The Fifth Battalion

by Michael Priv

  A crowd of very dirty, exhausted people of all ages, some injured and shocked by their recent experiences, had assembled on the grass in the back of the Wat.

  Linda vomited all over a statue at the edge of the backyard lawn. I followed suit. Must be concussions. We needed some peace and quiet.

  “Sorry,” Linda apologized awkwardly to a monk rushing by with a stack of towels. He nodded absentmindedly, too busy to care. “We just sent out our school bus with thirty -one amibrotos,” an older monk explained to Liran calmly when we returned to the group. He called all parishioners amibrotos, the “immortals.” He knew the truth.

  “To Sihanoukville?” Liran specified.

  The priest nodded. “It’s a small bus. We also have a van that can fit twelve, at most fourteen.”

  “Okay, thank you, SangAn.God bless you!”

  “God is within you, my brother,” the priest replied. “You bless me?”

  “I bless you.” Liran agreed with a grin.

  “Got to love Buddhists.” He turned to me, nursing his bloodied arm. “Hey, listen up,” Liran addressed the survivors in the garden. “Wash up first—quickly. The priest, his name is An, will show you where. Then, help anybody unable to walk or too banged up, to the van. It only holds twelve, maybe fourteen. The rest will walk out the front door calmly and keep on walking. So, you got to look okay to blend in. You need cash. Whoever doesn’t have enough to make it out of here, see me, I have cash to distribute. Questions?”

  “You’re not going with them,” Alesh announced to Linda and me. “Too dangerous. We’ll follow our own evac protocols.”

  I turned to Alesh. “Hey, listen, thanks and all that, but I won’t leave the guys.” “I wasn’t asking you,” the big guy mumbled in my general direction through clenched teeth, just as Bruno fished out a bullet from the bloody hole in his shoulder with a pair of rusty pliers they must’ve found in the basement. Out of respect for these two meatheads, I let the brusque remark slide. The bastards saved both our butts today at least twice each. And of course, we pulled Alesh out of the fire, too, and that felt good.

  “Could these people join us, please?” Linda asked Alesh. “They’re all in danger.” “Can’t do that . Out of the question.” Alesh winced. Bruno sprayed the open wound with something foul-smelling from a small, silvery spray-tube. “Would be a security breach.” The green aerosol bubbled on contact with the blood and skin and quickly solidified into an elastic bright yellow layer, which sealed the wound.

  Alesh moved his arm gingerly and nodded his approval. The two Guards changed places. With a grunt, Bruno exposed the wound on his side to Alesh’s not-too-gentle ministrations.

  Between Linda and me, we had two concussions. But in my opinion, hers was worse as evidenced by her different-sized pupils. A big bloody gash on Linda’s side and a few scratches on her face did not look good, either. Of course, I couldn’t see myself. I probably looked pretty banged up too. The green spray would not help Linda with all her injuries. She needed rest.

  “ Linda needs rest. Could she crash in the basement, you think?” I asked Alesh, circumventing his orders. I knew I couldn’t leave Liran and all the parishioners. But first I had to take care of Linda.

  Alesh stared at Linda . “Headache?”

  Linda bowed her head.

  “Vomited?”

  “Busted,” Linda admitted with a sigh.

  “And you?” Alesh pointed at me accusingly.

  “Me too. Couldn’t stand to see her puking alone.”

  Alesh stared, considering his options. Bruno shook his head and mumbled something insulting. I thought I heard the word “stupid” mixed in somewhere in that short tirade.

  “ I have a medicine for you.” Alesh handed me a tiny capsule that he pulled out of a cheap plastic firstaid kit. “Here. Squeeze between two fingers and sniff. Then give it to Linda.”

  I knew Murabian medicine was good. I figured I’d try it and go join Liran. I sniffed and handed the smashed capsule to Linda. Ah -h-h-h. Now, here’s a nice smell. Kind of like butterscotch candy with an extra generous helping of vanilla and a tinge of something else equally good. Probably doesn’t get any better—as smells go.Pondering the smell felt good. Made perfect sense—it was

  a very good smell. Interesting smell, too, with a visual aspect to it — a beautiful kaleidoscope-like aspect. I slid down to the ground, stretching comfortably. Yeah, there sure was a lot to be said in favor of assuming a prone position over, say, a vertical one, as an example. Something there to contemplate.

