THE LAZARUS ROOM
BY
ROBERT WALLACE PAOLINELLI
COPYRIGHT SAN FRANCISCO 1995
I
We put our
backs to the wind, lit our cigarettes, turned back to the wind and continued on
our way. Our pack mule was loaded with
small arms ammunition and a sack full of hand grenades. The going was rough, the wind was strong and we'd not had a decent meal in over a week. We had about two pounds of flour, some lard,
salt, a box of powdered milk and some leftover cooked beans
which we would eat when we stopped for lunch at the top of the mountain
pass. We were all in need of shaves and
baths; we only
washed when we crossed streams or when we got caught in a spring rain
squall. But we
were on our way back to our base and we were in high spirits--in spite of our
condition. We had completed our mission; and now we were on
our way home to the headquarters of the lst
Battalion, California Volunteers.
Becoming a
soldier was the farthest thing in my mind; but now I was a seasoned veteran, a
sergeant. I never thought I would be able to do the things I had
done, had trained for. But that's all in the past.
I have been wounded and I have killed my share of men and blown up
vehicles and buildings, fortifications with the enemy
within
without compunction.
I decided to
join up after the bus I was on was ambushed by a four man hit team of the
Christian Militia. Before that ambush I
was apolitical and had put the war out of my mind as much as possible; but one day the war
came into my life and that changed the course of my life.
I was a
student, working on my master's degree and I had worked hard and wasn't going to let the war stop my education. I was on my way back to San Francisco, where
I was living and studying, from Roseland, where I had gone to say goodbye to a
former classmate of mine of who was moving,and who
had invited me up to take whatever books I wanted from his collection, which I
would use in my course of study. They
were pretty expensive texts and dictionaries which I
would be hard pressed to buy. I even had
to hitchhike up to Roseland because I couldn't afford
the round trip fare. I would be returning
with a box of tomes and hitchhiking with such a burden was simply out of the
question.
My friend,
drove me to the bus station;
we said our goodbyes, then he got into his car and headed east
for a position in a small college in Iowa.
I checked my books at the baggage check, took my backpack on the bus
with me, found a window seat in the middle of the bus. About five minutes after
our departure I feel asleep.
The road we
traveled on was a small, two lane highway, common in
northern California. We were heading for
the main road, Highway 101. I found out
later that a couple of logs had been laid across the road; the bus driver managed to get around them,
but a few yards further up another log barrier had been erected. He was starting to slow down because he
realized he couldn't get around the barrier; that's when the peace was shattered by
bursts of automatic weapons fire. Fortunately the driver was not hit and he managed to stop
the bus. Bullets were flying every which way. The window
at which I sat was shattered, glass was strewn all over and
my head was cut and I was bleeding.
My face was covered with blood.
The Christian
Militiamen got on the bus. They had 9mm
Uzis and they were looking for someone.
One of them had some photographs in his hand. they checked
everybody--even me--even the corpses.
"They're
not on this bus," said the one holding the photographs." His voice was worried. "Are you sure we got the right
bus?" he said.
"Let's
get out of here," said another voice.
I saw them
jump off; one
of them spoke into a radio. I could see
that they were nervous. I was scared out
of my skin. then
I heard a motor. A fast moving pick-up
truck slowed; the men jumped into the
bed and the truck sped off and as its tires screeched more shots were
fired; but I had a clear view of the
truck and the shots were fired in the air I guess to emphasize their power.
The attackers
wore regular army camouflage fatigues.
And over their right chest pockets a tag which read Christian Militia; and in place of the
letter "t" they had crosses for the "t" in Christian and
Militia.
The driver
used his radio and described the attack.
He then started up the bus, backed it up to a turn out, made a U-turn,
and headed back to Roseland. All the
while people were screaming and moaning and
crying. I had never witnessed such a
hell in my life. That scene on the bus
is burned into my mind;
and I will always remember the faces of the criminals who had attacked
innocent people.
Several
ambulances were at the bus depot waiting for us. Among the wounded were a mother with an
infant; a
bullet had passed through the infant's leg and entered the mother's chest. They took her off first. I was taken off last so I was able to see
most of the wounded, one of whom was an old man with a big hole in his cheek
and I could see his teeth.
Although
wounded myself, I was triaged to be treated last; and when my turn came I was seen by a
young interne who used his skill to remove embedded glass from my head then sew
me up. He gave me an injection of an
antibiotic, then a bottle of antibiotic capsules with instructions and told to
return to the hospital in a week to have the dressing changed. Then I was released from his care. The police then took my name and asked me
some questions and I told them what I could and when the police were finished
with me I felt exhausted and, not knowing what to do, I just sat in the now
empty waiting room staring at the wall.
I don't know how long I was there, but all the
time I couldn't get the image of that infant and its mother and the old man's
teeth out of my mind. As I've said, until that day I was far removed from the
war. I figured the government would take
care of the rebellion from the political right and I would continue my
education. However, as I sat there I
began to get angry;
and the longer I sat the more outraged I became until I remember
jumping out of my chair shouting:
"How dare they! How dare
they do such a thing!"
Apparently I went out of my head because the next thing I
knew I was being restrained by two deputy sheriffs and the interne who had
treated me was saying to them, "Be careful. Don't hurt him. He was one of the passengers on the bus."
"Well he
can't be breaking up the place and disturbing the peace."
When I came
back to my senses I realized the trouble I was causing and I apologized and
asked the deputies to release me, that my anger and outrage were spent and I would
cause no more trouble. My head was
spinning and I felt nauseated.
The interne took me by the arm and lead me down a corridor and into
a small room. It was a kind of
day room for off duty hospital personnel.
He sat me down in a comfortable chair.
"Would
you like a cup of coffee?" he asked.
"Yes," I said,feeling
a little better, and glad to be away from the waiting room.
"I'm sure
a night's rest will improve your disposition.
It must have been quite an ordeal.
Every week we get cases of gunshot wounds. But today was the
worst I've ever seen it. Those cowardly bastards!"
"Do you
know how the baby and its mother are doing?" I asked in a subdued voice.
The interne
looked at me with cold eyes. "The
mother is dead and they had to amputate the little girl's leg--the bullet
destroyed her bone, tore up the muscles.
There was no other choice."
His chest heaved as he pronounced the clinical information; but I could tell,
that in spite of his eyes and his well-controlled voice, he, too, had been
touched.
For a moment I sat so still I felt like a piece of stone. All at once, however, I felt my body go limp
and I broke down and cried. I could hear
the anguished cries of my voice and taste the saltiness of my copious tears as
they passed over my lips. The interne
tried to console me;
but I continued to weep until I could weep no more. When I looked up there were two other people
in the room, both of them dressed in surgical greens. One was a woman, perhaps fifty years old or
so and the other, a younger woman around twenty eight. The older woman, as it turned out was a
surgeon and the younger one a surgical nurse; and as I discovered, they had worked
together to save the mother and to amputate the infant's destroyed leg.
The surgeon
approached me, sat on the arm of the chair and put her hand on my
shoulder. "Are you a
relative?" she asked in a solicitous voice. I shook my head. "No; I was a passenger on the bus; I saw the medics take them off; she was so small and still on her mother's
chest. And now
the mother's dead and that baby will grow up without a leg--her whole life
ruined because of those fucking militiamen, and I hate them! Hate them!"
"Maybe
you'll feel differently in the morning.
You are very upset. Do you live
here in Roseland?"
"No; I'm from San
Francisco."
"I can
have you stay the night in the hospital.
I think that would be best."
She turned to the interne.
"Dr. Bell, please make arrangements for his immediate
admission."
"Yes,
doctor," he said, and he left the room.
"I want
to kill those bastards! Put them up
against a wall and shoot them! I saw
that baby earlier. She was so sweet and
her mother was playing with her, laughing.
And when they carried the baby out it was screaming...covered with
blood...the mother so pale, all bloody..."
I clenched my teeth and shouted:
"I want to kill those bastards!
Kill them! Rip their guts
out!" I was so hurt and angry. I had never manifested such hate in all my
life.
"Have you
ever killed anyone?" asked the surgeon.
Her
question stopped me.
"No. I don't even know
how to fire a gun--I've never even had one in my hands. But I'll learn, damnit,
I'll learn."
The surgeon
got up from the arm of the chair where she had been sitting and went to the
nurse and for a couple of minutes they talked in low voices, then the surgeon
pulled up a chair close to mine and said:--
"If
you're serious, I can help you. The army
doesn't think there's enough action up here to send troops; but there is a group of volunteers and
I can put you in touch with them if, that is, you are serious."
"I'm
serious."
"Good. But
first you need to get better.
Your wound isn't serious but you've had a great
shock and what you need more than anything is sleep.
"But I
want to hear about these volunteers. I
want to avenge that child and its dead mother."
"Vengeance is a dish best eaten cold," said the surgeon.
"What do
you mean?" I asked.
"Right
now you are caught up in a lot of emotion--I can't fault you for that. That attack was vicious and
a trauma for every passenger. You
say you want to avenge that child and its mother. Well, you can't do
that without the proper training. Right now you are filled with righteous indignation and for good
reason. But will you feel the same way
in the morning?"
I felt
insulted. "Do you think I'm just a
lot of talk? I saw the bodies and the
wounded--and I was wounded myself. I'm not saying things of the moment. I'm in this to the end." I said those words with as much conviction as
I could muster, for I felt I had to defend my integrity and my honor.
"What's
your name?" asked the surgeon.
"Harold Chambers--and you?"
"I'm
Cecilia Lodi, chief emergency room surgeon, and this is my daughter,
Emily-Rose, R.N. We are connected with
the volunteers, and they are a seriously committed lot. And you've got to be
serious, too. Not too many have
volunteered. People seem to think the
government will turn things around--but the government's too damn busy
elsewhere. This is a small community and
we don't rate high at the Pentagon. Do you read the papers?"
"Rarely," I answered truthfully, for I had consciously avoided
reading the papers, and I never watched the television news. I was truly ignorant of current events,
except I knew there was a civil war going on; but I had put my head in the sand and
went on with my academic studies. But now the war had affected me.
"Well
there has been a big battle just east of Las Vegas. Government troops fought a well-organized,
highly disciplined unit of the Christian Militia. The militia, or
what's left of it is retreating back to San Diego where they came from. According to news reports, they were out to
capture Hoover Dam and the atomic proving grounds. They're licking
their wounds--but they'll be back. In
the meanwhile, the jackals in this area are causing a lot of grief. They are well-armed
and they are being supplied from the southland and other places. Moreover, the enemy is forming a unit
somewhere down south with the intention of heading north and maybe taking over
the San Francisco Bay Area."
"You seem
to be well-informed," I said.
"I
am. I make it a point to be aware of the
times. And so
should you. When you are better I will see that you go to a place where you will get
yourself some political education and learn what we're fighting for--and not just
revenge for the death of that poor woman and the leg of that infant. This issue is greater than that--but it is precisely to counter such acts of terrorism that we are
fighting for. Is that clear, Mr.
Chambers?"
"Yes. You have made it very clear" I felt I'd
just been dressed down, but I had it coming.
Everything she said was true. I
simply could not get a gun and go hunting for Christian terrorists
, satisfy my blood lust and feel better.
I had to understand the nature of this civil war and dedicate myself to
help win it--with a cool head. Dr. Bell
came back.
"Admissions is ready for him, Doctor
Lodi."
"Good, very good. So, Mr. Chambers,
you go with Dr. Bell. Get a good night's
rest and we shall visit you in the morning.
And thank you for coming forward. We need people with your determination,"
and she put out her hand and I took it and we shook hands. When I took her hand
I felt that she was a friend. Her
daughter also shook my hand, but I didn't feel any
friendship from her.
II
I woke up the
next morning with a terrific headache; it felt like a hangover. I looked at my wristwatch: it was just six thirty. I needed a couple of aspirin or something for
my head, so getting out of bed, and leaving my room, I found the nursing
station. One nurse was on duty.
"Hello," she said, "how are you feeling?"
"Terrible," I responded, "I've got a headache that's
killing me. Do you have something you
can give me?"
"I sure
do; Dr. Bell
has prescribed an anodyne for you. If you'll just take a seat, I'll get it.
She came back
a minute later with a small white pill and a paper cup filled with water. I took them both and drank them down. The hospital was quiet; the nurse was standing by me with a
smile on her face looking at me.
