The Patriot Protocol

by C. G. Cooper

  We emerged ten minutes later, clean and satiated. The kids were playing a game on the floor, and Sybil was the teacher, as usual. I watched them for a minute, savoring their zest for the smallest things, and laughing when they had their little tiffs.

  They were so full of life, reminding me of what was important in life. They had become such a focal point in my life. I saw that as clearly as a cloudless spring day.

  “What are you guys playing?” I asked.

  The game was forgotten as they rushed to me again, this time with hugs, now that I was “non-gross.”

  “Daddy, daddy, can I show you your surprise?” Sybil asked. She was always writing us little notes and coming up with ways to delight her little brothers, especially Charlie. Sybil was the pleaser of the family, the warm soul that helped to bind our love in a way that only she could.

  “Sure. Where is it?”

  “Close your eyes,” Sybil ordered.

  I put my hands over my eyes, and I made a show of spreading the fingers on my right hand so I could see.

  “I mean it, Daddy! Close your eyes.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Andrew and Charlie were giggling, and then I felt Sybil’s hand on mine, guiding me deeper into our new quarters. I counted twelve steps. It was much larger than our last place.

  “You can open your eyes now,” Sybil announced grandly.

  I removed my hands, and I opened my eyes slowly. What I saw did take my breath away. There was a floor-to-ceiling window that ran the width of the room, decorated with cut-out pictures and handwritten notes from the kids. But, it was the view beyond the window that had me speechless.

  Because I’d only come in and out the main door of HQ, without the opportunity to visit the interior, I had never gotten to see the whole picture. The interior was open air now, but there was a retractable roof, with landing pads in the middle of the stadium-shaped structure. It was bigger than any aircraft carrier I’d ever seen. The size of the place really was staggering, and where in a stadium you might see seats and skyboxes, in our new home there were rows and rows of windows like ours.

  Looking out at the brilliance of the whole thing, I wondered how many people the HQ held.

  “What do you think, Daddy?” Sybil asked, obviously asking about the cards and pictures she and her brothers had spent some time creating for me.

  “I love it, Sybil. I really do.” She beamed. “Come here you three.”

  I gathered them in my arms, scratching my cheek stubble against their faces, eliciting a wonderful string of giggles.

  The mess hall was just finishing lunch service when we arrived, but one look from the woman behind the counter and all the lids were lifted again. She stared at me, and then nodded, like a simple thank you. I nodded back, not really understanding.

  I piled my plate high with lunch meats and cheeses. While the food at Camp Cumberland had been plentiful, the cafeteria had nothing like what they served at HQ. The kids were busy piling up their plates, too. Sybil looked like an old pro, asking for things with all the politeness of a princess. Andrew was less subtle, pointing and smiling with ravenous glee. Jane helped Charlie gather his food, and I carried it to the table Sybil had selected. She’d reserved the seat next to her just for me.

  We chatted as we ate, just like in the old days when rabbit stew or deer steaks were the pick of the night. The children told me about school, proudly informing me they knew way more than their peers. I wasn’t surprised. Jane had been tougher than a Ph.D. candidate with the kids, way better than I could’ve done.

  I’d almost finished my stack of cheeses when I felt a presence standing next to the table. The kids quieted, and I looked up.

  She was but a wisp of a woman, almost skeletal. Her eyes glistened with tears, and her lips quivered.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, my body involuntarily flinching.

  “I…I just wanted to thank you…for my boy.”

  I didn’t know what to say because I had no idea what she was talking about. Before I could ask she was gone, moving quickly towards the exit.

  “What was that all about?” I asked Jane.

  She looked at me uncomfortably. Andrew was the first to answer.

  “You’re a hero, Dad.”

  The words were like a punch to the stomach.

  “Yeah, Daddy, they’re calling you the Hero of Camp Cumberland,” Sybil added.

  Jane hadn’t said anything about it since I’d awakened, and now I knew why. She knew how I’d feel about the adulation. It made me want to vomit, and it took every ounce of fatherly control not to leave the table.

  “It’s why we got the new room,” Andrew said.

  Now it made sense. Special treatment. Two words I hated, and something I’d run from as long as I could remember. The special treatment would stop as soon as I could figure out who to dissuade.

  We dropped the kids off at school, and then Jane and I went for a walk. She showed me the workout facility, the commissary and even an Olympic-size pool. It looked and smelled like a military base. Was that because it was efficient, or because The Tennessee Zone had become some kind of military autocracy?

  When we finally made our way back to our quarters, and I’d had enough time to tamp down my annoyance, I asked Jane about the hero thing.

  “What’s this Hero of Camp Cumberland thing?”

  She didn’t look at me. That was a bad sign. Jane knew me too well.

  “You can’t blame them. You are a hero.”

  “I did what I had to do to stay alive, Jane. Anyone would’ve done the same thing.”

  She stopped just outside the door and looked at me, not accusing, but calm and patient.

  “Did you or did you not find and kill the enemy that attacked Camp Cumberland?.””

  “Sure, but…”

  “And did you save a lot of people by doing that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, thinking of O’Mack, Gregor and my fellow recruits.

