder at the slowly receding pier.  "Just make sure nobody
shoots me in the back, okay?"

Stillman,
his back resting against the straining mast, grinned.  "You got my men off
that pier.  It's the least I can do."

"Movement
on the pier!  Someone came through the smoke!" called out an observant
trooper.

"He's
mine," a calm voice announced.  One sharp crack of a rife and high fives
were shared all around the little deck.

"Nice
shot, Cooper, another one in the water," said Corporal Stillman.  His face
cracked into a smile.  Erik marveled at how dirty the soldiers' faces had
gotten during the firefight.  Their teeth looked pure white.  He looked around
and found the soldier who had fired the shot.  He had an ACOG scope attached to
his M-4.  It wasn't a high powered 'scope, but at the meager distance they were
from the pier, it had been enough.

"Two
more comin' through."

In seconds,
Erik had two soldiers, one on either side of him aiming rifles back toward the
pier.  He had just enough time to cover his ears before they both fired
three-round bursts.  The noise was louder than anything he'd ever experienced,
even with hands over his ears.  The boat rocked as they moved back to their
original positions.

"Holy
shit!" Erik exhaled.  "A little warning next time, guys," he
grinned.

"Hooah! 
Two more in the drink!"

"I
think we're clear enough for the turn north," Ted advised from the bow. 
"Those assholes can't get us without a sniper rifle now."

Erik pulled
the tiller and readjusted the boom, careful not to knock anyone overboard. 
Slowly the little sailboat turned north and Erik got a better look at the
pier.  The smoke had mostly dissipated and the pier was crawling with White
Hand People.  The echo of their impotent shots rolled across the water but grew
dimmer with each passing minute.

"I
think we made it," he breathed.

"Looks
like backup got to the point," someone called out.  Erik leaned over the
side a bit and saw a few boxy looking vehicles on the spit of land where they
had left the wounded.  Three Humvees were parked behind, parallel to the
coast.  He could see soldiers moving about.

The men on
the boat passed the rest of the trip in silence.  They landed a about ten
minutes later.  After the soldiers and splashed over the sides and made their
way ashore to the medical team, Erik and Ted got off the boat.

"Which
one is the guy I spoke to?" asked a woman in BDUs with a medic armband. 
Erik recognized her from the beach that morning.  She had been with Captain
Williams.

"That
would be me, ma'am," said Ted as he shifted his rifle to the left hand. 
They shook hands.

"You
got these men out in
that?
" she asked with a nod of her helmet
towards the poor sailboat.  Its entire starboard side was a ruin of wood and
fiberglass.  Holes riddled the hull and the sail was in tatters.  She whistled.

That was
when Erik noticed water in the cabin.  He grabbed Ted's arm and pointed. 
"Man, if we hadn't come ashore when we did..."

As they
spoke, the battered little daysailer slowly settled on the soft sand beneath
her.  The
Tarpon Whistler
died quietly, the warm waters of the gulf
lapping her sides in a permanent embrace.  Erik glanced up at the rigging and
saw the little Stars and Stripes he had hoisted.  It was torn and had a few
bullet holes. 

"She
was a good ship," said Erik with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"His
first command," Ted grinned towards the medic.  His face grew serious. 
"How are the wounded?"

"I
think most of them are going to make it, thanks to you two.  That was some
crazy stunt you guys pulled.  The men were telling me about it."  She
shook Erik's hand.  He looked at her face for the first time and saw she was
clearly of Asian descent.  He immediately thought of Brin for the first time
since the rescue operation began.

"No
problem, ma'am," he replied.  Erik glanced at Ted.  "Do you...ah,
think there might be a way to help us get to our families?"

"We're
just down Bee Ridge.  On the way to 75," added Ted.

Behind them
another soldier called out to the medic, "Cap'n wants our ETA,
Ell-Tee!"  He was half sitting in the open door of a Humvee, radio to his
ear.

