5 Years After

by Richard Correll

  Her secure Blackberry chimed. She sighed and smiled. It would be great to talk to General John McCarthy right now. “Hello?” she answered.

  “Molly Hunter, please,” a strange voice asked.

  “This is she.” Molly was taken aback by the new voice. “Where is General McCarthy?”

  “Ma’am, I am sorry to tell you General McCarthy took his own life yesterday.” The voice reported.

  I am at peace with this. It’s the way I want to go out. She almost heard his voice whisper in her ear. He had said that, Molly remembered, that should have told her. John McCarthy, you were a good man who deserved so much better and the world is so fucked up right now we don’t even have time to properly say goodbye to you. She let a moment pass, the thoughts of a good friend as company began to steady her resolve.

  “Miss Hunter?” The voice continued. “Are you there?”

  “Yes, yes, I am,” she whispered into the phone. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “We were wondering if you could pass along an offer tomorrow to the General from the Pentagon,” the voice asked. “He took command after an accident that killed all or most of the command staff of First Armored.”

  “Yes.” Molly was listening.

  “We are sure the staff and he were close,” the voice stated. “We’d like to extend an offer to the General to have the bodies transported to Arlington National Cemetery for a full military funeral.”

  Yeah, but not before you examine the bodies and try and find out how they died. Maybe even plant a few things on them and start some rumors. Nice, she smirked. She wasn’t in the mood to fight with anyone tonight. She agreed and hung up the Blackberry.

  While she was putting away the Blackberry she glanced at the CNN News board: TORONTO CONTAINMENT LINE COLLAPSES VICE PRESIDENTIAL PLANE MAKES EMERGENCY LANDING.

  No! She swallowed. No! No! It was as if the floor underneath her feet had given way. Her world was in free fall.

  She texted Maggie, then fifteen minutes later texted again. Then, again and again and again and again…

  No…

  The sky seemed a touch brighter the next day when Molly finally heard from Maggie. Perhaps she was imagining things but Molly thought there was a dark cloud in her sister’s world right now. Something she wouldn’t or couldn’t talk about. Maybe it was the lingering shock of Chicago. It was nothing she could point at in the message. It was a feeling. It was being her sister. It was just…knowing.

  Molly would be back in plenty of time for John McCarthy’s funeral. She had asked him the tough questions and he had loved it. Big Mac had even invited her out for drinks after. Now, he was gone. Why do the good men die when we really need them? Molly made her way downstairs for her ride to Beauregard’s office for the final interview segment.

  She half-expected a cancelation and an early trip back to Washington. In her life, she had not seen many men as angry as he had been yesterday. Molly began to wonder why she had even said what she had said to him. Shock perhaps? She wasn’t the type to bait her interviewees. Molly heard the general’s voice replay through her mind. Strange, his accent had vanished in the heat of anger. Why did you say it? The question came back. Why? Because it just might be true. How long were those contracts?

  She found him sitting in a large, stuffed chair awaiting her. His fingers were perched in prayer. Clearly, in deep thought. He rose from his chair and greeted her in a more business-like fashion than previous meetings.

  “If I may ask you to have a seat, ma’am,” His voice was quiet, subdued. “I was hoping I could have a word before we begin.”

  “Certainly,” She took her seat and leaned forward to listen to him.

  “I pride myself on being a man who does not lose his temper,” he began. Clearly, he was choosing his words carefully. “I find it unforgiveable that I behaved toward you yesterday in the manner I did. “

  She decided to let him speak. After all, she reminded herself, you’re here to find out who this man is.

  “Ma’am, I am a proud southern man.” He made brief eye contact. “But I feel a terrible shame for the horror that was slavery.”

  Her head cocked slightly. He was uncomfortable. Most people were when they opened up on a personal level.

  “I carry this shame with me every day of my life,” he continued in a very restrained tone. “It is part of my heritage and legacy.”

  “Begging your pardon, General,” she asked. “You’re not comparing your suffering with the victims of slavery?” My God, Molly felt her calm start to slide away like glacial ice from a mountainside.

  “Absolutely not, ma’am, absolutely not,” He was vehemently shaking his head while his voice remained repressed. “The shame every southern man, woman and little boy feels is a drop in the ocean compared to the agony of the slaves. It was demeaning, it was horrible.”

  His voice was starting to crack in places. ”Ma’am, it was racial genocide.”

  “I do not compare my shame to their ordeal. I am not the victim. Those poor people were and are to this day the victims of horrible pain and torture.” He leaned forward slightly to make his point. “I am a man who carries the shame and sin of my forefathers 150 years ago.” He looked to the floor for a minute before he found the voice to keep going.

  “Have you ever noticed that no one has ever discussed restitutions to African-Americans for this horrific crime?” He asked. Molly had to admit it would be one hell of a hot-button issue. “How would you put a price on every single tear in an ocean of sorrow?” He was regaining his momentum now. “How do you count every drop of blood when it would take an eternity to do so?” His hands reached out to the armrests for moral if not physical support. “To say I’m sorry is just not good enough. It will never be enough. For that, I am ashamed.”

