“General Garcia, sir!” a harried voice shouted, startling him into nicking his chin.
Annoyed at the drop of blood, he spun around, razor in hand, to glare at General Schuler. “What?” he snapped. “And where’s Colonel Green? The artillery should be waking the Verdancians about now.”
The presumptuous woman burst into his tent as ifshewere in charge. “An urgent dispatch from the president.” She held out a tube bearing Irons’ seal.
He took it, broke the seal, and pulled a roll of paper from the cylinder. The last few days had been bizarre. Robots in Stonevale? Fierce oppositionfrom Marchland. The defenders had sent squads on virtual suicide missions to destroy munitions trucks and cannons. Even if they had taken out whole truckloads of ordnance, it wouldn’t matter. But they had managed to make off with five rocket launchers and two cases of missiles.
The first mortar shell explosion sounded like a sweet melody. Garcia smiled. Then he read the letter. “What?” he exclaimed. “No! We’re so close to victory.”
“What is it, General?” Schuler asked.
Edgar slapped the page with the back of his hand. “We’re being recalled immediately. After everything I’ve invested in this campaign?”
“Why?” Schuler tried to peer at the paper from the opposite direction.
“I’m getting to that.” He absently wiped the blood drop from his chin. “Massive invasion force, thought to be the Anáhuac. Must defend the Republic.” Edgar lifted his gaze to meet Schuler’s. His jaw dropped. “The homeland is under attack. OK, no time to waste. This is scorchbit. Rust it all, Schuler! My family’s back there.” At least it would take invaders from the south time to reach Amarillo.
“Mine too.” She swallowed, her hands trembling.
“Pack it up,” he commanded, slamming his razor onto the little table holding the water basin. He seized her arm and exited the tent. “Sergeant Blanchard!” He glanced at Schuler. “Spread the word. Pack up only the essentials, and let’s get this army on the road—now.”
“Incoming!” General Alexander Longstreet yelled from his post near the top of the citadel. A booming impact rocked the northeast wall, the stone shuddering under his boots as soldiers rushed to their posts. “Colonel Vance, answer with our cannons and those missile launchers the rangers grabbed. Let them know we aren’t beaten.”
“Yes, sir!” The sharp-eyed lieutenant colonel jogged toward an artillery turret, already barking orders into her radio. Longstreet had lucked out with such a competent second-in-command. She always got the job done right.
Another shell landed in town—way too close to the old courthouse. Longstreet would hate to see the historic building blown to dust.
Lifting his binoculars, the general watched his cannons strike their enemy targets and allowed himself a brief smile.
As abruptly as the shelling began, it stopped. Iron Army personnel scurried about, hooking artillery pieces to the backs of trucks.
“Cease fire!” he ordered. “Save our ammunition.” That was his major concern. They had food and water to last, and, thanks to Lady Cade and Fleetmaster Dawnriver, over half of the residents were safe on the sandbar and in makeshift caves in the cliffs below. Bullets and cannon shells, however, were in short supply. Alex tensed his jaw, grinding his teeth as he thought of the inhumane attacks on Marchland’s civilians.Schools, churches, and a hospital packed with noncombatants.
He watched as the enemy … packed up? Soldiers mounted horses. Troops piled into trucks. jeeps pulled out, heading north. Confused, he nabbed Lieutenant Butler as he raced by. “Hey, Butler. Find out what’s going on down there.”
“Yes, sir,” he answered. “I was wondering about that too.”
Vance strode toward him, glancing over the battlements as she came. “What’s going on?”
“I’m trying to find out, but it looks like Garcia is pulling out.”
Worry flashed across the colonel’s keen features. “What does he know that we don’t?”
“It must be colossal for them to abandon a campaign they’re about to win. I want all the intelligence we can gather, and then a meeting in two hours. Try to get Lady Cade and Fleetmaster Dawnriver up here. They may know something we don’t.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, pivoted, and strode away.
Alex made another pass over the shrinking perimeter with his binoculars. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Garcia and his army were fleeing for their lives.
When Colonel Vance scrambled down the long hill to the evacuee camp along the riverbank with the news that the Iron Army had abandoned the siege, Cassandra’s suspicion flared at once. She warned Vance that it must be a trap. The colonel advised her to tell General Longstreet at the meeting he’d called.
In truth, Cassandra had been itching for the opportunity to visit the fort and check on Sergeant Sutter. That was her first stop after this meeting.
Mr. Hollis insisted on accompanying her, as did her two trusty bodyguards. She’d been jumping at shadows since the hospital incident and didn’t voice an objection to the company. Hollis pulled out a chair for her and dusted it with his handkerchief, muttering about the state of the room. At least the roof was still intact.
“Thank you,” she said when he motioned for her to sit.
After settling her chair at the table, Benjamin excused himself, taking up a protective position with the guards outside the small conference room. A long, jagged crack Cassandra didn’t recall scarred the exterior brick wall. Flies darted through a shattered windowpane. A stout, bald man in his mid-forties—with a pencil stub behind his ear—joined General Longstreet, Lieutenant Colonel Vance, and Cassandra at the table. A dark-skinned lieutenant, looking worse for wear, stood at parade rest nearby. Beside Longstreet sat an older man with braided silver hair and gold stars and bars on his AlgonCree Navy uniform. Vance made the introductions.