Trial By Fire (36 page)

Why, then, Marti kept asking as he slowly shuffled through the dust, did the colonel, a member of the Council of 13, feel it was so important that he take time from his busy schedule to come all the way from Mexico City and personally deliver a message such as the one he had just given?

Did he doubt the ability of the Army to act in an appropriate manner? Or was there some hidden meaning in what he had told them? Perhaps that was it. Perhaps, Marti thought, the colonel wanted them to do their duty, but not too well. Or was it that he wanted them to do their duty only so long as it did not interfere with the Americans? And what was he to do if the Americans did do something that violated Mexican territory? Marti understood the need to avoid provoking the Americans. That was simple.

But did that mean avoidance to the point of surrender? What was he to do if the Americans provoked him? And what, he thought, constituted provocation?

1

Stopping

just short of his platoon, Marti turned and looked back in the direction that Guajardo’s helicopter had disappeared. Why hadn’t he asked Guajardo his questions when he had the chance? Why had he stood there, like a lump, and nodded dumbly, acting as if he understood when he didn’t? Marti wondered if his pride was so important that he was willing to sacrifice himself and his platoon rather than ask questions that should have been asked, regardless of how elementary they were. Was that it? A simple question of pride?’.

Shaking his head, he turned and looked at his platoon. His sergeants I

were already gathering their men in preparation for his return and final instructions. Well, Marti thought as he shook his head, the colonel is 1

gone. It is now up to me to do what is necessary. After whispering a short prayer to the Virgin of Guadalupe to watch over him and his platoon, he stepped off with a confident pace in an effort to mask the doubts he felt, and prepared to execute his duties as he saw fit. After all, what else could he do? It was him, and only him, that was left. In the end, Marti thought, that must have been the way it always was. The pride and security of a nation entrusted to the hands and judgment of a junior officer and his 1

men.

Officers and Civilians’ Open Mess, Fort Hood, Texas 1925 hours, 29 August

Coming to the officers club had been a big mistake. Nancy Kozak knew that now. Not that it would have made any difference where she went.

Her feelings of loneliness, self-doubt, and inadequacy would have followed her wherever she went. She just thought that perhaps, at the officers club, she could escape them or, at least, submerge them for a while.

She couldn’t do that in her small one-bedroom apartment, a place that she had yet to be able to call home. It was a place to sleep, a place to store her things, a place to shower and change her clothes. But it was not a home, a place where she could go and leave the world behind, where she could let herself go, where she could relax. Instead of being a nice little cozy niche, a safe haven, it seemed, at times, to be a vise, its walls closing in on her and accentuating her loneliness rather than offering an escape from it. So, instead of being a refuge, her apartment became another place that she needed to escape from.

Escape, what a thought. As Kozak stared mindlessly down at her plate, poking her chicken with a fork, she wondered what she was trying to escape from. Loneliness, yes, she wanted to do that. Everyone wanted that. But escape did not solve the problem. It only delayed resolution.

That’s what she wanted. That’s what she needed. A solution. But in order to have a solution, you need to have a definable problem to deal with.

And that, Kozak knew, was the crux of the matter. After being at Fort Hood for two months, she had never taken the time to sort herself out, to stop and absorb what she had learned and come up with an effective means of dealing with her new world.

The Army, she had found, was far different from what she had experienced at West Point. Although everyone had known that the real Army would be different, few of her classmates had really understood how different it would be. Though 2nd Battalion, 13th Infantry, was a disciplined unit, its discipline was different from West Point’s. At times, rather than acting as a single, coherent entity operating under a hierarchical system of command, her platoon appeared to be a loose association of sergeants and soldiers who functioned as crewmen, squads, and platoon through cooperation and mutual consent. In some cases, the junior soldiers seemed to be more influential and capable than their sergeants.

This should not have been a surprise to Kozak—but understanding such things and dealing with them were two different matters. This, in itself, was a challenge that she had still to master.

