Paul struggled to rein in the compulsion to get up and walk away. What would Ochoa do? Likely, the general would order the MPs to throw him in the brig. Did it matter what he had done before? Not enough that it would sway Ochoa, the man was pure hard-nose, all business.
Ochoa’s pause seemed longer than necessary. Finally, he said, “You three are going to lead a raid on Marshal Nung’s Headquarters.”
“That sounds important,” Paul said. “Who is he anyway?”
“Marshal Nung is the enemy First Front commander, the Chinese officer running the California Invasion. His HQ is in San Ysidro, where the Ninth Division used to be. I believe you were there not that long ago, bodyguarding Colonel Norman.”
Paul stared up at the ceiling. This was worse than he’d expected.
“I know this will be a dangerous mission,” Ochoa said. “And we don’t have much time to prepare. Fortunately, Colonel Valdez has agreed to help us from Mexico.”
Paul glanced at Romo. The assassin shook his head in the way that meant he didn’t know anything about this. Paul regarded Ochoa. In his experience, the General never forgot anything, and that would include Valdez wanting his death.
“Uh, I have a problem with that,” Paul said. “Last I heard, Valdez still lusts for my head. Seems stupid of me to walk into Mexico and give it to him.”
“Colonel Valdez will have to wait for your overvalued head,” Ochoa said. “Right now, I have need of you.”
“And you’ve no doubt already told him that. Is that what you’re trying to hint to me…sir?”
Ochoa turned his Aztec death-stare onto Paul. “Gunnery Sergeant, I’ve studied your profile on more than one occasion. You have trouble with authority. So far, I haven’t needed to reprimand you for insubordinate attitudes. Do I need to summon the MPs to take you to the brig?”
“Yes sir, I think that would be a good idea. I don’t mean any offense, but I don’t relish having you send me to my death.”
“Listen here, Kavanagh. The country is at war with the most powerful alliance in history. The PAA, SAF and the GD, along with the Iranian Hegemony, are all lining up against us. The bigger war is going to start soon. We need to end this conflict or stabilize it as soon as possible.”
“You think killing this Nung will do that?” Paul asked.
“The President believes it, or his advisors have convinced him of it.”
“What do you believe, sir? I mean really?”
Ochoa’s features became flinty. The General opened his mouth, only to close it. Finally, in a quiet voice, he began to speak:
“Colonel Valdez has agreed to abide by my conditions. I’ve told him your importance to the mission. You’re a killer, although you’re a hell of an insubordinate soldier. How you and Romo made it back to our lines is beyond me. But that the two of you did only proves my theory. Marshal Nung is supposed to be one of those rare, operationally-gifted commanders. He knows how to win battles. From my information, the rest of the Chinese High Command dislikes him and his methods. We’re hoping that killing him…well, we’re hoping it will bring about a change in Chinese operations.”
“Sounds like a slim hope,” Paul said.
“Yes, I suppose it is. The sad truth is we’re down to that. We’re going to need some old-fashioned skullduggery and luck to slip you into First Front Headquarters. I don’t think we can fly you straight in this time. That’s why you’re going to have to take the long way through Mexico. And that’s why we need Colonel Valdez’s help.”
“Okay. I see what you’re saying. Now what do you have planned for getting us back out once we’ve completed the mission?”
Ochoa shook his head. “This is a one-way mission, gentlemen. Unless you can fight your way back like you did before, or unless you can convince Colonel Valdez to help you escape.”
Paul closed his eyes. This was it: a suicide mission. If he could talk Valdez into helping him escape…right! It would be out of the fire and into the cannibal’s cooking pot.
Beside him, Romo leaned near, whispering, “If we make it in, I think we could slip back out into Mexico.”
“Yeah, and into your Colonel’s hands,” Paul whispered.
“What is he saying?” Ochoa asked.
Paul studied the general. The truth was U.S. High Command would never let Cheri, Mike and him relocate to Colorado. If he went AWOL trying that—it was starting to look as if he had one chance to save his wife from Chinese occupation. It was this harebrained commando raid. He Who Dares, Wins, or some other B.S. like that.
Paul shook his head so his neck bones cracked. “Sir, I’ll do this if you promise to relocate my wife and son to Colorado.”
“Where are they now?”
“LA.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Paul gave him the address.
“I give you my word,” Ochoa said. “We’ll move them tomorrow.”
“Thank you, sir. When do we leave for this mission?”
Ochoa hesitated before saying, “Tonight.”
Colonel Valdez slammed his beer onto the desk, causing amber-colored liquid to slosh over the rim and stain the papers below. He was in a former bank vault, his headquarters here in San Antonio.
“No,” he told Torres. “I will not listen to reason. You will listen to me.”
The one-eyed soldier wouldn’t look at him. Valdez knew then that Torres didn’t truly understand. For a moment, Valdez considered drawing his sidearm and shooting the man in the heart. Torres had once been a good man. The one-eyed soldier had lost his wife to the Chinese, but not his courage. Yes, Torres knew how to hate. But it seemed now to the Colonel that somewhere Torres had given up his seething wish for vengeance against the insufferable foreigners.
That was the difference between him and others, Valdez knew. He kept his vengeance white-hot. He would never change. He would teach the Chinese what his vengeance meant just as he would teach the cowardly Mexican government that it shouldn’t have turned on him. Soon now, he was also going to carve a lesson into Paul Kavanagh for daring to desert his daughter on the field of battle. The crime was unforgiveable. What did it matter to him, this Chinese marshal? The marshal didn’t make the critical difference to the war, but the endless numbers of PAA soldiers did.
They must kill the Chinese, the Japanese and the Koreans until Mexico was a sea of blood. For that, Valdez needed dedicated men and women. They needed to know he would remember them and avenge them no matter what the cost. It was all about loyalty and utter commitment.
“I want Paul Kavanagh,” Valdez said.
“Romo will bring him to us after the raid, Colonel.”
“Ah, good,” Valdez said, deciding this instant that Torres was to be cut out of the loop. The man was dead to him now, useless manure. “Good,” he said. “You may go, my friend.”
Torres gave him a troubled look, and it seemed as if the dead man was going to speak. Finally, Torres slunk away like the dog he had become.
Valdez stood and went to his radio. He would speak to the guerilla commander near the Mexican-American border. He would have to impress upon the man the extreme need to separate Kavanagh from the other commandos. It would be easy except for one thing. Why hadn’t Romo already killed Kavanagh? There was a mystery here.
Could Romo have failed me? If that were true, Romo would also have to die a gruesome death.
Fighter Rank Zhu’s stomach did a flip as his helicopter flashed upward. It was as if his helo took a gigantic leap over the defenders dug in the rubble and behind the shattered buildings below. There were several varieties of helicopters around him: more Eagle Team battle-taxis, Gunhawks and Graceful Swans with their Annihilator missiles. The helicopters flew over the blaze of enemy machine guns and launching Blowdarts.