Authors: James Hunt
“All right. Wait! Daniel, do you have a firearm in the house?”
“Yes, it’s in a safe in the nightstand next to my bed.”
“Text the combination to Kevin’s phone.”
Brooke hung up and stuffed the phone into her pocket. She grabbed Kevin by the scruff of his neck and headed back to his house, where she had Eric take care of the kids. Kevin’s phone pinged, signaling a text and Brooke rushed up the stairs to the second floor.
***
“Can’t you go any faster?” Daniel asked.
The cab driver simply shrugged and gestured to the red brake lights in front of him. The thick Halifax traffic was at a standstill. Daniel’s body wouldn’t stop shaking. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of fear or anger. The fact that Jones had actually gone through with his threat shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but the lingering shock wouldn’t go away. Daniel dialed the only number he could think of. He just prayed that he would pick up.
“Daniel, is everything all right?” Smith asked.
“David! My family’s in trouble!”
“Whoa, slow down.”
“Jones put a hit on me, and he’s using my family as bait. I need your help. You have to help me.”
“Okay, just calm down. Where is your family?”
“Charlotte General. They’re in my wife’s car. It’s a blue Audi A4. Please, David, don’t let him hurt them.”
“I won’t. Where are you?”
“I’m stuck in traffic on my way to the airport.”
“The plane I had bring you to Halifax should still be there. I’ll have the pilot start getting things ready for takeoff.”
“Thank you.”
Daniel ended the call and closed his eyes. The cab started to feel hot. He loosened his tie. His breathing accelerated.
This can’t be happening. This isn’t real.
Everything started to spin.
Get a grip. You need to get a grip. Control it!
All of the rage running through him funneled into his fist as he pounded the ceiling of the taxicab repeatedly.
All of this was because of him. Jones might have his finger on the trigger, but Daniel was the one who had put his family in the crosshairs. He’d let his ego get the better of him. And now his family was paying the price for his mistakes. The fate of his family’s future rested solely on his shoulders. Daniel prayed that that he’d be able to bear it.
***
Gallo’s plane landed on a small landing strip near the California border just east of Tijuana. He was no more than forty miles from the fighting. Normally it was unconventional for an officer of his stature to be this close to the front lines, but he refused to sit behind a desk while his men fought one of the biggest conflicts in Mexican history.
The soldiers on the tarmac saluted, and Gallo sniffed the air. The faintest hint of smoke and hot lead filled his nostrils. He’d stayed abreast of all the reports coming in, along with his officers’ pleas for retreat, but he wouldn’t let them waiver. If this was to be their end, then he would make it the bloodiest in the history of war.
Colonel Herrera met him outside a makeshift tent beside a jet hangar. “General, it is an honor to have you on the field of battle with us today.”
“Field of battle? And where do you see a battle happening, Colonel?”
“General, we wanted to ensure your safety. It would be unwise to have you so close to the enemy.”
“For my safety or yours, Colonel?”
Herrera stood slack jawed, unable to speak. Gallo brushed past him and flung open the tent flap. All the officers stood and saluted. He stepped slowly around the men, refusing to allow them to lower their salutes. His eyes roamed over the map in the center of the room. His forces were being pushed back on all fronts: California, Phoenix, and Albuquerque. His fleet off the coast of San Diego was in shambles, and his planes were falling from the skies.
“Is this how you represent your country? Your heritage?” Gallo asked.
The officers remained silent, their arms still rigid in salute.
“Is this how you win a war?” Gallo bellowed, slamming his fist into the table and disrupting the positions of the figurines.
Herrera entered upon hearing the noise. His face was ghost white. He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to form words that just wouldn’t come.
“What is it, Colonel?” Gallo asked.
“S-sir… The Americans… Our men… They’re surrounded.”
“What?”
The colonel didn’t repeat himself, but he didn’t need to. Gallo turned to one of the officers next to him, yanking his hand down from the salute. “How many men do you have stationed here?”
“Twelve hundred, General.”
“I want every soldier, officer, and able-bodied man in the area armed and mobilized within thirty minutes. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Gallo turned to the rest of the officers. The red tint of rage covered his face. A vein throbbed on the side of his neck, exacerbated by the pinch of his collar. He repeated himself. “Do I make myself clear?!”
All of the officers responded with a clear and resonating “Yes, sir!”
***
Captain Howard surveyed the aftermath of the battle from the
USS Ronald Reagan
. The pillars of smoke coming from the Mexican warships multiplied, and the rest had surrendered. Pint came up behind him when a call came through.
“Captain, Captain Ford is radioing in.”
Howard picked up the line immediately. “What do we have, Ford?”
“The bastards are dropping their guns. We have confirmed reports of surrender in Phoenix and Albuquerque.”
Howard let out a silent sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear, Captain.”
“Gallo himself is heading to San Diego now for the official surrender.”
“He is?”
“Yes, and I thought you’d like to be there to watch.”
“It would be an honor, Captain.”
“Chopper leaves in twenty.”
An uproar of applause filled the ocean air as Captain Howard descended the island staircase and stepped onto the flight deck. But unlike the sailors around him, he wouldn’t let himself feel this win until it was officially over. When he saw Gallo surrender his men, that’s when the war would be over for him.
