Foreign Enemies and Traitors

by Matthew Bracken

  Jenny and Zack approached a table set up across the front of the medical tent. It was a long folding table, similar to the ones used in school cafeterias. It had a small Red Cross banner tied to its front, hanging down. Another Red Cross was tied to the front of the tent. Three soldiers sat on plastic chairs behind the desk, interviewing newly arriving refugees and listening to their medical complaints. Nobody’s bags were being searched. Zack and Jenny slipped off their packs and set them on the ground, but she kept the diaper bag over her shoulder so that it rested against her left hip. If their bags were searched, her hidden pistol might be found, and then what would happen? An elderly couple leaned over the table in front of Zack and Jenny, filling out a questionnaire on a half sheet of paper. When their form was complete, the couple was led into the tent.

  The soldier looked up at Jenny and asked, “Why are you in the medical line? Is something wrong with your baby?” His nametag read MACKENZIE, and there were two upward-pointing chevrons on his chest insignia. He was a stocky man in his thirties, with a ruddy complexion. Some of the soldiers were wearing black berets, and some were wearing camouflage caps. Mackenzie was wearing a beret.

  Jenny said, “We only have powdered milk that’s made for adults. That’s all she’s had for a few days. We couldn’t heat her milk this morning and now she won’t take it, and she won’t stop crying. I think she’s dehydrated, but I just don’t know for sure.”

  “But you two are okay? It’s just the baby that requires medical attention?” Mackenzie had a soft Southern accent.

  “Yes,” she said. “We’re okay. Hungry and tired, but okay.”

  “Is anything else wrong with your baby?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not.”

  The soldier looked at the two skinny teenagers with a measure of suspicion. “It’s your baby? I mean, you’re the parents?”

  Without hesitation Jenny replied, “Yes. We’re her parents.” Zack glanced at her, his eyes wide.

  “Okay, fill out the forms, one for each of you. Fill one out for your baby too. The blank lines at the bottom are where you write your medical complaint. Just put down ‘Our baby is hungry.’ We have infant formula inside the medical tent. Do you already have a bottle? If you don’t, they’ll give you a new one. You can keep it. They’ll give you a couple of cans of Similac too. This is just a screening center. We can’t feed you two here, just your baby. You’ll get a hot meal at the main camp. It’s only a couple of minutes away on the bus.”

  Both teens leaned over the table and began to fill out their slips of paper. It had lines for basic information such as name, age and address. When he was finished, Zack said, “We don’t need to go to another camp. We have people to meet us here in Corinth. Can’t you just give us the baby formula and let us go?”

  Mackenzie looked at him and said, “Look, I don’t make the policy here; I just do what I’m told. Everybody that comes here has to go to the main camp. But at least you’re done walking—the bus will take you the rest of the way. Once you’re in the camp, your friends will be able to come and get you. Well, after you go through vaccination and quarantine. They have a real medical clinic there, where they can do lab tests on your baby and make sure it’s okay.”

  Jenny took her slip of paper, stood erect, and said, “Milk or no milk, we’re not getting on that bus. Forget it.”

  The soldier looked at her, then at Zack, and he said, “What’s her problem? Look, this isn’t the kind of situation where you get to choose. This isn’t Burger King. It just doesn’t work that way. The medic will look at your baby here in the tent. You’ll get a chance to clean him up and get some new diapers and some baby formula. I think that’s pretty damn generous! You came to us, remember? You’re in Mississippi now, and we’re trying our best to help you. But after we help you here, then you have to get on the bus. That’s the way it works today. This is just an initial reception center. They can do a lot more for you at the refugee center. You’ll get hot meals and a chance to clean up and rest.”

  Jenny vehemently shook her head no. “Listen: all we need is some warm baby formula, okay? That’s it. But I am not getting on any damn bus! Forget it!” She had a hard and brittle edge in her voice. People in the other lines stared at her. “We’ll figure something else out, but we are not getting on any bus!”