  “Well, you did and there are a lot of grateful people. Look, honey, I know this isn’t what you like. I’m not a fan of it either, but if it means getting a few more perks for us, for the kids, would that be so bad?”

  I didn’t tell her what I really thought: that perks always came with strings. Instead I said, “Sure, you’re right.”

  She slapped me playfully in the stomach.

  “Ryker, I’m serious. It’s not so bad here. The kids have friends now. They come home with stories, get to eat real food, and get medical attention, when needed. This is good for us.”

  I nodded. There was still something nagging at me though. If the collective active duty population of The Tennessee Zone lived here, then I had to assume there were other replicas in The Zones we’d commandeered. Where were all the resources coming from?

  Chapter 17

  I was summoned the next day by a soldier. He was respectful; hell, I had to practically pry his lips from my ass.

  When I entered the darkened room, I couldn’t see anything except the image on the screen. I recognized it immediately. It was an aerial shot of Camp Cumberland. The layout was stamped in my brain from countless runs along the fence line.

  “Ah, there he is, the Hero of Camp Cumberland.” The overheads flickered on, and The General rose from a single chair. “Good to have you back, Ryker.” He shook my hand while he examined me from head to toe. “Healing alright?”

  “The doc says I’ll be fit for duty in less than a month, General.”

  He nodded and motioned to the holoscreen.

  “Here’s what left of Camp Cumberland.”

  I moved closer. Half of the buildings were smashed, rubble strewn in every direction.

  “How many casualties, sir?”

  “Forty-seven.” He turned to me, his eyes amused now. “Aren’t you going to ask me how many survived?”

  I shrugged in reply. Survivors were survivors. I was glad they were alive, but in my mind I’d already moved on.

  “Fifty-two survivors, includi
ng yourself,” he said. “You know, most people would be jumping up and down to be named the hero. You not that kind of guy, Ryker? Don’t take applause well?”

  He was testing me, and I heard the sarcasm in his voice. The General knew what I was going through. From what I’d seen of him and his men, he’d probably saved a hundred Camp Cumberlands.

  “I did my job, General. I’m glad you got so many out, but I didn’t act alone. There were others who helped me, others who…”

  He raised his hand to stop me. “I know all about it, Ryker. But Gregor and O’Mack put the credit square on your shoulders. Just deal with it, okay?”

  I nodded, not knowing what to say.

  The General clapped his hands, his way of announcing that business had been concluded.

  “Now, I know you’ll be on light duty for a while, but that doesn’t preclude you from helping me here.” He swiped his hand and another image appeared in front of the wall. “This is the command vehicle we captured, thanks to you,” he moved the image left and brought another in next to it. “And this is the assault craft we recovered.”

  The command vehicle looked unharmed, but it looked like a dragon had taken a bite out of the black aircraft. That made me wonder aloud, “Who shot it down?”

  “Gregor. Apparently, he had some kind of homemade anti-aircraft gun in his possession. Damn thing packed quite a punch. ‘One shot, one kill,’ as they used to say.”

  “Where is Gregor?”

  The General’s face screwed up, barely concealing his annoyance.

  “The powers that be didn’t like the fact that A) Camp Cumberland got attacked, and B) Gregor had an unauthorized weapon on Camp proper. So, now he’s putting in his disciplinary time.”

  “They threw him in jail?” I asked.

  “No, nothing like that. He’s in charge of the detail that’s rebuilding Camp Cumberland. I pulled a few strings to make it happen, and honestly, he’s the best man for the job. Once he’s is finished, that place will be a damn fortress.”

  “What about the others?”

  “The recruits that weren’t injured are going through a modified version of the final weeks of basic. It’s not the best scenario, but it’s the best scenario option they could find.”

  Why was he telling me all this? Because I was The Hero of Camp Cumberland? I can’t say that it felt awkward talking to him this way. I’d never been overwhelmed by the brass. Then I realized I didn’t even have a sense of the command structure at HQ.

  “General, I apologize for my ignorance, but who’s in charge around here?”

  One eyebrow rose on his tanned face.

  “I guess that’s a loaded question. Let me start with the civilians. There’s a council that answers directly to The Fed. I use the word answers very loosely. We really aren’t beholden to anyone. The Tennessee Zone is completely autonomous. Now, I could tell you the pros and cons of that situation, but I don’t think that’s what you want to hear. I’ll bet you can determine those on your own anyway. So, you’ve got the council, which is composed of nine representatives, nominated and voted on by everyone here. Every vote is equal, and they don’t allow campaigning, although it does happen. It’s not really something we can stop completely.

  “On the Security side, you have the HQ troops commanded by a man named Jasper. He is a former colonel in the Army, and a pretty good guy, overall. He’s in charge of HQ Security, which also doubles as our main troop strength, kind of like the regular Army back in the day. Then you have the VIP troops, and they’re primarily used for exactly that - VIP protection. The man leading the VIP team is Logan.”

  He tried to hide the disdain from his tone, but I caught it. I made a mental note of that.

  “And then there’s The Squads. They’re kind of the utility men of The Tennessee Zone’s Security force. Need a raid? Call The Squads. Want some recon? Call The Squads.”

