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Like all members of the military, Hale was used to strict discipline, and thought of the Freedom First people as whiners. Still, as the delivery truck paused a quarter-mile short of the main gate to let them jump down, he had to admit that the razor wire fences, and the evenly spaced watchtowers, looked a lot like the prisons he’d seen.

Nevertheless there was a long line of people waiting to get in, some pushing wheelbarrows stacked high with belongings, while others wore packs or carried suitcases. Unfortunately many of those in line had nothing more than the clothes on their backs. Babies cried, dogs barked, and old folks looked grim as they waited for the queue to jerk forward.

Eventually, after an hour or so, Hale and his companions drew even with a uniformed guard who confiscated the children’s weapons, and would have taken Hale’s as well, if the Sentinel hadn’t opened his parka to reveal his uniform.

Mark hated to part company with the Reaper but there was nothing he could do about it.

There was a good deal of wailing at the next checkpoint, where people were forced to surrender their pets, all of which were taken away to be euthanized.

Finally, having been allowed to enter the camp’s processing center, Hale, Mark, and Tina were shunted into another line intended for orphans. And there were hundreds of them, most of whom were unaccompanied, and trying to help one another as best they could.

The sight of it brought a lump to the back of Hale’s throat as a matronly-looking woman welcomed Mark and Tina to the facility, gave them prepacked bags filled with toiletries, and took down their information. She smiled brightly in spite of the fact that the people standing in front of her smelled to high heaven.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant… they’ll be well cared for. They’ll have to be separated, of course, since we can’t have boys and girls living in the same dormitory, but I can assure you that they will receive three square meals a day, good medical care, and be back in school on Monday!”

Neither of the teens looked very happy, but there was nothing any of them could do, so Hale shook hands with Mark and gave Tina an awkward hug. His smile was forced.

“Take care of yourselves, you two…”

Mark gave a jerky nod, and Tina wiped a tear away. Then they watched Hale leave.

Once outside the processing center he saw a square that was obviously used for ceremonial purposes, and beyond that some of the hundreds of identical six-story wooden buildings, all thrown up over the last year or so. Everything was neat as a pin, but there was something depressing about the place, as Hale followed a neatly kept path toward the main gate. A guard nodded politely. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant… Have a nice day.”

It was too late for that, but as Hale exited the camp, the sun appeared. The warmth felt good on his face—and there was a hot shower to look forward to. And, all things considered, that was as much as Hale could reasonably hope for.

Now if only he could stay out of prison.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Things That Go Boom!

Near Valentine, Nebraska

Friday, November 23, 1951

“Report to my office at 0900 hours 11/23/51.” Signed, “Maj. Richard Blake.”

The message was waiting in Hale’s SRPAnet inbox when he returned to Base 027 and went online. The meeting could be about anything of course, but the brevity of it and Hale’s guilty conscience combined to make him uneasy.

Blake’s office was located on the admin deck a few doors down from the briefing room in which the officer spent so much of his time. His door was open, and Hale could see him sitting within, but knew better than to enter without an invitation. His knuckles made a rapping sound as he knocked three times.

“Come.”

As Hale took the prescribed three steps forward, he could feel the tension in the air. His boots thumped as he came to attention, his eyes were fixed on the wall over Blake’s head, his back was ramrod straight, and his thumbs were aligned with the seams on his carefully pressed trousers. “Lieutenant Hale, reporting as ordered, sir!”

There was a series of rapid clicking sounds as Blake completed an email message and hit send. Then he swiveled his chair around to face Hale and made eye contact. It was like looking down a couple of gun barrels. No “At ease,” or invitation to have a seat.

“Well,” Blake said flatly, “how was your three-day pass? Did you have fun?”

Hale’s mouth felt dry, so he did what he could to muster some saliva, and then swallowed. All he could do was let the situation play itself out.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“That’s good,” Blake growled. “That’s real good… Because your little vacation cost a great deal of money. First there’s a full load of Avgas for the VTOL you rode in, then there’s the Fareye you took with you, but failed to return, plus three grenades and various other pieces of government property. All of which are going to be deducted from your pay. Do you read me, Lieutenant?”

Hale’s eyes remained focused on the spot directly above Blake’s head.

“Sir! Yes, sir.”

“I guess you think we’re stupid,” Blake continued. “And maybe your plan would have worked, except I sent people to find you, and guess what? You weren’t in your quarters, and you hadn’t checked out through the main gate, which meant you had left some other way. Aboard the Party Girl as it happens.”

Blake paused, and made a point of taking a document from a stack of papers and studying it silently. “By the way, Hale,” he added ominously, “you might find it interesting to know that Lieutenant Purvis will be flying every shit detail his CO can come up with for the next thirty days. So you might want to avoid him. I don’t imagine he’ll be pleased.” He returned the document to its stack.

“Now,” Blake continued, as he leaned back in his chair, “enough about Purvis… Let’s talk about you. I could have your bars, but court-martials involve a lot of paperwork, and I hate paperwork. And why bother? Because I have a rather challenging mission lined up for you—and the odds are you won’t make it back. That will save me a lot of aggravation. So be in the briefing room at 1100 hours, and see if you can avoid getting lost along the way.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Hale responded, his face wooden.

Blake nodded. “Dismissed.”

Hale did a neat about-face, took two steps, and was almost out the door.

“And Hale…”

Hale paused to look back. “Sir?”

There was something like sympathy in the major’s eyes. “I’m sorry about your family.”

Hale nodded. “Thank you, sir. They were good people.”

And with that he left.

The briefing room was packed when Hale arrived at 1050 hours. A sure sign that something big was in the offing. Senior officers and SRPA officials were seated toward the front of the rectangular room leaving captains, lieutenants, and half a dozen NCOs to find chairs farther back. Which was fine with Hale.

All the doughnuts were gone, but there was plenty of coffee, so Hale filled a mug and took it back to a seat located between a portly supply officer and a square-jawed sergeant major. Both could see his nametag—not to mention the color of his eyes.

Hale was worried that he might have to make conversation with one or both of the men, but he was granted a reprieve when Blake called the meeting to order.