by John Brown
“You’re still serving, in your own way,” Anna said. “‘They also serve who only stand and wait.’ Now if you’ll excuse us—”
She turned, preparing to go through the doors, but he wouldn’t release the lock.
“Mind you, I’m makin’ the best of it, I got me into some debt trouble a while back you know, and the pay isn’ so great, but I’m comin’ along, I’m doin’ okay.”
She responded with silence.
“So anyhow, you have a nice day,” the MP said, finally.
Inside the data center they were met by a junior officer in shirtsleeves. Anna greeted him with a fetching smile.
“We’re from Accelerated Computer Machine Engineering Corporation,” she said. “Checking ISO 9340 compliance. Here’s my business card.”
“Contractors, ha! Get tons of ’em every day. Okay, I’ll need to check your IDs.”
They signed their names in a log and were led to a large room. Banks of terminals lined the walls. But for two programmers in uniform hunched over a desk, the room was empty.
“Okay, here you are, ma’am.”
The officer grasped his nameplate, lifting it a bit off his shirt.
“The name’s McCarthy. You need me for anything, you just ask. Anything at all.”
Lieutenant McCarthy walked away, looking back at Anna over his shoulder as he went.
They sat a few chairs away from the other programmers and got to work.
“IBM Blue Gene/Q massively parallel supercomputer,” Benson whispered.
Lines of code scrolled down the screen.
“Tens of thousands of nodes working simultaneously. There’s the link — take a picture. Each node contains its own memory and copy of the operating system and application. Each subsystem communicates with the others. A high-speed data exchange protocol ties them together.”
Benson and Anna continued to work, eventually attracting the notice of the two programmers a few stations away. One of them came over and peered at the screen from behind Anna’s shoulder.
“Hey, where you folks from? You’re not allowed to take photographs, you should know that.”
“Time for your distraction,” Benson said to Anna, speaking through his teeth.
Anna walked over to the programmer’s partner, taking the next chair, the other one following her.
“We’re from Accelerated Computer Machine Engineering. You don’t mind me being here, do you Colonel Foster?”
“Well, heck no, Miss, but I’m just a captain, see, and this here’s a second lieutenant.”
“Excuse me, Captain Foster. I just assumed you were senior.”
Anna turned to the lieutenant, looking him up and down approvingly.
“Hi, Lieutenant Parks. You’re both so fit.”
“Well, ma’am,” Parks said, “I can’t say we’ve seen much action, I mean, yet — but we could be deployed overseas any day now, though, it’s true, so we have to stay fit. It’s all the exercise, ma’am, comes with the job.”
“I wish everyone would take their oath to defend our country seriously. It makes me feel so much safer. How do you relax with all that pressure?”
“Well, you know, pool and video games and stuff,” Captain Foster cut in. “There’s lots of things to do around here. You’d be surprised.”
“I’ll bet you have girlfriends to ease the load, if you know what I mean.”
“We’re sort of in-between girls — if you know what I mean,” Parks said.
“Look, I have to supervise our new trainee guy over there,” Anna said, hooking her thumb over in Benson’s direction, “but I’m going out with my girlfriend tonight for drinks. Why don’t we all get together after work? Give me your card, and I’ll call you later?”
Captain Foster and Lieutenant Parks were delighted.
Anna got up and sat next to Benson, peering at the monitor with him.
“From the looks of it,” Anna whispered, “we should be able to write remote client access and fly through the intrusion detection system.”
Benson stared at her.
“I happen to know a little something about technology security myself,” Anna said.
“Then we’re almost there,” Benson whispered back. “Mainly off-the-shelf security and commercial operating systems here. There are at least 70 separate databases. It looks like none of them are well-connected. Unbelievable. This shouldn’t give me too much trouble. Here he comes again. Keep him occupied.”
“Ma’am, excuse me for the interruption again, but what did you say you’re working on?”
“It has to do with national security. I can’t say more without official clearance. Procedures, you know.”