  “And, let me guess, you’re the man in charge of The Squads?” I guessed.

  “Bingo. It’s not a bad gig, really. For the most part they leave us alone. The missions can be dangerous, but for the most part it keeps me away from the politics of this place.”

  “Is it that bad? Is it like the red tape of old?” I still remembered the constant worry that some politician would stick a nose in our business. From generals down to privates, politicians were loathed by security details, almost as much as the enemy we were fighting.

  “Probably about the same. Sometimes they think they know better, and honestly, we do the same thing to them. For the most part everyone’s trying to work together. We are human, so it will never be all rainbows and hugs, but I feel like it’s getting better.”

  The last place I wanted to be was in the middle of any kind of political movement. It was so far from my personality.

  “And where do I fit into this, General? When do I return to basic training?”

  The General laughed. “I think you’ve proved that your skills are above basic training, Ryker. The reason I asked you here today, other than to give you the update on Camp Cumberland, was to determine the role, and in which capacity, you would like to serve.”

  I gave him a wry smile.

  “I don’t suppose getting a cushy job in some supply locker is an option?”

  “You’d be bored in an hour. Besides, despite your hero status, you are not exempt from service. The test is the determining factor, and the test says you’re in Security.”

  “So I get to choose? I thought we’d be assigned. That’s what they said at Camp Cumberland.”

  “Let’s just say that, other than your new quarters, this is your last perk. You get to choose. I’m not asking you to make your decision at this exact moment, because I’m positive you’ll be courted by the heads of HQ Security and VIP, but I’d like for you to know that you’d be most welcome here with The Squads.”

  He meant it sincerely. Not because I was some trumped-up hero, but because he respected my skills. I understood that.

  “Oh, and Ryker?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Your past? Gregor and I are the only ones who know about it, and your secret is safe with us.”

  Chapter 18

  During the remainder of the day, I was summoned twice more by the heads of the remaining Security forces. Jasper, the commander of HQ Security, was a short man, modest of build, and soft-spoken. He gave off the air of an administrator, not a professional soldier. I’d seen them before, brilliant logistical minds.

  His tone was proper and his sales pitch seemed forced. I could tell he wanted me to join his team, but it didn’t feel like as urgent a need as The Squads. Nor did he seem to understand me in the way The General did. Jasper outlined the duties of HQ Security, including more information about the rotating four-week patrols. They were essentially roving law enforcement with the added tasks of checking border crossings and reporting in on the status of the roadways.

  To be honest, it sounded about as fun as mopping floors for the duration of my life. I’d had my fair share of duty, and standing at a gate or riding around in transports wasn’t something that tickled my ambition.

  But I told him I’d think about it, and I thanked him for his time.

  Logan, the head of VIP Security, didn’t send one of his troops to get me like the other two. Instead he used the HQ messaging system which displayed a simple message. His order said, “REPORT TO COMMANDER LOGAN” in neon green, and then provided me with illuminated arrows on the corridor walls until I arrived at Logan’s office.

  I knocked. No answer; I knocked again.

  “Come in,” said a voice, just as I was turning to leave.

  I opened the door and stepped into Commander Logan’s sanctum. The General’s office was bare, and Jasper’s was one step above spartan. In direct contrast, Logan’s office was spacious. It commanded an impressive view of the inner fields of HQ and it was lavishly decorated.

  Antique chairs lined one wall which held a painting I thought I recognized of a violin- playing goat. His fu
rnishings provided the impression you’d just entered a king’s chambers. Even the floors were covered by a plush carpet, something I hadn’t seen in over a decade.

  Commander Logan stood from behind his glass desk in a perfectly tailored uniform I hadn’t seen before. It was the standard black Security uniform, but the dress shirt had bright red stitching above the pocket with the letters V.I.P. embroidered in bold lettering. Even the lengths of the sleeves and pant legs had red stitching. It looked sharp and regal; it reminded me of the garments a king’s guard might wear.

  “Ryker. How good of you to come see me,” Logan said, extending a slender hand. Upon grasping it, I realized he was surprisingly strong. As his uniform was tailored to perfection, his pencil-thin goatee had been cut by an expert’s blade.

  “Thank you for the invitation,” I said.

  “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything? Water, juice, or maybe a cocktail?” he asked with a wink.

  I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since The Collapse. It wasn’t that I was averse to drinking, but it was just so damned expensive. When you’re thinking about bartering your precious resources in exchange for food for you and your family, need versus a nip of home-brewed grog, the scale always tipped toward home and my precious family.

  “No, thank you, sir.”

  “Are you sure? I have Jack Daniels.”

  Jack Daniels? He must have a stash somewhere, but I was curious.

  “That must be some vintage.”

  He looked confused for a moment, and then his eyes brightened. “No, no. We still control the Jack Daniels distillery in Lynchburg. Didn’t you know?”

  I did not, and I told him so.

  “Well,” he continued, “It’s not something we necessarily advertise, but I’m sure you of all people, The Hero of Camp Cumberland, know how to keep a secret?”

  I nodded. He was laying it on pretty thick.

  “Sir, I’m very interested to hear what your Security command does, what would be expected of me on a daily basis, that sort of thing.”