And Thy Mother

by John Bromley

  “She's not allowed to that either, because—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know—because the great Ken Thompson said so,” Buck said in obvious disgust. He decided that pursuing that line of questioning was only going to make him angrier, so he went in a different direction.

  “So, the baby comes out of there, and it—we—are given to our fathers? How do they know who that is?”

  “Again, not sure… but it seems the father is chosen completely at random.”

  “But… what if a man doesn't want to become a father?”

  “There you go again, Buck,” Mike chuckled humorlessly, “proposing that radical ‘freedom of choice’ concept. You know that—”

  “—a man doesn’t have the option to decline,” Buck chimed in. “Well then, why doesn’t every man have to be a father? Or, get to be a father? I know lots of guys older than we are who are not fathers, never were one—and a couple of them said they wanted to be one.”

  “Maybe, the women just can’t produce enough to go around or, it could be, we don’t need that many children.”

  “We ‘don’t need’ that many boys? And who decides how many children we ‘need’? Wait—don’t tell me…” Buck started to answer his own question.

  “The President,” Mike replied needlessly, satisfied that Buck was getting angrier by the minute.

  “And, why does he get to decide how many children we ‘need’, and who has to be a father, and who doesn’t?”

  “Because… he’s the President,” Mike gave the ‘standard’ answer, knowing that he was accomplishing his objective, which was to bring Buck’s opinion of this ‘logic’ into line with Jim’s and his own.

  “Now I begin to understand why you both, and that Sam guy, want to do something about this…” Buck found himself at a loss for words to describe what he was thinking, other than to say, “This is just… total bullshit—top to bottom.”

  As they neared their destination, Buck continued to quietly rage against the system.

  “Thompson gets to decide all these things because… he’s the President. Well, maybe it’s time that that… changed.”

  “Did I hear you right?” Mike asked, pretending to express the kind of shock they all knew General Chambers would have felt had he been in the car. He even tried to approximate Chambers’ voice. “You verbally advocated the removal of the President. Need I remind you that that constitutes treason, Captain, and as such, carries the death penalty?”

  “So, what’re you gonna do?” Buck asked, playing along. “Shoot me?”

  “No,” said Jim from the back seat, “we’re gonna welcome you to the club.”

  They shortly arrived at the field in which the Fourth battalion was camped. Buck stopped the car and, just before they all got out, said to Jim and Mike, “Listen, guys, I don’t know what you’ve got planned, or how it’s gonna go down, but whatever it is, up to and including… what we just talked about… count me in.” He offered an outstretched hand, and both Jim and Mike shook it in a three-way show of solidarity.

  They got out and came around to the front of the truck. Jim surveyed the camp, waving to a few of the soldiers he knew. Then a movement caught his eye and he said to the others, “We got trouble.”

  CHAPTER 25

  “I swear, Jim, he wasn’t here when I set out to get you guys,” Buck whispered, as they all watched the figure of General Nathan Chambers advancing menacingly toward them. When he got within a few feet of them, they all came to attention and saluted.

  “Captain Wilkins… Captain Keller,” Chambers mumbled, returning the salutes distractedly, but never taking his eyes off of… “Parker, you’re with me,” as he continued walking away from the camp. Jim turned to follow the general, but not before signaling to the two captains that they should follow him.

  Chambers stopped after about ten paces and turned to face Parker. He was mildly surprised to find himself facing all three men, but recovered quickly.

  “I suppose we might as well do this all at once,” he began, “since what I’m about to say affects all three of you. First… Captain Keller.” Buck snapped to attention as the general continued, “for failing to return to base when ordered to do so, you are hereby relieved of command of this battalion.”

  “Sir,” Buck said, “I have already turned command of this battalion over to Colonel Parker.”

  “That is not possible,” Chambers said coolly. He then produced a piece of paper and perused it briefly before turning his attention to…

  “Captain Wilkins… you are hereby relieved of duty, and are to report to the MP’s for disciplinary action.” Allowing no time for questions or comments from Mike, Chambers moved to face the third man in the group.