  He was concluding now. “I do carry that shame.”

  She looked at him for a long minute, trying to put into context what he had said with a dispassionate point of view. Still, she wanted to compare his words with the feelings and moments in her life. Like when sales clerks watched her suspiciously in a store for no other reason than the color of her skin. That look that every person of color feels at times. The message of it was clear: you’re out of place. You’re not from here. What does it mean, a part of the world locked in a cycle of perpetual suspicion and hate? She decided to drop the contract issue for now; it would only cause an abrupt end to the interview she had travelled so long for. The question is, do you buy what he said?

  “I did not mean to imply you were a slave owner, General.” Let him off the hook for now, Molly decided.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he nodded with his voice still quiet,” I do apologize for losing my temper. I promise to conduct myself as a gentleman from this moment on.”

  “May we begin?” She reached into her bag for the camera.

  “Please.”

  “Can we talk about what happened yesterday around the containment line?” She barely had the lens centered before she asked her next question.

  “First off, we do not have a containment line around Charleston.” He held up his left hand as a visual form of correction. “We simply do not go near the place in about a fifteen or twenty-mile radius.”

  “Doesn’t that invite situations like the one that happened yesterday?” She was amazed to hear there was no containment line.

  “We simply do not have the troops,” he explained. “We do however have fire brigades.”

  “Fire brigades?”

  “Yes.” He turned to an aide and pointed to his right. “Could you fetch me a map of West Virginia and put it up right over there?”

  “Right away, General,” The young man disappeared.

  “Now,” He turned back to Molly. “Is that camera still recording?”

  “Yes it is, General,” Molly answered, wondering what was next.

  “I just wish to state on behalf of the Republic of West Virginia my sincere apologies for the incident yesterday that put you in such grave d
anger.” His face was the perfect portrait of concern,

  “Not at all, General,” Molly’s voice was soft. “I am a journalist and sometimes the story gets a little too close for comfort.” (Weeks later, an editor would notice that at the mention of the event. Molly’s camera hand began to shake ever so slightly.)

  “Y’all being very kind,” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “But, I do feel an apology is in order.”

  “Why thank you.” He’s a charmer, she thought. Molly secretly wondered what audience reaction to the interview would be. “Can we touch upon the subject of religion?”

  “Why certainly.” He leaned back in his chair confidently, “To the best of my knowledge, the good Lord and I are on pretty fair terms.”

  “It is mandatory for every man, woman and child to attend church in the Republic of West Virginia, is that true?” She pulled the camera back to catch his body language. She wasn’t sure how this question was going to go over. She after all, was not in United States territory anymore. What happened to people here who asked the wrong questions? Molly decided that if the general threw journalists in jail, she would have been there last night.

  “Yes it is, ma’am.” He nodded confidently.

  “May I ask why?” She prepared herself for a biblical lecture.

  “Security reasons,” he answered calmly and nodded to the two men carrying in the large map of West Virginia.

  “Going to church for security reasons, that’s a new one.”

  “Allow me to explain.” The General ignored the jab and continued. “We hand out food stamps on Sunday morning at church. This way, we are able to count out how many are in the family. If a member does not show up, we ask why.”

  “Why is that?” She was clearly intrigued.

  “Two reasons.” The general held up his middle and index finger. “One, to insure there is no fraud. If that person does not show up we send someone around to see them. The other reason is for security. The biggest danger to our populace is people dying alone and then re-animating before anyone can prevent it. If someone in a family is doing poorly, we need to know about it.”

  “It has been said West Virginia is very safe,” Molly added. It was only fair. It was.

  “I can proudly say without boasting that is true.” There was pride in his eyes. Then he turned on his folksy charm. “Besides, getting done up in your Sunday best and listening to the words of the good book never hurt anybody. Also, it creates community. You get to know your neighbors.”

  “This is for all religions?” she probed.

  “Indeed,” he smiled. He had taken the high road and he knew it. “Whether you wish to go to church, a temple, synagogue or mosque is just fine. If one is not available, I invite the community to start one.” He paused and glanced over at the map. “Now, let me show you our fire brigade system.”

  “Thank you, boys,” The General returned the salutes and accepted a pointer from one of his aides. “The fire brigade system is designed to protect lives, industry and farmland.”

  “How does it work?” She fully knew he wanted her to ask. Whatever got him to get to the point faster was just fine with her.

  “We have garrisons set up all over West Virginia.” The pointer started striking the map in specific places. “Walton, Ivydale, Richwood, Huttonville, Keystone, Williamson, Clarksburg, Elizabeth, Sutton, St. Albans…” He droned on, pointing out every single place on the map.

  After he had completed his list she asked, “General, did you just name off every single place where there is a garrison?”

  “I have nothing to hide from your viewers.” He smiled. Score one more for you, General. Molly smirked behind the lens. “Yes, that is every one of our garrisons. They are all about fifteen miles apart.”

