Trial by fire: a novel

by Harold Coyle

  Rather than fear, anger welled up in Alamn's face. "What treason, Delapos, is this? Do you now conspire to murder me? For what purpose do you do this?"

  Delapos did not answer. Instead, the tall man with the pistol replied to Alaman's challenge. "How dare you speak of treason and murder? How dare you speak of Mexico with such loving words after what you have done to her?"

  Turning to the tall one, Alaman demanded to know who he imagined he was, to speak to him in such a manner.

  Alaman's words did not bother the tall man. In fact, they seemed to have no impact on him. Not even a hint of a smile showed on the tall man's face as he responded to Alaman's insults. "If I have committed murder, it has been, truly, for the people of Mexico. Unlike you, I seek nothing for myself. It is for our children, the children of Mexico, that I have done what I have done."

  Alaman was becoming more angry. "Who are you, you bastard?"

  "I, Sefior Alaman, am Colonel Alfredo Guajardo."

  Alaman's angry expression dropped, replaced with a stunned look.

  How, he thought, could that be? The chief of the Mexican Army? Here?

  Regaining his composure, Alaman pointed to the blond American next to Guajardo. "And he?"

  The American, in broken Spanish, responded that he was CIA, here to bring Alaman to justice.

  Looking back at Guajardo, Alaman regained his composure. "Ah, I see. The Americans. You have surrendered the pride and glory of Mexico to be a hired gun for the Americans."

  Guajardo, tiring of the conversation, looked at the American, then at Alaman. Knowing the American's command of Spanish was limited and confined to Castilian Spanish, Guajardo began speaking to Alaman using the Mexican twist of the old language. "Senior Alaman, in the name of the Republic of Mexico, and its people, I charge you with high treason and murder. As a member of the Council of 13, I find you guilty and sentence you to death."

  Unable to keep up with what Guajardo was saying, the CIA man was shocked when Guajardo lifted the pistol in his hand and fired three hollow point 9mm bullets into Alaman's stomach. As Alaman fell to his knees, his face turned up to Guajardo and his eyes betraying his surprise, the CIA man yelled at Guajardo, "You said we were bringing him in! You said that you were going to turn him over to us!"

  After he watched Alaman keel over face first into the white sand, Guajardo turned to the American. "I lied."

  International Bridge Number 2, Laredo, Texas

  1725 hours, 2 October

  Leaning back and turning in the hatch of her Bradley, Lieutenant Nancy Kozak took one long last look at Mexico. How much, she thought, had changed in the last month. At least, the way she looked at the world, and herself, had changed.

  It was wrong, she knew, to say that she had grown up. By any measure, she had been an adult before she had gone to Mexico, before she had gone to war. Perhaps, she thought, the veterans of the Civil War put it best. She had, as they would say after participating in battle for the first time, "seen the elephant." And, like them, her life would never be the same again.

  While it would be a while before she understood the full effect of the war on her, she realized a few things now. The desire to be the first female infantry officer, to prove that women could do anything, didn't matter to her any longer. In truth, she really didn't know the answers to those questions and others like them. Others, she knew, whether they truly understood the nature of the problem or not, would decide those issues. What did matter to Kozak that day, as she led her platoon back north into the United States, was that she belonged where she was. She had not only earned the right to be called a combat leader, she was one, in body and spirit.

  Leaving the bridge, the column Kozak's platoon was in turned to move onto the interstate and continue north, out of town, to assembly areas. At the turn, Kozak noticed a Humvee parked under the shade of a tree. A woman and an officer, whom she recognized as Lieutenant Colonel Dixon, were sitting on the hood of the Humvee, their feet resting on the I-beam front bumper. Both of them were sipping sodas from oversize cups and watching the column go by. Coming to a rigid position of attention, Kozak rendered Dixon a sharp hand salute, holding it until she had gone well past his Humvee.

  After returning Kozak's salute, Dixon picked up his forty-four-ounce drink and took a long sip. He watched a few more Bradleys go by before he said anything to Jan, who was busy with her own drink. "So, you were saying that our young hero is raising hell with the nurses."

  Finishing her sip, Jan let a tank go by before she tried to answer.

  "What I said, dear, was that Captain Cerro had been raising hell with the nurses until his wife got to town today. The head nurse said his wife has gotten him straightened out."

  Dixon raised an eyebrow. "You mean he's healthy enough for that already?"

  Jan looked at Dixon. "Healthy enough for what?"

  "Sex."

  "Scott Dixon, I said nothing about sex."

  "Yes, you did. You said his wife got him straight today."

  Making a face, Jan didn't reply. Instead, she turned her attention to taking another sip and watching more tanks go by. After a few minutes, Dixon sighed. "Talking about getting things straight. Do you think, Jan, that a high-speed news correspondent could ever find true happiness married to a broke dick tanker?"

  Jan took a sip of her diet Coke before answering. "Maybe. Why, do you know a broke dick tanker who has the hots for a reporter?"

  Dixon, after taking a sip from his drink, looked at her. "Maybe."

  For several minutes, neither of them said anything as they continued to watch the column as the tanks finished passing and another unit of Brad leys began to go by. To the west, the sun was beginning to dip low on the horizon, casting its reddish-orange rays on everything it touched. Dixon looked at the sun, then at Jan. "Well?"

  "Well, what?"

  "Well, do you think a news correspondent could be happy married to a broken-down tanker like me?"

  Jan looked Dixon in the eyes. "Is this a proposal?"

  "Maybe."

  Pulling the straw from her drink, Jan played with the ice in her cup.

  "Ever notice how much ice they give you in these things? It's almost criminal."

  Dixon, serious about his proposal, was tiring of the game they were playing. Taking Jan's hand and pulling her to him, he decided it was time to get a straight answer. "Damn it, Jan, yes or no."

  Knowing that he was on the verge of losing his patience, Jan decided to play out Scott's own little game a little longer. With a feigned look of confusion on her face, she cocked her head to one side. "I'm sorry, what was the question again?"

  "Jan, will you marry me?"

  With a mischievous smile and a sparkle in her eyes, Jan took another sip of her Coke before she looked at Dixon. "Maybe."