Our War

by Craig DiLouie

  Sheila waited for them at the bottom. “There’s a squad in the house behind us. Leapfrog into the one behind that.”

  Defense in depth, Sabrina had called it. The strategy was to make the enemy pay a heavy price for every house until the offensive wore itself out. The new commander seemed to have a real knack for fighting.

  Hannah lingered to watch the sergeant light a handful of newspaper and toss it. The gasoline ignited. Fire whooshed along the baseboards.

  Grace pulled her out the door. “Time to go.”

  They crossed Pershing as thick black smoke began to pour out of the house. The air filled with the rebel yell.

  Sheila waved them into her squad’s new base. “Rest up for the next game.”

  Hannah staggered to the nearest wall and slumped against it. “I’m so bushed.”

  Grace tore the wrapper off a granola bar and gave it to her. “You shouldn’t be here at all.”

  “I’ll go back in a minute,” Hannah panted. “Just need to catch my breath.”

  “I meant the war.”

  She bit into the stale bar and chewed without tasting it. “You asked what my cause is. I’m right where I’m needed.”

  “You also need to think about what comes after. Having a normal life again. Everything you do here will stay with you the rest of your life.”

  There it was again, that embarrassment the grown-ups shared. Shame at their destruction of the old world. Pride in all the little ways they survived the new one.

  They didn’t understand. The old world wasn’t coming back. Hannah’s childhood had ended when a sniper shot her mother dead in the street.

  Hannah said, “This is normal.”

  She pulled on her empty pack and went out the back, where she’d retrace her steps to HQ.

  You are your deep, driving desire.

  She was a soldier.

  FORTY

  Gabrielle drove like a maniac through Mile Square.

  Eyes darting across her field of view, she performed rapid life and death calculations. How fast she could go, where a sniper might shoot from, what she’d do if a bullet pinged against the car. It was exhausting.

  But also a source of pride. She was starting to think like a local. Gabrielle had learned a lot from Aubrey. She missed the reporter’s reassuring presence, if not her predilection for blasting heat, droning radio news, and smooth jazz.

  A police cruiser sat in front of the Peace Office. Alarmed, she parked behind it and hurried up the walk. She collected the new missing posters and went in.

  An officer in black tactical gear stood inside, his automatic rifle pointed at the floor.

  “Is everything okay here?” she said.

  The cop eyed her as if she might be a threat. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I’m looking for Paul.”

  “Dreadlocks guy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Conference room.”

  She hurried down the corridor to find Paul sitting with another police officer wearing a dress uniform. He looked up at her with an anxious expression.

  She shucked her coat and scarf. “What’s going on?”

  “Officer Jennings here just informed me the IMPD is shutting us down.”

  The man raised his hands. “Nobody’s saying that.”

  “You said we can’t try to locate family members on the other side of the contact line,” Paul said. “That’s what we do.”

  “No, it isn’t. You’re a religious community. You may continue to conduct your worship services without interference.”

  “But we can’t do our religious work.”

  “Political work. The rebels have launched a major offensive in Haughville. Until the front stabilizes, we need to eliminate any contacts outside the city.”

  Paul said nothing. He seemed tired, hungry, broken. The war had taken so much from him. For a while, it had also given him something valuable—a sense of purpose, a chance to do good works amid so much misery. Gabrielle understood the power of purpose. It had drawn her here, into a war that wasn’t hers.

  The government had just robbed him of his. The front would never stabilize. The IMPD was shutting them down permanently.

  Jennings stood to leave. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  She held up the sheaf of missing people in her hand. “The Peace Office’s work is for UNICEF.”

  Thankfully, Paul didn’t contradict her lie, which she hoped in the end would become only a white lie.

  The police officer smiled. “You must be Gabrielle Justine.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been hoping to talk to you. I understand you’re in need of help moving aid to the combat zones. You’ve been having some meetings. You should have checked in with the IMPD first about providing security.”

