Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

“Ma’am?”

“There has to be a gate. Find it. I’ll send for the second platoon’s ESV. We have lots of bodies to bury.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

As it turned out, there were two gates. Both blocked by sliding steel doors, and both open. After entering through the one that faced west, the company’s Stryker M1132 Engineer Squad Vehicle or ESV went to work. It had a bulldozer blade mounted up front, and even though it had been designed to clear mines, the vic could be used to scoop out a mass grave. And when a soldier from the third platoon showed up driving a CAT, the task went that much faster.

Meanwhile, Mac put a squad to work photographing bodies, identifying them when that was possible, and “taking scalps.” A process that involved removing a small section of scalp from unidentified bodies that could be subjected to DNA testing later on. It was a grisly, heartbreaking business, and Mac told Perkins to rotate the “collection” teams every half hour.

Finally, as the sky began to lighten in the east, the job was done. During the hours of darkness, 253 bodies had been laid out side by side and covered over.

As far as the soldiers could make out, none of the dead had been members of the horde. That in spite of the fact that Howard’s “warriors” had suffered casualties. How could that be?

Mac knew the answer, or believed she did. Howard had been a Green Beret. That meant he was familiar with the injunction, “Leave no man behind.” Obviously, it was an injunction that had been imposed on the horde. It was more than a gang… It was an army.

They had no chaplain. But, according to Perkins, Corporal Forbes was the next best thing since he’d been studying to be a priest when the seminary he was going to kicked him out. And as the sun speared the town with rays of golden sunshine, Forbes removed his Stetson. He had a deep and resonant voice.

The company was exhausted. But by taking Highway 387 to I-25, they could reach the fort in a matter of hours. And that beat the hell out of staying in the burned-out town.

Besides… the faster they returned to Casper, the faster the battalion could go after Howard, rescue the women and girls from Wright, and stop the slaughter. Or so it seemed to Mac.

It was always dangerous to travel down a highway because that’s where the threat of IEDs and ambushes was highest. This, plus the fact that Mac’s soldiers were tired, was a recipe for disaster. So Mac spent the return trip on the radio pestering her troops with reminders, alerts, and friendly insults.

Fortunately, nothing happened. And as the company approached Fort Carney, Mac saw something new next to the main gate. It was a gore-drenched pole with a head on it. Warlord Cory Burns? Yes. It appeared that Colonel Crowley was back. And his attack on Arminto had been successful.

Would the general staff approve of a colonel who took heads? And put them on display? Hell no. But Mac knew that Crowley didn’t care. He was sending a message to Robert Howard. And the message was, “Fuck you, asshole. You’re next.”

Good, Mac thought to herself. Crazy Crowley is coming off a victory. That should put him in the mood to rescue those prisoners. She was wrong.

CLEVELAND, OHIO

In spite of all the tasks associated with reconstruction, and his responsibilities as commander in chief, Sloan had to spend a great deal of time on politics. An activity that could be divided into two piles: the give-and-take of getting things done—and the need to raise money. Sloan preferred the first over the second.

But what choice did he have? His term, which was to say his predecessor’s term, was going to end in a year. So he could either run or hand the presidency over to whom ? That was the problem. The Patriot Party’s back bench was rather thin. Of course, the people seated on that bench would disagree.

But the decision had been made, and Sloan was butt deep in a campaign to become president. An elected president… And it was hard work. He heard applause as a stagehand waved him forward. Sloan entered the auditorium from stage left, and the Whig Party’s candidate emerged from stage right. Her name was Senator Marsha Pickett—and Sloan heard a number of rebel yells as she waved to the crowd. All ten thousand seats were filled, and Sloan knew that millions of people were watching their TV sets or listening via radio. Unfortunately, millions more didn’t have telephone service, never mind cable television or the Internet. And that was just one of the many problems that one of them would face.

Two podiums were located at the center of the stage. And as Sloan walked over to them, he knew that Pickett was a formidable opponent. She had a modelish face and high cheekbones. Her clothes weren’t so expensive as to make her appear wealthy, which she was, nor were they frumpy. So to the extent that a portion of the electorate would cast their votes for anyone with good looks, Pickett would do well. Better than he would? Yes, definitely.

But Pickett was more than a runner-up for Miss Oklahoma. She was a Harvard-trained lawyer, a world-class skier, and the mother of two adorable children. All of which were accomplishments that Sloan couldn’t match. Pickett’s perfect teeth were very much on display as they met and shook hands. “Mr. President.”

“Senator Pickett.”

A second passed. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows rose incrementally. “Can I have my hand back?”

Sloan felt himself flush as he let go. What the hell was wrong with him? Was her mike on? Had the comment gone out over the air? He was struggling to think of a rejoinder when the moderator took over. He was a much-respected journalist with a reputation for fairness. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen… My name is Lester Hollings, and I will serve as your moderator. As the participants take their places, let’s review the rules. Each candidate will have five minutes to introduce themselves, with President Sloan going first.

“That will be followed by ten questions, all of which were sent in by members of the public and selected by a panel of six people split equally between the two parties. For those of you here in the auditorium, please don’t applaud until the end of the debate, and remember… the place for demonstrations is outside. Now, without further ado, it’s my pleasure to introduce the President of the United States, Samuel T. Sloan! Mr. President?”

The cameras were on him, and Sloan knew better than to waste any of his precious airtime sucking up to the citizens of Cleveland. He went straight to what he thought of as “the pitch,” the centerpiece of which was a proposal to spend four trillion dollars on his America Rising Initiative. A program that would not only serve to rebuild the nation’s infrastructure, but put millions of people to work and jump-start the economy.

“But make no mistake,” Sloan added after the summary. “The America Rising Initiative will benefit the entire country, including the South. Because once we defeat the people who stole our oil reserves and imposed an oligarchy on the South, we will welcome our brothers and sisters back… just as our forefathers did after the first civil war.”