"Emily-Rose told me you were pretty shaken about the
baby and the demise of her mother."
"Who is
Emily-Rose?" I asked, because for the life of me I couldn't remember who
she was."
"Dr.
Lodi's daughter; you
met her last night. She sat by your bed
for an hour last night after you'd fallen asleep."
Then I
remembered who Emily-Rose was, and I also remembered
that when I'd shaken hands with her it was not a friendly shake. "You say she sat at my bedside?"
"That's right.She 's
a very dedicated nurse and you are fortunate she has taken an interest in your
case."
"Really? She
didn't seem any too friendly last night--now that I remember."
"Don't
take that personally. Poor thing, she
must have been exhausted. Do you know
how many operations she assisted yesterday?"
"No; tell me."
"Six--all gun shot wounds and, sadly, the baby's amputation. That's a rough
schedule, especially for surgery. Doc
Lodi and she worked like demons. We're kind of shorthanded these days.
"Can you
tell me anything about the old man who was shot in the face?"
They helicoptered him out, flew him down to San Francisco. He needed an oral surgeon--and we don't have
one."
"Will he
live?" I asked ingenuously.
"Without
a doubt; but,
poor guy, he'll have to have several operations, I'm sure."
"Dr. Bell
said this hospital gets lots of gunshot wounds.
Sounds as if the militia is pretty active."
"It surely is; and the sooner they get rid of them
the better. They are nothing more than
terrorists--and they call themselves Christians--they're more like devils if
you ask me." The phone at the
nursing station rang. "Excuse
me," she said.
As she spoke,
I sat quietly, suddenly aware that my headache was gone. And for that I was
grateful. She put down the phone and
after writing something down, came back over and joined me, by sitting down in
a chair opposite me.
"Emily-Rose said you're thinking of joining up with the
Volunteers. Good for
you. I hope you shoot a couple of
those Christys for me."
"What did
you call them?"
"Christys--that's our local name for them. I could think of worse things to call
them--but Christys will do. Emily-Rose's fiance was a Volunteer, but he was assassinated--right here
in the hospital parking lot. I was off
duty that night. I knew Bart, he was a decent young man. He would have been a fine architect--but he
gave up his career to join the Volunteers.
He'd been in about six months; he was one of the best. He had a few days off and was in town. He'd taken
Emily-Rose to the movies, then dropped her off.
As he was getting into his car some Christys drove up and shot him. They even left a note. It said that another soldier of Satan was
dead. Praise the Lord. They are a sick bunch--really psychos. If you join up be prepared to defend your
life at any time. There are people right
here in Roseland who by day are common citizens, upstanding members of the
community. But
at night, they come out with their uniforms and guns and turn into
maniacs. Just be careful. Listen, I don't want
you to get scared off. It's not easy, I know.
But just do the best you can. Now how would you like a shower and some
breakfast?"
Luckily I had a change of clothes in my backpack so when I
got out of the shower I changed into fresh, albeit wrinkled clothes and
rejoined the nurse at the station--but she was gone. "What happend
to the other nurse?" I asked the new face at the desk. "We change shifts at seven; Claire's gone, but
she did say to give you a cup of coffee, and breakfast will be served at
eight. Do you think you can hold out
until then?"
The ward was
coming alive; other people were on duty and already ambulatory patients were
walking about. I walked down the end of
the hall and looked out of the window; below me was the hospital parking lot,
and as I stared at the parked cars I tried to imagine the assassination of the
man called Bart. I always had a liking
for architects, and I felt badly that one had been killed. I put Bart on my list for vengeance, too.
I had
breakfast in my room and afterwards, I lay back on my
bed fully clothed and fell asleep.
III
I was awakened
by the gentle shakes of Dr. Lodi. When I
opened my eyes she and Emily-Rose were standing at my
bed.
"Good
morning," I said, it's nice to see a friendly face."
"And good morning to you. I take it you had a good night's rest?"
"I did; but when I woke up
I had an awful headache; but the duty
nurse gave me something for it."
"I know; I read your
chart. How do you feel when you
walk?"
"Ok. No problems with my balance if that's what
you mean."
"That's
what I mean. You are very astute, Mr.
Chambers. Now tell me, how do you feel
about what you told us last night?"
I swung my
legs over the bed and sat up. I looked
Dr. Lodi straight into the eyes and then I turned to Emily-Rose and said: "This
morning I am more determined than ever to enlist." I saw Emily-Rose smile and nod her head.
"Good," said Dr. Lodi.
"I've arranged for you to stay here until after dinner this
evening, then you will be discharged and picked up and taken to the Volunteer's
base camp. In the meanwhile, rest, sleep
if you want; and
if your headache returns just go to the nursing station and they'll give you
something for the pain." She turned
to leave, but hesitated: "Did you
have any luggage on the bus?"
"Not
really luggage; just
a box."
"Give me
the claim check, I'll see that it's picked up and it will be waiting for you
when you leave this evening. Goodbye,
Mr. Chambers."
"Good
bye, Dr. Lodi, and thank you for everything you've done--and you, too,
Emily-Rose--you've both been very kind to me."
"It's our
pleasure, Harold," said Emily-Rose," and with that they both left.
I cat napped
most of the morning, ate lunch, then took a two hour
siesta. When dinner
time came, I was dressed and ready to go. I wasn't very
hungry. I was flipping through a
magazine when the duty nurse came into my room.
"Someone is waiting for you in the hospital lobby. Please stop off at the desk before you
leave."
In the lobby
was Emily-Rose. My eyes opened wide when
I saw her, for she was now dressed in combat fatigues and under her left armpit
was a shoulder holster with a long-barrelled revolver
stuck in it. I was mildly shocked.
"Why so
surprised, Harold?" she asked with a grin on her face. Haven't you ever seen a woman soldier
before?"
"Not
really--except some R.O.T.C cadets at school; but they weren't armed."
"Get used
to it," she said drily. My van's in the
parking lot. Let's
go. By the way, I've
got your box. It's
mighty heavy. What do you have in
there?"
"Books. But I
don't think I'll be needing them--at least not until
this war is over."
She nodded and
with a wave of her hand I followed her down a long
hallway until we got to a door marked EXIT.
I was about to open it, but she said, "Stop, wait."
She opened the
door slowly and stuck out her head and looked both
ways before she opened it more.
"Ok, let's go."
She had her
hand on her gun and walked close to the wall.
"Is this
necessary?" I asked in an impatient voice.
""This is how one stays alive, Harold," she said without
turning to look at me.
Once at her
van she unlocked the doors and we got in.
Before she put the key into the ignition she
took out her revolver and laid it in her lap, then she started the engine and
as we drove off I asked again, "Is it necessary to keep a loaded gun on
your lap?"
She brought
the van to a sudden stop.
"Listen: You are a recruit,
so you might as well start your basic training now. This is serious business and if you are not,
then there is still time for you to bail out.
My fiance was killed by the Christian Militia
right in this parking lot. It happend so fast he didn't even get a chance to draw his
weapon--this one," she said, picking up the revolver. Get used to being afraid--but I guarantee
you, you'll never get used to it. If you want to stay alive, stay alert. Hone your animal instincts. Do you think I like to live like this? Hell no. And the sooner we
can quell these fanatics the better life will be. Get that straight and you might make a good
soldier."
She turned
from me, put her foot on the gas and drove off.
I didn't say a word. Frankly, I was a bit intimidated not only by
her curtness, but by the formidable presence of the gun she held in her lap.
I didn't know where we were going. But about a half hour later, after going down
narrow country roads and making more turns than I can remember, we slowed until
we reached a barrier which stood out sharply in the van's headlights. She blinked her high beams twice and blew the
horn three times then waited.
A moment later
three men dressed in black and each carrying automatic weapons, were at the
van. She rolled down the window and
spoke. "Hi Charlie--here's our
recruit." The man Charlie shined a
small flashlight into the cab onto my face.
He held the light long enough for him to see what I looked like and to
comment on the dressing which covered my head.
"Did he have a training accident?" he asked jocosely.
"Sort
of," answered Emily-Rose for me.
"He was on the ambushed bus--and now he's a convert."
"You
check him out?"
"Certainly;
and he comes personally
recommended by Commander Omega."
"In that
case, welcome, friend. Jose, open the
gate." Silently, the man Jose, opened the gate and waved us through. "See you later, Captain," said Jose
to Emily-Rose, then he stepped back smartly and
saluted.
"Captain? What
kind of Captain are you?" I asked.
"Captain of Volunteers, Medical Corps. You'll find out all about me soon
enough."
IV
We drove into
some trees and followed a gravel road for a few minutes; she drove with her parking lights on.
A clearing
with several vehicles parked in a line came into view. We parked.
I could see three buildings; one I knew was a very large
house; its lights were on but the shades
drawn.
The door of
the house opened. A man stood at the
door. He called out, "Welcome,
Captain. I see you have our
recruit." His voice was friendly
and as we got to the threshold, he stepped aside and we entered into a large
room where fifteen men and women (I counted them) sat at a long table. They were all dressed in black and each had a
shoulder holster with a pistol.
Emily-Rose and
our greeter embraced. "How are you,
Uncle Matt? Long time no see."
They
disengaged. "Doing
ok. Your mother tells me you've been pretty busy.
We got a line on those bastards.
Now this must be Mr. Chambers.
How do you do, sir, I am Matthew Gates, commanding officer of the
unit. I want to tell you how much I
appreciate your having volunteered.
Omega says she trusts you, and that's good enough for me--and your story
checks out, too."
"My story? What
do you mean, sir?" I asked.
"We make
a background check on all recruits; never can tell when some Christy will
infiltrate. We can't
be too careful in this business. We know
something about you:223 Grijalva
St, master's candidate in linguistics at San Francisco State University,
mother's maiden name, Sokolovskya; no police record, no known political
affiliations. We have to make sure, Mr.
Chambers. On behalf of this command let
me welcome you, and he stuck out his big hand, and when we shook I felt his
strength and his sincerity. And still holding my hand, he guided me toward the table.
"Ladies
and gents, I'd like to introduce our newest recruit; Harold Chambers. He's a survivor of
the ambushed bus. He will be with us for
recuperation, first of all, education and
training. He's already been on the
receiving end of an attack, and I hope that in the near future he'll be out on
patrol on the giving end." The
group applauded me and I felt a bit shy.
He let go of my hand. "Have
you eaten, Emily-Rose? How about you, Mr. Chambers?"
"No,
Uncle; and I'm
hungry."
"Stew's
in the kitchen on the back of the stove.
Make yourselves at home. And Emily-Rose, put Mr. Chambers in the Lazarus Room until
he's fit for duty. That's all."
"Yes,
sir," she said. There was a sense
of order in the atmosphere yet there was also a sense of camaraderie that
impressed me.
I ate a bowl
of what I was told was venison stew. It
tasted good. I was hungry; but my head was now
throbbing and I told Emily-Rose.
"On the
way to the Lazarus Room, we'll stop at the dispensary and give you something
for your pain."
The house was
big and sprawling and the dispensary was at the far end of the house. Emily-Rose turned on a light as we
entered. The dispensary looked like a
well-equipped emergency room, like a smaller version of the ER back at the
hospital, and I commented on this.
"We treat
our wounded here when we can," she said, opening a medicine chest and
taking out a bottle of pills, which she opened and shook out two white
tablets. "Take these; there's water over
there," she said, pointing to a sink in the corner. "Use one of the paper cups. Your headache should subside in a few
minutes. What you need, too, is
sleep."
"In the Lazarus Room, right?"
"Right."
"Why do
you call it that? I'm curious."
"It's our
little joke. I'll
tell you about it--but originally it was no joke. About a year ago we went out on an operation
and got shot up pretty badly. We got the Christys,
but they got us, too. Mother and I
worked all night, here. We had half a
dozen wounded and one dead--or so we thought--a head wound. No vital signs. We were too busy with the living, so we put
the body in the room at the end of the hall.
It was winter so we left the windows open so the body wouldn't
putrefy before his kin could come and claim his remains. We had a hard time locating his kin; but we left word
for them to contact us. As I said, we
had our hands full with the wounded and we almost forgot about our honored
dead. In the middle of the afternoon, an
orderly was
assigned to sweep and mop the rooms. He didn't know a corpse was on the bed. When he walked in, he went up to what he
thought was a sleeping man, shook him and said to wake up because he had to
sweep and mop and needed to move the furniture and the bed about, and that the
room next door was unoccupied and cleaned.
