The Tejano Conflict by Steve Perry Read Free Book Online

way—
    â€”the shooters never appeared on cam. How anybody could not see that as unbelievable seemed impossible. There was the constant chatter of full auto, punctuated by the odd grenade. It was like shooting animals trapped in a pen—
    â€”Cutter was a soldier, he had seen soldiers die, he had killed more than a few himself, but this was stomach-churning to watch. He had to watch it, he couldn’t not, but still. How had those troops kept it up? What was it in them that made them keep firing, keep replacing spent magazines, when there was no threat? Had it been spontaneous? Had somebody given an order? Shoot until you run dry?
    Until they are all dead?
    Man’s inhumanity to man was made manifest.
    Eventually, it stopped. It lasted nine minutes and forty-three seconds.
    In the course of nine minutes and forty-three seconds of sustained action, eight thousand people were killed. Most died by bullets or grenade, some by being trampled. Some died of density suffocation. Some from organ injury, people pushed together so violently that they were crushed. Some suffered heart attacks, some probably perished from outright terror.
    Twelve thousand more sustained wounds, some of which involved amputations, shattered bones, torn flesh.
    To watch was to weep.
    â€“ – – – – –
    Martial law clamped hard and fast. News media were shut down, cameras and recorders confiscated, spindocs came up with stories. There was no way to hide what had been done, too many people had been there, and too many cams escaped the roundup.
    How it was spun:
    It was the mob’s fault, they attacked the military, but the Army admittedly had overreacted a bit, and those responsible had been disciplined. Because there was a war on, details were necessarily kept secret . . . and in the end, Cutter’s was the only senior officer’s head to roll. His not so much because the uplevels knew he wasn’t really the guy, but, well, that’s how it goes. Somebody had to take the hit. No hard feelings.
    Right. No hard feelings after all the years of loyal service . . .
    Well, done was done, and he had managed to build CFI into something of which he was proud. But it still rankled that he had gotten blindsided that way. He’d known how Junior operated; he should have prepared himself better . . .
    â€“ – – – – –
    Back at the base, Jo was waiting.
    â€œHow’d it go with the Dycon guy?”
    â€œHe offered a bribe.”
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œSeven million?”
    â€œEach? Or together?”
    â€œI didn’t ask.”
    â€œReally? You should have taken it. I would have.”
    They both smiled.
    Jo’s grin faded: “Gramps told me about Junior.”
    â€œYep. Into each life a little shit must fall. We’ll have to do this by the numbers, he’s gunning for us. Document everything, and if we need to overstep, make sure nobody is watching.”
    â€œI hear you.”
    â€œYou going back to the woods tomorrow?”
    â€œKay and Em. I’m doing delivery inventory on the weapon shipment.”
    â€œOkay. Keep me in the loop.”

FIVE
    There was no sense of foreboding, nothing to mark the moment as different than any other. Kay caught Em’s spasm peripherally and the sound of the projectile as it broke the sound barrier followed half a second later, echoing over as she turned and saw Em, six meters away, still falling, the back of her head blown out . . .
    The wound was obviously fatal, and the boneless manner of her comrade’s collapse told the story:
Dead as she falls . . .
    Kay dropped flat and the
crack!
of the bullet meant for her followed the round as it zipped past, a meter and some above her.
    There was only one direction from which it could have reasonably come, and she rolled, staying prone, until she put one of the larger tree boles between herself and the sniper.
    Half a