Remember The Alamo (35 page)

No, the hard part would be getting Phil to agree to something like that. He insisted that he was all right, and Dave had
a feeling that he would absolutely refuse to leave the Alamo.

If his condition continued to worsen, he might be too sick
to put up any argument. But if he got that bad, he might be
too far gone for the doctors to save him, even if he was in the
hospital.

It was a dilemma, but Doc Stone had advised waiting until
Sunday morning and seeing what the situation was like then,
so that was what Dave was going to do.

In the meantime, he wandered over to where Billy Romo
was working with his cell phone. Both thumbs were flying
on the tiny keyboard. Billy had managed to put up a blog on
the Web, using the wireless connection, and for the past
couple of hours he had been providing live updates to the
world on what was going on in here, making sure to let
everyone know the truth about what was really happening.
Stark and Mahone were next to him, advising him on what
to say. The three of them were sitting on the floor, lined up
with their backs propped against the wall.

Dave hunkered on his heels next to them, and Billy suddenly said, "Crap"

"Did I do something?" Dave asked.

"No, it's not you, man. The blog's gone. The site took it
down"

"Probably someone in Washington finally noticed it and
put pressure on the Web host," Mahone said. "Set up
another one. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

"Gotcha." Billy went to work, his thumbs almost moving
too fast for Dave to follow them.

The blog was back up on a different Web site a few minutes later, and Billy's first post was about how the government had shut down the other one. They didn't know for sure
that was what had happened, but it seemed very likely.

The likelihood increased even more when the second blog
went off-line, too, after about half an hour. "They found us
again," Billy said. "The government's got the best Webcrawling software in the world. A site doesn't have to be
listed in the search engines for the Feds to locate it. I'll set
up another one"

The third blog lasted an even shorter time, more like ten
minutes. Billy shook his head. "They're on to us now. I can
keep hopping and stay one jump ahead of them, but the sites
won't be up for very long. Don't know how many people will
be able to find us each time before we get shut down again."

"Do the best you can," Mahone told him. "The more
people who get our message, the better."

Billy went to work again, but it wasn't long before he
shook his head and said, "I lost the connection. Let me see
if I can get it back"

He got up and moved around the inside of the chapel,
trying to find another hot spot. Dave sat down with Stark and
Mahone and shared his worries about Phil's medical condition with them.

"There's a problem about letting him leave," Stark said,
"even if he'd go along with it."

"What's that?"

"More than likely the Mexicans would grab him. They'd
be liable to stand him up in front of a firing squad and
execute him on the spot"

Dave stared at Stark in disbelief. "They wouldn't do a thing like that," he said. "Not even them. Good Lord, I'm Hispanic
myself! I wouldn't-"

"You were born and raised up here," Stark pointed out.
"Whether you want to think it does or not, that makes a difference. Folks below the border, they've lived their whole
lives in a corrupt, crooked society with a higher level of violence. Don't think for a second they wouldn't pull a stunt
like that if they thought they could get away with it."

"And let's face it," Mahone put in, "they've gotten away
with some pretty outrageous things so far."

Dave couldn't argue with that. The discussion didn't make
him feel any better about Phil's chances, though.

A few minutes later, Billy came back shaking his head.
"I've been all over this place," he told them. "There's no
signal anywhere. I can't prove it, but I've got a feeling the
wireless networks in this area have all been shut down"

"The government would go that far to keep our voice from
getting out to the people?" Dave asked.

Mahone nodded. "I don't doubt it for a second. They can't
afford to have the truth spread around too much. If people heard
it often enough, they might start thinking for themselves."

"Can't have that," Stark said, his voice dry.

"Not in this administration."

Billy said, "That means we can't get TV broadcasts or the
Internet in here anymore. We're really cut off now."

Dave thought about the Mexican troops on the other side
of the plaza and the way his own government had hung him
and his companions out to dry.

"That's just the way those bastards in Washington want it,"
he said, and the words were bitter in his mouth.

Almost twenty-four hours had passed since the last attack
on the Alamo. Salgado understood the benefits of psychological warfare, of letting your enemy sit there and stew in his
own juices as he thought about the inevitability of another
assault and the overwhelming likelihood of his own death. The
general liked to think about how cold worms of fear must be
gnawing away at the guts of the gringos.

But the time for action had come again, and he was glad.
A man's honor demanded that he strike a blow, not stand aside
waiting forever.

In the past twenty-four hours, though, a great deal had happened. Presidente Guzman had announced what had been the
plan all along, to keep the Alamo, and the Americans, not surprisingly, had gone along with it. Salgado could not even
begin to imagine swallowing such an insult to his country if
the situation had been reversed, but nothing the Americans did
surprised him anymore. The bounds of their craven weakness
knew no depths. They would give up anything, even one of
their most cherished historical landmarks, just to get along.

Salgado wondered idly if the French could be talked into
taking back the Statue of Liberty... .

He pushed that thought aside, having no time for it now. It
was nearly dawn on Sunday morning, March 8th.

And this would be the last sunrise those hated gringos ever
saw, he vowed.

Phil's fever was worse by early that morning, not long
before dawn, but he was still insisting that he was all right and
could carry his share of the load. Evelyn was equally insistent
that he should rest, though, so she had him lying on the love
seat in the office, his feet propped on a chair so that he could
almost stretch out like he would have on a larger sofa. She
stayed with him, covering him with jackets when he had chills.
With no electricity and no heat in the Alamo, the March
weather really was a little nippy.

Dave stuck his head in the office door to check on Phil, saw
that Phil was asleep on the love seat and Evelyn was dozing
on another chair. He withdrew as quietly as possible so he
wouldn't disturb them, and walked back through the dimly lit
chapel to the front of the building.

