by Trent Reedy
Herbokowitz stiffened. “You better watch —”
“What?” JoBell said. “You gonna hit me because I disagree with you?” She turned to face the rest of us. “Listen, this announcement from the governor —”
“President,” Luchen said.
“From Montaine,” she said. “Maybe it’s good news. Maybe it just means that a long bloody war will drag on for a lot longer. But it doesn’t have to change anything for us. We don’t have to start fighting. Violence isn’t the answer.”
Luchen and Sparrow looked at each other and rolled their eyes. “Of course you’d take the side of the Fed,” Sparrow said.
I spun to face her. “Would you stop accusing my girlfriend of shit?” This was getting out of hand.
Herbokowitz grunted. “Listen.” He seemed to have calmed down. “I wish that was true, that fighting didn’t have to be the answer. I pray all the time that that could be the way things are. But I’ve been on two combat tours, one in Afghanistan, the other in Pakistan. In Pakistan, we were all fired up about helping the poor people in these villages, about building them schools and getting education for the kids. We lost two soldiers setting up one of those schools, but we got it done. We even put up big cement walls around the place for the students’ safety and privacy. The colonel patted us all on the back, saying ‘mission accomplished’ and all that.
“And two weeks later, the damned Taliban crashed a truck full of explosives through the wall. Then they stormed the school and raped and burned every girl in there who had dared to try to learn to read.” His face was flaming red and his eyes were watery. “Those little girls trusted us! It was our mission to help make their lives better, and they got a fate worse than death! And now, I gotta stand here and listen to you tell me violence isn’t the answer!? You better wake up, sweetheart. This whole world is controlled by physical force. Whoever is toughest makes the rules. Whoever wins the fight, or wears his enemy down until the enemy is tired of fighting, decides how things are.”
“George Washington and all of the Founding Fathers might have been called terrorists if the word had been around back then.” Specialist Crocker shrugged. “But they won the war and started a country, and so our history books call them patriots or revolutionaries.”
“Unless Idaho wins, we spend the rest of our lives like this. Always on the run. Never able to go home and live freely,” Sparrow said.
“That’s why we have to fight the Fed,” Cal said.
“Exactly. See, now it’s like we’re those good people in that village in Pakistan,” said Herbokowitz. “We gotta protect ourselves. The world is ruled by the power of the gun.”
“I’m so sorry for those kids, those girls in Pakistan, and for the soldiers you lost,” JoBell said to him. “But it doesn’t have to be this way. The gun is not the only truth, or the only option. Or at least, it doesn’t have to be that way for us. We could stay out of the war.”
“You want us to stay down here for decades?” Bagley asked with panic in his voice.
“No,” said JoBell. “But we don’t have to fight. Now that we have more freedom of movement, we could go somewhere safe where it’s easier to live.”
“My parents have a cabin about an hour’s drive north. We could go there,” TJ said. “If we could drive.”
“That’s a long walk in winter,” Luchen said.
JoBell continued, “I’m just saying that war doesn’t have to be the inevitable nightmare. We can choose peace. For ourselves, anyway.”
I watched JoBell saying all this, impressed, as I always was, by her passion and by how well she made her case. But I couldn’t understand how, after all we’d been through, after all the Fed had taken from us and what they’d tried to take from us, she could still think this could go down without a fight. Maybe that was the point of being a soldier. We were the ones to go out and fight the war so that people back home could live in peace, with the freedom to think like JoBell.
“I get what you’re saying, Jo,” Sweeney said. “But I think we’re past the point of peace now. Even if we could find a better place to hide, the Fed would find us eventually. Violence is the only way we’re going to get them to leave us alone.”
“So said every terrorist in modern history,” said JoBell.
Luchen slowly lowered himself onto a folding chair, sitting on his butt for the first time since he’d been shot. “We’re nothing like terrorists.”
“That’s not how the president will see it,” said Becca. “The president of the United States, I mean.”
“The difference between terrorists and soldiers are the targets they choose,” said Sergeant Kemp.
