Boy, were they wrong!
The country was pretty well consolidated; it was a rather nice place to be. Other than some of the problematic areas – like Cairo, the central part of the continent in the Congo, or odd little bush areas that didn’t have constant federal-level oversight – the country was actually a pretty nice place to be. People were friendly, you could start a small business without any significant oversight or burdensome rules, you could own firearms and protect yourself, all without “big brother” intervening. As a general rule, you were allowed to do whatever you wished, as long as you weren’t infringing on the ability of someone else to do as they wished, and you weren’t hurting someone else, financially or physically.
I honestly liked the country. It didn’t hurt that so many people recognized me by face, as “The Jew” – and if not adoration, they at least had a high degree of respect for me, based on the things that they would say and do for me, and how they wrote about me in their newspapers. I tried hard not to abuse that.
It was oh, probably October by the time that I felt comfortable telling my boss that I was “done.”
18 OCT 2127
In Re: African Theater Operations Status
Sir,
Pacification of the continent has completed.
Transition of power to President Azizi Balewa has begun and is progressing as expected, with final handoff of all regions expected NLT 31 DEC 2127.
Ninth Army is completing additional training, while simultaneously completing Rest & Refit operations, in anticipation of readiness validation for subsequent missions.
Please advise next action.
//signed//
Brevet General James Wolf
African Theater Commander
It didn’t take long to get an answer, that’s for sure.
18 OCT 2127
In Re:Major General James Wolf
S/N 20690401142857
Your return CONUS is authorized and required at your soonest availability.
Report to Office of the Commander, Pentagon, Washington DC, within twenty four (24) hours of arrival CONUS.
//signed//
Commander Alfred Neuman
US Consolidated Army
That was odd. Normally there’d be a reference to the unit, something telling me what to do with them, or a promotion and/or something to indicate what’s next. This just said to go home, and go see the commander. Strange.
Not that strange. I’d knocked it out of the park, and the commander and his staff should be overjoyed – but they aren’t. Worse, they’re hedging by not telling me what’s going on. I think… I won’t be available for a couple of weeks.
18 OCT 2127
In Re: African Theater Operations Status
Sir,
I anticipate returning CONUS approximately early to mid-December, 2127.
I will inform your staff when I depart, and will report in the day after I arrive home.
//signed//
Brevet General James Wolf
African Theater Commander
Something is definitely wrong. Odds are good that they’re pissed about something, but for the life of me, I can’t imagine what. Collateral damage? No, we kept that to a minimum, and really the only damage to cultural assets were by the enemy, not us.
I put out some feelers through the intelligence group I had working for me – apparently there was some sort of gag order internally, and they were advised to remain neutral.
They were specifically told not to tell me anything about a pending court martial for un-military-like conduct.
They were specifically told not to tell me anything about shooting a soldier – that one surprised me; I couldn’t even think of who the hell it was at first.
They were specifically told not to tell me anything about Private Kohl’s family starting a civil lawsuit for murder, which had already been thrown out of court.
They were specifically and explicitly told not to tell me anything about Corporal Lenoir having taken video recordings with his implant, storing them and sharing them when he got back state-side.
Good thing they didn’t tell me, or I would have probably done something about it.
However, they didn’t tell me what they weren’t supposed to tell me – they just told me that they WEREN’T supposed to tell me about it. There’s a difference, right? I do love it when I teach my subordinates by example to do what’s right, while still adhering to the letter of the law. They hadn’t, after all, been told not to tell me that they’d been told not to tell me.
The word went quietly out, along with the video (for some stupid reason, Intelligence had sent a copy of the video back to my troops), to what must have been the entire Ninth Army. Before I knew it, I was getting all kinds of anonymous messages – all hardcopy, nothing at all electronic (or traceable!) – from the entire damn chain of command, all the way from the lowest private, to Major General Blackwell, the head of intelligence. I had them all saved and stored; that was the sort of thing that made me realize just what an impact I’d had on my troops.
That was the sort of thing that made me proud.
Everyone apparently knew it, and everyone knew it was bullshit, but they all knew it was going to happen, too.
Late November, I had Thanksgiving dinner with my command – we had a beautiful resort facility and we had a good sized chunk of the junior troops from across the country flown in. I and the other senior officers served the troops, by hand – a tradition I’d heard of when I’d scoured the history books for prior documentation of troops supporting their commanders, and how those commanders had responded.
By the end of the night, I’d gotten still more ‘thank you’s and ‘give em hell sir!’ than I could count. I damn near shed a tear over that.
Okay, I’m lying, I wasn’t going to cry – but damn, I was proud of these troops.
Except for one. I made sure that Corporal Lenoir had been located, identified, and was being watched such that no-one was going to abuse or otherwise take advantage of him. I had a special surprise in store for him.
