The Last Marine : Book Two (A Dystopian War Novel)

by T. S. Ransdell

  “And thank you,” she said to her audience, “for joining us tonight for this special edition of Media Reflections. We have a great lineup of guests who will answer your questions as to exactly what went wrong today, and what we, the people, can do to fix it. Joining us tonight we have the legendary warhorse of the Senate himself”–Brenner could not publicly contain a smile while introducing her former lover–“the honorable Senator Frank Wilson. Along with renowned feminist historian Dr. Emmeline Stanton, notable war correspondent Story Limen, and veteran activist and social justice leader Johnny Sanchez.

  “Johnny, I would like to start by saying just how heartbroken we all are over the murder of your fellow social justice leader and friend, D’Shon Cuppell.”

  “Thank you, Gloria.” Sanchez stood next to Limen in front of the network’s cameras. He could see the destruction of San Diego beyond the cameras, but out of camera shot, it was of no concern. “Let me say that D’Shon was my brother, my comrade, and he would not want today to be the end, but, rather, the beginning of the justice he and I have fought for these past years.”

  “Indeed, Johnny.” Brenner again looked sorrowful. “We all hope that is the case.”

  “Gloria,” Wilson broke in, “the people need to do more than hope. All day my office has been getting calls from outraged Americans who are saying enough is enough. Demanding action be taken now.”

  “Senator Wilson–” knowing it always played well with her audience, Brenner momentarily paused to bite her lower lip “–I was going to ask you this later in the program, but we’ll just jump to it now. What can be done?”

  “Gloria, I, along with a considerable number of my distinguished colleagues in the Senate, am putting forth a resolution demanding President Tang disband the United States Marine Corps.”

  “Senator Wilson, do you see such a resolution getting much support from your colleagues?”

  “Gloria, we as a people are standing at a historical crossroad. What we do next will have repercussions for generations to come. We cannot fail to act. We cannot let another young American like D’Shon Cuppell or Michael Hill die in vain.”

  “Emmeline, this is primarily why we wanted you on the show tonight,” Brenner unconsciously revealed. “Your work has chronicled the violence the United States Marine Corps has perpetuated throughout its history.”

  “Absolutely, Gloria. Since its inception in 1775, the United States Marine Corps has not only encouraged, but even bragged about its culture of violence, misogyny, and drunkenness. We’ve even documented specific examples of Marine Corps indoctrination where they are telling their recruits to take pride in this heritage.”

  “But, Emmeline,” Brenner cut in, “you’d think new enlistees would be repulsed by such a background.”

  “Indeed,” Stanton enthusiastically agreed. “But keep in mind, throughout the history of the United States, Marines have always appealed to the lowest common denominator of society. This is just one of the cultural repercussions of American, or Western, heritage. This is one of the issues President Leakey tried to combat with his ‘Be a Good Boy’ Program aimed at the grade schools, that Clark, in his bloodlust to make war, defunded.”

  “But how would President’s Leakey’s ‘Be a Good Boy’ Program have prevented something like what happened today?” Gloria asked, very pleased with how she’d set up Stanton’s answer.

  “Sadly, I don’t think it would have. However, it would prevent this from happening further down the line. If we are going to make a difference in this country, we have to start with the children of today. Imagine, Gloria, if there had been a nationwide ‘Be a Good Boy’ Program twenty, twenty-five years ago. Could Clark have built the Marine Corps he used to wage war against the People’s Republic of China?”

  “That’s a very good question, Emmeline. Sadly, I think we have the death of D’Shon Cuppell as the answer.”

  “Gloria, people have a right to demand compliance for the sake of the greater good,” Stanton continued. “We can’t change the world overnight, but we can start again to make a difference with the next generation.”

  “But, Senator Wilson, I’d like to bring you in on this.” Gloria turned and smiled. “Your resolution would do just that, wouldn’t it? Change the world today?”

  “Well, Gloria–” the senator humbly laughed “–overnight may be hyperbolic.” Wilson immediately went back to a serious mannerism. “But let me be clear. Change, doing right, cannot be done too soon. While in the case of Mr. Cuppell, it’s too late. However, it would be another crime against humanity, as if he were murdered all over again, if his sacrifice for social justice was wasted.”

