Remember The Alamo (32 page)

He lifted the bullhorn to his mouth and clicked it on. "Attention inside the Alamo!" his amplified voice boomed out in English. "This is General Salgado, in command of the Mexican
troops. I know you hear me, so listen carefully. You have ten
minutes to lay down your weapons and come out with your
hands raised in the air. If you do this, I promise none of you will
be hurt. You will be treated fairly. But you have only ten minutes to do this. After that, my men will enter the Alamo and remove you, using all necessary force to do so" Salgado
paused. "No one wishes you harm. Come out now"

The front of the Alamo was blank and featureless. No
movement showed in the windows, and the doors remained
shut. Salgado was pleased. He had expected nothing less.

He lowered the bullhorn and marched back behind the
cordon of trucks. To his surprise, he found the American
colonel waiting there.

"Colonel Cumberland," he said, "I was under the impression that you and your men had withdrawn."

"We did," Cumberland said. "My men are still back there.
But there's something I want to know, General." He nodded
toward the Alamo. "If those men in there surrender as you've
asked, what are you going to do with them?"

Salgado's eyes narrowed. He had hoped that no one would
think to ask that question, but obviously it had occurred to
Cumberland.

"They will be placed under arrest and taken back to Mexico
for trial."

"But they're American citizens!"

"When American citizens commit a crime in another country, they are dealt with by that country's justice system, are
they not?" Salgado swept a hand toward the Alamo and went
on before Cumberland could respond. "The treaty ceding the
Alamo and Alamo Plaza to Mexico had already been signed
before any crimes were committed. Therefore the crimes took
place on Mexican territory, and they have compounded those
crimes by illegally occupying the Alamo. It is up to my country to dispense justice in this matter, not yours, Colonel."

"That's just ... just ... outrageous!"

"It is international law," Salgado insisted, savoring the
thought of all those Americans being put on trial in Mexico
City. It would be a wonderful spectacle. All of them would be sentenced to life in prison, of course. That was a foregone
conclusion. They would never see the light of freedom again.

That would take place only if they surrendered. If they had
to be removed from the Alamo by force ... well, if the Americans left the old mission that way, it would be in body bags.
His men had their orders.

Hauled off to Mexico for a humiliating trial and a short,
hard life in a hellhole of a prison-or dead in the Alamo. It
was actually a toss-up which of those fates Salgado most
dearly wished on the Americans.

"General!" one of Salgado's aides called. "The doors are
opening!"

Salgado swung around to see that one of the double doors on
the front of the Alamo had indeed been pulled open a few
inches. He was a bit surprised, not having expected the Americans to surrender. But if they did, he would make the best of it.
For a second he pondered the idea of executing them all on the
spot if they came out of the Alamo. Since the area belonged to
Mexico and was under martial law, and since he was the military commander here, he would be within his rights to do so.
God, that would be fantastic, the chatter of gunfire, the smell of
cordite, the sight of those hated gringos twitching and jerking
under the impact of the bullets as their blood spilled in buckets
on the flagstones....

And there would be nothing the other gutless Americans
could do about it. Dios mio, the idea was tempting.

But then, instead of all the Americans marching out with
their empty hands held high, only one arm emerged from the
open door. The hand on the end of it held a saber with something tied to the hilt. The man leaned out just far enough to
drive the blade into a crack between two of the flagstones that
made up the plaza, so that it stood upright.

There wasn't much breeze in front of the Alamo, but there
was enough to flutter the flag tied to the sword. Salgado recognized the white and red horizontal bars, the blue vertical
bar with the white star centered in it. The Lone Star ...

The flag of Texas.

The door of the Alamo slammed shut.

A dry, infuriating chuckle came from Cumberland. "Looks
like they gave you their answer, General," the American said.

The sword and the flag both came from displays inside the
chapel. Using them to reply to Salgado's arrogant ultimatum
had been Phil's idea, but it had been Dave who had leaned out
the front door to plant the defiant emblem. He wondered for a
second if a Mexican sniper would try to pick him off while the
door was open, but that hadn't happened. Then he thought to
himself that there were almost certainly news cameras trained
in the Alamo from surrounding buildings, and his face had
probably been visible enough so that he would be recognized.

That was all right, he told himself. He wasn't ashamed of
what he was doing. But Constance would probably see that
footage, and she would be more frightened than ever, more
worried about his safety.

She might never forgive him. If he came out of this standoff alive, he might find himself without a wife. If that happened, he would be sorry about it for the rest of his life.

But he couldn't bring himself to regret what he was doing,
because it was the right thing. Someone had to do it. From
time to time, people had to risk their lives if they wanted to
remain free. Sacrifices had to be made. That was just the way
it worked.

Mahone was watching the Mexicans through a pair of field
glasses taken from the supply packs. "That general looks to be
hopping mad, gentlemen," he said. "Somehow I don't think
he's going to give us that full ten minutes he promised us ""

"Fine with me," Stark said. "No point in waitin'."

Men tightened their grips on their rifles as Dave said,
"Everybody spread out and take your assigned positions." A
grim smile touched his lips. "I think they'll have to come at us
from the front. They can't operate in our rear very well because there's not much room behind the Alamo that falls under
that so-called treaty."

"The president's letting them launch an attack from American territory in front of the plaza," Mahone pointed out.

