by Greg Gotti
He reported to the mobile command station where the High General was waiting for him, and a guard went inside to announce his arrival. He looked around as he waited. It was raining today. A steady downpour had been falling since the middle of the night, and he realized the weather matched his mood. The rain brought some relief from the late-summer heatwave that had gripped the region, but the increased humidity just made him sticky and uncomfortable as he waited under the canvas tarp. The guard returned and escorted him inside where Rodriguez sat waiting for him.
“Sir,” Fuentes said as he snapped to attention.
“Have a seat, Diego,” he answered solemnly.
Fuentes knew immediately something was wrong. He noticed the bottle and glasses on the table before them and he suddenly knew…Maria. He felt a strange, cold shudder pass through him.
“Have you heard?” Rodriguez asked him.
“I haven’t been told anything, sir.”
“The night after the American jet crashed, one of our river patrols ran into a Soona patrol at the Arcangel. Our patrol was overcome. All of them were killed in the fight, except for one who managed to hang on a few weeks before succumbing to his wounds. Before he died, he regained consciousness and told the story of that night. He said they were conducting a routine check when they happened upon a young Rista woman caught in one of those snares the Soona use in the river.”
“Maria…” Fuentes realized aloud.
“They worked to free her, but were ambushed by the Soona. By the time the fight was over, our lone survivor lie on the riverbank bleeding and losing consciousness. Before he blacked out, he saw the Soona cut her loose and pull her lifeless body from beneath the surface. She is gone, Diego.” Rodriguez’s voice was barely more than a whisper. He picked up the bottle and poured Fuentes a glass before refilling his own. He raised his glass, and Fuentes followed suit. He sniffed the contents… tequila. He realized over half the bottle was gone already as Rodriguez began to speak.
“Let us drink to a girl both of us loved; one who was better than either of us old war dogs will ever be. Let us drink to Maria.” He touched his glass to Fuentes’s, and they drank. Fuentes had never liked tequila or alcohol of any kind, but he hid his revulsion at the burning sensation as the liquid poured down his throat and warmed his stomach. He sat in silence; not knowing what to say to the grieving father before him. Rodriguez downed his entire glass before he set it down.
“Diego, I have had enough of the foolishness in the Federation. All my life, I have watched people die in this never-ending war… and for what? Nobody ever stops fighting. There is always someone out for revenge. Someone is always insisting on serving justice before talking about peace. Do you honestly think there have not been times when the people of both nations were weary and just wanted a negotiated peace? Someone always wants to wait until they have evened a score. There is always someone who does not deserve to live out their life without answering for what they have done. Whenever there is talk of peace with the enemy, the grievance machine revs into high gear. Depending on what part of the country they live in, they are told their problems are due to the Soona, the Texans or the Confederation. We make them afraid of the big, bad enemy so they will love the war. They will allow the government to take more and more of their freedoms and resources in order to keep them safe. We use fear, Diego. We make our own people afraid instead of comforting them.
Do we keep them safe? Absolutely, we do. Many of our men have laid down their lives to protect the little ones who play in the grass and sing songs in the churches. Their sacrifice is noble, and we would not have a Federation without it. But is war always the answer? Is the entire reason for the existence of the Federation to kill? Must we always be at war? We have never known a day since the beginning of our nation when we have not been at war. We have managed to expand our borders, always through war, and we send our sons off to war as we wonder if we will ever see them again. Now, even our daughters are not safe. It has to change, Diego.”
Fuentes knew Rodriguez was drunk, but he was shocked by the man’s words. He knew he was in mourning for his daughter, so he tried to just chalk it up to that. His mind raced as he processed it all. Maria had been his ticket to the top. Marrying the daughter of the Federation’s greatest hero and highest military officer would have guaranteed his quick rise through the ranks. Now she was gone, and he needed another way to stay in the High General’s good graces. Having once loved his daughter wouldn’t be enough.
“Sir,” he began in a soft voice, “you speak of payback and justice. Are these not good things? I want both for Maria.”
“Diego, I am sure we will shed more Soona blood. That is what we do. That is what has been done here since the beginning. If things continue on the way they have always been, our sons and daughters will shed Soona blood and have their blood shed by the Soona, the Texans and whoever else our leaders decide it in our best interests for them to die. I wonder who really killed my daughter. Was it the Soona with their traps? Was it our leaders who never put an end to this war? Was it our collective lust for bloodshed in the name of the glorious Federation? I don’t think I know.”
Fuentes felt himself growing upset. Did the High General himself doubt the nobleness of the war effort? He had seen what the Texans and Soona had done to his people. They deserved to die! This was an old man’s grief talking; not the great hero of Amarillo. He chose his words carefully.
