The boy shook his head. “Well stand, thank you, though.”
“What can I do for you?” Ben asked.
“It ain’t what you can do for us,” the girl said. “It’s what we can do for you.”
“All right.”
“Git your kit together and git on outta here,” the boy said. “They’s comin’ to git you tonight.”
“Who is coming to get me-and why?”
“Our people,” the girl told him. She was a very pretty girl, but already the signs of ignorance and poverty were taking their toll, affecting her speech and features.
The poverty and ignorance of her parents, Ben thought.
Root cause-in the home, passed from generation to generation, parent to child.
When will we ever learn? But… is it too late now? He thought not.
“I’ve done nothing to your people,” Ben said.
“You kilt our uncle,” the boy said. “Ain’t that doin’ somethang?”
“Your uncle shot at me for no reason. All I was trying to do was catch some fish for my supper.”
“Our roads, our mountains, our fish,” the girl said.
“I see,” Ben’s reply was soft. “And you don’t want any outsiders here?”
“That’s it, mister.”
“If you feel that strongly, why are you warning me?”
The question seemed to confuse the pair. The boy shook his head.” ‘Cause we don’t want no more killin” around here. And if you’ll leave, there won’t be no more.”
“Do you agree with your people’s way of life?”
“It ain’t up to us to agree or disagree,” the boy said. “The word’s done been passed down from Corning. And if you stay here, mister, you gonna die.”
“Who or what is a Corning?”
“The leader.”
“Ah, yes.” Ben smiled, but was careful not to offend the young people, or rib their manner of speaking or thinking. “Let me guess: This Corning is the biggest and the strongest among you all. He is a religious man-or so he says-and he has a great, powerful voice and spouts the Bible a lot. Am I right?”
“Mister”-the girl’s voice was soft with awe-“how’d you know all that?”
Ben looked at her. She was pretty and shapely and ripe for picking. “And I’ll bet this Corning-I’ll bet he likes you a lot, right?”
She nodded her head. “He’s taken a shine to me, yeah.”
“No doubt.” Ben’s reply was dry. How quickly some of us revert, he thought. Tribal chieftain. He stood up and the kids quickly backed away, toward the open door. “Take it easy. I won’t hurt you. Are you going to get into trouble for coming here, warning me?”
The girl shook her head. “We come the back trails. We know where the lookouts is. “You leavin’?”
“Yes, I’ll be gone in half an hour.”
She stood gazing at him. “We’re not bad people, mister. We jist don’t want no more of your world, that’s all. Why cain’t ever’body just live the way they want to live, and then ever’body would git along?”
Why indeed? Ben thought, and once again, the Rebels entered his mind. He felt compelled to say something profound. Instead he said, “Because, dear, then we wouldn’t have a nation, would we?”
She blinked. “But we ain’t got one now, have we?”
Then they were gone.
“Wonder what happened to that cult?” Cecil asked.
“Died out, hopefully. Maybe someone bigger and stronger than Corning came along and killed him. That’s the way it usually happens, I guess.” He stood up and stretched. “Any word from Dan?”
Cecil grinned a warrior’ smile of satisfaction over hearing of an enemy’s defeat. “Not since yesterday. That is one randy Englishman. His bunch completely destroyed a full column of IPF troops. Wiped them out to a person.”
“For a fact, Cec, Dan does not like to be bothered with prisoners. Those SAS boys were randy as hell.” Ben grinned. “Besides wiping out an entire column, they demoralized the hell out of a bunch of other IPF troops.” Ben’s grin grew wider. “I can’t help but wonder what happened to that colonel who was commanding the unit.”
“Dan said he turned tail and ran.”
“Well, he got his tit in the wringer for that, I’m betting.”
Cecil gave Ben a mock grimace. “God, Ben! I’m
glad Gale isn’t here to hear that crack.” Ben laughed. “Me, too.”
General Striganov at first could not believe his ears. He stared at Colonel Fechnor for a full moment. “The entire battalion!” the general finally roared. He rose from his chair to face a still-badly-shaken Fechnor. “I can’t believe this. You lost an entire battalion?”
Colonel Fechnor’s driver stood by the colonel’s side. The young man was trembling from fear and exhaustion: fear at General Striganov’s rage, and exhaustion from the long and sometimes-harrowing drive north, all the while imagining all sorts of dire repercussions from the general. Much to his regret, what he envisioned was coming true.
Fechnor stood at full attention, no give in him at his general’s rage. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “First a bridge blew, then we were forced to wait and regroup. Then we were ambushed in Ottumwa. I-was
“I am not interested in excuses!” Striganov roared. His face was red with fury. “Excuses are a weak man’s forte. You are not a weak man, Fechnor. Fechnor-was he visibly calmed himself-“you are a trained, experienced combat veteran. You were decorated for your work in Afghanistan, for bravery as well as for common sense. We’ve been together since you were a mere lieutenant. What in the name of everything we hold sacred has happened to your courage?”
“There is nothing the matter with my courage, General,” Fechnor flared, forgetting to hold his tongue. “My scouts reported the town deserted. I am forced to accept their findings-as any field commander must.
We approached the city with all due caution. My people fought well. But in vain. As for me-was
“You ran.” Striganov stated the damning fact flatly, considerable heat in his voice. “You should have remained there, fighting and dying with your people.”
The colonel met the general’s stare, refusing to back down. “What you say may be true, General. If so, I am ready to accept and face whatever punishment you deem necessary, including, of course, the firing squad. I- was
Striganov waved him silent. He ordered the driver to leave the room. The young man almost fell over his feet in his haste to obey. Both men were forced to smile at the young man’s antics. They both remembered their own youth, and their fear and awe of superior officers. The eyes of the two senior officers of the IPF met and held, and understanding passed between them in silent messages.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Valeska,” Striganov said. “I have absolutely no intention of putting you against a wall. I spoke in haste; you should not have stayed and died. You are my most experienced and valuable field officer. I cannot afford to lose you; you know that. I apologize for losing my temper. Your scouts are to blame for not thoroughly checking the city. They should have-as you did-sensed an ambush.” Striganov returned to his chair and sat down heavily, sighing deeply. He remained thus for a time, brooding silently. Finally he looked up, catching Colonel Fechnor staring at him. The colonel was still standing at attention.
“Stand at ease, Colonel,” Striganov said. “No,” he amended that order. “Relax, make
yourself comfortable. Have some tea. I insist.”
Colonel Fechnor relaxed and walked to the tea service, pouring a cup of tea. He sugared and creamed the beverage and returned to sit in a chair facing General Striganov’s desk, carefully placing cup and saucer on the desk.
“Valeska,” the general said softly, “do you believe in any sort of supreme being?”
The question caught Fechnor off-guard. He thought for a few seconds, then said, “Why I…” He paused, not sure how to reply,
“Truthfully, now, old friend,” Striganov said with a very slight smile, as if sharing some secret with the man, a confidence only the two of them knew. “We have no one listening to report our conversation back to the Central Party Headquarters.”