  As Aubrey warned her, word had gotten around about her meeting the Free Women, which was a Leftist militia.

  “I was planning to talk to the government for security.” It was UN policy.

  “Excellent.” He produced a card and handed it over. “When you’re ready, give Public Affairs a call.”

  “In the meantime, we want to continue our work here reuniting families across the contact line.”

  Still smiling, he said, “No.”

  “But—”

  “You call us when you’re ready to get the aid flowing. We’ll make it worth your while.” He squared his hat. “You have a great day.”

  The man’s hint at a bribe confirmed her worst fears that a big part of the aid would end up on the black market. “Wait.”

  He turned. “Yeah?”

  She took a sharp breath. “I’m talking to militias about security too.”

  Jennings’s grating smile disappeared as if switched off. He removed his hat and set it on the table. Then he resumed his seat while keeping his eyes fixed on her. “That’s not a very friendly position for the UN to take with its host.”

  Paul looked between them with alarm but wisely kept his mouth shut.

  “Maybe we could be friendly to each other,” Gabrielle said.

  “I already told you we’re more than willing to make things worth your while.”

  “I’d like to tell you how you can. First off, you don’t impede any of our operations.”

  “I said it’s not up to—”

  “Whatever the city may decide, you decide whether to enforce it, right? So don’t enforce it in this case. In return, UNICEF will grant you a security contract.”

  Jennings’s expression became thoughtful. “A contract.”

  “You section off some of your officers and form a private security corporation, which we’ll hire on a retainer basis.” She had that latitude.

  “An exclusive contract, you mean.”

  “With a bonus if all shipments reach where they’re supposed to go, subject to audit. If our audit shows anything fell off the truck, there’s no bonus, and I take my business elsewhere.”

  “Such a bonus would have to be substantial.”

  “Substantial enough,” Gabrielle said.

  A more genuine smile crossed the police officer’s face as he stood again and offered his hand. “I’ll take it to my superiors. We’ll be in touch.”

  She rose and shook it. “Good. In the meantime, we’ll continue our work.”

  Once he’d gone, she let go the breath she’d been holding and collapsed back in her seat. Despite the chill in the room, sweat trickled down her back.

  After a few moments, Paul said, “I’m not sure what just happened there, but I think you saved our ass. Are we still in business?”

  “New York reviewed my assessment,” Gabrielle told him. “I’m funded to produce a humanitarian action plan and get aid flowing.”

  “That’s great.” He still seemed bewildered.

  “I need staff. In fact, I’d like to hire everybody in your operation.”

  She needed accounting, media relations, administrators, drivers. With unemployment so high in the city, she could have her pick of the best
talent Indy offered.

  But she didn’t want a choice. She wanted these people. Like her, they were committed. For them, it wasn’t a job, it was a calling.

  Paul smiled. “You’ll need an accountant, I take it.”

  “I do.”

  “Then I guess I’m your man.”

  “Good. Because I have to find room in the budget to pay off the IMPD so they don’t rob us blind. And make it look right on the books.”

  Paul studied her. “You know, you’re tougher than I thought you were.”

  Gabrielle had learned from the best. It was sink or swim in Indy. Nobody would protect her here. She had to fight for what she wanted.

  Even so, she wasn’t that tough. “The jury’s still out on that, Paul.”

  “I’m liking what I’m seeing so far.”

  “Since I’ll be staying, it’s about time I moved out of the Castle and found an apartment. Maybe you could help me find a place?”

  “I can do that.” He rubbed his hands. “I’ll call the staff together. We can tell them the good news.”

  “Sounds good.” Gabrielle’s phone trilled. “I’ll be right back.”

  She left the room as Paul went to round up his staff, who filled the hallway with excited conversation as they filed into the conference room.

  She answered the call. “Justine.”

  “It’s Aubrey.”

  “I was just thinking about you. How are you? Are you okay?”