Herbokowitz smiled at the sergeant. “Exactly! Terrorists deliberately target civilians. Shopping malls. City buses. Skyscrapers. We’ll be engaging military targets only.”
“America always says that,” JoBell said. “In every foreign war, we use smart bombs or guided missiles or drones to go after the bad guys, but over and over again we hit the wrong house and accidentally kill families. Children. We call it ‘collateral damage,’ but that really means ‘innocent people that we’ve murdered.’ ”
“We’ll be careful,” said the first sergeant. “If there are too many civvies in the area, we’ll go for a different target. But to win this war, to stay alive, we’re going to need to throw out the old rule book. That’s what the Fed will be using, and we’ll have to use that against them. We’re going to rely on civilians, not target them. We’ll be liberating them from Fed control.” He pointed at JoBell. “You said yourself that the Fed was violating the Constitution to enforce this occupation.”
JoBell folded her arms. “Danny, you’ve been quiet. What do you think?”
I was thinking I wished she wouldn’t have asked me that. I was thinking how much better life would be if we were back to arguing about whether to listen to Hank McGrew or the news on the radio, or if we couldn’t decide which movie to watch on our comms. I looked at JoBell, hoping she’d understand. “I’m sorry. I wish it was possible to get out of this without a fight. I wish this had never happened or that it could be over. But the Fed has proven that they’re not interested in peace. Who knows if we could find another safe place to hide? What does ‘safe’ even mean during an occupation? They’ll kill whoever they have to kill to force us to obey them. They killed my mother. They’ve killed most of our unit.” I shook my head. “We don’t have a choice. Now that I know I still have a country to fight for, I’m going to make those Fed sons of bitches pay.”
JoBell shook her head and walked down the narrow aisle between the supply shelves. I started to follow her, but Becca caught my wrist and shook her head. “Just let her be,” she whispered. “Give her a chance to adjust to all this.”
Cal actually raised his hand. Sergeant Kemp and First Sergeant Herbokowitz laughed. “This isn’t a class, son,” said Herbokowitz.
“Well, sir, you were talking about soldiers and civilians, and I was thinking about what Govern — about what President Montaine said. About all men older than eighteen having to enlist. I’m eighteen. I want to enlist.”
“Me too!” TJ said. “I want in.”
“This is bullshit!” said Sweeney. “My birthday’s in April. You’re telling me I have to wait four months? Wright’s only seventeen and he’s enlisted.”
JoBell came right back out from behind the shelves. “Do you think it’s a good idea to actually be signing up?” she said.
“Jo,” said Sweeney. “We’ve been over this. We’re joining the Militia, the Guard, the Idaho Army. Whatever it’s called.”
JoBell shook her head. “I get that I can’t stop you from doing this stupid thing. But what I meant is that we shouldn’t be writing a whole bunch of contracts with our names on them, saying we’re joining what President Griffith calls a rebel army.”
“What’s she going to do about it?” Cal asked.
“No, she’s right,” said Sparrow. I had to smile. Finally, she and JoBell had agreed on something. “If t
he papers fall into Fed hands, you guys are all guilty.”
“Never mind that— we don’t have enough paper to write contracts. We’ll just swear you in,” said Herbokowitz. “Here, someone give me the truck magazine and that pencil that was floating around. I need to try to remember what’s in the oath. I’ve sworn in enough soldiers to figure it out, but we’ll have to make some changes, and I want to do this right.”
The first sergeant and Sergeant Kemp worked together on the oath. I reached out to take JoBell’s hand, but she pulled away and went back behind the shelves again. Crocker kept monitoring the radio. Cal, Luchen, Sparrow, Sweeney, and TJ gathered around the table to talk about possible op plans. Bagley went on guard duty. Becca seemed to have assigned herself the cook’s job, and I joined her at the corner stove to help prepare Christmas Eve dinner.
I couldn’t find the key thing that was supposed to open the canned ham, and using the damned can opener turned out to be impossible. Becca laughed when it slipped off the can for the fifth time. “How’s that working?” She sliced the potatoes into a pan for frying.
