Apocalyptic Visions Super Boxset (35 page)

Soldiers dressed in fatigues rushed through the war room, adjusting the multiple screens from their computer stations that projected maps of California, Arizona, and New Mexico. The chatter in the room was loud.

Gallo stood in the back, watching his men. The smoke from the tip of his cigar wafted through the air. He wrapped his lips around the layers of tobacco and inhaled deep and slow. Colonel Herrera stood at attention and saluted.

“General, we have just received word of the successful siege of Phoenix and Albuquerque,” Herrera said.

Gallo continued to watch the maps on the screen that tracked his men and other resources that were now stretching into the Southwest. But his eyes kept falling back to California.

“What about San Diego?” Gallo asked.

Herrera hesitated then answered, “Our ground forces that entered through the Baja Peninsula have made contact.”

“And?”

“The increased U.S. naval presence in the Pacific prevented us from—”

Gallo punched the wall behind him, creating a fist-sized crater. He tossed the cigar to the floor, and the room shook as he stamped it out with his boot. The noisy chatter stopped. The room’s gaze shifted to Gallo and Herrera in the back.

“Then bring more ships!” Gallo shouted.

“Yes, sir,” Herrera answered.

“Back to work!” Gallo snapped, and the soldiers went back to their duties. Gallo marched out of the room and headed down the hallway to his office. Once there, he collapsed in his chair. He felt his body sag, melting into the seat.

The past twenty-four hours had taken their toll. And now, with the moves made, the weight of a massive war rested on his shoulders. The 1840 map of Mexico had been removed from the wall and was placed on his desk.

During the battles the day before, he had let his colonels handle the execution. Gallo had spent his time during the engagements staring at the aging map. He traced his fingers up along the western coast of California all the way to east Texas.

Gallo’s eyes glazed over the longer he spent looking at the old borders of the Mexican nation. He would restore glory to his people. He would bring honor back to all of them. And his reward would be his name forever etched in the history books. Mexico would write the next great chapter, because he was going to win.

The cell in Gallo’s pocket rang. He didn’t bother checking it. He knew who it was. Jones had been trying to contact him since yesterday. There was no doubt what Jones wanted. Gallo just couldn’t believe the congressman’s persistence. The repeated attempts told him one very important detail: Jones was desperate.

Gallo knew how much Jones had riding on Mexico’s cooperation for his planned military strike against the South American countries. The Americans had spread themselves too thin, and the water shortages had only accelerated the United States’ decomposition. However, despite their dire condition, they still had their military prowess. He understood the risk.

A knock sounded at Gallo’s door, breaking his fixation on the map. “Yes,” he said.

Colonel Herrera entered. “General, President Castell requests your audience.”

Gallo scoffed. “
Requests
. I’ll be with him shortly.”

Herrera nodded and left. More politicians. More of the bureaucratic nonsense that he despised. Politicians failed to recognize that wars weren’t won with words. They were won with bullets.

***

A small, fenced-in gate guarded the entrance to a tunnel in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. Nestled just outside the city of Colorado Springs, the Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Station that surrounded the mountains was the epicenter of the intricate air and space defense for North America. NORAD had the capability to detect threats and help mobilize a response anywhere in the country.

Deep underneath the thousands of pounds of granite and rocks lay bunkers capable of withstanding nuclear attacks. Those operation rooms were reserved for times of nuclear crisis, but since the water shortage that had begun more than a decade ago, the rooms deep within the mountains now housed most of the base’s staff.

Display screens highlighting Gallo’s forces across the Southwest were etched on multiple surfaces around the main control room. United States Air Force officers sat behind their stations, coding and decrypting messages to units stationed along the borders of Oklahoma and Texas.

Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Mink’s eyes hadn’t left the screens in front of him. He maneuvered the thin wire microphone jutting across the side of his jaw from his ear and sipped from a mug of coffee. Steam rose from the cup, fogging his glasses.

A cadet entered with a sealed envelope, saluted, and then handed Mink the document. Mink set his coffee down, and the tearing of the envelope caused the heads in the room to turn.

“Calm down, everyone. We don’t know what the orders will be,” Mink said.

But even he felt his heart rate accelerate as he flipped the papers open. He scanned the document. The only sounds coming from the room were the beeps from the surrounding computers. Mink folded the orders up, tucked them under his arm, and adjusted the microphone in front of his mouth.

“We are go for operation Sum Zero,” Mink ordered.

The quiet in the room was replaced with the buzz of communications with American military units around the Southwest. The display screens at the front of the room lit up with movement. Planes scrambled in Colorado. Army regiments deployed from Texas. And the Pacific Fleet guarding the Alaskan fisheries was called back to San Diego.

Mink knew what the orders meant. Congress had made its declaration of war. The ink had barely dried, and now it was time to put that piece of legislation into action. Every word and letter on the declaration was pointed with the spears of soldiers, the bombs from planes, and the artillery of tanks.

But Mink also knew the damage it would wreak on the civilians still living in the Southwest. The air strikes wouldn’t just destroy the enemy in Phoenix and Albuquerque; they would hit the former American citizens still holding on to whatever hope they had left.

