I thought I had been able to leave this future nightmare behind, but recent news has forced me to recognize that the Redshirts are not coming.
The Redshirts are already here.
Some of you are familiar with this short-lived series. I have decided to revise and update the narrative.
For those of you who have never seen this, you might want to prepare yourself: It is a very ugly and horribly familiar future that you are about to step into.
NOTE: If I bump into the size limit for diaries (I almost certainly will) I will add the rest as comments and mark it conspicuously.
January 2008 - Terrorism in Ohio
Some call this conflict the Second American Revolution, other the Second Civil War, but such names cloud the fact that the violence erupting from the 2008 U.S. general election had worldwide repercussions, for the Republicans were true in one thing -- what America did, the world took notice of, always.
Thus, the conflict that swiftly included both Canada and Mexico, and gradually drew in the great powers of Europe and Asia, is known as the Partisan Wars.
For there were few states on all the Earth that were neither Red nor Blue, or under intense pressure to stand and choose sides.
This is the story of the end of one era, and the beginning of another.
It could have been far worse.
It should never have happened.
Regardless, it did.
This is your story.
Fisticuffs over Dubyas
The particulars were manifold, but by 2008 it was difficult for Democrats and Republicans to discuss television, favorite restaurants, their jobs or their vacations; everything had a political context, forced on by an abundance of tainted, red/blue-painted information. The dye of partisanship touched sports, food, choice of cars, homes, clothing, careers, and it was indelible.
Republicans had long since taken to marking their hands or faces with stylized purple "W" stamps, and taking issue with anything or anyone that did not bear this label. Democrats had responded by taking black magic markers and drawing a mouth line over the top of the W and then glaring eyes above it. Another variant was to draw a rabbit or a visibly 'challenged' person with buck teeth out of the signature letter. A few beatings were reported; since it was not always the artist who hit the ground, that is when the shootings began.
How Jeb Ebbed
As Presidential candidate, Jeb Bush had all the advantages of incumbency with none of the handicaps. He was well-known, certain to carry his populous state of residence, had impeccable pro-GWB credentials and was known to be an effective speaker and a capable thinker on his own account. There was just one problem -- the GWB faithful had succeeded in circulating the repeal of the 22nd Amendment -- late enough to prevent the nightmare of running against Bill Clinton, soon enough for the GOP national convention.
The convention had long since been scheduled to take place in Orlando. Make that thoroughly entertaining, impeccably Jeb! country Orlando. The crown prince was to be anointed successor to the king. Everybody knew it to be so.
Alas, the fortunes of Jeb ebbed; now that America was free to choose the president that has brought the country not one, not two, but (count them) six wars in eight years, it would do so again.
The states that had ratified the new amendment were jubilant. None of them were Blue States.
Snicker-earning secession chatter suddenly began to be taken very seriously.
True polarization
The 28th Amendment did more to solidify partisan loyalties than any action in history. States that ratified saw 75% to as high as 90% intention to vote for Bush a third time, despite the back-away from Iran, the bobbling of Algeria, the embarrassing schism with Israel over Syria, and the Qaidi insurgencies in both Egypt and Arabia. Unemployment was 9%, real wages 30% down from levels in the late Nineties, interest rates around 11%.
But God was on America's side, and profits were high for the well-connected companies still domiciled in America. The markets had never been better. Terrorism was on the run (even running countries!) everywhere. George W. Bush made America safe, gave the country the moral clarity needed to fight his wars...even if unsuccessfully of late.
After eight years of growing dependency on pro-Bush propaganda, Red America realized one thing --it was addicted to the hate speech, the angst, the anger, the one-liners and the exclusionary mindset that they, only they, were real Americans.
And they would kill to keep the fix coming.
Jeb Bush might have protested; he might have stood up to say -- Hell, no! I'm not getting shoved aside again!
But he was shoved aside in 2008, as he was for the 2000 nomination. For at the end of the day, Jeb Bush was loyal to party and family; his day would come some sunrise.
The country at large would not be brushed off so easily, not after the events of seven months earlier....
The Sack of Oberlin
There are Redshirts everywhere, especially in contested states such as Ohio; party denizens who wear red shirts with big W's (or "Dubstikas", as the Dems call them). For much of the years 2007 and 2008, they rolled about in SUVs, pouring out to alternately come to the aid of a Republican-seeming person with a flat tire on the highway, or help keep security at party functions...or harrass small, fuel-efficient cars on the interstate, sometimes causing accidents, sometimes stopping to ensure the accident was fatal.
Fifteen miles south of Lake Erie is the small town of Oberlin, infamous in conservative lore as the emergence of the Underground Rail, the first college in America to admit blacks, to admit women, but grudgingly nodded as the alma mater of one Michelle Malkin, who made it through the gauntlet of radicalism with her hatred of all things liberal unscathed.
It is a college with a lively student body; if there's a weekend without a protest, or a weekday without a call for action of one sort or another, then it's probably Winter Term and and 90% of the campus is elsewhere, engaged in interesting and socially active projects. Except for the winter sports athletes, but hey. Diversity's cool.
It is in January of 2008, when few students are around and security is likewise lax, that a group of Redshirt commandos arrive from the south, after having picked up small arms and several cases of incendiary grenades from a friendly supplier in Ashland. Perhaps they were some of the very "Deliverers" who wreaked havoc on Blue infrastructure in the darkest years of the war. Perhaps they were just punks who got lucky.
What is known is that on January 14, 2008, Mudd Library, Peters Hall (administration), and Dascomb dormitory, all inside of a circle one hundred meters in radius, all had multiple smoke sensor alarms activate within forty seconds on one another. Charges, plus pairs of oxygen and propane canisters duct-taped together, were set in the ventilators shafts of all four structures.
Four-fifths of all law enforcement and fire fighting units within twenty miles of Oberlin town, and some units from as far as Akron, converged on the scene.
It was not over. Untouched and untraceable, the culprits had more terror to unleash, for Oberlin had one glaring Achilles' heel, something the community had sought to remedy for decades -- the rape of female students by outsiders.
The Redshirts intended to add to the legend, and had their marks already planned.
Fair or otherwise, it was generally observed that the Conservatory students were more concerned about appearances than their College peers; much of this had to do with their chosen profession in the performing arts.
It was also noted that some 'Connies' remained in town for Winter Term, practicing away in solitude, in any of two hundred Steinway-packed practice rooms at the southwest corner of Oberlin Square.
This was far too close to the fire to be a credible place for a kidnapping, never mind a rape on site, but the Redshirts had other plans; the fire and subsequent clamor of official intervention would flush out targets, either the curious or the frustrated.
