“What are you talking about?”
“That’s all I know. If anyone tries for you, I’m to shoot him, or her, if it comes to that.”
“Who wants to shoot me?” Paul asked.
“You’re probably going to find out soon enough.” The MP braked in front of the stockade. “Go ahead. I have to park this.”
Paul got out, checked in with the clerk inside, who stood and motioned to three armored MPs.
“This way,” the senior MP said.
Several minutes later, Paul found himself in the basement, in a small interrogation room, staring at a computer screen. The door was locked and two of the MPs stood outside as guards.
“Now what did I do?” Paul muttered. He sat at the table, looking at the screen. It had several card games on it. He chose spider solitaire. In the middle of his seventh game, the cards dissolved and he found himself staring at General Ochoa.
“Sir?” Paul asked. “Is there some problem, what is going on?”
General Ochoa was a thickset man with straight dark hair and brown Aztec skin. He never smiled and had a particularly intense stare. Paul could easily imagine Ochoa as a gang leader, able to outface any opponent. Long ago, his ancestors had fought the Spanish conquistadors. Wielding nothing but obsidian-tipped swords and wearing feather armor, the Aztecs had furiously attacked Spanish knights in steel-plated armor, swinging Toledo-forged swords and backed by cannons roaring grapeshot. The Aztecs had lost in the end, but not because of a lack of courage or daring. The greatest feat of honor an Aztec flower warrior could achieve in battle was capturing an enemy for ritual slaughter later on the pyramids. Thus, during the hotly contested fights, the Aztec champions had often subdued a Spaniard and begun to drag him away. That gave the other Spaniards time to rescue their companion. Their only goal was to kill as many Indians as possible and take their wealth. Although General Ochoa had Aztec genes, in outlook he was pure conquistador, wanting to kill as many of America’s enemies as possible.
“Yes, there’s a problem,” General Ochoa said. “It concerns Maria Valdez.”
Paul frowned as the guilt resurfaced. You ran away, Marine. You left a comrade when you might have rescued her. He had vowed seven years ago never to leave anyone again. Back then, he’d have to leave a friend on the Arctic ice in order to survive. The grim decision still ate at him. Whenever he drank too much, he had a habit of rethinking seven-year-old options. He would turn the problem over in his mind like a rat on a spinning wheel.
“I should have let go of the ladder and dropped down to help her,” Paul said.
General Ochoa nodded, his face remaining emotionless like an ancient block of wood. “I thought you would believe something so romantically foolish.”
“I didn’t kiss her,” Paul said.
“Not that kind of romantic. You’re a soldier. You’re special ops, the very best we have. You, more than anyone else, should understand the true nature of war. It’s a dirty business. It’s bloody and without remorse. I read your report. You shot Chinese from behind. That wasn’t very sporting of you.”
“If I hadn’t done that they would have killed us, sir.”
“Again, you miss the point. You did the right thing ambushing them, shooting them from behind. You also had no choice with the drone. If you had done anything else, we wouldn’t have learned what we did.”
“What did we learn?”
General Ochoa shook his head. “It’s classified, but what you brought back will go a long way toward defending California. And that will go a long way to keeping this country ours.”
“That’s something, at least.”
General Ochoa snorted. “Your mission will probably end up being the most important single event against the Chinese threat. You proved my theory right. For the big play, you need big play players. You may have fixed everything by what you found.”
“So…why am I in this stockade?” Paul asked.
Ochoa nodded. “You’re not in military trouble, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s the nature of the mission rebounding on you. Maria Valdez was captured.”
“Are the Chinese trying to strong-arm Colonel Valdez with her?”
“No,” Ochoa said. “They’ve already informed the Colonel of her death and have shipped him most of her body parts.”
“What? That’s sick.”
“It’s meant to break the Colonel’s spirit,” Ochoa said. “My sources tell me he’s raging. His aides have hidden all his sidearms and they’ve told his guards to keep theirs at home for a few days. They fear he might turn suicidal or maybe shoot one of them. My sources also tell me he’s angry with his aides for not stopping him from sending his daughter on the mission.”
Paul thought what he’d feel like if the Chinese sent him his son’s body parts. Imagine opening a package and finding a bloody ear, knowing you’d tweaked that ear more than once. Or taking a hand out of a box and recognizing an old burn mark on the back your son had gotten when he brushed the hand against a hot light bulb. Paul shuddered. He’d want to nuke China.
“The Chinese are remorseless,” Ochoa said. “They mean to win no matter what they have to do. We have to fight just as hard, as ruthlessly.”
Paul nodded. If he had to, he would take his wife and son to the hills, to the mountains, and resist the Chinese until his dying day.
“Unfortunately for you,” Ochoa said, “Colonel Valdez has asked for your presence at his headquarters.”
“Me?” Paul asked. “Oh. Does he want me to tell him how Maria fought until the very end?”
“If only that were it,” Ochoa said. “He specifically wants your head detached from your shoulders. He wants your head on a pike so he can plant it on his daughter’s grave.”
“Is that a joke?”
Ochoa shook his head.
Paul leaned back and tore his eyes from the screen. He sat in a prison cell. Two MPs guarded his locked door. A sinking feeling twisted his gut.
“Colonel Valdez and his Free Mexico Army are important to American survival,” Paul said.
“True.”
“They’re more important than a single Marine such as me,” Paul added.
“Are you volunteering to visit Colonel Valdez?”
Paul frowned, thinking about Cheri, about his promise to her. He meant to protect his country. But giving up his head…
“Whether you’re volunteering or not,” Ochoa said, “doesn’t matter. The U.S. military does not hand over its soldiers to other countries in order to have their heads removed.”
At least not openly, we don’t, Paul thought.
“I had you brought to Camp Pendleton as a security measure,” Ochoa said. “My fear is that Colonel Valdez will have allocated hit men to take you out and bring him your head. Valdez killed President Felipe with assassins.”
“I remember,” Paul said.
“The Colonel has survived these years because he is a hard man. He has learned how to make people respect him. He also knows the border area and has many contacts in the Southwestern states.”
“So where are you sending me?” Paul asked. “My unit is in Oregon.”
“Actually, your unit is in Florida practicing in the Everglades.”
“Are we worried about GD commandos?” Paul asked.
“More than that,” Ochoa said. “But you’re not headed for Florida.”
“Okay.”
“I’m placing you on Colonel Norman’s staff. You’re going to be his bodyguard.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It’s easy enough,” Ochoa said. “Keep Colonel John Norman alive. He’s supposed to be one of our defense wizards and the Joint Chiefs want him advising our generals down there. It seems there’s to be an emergency shuffle of military arrangements on the border.”
“The colonel is in California then?”