Pedestals of Ash (34 page)

Colonel Marcus slowly bent over and began unlacing his boots. He hadn’t slept in 48 hours
,
and
he was feeling the pain in his lower back
. His aid
e
set up a cot next to the receptionist’s work area,
outside of the principal’s office. He could close the door and have some privacy. A pair of windows had been opened
,
le
tting in the light breeze
from the southwest. As he slowly pulled off a boot, the odor from his socks drifted up and caused a grimace. A shower would be the first thing on his agenda when he woke up. The second boot didn’t produce any rosier results. He started to smell his armpits
,
but decided he’d had enough
torture
for one day.
He managed to stand for a moment and took a knee next to the folding cot.
Bracing his elbows on the edge,
he
lowered his head and whispered a prayer:

Father in heaven, forgive me my transgressions against others this day. Forgive me if I have not done your will. My father please be with the families of the men who perished on the field of battle today. Please welcome every single soldier’s soul into your kingdom as those men and women have already suffered through hell. Please
God
, give those who command us here on earth the wisdom to stop thi
s madness. Show them the way, L
ord. Amen

The colonel laid back on the stiff cotton surface. All of the pillows were being used for the wounded, but he didn’t care. It was a relief to stretch out and remove the pressure from his lower vertebra.

Marcus stared up at the block panel ceiling, the grids reminding him of the maps he had been working with all day. The reinforcements arriving from all over the region had to be logged,
briefed,
and assigned sectors of operation. The flow of units reporting to his command had finally slowed to a trickle a few hours ago
,
and his officers
had insisted he catch a few Zzzzzzs
. The fact that he couldn’t remember the command frequencies probably worried his juniors.

The c
olonel sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had done everything possible to get his command ready. After the last battle, he doubted it would be enough. He wondered if every commander felt the same hollowness in his gut after watching the destruction
of
an entire brigade. His beloved 4/10 was gone, the faces of his men still flashing before his eyes.

When the Independents had informed him that he was still in command, his initial thought had been to protest. Hadn’t he done enough? Now that he was winding down, he realized their decision had been a blessing. The work had kept his mind from the previous day’s slaughter.

Visions of exploding tanks, scre
aming men and flames kept cycling
through his head. Ordering two Strykers full of infantry directly into an ambush
…
watching the burning men trying to crawl across the ground through his binoculars
….
Talking with a young lieutenant on the radio to be suddenly interrupted by screams and chaos
as
his tank was hit
….
Marcus wondered if the memories would ever fade.

It wasn’t just his men. Perhaps that’s why it seemed so bad. He had watched
Americans
on the other side suffer just as badly. Marcus wondered if recalling the enemy’s destruction would nor
mally offset the pain he felt at
his own losses – if they hadn’t been his countrymen.

There had been two different points in the battle where Marcus had though
t
to order his command company into the fray. As he looked back, he had wanted so badly to join his men on the field, but a last second maneuver or event had canceled the need. His desire to engage hadn’t be
en about bravery or honor. The c
olonel had long ago established he possessed plenty of both. The
assortment of
ribbons on his dress uniform were impressive, even for a command level officer. No, it wasn’t to prove anything to anyone – it was for his brothers in arms. Marcus had wanted to join the fight because his men were dying and needed his help. That situation peeled back the layers of responsibility, command and common sense like a sharp knife removed the skin of an apple. Men he had sacrificed, suffered
,
and served with were being killing by the hundreds, but he had pushed down an almost uncontrollable urge to join in their struggle.

In the end, it hadn’t been necessary. Marcus wondered what he would be feeling now if he had “found work,” on the battlefield that day. Would he not have this empty feeling inside? Would he actually feel worse?  

“Come on old man, this isn’t your first rodeo. You’ve seen your share of
death before,” he whispered a
loud to himself. No, he decided, not like yesterday – nothing like that. Not since D-Day had an army suffered so many casualties in such a short amount of time. Even the Israeli routes of their Arab neighbors had seen less death stretched over a longer period of time.

A man d
oesn’t reach the rank of c
olonel in the United States Army without possessing an abundant amount of self-control and discipline. Marcus pulled deep from inside and corralled his emotions. He
had
to rest
,
and sleep wouldn’t come if he kept on this current mental path. He found the best way to push past events out of his mind was to concentrate on the future. He focused his thoughts on the upcoming engagement.

The Independents had now marshaled over 50,000 men and 300 armored vehicles in the immediate area around Shreveport. That was almost
10
times the number that participated in the Battle of Scott’s Hill. What was even more troubling was the fact that intelligence believed they were still outnumbered. Not since WWII had such a force on force battle been joined
,
and the capabilities of the modern war machines far outperformed their counterparts of 65 years ago.

