“So here it comes, the sound of drums,
“(Here come the drums, here come the drums.)
“Baby, baby, baby,
“You are my voodoo child, my voodoo child,
“Don't say maybe maybe,
“It's supernatural, I'm comin' undone.”
I don’t know what it did to the Warriors – they probably considered it blasphemous - but by God it frightened me.
The vehicle gunned its engines and leapt forward, leading the way down the road towards the interstate and then up towards Ingalls…and the next defensive line. I hung on for dear life, hoping that Mac had managed to get onto one of the other vehicles before the charge started, watching out carefully for any signs of hostile action. Fires were burning in the direction of where the mines had detonated – we’d included a little something in the explosive mix to encourage fires – but at first we saw no signs of the Warriors. We couldn’t hear anything over the sounds of Voodoo Child, but we saw, from time to time, some individual Warriors trying to get to us. The gunners cut them down with swift precise bursts and we drove past them, not even slowing to take better aim. There was no need. The Warriors had no choice, but to show themselves, just to take a shot at us. We gunned them down mercilessly. Whatever restraints we had once acknowledged had died in the heat of battle.
Behind us, the remains of the FOB burned. I turned my head, craning it as far back as I could to look at the burning ruins, but there was no sign of Dutch or any of the rearguard. I could still hear Voodoo Child until it cut off suddenly, accompanied by a massive explosion. The Warriors had probably hit something explosive and destroyed the loudspeakers. There was some shooting, brief isolated bursts of fire drifting in the warm air, but nothing else. Silence was gradually falling as we drove away from the scene of recent carnage…
And we had lost the battle. It did not, I decided, bode well for the future.
A few more battles like that and we would be ruined.
And when we got to the next set of defensive lines, we discovered that Mac wasn't with us any longer. He’d remained behind until the end.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The only thing worse than a battle won is a battle lost.
-Duke of Wellington
“Not Christians,” Reverend Thomas McNab said. His voice had absolutely no give in it at all. “They’re nothing like us.”
I gave him a reproving look. The half-wrecked warehouse had once belonged to a packing company and had contained a surprising amount of useful equipment. We had stripped it of everything that could be useful; now, it was packed with dozens of wounded men, receiving what medical care we could give them under the firelight. Outside, the remainder of the force I’d led to the FOB waited, some huddling around fires, others watching for advancing enemy forces. It looked, to my eyes, like a scene from another world.
“They think they’re Christians,” I said, bitterly. I felt numb deep inside my heart, as if the events of the day hadn’t quite caught up with me. I was one of the lucky ones. There were several soldiers who had started to sob as soon as they were out of danger and had gone completely to pieces, despite everything we could do for them. They’d been shell-shocked during the battle and would take time to recover. I’d been forced to send them back to Ingalls and hope that they recovered. “How do they do it?”
I remembered, chillingly, the vast waves of human fodder coming on and on, their faces twisted with a fanatical determination to destroy us, to wipe us out as if we had never existed. How could they be Americans? What had they been in the years before the Final War? How could this nightmare have come to our soil?
“You don’t like organised religion very much, do you?” Thomas said. “Don’t you have any faith of your own?”
“There are no atheists in foxholes,” I said, absently. “I believe in God, but not so much in those who claim to dictate policy in his name.”
Thomas snorted. “And yet you must understand that those who think that they serve as his representatives on Earth are human and can therefore err,” he said, dryly. I hadn’t realised just how involved he was in the argument, which was, in hindsight, foolish of me. “If you can take the words of the bible to support any argument you like, why shouldn’t they be wrong from time to time?”
I shrugged, too tired to even move. “But they claim to know what’s right?”
“Name me a religion,” Thomas challenged, “that doesn’t claim to have the ultimate keys to the Kingdom of the Lord in its holy book, or in the words of its priests, or in miracles witnessed by the believers. Years ago, the Pope was believed to have an absolute monopoly on truth; he was not only the guiding light for Catholics, but he had the power to indulge any sinner who confessed…”
“And made a vast donation to the Church,” I said. I’d read about that while I’d still been in school. “How could paying a vast sum of money remove the weight of so many sins?”
“Interesting point,” Thomas said. “Perhaps one could argue that paying so much and making a sacrifice is a way of recognising that you’ve been a bad boy and done wrong, and therefore setting you back on the road to redemption. Perhaps one could also argue that the weight of the sin is transferred to the Pope, as the man who indulged you, and you no longer have to carry it because the Pope accepted it freely. Perhaps…”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, softly. “Why did the Warriors have so much success in converting everyone to their point of view?”
“Politics,” Thomas said. I blinked at him, surprised for the first time since the end of the battle and the realisation that we’d lost Mac somewhere along the way. I’d scattered pickets and search parties back southwards towards the enemy lines, but I had no illusions about our inability to stand off another attack. We couldn’t stay here for much longer. Once dawn broke, we’d have to start moving back to the defence lines and Ingalls itself. “I blame the politicians myself.”
