For Love or Country
Page 40
Breakfast is luxurious compared to the past few months, with soft scrambled eggs, bread, and even some jam. The moan of pleasure as the marmalade hits my tongue is genuine, and my eyes go wide when I taste something else. “Is this... butter?”
“Not the best quality, but yes,” Major Song says, sipping on her tea. “I'm able to get a little bit through some channels, not much. So enjoy, you're eating my ration for Friday.”
It's hard not to smile as it makes the butter even tastier, and I have to resist the urge to try and get seconds, even though Major Song sees I want it. After we finish, she folds her hands in front of her and looks at me levelly. “So Simon, you said you wanted to make me happy. And how do you propose to do that?”
“I'd like to get some more exercise,” I say, looking down at my nearly skeletal frame. “I know... I know that you've said you would like to show me things, but I'd like to earn those by returning that in kind.”
“Exercise, hmmm? And what would that entail? Pushups, some work in that space that we give to Cade Edwards?”
I shake my head, and roll the dice, it's time to try and press my luck. “I'm more of an outdoors type, Miss Jenny. I was thinking, the camp has to have something it uses as a water heater. Wood or coal fired, I assume, I don't smell oil or diesel. So, maybe I can shovel coal or chop wood?”
“You want me to give you an ax?” Major Song says, smiling. “You must think I really trust you, Simon.”
“Please, Miss Jenny,” I beg, giving her my biggest puppy dog eyes. “I want to make you happy with me, and I'd like to have a body that you can be pleased with. I... I need you, Miss Jenny.”
Three hours ago, I probably wouldn't have been lying, but now it's the biggest pile of bullshit I've ever tried to sell. Honestly, I don't care what she's having me do, I just need to get outside first.
“How about we put you on garbage and latrine duty first, then?” she says with both a measuring gaze and a smile on her lips. “It's outdoors, there's plenty of heavy things you can work your muscles with, and you can earn some more trust with me.”
Perfect. I'd like to thank the Academy for this Oscar.
On the other hand, maybe I'd like to give that Oscar back. When Major Song said that I'd be on garbage and latrine duty, I didn't quite understand what that meant. Hell, I figured I'd be scrubbing toilets.
Nope. Apparently, the camp here doesn't believe in toilets that flush. I thought my bucket was bad, but other than missing a seat, it's really not that much different than what most of the soldiers in the camp have to deal with. Listening to the guard who is still watching me and jabbering along in North Korean, this is what enlisted people get to use. The primary differences between my bucket and their toilet are that they have a wooden seat and that the buckets they use are a lot bigger, namely cut down fifty gallon drums. When I get the building, the stench is already pretty bad, and the guard laughs.
I go to work, reminding myself with every muscle aching pull of a heavy drum, every scoop of a bucket as I carry the human shit over to the fertilizer pile for the nearby village to use in their fields, and every eye watering pour of the fetid, stinking piss into the drainage ditch, that the work is for a purpose. I'm not working, I'm training.
I'm training my body, I tell myself, and training for Sandhurst was harder than this. I don't have to climb a rope, I don't have to paddle a boat, or any of the dozen other skills that I learned in the competition that I'm wondering if I'm going to have to use to get away.
Thinking about Sandhurst helps me focus my mind as well on Ashley. Her hair, the way it flows over her shoulders in a ponytail when she's exercising, so much sexier than when she's in her ACUs or when she was in her other cadet uniforms. I only got to see her in her active duty blues twice, once for a pinning ceremony where Henry put the rank on her uniform for the first time, and later on at Tammy and Cara's wedding.
And she's pregnant, with twins. I smile as I lift the next pair of buckets, my biceps quivering but my grip still strong. I hope it's a boy and a girl. I swear, I'm going to get back home before they're born. I'm not sure how long it's been, and I turn to the guard, taking a risk. “Excuse me, can I have water?”
I hate being polite to this guy, but I have to see if he knows any English. He doesn't, so I pretend to go into bad, baby level South Korean.
The guard looks at me strangely, then comprehension dawns.