  “Although, Senator, your critics have argued that US Marines have sacrificed a lot themselves for this country, and that disbanding them would dishonor that service. How do you counter that argument?” Brenner inwardly cringed. She feared the question was a non sequitur, but Wilson had demanded he be able to comment on the Marines’ sacrifice. So she forced the question at the first opportunity.

  “Gloria, the United States Marine Corps, historically, has been a volunteer force. You can look this fact up for yourself. They brag that men have always had a choice to serve. Sacrifice, by definition, cannot be done on a volunteer basis. True sacrifice is for the sake of the greater good, at the detriment to one’s self. Morally speaking, no individual, no institution, has a right to refuse that greater good. Thus, if one cannot refuse, one cannot volunteer. The United States Marine Corps, by their own admission, has freely waged war according to what its members have wanted. Since the founding of the United States, the Marine Corps has killed, raped, and pillaged in the name of everything they love and hold dear. That is not sacrifice.”

  “Hmmm.” Gloria took her reading glasses off and stared into the camera for a moment, as if she were pondering a substantial statement. “Johnny, I’d like to bring you in on this. What do you think of Senator Wilson’s comments?”

  “I’ve had my disagreements with the senator in the past, but, Gloria, I couldn’t be any more in agreement with Senator Wilson on this issue than I am tonight. The greater good demands that people not be deprived of their basic rights necessary to existence; be that healthcare, education, or resources of wealth and labor. The United States Marine Corps is not only a product of a culture that has denied people of those rights, the Marines have been a tool to deprive people of those rights. The American people should not see the inevitable disbandment of such an organization, by force if necessary, as a tragedy. Rather they should see it as the very epitome of justice.”

  “You sure the call’s going through?” McCurry asked with growing concern for Harris’s anger.

  “Yeah! It’s fucking going through,” Harris snapped. “Rings twice and goes straight to his fucking voicemail.”

  “He may be stuck at MCRD. It’s within the no-go zone,” McCurry suggested. Then he turned to Jessica. “You’re the FedAPS agent, can you find out if it’s been put on lockdown?”

  “It could have.” She shrugged and placed her hand on McCurry’s thigh, far more interested in him than the current crisis. “You really want me to call around and risk getting called in myself?” she leaned in, whispering to McCurry.

  “So why the fuck doesn’t he answer his goddamn phone?” Harris slapped his phone onto the bar after another failed attempt to reach Murphy. “Hey, Mackenzie, another round. Please,” he mildly added, conscious of his growing anger.

  “You got it. Just give me a moment, okay?” Mackenzie answered while moving some empty boxes to the bar’s back room.

  Hurry up, Sarah, Mackenzie glanced at the clock. Earlier, she’d called her friend for backup, hoping Sarah would be a calming influence on Harris. He was getting drunk and becoming belligerent. She didn’t really want to serve him more, but worried that cutting him off would anger him all the more.

  At least nobody else is here to hear him, she consoled herself. The rioters, as well as the FedAPS patrols, were keeping most people at home. Which was wh
ere she wanted to be. Still, she did not want the responsibility for keeping him out of trouble.

  Mackenzie checked her phone. Edwards’s text message said he was on his way.

  “Thank you!!! watch out for the checkpoints,” she wrote back.

  Still, she doubted whether he’d make it. Mackenzie wanted nothing more than for this day to come to an end. It had brought a sense of physical danger she hadn’t felt since the early days of the war.

  “Americans were subjected to yet another horrific act of violence at the hands of a Unites States Marine,” Dash Vogel announced with rehearsed gravity. “We warn you the following footage may be disturbing to some of our viewing audience.”

  “Fuck this shit again! I only wish he’d killed more of the fucking bastards!” Harris yelled. “Fucking chickenshit politicians are going to fry his ass for it!” Harris slurred before he drained the last of his beer. He picked up his phone and tried calling Murphy again.

