Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

Morrison had carefully styled hair, dark-colored skin, and a great figure. Her blue dress was covered with hundreds of silver sequins. They glittered as Morrison made her way over to a raised platform, and the other guests clapped.

Mac joined the applause as the blue curtain parted to reveal Morrison’s band. Once she was in place, they began to play. Mac was pleased to discover that the song had nothing to do with the war. It was upbeat dance music and a reminder of better times. The audience loved it and gave Morrison a standing O. “Now,” the MC said, as the dessert dishes were cleared away. “It’s time to dance! Mr. President? Are you ready?”

Sloan wasn’t ready. But he’d been taking lessons for the last five days in hopes of maintaining his dignity. Everyone applauded as he went forward to embrace Morrison and wheel the entertainer around the dance floor. Their performance lasted for no more than a couple of minutes. But it felt like an eternity, and Sloan felt a tremendous sense of relief once it was over.

More people filtered onto the dance floor as Sloan thanked Morrison, made way for the Assistant Secretary of Veterans Affairs, and returned to the table. Senator Markley was still there—and still bending Mac’s ear. “Excuse me, Senator,” Sloan said. “But I’m going to pull rank. Major, could I have this dance? Even though I may step all over your feet?”

Mac laughed. “At least you aren’t wearing combat boots! Of course, it would be my pleasure. Senator, if you’ll excuse us?”

Markley had no choice but to nod agreeably as the couple departed for the dance floor. “Thank you,” Mac said. “There’s only one thing worse than combat; that’s sitting next to Senator Markley during a long dinner.”

Sloan laughed as they came to a stop. “Welcome to my world, Major. Shall we?”

Mac entered the circle of his arms. “I prefer Robin while dancing.”

Sloan grinned. “And I prefer Sam. Are you ready?”

Mac smiled up at him. “Roger that, Sam.” Then they were off. Sloan was a better dancer than Mac expected him to be. And, as they circled the floor, Mac found that it was easy to follow his lead. The surrounding faces became a blur, and for that brief moment, Mac was free to be herself, without worrying about the people who reported to her. And it felt good.

So Mac felt disappointed when the music came to an end, and they stepped off the dance floor. People were staring, but none of them were close enough to hear. “I want to take you home,” Sloan told her. “To the farm where I grew up. Will you come?”

“I’d like to come,” Mac told him. “But we’d be crossing a line. People would talk. Cable news would work it twenty-four/seven. Your enemies would rehash my court-martial and the pardon.”

“I know that,” Sloan replied. “But it’s a price I’m willing to pay. Please , Robin… Please come with me.”

Mac paused for a moment. She didn’t want to cause problems for Sloan, but the opportunity to spend some quality time with him was too good to pass up. And what the hell? He was a big boy and knew what would happen. “All right, Sam… I’ll go. But only if we go there soon. I’ve been away from Mac’s Marauders for too long. I need to get back to them. Plus, if I hang around for very long, people will accuse you of favoritism.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Sloan told her. “You’re going to receive an invitation to testify before Congress. Members of my party want to ask you questions, and being politicians, be seen with you. I will ask the Speaker to shoehorn your appearance into the schedule. And if you’re here to testify, no one can complain. Thank you, Robin. You’ll hear from me soon.”

And with that, they were forced to part company as a middle-aged congresswoman in a red suit arrived. “Excuse me, Major… But it’s rude to hog all the single men! How ’bout it, Mr. President? Shall we trip the light fantastic?”

“I’m ready to trip,” Sloan said good-naturedly. “So be ready.” He offered his arm, and the congresswoman took it. Mac looked, saw that the head table was momentarily empty, and took the opportunity to fade. Her evening was over.

A sharp-looking lieutenant delivered the “invitation” the following morning. And, according to the formally phrased document, Mac was to appear in front of the House Armed Services Committee at 1000 the next day. “Fortunately, you have some time to prepare,” Lieutenant Newsome told her.

“For what ?” Mac inquired.

“Committee members can ask you anything they want, ma’am,” Newsome answered. “The chairman will try to keep things on the straight and narrow. But the members have the right to ask you questions about obscure weapons programs, military strategy, and morale if they choose to. So it’s best to be ready for anything.”

Mac didn’t like the sound of that. But there was nothing she could do. The rest of the day was spent in a hotel meeting room prepping for the hearing. Newsome was there, along with other subject-matter experts, all vying to ensure that Mac would represent their particular discipline well. Mac had a headache by the time 1400 rolled around and had to go take some pain tablets before returning to the fray.

Mac had trouble getting to sleep that night. And once she did, her dreams were beset by all manner of fears and concerns. So that when Mac awoke, she felt no more rested than she had the evening before.

After brushing her teeth, Mac took a hot shower and dressed with care. And there were lots of reasons to do so. It was important to look sharp for the committee, but there was the military brass to be concerned about as well, not to mention the TV cameras. “ You’re the reason the networks want to cover the hearing,” Newsome had told her. “So keep that in mind.”

Mac met Newsome in the hotel’s lobby, and they had breakfast together before going out front, where a black SUV sat waiting for them. A private was at the wheel. “Where are we going?” Mac inquired, as the vehicle pulled away.

“We’re headed for what was the University of Chicago and hopefully will be again,” Newsome replied. “The university was forced to close after the May Day meteor strikes. And when Congress decided to set up shop in Chicago, the campus was the natural choice.

“A lot of people think Chicago should be recognized as the new capital, but the president isn’t one of them. He plans to rebuild D.C., or start the process, anyway, since the project will take a long time.”

Mac thought about that as the SUV’s driver wound her way through morning traffic. The problems that Sloan faced were not only numerous, but complex, and she was one of them. The thought amused her, and Mac smiled through rain-streaked glass.

The trip took twenty minutes. Newsome used the time to quiz Mac regarding the military minutiae she’d been force-fed the previous day. But eventually the SUV entered a side street and pulled over. “We’ll have to hoof it from here,” Newsome told her. “But don’t worry… It’s a short walk.”

“I’ll call you when we’re ready to leave,” Newsome told the driver, and she nodded.

A light rain was falling, and neither of them had an umbrella. They hurried through a passageway between two buildings and onto the path that led to Cobb Hall. There were no students to be seen—and for good reason. Most were fighting or working in a factory. There were plenty of bureaucrats, though… Most of whom had been wise enough to bring umbrellas to work.

The Cobb Lecture Hall was on the left. It was a Gothic-style structure with an imposing entrance. But unlike the exterior, the interior had a utilitarian feel. Newsome knew his way around. And as they arrived on the second floor, both of them had to show their ID cards and pass through a metal detector before being allowed to proceed.