The Battle for Houston...The Aftermath (12 page)

The rest of the men nodded and quickly headed under the bridge to get out of the pelting rain. Now it was just the twelve men, and they moved forward, looking like they were patrolling the area.

Half a mile later they reached the second east/west set of two runways and walked straight into six poncho-covered men trying to stay dry in a covered jeep at the beginning of the front apron to the closest terminal. The Seals had been briefed on the battles during the last 24 hours and were ready for any questions fired at them.

The visibility was now down to twenty feet, the wind was wailing and even the Seal squads couldn’t have seen the jeep before they almost walked into it.

“Where have you come from?” was the first question in Spanish from the passenger side, the man aiming his AK 47 at the Seals without even getting out of his dry seat.

“The first battle on the highway; we were at the back, and we lost several men. We were waiting in a ditch for someone to give us orders,” Lieutenant Meyers, the lead Seal, replied in fluent Spanish.

“Whose cartel are you from?” the man asked.

“We are Panamanians living in America. We joined your army in San Antonio, twenty of us, and there are only have twelve of us left; I am the commander, Charlie Mendoza. We were supposed to be given a commander but nobody told us who our new commander is yet,” Charlie Meyers/Mendoza replied calmly just standing there trying to look lost. “Are the others around here?”

“We are all here at this airport. You must have been with the rear army; they are staying in the last terminals to the south. If you follow this runway southeast,” the man pointed to a taxiway heading directly south, “It’s about half a mile. Ask for Pedro’s army. Somebody will show you where to go. Do you have any missiles, launchers or any RPGs?”

“No, we were never given any, why?” asked Paul.

“The army commanders need all of them, and if you see anyone else with missiles or launchers, tell them to head to the lead army. They are sleeping in the second terminal to the east of there,” he stated, pointing in the direction the men had been previously heading.

Charlie Meyers thanked the man and headed to where they had been told to go to find the rear army. The weather had cleared slightly, and they now could see to the bridge where the rest of the men were hidden and, the others would have seen the confrontation with the men in the jeep. They could report back when the weather came in again.

There were jeeps every fifty yards or so and, casually walking past the second jeep, the Seals waved at the shapes inside. The third jeep was the same, except the rain was slight and a man shouted to them asking where they were heading. Lieutenant Paul shouted back, “Pedro’s men,” and an arm pointed to several cargo hangars including UPS, FedEx, and a couple of private looking terminals parallel with the runways.

“Who are you?” stated a guard at the hangar’s small entrance door. All the large buildings were closed except this one door.

“Charlie Mendoza family out of Panama, we got lost on the highway when the gringos attacked,” stated Lieutenant Paul using their Spanish secret name to communicate with each other.

“Go find a place to sleep,” he replied picking his teeth with a toothpick and pretty much uninterested in the men in front of him.

“Where’s Pedro?” Paul asked.

“Why do you want to know?” the dirty guard replied relishing his toothpick more than talking to the man in front of him.

“We were told by the guards on the corner that Pedro was interested in any launchers or missiles his men have. We don’t have one, but we saw a dead man with a missile launcher at the last intersection where the gringos had bombed.”

“Pedro is in the front terminal talking to his brothers. I will tell him when he returns,” and the man waved them away to get out of his face.

“It looks like we need to move up in the world from the rear army to the front army. What do you guys think?” asked Lieutenant Paul once they had moved away to a darker area where thousands of men were sleeping. They nodded their agreement.

“I don’t think I would like to have these guys as my fighting comrades,” added Lieutenant Charlie Meyers. “I think advancement in comrade-quality is the best way forward, or I could fold up and die in this stench.”

The men always found Charlie Meyers to be the joker of the group, and even when they were in tense situations he was always had something stupid to say.

They saw a man exit the large cargo terminal building using a small door on the opposite side of where they had come in and they followed him outside. They exited into a parking area at the front of the building which had hundreds upon hundreds of ragged vehicles of all types in the parking lots and on the roadway where the fencing had been torn down for more room. They squeezed between the vehicles, which felt more like a Wal-Mart parking lot at its busiest time, and headed back to buildings to their north.