  “You will notice, Parker, that I haven’t addressed you by rank at all today.” He shook the paper he was holding to draw attention to it before saying, “That is because, as of now, you have none. This is your official discharge from the Army.”

  “Who issued those orders, General?” Jim wanted to know.

  “They come from the top brass,” Chambers replied.

  “Which ‘top brass’ is that? The same one who ordered Lt. Jansen ‘reassigned’ and then executed?”

  “Jansen’s death is still unsolved—”

  “Maybe it is to you, and our so-called ‘law enforcement’ people, but not to me. I know better. He was killed because he got too close to something he wasn’t supposed to know about. They’ve been trying to kill me all week for the same reason. They failed at that, so now they’re trying this tactic. Let’s see those orders, General.”

  “You don’t need to see—”

  “As you yourself just said, Chambers, you’re not my commanding officer anymore. Let’s see them!”

  He took the paper from the general’s unresisting hand and scanned it quickly. Satisfied that it said what he had expected it to say, he read some of the main points aloud for the benefit of Mike and Buck.

  “For failure to respect superior authority… and I don’t think they mean you, General… involving myself in unauthorized covert activities… dishonorable discharge… oh, and it gets better, guys. Listen to this—as of now, I’ve been ‘requisitioned’ to… the Secret Service.”

  “Well, you know what they say,” Mike commented, “’if you can’t beat them…’”

  “And what was that we were just discussing,” Buck wondered aloud, “something about ‘freedom of choice’?”

  “I’m gonna ask you one more time, Chambers,” Jim said, handing the paper back to the general. “Who—specifically—issued those orders?”

  “It could have been—”

  “It wasn’t him, whoever you were going to say. It wasn’t an Army general at all. Those orders came from the same place as the orders which sent Lt. Jansen to his death—the orders which murdered him. They came from the Secret Service—maybe even your wonderful President himself.” He once again used the word “your” to express the degree of separation that he felt now existed between his group of partners, and the rest of “unenlightened” humanity.

  Apparently this was a possibility which Chambers had not contemplated, and he began to do so now. Long before he finished, however, Jim lost patience.

  “We can discuss the fine points of this shit later, General. Right now, we’ve got things to do.” He looked at Jim and Buck. “Plan Delta.”

  Chambers, being a desk-bound paper-pusher, had no idea what “Plan Delta” was, but he learned quickly. Within seconds, he found himself being tripped and flung violently onto the ground. His arms were seized by other arms, and his wrists were bound tightly together with tape or plastic; he couldn’t tell. He tried to reach for his own pistol, but it was already gone. Seconds later, he was brought none too gently back to his feet, where he found his own gun being pointed at him, by Mike Wilkins.

  “’Plan Delta’,” Mike explained, “for the rapid and efficient disabling of… an enemy agent.”

  “Load him into the car,” Jim ordered. While t
hat was being done, Jim said to Buck, “You’re driving, but first, get about two dozen men, have them bring all the small arms they can carry, and follow us.” Buck nodded, and ran off, waving to soldiers, who ran toward him, received their orders and ran back to pass them on. A few minutes later, Buck was back at the vehicle, where Mike was holding a surprisingly calm Chambers at gunpoint in the back seat. Buck and Jim got in the front. As they began to drive westward down the road, they saw five other Humvees fall into line behind them.

  Jim dialed a number on his cell phone, and then said into it, “Jim Parker… stay where you are… change of plans… gonna be ‘official’.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Honor thy Father,” and hung up.

  “’Change of plans’?” Buck asked, not really caring if Chambers heard him or not. “I didn’t know we had any ‘plans’ to ‘change’.”

  “Maybe we didn’t before, but I’m working on one now,” Jim replied.

  “Whatever your ‘plan’ is, or isn’t, Parker, I doubt it’s going to work,” Chambers said.

