by G. K. Lamb
Chapter Sixteen
Still living General Neptus’ memories, my eyes open at four in the morning sharp, a consequence of living a soldier’s life for this long. The sun will not rise for a few hours so I prepare for the day in the dim yellow light of the room. Stepping out of the bed, I smooth out the few wrinkles on the clean white sheets. Moving to the wash basin, I strip off my undergarments and give myself a quick rinse with the cool water from the carafe. My old body shakes from the chill of the water and the nipping of the air.
Clean, I walk over to the small chest of drawers. Opening its top drawer, I find a fresh, neatly folded uniform. I remove it and set it on the freshly made bed. Opening the dresser’s other drawers, I find the remainder of my uniform. Pulling on the clean clothes feels good against my taut, clean skin. I finish putting on my uniform by returning my gun belt to my waist. The buckle claps together securely. Looking down at my pistol, I get the feeling it will be in my hand today.
As I exit the room, the stillness fades. The hall is bustling with soldiers. The swarm stops for a moment to stand at attention and throw me a salute as I walk past them. They go back to their myriad tasks as quickly as the stopped them.
When I enter the main hall, the cold morning air rushes in through the cavernous opening in the room causing a dramatic drop in temperature. Keeping my bearing in front of the soldiers, I suppress the shiver. The communications appear to be fully connected and established. The captain is standing in the middle of the room checking over a list in his hand.
“Good morning, Captain. I see you’ve set up the communications array already.”
“Yes, sir, my men had that done a few hours ago. Now we’re trying to get the place cleaned up for when Cornelius gets here.”
“What time do you think he will arrive?”
“I’m being told noon.”
“Typical civilian, the day is already over by then. Have a phone brought down to the sitting room next to the holding cell. I will wait for him there.”
“Very good sir, I’ll have that done right away.”
The captain disappears into the swarming soldiers to carry out my task. Impatient, but without the power to do anything until Cornelius arrives with his entourage, I make my way back into the sitting room. Sipping on brandy, I light a cigar. Sitting in the high-backed leather chair, I fill the room with grey smoke.
Not long after I arrived in the room and began puffing on my cigar, soldiers arrived with my phone. Within moments of them connecting it, it rings.
I am consumed in details of troop movements and crushing the remaining pockets of resistance, and the hours until noon pass quickly. Daedalus walks through the sitting room door. Setting the receiver down, I sit up in my chair, all the while tracking his movements with my eyes.
“Seems you got an early start this morning, I haven’t had a chance to speak with you yet, but I went ahead and took care of those soldiers from yesterday.”
“How?”
“I ordered them to follow me out into the rubble. I told them we were looking for a lost encrypted radio. They ate it up. No one should ever find the bodies, and if they do there won’t be anything suspicious about finding two dead soldiers in the middle of a battlefield.”
“What were their names?”
“What does that matter?”
“What were their names?”
“With all due respect I don’t see why…”
I rise from the chair with ferocity. The table topples over. The phone crashes to the floor with an ear-splitting clang.
“Answer the damn question, Colonel! Or have you forgotten you are speaking to a superior officer?”
Daedalus is taken aback, but his indignant tone remains the same.
“Of course not, sir. Their names were Private Graffe, and Corporal King. They shouldn’t be missed. I took the liberty and assigned them to one of the units sweeping for pockets of resistance. Even if somebody follows the paper trail it won’t lead back to you.”
“You’d better damned well hope so.”
Daedalus pours his own glass of brandy then works his way over to the fallen telephone. Setting it and the table upright, he sits down from across where I’m standing.
“The preparations for Cornelius’s arrival are almost complete. He should be here within the hour. We should talk about our game plan.”
“Our game plan? Don’t you realize that if this goes south the ax will fall on my head? You’ll be able to get off on the defense that you were just following orders. I don’t have that luxury. I’ve thought through my course of action. Thank you for helping me get to this point, but these last steps are mine, and mine alone, to take.”
“Then where do I end up when this all shakes out?”
“If everything goes to plan you’ll end up ahead, don’t worry about that.”
“Well then, best of luck to you sir.”
Daedalus knocks back the rest of his brandy then stands abruptly.
“Come on sir, your moment awaits.”
The entrance foyer was cleaned of loose debris. Large blue banners of the Great Society hang around the room attempting to cover the blast holes and scorch marks. Nothing has been done to hide the large stones from the roof that crashed to the floor. Too little time, I suppose.
Stepping through the entryway, I see the battlefield in front of the steps has been significantly cleaned up. The hulking wrecks of tanks have been dragged away. The many craters pocketing the clearing surrounding the parliament have been filled in. The bodies must have been piled into the trenches and covered over. The bodies of revolutionary and republican soldiers mounded on top of each other. If the city surrounding the field were not a smoldering ruin, and the parliament building itself gaping from fresh wounds, it would be hard to tell a battle took place here less than a day ago. The soldiers, finished with their cleaning, have washed the blood and dirt from their faces and now stand at attention throughout the entrance hall and on every step of the marble stair leading to it. At the top of the step, a small wooden platform has been hastily assembled, a steel microphone its lone adornment. Connected to the communications setup inside and an array of hanging speakers in the parliament, the microphone hums with power. Whatever is said in that microphone will be heard throughout the nation.