“Where are you going?” asked a guard in one vehicle sheltering from the growing rain shower.

“Pedro and his brothers want to see us about a missile launcher,” replied Lieutenant Mendoza slouching up to the vehicle. “What are his brother’s names? I have never met them.”

“I don’t know, but I think one’s called Alberto. He is in charge of the second army, and the other brother is in charge of the lead army.”

Charlie Mendoza thanked the man and they moved on. They got to within a hundred yards of the main terminal buildings and control tower in the middle of two massive terminals before they were questioned again. This time the guard was alert and braved the rain to find out who the men were.

“We have some news for Pedro and Alberto about a couple of missiles and a missile launcher. We were told that they were asking if anybody had them,” replied Lieutenant Paul.

“I don’t see them. You are not carrying them?” the guard asked. This time several of the men recognized an accent they hadn’t heard for two years, a Colombian accent.

“We don’t have them but we saw them back at the first attack on a broken vehicle, and we wondered if Pedro and Alberto wanted us to go all the way back to get them.”

“It’s not Pedro or Alberto who wants to know, it’s Manuel, and he gave orders to find every missile. Go in and ask Alberto to ask his brother.”

“Alberto who?” questioned Charlie Mendoza, never thinking twice about asking a stupid question.

“Alberto Calderón, you stupid mule, he is second-in-command to Manuel Calderón, your leader. Are you so stupid, you don’t even know who is running this army? Go into that door there and be careful amigo, they shoot stupid people like you in there.” The man shook his head and, not wanting to cause trouble just yet, the two lieutenants apologized for being so stupid, backed away, and headed for the door.

Inside the smell was the same; dirty bodies littered the floors everywhere. It was dark and the terminal was at least half a mile long. This was the main terminal for the airport; there were dozens of broken and burned aircraft with hundreds of vehicles everywhere underneath the bent and mostly broken walkways to the dozens of aircraft.

Then they reached the main inner-terminal, where inside, a sea of bodies were sprawled everywhere.

“Looking for Alberto Calderón,” stated Lieutenant Paul several times, and when asked why, he always had to reply that they had information on missiles. They moved through the thousands of sleeping people, and finally they got within a hundred feet of a lit up area where there was a meeting going on.

* * *

Manuel, Alberto and Pedro were being bandaged up by the best medic they had, a doctor that had been with them and who had kept them whole for two decades.

“Ow! That stuff hurts!” exclaimed Pedro and was laughed at by his older brothers as the doctor tended his wounds. This bad cut was on the top of his head and needed a couple of stitches, and all the old doctor had to cleanse and sterilize the wound was Tequila. “I should drink it, not waste it on my head!”

The two older brothers had already had their wounds cleaned, and the doctor was down to a half a bottle of Tequila. Pedro noticed that and helped empty the bottle by taking two large swigs before it was pulled out of his hands by Alberto who took a swig and passed it on to Manuel.

“It’s not worth wasting the stuff on Pedro. Let him scream with pain, it will give us a show while we wait for this storm to pass,” laughed Alberto.

“I want a meeting of my section commanders, Luiz, in ten minutes,” Manuel shouted to one of his top men across the extra distance. “After that I want to see Alberto’s commanders and then Pedro’s. I want all the other cartel commanders we have picked up in Pedro’s meeting. You know what I have to say and while I speak with the men, I want you to go outside to check on things behind this terminal. Keep an eye on any movement. Also, change the outside guards every two hours, I don’t want any guards sleeping, or I will personally cut off their ears and give them to their wives gift wrapped if they are caught.” Luiz acknowledged his orders and headed for the closest rear exit to the walkway connecting the aircraft behind the terminal. He wasn’t too happy to be on guard in the rain, but he was used to it, being a Colombian.

The first meeting started half an hour later, and several men were seated in front of the table where two powerful kerosene lamps gave Manuel and the men light to see each other.

“Everybody here?” asked Manuel and there was silence.