The first of December, I had my staff start prepping for the transition – it was unlikely I’d be back here to command, and we all knew it. I had what few personal effects I had, moved to the executive suite down in Cape Town; I expected to be back there as a vacation trip once in a while, but I liked having some of ‘my’ stuff around, ahead of time, so that I had a feeling of ownership, and a sense of belonging.
By the end of the week, things were all packed up and handled, and I’d said my goodbyes to everyone – including Az who, rather than shake my hand, wrapped me in an open embrace. “I shall miss you, James… but you shall have a place here. I assure it!”
Damn straight I would. I owned a notable portion of his country’s advanced businesses!
I got on board the VIP transport, and then had a laugh as Colonels Paulson and Willis turned and looked back at me.
“If you motherfuckers plan on throwing me out, that ain’t happening this time!”
They laughed, and we got underway. I’d been told that because of weather conditions, it made more sense to take off later in the evening; when I saw those two jokers in the front, I figured there was more to it – and so there was. They’d planned to arrive shortly after midnight, so that I wasn’t going to have to report in until the next day – it gave me time to handle anything else I wanted, and I wouldn’t have to rush through any of my preparation.
I appreciated that – it made things just a little bit easier. I couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic, though; it felt good to have so many people come out of seemingly nowhere to show support for me, even if they had to be covert about it. For most of the five hour flight, they came back one at a time to chat and see how I was doing, offer drinks and what-not. I finally went up front and sat in the jump seat and we talked about old times, possible future endeavors… mostly small talk, but I did make sure that they knew there was definitely a place for them close to me in the civili
an side of things once they got out of the military.
We arrived home, landing in Washington DC, at Dulles International, very early on December 8th. I only had a single duffel bag with me, so after we landed, I commed the Fort Myer duty driver to come pick me up. Fort Myer was the nearest lodging facility where transient officers stay, while visiting the Pentagon. Ironically, that was also the first joint base that had been established, back during the early stages of military consolidation. It had at one point been “Joint Base Myer-Henderson Hall”, a joint Army-Marine base, but when we became the, “United States Consolidated Army,” it was renamed to simply “Fort Myer” as it had originally been.
Oddly, this was also where the Commander’s residence – “Quarters 1” - was. I knew this, but didn’t give it much thought at first. As the black limousine pulled up to the airport, three military police stepped out and saluted in front of me. One turned to hold the car’s door open for me, and the other two came to stand behind me as an honor guard.
Or were they?
As I got in, one got back into the front seat of the limo, and the other disappeared – and I realized the blacked out vehicles in front and rear were escort vehicles, likely one of them now carrying the missing MP.
We drove to the base and stopped in front of a building, fairly decorative, and not something I would have expected to see. The door opened for me – thank you, General Simmons, for the guidance on etiquette and comportment as a general officer – when I waited, and the other two MPs walked behind me again. They felt less and less like an honor guard, and more and more like prisoner escorts.
As I hit the top of the stairs, one opened the door, and the other one stepped up his pace to walk in first. By the time I walked inside, not breaking stride, the MP Sergeant was turning to hand me a piece of paper. “You’re checked in already sir, in Quarters 2.”
“Very well, Sergeant, lead on.” I couldn’t very well break with protocol now, I suppose – and putting me in the ‘guest quarters’ of Quarters 1 struck me as a little odd – I had been expecting a much simpler suite, as I didn’t particularly need (or want) much space.
He led me back out the door and to the car, where the same routine occurred. They drove me to a house that, I presumed, was Quarters 2. Again, they got out and escorted me to the front door – this time, however, one stopped and asked, “Sir, Do you have any weapons on or about your person?”
“No son, I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“Orders, sir. You do not have a knife on your belt?”
“I do, and, that’s a religious artifact, not proscribed as a weapon.”
“I’m sorry sir, but I’m going to have to ask you to surrender the weapon.”
“As I said, Sergeant, it’s not a weapon. Have a good evening.” I turned and walked into the house, opening my own door as the sergeant just stood there with his mouth hanging open as I closed the door in his face.
I looked around – a nice place, cozy – and was about to walk further in, when there was a knock at the door. That fucking sergeant is really going to push this issue, I suppose.
I opened the door, intending to act as if I were irritated with being disturbed – it was nearly midnight, after all – and to my surprise, it was the Commander, and what I could only guess was his wife and his daughter. He looked as I’d seen in the photos – short, somewhat clown-ish, a round head and slightly buckteeth, a full head of dark brown hair surrounding a well-aged face. He was dressed as a civilian, but it was obvious who he was.
“Good evening sir, I wasn’t expecting to see you this time of night – I was going to report in tomorrow morning. Please, come in.” I stepped aside, and the two ladies walked in ahead of him.
“Oh, don’t stand so much on ceremony, James, call me Alfred – or even Alf. This is my wife, Gina, and our daughter, Olivia. Say hello, ladies.”
