Fitzduane smiled. "Two failed test firings in a row would be just fine down in Tecuno. Go to it, Maury – now. We don't have much time."
Fitzduane hit a computer key and leaned back in his chair.
The laser printer whirred quietly and a single sheet of paper emerged. The cycle was repeated until a thin sheaf lay stacked in the tray.
He stapled the sheets together and tossed the document to Kilmara.
"That's it," he said. "I've made the final selection of the team and most of the preparations are completed. War games in the NationalTrainingCenter and then we go.
"Regarding the supergun, we still don't know what the fuck to do. Livermore tells me they've got a solution but they've still got a few things to do. Jaeger is going to catch up with us when we are tooling around in the Mojave Desert. He says it will save him commuting. It's a whole lot closer to Livermore."
Kilmara read carefully through he lists before looking up. "One Mexican name, I see?"
Fitzduane nodded. "Ernesto Robles of Delta, and as it happens, Mexican-born. A U.S. citizen these days. Good people. None better. As to how he feels, he lost friends in the bombing in Fayetteville. He'd like to close the account."
"By invading Mexico?" insisted Kilmara.
"He doesn't see it as invading Mexico," said Fitzduane. "This is a hostage-rescue mission which just happens to be taking place in Mexico. If we succeed, we'll be doing the Mexicans a service. I'd be happier still if we had some Mexican citizens along, but that is not politically possible. So stop shit-stirring!"
Kilmara laughed. "Just so you've thought things through," he said. He flicked through the report again. "You've assembled quite some firepower for a force only fifteen strong. Frankly, I've never seen anything like it. You can handle most anything from infantry to tanks on the ground, and now you've got good antiair defense. But you're duck soup if they corner you and bring in artillery. That's where the lack of heavy armor on the Guntracks will really show up."
Fitzduane shrugged. "We've been through enough war games at this stage to be aware of what we can do and what we can't do. This mission is based upon stealth and speed -and faith and firepower. Nothing is perfect. If we get cornered we'll need a little help from above to get us out." He smiled. "Which, I guess, brings us back to faith."
"Talk to me about the team," said Kilmara.
"Five Guntracks each with a crew of three," said Fitzduane. "Shadow One is the command Guntrack. That's myself, Steve Kent driving, and a rear gunner still to be decided. Probably Calvin Welbourne when he isn't flying.
"Shadow Two consists of Al Lonsdale, Dana Felton, and Don Shanley. Since that Fayetteville business, Al and Don have picked up where they left off to make an exceptionally smooth team, and Dana is airborne at its best. Al is the mission second in command. If I go down, he takes over."
"Al is not even a commissioned officer, let alone the most senior," said Kilmara. "Has that created any waves?"
Fitzduane shook his head. "You don't make command sergeant major in Delta by being a lightweight. Al knows what to do and how to do it – and it shows. The man has camouflaged blood in his veins."
"Shadow Three?" said Kilmara.
"Chifune, Chuck Freeman, and Grady," said Fitzduane. "All good shooters. Freeman is another Delta sergeant and a quiet, introspective type. He's vastly experienced and the sort of man who inspires confidence without having to say anything. Al suggested the combination. He knows Freeman of old and said if you had a couple of unorthodox types and wanted to put a team together, Freeman was the glue to use. Seems he was right."
Kilmara checked the list and looked up again. "I've got to ask," he said. "What have you done with Lee Cochrane? I have never seen a man so anxious to put himself in harm's way. I suspect he has the Stars and Stripes tattooed on his balls."
Fitzduane laughed. "Ouch!" he said, "Shane, you might retract that statement if someone showed you a mirror. After all, who is commanding the two C130s that are coming in to pick us up?"
"Hell, I wouldn't miss this if you paid me," said Kilmara.
"Lee is your 2I/Cochrane," said Fitzduane. "You can't fly two aircraft at once. You get shot down, he takes over. One thing I can be sure of is that Lee won't back off. If it is humanly possible, Lee Cochrane will come through – tattooed balls and all."
Kilmara beamed at him. "Hugo, you are a genius," he said, "and a diplomat."
"Only occasionally," said Fitzduane politely.
"Shadow Four?" said Kilmara.
The venue for the latest Valiente Zarra presidential rally was a bullring.
It was not the biggest bullring in the world, but it officially held thirty thousand, and given the modest population of Gualara that seemed likely to be more than enough.
It was not.
People poured in from the surrounding countryside, and several hours before the rally was due to start, not only was the bullring full to overflowing but the immediate area around the ring was jammed and laughing, cheering crowds filled the nearby streets and squares.
There was but one topic – the imminent victory of Valiente Zarra – and despite his deep skepticism about effecting real change in the Mexican political system, Dan Warner was beginning to believe it.
The PRI were going to be overturned and Mexico was at last going to be able to realize its potential. The excitement in the air was electric. "Everywhere there was the two-syllable chant “ZAR-RA!
ZAR-RA! ZAR-RA!”
The broadcast was coming in live from Mexico.
Lee Cochrane had left the confines of the camp to watch the rally with Grant Lamar in his house.
Dan Warner was very much on Cochrane's mind. Dan liked his Washington comforts and wheeling and dealing politically in Bullfeathers, but he had accepted the Zarra assignment without any more than the normal quota of bitching, and when down in Mexico had done – was doing – an outstanding job. With Zarra elected, there would be genuine dialog between Mexico and the United States. Protectionism would become a thing of the past. The two economies together would really go places.
Mexico would no longer be a haven for drug barons and terrorists. The country would begin to demonstrate its enormous economic potential and the United States would gain a genuinely strong ally. Such an alliance was sorely needed. China was suddenly becoming an economic and military force to be reckoned with, and Japan was showing increasing signs of being focused on its own regional objectives. As for Europe, that part of the world seemed tired and indecisive.
The camera panned around the building, showing endless excited brown faces and waving Zarrista banners.
There was a decided carnival atmosphere. There was going to be change, and it was going to be good change, and they were part of it. Unlike so many previous regimes throughout Mexico's bloody history, Valiente Zarra would not let them down. Here was a man who could drag Mexico from its feudal roots into the wealth and dynamism of the twenty-first century.
The Zarrista party was unstoppable. Within ten years, twenty years at the most, Mexico would enjoy the same wealth and prosperity as the United States. Countries in the Far East like Japan, Korea, Singapore, and Malaysia had done it on the back of a vast U.S. market. Why could not Mexico, so much closer, do it too? All it would take was shaking off the dead hand of the PRI and voting in a new progressive regime.
The camera zoomed in on the podium where Zarra and his immediate entourage would stand. The original plan had been for the podium to be in the bullring itself.