  “How many men in each garrison?” she asked, zooming in on the map.

  “Two thousand,” he answered calmly. “We station a platoon of our militia around farms, towns or industrial facilities. When a sighting is made the militia then informs the local garrison and retreats back.”

  “Retreats?”

  “We do not engage the enemy until the garrison arrives,” he explained. “That’s when we have overwhelming force and can deal with the situation properly.”

  “It didn’t seem to go well yesterday.” Molly hesitated before speaking, thinking it might be unfair.

  “Please believe me when I say this.” He placed a hand over his heart. “That situation was very rare. It was extremely painful for us all. Again, I am truly sorry.”

  “I am not trying to open old wounds,” Molly tried to explain. “I am just curious how often these problems arise.”

  “A fair question,” The General nodded. “Those incidents grow rarer all the time. We have earned our reputation for safety.”

  “We just have time for a few more questions, General.” She realized she had to wrap up soon. She had saved the best for last. “Let’s talk about the accident that left you in command.”

  “Certainly,” He leaned the pointer against the wall and returned to his chair.

  “We have been told an accident befell all of the staff in command of First Armored in Philadelphia.” She laid out the facts.

  “Very tragic,” The General nodded solemnly, “very tragic indeed.”

  .

  “Can you give us any details of the accident?” She wanted it in his words.

  “The details are still very sketchy.” He leaned back, as if he was trying to remember. His head was raised slightly to the ceiling. “It appears there was some kind of explosion that attracted a large pack of the hostiles.”

  “Appears?” She asked. “Haven’t you launched an investigation?”

  “It is hard to investigate something that has no survivors and no witnesses.” He shrugged his shoulders solemnly.

  “I see.” Through the lens she studied his face. Then, she decided to make her move. “General, I have been in touch with my government.”

  “I’m sure you have.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly.

  “They have an offer of friendship.” It was her turn to ignore the jab and continue.

  “Please, tell me.” He smiled benevolently.

  “They wish to take the bodies of your comrades from the First Armored and have them re-buried in Arlington with full military honors.” Let’s see how smart you are, she said to herself.

  “That is truly most kind.” He had his sincere face on. “I deeply wish to thank your superiors for making such a wonderful and meaningful display of respect between our two governments.”

  “So you are accepting the offer?” She wasn’t sure of what she was hearing. Was this a yes?

  “Many years ago, the bodies were cremated and the ashes were scattered over the New Republic of West Virginia.” He kept his tone and expression diplomatic, “At the request of the families, of course.”

  “Can we interview some of the families?” She wasn’t too disappointed he hadn’t taken the bait. After all, she had considered it a transparent long shot.

  “As you yourself have said, we have run out of time.” His voice sounded a tinge sympathetic but then brightened politely, “Perhaps on your next visit.”

  “Indeed.” By the time she could get back he would have had time to line up “family members” to back up his story. Nice. “General John C. Beauregard, Thank you for your time and hospitality.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” He nodded with a smile. “Y’all come back now, ya here?”

  She turned off the record button and saved the information before turning off the unit completely. They both sat for a moment in the company of their own thoughts, each of them wondering what to say next. Molly decided to be the first to speak.

  “That was a very engaging interview, General.” She held out her hand and he politely shook it.

  “My pleasure,” He had a smile on his face that was hard to read. “You appear to want to say something else.”

  “Can I be honest?” She raised an eyebrow
and looked him in the eye.

  “Of course,” He met her gaze and refused to blink.

  “An explosion? No survivors and no evidence.” She also refused to blink.

  He regarded her for a minute and his smile seemed to grow more confident. “Why didn’t you put your question to me like that when you were recording?”

  “I deal in facts, General,” she answered seriously. “I do not make accusations without at least some evidence.”

  “Very commendable,” He nodded his approval.

  “Now you look like you want to say something more.” Molly dropped the ball in his court and waited for the return. .

  Again, he met her gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Tell me, ma’am.” He interlocked his fingers while leaning forward. “That contraption of yours, is it off completely?”

  “Totally,” She held up the camera to show that the power light was off.

  “No other recording devices and we are off the record?” He was leading up to something. His eyes never blinked.

  “On my word of honor, sir,” She thought about imitating his drawl but decided against it. “We are off the record with no other recording devices.”

  He nodded and sighed while he collected his thoughts. “Ma’am, I am a soldier,”

  “What does that mean?” She levelled a prosecutor’s eye at him..

  “It means,” he was being honest. She could feel it. “I am not as adept as your leaders in Washington are at covering their tracks.”

  “Is that a confession?” She tilted her head slightly.

  “Not at all, I have done nothing wrong.” He replied smoothly and after a pause added, “We all have secrets, Ms. Hunter.”

  “That is true.” She followed along.

  “Just sayin’, ma’am,’” Beauragards hands slowly interlocked, they looked like a church steeple. The tone in his voice was almost whimsical. “Just sayin,’.............”