Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

Mac, along with Evers, Okada, and Deeds had been scheduled to lead the parade in a retro Cadillac convertible but elected to follow along behind so that the focus would be on the troops. It didn’t work.

As a squad of motorcycle cops led the buses out onto the Magnificent Mile parade route, and dozens of cameras focused on the ex-POWs, even more photographers were busy grabbing shots of the Cadillac. Or more specifically, of Mac.

Because if the soldiers were interesting, then Major Robin Macintyre was even more so. Here was the officer who had rescued President Sloan from Richton, Mississippi, and defeated the Warlord of Warlords, prior to being court-martialed for disobedience.

Then, after a pardon from the president, Mac’s Marauders had racked up a string of successes, many of which had been in the news. “Now what?” one of the news anchors wondered out loud. “The president is here, Major Macintyre is here, and both of them are going to attend the Freedom Ball this evening. Are the rumors of an affair true? Maybe we’ll find out.”

The Magnificent Mile had been closed to vehicular traffic, and onlookers lined both sides of what was normally a very busy street. Many members of the crowd were armed with American flags and waved them as the POWs waved back.

Then, as the buses passed between rows of high-rise buildings, a blizzard of red, white, and blue confetti began to fall. It was a sight to see—and President Sloan was watching from his suite in the Langham Hotel. He turned to Press Secretary Doyle Besom. “Nice job, Doyle… Where did the flags come from?”

“The America Rising Foundation paid for them.” Besom answered. “This is an excellent time to remind people of the old flag. The real flag.”

“Yes,” Sloan agreed, as a drone-mounted camera zoomed in on Robin Macintyre. She was still alive, thank God. And as beautiful as ever.

“There she is,” a TV newswoman said. “Major Robin Macintyre. She led the raid into Mexico. But many viewers will remember that she rescued President Sloan, too, and was rumored to be having an affair with him, although no evidence has surfaced to support that allegation.” Because there isn’t any evidence, Sloan thought. Robin says we should wait. But maybe, just maybe, I can change her mind.

“Mr. President?”

Sloan could tell that he’d missed something. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Farrow wants to finalize seating arrangements for tonight’s dinner. As it stands now, the Secretary of Defense, Senator Markley from Illinois, the House majority and minority leaders, Ambassador Zinski, and Mya Morrison are slated to sit with you.”

Morrison was a well-known pop singer and one of Sloan’s supporters. And, since she was going to sing, he couldn’t move her. But Zinski? Mrs. Farrow would find another way to stroke the diplomat’s ego. “Remove the ambassador from the list,” Sloan instructed. “And add Major Macintyre.”

Besom was fortysomething, a bit overweight, and famously wore his hair Ben Franklin style. He frowned. “That’s asking for trouble, sir… You know what the press will say.”

“Yes,” Sloan replied. “I do. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

Mac had never been required to wear a blue mess uniform before. But, according to what she’d been told, that was what the occasion required. There was a full-length mirror in her hotel room, and she stood in front of it. The blue waist-length jacket had gold facings and was cut so as to reveal a black neck tab and a ruffled white blouse.

A black cummerbund was cinched around her waist and, below that, a full-length skirt hung to the floor. There was a lot of gold braid, too, not to mention her silver star and two medals that had been working their way through the bureaucracy until the day before. They included the Distinguished Service Cross and a Purple Heart.

Mac thought she looked pretty good but dreaded the prospect of having dinner with Sloan. People would talk. No, they were talking. Surely, Sloan knew that. And, judging from the invitation, he didn’t care. Or he cared but was willing to take the heat.

Mac felt mixed emotions about that. On the one hand, she thought Sloan was being reckless, and on the other, she liked the fact that he would take risks to be with her. Mac felt a familiar tightness in her abdomen as she turned away. It was the same sensation she felt just before she entered combat.

The Langham’s gigantic ballroom was more than half-filled with linen-draped tables, each set with silver, and surrounded by formally attired guests. Sloan and two members of his security detail were waiting behind the blue curtain that ran all the way across one end of the room. The thing that Sloan liked least about his role as president was the endless pomp and ceremony. Yes, he understood the need for it but looked forward to a time when he could enter a room without being announced. “Ladies and gentlemen,” a male voice said loudly. “It is my pleasure to welcome the President of the Northern States!”

Everyone stood and a band played “Hail to the Chief” as Sloan entered the ballroom and made his way over to a small podium. The applause was loud and sustained. “Thank you, thank you very much. Please be seated. And thanks for attending the America Rising Dinner and Ball. Our ex-POWs are here… As are the men and women who rescued them. Please welcome both.”

The soldiers stood, and many of them looked embarrassed as the crowd applauded. Sloan smiled as they took their seats again. “There won’t be any speeches tonight, my friends. Just good food, and good friends, followed by an opportunity to embarrass ourselves on the dance floor.”

There was appreciative laughter as Sloan made his way over to the head table. He was careful to greet all of the people seated around it, but only had eyes for one of them. Mac looked every inch the army officer but beautiful, too, and when their eyes met, something special passed between them. Sloan felt like a schoolboy who, having been smitten by the prettiest girl in the seventh grade, has trouble speaking. “Good evening, Major… It’s wonderful to see you again. Thank you for your service to our country.”

Mac felt the instant sense of connection. It was so strong that she feared the rest of the people at the table could sense it, too. “Thank you for your service, Mr. President. I like the tux by the way… You have a James Bond thing going on.”

The people at the table chuckled, including Secretary of State Garrison, who was seated on her left. “It’s wonderful to have you back, young lady. There were some worried faces in the Situation Room. Especially when those Jaguars arrived on the scene. I want you to know that the president called for air support the moment they appeared. But, by the time the F-35s arrived over your position ten minutes later, you had the situation under control.”

The possibility that Sloan had been watching over her hadn’t occurred to Mac. It should have. Sloan would monitor such a mission no matter who was in command. But the fact remained, he’d been there for her even if it was from a long ways off.

Senator Markley was seated to Mac’s right. He was a staunch member of the Patriot Party and peppered her with questions as courses came and went, so that by the time the cherry tart arrived, Mac was wondering if the interrogation would ever end.

Meanwhile, Mac hadn’t been able to chat with the stunning Mya Morrison, the one person other than Sloan who she wanted to speak with the most.

Senator Markley was in the process of formulating his next question when the MC stepped up to the podium. He had white hair, a runner’s physique, and the practiced manner of a game-show host. “And now, after a fabulous meal, it’s time for some entertainment. The Grammy-winning vocal artist Mya Morrison is with us this evening… And she’s going to sing her latest hit. Please give her a warm welcome!”