This Changes Everything

by Darrell Maloney

  “Reconstitution team.”

  “Yeah, that. I had no way of knowing such a thing existed, or that Colonel Montgomery’s activities might have a legitimate purpose.

  “Can’t you see, honey?

  “I’m the one who put them in their predicament. If I hadn’t insisted on going back to San Antonio to convince them Colonel Montgomery was a villain they would have kept on doing their thing. They never would have found out about the secret bunker on the back side of their base.”

  “Honey, you don’t know that for sure. It would have been discovered at some point. A project that big, involving that many people, would have been impossible to keep hidden forever.”

  “I don’t think so, Mark.

  “I mean, they had massive security on that end of the base.

  “It was built way out in the middle of nowhere, at a spot deep in the woods.

  “They had control of the air.

  “One of the very first things they did, according to Colonel Medley, was to declare martial law after Saris 7 hit.

  “Once they did that they owned the airspace not only over Lackland Air Force Base and all the other military bases in the city.

  “They owned it over San Antonio International Airport as well.

  “They grounded all planes from flying in and out of the airport, and no one had the ability of seeing what they were doing on the ground way back in the woods.

  “The only people getting anywhere in the air during the two year thaw were people flying helicopters.

  “People who worked for Colonel Montgomery’s unit. Who were in on the secret. Who were bound by their military oath not to divulge anything to the public.

  “After that the rest was easy. With the airspace cut off all Montgomery’s people had to do was run fence around the whole area and put armed guards everywhere.

  “And they almost got away with it, Mark. The bunker was sealed. The second freeze came. They went to ground and started waiting for the second thaw.

  “Everything was going exactly as planned. Sure, everybody would have found out about the bunker eventually. But not until the second thaw came, General Mannix and his people emerged and reconstituted the military and everything started to get back to normal again.”

  “Honey…”

  “No, Mark. Let me finish.

  “This last part is important.

  “If I hadn’t stepped in, if I hadn’t insisted the colonels be told about Montgomery’s operation, they wouldn’t have found out until long after the thaw.

  “And long after it no longer mattered.

  “But that’s not the way it happened.

  “No, they were doing a fine job of running their base and taking care of their people, until a wild haired crazy woman blew into town and screwed everything up.

  “Honey, I honestly thought I was doing the right thing, I really did.

  “But they were blissfully unaware that the bunker was even back there. They were focused on protecting their people and riding out another freeze.

  “Until me… the crazy woman… came into town and told them Montgomery built his bunker for himself and his cronies, and stole food and supplies from the local community to stock it with.

  “Honey, you can look at this problem from a hundred different angles.

  “And from every single one of them I’m the one to blame.”

  -10-

  It was nice being a general.

  Being a general meant never having to stand in line.

  Never having to wait for a table.

  Never getting a ticket you couldn’t get out of.

  You had an aide who ran your errands. Who picked up your laundry and took your cars for gas and service.

  And yet another one who mowed your lawn for you.

  But it wasn’t all flowers and candy.

  A general’s yard had to be maintained in the same immaculate condition as the yards of every other occupant of base housing.

  Sure, it was six times bigger than all the other homes on the base other than the deputy wing commander’s house.

  But his was twice as big as that one.

  Of course his deputy, Colonel Jacob Squire, was only an O-6.

  Any O-6 was a man of great stature and important beyond compare.

  Almost.

  Because an O-6, a bird colonel, was typically fawned upon everywhere he went.

  Except when there was a two-star general around.

  John Stephens liked being a major general.

  He was in line to get his third star and become a lieutenant general in just a couple of months when Saris 7 struck the earth.

  He was looking forward to it.

  There was a lot of prestige in wearing three stars on the epaulets of his Air Force uniform.

  He’d have looked darned spiffy.

  Then Mother Nature happened.

  He’d never get his third star, but that was okay.

  Now, twelve years later, he was one of only two surviving two star generals in the Air Force.

  So he’d have to settle for just having two.

  But two were plenty.

  The old saying goes It’s good to be king.

  It was almost as good to be a general.

  At Wilford Hall Medical Center he was occupying a bed and biding his time on the fourth floor: the quarantine floor.

  It wasn’t so bad, though.

  He had his own wing, all to himself.

  And not one, but two nurses all to himself, every shift.

  Colonel Nate Sanders, who’d taken over as hospital commander when Colonel Tim Wilcox left the position, assured the general there was no special care in choosing his nurses.

  “It’s just a coincidence, sir. We asked for volunteers and those are the ones we got.”

  General Stephens looked at him warily, not quite sure if he believed him.

  “You mean to tell me the six prettiest nurses in the whole hospital… heck, maybe in the whole state of Texas, just happened to be my nurses? And you had nothing at all to do with it?”