“Sir, is that not why we must finally win this war for good? We want our children to have peace, but our enemies will always be looking to settle old scores. They will wait until we are weak, and they will strike. Shouldn’t we make sure we are always strong enough to defend any peace we achieve?”
“There will always be an enemy lurking in the woods, Diego. There will always be vultures circling. Nobody is saying we should put down our rifles and pick up our harps. We should always remain strong enough to defend ourselves. It is just time for a change.”
“What change, sir?”
Rodriguez poured himself another glass and set the bottle off to the side. He leaned over the table and peered into his eyes. Fuentes saw the familiar determination behind those brown eyes as Rodriguez seemed to look into his very soul.
“I will run for President.”
Fuentes resisted the urge to smile. Rodriguez was the most popular man in the entire nation and a shoo-in to win any election. The fact that he was sharing this with him showed he trusted him. He might be headed for the top faster than he’d thought.
“You would run, sir? You have always told me you loathe politics.”
“I loathe incompetence and corruption even more,” Rodriguez said. “If we are to win the war and have peace, someone willing to make it happen must have the power to do so.” He realized he was beginning to slur his words and raised his hand to wave at Fuentes.
“Go, Diego. Go mourn your love in whatever way you see fit. We will talk tomorrow… dismissed.”
Fuentes stood and saluted before hurrying out of there. The rain was falling faster now, and the wind had increased in intensity. He strode through the mud lost in his thoughts. This was a big change, and he needed to think about all it would affect. He was sorry Maria was dead, but there were countless young beauties who would throw themselves at him in her place. He wasn’t interested in things like family and children anyways. He only wanted power. He could already see the path developing for his ambition, and despite the rain falling steadily down on him, he smiled.
John woke up and began his morning exercise ritual. He was sure this day would be like every day that had come before it. The guards would come to escort him to Room 52, and Martinez would try to get him to talk about things. He was surprised they had not tortured him. He had heard of the inhuman Rista torture methods for his entire life, and could not believe they had not harmed so much as a hair on his head. He finished his pushups and began running in place. He was determined not to let his physical fitness level decline in this place. He was certain
they would eventually attempt to break him physically, and he needed to stay strong enough to resist that. He felt the sweat starting to form on his forehead as he brought his knees high with each step.
He had been at Facility 4 for weeks now, and John was quite sure he was underground somewhere. He had not seen the outside since he had been brought here; not even as much as a window. The vents had air constantly blowing out of them, so he figured they were for air circulation. He had never seen the slightest bit of dirt on any of the guards’ boots, which told him they probably didn’t put them on until they were inside the building. He had been trained to notice everything, and he prided himself on his attention to detail. This was some sort of installation of the highest secrecy, and he wondered if anyone outside of Facility 4 had any idea he was here.
John finished his workout and took a shower. Rather than the padded room where he had found himself upon waking here, John lived in a small, apartment-like dwelling with a private bathroom, comfortable bed, and even a plush reclining chair where he could read the various books they provided him. There was even a small refrigerator that contained juice and water. He had no idea why the Ristas were treating him so well, but he was well-fed and rested. He let the hot water stream over his shoulders and felt the tension in his muscles relaxing as he washed away his sweat. His thoughts turned to Maria, and he felt a tug at his heart as the void within him ached as it always did when he remembered her. The way her smile glowed with sincerity, the smell of her hair, the sound of her breathing as she slept, John could still feel all of them. He remembered lying on his side as she spooned against him and falling asleep together. He had never thought he would feel love again after losing his wife and son, but Maria had shown him love was still very much with him.
John turned off the water and toweled off. He was given nothing to wear except for underwear and 3 gray jumpsuits that zipped up the front. He took one from the hook on his bathroom door and got dressed. The Ristas had shaved his head, but his red hair has begun to grow back, and he ran a comb through it trying to keep it trained. He put on deodorant and opened the door to find Heredia standing inside his cell door with two guards.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” John said as Heredia scowled.
“Put on your shoes and let’s go,” Heredia said coldly.
“You mean these slippers? I’d hardly call these shoes,” John said amusedly. He knew the young sergeant didn’t like him, and John got the impression that Heredia would treat him much differently if he was calling the shots.
“Now,” Heredia growled.
John smiled and put up his hands in feigned surrender. He slipped on his shoes and was led out the door. He was surprised when they reached the end of the hall and turned right instead of the usual left that led to Room 52. They led him to an isolated alcove that contained a set of elevator doors. Heredia inserted a key and entered a code. The doors opened and John was led into the elevator. The doors closed, and John felt the elevator sliding down the shaft. Something about all this was disconcerting to John. The elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal a narrow hallway about the same width as the elevator. They led John down this hallway, and he noticed there were no doors. The walls and floor were black, and it was lit only by a series of overhead lights. They reached the end of the hallway and turned to the left. Heredia inserted a key, entered another code, and the door opened to reveal a stairwell. They led him to a door two floors down where Heredia repeated the security procedures and opened another door.