Marcus had been waiting on the other side to tear into his forces for several hours, but no attack had been launched. There had been a lot of speculati
on
about
why the other side had held its l
ines, but no one really knew. W
ere they still gathering assets, hoping for overwhelming force? Was there some logistics problem putting their attack on hold? Rumors ran rampant all up and down the line, but facts were f
ew
and f
ar
between. One w
hispered story had it that the L
oyalists were just going to nuke the Independents and
“
get it over with.
”
Marcus had to admit, if he were commanding the other side, that option might be tempting.

Just over an hour
ago,
he had received yet another call on his sati-cell. The man who had been issuing his orders since he joined the rebel group informed him that he shouldn’t expect any attack for some time. Furthermore, the Independents were not to initiate any offensive actions. That last part of the message was clarified in an unusual way – “No, I repeat zero offensive actions or tactics. The enemy is not to be provoked,
probed,
or ba
ited. If they move against you
,
C
olonel, then unleash the dogs of war, but do nothing until then
,
or
until
you receive further orders. Is that clear?”

“What an odd little war,” thought Marcus. He went back to thinking about his reserve forces and their deployment using the grids on the school’s ceiling. He didn’t notice when the square panels began to blur. In a few minutes, anyone walking past the principal’s office would have heard a gentle snoring coming from inside.

Bishop was riding shotgun as the
chauffeur-in-chief
drove the
Humvee
across the rugged desert terrain. They had carefully crossed over a road some time ago
,
and both men had been tempted to use the paved surface
,
but decided against it.

After a platitude of jokes focused on the rough ride and each other’s driving abilities, both men had become quiet the last few miles. Bishop estimated they were about 20 miles north of Alpha
,
and
he
was trying to determine the best way to approach the church’s compound.

An extra hard jolt snapped him back to the situation at hand, and he decided they needed another break. “Mr. President, how about we cook that rabbit? I recall the vegetation gets pretty sparse ahead, and these hills will block most of the cook fire’s smoke. This may be the last chance we get to eat something hot for a while. Besides, I don’t think I have any more fillings for you to jar loose.”

The older man next to him started to voice a comeback, but decided he didn’t want to waste the energy. He simply nodded his head and asked, “Where should we stop?”

Bishop pointed to a flat area underneath a steep hillside not far away. In another few minute
s, both men were stretching aching
backs and stiff legs. Bishop hobbled to the back of the
Humvee
and pulled out the dead rabbit. He gave his fellow traveler the option of gathering firewood or skinning the kill. The president decided to hunt for wood, so Bishop pulled his knife and quickly cleaned the hare.

In another 15 min
utes, a rather effective, field-
expedited rotisserie was cooking the fresh meat over a roaring fire of scrub oak and mesquite. Bishop decided he wanted to scout around a little bit before they began dinner, so he strapped on his rifle and moved a few hundred yards in every direction but up the hill. Nothing of interest was found.

After he returned, Bishop wanted to clean his rifle while h
e waited on the hare to cook
. He opened a small pouch on his load vest and reached in to pull out a cleaning rod,
patches,
and small bottle of
CLP
. He thought something felt different and soon realized the pouch had taken a bullet during the last firefight. His cleaning rod had evidently taken
the
worst of it because the brass rod was completely sheered. The small bottle of CLP was empty, having taken part o
f the bullet as well. Bishop perched on the bumper, leaned back
and sighed. They weren’t making cleaning kits anymore
,
and he had only one le
ft back at the ranch. Running down to his favorite gun store for another
bottle
of cleaning fluid wasn’t exactly an option either
.

Bishop thought about just letting the rifle go. He had fired less than 60 rounds
,
and his rifle should function fine without a scrub at
10
times that number of shots. Most guys wouldn’t have bothered, but Bishop wasn’t most guys. The weapon slung across his chest had saved his life more times than he could count. He was operating in a dusty, desert environment
;
and besides, he didn’t know when he would have the chance to clean it again.
Admit it Bishop
, he thought,
you can justify it all you want, but the truth is you’re just anal about a clean gun.

After checking on dinner
, he went to the driver’s side of the
Humvee
and popped the hood. He found the stick to check the engine’s oil and pulled it from the tube. He rubbed a small pinch between his forefinger and thumb and found the engine’s oil was reasonably clean.

He then bent over and unlaced one of his boots. Once he had the long lace clear, he tied a very small knot at one end and proceeded to use the dipstick enough times to get his shoelace nice and oily. He broke down the M4
,
and then ran the unknotted end of the lace down the barrel. When that end appeared at the bre
e
ch, he
pinched
it, pulling
the knotted end through. After repeating this process a few times, he untied the knot on the dirty, oily end and retied a similar knot on the clean, dry end. One pass through the barrel removed the oil residue.

Bishop used the engine oil to clean and lubricate his bolt as well. After he reassembled his weapon and boot, he worked the action several times to spread the lubrication around, and felt better. About then, the
cook-
in
-chief
announced the rabbit looked done.

The fresh rabbit was accompanied by
the
best portions of two MREs
, and the men devoured
what turned out to be a pretty good meal - at least by Bishop’s standards. While they were e
ating, Bishop explained to
the
p
resident
where they were headed, and gave him some background of what to expect.