Dieter and Belko were on duty at one of the windows.
"Anything going on out there?" Dave asked them.

Dieter shook his head, and Belko said, "We ain't seen any
movement out o' the Mexicans for a couple hours now.
They're probably all asleep."

Dave doubted that. More likely Salgado and his officers
were just planning their next move.

He didn't like being cut off from the outside world, and especially hated not knowing how the rest of the country was reacting to the siege that was going on here in San Antonio.
Earlier, when they had still been able to monitor the news, it
was obvious that the country was pretty much split down the
middle, as usual. The heartland was solidly in favor of what
the defenders of the Alamo were doing. The liberals on both coasts were backing the president. They couldn't very well
be expected to support the Texans, because as every good liberal knew, almost everyone from the Lone Star State was a
racist, gun-totin', death-penalty-lovin', redneck bigot. Just ask
the Hollywood TV writers. They'd tell you.

The last thing the people inside the Alamo had heard was
that the president was going along with Mexico's ridiculous
stance that they had the right to not give back the Alamo, as
the treaty had promised. The United Nations was on board
with that, too, as were foreign governments around the world.
The defenders of the Alamo were being vilified as terrorists,
and they couldn't look to anyone for help.

They were alone in what they were trying to do. Utterly
alone.

Which meant they were doomed. There would be no
thirteen-day siege this time around, as there had been when
Santa Anna wanted to capture the old mission. The modernday defenders were already running low on supplies. They
hadn't expected to have to hold their position any longer than
the weekend, so they hadn't prepared for a long stay.

If they lasted as long as one more day, Dave knew they
would have to start talking about surrendering. It was either
that or be starved out.

Something told him, though, that the Mexicans didn't want
that. Salgado wasn't interested in taking prisoners, nor was he
interested in the legal system getting involved any more than
it already was.

What Salgado wanted was buckets of blood in the Alamo
and dead Texans whose bodies could be strung up to serve as
inspiration for the Reconquistar movement. This was just the
start, Dave thought. If the Mexicans were successful here, that
would embolden them to try some other land grab elsewhere.

The defenders had to hold out, regardless of how much am munition and how many supplies they had. Giving up wasn't
going to be an option if Dave had anything to say about it.

And he might not, because Belko suddenly said, "They're
up to somethin' over there."

Dave leaned forward to peer out through the bars where the
glass had been before the previous attacks. He heard the
rumble of truck engines starting and the sound of men shouting orders in Spanish. Some of the trucks forming the cordon
on the far side of the plaza suddenly shifted so that a gap was
formed in the line.

Another truck shot through that gap and came toward the
Alamo, gathering speed as its wheels bumped over the curb.

"Everybody up!" Dave bellowed. "Here they come again!"

He realized that the driver of the truck, which was moving
faster and faster, intended to ram the vehicle into the Alamo's
front doors. He had no doubt that the back of the vehicle held
Mexican soldiers who were eager to spill out and start killing
once the truck had plowed its way into the old mission.

The truck had to be stopped before it got there, or it would
be too late.

"Pour it on!" Dave shouted as he began firing at the heavy
vehicle's tires, knowing that it probably wouldn't do any good.
That was a military truck, which meant it was built to withstand small-arms fire. The tires were run-flats, the windshield
glass was bulletproof, and the chassis was reinforced with
armor plating.

As the truck loomed closer, Dave heard a crash and the
sound of gunfire from the rear of the Alamo, as well as from
the side where the door leading to the gift shop was located.
Salgado was trying an all-out attack this time, from three directions at once. Even as Dave continued to fight, he felt a
hollow sensation growing inside him. They wouldn't be able
to turn back this assault.

Then the truck screeched to an unexpected halt when it was still twenty yards from the doors of the Alamo. Dave held his
fire for a moment as he saw a surprising scene play out inside
the cab. The driver had kicked the door open and was trying to
get out. Someone else in the front seat was struggling with
him, trying to stop him. The sun wasn't up yet, but it was light
enough in the plaza for Dave to see what was going on. He
recognized the driver's uniform as that of the U.S. Army. The
Mexicans had gotten one of the American GIs to drive the
truck. One of the last things the defenders had heard inside the
Alamo before all communications were cut off was the disheartening news that the president had ordered the U.S. forces
to play an active role in retaking the Alamo.

Clearly, that tactic was in the process of backfiring on the
Mexicans. The GI driver had revolted and was no longer following his orders. He had stopped the truck before it reached
the Alamo, and now managed to break free from the Mexican soldier riding in the cab with him. He leaped out of the
truck, landing awkwardly on the flagstones of the plaza.

The Mexican officer still in the cab leaned through the open
door, pistol in hand, and shot him. The GI staggered and went
down.

Dave seized the opportunity, snapped the rifle to his shoulder, drawing a bead, and firing.

Blood and brains sprayed from the Mexican officer's head
as Dave's bullet punched through his skull and exploded out
the other side. The man pitched headfirst from the truck to
land sprawled next to the American soldier he had killed a
couple of seconds earlier.

"Concentrate your fire on the back of the truck!" Dave
shouted. "That truck can't go anywhere if we don't let any of
the rest of them get behind the wheel!"

He didn't know how things were going in the rear of the
Alamo, and couldn't go check because he had his hands full
here, rallying the men to keep the Mexican troops in the back of the truck pinned down. The vehicle sat there unmoving, its
driver's door open, the two bodies beside it.

Instead of attacking the Alamo, after a few minutes the soldiers fled, making a break out the back of the truck toward the
cordon across the street. They didn't even bother to lay down
any covering fire, just ran like rabbits. The defenders picked
off a few of them, sending men tumbling off their feet, but the
others reached the safety of the line of trucks.

The truck that had been used in the attack sat there now,
empty and abandoned.