The General updates on the situation

He was busy, hunched over a map and squinting at the details, the shadows deepening the creases on his brow, and did not notice her presence at first. She straightened her posture, summoning the poise and control she had been trained to exude. Yet, in this moment, the act felt hollow. Her eyes swept over the grim surroundings—this was no place for ceremony.

“General Serrano,” she began, her voice firm, though tinged with the undercurrent of unease that she could not entirely suppress.

The General turned to her, his face carved with lines of exhaustion and weathered resolve. His salt-and-pepper hair seemed greyer than she remembered, though it may just be a trick of the light. He inclined his head, the faintest acknowledgment of her authority.

“Presidente Isabella,” he said, his voice gravelly and low. “I see you have come despite my protests.”

Isabella ignored the admonition. “I’m here because I need answers, General. This camp—” she gestured to the surroundings, her hand sweeping toward the trenches and the worn faces outside, “—is not what I expected. Where is the plan of advance you promised? Why do these men look like they are preparing for their funerals instead of battle?”

The General’s eyes flicked briefly toward the tent flap, his mouth a grim line as he thought of his men and their situation. Then, with a sigh, he leaned against the table, his heavy hands gripping its edges. “What you see here, Isabella, is not the real army. These men,” he said, his voice still carrying a weight that pressed down on the room, “are what is left. The untrained, the injured, and the unlucky.”

Isabella frowned. “Where is the real army, then? The trained and battle-hardened soldiers of my father's army?”

“They’re gone,” Serrano said simply. “I sent them all into the jungle to flush out the guerrillas. It was the only way to secure victory quickly and decisively. And it worked, for a while. We advanced deeper into their territory than we ever had before. We were this close to capturing their leader, and occupied their headquarters, though he escaped by the skin of his teeth. But then—” He paused, his jaw tightening. “Then they started striking at us. But not like before. These were spirited, coordinated attacks of a professionally trained ****. And with advanced weaponry.”

“American weaponry,” Isabella muttered, recalling her encounter with Mr. Green.

Serrano’s eyes narrowed. “The jungle is a grinder, Isabella. It chews up even the best soldiers and spits them out broken, if it spits them out at all. Progress has stalled. What you see here, this camp, is a shell. Nothing but a ruse to keep the guerrillas from attacking us outright while we wait for reinforcements from the reserves.”

Isabella felt the weight of his words settle on her chest. She glanced back toward the entrance of the tent, where the faint sound of shouting and concussive blasts of artillery outside seemed to underscore the fragility of the camp’s facade.

"And I still wouldn't have known the dire situation had I not visited. How long did you intend to keep this from me?" she asked, her voice rising slightly, her frustration breaking through her composed veneer.

“I intended not to, not until the reserves had been properly retrained and outfitted. The foolishness of our dear friend Minister Morales in dismissing the majority of the active soldiers had rendered us defenseless after a single setback, a paper tiger. This is not the army I had wanted you to witness. And that is why I advised against your visit,” Serrano replied, his tone steady but edged with reproach. "Though perhaps it may be a stroke of good fortune. Our enemies have eyes everywhere, and upon finding your presence here they must assume our camp to be well defended, or even a trap. They would not dare to launch an **** while you are here, rest assured, though I would recommend against staying out in the open. A stray bullet is just as deadly as a deliberate shot, after all."

Isabella bit back a retort, the taste of her anger bitter on her tongue. She took a moment to collect herself, drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly. When she spoke again, her voice was even once more, but there was steel beneath its surface. “Then tell me, General, what is your new strategy? Our country had paid dearly for the war. We cannot afford a prolonged stalemate.”

Serrano met her gaze, unflinching. “We can either end their supply of weaponry at its source and bleed them dry, or reinforce our positions in the jungle for another direct confrontation, with superior weapons and better preparations for their tactics this time. But we would need to wait for more men, weapons and supplies to press the attack.”

Isabella’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Or we find a way to negotiate an end to the conflict,” she suggested.

The General’s face hardened. “With all due respect, Presidente Isabella, you know little of war and the nature of our enemies. Any attempts at peace would only be seen as weakness, an opportunity for them to exploit.”

Isabella felt her frustration boiling up again, hot and acrid in her throat. “And it appears you know little of politics,” she shot back. “If the war is unwinnable, or worse yet, already lost, then what? Our nation cannot survive on borrowed time. Negotiations might be the only way to rescue a victory from the jaws of defeat.”

Serrano leaned forward on the table, his eyes boring into hers. “We will find a way. We always have, ever since your father was in charge. We may have lost him, but I have been here since the beginning, and I am still standing.”

Isabella's jaw tightened. "If I inherited anything from my father," she said, her voice low and hard. "It's that I will do what needs to be done, for the sake of our nation. And I will begin by personally visiting the trenches to speak to the men, and let them see me join them in the filth. Let them know I will not hide behind walls like a scared little girl."

She straightened up. “You may continue to wait for a solution, General. But know that I will no longer sit idly by, hoping for miracles. Our country’s future depends on our ability to think differently and act decisively. I intend to fulfill my role, no matter what. Am I understood?”

A long pause hung in the air, tension coiling between them like a taut wire ready to snap. Then, slowly, Serrano straightened up, his posture stiff. “As you command, Presidente,” he said, his voice flat. His eyes flickered briefly toward the entrance, then back to Isabella. "But for you own safety, I must insist that you take a delegation of soldiers with you while you are here. After all, you wouldn't be much help to Montesoro if your pretty little head gets blown out in the middle of this godforsaken jungle."

He barked an order to the entrance, and Arturo hurried in. “Sir?” he asked.

The General nodded towards Isabella. “Escort the Presidente around the frontlines, keep her safe, let the men hear her words of inspiration, and bring her back to her transport once she feels she has done enough. Understood?”

Isabella wanted to protest - she did not appreciate the General's tone, nor did she want to be babysat like a lost lamb. But the General had already turned his attention away, and she had gotten what she had came for. So she said nothing, merely turned and strode past Arturo, who fell into step beside her, his eyes flicking from her to Serrano with a mix of confusion and apprehension. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

Besides, Isabella thought as she glanced at her new companion, the young Major was certainly an attractive enough distraction for what was sure to be a grim tour ahead.