Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

“I don’t know,” Gill said doubtfully. “It would cost billions to rebuild.”

Bo spoke as if to a child. “With all due respect, sir… Why would you rebuild? All you would need to do is prevent the rabble from streaming south. Kingdoms will rise and fall. Cults will rule… And die-hard socialists will attempt to re-create the existing freeocracy. But surveillance drones can be used to watch the sheep and target leaders as necessary. That is how we can win.”

It wasn’t the first time that such options had been discussed. But it was the first time they’d been put forward as part of an overall strategy. And Bo’s unapologetic argument in favor of destroying half the country in order to save the rest of it left the civilians mute. A good ten seconds passed before Lemaire cleared his throat. “Thank you, General… I think I speak for everyone when I say that I appreciate your candor. I’m sure your comments will fuel some very interesting discussions during the days and weeks ahead.

“Now, there’s another matter we need to address. Secretary Gill? I believe you have something you wish to share with the general?”

Gill stood and circled the table to place a newspaper in front of Bo. “It pains me to say this, General… especially in light of your selfless service to the Confederacy. But this sort of thing has to stop.”

Bo looked down. A copy of the New York Times was lying in front of him. The headline read: A MISSION INTO HELL. And there, directly below it, was a photo of his younger daughter. Robin was a major now! Since when? She’d been court-martialed and sent to prison last he’d heard. “Go ahead,” Gill said, having returned to his seat. “Read it. We’ll wait.”

The caption under the photo read: “Major Robin Macintyre, commanding officer of Mac’s Marauders, led a mission deep into enemy territory.”

Bo could feel their eyes on him as he skimmed the article. He was, needless to say, familiar with the snatch. Finally, having finished the story, he looked up. “Kids these days… You never know what they’ll do next.”

Selock laughed. But he was the only one.

“I’m glad you can find humor in the situation,” Lemaire said icily. “But we lost thirty-seven soldiers at Pyote Field, and their families are very upset. Nor can I ignore the fact that your daughter’s troops were able to abduct a member of my cabinet.”

Bo started to respond but was forced to stop when Lemaire raised a hand. “It would be one thing if the raid were an isolated incident. Many loyal Southerners have family members who are fighting for the North, and the reverse holds as well. But the raid is part of a pattern… Major Macintyre led the effort to rescue President Sloan from Richton, Mississippi. And it isn’t unreasonable to suggest that Sloan would be dead had it not been for your daughter. And what then? There’s a very good chance that the North would still be in chaos.

“Then Major Macintyre went after Robert Howard who, as you’ll recall, was working with us . And now this .”

Bo was angry. Angry at Robin… And angry at the assholes arrayed in front of him. “What am I supposed to do ?” he demanded. “I don’t have any influence over Robin. We’re estranged… And we have been for years.”

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” Secretary Gill replied thinly. “You can do one of the hard things that you like to talk about. Your daughter is an enemy combatant. Treat her as such.”

Bo looked from face to face. All of them were willing to meet his gaze. They’d met, taken a vote, and sentenced Robin to death. And the assassin? That would be him, or someone chosen by him. But could he do it? The decision was easier than it should have been.

ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY

ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA

When the meteorite exploded over Washington, D.C., the National Cemetery across the river in Arlington was spared. Some called that a miracle, a sign of God’s compassion. But Mac thought a truly compassionate God would have saved the living rather than the dead.

For whatever reason, Arlington had been spared except for damage to the trees, many of which were now branchless sticks or shattered stumps. But the graves? Some of the markers had been toppled. Fortunately, the remains were safe underground.

Mac had been there before to visit her ancestors’ graves, the first of whom fought for the South and died at Gettysburg. The others had fallen in World War I and Korea. Macintyres had fought in World War II and Vietnam, too, yet come home safe, as her father had after fighting in Afghanistan. But Mac was there to bury half of Alpha Company.

Under normal circumstances, the services would have been spread out over days or weeks. But the public affairs people had gone to great lengths to group them together. Why? To better recognize the nation’s loss? Or to create a made-for-TV spectacle that would remind people of the daring mission into enemy territory and make Sloan look good?

Or was that too cynical? Mac knew Sloan had to look good in order to get elected. And, all things considered, she wanted him to remain in office. The fighting president. That was the kind of president the nation needed.

The staff car slowed and came to a stop. A sharply dressed private opened the door and delivered a crisp salute as Mac got out. “Good morning, ma’am.”

It wasn’t a good morning, and Mac resisted the temptation to say so. “Good morning, Private. How long have you been here?”

“Since 0600, ma’am.”

It was cloudy, cold, and well past 0900. “Thanks for getting things ready, Private… We appreciate it.”

The soldier looked surprised. No one thanked him for anything. “You’re welcome, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

A snowflake twirled down between them. Mac nodded. “Me too. They were good soldiers.” And with that, she walked away.

A lieutenant was waiting to lead her to the area where Mac’s Marauders were to be laid to rest alongside the air force personnel who had died with them. Chairs had been set up… more than four hundred of them. A temporary speaker’s platform was in place. And there, beyond the stage, the lines of open graves could be seen. They were on part of the 624 acres of land that had once belonged to Confederate General Robert E. Lee. It was an irony not lost on the reporters who were there to cover the event.

Overman showed Mac to her seat as streams of people filtered into the area. The officers acknowledged each other but didn’t engage in chitchat. Neither was in the mood. What followed was a tried-and-true ceremony multiplied by fifty. Not fifty-six, because six soldiers were MIA and might be alive. Were they? It seemed unlikely. But what if ?

Mac thought about that at least ten times a day. The army took pride in “leaving no man or woman behind.” Yet she had… And the knowledge continued to eat at her. That in spite of what her soldiers told the debriefers. Mac remembered one in particular. The soldier’s name was Cramer, but everyone called him Howdy, because that’s how he greeted people. “The major arrived after loading was under way and fought to keep those bastards off our backs. There wasn’t no way she could know where everyone was. As for taking off… Hell, we had to take off or die. And what good would that do?”

Investigating officers had agreed with Howdy, Mac had been cleared of what some family members called “dereliction of duty,” and that was that. Except that it wasn’t over because Mac couldn’t stop thinking about it.

A train of caissons arrived. So many caissons that it had been difficult to find enough of them. The caskets were removed, placed in three carefully spaced rows, and covered with flags. American flags.