Just like that it was all over. No ceremony, no final speeches. Just a signature and a stamp and the Army keeps rolling along. Packing what few personal belongings he had in his quarters, Daniel didn’t make a show about leaving the Army’s dirty little section of Warren AFB, he just faded out the back gate and took his time walking back to his mother’s house. What else was he supposed to do, where should he go? Join the Air Force or find a way to get out to sea? Did he even want to wear a uniform anymore? That might be an even better question. As far as anyone was concerned his battle was over. He’d put more into fighting the war than most ever would, why shouldn’t he just get a job at a burger shack and live happily ever after?
A black SUV did a rather dangerous looking U-turn in the middle of a crowded street full of pedestrians and started pulling up on Daniel. Not paying it much mind, other than figuring the driver was an asshole, he kept walking until he noticed someone was walking behind him attempting to get noticed. He turned around and eyeballed the suspiciously clean looking man in a black suit, his hand hovering over a holstered gun. Everyone else in this filthy hole of humanity looked like they’d survived an apocalypse. This guy was almost sickeningly untouched by recent events, and only the Cadillac’s tire treads were dirty yet.
“Who the fuck are you?” Daniel asked impatiently. “I didn’t order an Uber car.”
“Lieutenant Daniel Sawyer?” The suited man asked, his reflective sunglasses gleaming light into Daniel’s eyes. He nodded that indeed this was his name and the man continued. “My name is Oliver Saint, I’m with the Secret Service.”
“Good for you. I’m with… well probably nobody now. I don’t think my crush is into lazy gamers that work at pizza shacks and smoke weed all day.”
The agent smiled, which was totally opposite what Daniel was expecting. “We didn’t mean to approach you like this, we thought we’d catch you still at your former barracks, but as I’m sure you can tell, traffic in the city is a nightmare.”
“That’ll happen when half the population lives in the streets.” Daniel said flatly.
Agent Saint didn’t appear affected by the comment. “I didn’t want to have this chat in front of General Brown, her notion is to bring you into her personal staff in order to keep you insulated from the fallout over the incident at Lincoln.”
“…however?” Daniel prodded. He wasn’t in a hurry to “step into the blue.”
“However, my section chief has authorized me to make you an offer.”
“I’m not sure I’d be very good at running a prostitution and coke ring. Besides, isn’t Columbia kinda overrun these days?”
Saint did laugh this time. “See, you are clever, and that’s exactly what the Secret Service is looking for right now. Think of it this way, you can go back to your Mother and let her protect you…”
“Or I could join you guys and learn how to run coke and handle my bitches?”
“You really are just a laugh a minute, Mr. Sawyer.” Agent Saint handed him a card. “If you change your mind. We need smart people, good people with a sense of right and wrong for this job. It’s not just standing around pretending you’re James Bond during presidential speeches. It’s a serious job, one that is more a calling than just a duty. We protect the Office of the President of the United States, not just the individual occupying it. Whether or not you like him, or even one day her, it’s the job of the Secret Service to make certain the Continuity of Government continues and that the People have a leader. You did excellent work with 1st VR, I don’t think that nasally little prick Sharp could have pulled it off without men like you, or even you specifically.”
“I’m done with that part of my life. I’m sorry.” Daniel turned to start walking again.
“Just because the video feed Major Sharp and Captain Rambo were talking to went blank, Mr. Sawyer, doesn’t mean nobody was watching.”
Daniel turned back around. “Video feed?”
“Who do you think Major Sharp was taking orders from? Let’s just say the big man in the bunker was quite impressed by the stance you and Lt. Anders took, even if it flew in the face of political expedience. If he hadn’t been killed by Sharp’s second in command, we’d be making this same offer to Anders right now.” Saint started walking to his car and got in without looking back. “POTUS didn’t order that airstrike, Mr. Sawyer. There was much debate in the bunker, and just because the strike was launched, doesn’t mean nobody appreciated your attempt to stop it. This is why we want you. You will, even at your own peril, do the right thing.” He got in the SUV and put his seatbelt on without looking flustered.
