Without a word, Guajardo, his hat pulled low over his eyes, his head fixed straight ahead, entered the outer office. Mechanically, he walked past his secretary and adjutant and headed straight for his own office, where he entered without a word, quietly closing the door behind him.
For a moment, the secretary and the adjutant looked at each other. Then, without uttering a single word, they busied themselves with whatever it was they had been doing. Both knew that Guajardo, having just returned from reporting to Colonel Molina on the raid at Chinampas, needed to be alone.
With his hands clasped together at the small of his back, Guajardo stood at the window, rocking back and forth on his heels as he looked out at the street below. That his meeting with Molina could have been worse was the only bright thought that lightened his dark mood. Knowing that Guajardo openly despised his adjutant, Major Puerto, Molina had arranged that Puerto be on an errand while Guajardo was in the office. For himself, Molina could not have been more understanding, without being condescending.
Guajardo, after having ignored the advice of almost everyone on the council concerning the plan for the elimination of Alaman and Chinampas, had come prepared to hand over his resignation. Molina, anticipating his friend, was ready for such a move. He spoke to Guajardo as a brother, neither condemning him nor ignoring the issue. He freely admitted that the loss of Alaman was a disappointment in an otherwise flawless seizure of power. That, however, Molina pointed out, did not justify losing one of the council's most capable members, and that this was no time for heroic gestures. They had all faced the prospect of failure, he continued, and still did. Now was not the time to start tearing apart the system they had built so carefully, simply because perfection had not been achieved on the first day. Though he would consider accepting his resignation, Molina asked Guajardo, as a personal favor to him, to reconsider his position and stay with the council. When the two men parted, they were choked with emotion, embracing each other as brothers.
During his return to the Ministry of Defense, Guajardo had realized he would not resign. As terrible a burden as his failure would be, to abandon the people's struggle simply because of a matter of honor would be foolish. Molina knew this, and so did Guajardo. Perhaps, Guajardo thought, this was a good thing. A man, regardless of who he is, needs to be humbled, in order to be reminded that he is only human. Yes, I must learn from this.
Guajardo did not hear the first soft knock at the door. The second, a little louder, caught his attention. Without moving, Guajardo called out, "Yes?"
The door opened wide enough for the adjutant to slip partway into the room. "Sir, Lieutenant Blasio is here as ordered. Shall I have him wait?"
Looking at his watch, Guajardo noted that Blasio was ten minutes early. "No, send him in."
The adjutant disappeared, closing the door. A moment later another knock. Again, without moving from his position at the window, Guajardo called out, "Enter."
Guajardo heard the door open, then close, followed by four short steps ending with the clicking of two heels brought together. "Sir, Lieutenant Blasio reporting as ordered."
Guajardo did nothing. Up to that moment, he hadn't thought much of what he would do with the man who had compromised the attack on Chinampas. He had read the reports from both Blasio and the lieutenant who had commanded the platoon Blasio had been transporting. Both men were good men who had done what they had thought appropriate. So what was he to do with Blasio, the man who, through an error of commission, had allowed Alaman to escape?
Turning, Guajardo laid eyes on the lieutenant for the first time. He was still standing at attention, his hat tucked under his arm, his eyes fixed on Guajardo. What, Guajardo thought, am I to do with you, my friend?
Walking around to the front of the desk, Guajardo paused, then leaned back against it, half sitting, half standing. Folding his arms, he continued to stare at Blasio. Was there, Guajardo thought, any difference in my failure in judgment in using so complex a plan for Chinampas, and this lieutenant's for landing his aircraft due to a relatively minor mechanical problem? And, Guajardo asked himself, were they in fact failures, or simply a series of bad decisions made independently of each other, that, together, had created a failure? Guajardo, after all, knew that he had come so close, so very close to pulling off the raid as he planned. Only Blasio's forced landing changed that. And why, he thought, place all the blame on Blasio? The infantry lieutenant commanding Group N could have continued immediately with the second aircraft instead of waiting for Blasio to finish. Did that mean the infantry lieutenant was responsible for the failure?
Looking down at his shoes for a minute, Guajardo decided that it would be wrong to punish this officer for doing what his training had dictated. As senior aviator on board the helicopter, he was responsible for the lives of his crew, his passengers, and his aircraft, all of which were valuable commodities in the understaffed and underequipped Mexican Army. Had this been a peacetime exercise, Guajardo knew that Blasio's decision to land at the first sign of trouble would have been the correct one, just as Guajardo's plan of attack would have been considered an acceptable option.
Looking back up at Blasio's face, Guajardo studied the lieutenant for a moment longer before he decided what to do. "Do you know why you are here, Lieutenant?"
Turning his head to look at the colonel, Blasio responded promptly.
"Yes, sir. To explain my actions during the raid of Chinampas and receive whatever punishment you deem fit, sir."
For a moment, Guajardo hesitated. Blasio, as Guajardo had been, was ready to atone for his error. But we cannot afford such sentiment. Molina was right about that. There is too much to do and there are too few good men. In an instant, Guajardo decided.
"Lieutenant, I do not need you to explain your actions. Your report, and that of the infantry officer commanding the assault force, were quite satisfactory." Guajardo paused, allowing Blasio to sweat a little longer.
"As for your punishment, you will be relieved from your current posting and be assigned to my staff as my personal pilot."
Not quite understanding what he had heard, Blasio turned toward Guajardo.
"Excuse me, sir. Am I to understand that I am to be your pilot?"
With an expression that betrayed no emotion, Guajardo responded,
"Yes, that is correct. Now, you will report to my adjutant for further instructions. Once you have found quarters, you will find yourself a good watch. I demand punctuality. Understood?"
Blasio, struggling to maintain his decorum, simply responded, "Understood," leaving Guajardo's office as quickly as possible, as if he feared the colonel would change his mind.
Finishing their meals, the three men picked at bread or sipped coffee as they talked amongst themselves. Freely switching from French to Spanish, then to English and back in an effort to impress each other, the three men discussed their future plans. Delapos, for all his bluster, would, with little doubt, stay with Alaman. "Things will, eventually, settle down, and when they do, there will be the need for a man like Alaman."
Besides, Delapos said, they were both Mexicans. Despite the hard times, he had confidence things couldn't get worse. Childress toyed with the idea of going back north. It had been, he claimed, too long since he had seen real snow. It was time to head back to Vermont and enjoy some of his pay. Lefleur, a Frenchman through and through, talked only of Paris, then perhaps a job in Africa, where he had served with the Legion. It was idle chat, no different than that of any other soldiers who had, in reality, no clear idea of what the future held for them.