A state of disobedience

At the post chapel he parked his Army issue car, a not-too-ancient GM sedan. He could have had a new one— being G-4 had other perks too—but had settled for something a bit more worn in the interests of economy. Others sometimes laughed. That was Hanstadt; skinflint cheap wherever he could save the Army and country he loved a few dollars.

There was neither priest nor minister nor rabbi nor imam at the chapel. Hanstadt entered to a lonely space packed with benches. If not so dreary—being multi-denominational—as a Catholic church might have been, neither was it so bright and airy as a typical Protestant one.

But it was multidenominational. Therefore Hanstadt found padded knee rests—just as if it were Catholic or Anglican—before the altar. He took off his 'headgear with too many moving parts,' walked forward, knelt before his God, cupped his hands around his face, and began to pray for guidance.

* * *

Greenville, Texas

'The guidance is that we have to do it, if it can be done at all, without hurting anybody. Not so much as a scratch.'

'Shit, Jimbo,' drawled Davis to James. 'No way. I mean there's going to be some risk anyway.' Davis shook his head repeatedly while staring at the map on the table between them.

'Then I'll have to report to higher that it can't be done. Shit. The general said this was 'important. The most critical mission of all.' ' A knock came from the door frame.

'Excuse me, sirs,' interjected an eavesdropping Pendergast. 'But there's maybe a solution to that problem.'

'Go ahead, Top.'

Pendergast tucked his thumbs up under his shoulder harness, leaned over, and spit some tobacco juice into a trashcan. 'Well . . . you see . . . this here company is made up of about a third cops. Third platoon is nearer to half. Now sure, those guards at the mint in Fort Worth are likely to panic if they see a couple of hundred armed men rolling up on them. If they see heavy armor they will for sure. But cops? Nice friendly cops? In patrol cars? Come to help them out of a bad situation; maybe a bomb threat or something? No way. They'll let us in right quick. And then we have them. And then we bring up the rest of the boys.' Pendergast's broad, triumphant smile lit the room, igniting equal smiles in Davis, James and Williams.

Said Williams, 'Did I ever mention, First Sergeant, that you have a nasty wicked mind? I admire that. For a truth I do. Why don't you send the boys to pick up their uniforms and squad cars?'

* * *

Main Chapel, Fort Hood, Texas

I have worn this uniform so long, Lord, that I do not see how I could ever fit in without it. But I have seen my country change, Lord, in ways that make me not want to wear its uniform any more. Please help me decide. Please. 

Deep in prayer, Hanstadt barely startled when he felt the press of a hand on his shoulder. He recognized the press immediately. Funny how the old bastard can still sneak up on me.

'Hello, Bob,' said Hanstadt, without arising. God outranked even a three-star.

'Emily said I might find you here, Joe.'

Hanstadt shrugged. 'And so you have. What can I do for you?'

'Joe, you have never been much of a churchgoer. What brings you here now?'

Hanstadt shook his head with a sigh. He had reached a decision but that decision had not come easily, or without regrets. 'I'm punching out, Bob. Putting in my papers.'

'Retiring? In Heaven's name, why? You have a bright future ahead of you still.'

'Retiring or resigning, whatever it takes. I'd prefer to retire.'

'Is it this thing that happened at the mission?'

Closing his eyes, Hanstadt rocked his head in affirmation. 'It's got to stop somewhere, Bob.'

It was now Bennigsen's turn to nod. 'Well . . . yes . . . it has. But what can you or I do? We're just old horse soldiers. We do our jobs.'

'Not with me, Bob. Never again with me. I have had it.'

'But I need you, Joe. We have an order from the chief—'

'That twat!' interjected Hanstadt. 'She sucked her way into three stars then ate Rottemeyer to get a fourth.'

'Well . . . yes . . . that one,' conceded Bennigsen. 'But my orders are to prepare to pull the Corps out of Texas. How the hell am I supposed to do that without my G-4?'

'My shop's got some good people, Bob. Most of 'em will stay.'

'And what are you going to do with yourself, Joe?'

Hanstadt grinned broadly. 'It does occur that General Schmidt might have a use for my . . . um . . . talents. And, who knows? Maybe someone with a foot in both camps might turn out to be useful to the country.'

* * *

Western Currency Facility, Bureau of Engraving, Fort Worth, Texas