seen it. Hernandez thought of some of his F-16 pilots — Falcon and Rico, Gunnar. In just a few days, he would be sending them to their deaths. At the memorial services, he would console their grieving widows and pat their small children on their heads in sympathy as his own wife stood next to him. The money, the girls….
Hernandez stiffened his back. He had known this day would come. Maybe I can lead a formation of fighters into battle. I’ve lived fifty-five years, many more than I deserve.
“Señor, the AMV and all the forces of the Bolivarian Republic will fight to the death to uphold our sovereignty and freedoms. I will set about these tasks as you request.” He was trembling and wanted to get on with it.
“Excellent, General!” Daniel beamed as he poured them another glass of wine. “And when the Russians visit us, please throw them a large party. I’ll cover the costs, of course, and send you a list of entertainers all of you will enjoy. And I’ll have a handsome gift for our friends to take with them when they return to Moscow — or wherever they live! Come!”
With Hernandez’ heart pounding in anticipation, Daniel led him to a modest patio and small pool surrounded by high hedges to discourage prying eyes. The invitation to the patio was his reward for the Pavlovian stimulus/response to his master’s request. Under the shade, a folding table of warmed food and chilled wines awaited them, and plush couches, stacked with luxurious towels, lined the walls. In the pool, three showgirls in bikinis, new to him, smiled at the men, beckoning them to remove their clothes and join them. For a brief moment, Hernandez realized his own daughter was older than any of these girls. Aware of the cameras mounted on the eaves and trees to record the event, Hernandez wondered if Daniel would view these tapes himself. Who would he show them to? Would he share them after Hernandez was dead?
One of the girls stepped out of the pool and, dripping wet, picked up a silver tray. She smiled up at Hernandez as she offered it to him, the dog-treat reward for his faithful military service to the Bolivarian Republic. General Edgar Hernandez knew the drill and forced a smile as he picked up a straw and took a blow, shedding his inhibitions. He had shed his honor and dignity many years ago.
(USS Coral Sea, underway, Central Caribbean)
Since his encounter with Weed, Jim Wilson had gone about his day-to-day existence and command duties aboard Coral Sea in surreal disbelief. Read-in to a Top Secret program, he was now complicit in an undeclared and “black” war involving