The women, though, oh my god. Gina – Virginia, I found out later – was probably 5’10, almost as tall as me (and just as tall, in 4” heels!), a slender, long-haired redhead with a chest that had to be fake, but moved naturally with the rest of her. Her daughter was damn near a mirror copy that could have passed as an identical twin, with nothing more than the backs of her hands making the age difference obvious. Gina was probably in her early 40’s, and Olivia couldn’t have been older than 20.
I’d closed the door behind him, and his wife turned to look me up and down like I was a piece of meat. Then she was on me, kissing me, groping me, one hand undoing my pants. I was, to say the least, surprised – and backed away in a hurry.
“Ma’am, I must admit to not being familiar to social mores here, and with my deepest apologies, while I am flattered, I must regretfully decline what is a very attractive offer!”
How the fuck else do you turn down your boss’s wife, who’s trying to rape you in front of him?
“Oh shut the fuck up, Alf is a puppet and does whatever I tell him to. Alf, get naked, get on your knees, and come suck the general’s cock.”
Wait WHAT?
I clearly was out of my league here – although by the time I was going to “report in” the next morning, I’d had my first blowjob from a commanding officer – a man, no less – and had fucked his wife and daughter in front of him. I had, of course, demanded something in writing from both him and both of them before going any further, to which she’d laughed and signed, then swapped the pen with her daughter, while they each wrote, “James’ Slut” on their bare asses. Gina was #1, Olivia was #2.
Goddamn, what a night – it’d been too long since I’d had my pipes cleaned, and even longer since I’d been in a position to let those demons off their leashes.
The next morning, however, was very, very different. They were both gone, but Alf was still there – sitting on a chair, in uniform, next to my bed when I woke up. Rage – hidden under my side of the mattress – was in my hand right away.
“Nothing to worry about, James – Mistress Gina and Mistress Olivia had to leave for work, but said they would come back anytime you wish, you only have to order me to send them over. That is, of course, only when we’re in private as I’m sure you’ll understand. You really ought to get up and get dressed; a car will be by shortly to take us to the Pentagon.”
This just got weirder and weirder.
I’m going to skip to the end: Alf – Commander Neuman – really was just a puppet. His wife, Gina, was legally his wife – for now – but was actually a sexual switch who was also a playtoy of the Intendants, who had insisted that she take her daughter (who yes, WAS her and Alf’s daughter) to meet me when I arrived.
As we walked into the Pentagon, the guards at the front tried to – again – relinquish me of Rage. I frowned, and looked at Alf. “Sir, do these guards not understand the religious waiver system? It’s not like I’m a Christian or something, trying to oppress others.”
The MP Corporal got a shocked look on his face. “Oh no sir, that’s not it at all – we will return your knife to you immediately, we simply need to run it through the scanner for contraband or illicit listening devices.”
What… the… fuck?
I drew and handed Rage over, hilt-first, and the Corporal accepted it without touching it, using a dark cloth he pulled from one pocket, and placed it reverently into the otherwise utilitarian plastic tray that other items were put into. After it came through, he picked it up as reverently, and handed it to me – and I caught a small embroidered image on one corner, in equally dark thread, of a rattlesnake. I looked at the Corporal, and I swear, one eyelid twitched in ever so slight of a wink, as I returned Rage to its sheath on my belt. Well, Well, Well….
We continued to the first bank of elevators, travelling down to the 45th level below the Pentagon, where the Commander’s offices were. We walked in, leaving our escort at the outer door, and I got another surprise.
“Olivia, hold my calls; we have the other issue to deal with. We’ll call you in when we need you.” Yep. It was his daughter.
Inside his
office, opulence reigned. I’d never been surrounded by such a display of wealth and power. That, however, wasn’t what got my attention. A wallscreen was lit up with… me.
My periodic ID photos, from when I was in basic, to now. My promotions, awards, units I’d been assigned to. In one half of the screen, playing on a loop, was video of Private Kohl standing up and running, the sound of me ordering him to stop, then centering on me as I raised my rifle and shot him in the back – over and over again. I stood in front of the screen, reviewing it all.
“I’m sorry James, but this is going to be a problem.” Commander Neuman was sitting at his desk, and I sat down on the plush leather couch against the wall adjoining the screen.
“Why, sir? You already know about this issue, you know the circumstances, and you know that it was tactically, strategically, and legally not just sound, but necessary.”
“Tactically and Strategically, probably, yes. Legally, yes, definitely – I’ve already reviewed the statutes. The problem is that socially, it just doesn’t play well. This has, if you weren’t aware, already leaked to the media, and you can expect to see it on the news, shortly. By the way, by orders of the Intendancy, you are confined to base effectively immediately.” My implant pinged and I read the message as I asked him why.
Rage & Fury Page 40
