Chapter 14 Shared Ground
Chapter fourteen
Shared Ground
Fort Desperado, a week later
After a glimmer of hope, morale slumped back into a coma.
Drunken brawls continued despite Colt’s warnings.
He needed to establish discipline without further brutality.
At least most of the soldiers showed up for their duty assignments.
The team guarding the mercury mine rotated, and Colt met them for the first time. None looked impressed.
A watchman in the tower rang the bell, prompting Colt to look up at him. Just as the man boomed out the news, an engine rattled and knocked outside the adobe walls. “The delivery truck!”
Andrew had told Colt it came about once a week, but not on a strict schedule. It was the second-biggest excitement after the day the canteen girls came, which was usually on payday.
“Open the gate,” Colt shouted. He wiped his face with his bandana and readjusted his brimmed hat.
“More beer!” cheered a grizzled soldier Colt had learned was sent here in lieu of prison.
“Mail,” Sergeant Castellano added with a dreamy look. Colt hoped there’d be a letter for him. He dashed into his office to grab the one he’d written to Harmony.
Castellano dispatched a team of soldiers to unload the truck.
When Colt returned to the yard, they were heaving the creaky gate open—partway, at least. The truck rumbled in through a cloud of dust before the engine sputtered to a stop.
A young man wearing lieutenant’s bars climbed out of the passenger seat.
Thank God, Colt offered in silent prayer.
Adopting a pleasant, welcoming expression, he strode across the yard to meet him.
Fit and of average size, the brown-haired White man appeared to be in his mid-twenties, his uniform still in good shape.
He did not smile. Instead, as soon as they met in the middle, he halted, dropped his duffel bag, and snapped an official salute.
“Lieutenant Marcus Crane, reporting for duty, sir.”
Colt’s eyes flickered with recognition, and he returned the salute. “Captain Colt Irons. Welcome to Fort Desperado.”
“Permission to find my quarters and unpack, sir.” Marcus ground his teeth, a vein throbbing in his neck. His manner bordered on tightly controlled rage.
Though he appeared not to recognize him, Colt knew exactly who had been sent to aid him.
Dad’s idea of a cruel joke, no doubt. The last time he’d seen Marcus, he’d been a teenager—idealistic and eager to earn his place in the world.
Now, Colt’s father had murdered Marcus’s father, or the equivalent thereof.
Instead of heading out with the invasion force, they’d purposely left him behind.
Adding insult to injury, they sent him to the boil on the butt of the world … and to Colt.
“Certainly,” Colt said, clasping his hands behind him as Maddox had modeled.
“Private Mendez!” he called. His adjunct rushed to his side, eyes wide with anticipation.
“Please show Lieutenant Crane to his quarters and get him anything he needs.” He stepped aside, angling toward Marcus.
“I’ll catch you up on everything as soon as you’re ready. ”
“This way, sir,” Andrew said cheerfully.
“The last lieutenant kept a private room off the commander’s office.
It’s small, but convenient. The captain stays upstairs.
” He hoisted Marcus’s bag over his shoulder, clearly burdened under its weight, the duffel almost as big as the private.
“You’ll like Captain Irons,” he chatted as he led the way. “He’s OK.”
“I’ll bet,” muttered Marcus.
A pang struck Colt in the chest. Glancing around the yard, he detected curious looks from those not cheering over the supply delivery.
Slater sat on his throne, his court gathered around him, cigar smoke curling as he held an open beer bottle.
His keen eyes followed Marcus, as if he were inspecting a new bull just in from the breeder.
Across the way, leaning against a post in the shade, Mercer’s gaze remained fixed on Colt.
He wiggled a finger. A private rushed to his side, and he whispered something in the man’s ear. He nodded and scurried off.
Two days ago, a crate “fell” from the wall, narrowly missing Colt.
When he looked up, he saw no one, and an investigation led nowhere.
Castellano informed him there was no reason for the crate to be on the wall to begin with.
Without proof, Colt didn’t wish to make accusations, so he let the matter drop and reminded himself of who surrounded him.
“Captain Irons?”
Colt spun around to face a logistics corporal holding a stack of folded clothes. “The extra uniforms you requested. There’s also a fresh undershirt, boxers, and socks.”