  Slowly and gracefully, Linda slid to the ground next to me, a silly look on her face, eyes completely glazed over.

  “Hi, Linda.” I smiled.

  Linda’s eyes closed, but her facial expression remained. We’ve been drugged,was the last thought through my mind, as I attempted unsuccessfully to reach for my gun.

  46 “I’m starving.” Linda’s happy voice was the first sound that snaked its way into my drugged consciousness. Good. I would’ve chosen that to be the first sound, given a choice. Squinting at my surroundings, I realized I was reclined on one of the enormous armchairs of the Guards’ Lear jet. Stan must have sent for us. Expectations to the contrary, I felt great.

  “Picky, yellow face, you’re up!” Linda was beaming. I wasn’t the only one feeling pretty damn good around here. Why did she call me a yellow face?

  As I glanced at her, I was startled by a wide yellow smudge above her right eyebrow and another one on her chin. I supposed I didn’t look any better.

  Alesh and Bruno watched the two of us impassively, nursing a couple of beers. “Should I shoot you?” I asked Alesh. “Or thank you? Or both?” “I have your gun,” Alesh replied curtly. Always to the point.

  “That means you should thank him,” explained Linda with a giggle. “Since you can’t shoot him, right?”

  Linda walked over to Alesh unsteadily, cradled his huge head in her hands and kissed him on the lips. “Thank you, Alesh,” she said. Alesh turned scarlet. Bruno stared at the exchange with an expression of utter astonishment. Then he smiled at Linda, most uncharacteristically. Linda attempted walking over to him, but he waved her off.

  “Thank you, Bruno,” Linda said from a safe distance. Bruno mumbled something, looking away.

  “Hey, knock off kissing every man in sight!” I yelled, waving my arms in the air. “H oney, I’m hungry-y,” Linda sang in my direction.

  “Here.” Bruno threw a couple of small bags of Doritos at me. I noticed his face was calm and relaxed. The meatheads did not seem to have anywhere near enough affection in their lives. Work, work, work. M-m-m. Doritos hit the spot.

  “Anything else decent to eat?” I asked.

  “The maid’s off today,” Bruno grumbled, back to his usual self. “Deal with it.”

  “How long had we been out?” Linda asked.

  Bruno yawned. I stared at Alesh. “It’s complicated,” he said. “About eighteen hours.”

  Only eighteen hours? Boy, was I confused. “I thought a couple days. What happened yesterday?”

  “Nothing interesting.” Alesh shrugged. “Hey, listen, you guys, we have a stocked fridge here. Help yourselves.” We ate. Then I did my favorite breathing exercise. In comes the white light of unconditional love and out goes the blackness of fear. Had a rough go of it after killing many innocent paratroopers and cops recently. True, they didn’t seem innocent at the time—what with all the guns and shooting, but I knew better.

  Soldiers are nearly always clueless about what is really going on—the unwitting pawns in somebody’s game. Always doing somebody else’s killing and dying. And proud of it! Players play the games. They win, they lose, they like it, they don’t like it, they know what the game is about, they change the game—they have a choice. Soldiers, the pawns, think they know but they don’t. Players play games. Soldiers get killed.

  The way up was clearly marked in my mind —toward tolerance and understanding, away from soldiering—if that direction was even open to me, the e
ternal soldier—the eternal stupid, suicidal and depressed soldier.

  The jet had to refuel a few times on the way back. Otherwise, the trip was uneventful.

  47

  “Brell and I need to talk.” Stan looked concerned. “I don’t get what happened. Why the hit in Siem Reap? Why? We had’im.” We? His office looked the same as we left it —huge desk cluttered with papers, a computer, filing cabinets, photographs, and awards on the wood-paneled walls. The momentous reunion between us had fizzled out quickly a minute ago. Stan greeted us with a smile and a slap on the back.

