Divided We Fall

by Trent Reedy

  Governor Montaine walked to the end of the room, looking away from us. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally he turned back to me. “Son, I want you to listen to me for a second —”

  Something in my chest tightened up. “Don’t call me ‘son,’ sir.”

  General McNabb cleared his throat. “Private,” he said in a warning tone.

  “Sorry, Governor, but I’m not your son.” It had been me and Mom on our own for a long time now, but I did have a father once. The hell if I was going to let some politician or anyone else call me “son.” “My father was killed in the war,” I said to the governor. “In Afghanistan.”

  “He was in the Army?” the governor asked.

  “The Idaho Army Guard, sir.”

  “Why’d you sign up?”

  “Sir?”

  The governor sighed again. “You’re only seventeen. Why did you enlist?”

  “I signed up because … Sir, I just … I love my home. Wanted to serve my country. Do my part.” I had really believed that when I enlisted. I wanted to believe it now, but after what had happened tonight, my words sounded fake, rehearsed, too polished, like Montaine doing one of his speeches.

  The governor shook his head. “The bullets from all the soldiers who were called on this mission have been counted?” He looked at the general, who nodded. “And your squad is the only one missing rounds. Something’s not adding up. Some of the men must have reloaded or fudged their initial round count.”

  “Or someone besides my soldiers was firing,” said General McNabb.

  “Some of the people in the crowd did have weapons, sir,” said Sergeant Meyers.

  Was that true? There was a lot of gunfire, but how could anyone tell where it was coming from? Twenty-one people had been hit, but only eight of my squad’s bullets were gone.

  “Of course we’ll know more when we recover the bullets from the …” The governor rubbed his chin. “When we recover the bullets. I doubt anyone in the crowd was firing five-five-six rounds. We’d have spotted a rifle like that on one of our videos. A bullet that wasn’t standard military issue would seem to prove that someone else was shooting.”

  “I swear we were being fired on,” Meyers said.

  General McNabb nodded. “There was a casualty in the café behind your position, a fifteen-year-old girl. From the limited information we’ve gathered so far, you would have had to turn around and fire away from the crowd, deliberately targeting the café.”

  “We didn’t!” Specialist Stein said.

  The general held up his hand. “I know. You couldn’t possibly be responsible for that casualty.”

  “They’re not responsible for any of the casualties,” said the governor. Everybody watched him. “Maybe there were guns in that crowd. Maybe not. All the video footage I’ve seen so far is mostly a confused and garbled scramble, partially hidden by smoke and tear gas by the time the shooting started. Can’t tell what’s going on. We may never know the truth. But we do know that the numbers aren’t adding up. You soldiers couldn’t possibly have caused all the casualties.

  “As governor, I’m responsible for all of this. I should have called in more law enforcement earlier so the situation didn’t get so bad. Maybe that would have prevented this. I don’t know. But I do know that I gave the National Guard a lawful order to stop an unlawful and dangerous riot. That’s what they did. They carried out my orders. That’s the end of the story.”

  He took a moment to look us all over. Either he was a great politician, or he was being really honest, because I believed him. He pulled a chair out from the table, sat down, and leaned forward. “Listen to me, because I promise you this. I will not sell you out. Things are going to get ugly for a while. People are already upset about what happened. But so far, nobody knows which units were there to stop the riot. We’re going to keep it that way.” He looked toward the general. “I’m ordering this whole thing classified. Nobody will ever know the identities of the soldiers involved in this. Nobody will know which officers gave what orders. Any matter of investigation on this issue must come directly to me, General.”

  “Understood, sir.” The general snapped to attention. “With your permission, I’d like to begin carrying this order out immediately.”

  “Do that, General McNabb. Also, get some helicopters ready to take these men home. The faster we get them back, the fewer people will know they were here.” He motioned to us. “Do not talk about this event with anyone. Not even your family. This is for your protection and theirs. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you aren’t punished for carrying out my orders, but you have to help by keeping your involvement in this a complete secret. If anyone does know you were activated tonight, you will tell them that you were simply on standby in case the situation worsened and you were needed. You flew down to Boise where you sat in an armory all night.”

