by Mark Goodwin
Charity sat on the edge of the bed and read the hand-written letter. She sighed and hugged Ava. “I’m sorry, but I guess I’m not surprised.”
Double breathing from her distraught emotional state, Ava struggled to speak between breaths. “He . . . he said . . . he’d stay for two weeks!”
Charity put the note down and comforted her friend with both hands. “But you know his heart has been on the front lines for the past few days.”
“Why? Why can’t he be content to stay here? Am I not enough?”
“Ava.” Charity looked at her compassionately. “You know better than anyone how a sense of duty can overrule every other argument. Don’t blame Foley for his conviction.” She offered a firmer expression. “That would be downright hypocritical.”
Ava would have none of it. She continued to lay out her case against the man. “But a note?” Ava crumpled the paper in her hand angrily. “I get a Dear Jane letter? Am I not even entitled to the courtesy of a proper farewell? What the heck is that about?”
Charity took the letter from her hand and placed it on the nightstand. “Would you have let him go if he’d told you he was leaving today?”
“Obviously, I’m powerless to stop him.”
“No, but I’ve heard you talk about going with him on more than one occasion since the two of you came back last week.”
“But a letter? What if he never comes home? What if I never get to say goodbye?” Her anger quickly melted back into pure heartache and sorrow.
“He’ll be back, Ava. Foley is the best of the best.”
She sighed. “So was Dad. And no one has heard from him since we took out Shane Lawrence. Need I remind you that next Monday will mark a month since that operation went so terribly wrong?”
Charity calmly held her friend. “This war has been tough on all of us.”
Ava remembered the sacrifice that Charity had paid in this conflict. She felt selfish for only thinking of herself. She hushed her crying and embraced the girl who’d been like a sister to her over the past few months.
“What do you say I make us some breakfast?” Charity offered.
“I’d like that,” Ava replied.
The weeks passed and Ava kept busy around the house. News from Foley was sporadic. From his coded messages, Ava speculated that his team was engaged in the battle to retake Idaho. She watched all the news like a hawk perched above a rabbit hole, but she paid particular attention to the coverage of the battles in the northwest.
One evening in late May, after the garden had been tended, dinner finished, and the dishes put away, Ava and Charity sat down in the living room to play their nightly game of Gin while watching the evening news. Buckley lay on the floor nearby and watched as if he’d been invited to play but wasn’t up for it on this particular evening.
Ava dealt out the cards. “You saw that Georgia, West Virginia, and the Carolinas joined the Alliance, right?”
Charity picked up her cards. “Yeah, that makes nineteen states now.”
“Twenty counting Alaska.”
“Yeah, but they’re up there all alone. I doubt they’ll be exposed to any fighting unless the Alliance fails. At that point, I expect they’ll make a stand. Although, I’m not sure Markovich would even bother with them.”
Ava drew a new card and discarded. “Alaska has lots of resources: timber, oil, fish.”
“Lots of guns, too. Plus, if Markovich sends troops up there, his forces will be fighting against people who are accustomed to the harsh environment. I think he’ll let them be. Maybe we can head that way if all else fails.” Charity picked up a new card.
“If the Alliance fails, do you really think Markovich will allow Alaska to remain free? It will be a thorn in his side. The UN will see them the same way. I think they’d nuke Alaska before they allowed them to be an island of liberty on an other-wise socialist globe.”
Charity nodded. “You may be right about that.”
“Gin!” Ava put down her cards.
“Ugh!” Charity tossed hers on the table.
Ava added up her score and jotted it down on the pad of paper. “What do you think about Florida? They’re completely cut off from the rest of the Markovich states since Georgia and the Carolinas joined the Alliance.”
“I don’t know. I think they’ll come into the fold.”
“No way. All the liberals fleeing the new southern Alliance States are pouring into south Florida. It’s becoming like another left coast.”
Charity shuffled and began dealing the next round of cards. “You’ve got a point.”
Ava held up her hand. “The reporter is talking about Idaho. Can we take a break from the cards for a moment?”
“Sure.” Charity placed her cards face down on the coffee table.
The young male reporter on the Patriot News Network continued speaking. “Alliance forces have officially taken control of Boise after a prolonged ground war against the Markovich regime. All regime troops in and around Idaho’s capital city have either retreated, been killed in combat, or been taken prisoner by the Alliance. The news comes exactly one week since the Alliance States regained control of the nearby Mountain Home Air Force Base.
“The Alliance States border patrol forces are still engaging with rogue bands of hostiles along the Oregon and Nevada borders with Idaho, but the state is expected to be fully secured in the next few days.
“President Blackwell made an impromptu visit to Mountain Home Air Force Base today to address Alliance States troops and their militia counterparts returning from the conflict in Boise. The president thanked the soldiers for their perseverance and sacrifice but reminded them that the war is far from over.
“No word has been given as of yet to say when or if Blackwell’s administration will return to Boise. The city has suffered severe devastation from the fighting, but pundits believe Blackwell will want to reestablish his operations there, even if only as a show of defiance to the Markovich regime.”
