the protection, Mai gasps for breath and her vision blurs.
They drag her across the ground as she fights to breathe again, her body bouncing as the armor scrapes along the ground. She can hear the rumble of an old truck, accelerating, dragging her farther away.
She reaches up to the noose, trying to get purchase, but she’s being bounced around by the uneven terrain.
If they can drag her far enough away, she’ll be just one person in armor. Far from camp. Far from backup.
Mai screams with rage, and then suddenly, she’s free, tumbling along the side of the muddy road. On shaky arms she pushes herself up. First to her knees, then to her feet, every twitch and tremor amplified by the armor.
She pulls the cable up toward her until she comes to the cut edge, then looks around.
A cluster of blue-armored figures are walking down the road at her.
Mai turns her communications back on.
“Nong Mai Thuy?”
“Yes, Captain Nguyen?”
“We have some things to discuss.”
“Are you ready to go home?” Nguyen asked.
“No,” Mai replies. But she knows her preferences do not matter.
She’s standing in front of Nguyen’s desk wearing her old Marine Police uniform. Everything’s crisp and tight. Ribbons for bravery and accomplishment no longer feel like things to be proud of, but strange, non-functional baubles.
She should be in armor, not in this uniform.
“I guess the true question is… how do you move on?” Nguyen says. “I have two courses for you to consider.”
“Two? I don’t understand.”
“You killed two human beings, Nong Mai Thuy. All the while under orders to not leave your position.”
“I saved many lives,” Mai protests.
Nguyen flashes a smile. It isn’t a pretty thing. It’s an expectant one. Like a predator watching prey fall for a trap.
“Yes. The inhabitants of the camp call you a hero. But you may have killed many more than you would have saved down the road. It’s a moral dilemma. Academics sometimes ask you to ponder: would you push a man in front of a train to save everyone on the train? It seems like a silly question, yes? But here we are: soldiers. We often shove people in front of trains to serve a greater good. You just faced one of your own moral dilemmas, Mai. I can’t blame you for what you did. But we cannot succeed if we answer violence with violence here. Our duty is to weather these storms and stand between danger and our charges. And doing so, calmly, allows us the unfettered world permission to continue our mission here. You jeopardized the larger mission. The North Koreans will claim they were unjustly abused by a technologically superior invading army, no matter how ridiculous the claim. You put this entire mission in danger of failing. It’ is unacceptable.”
Mai considers the strangeness of this. The famous Captain Nguyen, who could be wearing three times as many medals as Mai if she chooses, who tasted violence on the Cambodian border, had eaten it for supper, is lecturing Mai about violence.
“So what is to become of me?” Mai asks.
“The Hague wants to court martial you and send you to jail.” Nguyen taps the desk. “Personally, I think the court of world opinion would side with you, and you will not go to jail. You are the hero of Camp Nike, after all. But this will drag out in public and focus the attention in all the wrong places. The advertisers, the people who run this, and the generals back at the Hague, this will tarnish their images.”
Mai shrinks back without thinking. The subject of world attention. Media circuses. It sounds alien and horrific to someone who prefers their privacy.
Nguyen shoves a piece of paper forward. “If you think these people are worth protecting, if you think what the camps are trying to do is a good thing, then I suggest you take the second course.”
“And that is?” Mai asks.
“An honorable discharge. It is hardly your fault, really, that this happened. I should have seen the signs, your aggressive stance. A high need for justice. I ignored them because you were a good person with a good heart. I will not be making that mistake again. Sign these, and you can leave, but without any trouble to you, or trouble that makes our soldiers or country look bad. Go back to your family’s business. Go live a good life.”
Mai stares at the papers for a long moment, then signs them, struggling to keep any emotion from her face as Nguyen watches.
“Well done, Citizen Nong Mai Thuy,” Captain Nguyen says. “Well done.”
The next flight out of Camp Nike is in the pre-dawn morning. Mai sits alone in an aisle, looking out of the window as the plane passes up through the flittering green of the Point Defense Array. The North Koreans are busy probing its limits once again.
An extra reactor will be flown out to meet the needs of the camp soon. For now it is getting by on rolling blackouts for all non-essential power needs. Rumor is that a Californian solar panel corporation is going to ship enough panels next week for most civilian domestic needs, but the advertising details are still being negotiated. When they’re installed, it should help the camp come up to full power.
And she won’t be there to see any of that.
The aircraft continues its tight spiral up and up, always staying within Camp Nike airspace as it climbs. Eventually, once up to the right ceiling, out of range of all missiles and without the grounded North Korean Air Force to worry about, they will break out of their constant turn and head out for Hanoi.
“Miss Nong?” an airman asks. He crouches at the edge of the aisle holding a small wooden box in his hands.
“Yes?”
“Some of the refugees at the airstrip asked me to give this to the ‘hero of Camp Nike,’” the airman says, and hands her the box.
She opens it to find a small bracelet held together with monofilament, decorated with charms made from recently recycled brass casings.
When she looks back through the window, the camp is lost under the clouds.
THE ANTS OF FLANDERS
by Robert Reed