John was led down a hallway and into a small room with a small, circular table and two U-shaped chairs. Martinez sat at the table reading something and did not look up as Heredia had the guards secure John in one of the chairs before leading them out the door and closing it behind him. Martinez continued reading as John looked around the room. The walls were black with gold trim. There was no window here; no mirror where others could see inside without being seen themselves. John figured this room had to be at least 50-60 feet below the one where they had been keeping him. There was something disconcerting about this strange new setting, and John waited to discover what this change of scenery meant. Martinez set down the papers he had been reading and folded his hands on the table before him.
“Captain Wallace, I have been reading everything we have on you, and I must tell you I am impressed. Your tactical prowess is well-known, but your instincts are beyond impressive. Time after time our best field commanders devised plans to capture or kill you, and each time you foiled their plans. Our people planted spies to get into position to assassinate you, but you have this strange sort of sixth sense that allows you to sense danger and eliminate it. You led your men into our territory and won battles while vastly outnumbered. You are finally caught in our snare, and even when your forces are wiped out you still escaped. You are an elite soldier, Captain Wallace. I do have the highest respect for your talents.”
John said nothing. He knew if he waited, Martinez would get around to the reason for the change of scenery. Martinez studied him silently for a moment, as was his custom. John could feel something was different about him today. Something had changed.
“I know you have spent your life fighting my people, so you are hesitant to extend me even the slightest courtesy. I have shared meals with you daily and never asked you questions of a military nature. I have shown you respect; one officer to another. Why do you think that is?”
“I am hoping you’re about to tell me,” John answered stone-faced. He wasn’t sure where Martinez was going with this.
“Yes, Captain Wallace, I am. I’m going to tell you several things you might find interesting. You are obviously well-trained. My sources inform me that you designed the counter-interrogation training for your men, so it does not surprise me you never lower your guard. I know your people told you if you were to ever be captured by the Ristas, we would torture you in the most inhuman ways imaginable. They cultivate a fear of us within you and feed it until it is a roaring fire. Do you ever wonder why they do this? You do not question because you believe it. They do it so you will fight to the death. They do it so you would rather die than surrender. They do not want you talking to us.
The Soona government cannot afford to have its people talking to the Ristas. They cannot afford to have you hearing the truth about the world around you. Yes, I am sure you think this is some sort of game I am playing with you, but I am giving a fellow officer the dignity of hearing the truth. Your people tell you America has fallen. They tell you the Rista Federation would wipe you out if the heroic Soona military did not keep us at bay. Many of the same tricks are played here in the Federation. Our people are made to fear the Soona. They are told the Soona, who live upriver from them, poison the rivers and cause their children to be born deformed. They are told the Soona kill the men and take the females for slaves when they conquer our territory. There is a constant campaign of fear being conducted on both sides of a border dividing our two peoples.
Have you ever noticed in all the years of war between the Ristas and the Soona, nobody ever really ‘turns the tide’ of the struggle? We make a push into your territory and hold it for a time, maybe a few months or a few years, before you push back and retake it. You push into our territory and the same eventually happens. Hasn’t it ever seemed strange to you that neither side ever settles civilians inside of the newly won territory? It is basically a zone reserved for war. It is a zone of blood, death, suffering and hopelessness. Occasionally, we are allowed to win some landmark victory. When combined with fear, this keeps support for the war at a strong level among the people.”
“That is ridiculous,” John finally interrupted. “What good reason would your government have for not trying to win the war when we are doing everything we can to win it?”
Martinez let out a loud laugh.
“Forgive me, Captain Wallace; I did not mean any disrespect, but you really do not get it, do you? The Soona do not want the war to end either! They make sure it doesn’t.”
/> “You’re full of it, Colonel. I would never lead men into a battle knowing they won’t be allowed to win. Nobody ever gave me any orders not to win, and we did do a lot of winning.” John’s face grew red with anger, and Martinez shook his head.
“Yes, you did, Captain. You won victory after victory until the SSS showed up. You won every battle in your western campaign because you operated with carte blanche.”
“With what?” The reference was lost on him.
“Forgive me; I forget how much they don’t teach your people in what passes for school up there. It means ‘blank check.’ You operated with full authority to do what you thought was best for the Soona war effort, and you were more successful than they ever imagined. You attacked before the spring thaw came and caught us off-guard. We still are not sure how you managed to move your trucks through the snow and mud the way you did, but you hit us before fresh troops could rotate in for the spring. Then you pushed on farther and took out those fresh troops before they could form up in one place. You took more territory in a matter of two months than we had lost in three decades. You could have kept going. There was nothing but a skeleton army standing in your way, and you could have easily pushed all the way to the edge of the desert. You could have, and you know it, so why did you stop?”