They were not disappointed...nor, as it turned out, were they particular. All 'Obie Dobies' were godless pervs anyway, they rationalized to their homophobic, homo-curious selves. Anyhow, this was not about pleasure but terror and humiliation...and power and control
And they were in control tonight, they esteemed.
Long ago, in Shansi province, several Oberlin missionaries were slain during the Boxer (sorry, Society of Glorious Harmonious Fists) Rebellion in early 20th century China. A memorial arch stood, right across from the now-smoking ruin of Peters Hall, flanked by fire trucks and police cruises.
The Redshirt raiders were away from the campus for not much more than an hour, six victims in their control. The open country roads were never more than a mile away from any portion of the Oberlin campus; all police coverage was in town.
What puzzles is how the raiders placed the remains of their handiwork, one maimed but alive, right against the side of the arch facing away from the fire without attracting official attention. Then again, four major fires, purposefully set all in sight on one another, are a compelling distraction.
Then there is the possibility, raised years later, that the killers of the Oberlin Six, three males, three females (the raiders were not particular), and all mutilated; cores of their flesh in sensitive locales were taken from each, many times in the case of the dead, three times from the survivor who, perhaps fortunately, did not last more than twelve hours past being discovered.
Context
There would be sixteen such raids carried out that same night; the Republicans celebrated the night as the Cleansing of the Towers, a message to academicians that no place was a retreat from the party's version of truth, of right and wrong.
The good news is that most were stopped, saving many others from a similar demise, for not only the six assault cases but fourteen Dascomb students were slain by the fire. A further three fire fighters, two (by chance) registered Republican, were severely injured when an unreleased oxygen canister in the remnants of Student Union detonated. All three survived, though only one has the use of both his hands and his eyes now.
Elsewhere, the captive Redshirts acted almost pleased; their capture gave the now-friendly media a chance to explain away their misguided zeal to protect America from runaway moral relativism and other crimes that, surely, any reasonable person would wish to lash out against in light of liberal-coddling law enforcement. Yes, that's right --- now the police (the unionized police!) were accused of liberal bias.
The Redshirt Hunt
It was not particularly challenging for the investigators to trace the incendiaries back to Dillon's Army Surplus on the outskirts of Ashland, Ohio, nor to overcome the unfortunate erasure of the security tape showing the transaction, though sorting through the cash in Mr. Dillon's vault for DNA evidence (he was tax-averse on some of his transactions, and felt limited need to report them) took time and generated many false leads.
That is, until a $10 bill with a matching sequence to two bills in Mr. Dillon's care turned up inside of a change machine at the Tap, a local bar in Oberlin.
That bill came with fingerprints and a video portrait of its owner, who had wanted to play darts.
The darts had no prints, but had been played with the locals.
The picture emerged: At least one of the raiders had spent his time keeping an eye on the main corner of town, the crossing at the southeast corner of Oberlin Town Square. It had been cold, so the spotter went inside the nearby bar after his first stint -- making sure no town police hightailed it up to campus to investigate breakings and enterings across the square -- he went inside. When the explosions began, he and the rest of the bar, around the corner, surrounded by loud live music on cheap speakers, took no immediate notice.
It would be some time before the staccato caravan of police cruisers and fire trucks alerted patrons near the front that something major was in the works.
The spotter in the meantime had time to play darts with some of the townies, a few of whom had no love for the "hippies", as they called the liberal-tending students.
In time, one Daniel Macon Stroud, 24, formerly of the Ohio National Guard, veteran of two tours in Iraq and one in Algeria, a gun for hire before most Americans his age had families, was briefly detained after failing to stop completely at a stop sign in Marietta, Ohio; he was allegedly scouting the campus of Marietta College, not to harm the facilities (most of the students were locals) but to seek recruits for the cause.
He would be released almost immediately after receiving his warning ticket; he had a W sticker. The officer had a W bumper sticker on his cruiser. There was no question of the intrinsic goodness of this Danny kid, in the deputy's view.
An hour later, the Ohio State Highway Patrol sent a desperate alert to the neighboring states of West Virginia and Pennsylvania: The Oberlin killers were in the vicinity. Please see attached tag and vehicle information.
And the search was on.
February 2008 - The Redshirt Hunt, and the Chapel Hill Riots
Meanwhile back in Marietta, Ohio....
Daniel Macon Stroud had driven on; the Marietta College campus 'tour', as he called it, was a disappointment. For his purposes, the entire town was the worst of the worst -- impeccably Republican (pro-life, pro-military, pro-death penalty, pro-tax relief, pro-Bush) but of the preachy, prissy sort, the old school that smugly told itself that the moral worth of traditional values would see this economically depressed 95% white community through. They were conservatives who had never seen the real enemy's strength; what Goths and gays and blacks and immigrants abounded (illegals, no doubt! Stroud muttered allowed) were tolerated. There was little violence of any sort, save for the Ohio River's dreadful floods. Just larceny, long lines of (overwhelmingly white) poor waiting for food relief, and furtive heroin and painkiller use, some of it after church on Wednesday.
Violence, and persons comfortable with it, was what Danny Stroud needed. He had been lucky with the deputy; a moment's distraction had forced him waste a roll of Fate's dice on a traffic violation. He glanced at the name of the deputy stamped on the ticket, and memorized it for later use. Information was an asset in war.
Doctrine recommended seeking safety in numbers, in finding a large and diverse (he chuckled at that) population in which he could submerge in anonymity. People did not look at one another too closely in crowd, for fear of finding something recognizable in strangers. However, Stroud knew himself; he would be unable to avoid showing his displeasure at the sight and smell and sound of 'diversity'. No, that wasn't the word he used for his thoughts. When Stroud saw diversity, he didn't see people and opportunity and culture. He saw carriers, and criminals and corruption.
Corruption, Stroud let the word settle in his thoughts, cover his hatred for the countless heresies of modernity and secularism and humanism like a bittersweet molasses. He liked the taste of it in his thoughts, but not in his presence.
Thus, Danny M., as his comrades called him, went the other way, to as 'white' and 'exurban' a setting as he could easily reach -- straight south on Interstate 77. There were churches in southeastern Ohio that understood the code, led by pastors that carefully doped Scripture with Storm Front doctrines, and send funds to militant cells while openly denouncing Neo-Nazis and the remnant KKK crumbs that had found exodus north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Such churches kept 'mission annexes' out in the countryside, on back roads, places where the trees had been cleared, the grass and brush kept low, large rocks and stumps pulled for hundreds of yards around solidly-constructed building with high, narrow windows and piles of dirt from the creation of parking spaces...piles of dirt close to the buildings themselves.
