The second barge was the
Tomorrow, Shen’s squadron would escort the vessels to the training grounds where they would deploy the Shuiqiao barges under simulated combat conditions. Their primary training objective was to count the number of vehicles they could unload per hour.
The Silverado’s Duramax diesel engine growled as SFC Ramon Torres pulled into his driveway. He sat for a moment, engine ticking as it cooled, staring at the basketball hoop mounted above the garage. The net hung limp in the windless El Paso evening.
Through the living room window, he could see his wife, Maria, helping their daughter, Sophia, with homework at the dining table. The warm glow of home life before him was bittersweet as he became aware that he was about to shatter it.
He grabbed his patrol cap from the passenger seat and headed inside.
“Daddy!” Four-year-old Carlos launched himself from the couch, Spider-Man pajamas already on despite it being only six thirty.
Torres scooped him up, inhaling the scent of Johnson’s baby shampoo. “Hey,
“Mommy said if I put on PJs early, I could stay up for the Spurs game.”
“Smart move.” He set Carlos down, ruffling his hair. The boy scampered back to his Lego fortress on the carpet.
Maria looked up from Sophia’s math worksheet, her smile faltering. Sixteen years of marriage had taught her to read his face like a tactical map. She must have seen the weight he carried as soon as he walked through the door.
“Sweetie, finish that problem. I need to talk to your dad.” Her voice stayed steady, but Torres caught the tremor beneath.
“But, Mom, I don’t get fractions,” Sophia protested. Ramon couldn’t help but smile to himself — his daughter was twelve, going on twenty-one.
“I’ll help in a minute,
They met in the kitchen. Maria pulled a pair of Dos Equis from the fridge, which was another tell. She only drank beer when she needed to brace herself.
“When?” she asked.
“We got the warning order today. We deploy by month’s end.”
Her hand tightened on the bottle. “Europe?” she pressed.
“Poland,” Ramon confirmed.
“It’s the exercise — the one on the news, isn’t it? With the Russians and Chinese?”
He nodded. Through the doorway, he watched Isabella, their eight-year-old, building a Lego creation with Carlos. Miguel, twelve and obsessed with Call of Duty, hadn’t even looked up from his Xbox.
“It’s just an exercise, right?” asked Maria. Her eyes betrayed that she knew better, even as the words left her lips. She’d been an Army wife too long.
“That’s what they’re calling it,” Ramon replied. He took a long pull from his beer. “We’re bringing the new robotic tanks, the Ripsaws. It will be their first operational deployment.”
“Robots.” She laughed, but it came out bitter. “They can send robots but still need to take you.”
“Someone’s gotta tell the robots what to shoot.”
Silence stretched between them. From the living room came the crash of Lego blocks and Carlos’s delighted shriek.
“How long?” she asked.
“Unknown. Could be ninety days. Could be…” He didn’t finish.
Maria set her beer down and moved over to be close to him. Her head found that spot on his chest where it had always fit perfectly, even back in Riverside High School when he was just a linebacker with dreams bigger than Jacksonville, Florida.
“I watch the news, Ramon,” she said. “This feels different.”
“It is different,” he answered as he put his arms around her. There was no point in lying. She’d see through it anyway.
“The kids — Miguel’s tournament is next month,” Maria said, holding back tears.
“I know.” The weight of missing moments pressed down. “I know, baby.”
