One Man's War

by Thomas J. Wolfenden

  “And clean water and medicine. Did you know we had several cases of Bubonic Plague last month?” John said.

  “The president doesn’t want to hear about it,” the general said angrily.

  “It’s only going to get worse.”

  “This is why I need you to get a radio to the major, and keep in contact with him every step of the way. I don’t want him to get out there and go stomping around like the Gestapo. They are Americans out there, remember, so we need to keep him on a very short leash,” the general said.

  “I’m just a worker-bee, a drone. The president tells you to find something out, and then you come to me, and I dig up the information and give it to you. It’s up to you and the president to act on the intelligence I provide.”

  “I know that, John.”

  “It’s always been that way. I can only give my recommendations. I know we need all this other stuff, food, medicine, electricity and running water. If we don’t get those things, and soon, the shit will definitely hit the fan.”

  “To tell you the truth, John, I do not want to be anywhere near the epicenter when the shit begins to fly,” the general agreed.

  “Nor do I, General.”

  “So tell me, what do you think?”

  “Do you really want to know?” John asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Off the record?” John asked the general, a little smile crossing his lips.

  “Spill it, John. I’m getting too old and tired to be pussyfooting around.”

  “From all the information I’ve gathered, they’ve got it good out west and in Hawaii. They’ve got plenty of food, electricity, running water. This sergeant major has got all of his proverbial shit in one sack. Things are well on their way to being as normal as they can be, unlike here, where we’re hanging on by our fingernails. It’s a miracle that things haven’t imploded by now. It actually sickens me, what’s going on here in DC. This place was a cesspool before, now it’s even worse.”

  “I’m just following orders,” the general stated flatly.

  “That’s what they all said in Nuremburg,” John remarked wryly.

  “That’s unfair, John!” the general shot back.

  “Be that as it may, but it’s already a police state here, and we’ve all been taken over by a siege mentality.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’d say leave these folks out west alone. It seems like all they’re trying to do out there is get settled and survive. We should put all of our energy here into doing what they’ve managed to do out there. Get the power on, and get food for the people, not go off and try to rule the world.”

  “The president will never go for it, as long as he doesn’t have the codes, or access to the satellites.”

  “When he does get them, do you think he’s going to just sit back and start farming communities? No, he’s going to ‘project his power’ all over the goddamn place,” John said, getting angry himself.

  “John, you’d better be careful where you say these things,” the general warned.

  “You asked me what I thought. I’m telling you. I haven’t said anything to anyone else about how I feel,” he lied, knowing he talked at length about this almost every night with his partner. “I’m not suicidal. I don’t say anything to anyone about how I really feel.”

  “I’m frustrated with everything, just like you.”

  “Have you tried to reason with him?”

  “I’d have better luck getting a camel through the eye of a needle,” the general sighed.

  “So we just sit and wait, and see what happens.”

  The general nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “So, we’re just going to sit and wait, watch the good major head out west, and most probably destroy the last vestiges of civilization?”

  “It’s all we can do.”

  “Is it, General?”

  “Yes, it is. We swore an oath, both of us, to obey the orders from the man sitting over at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, and that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

  “Yes, that’s what we’ll do, General,” John said sadly. He made up his mind right then that he’d do something. He didn’t know what, but he knew he’d do something. There were several thousand people here in the city that didn’t need any more hollow promises, and he knew now that the general was a lost cause. “I think it’s time we ended this conversation, John. Do what you need to do to get a radio to the major, and have it over to the Armory as soon as you can.”

  “Yes sir, General. Did he say when he’d be ready to leave?”

  “He said he’d need to work out the logistics, maybe a few days.”

  “I’ll get right on it and have something over to him tomorrow afternoon, probably.”

  “Good, I’ll leave you to it then,” the general said, getting up to leave. “Keep me updated.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’m going to take a walk. I need some fresh air,” the general said, now deflated.

  “You do that. I’ll work on getting a radio to the major, and then I’m going to take this rig to my house and set it up there.”

  “Okay, John, and again, not a word of our conversation to anyone.”

  The general left the conference room and headed outside. He was short of breath and felt as though the walls were closing in on him.

  He hadn’t decided where he was going, and once outside of the building, made his way across the west parking lot, crossed the highway, and into Arlington National Cemetery.

  He wandered around the now overgrown lawns, through acres of white headstones of his fallen brothers and sisters. Once the home of another Army General, Robert E. Lee, the site was taken over to inter the dead Union soldiers during the Civil War, some thought to insult the Confederate General.

  The general walked for hours, weaving his way this way and that until, in the twilight of that spring day in Washington, he sat on the marble steps that led up to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

  His mind cleared somewhat by his long walk, he looked out over the vista and wept silently. He wasn’t sure exactly why he was crying, but it poured out of him for some time.