Oh, then there were the 'archery' ranges for the summer campers; the ones where the hay bales were stiff with bullets and buckshot. The signs were there for anyone to see, that these congregations were running training camps for home-grown soldiers of...maybe Christ, but certainly of conservatism. And that was good enough for God, so such congregations said.
There were no children at the summer camp in early February, when Mr. Stroud rejoined his friends at the Morningstar Church of Christ (Freedom Hill Annex).
Enter Monty McCullough, Pastor, Terrorist Mastermind
His friends are displeased; they've been following the news via the church internet -- passively, of course, letting their guardian of the moment, Pastor Montgomery McCullough, a man of impeccable Appalachian credentials, a clan leader for the New World's Scottish highlanders. That he is a clone for John Brown of Kansas is both ironic, and often noted. It is the look of a fanatic that no one wishes to cross, but is afraid not to.
There is another fanatic who superficially resembles John Brown of Kansas, still at large seven years after 9/11. No one in McCullough's circles remarks on this consequence of bearing the prophet's beard.
McCullough will feature prominently in our narrative for a few episodes; the Sack of Oberlin is his idea. The magnification of its purpose -- to bring the edifice of liberal academe tumbling nationwide through multiple strikes -- was enabled by backers who prefer to remain at long-pole's length; now is not the time to be too closely associated with persons who, save for choice of scriptures.
The other six, the actual killers from Oberlin, immediately laid hands on Danny M, forcing him against a wall. He is stunned, appalled at the unkind welcome. A strong slap answers his protests. He is told to shut up, and does.
"Your stop has had consequences, Stroud!" One yelled. "The Opies," as they nickname the OHP, "are on to us! The Feds are swarming in!"
Stroud is nonplussed. "So? they're on our team. So, they're the government! They are the ones that fight terror at home and abroad."
"So, they're on to you, hillbilly."
Stroud frowns. He doesn't like where this is going. But he has to step up and protect his friends. "Just me, right? Okay....I'll lead them away, far away." He realizes this may cost his life, that he might well be dead already. He is bargaining for an honorable death, he realizes solemnly. "I'll take as many of The Corrupted as I can on my way out!" he swears. He likes his use of that term. He sees the reactions of his comrades, men he has known since before returning from Algeria, and sees that they like the sounds of it, too. This pleases him; he's added his voice to the words of the movement, not just his gun.
His friends step back. They look at one another. "It's not a bad idea," one offers. "Why not?" the chorus goes.
A single shot ends their deliberations, and Daniel Macon Stroud's distorted head strikes the floor, Pastor Monty unfastens his silencer and pocket it; his sidearm is still drawn, safety off.
"Why not?" the pastor declares. "Because he might live, get caught, get rendered, tortured, and talk."
"What the Hell?" Is the least of the tsunami of reactions that fill the halls of the Annex.
Why'd you go and do that for, Reverend? Danny'd never talk!"
McCullough scoffs. "Oh, really? The Feds use our methods now. Do you really think he'd resist?"
Gene Pogue, the Deliverance Squad leader, shakes his head sadly. "No." He looks at the others. "Pastor's right. We did him a favor."
Then with a tear, Pastor McCullough begins: "Let's honor him, soldiers. And never forget -- it is the liberal corruption - " he relished the word, made it a eulogy to his murdered friend " -- that has forced us to give up our brother. Soon, we shall be free to act as we must, and not have to pay such prices from our own kin."
Brett Cannon, Stroud's closest friend in the group, resists the whitewash. "You shot him in cold blood," he growls, barely containing his wrath.
McCullough does not miss a beat. "And you killed twenty people, and maimed three others not five days ago. You had a plan, and carried it out, and did so for a cause you believed in. That cause is what Danny believed in. That cause is what Danny gave his life for."
"That you took his life for, you sumbitch!" Cannon blurts out, rushing the Pastor. He does not make it three steps before he is clothes-lined by Pogue on his way past, and hits the floor, hard.
McCullough looks down at Cannon. "There are no replacements at his level, or are there?"
Pogue looks up from kneeling beside Cannon, who is having trouble regaining his wind. Pastor would kill us all without thinking about it ever again, the squad leader knows.
"No," Pogue lies. It is dangerous enough out in the Corruption (he likes the word, too; it has a good versus evil quality to it that terrorism) without having to bury two of his team in the name of damage control this day. Surely Stroud is sufficient. Still, Cannon will never fit easily into the situation ever again. Already, he is considering how to replace Cannon...and how to arrange for such a replacement to become necessary.
As for Stroud, he wonders who to pull in from the militia's `reserves' - some reservists, some war hobbyists, some just plain mean sumbitches with a taste for blood. Pogue wonders who among them can shoot, who can spot -- and who can go to ground far better that Stroud ever could.
The End of the Hunt
The next day, a male body, decapitated, is found dumped on the Harmar Bridge, a pedestrian walk overlooking the confluence of the Muskingum River with the Ohio. The clothes match the description from the deputy concerning Daniel Macon Stroud. Interestingly enough, a dart from the Tap, the bar in Oberlin, is in the pants pocket of the deceased. In his pocket are bills in sequence with others found on the Oberlin attackers' trail.
No other evidence is forthcoming, save for analysis of partially digested foods in the subject's good, largely confirming that this is indeed the subject of the biggest manhunt in Washington County history. "Looks like he stopped by a Rax along the way," one coroner declares. "Sirloin Cheese steak, apparently."
Oh, well, officialdom declared. That appears to be that. And the Feds went home. President Bush declares that such attacks on higher education will not be tolerated, and that to protect America's colleges and universities, Homeland Security will be assuming a more active role in the protection and policing of campuses.
It proves to be just adding gasoline to the fire.
"For Your Own Safety..."
The introduction of Homeland Security to a high-profile role in the ivory tower rocked the country. Office space, budgets and parking assignments are rearranged. Protests, large ones, pop up in response to the proposal. The media portray academics, heedless of their own safety, as endangering the lives of students.
College conservative groups form "campus safety squads", standing watch in libraries, student halls, dorms and classroom buildings at all hours. The move is praised by FoxNews and CNN, local newspapers, and just to join the bandwagon, Republican and some Democrats, who are referred to as 'leaders'. Homeland Security funds were sent en masse to university patrols; some of these monies went directly to the "student security initiative". Thus was the SSI born; the acronym would in time morph to Security and Safety Initiative, but most of those who began as students continued as enforcers as the Partisan Wars began in earnest.