The corpse opened his eyes and tried to get up, but he couldn't., so the
orderly came to the dispensary and asked for some help to move a man who seemed
to be sick and couldn't get off the bed.
Mother and I rushed to the room. The Volunteer had his eyes open and was asking for water. We rushed him to the hospital for
x-rays. He had a small caliber bullet
lodged in his brain. He was operated on
and he lived. He's
still with us. Anyway, Uncle Matt
started calling the room the Lazarus Room and it stuck."
"Kind of
grim, if you asked me."
"Don't
lose your sense of humor, Harold. In
fact, you would do well to cultivate a sense of humor around here; it takes the edge
off of things when things get rough."
"I'll
remember that. But let me ask you a
question: Why are all those people in
the front room doing dressed in black, and what did your uncle mean when he
said he had a line on the Christys" (I ventured
to use their jargon) "who attacked the bus."
"Their
dressed in black because they're preparing for a night operation; that gathering is a
briefing. If all goes well, they should
be back in the late morning. I'm here to treat the wounded--if any. There's a robe in
the closet and breakfast is whenever you get up. You're on light duty
and don't have to follow the routine yet.
Just rest and I'll see you tomorrow. Good night."
As I lay in
the bed, I tried to imagine the man back from the dead, which made me think of
all the good, innocent people who had been killed on the bus, especially about
the baby's mother. Then I got to
thinking of that child and tears welled up in my eyes. I turned my face into the pillow and cried
myself to sleep.
V
I woke up
late. The sun was high. I lay in bed for a long time. I didn't feel like
moving. Usually I wake up early, go for
a short walk, come back, make some breakfast, and if I have an early class go
to school, otherwise I stay home and study.
Today my life was different. I
was a recruit in a guerilla army, and whatever my life had been, it was no
more. I didn't
even care about my things in my small studio apartment back in San
Francisco. In the first place I didn't have much.
I would write to my landlady and ask her to sell or give my things away; that I wasn't coming back. I'd write to the
school registrar and withdraw. I looked
around the room. I saw my box of
books. How did it get here? Nevertheless, they now seemed superfluous.
I became aware
of a voice; it
came from outside. I recognized the
voice: It was Commander
Gates'. "Take the prisoners
to the stockade; burn
their dead; clean your weapons and
gear. When you've
finished get something to eat and get some sleep. Thank your for a job well done. Dismissed!"
Prisoners? Burn the dead? They
must have got back from their night operation.
Were there any wounded? I pulled
the covers back and slowly crawled out of bed and stood at the window. I saw five men, all blindfolded, dressed in Christian Militia uniforms. On the back of a truck, I saw three, long plastic
bags. Body bags? I needed to find out. I dressed as quickly as I could and
immediately went to the dispensary; but it was locked. I assumed there were no wounded. I rushed outside just in time to see
Volunteers dressed in fatigues, marching the prisoners toward one of the
buildings I'd seen last night. Now, in the light of day I saw that it was
surrounded by barbed wire;
bars were on all the windows and armed guards stood at the
door. It was, obviously, the
stockade. I just stared. It was all so new to me.
"I"m sure you find it all a bit strange, Mr.
Chambers," said a familiar voice behind me. It was Commander Alpha.
When I turned around I tried to stand at attention. He smiled.
"At ease, Harold. You'll be a
soldiering soon enough. How's your head
today?"
"Holding up pretty good. Are those prisoners the ones who attacked the
bus?"
"We're
pretty sure they are;
but you can identify them at before their execution."
"You're
going to execute them?"
"We sure
are. Without mercy. But first we want to
interrogate them. No telling what
information they might give us."
"But
shouldn't they first have a trial? And I thought that prisoners of war were not executed. At least that's what I've heard."
"You
heard right. But
these aren't ordinary prisoners and this isn't a war of gallantry or
honor. The Christys
don't take prisoners--and neither do we. But you'll find out
all about that during your program of education. You've got the
makings of a good soldier, Chambers, but don't get any notions about honor and
all that. This is a slaughter and mercy
is not in the scheme of things. But I don't want to burden you with too much. All in due time. Right now I want to
get our quartermaster to issue you uniforms and equipment. Then, when you're in proper
uniform, report to me after lunch."
He turned around and looked about and called out: "Charlene!"
A woman, in
her early forties, came sauntering over to us.
When she reached us she smiled at both of
us. "I'm glad the operation was a
success, and thank God, we didn't have any wounded."
"Yep, we
were lucky--but I want to introduce our new recruit, Volunteer Harold
Chambers. He'll be
needing a regular issue. Take him
over to your shop and fit him out, then send him up to Jose for weapons."
"Ok,
Matt. By the way, when will the new
boots arrive? We're
getting low on stock.
"I
know. I read your supply report. I sent in the requisition weeks ago; but you know we
have a low priority. If only those fools
at the Pentagon would fully realize the conditions in this area, we wouldn't
have to go hat in hand for every damn thing we need."
"Ammo's
getting low, too. Especially
7.62 mms."
"I can help
you there. I've got
a hold on about ten thousand rounds down at the National Guard Armory in
Fielding. Maybe tomorrow, when I have a
truck to spare you can take a hop down there and haul it back."
"Quartermaster Charlene's storeroom was located on the ground floor
of the building directly across from the main house. Inside there were shelves with clothing,
boots, helmets, webbing, medical supplies, office supplies and so on. A supply clerk was on a ladder
taking inventory.
"I'd like
you to meet Harold Chambers, our new recruit," she said to the man on the
ladder. "That's Martin Chuzzlewit up on the ladder," she said to me.
I
laughed. "Pleased
to meet you. Is that your real
name?" I asked.
"That's
what they call me; but
my mother named me Gavin--but since I started to read Dickens' "Martin Chuzzlewit" a year ago, I got stuck with that
name. I'm a
slow reader. You can call me Marty. I don't mind. And without further
exchange, he went back to his inventorying.
Charlene spoke
little, but smiled much and I got a good feeling from her. She measured me then gave
me a duffle bag and was told to follow her. By the time we were through
the process, I had been issued: 3 pairs
of fatigues, a black pullover and a pair of black pants and a black watch
cap; a soft hot, three T-shirts and
shorts, 3 pairs of boot socks, a sweater, a field jacket, belt, suspenders, 2
pairs of boots, a toothbrush, comb, razor with razor blades, towels, wash
cloth, soap and soap dish, a webbed belt, canteen, poncho, backpack and an 8
inch, double edged dagger with a scabbard and s small whetstone.
"Get
dressed so I can see if you got a decent fit and try on the boots. You'll be doing a
lot of walking. They are as important as
your rifle."
I looked
around for a dressing room. Charlene took out some forms, put them in an old
manual typewriter and began to fill them out.
After a minute or so she stopped and looked
up. "Is anything the matter?"
"Where
can I change?"
She answered
matter-of-factly: "Right here. Are you shy?" she said, with a light
voice and a disarming smile.
I turned
red. She laughed. "Fine, I'll turn around." The typewriter was on a wheeled stand; she pushed it
around, changed her chair's position and while she continued to type, with her
back to me, I changed into uniform and boots as quickly as possible. Admittedly, I was shy. As I was lacing up my boots, Charlene
swiveled in her chair.
"My, my,
but you are handsome in a uniform," and she gave me one of her warm
smiles, and I blushed again. "Walk
around and tell me if the boots fit ok."
I walked the
length of the long supply room. The botts felt fine. As
I turned to go back, I noticed some folded fatigues on the floor with Christian
Militia tags above the pockets.
"Hey, Marty," I called up to him, "what are 5those
for?" I asked, pointing to the enemy uniforms.
"Oh, those.
They're for three D operations."
"Three D operations?
What does that mean?"
"Decoy, deception and decimation. Ha, ha, ha!" He let out a hearty laugh.
I stood before
Charlene. She was back
in her original position and was pulling out the forms, with carbon paper from
the typewriter. "I'll need
your signature, here," she said, making a small x at the bottom of the
form. "If we ever ran out of paper,
our whole operation would grind to a halt."
The form I
signed was an acknowledgement that the prescribed uniforms and equipment had
been issued and received.
"Now
let's get you into proper uniform. Take
out the web belt and the dagger out of your duffle bag."
As I adjusted
the belt she said:
"You will always go about armed--with whatever weapon you
have. Don't ever forget that." When she said that there
was a very serious tone in her voice.
I hooked the dagger to the belt and felt it against my side.
"Martin Chuzzlewit, come down from that ladder and take recruit
Chambers upstairs to Jose for his weapons issue, then take him to the mess
hall."
Marty lead me
to a long flight of stairs. He pushed a
button and waited. "Speak," came a voice from a wall speaker. "Sergeant Chuzzlewit
with a new recruit come for weapons."
"Come
up," said the voice from the speaker.
At the top of
the stairs was a steel door and another buzzer, which
Marty pushed. A peep
hole in the steel door opened momentarily, closed, then the door opened
and I saw Jose, whom I'd seen last night when Emily-Rose and I had arrived.
"Welcome
to the armory, Chambers, I've been expecting you. I'm the unit armorer,
Jose Velasquez," he offered his hand.
He had a light, short grip.
The armory was
as long as the downstairs supply room.
The windows were covered with iron grating and I could see several
security camera monitors on the walls and ceilings. Down the center of the room were several
racks with rifles; in
an area near Jose's desk were several machine guns mounted on tripods and some
small mortars. On the
wall were pegs and on each peg hung a pistol or revolver. Everywhere I looked were firearms and other
weapons I didn't recognize, but which I would soon
learn about.
"How's
your head?" asked Jose.
"It's ok,
I guess. I get tired easily and it
aches."
"it's to be
expected. You'll
heal with time. Now tell me: what's your preference in handguns: pistol or revolver?"
I didn't know a damn thing about firearms and I told him
so. I was almost embarrassed and said
so.
"No big
deal. You'll
learn soon enough, you can count on that.
Come with me. I"I've
got something I think you'll like," he said, turning to the wall of
handguns. He took one off a peg. "Here, see how this fits," he said,
handing an automatic pistol to me by the slide.
For the first
time in my twenty six years, I had a genuine pistol in
my hand and I felt strange. I looked at
it, it was black, not heavy and the strangeness I felt turned to a sense of
power--power to shoot the bastards who mutilated that baby. I gripped the pistol and
pointed it away from the wall toward one of the security cameras and sighted as
best I could and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happend. Nonetheless, I felt good. "I like it," I said.
"Good,
good. It's a
regulation 9mm issue--just got it in--taken from one of the Christy
prisoners--who probably stole it, who knows.
It's your now.
Let me get you a shoulder holster and you can take it with you. As for a rifle you
get a 7.62 mm M15. When you graduate
from basic training and I've got an M16, you'll get it; as it is, they are in short
supply--but the M15 is a good weapon. He
walked to a rifle rack and after unlocking it, took off a rifle.
He filled out
some papers, with my name and the serial numbers of the pistol and rifle and I
signed a weapons receipt. "All
recruits are required to carry their rifles with them at all times--even to the
shitter and the shower. Pistols are optional. You will keep your weapons clean and have
them ready for inspection at all times. Same goes for the dagger.
Is that clear?"
"Yes sir, " I said.
"No need
for that sir business. I'm not an
officer--and anyway, we don't hold much for any of that RA crap."
"What's
RA?" I was really
naive.
"Regular Army. You'll learn. Marty, you taking him to the mess hall?
"Yes."
"On your
way stop at the ammo dump and have them issue him some ammo. Well, Chambers, good luck
and good hunting. Learn to stay
alive. Dead heroes don't
fight. See you at the chow hall."
Marty was kind
enough to carry my duffle bag to my room, and once there he helped me fit the
shoulder holster. We were at the door,
ready to leave when he said: "Did you forget something?" And I ingenuously
responded, "I don't think so."
"Bullshit. Your rifle. Don't ever forget it.
Someday it will save your life--or someone else's. Let's go." His words were to be prophetic.
With my rifle
at sling arms, as Marty had shown me, we stepped outside. I fell into step with him; many other people seemed to be going
our way, too.
We crossed the
clearing, which Marty called the quad, and were under the trees again. A few yards into the trees I could see a
structure; Marty
said it was the mess hall, but we took a trail to the right and followed it for
about five minutes. The trail ended at a
barrier of barbed wire, beyond which was a concrete structure, which reminded
me of a bomb shelter. On the other side
of the barbed wire were two doberman pinschers and
two guards armed with light machine guns.
