Remember The Alamo (7 page)

They had gone maybe twenty yards when the gas tank blew.
A huge fist of superheated air slammed into them from behind
and knocked them on their faces.

The skin on the back of their necks was blistered, but somehow all the debris turned into deadly shrapnel by the blast had
missed them. They were able to get up and help each other
stagger on to safety behind a little ridge.

The rest of the convoy got through the skirmish it had stumbled into and took off. Dave's truck was the only one that had
been stopped. He was stuck there with the ground troops, but
only for a little while, until a U.S. helicopter gunship came
along and blasted those Republican Guardsmen straight to hell.
It would have almost been worth shaking hands with the devil
to see their faces when they realized there wasn't a bunch of
beautiful virgins waiting for them on the other side after all.

All that played out in Dave's mind in the time it took him to draw in a deep breath and say, "Phil Cody. Yeah, sure I
remember you. How are you, man?"

"Not bad, but I've got something on my mind. I'd like to
talk to you, Dave. You free this evening?"

Dave glanced at the grocery sack still sitting on the counter
where he'd put it as soon as he came in the back door and
heard the phone ringing. He had planned to grill those steaks
for supper, for him and Constance.

"I'm kinda busy, Phil... "

"It's important. I'd like to meet you somewhere, have a
drink and talk."

The first time Dave had ever heard Phil Cody's voice had
been when Phil told him to hang on, then cut him loose from
the truck and dragged his ass out of there seconds before the
exploding gas tank would have killed him.

Dave glanced at the digital clock on the wall. Constance
wouldn't be home for an hour yet, maybe an hour and a half
depending on the traffic. The steaks could go in the refrigerator, and they could eat a little later than usual.

"There's a place not far from where I live. Banjo's, on Fredericksburg Road. You know it?"

"I can find it. I'm not that far away myself. Twenty minutes?"

"I'll be there, man"

"And Dave ... thanks"

Dave thought about what it would have felt like to still be
trapped in the truck's cab when it blew.

"No need to thank me," he said. "I owe you my life. It's me
who should be thanking you"

"You probably won't feel that way," Phil Cody told him,
"after you hear what I've got to say."

In the nearly two decades since Desert Shield and Desert
Storm, Dave had seen Phil Cody several times at various military reunions and get-togethers and parades. The guy hadn't
changed much. If he had put on any weight, it was just a few
pounds, and the close-cropped hair was still brown, without
any gray threaded in it. The years had put a few lines around
Phil's eyes and mouth, but not many. He looked to be in good
enough shape that he could still be on active duty.

But he wasn't, Dave knew. Phil hadn't stayed in the army
after Desert Storm. Neither had Dave. Although they considered the military an honorable and highly necessary profession, both men had had other things they wanted to do with
their lives.

Phil was sitting in a booth at Banjo's, a neighborhood bar
where Dave sometimes stopped in for a drink on his way home
from work. Not often, though, in recent years. He preferred
spending time with his wife.

In fact, it had been long enough since he was in here that he
didn't recognize the bartender, and the bartender didn't know
him. "What can I get you?" the man asked.

"Beer."

"Bottle or draft?"

"Draft"

The guy drew it, slid the mug across to Dave, and collected
the bills for it. Dave took the mug and carried it over to the
booth where Phil Cody sat. He gave Phil a friendly nod as he
slid into the opposite side of the booth.

"Good to see you, man. How's it goin'?"

Phil had a bottle of beer in front of him. He picked it up,
said, "Not so good," and took a sip from the bottle.

"What's up?" If Phil needed to talk about somethingwoman troubles, maybe-Dave was willing to listen, at least
for a while. He didn't figure Constance would understand if
supper was too late, though. He'd left her a note on the kitchen
table saying that he would be back soon, but he still hoped to
beat her back home.

"You've heard what they're going to do to the Alamo?"

The question took Dave by surprise. He'd heard some stuff on
the news about the Alamo the past couple of days, but he hadn't
really paid much attention to it. Something about having a ceremony there during the Pasco de Marzo celebration.

"I'm ... not sure what you're talking about"

"They're giving it back to Mexico," Phil said.

Dave frowned and shook his head. "No, not really. It's just
some sort of ceremony-"

"The city is giving the Alamo to Mexico," Phil said.

"But they can't do that. Can they? Who owns the Alamo,
anyway?" Dave felt like he ought to know that, but he didn't.

"The Daughters of the Republic of Texas own the property."
Phil took another drink of his beer. "I spent some time on the
Internet this afternoon looking stuff up. I should have been
working, but I just couldn't get this off my mind."

"Okay. So the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, or whatever they're called, are going along with this?" Dave didn't
know much about the organization-didn't know anything about it, really but considering its name, actually giving
up the Alamo didn't seem like something the ladies would go
along with willingly.

"They don't have any choice in the matter," Phil said. "I
guess they put up a fuss, though, because this afternoon Mayor
Alvarez announced that the city was invoking the right of eminent domain to take over the Alamo-temporarily, he claims.
The original plan was to surrender several blocks around the
Alamo, too, since the place was a lot bigger back in 1836, but
the owners of the businesses there have complained enough
that the city's abandoned that part of the idea. Rivercenter Mall
and Joske's and the Menger Hotel have too much clout to be ignored, even by Mayor Alvarez."

"Well, it's all kind of weird, I guess," Dave said. "But it's
only temporary, right? At the end of the festival, Mexico gives
the Alamo back?"

"That's what they say is going to happen."