"It's
on your way..." pleaded Erik.

"
Please
,
Lieutenant," said Ted.

The medic
looked around her at the blood in the sand.  Her squad was loading up the last
of the wounded into one of the ambulances.  The walking wounded were already in
the Humvees.   She shook her head and sighed.

"Get
in the lead vehicle.  I don't think Captain Williams will have a problem with
giving you a lift.  Not after
this
," she said.  As Erik and Ted
moved past her, she took one last glance at the sad wreck of the
Tarpon
Whistler
.

YOU SEE IT?" asked
Lance in a tense whisper.

Rob sighed
and rested his dusty binoculars on the parched earth just shy of the crest of
the ridge the two men occupied.  Eight o'clock in the morning and the heat was
already building.  He missed winter.  He squinted down into the flat plain that
represented the last bit of America and the first bit of Mexico.

"Yeah,"
he said, his voice sounded more tired than ever.  All of his hopes and dreams
for the future had just come to a crashing halt with one glance through the
binoculars.  His whole being wanted to cry.  It wasn’t
fair.

"Mexicans
is one thing. 
That
," Lance said with a slight nod south.  "Is
outta our league, brother.  There's nothing we can do about that without some
serious
muscle."  He thought for a second.  "You know, maybe if we dug a
trench...?"

Rob had
seen enough.  He ever-so-slowly crept backwards away from the crest of the sage
covered ridge until he was sure he was out of sight to any observers south
other position.  He stood up and tried to pat off some of the dust from his
vest and jeans, to little effect.  Silent still, he leaned against a boulder
and took a long draft from his canteen.  The cold water he started his shift
with was already lukewarm.

Lance stood
next to him and shouldered his hunting rifle.  The radio earbud he wore broke
squelch in his ear.  "
Did he see it?
"

Lance shook
his head in displeasure at the utter lack of discipline.  “We've been pushing
them too hard.  I knew it would start to fall apart eventually.”  He glanced at
his close friend and leader.  Rob was lost in thought, his eyes glazed over,
facing north. 

“I believed
for so long that we could make a difference.  That we could somehow…
stop
some small part of it.  The destruction of our country,” Rob muttered sadly. 

Lance too
looked north.  Everything in front of the two men on that dusty ridge was the
United States of America.  As far as they could see to the west, the north, and
the east.  Home. 

Even the
ever present smoke that seemed to be all around them as it drifted from the
still spreading forest fires in the Coronado National Forest seemed
comforting.  It represented a pain inflicted on America, and by definition,
Americans.  It was a constant reminder of what they were up against, what they
had fought off.

The radio
crackled again, "
Cut the chatter, Two.  You know the drill.
"

Lance
smiled despite his anguish over the general situation.  Ed Franks.  Still full
of piss and vinegar. 

Rob
grinned.  “That man had to have been a drill sergeant in a former life
.
” 
He activated his radio and cut in on the scouts' circuit.  "Okay, listen
up.  Everyone maintain your positions and observe,
do not engage
.  I
repeat, just watch them.  Just give us regular reports.  Over."

"
Copy
that, One
."

"
You
got it
."

"What
do you want to do now?" Lance asked quietly in the early morning heat.  He
couldn't bring himself to raise his voice above a whisper.

"We
run."

"
What?"
Lance gasped, shocked.  "
Run
?  Us?  The Regulators?"

Rob turned
to look at his friend with eyes that had seen too much.  Too much crime, too
much death, too much hopelessness.  Too much that was not fixed by people who
had sworn to prevent the problems and protect the land.  Too much...
everything
. 
"We all knew something like this was coming.  Those ragheads told us as
much."

"But..."

"But
nothing
. 
Holding the line against some illegal immigrants is one thing.  We did our job,
we fought the good fight.  No one else cared, but
we
did."

"Those
people in Nogales that got out alive because we delayed the carrion birds
coming across the border—-those people cared!  Rob, we
saved
that
city!"