One protest went south in more ways than one. At the University of North Carolina, the Graduate School administration, a small building flanked on all sides by much larger structures, was taken over by protesters. The view of many students was that the current government and the campus attackers were cut from the same cloth, and that HomeSec was unwelcome. The protesters demanded that the university remove the HomeSec agents, and do something about the SSI squads that had taken it upon themselves to detain, and openly, other students, even remove them in front of large numbers from dorms, cafeterias even lectures, ostensibly to deliver 'suspects' and 'material witnesses' to HomeSec. Professors with critical writings or reputations were given SSI escorts 'for their own safety', even to the point of having volunteer guards at their doors. Contact with other faculty and students declined.
That such instructors were kept safe -- from spreading their 'corruption' -- was gleefully noted by College Republican groups, who were loving their enhanced status and official backing. Overtly, interviews of these latter-day Ralph Reeds resulted in quotes such as the following:
"That sure was a pity about those hippies, ahem, students at Oberlin, of course. But look at the possibilities now! We are on the verge of meaningful transformation of American campus life into something truly American! My God," these students praised on high, "it's going to be beautiful!"
And nodding, smiling interviewers carried the word forward across the airwaves. Surely, this was the best of all possible worlds...in which to be Republican.
Then Came the Chapel Hill Riots.
There were three. The first was bloody. The second was deadly. The third was a massacre that shook the world.
The protesters were aware that there would be a confrontation with officialdom, and had made very certain to bring no weapons; this was to be peaceful nonviolent resistance.
The SSI had no such scruples. They came armed and loaded for bear, mostly with baseball bats and security wands.
When it was over, there were no less than two hundred casualties. No one was killed. A full one hundred thirty-seven had multiple concussions; the SSI thugs had aimed for the heads, once clear shots were available. Of these, forty would require permanent intensive care. The only good news: There were no fatalities so far.
While UNC had a large and very powerful College Republican outfit, it was still a school where persons of Democratic leanings were in the majority. Most tried to evade the politics of the day, concentrating on the weekend sojourns to Franklin Street, and the guilt-ridden late Tuesday hop to He's Not Here for Blue Cup draft beer specials.
Books, beer and basketball were the by-lines for most Tar Heels. Activism was something that the freaks on either extreme took care of; there were even Hari Krishnas, who put together an excellent vegetarian meal at the Old Student Center twice a month these days.
On the other end were the Pit Preachers, who had for long stretches been the gadflies of UNC campus life, warning in "Alas, Babylon!" tones against the debaucheries of secular humanism and form-fitting female attire. Sandwiched between the Student Bookstore and Lenoir Cafeteria (pronounced "Lenore" when the eats were good, "Len-Wa" when the students were annoyed by the hit-or-miss quality of the cuisine) was a four-step depression, inside of which were two venerable shade trees (that shed a lot of debris).
Also flanking the Pit were the Student Union and the Undergraduate Library. Save through buildings, there were four accesses to the Pit, all of them easily blocked -- a passage between Lenoir and Davis Graduate Library, a giant monolith just outside the Pit's environs, another between Davis and the Student Union, a steep brick stair ascending between the Union and the Bookstore, and the tight squeeze between Lenoir and the Undergrad Library. Since an incident in 2005, barriers had been placed to prevent any vehicle larger than a golf cart from getting through.
Of late, the Pit Preachers had gained more attentive and respectful listeners; the SSI and now-active conservative students made certain to show their numbers with the Pit Preachers showed up.
The campus had been locked down for three school days, then a weekend, after the first riot. The news was full of phone shots and recordings made by students being attacked to their own voicemails, and the numbers of friends. Some calls were made to 911, but those recordings were classified out of concern for inciting further violence. Other calls were made by the SSI to friends and elsewhere -- celebratory calls. Some of these recordings made it to friendly blogs. One SSI caller managed to give a live 'embedded reporter' sequence to FoxNews, which lasted twelve minutes before her phone went out. She was loving it. The Foxies on the air did not know how to comport themselves. They decided in short order to assume sober detachment -- but kept repeating the cheery statements of student conservatives on the air over and over again for days afterward. Eventually, it was the liberals who had beaten their way into the Grad School against the self-sacrifice of the SSI. Other networks, such as CNN, played it closer to the facts, which is to say not at all. As far as Red America was concerned, UNC's liberal campus was a bunch of homegrown terrorists. "Them liberal scum have to be stopped!" one angry and poorly-informed woman declared.
It did not help that the UNC liberals were no longer in a mood for peaceful protest, and that spirit would soon be catching throughout the country. Every tinfoil fantasy about the country being taken over by fascists had been validated six days earlier. The SSI, the College Republicans hiding behind a new acronym in their eyes, had made no distinction; anything that looked like a human head not in a distinctive red shirt with a golden "SSI" on the front and back was struck, and struck often. Some of those maimed students were children of powerful persons in the state government, business owners; others were kids with parents hocked up to their eyeballs to send their kids to college, now with impossible medical bills.
But there was one cost the Republican youth did not count on: All of their victims had friends. And not all of them had emotional trouble with the concept of payback.
There had been several peripheral assaults over the weekend. Two were fatal; a long-haired male student was sent over the balcony of one of Franklin Street's more elite watering-holes. Elsewhere, a well-recognized member of a known conservative fraternity was run down in a hit and run traffic incident.
On Saturday alone there were thirty fights; the Orange County Sheriff's office had to be called in to assist the town and campus police in the unwelcome task of shutting Franklin's Street's bars down three hours early. Undaunted, the drinkers (and the fighting) rolled one block over to Rosemary Street. The officers and deputies shut those establishments down an hour later. The damage to Bub's Pub alone was estimated to be on the order of $30,000.
At Monday lunchtime, after a tense but calm morning of classes without incident, a Pit Preacher came a calling just as 11:00 classes emptied out. He came with friends; SSI protection was visible at the entrances of the major buildings, and all four corners of the Pit, ready to respond to trouble. They did not have bats; however, all held security wands, the extendable metal prods proven so effective in such situations. As many as had them, though advised against it, had firearms tucked under their shirts. They had a better understanding of how deadly the game had become.
Watching the Pit were two campus police, both standing near the entrance to the Student Bookstore, close to the broad stairway leading up from South Road...and three cruisers and one prison transport van, just in case of trouble. Within short distance were another ten officers.
Local officialdom knew there was trouble brewing, too.