I nod, and mime drinking. The guard gives me a thumbs up (I guess it's the universal sign to give Yankee imperialists when you understand them) and grabs his canteen, bringing it over. I actually am a little thirsty, but I'm more interested in just how careful he is with his weapon and himself as he hands over the canteen.
Like I expect, he's not as careful as he should be, probably after the weeks I've been here, especially the weeks of me becoming more and more compliant to Major Song, they probably think I'm whipped. Of course, they don't know how close I was to actually becoming the lapdog the guard thinks I am.
I swallow gratefully, and hand the canteen back. “Thanks, man. Merry Christmas.”
The guard smiles and caps his canteen, walking away, more importantly turning his back to me. When he turns back, he laughs. “Ku-ri-soo-mass? Santa, eh?”
I nod, giving him a thumbs up. “Right, Santa. Ho, ho, ho!”
The guard gives me another laugh and leans back on his spot.
It's a clue. A clue, and maybe an opportunity. Combine that with the exercise, and I can make it. Now, I just have to avoid saying anything stupid during my interrogations, play along some, and then when the opportunity presents itself, make my move.
Ashley
“Okay, so with Christmas coming up, we here at the ALU don't get quite the same break as a lot of the units,” Captain Bali says, sitting on his desk and swinging his legs back and forth, relaxed. “Part of it is that you are in school still. No offense, but this is nothing compared to what line units do, they need the extra time off.”
I can't argue, even as my belly swells under my top. I feel huge as I sit in my seat, the chair just a little bit further back from the desk than it was yesterday it seems. I've actually gotten to the point where I can see the twins squirming and turning under my skin, it's kinda freaky and cool and weird in an Alien sort of way.
“With that being said,” Captain Bali says, “The Army has another reason to trim your Christmas break some. The Army wants to give the Transportation Battalions and all the other units that you are being sent out to the chance to integrate their new Lieutenants before the summer rotations begin.”
“Well, we did get two month's grad leave,” Felicia Hardy, one of the other Pointers, says. She's the class eternal optimist, the one who looks at rain clouds in the evening and is happy because it means that there's a chance we'll have PT the next morning at the fitness center instead of in the dirt.
“True, for you USMA grads,” Captain Bali says, tapping his fingers on the desk. “With that, the CO asked me to ask for volunteers for people willing to be OIC at the Fort Lee Lodge over the break. It'd be one day of duty, and we'd like to fill it with volunteers before we start handing out the suck. You'll be paired with a NCO who's in one of their school courses.”
“Is everyone pitching in?” someone asks, and Captain Bali nods.
“The CO told me he's already talked with the other school units, and here's the deal. We collect volunteers, and then names will be drawn from a hat to pick what days you want to be OIC. If t
here's more names than there are dates, then whoever doesn't get picked gets a pat on the back.”
“And if we do get duty?”
“I hear the dining facility is doing extra special meals all break long. Kinda nice to have the cooks course here, they really get to show off their goods at times like this. You'll be getting some extra yum-yums.”
I start to laugh at the term, but my laugh turns into a groan as a tight pain hits my stomach, and I wince, yelping a little. Everyone turns, concerned. “Carlyle?”
“I... oh God that didn't feel good,” I groan as the tightness continues. My wince becomes a hiss of pain, and I lean forward, my hands on my stomach. “Someone call the docs.”
There's a flurry of activity, and I'm reminded that despite the years of Academy or ROTC training, the future leaders of the military will frequently flip the fuck out as soon as they think a woman is in labor. Thankfully, one of the ROTC girls raises her voice and takes control.
“Everyone shut up and sit down!” she hollers in a voice that brooks no argument. My eyes are shut it hurts so bad, and I'm worried. It's early, far too early, and I can't be having the babies now. And it hurts, oh my God it hurts....
“Carlyle... Ashley, listen to me,” the same girl says, she's next to me now. “Okay, just take deep breaths. Captain Bali's already on the phone, calling for the medics. Can you walk? It'll help if it is the babies.”