  I checked my watch. A quarter to one in the morning. I hoped they’d hurry up and get us back. I’d told Mom I was going to be out late with the guys, but if she’d seen the news about this and got the idea I was involved … I tried not to think about how bad she’d be freaking out.

  “I’m sorry this happened,” said the governor. “I’m sorry about the deaths and injuries. Sorry you’re caught in the middle of it.” His jaw seemed to tense. “If that … president hadn’t passed that …” He held his hands up. “Sorry. This isn’t the time for politics.” He stood. “I have a lot of work to do. Stay here and try to relax. Someone will be here soon to get you once your transportation has been arranged.” He looked us over again. I felt his eyes stop on me, but I couldn’t meet them. “You did your jobs tonight. You are soldiers, and sometimes soldiers have to do … unpleasant things.” There was a long pause. “Thank you for your service.”

  I kept my eyes fixed on the table until long after he’d left. Eventually some officers arrived, giving our comms back and escorting us to the helicopters that waited to take us home.

  * * *

  I had felt proud to wear my uniform on the way home from my first weekend drill at the beginning of the month. I’m not gonna lie. I even made an extra stop at a gas station to buy pop and beef jerky, just so I could walk around in public as a soldier. I didn’t feel proud about anything tonight. As soon as we returned to the 476th Engineer Company armory, I changed into some old sweats that I found in my locker. I crammed my MCUs into my duffel bag and drove home in silence, leaving my comm and radio shut off. I didn’t want to hear any news.

  At home, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Mom asleep in her recliner, covered up with Dad’s old Army blanket. The living room screen was on with a reporter in Boise. “You can see that behind me, some sort of canvas barricade has been put in place, and we can only assume that this is to keep us from seeing the cleanup after tonight’s tragedy. Although the protests here have been crushed, outrage is already building in cities across —”

  “Living room screen, off,” I said. The stupid thing blinked out. Then I stood in the dark, listening to Mom’s slow, deep breathing. Would I ever feel peace like that again? Would I ever get the images of blood, of that girl’s torn body, out of my head? I bit my fist as my eyes stung.

  “Danny?” Mom’s voice was quiet in the dark.

  “Yeah, Mom. It’s me.”

  “What are you doing?”

  I swallowed. “I got home a second ago. I was about to wake you so you could go to bed.” I turned away from her so that in case she switched the lamp on, she wouldn’t see the tears on my cheeks. “You know you always have a sore neck if you sleep all night in your chair.”

  “Ah, you worry too much,” she said. “Did you have a nice night?”

  “Yeah, Mom.” I swallowed. “It was just great.”

  —• Welcome back to Sunday on Fox News. A nation mourns the tragedy at Boise. While details of what actually happened remain sketchy at best, we have now received word that the families of all the victims have been notified of their injuries or deaths, and the victims’ na
mes are now being released. We do not yet know much about those who were killed or injured, but we will be bringing you that information as soon as it is available. The list of those confirmed dead after the shootings: Nineteen-year-old Allison Danter of Twin Falls, Idaho. Twenty-one-year-old Damarcus Washington of Boise. William Seiffert, nineteen years old, from Bozeman, Montana. •—

  —• Sandra Schneider, a twenty-year-old nursing major at Boise State. Jeffrey Markinson, also twenty, who was studying to become a teacher. Brittany Barker, only fifteen years old, was a bystander in a café well behind the soldiers. Her parents say she dreamed of being an actress. Three of the twelve who were killed in Boise Friday. More on this when Sunday with the Press continues •—

  —• Weekend from NPR News. I’m Renae Matthews. I’m here with Craig White, author of Sixty-Seven Bullets: Understanding the Kent State University Shootings. Craig, your book focuses not only on May 4, 1970, when Ohio National Guardsmen were responsible for the deaths of four young people on the Kent State University campus, but also on the aftermath of that tragedy. There are obviously some similarities between Friday night’s shootings and those at Kent State. What do you think we can expect to see unfold from these events?”