  “Why don’t we just have Mackenzie turn the station? They just keep talking about the same stuff over and over again anyway,” Jessica quietly complained to McCurry. He squinted and shook his head in such a way, as he raised his beer glass, to indicate she should stop asking that question.

  “Yeah, man, I hate thinking about what they’ll do to Crusher for this,” McCurry interrupted Jessica to placate Harris. “He deserves better than this.”

  “Goddamn right he does! We all fucking deserve better than the shit that’s going on.” Harris awkwardly set his beer glass down with enough force that it tipped over, rolled off the bar, and broke on the floor. He paid it no mind, choosing to let his anger stew. “I mean seriously, just who the fuck are these people? What the fuck did they do? Why are they so fucking goddamned special that they sit back in the safety we gave them and say whatever they want, do whatever they want to destroy everything we fucking fought and died for?” Harris stumbled as he stood up from his barstool. “Hawke, Reese, Sheridan,” he said, recalling his fallen friends, “Hastings. Their lives were worth a whole hell of a lot fucking more than these fucking buckets of pig shit!” He pointed at the television. “My dad…my dad’s life.” His voice cracked. In frustration and near rage, he stumbled and looked for something to throw at the TV.

  “Hey! There’s my favorite Marine,” Sarah exclaimed from the doorway as she walked into Lulu’s. She’d heard some of Harris’s rant from outside. “It’s good to see you, Sean.” Smiling, she made eye contact with Harris. Noticing what was on the television, she quickly yet gracefully made her way behind the bar and turned the TV to a music channel.

  Mackenzie walked out of the back room to see a smile on Harris’s face. With a great sense of relief, she filled up more beer glasses.

  Secretly, Mythers enjoyed the aura of fear that permeated the luxury of Stone Bison’s beach house. The mansion, at the moment, served as Tang’s presidential headquarters for the weekend’s choreographed crisis. For all their planning, however, the intellects of Tang’s administration were learning they did not have as much control as they thought they did.

  “General, if you would please, wait in here. The president will be with you shortly. He does appreciate your patience.” The low-level aide gestured toward the study door.

  Mythers walked into Bison’s study without a word. He thought it befitting that the window-lined room, designed to let in sunshine and an ocean view, was now darkened by the dead of night.

  Secret Service agents, now under Mythers’s command, had informed him prior to his arrival that Fidal Solak planned to speak with him before Mythers met with the president. As well, they’d informed him that the crossed-armed bodyguards flanking Solak in the corners of the room were disarmed. Their intimidating posture humored Mythers, who still had his concealed weapon. He loved the sense of power that came with being the only armed man in the room.

  “General Mythers,” Solak greeted him, “please indulge me with this rather casual yet secretive meeting. Have a seat, will you?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Solak.” Mythers sat in the leather armchair which the media mogul pointed to, with a sigh. “It has been a long day.” Still processing the potential risks and rewards of meeting with the world’s largest media conglomerate and greatest power broker, Mythers decided he would be polite, for the time being.

  “General, I wanted to meet with you before your talk with the president. I…” Solak held up the palm of his hand, as if that were enough to qualm any reservations Mythers would have talking to him. “I know you are here to discuss what went wrong with the Ragnarsson turnover. I know it is top secret. But you see, I’ve been advising the president, in an unofficial capacity, on how to best use the media to fulfill his, our, agenda. So I want you to give me your utmost confidence.

  “I’ve had people, General”–Solak’s eyes abruptly stopped smiling, and he spoke with an edge to his voice–“preparing to inform the world that General Ragnarsson was handed over to the People’s Republic of China to stand trial for any crimes he committed against humanity. This gesture is not only to demonstrate the passing of Americanism as we transition into this post-war era of transnational justice, but to usher in a new sense of, a new enthusiasm for, our global community.

  “Instead, we now have to explain this belligerent act of autonomy, this nationalistic defiance, this act of, of…” Solak struggled for words, uncharacteristically, through his growing anger.

  If you’re going to make a power play, act powerful, Mythers told himself. He knew the dangers of informing General Bolitho, commander of the Second Marine Division, about Ragnarsson’s turnover to the ChiComs. Hijacking the administration’s crisis could very well end his career, perhaps even his life. But he saw this as a calculated risk toward a greater reward.