“Because they didn’t crush all other religions?” I asked, sardonically. My experience with religions, mainly in Iraq, had led me to believe that tolerance was only a religious virtue when the religion was in the minority and vulnerable to being crushed by its enemies. Those who were superior in numbers, or firepower, tended to be far more aggressive about pushing their faith into the lead. “Perhaps we should have banned religion completely from the public sphere.”
“Perhaps,” Thomas said. “I have long believed that religion has no place in politics, but that wasn't what I meant. Think about the last election campaign. Did you ever see one of the candidates speaking to a crowd?”
I shook my head. “I just saw one of them speaking on the television and debating their opponent by proxy,” I said, rolling my eyes at the memory. It hardly mattered now, but I’d been a loose Republican, although I had disagreements with some parts of the party’s agenda. The two-party system ensured that no one was ever completely happy with election results. We might have ended up with a Republican President who was very different from myself. “I can’t say it left a great impression on me.”
“That’s probably because it didn’t,” Thomas said. “I went to New Orleans once to hear the Reverend Brannon speaking to an interfaith conference. Now that was an impressive bit of oratory. He was very – very – convincing when he spoke.”
He paused. “You see, political leaders these days – I mean, before the war – didn’t actually speak to their audiences,” he continued. “Yes, some candidates held mass rallies and spoke to the voters, but others didn’t; after all, America is really too large to hold a proper tour and speak to everyone. You might start it when the last President is elected and you’d still be at it when the next one was elected.”
“Having discovered that you didn’t win the nomination because you weren’t sucking the right people off in Washington,” I said, bitterly. “I don’t understand your point.”
“People didn’t have any particular respect for their leaders,” Thomas said. “The President and his advisors spoke
in soundbites, or read out carefully-scripted speeches that managed to sound artificial. Washington – political Washington – was another world. You’ve been here long enough to know just how clumsy Washington was when interacting with farmers, Ed; you know how determined the Constitutional Convention is to prevent a repeat of that particular series of events. The people of America were becoming increasingly divorced from their political leaders. There was no…intimacy between the government and the people.”
I nodded slowly. “Take Hitler,” Thomas continued. “The man was a loser at pretty much everything he did. His program should have been a complete flop. Instead, he managed to take the gifts he does have, including the ability to speak to a crowd and make them believe in him, and turn it into a power base. The man was a natural politician and, when given the chance to take power, does it in a manner that has half of Germany loving him, rather than fearing him. He told them what they wanted to hear. He told them that Germany was the victim, not the victimiser, and gave them targets for their rage. The Jews, the Slavs, the British, the Russians, us…he worked them, played them like a harp. They would die for him.”
“And far too many did,” I agreed.
“But Hitler wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without the economic problems and the general lack of faith in the government,” Thomas said. “That gave him an opportunity to bring the people onto his side. That doesn’t happen here, not in America. The President couldn’t convince people to follow him, to trust him; after all, he was just another scheming politician. People have – had – very little respect or trust in their government. Every issue of the day, from abortion, to affirmative action, to the demand that slaveholder descendents pay compensation, to Weapons of Mass Destruction, only served to isolate the government from the people further. There was no accountability and so there was no trust. There was a growing void in people’s souls.
“Hell, why do you think the spread of radical religions was growing all over the world?” He asked. “People didn’t have anything to believe in.”
I nodded, slowly. He was right, in a sense. The spread of radical Islam though the Middle East had been aided by economic problems and a complete lack of government accountability. We tend to think of Saudi Arabia as rich – and indeed the Government has enough money to bankroll thousands upon thousands of parasite princes, let alone buy the latest in American military hardware – but the wealth comes from oil. When the oil runs out, so will the wealth - and the people loathe the government. The spread of radical Islam should have been expected. It had even spread into Europe…and hell, we’d had all kinds of fringe groups, just like the Warriors of the Lord.
“And think about how it was just after the bombs fell,” Thomas pressed. “We had Ingalls – and you – and we were able to cling together. Think what it must have been like for the people in the cities; wounded, helpless, fleeing into the countryside desperate to reach shelter before it was too late and they died. They had nothing left, not even their faith, and the Warriors would have taken advantage of that. Their destitution would have bred acceptance of the Warrior Creed very quickly and convinced them to follow them anywhere. I bet you that the Prophet – the false Prophet – holds mass rallies for them, exploiting them into believing that he is the true leader of the faith. You can’t overthrow a man like that, Ed. You just have to remove him.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Are you advocating violence, Reverend?”
“Many of the young men here are from Ingalls,” Thomas said, angrily. He wasn’t angry at me, but at the Warriors. “I knew them personally. Some of them were very good, some of them stole from time to time, but none of them deserved to be wounded, or to risk death in such a battle. I wonder, now, if the false Prophet is the antichrist, sent her to tempt us into falling into the hands of Satan. He is certainly diabolical in his actions.
