Beautiful Blood

“At the same time we push in from the Gran Chaco,” Makdessi went on, “we’ll pull troops away from the Temalaguan border and march them toward our southern border with Mospiel, a point from which they might logically expect an attack to be launched. And then we strike with our elite cavalry unit farther north, the garrison at Ciudad Flores, with the aim of killing General Teixera and as many of his staff as we can.” He leaned back from the map. “Teixera and his staff constitute the best of their military minds. If we’re able to inflict casualties amongst them, we’ll be well ahead of the game.”

“I don’t understand the purpose of your guerillas in the Gran Chaco.” Rosacher said. “To what end will they be deployed?”

“They will endeavor to occupy the seat of power in Mospiel,” Breque said. “The Temple of the Gentle Beast. That has been their goal from the outset. To occupy the temple and hold the hierarchy hostage.”

“You intend to take the temple with only eight hundred men?” Rosacher shook his head in disbelief.

“I’ll coordinate the attack myself.” Makdessi said. “The Temple Guard are excellent soldiers, but so are we, and we will enter the complex disguised as pilgrims. The element of surprise will be ours. Once the temple is secured, it would take an army to dislodge us, and to do so would forfeit the lives of His High Holiness and the prelates.”

“There are too many moving parts to this plan for my liking,” said Rosacher.

Makdessi said, “We’re in a desperate position. One that calls for desperate measures. We’re bound to take a great many casualties—of that there is little doubt. But the virtue of this plan is that it doesn’t require precise coordination between the various moving parts, as you put it. So long as they occur within a few days of each other, we have a decent chance of success.”

“We’d be leaving Teocinte unprotected,” said Breque. “If they were to launch a counter-offensive, it would be unopposed.”

“The circumstance in which we find ourselves necessitates a certain amount of risk,” said Makdessi. “There is no certain way to accomplish our aims, and to be conservative at this juncture would be to guarantee failure.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” said Rosacher.

“Precisely.”

After a silence Breque said, “I think it would be best, Colonel, if you gave us an hour or two to discuss the situation. You may rest assured that we will give due consideration to all your recommendations.”

When the door closed behind Colonel Makdessi, he said, “What do you think?”

“I’d watch that one if I were you,” said Rosacher. “His ambition is likely aimed higher than the rank of general.”

“My chief concern at the moment bears upon the question of whether he’s capable of being a general. I’ll worry about his ambition later.”

“His plan seems reasonable given the circumstances.”

“Did you think so?” Breque rubbed his cheek with his thumb. “I’m not sure.”

The councilman’s calm demeanor, the casual way he seemingly glossed over his duplicity, pricked Rosacher’s anger again. “Is there anything else you have omitted telling me? Anything I should know before we decide this matter?”

“Damn it, Richard!” Breque spanked the table. “I apologize. It was an oversight for which I…”

“Oh, I very much doubt it was an oversight,” said Rosacher. “You concealed from me the existence of a force whose primary function was to attack Mospiel. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had engineered the entire situation, risked thousands of lives, just to fulfill your dreams of glory.”

“You’re one to talk about engineering situations!” Breque said, and would have said more, but Rosacher outvoiced him.

“I can see it now! Statues everywhere! Portraits, busts of Breque the Conqueror! Breque the Deliverer! Breque the All-Powerful!”

“Before this degenerates…”

“Who knows? Maybe even Saint Breque. Little schoolchildren will sing of your generosity and caring.”

Breque, red-faced, mastered himself and said in a strained voice, “Before this degenerates into a shouting match, let me remind you that we have a decision to make. We need to set aside personal differences and act in accordance with our best judgment.”

Rosacher bit back his response and sat glowering at Breque.

“I would like to hear more about this monster of yours,” said Breque stiffly. “Do you really believe it’s the same creature that lived for centuries beneath the wing?”

“What I believe has no bearing on its capacity for killing,” said Rosacher. “But I have no reason to doubt the story. Nor would you, if you had seen it.”

“It’s made of a gelatinous substance, you say?”