A couple of minutes after he started, the edge of his vision caught movement towards the rear of the terminal; a lightning bolt helped him see men moving, and he saw several shadows approaching the lit up area.

Suddenly there was a brilliant shaft of blue lightning outside the front windows which lit up the whole inner area of the terminal for a split second, followed by a crash of thunder enough to vibrate eardrums.

The twelve Seals froze; they were the only ones standing in that area and people suddenly noticed them.

“Who are you? Come over here now!” shouted one of the men standing around the table and who had noticed the twelve men standing there. The Seals walked over to the area. There was a map of Texas displayed on a square table and several men had been studying it when the lightning struck. “Why are you coming over here? Can’t you see we are in a meeting?” He was tall, thick-shouldered, and injured with dried blood in several areas of his face; one eye looked half-closed and he was pretty mean-looking.

“I’m sorry, Señor,” stated Lieutenant Paul looking as humble as an ugly guy like him could, “but we were told to come over to tell you about three missiles and a launcher which we saw undamaged in the first attack with the American fighter jets.”

“Si, Señor, we wanted permission to take a jeep and go back to get them,” added Charlie Meyers also nearly bowing and also looking as humble as he could.

“What do you think, Alberto? Should these guys go all the way back to Interstate-10? Can they make it in this weather?” Paul and Meyers saw the resemblance of brothers in the men and knew that they had hit pay dirt.

“Manuel, if they want to go back, let them, they look mean enough to look after themselves. Where are you from?” asked Alberto Calderón getting interested in the men.

The three Colombian leaders in front of the two lieutenants were tired, dirty and covered in dried blood from multiple cuts, scratches and bruises. The brother who had ordered them over, Manuel, by the sound of it, looked the worst having a closed and swollen black eye and a deep gash down the same left side of his face.

“Panama, but we live in America, in San Antonio, and we joined Pedro’s army there. I’m also Pedro, this is my brother, Charlie, and my other brother Antonio…”

“Thank you for joining us,” interrupted Manuel not wanting to really know their names. “Go back to the guard you met outside; he is one of my commanders and get him to give you a good jeep with a roof. It is worth the effort, three missiles. Now go; and I want you back in twelve hours and bring them directly to me.”

“Hold on!” stated Alberto interrupting his brother. “You look familiar to me. Charlie, now that’s a funny name for a Panamanian. Also you and your men are pretty clean and even clean shaven compared to us. Am I missing anything here, Señor Charlie?”

“I think we fought together in Medellin, Colombia in 2010 against those American soldiers. My friends in America call me Charlie. Remember, the American soldiers, they attacked us at that coffee company when we had their hostages and when we all left, I got out over the back wall,” stated Charlie Meyers.

He was actually right. Seal Team Six had gone into the coffee company to capture two CIA hostages in 2010, who were being held there by an unknown cartel. He didn’t know if these were the same people but he was sure they knew about the attack by the American Special Forces. The hostages were already dead.

”We are always clean shaven for the ladies, Señor Alberto. You never know these days when you might come across a nice girl and me and my brothers consider that the cleanest and smartest one of us might win the poor girl’s heart,” Charlie joked getting the response he was looking for and showing that he certainly wasn’t scared to stand up to the leaders. He knew that a joke always eased discussions amongst men.

“That wasn’t me, Charlie Mendoza, that was my younger brother Pedro, who was there. You must have been one of the lucky ones to escape, not many did. Now go and get these missiles, and we can talk about bringing you and your mean-looking brothers into the forward army when you return. And I hope you fight as good as you chase women, Señor Charlie, or you might not see many more women in your lifetime!” Alberto and his brothers laughed at this one as well as the dozens of men listening in to the rhetoric.

“Si, Señor,” answered Charlie looking down like a naughty kid in class.

The three Calderón brothers were a mean-looking bunch with their scratches and bruises. The Seal Team put the three enemy faces into memory and figured out who was who. They knew that the meanest-looking one who had asked the first question was the leader, Manuel. He was extremely dirty, looking like he had been in several muddy ditches in the last day or so.