The only ones who did not seem in the know where the HomeSecs, who were concerned about the high flow of hostile cell phone and email traffic, but were more interested in how to use the misfortunes of last week to rein in the liberal professors and administrators even further; the SSI, HomeSec handlers decided, had the student body disciplined. The grown-up reactionaries had more serious issues to deal with -- the long-term purging of liberalism from campus politics. That, Federal officialdom had decided, was how to make the best lemonade from the lemons of the homegrown terror attacks at Oberlin and other campuses.
Thus, there were insufficient resources to stop the convergence of approximately six hundred bat and stick-wielding students from all directions on the Pit.
Since there is a PitCam, the images of what transpired went worldwide. The ad hoc army brushed past the pittance of security; few raised their weapons, the onslaught was so swift. The one officer who did so was forced to the ground by sheer numbers and placed in his own handcuffs.
It was a disciplined assault, with no intention for anything but to get footage of the Republicans begging and apologizing, confessing the wrongness of their earlier attack. The purpose had to threaten, to ask if Republicans, who so despised the disarmament of the left, really wanted the left to arm itself instead, because this is what an armed left looked like.
It had been a noble notion. It quickly devolved into mayhem, just it had for the SSI.
When it was over, all for the benefit of the PitCam and numerous desperate cell phone calls by the conservative students, there were over four hundred wounded, eighty by gunfire, and thirty-eight dead -- eighteen by gunshots from the SSI, twenty by a combination of gunshot and bludgeoning by the left. All of the melee was captured in sound and sight by the cyberverse.
One principle held for the most part, though; the attackers in this instance vowed not to go for headshots, so they broke knees instead.
Given that none of those so assailed would be rendered vegetables, the Ad Hoc Army's (AHA!) leaders thought themselves charitable.
The media and, more importantly, the conservative officialdom thought them barbarous, and rendered the original assault on the protesters by SSI to be justifiable in light of the later actions of the 'leftist agitators'.
So they sent in the army.
March 2008 - The Madness Begins
For Want of a Peacemaker
One wonders what would have happened, had the remainder of the UNC community's left, very angry and rightly so, had chosen to approach this matter in a different fashion. It is easy from centuries' remove to armchair the decisionmaking process. If there had been one last voice for peaceful confrontation, one more innovator for nonviolent change, one strong leader capable of reaching to both ends of the rope and pulling the Red and Blue Americas into accord.
That hero did not step forward, assuming he or she existed at all. Or, perhaps, he or she had in wrath or resignation chosen to take up the sword instead.
The United States at the time was at war -- several, in fact -- and faced the terrifying prospect of being ushered out of the Asia entirely; Japan was contemplating breaking off its longstanding alliance with America, and the Tokyo regime was Washington's closest and most valuable friend on the planet. While fences with Europe had been partly mended, the North Africa War had not only revived European militarism but handed the EU the opportunity to advance freedom -- and its influence -- successfully in ways that the Americans had not.
Were that not enough, the Chinese were in comprehensive discussions with Venezuela, Peru and other Latin American states. The topic of special interest to the United States -- relaxing immigration controls to Latin America for Chinese nationals, in return for alliance treaties with the People's Republic and, by extension, the other major powers of Asia.
American conservatives saw a world closing like a vise on their ambitions; with the cutbacks to NASA and the sputtering of exploration after the Cassini mission, even the skies were closed. American astronauts were no longer on the International Space Station; Chinese taikonauts and Indian spacefarers were taking shifts in their stead.
One, or None!
The Republicans, then-unchallenged masters of the federal government, developed a motto, one that would have many innuendoes: One, or None. The dangerous world that the right had long decried, a world dangerous for parochialism, for privilege for special prestige based on nationality, had become a world that was actively focused on reducing American power and overturning her principles. There could be only one answer in such dire times -- unity. Free speech was sacred, of course -- but not for criticising the defense of freedom. Human rights were fine -- but what of American rights to self-defense, and why are the rights of terrorists and their supporters placed first? Support the opposition party? Hey, it's a free country -- but do not oppose us, for its wartime, and opposing the commander in chief is treason. One, or None.
This thinking went further: Only one man had united the country, as he promised, had drawn true Americans together to fight against all enemies, domestic (alas) and foreign (a-plenty!). Without him, the country would fall to pieces. Oh, sure, Jeb Bush is his brother and would make a fine president. But we need George W. Bush, the faithful cried. We need a great president.
The President was embarrassed when asked about talk of repealing the 22nd Amendment, joking that it was a thankless job that he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy -- so he was going to stick his little brother with it. Haha, chortled the beaming, admiring White House press corps. That's just why we need you, sir! the PBS reporter gushed. Will you sign the bill if it's placed on your desk? Blurts out the CBS representative; there's an awkward silence, for this conversation is going out on live air.
However, the question is a plant, later records would reveal; that ancient network had been gelded as an objective reporter of the news four years earlier.
Bush furrowed his brow, waxed stern, and replied: The only way I'll sign it is if Congress can override my veto.
No one contradicted the President, and mentioned that any proposed amendment to the Constitution would have to pass by veto-proof majority of both Houses, regardless. The White House press corps had long since been purged of contradictory people.
Nor did anyone doubt that by Friday week, the 28th Amendment would be out of D.C. and making the rounds, starting with the Texas state house.
Meanwhile, back in Chapel Hill
Perhaps nothing could have been worse for either the cause of peace or that of the American left than for the Ad Hoc Army (AHA!) to have staged its violent retaliation against a crowd of conservative students showing support for three men, each holding Bibles as if they were shields, while they were in a 'designated free speech zone' (the University's own language) exercising Constitutional guarantees of free speech, free religion and freedom of peaceful assembly. That the aura of the Declaration of Independence (life, liberty, happiness) was desecrated as well only magnified the widespread outrage. That clear footage of this second confrontation was dubbed the Prayer Massacre by the media only fanned the flames of backlash.
A country ready to snap under the strain of creeping fascism snapped back to attention, just as swiftly.
The March Deployment
Senator Joe Biden of Delaware was swift to distance the Democratic Party from this bloodshed (a comparable statement from the GOP concerning the earlier SSI thuggery never occurred). Regardless, the media went ape over this, using the Prayer Massacre as prima facie evidence of the true nature of liberalism in America; the Bush Administration was swift in condemning the violence, and just as quick to act -- the 82nd Airborne out of Fort Bragg were ordered out of barracks ' to safeguard freedom in and around the town of Chapel Hill'. It was a broad mandate. And that was the entirety of the text.
Concerned as to the exact meaning of his orders, General Austin Keller would phone the office of the Undersecretary of the Army. There was no reaching SecArmy for comment, but a call soon came from the JCS office via a Major Yalley on staff: "As far as the Vulcans are concerned, they're terrorists. HomeSec will advise upon your arrival."
