Ortega glanced over at the secretary and caught him about to speak. She put up a finger to silence the man and turned back to her general. “I believe we have the means. But some might claim they are immoral.”
Story sat straighter, and she sensed a piqued interest. “Madam President, if what you’re offering as a means is effective, I need to learn more.”
Pleased with the answer, it was time to make sure he understood before revealing. She asked, “Morality, General, is often in the eye of the beholder. Agreed?”
“Yes. I agree, and I’ll make the personal determination.”
The president expected his answer. “I believe the means we have at our disposal aren’t immoral and will be effective. You may think otherwise. If after explaining, you decide they are wrong, I’ll expect your immediate resignation and consent to house arrest for the duration. Agreed?” The tension in the room palatable, Ortega watched as the general considered the question. At last, he gave his answer.
“Maybe I’d be better off not finding out and forgo the briefing. What becomes of me then?”
“In that case, you’ll relinquish command and enter immediate retirement.”
He shot back, “You have no one as qualified to take my place.”
Ortega shook her head. “General, everyone is replaceable. We want you. I want you. But we need your commitment. Otherwise, please step aside. What will it be?” Waiting for his answer, she knew her general defected for a reason, and she expected him to do the right thing. She wasn’t disappointed.
“I’m willing to listen. If what you offer fits within my moral boundaries, I’m your guy. If not, I’ll consent to house arrest for the duration. Now, fill me in on the damn secret.”
Secretary James looked up with a smile and began to speak, but Ortega cut him off and said, “SALI.”
The general cocked his head. “That’s not possible. SALI no longer exists.”
“Yes, she does,” said the president. Pleased with her general, she gave a broad smile.
Chapter Twelve
WORKING THE DEAD
May 8, 18:27 (PDT)
With an hour of daylight remaining, Kirby Pugh and Ronnie Hough, both privates in the United States Army, found themselves on the far-left flank of the destroyed enemy trenches. As part of the US Nineteenth Army field disciplinary team, divided into multiple two-man teams, they’d be spending the night gathering up and bagging ROAS KIA. The battlefield was a one-sided slaughterhouse, and the detail was expected to take all night. For Pugh and Hough, it was just another night of bullshit duty, although one with promising opportunities.
Kirby and Ronnie were buddies with a strong bond, sometimes too strong. Often acting together, when one got in trouble, in most cases, so did the other. And it happened again the week before. Both got caught drinking on duty. Now assigned to a gruesome punishment detail, they weren’t altogether unhappy. They broke the rules and expected to pay a price. Such was life in the US Army. Besides, they were adept at making the most of bad situations.
After watching the truck disappear, the two friends smiled at each other. Both carried packs and assault rifles. Strewn about were other supplies, including shovels, picks, gloves, and masks. Boxes of body bags also awaited. Neither man wore a head protection system as they weren’t required for the dirty detail. Instead, both elected beanies to ward off the chilly night air.
With packs and rifles set aside, the men gloved up, nodded towards one another, and climbed into the nearest trench. Upon entering, the smell of death assaulted them. Six bodies, maybe more, lay scattered in the sandy ditch. They’d done this detail before, on different battlefields in far-off places, and had learned through experience.
Kirby would search the bodies and pull out any belongings, including dog tags, and put those into a zip-lock baggie. With a safety pin, he’d then affix the baggie to the remains through an article of clothing, or if none were available, through flesh. Kirby was like an older brother and between them got the better bargain of most deals, and rummaging bodies was the most fun—like a treasure hunt. After searching and pinning, Ronnie bagged the body, or in some cases, body parts. Once full, Ronnie would zip the bag, and both men would drag it to a convenient stacking point for pickup. Later, after gathering the bagged corpses, regular Mortuary Services troops would take DNA samples and log the results.
Tonight, working side by side, both men got used to the foul odor, and within half an hour they cleared the first trench. Six body bags lay stacked nearby. After a quick breather, they headed towards the next trench, dragging along their supplies and dodging shell holes along the way. Before going far, a rather large crater caught their attention. Peering inside, they both detected the scent of death. Sure enough, they spotted an arm with a hand attached lying near part of a torso. Once again, they dropped their packs and weapons, crawled in, and got to work.
Kirby Pugh, at twenty-nine years of age, had two years on Ronnie Hough. Both men hovered around five feet nine, non-descript, and similar in looks. Proud southerners, Kirby grew up in Mississippi, while Ronnie hailed from rural Georgia. After joining the military, gravitated by their similarities, they found one another. In the Army, they’d achieved a few minor victories. Kirby once made it to Sergeant before getting busted in rank. But the successes were short-lived as both got demoted several times for various and sundry misdemeanors.
Busted again, they now held the lowest rank, private. Although they complained loud and often about the Army and the unfairness of it all, the institution suited them. The Army fed them, paid them a little, provided shelter, and offered a world to exploit.
So far, they’d stayed out of hard labor and prison camps. Both believed in God, the Christian way, although both admitted to slipping. After a backslide, they’d feel awful and behave for a spell. But a new temptation always emerged, and sometimes, bad luck brought new troubles.
Tonight’s detail brought with it plenty of opportunity. Although under strict orders not to loot, facing long prison sentences if caught, the upside was just too promising.
Plus, they rationalized, taking from the dead wasn’t a sin, especially enemy dead. No one got hurt. The dead weren’t alive and couldn’t take it with them. To both men, looting from corpses wasn’t stealing but more like prospecting, not theft, and worth the risk. Justifiable compensation for the nasty work.
Inside the shell crater, finishing up, they concluded the gathered body parts belonged to a single person. Based on the lack of muscle tone, almost no hair on the arms, and slender, tapered fingers, they guessed it was female. Both men found the practice repulsive. The US Army didn’t allow women or queers into combat for many good and obvious reasons.
Before moving on, they sat down to rest. Kirby was working up an anger. After taking a sip from a hydration system, he handed the water container to his buddy. Staring at the filled body bag, he turned to Ronnie and aired his grievance. “I can’t fucking believe those cocksuckers. Women fighting their wars for them. God awful!”
“Yeah. That’s fucked up. That’s why we fight’n,” said Ronnie. Still catching his breath from the exertion, sitting next to his friend, he took a sip and clipped the hydration system back to his belt.
“It’s one reason for sure,” agreed Kirby. Using his teeth, he pulled off the rubber glove from his right hand and flung it to the ground. With his hand free, he fished a pack of cigarettes and lighter from his breast pocket.
Ronnie watched his buddy. “You gonna let me have a puff?”
Kirby lit the cigarette and took a long drag. Exhaling a large cloud of smoke, he examined the pack. To his disappointment, only a couple remained. Still, they always shared. He slid the near-empty pack into his shirt pocket and said, “You bet, good buddie. I’ll let you smoke the other half.”