When I storm into the kitchen, Rosanna drops the plate she is drying, her mouth gaping as if she has seen a ghost. The tears fall before I even wrap my arms around her. Her shoulders shake so hard that I'm scared her collarbones will break.

"Shh, shh, cariño. Please stop crying. I'm here now."

The broken pieces of the plate are all around her feet and I lift her up to carry her to a safer part of the kitchen. She hangs onto my neck for dear life. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too." I set her down and loosen her grip, scanning her bare legs for any cuts. All good. With my thumb and index finger, I cup her chin and tilt her head back. My heart rate triples. Dios mío, she is so beautiful. I want to kiss her, but the other kitchen help is staring.

"Does Pearson know you're here?" The sudden worry in her eyes is unsettling. He has her spooked.

"Yes, he knows."

"And he doesn't mind?"

"No. And I swear he won't be able to keep us apart anymore." At least if he wants me to rethink this ridiculous college idea. "From now on, I'm gonna be with you every step of the way. You have my word."

Her whole face lights up like a rising sun. "I'm just so glad you're here."

The stares of the other kitchen helpers are getting on my nerves and I can tell they also make Rosanna uncomfortable. Grabbing her hand, I pull her out the back door. Behind the shed, we find a little bit of seclusion. Unable to hold off any longer, I lean in to meet her lips. A little bit of jam still sticks to the corner of her mouth and tastes like strawberry. I indulge in the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her breath. As the kiss intensifies, it's as if we were never apart. The gaping hole in my chest is no longer there. Anger turns into love, pain into heated desire. I'm whole again and it doesn't hurt to breathe. I pull her closer, trying to hold on to the moment forever. When we finally come up for air, the joy in her eyes captures me.

"I love you, Rosanna."

"I love you, too. Please, let's never be apart from each other again."

Her sweet smile should be against the law. "How are you feeling? Has everything been going well with the pregnancy?"

"I was really sick for a few weeks and threw up a lot. The doctor said it was stress and prescribed an herbal remedy." When I suck in a worried breath, she strokes my cheek. "It's fine now. No need to worry."

She looks awfully pale and the bags under her eyes suggest a lack of sleep. I kick myself again for not trying harder to see her. With the back of my hand, I caress the baby bump that bulges under her shirt. "And the baby is kicking?"

"Yes. I went to my twenty-week check-up yesterday and they even did an ultrasound."

"I know. Juana gave me the picture. Truthfully, it just looked like a big blob to me."

Her soft laugh chimes like bells, blowing softly in the wind. "The doctor had to explain to me what everything was. I have to show you." Smiling the sweetest smile, she traces my lips with her thumb. "But do you know what's the most amazing thing? His heartbeat."

My brows arch. "His? Did the doctor tell you it's a boy?"

"No, he couldn't tell, but I just know it's a boy. Call it woman's intuition. Besides, it's stupid to call the baby it, and to constantly say he or she is a pain, so I've been calling him he and Isandro." Despite the paleness, everything about her is glowing when she speaks about the baby. It adds to her stunning beauty.

"I'm still not sure if I like that name," I tease.

A shadow crosses her face. "It won't matter anyway what I call him. I'm sure Pearson told you about the adoption. The baby's new parents will pick the name."

I raise her chin to force eye contact. "Hey, that business with the adoption isn't decided yet, all right? I still have a say in the matter."

"I won't turn eighteen until after the baby is born. Ultimately, Pearson can make that decision as my guardian."

"And I will fight him tooth and nail. Don't you worry."

The hope in her eyes gives me wings. I have to do this for her, or losing the baby will overshadow our future. We deserve the chance to raise our child together.

"How come Pearson allowed you to see me?"

I grimace. "He cooked up this ludicrous plan. Got me into college and this was his peace offering for going behind my back."

Her brows knit together. "College where?"

"Oh, in America."

Her laugh is incredulous. "You say that so nonchalantly as if college in America isn't a big deal."

