Zelazny nodded, and he looked weary again. “After the assault—don’t kid yourselves. This attack is going to cost us dearly. Afterward, though, we fall back to our prepared defenses. There, we dig in and wait for the machines to dig us out. We die, I suppose, but we make them take a long time doing it. And we take as many of those things as we can with us.”
The colonels stared at Marine General Zelazny. A few grunted in agreement. The others remained silent.
“Well, you’re U.S. officers and our fellow Canadians,” Zelazny said. “So let’s hear your ideas. It’s going to be our last offensive plan. We want to make sure it works the best it possibly can.”
As the colonels and General Zelazny began to work out the details, Paul Kavanagh thought about it. He was bone-weary and just wanted to sleep. His eyes closed on their own accord. This was probably as good as place as any to grab some shuteye. It was a fancy plan, a grasping, final idea. Would it work?
Before Paul could decide, he fell asleep where he sat. For all he knew, this would be the last nap in this life. When he woke up, it would be grinding effort likely until he was dead.
Jake Higgins stood before a three-person Militia tribunal. It had been several days since his bender and his head no longer pounded from a hangover. His eyes had cleared and they were no longer bloodshot. His dry mouth tasted bitter, and he couldn’t believe the clothes they’d given him.
He had baggy pants and no belt. He had to grab his trousers in the front to keep them from falling down to his ankles. It made him feel foolish and ridiculous. Worse, he knew they’d planned this in order to diminish him. First, they worked to break a person’s spirit. Then they taught the person how to think. Their techniques were tried and true.
Jake stood before three judges who sat on a platform higher than he was, forcing him to look up. It was no doubt another psychological ploy. Each judge wore a uniform, two men and a woman. The woman wore a Detention Center suit of white with brown stripes. She was large, with red hair piled on her head and she sat between the two men. She was in charge, a Public Safety Monitor, First Class. The men were majors in the Militia.
The woman looked down her nose at Jake. She had a mole on the left nostril, and no doubt, hair sprouted from the mole.
He found her thoroughly despicable, even though he’d repeatedly told himself while sitting in his cell that he needed to talk softly today. A soft answer turns away wrath. He’d heard that from somewhere, but couldn’t place the saying’s origin.
“Humph,” the Public Safety monitor said. She scanned an e-reader. “Disorderly and drunken conduct in a—” She glanced at the leftward major, handing him the e-reader. “Am I reading this correctly?” she asked the major. “The offender committed these disloyalties in a strip bar?”
The pudgy major didn’t take the e-reader, but leaned over, scanning the words in a bored manner. “Oh yes, the offender was in a strip bar. You are correct.”
“Humph,” the Public Safety monitor said. “I find that disgusting.” She glared down at Jake. “You no doubt frequent these places often.”
“Uh, no,” Jake said. “I—”
“Silence!” the monitor said, banging a gavel on a block, making the block jump. She continued scanning the e-reader. Her head swayed back and her eyes widened. Silently, she pushed the e-reader toward the same pudgy major as before.
His pupils went back and forth. His head jerked back sharply and he eyed Jake anew. “Is this correct?”
“I don’t know what you’re reading,” Jake said.
“I can’t see how anyone could possibly speak such treasonous trash as I’m reading here,” the monitor said. “Do you realize we are at war with three different power blocs?” she asked Jake.
“I do, yes,” he said.
“The world pours in against us,” the woman said. “We have our backs against the wall and, and—you have the impudence to spout this garbage?”
“First,” Jake said, in a reasonable tone. “I was extremely drunk.”
“I cannot believe this,” the monitor said. “Your kind wallows in all kinds of deviancy. Drunkenness, lewdness, sedition—I imagine it’s a long list with you.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Jake said. “I’m the furthest thing from seditious. Have you looked at my combat record lately? I was at Denver this winter.”
The woman glanced at the second major, a thin man with compressed lips. “Is this true?” she asked.
“I think there’s a broader question,” the man replied. “Is his whereabouts this winter germane to what he spouted in the strip bar?”
“Yeah it’s germane,” Jake said. “I’ve spilled blood for America. If anyone…” His voice quieted and he stopped speaking.
The woman raised bushy eyebrows. “It appears you have to think carefully before answering my questions. To my mind, that shows a guilty conscience.”
“No,” Jake said.
“He’s argumentative,” the pudgy major said, the one on her left.
“I cannot believe this,” the monitor said, as she continued reading. “You urinated on your Militia card.”
“No,” Jake said.
The woman looked up with astonishment. “Do you dispute the facts?” she asked.
“Well…not exactly,” Jake said. “I pissed on the card, yeah.”
The woman stiffened in outrage.
“I-I mean urinated,” Jake said. “I urinated on it.”
“So you admit to this lewdness?” she asked.
“You have to understand,” Jake said. “I have the highest respect for the Militia. My best friends are in it. You should call them. They can tell you about my combat record.”
“Do you notice what he’s doing?” the pudgy major asked the woman.
She shook her head.
“He’s trying to tell us how to run our tribunal.”
“You’re right,” the woman said. “It’s seditious arrogance.”
“Look, the three of you are telling me how to run my life,” Jake said. “The least I can do is to defend myself. You want to hear the truth, don’t you?”
“You really think you can defend your heinous actions?” the woman asked.
“Getting drunk is heinous?” Jake asked, starting to get angry.
“Don’t play your little games with me, young man,” the woman said. “Drunkenness is moral weakness. I do not excuse it. But in this instance I mean showing grave disrespect to the Militia by urinating on your ID card.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Jake said. “I wasn’t pissing—I wasn’t urinating on the card. Don’t you listen?”
The monitor’s eyes narrowed. “If you weren’t urinating on the card, what were you urinating on?”
Jake opened his mouth to tell her, and he paused.
“He’s a schemer,” the pudgy major said. “Look how he has to think about what he’s going to say. A man telling the truth just says it and lets the consequences fall where they may.”
“All right,” Jake said. “You want me to say it? I pissed on the Director of Homeland Security. Is that such a sin? In case you haven’t noticed, the man has enforced some highly suspect laws.”
The three members of the tribunal traded glances with each other.
“What are his Dentition Center records?” the thin major finally asked.
The monitor clicked her e-reader, searching. Finally, she read for a time. Brusquely, she handed the device to the pudgy major. He glanced without touching it, and he traded looks with the larger monitor.
“Do we need to see any more?” she asked the others.
“I’ve fought for America,” Jake said. “I’ve spilled my blood more times than I can count? What have you three done to stop the invaders?”