Then there were the people themselves. No amount of reading, no role-playing in leadership classes, could possibly prepare a person for dealing with real people with real problems. From the sergeant who had bouts with alcoholism and wife-beating to the married soldier who went to pieces every time the platoon rolled out to the field, Kozak found herself facing things she had never dealt with before. And each situation, each member of her platoon, and each of their problems, demanded a solution that was correct and appropriate to the individual.

On top of all this came the warning order to be prepared for immediate deployment to the Mexican border. How, Kozak thought, could she possibly deal with her own problems and those of the world at the same time.

Looking up for a moment, Kozak scanned the room. There were officers, some in uniform, some not, scattered about in groups or with their spouses. Their age, their deportment, and the company they were in made it easy to identify their rank. There were young company-grade officers, lieutenants and captains, who sat together in groups. Their laughter and conversation was free and unrestrained. Their faces and manner betrayed a certain arrogance and cockiness born of innocence and youth, an innocence Kozak herself could identify with. At the other extreme were the lieutenant colonels and colonels. They sat quietly with their wives, and their manner, just as much as their looks, spoke of maturity and wisdom gained through experience and endurance. Their wives, graceful ornaments, complemented them, as good Army wives should. A third group, senior captains and majors, were liberally scattered about the room, filling the spaces between the colonels and the lieutenants and providing a buffer, both real and psychological, between the two groups. These officers were in transition. No longer young and innocent like the lieutenants, this last group had not yet achieved the qualities, loosely referred to as maturity and experience, that allowed them to face the world with the cool, calm demeanor that the colonels displayed. The senior captains and majors were in training, eager to please and do whatever was necessary to prove themselves ready to join the colonels. For they knew, even in this setting, that they were on display, being watched by both superiors and subordinates. If, in their hearts, they might still feel the urge to join the laughter and light conversation of the younger officers, the majors knew they had to demonstrate to the colonels that they were like them in every way, mature, socially competent, and cool.

While all of this was very interesting to speculate on, it did little to relieve Kozak of her own feelings of loneliness and inadequacy. Had the colonels, she wondered, felt the same things at one time that she was feeling now? Had they been overwhelmed by dealing with the hail of pressing problems of leading while learning? Was the reason they sat there, quiet and subdued, because the attrition of years of dealing with such problems had worn away their youth and drive? Kozak wondered if someday she too would be sitting there quietly, looking at the world with an unemotional, almost placid face.

As she finished scanning the room before returning to a dinner turned cold, Kozak noticed Captain Cerro enter the room with a woman she assumed was his wife. His appearance caused Kozak to take heart. Of all the officers she had dealt with to date, Captain Cerro was the only one who had come across as professional, honest, and sincere in his dealings with her. Only he seemed able to break through the glass barrier that kept other infantry officers from dealing with her in the manner she thought was appropriate for an infantry second lieutenant. Though a couple of their run-ins had been less than pleasant, they had been open and, in retrospect, appropriate for the situation. Not even her own company commander, Captain Wittworth, could overcome what Kozak perceived as hang-ups in his dealings with her. Too bad, she thought, there weren’t more officers like Captain Cerro. Maybe some of the problems that she lugged about wouldn’t be problems.

But he wasn’t her commander. That was not reality. Whatever solutions she developed, whatever methods she devised to deal with her problems, had to be based on reality, not wishes and dreams. Time for that was over. Her dream of becoming an infantry officer had been fulfilled. Now it was time to make it work.

In an instant, she realized that she had hit upon something. She had to make it work. She would be, and in fact always had been, the one who had to make it work. That’s what Captain Cerro had tried so hard to tell her, in his own way, every time they had crossed each other’s path. She was alone, and perhaps she was supposed to be alone, somewhat aloof and above the nitty-gritty. Was that why the colonels sat alone? Was it that they, in order to deal with their world, distanced themselves from part of it? The idea was intriguing and worth considering, Kozak thought.

Definitely worth considering.