"Well, it's not. I mean, I'm never gonna go."

"But Tomás, that's an amazing opportunity. How can you just pass on this?"

I drop my arms and take a small step back, unsure why she would side with Pearson. "Come on, Rosanna. It's for playing the violin. That's not even a real job when I'm done."

"I think professional violinist is a real job."

"And I doubt they earn any money."

She shakes her head. "With your talent, any orchestra would hire you. You'd make at least as much as you do now."

I have to clench my jaw to hold back a sharp reply. It's as if she actually wants me to go. "You're not exactly impartial. I'm not that talented."

Before she has a chance to reply, my phone buzzes. It's Felipe. This better be good, or he'll get an earful for disturbing us. "Go for Araya."

"Mano, where are you? The city patrol convoy is under attack and we're all moving out."

Fuck. That's Juana's troop. "I'm at the orphanage."

"What the hell are you doing there?"

"Long story." In my mind, I check off the things I need. I've got the Jeep. My gun is clipped to my belt and my knife is in its holster strapped around my calf. I only need my rifle. And enough ammunition. "Felipe, get my gear from my locker and meet me by the creek." If I drive fast, I should be there in under fifteen minutes.

"Hell, that means I have to leave my assigned troop."

"Just do it." I disconnect the call and gaze at Rosanna. "I have to go."

"Now?"

"Yes. The city patrol is under attack. Juana is leading it."

"Then go."

I peck her lips. In moments like this, she has never held me back. "I'll be by later."

"You promise?"

"Yes. And then we'll finish this conversation."

"Please be careful."