  “The Chronicle refused the story about the child soldiers. They think it would blow up in their faces. The government could step in. They could lose the newspaper.”

  Gabrielle frowned as she processed this news. “So it was all for nothing.”

  “Not yet,” Aubrey said. “I have a card to play at my end. I was wondering how committed you still are at yours.”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “Good. Get yourself on the radio or TV. Get the story out.”

  “You’re okay with not breaking the story?”

  “I can’t break anything if the Chronicle won’t print it,” Aubrey told her. “If you get the story out, the paper may feel safe to cover it. Meanwhile, like I said, I have another card to play.”

  Gabrielle liked the idea of teaming up with Aubrey again. She’d do it.

  The reporter said, “And try to find out how many child soldiers are being used in the city militias. Even if it’s a ballpark estimate.”

  Gabrielle was already on that. They said their goodbyes. She returned to the conference room, now filled with the Peace Office’s staff. The conversation died as she entered.

  “So,” she said. “Anybody here have experience with media relations?”

  Gabrielle gazed across the hopeful faces, grateful she was no longer alone in trying to make a difference. She felt a whole lot tougher with friends like these.

  This war’s sides believed in their cause enough to kill and die for it, but she had a nobler cause, and would give it no less of a commitment.

  FORTY-ONE

  Alex searched the basement for something he could give Sergeant Shook. The floorboards over his head creaked as the rest of the militia rifled the house for their own souvenirs and goodies. So far, he’d found nothing but plastic junk. The Indy 300 had held this territory for months, and they’d picked it clean.

  Goddamn Sergeant Shook. Alex was exhausted from the fighting. The coke’s short-lived euphoria and two days of constant combat had drained him to the last drop. But this was how he had to spend the few hours he had before it was his turn for sentry duty.

  So far, he’d come up with nothing. Unless Shook wanted some leftover house paint or a power washer, he was getting zilch.

  Boots thudded on the stairs. Jack shambled into the basement nursing his forehead. “Find anything good?”

  Alex gestured at a NordicTrack treadmill standing by a washer and dryer.

  His friend nodded, still rubbing his head. “Keep looking.”

  “I looked everywhere.”

  “Hey, check it out,” Jack said.

  Alex wheeled. “What? What’d you find?”

  Jack was inspecting a box containing a board game. “Monopoly. I used to play this.” He smiled. “What do you think?”

  “Bring it upstairs,” Alex said. “We can use it for fuel.”

  His friend frowned and put it aside. “Right.”

  “My skin feels like it’s crawling. I need another hit.”

  “No way, bro. Only when we’re fighting. That’s the rule.”

  “Please? Pretty please? It’s Christmas Eve, dude.”

  “Nope, and stop asking. We only have a little left.”

  Alex had morphine in his medical kit. One shot, and he’d float to his happy place. Bravo did it all the time, but not Alpha. He couldn’t risk Mitch finding out.

  “Let’s go see if there’s any beer then.”

  They tramped upstairs. The squad sat on metal chairs set around the kitchen island, playing poker for a small pile of cigarettes while supper warmed up in a tin on the Coleman.

  Alex dropped the Monopoly game on the countertop. “Some play money for your poker game. Or you can pretend you’re Democrats and burn it.”

  The men laughed. Smirking, Tom reached into the cooler and set a beer in front of him.

  Alex cracked it open and took a deep swallow. He looked around for Jack. The kid was lying curled up in a fetal ball in his sleeping bag, already sound asleep.

  The veteran raised his can. “To Grady. Rest in peace, brother.”

  They drank again to Casey, who’d caught a ricochet in the leg and had been taken to a nearby clinic. Alex chugged what was left in his can.

  Tom eyed him. “Pace yourself.”

  Alex had watched Grady cough blood, his lungs shredded. A flipped truck crush men while they were dismounting. Screaming militiamen, set alight by a rain of Molotov cocktails, duck and roll in the snow. That was how the libs had finally stopped them at Tremont. One by one, the trucks burst into flames.