"Howdy,
Marty," said one of the guards. Is
that the new recruit?"
"Yes it
is. Meet Harold Chambers--these jokers
are Trevor and Langston--be careful of Langston--especially on pay day; he likes to play cards--I ought to know--I
beat him every time, Ha, ha, ha!"
burst out Marty.
"Don't
believe a word he says, Chambers," responded Langston, good
naturedly. There seemed to be a
good sense of repartee among these men.
"Pleased to meet you, Chambers."
"Same
here," said Trevor.
"PLeased to meet you both," I said, and we all shook
hands.
"Jose
sent us over to pick up some ammo for Harold's weapons."
"Step
right in, the store's open and today we have a special "
"What's the special?" asked Marty.
"A case
of phosphorus grenades--compliments of the Christys
we went after last night. I never saw so
many PGs in all my service time. I
wonder where those bastards are getting all this sophisticated hardware."
While Trevor
held the dogs, we entered the wire and Langston unlocked a thick steel door,
put his hand inside and flipped on the lights.
We walked down six steps into the bunker. I saw cases of ammunition
and hand grenades and what looked like small, slender rockets.
Langston went
straight to his work. Opening up a heavy
wooden crate, he took out four loaded magazines of 7.62 mm rifle ammunition.
'Hey, Marty, grab one of those ammo belts for Chambers." While Marty held the belt
Langston stuffed the four magazines into its wide pockets. "Now some 9mm." From a shelf he took down a large box; when he opened it I
saw hundreds of loose rounds.
"Let's have your magazine," he said.
"Where is
it?" I asked
Langston
looked at me and smiled. "Brother,
you sure are green. Take out your
pistol." I did so. "You see that button?" he indicated
one to the rear of the trigger guard, "depress
it." I did so and out popped a
magazine. I really felt stupid. "Let me show you how to load it ," and he began to take individual rounds and pushed
them down on the magazine follower.
"Now you finish it," he said.
I managed to fill the magazine; it was easy, "Now shove it back
into the handle. I did. "This is the safety," he said,
pointing it out to me. "Your pistol
is now on safe. There's
nothing in the chamber, so don't worry about shooting yourself. I need you to sign for the ammo." He prepared a short form on a clipboard and I
signed my name.
"That's
it, partner. Good hunting," he
said, slapping me on the back in a friendly way.
"Jose
said the same thing to me: 'Good
hunting.' Is that how
you see all of this--like a hunting party.
"Hell,
yes," replied Langston. "We're
after real animals--dangerous ones--and it sure gives me a great deal of
pleasure to go hunting--and I hope you get the hunting spirit, too."
I was not used
to such talk. I'd been a student; and before that I'd
lead a rather quiet, nonviolent life..
All this talk about hunting men did not sit well with me; but I kept my
thoughts to myself.
I felt a
little awkward when we entered the mess hall,. I was not used to walking around with a rifle
and a pistol and a dagger and an ammunition belt filled with loaded magazines
in full view. But
as I looked around I saw I was not the only one and my self-consciousness soon
disappeared. We served ourselves at the
food line putting our food into steel trays with depressions. The food looked good and it smelled good,
too, and I was very hungry. Having been
wounded seemed to have enhanced my appetite.
I heard my name called out. I
turned; it was
a man with red hair; I had seen him at
the briefing table last night. "Sit
over here," he said. Next to him
was the quartermaster, Charlene. She
smiled and waved at me to join them.
Marty sat at
another table. "I want to introduce
myself, Harold, I'm Eddy Marino, small arms instructor
and you are my only student. As soon as
you are off the light duty list, we'll begin a series of
classes on the use of the weapons you've just been issued and when you've
achieved a degree of proficiency, I'll start you on various machine guns,
grenade launchers and hand grenades. Any questions?"
He was very direct.
"Can I
start sooner?"
"No way. Alpha
says you are to be on light duty for at least another week. I can get someone to teach you how to march
and salute," he said, with a sheepish grin, "if you're in such a
hurry. Just relax and get to know the
folks you're going to fight with--learn all you
can. Listen and ask questions--and a
piece of advice: No heroics. Be cool and cunning. The Christys are
pretty slick and ruthless. They don't
take prisoners--least way not in these parts; and when they do they usually torture
them. Avoid capture at all cost. They like to use piano wire tightened around
the balls--then give a good yank," and he pulled his fists apart.
My blood ran
cold and my hand started to shake.
"That's
the reality of this business. But I'm going to teach you how to shoot and shoot to
kill. Make every shot count."
Charlene
jumped in. "Now, Eddy, can't you
see he's shaking like a leaf. Enough of your war stories.
He just here and he's been wounded."
He turned to
her. "This is no church picnic,
Charlene, and you know that. If we're to
win we've got to be as ruthless as the Christys--and
there's no time like here and now in this mess hall for training to
begin." He turned to me. "I don't mean to be cynical--it's only
the truth. A buddy
of mine is now singing soprano--thanks to the Christys--they
deballed him, cauterized the wound, then let him go
as an example. If you value your family
jewels--shoot to kill and don't take prisoners unless ordered to do so."
"Suppose
I only wing someone and he's lying on the ground: Then what?"
"Shot him
between the eyes, then take your dagger and slit his throat to make sure he's
dead, dead--because that's what they'll do to you."
My ravenous
hunger suddenly vanished and I began to wonder if I had volunteered in
haste. I played with my food, took a few
bites, but my appetite was all but gone, while Eddy, on the other hand,
finished his lunch with gusto, then said, "I'm going outside to drink my
coffee and smoke. See you around,
Harold."
VI
Charlene,
bless her heart, took the bread and meat off my tray and made a sandwich which she wrapped in a paper napkin. "P{ut this in your pocket;
you'll get hungry later on. Dinner's not until 1800.
You'll be hungry again before then. Now, tell me, what did you do before you came
here?" I gave her a brief personal
history, but I somehow got the feeling that she was only making small talk to
calm me down.
"He's a
good man, Harold. The best we've got. He's been on more operations than anybody else. He's been wounded
twice. He's the
man from the Lazarus Room. I'm sure
Emily-Rose told you the story."
"Yes she
did," I said, seeming to perk up from my depressed feeling. "So he's Lazarus risen
from the dead. Well I'll be
damned."
"What ever he says you listen. He's hard, maybe too hard--but don't
anything he says personally. We've all given up a lot to be here. It's a tough life, But if we want to save this country
from the fascist Christians and their ultra conservative allies, we've got to
be as hard as nail--but only while we train and when we're on operations. All work and no play would make dullards of
us all too soon. Say, do you like to
dance?"
She went from
her apologia of Eddy and the hard life of the volunteers to asking me if I
liked to dance without losing a a
breath and ended with one of her lovely smiles.
I was beginning to like her.
"I'm not a great dancer, but I get by. Why do you ask?"
"Well, there's
a weekly ballroom dance society dance at the Legion hall in town every Saturday
night and my regular partner got hit week before last and is in the
hospital. So if
you'd care to escort me we could have a good time. I don't think light duty would preclude from
dancing."
I was
thrilled. It was something to look
forward to.
After what I'd gone through in the pst twenty
four hours a little dancing ought to lift my spirits, and, I'd not been out on
a Saturday night date in a couple of years.
I was a rather reclusive scholar. "Only one thing, Charlene: I don't have a lot of money and the only
clothes I have are my uniforms and the civilian clothes I came with plus one
change."
"No
problem. First off, you don't need any money and, secondly, you can dress as you
please. Admittedly, some of the couples
will show up decked out;
but by and large it's pretty casual. Folks up here are not de riguer
about sartorial propriety. Is it a
date?"
"You're
on. And
thanks. To be very honest, I feel
awkward," and I pointed to my weapons.
"You
won't have to carry your rifle off base, but it's SOP to have your pistol--and
you don't check it at the door, either. I'll ask around and get you a sports coat. We don't like to show our arms in public when
we're dressed in civilian clothes."
"This is
a very serious group, Charlene; and, to be armed all the time--well,
it isn't natural to me. Are we really
open to attack at any time?"
"You
better believe it. The Christys are out for blood--ours--and that means yours,
too. I was a high school biology teacher
before the troubles. Some Christian
group came to my school one day to speak.
That was also before the war.
They came with their Bibles and hymns and after a few prayers and hymns,
they told the students that unless they all accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as
their personal savior, they would all go to Hell with a bullet in their
back. When I heard that
I stood up and screamed at them. A
couple of their goons tried to shout me down, but by then several other
teachers jumped in with me and then the students started to shout them
down. Some threw books at them. It was almost a riot and the Christians left
in a huff. Two days later my husband and
daughter were killed when a bomb exploded in our car when the ignition key was
turned. That bomb was meant for me,
Harold. Those bastards will do anything
to achieve their ends. I take it you've been living in an ivory tower cut off from the real
world. Well, Harold, welcome to the real
world. It's blood, it's vicious--but we
shouldn't lose our sense of humor in the process."
"Have you
been out on operations, Charlene?"
"I sure
have. I've been
out a couple of times when they were short-handed. I've killed a few Christys--and wouldn't hesitate to do it again. But Matt needs my
supply expertise. I am the best
scrounger inn these parts. You see, my
father used to own a chain of hardware and construction supply companies, and I'd worked for him over the years--even ran the whole shibang for a while when he was sick. I've got a commission as a major
quartermaster extraordinary," she chuckled. "But just keep calling me Charlene. I don't hold much to this rank business--none
of us really do--but we're under orders so we've got to show some military
correctness--at least on paper and when some Regular Army guys show up for
periodic inspections." She looked
at her watch. "Hey, I've got to get
back to my shop. Join me at chow this
evening if you want. See you later,
Harold."
VII
As ordered, I
went to the main house and reported to Commander Gates. He was in the main room waiting for me. After commenting on my uniform, he invited me
to follow him to his office. It was a
rather Spartan, ordinary room: A desk, a
few chairs, a fileing cabinet, a telephone; and on the walls were maps, some official
looking documents in frames and a U.S. flag and a California flag. He sat and bade me do the same. He took out a file folder from the middle
drawer, placed it on his desk, opened it. He looked at the top sheet. He had a very serious look on his face, then he turned to me.
"Under
ordinary circumstances I would not have agreed to your enlistment--but the
circumstances that brought you here were not ordinary. Moreover, Commander Omega has vouched for
your earnestness and determination; a preliminary investigation into your
background permits me to enlist you into this command. We need all the recruits we can get. Without going into great detail, I can tell you that in a
few months things are going to get hot in this neck of the woods. Now let me tell you a few things about the
Volunteers. I have a commission from the
governor to raise a regimental size unit of volunteers. We get our arms and
ammunition and logistical support from the state and whatever castoffs
and surplus we can from the Regular Army.
We have ranks which correspond to ranks in the U.S. Army; but we are
primarily a guerilla force and don't hold to too much army protocol regarding
ranks--but when you receive an order you must follow it--without question. But there is nothing
chicken shit about this outfit. We don't go in for petty harassment or inspection of canteen
cups that regular G.I.s experience. We emphasize marksmanship, camouflage and
concealment; map reading and compass
work, small unit tactics, boobytraps and mines, when
needed, infiltration, hand to hand combat, and every skill to keep us one step
ahead of the common enemy--and, most importantly, we learn to stay alive. Dead men don't
fight. If we need to retreat, we
will. We don't
cotton to fighting to the last man--unless we are trapped. Thus far we haven't
been trapped and if we stay alert we never will. Our mission is to hit and hit hard, then get
the hell out. Speed and precision are
our keys to success. Our operation last
night was successful because every soldier did his job and did it quickly and
in accordance with instructions.
"You will
receive all the training necessary to get you into shape and eventually to go
out on operations. We operate a lot at
night and have lots of night exercises. You will receive the same pay and benefits as
a private in the National Guard--but you are not in the National Guard, and you
are not a member of the Regular Army.
This is a special unit. Have you
any questions?"
"What is
your rank?"
"According to my commission I am a full colonel--just like Teddy
Roosevelt when he organized his Rough Riders, the last volunteer unit of the 19th
Century. Ours is the first in the 21st
Century."
"Why do I
hear people refer to you as Commander Alpha and Dr. Lodi as Commander
Omega?"