  “Why only small arms?” Buck wanted to know. “We shoulda brought some bazookas, or something like that.”

  “Now, now, Captain,” Chambers said calmly, “it’s not acceptable military procedure to question your former superior officer’s judgment.” He thought he was being witty, until Mike jabbed him in the ribs with the gun to remind him that his comments were not welcome at this juncture.

  “This is a mission of exploration,” Jim answered, “not a mission of conquest or destruction. I think the general needs to see first-hand these ‘covert operations’ I’ve undertaken. Then he might have a different opinion of this whole situation.”

  They drove on in silence, and presently found themselves back where they had been that morning. As soon as they pulled off the road and stopped, General Chambers was removed from the back seat. At this point, Sam Swenson came out from behind some bushes and joined them.

  “Sam Westin!” the general said, showing genuine surprise for the first time all day. “You’re about the last person I expected to see out here, involved in… whatever this is.”

  “You obviously know this man,” Jim said to the general, “or… think you do.”

  “Of course I do,” Chambers shot back. “When I get information from the Western Ontario Militia, it’s most often his voice I hear.”

  “It better be my voice you hear all the time, Nathan, because I am the ‘Western Ontario Militia’,” Sam informed him. This brought another surprised look from Chambers, but chuckles from Jim and Mike.

  “You’re the one who invented the ‘foreign soldiers’?” Jim asked Sam.

  “Had to have a legitimate reason for you to come up this way,” Sam explained, “and I figured that making up shit about some ‘invading army’ would force the general here to give you some of that ‘backup’ you seem to like so much.”

  As if on cue, the other vehicles arrived, and two dozen men jumped out.

  “All right,” Jim said to Sam, “we’re going in, by the ‘official’ route.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Chambers asked, fear creeping into his voice. “Going in where?”

  “You actually picked a good time for this,” Sam said, ignoring the general. “Most of the boys assigned to this place are busy right now doing other things, so the tunnels won’t be too heavily guarded. Getting in should be fairly easy, but we might run into trouble once we are in.”

  “In where?” Chambers repeated, even more fearfully.

  “Why’s that?” Jim asked, also paying no heed to the general.

  “Because, if they’re not in the tunnel, they’re in the Ghetto.”

  “Doing ‘other things’, like…?” Jim was almost afraid to ask.

  “You know what Angela said about women who are too old to have any more children. They have to be executed. Well, these are the boys who… handle that chore. And, I’m sorry to say, they’re quite good at it.”

  Jim suddenly felt a new sense of urgency. “We’re going in there,” he said to the group. “I’ll lead; you guys follow. Keep your weapons lowered in case there are civilians in there, but be ready to use them at a moment’s notice.”

  He led the way across the street to the mysterious unmarked building. He was confronted by the heavy wooden doors with their strange etched-glass windows, but didn’t take the time to study them. Opening the door, he entered the lobby and noticed, with great relief, that there were no civilians there. He also noticed, with a strange sense of satisfaction, that the clerk behind the counter was the same little self-important man he had dealt with the day before.

  The man glanced at Jim and looked away, as though remembering that this bumpkin had not been “invited” and therefore was not worth his time. Something must have registered at the edge of his vision, though, for he looked up again and saw at least six other men enter the room, each carrying an automatic weapon. That got, and held, his attention.

  Jim stepped forward. “Put your hands where I can see them, and step away from the counter.”

  The man slowly raised his hands to about shoulder level, but didn’t budge. Jim sighed, took his pistol out of its holster, and made a great show of screwing a silencer onto its barrel. While doing that, he spoke to the little man again. “Please step away from the counter.”

  Two seconds later, the silencer was in place, but the man still hadn’t moved. Jim aimed the pistol and shot the man between the eyes. He dropped silently to the floor.

  “Parker… what are you doing?” Chambers asked fearfully.

  “We’re not playing games here,” Jim responded grimly. “Besides, I believe I did say ‘please’.”