“Yes, ma’am, I fully respect that. I’ll just call our commanding officer.”
Benson could hardly contain his alarm. Anna stood up and yawned, stretching her arms overhead. Her blazer fell open, revealing a tiny camisole underneath.
“There’s no hurry,” Anna said. “We’ll be here awhile. Can we get some coffee first? My lips are parched.” She licked her lips. “I have something personal I would like to talk to you about.”
“Sure, let’s walk over to the canteen.”
They ambled out the door and were gone a half hour. When they returned, deep in conversation, Benson was already standing, eager to depart.
“Yeah, sounds great, Miss Lane,” Captain Foster said, “but you know what? I still should make that call.”
“Don’t bother,” Benson said, “we’re done here. Thanks for all your hospitality. We’ll be going now.”
Lieutenant Parks rushed over.
“Wait just a minute, sir. I’m just gonna call our CO—”
Benson kicked Parks in the stomach, then kicked out to the side to catch Foster. The programmers doubled over, dumbstruck, the wind knocked out of them. Benson kicked Foster in the throat, then sent his knee into Parks’ chest. Parks sank to the floor. Foster lunged slowly for Benson but collapsed on his knees and went down, gasping.
Benson knelt over them with an anxious eye on the exit. The two men were fighting for breath.
“The LSD — let’s have it,” Benson said.
He dropped a small sugar cube in each of their mouths. It dissolved almost instantly.
“You have a nice trip, boys.”
He stood and straightened his suit. They strolled out past the MP at the outer door, still slouched on his stool facing the corridor. He looked at Benson as if he were expecting something.
“You have a nice day,” Benson said.
Quickening their pace, they headed swiftly for the exit.
“Hey, you!” a soldier called out. “Stop right there!” The soldier came running, a hand on his shouldered rifle. “I said, ‘Stop!’”
Benson reflexively moved into a fight stance, pivoting around, his fists up, the adrenaline pumping.
“You need to put your badges in the recycling bin on your way out. Sir.”
Scrambling into the car, they sped down the highway in silence. An overhead sign flashed a message: “See Something, Say Something™ — Report Suspicious Activity — Call 1-800-TIPS.”
“They’ll discover a security breach and shut the whole system down,” Anna said.
“I don’t know about that — those two clowns will be out of it for a few days, at least.”
Benson took the next exit.
“By the time they schedule a meeting to discuss what happened,” he said, checking his rearview mirror, “and another meeting to decide what to do and another to get approval for someone to authorize something, it’ll be too late.”
30
You’ll Be All Right, Kid
THE PONDEROUS GEAR and searing heat made for an almost intolerable burden, draining the life out of a young soldier. Daniel carried over 100 pounds of weapons, ammunition, armor, food, water, and other equipment. Inside his combat uniform, boots, helmet, goggles, and gloves, the temperature was probably 115 degrees, but he was in superb shape, acclimated as well as anyone could be
to such grueling conditions after more than a month spent on tour. He would prepare for these expeditions by putting himself in the proper frame of mind with the warrior’s discipline he had developed. He felt tough and equal to the challenge, which he regarded as a test of his personal worth.
He remembered the dare that Sergeant Schultz had issued, the look on Schultz’s face, the words coming back to him in Schultz’s voice. “Now who here thinks he’s a damn warrior, who’s got some big goddamn balls, move one step in front.” He had stepped out in front.
Sweat trickled down his spine as he patrolled with his company on the dirt road.
I am a soldier.
He took a sip of water from his hydration tube.
Dad would be so proud of me.
The company marched slowly past empty buildings, most of them in some stage of decay or destruction, interspersed with the occasional occupied, but dark, apartment block. Electricity was sporadic here.
Without warning, insurgents appeared from around the corners of buildings on both sides of the road, firing M16 assault rifles, weapons that had been issued in vast quantities to the new civilian security force, the Department of Public Safety. They wore the same outer tactical vests and Enhanced Combat Helmets as the coalition soldiers they were attacking.