Rob shook
his head.  "Nogales is
dead
, Lance.  You heard Ed when he got
back.  Everyone's gone or dead.  It's been taken over by the immigrants moving
south to get out of this mess," he said, sweeping his hand to encompass
the United States.  "It's not
ours
anymore.  It's a ghost town for
Americans."

"But
they got out—they had the
chance
to get out and get north.  If we hadn't
taken a stand, Nogales would have been wiped out!"

Rob
smiled.  "And that's something that we can be proud of."  The smile
vanished.  "What that thing over there means," he said and jerked a
thumb over his shoulder.  "Is endgame. 
It's over
, Lance.  We done
our best.  And it's time to—"

"We
can still
fight!
" Lance said, anger rising in his voice.  Even
though he knew it was a lost cause, part of him refused to give in and
surrender their rights to the land that he loved.

"We
can.  And we
will
.  Just not
here
."

"Wait,
what?"

"Come
on, we need to get moving," said Rob.  He shouldered his old lever action
Winchester and picked his way down the side of the rubble strewn ridge.  Lance
followed, too intent on finding secure footing to continue the discussion until
they both reached level ground and their vehicle.

Once inside
the 4 x4, Lance looked towards Rob, behind the wheel.  "Mind telling me
what the plan is?" he said in a voice that had more attitude than he had
intended.

Rob forgave
his friend instantly.  Pulling out of a fight was never Lance's strong point,
even when it was strategic, as Rob hoped it was now.  Lance was a loyal friend
and slow to anger, but once the fire lit, he wouldn't stop until every last
threat was down.  That included, Rob considered with a smile, coyotes, street thugs,
illegal's or terrorists.

The truck
rumbled into gear and began to pick up speed as Rob drove them out of the
little gulch and back onto the dirt path they called a road.  "Remember
all those hunting trips we used to take up in the Apache, in the mountains?"

Lance
smiled, caught off guard by the fond memories his friend's question had dredged
up unexpectedly. 
'The Apache'
was their shorthand for the Apache
National Forest, northeast of Tucson.  He forced the smile from his face.  He
wasn't in a mood for stories of the golden days of their youth.  "What the
hell does that have to do with anything."

"I was
thinking maybe we should go hunting up there again."

"What?"

Rob took a
quick glance at his friend.  "It's time we pull out."

"Are
you crazy?  After everything we've done?  We've had men—
friends!
—lay
down their lives for this Godforsaken ground, we just can't—"

Rob looked
at him again and Lance came to a sputtering halt.  "I know, believe me…I
know
the sacrifices we've all made.  There isn't a day that goes by that I don't beg
forgiveness from God for things we've done...at my order."

For the
first time since everything fell apart, Lance looked, really
looked
at
his old friend from high school.  There were lines in Rob's face that he
couldn't recall last winter.  Circles under the eyes.  He looked worn down,
underfed and exhausted.   He looked...
old
.  Lance looked down at his own
rough hands, almost ashamed to speak.

"If we
don't get our families out and live to honor those that have already
fallen...then what's the point of their deaths?  What's the point of
anything
we did?  You want us to stay so we can go down in history as a speed bump to
the apocalypse?"

Lance looked
up and stared straight ahead out the windshield.  He couldn't believe what he
was hearing.  The sage brush and rocks and boulders slowly passed by.  They
couldn't travel much faster without kicking up a giant trail sign in dust that
would be visible for miles.   So they slugged along, bouncing with every dip
and hole in the "road" and dreaming of asphalt.

"I've
been thinking about this ever since we caught those three...animals...and got
scoop on their plans," Rob continued, in a tone of voice that was more
like a confessional than a conversation.  "We can't stay here if what they
said is true.  Hell, you've seen it with your own eyes.  Everything's backwards
now.  We're not keeping the Mexicans out, they're running hellbent for leather
south
now.  All we have to do is watch 'em and wave.  They probably think we're
idiots for staying..."