The politician took it all in without comment as he chewed on his meal. When Bishop got to the p
art about the ghoulish and the s
kinnies, the president interrupted him. “What happened to the local law enforcement? How did those men escape their incarceration? “

“I’m not sure
,
sir. I would guess a lot of the police
officers
didn’t report to work. Perhaps they had to protect their own families or homes. I’m sure others were killed in the poison gas cloud.”

The
chief executive
digested Bishop’s explanation for a moment and then responded. “Well, that’s the problem all over the country
,
isn’t it? We wouldn’t be having near as many issues if more people had honored their oaths and not been so self-centered.”

Bishop didn’t agree with the man’s position, but decided not to press the point just yet. If, after seeing Alpha, he still had the same point of view, then Bishop would consider him a fool. Any words Bishop could use right now would pale in comparison to what the leader of the country was about to see.

There was something else hanging in the air
,
and Bishop decided to broach the subject. “Sir, I hope you aren’t counting on me for some sort of game plan here. Short of keeping you alive, I don’t have any long
-
term solution for getting you back to
friendly forces
.”

The fire crackled and hissed softly
,
while the president thought about Bishop’s statement. Without moving his gaze from the flames, he rested his chin in his hand and abs
ent-
mindedly stirred the embers with a long stick. “I still can’t believe all of this has happened. That soldier had a gun in my face just a few hours ago. I thought he was going to blow my head off. I’m not so sure I want to go back. Even if I do, I’ll be looking over my shoulder until all of this is over – maybe forever.”

“Sir, I believe you’ll be safe at the church in Alpha. If they have transportation there, I’ll take you to my ranch or Meraton. But I think that’s only a
short-term
solution. We need to come up with some way to hook you back up with the people who are loyal to
your office so you can fix this mess.”

The president nodded his understanding
,
but of
fered no response. He stirred the
coals around, his expression troubled. Bishop waited a bit and then added, “I suppose once I have you stashed somewhere safe
,
I could go back to Bliss. I don’t think either side would shoot me on sight. They would want to torture your location out of me before putting a bullet in my head.”

The
C
ommander
-
in
-
C
hief
grimaced at the thought, but couldn’t disagree.
Bishop was hoping for the man to say something like, “You’ve sacrificed enough,” or “Noooo, they wouldn’t do that.”

When he received no such reprieve,
Bishop
inhaled and
continued
.
“My problem is I don’t know how to separate who’s on which side. I could be handing you over to the assassins and never know it until it was too late.
The way I look at it, we’ve had a lot of fun out here driving around shock absorber hell. My spinal column and hip joints will never be the same. I’d hate to let all that sacrifice go to waste.”

So often a
camp
fire is therapeutic
, warming the soul
.
The combination of Bishop’s humor and the smoldering wood seemed to snap the older man out of his melancholy state.
The chief e
xecutive looked up from his trance
and smiled at Bishop, “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll put you in for a
medal
when I get back. I’ll even write up a nice little ceremonial speech.”

The president stood at attention
,
and in a
n
official
voice spoke to the surrounding desert
, gesturing to command its attention
. “Today my fellow
A
mericans, we gather here to honor a man who
has paid a dear price for his country. The man
on
whom I bestow this honor was wounded in the execution of his duties while servi
ng the United States of America
. He experienced indescribable pain and suffering in his lower extremities due to a case of
cathedral
-
sized
hemorrhoids, and for this sacrifice I hereby award him th
e
D
istinguished
Sphincter Medal
.”

Bishop busted out laughing
,
and soon both men were h
olding their ribs. The
comic-in-chief
seemed to relax a little after his theatrical display
,
and then became serious.
“Bishop, I don’t have an answer right now. I wouldn’t blame you if you dropped me off right here and drove away. If you can buy me a little time to get my wits back, I’m sure we’ll
come up with
something.
Besides, I’m getting a lot of thinking done
. It’s refreshing to be
outside of th
at
bubble I’ve been living in.
”

Bishop decided to get a little payback. “You sure you don’t mind if I leave you here
,
sir?”

Again
,
both men laughed.

The president decide
d to change the subject and scanned
the horizon
in all directions
. “I’m surprised they haven’t come looking for me yet. Do you think there were that many traitors at the base?”

Bishop shrugged his shoulders, “Maybe, but there is no way of telling.
I know that is one helluva big base, and they would have to search all of it before looking elsewhere.
I’m sure they’ll come looking for you
,
sir.”

They finished their meal and clear
ed the campsite. Energized
from
their desert cuisine
, coupled with
the
break from the road
,
both men’s attitudes
seemed to brighten
.
Bishop even noticed the older man
had more pu
rpose in his
gait, as he strode
to their vehicle
. The president
paused
after opening the door and looked all around.
Bishop watched as he
got in
the Humvee
.
The man almost seems disappointed they haven’t sent the entire U.S. Army looking for him.