  Other soldiers around them stopped what they were doing, and looked toward the medical table to see what was happening to cause the girl to shout. Her baby was crying almost nonstop, contributing to the tension.

  Mackenzie said, “What’s the matter with you? Keep it down, you’re upsetting people. This isn’t easy for anybody. We’re doing the best we can. Nobody expected thousands of you people to come walking out of Tennessee. We didn’t invite you to come into Mississippi, so why don’t you pull yourself together and show a little gratitude? Everybody here is stressed out—that doesn’t make you special.”

  Jenny answered more quietly, “Well, that’s fine, thanks, but I’m still not getting on that bus.” Her dirty pink vinyl diaper bag was against her left side. Its top zipper was open. She thought that she might have to take out her .45 to prevent them from forcing her onto the bus. If any of these soldiers tried to grab her, she would pull it out and maybe start shooting. That thought made her begin to tear up, because she knew that escape would be impossible from this place. There were just too many soldiers, even if they were not carrying rifles. To have come so far and fail was a bitter thought to contemplate…but she would not be forced onto that green bus. She would not make Hope go on another bus ride.

  Zack put his arm around Jenny, shushed her, and said to the soldier, “I’m sorry. You have to understand something. She saw something terrible back there. Terrible. Hundreds of people were put onto buses by the Kazak Battalion and then they were taken away and shot. Hundreds of people. She was an eyewitness. That’s why we won’t get on a bus. You can understand that, can’t you? And that’s why we can’t just go to a refugee camp with everybody else, or go into quarantine or whatever you said. We have important information about a massacre, a terrible massacre that happened back there. And we even have pictures of it. We need to see some people in Corinth about it. It can’t wait while we’re put into quarantine. You don’t understand—we’re not refugees—we’re on a mission.”

  The soldier looked up at them skeptically. “A mission. You’re a man on a mission. Well, I’m on a mission too, a mission to get everybody processed and on that bus to go to the refugee center in Corinth, which is all of maybe ten minutes away from here. That’s going to be my mission all day long, one busload after another, until you people stop walking out of Tennessee. Once you get to the main camp, you can talk to somebody about your pictures. I’m just doing medical triage, that’s my mission. Everything else happens at the main camp, and everybody has to go through quarantine. That’s just the way it is.”

  Zack said, “Well, we can’t wait for that. If you can’t help us, then we just have to leave. We have people we need to see. It’s important, very important. So we can’t just get on your bus, to go to God knows where and for how long.” Their unease seemed to spread to the other refugees behind them in line, and even to the other lines in front of the non-medical tents. People began to whisper to one another and look over at the waiting green bus with new trepidation.

  The soldier behind the table frowned, leaned across the table, and spoke in a low voice while staring at Zack and glancing at Jenny. “Look, buddy, you two need to chill out. You’re causing a scene, and we don’t need that. Finish filling out your damn forms, and we’ll give the baby some formula so it’ll shut up. Then you’ll go over and get on that nice heated bus with everybody else.”

  Jenny slammed her pen down, tore her form in half, and threw the pieces at the soldier across the table. “Well, I’m not going to get on any damned bus, and you can’t make me!” She reached across Hope and thrust her right hand into her diaper bag.

  The soldier jumped from his chair, sputtering with anger
, and pointed his finger at her. “Listen, Missy—you’ll get on that bus, if I have to get MPs to drag you onto it!”

  At that moment a black soldier came hurrying out of the tent, motioning the angry soldier to sit down. He had three upward-pointing chevrons on his chest. He asked, “What’s the problem here, Corporal Mackenzie?” He picked up Zack’s form and glanced at it. “This says you’re from Mississippi. So, what are you doing here with the Tennessee refugees?”

  “Oh, it’s a really long story,” Zack replied.

  The soldier behind the table said, “Sergeant Amory, they say they won’t get on the bus. They’re refusing to go to the main camp with the rest of the refugees. They say she witnessed some kind of massacre. She might have PTSD, I don’t know. Did you hear her?”

