Angels of Vengeance

‘He has a point,’ said Kip.

The President wasn’t nearly as worked up as Jed, but you could see he was puzzled by the suggestion. That was a relief. To Culver’s dismay, though, Ritchie took up the role of explaining Humboldt’s idea, confirming any suspicions about his prior knowledge of it.

‘The frontier militias’ chain of command runs up through Reconstruction, not Defense. They’re an armed force, but an irregular one. The duties can vary from securing the boundaries of small settlements, just like a garrison force, to riding shotgun on reclamation crews in the big cities, or scouting wilderness in the Declared Zones. It’s dangerous work. Very dangerous. And a lot of it is done in small teams, thousands of miles away from civilisation. If we were to take in a small number of these fighters, break them up, and scatter them through the militia, making sure they were posted well out into the badlands, and impose, say, a ten-year probationary period, we could sell it as both punishment and redemption. Their families would become, well … our hostages, to be brutally frank. If their men gave us any trouble, we’d just toss them all on Jed’s garbage scow and wave them off at the dock. For lesser infringements, we’d cancel home leave, maybe transfer the women and children to some more godforsaken hole - that sort of thing.’

The sleet slapping against the window behind the presidential desk had thickened up into a serious dump of snow. Gusting, contrary winds whipped fractal patterns through the white haze and rattled the old wooden window in its frame. Kipper frowned and searched around in his desk drawer for some notepaper. As he ripped out a piece, folded it, and folded it again a few times, he turned his back on them to jam the makeshift wedge into the window and muffle the rattling, talking while he did so.

‘Is there any reason any of these guys would agree to this?’ he asked. ‘I imagine you’d be planning to break them up completely so that you only had one of Baumer’s fighters attached to any particular unit. But really, how’s it going to work in practice? Ten years? That’s a hell of a long time. A hell of an incentive to cut and run the first chance you had.’

Having fixed the window, he returned to his desk and a cup of coffee that had gone cold. Kipper grimaced when he tried it.

Ritchie continued. ‘The majority of our existing frontier militia, the lower ranks anyway, are made up of migrants, Mr President. It’s a fast track into the settlement programs and citizenship for most of them. They’re willing to take the risks - and they are very real risks - for the payoff. Now, returning to the situation at hand. If, say, for the sake of argument, we accepted only those fighters who had family connections among the civilian detainees, it would be a matter of little or no trouble to hold over them the fact that we control their access to their loved ones. Maybe ten years is too long. Five might be better. The point is, we control them and we control access to what they want. Their families. It’s just a matter of striking the right balance between punishment and reward. Maybe they get to come back for a week every six months, maybe two weeks every twelve. The proof of the pudding will be in the eating, to some extent. To all intents and purposes, they’d still be our captives. But their jail would be the frontier.’

Silence, pregnant with possibilities, not all of them good, seemed to press down on the Oval Office. Barney Tench looked every bit as shocked as Jed had felt a few minutes earlier. McAuley was frowning furiously.

Finding himself in the unusual position off not knowing exactly what to think, Jed Culver settled for trying to read Kipper’s reaction instead. He knew the President’s natural inclination would be forgiving rather than punitive, at least of the spear carriers and foot soldiers. The altogether less liberal approach of effectively exiling them into the wilderness for a decade, and allowing tightly controlled access to their wives and children, probably didn’t appeal as much. But then Kip had been initially sceptical of Sarah Humboldt’s plan. Or Humboldt and Ritchie’s plan, he supposed, given how well they’d gamed the proposal.

The President took his time mulling it all over. Nobody spoke while he was deep in thought. Jed used the brief interlude to examine the idea from all the worst possible angles. His main concern was not that a handful of nutjobs would run wild in an empty city. They’d been smashed flat in NYC when they were part of a much larger, well- organised fighting force. No, as individuals rattling around the interior of a nearly empty continent, there just wasn’t much mischief they could get up to, and his reading of human nature led him to believe that Humboldt was probably right - most of these former grunts for hire could be reformed and even assimilated, given enough time. As for the true believers, Baumer’s hard-core jihadi, they had no future here. And Jedediah Armstrong Culver, of the Louisiana Bar, would not rest until they were gone or dead. After all, war crimes trials were in the offing for a number of them. Even the more moderate elements of President Kipper’s Garage Cabinet were agreed on this point, thankfully.

