Holding Their Own: The Salt War (33 page)

Lured into the open by the sound of the helicopter, Bishop came into view, his shirt covered in grit and blood. “’Bout time you showed up,” he sputtered weakly.

“You hit? You okay? That your blood?”

“Terri’s been hit, but not bad,” came the reply.

Cory was the first inside, finding Terri sitting against the wall, her arm wrapped in bandages. Her easy smile let him know she was okay. Nick didn’t want to take any chances, getting on his radio and ordering their Blackhawk to return for a medical evacuation.

The big man then entered the bat cave, finding Grim and Cory fussing over Terri’s wound. “Bishop and you will be able to sit around and compare your battle scars to entertain the grandkids,” Grim teased.

“It doesn’t look like the bullet hit anything critical, but you better go and have it checked out anyway. Infection can be a nasty thing. The chopper is on the way,” Nick reassured her.

The copter hadn’t gone far, the roar of the aircraft’s descent soon filling the canyon walls. It seemed like everyone was trying to help Terri to the Blackhawk.

They loaded her on the helicopter’s deck, Bishop climbing aboard. Nick ordered the pilot to make all haste for Fort Bliss, but Terri overrode the command. “Belay that order. I’ll be fine with the doc in Alpha. Take me there; this injury is not that bad.”

“But ma’am, the hospital at Fort Bliss is still the best facility in the Alliance. You should go and make sure there are no complications,” Cory protested, concern written all over the young man’s face.

She glanced over at her husband, memories of that horrible day when he was shot in the chest. That helicopter ride to Fort Bliss had been one of her worst nightmares. “Take me to Alpha,” she told the pilot.

With a look of horror, Bishop reached out and grabbed Nick’s arm. “Hunter!” he shouted. “Hunter’s in the cave!”

“Don’t worry about him,” Nick yelled back. “Diana and I will take care of that young whippersnapper.”

Nick stood next to Grim as they watched the bird lift off. “I sure wouldn’t want to be those cowboys after she gets that arm looked at. Bishop’s got to be pissed to the extreme.”

“It’s not Bishop I’d be worried about,” Nick replied. “He’s a fuzzy pair of bunny slippers compared to his wife. Come on, Uncle Grim, we’ve got a babysitting job to do.”

Mr. Culpepper saw the helicopter return and lift off, but didn’t react. Turning, he spurred his horse to catch up with the dejected line of men riding back to the ranch.

More than anyone, he felt the foul fog of emotion covering their withdrawal.

For the first hour of their ride, he seriously considered taking his own life. The loss of men suffered at the hands of Bishop had been bad enough, but when he saw the woman go down, the old rancher knew it was all over.

Something about the vision of a woman falling to gunfire initiated a wave of remorse that shook his soul. He knew the rest of the men felt the same way. She had been an accidental target, appearing out of nowhere, surprising his boys with an unexpected entry into the fight.

Despite his depression and sense of loss, he still had to wonder what type of woman will pick up a rifle and willingly join such an intense battle.
Probably thought her husband was about to fall
, he considered.

As they plodded along the open desert, Culpepper wondered if the military men would hunt them down for revenge. He didn’t care, completely dejected by the loss of life and the failure to save his ranch.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” he whispered to the sky, the apology going unanswered.

Whitey, his arm wrapped in a handkerchief bandage from a shrapnel hit, came alongside. “What now, boss? We lost 8 men back there and have another 4 or 5 out of commission.”

“I don’t know, son,” the rancher replied. “I fear I’ve lost everything. Give me some time, I need to think it through.”

Whitey peered over his shoulder, thinking about the arrival of the helicopter and the unbelievable resistance they had just encountered.
I hope you have some time
, he thought.
I have a feeling we just kicked a hornet’s nest.
 

The sound of nervous whinnying woke Mr. Culpepper, years of coexistence with the animals giving him an ear tuned to their language.

He remained still, barely breathing, listening to their conversation. What was making them so skittish?

He didn’t need a clock to tell the time, the view of the eastern sky out his window letting him know the sun would be coming up within the hour.

There was no anger in the man as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Sleep hadn’t been a companion since the battle at the camper. For a brief moment, he wondered how many days his ancient body could endure the insomnia before his heart gave out.
I hope not many more
, he thought.

The single action Colt revolver laid on the bedside table, the weapon’s primary purpose having changed since they had returned from the gunfight with Bishop. Until that point, it had been a defensive piece, loaded and ready should a Tejanos assassin make it past his men. Now, he eyed it every morning and night, trying to work up the guts to use it on himself.

The only fortunate news had been a sudden lack of activity by his enemy. Bunkhouse morale had been at an all-time low since their defeat, and any large-scale engagement with the Tejanos would have surely meant the end.

Yet, for some unknown reason, his foe on the other side of the river had been unusually quiet. A blessing? The calm before the storm? Only God knew.

He pulled on his pants, then boots, moving to the window. A renewed round of chatter from the corral redirected his thoughts to the stock.

There hadn’t been a mountain lion in these parts for years. Coyotes were too shy to approach the structures, too heavy with the smell of men. For a moment, he wondered if the Tejanos had finally arrived, ready to murder them all.