“Should I go, Sir?” The driver asked.
“Wait for it…” Saint smiled again, and as if on queue the door opened on the other side and Daniel slid in. “You can drive now.”
The tinted windows might have meant the people on the outside couldn’t see in, but that didn’t mean Daniel didn’t hate himself for being in this luxurious vehicle deep in the heart of the largest homeless encampment in human history. Dirty children playing in filth were everywhere, God knows how many of them were orphans. They were starving, and he was being invited to live among the king’s court. What fucking justice was this?
“This isn’t exactly what I was expecting.” Daniel admitted, sitting next to Agent Saint in a nondescript office deep inside Cheyenne Mountain.
“I’m afraid the Secret Service doesn’t exactly have the same budgetary freedoms as in the movies. God, if only we had S.H.I.E.L.D.’s fiscal allowance.” He looked at Daniel with a slight smirk. “You know what I could do with a fuckin’ C-17 that can take off and land vertically? Just imagine.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “That show was overrated and really dark despite its attempts to be kid-friendly. I liked the movies better.”
Saint nodded. “They’re going to make more when the plague is wiped out. Stan Lee survived, you know. He lives in Sector Nine with other citizens who have private security. Seems Disney won’t let one of their prized possessions get eaten like that one girl, what was her name? Meh, the most recent Mickey Mouse Club train wreck, whoever she was. Total media fiasco, made the pullout of DC even worse than it needed to be.” They’d been waiting for the next Agent above Saint to arrive for Daniel’s interview for almost an hour, leaving Daniel with literally nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs.
“And how did it need to be, Agent Saint? Because I was there. I saw the hordes overrun the capital, I saw people panicking and killing each other. And do you know who was the worst amongst them? Us. The Government. The ‘good’ guys. A friend of mine was killed by a FEMA search party. They were just looting too by then, and he got in their way. What about anything you’re showing me here actually has anything to do with doing the right thing? Protecting one man doesn’t seem like a very helpful thing to do right now.” Daniel was considering leaving.
“Not when you look at it from the perspective of pure numbers. That mentality has never made sense. But this isn’t a numbers game. It’s a survival game, and what we’re fighting for is the survival of the United States of America and possibly even Human Civilization itself. The part we play in contributing to that survival is making certain the leader of the Free World doesn’t come to harm. Right now, losing the President himself would be more crushing to our cause than losing an entire army. It’s not that he is special, but it’s that his place among the people is. If the head of the beast is cut off, what is the body left to do but die?”
Daniel nodded. “Guess it’s a bad time to make a Hydra reference?”
“The worst.”
Another agent in a black suit and white shirt opened the office door and made quickly for his seat. “Agent Saint, you’re dismissed. Your team still has four other candidates to round up I do believe.”
“Yessir.” Saint got up and walked out after patting Daniel on the shoulder. “Don’t stress it. The time for that will come sooner rather than later.”
“Get out, Mr. Saint.” His superior’s voice rai
sing an octave as warning. Gruff and old looking, this guy was exactly the face Hollywood would have used for his own character in a movie. “So you’re Annette’s son, huh?”
“General Annette Brown is my mother, yes.”
“You seem upset by her name, Mr. Sawyer. Tell me, why is your last name different from General Brown’s?”
“My mother remarried.”
“I see.”
“And who exactly are you? I get you’re Secret Service, but I think I’m due an introduction.”
Finally looking up from Daniel’s file the senior agent cleared his throat. “My name is Deputy Chief Raymond Wilcox, I’m in charge of replenishing our ranks…” He looked back down at the file. “In case you didn’t know, the Secret Service has suffered more losses, by percentage, than any other unit still in operation. Most of our losses were suffered in DC and at overseas installations, however, we’re still here and we still have a job to do. I don’t want you to think you’re particularly special, Mr. Sawyer, because frankly I’ve seen more qualified candidates forget where the front door was on their way out.” Daniel didn’t resist the urge to smile. He had long ago decided not to take this seriously. “At any rate, you do come with several glowing recommendations, and one incredibly bad one…”
“I’ll consider that last black mark a badge of honor.” Daniel folded his arms. He knew his body language and responses were being gauged not only for correct content, but for any sign of deceit. At this point though, Daniel had nothing to lie about, or so he thought.