“If you can kill him, Ed, take the shot,” he concluded. “He must not be allowed to remain alive. He’s a genuine leader-type, with a genius for building a false religion that has him at the top, and removing him is the only way to break them. They have to be shown, in no uncertain terms, that he was a liar who led them to destruction. The only way to do that is to kill him.”
“True, I guess,” I said. I wasn't that willing to think about it, not now, but he was right. It had to be done. Fanatics couldn’t be beaten, only killed, as long as they believed in their cause and certain victory. The key to beating them was either to wipe them out, root and branch, or break their faith in victory, forcing them to come to terms. It wouldn’t be easy. We didn’t know that much about the Warriors of the Lord. If I sent someone south to assassinate the Prophet, how long would it be before they found him…and could they get through his guards without being detected?
I felt a wave of surprisingly hot anger. “How could this have happened in America?”
“This isn’t America,” Thomas said. My head jerked up in surprise. “America died when the first bombs started to explode and society disintegrated. The Government is gone, the army is gone, and the police and all the other emergency services are gone. Whatever comes out, rising from the ashes, will be very different to what went before. It might be called America, but it won’t be our America, not the one you and I grew up in and served during our adult lives. What happens here, Ed, will determine whose vision will dominate the land we once called America in the future. Ours, one of democracy and local government, or that of the Warriors of the Lord and their false Prophet. We have no choice, but to fight them.”
“Yeah,” I said, pulling myself to my feet. It took an awesome amount of effort to move myself, but I had the feeling that if I stayed sitting on the ground, soon enough I wouldn’t even be able to move. Sleep called to me with all the temptation of a naked and waiting lover, but I couldn’t allow myself to sleep. Was this how General Franks had felt, or all the other commanding officers I had known during my career; had they all cursed themselves when the dead and dying started to come back to the field hospitals? I’d lost, in one day, more people than they had lost during the opening days of the war. “We have to fight, don’t we?”
“Yes,” Thomas said, firmly. “You know the alternative.”
Yes, I thought. The refugees and escapees had been quite clear on that point. If we surrendered to the Warriors, or lost the war, they would break us down and rebuild us in their image. Their control would be absolute and they would have all the time in the world, unless they ran into someone else even bigger than they were. I had wondered, staring at a map of the former USA, where else might have survived and given birth to a new society. Utah might have birthed a Mormon society; they’d believed, firmly, in preparing for disaster. Where else? Texas? Kansas?
I watched as Thomas nodded to me and headed off to offer what words of comfort he could to the wounded men, and then headed outside myself. The air smelt vaguely of burning ash from the fires, but it was clear enough to allow me to take a few breaths before I walked around to the vehicles. They were grouped at one end of the warehouse, some of them still intact, others with bullet holes punched right through them, and…
Mac, I thought, and felt myself go weak at the knees. My best friend, my comrade, my ally, my…and he was gone. My memories rose up and mocked me, remembering our first meeting in the hospital after I’d been wounded, our joint missions into various bars and seedy dumps to pick up girls, his offer of a new job and a new purpose when I was told that I would have to retire from the Corps…and his welcome to Ingalls when I finally arrived. He’d thought of me when I needed a new purpose in life…and he’d saved my life, more than once. I couldn’t even go back to Ingalls and face his family, or his girlfriend, but what choice did I have? I wanted to know, desperately, how he’d died…or had he been captured?
Somehow, I decided, having a body would have made it easier. I would have known what had happened to him, but instead I had nothing. I had spoken to everyone who might have known, the men who’d been on the last vehicles to escape the nightmare, but they
hadn’t seen him fall. Two vehicles had exploded at the end, blown apart by missiles or maybe just lucky shots; Mac could have been on either of them. I wanted – needed – to know what had happened, but I probably would never know what had happened to my friend.
A dark shape moved near me and I reached for my pistol before the flickering campfire light revealed Roshanda’s presence. The former cop looked as tired as I felt, with the same unholy light in her eyes I’d seen during training, but she looked a great deal more focused. She’d fought well during the battle, the only woman to fight alongside the men, and hadn’t broken. Rumour had it that she slept with the AK-47 we’d taken off her former captors. Anyone who tried to touch her again would be in for a fatal shock.
“Don’t worry,” I muttered, as I stepped past her. “It’s only me.”
I gave Brent strict orders to wake me if anything happened, found a relatively dry and uncomfortable spot on the ground, and closed my eyes. It was almost as uncomfortable as being back in Boot Camp, sleeping on exercise, but it felt as if I’d barely had a moment’s sleep when Brent started shaking me. I still felt awful, but at least my mind wasn't cloudy any longer.
The Living Will Envy The Dead Page 31