  “Well, Renae, first, I think it’s really quite inaccurate to refer to the murder of twelve innocent people as ‘The Battle of Boise.’ That implies that the twelve dead and nine wounded had some chance of fighting back. Just like at Kent State, these innocent people had no chance once the National Guardsmen began firing. This is really a massacre, and if Governor Montaine gets his way, this could all work out a lot like it did at Kent State, when nearly every legal authority agreed the Guardsmen were unjustified in killing the students, but that somehow killing the students did not interfere with their civil rights. •—

  —• and nine wounded, and the president is calling for calm pending his investigation? What kind of leadership is that? Americans want unity, and they want answers. And he’s offering none.”

  “Speaker Barnes, don’t you think it’s appropriate to grieve? Does this situation have to be reduced to party politics already?”

  “Grief and mourning are important, Kathy, but President Rodriguez should know that he doesn’t get a break. He has a job to do. He’s not doing it. Were I president, I’d have more to tell the American people about this tragedy.”

  “Mr. Speaker, is this an announcement of your presidential candidacy?”

  “Whoa there! I’m flattered, but we just had an election. It’s too early for that kind of talk. I’m merely pointing out the president’s obvious indecisiveness and ineffectiveness. •—

  I spent all weekend trying to avoid the news on the living room screen. It wasn’t too much of a lie to say I was sick, and except for going to church on Sunday, I hardly left my room.

  I left the radio off Monday morning when I went to pick up JoBell for the first day of school. Music wasn’t what I needed, and I damn sure didn’t want any more news. Parked in the street in front of her house, I still felt miserable about Boise. I closed my eyes and let the Beast’s low growl rumble up through my body to soothe me. Apart from JoBell, nothing felt better than a tough motor.

  “You got yerself … a text from JoBell.”

  I reached over and grabbed my comm, tapping the screen to silence Digi-Hank, and checked JoBell’s message.

  I’ll be out in a second.

  Finally she came out onto her porch wearing little jean shorts and a brown shirt that fit just snug enough. Her long blond hair blew back off her shoulders in the breeze, and sunlight glinted off my class ring, which dangled from a chain around her neck. The chain was new and had cost a ton of my basic training money. For probably the first time since Friday night, I smiled.

  “Feeling better?” JoBell climbed up into the Beast. She closed the door and strapped herself in.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I said. The acidy feeling deep in my stomach had made me wonder if maybe I really was sick. I could have stayed home from school, but I needed to get out of the house and think about something besides Friday night in Boise.

  JoBell ran her soft hand down my face. “You sure you’re all right?” I nodded. She leaned toward me and kissed me, hungry and wet. No simple “good morning” kiss. “Mmm.” She licked her lips. “I missed you this weekend, Friday night especially,” she said. “But don’t worry. That bikini will be back.”

  Any other day, it would have been pretty hot to see JoBell all worked up like this. Today, though, I couldn’t focus, especially knowing the news I had to give her. The governor had ordered us all not to say anything about the … disturbance … in Boise, but JoBell was different. We’d grown up together, been dating since freshman year. She knew about my mom and her fits. She knew everything about me. The hell with the governor’s orders. If I didn’t tell my JoBell about something this big in my life, what kind of relationship did we have?

  I put the truck into gear and hit the gas hard. The tires spun out in the gravel at the side of the road.

  “Danny!” She giggled, leaning forward. “You know my dad hates it when you do that.”

  “Listen, JoBell, about Friday night —”

  She waved my words away. “It’s okay. I understand. Your mother needs help sometimes.” She slid her comm out of her bag. “Eleanor?”

  “Good morning, JoBell. With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts.” JoBell had chosen the Eleanor Roosevelt digi-assistant.