  “So where is all your money?” he asked, gloating just a little bit. “We lost it in the kerfuffle,” I replied. “Thanks for sending the jet for us.” “Ah, that’s nothing,” Stan waved his hand dismissively. “ Yellow looks good on you, guys,” he added on his way to his chair at the computer.

  “Thank you,” Linda replied politely.

  We settled down.

  Stan nodded, all business now. “You know the scoop on Brell,” Stan stated. “He’s getting people out which is against the law. As you noticed, I’m sure, I do not even object to him rehabilitating the inmates, but I must rein in his operation. It’s my job. He needs to be working under my control or not at all. And first I would need to get guidance through the proper chain of command.”

  “There aren’t any special release laws, so you don’t need to control his operation or get it okayed through your channels,” Linda objected. “The convicts mayleave any time, if they can. That’s the entire law. If they’ve left, the discharge is legal. You just hate to see people go free.” Linda’s tone turned cold and accusing, even hateful.

  “They don’t understand their own laws and job descriptions,” I ventured, turning to Linda.

  “Yes,” Linda agreed. “Just grunts.” Stan stared hard at both of us. Then his face softened. He got up with a sigh and walked around the office. “We aren’t dealing with an insignificant personal matter here,” he said. “We’re sorting out the Imperial Law right now, you understand? We’re employed by the Department of Corrections. We’re not free to do whatever we think is nice. We uphold the law. The way it looks right now, Brell is assisting inmates to escape. That is illegal, but, once again, please note that I’m protecting and defending him and his operation just in case his rehabilitation efforts are approved by the Department of Corrections.”

  “ Stan, you don’t know what the law is. You didn’t know before and you still don’t know. You see the problem we are having with you? You could’ve found out, but you didn’t.”

  “ We’re not sure about this particular point, correct, ‘cause it never came up before.” Stan nodded his agreement. “I mean never came up in hundreds of thousands of years, as far as I know. What was I supposed to do?”

  “ Look here,” I retorted. “Brell talked to you for ages till he was blue in his face. Never came up before in hundreds of thousands of years? You simply never did anything about it before.”

  “ Brell is an inmate. Am I taking my orders from inmates now?” Stan waved me off with a snort. “That’s ridiculous. I have to find out through our proper chain of command, not from a prisoner.”

  “So why haven’t you found out yet?” Linda bristled. Stan ignored her. “Didn’t my boys help you defend that crazy school?”

  “Yes, thank you for that.” I meant it. Stan took it down a notch. “The bottom line is I can’t release the prisoners until I get this point clarified through proper channels, understood? All I can do now is clarify it and I’m doing that. Meanwhile, I’m helping preserve Brell’s operation in case it turns out to be valid and acceptable.”

  “How long will that clarification through proper channels take?” Linda asked.

  “A crucial decision like that? Sixty years—maybe, if we’re lucky. Give or take. Probably longer.”

  “Maybe? Give or take? Probably? You affect billions of lives!” Linda was furious again. “Look, you t wo, you got this freedom bug up your ass, but you got to think it through. There isn’t any way to release anybody from here. Earth is all prison. So, we’d have to get the freed ones off the planet. How? How are we going to get them to Murabi hundreds of light years away? Or you just release them into the open space? Our transport is not rated as a passenger vessel and the schedule is infrequent, usually every twenty-five Earth years. There are receivers here on this planet but no transmitters. Why? Nobody is supposed to be released that’s why.”

  “You understand that youare not releasing the prisoners, right?” Speaking to Stan, I leaned over to Linda and put my arm around her waist, feeling her body relax a bit. “You don’t need transportation. Convicts ascend to a spiritual level where they’re no longer criminal. They literally turn into saints. At that very high level of consciousness, they can freely move in a disembodied state through the protective force field. They decide if they want to stay or go. They decide where they want to go and how they get there. That’s why it’s called freedom. It’s no longer up to you and it isn’t your problem,” I explained. “It’s up to them. Youor any of your subordinates are not releasing anybody and have no say, you see that?”

  “ Bullshit. People get convicted by a duly convened court of law and, if they are to be released, I have to get the release authorization through the proper…” Stan started, shaking his head.