  “That didn’t seem as satisfying as it could have been,” Mike said to Jim.

  “You’re right—I would’ve had more fun beating the snot out of that punk,” Jim agreed. “Ah well… what’s done is done. Mike, check out that computer—see if he set off any alarms, and find out anything else you can, in the next minute or two. The rest of you—cover those doors,” referring to the entryway and the three doors that led from the lobby into various other parts of the building.

  After a minute, Mike was satisfied. “No alarms, but—”

  “No time for ‘buts’,” Jim interrupted. “Now, Sam, which way to the tunnel?”

  “Through there,” Sam said, indicating a door to the left of the counter. Jim walked over to it, and saw that it was secured with a thumbprint scanner. On a hunch, he said to Mike, “Bring the ‘snooty bellboy’ over here.” When he and another soldier had done so, Jim held the dead clerk’s right thumb up to the scanner plate. As he had hoped, the light went green, and the door unlocked.

  Before they went through the door, Jim said to four of the soldiers, “You guys stay here and watch the doors; the rest of you are going with us. Everybody’s orders are the same: if they even look like they’re going for a gun, or their uniform is different from ours, shoot first and ask questions later. Conserve ammo if possible—Sam says we may need more to get out than to get in. Clear?”

  Everyone nodded in understanding except, of course, General Chambers.

  They went through the door, with Jim and Sam leading the way. They found themselves in a well-lit, well-decorated hallway, with elegant lighting fixtures in the ceiling and fine art on the walls. Jim was thankful for the carpeting, not so much for its luxury, but for the fact that it muffled their footsteps.

  At the end of the hall, Jim could see an elevator, with a door beside it, which he assumed was the emergency staircase. The hallway turned to the right at that point. Jim carefully looked around the corner, and quickly signaled the men to hold position.

  The hall led into a well-appointed dining room, complete with tablecloths and real china dishes. There even appeared to be a fireplace. The room, however, was not empty. Three men sat at a table just inside the entry, with a clear view of the elevator and stairs. Their uniforms told Jim that they were not visitors.

  He whispered to
Buck, “Three goons in the canteen—take ‘em out.”

  Buck and three of his men went around the corner and walked briskly down the hall. The three men who were lingering over their lunch saw Buck and his party. They saw the automatic weapons. They went for their guns anyway.

  Their lunches went unfinished.

  “Let’s go!” Jim ordered, flinging open the door next to the elevator. He looked in briefly, long enough to see a stairwell, with no one in it. Sam and Mike took the lead, and Jim went last, covering their backs in case Buck’s lunch-ending gunfire attracted some unwanted attention. Fortunately, it did not.

  The staircase reversed on itself several times, eventually taking them down about sixty feet. Oddly enough, there were no exits leading onto other floors; the staircase had a top and a bottom. And when they got to the bottom, Jim saw a most remarkable sight.

  The stairs led them into an area which looked more than anything else like a subway station. There were two parallel sets of train tracks, both of which ended at the left edge of the station. (“And what do you want to bet those tracks are fifty inches wide?” Mike whispered to Jim.) Sitting on the tracks next to the platform was a two-car subway train, but a much cleaner and nicer one than any Jim had ever seen before. The tracks led off to the right into a wide and spacious tunnel, with more than enough room for two trains to run side by side.

  Jim found all this interesting, but not as much as what was beyond the two tracks, up against the far wall of the “station.” There he saw a conveyor belt which was moving from the tunnel into the station. A man stood by, facing away from them, waiting to receive the belt’s contents. Jim went over to investigate.

  The man, a somewhat overweight, sloppy, unintelligent-looking individual in his mid-twenties, saw Jim coming, and was distracted from the moving belt by the gun in Jim’s hand.

  “What’s your name?” Jim asked genially, holding his gun but not pointing it at the man.

  “P-P-P-Peter,” the sloppy man replied, watching the gun’s every move.