Retreating for cover while returning fire, the soldiers in the rear tripped a roadside bomb, setting off a massive explosion next to Daniel. He dropped to the ground, unable to move. Clutching his lower left abdomen, he looked down. Under his hand a spreading patch of blood darkened the bottom of his jacket. He took his hand away and pulled up his shirt. In pure horror, he saw his own guts protruding, his blood seeping copiously from the wound onto the dirt.
“I’m hit! I’m fuckin’ hit!”
The words came out as though he were yelling through a mouthful of cotton from far away.
“Help me!”
His speech was slurred, as if he were intoxicated.
Lying on his right side, he was surprised to find that he was not feeling intense pain, but numbness. The cacophony of the battle drowned out his cries. A feeling of tightness gripped his lower body, compounding the rising dread overtaking him. His heart racing, he strived to remain calm, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady. He pressed down on the wound with his left hand to stanch the flow and contain his organs. The battle raged around him while he lay helplessly in the dirt.
The fighting subsided. He couldn’t breathe properly. He felt something on his face and wiggled his jaw. It felt strangely loose. He touched his right hand to his mouth, and then to his nose, but he couldn’t feel anything. He drew his hand away. It was wet with blood. A severed leg and arm lay on the ground next to him, the rest of the soldier a short distance away, wailing in agony. Daniel suddenly realized that he had been struck in the face by flying body parts. He desperately tried to wiggle away but stuck fast to the ground. Wounded soldiers lay on the ground writhing in pain, while others lay dead, their bodies broken and twisted, their faces planted in the dirt.
A corporal came running over to Daniel, squatting down beside him.
“Medevac’s coming!” the corporal shouted. “You’ll be all right, kid. We’ll get you out, just hold on!”
He examined the wounds, trying to be encouraging, but his alarm was unmistakable. He applied a bulky dressing and then a pressure bandage to secure it. Daniel groaned and vomited. He felt chilled.
The company took up defensive positions, on guard for another ambush.
A Medevac helicopter flew in at treetop level, darting and zigzagging, dodging snipers and rocket-propelled grenades launched from the ground. It came in quickly, bouncing hard upon landing. Poised for a hasty retreat, the blades kept beating briskly. Medics sprang out of the open doors in a mad dash to load the survivors and get airborne while precious time ticked away.
Strapped and buckled into a litter, Daniel’s limp body was hoisted into the Medevac.
“Don’t let me die!” Fighting to stay conscious, he grabbed the medic’s hand with a crushing grip. “Don’t let me die.” He spat out some bloody teeth.
The twin engines boomed; the blades kicked up a swirling storm of dirt. On the ground, soldiers secured the perimeter, squinting down the sights of their rifles, alert for any movement. Running well past time when they should be in the air, the last litter was heaved onboard, each additional second on the ground rendering them increasingly vulnerable to attack.
The last medic scrambled into the helicopter.
“Go! Go!” he yelled.
The door still open, the pilot gunned the helicopter and it jolted skyward. The sharp, rocking motion made Daniel groan.
A terrorist jumped out of his hiding place behind the bushes, a little hole he’d dug and covered with branches. With a camouflaged grenade launcher already perched on his shoulder, he took hasty aim and fired. It narrowly missed the Medevac, exploding nearby. The craft rocked back and forth, hovering precariously, pitching and yawing as the pilot fought to regain control.
The terrorist laughed with joy. In giddy excitement, he fell to the ground to prepare another volley. Opening the box of grenades, he grabbed one and was immediately torn up in a hail of bullets. Bursts continued to riddle his lifeless body, making it jump and dance on the ground.
The Medevac flew in jerky patterns over the treetops on its tortured path to the nearest Combat Support Hospital. Daniel groaned, shifting in and out of consciousness. Lurching to its destination, his helicopter was one of several Medevacs hovering over the landing pad awaiting their turn.
