Reese glanced across the fire at Wash and Pagan, the rangers that never left his side in Houston, and who had insisted on following him to the border. They were aloof and cautious, and preferred to scout ahead of the party when they were on the plains, so that they could enjoy the solitude it offered. Though the others were still rather uncertain of them, Reese had seen their loyalty in action in the doomed city of Houston; he trusted them as much as any and was glad they had come. They were tall and sinewy, with long Texas drawls and quick pistol draws. Reese surmised that they would have fared just fine had they been born two hundred years prior; perhaps, he reasoned, they may have preferred it.
Reese glanced behind him as the men in the room erupted into applause; the two riders dropped the heavy boar in the dirt just outside the church.
“This is how you do Thanksgiving, boys. We downed several sows as well; they’re back where we flushed this one out. We need a couple more to give us a hand getting them back and cleaning them; any volunteers?”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A small, windowless, stone structure beside the church had been selected as the site of the four fires needed to cook the javelinas. The entire plaza was filled with the sweet smell of the wild meat; the sentries on the roof of the church struggled to maintain their post as their mouths watered from the aroma that wafted up to them. A smiling soldier peeked in the church and shouted to the group of men inside, “It’s ready; come and get it.”
Reese replied, “Men, get your share of the feast and let’s meet back in here before we eat; I have a few words I want to say first.”
The aroma of the pig hung heavy in the church as the eager men filtered back in and found their place around the fire. As the last man took his place, Reese stood and spoke.
“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, but we’ve been granted an opportunity to celebrate a day early. The world seems like it is dying around us, but we have so much to be thankful for. We’ve been out here three weeks without so much as a scratch. It’s always harder in the beginning because you’re still learning your horse and the men around you; trust me I know. For that, I am thankful.
We’re riding some of the best horses I’ve ever had the pleasure of saddling,” he turned and smiled at Alex, “you did well Alejandro, better than I ever imagined; we’re only as good as the horses under us. For that, I am thankful.
Men, we’re in a forgotten church that has weathered centuries in an abandoned villa that stood in defiance against the dictator, General Santa Anna himself. You’ve all taken your names from the rebels at the Alamo who resisted the same man; isn’t that profound? Look around you; imagine the others that have sat in this same place just as we are, and resisted the evil of their day. I can’t stand here and tell you that I believe it all to be coincidence.”
He flashed a smile as he continued, “I’m not here to get preachy on you; Lord knows I’m not Reverend Byers.”
The men grinned in response as they listened contently, their appetites nearly forgotten.
“But the fact is I’m an old soldier, and often old soldiers find faith, or maybe it’s that faith finds them, I don’t know. What you believe is your own business, but if you aren’t a believing man, I ask you to do this; tonight when you’re alone, it’s dark and there’s not a sound in the air but the wails of the chicharra grandes, just contemplate it for a moment. We’ve been lucky so far, but we’re going to ride through the gates of hell before this is over; we’re going to need something greater than our sum to bring us back.
For now, let’s celebrate another overwhelming victory, enjoy some good company and be thankful for our good fortunes.”
The men applauded and cheered as they began their feast. Reese stood up, walked over to Barrett and whispered to him, “How’s your Español?”
“Good enough, socio.”
“Let’s have a talk with our friend.”
Two
“Senator Engels’ office, how may I direct your call?”
“Hi Becky it’s Angela, office of the President. Is Senator Engels available?”
“Angela! The senator is available; could you hold for one second?”
“Sure.”
Senator Engels was not quite the eldest statesman on The Hill, but he was the most powerful, at least behind closed doors. His public persona was reserved and almost timid in nature. He avoided press conferences and speeches if at all possible; rarely did he ever make appearances in his district. Despite his elusiveness and aloofness, his seat in the Senate had never been threatened by a serious challenger, for long at least.
His challengers always seemed to be plagued by scandal; exposés about their connections to unsavory individuals, embarrassing trysts with staff members or unethical campaign practices always seemed to surface at the most inopportune moments. If all else failed, an old acquaintance from the past would resurface for an anecdotal character assassination. At the height of the controversy, the grandfatherly senator would shuffle onto a stage and implore that civility be exercised during the very private, but now quite public, matter of his opponent; like an old friend, the tactic came through for the senator every time it was employed. The challenger would fade into infamy and Senator Engels would continue to tirelessly toil away for his beloved constituency, and toil for them he did.
The devoted Senator Engels garnered more than ten times as much pork as the average member of the Senate. Despite all the funds that he brought home to his state, his colleagues jealously regarded him for a different feat.
The Lion of K Street, as he was known, was the darling of every dishonest power broker, corrupt foundation and political organization with questionable loyalties, and he used his power and influence with them to destroy anyone that resisted him. The Lion ensured that his counterparts in the House pushed his allies’ tome sized pieces of legislation and then ensured its passing in the Senate. For his unwavering support, his allies granted him the power to destroy anyone he desired. In back room meetings, far from the public eye, the senator shed his façade of the timid patriarch for his true nature, an abusive and demeaning manipulator that would stop at nothing to have what he desired – more power and influence.
After several moments on hold, a man’s voice answered the phone.
“Angela, how are you dear?”
“I’m well sir! How are you?”
“All things considered, I’m alright.”
“Great! Hold for one second; I’ll connect you with the President.”
The senator waited impatiently on the phone. Why am I the one waiting, when he’s the one that called me?
“Fred? Sorry about the wait.”
“Not a problem Mr. President, for what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Fred, I have some news I wanted to tell you myself, before you hear it somewhere else.”
Senator Engels’s face flushed hot with fury; he already suspected what the President was going to say.
“I’ve accepted Governor Baker’s offer; the Vice President and I will be leaving for Austin in two days.”
“Mr. President, I can’t tell you how disappointed I am. This is an egregious error in judgment; you and your successor would be going into what one could only consider a hostile and unpredictable rogue state. You do remember they seceded from the union?”
“Fred, I understand your concerns. I don’t agree with Baker on anything at all, you know that; but he’s not going to let anything happen to us, and he’s surely not going to try anything himself. Baker is fiery and radical in his views, but he isn’t our enemy.”
Senator Engels tried rein in his rage, but it was becoming apparent.
“Might I ask why you’re doing this?”