The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four

by Daniel Lawlis

  While he had showed no emotion before his master sergeant, before the judge, or before anyone else for that matter, as soon as he was alone in a small, shabby apartment that he had rented out, he had bawled his eyes out like a five-year-old whose favorite pet had just died. He had then become enraged and punched the walls until his knuckles bled. And then he had collapsed into a sleep that was more like a coma. More than a day later he woke up and was so disoriented as to everything that had happened that for a moment upon waking up he thought he had been kidnapped.

  As he looked at the punch holes in the walls, his miserable reality returned to him, and while Sleep would no longer bless him with her sweet escape, he lay on his back motionless for two days in a state of shock.

  But Freddie was a man who liked to stay on the move, and he soon convinced himself that the military life would never have amounted to what he hoped it would anyway. He thought Selegania should contest her borders, flex her muscles at the first opportunity, explore new lands. But he knew that military adventurism was not even a remote possibility in Selegania, due to the Seleganians’ historic distrust of armies and weapons. And while the army of four thousand was a good one, it was one of the smallest in the known world and thus looked at by other nations as a Poodle in the company of Rottweilers.

  He had accepted a menial job at a local post office and had been there for the last five years. He kept up virtually the same vigorous exercise regimen that he had done during his days in the army, and while he considered himself a liberal husband and father, his children and wife—had they known of his reputation while in the military—would have sworn he had changed little.

  He planned on a mere ten-mile run today, since he had been forced to work late and thus had little of the evening left, and he was heading home for a quick change of clothes. When he arrived home he gave his wife a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. She was grateful for his long evening workouts, for that gave her some respite from his overbearing company.

  He was about to head out the door when she said, “Honey, there’s a letter here for you.”

  “Later, honey. I’ve got a run to do.”

  “But it looks like it might be really important. It’s from a senator.”

  This did get his attention. He approached her and looked at the letter. His curiosity was piqued. He opened it:

  Sergeant Frederick Manhausen:

  The scourge of vice and addiction wracks our Republic. She groans underneath the indignity of vicious criminals enriching themselves from the trafficking of contraband. The senate has created a new police force designed to combat this great evil. You have been invited to apply for a position, should you desire to offer your military prowess in this war. The Republic shall compensate her faithful soldiers handsomely.

  On Monday of next week, at three o’ clock in the afternoon, I pray for the honor of an interview to further discuss your potential interest in this great struggle.

  In the name of Liberty,

  Senator Hutherton

  An observer would have thought Freddie was rather uninterested. He handed the letter back to his wife and headed out the door. But the observer might have changed his mind if he knew Freddie the way his wife did. She caught the gleam in his stern eyes that was about as frequent as a comet, and it usually meant he was excited about something. Freddie thought best while on his feet, and that night the ten-mile run was upgraded to twenty.

  Chapter 20

  “Next applicant,” Senator Hutherton said.

  The day had been going pretty well so far. Hutherton was thrilled when President Beldenshire himself had visited him in his office and asked him to be involved with the initial recruitment and setting up of the National Drug Police. He told him he thought the law was not only a good idea, but a gutsy one, and that he believed Hutherton would be the best person to ensure that the right kind of people got hired.

  Hutherton had been going through the rounds today and after each interview had put the applicant’s file into one of four piles that he had mentally designated as Reject, Maybe, Probably, and Hire.

  Almost all the applicants were either active or former military. Due to the initial startup costs that would be involved—e.g., uniforms, training facilities, weapons, and sundry equipment—he planned on hiring around a hundred recruits, and he had already recommended to the director of the NDP that at least twenty percent of those recruits be cut during basic training. President Beldenshire himself had authorized Hutherton to lay out policy guidelines such as these to the director and to let the president know if the director did not heed his guidance.

  The response had been tremendous, far better than what Hutherton had hoped. He realized he was going to have the luxury of rejecting the vast majority of the applicants and still hiring a hundred. He had done interviews Monday through Friday of last week, and today, Monday, was likely to be the last day of interviews. It had been rather exhausting work, and he had powdered his nose liberally throughout—between interviews, of course, although he seldom waited long after vacuuming a line to call in the next applicant.

  “Robert Machendale!” he called out.

  Shortly later, in walked a muscle-bound, crew-cut-sporting hulk of a man that had “Current Military” written all over him. He looked Hutherton square in the eye and about pulverized the bones in his hand during the handshake that Hutherton always dreaded giving but mechanically extended nonetheless.

  He performed excellently on the first twenty questions, so Hutherton decided to ask him The Question.

  “Suppose you were asked to carry out an order that, while not technically legal, would ultimately help further the mission of NDP, which, of course, is the eradication of unauthorized Smokeless Green use, possession, and sale—how would you respond?”

