at the Union government, but they still see themselves as Americans. Foreign occupation doesn’t sit well with them, nor does the slave trade. Take out the leaders, and the Alliance will fall apart. If that happens, the individual communities will have to turn to the Union for help. And when they do, the ROC will be out of options. They’ll have to surrender, or face all-out war. They’re already being hard pressed by resistance forces in California and Oregon. They’d be facing a war on two fronts, and it would be a war they couldn’t win. But to make that happen, General Jacobs is going to need the best fighters he can get. Fighters who can end the Alliance for good.” She kissed me on the side of the mouth. “And you’re one of the best there is.”
For the first time I can remember, I was stunned speechless. I stared at my wife and felt like I was seeing her for the first time. The eyes were different. The usual gentle honey-browns glittered in the dark like slices of amber. I remembered seeing a look like that before on a six-hundred pound Bengal tiger.
When the circuitry in my brain finally rebooted, I said, “You know, for a country doctor, you sure know a lot about politics.”
Her smile finally made an appearance. It was not a warm one. It was a surgical incision with pretty white teeth. “I’m a very smart country doctor, Eric. I have a disarming smile and an excellent memory. People trust me. They tell me all kinds of things. Doctor-patient privilege and all that.”
She laid her head back down. Her left hand went below my waistband and did some wonderful things. My hips began to move involuntarily.
“Is this how you plan to convince me?” I breathed.
“No,” she said. “I know you’ll go. What I’m doing now is getting you hard because I’ve had a very stressful couple of days, life is fleeting, and sometimes a girl just wants to get fucked.”
As usual, I could find no fault in her logic.
EIGHT
Captain Harlow was kind enough to send a Bradley to pick us up at the gate. A few salvos from the 25 millimeter guns cleared the infected long enough for Gabe and I to hop down from a shipping container and clamber into the armored vehicle. At Fort McCray, M-240s laid down cover fire as the Bradley drove into the courtyard. Or parade ground. Or whatever the hell it was called. I am familiar with some military terminology, but I am still a lifelong civilian and have only learned so much. Sometimes I listen to soldiers jabber at each other, and it’s like they’re speaking a foreign language. And don’t even get me started on all the damned acronyms.
The good captain was waiting for us as we exited the Bradley. He shook hands with Gabe and gave him a respectful nod. He did not offer me the same courtesy. He glanced at me briefly, then looked back to Gabe and said, “Glad you two could make it. We have a lot to discuss. If you’ll follow me, please.”
He led us to a golf cart and climbed in the passenger seat. Wally drove. Gabe took up most of the back seat, leaving me dangling from the little cushion mounted to the rear and trying not to fall off. Story of my life.
As we drove, a Blackhawk roared overhead and dropped slowly toward the helipad. I put on my goggles and scarf to ward off the swirling dust and looked to see who had arrived. A tall, familiar figure emerged. I did not need to see the star emblem on his uniform to know who he was. When a man sits in your living room and drinks tea with you, recognizing him is not difficult. Even from a distance.
“Methinks shit just got real,” I said to Gabe.
He glanced toward the chopper with an expression that would have looked blank to most people. The hard lines, angles, scars, and those cold gray eyes could hide a lot. But not from me. I knew him too well, and I knew Gabe was thinking something along the same lines I was. The finely-crafted gears of his finely-crafted mind were spinning, calculating, going through the
For the first time I can remember, I was stunned speechless. I stared at my wife and felt like I was seeing her for the first time. The eyes were different. The usual gentle honey-browns glittered in the dark like slices of amber. I remembered seeing a look like that before on a six-hundred pound Bengal tiger.
When the circuitry in my brain finally rebooted, I said, “You know, for a country doctor, you sure know a lot about politics.”
Her smile finally made an appearance. It was not a warm one. It was a surgical incision with pretty white teeth. “I’m a very smart country doctor, Eric. I have a disarming smile and an excellent memory. People trust me. They tell me all kinds of things. Doctor-patient privilege and all that.”
She laid her head back down. Her left hand went below my waistband and did some wonderful things. My hips began to move involuntarily.
“Is this how you plan to convince me?” I breathed.
“No,” she said. “I know you’ll go. What I’m doing now is getting you hard because I’ve had a very stressful couple of days, life is fleeting, and sometimes a girl just wants to get fucked.”
As usual, I could find no fault in her logic.
EIGHT
Captain Harlow was kind enough to send a Bradley to pick us up at the gate. A few salvos from the 25 millimeter guns cleared the infected long enough for Gabe and I to hop down from a shipping container and clamber into the armored vehicle. At Fort McCray, M-240s laid down cover fire as the Bradley drove into the courtyard. Or parade ground. Or whatever the hell it was called. I am familiar with some military terminology, but I am still a lifelong civilian and have only learned so much. Sometimes I listen to soldiers jabber at each other, and it’s like they’re speaking a foreign language. And don’t even get me started on all the damned acronyms.
The good captain was waiting for us as we exited the Bradley. He shook hands with Gabe and gave him a respectful nod. He did not offer me the same courtesy. He glanced at me briefly, then looked back to Gabe and said, “Glad you two could make it. We have a lot to discuss. If you’ll follow me, please.”
He led us to a golf cart and climbed in the passenger seat. Wally drove. Gabe took up most of the back seat, leaving me dangling from the little cushion mounted to the rear and trying not to fall off. Story of my life.
As we drove, a Blackhawk roared overhead and dropped slowly toward the helipad. I put on my goggles and scarf to ward off the swirling dust and looked to see who had arrived. A tall, familiar figure emerged. I did not need to see the star emblem on his uniform to know who he was. When a man sits in your living room and drinks tea with you, recognizing him is not difficult. Even from a distance.
“Methinks shit just got real,” I said to Gabe.
He glanced toward the chopper with an expression that would have looked blank to most people. The hard lines, angles, scars, and those cold gray eyes could hide a lot. But not from me. I knew him too well, and I knew Gabe was thinking something along the same lines I was. The finely-crafted gears of his finely-crafted mind were spinning, calculating, going through the
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