***
The helicopter ride to San Diego was short. They were only ten miles from shore. Howard and Ford stepped onto the tarmac of the San Diego Naval Base. A line of armored trucks greeted their arrival, and both Ford and Howard climbed into the back seat of a Hummer in the middle of the pack.
The gentle rumble of the Hummer’s tires on the desert roads was the only sound that filled the cabin. The caravan escorting the two captains stretched for more than one hundred yards and was joined by four Black Hawk helicopters on either side of them.
Being back in the mix with his fellow officers in a formal capacity felt different. He just needed to figure out what kind of different it was. As Howard looked through the front windshield, he could see the Hummers and armored vehicles in front of them begin to veer off the road and slow down.
“We’re here,” Ford said.
The Hummer’s brakes squealed to a stop. Howard stepped out onto the orange, dust-covered earth. The sun was dipping into the Pacific, but the heat was still scorching. He stepped in rhythm with Ford, and when they made it up to the front, they were greeted by the sight of hundreds of Mexican soldiers, with General Gallo standing at the head.
“That’s a lot of men for a surrender,” Ford said.
“Yes, it is,” Howard replied.
The thumping of helicopter blades grew loud in the air, then dissipated in the distance as the Black Hawks continued their vigilant watch. A group of Marines escorted Howard and Ford to meet Gallo.
“Hello, General Gallo,” Ford said.
The only response from Gallo was the dust kicking up from the hot breeze. Despite the hundreds of soldiers at his back, Gallo only had two men by his side, both of whom echoed Gallo’s silence. The small table that was set up to sign the terms of the surrender had a box on it. The general reached for it and the marines escorting the captains drew their weapons.
“You may check it if you like,” Gallo said.
Ford nodded, and one of the Marines opened the box. Inside was an old pistol, most likely from the 1800’s. The decorative flowers etched into the handle were made of silver, and similar vines twirled around the pistol’s barrel.
“This was the same gun that General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna Gave upon his surrender to the Texan Army. I thought it fitting to give it to you here, in this place,” Gallo said.
The marine handed the gun over to Ford who examined it. “It’s a fine piece of art, General.”
Gallo extended his hand. “May I?”
Ford handed the gun over and Gallo gently held the pistol in both hands. He looked at it like a father would smile at a child, cradling with great care and love. “This pistol represents over one hundred fifty years of embarrassment.” Gallo looked to Howard. “And it ends today.”
The moment Gallo aimed the pistol at Howard the marines opened fired. The sent a volley of bullets into his chest, causing the general to collapse. On his way down the pistol fired randomly in the air, and the two escorts by Gallo immediately opened fired on the surrounding marines.
Howard reached for one of his escorts’ firearms as they drew their own rifles to aim and fire. One of the colonels at Gallo’s side drew on Howard, but he was too slow. A bullet sliced through the colonel’s head before he could aim his gun.
The other colonel came barreling at Howard before the marines could take him down, knocking the both of them to the ground. The force of the blow caused Howard to lose his grip on the pistol, which bounced into the desert sand. The hail of gunfire was deafening. Both sides blasted each other savagely. Howard crawled through sand to retrieve his firearm but was stopped short by the hands of the colonel choking him from behind.
Howard jammed his elbow into the colonel’s side repeatedly until the hold around his neck loosened. Howard jumped for the gun, turned, aimed, and fired three rounds into the colonel’s chest. The colonel stayed on his knees, looking down at the blood pouring out of the gaping holes in his uniform. He shuffled forward a few inches then collapsed in the sand.
The Black Hawks flying above rained their fifty-caliber GAU-19/A Gatling guns on the advancing Mexican soldiers. Each bullet was five and a half inches in length. The GAU-19/A fired two thousand rounds per minute. With the Mexican soldiers exposed in the open desert, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.
Gunfire was followed by screams. Screams were followed by blood. And blood was followed by silence. Once the Black Hawks had emptied their rounds, the rapid succession of machine gun fire ceased, and Gallo, bleeding to death, lie on the ground.
Howard pushed himself off the sand, splatters of red mixed with the orange dust covering his uniform. The pistol hung at his side. Howard hovered over Gallo, who was coughing up blood, spilling it over his face and neck.
The general was dying. Howard kept glancing at the pistol in his hand. There were still bullets left in the magazine.
“Do it,” Gallo said.
The general’s head was shaking from the strained effort of keeping it tilted up. Gallo’s eyes seemed to hold the light from the sun hostage underneath his dark pupils. Howard raised the pistol, aiming it at Gallo’s head. All of the bloodshed, all of the soldiers who had died fighting this fruitless war were because of Gallo. One man’s lust for glory and war had brought this upon the men and women under Howard’s command.
“Do it,” Gallo repeated, blood coughing up from his mouth and spilling onto his neck and chest.
The pistol in Howard’s hand shook. His face tensed. He could feel the small sliver of steel on the trigger. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face. Every cell in his body was on fire.
“No,” Howard said. “You’re not getting anything you want today.”
Howard lowered the weapon just as the medics arrived, but after a fit of coughing the general’s heartbeat finally gave out. The medics pronounced the death after a failed resuscitation.
“Captain, are you all right?” one of the medic’s asked.
Both Ford and Howard watched the slow pooling of blood behind Gallo’s head. The metallic red pushed its way across the tiny rocks and granules of sand, beginning its aimless journey until the fluids ran dry.
“I’m done,” Howard said.
One of the medics bent down and covered Gallo’s face with a tarp. The war was over.