He walked calmly to the front door, pistol at ease against his leg. In the early morning’s light, he could barely make out the profile of the barn.

He opened the door, stepping lightly onto the front porch, grip tightening on the pistol.

“Good morning, Mr. Culpepper. Please put down the gun,” came a voice from the darkness.

He started to raise the weapon, expecting to see a crazed Tejano charging from the night, but the voice’s owner was right next to him, pinning the old Colt against his leg. “Please, Mr. Culpepper, don’t make me take your life.”

He released the sidearm, a quick hand from the stranger catching the barrel before it could fall to the wooden planks of the porch.

“Please walk to the corral, sir.”

As he stepped down onto the packed hardpan bordering the house, he sensed another presence from behind. Silent. Stealthy. Ominous.

Whoever they were, he was positive it wasn’t going to end well. They continued to escort him out to the corral, where he was sure a painful, excruciating death awaited.
Go out with honor
, he thought.
Don’t beg. Those animals won’t show you any mercy, regardless of how much you plead.
But the fear was difficult to squelch.

The pre-dawn light began to reveal strange images around the corral, odd, dense shadows that hadn’t been there before. He couldn’t quite make them out.

He was guided toward the gate, one of his captors gently pushing his arm in the right direction. It was difficult to put one foot in front of the other, his legs weak with terror, the sweat of fear forming on his brow.

The vague outline of men began to come clear to the rancher as the light increased, their shapes oddly distorted – almost ghoulish in nature. They didn’t seem human, odd bulges, malformed heads, and thick chests.

He then could identify other figures, dozens of shorter outlines against the corral’s fence. A female voice sounded from the darkness. “Good morning, Mr. Culpepper.”

He knew that voice, but from where? The fear was inhibiting his thought process, making cognitive reasoning nearly impossible.
Just kill me, and get it over with
, he prayed.

He was steered to the corral’s oak plank fence, a strong hand pressing down on his shoulders. “On your knees.”

Finally
, he reasoned,
finally, they are going to put a bullet in my head.

He closed his eyes, whispering the Lord’s Prayer, readying for a sharp pain.
Would there be pain?
he wondered.
What was it like on the other side?

He stayed there, partially aware of movement around him, the shuffling of bodies, whispered commands, and the brush of cloth. He kept his eyes closed, praying the pain wouldn’t be too intense.

After a while, the prayers changed. Culpepper pined for another chance, entreating his maker for a fresh start. He promised to do better, not to make such a mess of what he had been given.

The female voice was back, interrupting his holy wish list. “You can stand up now, Mr. Culpepper.”

He did as instructed, opening his eyes that had been squinting tight from praying. The sun was almost up; he could see clearly.

Dozens of soldiers were on his ranch, men with helmets, night vision goggles, body armor, and combat vests. All of his men were there as well, on their knees, against the corral fence. It was clear to the old rancher that most of them had been taken by surprise, rounded up just like he was shortly before sunrise. Few had their hats; many were in long johns, or merely wearing skivvies.

“I wish I could say it was nice to see you again, Mr. Culpepper, but that would be dishonest of me. The last time we met, you, or one of your men shot me.”

He spun around, staring blankly at Terri’s smirking face. “So you didn’t die in the shootout. Thank God.”

She tilted her head, not quite understanding his meaning. He tried to clarify, “We never intended for you to be harmed. That would have flown in the face of my ultimate goal… of leveraging you and your people into helping us defeat the Tejanos.”

“I see,” she replied coldly. “And this is supposed to make me feel all warm and fuzzy?”

“Perhaps,” he replied. “I just don’t want anyone thinking I would ever deliberately hurt a woman.”

“How honorable of you, Mr. Culpepper,” Terri said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “I am sure the widows in the Tejanos village appreciate your kindness.”

“War is war,” he countered. “All is fair.”

Terri shook her head, already tiring of the conversation. “I’m not going to run around in circles with you, sir. I’m here on official business – putting an end to your little war.”

Spitting on the ground, Culpepper’s voice was full of hate, “There can’t be any peace with those animals. You can just come down off your high horse, Missy, and forget about it. Never going to happen.”

“I don’t think you grasp the situation as it currently exists. Perhaps it’s too early. But I assure you, I’ll make it all crystal clear in a few minutes.”

A distant thumping noise sounded over the nearby hills, progressively getting louder and turning into a steady, powerful rumble. All eyes turned to the west as a line of Blackhawk helicopters appeared over the ridge.

Raising her voice over the din, Terri glanced at the rancher and announced, “Ah, our other guests are arriving. Please follow me.”

Culpepper hesitated, having no desire to corporate.

Terri noticed his reluctance and turned to one of the huge men that were obviously her bodyguards. “Butter,” she said sweetly, “I think Mr. Culpepper’s legs aren’t functioning properly, and he requires your assistance. Could you please throw him over your shoulder and bring him along?”

The muscular young fellow nodded, his expression making it clear the rancher was going to accompany his boss, voluntarily or not. Culpepper decided to forgo the embarrassment, stepping forward on his own two feet.