  “I heard her. I heard her asking for baby formula. Did anybody get that baby some formula yet?” The sergeant looked around at the other soldiers who had been watching the dispute. Jenny’s hand was on her pistol in the diaper bag. She glanced at him, rapidly absorbing new information. So, three upward chevrons meant sergeant, and two meant corporal. This black man was a sergeant, even though he seemed to be younger than some of the privates, and he was definitely much younger than Corporal Mackenzie. Sergeant Amory had a chocolate-colored complexion and an intelligent-looking face. But he was still a young black man, and so Jenny reflexively stiffened. She kept her hand on the gun hidden in the diaper bag, while struggling to maintain her composure through these tense and confusing developments.

  The corporal replied, “Formula—ah, that was next, Sergeant. We were just getting there.”

  The black sergeant shot Mackenzie a withering glare, and then motioned to the teenagers. “You two, come with me, please. You can finish filling out your forms inside, and I’ll check your baby. We’ve got baby formula, and we can heat it up.”

  They walked around the long table and into the tent, where four cots, folding chairs, tables and portable desks were set up inside.

  Zack said, “Sergeant Amory, I appreciate what you did, but I need to know something. After the baby gets her milk, are we free to go, or not?”

  “That’s not my decision to make.” Amory had gone to a stack of cardboard boxes and retrieved a can of formula.

  “Then I need to see your commanding officer. If you’re not going to let us go, I mean, if we’re not free to go, then I have information that I need to give to somebody. Somebody high up the chain of command. As high up as possible, and right away.”

  “What kind of information?” Sergeant Amory appeared doubtful. The two old folks who had been ahead of the teens in line were lying fully dressed on a pair of Army cots. Amory indicated that Jenny could sit down on an empty cot, which she did, after shedding her pack and even her diaper bag, with its concealed handgun. The sergeant told another soldier to prepare a bottle of Similac. There was a gas camp stove on another table, for preparing hot drinks and meals. Jenny laid the baby on the cot, unwrapped her blanket, unsnapped her onesie outfit and checked her diaper. It was still dry.

  The sergeant briefly scanned the form Zack had filled out. “If she won’t take this formula, we’ll have to start an IV. Don’t worry, I’m a damned good medic, and I never miss. Not even with a baby—especially not with a baby. She’ll hardly feel it. All right? But first we’ll see what she does with a warm bottle.” He smiled at Jenny. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” Jenny reluctantly agreed. So, Amory was both a sergeant and a medic. And even though he was black, he was treating them gently and with respect. Still, she distrusted him. How could she not? Her pistol was still within easy reach in the diaper bag beside her on the cot, but she had calmed down considerably since her confrontation with the corporal.

  The sergeant then said, “Now, what about those pictures?” He appeared somewhat skeptical until Zack took the camera from his pack, turned it on and handed it over. The LCD pictures on its back were only two inches wide, but that was enough to convey their significance. “Oh my God! You weren’t exaggerating about a massacre! You’re coming with me.” He looked to Jenny. “Can you please stay here for now? The formula will be ready in a minute; Private Saxby here will get it for you. We’re going next door to look at these pictures on a computer. I’ll bring him back in a few minutes, I promise. All right?”

  ****

  Sergeant Amory led Zack into the adjoining tent, which was furnished inside like a rough office, with folding tables and chairs and no cots. He addressed an officer seated behind a portable desk. “Captain Harris, I’ve got something you need to see ASAP. Is your computer working?” The officer had two vertical black bars on his chest and two matching bars on his camouflage patrol cap. He looked at the pictures on the back of the camera and then rapidly pulled a black laptop from a padded zipper case. Zack’s camera had a swing-out USB jack, and in a few moments the pictures appeared on the computer’s screen.

  The captain was visibly shocked by what he saw, and he asked Zack, “Where and when were these pictures taken?”

  “Near Mannville in Radford County, on Sunday morning. But the massacre happened on Saturday afternoon.”

  “Did you take these pictures?”

  “No sir, a Green Beret did.”