He
smiled. I am the first in the officer
chain of command and Dr. Lodi, who is my sister, is the last. She is in charge of our medical unit. So if all of our
officers are killed or disabled she is the end of the chain of command--alpha
and omega. It's
that simple. If you have no further
questions, please rise and face the flags and stand at
attention. "Before I administer the
oath I want to tell you that you can bow out if you wish and there will be no
hard feelings. If you wish to take the
oath take one step forward."
I took one step forward.
"Raise your right hand and repeat after me." I repeated:--
"I,
Harold Chambers, hereby swear to defend the rightful government of the United
States of America and defend the Constitution against all enemies foreign and
domestic. I promise to follow the orders
of my officers and non-commissioned officers and the orders of the Governor of
the State of California and the orders of the President if called into Federal
service. I take this oath of my own
volition and promise to serve honorably until released from active duty."
"Congratulations, son.
You have made a great decision.
Generations to come will remember your name and the names of all those
who stepped forward to save the country from the fascists and the misguided
Christians who have declared war on the United States. I have arranged for you to receive some
political indoctrination and some education on the causes of this war. You will have a good instructor. Listen to him and learn. Now sit down and let's
get down to some other matters. Omega
says you are to be on light duty for at least five more days, which means no
jogging, no PT, no nothing to exert you; but you can read, listen and learn
much. We do have some ceremonies now and
then, so you can be instructed in military courtesies and traditions, and, you
can learn to shoot your pistol. I'm sure you have been admonished to carry arms at all
times. That is a standing order. I'm easy going about
most things--but I won't give an inch on anyone in my unit going about
unarmed--and for good reason: You are on
duty 24 hours a day and even if you're in town sipping beer and playing pool,
be armed. You never know when some scum
militiaman will walk in and shoot up the place.
It doesn't happen as often as it used to--not
since we got organized and our policies established.
"After I
dismiss you, I want you to hike back towards the mess hall, pass it on the
right and keep going for about fifty yards.
There's a small building there; that's our S-l office; see Major Stanley; he'll give you some official papers to fill
out, fingerprint you, take your picture and make you an I.D. card and dog
tags. Carry the card and dog tags at all
times. And after you have finished with
Stanley over at the S-l shop, I want you to retire to your room and rest for at
least two hours--doctor's orders."
He stood up. "I want to
thank you for making this sacrifice. If
we do our utmost we can rid the land of this scourge and get back to the
amenities of peace and freedom."
His voice and sentiments were sincere.
He stuck out his hand for me to shake.
While we shook hands he looked straight into my
eyes and for a moment I felt a chill go through my body.
I left and
once outside I had to stop and brace my hands on one of the porch columns; my head started to
hurt and I felt a little dizzy. So much
had happend to me, and I was just beginning to
understand it all and the gravity of the oath I had sworn to just a few minutes
before. I was now a soldier and my life
was different.
Following
Alpha's directions, I made my way to the S-l, the unit adjutant. More paper work and meeting new people. With a set of dog tags around my neck and an
I.D. card with my picture in my pocket and a handful of copies of my official
enlistment papers, I was told to report back to Major
Stanley at 1300 hours. I went gladly
back to the Lazarus Room for a well-deserved nap. I took off my boots, my ammo belt and dagger,
propped up my rifle and lay down on my bed. I kept the shoulder holster
on. I would even sleep with it. The minute my head hit the pillow I fell
asleep.
VIII
I got up in
time for lunch and at the mess hall fellow Volunteers came up to me and
introduced themselves.
They made me feel at home and asked me all kinds of questions. Their speech was sometimes rough, but their
ideals weren't; they
knew exactly why they were here and I took strength from them. A little before 1300 I made my way back to
the S-l shop and Walked in;
Major Stanley was waiting for me.
He looked at his watch. "Right on time.
Good. Chronologic precision is
one of the things we emphasize around here.
Please be seated, Chambers."
I sat, resting my rifle against the chair.
"I'm
going to give you a summary of the history of the rebellion. Please save your questions for later." He cleared his throat, stood up and pulled
down a rolled map of the United States. It was a map I had never seen before. It showed the enemy states and enclaves
throughout the Union. Major Stanley put
his hands behind his back and looking at me began to speak. I felt as if I was back in school and in a
manner of speaking I was in school: The school of the soldier, the college of
war.
"In spite
of indications to the contrary, A democratic President
was elected both in 1996 and the year 2000.
This did not go well with the reactionary right wing political
factions. Between '96 and the turn of
the century a new political party came into existence. Two thousand found us with
a House and a Senate just about equally divided between Democrats and conservative
Republicans who had aligned themselves with members of the third party just
mentioned, which called itself the American Constitutional Change Party, a
coalition of Christian fundamentalists, ultra-right wing, anti-government
fanatics, white supremacists, private militias, and every other kind of
disgruntled, wacko citizen blinded by ignorance and lead by self-righteous
bigotry and anti-democratic notions which they held to be truly American, but
which were more in keeping with totalitarian forms of government. Every kind of psychotic, political scum were organized into the ACCP. It's headquarters
was, and still is in Atlanta. It's first party chairman was a former speaker of the house,
but he died of a heart attack shortly after its inception--but there were other
lunatics who took his place. The ACCP
was financed through illegal donations of its corporate adherents and through
tithing. The party leaders, with the help
of televangelists and Christian radio talk-shows, were
able to convince millions of followers that the Biblical instruction of tithing
applied also to the ACCP, because the ACCP was going to put God back into the
American way of life and He needed money.
The Christian media convinced its listeners and viewers to send ten
percent of their wages to the local ACCP party affiliate, which in turn sent
the money to the party headquarters--but not before it took a healthy cut of
its own--which was used for their insidious propaganda and to buy arms,
uniforms and the like.
"All over America ACCP offices sprouted up like poisonous
mushrooms and with a rhetoric to rival the most vicious tyrants of the 20th
Century, the ACCP convinced enough people that the U.S. Government was the
enemy of the people, that the government was subverting the Constitution and
turning the country into an atheistic state;
and that the only way to change that direction was to change the
Constitution. Their
idea of change was to propose scrapping
the Bill of Rights, replacing it with a series of laws which called for
the abolishment of all labor unions and the right to strike; the abolishment of public schools which would
be privatized and run and controlled by corporations approved by the ACCP; that the values and the teachings of the Old
Testament would be at the top of all school curricula; that all non-Christian schools would be
compelled to offer Christian education first and foremost at the exclusion of
all non-Christian religions; that
homosexuality would be considered a felony and punishable by death by stoning
or castration and life imprisonment; in
the case of Lesbians, that their breasts would be surgically removed and they
undergo a clitoralectomy or death; that only members of the ACCP could own
firearms--with the proviso that gun owners become members of local militias,
which were affiliated with the local
ACCP ; that all government entitlements
be abolished. A reasonable person
would think it inconceivable that such sumptuary laws could be put forth in
America; but
they were. This insidious third party
also proposed that instead of prisons, all prisoners of the state would be
turned over to whatever corporations that wanted convict labor; that the convicts
would serve out their sentences as workers living in corporate prison factories.
"Believe
it or not, Chambers, many people agreed with the ACCP, that such laws were
worthy of enactment. That's
when the troubles began. Since the
Congress was just about evenly divided, the laws put forth by this coalition of
fascists were stalemated--all except the abolishment of labor unions and the
right to strike. Somehow
people got it into their heads that labor unions were obsolete and
self-serving. Little however did the
people understand the history of the labor movement in the United States and
how it was that labor unions had struggled for the 40 hour week, health and vacation
benefits and job safety. All the ACCP
aligned corporations started pumping money for the passage of this bill. They got their lobbyists into line and gave them
enough money to corrupt any politician weak-minded and greedy enough to sell
his or her vote. But
the labor unions started their own counter drive--and that's when things got
ugly and violent. A peaceful
demonstration by local unions in Chicago was fired on by anti-unionists--goons
funded by ACCP funds. Twenty six union
members were wounded, four fatally.. After that, every
union member who had a gun rallied, and in spite of police efforts, they
attacked the Chicago headquarters of the ACCP, killed all the members inside
they could find, then went on a rampage that lasted three days. The governor had to call out the Illinois
National Guard and shots were exchanged on both sides.
"Well,
needless to say, other labor unions and sympathizers started arming themselves
and while the Chicago unionists were at a standoff with the National Guard, a
similar incident happend in Boston, then one in
Connecticut. All over the country labor unionists were declaring war on the ACCP and
both the Federal and state governments seemed helpless to control it. Some National Guard units refused to fire on
the unionists. The President was asked
to declare a state of emergency; and after some reluctance he did; and in those areas where street warfare had
started, martial law was declared.
Federalized National Guard and Federal troops were ready for battle in
the trouble spots.
"This
seemed like a controlled scenario, because all of a sudden units of a
heretofore secret militia started to mobilize in the areas not under martial
law and several state legislatures met in emergency sessions to debate--as was
done back before the Civil War of 1861, secession--mainly the southern states
and some in the west. It was about this
time that certain elements in southern California took out their old chestnut
about splitting the state. The, then,
governor, an ultra-conservative Republican and a friend of the ACCP, endorsed
the movement. But,
surprisingly enough, the movement started to die on the vine until the governor
himself decided to move his office and cabinet to San Diego. The legislature met to hold impeachment
proceedings; and
while that was going on, the clandestine ACCP militias started to come out of
the woodwork and set up their headquarters next to the governor's in San
Diego. Pretty soon agitators began
fomenting trouble of a racial nature in Los Angeles,and bloody battles, not riots, broke out; then some rogue California National Guard
units in L.A. mobilized themselves and declared the southern half of the state
as New California. They even had their
own flag--lots of them ready on the first day of declaration, too; so we can assume
that it was not a spontaneous uprising of National Guard units, but a
conspiracy by the governor and the ACCP to split California. Their new flag was a white field with a gold
cross in the middle and the cross encircled with the
motto: "Fire and Blood Settle all
Issues." Not very
subtle.
"All over
the state, people were chosing sides, and when the
governor decided to call out the rest of the National Guard to help quell the
racial violence in L.A., almost half of the Guard stood fast not wanting to
join the fascists. This lead to open
warfare between the Guard units; that's when the situation became the
turning point for the state. The ACCP
militias, combined with the fascist Guardsmen, took control of the south in a
blood letting that has not yet stopped.
There were many desertions from the regular armed forces to the New
California forces; but
by and large, all Federal soldiers and sailors in the south remained loyal to
the government--except for a Marine battalion which broke out of its Camp
Pendleton base and went over to the rebels.
As the situation now stands all military and naval bases loyal to the
government in the south are under siege.
A de facto line has been drawn across the state. The Lt. governor,
who remained loyal, became the governor of the north and the president declared
all of the southern portion of the state as part of the state of emergency.
"Chaos,
tyranny and blood lust were the result of this separation; and taking inspiration from this fascist
doctrine, elements in Idaho declared that state a Republic, assassinated the
governor and most of his cabinet and ACCP militiamen attacked National Guard
armories and Federal installations and, unfortunately, they were
successful. One by one
half of Arizona, Nevada and Wyoming split along political lines, similar to
California. In the south, Georgia,
Alabama, Mississippi and the Carolinas and much of Florida seceded from the
union and hauled out the old Confederate flag.
The U.S. Congress then declared war on all the secessionists
states and divided states, arrested all ACCP members of both houses and
abolished the party in all places loyal to the government.
"It was
shortly after the declaration of war that all the militias came under control
not of the ACCP, but an organization which came out to replace the ACCP. Some members protested this takeover; but the Christian coalitionists
had those who protested liquidated and seized absolute control through the
medium of the firing squad. The take
over was similar to what Hitler did with his original Brown Shirts: when they were no longer needed, after they
had done all the initial dirty work for him, he had them killed. History, Chambers, has the oddest way of
repeating itself. It was very clear,
then, who was the true enemy: The
Coalition of Christian Organizations, the CCO, who finally surfaced and let
their faces be seen and their names named.
"We have
at present in the warring states a situation not unlike that in the Civil War
of 1861; however,
we find ourselves engaged in what is primarily a religious war. It seems incredible,
however, that is the case. And like the Civil War we have our own Copperheads, those
living in loyalist areas but who are sympathetic to the CCO. They are naive, if not downright ignorant,
for these sympathizers, these new Copperheads fail utterly to see the
totalitarian aspects of the Christian coalition and its ugly face of fascism
masked by the face of Jesus. One of the
CCO pep talk phrases they give to their troops is: "Just say NO! to Satan," of course meaning all those loyal to the
Constitution. Another of their
propaganda ploys is to broadcast:
"We are fighting evil with the Good News and hot lead." So you can see what
kind of mentality we are dealing with, Private Chambers.
