into a chair so it went tumbling and Valdez sprawled onto the floor.
Holstering his gun, Paul wondered about the wisdom of letting a man live who would never stop seeking his life. He didn’t see as he had much choice, though. Anderson would arrest him if he killed Valdez here. What good would being arrested do?
I’d probably survive the war then, tucked away in a prison cell. Cheri would like that.
“You just made a terrible mistake, gringo,” Valdez said, climbing to his feet. “You should have killed me. When I get the drop on you, I will kill you.”
“Whatever,” Paul said. “As far as I’m concerned…” He stopped himself from speaking further. What did name-calling do? Nothing. It was doubtful either of them was going to survive the Chinese. So this was all moot anyway.
“You are a dead man,” Valdez said. “Tell Romo he is dead, too.”
Paul breathed deeply. Ochoa had ordered Anderson to disarm him. What a crazy world. Valdez hated. The Chinese conquered. And—
“I’m sorry about your daughter, Colonel. I wish I could have saved her. In fact, even though I know you’re going to spit at this—” Paul scowled and the words wouldn’t come. He wanted to speak them. He even opened his mouth to try, but his tongue refused to move and help him curl the words.
Valdez stared at him with hatred.
Paul moved his lips, and this time, he forced out the words. “I’m sorry, and I…I ask you to forgive me.”
“What did you say?” Valdez hissed.
Paul took an even deeper breath. He couldn’t believe he was saying this, but it felt like the right thing to do. “Please forgive me, sir. I failed your daughter and I’m sorry.”
“I don’t forgive you,” Valdez said, although he said it with less heat than earlier.
Paul nodded. He’d tried, and it had failed, but he’d tried.
“Get out of my sight!” Valdez shouted. “Leave, you-you—Leave me!”
Paul closed his mouth and strode for the door. He didn’t look back at Valdez. He could hear well enough to know that the Colonel hadn’t darted for his fallen gun. Paul twisted the handle, and he wished Valdez would say, “Yes, I forgive you. Go in peace.”
Instead, Paul Kavanagh felt a burning gaze of hatred pierce his back. If Valdez had been insane with rage before, now it was probably going to be worse. Paul opened the door, walked through and shut it behind him.
In the next room, Captain Anderson stood watching with raised eyebrows.
Paul shook his head.
Anderson nodded, with a sad expression on his face.
Paul took his leave, deciding he’d use the back entrance and bypass the waiting driver and further complications with the Mexico Home Army.
DETENTION CENTER WEST, COLORADO
Private Jake Higgins of the Seventh CDMB sat in a hard plastic chair in a hall outside the DCW Director’s office. Jake was alone, although he knew a guard waited at the end of the hall around the corner.
The Detention Center West was in Central Colorado, hidden in a bleak, Rocky Mountain valley. It was a hundred acres of electrified fencing with blockhouses, barracks and punishment cells. There must be several thousand detainees with several hundred guards here, but Jake wasn’t sure of the exact numbers.
He wore a Militia uniform and nice new boots. His stomach was full, his body didn’t ache all the time and if he was comfortable like this doing nothing he didn’t instantly fall asleep like he would have done just a few days ago.
Was I stupid leaving Lisa?
She was the woman he’d saved from hanging, the one who had kicked and shot the Chinese soldier to death. After he’d rescued her, she’d wanted Jake to stay and help her fight. They had kissed and done other things that had almost convinced him. Wouldn’t that be a great way to spend his time: fighting the enemy and loving the amazing Lisa?
When he told her he wanted to rejoin the Militia she told him that he was too young and stupid, too idealistic for his own good. He didn’t realize when he had it made. She’d told him the U.S. Army couldn’t stop the Chinese. She said they would be driven out because of millions of Americans like her sniping from behind and burning supplies, making it too miserable for the enemy to stay. That’s what having millions, billions of rifles and shotguns meant. That’s what the Second Amendment had been all about, having an armed nation that no one could subdue, not an invading enemy or even its own overbearing