The main threat, however, as always, was Jackson Blackstone. It made your head spin to think about the merry hell he would play with something like this. It was almost a lay-down certainty he’d have his lapdog State House pass a law banning the presence of any former enemy combatants within the borders of Texas and its protectorate territories. Having done that, the sneaky little fuck would probably want to make sure a couple of them actually wandered over the state line … just so he could be seen to hunt ‘em down and string ‘em up.

On the other hand, a merciful, peacemaking gesture would play very well here in the Northwest, especially with Sandra Harvey’s Greens. They weren’t running a candidate in the presidential election. Sandra was smart enough to know she could only ever play the role of a spoiler for Kip’s chances. And for all of her many, many issues with his administration, she regarded the possibility of a Blackstone-led government with visceral horror. He was just running the math in his head on whether a Green endorsement would bring in more votes than it burnt off when Kipper broke the silence.

‘The women and the children should be allowed to stay, with certain … provisos,’ he began. Everybody seemed to lean forward just a little bit. ‘It’s reasonable, I think, that we require of them everything we require of any other settler, and more. English-language proficiency. Civic education. Training in whatever base-level skills we deem necessary. All the usual. And, because of the circumstances under which they came here, we need to ask - no, we need to demand - more of them.’

‘I think loyalty pledges went out with Catch-22, sir,’ said Jed, barely constraining the sarcastic tone he really wanted to use. Kip, as was his style, shrugged it off as the Chief of Staff went on. ‘The last time such measures were tried out was back during the time of Lincoln with former Confederates. It didn’t work all that well back then, and it probably wouldn’t work well in the here and now.’

Aside from the notion that it would do no good, in Culver’s estimation, this was just the sort of thing the Seattle press would sink their teeth into and not let go of. He figured it was best to steer Kipper away from that path.

‘You know that’s not what I’m talking about, Jed,’ the President replied. ‘Let me make myself understood: I’m not in favour of sending thousands of women and children, who themselves have done nothing wrong, back into the wastelands they used to call home …’ Kip held up his hand like a traffic cop to head off any further interruption. ‘And before anybody says anything, I am well aware that some of these people originally set out from Europe, not the Middle East - I do actually read your briefing papers, you know. In those cases, I am open to the argument that they should be repatriated.’ He smiled now. ‘I doubt Chancellor Merkel or President Sarkozy will want them back, but you’ll be pleased to know, Jed, I don’t much care.’

Culver took the ribbing in good faith as Ronnie ghosted in through the door to see if anybody needed a refill on the coffee. He lifted his cup and waggled it at her while Kip spoke again.

‘Bottom line, anyone who can prove refugee status, by demonstrating they came from one of the countries nuked by Israel - and my understanding is that quite a few of them did - well, in those cases I am open to the possibility of our accepting them in the spirit of forgiveness and reconciliation.’

For Jed, the urge to groan was almost too strong to stifle. He could already imagine how Blackstone was going to play this, and while Admiral Ritchie may’ve been on board, Culver suspected that many of the rank and file in the military were not going to be pleased. The lack of pay, poor treatment in Seattle and the winding back of benefits were loaded onto a platter already overloaded with heavy losses in New York City. Those who remained in the much-reduced US armed forces would not require many more incentives to head to Texas.

‘But I am not a soft touch,’ Kipper continued. ‘I like the idea of some of these characters being made to earn our trust out on the frontier. And I think ten years is a heavy enough sentence to levy on them for the crime of serving in Pharaoh’s army. Admiral, I’m happy to take your advice on how we might structure that program, including how we tweak it in such a way that, for them, getting back into the settled areas to see their family is incentive enough to stay on the straight and narrow. For the non-combatants, the women and children - well, the women, I guess - we really need some way to use them productively, to make them understand that they could