“Get your filthy hand off me,” Max told him. “No one touches me.”
“First you’ll have to release Ms. Chen,” Demetrius said.
Anna sat like a statue, drinking in the details but unable to move, unable to speak. She could see the wheels turning in the director’s eyes.
Abruptly, Max let go of Anna’s hand. She slid it back to her lap. It felt as if the skin was on fire.
Demetrius released the director.
“What are your wishes, sir?” asked the bodyguard with the gun jabbed against Demetrius’s side.
Max brushed his shoulder where Demetrius had put his hand. “Sit down,” he told his men. “But watch him. If he touches me again…” Max looked up at Demetrius. “You men will know what to do.”
“Yes, sir,” the bodyguard said, the one with the gun. He withdrew the weapon and holstered it inside his jacket. Afterward, the three bodyguards returned to their table.
“I will remember this,” Max told Demetrius.
Demetrius didn’t bother replying. He asked Anna, “What are your wishes, ma’am?”
The possible violence had unnerved her. She didn’t know what to say.
“You would do well to hear me out,” Max told her.
“Yes,” she said in a hollow voice.
Demetrius retreated to his post, and he stood in the same place, looking the same as before.
He’s brave, Anna realized. He follows his code of honor and nothing can shake it. Am I as honorable concerning David?
“You have misjudged my purpose,” Max said.
“What is it?” she asked. “Why have you told me any of this?”
“Because I love my country,” Max said. “America is in greater danger than ever. You and I both know the President engineered the new danger. Perhaps even more importantly, the President knows this is his fault. That knowledge is eating him alive.”
“You’re referring to the GD and Quebec?”
“Of course,” Max said. “We are now in a two-front war. That never worked well for Germany in the Twentieth Century. I do not believe it will work well for us, either.”
“I was there when we decided to accept GD neutrality,” Anna said. “You were there, too, and you agreed to the idea.”
“I had no quarrels with the plan. That is correct. The President made the best decision at the time. The Chinese and Brazilians almost broke us this winter. The Colorado battle was closer fought than people realize. The President dealt in such a way so he could concentrate our forces. That was bold as well as wise.”
“Then why are you—”
“Let me finish,” Max said.
Anna nodded, albeit reluctantly. She noticed a waiter turn and look at them. An older waiter tugged on the first waiter’s elbow, pulling him away.
“The President bought America time,” Max said. “Now, however, the GD acted before we could. We—I mean the President, myself, General Alan—we all miscalculated. We counted the number of GD troops in Quebec instead of analyzing their combat power. The Germans have amazed us and worse, surprised us. Even worse than that, they’re beating us in Southern Ontario. America must take drastic action if we’re to restore the balance.”
“We have another hard year of war ahead of us,” Anna said. “I understand that.”
“I don’t believe you do understand.” Max held up a hand. “I have always been impressed with your analytical abilities. You have an insightful way of thinking. And you can read the Chinese—Chairman Hong in particular—better than anyone else can. That is an important asset. However, if the GD continues to grind down our military and gain critical territory…there may be no more years of war ahead of us to wage.”
“You don’t think we can stop the GD?”
“Not with the weapon systems presently in place,” Max said. “Therefore, we must move the Behemoth tanks to the Great Lakes region.”
“You and I both know the President has forbidden that.”
“Precisely,” Max said.
Anna shook her head. “I won’t pretend to be a military expert. The President, though—”
“The President has lost his nerve,” Max said. “That is the salient point. Nothing else really matters. Oh, we can talk about reasons: that the war has ground him down. You’ve seen it. I know you have. The pressure would have destroyed most people by now. The President has my sympathies, in fact.”
“You don’t mean that,” Anna said. “You don’t care about him as a person.”
“But I do,” Max said. “Yes. I know people believe me coldhearted and too logical.”
“Others say you’re power mad,” Anna said.
“I am misperceived,” the director said. “My intense patriotism gives me the zeal to do whatever I must to protect America. Others interpret that as a desire for power. They are, of course, quite wrong. With all that said, I have found that few people will go as far as I to see my beloved country saved from power-hungry aggression. Can you say as much, Ms. Chen?”
“You will do whatever you must to save America?” Anna asked.
“Yes!”
“Hmm,” Anna said. “A surface reading of such a statement might seem noble. I, on the other hand, can think of many things I would not do. For instance, I would not sacrifice babies.”
“Then you should step down from power and make way for those of us who will see a tough and dirty job done to the finish.”
“Would you care to give me a for-instance?” she asked.
“Of course,” Max said. “Not only am I able to face the truth, but I am able to speak the truth as I’m doing here with you. A for-instance is the use of tactical nuclear weapons.”
“I see,” Anna said, as her stomach tightened. “Do you happen to recall Alaska? Do you remember how it turned the world against us and left us almost without an ally?”
“My memory doesn’t go back so far,” Max said. “Yet I do recall Santa Cruz and Monetary Bay. Several key nuclear explosions blunted a Chinese amphibious invasion. Without those nuclear weapons, we might have lost California, and that would have been a disaster. The President saw the need then and made the right decision. Now, in Southern Ontario, tactical nuclear weapons used judiciously could change the dynamics for us.”