  “Yes sir,” the colonel said. “Just happenstance, nothing else.”

  General Stephens softened and winked.

  “Well thank God for happy happenstance.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  One of the pretty nurses chose that moment to stick her head in the door and interrupt the conversation.

  “Anything you need, General?”

  “Maybe some ice when you’re back this way again. Thank you.”

  They both knew she wouldn’t bring his ice when she was “back this way again.”

  That’s what she’d do if she was assigned to another wing of the floor, taking care of normal patients.

  But she was taking care of a two-star.

  They both knew she’d make a beeline to the ice machine and she’d be back in the room in ninety seconds flat.

  Maybe ninety one.

  It was nice being a general.

  -11-

  The two officers made small talk while waiting for the general’s ice.

  Stephens suspected the colonel had something important to ask him.

  A hospital commander is normally far too busy… far too important, to don a gown and a protective mask and gloves to saunter into the quarantine section to visit a patient.

  But the general saw a lot of people who sought out his help with things; who went to ask him for things and then once with him had difficulty in finding their words.

  He was a patient man for a general, Stephens was.

  A lot of people told him that. That he was very patient as generals in general go. And that he was a pretty nice guy.

  He’d come across a young staff sergeant not long before Saris 7 came and ruined everything.

  It was in the base exchange, on a Saturday afternoon, when both of them were off duty and in civilian clothing.

  They both happened to be purchasing playing cards and struck up a conversation about whether Bicycle cards were better than those car
rying the Bee brand.

  They hit it off right away, and the young NCO was kind enough to invite the general to his house later for his weekly poker game.

  “One of our regulars is on leave,” he said. “He went to Cleveland. Why in God’s name anybody would go to Cleveland, I don’t know. I guess that’s where he’s from.

  General Stephens just smiled and answered, “Well, I guess somebody has to come from Cleveland.”

  Stephens knew the young non-commissioned officer had no clue he was dealing with a two-star general. He likely also didn’t know that Stephens was born in Cleveland and spent his first twenty two years there.

  It was funny that the man dogging Cleveland because… well, because everybody dogs Cleveland, didn’t have a clue he might be talking to a native.

  Stephens politely declined the invitation, saying he had a prior commitment.

  It wasn’t a lie.

  He did have something he had to do.

  It was a private project he’d never have one of his aides do in his stead.

  Something he’d been asked to do by his wife.

  Something he’d do by himself, in the back yard of his expansive housing unit, after all his aides had been released for the day and sent home.

  After he decided which playing cards to buy with the help of the young staff sergeant he’d make a beeline to the back of the exchange, to the paint department.

  There he’d select a quart of semi-gloss enamel.

  Bright pink.

  He hoped he didn’t bump into anyone he knew and have to explain what the pink paint was for.

  For General Stephens was like the mythical George Washington. The one who was famous for not being able to tell a lie.

  He was an honest man in every way.

  And he certainly didn’t want to admit he was going to while away the afternoon painting the dog house of his wife’s pet poodle Cinnamon.

  One undeniable fact in military life is that no matter how many stars rest upon a man’s shoulders, he will always be outranked by his wife.

  Always.

  The staff sergeant wasn’t offended by the general’s declining his invitation.

  They shook hands, each hoping to bump into one another again. For both were genuinely nice guys.

  Then they parted ways, for all of six feet or so.

  As the sergeant, whose name was Joe, turned to leave a third man walked up.

  “Good morning, General Stephens,” he said.

  Several things happened, almost at once.

  The general winced, knowing the cat was out of the bag and the nice man he’d been talking to might suffer some embarrassment.

  He responded in kind.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  Joe, the staff sergeant, did an about face and turned bright red. Not knowing what else to say, he stammered, “Have a good day sir.”

  “Thank you. You do the same.”

  One of the oldest traditions of the military is a ban on what the armed services call “fraternization.”

  It is, in essence, a ban on commissioned officers mixing in a social setting with enlisted personnel.

  It’s even established law. Although it rarely happens, a commissioned officer can be court martialed for being overly friendly with enlisted people under his control.

  The rule against fraternization wasn’t established because officers consider themselves better than the troops, although to some enlisted it sometimes seems that way.

  No, the rule was established to prevent officers from being in a position of failing in their leadership role.

  On a battlefield men are sometimes sent off to die.

  The Army, and later the Air Force too, couldn’t let its officers pick and choose which men to send on a dangerous mission based on which men were his buddies and which ones weren’t.

  Neither could those officers let an enlisted man refuse a direct order, perhaps knowing his friendship with the officer would protect him from being punished.

  The rule against fraternization, in effect, evened the playing field for all enlisted personnel by preventing some of them from buddying up to those in authority.