"The
situation here in northern California is, for the moment, a guerilla warfare
situation. There is lots of militia
infiltration and their chief purpose is to cause mayhem, death and destruction
through terror. We also have seeming
loyal citizens who are members of the Christian Militia, who by day live and
work shoulder to shoulder with us and by night sneak off, don their uniforms of
treason and kill innocent people or blow up someone's car, then sneak back home
and with blood on their hands, sleep between clean sheets. This enemy is ruthless and unforgiving. The reason we have reluctantly adopted a
policy of taking no prisoners is because the Christys don't take prisoners. If you do not kill them, they will kill
you--without compunction. We cannot
change them, but we can try to eradicate them.
Therefore, Private Chambers, your first order is to kill all
prisoners--without exception. Don't be sentimental--because they're not.
"Our
primary mission is aimed at eradicating the militia and controlling
infiltration of troops and supplies. We
have a good intelligence system and lots of loyal
locals. What happend
on the bus you were on is most unusual.
The Christys were looking for people, which
people we don't yet know. We would never send our people by public
conveyance; that's
why we decided to take some prisoners and see if we can get them to talk. Maybe they were looking for deserters. If that's the case then their cause is
beginning to crack;
because once your troops start to desert it means the doctrines
are not working. Our day room has a
small library; make good use of it; there are any number of books and
papers and histories of this conflict. There is also a section of enemy reading material which we try to
keep up to date; since you are on light
duty, I strongly suggest you take advantage of this time to read as much as you
can to fully understand what has happend these past
two plus years, because the day you are declared fit for duty, you will begin a
most vigorous training and you'll not have much time for reading. It will be tough--war is tough, it is brutal; it makes us worse
than animals--but if we do not destroy this pernicious enemy, then democracy
and freedom are doomed. If the other
side wins, the Constitution loses. That's all I have to say.
Do you have any questions?"
"Yes, sir. I
remember hearing something about Texas; that they were having a war of their
own."
"A good question.
You're right:
They did have their own war. There was some question about which way Texas would go. They had a big ACCP following in Texas. But the good people
of Texas chose democracy and justice over fascism and tyranny. There was, as a result
of that momentous decision, an attempted coup in Austin. It was damn bloody, too; but the Texans trounced the
fascists. It took about six months of
open warfare, but they finally cornered what was left of the rebels at El
Paso--and those who tried to flee into Mexico were either shot by the Mexicans
or returned to the Texans. Texas sent in
its own parachute battalion which was instrumental in turning the tide of the
recent Battle of Las Vegas, which I'm sure you heard about."
"Yes,
Commander Omega filled me in."
"Good. The rebels are just
itching to get a hold of some nuclear weapons--and they'd
use them too. We saw some captured
documents to that effect."
"How was
this unit formed, Major?"
"Our
National Guard is stretched pretty thinly, what with guarding the borders and all, they couldn't control the guerilla warfare mainly
because they didn't have any training. So the governor sent out a call to all veterans with
guerilla warfare training or experience.
Matt, that is, the Colonel, is a retired U.S.
Army Ranger--he knows guerilla warfare--he's been in a scrap or two--well he
volunteered first. But
he told the governor he didn't want to create a carbon copy of some orthodox
spit and polish RA outfit; he had his
own ideas about how a guerilla army should be organized and commanded; that if he were to organize a unit it would
be a crack outfit minus all the RA bullshit and petty jealousies among officers
and EMs.
Well, it took a bit of doing, but in the end
the governor gave him a commission to raise a guerilla warfare volunteer unit,
and the Colonel would hand pick his troops and train them and indoctrinate them
into his idea of what a citizen's army should be. At first we only took veterans from any of
the services;
gradually, as we got better organized and trained, and had gone
out on a few operations, we started taking non-veterans. This is not the only Volunteer unit. There are two others; one is operating down south near the
new border and the other is up north near the Oregon border. Lucky for us Oregon and Washington are on our
side. But Northern Nevada isn't, and we
are trying to plug up the hole that leads from the so-called Republic of Idaho,
into northern Nevada thence into California, through which troops and supplies
come through."
Major Stanley
looked at his watch. "It's just
about chow time, son. This lecture is
over. But feel
free to stop me any time you want if you have any questions or aren't too clear
about things. One final note: We may seem casual on the surface, not much
traditional military protocols around here;
but underneath we are a punctilious group of defenders--the best--we've
blooded ourselves more than once and have lost a few. So don't ever take
anything lightly. When you're asked to do something, do it. Everything we do is done with a purpose. I understand you were a graduate
student. Well, son, consider yourself a
Ph. D. candidate: And the dissertation
is written with blood--maybe your own.
Now let's get some lunch. All this talking whet
my appetite.
I picked up my
rifle and followed him. Again my head was swimming and I felt like an
ignoramus. Where had I been while the
country was being torn apart by people bent on destroying the Constitution
through subversion masked in the guise of Christian morals and values? I was ensconced in my student's digs with my
nose in some textbook;
and though I heard about events, I consciously put what I heard
out of mind--stuck my head in the sand while the country was falling
apart. But I
would learn. And now,
like Major Stanley, I too, was hungry and fell in step with him to the mess
hall.
IX
Emily-Rose was sitting with
Charlene and I joined them and a few others.
They were in the middle of a conversation and stopped talking just long
enough to greet me. I fell to eating
because I was hungry. As I ate I could
not help overhearing the conversation which was about two Christys
who had been held at the county jail awaiting transfer to a Federal facility; they had been
apprehended for bank robbery--another tactic the Christys
use to terrorize civic life. Before they
left the bank, the sprayed the bank with automatic weapons fire, wounding
employees and customers. Luckily no one was killed.
At the country jail they managed to overpower a guard and killed him,
then making their way to the cell block control center, over powered the lax
guards, killing one, taking their guns, and, using one as a hostage, took a
jail van and made good their escape. The
van was found about twenty miles away, abandoned. The guard had been shot and left for dead and
the Christys escaped into the hills. The Sheriff was asking the Volunteers for
help in recapturing the escapees. I was
about to ask a question when a sharp blast from a whistle brought the mess hall
to a standstill. I saw our Commander
mount a chair.
"Listen
up, people. A couple of murderous Christys broke out of the county jail; they've killed two guards and wounded
another, leaving him for dead. The
Sheriff has asked for our help in flushing those bastards out of the
hills. We don't
normally enter into police business, but this is a special case. There will be a formation at 1300 where I
will then ask for volunteers. That's all. As you were." He
stepped down and left.
Immediately
the heavy silence which had obtained while Alpha spoke
was now broken with the buzz of many voices.
I felt a little left out because everyone at my table was going to
volunteer, and I for the moment because of lack of training and my head wound,
could not; and I said so.
"Don't
feel badly, Harold, there'll be lots of other ops. This is more of a manhunt--although it will
be a good field exercise, too, albeit a somewhat dangerous one. If you feel you want to do something useful,
come over to the supply room. I've got
lots of little jobs that need doing," said Charlene.
"She's
right, Harold. Don't
be impatient. Anyway, you don't even
know how to shoot," said Emily-Rose, matter-of-factly.
She was, of
course, right; they
were both right; but here I was, a
soldier in name only and I was itching for action.
At the one
o'clock formation I was amazed to see platoons of Volunteers all standing at
attention in what I believed to be a strict military formation. There must have been about two hundred of
them; and I
couldn't imagine where they had come from.
Alpha stepped out of the headquarters house. I stood alone in the rear of the formation.
Major Stanley,
who had been standing in front of the formation brought his arm up in salute
and said: "All present."
He returned
the salute. "I'll be brief; you all know by now
why I have called for this formation.
The Sheriff needs our help and I'm asking for
volunteers. To a man every Volunteer in
the ranks stepped forward;
even I stepped forward as a gesture of solidarity. "Thank you, but we all can't go; someone has got to
stay behind to mind the store. I want
platoon commanders to accept ten volunteers from each platoon. And again every one
in each platoon stepped forward. Then I
could see the platoon commanders select every other man and had them step
forward.
"All volunteers for this mission will
report back to the quad at 1400 in full field gear. Draw ammo and rations for two days. Medical personnel will carry snakebite
kits. The Sheriff thinks the Christys are up in the Ogam
Canyon area and there are lots of rattle snakes up
there this time of year. But we've got
our own snake bite medicine for those two serpents will be looking for,"
said Alpha with a grin on his face, and the entire unit broke into shouts. "While I am gone, Major Stanley is in
command. Thank you all. Dismissed."
Men and women
went every which way.
I stood watching, wishing I could go, too, when I felt a tap on my
shoulder. It was Charlene. After the search party leaves, report to me
for some light duty assignments, Harold."
"I'll be
there," I answered with a smile.
Pretty soon vehicles started arriving and pulling up in a
line on the quad. They had come the
direction of the mess hall so the camp must be pretty
expansive. I needed someone to
show me around.
The vehicles were painted camouflage colors. Marty came by. "I understand you're coming to help
us. Come along and have some coffee and
you can watch the action." I
followed him. As we stood at the door of
the supply room, I saw the Volunteers come in twos and threes and singly into
the quad. They wore back
packs and were armed to the teeth.
I recognized many of their faces and knew a few by name. I saw Trevor and Langston, who saw me and
waved. At a few minutes before two,
Alpha stepped out on the porch and looked around. An officer I had not seen before was standing
in front of the assembled Volunteers. He
was a tall man; I
could see thick brown hair sticking out from under his forage cap, and he
carried two pistols and a small, short-barrelled
automatic weapon. He saluted Alpha.
"All
present, commander." he said.
"Very
well, load em up, Alex," replied Alpha, who
descended the stairs and headed for a jeep parked in front of the headquarters.
Alex turned to
the Volunteers. "Fall out and mount
your vehicles!" was all he said and there was a flash of bodies moving every which way getting into the trucks. In less than a minute they were all seated
I saw Alpha
lean over to his driver and say something.
The driver pulled out and headed for the front of the column and as the
jeep passed the first vehicle in line, it started out and all the vehicles
behind followed and they went down the gravel road and were lost in the trees.
X
I spent the
rest of the afternoon helping out in the supply
room. I got to
know Marty and Charlene better and by the time it was time to knock off, Marty
invited me to play a game of pool in the day room of his barracks, which turned
out to be a former bunkhouse, not far from the mess hall. He told me that there were newly built
barracks in another section and that he would take me on a tour the next
day. By the time we had played two
games, I had a headache and was feeling tired, so I excused myself and with the
aide of a flashlight which Marty lent me, I went back
to my own room but stopped off at the dispensary to get something for my
head. Emily-Rose was there; she was just
finishing up her day's work. She gave me
one of the small white pills for my pain, then invited
me for coffee. In spite of my fatigue, I
accepted and she told me to meet her in the kitchen in about fifteen
minutes. I then went back to my room and
lay down until it was time to meet.
I found her in
the kitchen brewing coffee. When it was ready we sat at the kitchen table and for a moment stared at
each other in silence. She broke the
silence:--
"I want to
apologize to you, Harold."
"Apologize? What for?"
"I
believe I was too harsh with you in the car the other evening before I brought
you here. You were in no condition to
understand what I was doing or what any of this was all about. I'm just hard on
myself, I guess, and needed to vent and you were available. I'm sorry."
There was no
question about my not accepting her apologize, even if I didn't
think it was necessary. But I didn't tell her that.
I didn't think she had been harsh; perhaps a bit acerbic in her speech,
but certainly nothing to apologize for--considering the circumstances. But I was able to see
a softer side to Emily-Rose, one I'd not had a chance to see because of the
circumstances of our meeting and, of course, her personal experience. I flashed her a warm
smile and reached out my hand to her.
"Apology accepted." She
took my hand and I liked how she squeezed mine in a gentle way.
"Now that
we have buried the hatchet, I'd like to ask a favor--if you can do it."
"Name it; and if I can, I'll
do it."
"Can you
take me to the hospital so I can see the baby?"
"You mean
the one mother and I operated on?"
"Yes. And I want to know her
name and who her next of kin is."
"I can
tell you right away, but why do you want to know and why do you want to see
her?"
