his conscience couldn’t bear any more abandoned comrades and he’d told Romo so. There had been no more talk about that.
“We don’t send you behind enemy lines so you can indulge your fancy and kill enemy generals when you feel like it,” Anderson was telling him. “You’re not a lone wolf, but an integral part of a vast team effort.”
Paul knew better than to talk back to officers or even to try to explain himself. As a young man in Northern Quebec, he hadn’t always known that. It had gotten him kicked out of the Marines the first time. Maybe wisdom came with age. He sat and listened to the lecture, but he didn’t nod or give the captain assurances that he’d learned his lesson. He sat like a rock. He almost did it too much and forced himself to blink, as he’d been staring like an idol.
“I’m not sure you’re hearing me, Master Sergeant,” Anderson said.
“Oh. I hear you, sir. Loud and clear.”
“But do you understand?”
“Your words? Yes sir, absolutely.”
The finger drumming increased, making the prosthetic whirring noises more noticeable. “I can understand your frustration. I mean the lack of the smart bombs. And it’s good you took out this general. That’s not the point.”
“Of course not, sir,” Paul said.
Captain Anderson stared at him before sitting back. An infectious grin spread across his face. It dropped years off his appearance, making him seem too young.
“There, I’ve given you the sermon General Ochoa suggested you hear. This is a hell of a war, Master Sergeant. The enemy is stretching us thin and he doesn’t stop pounding. There should be four of you out there on a long-range surveillance mission. Instead, we send you and the Mexican hit man.”
“Romo is one of the best, sir.”
“Of course he is. That’s not the point. Look. I need you alive, Kavanagh. I appreciate your valor and your love of country. But the truth is you went cowboy on me and you got lucky. This is going to be a long war, and one of these days, your luck is going to run out.”
“I hope you’re wrong, sir.”
“So do I. Now that we’re clear about that, I have…”
The prosthetic hand stopped moving as the captain laid the palm flat on the desk. Anderson glanced away and he pursed his lips.
“We all have our orders, Master Sergeant. I know you appreciate that. General Ochoa has given me orders concerning you. I don’t think you’re going to like them.”
“What now, sir?”
“There’s someone who wants to meet you. He’s very insistent about it, too. At first, he demanded the general send you to him, alone preferably.”
“Are you talking about Colonel Valdez?” Paul asked.
“Yes,” Anderson said. He faced Paul, and the captain was frowning.
“General Ochoa hasn’t changed his mind about sacrificing me to Valdez, has he?” Paul asked.
Anderson gave an insincere shake of the head.
“It sounds like there’s more to this story, sir.”
“There always is,” Anderson said. He let out a sigh. “The Mexican Home Army has been through the grinder like the rest of us. They were stationed in Texas and have been through hell. You’re probably aware that the American Government hopes to use the Home Army as much politically as militarily. We’ve been helping Colonel Valdez to foment rebellions in Mexico. The expectation is that he’ll become our Charles De Gaulle, as it were.”
“Who?” Paul asked.
The trace of the former grin appeared on the captain’s lips. “It’s old history, Master Sergeant. General Charles De Gaulle led the Free French during World War II. He commanded battle units in the early part of the war, but he also helped the war effort by coordinating French Resistance against the Nazis. After the war, De Gaulle became the President of France. We’re hoping Cesar Valdez does something similar in Mexico. By fighting with us, we’re hoping the Home Army shows the rest of Mexico that it doesn’t have to lie supine under the Chinese occupation.”
“Got it,” Paul said.
“As I said earlier, the Home Army has taken a terrible beating just as we have. They were a little over sixty thousand strong before the summer invasion.”
“And now?” Paul asked.
“More like twenty-five thousand,” Anderson said. “Not all of the missing are dead, mind you. Some deserted and others are wounded.”
“Where are those twenty-five thousand?”
“The majority are holding out in Centennial,” Anderson said. “That’s to the south of here in Greater Denver. They’re tough soldiers, some of the best we have. Colonel Valdez has started wondering, though. What happens when the war’s