Kevin Miller - Declared Hostile

“Who forces you to act?”

“Venezuela, for crying out loud! They are the ones shipping the drugs that kill our kids. They are the ones who took our damn diplomat. They are the ones who foment revolution in the region, and this “revolution” is really a totalitarianism that saps freedom. They are the ones giving a resurgent Russia and terrorist Iran a stronghold here. Sure, they offer bread and circus carnivals and baseball games to placate the masses, but their government is not good and we are doing everyone a favor if we remove them.”

“Like you did in Iraq?”

“Yes, Father! I fought there. Even before 9/11, I was fighting there! You and the rest of the world didn’t know it, but we were. And Saddam was killing his people and threatening the region with more death. Isn’t that part of your Just War Theory, Father, to act only when inaction is worse?”

“So you believe in your vocation?”

Exasperated, Wilson answered. “ Yes , and I’m doing everything I can to hit my assigned target with precision, precision my country has spent trillions of dollars on in our effort to spare civilians, even when our enemies kill civilians all over the place and, frankly, are rewarded for it. We could blow Iraq or Venezuela or Iran off the face of the earth, but we don’t because we don’t indiscriminately kill. Instead, we accept risk for our own people, like me. We stop the drug lords from shipping to my country, and we pray our kids won’t start using and frickin’ adults— if you can call them that — stop. But that’s a much heavier lift, so, stopping the supply is what we’re left with!” Wilson paused and changed his tack.

“What about you, Father? Is military force ever justified in your perfect world? Do we just have to pray that our enemies will change their minds before they gather around us and kill us? As their drugs poison us under our noses? Before they take you away, Father, and prevent you from spreading the Gospel down here? I say no. And, yes, I’ll get back in a jet and come down here again to prevent them from doing so. We are the good guys , Father, and our guns prevent wider war. And don’t even put me on the same level as them!”

Father Dan sat expressionless as he absorbed Wilson’s blast. Wilson regretted losing his temper.

“Well, Jim, you certainly have a passion for what you do. You may even think you are saving souls. Destroy the village to save it, and all that. Myself, I choose to save souls through the message of the Gospels, and to show love to my fellow man.”

“As I do Father, but I live in the real world , with plotting, evil men. And there are times I am called on by my country to stop them by force for the greater good. I only wish my country would allow us to win— win something, anything— and actually free people from tyranny and defend ourselves from harm instead of just managing bad behavior, and managing it poorly.”

Father Dan answered Wilson. “So, ya think I’ve not seen evil up close? Corrupt officials? Theft? Murder? Even the deep hurt of slander and jealousy? You think evil is only countered by all-out warfare and once the evil— Venezuela in this case — is destroyed, all will be well? Won’t the evil men in your own country go elsewhere to find the drugs they need to get rich while destroying your society? I do not condemn the soldier and what soldiers must do. I guess we should be glad we have soldiers — and there was the good soldier at the foot of the cross — but I choose to arm myself with the shield of faith and the sword of prayer handed down from God. Mighty armies He has laid low, and the Gates of Hell shall not prevail against his holy church.”

Wilson nodded. “Yes, Father, we need all the help we can get. I’ll serve as an instrument in this struggle here on Earth, and please pray for my country, and my family… and me.”

“Oh, I will, Jim, and you can pray, too, ya know. It’s good to pray for these things, and let the hand of God do His good work.”

Wilson checked his watch. “Father, I really need to get back to American control.”

Father Dan smiled as he stood. “And miss another night of Monique’s porridge?” He then looked out the window and stopped smiling. “What is that?” he said to himself as much as to Wilson.

Alarmed, Wilson peeked over the sill and saw a man moving among the trees. His heart jumped to his throat, and he lunged for his pistol.

“Do you know that guy, Father?” Wilson said as he staggered to a position near the door. Adrenalin pumping, he began to breathe through his mouth in fear.

“No, my visitors come up the driveway.

“Where’s Monique?”

“Don’t know. Thought she would be back by now.”

Wilson sensed he was girding for battle against an unknown force that did not wish him well. He had two ammo clips and could see outside through windows on three of the four walls. He needed to know what was going on behind the cabin, near the outhouse. How many? Who?

He peered out the window, careful not to be seen himself. He saw no movement at first, but then a man darted between the trees and crouched behind one to get a better look at the cabin.

“He doesn’t know we’ve seen him out there. Don’t think so anyway.” Wilson then noted Father Dan standing in front of the window. “Father, get down! Get away from the window!”

“Why? What have we to fear?”

“That guy doesn’t look like a friendly neighbor. Please, Father!”

Father Dan stepped away but did not seem concerned. Wilson took another peek and saw the man was still watching the cabin. He scanned for other movement but saw none.

“Father, look down the driveway. Do you see anything?”

The priest stepped to the side window and searched outside for a moment. “No, nothing there.”

Wilson turned back to the window and watched, chest heaving. In pain, he grabbed the pistol with his left hand and chambered a round with his right, making an audible click. As he did, Father Dan opened the door.

“ Father! ”

The priest stepped out onto the porch and peered into the woods. Wilson’s heart was about to burst out of his chest. What is he doing?

“Come out. Come out, lad. What do you want?”

“ Miguel. Aqui .” Wilson heard the man shout the words from the woods. Could be a bluff, Wilson thought. Who was this guy not in uniform? And speaking Spanish. Not good.

“Come out now. My name is Father Dan. Are ya hungry?”

“ Dammit, Father, don’t invite him in! ” Wilson said under his breath.

“I won’t, lad. Just sending him on his way,” he murmured back.

Just then Monique drove up. Father Dan and Wilson kept their eyes on the woods to gauge a reaction. When she parked the car, she saw Father Dan on the porch looking into the trees. “Father, what are you doing?”

At that, the man revealed himself and scrambled into the open, 9mm pistol drawn. “ Mujer, alto! Aqui, alto! ”

Monique shrieked in fright and froze by her car. Wilson watched and waited, heart pounding.

“Monique, it’s okay. Stay where you are,” the priest said with outstretched hand. “This man means us no harm.”

“ Donde esta el Americano? ” the man demanded. Wilson could see he was muscle: black clothing, close-cropped hair, sunglasses, thin mustache. He looked in the woods for further signs of movement.

“ Miguel! ” the man shouted, drawing closer to Father Dan, pistol pointed at his head. Monique’s eyes were wide with fear.

“ El Americano? Esta en el casa? ” the man demanded. Father Dan played dumb.