After he was satisfied with the utter destruction of the island, the Capitán Primero ordered the convoy to cease fire. The attack was violent and swift, and had apparently caught most of the guardsmen by surprise. They had expected a fierce battle after finding the dead soldados on the roof of the apartment in Matamoros. They were all but certain that the gringos had discovered their amassing army. As it appeared, though, their fears were unfounded.
The island was silent and empty in the distance. The winds from the east began to blow the heavy, billowing smoke from the island over Laguna Madre, and into Port Isabel. The Capitán opened the top hatch of one of the front vehicles and peered through his binoculars for several uneventful minutes. Finally satisfied, he ducked back inside vehicle and gave the command to proceed over the causeway.
***
“Golden eagle! Golden eagle!”
Barrett and his fellow guardsmen rushed to their positions as their radios squawked to life. The code words from the SEAL scout team in Brownsville echoed in their heads. The army in Matamoros was on the move, and they were coming to the island.
They had been lying in wait for days. Barrett had expected the assault much sooner, but Providence had withheld it. The delay had afforded them the much-needed time to plead for reinforcements from Austin. They had begged for air support from Camp Mabry, but were told none was available. After a call to the governor’s office and a second call to command control, a plan began to form. The more they discussed it, the more Barrett and Holt fell in love with it; and if they were lucky, it might even work.
Command control had recently been informed of a discovery in a National Guard Armory; crate upon crate of aging, Dragon missiles had been found languishing in the back of a storage bunker. It had been decided that the entire stockpile of the M47 Dragons would be sent to Padre Island, along with six of the state’s latest riot control vehicles.
At less than 6’ in length and 4’ tall, the Gladiator tactical vehicle was perfect for urban crowd control. The small, remotely-controlled vehicles could be outfitted with the SWARM weapon system. When utilizing less-than-lethal rounds, the Gladiator could effortlessly repel even the most determined rioter. They looked like miniature tanks as they rolled down the streets of Austin. Before long, the mere presence of the Gladiators tended to disperse a group of potential protestors.
But even when outfitted with a machine gun, the tiny land drones were still no match for the heavy armoring and large cannons of the ERC 90s. They would be eradicated on sight without question, but perhaps they could serve another, more sacrificial purpose. Perhaps they could lend the appearance of an occupied Padre Island.
***
Barrett and his teammates waited on the flat rooftops of the buildings along Queen Isabella Boulevard. They hid atop Lone Star National and First National Bank. They concealed themselves on the roofs of coffee shops and art galleries, of boutiques and antique stores and strip malls – no more than four men to a roof. They would need rapid dominance – shock and awe – from all sides if they were to overcome the odds that were stacked against them.
The boulevard was divided by a wide, grassy median dotted with the occasional palm tree and ornamental shrub. Each side of the boulevard had two lanes, with an additional parking lane along the sidewalks. There was ample room for the convoy to tighten their formation as they neared the causeway.
If the enemy proceeded through Port Isabel in a long, staggered line of vehicles without pause, Barrett would wait until they were over Laguna Madre before attacking. This would not be optimal, but he believed they could use the causeway to trap the convoy. Their casualties would likely be high, because Port Isabel would get shelled as well. He prayed they would stop at the bridge approach before proceeding. If they were clustered tightly in the center of town and not expecting an assault from behind, he knew he could decimate his opponent.
It had been nearly ten minutes since the warning from the SEAL team. They had reported over fifty of the ERC 90s traveling at approximately 50 mph. Barrett stood atop the old Point Isabel Lighthouse, the tallest structure for miles. He had a commanding view of the surrounding area as he leaned against the ancient railing atop the structure. He waited impatiently; the soldados would be upon them at any moment.
The sudden sound of jet engines startled Barrett. He dashed back into the lantern room and radioed for everyone to find cover on the exposed roofs as best they could. He grabbed the remote that controlled all six of the Gladiators and began to move them around the island.
Three, low-flying F-5s streaked over Port Isabel and dropped the entirety of their payloads on South Padre. Barrett stared at the explosions and held his breath.
With the joystick he aimed the tiny tanks skyward and saw five sets of tracer rounds pierce the night sky. Amazingly he had only lost one Gladiator. He watched as the jets streaked back overhead, assumingly returning to base. As he spun to watch them, he saw the endless line ERC 90s quietly approaching. He radioed again, warning of their approach.
They held their fire as the convoy rolled down the boulevard and stopped at the approach of the causeway. The vehicles aimed their cannons eastward and began to shell the island mercilessly. Barrett fumbled with the bulky remote and returned fire. The Gladiators’ rounds were useless at point-blank range, much less from across the lagoon. Their purpose was to merely ensure their enemy was sufficiently confident in his victory.
One by one, the Gladiators were destroyed, their tracer fire to be seen no more. Barrett radioed the men to ready their Dragons and wait for his order. The scenario could not have been more perfect, he thought. While the front vehicles were bombarding the island, the rear vehicles crowded forward to see the action, their lack of discipline now on display. Several of the crews had even left their vehicles unattended while they scampered forward to see the destruction of the gringos that had harassed them for months.
As the shelling stopped, a hatch opened on one of the front ERC 90s. A man emerged and stared through his binoculars at the island for several minutes. Satisfied with the destruction, he disappeared back into the vehicle.
This was the moment.
Barrett stroked the button on the radio for a second or two, before pressing it and whispering, “Our turn.”
In the first moments of the volley, ten Dragon missiles were launched from the rooftops nearby. Before those missiles had even met their targets, another fifteen were being launched. By the time the soldiers in the street could process the unexpected sights and sounds, thirty-five Dragons had been launched from less than two-hundred yards away. The missiles screamed towards the unorganized cluster of ERC 90s.
The shock and terror below was apparent by the inaction of the vehicles that were not hit. The ones that did react tried to retreat, but the wreckage around them foiled their attempts. Within ten seconds, the two-man teams had attached the tubular firing system to a second missile, a drill they had performed hundreds of times in the past several days. Their second volley annihilated the remaining vehicles.
Within another twenty seconds, the slower, APCs had reached the point where the grassy median split Highway 100 into the expansive Queen Isabella Boulevard. They were now within line of sight of the guardsmen, a mere four-hundred yards away. The APCs had not even concerned themselves with the sounds of the violent, rooftop ambush. They had assumed it was merely part of the island bombardment. Besides, they had received no calls of distress. A single, concerted barrage of Dragons from the rooftops ended the armored procession with an enormous ball of flame.
Heavy, white smoke hung thick in the air of Port Isabel, completely shrouding the base of the lighthouse. Barrett stood atop the tower in awe of the complete and total victory. He keyed the radio again and barked, “Well done, Dragon Slayers. Gryphon, proceed with search and destroy.”