“How do you know?” someone asks, and I have to smile even despite the pain at the derisive tone of her reply.
“Because I helped my cousin when she had a baby, okay? Y'all motherfuckers need to get out in the real world more, those granite towers made you retarded,” she says, before turning her attention to me. “Sorry, Woo-poo.”
“Not a problem,” I hiss, smiling. “I’m half retarded already, even with my civvie schooling.”
“Yeah, I know. Going to college for six years just to get a bachelor's? Might have to start calling you Tommy Boy,” the girl says, helping me up. “Okay, when you're steady, let's start walking towards the door.”
We get out to the hall, Felicia catching up a moment later with my bag and a grin on her face. “Can I help out?”
“You going to be chirpy?” I ask, cutting my eyes over. At school, we didn't run into each other that often, she was in third regiment her entire time and we never took classes together, but like most of the girls in my class, you at least develop a passing acquaintance with them. “Because I could really use it right now.”
“Sure. Hey, have you thought of names yet?” Felicia asks as we wait for the elevator. Captain Bali joins us, probably to make sure that I'm okay, but he's nervous. He's got two kids, what was he doing when his wife went into labor, deployments?
“Not yet. I had a few ideas, but I was holding out to run them by Simon first,” I explain. The door opens, and we get inside. “I'm worried I'm not going to get a chance.”
“Don't worry, this could just be a false labor,” Felicia says. “You know, my aunt had twins, and she got so huge that she had to be on bed rest for the last six weeks of her pregnancy. When they came, each of them were over eight pounds, and she did it naturally too.”
“Jesus Christ,” the ROTC girl says. “How'd she walk after that?”
“Actually, it was more like how could my uncle walk,” Felicia jokes, laughing. “About six weeks after my cousins were born, Aunt Karen sent Uncle Tim in for a little snip-snip action.”
Captain Bali groans, and everyone but me laughs, I'm still hurting too much. “Sorry. Male instinct at work here.”
“Don't worry sir, we won't hold it against you,” I gasp, before another pain grips my stomach, and I whine at the pain, squeezing Heather and Felicia's hands tightly. Suddenly, a rumble passes through me and I embarrassingly fart, loud and long, nearly a world record I bet, just as the door opens and we see the medics standing on the other side. “Oh.”
The humor of the whole scenario leaves us laughing, even as my face turns red, and the medics kind of look at us, confused. “Okay, I think that means you're also out of the OIC pool for Christmas break,” Captain Bali says, regaining his composure. “Still Carlyle, go with the medics to the hospital, make sure that your babies are okay. Hardy, follow behind in your car, be her battle buddy. Robinson, you and I get to go back to class.”
“Thanks Heather,” I tell her as I leave the elevator and sit down in the wheelchair the medics insist on. “You should have gone medical.”
“Wanted to, didn't have the grades,” Robinson says, shrugging. “No biggie. Give us an update when you get back.”
“So it was just gas?” Dad asks as I lay on the couch at home three days later. I'm on total profile now, no PT at all, no strenuous duty, none of that until after the babies come. I can still go to class, but the two weeks of Christmas break are going to be nothing but resting and gathering my strength. Apparently, twins tend to come faster than single babies, and while I'm massively early, I have to be ready.
“Just gas,” I tell Dad, sipping on my herbal tea. That's another thing I've cut out over the past few months, no more caffeinated drinks. “Although the doctors said that it's probably a sign that I might have more false labors. Basically the docs said that until the water breaks, I could feel like it's starting quite a few times. They want me to be careful, especially as month nine comes around. They're even thinking of pulling me from the class just to be sure.”
“Would you graduate if that happens?” Mom asks, coming in and bringing me a cheese sandwich. It's another thing about my pregnancy, I've gone cheese crazy. At least the calcium's good for the babies.
“They'll probably recycle me Mom, but that's okay, there's a group that's only like two months or so behind my class,” I tell her, chewing on my sandwich. “I won't get to Korea too much later, I'll be fine.”