  He thought about what John had said, and knew in his heart of hearts that the man was right. However, he had sworn an oath, and he did have his honor. Then he thought of all those who had died defending what was once a great nation, many of those surrounding him at this very moment. He wept for everything that was lost, how every last one, if this last little piece of America was lost, would have died in vain.

  That thought angered him to the core. He’d had over thirty years’ service to this country, fought and bled, led men in battle, and survived it all. One cold November night six years ago, in the blink of an eye, humanity was all but erased from the face of the Earth.

  He had wandered around for days, much like the way he’d done this day, until he started to meet up with other survivors, then the new president emerged, and for a while, he thought everything was going to be alright.

  Had it all been a dream? Was humanity gone for good? Was what this new president had made for them what they needed, or would it all crumble like a house of cards with the slightest puff of breeze he knew for sure was just over the horizon?

  He looked out over the marble monuments, saddened by the lack of care they’d received in the last few years. Weeds and debris were sprouting from every crack and fissure in the stonework, and soon, nature would most assuredly take back what was rightfully hers.

  That last thought weighing heavily on his mind, he stood, brushing off some soil that was on his trousers, hung his head sadly and plodded back towards the Pentagon where he’d left his Hum-Vee.

  Duty, Honor, Country. That’s what had been ingrained upon him from the very onset of plebe year at the US Military Academy at West Point.

  Duty, Honor, Country.

  When he passed through the front gate in the last light of day, he saw the flag flying, torn and tattered, on a flagpole. It may be torn and tattered
, a shadow of what once was great, but it was still his flag, by God. As he passed, he rendered a smart, proper salute, and with new-found steel in his spine, he marched a little straighter, his footfalls echoing in the silent, darkened city.

  He knew then, without a shadow of a doubt, what he must do. Did he have the mettle, the intestinal fortitude to do it?

  Only time would tell.

  Chapter 9: A Long Summer

  Tim sat on the bleachers along the first base line of a now overgrown Little League baseball diamond on the outskirts of town. The outfield grass was tall, and several ponderosa pine saplings we reaching for the sky by the second base line.

  He looked out over the field, and through clouds of puffy white fluff from a cottonwood tree, his mind traveling back to a time long ago, and to a different baseball diamond.

  It was the summer of his sixteenth year. He was stepping into the batter’s box from the on-deck circle and the pressure was on. It was the deciding game in the City All-Stars. The score was five-six, and it was the bottom of the ninth inning. There were two outs, and bases were loaded. His team needed two runs to win this game and take the trophy home, and that reality hit home as soon as he stood in the box and looked down at the pitcher, who stood there eyeing him devoid of all emotion.

  He wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve, and stood in his batting stance. He wasn’t the best hitter on the team, and he could almost hear the moans of his teammates in the dugout. He was the worst batter on the team…

  The pitcher wound up and threw the ball, and he swung with all his might, only to be rewarded by the ‘whap’ of the ball, landing into the catcher’s mitt, and the umpire yelling, “Strike one!”

  Undeterred, he stood at the ready again, and thrice more the pitcher threw his best fastball, but this time he kept his eye on the ball, didn’t swing, and was rewarded by the umpire calling them balls.

  He rolled his head to loosen the kink in his neck, and then the pitcher wound up again, throwing a fast breaking ball that Tim swung and missed. The count was now three and one, and the whole field got very quiet. It was almost as if someone had muted the crowd in the bleachers.

  He crouched yet again, and stood at the ready. The pitcher looked at him for what seemed like an eternity, wound up, and peppered a fastball that was like a blur. Tim swung again, and missed, hearing yet again, that sickening sound of the ball landing home in the catcher’s mitt.

  The count was now three - two, bases loaded, winning run on second base. He stepped out of the batter’s box for a second time, swung the bat a few times, and stepped back to the plate.

  As he crouched in his batter’s stance, time slowed down to half speed and the pitcher wound up. The ball screamed in, and Tim, not taking his eye off the blur, swung with all his might at the speeding projectile.

  And then the sound.

  Not just any sound, the Sound. The sound of Kentucky ash hitting speeding stitched leather in that sweet spot, the sound that every person in the stands heard and knew what it was…

  Crack!

  He felt it flow from his hands, up his arms, through his body and down to his toes, that feel…

  The bat made a full arc around him, and he let it drop from his grip, and tore down the first base line with all the power he could muster. Halfway to first base, he chanced a look to see where the ball was, and when he saw it arcing up, further and further, deeper into centerfield, he slowed a little. When he saw it clear the outfield fence not by inches but by yards, a satisfied grin swept over his face, and he slowed his sprint to a leisurely jog.

  He saw the centerfielder, who had been in a mad dash to catch the ball, stop, drop his shoulders in defeat and slam his baseball cap onto the ground in anger. The crowd erupted with cheers, and by the time Tim had rounded third base, his whole team was standing at home plate, hands extended, to high-five him when he touched home.

