by Mark Bordner
“Actually, my Lord, the Earth is a united world, organized into districts. They have no individual, warring nations, as we do.”
Grozet only grunted at that.
The over-marshal found the renewed calm in his superior’s voice reassuring, it would be easier to coax productive thought from him, “Shall we prepare a counter-strike, then’?
Grozet held up a finger, “No. The Attayans are holding an effective north-south line dividing us from our eastern units. Instead, allow the Allied command to continue regaining territory--- this to draw them in. In this way, we will not be forced to project our forces out so far. When they are near enough, we will stomp them flat. As far as our communications units in the Pacific
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Theatre, I‘m afraid they will simply have to hold out until another convoy can manage to penetrate the Kuiper Blockade.”
Garrow nodded his understanding, “We should give ground only gradually. If the Allied commanders feel that they are gaining too easily, they may sniff out the trap. I’ll make them pay for the progress they make, just not as dearly.”
Grozet took a seat across from Garrow and looked intently into his eyes, “I forgive your indiscretion this time, dear Garrow, only because you have so earned my trust. Do not disappoint me again.”
Garret bowed his head respectfully, “I will do my best, my Lord.”
XXXXX
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The Children’s War
Two
Minerva’s Wedding
Winslow, Arizona
10:00 PM
Minerva and her friends arrived an hour ahead of schedule, worn out from better than thirteen hours of travel. She found that the once tiny rural airport had been transformed into a bustling military hub that catered to units all along the I-40 corridor. They managed to cajole a supply sergeant into issuing them a van for the duration of their stay, with the understanding they were responsible for the gas and well-being of the vehicle. The kids tossed their duffle bags in the back and piled in, with Minerva at the wheel and Ford taking the shotgun seat. She was positively on cloud-nine, bouncing in her seat.
The drive through town was a quiet one, as it was mid-week. Everyone was at home after toiling all day, the theater and shops opened after dark only on Friday and Saturday nights.
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The electricity now remained on from six p.m. until six a.m., so the street lamps were lit, as well as many windows from houses. The black-out curtains were only required when the air raid sirens sounded, at which time all public utilities went dark as well.
A sensation of euphoria swept over Minerva upon seeing her hometown for the first time in over a year. Winslow had lost none of its charm. The brick-lined sidewalks, the huge Route 66 emblem inlayed in the center of the main intersection, and the bronze statue standing on the corner as it had for two centuries. She could hardly contain herself.
Minerva’s mother, Andrea, happened to be sitting outside on the front porch that evening, fanning herself and sipping on a chilled tea. The night was still and warm, the dry desert air smelling of sand mixed with wafts of mown grass. Many of the neighbors still stubbornly maintained their lawns, determined to keep the American way of life plodding along despite the war. Recycling containers stood at the mouth of every intersection, where rubber, glass, and plastics could be deposited for the
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collection of materials needed in war production.
Fireflies winked at one another among her lilac bushes that dominated the corner of the front yard. It was a peaceful night. Inside, she could hear Cleo in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich and singing one of his sad, Mexican ballads--- off-key as usual. Since their Minerva had enlisted, the sad songs were all that he would hum.
Andrea noticed a pair of headlights turn onto her street and approach the block. As it drew near, she could see that it was a military van, bearing the markings of the Global Marine Corps. The van pulled to a stop at the curb in front of her house. The driver was hidden in shadow, the passenger a square-jawed brute of a man. Her heart began to pound and tears welled from her eyes. Every family dreaded this moment, when the awful telegram arrived. The one that read ‘we are sorry to inform you---’. So many children from their block had been killed. Now it was her turn. Andrea’s face felt numb and the tears began to flow.
“Not my baby,” She pleaded softly.
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The brute of a man stepped out. He was a giant, that man. She failed to notice that he was not wearing a uniform. Nor did she notice the other person who had come around from the driver’s side, as she was no longer able to look up. It would be easier if her eyes remained downcast. The footsteps were very close now. Soon, they would tell her that her baby had been killed in action. The focus of Andrea’s world drew inward, a defensive action against the anticipated hurt. She heard nothing but the footsteps drawing nearer, so sharp on the flagstone walkway. Her eyes traced its grout lines, some of which had filled with grass, where cracks had allowed water to seep through. It was all the input that she could bear.
The servicemen stopped at the foot of the porch. She could see their shoes, one those of a man, the other a woman. The woman stepped up onto the porch. Andrea, her head still downcast, closed her eyes and braced herself for the words to come.
“Mama?”
The world braked to an abrupt halt.
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Andrea looked up, unable to believe. Her breath was caught in her throat, she couldn’t move. Her baby was standing before her, arms out, beginning to cry as well.
“ Dios Mio !” Andrea screamed, leaping from the chair, embracing her daughter and weeping, screaming, “ Dios Mio ! My God! My God!”