Dave rubbed his jaw and grimaced. "Yeah, that's true. Keep
a close eye out all around"

Tension was thick in the air as the defenders settled into
their positions. They knew they were up against overwhelming odds. They knew that their enemies were much better
armed than they were. The Mexican army probably was capable of leveling the place if that was what General Salgado ordered. The hope was that he wouldn't want to do too much
damage to the historic old building.

There was no question that the adobe walls of the Alamo
could stand up to small-arms fire. They had proved that
beyond any doubt back in 1836.

"Here they come!" Mahone called out.

"Everybody hold your fire!" Dave ordered as he crouched
at one of the front windows with Phil beside him. Stark and
Mahone were at the other narrow, barred window. "Make them
fire the first shot!"

Phil glanced over his shoulder and said, "Damn it, Evelyn,
get back in the office with the other women!"

"Not hardly," Evelyn Harlow said. She held a deer rifle and looked like she knew how to use it. "I'm staying out here with
you, Phil."

Dave heard Phil mutter a curse under his breath, but at the
same time a smile tugged at his lips. Phil was proud of Evelyn
and had good reason to be, even if she wasn't displaying a
great amount of common sense at the moment.

Hell, none of them were, Dave thought.

Mexican troops, rifles at the ready, were advancing into the
plaza now, across the sidewalk and the strips of grass, past the
cenotaph, around the trees, parallel to the Long Barracks. Less
than a hundred yards separated them from the front of the
Alamo. Dave took a deep breath in an attempt to steady his
racing pulse as he drew a bead on a soldier in the front rank.
He didn't want to kill the guy, who might be just a common
grunt.

On the other hand, considering that the soldier was a
member of the Mexican army, there was a better than even
chance that he had been a criminal before he enlisted-and
probably after, too. The army was as riddled with corruption
and violence as the rest of official Mexico.

Dave hadn't gone to Kuwait to kill Iraqis, either. He went to
help right a wrong and defeat an evil.

That was all he was doing here, too.

"Damn it, why don't they shoot?" Phil asked.

Stark said, "They will."

As if to prove his words, at that moment one of the Mexican soldiers broke under the strain of the advance and opened
fire. Flame lanced from the muzzle of his automatic weapon.
Instantly, the other troops were firing as well, directing their
shots toward the windows and doors of the Alamo.

The defenders ducked as lead shattered the windows and
sent glass spraying into the chapel. More bullets thudded into
the doors, but didn't penetrate them. The rounds that came through the windows broke some display cases and ricocheted
around the big room, but didn't do any real damage.

The guns fell silent abruptly. The excited soldiers had emptied their magazines and now needed to reload. That gave the
defenders a chance to return the fight. Dave had a lever-action
carbine in his hands, and he sprayed bullets at the troops in the
front rank of the advance as fast as he could work the lever. He
aimed low, hoping his bullets would find their legs and take
some of the Mexicans out of the fight without killing them.
Beside him, Phil adopted the same tactic, as did Stark and
Mahone at the other window. They had discussed this earlier
and decided that they wanted to inflict as few fatalities on the
Mexicans as they could.

The enemy's unified front crumpled under the accurate fire
of the defenders. Some of the Mexicans fled, others tried to
help their fallen comrades, and others continued fighting,
stepping up to fire at the old mission. They used the trees for
cover, and what had started out as a classic infantry advance
rapidly became a series of gunfights instead of volleys, as the
men inside the Alamo traded shots with those who were seeking cover outside.

As soon as Dave, Phil, Stark, and Mahone temporarily ran
out of ammunition, they darted back from the windows and let
other men take their places and continue peppering the Mexican troops. As they reloaded their weapons, Dave glanced at
Phil and saw how pale and haggard his friend was.

"You've done enough for now," Dave said over the racket of
gunfire. "Find a place to sit down and rest"

"Hell with that," Phil said as he thumbed fresh cartridges
into the loading gate of his rifle. "We've got a fight to win."

"And you've done your share, at least for now," Dave insisted. "You can't do anybody any good by passing out"

Phil's jaw got a stubborn set to it and Dave knew he was going to continue the argument, but just then one of the men
at the windows called out, "They're pulling back!"

Another man shouted, "We beat 'em!"

Dave hurried over to the window and crouched to peer out
through the barred opening where glass had been a few minutes earlier. The pane had been almost completely shot out.
Only a few jagged pieces remained.

It was true, the Mexican troops were withdrawing behind
the trucks, taking their dead and wounded with them. "Cease
fire!" Dave ordered. They might have been able to pick off a
few more of the Mexicans, but he didn't want the defenders
firing on men who were retreating.

A buzz of excitement ran through the room. Despite their
determination, some of the men hadn't truly believed that they
would be able to fight off an attack by a force that outnumbered them so heavily. The terrain had played a large part in
what had just happened, Dave knew. The Mexicans had been
forced to advance in a narrow front by the geography of the
place. That meant he and his fellow defenders hadn't had to
fight all of them at once.

This victory, if it even deserved to be called that, would be
fleeting. General Salgado would try different tactics next time.
This assault had been designed just to feel out the defenders,
to see if a strong show of force would cow them into submission, to see just how much fight they had in them.

Now Salgado knew.

And like any good commander, he would adjust his plans
accordingly.

The president hadn't slept all night. Utter exhaustion
gripped her as she sat in the Oval Office with her husband and
the vice president, watching the news reports on television.

"Foreign troops firing on Americans, and we don't do a
damned thing about it," muttered the vice president. "Disgusting"

"Damn it, there's nothing we can do about it," the president
snapped. "We agreed to let the Mexicans deal with this problem. We can't go back on our word now."