  Pace yourself. Right.

  The men frowned and tilted their heads toward the windows, where Donnie stood watch.

  Voices. Women’s voices. The women they’d been fighting these past two days.

  They were singing.

  “‘Silent Night,’” Tom said, sounding wistful.

  Donnie yelled out the window, “On the first day of Christmas, my true love said to me, let’s hang a liberal from a tree!”

  Nobody laughed. Jack moaned and turned over in his sleep. The women went on with their ghostly and angelic singing. The men began to hum along in a deep baritone.

  Alex smiled as the music seeped into his soul. It didn’t make him nostalgic for Christmas. Instead, he thought about Janice Brewer. When he closed his eyes, he remembered the tumult of feelings he had for her but couldn’t quite picture her face. Her laugh, he could recall clear as day. An easy laugh suggesting she and the world were on good terms and that maybe she was a little wild. It used to fill him with a strange longing, something like hunger.

  He didn’t know if it had been real love. He hoped to survive this war so he could see what it was like. He’d fought and killed, but until he experienced love, he wasn’t yet a man but a boy playing grown-up games.

  Janice’s mom and dad had planted a MARSH FOR PRESIDENT sign on their front lawn, so maybe the evangelicals had left them alone. He imagined coming home a hero after the great war for liberty, a quiet and moody veteran weighted by the things he’d done. Her laugh would remind him of happier times, and her love would save him. He’d rolled this fantasy often while lying in his sleeping bag at night. The women’s singing brought it back full force.

  Then the song ended, leaving him in a drab ruin that stood like some forgotten castoff of creation.

  The men sighed with their own longings.

  One of the militiamen laid down his hand, showing three tens. He took the meager pot.

  Tom dealt a new hand. “Ante up, gentlemen. We were talking abo
ut Grady. Phil, you knew him better than anybody.”

  “I guess I did,” the militiaman said. “He didn’t talk much about his life before. He had it rough. Two divorces. His ex-wives took everything from him. The second got a judge to say he couldn’t see his own kids. Can you believe that?”

  The men bristled. One said, “That shit is ice cold.”

  “The Tree was all he had. I know he would have wanted to go out the way he did, in combat.”

  “I’ll miss his stories about being a bounty hunter,” Donnie said from the other side of the room. “He saw some crazy stuff in his time.”

  “Did you ever hear him talk about the times he went out on patrol down at the border?”

  “Hell, yeah. He told me once how these Mexicans—”

  There was a commotion at the back door. The sentry called out a challenge. Another man answered.

  “Friendly coming in,” the sentry said.

  Sergeant Shook stomped into the house. “Where’s the boss?”

  Tom put his cards facedown on the table. “He’s with the colonel.”

  “I ain’t looking for him anyway.” The sergeant scanned their faces and zeroed in on Alex. “You’re the one I want.”

  Shook had come to find out what Alex had gotten him for Christmas. Mitch wasn’t here to protect him this time, and he wasn’t sure his squad mates would step up on his behalf, not when a debt was being settled.

  The sergeant was going to drag him outside and turn him into hamburger.

  The man walked up to him and thrust out his massive paw. “You were shit hot the other day, soldier.”

  Alex let go the breath he was holding and shook it. “Thanks.”

  “You charged that building like John Wayne.”

  Alex had only a vague notion of who John Wayne was, but he got the idea. He wasn’t sure what to say and settled on the default response. “Hooah, Sergeant.”

  “I told my squad they could learn from you. Once I got those pussies moving, we took that building in no time.”

  “We’ll kick their ass again tomorrow, Sergeant.”

  “You want to share some war stories, come find me. Bravo’s in the next house over. We got a lot of beer.” He sneered at Alex’s squad. “Carry on, ladies.”

  After he left, the men cracked grins. They saw Shook as just another thing they had to put up with along with the weather and camp food.