“That’s great news! Do you think Foley will be able to take a break, come home for a visit?” Charity asked.
Ava shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure he was involved in the battle for Boise.”
“If he was in the Pacific Northwest, he was in Boise. Both sides had their troops concentrated there.”
Buckley jumped up suddenly and began barking at the door.
Ava turned off the television, grabbed her rifle and flipped off the lights. “You know the drill.”
“Yep, I’ll be at the back door. If there’s trouble, I’ll come around the side and flank them. Do you want me to put Buckley in the bathroom?”
“No.” Ava watched the headlights coming down the long drive. “His barking will keep the aggressors’ attention so they don’t hear you coming around the side of the house.”
Ava peered out the peephole as the vehicle came closer. “It looks like an official Humvee. And it’s only one. Possible friendlies.”
“That’s good, but I’ll stay out of sight until we know for sure,” Charity called from the back of the house.
“On second thought, why don’t you go ahead and take Buck? It’s just a driver and guy in dress uniform.” Ava’s heart sank, hoping the visitor wasn’t a bearer of bad news, come to tell her of Foley’s demise.
Charity called the dog. “Buckley, come here boy.”
He looked at Ava and gave two more quick barks.
“It’s okay, Buck. Go with Charity. I’ve got this.” Ava patted his head.
Buckley obeyed and Ava watched carefully as the two men from the Hummer crossed the yard to the house. She placed the rifle by the door jamb and checked the butt of the pistol in the back of her waistband for ease of accessibility.
When the men walked onto the porch, she could make out their faces by the ambient light of the vehicle's headlights. “Colonel Barr?”
She unlocked the deadbolt and flipped on the porch light. Her mind shuffled through possible reasons for his visit. The one which stayed at the
top of the deck was Foley’s death. She opened the door. “Colonel, good to see you again.”
“Mrs. Mitchem, it’s always a pleasure.”
She opened the door, “Please, come in.” She let the visitors in and turned the lights back on.
“Did we wake you?”
“No. Sound and light discipline. I guess I’m a little paranoid.”
“Not at all. You’re a prudent woman.” The colonel wiped his feet before coming in.
The driver who’d come with the colonel looked at the rifle near the door, then at the colonel.
Barr smiled. “Like I said, Corporal, she’s a prudent woman.”
Ava crossed her arms tightly. If he’d brought bad tidings, she wanted to get on with it. The terror of Foley’s doom had haunted her day and night since he’d left more than three weeks prior. “With it being after dark, I doubt you’re dropping by for a friendly visit. Do you have some news for me?”
His face was neither sad nor joyous, giving Ava no clue of what he was about to say. “Prudent and perceptive. Do you mind if we sit down?”
Ava felt sure he was going to tell her the thing she feared most. “Sure. Please join me on the couch.”
Barr took a seat, as did the corporal.
“Colonel, tell me, is Foley okay?”
“I don’t have any news about Foley. I’m not sure.”
“Then what is this about?” She sat forward on the easy chair.
“It’s your father, Ava. We’ve found him.”
Her mouth went dry. “Is he . . . alive?”
Barr nodded, but shallowly. “He is alive . . .”
She cut him off. “Oh, thank God!”
The colonel held up his hand. “But you should temper your expectations. He’s . . . not in good shape.”
“He’s injured?” Her face contorted from a surge of emotional distress.
“Physically, he’s not so bad off. He was severely dehydrated and malnourished. He’s lost some weight. But we got him cleaned up, he’s being fed intravenously and the doctor expects to start reintroducing him to solid foods tomorrow.”
“Where is he? Can you take me to him? How did you find him?” She unleashed a barrage of inquiries as quickly as they came into her mind.
“Take it easy; you’ll get all of your questions answered, I promise. But let me take those one at a time. For starters, he’s at Altus. Captain Murphy is personally handling the physical side of his recovery.”
“Physical side? Why? What other side is there?”
The colonel took her hand. “Ulysses is dealing with some psychological issues as well. I flew in a behavioral health expert, formerly of the National Center for PTSD. He specializes in dissociative disorders.”
Ava crossed her hands and stared at her fingers. “Dissociative disorders—how bad is it?”
Barr compressed his lips. “You’re familiar with your father’s history, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure how many of the details he told you, but when he was brought back from China, he didn’t know what year it was, not even close. After he came home, it took him a while to understand that he wasn’t in China. It also took a while for him to completely remember exactly who he was. He could give his name, rank, and serial number, but he couldn’t really provide many details about his life.
“Markovich’s people must have treated him pretty badly while trying to get information out of him. He’s regressed to a mental state similar to when he first came home. He’s displaying the same dissociative amnesia.”
Ava felt horrible. She wanted to break down and cry. While she was relieved that her father was still alive, she couldn’t stand the thought of him being in such an awful condition. But she wouldn’t cry just yet. For now, she’d hold it in. Ava tightened her jaw. “Are you returning to Altus? Can I go back with you?”