  This wasn’t going anywhere. Plus, in my opinion, we were focusing on the wrong issue. “Stan, I’m afraid we’ re not focusing on the right issue here,” I interrupted. “The real problem is not Brell at all. The real problem is the Priests.”

  Stan threw his head back with a hearty laugh. “Good, Norm. A subtle subterfuge! A very small change of subject.” He showed with his thumb and index finger how small that change of subject really was. About half an inch. “You thought I wouldn’t notice? Admit it, did you?”

  “I mean it, Stan. Leave the School alone, it’s nothing to you in comparison to the Priests.”

  “Since when are the Priests so important all of a sudden?” Stan asked with a tad more interest. Good. Warming up to the subject. “Since they took over Earth.” I didn’t hold back the drama. “Oh, they did, did they?” He wasn’t taking it seriously enough yet. “What? You didn’t know they hijacked the planet from under you?” Linda suddenly inquired, her sarcasm oozing out most uncharacteristically. I knew why. She’d fought this system and ended up forever-dead for it. “Just a crowd of Switkowski Trucking yahoos. What a bunch of clowns!” Linda’s derisive laughter failed to impress Stan a whole lot, although his large face did tighten up a bit.

  Later ,I should probablyhave a talkwith Linda aboutpissingoff the Commanding Officer of the Guards and calling him a yahoo. Although, admittedly, that was a stepup fromshooting him in the ass.

  “You want a gun to shoot me in the ass?” Stan suddenly asked. “Yes!” Linda jumped off her chair. “Give it to me and turn around, you big Chewbacca.” “Sit !” Stan ordered, serious now. I guessed his question to Linda was largely rhetorical. Then to me, “What’s the situation with the Priests?”

  “The Priests no longer protect Brell,” I started.

  “I know that,” Stan interrupted with a shrug. How didhe knowthat?“They hold Earth by the balls now. They control all the planet’s finances, communications, media, pharmaceuticals, most of the food, healthcare, and oil. Indirectly, they pull all the strings, legal and illicit, regarding drugs, trade, military, you name it. They instigate and bring to the desired conclusion or prolong all major armed conflicts. They run the planet.”

  “ Why is it important to me? We don’t care what the prisoners do, just as long as they stay in prison. They run drugs, prostitution, crime rings, etc., so what? Keeps them occupied.”

  “Well, for one, they mess with our rehabilitation and release,” Linda interjected.

  Stan just shrugged. “Think, Stan.” I took over again. “Why would they want to find your transport so badly? You think they’re jumping up and down trying to leave this gig and return to Baltizor? You
think they’re crazy?”

  “Well , I could come up with a number of possible reasons.” Stan leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, furrowing his eyebrows thoughtfully.

  “Who ordered the hit on the School in Cambodia?” I interrupted. “Roberts. The use of Special Forces was a dead giveaway. So? Why the hit?” “ Aha! For the same reason they want the transport.” I raised my finger significantly. “To destroy all means of escape. They only want your transport to destroy it.”

  “They are sealing off the planet to prevent any leaks. They’re making sure nobody leaves and nobody talks, including the church parishioners, Bob, and even you and the boys,” Linda finished for me. “They willkill you.”

  “Just to keep the lid on,” I agreed. “That’s ridiculous.” Stan waved us off breezily. “They’d set off all kinds of alarms back home at the Department by interrupting our routine report lines. They can’t falsify or duplicate the protocols. They have no idea what the protocols are.”

  “Unless they turned a bunch of your guys and kept them alive and well specifically to make things appear normal.”

  Stan seemed less sure. “Do they know the twenty on this base? Honest now.” Stan peered at us intently.

  “Not from us,” I replied.

  “They don’t have the location,” Linda confirmed. “Or we’d all be dead already.”

  Still with a skeptical half-smile, yet furrowing his brow in concern, Stan pressed the intercom button. “Klimek, get me…” His son ’s huge, shaggy head appeared in the door. “Yes?” “Damn. Never mind. E-mail me all you can find on the Priests.” “Wha...?” Klimek didn’t seem to be in any great hurry to comply.

  “On the double!” Stan roared. The head disappeared so fast, as if somebody had yanked Klimek back into the hallway by his hair. “How long have you known? What else do you know? What are you two hiding?”