Page 14 of V-Day
4.
DUARDO LOOKED UP AT THEfamiliar high eastern peaks of the Freonegro Pass, only a few miles away now. For a heartbeat or two he allowed himself to indulge in wishful thinking. He ached to be climbing the Old Man peak right now. Men had died on that peak. Only two had ever reached the summit. Duardo would happily risk exposure and oxygen deprivation if it would remove him from the US military Hummer he was sitting in right now.
He also wished they were riding in a Vistarian military vehicle. Only there were no Vistarian ground vehicles. They had a grand total of three stolen Blackhawk helicopters. The choppers could not move three thousand men, alas. They sat on the ground, ten miles back, to preserve jet fuel for when they werereallyneeded.
The only way Duardo could transport his army to the city to confront Serrano’s Insurrectos was to do it the ancient Roman army way. They must walk.
The walking pace progress pissed off General Thorne.Everythingirritated Thorne.
General Cassius Thorne the Third, Commander of the 12thMarine Regiment, was a Southern gentleman from a family which traced its roots back to the Mayflower and beyond. He was educated in Cambridge and the Sorbonne, and was a graduate of West Point. Like his father and grandfather before him, was a military man down to his DNA.
Thorne was likely a good soldier in the right circumstances. Asking a man of his rank and privilege to curtail his strategies to the limitations of Duardo’s army had soured Thorne’s outlook. He’d spat a stream of tobacco juice which missed Duardo’s boots and glared. “Walkthere? We’ve got Humvees and tanks and troop carriers on the wing, son! Why would we walk?”
The ‘son’ was patronizing. Duardo judged Thorne to be only a handful of years older than him. Back on the beach, he’d watched the troop carriers roll off the big US landing craft with a touch of envy he identified with cold surprise and instantly squashed.
Instead he shaded his eyes and glanced at Thorne. “This is my war, General. We do it my way. We push to the city on foot. You’ll have your action soon enough.”
That had been three days ago. Thorne insisted Duardo and General Aguado, commander of the Mexican infantry regiment which had come over on the US cruiser, ride with him in the air-conditioned luxury of the Hummer. The big command vehicle rolled at the same pace as the soldiers on foot, right at the head of the thick column of troops.
In the three days since, Thorne had built on his theme ofnow!With relentless energy. He sat in the front passenger seat, his right hand resting on the assault rifle clipped to the door. He verbally roamed over wars he had seen and battles he had won. He always brought the topic back to the might and superiority of the American military, and the fantastic technology and equipment he’d had the chance to use.
Walking into a war didn’t sit well with him.
Also, henevershut up.
Duardo also wished he had never learned English as thoroughly as he had. Then he wouldn’t have to shield himself against Thorne’s barrage of belittlement. Thorne was not openly sarcastic, yet the endless monolog about strategies and tactics and the constant emphasis on superior firepower would have the same effect if Duardo let it get under his skin.
Aguado’s English was adequate to make himself understood. He had a natural barrier against Thorne’s undermining. He sat in the other corner of the wide vehicle, his gaze upon the columns of men he could see in the side mirror, or else scanning the surrounding land. He was alert, even sitting in the back of the Hummer. He was a small man—short, but thick with muscle. He moved in a way which made Duardo glad he was on the same side. He had a feeling Aguado could defend himself against all comers. He didn’t want to test the theory for himself.
“Bah, this is barely a war, anyway,” Thorne said, in the front seat. He waved toward the windscreen with a dismissive flick of his fingers. “Two dozen marines dropped from choppers over your little Palace could firestorm the place to cinders in an hour.”
Duardo gritted his teeth together, holding back his first instinctive response. When he thought he could keep his tone civil, he said, “There are civilians inside the Palace, General.” It wasn’t the first time he had mentioned them.
“Yeah…” Thorne blew out his cheeks, making the ends of his mustache flutter. “Funny thing about civilians. I hauled a bunch of civilians out of a school which got bombed once. Northern Afghanistan, up in the Hindu Kush, this was. Kids and body parts and hysterics. Women blubbering in that yammer they use. Pulled a woman out from under rubble…least I figure she was a woman. She was wearing a burqa, of course. Just the blacks of her eyes showing. She was still looking at me when she shoved the knife into my side.”
Duardo looked out the window and waited for Thorne to shift the subject.
“Thing is,el Presidente,” Thorne added. “I’ve been fighting wars for twenty years and I used to know who the enemy was. Now, it’s usually a guess. On the other hand, your Palace is sitting there nice and pretty. This time I know where the enemy is.”
“No, General,” Duardo said sharply.
Aguado’s head turned, as Duardo’s tone alerted him.
In the silence which formed, one of the two phones mounted on the dash beeped. The driver answered it, speaking softly.
Thorne turned on his seat so he was looking at Duardo. “Those fuckers blew up an American hospital!” he hissed.
“Those fuckers destroyed my entire country, General,” Duardo said, keeping his tone chilly. “You will not take out the Palace with an airstrike. There are civilians in the Palace and more of them surrounding the Palace grounds and an entire city beyond them. We will take the Palace with a controlled ground assault, following my directions. Do I make myself clear?”
Thorne’s face turned red.
The driver held out the phone. “The Situation Room, sir. Classified only.”
“Stop the car,” Thorne said heavily. He took the phone and glared at Duardo. “I’ll have to ask you gentlemen to get out for a moment while I take this call.”
The Hummer halted.
Duardo was more than happy to get out. He stepped onto the ground and shut the door with a sigh. Around him, the columns of walking soldiers split and streamed around the car.
