Muster

by Christoff Orr

  “Is that what you call bringing five truckloads of troops to our front steps? Friendship?” Cole quickly shot out. His words were angry and hostel and launched directly towards the chest of the hefty Captain.

  Capt. Doogen laughed, he laughed hard and true. The type of laugh one would do at the end of a long night with good friends. It was only the restriction of his uniform that prevented him from bending over and slapping his knee in the process. To his credit, he quickly controlled himself, as he stood back upright and wiped a tear of relief from his eyes. “Is this what all of this posturing was about?” He asked as he through a backhanded wave towards Stonewall and Cole. He then looked skyward where a few random cowboy hats could be seen. He then looked back at Stonewall, “We were out on a recognizance mission, checking on some newly reported disturbances. I got a call I wanted to inform you about, and the Double R was on our way back, so here we are.”

  Stonewall felt the muscles in his shooting hand relax a little. He still kept it comfortably on the pistol handle, but he was able to breathe a little bit. “What call?” He asked questioningly.

  “I don’t know the whole story, apparently the Captain of the Dakota Region isn’t in a total need to know, but what I was told was to expect change. To prepare my men for a posable emanate attack, and to be ready to support fellow Regionals when called upon.” Capt. Doogen said, a bit of uncertainty in his words as if he didn’t believe them himself.

  “Change? Change in leadership, assignments, what?” Stonewall asked right back.

  “Don’t know, that’s all I was told. But out on this little mission we just went on, I ran into another Regional Captain, and he said that the Chinese and Russians are going to get into it. That we best be ready.” Capt. Doogen said, his comment tossed carelessly towards Stonewall, as he opened the passenger door in the truck. He poured himself back in, landing firmly into the worn seat. Thick fingers reached up and removed his cover, before tipping it towards Stonewall and Colt. He then leaned towards the driver and said something that could only be heard by the occupants of the truck. A moment later, the truck turned sharply, and after some maneuvering it was able to reposition itself and head back the direction it had just come from. The four other trucks followed the lead, and before long, only the dust trail could be seen in the distance.

  Stonewall stood there and watched. His hand now freed from its duties, it removed itself from the pistol grip and now hung lightly at Stonewalls side. “Get the men down,” He said, still keeping his eyes on the fading dust as it approached the horizon. “Tell Tex to double the patrols, then meet me in my office.”

  “Sure thing,” Colt said. He gave a respectful nod towards Stonewall, then spun around and took off at a fast-paced jog towards the Eddies Hardware store, where he would be able to take the stairs up to the upper balcony and relay the message to those standing overwatch.

  Stonewall slowly turned around, allowing his gaze to feel its way down one side of Main St. and up the other. During the Fox War’s he accepted the fact that everything would be lost, his life included. Now, after not only surviving the war but keeping everything fairly intact during the rebuild and restructure, that gut-wrenching feeling of loss is making its self-known once again. It pushed its way out of the casket and dug straight upward. Clawing and chewing its way back. Growing stronger with each thought of worry and doubt.

  Stonewall ran the backside of his right hand across his lips, the wiry hairs of his mustache reach out and scratched his hand. He tried to reassure himself, tried to throw more dirt on the emerging fear, but it seemed like the faster he shoveled, the faster the bony hands of fear emerged. They survived the blackout, the Fox Wars and the occupation. They’ll survive this too, and be stronger in the end for it. At least that was what he was telling himself. His gut though had a differing opinion. Whether he believed it or not, this war was going to be different. When this one was over, there will be no returning home, when it was over, either he was going to die, or the occupation will be.

  29 Simple Mathematics

  Independence Mall

  Tommy stood there motionless, as he stared out the window. The sun was just starting to crest the horizon, sending out spears of bright yellow light. The clear sky above gratefully drank in the warmth of the coming dawn. Last night was particularly cold, as tempters dropped to near freezing. The clear night sky began its transfiguration into a clear day sky. There was a thin skin of ice that had covered most of the area during the night. Now with the sun clawing its way up from the edge of the world, the rays of light shimmered and slipped up on the ice. He looked across the vast distance from his window to where crews of workers feverishly completed the stage. He let his gaze climb skyward, where the flag of the current regime was displayed, hung freely from the flagpole in front of Independence Hall.

  There was no wind that morning, it was as if the entire world was holding its breath in anticipation of what was going to take place that day. Every so often a single gasp of wind would escape and meagerly push the dangling fabric, causing it to sporadically jerk and spasm before resting limply once again. He looked from the flag, down to the stage, and back to the flag. In his mind, he was trying to calculate the direction and speed of the wind. At the distance and angle, he would be shooting, everything had to be taken into account.

  The door to the office quickly opened and then shut. Tommy focused his eyes on the reflection in the window, and as expected saw Cherry walking towards him. “Is it all done?” He asked, still not turning around.

