The War in 2020

'Perhaps there was a mistake. I don't know.'

Taylor punched his blistered hand against a side panel. It hurt. In anger, he tore off the fresh bandage that had been applied before the mission lifted off.

The pain felt right. Good. None of it made sense anymore.

'I don't know, either,' Taylor said wearily.

'We need him,' Meredith said. 'We're going to need him on the ground.'

Taylor nodded. 'All right.' He turned to Kozlov. 'But one false step, and I'll shoot you myself.'

Kozlov nodded solemnly. He was very pale and the blood smeared over the bottom of his face was very red. He seemed physically smaller now, as if shame had crumpled him, and Taylor felt almost as though he had struck a child.

'And no gun,' Taylor added. 'You do the guiding. We'll handle the fireworks.'

Kozlov nodded again, accepting this further humiliation. Taylor turned to Hank Parker, dismissing the Russian from his immediate concern. He leaned in over the battle control console. Then he straightened abruptly.

'Viktor,' he said, facing Kozlov across the small cell. The Russian was feeling in his mouth with his fingers. 'I want you to tell me one more thing honestly. Did you…did your people know anything about the Scramblers? Did you choose not to warn us?'

Kozlov wiped his bloody fingers on the side of his trousers. He coughed and his throat sounded crowded with waste. 'I didn't know. I knew nothing personally…' He hesitated. Then he continued with a new resolution: 'General Ivanov knew something. Honestly, I do not know how much he knew. He said nothing to me until… afterward.'

'You people,' Taylor said, shaking his head in disgust. The tone of his voice reached an odd pitch between fury and resignation. 'Does anybody in your country remember how to tell the truth?'

Kozlov shrugged slightly, drawing his shoulders together as if trying to disappear into himself. He could not meet Taylor's eyes.

Unexpectedly, the strategic communications set sparked to life: a totally unwelcome interruption. A tired voice fumbled through the call signs at the distant end. Even Washington was growing weary.

Meredith acknowledged.

'Is Colonel Taylor at your location?' the communications officer asked from the other side of the world.

'Roger. Standing by.'

'Going to visual relay.'

'Check.'

'Hold for the President of the United States.'

Oh, shit, Taylor thought, longing for the days when monarchs were weeks or months away from the soldier's camp.

To everyone's surprise, the familiar face of President Waters did not fill the monitor. Instead, the Vice President appeared, looking handsomely tanned and healthy, except for some tiredness around the eyes. When Taylor stepped in front of the monitor, the Vice President winced. The two men had never met.

Vice President Maddox recovered smoothly and leaned forward again, body language suggesting a generous intimacy.

'Colonel Taylor?' he asked.

'Yes, Mr. Vice President.'

An odd expression passed across the distant man's face. Then he said: 'Colonel Taylor, I'm the President now. As of about an hour ago, as a matter of fact. President Waters suffered a fatal heart attack in his sleep this morning.'

'Yes, sir,' Taylor said flatly, calculating as swiftly as he could the implications for his mission. Nothing else mattered now.

'Colonel Taylor, it sounds as though you're not alone.'

'That's correct, sir. Several members of my staff are present.'

The new President glanced off to the side. It seemed as though he was about to speak to another party off- camera. Then he faced the screen again and said:

'Could you clear the room or whatever it is you're in? I'd like to talk to you privately.'

Bad sign. The only question was: how bad? Another time Taylor might have stated that his staff needed to continue at their posts. But he sensed it would be a fatal move at this junction.

'Merry,' he said, turning from the monitor for a moment.

'Yes, sir,' Meredith said. He quickly began shepherding the others into the narrow passageway that led to the cockpit. Hank Parker went first, heading for the cockpit itself, since he was flight-qualified and could reasonably lay a claim to the comfort of Taylor's forward seat.

After a few awkward seconds, the compartment was clear and the internal hatch had been shut.

'I'm alone now, Mr. President.'

Maddox nodded, chewing slightly at his lower lip. It was evident that he was trying to get past the shock of Taylor's scars, to size up the total package.

'Colonel Taylor,' he began in a voice that belonged on a veranda in the Deep South, 'I did not want to embarrass you in front of your subordinates… however, it appears to me that the mission upon which you are presently embarked… may be ill-advised.'

Taylor didn't blink. He had been preparing himself for this.

'Why, Mr. President?'

Maddox looked surprised. Taylor heard an off-camera voice say:

'You don't need to explain anything to him, Mr. President. All you have to do is tell him to turn his ass around and he'll by God do it.'

'Colonel Taylor,' Maddox picked up, 'I'm afraid there may be insufficient time to explain all of our… considerations. I am directing you to terminate your mission immediately.'

'Mr. President,' Taylor said desperately, struggling not to sound as desperate as he felt, 'we're almost at the objective area. In one hour—'

'Colonel, I don't intend to argue with you. The best minds in Washington have advised me to put a halt to whatever it is you're up to over there. So just turn yourself around and head on back to wherever it is you started from. You've done a fine job up until now, and, I can assure you, your country's grateful to you.'

'No,' Taylor said.

Maddox looked at him in disbelief. 'What did you say?'

'No, Mr. President. I will not abort this mission. I believe you are receiving bad advice from men who do not understand the situation here in-theater. I have never before disobeyed an order, least of all from my president. But I believe my duty is clear. I intend to execute this mission, as directed by President Waters.'

'By God, Colonel, you're going to do what—'

Taylor switched off the strategic link. Then he unlatched the encryption insert, withdrew it, swung it with all his strength against the deck, and inserted it again, doing up the latch as if nothing had happened. Farewell to Washington.

He went forward and opened the internal hatch that led to the cockpit passageway.

In the faint light, the crammed officers looked ridiculous, huddled against each other like college students playing some prank. Taylor could smell Kozlov's decayed, bloody breath bathing them all.

'Gentlemen,' Taylor said, 'the President of the United States died this morning, of natural causes. The Vice President has been sworn in and has assumed the presidency. There have been no difficulties with the transition process. Now,' he bent to help Ryder up out of the tangle of limbs and torsos, 'we've got a mission to run.'

* * *

Maddox sat bolt upright. He was angry. He could not recall the last time he had been so angry, but he knew it had been a matter of years, if not decades.

'Well.' He looked around the room, disgusted by the extent of the mess he had inherited. 'You heard him. Now what in the hell are you all going to do about it?' He looked at the secretary of state, then at the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The old general just shook his head in amazement. He'll definitely have to go, Maddox thought. In good time. Couldn't stage an immediate massacre of all Waters's appointees.