Deputy Chief Wilcox went on as if Daniel hadn’t spoken. “You’re described as patriotic, loyal, capable and…” This time the old fart almost broke a smile. Almost. “And tactless.”
“I didn’t have time to be everyone’s friend. I had a war to fight.”
“And now?”
“And now I’m going to be late for dinner no matter how you slice it.”
“Well, get used to it, Mr. Sawyer. If you’re willing, your training starts Monday.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then go home and play Call of Duty. I don’t fucking care. That’ll be a fitting end to the legacy this man began.” Chief Wilcox tipped the manila envelope so a glossy cover photo of Daniel directing fire at the Battle of Lincoln with his machete fell and slid across the desk. “Or… you can be standing outside this office at 0330 this coming Monday, and we can see if this,” his fat finger landed on the black and white image. “Is only the beginning of the mark you’ll make on history.”
The Secret Service was kind enough to give Daniel a ride home after his interview. He hadn’t expected anyone but Gabe to be home, to his bemusement not only was Gabriel and his mother there but so was Kelly. He hadn’t seen or been able to talk to her since the unit had left for Lincoln. Did she even know what an insane chain of events had transpired?
The door swung open before he could knock and Kelly jumped into his arms, though one foot was still daintily on the ground. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Then she lightly slapped him. “Don’t do that to me again. Word that there was a gunfight in the 1st VR TOC spread like wildfire in the Mountain. Then they cut off all information about the area for hours. We didn’t know you were still alive until the next day.”
Daniel actually started feeling something. He didn’t like it and choked it back. “I’m only alive because Sharp was too afraid of the media backlash.”
“Then who…”
“Just some dickhead. Killed one of my friends in cold blood. Major Sharp ended it.” Daniel reported as if he were speaking to a superior. It was the only way he could rationalize telling Kelly anything she could believe. The Air Force had its rough and tumble units, but she was never part of them, the idea of shooting mutineers was unthinkable to post-modern sensibilities. “Not the weirdest thing to happen though. I resigned, but then got a job offer from the Secret Service like an hour later.” He was looking at his mother just then, but she shrugged like she really had no idea. He didn’t believe her.
“The Secret Service?” Kelly was more surprised than he was. “That’s amazing, and weird, yeah. “Hey, babe, would you get me a beer from the fridge? I need to have a talk with the General.”
Kelly didn’t know how to respond to that, exactly. Under this roof Annette was just Annette, not General Brown, USAF. “Sure… Are you sure you’re okay?”
He didn’t answer, but it was a rhetorical question. Gabe went too, because apparently this beer required two people to carry it. “So why not your staff?”
Annette folded her arms. “I liked you better when you were just an Army Private.”
“Me too.”
She sat down on a plush chair in the foyer. “Request from the Big Man himself. He doesn’t like Sharp, or the men who backed him, or the Witch for appointing any of them.” She was talking about Madam Secretary of State Holly Clint. Bend the “l” and the “i” of Holly Clint’s last name into a “u”, and that was a fairly accurate summation of the woman. “Secretary Clint has been consolidating power. She knows she will be president when Martial Law allows for elections again. Since the one demographic she hates more than Military are Caucasian, heterosexual males, I guess the Boss thought offering a job to you would ruffle the harpy’s feathers. I can’t say I disagree with his logic, she’s tried to butter up to me before, but we all know I didn’t join the Marines because I don’t swing that way. Besides, she’s old.”