I got the thing back on the lip of the can and cranked it. “I think winning the war will be easier than getting this …” It slipped again. “Damn it … this meat product out of this stupid can.”
She laughed again and touched my elbow. “You want me to help?”
“No, I got this,” I said.
She moved a step closer to me. “Listen,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want to bring this up in front of the others, because emotions are already running pretty high….”
I smiled. Maybe peace was impossible between the Republic of Idaho and the United States, but Becca would never stop working to cool off fights between her friends.
She pushed the potato slices around in the frying pan. “I’ll go along with whatever you all decide. I mean, whatever you, JoBell, Cal, TJ, and Eric decide.” She started working her magic with seasonings. “But what if JoBell is right, Danny? I’m worried about you. About all of us, if we get back into the fight. Maybe we can all go find a better place to hide. Or if we can move around more freely now, why not take off by ourselves? Your soldier friends could go south maybe, link up with the Idaho Army down there. But we could just stop fighting.”
“I swore an oath,” I whispered. “I’m a soldier. It’s my duty to protect my home.”
She touched the purple butterfly hair clip that she always wore. “You sure that’s what this is about? Duty and not revenge for your mom?”
I looked into Becca’s eyes. Sometimes it was like the girl could see my thoughts, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “This time duty and revenge work out to pretty much the same thing.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Well, if that’s the way it’s got to be, then for what it’s worth, I got your back.”
We didn’t say anything else for a long time, and I finally got the ham out of the can. I showed it to Becca, but she only smiled sadly. “What’s wrong?” I kind of laughed at my own question. “I mean, what’s bugging you more than everything else that’s been going on?”
“Christmas,” she said. “And I have no idea where my parents are. No way to contact them to tell them I’m okay, and they still can’t come home.” She leaned a little closer to me and whispered, “I mean, I’m sorry. I know my folks are still alive, and what I’m going through is nothing like what you’ve had to deal with, but still, it’s —”
“Hey,” I said quietly, patting her arm. “Don’t apologize. I know it’s hard.”
She looked up at me. Becca was really pretty great, the best female friend in the world. I noticed the subtle shading on her cheeks and around her eyes. “Are you wearing makeup?” I asked her.
Her cheeks flushed redder than any powder or whatever. “Is it dumb? I don’t know. I found this old stuff from a long time ago kind of wedged in at the bottom of my bag. I’d forgotten it was even in there. I thought I’d try it for once. You know, it’s Christmas and everything. I should wash it off, I guess. I’ve never been good at all that girly stuff.”
“Whoa. No, it’s cool. You look good.” I shrugged. “I mean, makeup, no makeup. It’s all good.” I looked around to make sure nobody was listening. “Maybe I could set you up with Crocker or Bagley over there.”
She laughed. “Yuck.”
“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” said the first sergeant behind us. “Everybody who was already in the Idaho National Guard or the Idaho State Militia is still a member of the new Idaho Army.” He pointed to the floor a few feet in front of him. “Anyone else who is interested in joining, please form a line here shoulder to shoulder.”
Sweeney, TJ, and Cal rushed to the line. Becca rubbed my back real quick, smiled, and joined them. They waited on JoBell, who stood by herself off to the side.
“Jo?” Becca asked after a moment.
“I’m sorry,” JoBell said. “I can’t be a part of this. I’m not a soldier.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Sparrow said quietly.
“Easy, Specialist. It’s everyone’s free choice,” First Sergeant Herbokowitz said. “Sergeant Kemp, you’ll be platoon sergeant here. Let’s get a formation.” He looked around the basement. “I wish we had an Idaho flag somewhere.” When Sergeant Kemp had all of us Guardsmen plus Bagley standing shoulder to shoulder at a right angle to the line of four who were about to swear in, Herbokowitz called out, “Fall in!” We snapped to attention. My friends and TJ did their best to imitate us, even if Cal couldn’t wipe the dumb smile off his face. “Attention to orders,” Herbokowitz continued. “We are about to issue the oath of enlistment. New enlistees will raise their right hands and repeat after me. I, state your name …”
“I, state … er, Calvin Riccon,” Cal repeated. The rest got it right.