A strong wind blows across the field. It carries with it the smell of burning and death. The wind blows past the parliament and through the thick black smoke still billowing from the city. Through the momentary clearing, the revolutionary convoy appears, bringing Cornelius to give his victory speech. Two dozen cars are draped in banners. Camera crews have set themselves up in the field eager to snap a picture of the revolution’s leader. Standing near the microphone, I watch as they pass through the smoke and roll slowly over the covered-up battlefield. Cornelius rides in the first car. Standing up so the photographers can better find him in their frames, Cornelius slows the convoy to allow the photographers to swarm in. Ceaseless flashes add to the spectacle which continues for a few minutes, until even at their snail’s pace, the convoy reaches the parliament steps.
Cornelius steps out of his car. Followed by a dozen handlers and crony politicians, he begins to climb the steps. As his foot lands on the first step I move to the microphone, ready to make my move.
“How dare you stroll on this hallowed ground? You are nothing but a charlatan who walks over the graves of the revolution’s true patriots.” I say the words into the microphone.
Two soldiers standing by the door rush over to me, rifles leveled on my chest.
“You aim your weapons at the wrong man, soldiers. You should be aiming at the man who would derail our great revolution at the very moment our Great Society is poised to spring to life from the fires of war. Ask him yourself if you do not believe me.”
Visibly angry, Cornelius finished his ascent up the stairs and uncomfortably took a positio
n beside me at the podium.
“Stand down soldiers,” Cornelius says. “I would love to hear what General Neptus has to say. Please, General, tell me upon what are you basing these assumptions?”
The soldiers both lower their rifles and step back to either side of the door.
“Cornelius, great scholar, the man who inspired us all to dream of a Great Society. For ten long years I have fought to bring about your vision. But I have recently discovered the truth. Through every victory and every defeat you told us that in order to build the Great Society we would need to do so on a foundation free from the corrupting legacy of governments past. You promised the oppressed and downtrodden people of this once-corrupt republic that none who supported the old order would live long enough to see the creation of our Great Society. You promised them, and you lied. Cornelius the great revolutionary is here today to give you a victory speech, but also to pardon the Prime Minister and his surviving cabinet of all their past crimes. What do you say for yourself, Cornelius?”
Cornelius’s face soured but his lips remain sealed. A few of the members of his entourage seem genuinely shocked and appalled by my allegation. Taking a deep breath, Cornelius steps closer to the platform, and speaks into the microphone.
“Let us all take a moment and remember the many fallen patriots of the revolution. It is through their sacrifice that we stand here victorious today. I do not approve of the manner in which general Neptus has brought about this revelation, but it is one you all must be made aware of. What he says is true. I have already signed a full pardon for the former Prime Minister and the remaining thirteen members of his cabinet. I have done this not because I want to go back on my promises to you, but to show you a better way. We have emerged from a decade of bloodshed. Can we not start the next one with mercy and forgiveness?”
Shouts of “betrayer” and “liar” come from too many mouths to count. Stepping back into the microphone I carry the momentum.
“This charlatan speaks to you now as if you are children. He would free men who upheld a corrupt state with the edge of a sword. He offers you mercy and forgiveness when what you desire is retribution and revenge for a lifetime of grievances and sacrifices. He may have led us into the light all those years ago, but now he’s leading us onto a path of weakness expecting all of us to follow. I, for one, will no longer follow this swindler. I was once in servitude to the Prime Minister and his corrupt goons. I am familiar with the feeling of being in the presence of a snake. So believe me when I tell you that, with Cornelius standing here now, I sense his devious nature.”
“This is preposterous,” says Cornelius. “You are staging a coup in broad daylight without a cohort of supporters standing at your back? Soldier, detain the general until we can provide him with a court martial.”
The soldiers lining the stair and standing guard in the hall fidget with uncertainty. Enlisted soldiers look to their officers, the officers look to each other and then to me.
“Arrest this man for treason at once!” Cornelius shouts. His calm façade crumbles away.
No soldier moves. The air is tense. Cornelius glares at me with rage-filled eyes.
“Soldiers of the Revolutionary Army, brave patriots of the Great Societal Revolution, mark my words,” I say. “The Prime Minister of the former republic will hang by the neck until dead for the crimes he has committed against us all. I will personally lead the hunt for all of the republic’s supporters. None of the old order will stand when we begin to rebuild our society. And the first subversive I would have you take out is this traitorous back-stabber!” With as much drama as I can muster, I turn my body and extend my arm and index finger like a sword thrust at Cornelius’s heart.