"Homeland's going to advise?" General Keller scowled. Great. Just effing great.
Keller made another call, this time laterally, to Colonel Paul Timmons, Camp Lejeune. His inter-service contact was unavailable. The reason: 1st Marines was being deployed all the way across the country to UCLA. Apparently, there had been trouble over there. So, why isn't Pendleton handling that? Keller wondered. For that matter, why not any of a dozen units in California?
He flicked on his wireless laptop as the convoy rolled onto Interstate 95 for the trip north to Raleigh, then onto I-40 for the short jog to the staging area at RDU International Airport, where advance units would be waiting. He did not even need a keyword search; it was the new headline story -- CA Guard units form surround Camp Pendleton at the order of Governor.
Maybe it's a good thing foreign-born persons can't become President after all, General Keller mused, suddenly feeling much better about his vague mission to Chapel Hill.
Backstory - The Last Happy Conversation
These events occur about two weeks earlier in California. It's also a rare happy moment in the early narrative.
The last four years had worn heavily on the man known most commonly as Ahnold. He had won re-election, largely attributable to the dispirited character of the California Democratic Party at the time and a problem that had once beset California GOPers: in-house fighting. Regardless, despite much hope, the GOP did not have control of the legislature, largely the consequence of the CA GOP becoming even more aggressive than the rest of the nation's Republicans. The Golden State might tolerate an actor pretending to be governor, but there was no interest whatsoever in embracing the sorts of changes that Red legislatures had forced elsewhere in the country.
Schwarzenegger had been an anomaly, a man playing to his own ambition, perhaps his own ego, wondering what he must do to keep the adrenaline of accomplishment flowing in his veins. Some men made money, others had more children. Still others took mistresses in their mid-life crises. Having done all of the above already, Ahnold took the governor's house instead.
And it had been a fine ride, toppling a profoundly disappointing Gray Davis, receiving the love and accolades of tens of millions of Americans, scoffing at the revulsion of tens of millions more. He truly loved his home state, had made his deliberate mispronouncing of its name a trademark.
Then came the issues of immigration, of federal block grant cuts, many of them written to punish states that voted Blue in national elections, the fiasco with gay marriage and later gay adoption, and the horrid university attacks back east. The Governator had heard the asides by Republican politicians in Sacramento, and in the party itself. Their reaction to the attacks had been -
"Too bad they were all east."
"Yeah! We've got Berkeley, Stanford and UCLA right here, waiting to be razed to the ground. What's up with that?"
"Remember Reagan's sending the Guard in to Berkeley?"
"Yeah. Sure Do."
"God, I miss the Gipper."
"Me, too."
These were men and women who openly talked off cutting the tap water to the coastal megalopolis, who said "Let the libs drink seawater." And it was not just words, either.
Several ugly incidents by a group calling itself Childsavers had invaded homes, roughed up (in one instance, killed) gay or lesbian adoptive parents and spirited the children away. Not one such child had been found alive; three had been found dead. Apparently, they had actually loved their parents and been, per Childsaver doctrine, incorrigible. So, they were liquidated.
One response had been the media war -- marches of solidarity, protests, talk show tours, calls for support from Sacramento. Siding with the victims had been a no-brainer for Schwarzenegger. HomeSec had offered to assist in security matters. Having seen what chains came with such an offer, the governor had refused; California can take care of it own. Oh, the HomeSecs chuckled sweetly, and moved along.
The issue of gay adoption had not gone away, and in 2007 the bill was introduced to outlaw further adoption of children save by 'traditionally recognized modes of family' (which apparently included single fathers with one wife and multiple unmarried female partners living under the same roof, one critic noted). The word from the national GOP: We want you to make a show of this. Now, if you succeed, splendid; if you fail, even better. The plan was to paint California as cutting-edge moonbat country, impervious to decency. It would be worth three seats in the Senate, twelve in the House, the handlers said.
Schwarzenegger had refused. And suddenly, he had financial troubles, and scandal rumors erupted from everywhere. Everything ever said at his expense was made as fresh as if it happened earlier in the day. The message was clear -- There are a lot of Bees in California, we own them, and they have lots of stingers to share with the good people of the Golden State.
So, the Governator relented, and halfheartedly dragged out the initiative. Right on the heels of the Childsaver killings, with the perpetrators still at large, it looks as if the Childsavers had stopped invading gay homes and invaded Sacramento instead.
Mass protests ensued; a rather impressive march from Concord to Sacramento was harassed by locals, who felt threatened by the 'army of fags' storming through their domain. The 'girly-men' in the group included some very tough characters; a group calling itself the Lysander Brigade, or Spartans, had emerged, providing neighborhood security for threatened families. These were homosexuals who had no ignorance of weapons, nor compunction about their use in self-defense; neither had their namesakes. These sporadic exchanges of gunfire drew official notice; the fact that the march would soon file past Travis Air Force Base only added to the tension.
The governor ordered the California National Guard out, to preempt any action by the Air Force or, God forbid, HomeSec and its increasingly-abundant SSI Redshirt goons. Schwarzenegger was Austrian by birth, but German enough to recoil at the sight of the thugs that the SSI recruited, and the red and gold emblem of Homeland security, the overlaid H and S on a triangular shield that recapitulated the Superman logo. Hardly, he sniffed in disgust, reflexively flexing his own arms as he thought about it. No, he resolved. This is my state, and I'm its governor.
The march slowed as it approached Fairfield; Sacramento was quite some distance away, several more days on foot. A rotation of marchers kept forward progress going; cars kept supporters up in water bottles; two flatbeds with portable toilets and two showers kept the hygiene up to civilized specs.
It was then that the green trucks of the CNG pulled up, flanking the marchers. Soldiers got out, some cutting straight through the column before any resistance could be mounted. Within minutes, the group was surrounded.
The Guardsmen took stock of their marks; most were married couples, some had older children on their first citizen's action. One mother was nursing. A couple of fit young men stood suspiciously close together, might have brushed the backs of their hands on the sly...maybe. Two women were arm in arm, but hey. No problem with that. Several tough-looking bulls had firearms; these were isolated and brought forward, disarmed.
Captain Gage Harlan shook his head; "You won't be needing those anymore, fellas." he said. He paused and looked over the marchers. "The governor hears there's been shootings out here on the highway. That's hardly peaceful protest."
Responses came back, fast and hot. "Well, hell, sir! They started it."
"What `they' is that? Oh, you mean the crackpots in the pickup trucks a few dozen miles back? Oh, we've talked to them, too. Arrested them, more like it."
Suddenly, the marchers were paying close attention.
