Authors: Joe Nobody
The Marines had moved into what had once been a regional law enforcement training center. The commander of the local garrison was a hard-nosed major, who, due to his heroic conduct in combat, had been nicknamed “Hellcat.”
The resupply convoy was expected that day, but Major Hellcat wasn’t absolutely sure when or if the Army would deliver. Rumors were sweeping both branches of the service, some of his fellow officers absolutely certain the country was on the verge of a civil war.
When the major’s office phone rang, he was hoping it was the front gate giving notice that the convoy had finally arrived. Instead, a voice he didn’t recognize warned, “The Army convoy is a Trojan horse. There are canisters of plague under the first and third truck. Beware.”
Stunned by the statement, the Marine officer didn’t immediately return the phone to its cradle. His inaction, however, didn’t last long.
“Put the base on full alert!” he shouted to his assistant. “Sound the alarm! Don’t let that Army convoy inside the gates!”
His orders soon produced results, the sound of shouting men and pounding boots resonating throughout the small facility.
Men in full battle loads were rushing in all directions, hustling for their designated defensive positions. Two up-armored Humvees, complete with .50 caliber, turret-mounted machine guns, raced for the front gate as reinforcements leaped into the sandbag-fortified nests that surrounded the perimeter.
When the convoy finally arrived, the Army colonel in the lead vehicle found himself staring at a multitude of gun barrels backed by a host of very frightened young men.
Initially, the resupply officer wrote it off to the incidents at Monterrey and Veracruz. “Marines,” he whispered to his driver. “They are a paranoid lot. Let me get this straightened out so we can get out of here and back to Mexico City and our families.”
The officer exited his Humvee and strolled casually toward the main entrance. He hadn’t managed five steps when a voice shouted, “Halt! Approach no closer or we will fire!”
The colonel did just that, stopping in the middle of the lane and spreading his hands wide. “What is the problem,” he yelled back with a sly grin. “Don’t you want to eat?”
Major Hellcat and three of his men came through the gate, their weapons high, ready, and trained on the superior officer. When he was closer, the base commander said, “We’ve received information stating your convoy is carrying the plague.”
Tilting his head, the Army officer replied, “That’s preposterous. We just left Mexico City this morning and have only made one stop at the Army base. We aren’t carrying the damn plague.”
“Then you won’t mind if we have a look before you’re allowed inside the gate?”
Sweeping his arm wide to indicate the column of idling trucks, the colonel said, “Suit yourself. Have a look. We have nothing to hide.”
Hellcat turned and made a motion with his arm, waving forward a contingent of men wearing gas masks. No one was for sure that the filters would protect against the germs, but it was the only option available on the remote outpost.
As the four-man inspection crew made its way toward the line of trucks, several of the troops assigned as convoy security began dismounting.
Stopping at the first semi, the leader of the Marine team took less than a minute to spot the shiny steel canister. Despite being muffled by the heavy mask covering his face, his shouts for everyone to get back could be heard clearly up and down the line.
Still thinking the entire affair was simply bullshit, the colonel headed for the now-freaking, still-masked Marines. “It’s there, sir. A silver container that doesn’t belong on the truck. I saw it!” reported the nearly panicked inspector.
Shaking his head, the colonel stooped low and scanned the underside of the semi until he saw the offending canister. While its surface was clean and looked new compared to the other equipment on the trailer, he believed it was simply a replacement part that had been recently added during the last maintenance session.
As he reached to touch the container, Hellcat thought the officer was trying to “set off” the device. “Stop!” the Marine commander screamed. “Don’t touch that!”
The colonel didn’t heed the order, his usually low-key temperament about full of the disrespectful junior officer.
The inspector, now certain the rumors about the Army trying to kill Marines had been verified, fired his weapon.
Three 5.56 NATO rounds struck the colonel across the back, their impact spinning the half-bent officer in a circle as his arms flayed wide, tossing the unattached canister at the gathered Marines.
Absolute pandemonium erupted.
Hearing the burst of fire and seeing their commander go down, the Army escorts assumed the reverse gossip was true – that the Marines were killing soldiers. The convoy troopers shouldered their weapons and began firing at the inspection team and Major Hellcat.
As more and more Army infantry jumped from their trucks, the two machine guns at the gate opened fire, spraying the convoy’s riflemen as they scrambled for cover. Within 20 seconds, the two sides were fully engaged in an intense firefight.
In one of the rear-most trucks, a young lieutenant managed to push down the terror that filled his core and reached for the radio. In a voice filled with panic, he began broadcasting his unit, the convoy designator, their location, and a desperate plea for help.
At the same time, Major Hellcat’s second in command was doing the same thing in the facility’s communications room. “We are under attack! I repeat. The base is under attack!” he broadcasted over the Navy’s emergency frequencies.
The Marine base housed a garrison of nearly 200 men, outnumbering the Army forces by 2:1. Yet, despite their superior numbers, they had been ordered to protect the base, not assault a convoy. Tucked into their defensive positions, the base’s defenders were content to keep the interlopers at bay.
Strings of glowing tracers and a nearly constant rattle of automatic fire raged back and forth, both sides recovering from the initial shock of the fight. Two of the semis were now burning, their fuel tanks punctured by the blizzard of lead streaming from the base.
Inside the compound, a barracks suffered a similar fate as dozens of incoming rounds managed to set the structure on fire. The two sides now had to deal with a thick layer of smoke adding to the haze of civil war.
Major Hellcat barely managed to escape, geysers of dust chasing him back to the gate as he sprinted the fastest dash of his life. He was luckier than the rest of the inspection team. Their bloody bodies, lying in the open across the lane, served to motivate the barricaded defenders. The colonel’s corpse had the same effect on the men in his command.
