The guerilla hesitated, maybe with indecision, or maybe he saw something unyielding in Romo. He took a step toward the barn door.
“Leave your gun belt here,” Romo told him.
The guerilla’s eyes widened angrily. He almost spoke. Perhaps he remembered how quickly Gaucho had just died. With a sharp motion, the guerilla unbuckled his gun belt and let the weapon fall in the dust.
“You may enter the barn,” Romo said.
With an erect bearing, the guerilla walked through the now partly open door. As he disappeared from view, the remaining guerillas glanced at each other.
“You know who I am,” Romo said.
They muttered, “Si” and nodded.
“You know I will kill whoever I must, yes?”
There were more muttered responses and nods.
“If you disagree with me, raise your hand and I will let you leave,” Romo said.
Once more, a few guerillas glanced at each other. Someone in the crowd shouted, “Colonel Valdez will not like this.”
“I do not like this,” Romo said. “Now, I have waited long enough. Everyone will set down his weapon and file into the barn. We must wait, and I do not want to have to kill any more fine Free Mexico fighters. But I will, my friends. This raid, it is the most important of the war. Later, I will visit Colonel Valdez and explain my actions to him. If he wishes, he can kill me then.”
“You swear this?” a guerilla asked.
“I swear it on the Virgin,” Romo said.
“That is good enough for me,” the guerilla told the others. “Juan Romo never lies.”
“He never lies,” another man said.
Soon, guerillas began putting their weapons on the ground and entering the barn.
Romo leaned near Paul and whispered, “It is a trick I learned a long time ago. Kill the leader and the rest will want to listen. Still, it is too bad about Gaucho. He was a good fighter. I did not enjoy that.”
Paul nodded, wondering if Romo had really fixed the situation or if the guerillas were just biding their time.
Jian Hong stood with Marshal Kao in his underground bunker in Beijing. There were enormous framed photographs on the walls with Jian handing a leashed polar bear cub to various dignitaries. The old Chairman had brought Jian down here seven years ago. This time Jian had summoned Kao. He wanted China’s top military man to explain the situation between the two of them while they were alone from prying ears.
“Leader,” Marshal Kao said, pointing at the computer table, at the symbol of Los Angeles. “This is an intolerable situation. Marshal Nung can no longer cut through the enemy and slice his formations into pieces, capturing the trapped troops later at his leisure.”
“I do not understand your references,” Jian said. “Nung has done it again. He has broken through Pomona, through Fullerton, Anaheim, Huntington Beach and Costa Mesa. We are in Long Beach, and in some places, we have battled through to the actual city of Los Angeles. We are winning.”
“We are winning if you believe acquiring a little more territory achieves victory.” Kao looked up with surprise, maybe at his own boldness. “I beg your pardon, Leader. What I meant to say is that we have not yet broken through the defending formations, merely pushed them back.”
Jian pursed his lips, nodding finally. “Army Group SoCal has been destroyed as a military formation. You told me so yourself several days ago. These are new units facing us, the last remnants of the old and the Central Californian Reserves.”
“Leader, this is what I’m trying to explain. At the beginning of hostiles, with Army Group SoCal, we burst through them in places. Nung separated the various divisions and surrounded them. Those he killed or captured at his leisure. But there has always been just a little more in Los Angeles and reinforcements trickling in from the other states. Those formations have slowed us down or halted Nung from driving through Los Angeles at will.”
“You’ve just shown me that Nung is still driving the Americans from the field of battle.”
“But he no longer bursts through various formations. Instead, he is squeezing the Americans tighter. Instead of surrounding and cutting them off from supplies, he drives them closer to their bases. It means we will have to destroy all of them before we can break into the Grapevine Pass.”
Jian frowned at the computer map. “Nung reports there are less than two hundred thousand enemy soldiers in Los Angeles. The Americans started the hostiles with eight hundred thousand in Southern California, didn’t they?”
“Yes. That is all true,” Kao said. “Yet we have taken just as staggering a proportion of losses, and we are still bottled in the southern portion of the state.”
“If they have so few soldiers left, why can’t we brush them aside?”
“Because their defensive area is shrinking and we’re battling through one of the largest urban areas in the world. It gives them perfect terrain and it means their lines are denser than earlier, harder to break through. We are also facing the toughest and cleverest survivors, veterans now.”
“A few more days and Nung says he will be through to the Grapevine Pass.”
Marshal Kao straightened. “It may be as he says. If so, we could yet conquer California. There is little left in the state in terms of military power and we have reports that reinforcements to California have slowed. That is what I wish to speak about, Leader. We must begin stockpiling supplies for our Texas thrust. This…” Kao indicated Los Angeles. “This is too small. You must unleash us in Texas and New Mexico. There, with our greater numbers in open terrain and our South American allies, we can win this war quickly. Instead, we are frittering away our strength for a worthless piece of real estate.”
Jian Hong studied the computer map. “I’m unsure. We have spent so much in California and Marshal Nung assures me of victory. I do not want to stop at the goal line if it is merely a matter of a few more feet and a few more days.”
It appeared that Marshal Kao would say more, but he didn’t. He held his tongue.
What is the correct decision? Jian asked himself. Who can tell me the unvarnished truth? These are hard choices. I wish there was someone I could fully trust.
Anna watched the President rub his face as he listened to the late night report from the briefing major.
The woman used the holo-video and an electric pointer. It was quiet tonight. The situation had turned grim again.
“We saved several Behemoth tanks,” the major said. “The Chinese overran the others during the rout. Now…”
She continued to explain the Battle of Los Angeles. The Chinese had overrun too many places. They had killed thousands and made thousands more soldiers flee. The civilian death toll kept climbing higher and higher. The Chinese were merciless toward them.
“We have to hold somewhere!” Sims cried.
“Sir,” General Alan said. “We’re making the enemy pay for every step of the way. But it’s too much to expect our soldiers to stand in place and die. Instead, they trade space for time and set up new defensive positions. They booby-trap everything.”
“And the Chinese bring up their combat bulldozers,” Sims said. “They plow through buildings and set off hundreds, thousands of your precious booby-traps.”
“We’re bleeding them,” Alan said.
“It doesn’t seem to matter to the Chinese,” Sims said. “They’re squeezing us into a ball in Los Angeles. They’re taking away our maneuver room. Soon, our men will be shoulder to shoulder and the Chinese artillery will grind them into bloody pieces.”
“The other side is hurting, sir. You know that.”
“Do I?” Sims said, his voice nearly cracking.