***

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.