I hesitated
for a moment to collect my thoughts clearly in my mind. "To be very honest with you that child,
or rather what happend to her is probably the real
reason I'm here. I'll admit I'm still pretty naive
about the politics of this war--but Major Stanley did set me straight about a
lot of things with his talk--but her mother's death and her losing her leg were
the motivating factors for my enlistment.
I feel very close to that child--after all, we were both wounded in that
attack, we're both victims of this war, and I'd like to meet her kin and maybe
become a kind of big brother or honorary uncle to her." All the time I was talking
I was looking into my coffee cup. When I
finished I looked up and I saw tears falling from Emily-Rose's eyes.
"Why are
you crying? Is it something I
said?"
She took a
paper napkin and wiped her eyes; and while she did she shook her head,
no. "Her name is Fiona, and that we
know she is now an orphan. We've had the
social services department look into the mother's background: She was a single mother, no known relatives; father's name or
whereabouts unknown. And
the reason I'm crying is because Mother and I have been talking about adopting
Fiona--or at least become her legal guardians, and I'm touched that you, also,
feel deeply about her. It shows the
depth of your character, Harold."
She took her napkin once again and wiped her eyes. A sudden surge of affection for Emily-Rose
rose up in me; I
felt so close to her. I took her
hand. "If you and your mother take
her, will you let me visit her often?"
She burst into tears once again.
I stood up, pulled her gently out of her chair and embraced her and for
a long time we stood, she now softly weeping and by then my eyes were also wet. Slowly
she disengaged from me. "Thank you
Harold for holding me;
I needed that hug. I don't think I get enough hugs since Bart died. Thank you for being kind. I think Saturday would be a good time to
visit Fiona. I call mother and arrange
it.
"Thank
you, too. I appreciate your help. Just let me know what time. By the way, I need another favor. I need to write some letters and I have
neither paper, envelopes nor stamps, and, I don't know what my new return
address is; and
I don't know where to mail my letters."
"I can
give you all the envelopes and stationery you need; and, I've got stamps, too. Come back to the dispensary with me. Your return address is P.O. Box 112,
Roseland. Mail is picked up three times
a week or whenever anyone is going to town.
There's a mail drop in the day room. You have made me very happy, Harold. I'm going to call mother as soon as I get
back to my quarters."
"Where are
your quarters?" I asked.
"I use
the spare room just off the dispensary.
You're welcome to visit me whenever I'm in-house."
With stamps,
envelopes and paper in my hands, I went to my room, undressed, took and took a
shower; I
didn't feel tired any more, though. So with my pajamas and robe on and my writing material and a
pen, I went to the day room. An hour later I had finished writing several letters; one to my parents, in Hawaii, explaining what
had happend to me and why I had enlisted; one to my landlady telling her the same thing
and asking her to sell or give away my things, and one to a school chum of mine
urging him to come up to Roseland to enlist. Then fatigue hit me again and I dropped the
letters into the mail drop, went back to my room and slept.
The next day
after breakfast Eddy took me in a small pick-up truck to a pistol range about a
twenty minute drive from the main house. First he showed me
how to field strip my pistol and instructed me on how to clean it. We then went through a
dry-fire practices. When I had
practiced enough to suit him, he set out some paper targets at 25 meters. "Now remember, breathe, hold it, and
squeeze the trigger--don't pull it. Fire
three rounds, then put the safety on and we'll examine
the target.
Using what I
had been told, I fired three rounds.
When we went forward to examine the target Eddy whistled and exclaimed,
"Well I'll be damned, you got the tightest group I've ever seen in a
tyro. You are a born shooter,
Harold. Let's
go back to the firing line and confirm your eye. Maybe it was just beginner's luck."
I fired off
three more rounds and we examined the target.
Eddy shook his head. "I've
not seen shooting like this in a coon's age--why just look at the tightness of
the group. Let me move the target up a
piece and see what you can do."
Admittedly I
didn't do as well at 50 meters as I did
at 25; nonetheless, my groups of three
were tight, and twice I was able to get a round or two right in the bulls
eye. We took a break and I stripped my
pistol, cleaned it and then we policed up the brass. Before we broke for lunch he had put me
through combat shooting stances, fast draw from the shoulder and rapid fire
techniques that rattled my head somewhat; but I was having a good time and did
not complain about my headache. I
cleaned my pistol again and while I was swabbing out the barrel Eddy said:--
"You know
Harold, plenty of men are good shots with a rifle, but damn few can hit the
side of a barn with a handgun; but you are a natural and I want to
congratulate you on being such a fine student.
If you do as well with the rifle you will
become a sharpshooter. We've got us a
shooting team; now
and then we have matches. I'd like to invite you to join the team. I'm sure the team members will welcome you too And listen, we've
got plenty of 9mm ammo, so I want you to practice as often as you like. I'm telling you,
you're good. But
don't let that go to your head. You just
might freeze up when the bullets are coming your way. After lunch I want you to meet with me and we'll come back here and I'll let you try out some
revolvers and an Uzi I took off a Christy a couple of ops ago. Damn fine weapon that Uzi," he said with
a grin on his face.
We were back
on the range after lunch and I spent most of the afternoon shooting three
different kinds of revolvers and the Uzi.
At last the moment arrived. "You will now fire a series of exercises
for the record. These exercises will go
into your permanent record. Do the best
you can.
I did better than I had expected. Eddy wrote down my scores on a card and
signed it. "You are now qualified
to shoot four different kinds of handguns.
But that does not mean your schooling is
over. We will return to this range again
and you will practice, practice, practice, until having a gun in your hand is
as second nature to you as holding your pecker when you pee."
I burst into
laughter. I had never heard anyone talk
like that; but
I found it amusing and Eddy laughed along with me. And that night at
the mess hall he introduced me to several of the pistol team members. He had even brought along the paper targets
to show them and I felt proud of my new-found ability
and began to feel a part of unit. Long
after the food line was closed, several of us sat at the table drinking coffee
and talking about shooting matches and shooting Christys. I still wasn't so sure I could aim and pull
the trigger at a living human being the way I did at paper targets; and I said so.
"Set your
mind at rest, Harold," said one of the team members. "Before I enlisted the only things I had
ever shot
were beer bottles and aerosol
cans down at the county dump. But when
them Christians start sending rounds your way you won't have time for deciding
what's right or what's wrong;
all you'll want to do is shoot back to stay alive. The first time I went out on an operation I
was shaking like a leaf--no kidding. I
had me a few moral scruples about the sanctity of human life; but when some bastard opened up on us
with a machine gun and I started eating dirt and pissing my pants, well I only
got mad and started to return his fire.
I emptied two magazine before I knew he was a
goner. Hell, there isn't
one among us who didn't have some kind of uncertainty. But don't worry,
when you're ready for ops they'll be plenty of us right beside you to encourage
you."
XI
After two and
a half days the Volunteers on the manhunt were still out in the field and word was
that the fugitive Christys had been located, but the
terrain was rugged and the searches were exhausted, for they had been relentless
in their pursuit, and once they were on the trail they gave their quarry no
rest. It had been further determined by
evidence found during the search that the two fugitives were not alone; they had been
joined by at least three others, or so I had heard. Commander Alpha sent word by radio that a
field kitchen was to be sent out so the Volunteers and the Sheriffs could have
a hot meal, for all of them had been living on field rations.
I volunteered
to go as a KP with the field kitchen. I
approached our mess sergeant about going.
He was a big man, originaly
from Greece, Sgt. Papadakis
was his name. He was completely
bald and had a large handlebar moustache and he looked fierce; but when I talked to him he wasn't the
ogre his height and girth presented. He
was a retired
restaurant owner and had spent seven years in the French Foreign
Legion as an infantryman and baker and he had lots of stories to tell. When I asked him about going
he said, "If the major says ok, then ok with me." I found Major Stanley and asked permission to
go and he consented. We were expected to
be there in time to set up the kitchen and prepare dinner for that evening and
breakfast the next day.
I went to
Charlene who gave me a sleeping bag and told me that she'd
found a sports jacket for me to wear Saturday night. "I hope we're back in time," I
said. "If you're not back by six
p.m. Saturday, I'll go alone." She
gave me one of her warm smiles and wished me good luck.
We were a
convoy of two, two and a half ton trucks, one of which had a large water tank
in tow. We carried food, field kitchen
stoves, immersion heaters and large aluminum garbage cans, utensils, pots, pans
and large canvas awnings. We traveled
for two hours on paved roads, then pulled off onto dirt roads for about two
more hours of the roughest ride I'd ever had. Sgt. Papadakis said
we'd be met by guides to take us to the Volunteers
encampment. When we reached our rendzvous point, instead of waiting in the vehicles, as I
thought we would, all of us were ordered out of the vehicles and Sgt. Papadakis assigned each of us positions and fields of
fire. I stuck close to a second cook
named Sweeney, who had been in the unit since its inception. "We don't what the situation is, so we
prepare for an assumed attack. If the Christys are in this area, they could open fire on the
trucks and slaughter us. The guides are
late so we hunker down and wait. Keep
your eyes and your ears open."
We waited for
about fifteen minutes when we heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. I had my pistol at the ready; but I was not
alone; eight men were all aiming their
weapons toward the sound of the vehicle.
I recognized Alpha and was about to stand up when Sweeney pushed me
down. "Don't ever
do that. Let the Commander's
vehicle stop and let him get out. One
never knows." Very well, I was a
recruit and I followed his instructions, but I did think it a bit paranoid.
Alpha's driver
stopped. Alpha stood up in the jeep and
looked around. "Good work,
men. Fall in!" he shouted. We gathered around his jeep. He looked at me with surprise. "What are you doing here?" he
asked. "I volunteered for KP. Major Stanley gave me permission."
"Splendid. Here is the
situation, men: The Christys
are holed up in a narrow canyon. For all intents and purposes they are trapped. Obviously they don't
know this area, otherwise they wouldn't be here. We've been tracking
them for all of two days in rough country and since they aren't going anyplace,
we can have some hot food, a good night's rest and tomorrow morning go after
them and finish the job. The Sheriff and
the F.B.I. agent assigned to this case want to take them alive. I'm not sure we can
do that. But only
tomorrow will tell. In the meanwhile, I
want the best dinner you can turn out, Nikos,"
he said, addressing Sgt. Papadakis.
"We got
steaks and I brought fresh bread I baked it myself. Don't worry. How far away we got to go?"
"About two miles.
I was late because the road--what there is of it--is rocky; so you drivers be
careful you don't bust an axle. Mount up
and follow me."
In a trice we were back in the trucks and in not too long of a
time we arrived at the bivouac area. The
Volunteers looked tired and dirty. They
were deployed at the mouth of the canyon and I was told a fire team had hiked
in earlier on the heights to block off any attempted escape through the end of
the canyon, which I was told exited into a steep ravine.
Many helped to
unload and set up the field kitchen and in what seemed like the blink of an eye
we were ready to start preparing the hot meal.
I was assigned various small, but important tasks and worked as best I
could. I even bumped my wound and a seering pain shot through my head; but I gritted my teeth and
continued. By the time we were ready to serve I had a splitting headache. I stood in the serving line spooning out
buttered peas and carrots. I saw one of
our Volunteers wearing a red cross armband. "Just the man I need to see," I
said, spooning
carrots and peas into his mess kit.
"What have you got for pain?
My head hurts."
"You're
Chambers, the new guy, right?" he asked.
"That's
me."
"I
thought you were on light duty. What are
you doing here?"
"KP. Can't you
tell," I said, smiling and plucking the white apron over my
fatigues." He chuckled.
"Well,
I've got morphine, codeine and aspirin.
How bad is the pain?"
"A couple
of aspirin will do."
"Ok. Let me get back to my bag and you'll have your aspirins.
Say, can I have some more peas and carrots?"
"Certainly," and I gave him another spoonful and he went his
way. In a few minutes
the medic was back. "Here," he
said, handing me a small box, "take two now and then two every four hours
if the pain persists. If you're still in
pain in the morning, come and see me for something stronger."
The kitchen
staff didn't eat until the last of the Volunteers and
Sheriff's contingent went through the line.
My appetite was good and I ate a big steak and several slices of Sgt. Papadakis' excellent bread and lots of peas and
carrots. When we had cleaned up and put
everything in its proper place we were dismissed. I got my gear out of the truck, put my poncho
down on the ground, unrolled my sleeping bag, took off my boots and crawled in,
taking my rifle with me. Although I had
not yet fired it, I had asked Eddy to at lest show me how to fire it. He had taken a few minutes and showed
me. I'm glad he
did. Zipping up my bag and arranging both myself and my rifle in a comfortable position, I fell
asleep and, in spite of the circumstances, had pleasant dreams.