The Captain sighed. "Here's the scoop. Your friends with the guns here are done. Say goodbye; you can pick them up in Dixon on your way back from Sacramento." The Lysanders were escorted away; a truck drove northeast with the prisoners.
"Pick them up?" The remaining marchers asked themselves? "What does he mean?"
"What I mean," Harlan said, "is you don't need the firearms, because we're packin' em for you." A half-baked whoop of amazement lofted. "Yeah, that's right. We're running escort for...hold on, let me get this letter out and read it to you ..."
'To my fellow Cal-EE-fornians exercising their freedom to assemble, to speak and to move about in a lawful and orderly matter:
I will not tolerate violence in our state, nor repression of the rights of its people. I swore an oath of citizenship long before I swore the oath of office as your governor. In both I promised to uphold the Constitution of the United States of America.
We are a nation at war against terrorists, but when we take our guns into families' homes and bring terror to their doorstep, then every doorstep is terrorized.
The bill you are marching against is something that Washington is forcing on our state. I had reason to obey their orders before; they were all very bad reasons.
Come to Sacramento at my invitation. Your protest is effective. You have already changed one mind: Mine.
The column marched past Travis with no incident. The Air Force, as matters turned out, could have cared less. The feared HomeSec confrontation never materialized, not with the cameras now flying overhead, and on terms unfavorable to their consolidation of power at the expense of both the state and people of California.
If the Governator had been mulling leaving the Republican Party, the choice was made for him. He was publicly feted by the President for standing up for freedom, and peacefully and creatively resolving a tense situation in tense times.
It was, from all accounts, a pleasant conversation.
There would never be another such phone call, and the Republicans both in California and elsewhere would never forgive the man, or the state he represented.
And In time, they would do their utmost to do more than burn Berkeley and Stanford and UCLA to the ground.
Keller's Army in Carrboro
California would soon enough be the main prize in the Partisan Wars. Back up in March 2008, the game was afoot in Orange County, North Carolina, as half of a column of Stryker assault craft rolled up the off ramp from Highway 54 onto Jones Ferry Road, while the second half rolled to the next intersection with West Main Street. Both crossings had the advantage of boasting gasoline stations, and superb coverage of the approaches to the Carrboro-Chapel Hill conurbation from the west and south.
General Keller was with the Jones Ferry detachment; here in Carrboro was where many upperclassmen and graduate students resided. The dormitories had been effectively sealed off, troublemakers identified and processed long since by waves of UNC campus police, Chapel Hill city police, Orange County Sheriff's Office deputies, North Carolina SBI, FBI, Homeland Security and the Redshirt punks who, in Keller's opinion, had started this cluster F. Still, he kept his counsel; he also kept a handwritten journal. Operations on American soil against American civilians...no, sorry. `American enemy combatants.' How did we get to this? The SSI may have started the ruckus, but no one had been killed. These AHA! nuts had turned a case in bad politics into fertilizer for a civil war. Busting up a prayer meeting, Keller shuddered. The Klan had done such things, back in the day. Keller glanced at his dark brown hand; Oh, they'd have come for me, too. But they'd have regretted it.
With that thought, Keller looked about. He had overwhelming force, in his estimation, a token of the full might of the 82nd Airborne, six thousand troops in theater. (In theater! God, I'm in Carrboro, NC. My daughter took us to eat breakfast down at an old mill, turned into a mall, not more than a mile down the road!) Somewhere out there were approximately four hundred...idiot college kids...glued to their electronics for news of their impending fate, figuring out how to skip town and cross the Virginia state line en route to Canada if they knew what was good for them.
As promised, Homeland Security had a list of suspects; it was most likely over-inclusive, and based on past performance would bag perhaps 15-20% of the actual persons involved in the melee, and under Gonzales Protocols they would talk, give up the remainder of their friends, and be given the best reconstructive surgery available afterwards. Not a scratch would be on them. I mean, we're not savages, after all. We don't permanently maim most detainees.
Of course, some would have more detailed information about global terrorist or WMD-related activities. Some always did, officially. These would be kept for some time to come. A statistically anomalous portion would be affiliated with persons who were currently unpopular with the administration. Keller did not approve of such taking of hostages (sorry: they were leverage, not hostages!). Alas, moral outrage was something a soldier learned to turn on and off. It was not just a matter of survival, but of sanity.
The rest of the orders were carte blanche - Kill anyone who resists you. No onus will be on any soldier in the conduct of his Constitutional duty to support and defend the government of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
'The government?' Keller reread the words. That's a new phrase. He glanced down at a soldier, a new one from the looks of him. "Private, repeat your oath of service," he commanded.
The oath was recited, verbatim.
"Thank you. Dismissed." The general said.
The wording has been changed, he mused. It used to be `to support and defend the Constitution.' I wonder when that occurred.
A lieutenant stepped up quickly, a Blackberry remote in hand. "Sir, four of the insurgents are in this apartment complex here, ah, Old Well Apartments."
"'Insurgents?'" Keller repeated.
Unfazed, the lieutenant frowned. "I call it like I see it, sir. These godless fucks shot up a prayer service." A pause. "Do we have to take them alive?"
Keller glared at the younger officer. Where do they get these guys from? "Rules of engagement say yes, if they don't resist." Another pause. "If pushed too hard, anyone will resist. "
The lieutenant relished a private thought, and showed it. "Yes, sir! Understood, sir!" he said, eager to get back to his preparations, and made to turn away.
Keller saw this, and did not like what it signified. This is going to get ugly, very quickly.
"Lieutenant," he added, and the officer turned back swiftly. "See that you keep you men under control; the 82nd still has commitments in Algeria, for officers that need real field experience."
"Sir?" the young man asked.
"Just play it by the numbers, lieutenant. No massacres allowed."
"Sir," the lieutenant saluted, barely concealing a sneer, then departed.
At that point HomeSec Supervisor Jane Pelley emerged from the Stryker behind the general; she had been listening attentively to the exchange. She wore the uniform of an Army officer, and the Superman-style badge of HomeSec on both shoulders,
Officially, she had no place in the chain of command. Practically, she had the full faith and confidence of the administration behind her. Officially, her role was to advise and consult with General Keller. Practically, she was a commissar, a political officer. A snitch by any other name, and a very dangerous one.
She, too, had been waiting for the 82nd at the staging area. Minding General Keller was her assignment.
"Such restraint is admirable of course; we do want to preserve innocent lives and protect the rights of Americans caught up in this investigation."
Keller fumed. "Get on with it, Miss Pelley."