“The President has forbidden the use of nuclear weapons on land,” Anna said.
“Naturally, I’m aware of that, Ms. Chen. With his decision, he has consigned the U.S. to the dustbin of history.”
“Others might say he has agreed to help save the world from destruction and a bitter nuclear winter.”
“Words,” Max said. “Those are fancy words for surrender. I for one do not intend to let conquerors take my beloved country away from us. No. The time has come for hard decisions. We must halt the Germans and drive them out of Quebec.”
“The President is in full agreement with that.”
“More words,” Max said. “He forbids the military the Behemoths they need and the nuclear weapons to do the task. Instead, he causes a bloodbath—”
Anna’s eyes flashed. She leaned toward the director. “He causes nothing of the sort.”
“American and Canadian soldiers are dying by the thousands, by the tens of thousands in Ontario,” Max said, “and still we fail to take the necessary action to solve the crisis.”
“The strategic reserve has moved to Southern Ontario,” Anna said. “David considers sending half the East Coast defenders north to the Great Lakes. I would call that drastic action.”
“Ms. Chen,” the director said. “You must listen to me. Stripping the East Coast is a foolish decision in face of what awaits us in Cuba. The President once made hard, even bitter choices this winter. He did not shrink from what needed doing. Now the momentous nature of the conflict has paralyzed him. I believe the knowledge that he let the Germans into Quebec—that he is responsible for the present bloodletting—”
“How dare you say such things?” Anna said.
Max sat straighter, squaring his shoulders with pride.
“I will dare anything for my country.”
“No! You are—”
“You must listen to me,” Max said. “The President is taking half-measures and he is stripping away soldiers to put out a fire in one place that will open us to worse actions later. It is just like his Quebec decision all over again.”
Anna sat back. She could feel the cushion depress against the wood. The director’s mind was set in stone on this. It was time to find out exactly why he’d come here. “What do you suggest?” she asked.
“First, we need to move the Behemoths east.”
“Weren’t you listening the other day?” she asked. “The Behemoth Regiment is a shell of what it once was. We need time to refurbish it with new tanks. Moving the regiment won’t help in Ontario, but its disappearance on the plains might help to unleash the Chinese in Oklahoma. The few good Behemoths we do possess make a constant show of patrolling no man’s land between the PAA and us.”
“You are the one who wasn’t listening the other day,” Max said. “We’ve built a new Behemoth Manufacturing Plant in Detroit. We will lose the war if the Germans reach it.”
With a sudden move, Anna picked up the wine glass and drained the alcohol. “I don’t know why you’ve come to say any of this to me. You should speak to David, to the President.”
“How can I do that?” Max asked. “He’s having a nervous breakdown. We who love our country need to help him during this dark hour. We need to help him do the right thing.”
Anna couldn’t believe he’d just said that. It was true that the pressures against David had unhinged— No! That was a bad choice of words. The pressures had debilitated David; it hadn’t unhinged him. He had trouble making decisions lately other than holding everything as it had been. Ever since the GD had unleashed its offensive and used those Kaiser hunter-killers…
“What are you really suggesting?” she asked. “You obviously came here to see me. Now say what you came to say.”
Max watched her more closely than ever. “First I need to know whether you agree with me or not about the President.”
Anna debated pretending to agree in order to find out Max’s full scheme. He must realize she would never agree to help in whatever he planned. He—
A chill set in. Why has he sought me out and told me these things if he knows I’ll never agree with him?
Troubled, Anna thought furiously. If the director knew she would tell David about this… She stared at the man. He watched her, no doubt gauging her reactions.
He’s telling me these things so I’ll tell David.
Then it hit her, the real reason for all this. If David learned that Max plotted behind his back, it would add to his worries. She’d heard David say before that Max helped him tremendously with these heavy responsibilities. Hearing about this would put more pressure on David. The Director of Homeland Security wanted her to tell the President. If true—and it had to be true—nothing else made sense. It was a diabolical piece of skullduggery. Surely, it meant that Max felt strong enough to challenge the President directly.
Or is this to force David into doing things Max’s way?
“David beat the Chinese in Alaska,” Anna said.
“He’s beaten the Chinese elsewhere too, once in California and again this winter in Colorado. He has saved our country from three military catastrophes. No one could have done better. Yet you’ve heard the generals tell us that a man only has a limited time for war. Once that time is gone…”
“Are you suggesting the people replace David at the helm?” she asked.
Max watched her steadily as he said, “The people would never do such a thing. He has become the father of our country, protecting us where no one else reasonably could. They’re not going to vote against him until it’s too late.”
The chill in her caused her shoulders to twitch. “It’s time you spoke plainly,” she said.
“No,” Max said. “I’ve said quite enough. Thank you, Ms. Chen.”
She almost blurted out that she’d tell David about this, but could she afford to tell the President? Might it drive him over the edge?
Max stood and gave her a curt nod. He turned away and stepped down from the alcove. His bodyguards hurried to their feet.
Anna watched them go, and she thought to herself: This is bad. I don’t know what to do.