Dave couldn't hold back a laugh. "You don't seriously think
Mexico would try to hold on to it? There's no way in hell they
could do that."

"You're forgetting who's in charge now in this country," Phil
said. "You've got people running things who are scared to do
anything for fear of offending the United Nations or turning
world opinion against us. Like we really ought to give a rat's
ass what the French think about us "

Dave leaned back against the booth's seat and rubbed his
chin. For the most part, he agreed with Phil, who had unknowingly echoed the same thought that had gone through Dave's
head a few days earlier. "Yeah, the world's a crazy place these
days," he said. "But what's this got to do with us, Phil?"

"Somebody needs to speak up. Somebody needs to let
people know that not everybody agrees with this Alamo business." Phil clasped his hands together on the table. "You're still
a member of Freedom's Guard, aren't you?"

Suddenly it became clear to Dave what Phil was after. He
shook his head and said, "Forget it, man. Freedom's Guard
doesn't play politics. All we're about is seeing that our brothers in arms get laid to rest with dignity, and that their families
don't get harassed by a bunch of protesters with their heads up
their left-wing asses"

"You don't think that what they're planning to do with the
Alamo is an insult to the dignity of the men who died defending it? They're our brothers in arms, too ... our first brothers
in arms"

"Yeah, but ... I don't know. I just dunno. I think you're talking about a protest, and the Guard doesn't do that"

"I'm talking about a demonstration of the belief that this
country is headed in the wrong direction. You know why
they're doing this, don't you?"

"Handing over the Alamo, you mean?"

"Yeah. They're trying to appease those terrorists who killed
the Border Patrolmen and attacked that VFW picnic. Handing
the Alamo over to Mexico, even temporarily, is supposed to
convince those murderers to leave us alone."

Dave shook his head. "That'll never happen. You can't give
in to terrorists."

"Tell that to the people running things in Washington."

Phil had a point and Dave knew it, but he was still reluctant
to get his friends from the Guard involved in this. Protests and
counterprotests ... it was all a crazy game that never really
changed anybody's mind. And sometimes such things led to
violence.

Phil downed the rest of his beer, then thumped the empty on
the table with enough force to make Dave think that maybe it
wasn't his first one of the evening.

"I'm sorry. I should have known better. You're married to a
Mexican woman, aren't you?"

Anger welled up inside Dave. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"And your name is Rodriguez, too. To tell you the truth,
that didn't even occur to me. I think of you as a Texan"

"That's what I am," Dave snapped. "Born, bred, and forever. You're my buddy, Phil, but don't start up any racist shit
with me"

Phil's face twisted for a second, and he sounded genuinely
contrite as he said, "Sorry, Dave. I didn't mean that the way
it came out" He sighed. "Or maybe I did. That's how messed
up this whole Alamo thing has gotten me. But I know better,
that's for sure"

Dave nodded. "Apology accepted. It's true that Constance
is a Mexican national, but she's working on getting her American citizenship. It's just that ... she doesn't want to completely give up her Mexican heritage."

"I guess I can understand that. How does she feel about
turning the Alamo over?"

Dave could only shrug. "I haven't talked to her about it.
She's not real political."

"What about Freedom's Guard? Will you talk to them?"

Dave hesitated, then said, "Let me think about it, okay? I
don't want to get my friends mixed up in anything that will
cause trouble for them"

"I can understand that" Phil extended his hand. "Thanks
for coming and talking with me, Dave. Whatever you decide,
we're still buddies, you and me"

"Damn straight," Dave said as he gripped Phil's hand. He
realized he hadn't drunk any of his beer. He picked up the
mug, downed a healthy swallow, then said, "I'd better get
going. My turn to cook supper tonight." He pointed a finger
across the table and added with mock severity, "And don't
start in about me bein' whipped, either, hear?"

Phil laughed. Dave got up and left, and as he was walking
out of the place, he glanced back and saw Phil signaling to the
bartender to bring him another beer.

When he reached his house, he saw that Constance had
beaten him home despite his efforts. She must have gotten out
of class a little early, he thought.

When he came in, she greeted him with a kiss, so he supposed she wasn't too mad at him. The note he'd left her had
said he was going to help out a friend, and Constance was
pretty tolerant about things like that.

She pointed toward the den. "You've got an e-mail you need
to read," she said. "About a short-notice ride."

That was a coincidence. He had just been talking about
Freedom's Guard with Phil....

And now Dave and his fellow members of the Guard had
another job to do.

Dieter Schmidt held his daughter's hand and tried not to
pass out as they stood under the tent that had been put up over
the fresh gravesite. Be strong, Dieter told himself. Be strong
for your little girl. She needs you.

But it was difficult when he had just gotten out of the hospital the day before. The bullet that had lanced through his side
had not damaged any major organs, but the wound had caused
Dieter to lose a lot of blood. The doctors told him later that he
would have died if Mike Belkowicz had not gotten to him,
wadded up his VFW vest, and crammed it into the wound to
slow down the bleeding.

Belko had saved his life.

There were times when Dieter wished that he hadn't bothered-because Dieter really didn't want to spend the rest of
his days on earth without Beth.

The coffin, piled high with flowers and resting on the apparatus that would lower it into the grave, was closed because the
bullet that had struck Beth had ripped away most of her face
as it killed her. There had been no way to make her look like
herself, and Dieter didn't want Amber to remember her mother
the way she was now. Dieter didn't want to remember her that way. Better to think of her as beautiful and smiling and happy,
as she had been most of the time.

As she had been the day of the picnic, before the Reconquistadores came.