Ringgold couldn’t help but see the symbolism there, comparing it to civilization. But unlike that wheel, civilization still had a chance.
“Today is going to be a good day,” she said.
“I have every confidence that you are right, Madam President,” Cornelius said before looking toward Stilwell. “The reinforcements from our friends in the north and south will change this war.”
Stilwell gave a soft harrumph.
They continued walking side-by-side toward the makeshift airfield that had once been Seawall Boulevard to meet their new comrades. Men and women in uniform hurried between buildings and large olive-green canvas tents. Some wore the standard-issue ACUs of the Allied States; others had black uniforms with the Orca patch characteristic of Cornelius’ private army.
Ringgold twisted her wrist to see her watch. “The planes are a little late, aren’t they?”
Stilwell shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything about delays.”
“Hopefully, no news is good news,” Cornelius said.
The sun was beginning to set, disappearing beyond the neighborhoods to the west.
The distant roar of plane engines sounded to their north. Ringgold turned around and looked toward the fluffy clouds glowing orange in the last pangs of daylight. Silhouetted against them, she saw the outline of three C-130s descending toward Galveston. They flew past the city, curving in formation to make their final approach from the south.
“Just three?” Cornelius asked, looking toward Stilwell. “That can’t be more than a few hundred troops.”
“I thought you said all the troops were coming in tonight,” Ringgold said. “Is there another scheduled flight we don’t know about?”
“I told you everything I know,” Stilwell said.
Ringgold scanned the sky, looking for more planes. “You don’t think something happened to the rest of the planes, do you?”
“We would’ve heard something on the radio,” Cornelius said. “A mayday, at the very least.”
Ringgold picked up her pace, her heart thudding faster.
“They must still be on their way,” Stilwell said. “Maybe they just staggered their arrivals.”
“That makes sense,” Cornelius said. “They would want to throw off any enemy scouts.”
Ringgold would have to take their word for it.
The growl of the first C-130’s engines roared as the craft made its final approach. Its wheels touched down with a heavy jolt at the southern end of the airstrip.
Ringgold, Cornelius, and Stilwell made it to the guard station at the northern end of the strip. They waited under a wide canvas tent, with its sides rolled up, so they could watch the plane taxi toward their position.
Crew chiefs and soldiers waited around them, ready to tend to the plane and welcome the reinforcements to Galveston. The aircraft marshaller signaled for the plane to stop near the tent. Before anyone stepped off, a group of Marines boarded to ensure the aircraft’s passenger manifest was in order and to perform routine security checks.
The other two planes started their final approach afterward. As the engines wound down on the first plane, one of the lieutenants in charge of the welcoming operations signaled to Ringgold that the coast was clear.
Her Secret Service agents flocked around her, Stilwell, and Cornelius.
As her footsteps clicked across the asphalt, the rear ramp of the plane lowered. Ringgold greeted the soldiers as they streamed off the craft. They looked exhausted. That much was expected. But she also saw them hanging their heads low, their shoulders slumped.
Ringgold caught one of the soldier’s eyes. He was a young man, maybe eighteen or nineteen. He stiffened when their gazes crossed, and he readjusted the strap of the rifle over his back.
That fraction of a second when their eyes met was more than enough for Ringgold to see something was wrong.
They look defeated, she thought.
Ringgold searched the crowd for someone who could tell her what was going on. She spotted five men following the troops off. The epaulets on their shoulders and their stiff stances clearly told her they were in charge. She made a beeline for the officers with Cornelius and Stilwell on her tail.
One of the officers turned toward her, stepping away from the group. His head was shaved bald under his green cap, and deep bags hung under sharp blue eyes lined with wrinkles.
“President Ringgold,” he said, taking a step toward her. “General Andrew Vance.”
Ringgold shook his hand in a tight grip. “General Vance, welcome to the Allied States. We’ll see that your men are taken care of. This is General Cornelius. He’s in charge of the base here at Galveston. And I presume you already know Colonel Stilwell.”
“I trust he’s been serving you well,” Vance said.
“He has,” Ringgold said.
The other two C-130s had landed and were now taxiing toward them, preparing to unload.
“We were preparing for all six planes this morning,” she said. “When can we expect the arrival of the other three?”
Vance gestured toward the soldiers and Secret Service agents shadowing them as they walked back toward the tent. “I’d suggest we discuss this in a quieter, perhaps more private environment.”
The trip back to their CIC would be at least a twenty-minute drive and Ringgold didn’t want to wait any longer than she had to. She pointed at a nearby coffeehouse that had since been requisitioned as an office for some of the air traffic personnel.
When they entered, the Secret Service agents swept the room, ushering away the two officers working at computers on the desks. Cornelius drew the blinds, shutting out the last fingers of light from the sunset, and the room went dark until Ringgold flipped a switch.
Vance looked toward the four other Canadian officers. “I think it would be best if we keep this a closed meeting.”
Ringgold nodded to her secret service agents to wait outside with the other officers and soldiers.
“Madam President, I get the sense you don’t like to beat around the bush,” Vance started as they took seats around a small table, finally alone.
“I don’t,”