"Don't worry, I will."

~~~~

I meet up with Felipe by the bridge crossing the small creek right at the junction to town. Since I don't want to lose time moving all the gear into the Jeep, I abandon it and race toward the attack site in Felipe's private Mercedes. He pulls up next to the trucks forming a barricade; I jump out of the car before it has fully stopped. Varela and Zambrano have taken up position behind a makeshift metal shield between two trucks and I duck down to join them. Why are they even here? Anyone above the rank of capitán rarely involves themselves in active combat.

"Can I ask status, sir?"

Varela glances sideways. "We have surrounded the kill zone, but we haven't been able to flush out the rebel snipers. Miguel and Juana are trapped in the cabin of that truck over there."

"Miguel is with her?"

"He had a scheduled visit with the French ambassador in the foreign section this morning. The city patrol was his protection detail."

That explains his and Zambrano's involvement. I squint at the truck but can't make out any movement. "Are they still alive?"

"I don't know. We lost radio contact when the second bomb went off." He points at the dirt strip in front of the trucks. "The area is a goddamn minefield. No one is going in and out before we have neutralized the snipers."

"How do you know there are hidden mines, sir?"

"Because Mayor Conde stepped on one when he was trying to get to Juana. He's right over there, bleeding out." Varela spits on the ground, the muscle in his jaw twitching. The fury that he is powerless while one of his men is dying in plain sight is palpable in the air.

I tighten the grip around my rifle to blank out the sudden image of torn limbs and burning flesh. Juana must be frantic that she isn't able to help her father. My gaze flicks to Zambrano. His face is totally even. He must've seen enough casualties not to care.

"What about cell phones?"

Varela shakes his head. "We tried that, too, but they are scrambling the satellite signal."

This means the US is involved. The rebels alone don't have that type of technology. Bastards. Without the help of the Americans, we would've long ago eradicated the whole resistance.

"Sir, I might have a way to communicate with Teniente Conde."

Varela whips his head around. "I'm listening, Capitán."

"Morse code. It's the way we communicated in basic training during night guard duty to keep each other awake."

Zambrano snorts. "And you think she still remembers that?"

"I'm certain, sir. We still play around with it sometimes, plus we did a lot of guard duty. It's not something she'd forget."

Varela nods. "It's worth a shot. Do you want to do sound signals or use a mirror?"

I squint against the sun. It's at a good angle. "Mirror, sir."

"Then get into position."

Staying low to the ground, I run back to Felipe's car and rummage through my backpack. Shit. He forgot my pouch with the tactical gear. That's where I keep the mirror. My gaze darts around until finally settling on the side mirror of the Mercedes. I grin. He should've been more careful with what he brought.

With my palm, I push at the bottom of the mirror until the upper part allows my fingertips to grab it. I pull hard until the cover loosens with a crack. One more hard pull and the mirror comes out of its casing. I return to the trucks and find a gap where the tires still shield me, but where I can get a good angle on the sun. The howling wind is the only sound that hovers over the fallen convoy. Thick, black smoke rises from one of the turned-over Jeeps. The strip between the vehicles and the barricade is scattered with torn-up bodies.

With my back pressed against a metal shield, I have to squat low to get a beam across. After some shifting and repositioning my feet, I finally have a direct line to Juana's hiding spot. Signaling at two short, two long intervals, I wait for her response.

When I'm about to give up, glass shatters from the truck's window. Hands fumble with the side mirror before disappearing again. The beam is at first unfocused, but then the light dances in front of my feet. Two short, two long. She has gotten my message.

Recalling the letters in my head, I send my first question. Physical status?

Her response is quick; she hasn't forgotten a thing. One casualty, one injured, one fine.

So there were three in the front cabin at the time of attack.

Casualty? I signal back. For a second, I close my eyes and picture Miguel. Losing him, too, would drive Juana over the edge and send the country into chaos. Hopefully, he made it.

I focus on the letters as she sends the signal. After the second one, I already know it's not Miguel. R-O. His last name starts with R-I. When she is finished, my suspicion is confirmed. The casualty is Tadeo Rodriguez, a young kid Juana had taken under her wing.

Injured?

The signal flashes. This time, it's Miguel.

How bad?

Arm shot. Losing blood.

Shit. How long left?

An hour.

Hang in there. Help coming.

I don't wait for a response and return to Varela and Zambrano. The general looks at me expectantly. "And?"

"I made contact, sir."

"I could see that. What did she say?"

"Cadete Rodriguez is dead. Miguel got shot in the arm and is bleeding. Juana thinks he'll last another hour."

"Mierda. We have to get him out of there." Varela stares at the nearby mountains. "Hell, what is taking Gomez so long? He should be back by now from sweeping the area."

I gaze at the cabin of the truck where Juana and Miguel are trapped. "I'm gonna risk it, sir."

Varela puckers his lips; I already fear he will order me to stand down when his eyes cut into me. "Are you sure about this, son? If there is just one hidden sniper, you are dead."

"Positive, sir."

"Then good luck." He whistles to get the attention of a group of cadets. "Two of you, go with him."

His glare gives me clear instructions. They will be the first into the minefield. If someone blows up, it will be them. Initially, I'm going to ignore him—my choice, my risk—but then I remember the promise I made to Rosanna. I have to survive. For her sake.