“Gross.” Daniel nodded as Kelly brought him that beer. It was cold enough to be frosty and tasted better than any beer he’d ever had before. This wasn’t a special beer by any stretch of the imagination, but the fact that he was alive to drink it. “I was told to report on Monday, so I have a long weekend until then.”
“Take your time, Daniel.” His mother said in an unusual display of compassion, then crushed that compassion in her usual Annette-brand way. “Say the word and I’ll have your commissioned transferred to the Air Force and we can-”
“Right, so do you think Secret Service training is gonna be as boring than Basic?”
*
For some reason Daniel had been expecting to see more people in the line outside the office on Monday. There were six people, him included, which might lead one to wonder just what the problem really was. Was there such a lack of manpower than there just weren’t enough candidates, or did nobody believe in the cause enough to lay down their life for it anymore? Nobody spoke to one another, probably because it was three in the morning, but it still made for something of an intimidating atmosphere. It only took moments for Daniel to realize this was going to be nothing like Basic Training. Everyone he would work with had to same expression on their faces, had lived the same story, knew the same things as him. This was the end of the road not only for their careers, but for the nation as well. If the U.S.S.S. was willing to let them in, that meant anyone genuinely qualified was either busy, or…
“I’ll forgo demanding you all stand at attention, I think we’re beyond the need to show how good we can goose-step.” A voice echoed through the darkened hallway. Unlike Deputy Chief Wilcox, this woman’s voice was a sharp staccato that reminded Daniel of an M16 barking in a closed space. His mother had tried acting like this once, it was part of her coping mechanism after his father had filed for divorce. Daniel hadn’t responded to that side of his mother very well, but coming from someone who was actually being a professional and not a bitch the tone simply made him pay more attention.
“My name is Deputy Chief, Special Agent Ejua Locodo,” She said as Daniel got his first view of the slender, tall black woman with the foreign sounding name. “I’ve been in the United States Secret Service since 2003, I know many of you were still in grammar school then, so let’s save the jokes for someone who hasn’t heard them all already.” She stopped at Daniel. “I wasn’t sure anyone Wilcox talked to would bother showing up.”
“Ma’am, Agent Wilcox has a certain poetry about him.”
“Indeed. Now, if you’ll all follow me we can beg
in the second round of interviews.” Someone raised their hand, which Ms. Locodo didn’t initially see and they had to clear their throat to get her attention. “Is there something you need?” She asked the young woman.
“What’s the point of this? Haven’t we all already been interviewed for this job?”
“Yes. You have all gone through an initial screening process, but know that you’ll be given another interview after this one, approximately midway through your training, and another just before graduation. If this is going to be a problem for you, Miss Acres, a Marine on Presidential Duty will escort you to the public levels.” Ms. Locodo was unwaveringly polite about telling someone off, which Daniel couldn’t decide was either a skill in negotiation, or an expert level badge in Be-otch.
“It won’t be a problem, Ma’am.” Recruit Acres responded.
The rest of the morning was taken up by a “Death by Power Point” seminar that put everyone to sleep until a brief break at 0700 for breakfast in a nearby cafeteria. The best of what might have been powdered eggs during the Cuban Missile Crisis were broken out of storage and re-hydrated for the Recruit’s enjoyment, along with some sort of chicken/pork byproduct they would all come to loath as “Chork.” Cows took up lots of room. Chickens and pigs didn’t, not to mention pigs ate almost anything. It made sense but was still gross enough that nobody but the people who’d been truly hungry before ate it without at least a dirty look. Daniel, like most Soldiers and Marines, figured that with enough Tabasco sauce he could make even these chicken butts taste like most any other reconstituted protein paste he’d eaten before. It took a lot of Tabasco.
One of the other male recruits sat at the table Daniel had chosen. “I know you.”
“No you don’t, no offense.” Daniel kept eating.
“I saw your picture in the paper yesterday. ‘Famous General’s Son Retakes Bismarck.’” The guy quoted, motioning his hand broadly to emphasize the grandeur of the newspaper fonts. “I’m Shane, by the way. But my friends call me Shane.”
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