The first sergeant fought to hold back a grin. “Do solemnly swear … that I will support and defend the Constitution of the Republic of Idaho … against all enemies foreign and domestic … that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same … and that I will obey the orders of the president of the Republic of Idaho … and the orders of the officers appointed over me … according to Idaho law.”
They all repeated his words, line by line.
“So help me God,” said the first sergeant.
“So help me God,” said the others.
“Welcome to the Idaho Army. Let’s give them a round of applause.”
Even though we weren’t supposed to do anything like this at the position of attention, we all clapped and cheered. “First sergeant, do they get a sign-on bonus?” Luchen asked.
Herbokowitz laughed and returned to the position of attention himself. “On the command of ‘fall out,’ fall out for a Christmas celebration, and let’s resume planning to kick a little Fed ass. Fall out!”
We all broke formation, laughed, high-fived, and shook hands with the new soldiers. TJ stepped up in front of me.
“Congratulations … Private,” I said. He reached out his hand and I shook it. I’m not gonna lie. I felt weird shaking hands with TJ and congratulating him. I was so used to hating him that it bothered me a little that he was a soldier like me. Yeah, he hadn’t been through basic training, but with everything that was going on, all that training crap just seemed kind of babyish. TJ had been putting his life on the line a lot since the Fed invasion. Every time he sneaked us news or supplies, he risked being arrested or worse. “Thanks for all your help,” I said.
He shrugged. “No problem.”
I laughed. “Bullshit, no problem.”
A little bit later, we all sat down to an almost old-fashioned-family-type Christmas dinner. The mood in the dungeon was better than it had ever been. I was on a cot with my JoBell on my lap, Becca on my left, and Sweeney on my right. Cal and TJ took up the cot across from us. The remaining members of my Guard unit sat on chairs and cots around the table. The dinner was small— the ham and potatoes with smoked salmon and pickles on the side, some canned pears, and the almonds and chocolates for
dessert. But while we never ate our fill anymore, nobody complained today.
When we were all finished, we sat around enjoying our beers. It was just cheap PBR, but better than nothing. Cal leaned back in his chair with his feet up on the table. “I remember one Christmas when Dad was on the road, my brother told me Dad hit Santa’s sleigh with his semi. He said Santa and all the reindeer except for Rudolph had been killed, and Rudolph was hurt so bad that his glowing nose was all that still worked on him, so Dad had to shoot him in the head. I cried and cried. Always a bunch of fun, my brother.”
“I was thinking about proposing to my girlfriend this Christmas,” said Kemp.
“Really? Tom, that’s great. How long have you two been together?” JoBell asked.
Kemp slumped in his chair. “No, see, she broke up with me when I was on duty guarding the border.”
“What? I’m so sorry.” JoBell rubbed my back as she spoke. “That must be tough.”
He shrugged. “It’s for the best. I want her to be happy, you know. I’m not going to be able to be with her anytime soon. It’s probably best she thinks I’m dead and moves on.”
“Hey, man,” Sweeney said. “When this is all over and we get out of here, I’ll find you dozens of girls. Trust me.”
Kemp didn’t seem encouraged.
“Well, as you all know …” Herbokowitz took a drink of his PBR. “Being at war, you miss out on a lot of life. My oldest daughter was three years old the Christmas I was in Pakistan. I promised her the best present ever the next Christmas when I was home.” He sat up in his seat. “I had a bunch of deployment money saved up, so I bought her this toy horse. It was covered in fur, about this big” — he held his hands about four feet apart, then he drew an imaginary horizontal line about five feet above the floor— “with a big brown mane. When she petted the horse, it made these whinny and snort sounds. It would stretch out its neck and nuzzle her with its nose. Its eyes blinked. I mean, this thing did everything except piss and shit.” We all laughed.
“The Real Rider horse!” Becca said with a huge smile. “I grew up with horses on the farm, but I still wanted the Real Rider! You got that for her?”
