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.