Three days later, the plane roared from the sky and dropped the bombs. In the instant before his cremation, the man who had spoken to the lieutenant saw the markings of the Republic of Mexico on the wings of the plane. Then he died in the fire storm of flaming aviation fuel and molten plastic.

Colonel Gonzalez and Colonel Gunther observed the effectiveness of the superhigh-octane napalm. A campesino working in the fields had died before he could drop a hoe. The blackened, brittle hands of the man still held the seared hardwood handle of the crude implement.

Across the field, the child continued to cry. From a place beyond pain, the girl shrieked out for her parents. Over and over, she pleaded out for her mother to come to her.

Snapping his cavalry crop against his leg, Colonel Gonzalez turned to Colonel Gunther. "One moment. Let me shut up that little bitch."

Gonzalez pointed to the suffering child and shouted in the direction of the helicopter. "Tronatela luego vos con la ametralladora!"

The helicopter doorgunner snapped back the cocking handle of an M-60 machine gun. The auto-weapon hammered away the quiet. The slugs raked the tangle of sticks and burning plastic where the child suffered, throwing cans into the air, chopping the blackened wood, spraying ashes. He fired three long bursts. The heavy 7.62mm slugs stopped the screams.

"Finally..." Gonzalez muttered.

Colonel Gunther nodded. "It is the speed of combustion. The fuel burns so quickly it does not disrupt the circulation or penetrate the internal organs. The chemical companies make standard military napalm using less volatile fuel and a greater percentage of plastic in the solution. Military napalm burns deep into the body."