  “Will you pull up my updated news feeds?”

  “It would be my sincere pleasure to do that for you.”

  JoBell squeezed my arm. “So it’s okay if you need to take some time to help her. You and your mom are two of the most important people in my life, and I love you both for the way you look out for each other.”

  “No, it’s not that.” I was picking at my dry lips before I realized what I was doing and forced my hand back to the steering wheel. “I mean, I really wanted to be with you at the lake.”

  “If you’re worried about TJ, you can relax. Ugh, I spent way too much of Friday night trying to stay away from him. You’d think he could keep his eyes off my chest for five seconds.”

  “TJ was there?” I hadn’t been thinking about that jackwad, but I was now.

  JoBell tapped at her comm without looking at me. “He showed up at Eric’s pontoon on his own Jet Ski with a whole case of beer. The guys couldn’t send him away after that.”

  I’d deal with TJ at football practice. “Actually, I have to tell you something else about —”

  “Geez, would you look at this? Can you believe it?”

  I almost crashed the Beast into a tree. Her comm showed CNN’s prime image, a photo of me in my gas mask, holding my M4, crouched over the dead redheaded girl as she lay bleeding in the street. The headline over it read MASSACRE!

  “This is disgusting,” JoBell said. “I wish more than that guy’s gas mask had been broken. All of these murderers should be in jail right now.” She flipped through news feeds until she settled on her favorite, the NPR site. “Not even one of the soldiers has been arrested!”

  My throat felt like it was closing up. “You know …” I swallowed and cleared my throat. “We don’t have the whole story and —”

  “Shhh, hang on, baby. I want to hear this. That scumbag governor is speaking live right now.” She tapped into the feed. I kept my eyes on the road, wishing I could avoid hearing the governor’s speech too.

  “Cynthia, you’ve got the first question,” Montaine said.

  “Governor Montaine, you’ve made it clear that you do not plan to prosecute any of the soldiers involved in the shootings regardless of the results of the investigations. What do you say to reports that President Rodriguez has asked for disclosure of all the shooters’ identities, and to widespread speculation that the federal Department of Justice may arrest the shooters on charges of civil rights violations?”

  “First,” the governor said, “the ‘shooters,’ as you call them, are American s
oldiers, Idaho National Guardsmen. And let me make one thing absolutely clear to you and to the rest of America, including the president. As governor of the state of Idaho, I was well within my rights to activate the National Guard soldiers under my command. I gave them a lawful order and they followed it. I will not, under any circumstances, allow my soldiers to be punished for following my orders. When I spoke with President Rodriguez on the telephone Saturday morning, I made it clear to him that I will absolutely not provide the identities of any soldiers involved in Friday night’s incident. I’m Governor James Montaine, and I never abandon the soldiers under my command.”

  I gripped the steering wheel tight. The president wanted us arrested? Montaine hadn’t said anything about that. Maybe he didn’t abandon soldiers under his command, but how could he protect us if the president of the United States came after us?

  “Ugh,” JoBell said. She tapped out of the feed. “I can’t believe that asshole Montaine is going to let those murderers get away with this!”

  I closed my eyes for a moment. “What?”

  “What happened to freedom of speech? Right to assembly? The government can have soldiers shoot American citizens now and nothing happens to them?”

  “I …” I felt like throwing up again. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

  JoBell patted my arm. “I know it’s not. Of course, not all soldiers are bad. I’m glad you weren’t in the middle of this. It makes me sick.”

  “You and me both.” I hammered down on the accelerator to get to school faster.

  * * *

  I’d never felt so relieved to be in school, even if I was sitting in what everybody always said was the toughest graduation requirement for seniors, Mr. Shiratori’s American Government class. Coach Shiratori paced the front of the room, carrying what he called his “Stick of Power,” a piece of well-sanded wood a little longer than a yardstick, and just over half an inch wide. The end of the stick tapped the gray tiled floor with every step he took. Each tap echoed in the quiet.