“That was wise, sir. I’m not in a trifling mood this morning, and my large friends are convinced that you tried to kill me three days ago at our ranch. They love Hunter and would hate the thought of seeing him grow up without a mother.”

Without waiting for a reply, Terri turned to watch the first helicopter land, a wall of dust and sand rising into the air from the downdraft. In they came, one after the other, each depositing soldiers, and then Bishop’s SAINT team appeared through the airborne debris.

After the copters had lifted off, she made for her husband, taking careful note of the tall man with a dark complexion and Latino features. The stranger was bound, Grim keeping a vigilant eye on the prisoner as he trailed behind Bishop.

“Terri, I would like to introduce you to Rocco, the undisputed leader of the Tejanos,” Bishop said. “He’s still a little upset that we rousted him out of bed this morning, but not nearly as mad as the señorita who woke up to find six armed operators in her bedroom.”

“I’ve never heard a woman scream so loudly,” Grim chuckled. “It was like she’d never seem a bunch of guys surrounding her bed with night vision goggles before.”

Rocco didn’t acknowledge Terri. Instead his eyes were busy, boring into Mr. Culpepper with hurled                                                                          bolts of hatred and spite.

“I see you two already know each other,” Terri commented. “Good. Now let’s get down to business. Please follow me.”

She led the sizable entourage toward the big stable, her large, official motorhome parked on the other side. Butter moved on ahead, opening the door for Terri and her guests.

Nick was waiting inside, a water pitcher and glasses sitting on the main salon table. Terri indicated the two hostile leaders should sit on opposite sides.

After Terri was seated, Butter took up a position behind her, ready to protect his charge if any of the visitors felt frisky. No one seemed to notice Sheriff Watts, the tall, thin lawman standing like a statue in the corner. His uniform was perfect in every detail, including white Stetson hat, polished badge, mirrored sunglasses, and spit-shined boots.

Nick and Bishop rounded out the meeting, each Alliance man taking a chair to keep the two antagonists separated.

Terri pulled two single pieces of paper from the table, sliding a copy of the document in front of each captive. “There are the terms of your surrender. Please read them carefully. Both are identical, both contain the exact same wording in English and Spanish.”

“Surrender!” Culpepper exclaimed. “I haven’t surrendered to anyone!”

Nick grunted, indicating the corral with his hand. “Sir, I have all of your men on their knees. I have confiscated all of their weapons, horses, and your property. I have 300 assault troops on your ranch, and can call in gunships, artillery, and front-line armor, if necessary. You, Mr. Culpepper, got your ass kicked this morning, and we didn’t even have to fire a shot. You’ve lost; so deal with it.”

It was Bishop’s turn to address Rocco. “The Tejanos shared the same fate. One hour ago, we took down the villages, every one of the surrounding sentry posts, and all patrols. While there were shots fired, the enemy casualties were limited to three wounded, and one mule killed in action. At this time, the main village is occupied by 350 soldiers from the 7
th
Cav.”

“This is outrageous!” Culpepper exploded. “I am on sovereign US soil, a freeborn citizen of the United States of America. I can’t be invaded… or occupied… or whatever you want to call it.”

Terri sneered, shaking her head. “The United States of America no longer controls Texas, sir. Nor has the Alliance incorporated your land. In addition, five days ago, you committed an act of war by attempting to murder an elected head of state, me, and two of our citizens, my husband and son. You invaded our territory with an armed force. We are completely justified in our actions. Consider yourself conquered.”

Bishop looked at Rocco, “You’re in the same boat. You’ve admitted to crossing the Rio Grande numerous times with an armed force. We found several of your outposts on this side of the river. In addition, you held one of our citizens, Reed, against his will. We invaded Mexico this morning and now claim all territory under our control.”

Rocco didn’t respond, his face remaining neutral. Mr. Culpepper, on the other hand, was indignant. “So what? Are you going to kill us all? Throw us in a prisoner of war gulag? This is ridiculous.”

Terri pointed to a piece of paper no one had bothered to read. “My terms, which are non-negotiable – I suggest you both read them. As for your question regarding your future, if you don’t agree to my demands, I will have you incarcerated for the crimes I have already enumerated, and you will spend the rest of your days working on one of Sheriff Watt’s chain gangs,” she said, indicating the silent lawman in the corner.

Before Culpepper could spout off again, Nick added, “Of course, if you would prefer a firing squad, that can be arranged as well. We’re trying to keep our prison population at a minimum.”

Culpepper reached for the paper and began reading. Bishop pulled his knife, cutting Rocco free from the nylon tie that had been securing the captive’s hands.

“This says that we agree to become citizens of the Alliance of West Texas, to abide by all of its laws and regulations,” the old rancher stated, looking up in surprise. “That’s it? That’s all you want?”

Terri nodded, “Yes, that’s it. If you have a dispute, claim, issue, or are the victim of a crime, then call Sheriff Watts or other law enforcement. We are going to leave both sides with sufficient radio and communications equipment to stay in constant contact with our authorities. If you have a beef with the Tejanos, then file a police report and let professionals do their jobs.”