XII
Papadakis himself waked me at 4:30 A.M. I was assigned as egg cracker; we had scrambled
eggs on the breakfast menu. At six, the troops filed by and I served the toast. By seven we were
cleaning and by the time we were loading the trucks, the operation was resumed.
The sheriff
himself,, his deputies and the F.B.I. agent and a
contingent of our Volunteers, headed into the canyon. The Sheriff had a battery
operated bullhorn which he would use to try to talk the escapees and the
others into surrendering. Since this was
a police matter, our no prisoners policy did not obtain.
The staging
are was quiet and tense. The wind was
blowing; everyone
was on alert. Periodically I could hear
the muffled voice of the Sheriff's carried down the canyon by the wind, but I
could not understand his words. I was
sitting on the back of the truck with my rifle across my lap. I had loaded it. Not in my wildest dreams did I ever think I
would use it that day.
Suddenly the
sound of gunfire erupted, followed by three loud explosions. I could see black smoke spiraling up and pushed
by the wind. I could see Alpha talking
on the radio. Then there was more
gunfire, lots of it, continuous, then it became sporadic, then there was a long
silence and again Alpha was on the radio.
I heard him shout:
"Medics!" and he raised his hand and pointed toward the
canyon. "Move out!"
Who'd been wounded:
The Christys or one of ours? Ten minutes later I saw people walking out of
the canyon, two had their hands in the air and they were surrounded by deputies
and Volunteers, but I did not see the Sheriff or the F.B.I. agent. The two men with their hands up in the air
were dressed in civilian clothes. I
assumed they were the captured bank robbers.
I saw Alpha on
the radio again, then he turned to some Volunteers and in his stentorian voice
said, "Sgt. Bernstein, take ten men and stretchers and help carry out the
wounded and the dead." I watched
the ten Volunteers with stretchers enter the narrow canyon. Some minutes later
everyone who had been in the canyon began to file out. I saw three stretchers,
one had a poncho over it. I jumped down
from the truck and went over to the center of activity. I saw the medic who had given me the aspirin
and asked him for a rundown. He told me
that the Christys who had
been holed up opened fire, then threw hand grenades. We had returned their fire. During the explosions, one of the Christys managed to scale the canyon wall and was now at
large. The fire team assigned to guard
the back door was now on the hunt for him.
One Christy was dead, the two escapees captured and a forth Christy was
wounded--and one on the run. The Sherifff and the F.B.I. agent had been wounded by the
grenade fragments. Sweeney then came up
to me. "Chambers, Nikos want to leave in a few minutes. Report back to the truck."
"Ok," I said and off I went.
I was sitting on the back again with my rifle in my
lap looking up to the top of the hill at the mouth of the canyon when I saw
movement; thinking it one of our men I
didn't give it much thought until I saw a man in a Christy uniform kneel and
rest his weapon on a rock and assume a fireing
position. My stomach
knotted. I didn't
have time to call out. I lifted my rifle, flipped off the safety and with the Christy in
my sights, I squeezed off two rounds. I saw the weapon fall from his hands and a
second later saw his body crumble, roll over and plummet to the ground. I was stunned not only by the report and
recoil of the rifle, but by what I had done:
Killed a man. I was still
sitting, but now I was shaking and my head was hurting more than ever. My eyes were wide open and I saw men running
toward the body and toward me. Alpha and
others approached me.
"Good
shooting, good shooting!" called out various voices. Alpha was standing right in front of me; he had his arms
folded across his chest and he was looking at me with an intense stare. "Stop shaking, soldier, and get off that
truck," he said, in what I thought was a harsh tone. When I was on the ground
Alpha's face burst into a grin.
"You've saved somebody's life, son.
Now do you understand why you must be armed at all times?"
I responded in
a tremolous voice:
"I understand clearly."
My knees were knocking and my head felt as it it
was about to split open.
A Volunteer
and the medic with whom I'd become acquainted pushed their way through the small crowd in front of
me. "You got him clean through the
neck twice! Man, have you got an
eye," said the volunteer, and he handed me something and added, "here, this belongs to you--spoils of war you might
say." What he was handing me was a short barreled revolver, the kind I used to see police
detectives use in the movies. It was in
a holster.
"Go on,
take it," said Alpha, "it's yours; it's kind of a tradition we have. A man can always use a second gun."
I took
it. The back of the holster was still
warm, the warmth of the man I'd killed. I just stared at it not really
sure what to do with it. Alpha
could see I was in pretty bad shape. "Ok, show's
over, back to your positions," then turned to the medic and said,
"You stay with him." The crowd
left.
"Does
your head hurt?" asked the medic.
All I did was nod my head. He
fished around in his medical bag and took out a small bottle of white
pills. "Take one of these and sit
down. Drink plenty of water." He handed me his canteen. I put the pill on my tongue, drank and
swallowed. My mouth and throat were
dry. I must have drunk half of his
canteen.
He sat down
next to me and put his arm on my shoulder.
"I know you're feeling badly, but don't be. That fucker was aiming to kill. If it will make you feel better
he had a light machine gun and had he pulled the trigger a lot of us would have
been wounded or outright killed. You
saved lives--and that's what this business is all
about--saving lives--ours--and we do that by killing the enemy so they don't
get a chance to kill us. It's that simple. You've got a mild case of shock. Lie down, I'll get a blanket." "No, not necessary. We're going to be pulling out in a few
minutes."
"Ok, up
to you. By the way, my name's Eric Stone.
And if I ever see you in town I'll buy you a beer, Chambers."
"Thanks,
Eric. I'll take you up on that
beer."
Sweeney and Papadakis helped me up. "Good shooting, recruit," said our
corpulent mess sergeant. "In the
Legion, when they honor a hero, they kiss him on each check," so saying,
he grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me to his chest and planted a kiss on
each cheek, then stepped back and saluted me.
"When you have your birthday, let me know. I bake you the best cake for
Sharpshooter. Sweeney, you got that
bottle of brandy you not supposed to have in your jacket?" he said with a
wink and a grin.
"I
imagine I might find one that someone may have put there without my
knowledge," he said in repartee.
"Fine. Give this
one a snort. He looks pale."
I slept all
the way back--in spite of the bad roads.
I woke up when Sweeney shook me.
We're home, Sharpshooter," he said. Nikos told me to
knock you off.
We've got plenty of guys to help us unload."
I gathered my
gear and trudged off to my room. My head
was better; but
I was not feeling better. I looked at my
sleeping bag which reminded me of Charlene and, picking
it up, I went to return it to her. When
I got to the supply room however, she was not there, but I saw Jose, who was on
his way upstairs.
"How did
it go?" he asked. I told im, omitting my sharpshooting. He looked at me with a quizzical look. "You don't look any too good,
amigo. Is it your head?"
It was then
that I showed him my
war trophy. "Do you
know how I got this?"
"Tell
me," he said, as he rmoved the revolver from its
holster and examined it. I told
him. He looked up from the
revolver. "Hmm, you say you shot
twice, which means you need to clean your weapon. Come up to the armory and I'll show you what
to do," he said this non-chalantly.
"But I
killed a man!" I almost shouted it out.
"Now you
are a combat veteran--but you still need to clean your weapon. Don't put a lot of
moral importance about blowing Christys away. By the way, this is a pretty
good revolver. A
Smith and Wesson .38 Special police model. A good piece of iron," he said, handing
it back to me. "We've got a few thousnd rounds of .38 special ammo, mostly captured from
the Christys--seems they like .38 special. Com'n, let's go
upstairs and get you started cleaning."
It seeemd I was the only one with moral qualms. But I had been told
that our mission was to eradicate the Christian Militia as if they were some
kind of weed. I'd
heard that intellectualy, but now I was part of the
eradication process and I had to come to terms with that.
While I
swabbed out the barrel of my M-14, Jose sat at his desk cleaning my war trophy; and as he sat he
talked to me in a soft, even voice:--
"When I
was fourteen years old I was a member of a small guerilla band in Central
America. I was a farmer's son. All I knew was my family, my village, the
fields we worked. I'd had a little
schooling; I
could write my name and read a little.
Then one day government soldiers came to our village, took all males
sixteen and older, but leaving the very old, took them out to an old farm, made
them dig their own graves, then machine gunned them because our entire village
was suspected of harboring rebels who had attacked the soldiers some days
before,. Of course that was not true. We were simple farmers. My father was among the dead. My mother told me to flee
to the forest, lest the soldiers come back and takes boys even younger. I stayed in the forest for about a week. I was scared, hungry and, most of all,
lonely. I decided to return to my
village. I waited for night. When my mother saw me
she told me to flee, for just as she'd predicted, the soldiers had returned and
took all the boys away. They asked about
me but my mother told them I had disappeared.
""Go and don't come back.
Forget you have a mother, forget
this village. Save your life, my
son.' Then she gave me an extra shirt,
my father's machete and wrapped some tortillas in a cloth ,
hugged me, then pushed me out into the night.
"Once
again I was a scared boy in a big forest.
But I knew one thing. I wanted revenge. I'd heard that there
were guerillas in a certain place and I went there. It took me a while to make contact, but I
did, They took me in, fed me, clothed
me, armed me and trained me to fight back--just like we've done for you. By the time I was
eighteen I was a veteran fighter with many killed to my credit. I even killed one soldier with my father's
machete. Do you think I am immune from
feelings? Do you think anyone here gets
a thrill out of killing? Sure, guys like
to brag, but it's only a coverup
for their deeper feelings. I know you're
suffering; I
suffered, too. We all do. But I had the memory
of my father and the men in my village to keep me from feeling sorry for
myself. You probably enlisted with a lot
of good intentions;
and now after killing a Christy you are beginning to have some
moral doubts. Is that so?'
His soft voice
seemed to have quieted my disturbed spirit.
"Yes, you're right, Jose. I
was having my doubts, but I was forgetting Fiona and her mother; and you've just reminded
me of them."
"Who is Fiona and her mother?
Is she your girl friend?"
I smiled. "Not exactly,"
and I told him about Fiona and how I had wanted to avenge her and her mother.
"There's
your icon, Chambers. Keep Fiona's picture
in your mind every time you're in the field or you
start to get discouraged. And remember: You're
not alone and today was only your first.
After a while you won't think twice about a dead Christy."
"You're
very kind, Jose. I appreciate what you've told me. To be
very honest with you, I didn't like you the first time
we met. Now I have to apologize for not
having liked you."
"Among
men it's ok not to like another man; but it is a gift to change one's heart
and become friends."
"Thank you, Jose. Please, let me give you the war trophy."
"But it's
yours; you
earned it under fire. We all claim a
weapon."
"I'll get
another. No; you take it as an expression of my
esteem for you and for showing me how wrong I was about you."
"Ok. I accept your gift. But allow me:
A gift for a gift." He stood
up, lifted his right boot onto a box, pulled up his bloused pant leg exposing
an ankle holster. He undid the Velcro
strap and handing the holster to me said, "This is my first war trophy; it's a .380
Beretta. You take it--it's
a good ankle gun. It might come in handy for you some day."
We looked at eachother with depth, warmth and understanding. "Pull up your pants leg," he
said. Jose affixed the holster. "I'll drop off a couple boxes of ammo to
you later. Now let me inspect your
rifle," he said with a smile, "after all, you are a recruit--but a
damn good shot. Eddy was telling me how
well you did with your pistol qualification.
You know, we do need a good sniper.
When you finish your training, I will aske
Eddy to recommend you."
XIII
{NOTE BY R. Haig: Fragmented text below retrieved from
original MS Word document}
th my
picture in my pocket and a handful of copies of my official enlistment papers,
I was told to report back[1][1]âÓ€éãÓÙ#ÿÿÿÿ0 hours. I went gladly back to the Lazarus Room for a
well-deserved nap. I took off my boots,
my ammo $,r.p.11/3/95 10/21/95âÓn on my bed. I kept the shoulder holster
on. I would even sleep with it. The minute my head hit the pillow I fell
asleep.
VIII
I got up in
time for lunch and at the mess hall fellow Volunteers came up to me and
introduced themselves.
They made me feel at home and asked me all kinds of questions. Their speech was som