From inside, the sound of a plate shattering on the floor echoed and footfalls rushed to the door. Cleo flew out onto the porch--- the screen door swinging open with such force that it slapped against the side of its frame, certain that the worst had happened, prepared to comfort his wife. He first noticed the group of soldier-types standing near the steps, then his Andrea hugging a woman. His heart sank, sure that the military woman had just crushed his wife’s hopes of seeing their princess again. His spirit shattered with sorrow, believing that his little girl had met a horrible fate. He moved cautiously to Andrea’s side, his feet leaden, and touched her shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, mi amor,” he whispered. A year of worry, of wondering, and not daring to hope.
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Images of his lovely little girl growing up flashed in his mind. He remembered when she had learned to ride her bike, and of her blowing out the candles on her birthday cake. He remembered the shine in her eyes when she was getting on that recruitment bus, so proud of herself. All of that was gone, he was certain, and he began to weep as well.
Andrea looked at him, her eyes wild. She was smiling. He did not understand. The woman that she was hugging was smiling, and crying as well.
“Pappy, don’t you recognize me?”
Cleo’s legs gave, and he fell to his knees, “My Minerva!”
Minerva reached down and helped her father rise, his legs shaking, and the three of them held one another while exchanging kisses and emotional sobs. After so long, after so much, they were united once again. The joy of it was nearly painful, so intense it felt.
The tearful embraces and noisy crying drew attention from the neighbors, who began to gather on the sidewalk. They misunderstood as well, assuming the worst.
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Sympathetic whispers flowed back and forth. A police cruiser rolled to a stop, summoned by a concerned neighbor, and an officer slowly approached, his face set in a sad expression. He knew the old man by how hard he worked for the utility crew, and felt awful that this dreaded tragedy had to come to him. Nearly every family on the block had r
eceived the visit from the military liaison, that awful notice that a child or a husband or wife would not be returning home. Ever.
Only when the cop was within a few feet of the steps and noticed the smiles of the soldier-types standing nearby, and took notice of the rarely-seen Attayans, did he figure out that this was a reunion.
“It’s o.k.,” He said to the crowd, smiling, “Their little girl made it home alive!”
Cheers and clapping resounded from the neighbors.
For once in a long time, something good had come to Winslow.
XXXXX
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An hour later, everyone was gathered at the supper table, anticipating an impromptu thanksgiving-style feast. Andrea contentedly busied herself with cooking a mix of fried canned meats, various sides, and some fresh-baked bread while Minerva helped her in transporting the dishes to the table. Her friends were happily munching on tortilla chips and homemade salsa, washing it down with cold beer.
Cleo, who sat at his customary place at the head of the table, was eyeballing the Attayans with wonder. It was his first time in seeing one in person. The conversation was relaxed and full of laughter as they shared tales from happier times before the war, answering a myriad of questions from Minerva’s father, who had himself never been off-planet.
In the kitchen, Minerva and her mother were all smiles, frequently hugging one another in between the tasks of preparing the meal. At one point, while Minerva was mixing brown sugar into the baked beans, she leaned against the counter and looked pointedly at her mom. It was an expression that Andrea was long familiar with.
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“You have something to tell me,” her mother stated.
Minerva nodded, beaming with giddiness, “Mama, I’m getting married!”
Andrea set the spatula down and pulled her little girl into her arms yet again, “You’ve grown up so fast! Where did the time go? Look at you, you‘re a woman, now!”
Minerva wiped the tears from her mother’s cheeks, misting up herself, “You have cried enough tonight, Mama.”
Her mother held her back at arm’s length, fussing with her hair, “So, is this lucky guy here with us, tonight?”
Minerva blushed and nodded again, “Si, Mama. He’s the white boy, sitting next to the giant man.”
Andrea peered through the serving window that separated the kitchen from the dining room, pretending to be busy with reading the labels of some spice bottles, then beamed at her daughter, “He’s guapo. Very nice.”
“What do you think Pappy will say?”
Andrea crossed her arms and motioned for her to go to the other room, “You will find out when you tell him.”
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Minerva took in a breath, calming her nerves, and carried the large bowl of beans into the dining room. Her mother followed with the canned meat and bread dishes. Applause went up at the arrival of the food. Ford made a deliberate display of moving the bowl of beans out of Manny’s reach, at which Ecu and Amell giggled. Minerva stood behind Mark’s chair, her hands on his shoulders, and nervously squeezed them.
“Pappy,” she said. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
Cleo gave her his attention while he was twisting the cap off of his second bottle of beer. The room fell quiet, as everyone else had a good idea of what she was about to say. Mark shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Pappy, this is Mark. He’s a fellow master sergeant in my unit.”
Cleo shrugged, “I know. You’ve already introduced me to all of your friends.”
Minerva cleared her throat, “Pappy, Mark is my fiancée. My promotido. We want to get married while we’re here at home.”
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The silence in the room was palpable. No one moved, all eyes fixed on Cleo. The man seemed frozen himself. Then, slowly, his hands came away from the bottle and sat unmoving on the tabletop. His eyes were unreadable. His gaze moved from her to Mark.