  “Well, I have full faith in the NDP, senator, and I believe it is based on sound legal principles, and thus, I believe I would be in full accordance with the law if I did what I was told by my superior officer.”

  “Suppose you were asked to carry a sword in the execution of your duties. That would violate Article 14.”

  “Article 14 states, ‘No man, except a soldier on a military base or acting in his military capacity, shall be permitted to carry a sword.’ The way I see it, we will be acting as soldiers in our military capacity. The Sivingdel Massacre already proved that. Those legs and heads sure as heck didn’t get hacked off with bats or broken beer bottles.”

  “Well, Mr. Machendale, I can certainly sympathize with your position. I myself believe Article 14 to be far too restrictive, and I compliment you on knowing it verbatim. But, I assume you are aware that, alas, 26 Seleganian Code section 47, subsection (a), defines ‘soldier’ as ‘a soldier in good standing in the Seleganian Army.’”

  “I did not know that, senator. But I am a soldier in good standing in the Seleganian Army,” he said, a subtle glint in his eye, suggesting he would have been well-suited for the profession of attorney.

  “Yes, but if you were to be recruited into the NDP, you would have to first resign from the Seleganian Army, which would mean you would no longer be a soldier according to title 26.”

  The glint in his eye not having disappeared in the slightest, and perhaps having grown, Mr. Machendale responded, “That sounds like awfully technical reasoning, considering the kind of savages we’re going to be up against. Perhaps when the senate passed that law, there was no drug war. Times change. Definitions expand.”

  “Well, don’t repeat this, but privately I happen to agree with you, although you didn’t hear that from me,” Hutherton said mischievously. “But were such an expansive interpretation to be taken, it would have to come from the top. Would you agree with that?”

  “That’s where Kasani intended orders to come from, senator.” Then, as an afterthought, the applicant added, “And perhaps if the right senator were to talk to the right general, any soldier in good standing admitted into the NDP could remain a soldier in good standing in the Seleganian Army, while forfeitin
g all or a part of his soldier salary for the national good throughout his tenure in the NDP.”

  Hutherton smiled warmly, asked him a few additional questions, thanked him for his time, and then when he left the room put his file into the Probably pile. Then, he shifted it a few inches towards the Hire pile.

  When interviewing the next applicant and Hutherton asked The Question, the applicant replied:

  “Well, I don’t see how it could further the mission of NDP if the order is not technically legal. After all, the whole point of NDP is to uphold the law. Thus, I would have to refuse an illegal order, since I don’t think an illegal order could further NDP’s mission.”

  “That is an excellent point,” Hutherton said hypocritically. “Forgive me for attempting to ensnare you, but we have to make sure we are hiring morally upright people.”

  “Thank you, senator,” the applicant said, blushing slightly.

  Hutherton then asked him several softball questions and then dismissed him. Once he exited the room, Hutherton placed his file firmly in the Reject pile.

  Hutherton almost stood up to leave but then realized he had one more interview that day.

  “Frederick Manhausen.”

  While awaiting his entry, Hutherton glanced over a few notes he had made on Mr. Manhausen’s application.

  “Senator, reporting for my interview as instructed, sir!”

  Hutherton looked up, annoyed, half-expecting to see a smirking joker standing there barely restraining a case of the giggles.

  Instead, what he saw was something unlike he had ever seen in his life. It was not the size of the man that impressed him. Not that he was any slouch in that department. Five feet, ten inches; sturdy shoulders; and muscular forearms were nothing to sneeze at. But that was hardly what caught Hutherton’s attention. The man stood as straight as a board; looked straight ahead, not at Hutherton; and had an intensity in his eyes that made it look as if he could shoot beams of fire at will and destroy whatever was in his path.

  Not quite sure how to proceed with such a man, Hutherton said simply, “Permission to sit, Mr. Manhausen.”

  Mr. Manhausen sat down, and while his intense expression remained, it seemed to Hutherton that upon looking at Hutherton he softened his gaze slightly, perhaps out of respect. Nonetheless, traces of the erstwhile fire remained.

  “Why are you interviewing for this position, Mr. Manhausen.”

  “Senator, the drug barons declared war on this republic when they carried out the Sivingdel Massacre. I was trained for war, sir. The NDP is the answer to the drug barons’ first volley. I want to join the fight.”

  “Well, you do realize, I assume, that this will be a police force, not an army, and will be required to follow the Seleganian Constitution?”

  “Senator, the Sivingdel Massacre was an act of war, and the perpetrators must be dealt with by soldiers according to the rules of war. It is time for us to strike back.”

  “You do mean, I presume, within the confines of the Constitution?”

  “Senator, when the barbarians invaded our republic centuries ago we appointed a dictator. His name was Avendarius Richtendorff. Richtendorff saved this republic from annihilation. Were it not for him, we would have been subjugated.”