She obliged. "These are terrorists of the worst sort. Much of what we pump out about the Muslims hating our way of life is BS, but these homegrown liberals are the real deal. They shot up a prayer meeting, for the love of God."
"Yeah, I've heard that several times already. And several dozen times the day before. On FoxNews, as a matter of fact."
Pelley glared at him. "It's one, or none, general."
"Beg pardon?"
"One, or none. We're either one on this matter, or nothing."
Keller scratched his right ear. "I'm drawing a blank, here, Miss Pelley. What the hell are you talking about?"
"I can't have you hamstringing your own men going into a confrontation with these liberal terrorists. Nor can the administration. I advise you to rescind that last order to your lieutenant, or I will."
"Let me give you fivegoddamn reasons why that's not going to happen." Keller began to count emphatically as he hit his marks. "One: That's bad for morale. Two: It would undermine my command. Three: It would piss me off. Four: Most of all, I don't want my soldiers daydreaming about ways to work the Uniform Code so they can legally shoot whoever the hell they feel like it. Because Five: That sort of crap is going to get them killed, just like it gets good men and women killed in Iraq and five other wars I know about."
Pelley was unfazed. "Everyone on this list is a terrorist. That's not just words; that's policy. And the policy is kill all terrorists."
"What! Since when?"
Pelley did not answer. "Kill. All. Terrorists. That's the only rule your soldiers need to remember."
Keller paused, "By the way -- are any SSI students, the ones with the guns -- on this list? Most of the fatalities are gunshot wounds. All of the SSI fatalities are saturated with gunpowder residue."
Pelley snarled. "That's classified! I should have you pulled just for uttering those words."
Keller ignored her threat. "I see. So none of the SSI are on this terrorist list, yet they generated most of the fatalities."
"You are on thin ice here, general."
"The second I am forced to resign, I will be forced to share my observations with an interested world."
"Nonsense. We control the media now; you'll be another traitor Democrat trying to cover for his own. If that's what we say, that's what will be."
"What a Crock. I've voted GOP all my life."
"No. You're an angry black man that coddled student activist terrorists. Everybody knows that African-Americans are all Democrats. We play on a host of other prejudices and before you know it you'll be a drug lord or whatever else we want you to be. Maybe gay..."
"You've just hanged yourself and your entire department with those words...."
"Whatever,' Pelley blew him off. "We're in charge. We're free to say what we please whenever we please and shut down, torture, discredit, disbar, or kill whomsoever we please." She paused. "And right now, the only reason some black man is a general is because it serves our purposes that a black man does the hatchet job on this town. It will stir up distrust among liberal-tending factions that will save thousands of decent American lives farther down the road."
"What do you mean?"
Pelley chuckled. "Oh, beautiful. The affirmative action case is stupid, too!" She laughed some more. "Don't you get it? We have no intention of letting this go; we've finally blown the lid off of so-called liberal pacifism; they really are out to destroy America. One, or None, General." She repeated.
Keller frowned then plucked a cell phone from his wallet, punched in a code. "Lieutenant Tarleton, get back here on the double," he said calmly. "Funny," the general said. "I never placed the LT's name with that of Lord Tarleton."
"That Tarleton took no prisoners, ever. It was a good policy then, a great policy now. A real American hero."
Keller then gave his new commissar a deadly look, and snapped his cellphone shut. "Banastre Tarleton fought for the British. He killed American civilians by the hundreds."
Jane Pelley just beamed at the prospect, smiled sweetly, and walked away.
It'd be a pity if she were on a battlefield, General Keller mused, something might happen to her. Of course, nothing would; he had no doubts that his life expectancy and hers were now very closely intertwined.
March 2008 II - The Six Hundred
Carrboro, NC - At the Surveyor's Shack
It had been twelve hours since General Austin Keller last spoke with Supervisor Jane Pelley. He had been absorbed in the challenging business of subjugating a perfectly cooperative college town. There had been no resistance, save that generated by listed persons (enemy combatants) whose identity was confirmed and had the misfortune of running into either Lieutenant Tarleton or others of his ilk, which is to say half of the force on hand.
Not a single casualty had been reported, save for one soldier who had dislocated a shoulder trying to break open a door with his own body, and another who has twisted his ankle while moving down a heavily-eroded trail along Bolin Creek, somewhere on the far side of campus from Carrboro.
That, of course, did not include the persons being checked off the long list, or those who attempted to intervene on their behalf. A makeshift mass grave was filling up with plastic bags containing, officially, leaves and other yard waste. Thus, the truckloads of lime being brought it...so the rotting leaves did not give everyone in the small town typhoid.
"How many so far?" Keller asked Major Tad Chambers, who had just entered the command post, currently set up in a surveyor's office on Jones Ferry Road. Chambers' black plastic-rim glasses hazed over from entering the humid warmth of the office; it was quite cold outside, apparently.
Chambers pursed his lips, frowned. Every hour, he brought in the status report. The first question was the same.
"Forty-seven so far."
"How many are still alive? "
"Only the four who are unconscious." The Major did not offer how they had acquired that state.
"The ones the HomeSecs brought in?" A nod from the junior officer answered Keller. "They won't be waking up, then."
"No," Chambers answered. "Not as functioning human beings, anyway." The Major screwed up his courage, then whispered harshly. "Sir, this is a clusterfuck."
Keller chuckled grimly. "No, Major. It's policy."
"I'm especially concerned about some of the younger officer cadre. They appear to be enjoying this. "
"They were in high school when 9/11 happened. The past years have shaped them into the tools we need for this war." Keller paused. "Don't you watch FoxNews?"
Chambers laughed grimly. "Yes, sir. What sort of terrorist-loving scumbag doesn't? Seriously, sir...is this war? Are these the enemy?"
As on cue, Supervisor Pelley appears. "I'd say so, Major. So should you. Your oath is to the government."
Chambers bristled. "Bullshit. It's to the Constitution, ma'am."
"You might want to refresh your memory...hold on, let me check something on my Crackberry, here...ah! Pelley Major Chambers, wife Susanna, son William, daughter Samantha...and, oh, my. Leukemia."
The Major squirmed. "Yes. Very unfortunate."
"Ah, but I assume the LSP treatments are working. You remember? The very expensive pills that a Major in Leavenworth could not possibly afford, especially after his benefits are stricken and his schoolteacher wife decertified?"
Chambers could have spat nails. There was murder in his eyes. He dared nothing of the sort.
Pelley smiled. "You know where your loyalty lies, then. Good. General, are you through speaking with your junior officer?"
"You're dismissed, Major." As Chambers left hurriedly, Keller glared at Pelley. "H