The colonel looked at the corporal. “We’re not going to Altus, but I can arrange for someone to pick you up tomorrow or the day after. I don’t think Captain Murphy and the psychologist want Ulysses to have any visitors until they’ve at least got his vitals back to normal. Besides, I believe they’re keeping him sedated for the time being.”
“I don’t care if he even knows I’m there. I just need to see him. I’ll drive there myself.”
“It would make me feel better if you’d let me send someone to pick you up. As far as we know, Markovich still thinks you’re dead, but he has spies in every relief center and probably every small town in the Alliance States. If you can give me until tomorrow, I promise I’ll have someone here before lunch.”
“I guess that would be okay.”
“Good,” replied Colonel Barr. “Now, about the details of how we got him. It was a trade. Blackwell gave up ten spies we’d pulled out of various refugee centers.”
“Won’t they divulge the information they collected to Markovich’s camp once they’re back?”
“Yep, but your dad is a hero—just like you. The information that can be obtained in a refugee center is minimal anyway.”
“The expert from the PTSD center, what does he think? Will my dad get better?”
Barr raised his eyebrows. “The fact that your father has already been down this road before speaks to his resilience. His mind already has a path for him to come back to us. He’ll just need some gentle direction to help him find it.”
“He told me it took a long time before. Two years later, he was still having issues with reality.”
Barr nodded. “His emotional trauma was compounded by the severe injuries he’d sustained while in the Chinese prison. Additionally, he’d been in that filthy communist hole for decades. Perhaps his recovery will be quicker this time around.”
Ava hoped the colonel was right and that her father had not slipped too far over the edge. “I don’t suppose you’d venture to guess when I might be able to bring him home?”
“Ava, I’m sorry. It’s too soon to tell.” Barr cleared his throat. “If you don’t have any more questions for me, we’ll get out of your way.”
“None that I can think of right now.” Ava stood up to walk Barr and the corporal to the door. “Thank you for making a priority out of letting me know about my dad. I really appreciate it.”
Barr let the corporal exit first, then followed behind him. “It was my pleasure, Ava. Anything I can do for you, let me know.”
“If you have any way of finding out about Foley, that would be fantastic. I haven’t heard from him since Mountain Home Air Force Base was retaken.”
“I wish I could help you out with that one, but as you know, the president doesn’t want us keeping tabs on the militia. They get handed lots of stuff we want to maintain plausible deniability on. But I’ll reach out to my militia contacts, send a message for him to let you know he’s still alive as soon as he can.”
“Thanks again.” Ava watched the two men return to their vehicle, then locked the door.
“Did you catch all of that?” she asked.
Charity emerged from the back room. “Yeah, I didn’t want to be a total lurker, eavesdropping from the back room, but I didn’t really feel like there was a good time for me to come in. It sounded pretty personal.”
“No problem.” Ava’s mind was preoccupied with her father’s condition.
“So, you’re heading out again tomorrow?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m leaving you here to mind the farm all by yourself again. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about that. You go see your dad. Buckley helps out quite a bit. I haven’t taught him to weed yet, but he’s really good company.”
Ava smiled to show her appreciation of Charity’s attempt to lighten the mood. “Thank you. I’ll be glad when we’re all back here together. I suppose I should pack a bag. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”
“Okay. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you before you leave in the morning.”
Ava hugged her friend. “Good night.”
CHAPTER 21
Surely oppression
maketh a wise man mad.
Ecclesiastes 7:7
Ava held tightly to Captain Murphy’s hand as he escorted her to her father’s recovery room at the Altus Air Force Base Medical Center.
“He may not recognize you.” The doctor gave her an empathetic look. “I want you to be prepared for whatever.”
“I know.” She frowned. “Is he eating solid food?”
“Soft foods. I’m not confident that his digestive system is ready for anything too hard to process. Mac and cheese, mashed potatoes and gravy, soup, pudding, that sort of thing. We’ll be serving dinner soon. You can eat with him if you like.”
“That would be nice,” she said. “But he’s not sedated?”
“No. After dinner, I’ll give him something to help him rest through the night. But he’s awake.”
“Seeing me won’t upset him, will it?”
“I can’t imagine that it would. If he gets anxious, I can give him a shot. I’ll be in the room with you.”
Ava nodded and took a deep breath before walking into the room.
Murphy opened the door. Inside was a hospital bed, a television, which was turned off, a window with the blinds open looking out at the tennis courts, and two chairs. In one of the chairs was a thin frail man who resembled her father.
Her first thought was that this was not her dad. Despite the best intentions of Colonel Barr, they’d somehow been given the wrong prisoner. Yet when the man looked up at her with his confused eyes, she quickly recognized him as Ulysses Adams. He was clean-shaven, dressed in comfortable clothes, but he appeared to have lost nearly twenty pounds in the forty-six days since she’d last seen him. She couldn’t imagine what that time period had been like for him. She felt the knot forming in her throat but through determination, pushed it down. She would not break down in front of him. She had to be strong for her father and for herself.
The emaciated figure in the chair looked up at her. “Kimberly?” He reached out for her hand.
She took his hand. “No, Dad. It’s me, Ava. Kimberly is dead. She died giving birth to me—thirty years ago.”