“You love my daughter, yes?”
Mark nodded with enthusiasm, eyes wide. He tried to speak, but was scarcely able to utter a simple squeak.
“My daughter loves you, yes?”
Minerva tried to sound brave, but doing so when under the scrutiny of her father was very difficult, “Pappy, I love him very much. He’s kind to me. He would never hurt me.”
Cleo motioned for Mark to come near. The boy rose from his chair and did so with perhaps more fear than he had felt when heading into battle. The old man looked deeply into his eyes for a moment that seemed to span an eternity, “Over a year, I don’t see my little girl. Over a year, her momma and I don’t know if she is dead or alive. Now, she comes home, and she tells me that she wants to marry you. You love my little girl, yes?”
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Mark summoned his courage, and nodded, “Yes, sir, I love Minerva with all of my heart. She is every part of me that means anything. I’d die for her.”
Her father did not respond right away. His gaze never faltered as he digested the young man’s words. Then, at long last, he relented a slight smile.
“I can see it, yes,” Cleo said softly. “Your love for my little girl is a true one. You have my blessing.”
Cheers and more clapping came from the others while Minerva embraced her parents, kissing them both. Shaken and relieved, Mark returned to his seat and took a swig of his beer. Ford slapped him on the back, making him spill some. The girls were teary-eyed, bringing Manny to roll his eyes. When he reached for the beans, Amell slapped his hand away.
XXXXX
It was just short of midnight when Minerva’s friends finally bedded down in the living room, pleasantly tired, fed, and feeling safe in one another’s company. Ford had called dib’s on the couch, and Manny had been segregated closest to the open
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window.
Mark snored atop a sheet near the screen door, where a soft, cool night breeze caressed the room. Amell and Ecu were curled up like cats in the corner, next to the television. Minerva slept in her own bed, amazed to be in her room again. It seemed as if years had gone by. Her mother had not changed her room at all, preserving everything in its place. As she slipped into slumber, her last thoughts were that perhaps the entire thing had been a horrible dream, and she was still just a teen-age girl in high school. Under the moonlight that filtered through the curtains, she smiled, remembering that her true love was asleep in the next room, and that in the next few days, she would be his wife.
XXXXX
The following day was a whirlwind of activity for Minerva. Her mother and a small army of her mother’s friends had banded together to storm the town in making preparations for the wedding. A neighbor had donated her own wedding dress and the local
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seamstress busied herself in tailoring it to fit. Someone else began baking the cake and making elaborate plans for the reception, while others still gathered as many silk and plastic flowers as could be found by going door to door and raiding the Wal-Mart of their supplies. That was simply the mentality in Winslow, members of the community took care of one another.
Word got out to the small-town local radio station, KINO 1230 AM, and it wasn’t long before the whole affair was publicized. The neighboring town of Holbrook spun out a special edition of their Tribune. A local Ham radio operator bragged about it, and that filtered its way through the intricate world of back-door communications all the way to GNN. Before the day was out, a news crew was landing at the airport, prepared to air the military wedding for their multitude of loyal viewers following the drama of what was now being called The Children’s War. To be able to provide a bright point in the sea of despair would hike their ratings even higher. To the legions of housewives that followed the episodes with more loyalty than the outdated soap operas, it would be a highly anticipated t
ear-jerker event.
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The Mighty First
Most of this was unknown to Minerva or her friends, who were happy to simply be on vacation. While Minerva and her mother were swept up in the whirlwind of activity, Mark and the others explored the historic town on foot, taking in the sights and exploring the shops. They visited the local museum and the restored railroad station, La Posada, still in operation after more than two centuries.
Ford was delighted beyond words to discover a tobacconist with a wide variety of cigars--- many imported from Attaya; which were his favorite. When he attempted to purchase a 50-count box worth a hundred credits, the shopkeeper insisted that he take it without paying.
“I recognize you from the news-vids,” the impish man told him with a toothy grin. “It’s an honor just to have you in my shop!”
This was a reaction that they encountered several times that day, not only from shopkeepers, but many people that approached them on the street, some asking for autographs or photos taken with them. Mojo’s Coffee Shop, the E & O Mexican Restaurant,
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the Winslow Theater, McCauley’s On Route 66, all were places that would not only deny them the chance to pay, but also wanted photos to hang on the wall as well.
It was while in McCauley’s that things really took an odd turn. Ford was perusing the book rack, and took notice of the newspapers. There were an assortment from major cities in the Free Zone, and all of the headlines blaring of the recent liberation of Youngstown, Ohio.
The Sergeant Major picked up the Arizona Republic, flipping it open, and taking in the photos of mass destruction. The top center displayed a scene of broken buildings, with a burned-out Storian tank being examined by a squad of marines. The photo caption read ‘ Mighty First re-takes Youngstown despite heavy casualty rates.’