  “Yep, you know it’s a lot harder than you might think burning clothes and a sleeping bag,” Cherry said as she strolled across the open space. She thought about her comment a moment then added, “I guess that’s a good thing. I mean who wants to be sleeping in a tender roll?” the comment caused a chuckle to come out of her mouth. As she looked towards Tommy, her laughter died an early death though, as it fell unwanted to the floor. Trying to save some sort of smile she quickly added, “You look good in a uniform,” as she placed a hand on his waist.

  It was either the touch of her hand around his waist or the reference to him being back in uniform, either way, Tommy finally pulled his eyes away from the preparations and drew them back inside. There they warmed back up, feeling the comfort of Cherry’s embrace. He let a meager smile crest his lips, as he looked down at what he was wearing. It was a very used Russian uniform, with a name embroidered on it that he couldn’t even attempt to pronounce. “It’s not the type of uniform that I am used to, but I guess it will help us get past security and back to the cabin. Yours looks good too.”

  Happy to see a smile back on his face, Cherry gave him a tight squeeze. “I missed your company last night, but I understand. When we get back to the cabin, I’ll make it up to you.” She said with as she wore a devilish smile.

  Tommy allowed the smile to reside on his lips a breath longer before he quickly shoved it aside. But that wasn’t good enough, so he picked it up, threw it down over and over again, till he smashed the smile into a thousand pieces. Only then, when he knew it was pulverized beyond resurrection, he bent down and picked a pair of binoculars. He handed them to Cherry, “I need you to be at the top of your game today. Just like we practiced it.” His words were sharp and penetrated deep into Cherry’s chest.

  “Yes, of course,” Cherry quickly replied, as she wrapped her hand around the binoculars, her fingers felt their way along the smooth exterior.

  Tommy felt something pull in his gut, whispering to him to turn and give her a kiss, to grab her and run and don't look back. They were close enough to Canada, that they would survive in the border territory, live off the land. He didn’t have to do this, he knew his parents would understand. They would want him to run, to survive. Then a shout came rushing in. No, he thought, he can’t run again, no more running.

  He opened the gates and a let all the hate, anger and frustrations free from his memories. They spilled out like a water being released from a dam. Without hesitation they cou
rsed through his veins, searching every strand of DNA for any signs of weakness, doubts or hesitation. Soon they found it, hidden in the basement of his heart, they pulled the frail corps of what was once a healthy resemblance of hope. There, laid out, the last strands of goodness was on display. It’s emaciated body prone on the floor. It was anger that struck first, a swift boot to the head, then fear quickly joined in, smashing brutal blows to the body. Resentment, disappointment and all the others quickly added kicks and punches. Then in a matter of a few seconds, nothing, there was nothing left. Tommy had successfully killed off any kind of hope that had once resided within him.

  “Wind seems calm,” Cherry said, her view locked in through the binoculars. “How long do we got?”

  Tommy looked down at his watch, then back up in the direction of the target, “Just over three hours.” He reached into the front chest pocket and pulled out a small spiral notebook. He flipped over the tattered red cardboard cover, and past the first few pages. The scribbling that had occupied them had already begun to dull, and fade. It wasn’t till he had flipped past nearly half the of the pages that he finally stopped. There, in meticulous detail, numbers were neatly lined up between the blue horizontal lines on the page. He had already measured out the hight of his shooting position, the hight of the target, the distance, the downward trajectory, and the dew point for the past week. He took one more look at the figures before replacing the small notepad back into the pocket.

  Tommy walked over to where a few of the desks were pushed together, up against one of the walls. He approached the conglomerate of abandoned office equipment, trying to figure out how best to set up his shot. He looked at the desks, as they sat there unwanted and discarded, each wearing the look of the pitiful child who was all ways picked last for kickball. He looked at them, then back over to where Cherry was still scoping out the target, and finally back to the dilapidated furniture. “Do you ever remember seeing a long table, like a conference table or something around here?” He asked, tossing his question towards Cherry.

  Cherry lowered her gaze and she tried to remember the different rooms and abandoned offices that she had come across in the building. “Yes,” She quickly threw back. “Next door, there was a cherry wood colored table. It looked like it would sit fifteen plus easy. Why?”

  “Do you think we could get it over here easily?” Tommy asked back, ignoring her inquiry.

  Cherry took a moment to think then answered, “It won't be easy, but yeah, I think we can.”

  Tommy looked down at his watch. It would be close, but if they hurry there should be enough time. Over the next two and a half hours, Tommy and Cherry spent their time moving over the large table, pushing it up against the window which faced their target. They proceeded to use the formal unwanted desk, to drape some ripped up carpeting they had found in the same room as the table. They used the scraps to create and blank backdrop. Shooting locations were on a limited supply in this area, and though this one, with its large open windows, wasn’t ideal, it will have to do. After setting up the platform and backdrop, they used the glass cutter included in the duffle bag of goodies left by Mr. Edict to cut a circle in the glass, four inches in diameter. After that, all that was left to do was get into a comfortable prone position on the table, cover themselves the best they could with some of the carpeting salvaged from the other office, and then wait.

