They all gathered together in the roadside park; Garrett told Krysti, Sunday, and Justin this was a chance to rest and stretch their legs. He had Schmitt and Chin break out the drinks and sandwiches. Then he gathered the pilots and tried to explain the situation.
Sunday, Krysti, and Justin — with food and drink in hand— walked to the river’s edge unaware of anything wrong and proceeded to explore the stone-filled river and the tranquil surroundings at their leisure.
Near the vans, the men talked to each other, curious about what happened and startled with the revelation of facts Garrett spilled forth and Schmitt verified. Mullholland, Tang, and Fitz discussed what they had heard on the radio.
Garrett raised his hands trying to maintain order. “Calm down. I’m sure we will make contact or learn something soon.”
“Robby!” Garrett barked. Instantly Schmitt was at Garrett’s side. “Use your cellular phone. Try to call Laughlin. Let me know what you find.” Schmitt nodded affirmative. “Are those radios you set for Beau and Ruben working?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let someone else operate the phone. I want you to stay on the radios until the batteries die or you reach Beau and Ruben.” Ted stared long and hard in the direction of San Antonio. “If they are coming, it won’t be long.”
The empty cafeteria enabled Ruben Alonzo, Beau Gex, and a pilot friend Ron Bohannon to fill their plates to capacity and grab two large ice teas just before the noon rush. They found an empty table and seated themselves.
While they were eating, two enlisted men walked past. Both were angry.
“I couldn’t get the tickets; the Internet is haywire,” said one who was extremely irritated.
The other man commented, “I had the same problem. Can’t even retrieve my e-mails.”
Beau turned to Ruben. “Is the Internet down?”
His mouth full, Ruben nodded and mumbled, “Yeah. I couldn’t get my e-mail.” He noticed the concern on Beau’s face. “Forget it. Some computer geek managed to screw up the system again. It’ll be back on line before we finish eating.”
Shrugging his shoulders Beau said, “You’re probably right. I guess Microsoft never has solved Windows’ crashing.”
Bohannon roared, “That’s a big ten-four.”
Swallowing his food Ruben said, “That’s what Gates gets for spending billions of dollars on programming in India.”
“Hey, all those companies sent the work over there,” snapped Bohannon. All three laughed and continued to eat.
Ruben questioned Beau about the food in Israel, but soon Beau was asking questions about Krysti Socorro. He told Ruben about his plans to go with his brothers to Big Bend and their home Big Rock. He hoped to purchase an old Cessna and take tourists for flights over Big Bend. For some reason he could not explain, the desire to go to Big Bend was slightly less than his desire to know more about Krysti. At high noon, the cafeteria was three-quarters full.
A radio operator and another enlisted man walked up to the table and sat next to Ruben and Beau. They started to eat. The radio operator laughed and said to his friend next to him, “Some stupid ass commercial airliner is trying to make an emergency landing here. Can you imagine?”
Ruben interrupted. “Civilian aircraft aren’t allowed to land here or at any military installation.”
The radio operator shrugged his shoulders and with his mouth full managed, “Yeah, but if we don’t let them land and something happens there’ll be all kinds of hell. My CO checked it out with the airline schedule and it’s all A-Okay.” He stuffed his mouth again, laughed, and added, “Besides, what kind of trouble can a commercial airliner be? Probably have a few good-looking hides anyway.”
Memories from a burned out building in Lebanon filled Beau’s mind. He lowered his fork, and instead of hearing the radio operator he could see and hear Sharafan — the Cobra — as though he were standing in front of him laughing and saying, “When you least expect it. Commercial airliners!” The hair on Beau’s neck stood out and a chill made his body shudder. They were going to use commercial airliners to hit American military bases. The whole picture was clear to Beau: Sharafan’s warning, the Mexican airports unfinished, the commercial airliners. The commercial planes about to land had to have military personnel on board and Beau knew it. He turned to Ruben.
For the first time ever Ruben saw fear in his friend’s eyes.
“Ruben, this is it. We need to warn everybody now!” He stood to yell a warning. It was too late. A thunderous explosion suddenly broke the peaceful lunchtime. Those in the cafeteria momentarily froze. “What the hell was that?” Ruben squealed, dropping a spoonful of mashed potatoes in his lap.
“A bomb,” Beau mumbled almost disbelieving. “They’re here!” As if in answer to his words, two more explosions came in rapid succession, surrounded with machine gun fire. Then came another blast, blowing open a corner of the cafeteria farthest from the two, killing a half dozen men and burying a dozen more. The percussion knocked Ruben, Beau, and almost everyone else in the cafeteria to the floor. They were showered with debris and dust.
Chaos reigned supreme. Men ran in all directions. All around the cafeteria they screamed in pain or pleaded for help.
Springing to his feet, Ruben grabbed Beau, and turning to Bohannon screamed, “The jets!”
The three men broke into a run for the flight ready area where their flight suits and equipment were stored. Outside, fighter jets came from all directions, strafing and bombing as they went. Smoke and flames poured from buildings. Sporadic explosions dotted the base. On a distant runway men poured from an airliner firing automatic weapons, cutting down American Marines in their tracks.
Beau, Ruben, and Bohannon were a hundred yards away from the flight ready building when a bomb blew it apart. They were knocked to the ground. In prone positions they raised their heads staring in disbelief. No words were spoken, but both understood when Beau pointed beyond a nearby hangar to a group of parked fighter jets. Any available aircraft would do. They must get airborne now and fight back!
They ran for the jets, dodging gunfire and explosions as they went. When they started to charge past the last hangar before reaching the aircraft, four Marines and an engineering sergeant jumped out.
The sergeant yelled, “Stop!”
“No,” Ruben instantly responded, making an effort to pull away from the men blocking his way. “We have to fight back.”
When they tried to continue, the four Marines threw the three men to the ground. The sergeant dove between the three angry men. Before Beau and Ruben could say anything, he pointed to the jets.
“Those boys felt the same way,” said the sergeant.
Near each jet lay a dead pilot. One man hung from the side of the cockpit. An F-15, aflame, was still rolling down the runway, the pilot killed with a sniper’s bullet like the others.
“Snipers,” said the sergeant. “Can’t see them, but they can see us.”
“We have to do something!” Beau yelled over the guns and explosions. A series of bombs hit less than fifty yards away, and for a few moments all the men buried their faces in the dirt as debris cascaded down and all around.
The sergeant raised his face first and grinned at Beau. “I’d hoped you’d say that. C’mon.” Instantly, the sergeant and his Marines were on their feet with Ruben, Beau, and Bohannon close behind. A few strides and they were inside the hangar.
The Marines stopped just inside to guard the door. Inside the hangar were three F-15s. “They’re not totally fueled or completely armed, but they got enough. You can give those bastards a little shit,” said the sergeant.