TOPEKA, KANSAS
Sergeant Jake Higgins of the Eleventh Colorado Detention Militia Battalion (CDMB) was very drunk. He staggered down a dark city street in Topeka, Kansas, heading toward trouble.
None of the lamps worked and low clouds hid the stars. Because of that, he crashed against a garbage can, knocking it to the ground with a lot of noise and slurred curses. He fell, and his hands squished against something wet and smelly. Then he felt wetness soak through his knees.
With a lurch he rose, swaying and blinking, muttering more profanities. His two best friends snored in a bar whose name he couldn’t remember. They were fellow militiamen of the Eleventh, and the three of them had been to Hell and back this winter. Jake had left his friends in the bar because the bartender had shut him down, and this soldier still needed more to slake his thirst.
Jake was a stocky young man with good shoulders, barely out of his teens and already a hard-bitten fighting man. He had survived Amarillo, Texas last summer when the Chinese had surrounded several U.S. divisions. It had been grim butchery, but Jake and a number of his compatriots had fought their way free of the encirclement and headed northwest. Jake had been the only one to reach Colorado. He’d arrived in time to go to Denver. There, he had survived the historic siege of Denver, the equal to the siege of Stalingrad in World War II. During the fighting, he had worked up the ranks from private and fought his way free with the rest of the Eleventh to the Rockies.
“Gotta be an open bar around here somewhere,” Jake muttered. His eyesight had gone sideways and he had to squint what seemed like down a tunnel to tell where he went.
There. He spied a blinking light. It was down a long alleyway with old trash barrels lining the route as if they were sentries. The light had red and blue colors, a neon sign. Surely, that must be a bar or a place to drink, at least.
In a lurching step, he set off for the neon sign.
Jake hadn’t always been a good soldier boy who obeyed every order. Originally, he had found himself in a detention center, in a cell, learning that it didn’t pay to protest the President and his dictatorial policies. Jake had been kicked out of college because of the protests. He’d made them with others because they hadn’t cared for the illegality of some of President Sims’ decrees. Homeland Security people in the detention center had known how to take care of such talk and such ill-advised thoughts. They had special cells for that.
Jake spat in the darkness. In truth, he hadn’t learned his lessons very well. They’d let him go to join a Militia battalion because his old man, Colonel Stan Higgins, had been a hero in the Southern California fighting. His father had also been a hero in 2032 in Alaska. His father presently commanded the famous Behemoth Regiment. His father was a war hero and Jake was proud of his old man. He wanted to be like his dad and like his grandfather, who had died in the Alaskan War, killing Chinese invaders.
The Higginses knew how to soldier. That was clear to anyone with eyes to see. Jake was young, and he had learned about old-style America where a man spoke his mind. His father had taught him history, and his father had taught him that America was a unique and special country, the apple of God’s eye. Jake spoke his mind, and Homeland Security people didn’t like that, no thank you.
Yet he was a militiaman of the Eleventh CDMB, a hard-fighting man in the Homeland Security apparatus. The higher-ups in the organization liked him, including the steroid monster, the lieutenant. Go figure. In fact, the lieutenant was one of the two men snoring in the last bar.
Jake laughed, although it had a sour note to it. He loved America, but he didn’t like holding back about what he thought. He’d bled for his country. He’d put his life
on the line more times than he could remember. Even more, he’d killed for America. The killing was why he was out here staggering around looking for more to drink.
It was funny. No one had told him about this. Killing a man…it took something out of you. Sometimes his dreams—
Jake shook his head, and he cursed. He didn’t want to think about his dreams. He wanted to forget them. He wanted to forget about exploding bodies and pieces of bloody human sticking to his cheek. He wanted to forget about jabbing a knife into Chinese soldiers, or gunning them down as they ran away. Most of all, he wanted to forget about how good it felt when they ran and how good it felt to kill another human being so he could live another day.
Jake worried about himself. He worried about what sort of person he had become. Sure, the Chinese had invaded them. They deserved no better than death. But should he enjoy it so much when he killed them?
He remembered up in Alaska in his childhood. They’d had a cat named Tinkerbell. As a kid, he had called it Stinkerbell, and that had made his sister yell. Anyway, the cat caught a young jackrabbit once. The cat had played with its prey, clawing it, throwing it around and waiting for it to try to run away. As the baby jackrabbit made its feeble attempt to flee, the waiting cat pounced, caught the little thing and bit it in the neck. Jake remembered watching, fascinated. He’d thought the cat cruel, although his dad had told him later that that was the way of predators.
Am I a predator now? Has the Militia turned me into a killer?
Jake swallowed uneasily.
Maybe he should stop blaming the Militia. Maybe he had always been a killer, and this war had simply brought it out of him. He had killed fellow human beings.
Jake stopped, and he banged the back of his boot heel against the alleyway. He didn’t want to think deep thoughts. The war had caught him. That’s all. He’d been through the worst of it. He’d survived Denver and had seen truly awful things. He would never be able to tell others who hadn’t been through it what it had been like. He felt closer to his grandfather, who had been a weirdo at the end of his life. His grandfather had been a warrior. War, and especially killing, changed a man. There was simply no way around that.
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