  Tommy laid there, the weight of the carpeting pressing down on him. It a strange way it was comforting, like a lovers embrace, a sense of comfort, that he wasn’t alone. The wind made a distance but high pitched howl as it rushed past the hole in the glass. He glanced through his scope as the wind continued to sing its song, allowing the chilled air a chance to sneak into the office. The air fell into the room, heavy and unwanted. It crawled along the floor till it found the legs of Tommy’s and Cherry’s shooting platform. With its gelid fingers, it scratched and clawed its way up, till it reached the top. It wasted no time to run itself over the hands and face of both Tommy and Cherry.

  Cherry let out a long breath, as the chill reached in between her misfitted uniform and her skin. She felt the ice bite of the frozen breath of winter. It rigidly embraced her body, encasing it. She gave quick sideways glance towards Tommy, wanting to say something, complain about the cold or make some comment about warming each other up later. But as she looked over, the words seemingly froze up in her throat. All they could manage to do was come out of her mouth in a stifled cough.

  Tommy threw a harsh glance over towards Cherry, and was tempted to say something, but figured better of it. He leaned down, placed his cheek upon the highly polished wooden stock and gave another glance through the high powered scope. The commencement had begun as the sermonical MC took the pulpit. “Here we go,” Tommy gently whispered.

  From what Mr. Edict told them, the President was scheduled to give his speech exactly twelve minutes after the MC started his presentation. Then it would be approximately three minutes into the talk that Tommy's opportunity would arise. There would be a line in the talk that should be perfect for the shot, where the crowd would arise for a standing ovation, and thus be momentarily be distracted.

  As the MC went tough his prepared words, Tommy began his final preparation. “Time,” he quickly called out, keeping his vision locked in, as he neared through the scope.

  Cherry looked down at her watch, then quickly placed her eyes back into the binoculars. “About two minutes left till the President.” Through the customized glass, she could see the President sitting, his tailored suite, draped perfectly on his body. Within her enhanced vision, she watched, as he smiled, laughed and waved. It was an odd feeling look at someone, knowing a secret that will kill them. A secret they will never know till it was too late. Feelings of guilt and remorse dance around her chilled body. Here she laid, in a uniform of whom she could only assume was a dead Russian soldier, next to someone who was in mere moments kill the sitting President. How did she go from fussing about college papers to killing a political official?

  Like so many others, Cherry’s life changed drastically when the lights went out. Then changed once again when the lights came back on. To survive she did what she had to do, and even killed before. But those sporadic moments of life-altering events, they were done in the heat of the moment, so quick, and reactionary that she never had time to think about it. This time, though, not only had she had time, but she was complaisant in the act. She knew though, somewhere inside of her she knew, it had to be done. That to get where she truly wanted to be, she would have to walk through this door.

  She watched as the President got up, waved his hand to the awaiting crowd. It sounded like someone else, when she muttered out, “Two minutes, the wind is still good, everything is still a go.”

  “Copy,” Tommy said, letting the words go without a thought or care for them. He was locked in now. A shot from this downward angle and distance would be difficult in its self, but adding the fact that he had to take a head shot, took it to another level. Due to natural barriers, as well as bullet resistance glass, which nearly encased the President, Tommy was forced into this position. His target window was from the chin of the President to the top of his head, but only in profile.

  “Thirty seconds,” Cherry’s voice called out.

  They were unable to actually hear what was being said from this distance, Tommy only knew what Mr. Edict had told him, as to the timeline of the talk. He began the countdown within his head, starting at thirty and working its way down. In his mind, he pictured the scoreboard from his high school football days. He could see the weather-worn logo, a Mustang horse, its front feet raised up, in a position of dominance. The red lights changing position with every second that lapsed. The cold air that now fully occupied the office space helped transport him to the trampled tundra which was his high school days. The lights now read ten, then nine, eight, seven, six, he began to apply more and more pressure to the trigger, encouraging it back, as he pulled it to its limit. Three, two, one!

>   It took a few seconds form when Tommy pressed the trigger beyond its breaking point, till there was a visual reward at the other end. The sound within the office was instantaneous and ear-splitting, as it came down hard like an ax which cut through the silence. It would take a few additional seconds after the round impacted till those around the President would hear it. The sound of the shot though would most likely be overlooked anyhow. The crowd might miss the report of the rifle altogether, but they won't miss the action it wilded upon the President.

  The FMJ round pierced the left side of the Presidents skull, entering just above the left temple. The entry wound would leave a minimally sized hole, a little bigger than a pencil, the exit though, that would be something much larger. It struck with such velocity and at such a sharp downward grade, that the President merely staggered ever so slightly when the copper jacketed lead spear first entered. It’s a little-known fact that the human brain has the consistency of warm butter. It was that soft, malleable tissue that quickly absorbed the kinetic energy produced by the shot. The soft mass of neurons and synapse eagerly devoured the lead pill, misshaped it and directed it off course. It entered just above the left temple in a perfect linear trajectory but exited just below the right jaw. The round came out sideways before it instantly reentered the Presidents body and wedging itself in the ball and socket joint of his right shoulder.