  “Yes, Mr. Manhausen, but he was elected as an emergency dictator by the senate, which is permitted by Article 40.”

  “Senator, I was born to be a soldier. I was trained to be a soldier. And I am a soldier. One thing I have learned above all is that if a job needs to be done it is the soldier’s job to get it done. It is the prerogative of senators to fashion the rules such that he be permitted to do so, even if that has to be done after the fact.”

  Hutherton was unsure whether to ask The Question because it seemed he had arrived at the applicant’s answer more or less already, but he nonetheless decided to pose it verbatim.

  “Suppose you were asked to carry out an order that, while not technically legal, would ultimately help further the mission of NDP, which, of course, is the eradication of unauthorized Smokeless Green use, possession, and sale—how would you respond?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Hutherton said, positive he had misheard the man.

  “That is what my answer would be: ‘Yes, sir.’”

  “Forgive me if I am belaboring the point, but in this hypothetical scenario, you would be asked to carry out something . . . illegal,” Hutherton said, modifying it a bit so as to not insult the man.

  “If the order comes down from my superiors, it is legal,” Mr. Manhausen responded, and he said “is” with such emphasis that Hutherton realized there was no possibility for playing cat and mouse with this applicant, as he had with Mr. Machendale. Mr. Manhausen’s response obviated the need for any further questioning on this matter.

  “Why were you dishonorably discharged from the Seleganian Army,” Hutherton asked, already having read that portion of his file in detail.

  “My superiors decided it.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “I struck a man repeatedly, causing him serious injury.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he was a danger to the army.”

  “Why?”

  “He encouraged softness.”

  “How?”

  “He told me to go lighter on my troops.”

  “Mr. Manhausen, were you to be hired, would you give the NDP your full devotion?”

  For the first time in their interview, Hutherton noticed an emotion in the man’s eye besides blazing fire. It seemed as if he was fighting to choke back a sob.

  “My last drop of blood, senator,” he said, with a kind of reverence.

  Hutherton dismissed Mr. Manhausen. While he felt a bit unnerved by the man even after he had left the room, the senator put his file firmly into the Hire pile and added a note to it: Consider for leadership position.

  Chapter 21

  When Righty woke up the next morning, he felt disoriented. The first thing he noticed was he was in a completely unfamiliar place. Tall pine trees loomed above, and a sweet, pleasant scent filled the air. He sprung to his feet to scan for danger but saw no one other than Harold, who was looking at him calmly.

  He vaguely remembered one hell of a brawl, being pursued, and then ending up on the side of a mountain. He noticed a break in the trees, and he walked forward. He soon realized he was on the edge of a steep embankment looking out over what was just days from being his ranch.

  “How in the hell did I end up here?” he asked Harold.

  “You fell asleep on the glacier and started shivering terribly, so I decided to move you a bit,” Harold replied matter-of-factly.

  Now, the last embers of sleep finally extinguished, he recalled most of the previous night. And he sat down abruptly against a tree, as if the combined weight of all his problems had forced him into a seated position.

  “I’m in one hell of a mess,” he told Harold frankly.

  “Go through it piece by piece. Then, we can talk solutions.”

  “Well, for starters, Tats must know a bird yanked him out of that death trap he was in. And if he sees me again alive, he’s going to have to know that I must have escaped via the same bird, which means, more or less, he knows about you. That’s not good. I’m not sure if I could ever trust anybody enough to tell him about you.”

  “What else?” Harold asked.

  “Well, I’m not sure just how kindly the police took to picking up twenty corpses, many of which were cut into multiple pieces, and one of which you turned into mush.”

  “Is that all?” Harold inquired matter-of-factly.

  “Is that all?! I’m beginning to think you will never understand humans! Haven’t you heard enough to know I’m in one heck of a crap storm?!”

  “On the contrary, I know why each one of these things is a problem. Do you not recall I questioned your request that I pick up Tats?”

  Righty hadn’t recalled that till now, but it was clearer than a glass of clean water n
ow that Harold mentioned it.

  Harold saw Righty had been brought down the requisite peg or two, so he added, “I just wanted to know if that was all the trouble you could think of before I gave my opinion.”

  “Well, I’m gonna have a pissed-off wife on my hands to boot! I didn’t go home last night.”

  He noticed Harold was still looking at him inquisitively, as if he were aware of trouble Righty hadn’t mentioned yet.

  Then a light turned on. “Heavy Sam,” Righty said calmly. “He not only lost twenty men; he lost face. That means he either crawls down into a hole and hides or redoubles his efforts to get me. Something tells me the latter is more likely.”

  Righty noticed Harold’s expression seemed to indicate he had named most of the problems Harold had been thinking of.