When the bombs dropped, those hopes and prayers would shatter. But Mink had his orders. There wasn’t any emotion in his actions or the actions of his men. The only reactions were the fluid efficiencies of the coordination with which the orders were carried out.

Lieutenant Colonel Mink picked his coffee back up and watched the squares and triangles on the display screens move closer to their targets. The United States had officially entered the war.

***

President Castell checked his hair in the mirror outside the conference room before entering. The doors had already been opened by his security detail, and everyone inside was standing. Once each strand of his jet-black hair was subdued, he ventured inside.

“Please, gentlemen, sit down,” Castell said.

Castell joined Gallo and his other military advisors at the end of the table. He’d insisted on having a meeting to discuss the ongoing strategic mission to retake the Southwest. And it just so happened that he would be making a speech to the Mexican people an hour from now. Whatever news his advisor brought back from their first military campaign, he wanted to ensure he could spin it in a way that would be palatable for the Mexican people.

A member of Castell’s security detail pulled his chair back for him, and Gallo rolled his eyes. Castell caught the insubordination but let it slide. Of all his advisors, he feared Gallo the most.

“What do you have for me, General Gallo?” Castell asked.

“We have secured and established a presence in both Phoenix and Albuquerque. We’re in the process of tying up any loose ends with issues in the local population. Other than a few resisting citizens, most of the people were too weak to put up a fight,” Gallo answered.

“Excellent. When can we start harvesting resources?” Castell asked.

“Most of the area has dried out, but I’ve authorized scout teams to search the area for anything that might have been left behind.”

“So what do we have to show for our efforts? Other than more dried land?”

Everyone in the room knew that Castell had only approved the campaign in hopes of gaining access to what water resources the United States had left. Castell also knew that Gallo’s rage could blind him to the facts sitting in front of him. And Castell wasn’t going to be left with egg on his face if things turned south. Gallo was his scapegoat.

“I’m sure you know, Señor Presidente, that the sacking of these cities was purely strategic. We needed a base of operations in the area. Now that those are being established, we’ll be able to push farther north,” Gallo answered.

“And when can we expect that to happen?”

“Soon.”

“Soon?” Castell echoed. “Well, I don’t think our people can drink ‘soon.’ I don’t think ‘soon’ will grow their crops. We need water, General. And we need food and fertile land to grow it on. We need something better than ‘soon.’”

“Then perhaps you would like to lead your own campaign on the ground. I’m sure it would rally our troops to see their commander in chief perform acts of bravery in such a tremulous time.”

The plastered political face Castell prided himself on was replaced by one of indignation. He looked around the room and caught a few smirks before his advisors were able to wipe them off their faces. He was the president. He wouldn’t be spoken to like that.

“Don’t become confused about who’s in charge, General. This might be your war, but this is my country. And if this fails, then there won’t be a single man, woman, or child who doesn’t know your name. It will be you who will go down as the biggest fool in our country’s history,” Castell said.

Gallo rose from his seat, and the brief spate of courage Castell had felt the moment before disappeared as he cowered back in his chair. Gallo seemed too big for the room, and Castell’s chair felt much too confining.

“And when I am successful, it will be my name they chant. Not yours,” Gallo replied.

Castell’s eyes went to his security detail, who had their hands on their pistols. The sight restored the courage from earlier. “The people don’t remember tools, General. Only the men that wielded them.”

Before Gallo could retaliate, Colonel Herrera burst through the doors. His face was covered in sweat, and he bent over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“General,” Herrera said. “The… Americans…”

Castell rose at the abruptness of his entrance. “Yes?” he asked. “What is it?”

“The Americans bombed Phoenix and Albuquerque,” the colonel answered. “We don’t know how many men we’ve lost.”

Castell collapsed into his chair. The room broke out in shouts and screams. Fingers were pointed. Accusations were made. Only Castell and Gallo remained silent. Amid the chaos of the room, Castell found Gallo’s eyes. The wheels started turning in Castell’s mind. Whoever took the fall for this would no longer have a career. He couldn’t afford that. He raised both hands into the air, attempting to quiet the room.

“Gentlemen. Gentlemen, please,” Castell said.

The conversations waned, and all heads slowly turned to Castell, who rose from his chair again. The other men took their seats, adjusting their suits and uniforms with the dignity of a two-year-old trying to hide the tantrums they had just thrown.

“General Gallo has been charged with the coordination of this war. Everyone can agree on that. General,” Castell said, turning to Gallo, “what is our next step?”

Castell’s insides were churning. He was banking on Gallo’s pride. He knew the general wanted to run the country, and the war with the Americans would act as a catalyst for that. Castell couldn’t contend with Gallo if it were to come to muscle. The soldiers were loyal to Gallo, not to him. But if he played his cards right and gave Gallo the nod to direct the next moves without acknowledging support, he might be able to retain his power through misdirection of the Mexican people.

Gallo’s face was a blank sheet of paper, unreadable until the moment he decided which words to write across it.

“The Americans aren’t the only ones with bombs, Señor Presidente,” Gallo said.