“Gentlemen, this is not a school yard. I need adults here presenting me with a road map to navigate through these challenges we have!” Pablo barked.
Pasqual and Gutierrez stopped talking and focused on their leader.
“I am a student of military strategy, but I’m also a student of history. We can use the American adventure in Iraq and Afghanistan to see what happens when military forces are dealing with a civilian population that begins to rise up against their rule. The Americans also had a civil war that we should look toward and learn from. The Union Army was losing the war until Ulysses S. Grant took command. He changed the policy of how civilians were classified. You see, he had smart council that I don’t seem to have here. His old friend and confidant by the name of Francis Lieber helped him draft a code to present to President Lincoln. In it, it gave him the authority to execute warfare against any civilian who contributed to the aid and comfort of the Confederate Army. Running supplies, assisting, feeding, et cetera, was considered tantamount to fighting on the battlefield.”
All the men at the table were staring, a look of surprise on some of their faces as Pablo continued with his history lesson. Like a professor lecturing his students, Pablo went into excruciating detail about the historical factors that led to Grant using the force he did against the Confederacy.
Pablo finished by saying firmly, “Gentlemen, the moral to the story is this: The only way Lincoln could win the war was to crush the spirit of the Confederacy. In order for us to win, we need to crush our enemies. We need to send the civilians this message: If you oppose us, we will kill you and all of your families. We will take Lieber’s Code and expand on it. Initially, I thought we needed to show a bit more mercy. And yes, we can extend mercy to those who are willing to help us. However, if someone lifts a finger against our crusade, we will exterminate them. This will send a clear message to all that opposition will be met with severe consequences. Unfortunately, in order to conduct this type of warfare, we must have the resources to do it. I want to resurrect my Villistas—they will be the ones to execute this plan. However, we will need more time in each area to train and equip them to do this. The question I have for all of you is: Are you willing to do whatever it takes to succeed?”
Some of the men’s faces couldn’t hide displeasure with Pablo’s new directive. All military men are trained and educated in the rules of war. What Pablo was suggesting was doing away with these guidelines. What he was proposing could lead to genocide.
Pablo took note of the initial reactions from each man. The last person he looked at was Pasqual.
Pasqual was born into the military; his father and grandfather were both officers. The first time he had heard that he and his army had been sold to Pablo, he was disgusted. But as the weeks progressed, he had grown to love the victories and intensity of combat more than anything. It had become a drug to him and he was now addicted. When he met Pablo’s gaze, he smiled.
“General, how long will it take to get a battalion of Villistas trained and ready to tackle the insurgency?”
“Sir, it will take at least sixty days to find enough men willing to join our cause and to get them outfitted. But as far as the training, that’s easy, I believe. Just give them orders to hunt down insurgents and let them do it. If the rules of engagement are that no quarter will be given, then there’s not too much to teach them.”
“Sixty days? I hate the thought of sitting here but…” Pablo said, then paused, thinking that it gave him time to court Isabelle. “Okay, General, take the time you need; if we’re going to do this, it should be done right.”
Others in the room kept their opinions quiet; they knew now that going up against Pablo and his directives was a death wish, and they didn’t dare to stray from his orders.
Gordon’s eyes burned as he opened them. The sunlight forced him to squint but the pain and burning sensation was something he’d felt before. Fallujah, he thought. The smoke from the blast and subsequent fires after Rahab blew up himself and the entire north end second floor had scorched his eyes.
He didn’t remember much after he had grabbed Lexi and pulled her out of the room. They had only managed to make it to the hallway when the blast went off. As his vision focused, he noticed he was no longer in the compound. In fact, from the noise he appeared to be in a chopper. He was confused, and tried to look around, but a wave of pain hit him.
He went to move but restraints on a backboard prevented him. He panicked a bit, not knowing who was transporting him or where he was going. Lifting his head farther, he saw someone who appeared to be the crew chief. Looking right, he saw a familiar face: the little girl from Rahab’s compound, sitting wrapped in a blanket next to a corpsman.
The corpsman saw Gordon’s movements and came to his side. “Sir, you need to be still.”
“Where are the people I was with?” Gordon asked as he grimaced in pain from moving his head.
“Sir, please lie flat. You might have sustained a spinal injury, we can’t risk…”
“My head is killing me, oh my God it hurts so fucking bad,” Gordon complained as he attempted to loosen himself from the straps.
“Sir, stop moving around,” the corpsman ordered with a gruff voice.
“Is Corporal Rubio here?”
The corpsman shook his head.
“A woman, did you find a woman near me? Her name is Lexi,” he asked, then grabbed his head. “Damn it! This pain is excruciating.”
“You and the little girl were the only ones our team pulled out alive.”
“What happened to Jones and McCamey?” Gordon was delirious.
“Sir, you really need to rest and you have to stop moving around. Please just rest.”
Gordon listened to the corpsman’s commands, defeated. He rested his weary head back on the thinly padded board. His mind raced as he attempted to remember the events that had occurred right after he grabbed Lexi and after the blast. He remembered grabbing her, that she resisted, and that a shot rang out. He pulled her out into the hallway. All he saw as he was pulling her was the door, walls, and floor. He didn’t remember seeing Rubio. He remembered the sheer violent force of the blast hitting him. Spotty memories came and went, and he attempted to decipher whether they were real memories or dreams. He remembered feeling a sensation of falling, not just to the ground, but far down. Had the building collapsed? Did he fall from the second to the first floor? Think, he told himself. Nothing came. The blast, then he was here on a chopper, headed to some unknown location.
Gordon drifted off to sleep. He awoke to the corpsman adjusting the straps on Gordon and examining him. Gordon grabbed his sleeve and asked, “Where are we going?”
“We’re heading back to Coos Bay.”
Samantha sat in the empty dining room attempting to enjoy a hot cup of tea when Nelson walked by on his way to his bedroom. He had just come back from his scheduled guard duty.
“If you have time, I’d like a bit of company. I have hot tea,” Samantha said sweetly.
Her proposition made him stop in his tracks. Samantha had been rather distant since her apology in the barn; not cold, but just as if she knew she’d overstepped her boundaries. He looked at her sitting there alone and said, “Sure, sounds nice. A good cup of hot tea will hit the spot right now.” He tore off his heavy coat and draped it over the chair.
Samantha poured him a cup and slid it across the table.
“You’ve really turned me into a tea drinker. As you know, I used to be quite the coffee drinker,” he said as he dumped in a spoonful of sugar.