  “Mutiny. I believe mutiny is the word you are looking for, Mr. Solak.” Mythers could not hold back the slightest degree of arrogance in his voice. “If I may, sir,” Mythers continued to speak before Solak could respond, “I imagine President Tang is wondering how this could have happened. FedAPS’s mission to hand over Ragnarsson was top secret. Only a select few, with a need to know, knew. Yet, somehow, General Bolitho still found out. He publicly declared the order illegal and, no longer acting under the authority of the president, ordered Fifth Marines to directly interfere with the FedAPS mission.

  “To make matters worse–” Mythers chuckled, still remaining on the slim side of arrogant “–President Wong, of the Republic of China, publicly promised Ragnarsson, Bolitho, Second Marine Division, and any and all other Marine units, commanders, or troops asylum if they commit to fighting for total victory against the People’s Republic of China.

  “I am going to inform President Tang”–Mythers opened his portfolio and pretended to read his report–“the Second Marine Division, the Fourth, the Fifth, Sixth…All have declared mutiny against Tang, in support of Ragnarsson, the war effort and, of course, the Constitution of the United States.” Mythers closed his file and sarcastically rolled his eyes. “Really, who could have seen this coming? United States Marines anxious to continue a fight against a tyrannical, communist dictator, all for the sake of another Marine and the freedom they–” Mythers put on a show of searching for a word “–cherish. Why would they do this to the president? Admittedly, he’s always been a detractor of what they value, but he is supposed to be their Commander-in-Chief, isn’t he? What could have possibly motivated them to revolt against the very government they volunteered to fight for?”

  Solak said nothing and stared at Mythers. Only his clenching jaw told Mythers he was angry.

  “It’s not all bad news, however,” Mythers continued. “Third Marine Division has not mutinied. Of course, it’s stationed in the People’s Republic of China as part of President Tang’s Operation White Dove. That should make for good media, hmm?” Mythers now looked Solak in the eye. “Honestly, I am not optimistic about the fate of the Third Marine Division at this point. But then, what do I know? I’m not a politician nor a journalist. I’m just a sold
ier following orders.

  “And to think, all this is due to a leak from the high levels of a federal agency the president was to showcase in his renovation”–Mythers emphasized his sarcasm with an artistic wave of his hand–“of American law and order as he declares martial law in Southern California and begins weapon confiscation.”

  “General Mythers, I will not insult your intelligence by saying you serve at the pleasure of the president. However, I do wonder what you think you have to gain with such an attitude, shall we say, towards the president?” Solak asked, unknowingly giving Mythers the opportunity he wanted.

  “Mr. Solak, I assure you the president will be very pleased to know I am the one man who can make his problems with the Marine Corps, the protesters, as well as any and all high-level leaks from FedAPS go away.”

  “Might I ask how you would advise the president?” Recognizing Mythers’s play, Solak was fascinated to hear what the general had in mind.

  “Tomorrow morning”–now having directed the conversation where he wanted it to go, Mythers became very serious–“have your media people break the story that there was a very high-level leak within FedAPS. Not only will I confirm the report, I will state that we have no idea just how high up this breach in security goes.”

  “Really? Do you intend to resign over this?” Solak deployed his own sarcasm to mask his surprise at Mythers’s answer.

  “No.” Sensing he’d gained an advantage, Mythers coldly pressed on. “I intend to purge.”

  “Please continue, General Mythers,” Solak asked with new respect.

  “I will declare the Marine Corps’ mutiny as part of a broader attempt to overthrow the president, a coup d’état. I, by order of the president, will use the powers invested in FedAPS to root out any and all treason and dissension towards the president. Be that civilian, military, administrative, or–” Mythers allowed a slight smile to creep onto his face “–even congressional.”

  Solak liked what he heard. He was only bothered by the fact that he’d underestimated the general before this. But still, he gave an incredulous chuckle. “General, indulge my obtuseness. How do you use FedAPS to purge the entire Marine Corps?”