I gather the two young cadets around me. "Okay, this is how this will go down. We'll only move in a straight line through the minefield." I squint at one of the name tags. "Cadete López, you're going to go first. Watch where you step, and go very, very slow unless you are absolutely sure the space is clear. I will be second. Final man marks the safe fields with the spray once we've passed. Questions?"

They shake their heads. I grab the spray can from my backpack and hand it to the second cadet. "Let's do this."

When López takes the first step, dozens of eyes are upon us. He glances over his shoulder and I give him an approving nod. Eyes wide as if they are about to bulge from their sockets, he reminds me of a trapped animal that somehow knows it's about to get slaughtered. For a second, guilt twists my stomach. This should be me. He turns around again, taking another tentative step forward.

I scan the surrounding mountains for snipers before examining the ground ahead. Uneven gravel, hints of a fresh dig, just a tiny glint of metal—all signs of potential mortal danger. The tension in my neck spreads to my shoulders and I rotate my head to relax. Breath held with every step, we edge forward across the minefield. The first few times, I glimpse over my shoulder to ensure the second cadet marks the cleared fields correctly with a white cross, but other than making them a little small, he's doing it right. My focus returns to López. He takes his next step.

We get to the first mine, which isn't even that well-hidden. I signal him to walk around on his left. Taking out the second can of spray, I mark the area with a red x. When López turns around again, sweat rolls down his temple. Perspiration has settled over his upper lip and the black camouflage stripes under his eyes are smudged from tears. The kid is scared shitless. For a beat, I'm tempted to take the lead, but Rosanna's desperate face keeps me in check. I can't risk putting myself in more peril than I already have. My gaze travels across the plateaus of the mountains again, but all stays quiet.

Tension prickles under my scalp from the sensation of being watched. The snipers could still be in hiding, waiting for us to get closer to the finish line or for other soldiers to follow. Bastards have perfected their psychological warfare, thanks to the Americans. They know it's much more likely that we'll step onto a mine if we are scared of sniper fire—our fear can be as deadly of an enemy as a hostile shooter. Brilliant, if I weren't the dumbass on the other side.

López is about to take another step when I realize something is off. The ground is too level. I lunge forward to grab his arm and pull him back. It's too late. The crack of the explosion almost splits my eardrums; when the dust settles, the boy's body lays sprawled a couple of yards away. His painfilled shouts pierce my ears and drive bile up my throat. One of his legs is gone, the other severed at the knee. He will bleed out by the time the paramedics get to him. Clearing this hell will take hours.

Another cadet is dispatched from the trucks and quickly makes it across the marked safe-fields. I scan the mountains for potential dangers and focus on the small crater left behind by the exploded mine. It should be safe. Yet, my gut feeling is holding me back. I squat down and scrape the edges of the crater with the tip of my knife. And then I see it. Bastard deposited another load right next to the first.

I turn back to the two cadets. "There's a second mine. Go around it and be careful. And hand me the can. I'll go last."

When he surrenders the spray can, the first cadet has a look of defeat in his eyes, but the newbie pushes his lip out with a bold attitude. He's the kind who will go places if he makes it through today. His mouth is already halfway open when I stop him in his tracks.

"You got a problem with my orders, Cadete?"

He hesitates. One breath. Two. Anger flares in his eyes before he admits defeat. "No, Capitán."

"Then let's continue." I check my tactical watch. It has been fifteen minutes since Juana and I made contact. Miguel is running out of time.

We edge forward step by step. The new lead is more confident than López and we are making steady progress. I mark the safe fields as we go. When we are a few feet away from the truck, Juana opens the door.

"Check the area first," I shout and she gives me a thumbs up. I turn to the two cadets. "Cover us while I'll bring the president's son to safety."

I scan the mountains one more time for sniper movement. Marking last field safe, I slide the spray can into the side pocket of my cargo pants. Juana gets out of the truck's cabin and I turn to help Miguel. He groans as he slides toward the open door. Blood has coated his arm below his short-sleeve polo shirt, but Juana has used her belt to control the bleeding.

"Can you walk?"

He grits his teeth. "I think so."

My gaze flicks to Juana. "You good?"

"Hell, you could've been killed crossing that damn minefield."

A sparkle glistens in her eyes as her gaze rests on a spot where a mine had exploded. Her father's still body—both of his legs torn off—lies next to it. The ground around him has darkened so much from his blood that I don't need to look closer to know he's dead. I squeeze her shoulder to show her how sorry I am.

"Okay, let's go back but make sure you stay on the white crosses."

"I know how this works, Tomás."

My smile is thin. The statement wasn't made for her benefit. As far as I know, Miguel skipped basic training and only got his rank because he's the president's son.

Turning around, I step onto the first safe field when a creaking noise from a burning truck distracts me. Out of nowhere, a young rebel has appeared. His long, dark hair blows in the wind and blood runs down his face from a cut on his forehead. The hand holding a gun is steady. And the barrel is pointed straight at me.

~~~~~

© Sal Mason 2018

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