“Because he’s a Colonel,” Manny drawls. “I said it before and I’ll say it again: politics. It’s all about the politics.”

“What politics?” Derek demands. “This is a battlefield.”

“He’s trying to save his own skin and his own men,” Manny shrugs. “If the militias fall by the wayside while he does so, it’s no skin off his nose.”

“But it is,” I interrupt. “He’s just doing what he thinks is right.”

I am surprised to hear those words come out of my mouth.

Why should I cut Colonel Rivera any slack?

“Look, I didn’t call you here so you could argue,” I say. “I called you here to ask you a question. I want to bring those men back. Chris Young is the best leader the militia forces have ever had and ever will have. I’m asking you to volunteer to join my rescue unit.” I take a deep breath before going on. “I have received no authorization from the Colonel and we can expect no support from the Guard. It’s dangerous. The chances of all of us coming back alive are slim. But I believe it’s worth the risk. We all swore an oath to leave no fighter behind, and I want to uphold that promise.”

I look around at the faces in the room. Battle-tested, hardened individuals.

“Who’s with me?” I ask.

Manny leans lazily against the wall, raising his hand. I nod at him, holding his gaze in silent thanks.

Uriah lifts his hand, along with Derek. To my shock, Vera raises her hand, as well. The rest of the soldiers don’t look so certain. Silence fills the room, and I realize that I need to step up my game.

“Here’s the thing,” I say, wiping my hands on my jacket. My palms are sweaty. Apparently I am nervous. “This is a volunteer mission. Nobody is making you go. Colonel Rivera is pulling our forces out of the Chokepoint tomorrow morning. We’ll be back in Fresno by nightfall. If that’s what you want to do, go for it. If you’re loyal to Chris and the militia and everything that he’s fought for, stay here. Help him and the other officers. We need Chris. He’s one of the biggest reasons we’ve had so much success as a military force.”

“How do we know Chris isn’t a traitor, too?” Sophia replies.

I stare at her. Her hands are curled into fists on her knees. A tight, resentful expression lights her dark features.

“What are you saying?” I grit.

“Don’t you think it’s convenient that at the exact same time that a chunk of our militia betrayed us, Chris conveniently went missing?” she accuses. There is no sympathy in her eyes. Only pure, boiling anger. “Who’s to say that he didn’t orchestrate the entire thing?”

“And I guess he orchestrated Jeff’s death, too,” I snap. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Sophia replies coldly. “It doesn’t add up.”

“Chris Young would die before he betrayed us,” Uriah says, turning his dark gaze on Sophia. “You’re a fool to think otherwise.”

“There is no one more loyal to the militias than Commander Young,” Vera agrees. She glances at me. “Cassidy is right. We need him.”

I shake myself. This is a new twist:

Sophia is attacking and Vera is defending me.

What is happening to my world?

“I’m in,” a young man says. I remember him. Andrew. Tall and lean, dark hair and a great shot with a rifle. He has always been dependable on the battlefield. I nod, thankful for his support. More than half of the soldiers in the room raise their hands. That’s twenty-five.

“This will be considered desertion, you know,” Manny interjects. “Going against Rivera’s orders…pulling back to track those trucks while he takes the National Guard back to Fresno. He’s liable to throw quite a fit.”

“We’re here on a volunteer basis,” I say. “We’ll do what we want.”

“There will be consequences when we return,” Vera points out.

“We’ll deal with them.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Sophia presses. “It’s not worth any more people dying to go after one man.”

I swallow a slew of stinging retorts and steady my emotions.

I will deal with my anger at Sophia later.

“This is a war,” I say, echoing Colonel Rivera. “People die.”

“How are we going to assemble a rescue team without Rivera finding out?” Uriah asks. His gaze is deep, intense. It makes me a little uncomfortable. “He’ll go ballistic if he finds out what we’re planning.”

“He won’t find out.” I smile slightly. “Our convoy is massive. We’ll pull out of line, let the others pass, then turn around and head up the interstate.”

“We can’t just drive into Los Angeles like a bunch of tourists,” Derek says.

“We won’t.” I glance at Manny. “Manny’s got connections.”

“I will scout ahead,” he replies, illustrating a plane in flight with his hands. “It’s elementary, really. The fat cats like Rivera head back to Fresno, I go ahead and meet you at a rendezvous point with friendly militia Underground operatives, and you meet me there. Simple, easy and effective.” He winks.

“What will we do when we get to the rendezvous point?” Vera asks.

“Manny will arrange transportation to get us into Los Angeles,” I say.

“What kind of transportation? If we have vehicles, why not just take those all the way into the city?”

“Because the city is infested with Omega forces,” Derek replies. “We won’t be able to get close enough without being detected.” He looks at me. “Right?”

“Correct,” I agree. “And the Underground operatives will have information we’ll need to find Chris.”

“I thought you were going to track trucks,” Sophia snorts.

“We are.” I give her a stern, warning look. “But remember that those trucks are long gone now, probably already back in Los Angeles. The Underground will know where they would take POWs like Chris.”

“Like Chris?”

“High level officers.”

I clasp my hands behind my back.

“So,” I say, resolved. “We have a plan of action and we have volunteers. All we need is a Commander. I say we take a vote.”

Manny laughs.

“It’ll be a landslide,” he chuckles. “My vote rests on you, my girl.”

“So does mine,” Uriah says.

“Me too,” Derek shrugs.

“But… I’m not a field commander,” I say, shocked.

Yes, I am organizing a rescue unit to save Chris, but I am not a commander. Not like him. I’m a Lieutenant. A sniper. I was planning on someone else being in charge.

“You have the battlefield experience we need,” Uriah points out. “Besides, we trust you. You’ve been leading the militias as long as Chris has. And if Chris trusts you, I do, too.”

He holds my gaze for a few moments, turning to the others.

“Does anyone here disagree?” he asks.

Silence.

Everyone in the room slowly raises their hands. Manny smiles with satisfaction, almost smug. I lick my lips, fear creeping into my heart.

What have I gotten myself into?

I am no longer a Lieutenant. I am a Commander.

I am in charge. And I’m scared.

As a child, I spent most of my time alone. I was my own best friend. My daily activities consisted of homework, chores and pretending that I was widely loved and adored by all. And by all I mean the collection of toys and stuffed animals I kept in my room. I played with wooden swords and dressed my dolls as commando operatives. I read books about the lives of famous world leaders. People like Alexander the Great, Napoleon Bonaparte and George Washington. I enjoyed history. I liked imagining myself as someone important. Why?

I suppose it was because I was a nobody, and I wanted to feel accepted.

Now, as the Commander of a paramilitary rescue unit headed into Los Angeles, I feel more than acceptance. I feel raw fear. I am not afraid that I will die. No. The possibility of death is something I accepted long ago.

I am afraid that I will fail my mission… and fail Chris. Once upon a time Chris took control of a militia group called the Free Army to rescue me from an Omega slave labor camp. That group is now called the Freedom Fighters, and I am taking them into the heart of Omega’s stronghold to save Chris’s life.