Gratitude swelled, curving his lips into a genuine smile. “Thank you very much. Mail?”
“Not this run, I’m afraid,” he said sympathetically. “Should be next trip.”
With a sigh, Colt handed him the envelope addressed to his wife. “Please see that this gets to Dominion. Y’all have a safe drive back. Do you want to spend the night?”
“No, thanks, Captain,” he said, glancing around nervously. “We stay at the mine when we come. We’ve got a delivery for them too.”
Colt nodded, understanding the logistics guys’ concerns. “Next time, perhaps.” Leaving the yard, he took his new clothes up to his room. From there, he spied the truck rumbling away, a trail of dust in its wake.
An hour later, Marcus opened the door from his room and stepped into the commander’s office. Colt, who’d been going over the roster and memorizing names, stood and offered him a chair. “Lieutenant Crane, I trust your quarters are suitable.”
Marcus cut him a glance and gave him a curt nod before taking the offered seat. Colt joined him, pouring two cups of water from the pitcher on his desk. Distilled, the well water was palatable.
“Thank you, sir.”
Colt could see much of Maddox in his son—a thick jawline, broad shoulders, and serious expression—even if his eyes were amber instead of shifting hues of hazel.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked, angling himself toward Marcus. “As we are in private, please speak openly.”
Marcus sipped from his cup, wetting his lips before meeting Colt’s gaze. “I know who you are. Honestly, I’m still in shock. None of this makes any sense. They said my father was a traitor, that you and he were out to depose President Irons, and then …” Slumping in his chair, he shook his head.
“General Crane was no traitor,” Colt declared. “He was a patriot and the finest man I’ve ever known. The real traitor sits in an iron tower in Dominion, spreading lies while systematically dismantling democracy.”
Marcus’s eyes flashed. “President Irons is a great man … or at least I believed he was. There must have been some mistake. Colonel Vexler lied to him. Dad never trusted Vexler. He told me he was a slimy bastard up to no good. Vexler must have poisoned the president’s mind.”
Colt sighed and shook his head. “Something or someone poisoned my father’s mind, but it happened long before this. Don’t you see the propaganda campaign he’s been running? Why do you think he launched a war against Verdancia?”
“It’s a holy war to unite the continent under the Republic’s banner like it once was,” Marcus said, repeating Dominion Party talking points.
“Verdancia is a den of sin, with miscegenation, homosexuality, and tolerance of false religions. It’s our duty to take them under our wing and teach them the holy ways of the Old Religion. ”
“Food,” Colt corrected. “Food and power.”
Marcus blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“My father doesn’t care about race, sexuality, or belief systems,” Colt said.
“At least he didn’t use to. He’s using some divine directive as a rallying cry to get the public behind the war, but the simple truth is that the Republic’s population has reached a tipping point.
We can’t produce enough food for more citizens, and he knows it.
Could we trade with them? Sure, but how would that gain him more power?
He’s become drunk on it. Elections aren’t fair—they’re fixed.
Do you want to know the truth of why your father was executed and branded a traitor? ”
Marcus lowered his gaze and shifted uneasily in his seat. “What you say to be true,” he countered in disillusionment. “Who knows anymore?”
Colt leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, and stared Marcus in the eyes.
“I was there. Maddox was ordered to attack peaceful, unarmed protestors—our own citizens—and refused. He called off the attack in progress, angering General Garcia. Yes, your father and I discussed what we could do within the law to prevent a similar incident, but we didn’t conspire to remove the president from office.
” Even though it must be done, he thought, keeping the opinion to himself.
“And he … President Irons … your father …”
“Had him publicly executed and banished me here as a punishment for supporting Maddox.” He held Marcus’s gaze for a long moment until the young man’s chin dropped, his shoulders with it.
“I believed in President Irons.” He took on the manner of a child lost in the woods at night.
“So did I—once upon a time.”
“What do we do now? My career is in the toilet before it’s even gotten off the ground. The invasion force left me behind, the troops don’t respect me, and the other officers shun me. I’m not surprised they sent me to the most dreaded fort in the country.”