"I
think we're
Americans
.  I think this is our land and
no one
can
push us off it."

Rob looked
at his friend again.  "And what you saw on the other side of that ridge doesn't
affect that view at all?  Come on, buddy, you know as well as I do that thing
was just the tip of the iceberg.  It won’t push us off this land, it’ll bury
us."

"It
was just
one
," offered Lance in a small puerile voice.

Rob slowed
the truck to a stop.  "It was a damned
armored personnel carrier
." 
No reaction from his friend.  "It was flying the damn Chinese flag and
when it stopped, three Red Chinese popped out to have a look!  You think they
really shipped an APC across the Pacific for humanitarian reasons? 
Really?
 
Come on, man! 
Think!
" Rob snapped at his friend.  "This is an
invasion
, and we're standing right in their path."

A sullen
Lance looked out the passenger window as the truck began moving again. 
"That means we can do something about it.  Doesn’t it?"
  Part him was worried he was pushing Rob too far, the other that Rob was right
and they should have pulled out long ago. 

"Yeah,
it means we can stand here and get cut down like grass.  Those are trained
soldiers, with heavy weapons, Lance.  They got
tanks
for cryin’ out
loud!  I'm all for fighting in the name of our country, the Founding Fathers
and all that...but not just to throw our lives away.  That would be a slap in
the face to everyone that came before us, to every man who died for our
freedoms.  Why did they suffer at Valley Forge, so we could just stand here and
get run over by a Chinese APC?"

"Better
than running away without firing a shot!" spat Lance, still not looking at
his friend.  He could simply not believe what he was hearing.

Rob took
another approach, his voice quiet.  "If I'm right, and that thing we saw
was just a scouting party...then there's a whole army of those yellow bastards
heading our way.  The two dozen people we can round up now..."

My God...is
that all?
he thought, mind reeling at the numbers of friends killed
in the past weeks. 

"That's
including women," Rob added soberly with a glance towards his friend. 
"They won't even be a fart in the wind compared to what's coming.  They'll
roll right over us.  Hell, that one APC had enough firepower to drive right up
to the compound and wipe us all out.  D'you see the guns on that thing?  Lot
more bang than my old Winchester."

Lance could
see the logic, however much he hated to admit it.  "So..." he
started, part of him still fighting every step of the way.  "So what do we
do?  Pack up, run for the hills?"

"Well,
if you call the Apache National Forest
hills
, remind me not to go hiking
with you anymore."

Lance
grinned despite his mood.  "All I'm saying is, I don't like high-tailing
it out of here without so much as yelling at them.  It's a freakin' invasion,
Rob.    There's no one here to stop them but us."

"And
we're
not the damned Army.  We are a handful of
citizens
.  We're not trained
to fight professional soldiers!"

"I bet
someone said that at Bunker Hill, too," mumbled Lance.

Rob thought
for a second.  "The British didn't have night vision, rockets, guided
missiles and air support or tanks. 
These
guys do.  But are we
are
like
the Minutemen in some respects.  So yeah, you're right.  We've got some guns
and guts.  That's about it."  He waited for a response and when Lance
remained silent, Rob continued.      

"And
what's more, we don't even have a chance in hell of stopping that one APC, let
alone an
army
.  You really want to stand and fight, just to make a point
about holding a border that even our own military seems to not care
about?" asked Rob.

Lance waved
a hand to dismiss the question.  "They're more concerned with the
real
invasion on the east coast—you heard the HAM broadcasts last night. 
Paratroopers from Germany in New York and Boston, French commandos in
Charleston, the Russians in D.C. and Baltimore..." Lance trailed off. 

Rob’s mind
clicked two pieces of the puzzle together.  He looked at Lance and recognized
the blank stare.  Lance had just figured it out as well.  
They're more
concerned with the invasion on the east coast.
 
Oh my God
.