The first reinforcements to arrive were from the Army base the convoy had just resupplied. The commander of that facility had no idea what was going on. He was accustomed to fighting the cartels and sometimes even corrupt police. When he finally arrived at the scene of the battle, four trucks were burning, and the fire inside the base had spread to the enlisted head.
The Marines, seeing their foe reinforced, again began broadcasting a series of desperate radio calls for help. “The Army is trying to overrun our base! More and more of them keep arriving. We can’t hold out for long.”
All across northern Mexico, forces from both branches began responding. The regional Army commander, a general destined to become the supreme commander when his superior retired next cycle, diverted his helicopter and flew over the encircled base. Meanwhile, the Mexican Navy was scrambling every available man to come to the aid of its comrades.
The next encounter occurred less than two hours after the convoy’s colonel had been gunned down. While the firefight raged at the outpost, a relief column of Marines encountered an Army checkpoint 20 kilometers south of Reynosa, and an extended gun battle left the roadblock in flaming ruins. There were causalities on both sides.
Mexico City scrambled a flight of two F4 Phantom fighter jets to overfly Reynosa. They encountered several naval helicopters rushing reinforcements to the besieged base and shot two of the birds from the sky after receiving direct orders from the regional commander.
The situation escalated rapidly, the command and control networks of the underfunded military quickly overwhelmed. Confusion, miscommunications, and panic led to an ever-deepening soup of war. Reports of skirmishes, ambushes, and outright battles were coming in from all over the country.
In some areas, the cartel joined the fray. Warned by El General and Z-44, the local drug lords were watching closely, waiting for the chance to use their extensive private armies to influence, incite, or execute a quick hit and run when an opportunity was presented.
It finally dawned on the Marines outside of Reynosa that they wouldn’t be able to hold their outpost indefinitely. The Army was reinforcing at a much faster rate, and despite the heroic arrival of a few helicopters’ worth of additional forces, they were outnumbered and outgunned.
In a maneuver worthy of a textbook example, the Marines freed themselves of the Army’s noose, over 70 of the defenders breaking out and then executing a fighting retreat toward Reynosa. Major Hellcat’s plan was simple – reach the city’s airport, take control of a plane, and fly to friendly territory.
The Army quickly figured out the plot, moving forces to block the fleeing Marines.
Again, Major Hellcat found himself between a rock and an immovable object. Rather than get pinned down between two superior forces, the crafty officer ordered his men to enter the city proper, hoping to use the dense urban area to buy time and escape the trap.
All the while, less than a mile away, the Texas side of the border had no idea of the deteriorating situation unfolding on the southern shore of the Rio Grande.
That was about to change.
The pursuing Army units were using armored personnel carriers, giving them both superior mobility and greater firepower. The Marines fought like wounded, cornered animals, making their pursuers pay for every inch of ground. At one intersection after another, their rear element would execute a blocking action, using the office buildings, retail storefronts, and even residential structures as cover.
They would shoot up the lead Army units, inflicting as much damage as possible. Just as the chasing soldiers would bring overwhelming firepower to bear, the Marines would scurry to set up a few blocks away.
They were, however, running low on ammunition and room to maneuver. The Army was pushing them back. The retreating force had wounded, some severely so. Several of their Humvees and trucks had taken fire and were barely limping along. The outcome, Hellcat realized, was inevitable.
The major was about to order a desperate flanking attack when a green and white road sign caught his attention. “Texas - McAllen Port of Entry, 1 KM.”
He ignored the sign at first, turning to scan the faces of his surviving officers. They were a filthy, desperate looking bunch, many down to their last magazine of ammunition, more than a few having a leg, arm, or head wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage. He loved them more than any brother or sister, his heart bursting with pride at how well they had fought.
It nearly brought the commander to tears when he realized that the Army wouldn’t be taking any prisoners today, especially after the carnage they’d unleashed on the units pursuing them. The men around him deserved better. They had earned the right to live with their bravery and honor.
If he could only buy a little more time until help arrived.
It then occurred to Hellcat that there was a sanctuary, a place where the pursuing devils of the traitorous Army couldn’t reach his men.
“Mount up. Make for the border. Move! Move! Move!” he ordered.
A few minutes later, the ragtag line of shot-up vehicles was rolling toward McAllen, Texas.
It hadn’t occurred to Major Hellcat that the border had been closed for several days. Nor did it dawn on the exhausted officer that Texas wouldn’t want him inside her country.
With several Army units in hot pursuit, the surviving Marines drove as fast as their rides would take them, busting through the first set of sawhorse barricades on the Mexican side of the river and sending the lightweight units flying in a shower of splinters.
Heavy machine fire followed the escaping Marines onto the International Bridge, the rearmost Humvee exploding in a spectacular ball of red and yellow flames.
With the border being closed, only a skeleton crew of immigration agents was manning the Hidalgo entry port. All of the multiple traffic lanes normally used to inspect cars and trucks heading into Texas were closed, concrete barriers and hydraulic steel posts blocking access into the Lone Star Republic. When the Humvee had exploded on the bridge, frantic calls went out to the local police departments, the few on-duty border guards screaming that Texas was being invaded.
None of that mattered to the desperate Marines. By Major Hellcat’s way of thinking, the Army wouldn’t pursue him across the river. Skidding to a stop in the paved area before the inspection lanes, he began directing his men to dismount and take up defensive positions. They were technically in Texas. The Army wouldn’t dare cross the bridge.
The soldiers, hot on the heels of the fleeing Marines, did pause at the bridge. Two armored carriers stopped in the middle of the street, both commanders looking at each other and unsure what to do. Their superior, however, didn’t hesitate.