  “A Green Beret?” The captain appeared skeptical. “And what was this Green Beret’s name?”

  “Master Sergeant Boone Vikersun. I’m not making this up. He was from the 1st Battalion of the 5th Special Forces Group, at Fort Campbell.”

  Zack’s prompt recitation of this information seemed to allay some of the captain’s doubt. “So, how do you know this Green Beret? Is he a relative of yours?”

  “No, we’re not related. He came to my house. My house is in Mississippi near the state line, north of Walnut. He came because of my guest. It’s a long story, but I had another old Green Beret already staying with me. I accidentally shot him with an arrow on Christmas morning, when I was out hunting. Really, it was more like I grazed him. I took care of him at my house. He’s okay now.”

  Sergeant Amory cocked his head and stared at Zack with increased interest as these somewhat disjointed details spilled out. “Christmas morning?” he asked.

  “Yes sir. It was Christmas morning around dawn. I was bow-hunting in a tree stand. I took care of him after that. I sewed him up after I wounded him by accident.”

  Sergeant Amory took a notepad and pen from his coat pocket. “What was this old Green Beret’s name? The one you wounded, the one who was staying with you?”

  “Well, at first I thought his name was Colonel Brice. But that name turned out to be fake.”

  “Colonel Brice? You’re sure of that?” Sergeant Amory stared at the boy in amazement, and then told the captain, “Sir, we need to take this young man and his camera to the senior officer in charge in Corinth, whoever that is. And we need to do it right now.”

  Captain Harris said, “Well, Sergeant, as luck would have it, General Mirabeau himself is here today, somewhere. He came up to Corinth when the refugees started coming over.” The captain turned to another soldier. “Private Berry, get the duty truck and bring it here as quick as you can.”

  ****

  The private and Sergeant Amory sat in the front of the green GMC quad-cab pickup. Captain Harris, Jenny and Zack sat in the back seat. Their packs went in the bed of the truck. The baby was cradled on Jenny’s lap, her tiny hands clamped on a new bottle of formula as she drank eagerly. They drove down Highway 45 to where it intersected another four lane route. In a long field, a tent city was being erected. Buses and trucks were unloading civilian refugees. They continued past the tents and came to a parking area outside a closed shopping center, where a small military camp bustled with activity. There were green cargo containers on trucks, troop trucks, fuel trucks and what looked like several large green recreational vehicles. Nearby, a pair of Blackhawk helicopters were parked on their own section of pavement. The parking area containing this encampment was patrolled by soldiers carrying M-16s. They were waved to a stop when they
left the service road to turn into this secured area. Captain Harris rolled down his window. “We’re here to see Lieutenant General Mirabeau.”

  The soldier saluted. “Yes sir. Do you have an appointment, Captain? Are you scheduled?”

  “No, but it’s an emergency. We have urgent information for him.”

  “I’m sorry, Captain, but nobody goes past here unless I’ve been told otherwise.”

  “Then call somebody now. We have to see the general; it’s extremely urgent.”

  A lieutenant walking from a commo trailer toward a green RV saw the minor commotion and walked over. “What’s the problem, Captain?”

  “These civilians have information about a massacre that happened in Tennessee.”

  Sergeant Amory added, “We have pictures, and an eyewitness.”

  “A massacre?”

  “That’s right. Hundreds of civilians were murdered by the Kazaks.”

  The lieutenant jotted notes in his own memo pad. “Wait right here. I’ll be back with an answer either way.”

  Two minutes later the lieutenant returned. “These are the witnesses? Okay, park over there and follow me. The general will see you right now.”

  ****

  The green RV wasn’t like a camper inside. Instead, the thirty-five-foot recreational vehicle had been gutted and converted into an open-plan office and staff meeting room. General Mirabeau saw Sergeant Amory, glanced at his nametape, and did a double take. “You! Well, Sergeant Amory, we meet again. You’re keeping out of trouble?”

  “Yes sir, General, I’ve been trying to. But somehow, trouble just keeps finding me.”