Many of the soldiers and politicians remain frozen, but enough of them act to turn the tide. A soldier rushes forward and grabs Cornelius’s arm. Cornelius pulls back in defense. The soldier reaches in again to grab him. Leaning back to avoid the grasp, Cornelius slips on the edge of the slick marble step.
A sickening crack issues from his neck as he lands on hard white stone. Seeing what he has done, the soldier freezes in panic. Politicians swarm around Cornelius’s writhing body like vultures.
“Step aside!”
My voice is commanding. The politicians jump back and the soldiers snap to attention. Head and shoulders held high, I descend the four steps to Cornelius with a slow methodic pace. Looking down into Cornelius’s face, I see bewilderment in his now teary eyes. The snap on my holster pops open loudly in the stillness of the scene. With a smooth motion, I draw the pistol from my holster and level it at Cornelius’s brow.
“Long live the revolution! Long live the Great Society!”
My finger squeezes the trigger. The shot echoes over the freshly tilled field then bounces down the shattered corridors of parliament. For a moment all is silent. The shock and nature of what just transpired leaves those who witnessed it stunned. Stepping through the door, Colonel Daedalus stands behind the microphone.
“Long live General Antonius Neptus, savior of the revolution!”
The throng gathered echo his rallying cry. Far off, in ten thousand homes, I can almost hear the people shouting it too.
Chapter Seventeen
The parade grounds and the blood-covered steps of the parliament building fade into a black mist. I feel my body tingle with the sensation of weightlessness and it seems as if I am falling through time and space.
The journey is short, however, and soon enough the vaporous black cloud reconstitutes itself. Looking around, I see that time has passed. Seated behind a large dark oak desk, I find myself in a lavishly decorated office with white marble floors and deep blue velvet curtains draped elegantly from the two-story high windows. The light of the setting sun is pouring into the round office bathing the wood, steel, and stone in a reddish-yellow hue.
In front of me on the desk is a simple wooden case, propped open. On the corner of the case there is a small ivory note. “Please accept this humble brandy as my way of saying congratulations for your victory over the corrupt republic and the Cornelius loyalists. Long live the Great Society and long live its High Caretaker! G.V. Haeger.” Lying on a bed of red silk inside the case is a bottle of incomparable brandy. My hands reach out, pulling the bottle out and placing it on the desk. Against the sleek glass and deep brown of the spirits my hands reveal their true age. Reaching down, I pull open the upper right desk drawer and pull out two crystal tumblers. They clang against the oak of the table as I set them down. Carefully removing the glass stopper, I pour a generous amount into both glasses. I slowly replace the stopper, set the bottle back in its case, and push it next to the humidor on the left-hand side of the desk.
I lean back in my chair taking mouthfuls of the glorious, deep-brown spirit. Filling my nose with its aroma and bathing my taste buds with spice and sweet, I feel it begin to wash away the tension from my long protracted consolidation of victory. Arduous months have passed since I squeezed the trigger that ended Cornelius’s life and seized the revolution, but only now that power is solidly in my grasp can I revel in my victory. Years of being in the background, years of obeying orders from idealists and incompetent revolutionaries are now all in the past. My lips curl up into a smile.
The intercom buzzes softly, interrupting my thoughts.
“High Caretaker, sir, there is a General Daedalus here to see you. Should I let him in, sir?”
I sit up in my chair and set the tumbler and its few remaining drops of brandy on the desk. Moving my hands along my collar and sash, I ensure the tidiness of my uniform.
“Send him in.”
“At once, sir.”
Across the expanse of marble floor the two large steel doors silently open inwards. General Daedalus, dressed in his new uniform, enters the room in full stride. As he approaches the desk, the cunning and plotting look that never seems to be absent from his face becomes clearly visible. St
opping a meter behind the chair on the other side of the desk, Daedalus snaps a smart salute.
“High Caretaker… This office suits you. Neptus.”
“And those generals’ bars suit you, Daedalus. Sit, I have no need of formalities.”
Daedalus complies without hesitation. Sitting in the high-backed leather chair, he leans over and takes the still-full tumbler in his hand.
“You didn’t just come here to drink my brandy, so what brings you here Daedalus?” I ask.
Taking a deep gulp of brandy, Daedalus sets the half-empty tumbler back on the desk.
“The brandy is secondary, but I think you are underestimating how special that brandy is. I’m here about my uniform.”
“You were always eying mine so now that I have no use for it I thought of you first.”
“I’m honored, truly, but I feel that I’ve misinterpreted our relationship. This morning I opened a package and knew it was going to explode and kill me. But much to my surprise this fine uniform and letter of commission were all that were inside. I don’t understand your move. You have the evidence you need to have me executed. And what a great story it would make too: ‘Close confidant and friend of our dear leader aids Cornelius loyalists by murdering two members of his staff.’ I’ve never seen you pass up an opportunity to eliminate a rival, so why now?”