“Well, in any case, it'll be nice to have you home for Christmas, and you don't even need to use any of your leave time for it,” Mom replies happily. “It's going to be so nice to have you here again.”
The evening continues, and when Mom goes to bed, I sit up with Dad, watching the flickering flames and glowing oak logs in the fireplace. “I got word today,” Dad says faux casually, sipping at a brandy, “the Koreans got the letter to Simon. The plant there said he's starting to request outdoor work details. I suspect he's playing them, trying to find a chance to get out.”
“Still Dad... after that gas attack, I'm scared,” I reply, sipping at my chamomile. “I'm losing my patience.”
“I know honey, but you need to hold on,” Dad says, and I can't help it, it pisses me off.
“Hold on... hold on... hold on....” I hiss, forcing myself to sit up. “All I ever hear from you or from anyone else on this is hold on. I've been holding on like a motherfucker for five months, Dad. I'm tired of just holding on.”
“So what are you going to do?” Dad asks, looking at me levelly. “You can barely sit up.”
“I can make calls to people, Dad. Maybe I can't go in, maybe the Army won't go in, but someone's got to be willing to do it for the right amount of money. You probably know exactly how much, too.”
Dad sips at his brandy again, nodding. “I do. You know me pretty well, Ashley. And if it was within any reach of our abilities, I'd have come to you with this option. But the cost is... prohibitive.”
“How much?” I ask. “How much is my children's father worth?”
“Ten million dollars,” Dad says, the second word like a punch between my eyes. Ten million dollars? “For a team of five capable operators to go into North Korea and do an extraction like that, ten million dollars, plus costs. Honey, I've talked to former SEALs, Delta operators, British SAS, and a few others. Nobody is willing to try it. Not without knowing their family is set up for after their deaths.”
“It's fucking North Korea, ten klicks from the border!” I hiss before taking deep breaths when the babies squirm. Calm down, Ash. Stress isn't good for the babies. “A million dollars per kilometer.”
/> “And there's a lot of North Korean forces between the DMZ and there,” Dad says. “Honestly though, the best route isn't even overland, but through the sea. The DMZ is the world's most heavily fortified, mined, and guarded spot in the world. Two and a half miles wide, and you can expect troops on one side or another to take a casual pot shot at stuff they think just might be moving around. You need the luck of a Vegas gambler to make it through in one piece.”
I sigh and lay back down, trying to get comfortable again. “There has to be something more I can do, Dad. More than just writing letters and praying.”
Dad finishes his brandy and shakes his head. “Sadly Ashley, there is little more you can do. Little more I can do, even. It's one of the toughest lessons that I learned when I advanced in rank and into the SF, and later on into what I do now. You think that you're gaining more power, but what you really learn is that while you know more of what's going on, there's still remarkably little you can do by yourself to get things done.”
“I'd still rather know than have my head in the sand any longer,” I groan, and Dad hums. “I mean it. I'd rather know the truth than be a sheep.”
“Perhaps,” Dad says. He takes his glass into the kitchen, and comes back out. “I'm going to go to sleep, honey. Would you like a hand to bed?”
I shake my head, and turn on my side. “No, the fire's nice. And if I happen to fall asleep out here, that'll be fine too. Thanks for listening, Dad.”
“Anytime, honey. Don't stay up too late, I'll see you in the morning.”
Simon
Gyeong, the nice but lazy guard who I've struck up something of a connection with, is the one escorting me again as I approach the gates of the camp. I've worked hard for five weeks now, I've even put on a few pounds I think, although I doubt I'm over a buck fifty now still.
Part of the reason I'm being let out of the camp is that I've done a good job shamming. Major Song thinks that I'm just on the verge of breaking totally, of submitting totally to her demands and making that video that I'm supposed to make. I actually promised to do so. But I remember some of the things I taught when I was a member of the Honor Committee, that while lying is against the code, there is no violation of honor in order to escape. I'd say my name was Bruce Wayne and that my night job was patrolling Gotham City if I thought it'd help me get out of here faster.