  It created a situation where everybody had an equal opportunity to die.

  Joe knew and understood he’d committed a major faux paux.

  Although he wasn’t aware of the general’s rank and therefore could be forgiven, he shouldn’t have invited the man to play poker with him. Never, under any circumstance.

  He did so simply because Stephens seemed a good man and the two had hit it off well. He walked away having learned a valuable lesson.

  Joe would be dead a month later, by his own hand.

  Many people, military included, couldn’t stand the pressure of living in an icy world; one in which they’d shiver daily while they slowly starved to death.

  And found a better way out.

  As for MG John Stephens, he watched Joe walk away, not knowing it would be the very last time in his life he’d have the opportunity to sit down at a poker table and play a few hands.

  Saris 7 struck just a few days later.

  He simply had no time for poker after that.

  -12-

  As the nurse fetched the ice, the two men made small talk in Room 401. One was a very high ranking military officer, a two star general, who had a reputation for being civil and easy to talk to.

  And standing next to his bed a hospital commander who perhaps wasn’t the most impressive military specimen. But he was a good surgeon who took care of his people.

  And he had something important to speak to the general about.

  “Tell me, colonel,” the general said, “how you came to be commander of Wilford Hall. It must be a great honor, commanding the premier military medical center in the southern United States.”

  Colonel Nate Sanders wasn’t one swayed by flattery.

  He was well aware he didn’t look the part of an Air Force bird colonel.

  His uniform was a full size too large for him, to start.

  Now, that wasn’t necessarily uncommon in a world where few people survived the largest natural disaster in the history of mankind.

  Everyone had lost weight, and many were little more than walking talking skeletons.

  But it was more than that.

  His shoes weren’t shined. The silver eagle pinned on one epaulet was askew. The other was a quarter inch too low.

  He wore his flight cap in the building.

  He had a reason; his head was always cold in the poorly heated building.

  But it was still a violation of established regulation.

  Still, though he was a sloppy man he wasn’t stupid.

  He recognized false praise when he heard it.

  And while he thought it kind the general was trying his best to compliment a man who obviously wasn’t up to the standards of a typical colonel, it was important to him he show he was well aware of his shortcomings.

  “It was an odd stroke of fate, sir.

  “I never expected to command my own hospital. Especially one as big as this one.

  “I come from the Medical Corps, you see.”

  The last sentence, he expected, would explain to the general his slovenly appearance.

  General Stephens nodded. He’d guessed as much.

  The Medical Corps has long been a means for the military to obtain qualified doctors without having to pay exorbitant salaries to lure them away from the private sector.

  The program has been around for decades and is simple, really.

  In this particular case the Air Force was in need of doctors at about the same time a much-younger Nate Sanders was finishing up his pre-med courses at Texas Tech University in Lubbock.

  Money had always been a problem, for Nate didn’t grow up in a moneyed family. His family had always struggled, and finding extra to pay for his education made it even harder.

  Now, after meeting his pre-med prerequisites, he was almost broke.

  His dreams of becom
ing the first doctor in his family were beginning to fade when a professor suggested he go talk to an Air Force recruiter.

  “I don’t want to fix airplanes,” he very naively replied. “I want to fix people.”

  “I know that,” the old professor replied. “Ask them about their Medical Corps program.

  Nate did just that.

  He left the recruiting station with his dream of becoming a doctor still intact, yet significantly modified.

  The recruiter told him, “We’ll pay your way through med school. In exchange, you’ll do your residency at an Air Force hospital.

  “You’ll owe us eight years once your residency is completed.”

  Although they were in vastly different fields, Nate joined the military under the same deal as Captain David Wright on the other side of the base.

  Eight years in service of the United States government.

  It was a very long time.

  Still, it wasn’t a bad arrangement.

  He’d be awarded the rank of captain as soon as his residency was finished. Many Air Force officers work their whole career to achieve such a rank.

  He’d still be paid on the same scale as any other officer, plus an extra bonus each month for being a doctor.

  And at the end of his eight year commitment he’d have the option of getting out of the military and into his own private practice, without incurring the mountain of student loans which typically break the backs of new doctors for decades.

  He took the recruiter up on his offer, not knowing what the recruiter knew but kept to himself.

  That a high percentage of doctors who enter the military through the Medical Corps program never leave once their eight year commitment is up.

  They find they love the camaraderie and sense of purpose and mission the military offers them.

  They encounter things most doctors never deal with: combat wounds.

  They fix bodies torn apart by bullets and bomb shrapnel and exploding buildings.

  They save lives while doing a great and patriotic service to their nation.

  They fall in love with the military and decide to make it a career.

  Major Nate Sanders was called into the hospital commander’s office one afternoon and told his eight year commitment was up.