As she watched Cerro and his wife move to their table, Kozak considered catching his attention and saying hello. She paused, however. Not knowing the protocol for such an occasion, and unsure who the woman was, Kozak decided not to. If the woman was a date, Kozak’s attention might not be appreciated. No doubt Captain Cerro’s wife, or girlfriend, felt safe in the knowledge that he, as an infantry officer, worked in an exclusively male world. Such a thought, Kozak knew, was a comfort to some wives who feared the danger of their husbands becoming involved with a woman while away from home in the field. Kozak’s appearance, in the flesh, might shatter that illusion, which, surprisingly, continued to exist, despite the presence of Kozak and her sisters in other combat units.

So Kozak let the moment pass, turning her attention back to her meal.

Better, she thought, to settle her own problems before creating problems for other people, especially people who were sympathetic to her efforts to become the best infantry officer that had ever pinned on the crossed rifles.

While seating his wife, Cerro noticed Lieutenant Kozak sitting alone at a table in the corner of the dining room. For a moment, he considered going over and saying hello, perhaps even introducing her to his wife, Ann.

But he didn’t. Not knowing how Ann would react to a female infantry officer, he decided against it. Had it been the wife of another officer that he knew, sitting there and eating alone, Cerro wouldn’t have hesitated to bound across the room and invite her to join them. This situation, however, was different. There would be many problems, even if he had simply introduced-Kozak to Ann. Having been associated with the Army for years, and well indoctrinated in the protocol and military etiquette, Ann knew how to deal with other wives and other officers. Each, she had been taught, required a different touch, appropriate to the rank of the officer or the officer’s wife. Dealing with female officers, however, was still difficult, at best. It was doubly so for an officer and his wife who had spent their entire career, up to that point, in the comfortable company of airborne or air assault units.

Though there were many women even in those elite combat units, they had always belonged to someone else, another unit, another comr mander. So Harold and Ann Cerro had never had to confront the issue and develop an appropriate set of rules.

This, Cerro decided, was not the time or place to start doing either.

When he finished seating his wife, Cerro moved around to his own chair and seated himself. As he did so, Ann leaned over toward him. “Something wrong, dear?”

Cerro looked at her, thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No, nothing, why?”

Ann leaned back and gave him a sideward glance. “Don’t give me that, Harold Cerro. I can tell when your mind has left the here and now.

Are you going to share your deep dark thoughts with me or not?”

While still looking into her eyes, Cerro picked up the menu and opened it. He smiled. “Dear, I’m sorry. It’s all highly classified and hush-hush. If I told you, I’d have to kill you and that, my dear, would spoil my appetite.” Without another word, he looked down at the menu.

Slouching down in her chair, Ann reached out with her leg under the table and kicked him in the shin. “I’ll give you something that’ll spoil your appetite.”

Doing his best to ignore the kick, Cerro looked up. “Did you say something, dear?”

Leaning over in order to get close, Ann squinted her eyes, wrinkled her nose, and whispered, “Harold Cerro, sometimes you can be a real asshole.”

Smiling,

Cerro pinched Ann’s cheek. “I try, dear, I really try.”

The border crossing in Brownsville, Texas

2025 hours, 29 August

Despite the fact that the sun was well on its way down, it was still hotter than hell. Jan Fields, standing in the shade of the American customs building, was still sweating. Her bright yellow short-sleeved cotton blouse was streaked with dark spots from the perspiration that ran down her back. Even her tan walking shorts were soaked at the waistline. God, she thought, how she hated to sweat. Deciding to toss out all thoughts of feminine poise and charm, Jan reached up behind her head and untied the yellow cotton bandana that was holding her hair back. Carefully folding the bandana on her right hand, she began to mop the beads of perspiration on her forehead and cheeks, finishing with wide sweeps along the sides of her neck. Turning to Ted and Joe Bob, she called out to see if they were finished. Ted, who had his back to her, merely lifted his right hand and waved. Joe Bob, who was facing Ted, looked over Ted’s shoulder at Jan and yelled, “Hey, Jan, Ted wants to know if there’s something really important you need to do or if it’s just one of those woman things.”