A long procession of wheeled litters streamed into the Emergency Medical Treatment tent. An explosion rocked the EMT, overturning supply carts and knocking medics and doctors to the floor. The lights flickered and then extinguished. But for a few voices in the dark, all was silent, the constant hum of the air conditioners having cut out. The emergency generators took over and the lights became bright and then dimmed, reaching full strength again after several minutes.
Daniel was finally wheeled into the EMT. Two litters ahead of him was a young soldier, his left arm gone, his torso and legs punctured by shrapnel. A burly soldier, his right leg hanging by sinews, was next.
“X-rays over here, move it!” a doctor yelled over the commotion.
Leaning over a litter, another doctor examined a soldier pierced with glass and nails. The slightest movement gave him unbearable agony. He flinched with excruciating pain as the doctor delicately cut off his T-shirt.
“Just frags and soft-tissue damage. Sorry son — we’ll get you to the OR soon as we can. Wheel him aside,” he yelled, making his way through the waiting litters, performing triage as he went.
A medic charged through the line of litters.
“Out of the way, move, move, move, bodies coming through!”
“Internal blood pooling! Sonar scan, stat.”
Daniel’s chin was peppered with shrapnel. Most of his front teeth were missing. His lips were gashed open and swollen purple and black. A medic stood over him, tenderly cradling Daniel’s head in his hands.
“Benson — it’ll be okay.”
Though well accustomed to such sights, the medic fought to choke back the tears welling up inside.
“You’re gonna be all right!”
Daniel stared with glazed, unblinking eyes.
“Benson! You hear me, Benson?”
He clutched Daniel’s hand tightly.
“You’re — gonna — be — all — right!”
Daniel’s face was an empty mask. The medic felt his wrist for a pulse as his insides spilled out onto the floor.
Against a blaring siren, a mechanical voice boomed through a loudspeaker, “Incoming! Incoming! Incoming!”
31
Live Free or Die
THE CONFERENCE ROOM WAS PACKED with many more people than Benson remembered from the last meeting. He spotted Anna near the end of the table. She locked her eyes with his.
Franklin rose to address the Patriots. Behind
him loomed a giant Betsy Ross flag with the “II” in the middle of the circle of stars. The room hushed.
“Like sheep, the people are easily panicked. Throughout history, rulers have understood this well. Had we not panicked, had we not surrendered to mass hysteria and submitted to fear, we would still be free. But we, the people, eagerly sold our precious liberty for phantom promises of safety and security. We struck a very poor bargain. We got neither liberty nor security.
“Freedom of speech was the first casualty in the War on Terror. Paid informants spied in our workplaces and in our stores, in our restaurants and bars, at sporting events and in houses of worship. State functionaries searched through our mail and listened in on our private conversations. They read our email and online communications and monitored the websites we visited. Any speech or writing that could be taken the wrong way, say the wrong thing, or offend the authorities could be labeled ‘hate speech’ or sedition. ‘If the freedom of speech is taken away,’ said Washington, ‘then dumb and silent we may be led, like sheep to the slaughter.’
“The desire for economic security — the ‘freedom from want’ — found expression in a multitude of ruinous entitlements dividing the people into warring factions battling each other for the spoils. As Bastiat put it: ‘The State is that great fiction by which everyone tries to live at the expense of everyone else.’ Tax-funded intellectuals laid the necessary groundwork, preaching that a personal surplus of anything beyond mere subsistence was intolerably selfish, morally wrong, unneeded, and undeserved — the outcome of pure chance and not enterprise. Life being nothing more than a cruel lottery, the majority were thereby persuaded to view themselves as victims, one of the many have-nots, entitled by that reason alone to the labors of their fellow citizens.
“The political elite happily obliged in the theft, redistributing the wealth of the people like so much free candy to spoiled children, the State accumulating ever more power all the while. When, at last, the wealth of the nation itself proved insufficient for the majority to live off the State — its production capacity ravaged through inflation, taxes, and strangling regulations — the State simply borrowed more to keep it all going, burdening the people with crippling debt.