***
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.