  His teammates surrounded him, and as one, picked him up and started to carry him around the infield in an impromptu victory parade, and in his revelry, he looked out over the stands, searching, searching for the one face he so desperately wanted, needed to see…

  That face wasn’t there.

  Why couldn’t you have been there on that day, Dad?

  “Penny for your thoughts?” came a familiar, pleasantly lilting voice, and he looked down at the bottom of the bleachers to see Holly climbing up. When she made it up to where Tim was sitting, she sat down next to him. “Izzy said you’d probably be here.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Aye, he said he’s seen you sitting up here a time or two the last few days,” Holly said, taking hold of his arm. “What are you thinking about?”

  “A time long gone,” he said, staring out over the field.

  “Did you used to play?” “Yeah, back in high school.”

  “A game I never understood. I prefer cricket. Were you any good?”

  “Not really,” he said sadly. “I was just thinking about my dad, actually.”

  “You’ve never talked about your past, Tim. Good thoughts, I hope?”

  “Good and bad. He did provide for us growing up, but there were a lot of times he wasn’t there. He’d promise he’d be there, then he wouldn’t show up.”

  “Was it work?”

  “Yeah, he worked a lot.”

  “A copper, like you?”

  “No, he worked for the Department of Defense. He was important, always being called away for something or another.”

  “I’m sorry, Tim,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “Are you worried you won’t be there for our child?”

  “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  “I have all the faith in the world in you, Sergeant Major.”

  “I’m glad you do. It seems like the older I get, the more I’m turning into him.”

  “He raised you rather well, I think.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. He was, in a lot of ways, a great dad. We never wanted for anything; we always had food on the table and a roof over our heads. But there were a lot of broken promises over the years.”

  “And you’re afraid you’ll make more promises you can’t keep?” Holly asked softly.

  “I’ve already failed, Holly. I couldn’t protect April. Now we’ve got some piece of shit sitting over in a jail cell that I’ve got no clue what the fuck I’m going to do with.”

  “You and Izzy will work something out. There’s got to be some good traits you’ve gotten from your dad.”

  “Well, there’s one,” he said.

  Holly slapped him on his arm. “You are so naughty!” she scolded him.

  “I come by it naturally,” he replied, then laughed. “From the very beginning, all I wanted was to be left alone, and that is one thing I think I have in common with my dad.”

  “Was he a loner?”

  “No, not really.”

  “I don’t understand then.”

  “When we were kids, my maternal grandparents had a house on the south Jersey shore, in Wildwood. A few times a year, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, we’d all pile into the car for the two hour drive down from Philly. When we’d get there, my mom and grandmom would sit in the parlor drinking tea and gabbing. Me and my brother would head down to the beach, while my dad would immediately head to the spare bedroom upstairs and ‘nap’ for the whole afternoon, only to come down at dinner, eat, and head back up for another nap, until it was time to go. We never stayed overnight.”

  “So you’re saying your dad would go hide and nap, so he didn’t have to listen to your Mum and Gran yammering all day?” Holly chuckled.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Are you saying I yammer, Timothy Flannery?” she asked, crossing her arms.

  Tim laughed loud and hard, and put his arm around her. “No, babe, I am not saying you yammer, but I can identify. I just want us to be left alone here, that’s all. I want us, all of us, to have the lifelong equivalent of my dad’s down the shore naps.”

  “I’m
sure you’ll have that.”

  “Are you? I’m not. There’s so much out there beyond our settlement that we have no idea of. We do have it rather good. We’ve got plenty of food, electricity, hell, we even have a few working televisions and a huge library of DVDs. With the exception of millions of corpses lying around, it is just as if nothing has ever happened. My biggest fear is that at some point in the near future word will get out about this place and survivors will start flooding here.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “It’s a double-edged sword. On one hand, the more people we have, the more we’ll be able to do. On the other, the old problems will come back. We saw it on Oahu, and here again, with that Colin killing April.”

  “That wasn’t your fault, Tim.”

  “Deep down I know that, but I can’t stop thinking I’m partially responsible.”

  “So what do we do, Tim? Do we run away and hide somewhere else? This is our home, Timothy. If we do that, we’ll be running away from the unknown for the rest of our lives, and I know it’s not in your nature to run away from anything,” she said, fire now brewing in her eyes.

  “I won’t run, no. I do think that maybe we should have stayed on Oahu.”

  “Be that as it may, we’re here now, and this is our home. Give it a chance to work, Tim. Not only for you, but for me and Robyn, the baby, and everyone else.”

  “Sometimes I think it’s all a little too much.”

  “Tim, it’s been almost two years since Izzy and I first met you.”

  “I know. Seems like I’ve known you both my whole life,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “And for that I’m eternally grateful.”

  “Just promise me one thing?”

  “And that would be what?” he asked, kissing her on top of her head, and then playfully tugging on her long, thick ponytail.

  “Give it a year. Let’s stay here a year and see what happens. If it doesn’t work, I’ll be the first one to help you pack for the trip back to Hawaii.”