She’d had her good points, two of them way up high. Maybe it just was that she had been too aggressive. Even after only a few days with her, she’d been telling him what to do all the time.
In the end, Jake had decided he owed it to the others who hadn’t made it back to return to the Army and slug it out with the enemy. The lieutenant would have told him to rejoin, to finish the fight. The Louis L’Amour characters of the Old West would have finished it, too. That’s how they’d won the West in the first place. A soldier didn’t hide in a woman’s arms when battle called.
The door to the Director’s office opened. A large man in his fifties looked out. He had iron colored hair in a buzz cut. He was between large and fat, and seemed stern. He wore a uniform and had the kind of red face with broken blood vessels that meant he drank too much. It reminded Jake of his grandfather.
“Jake Higgins of the Seventh CDMB?” the man growled.
“That’s me,” Jake said.
The Director scowled. “You’re in the Militia, son. That means you stand at attention when an officer talks to you. You will also address me as sir.”
Jake stared at the Director. Slowly, he stood to his feet and saluted. He neither stood as straight as he could nor did he move with precision. Maybe it was a mistake, but he’d been the lone survivor who had fought his way free of the Chinese. It seemed to him the Director could give him a little respect.
The Director grunted, and the hard eyes intensified. He opened his mouth, seemed to decide otherwise and beckoned Jake into the office.
As Jake sauntered into the room, he wondered if this was the time to stand on his merits. He recalled the cells, the punishment details. These people thrived on regulations, on their little games. Maybe the smart man remembered that and bent a bit until the goons no longer had him in their control.
The office contained huge photographs of President Sims and Detention Center slogans in block letters: UNITY BRINGS VICTORY. WE ARE ONE, WE ARE STRONG. PATRIOTS FIGHT FOR THEIR COUNTRY! TRAITORS PROTEST THEIR LEADERS.
Jake had read the slogans before and heard them more than he cared to count. He sat down in a chair, noticing he was lower than the Director was in his chair behind the desk. The desk had books on it, photographs and mementoes galore.
The Director picked up an e-reader and scanned the screen. “Hmm, it says here you fought in Amarillo, Texas?”
“Yes, sir,” Jake said.
The Director clicked the e-reader. “That’s a long way from Gunnison where it says the police picked you up. You were in the company of a Ms. Lisa Brewster, a suspected agitator, I might add.”
Jake kept himself from blurting out what he thought about Lisa being suspected of anything. The woman was a true patriot, killing the enemy, risking her life to do it.
“Sir,” Jake said, “does the report add that I had Lisa drive me to Gunnison so I could reach the authorities?”
“It does not? Is that what you’re claiming?”
“Yes sir. That’s exactly how it happened.”
“I would like to know how you went from Amarillo, Texas to Gunnison, Colorado.”
“Some of us fought our way out of the encircling Chinese near Amarillo, sir.”
“We?” the Director asked.
Jake began to tell him about the lieutenant and some of the grim journey. As he talked, Jake noticed the Director looking more and more incredulous.
“You expect me to believe that tale?” the Director finally blurted.
“Since it’s the truth, yes I do.”
“No! I will tell you the truth. You escaped the Seventh CDMB before it ever reached Amarillo, Texas. Likely, you went AWOL long before that. You fled to the Rockies and have spent your time idling with a suspected subversive. During this absence, you’ve listened to the news and concocted your cock and bull story. You were a troublemaker before, Jake Higgins, and you’ve remained a troublemaker. We know how to handle the likes of you.”
“What are you talking about?” Jake asked. “I fought my way back through Chinese lines. I got the scars to prove it, too. I returned to keep fighting. Lisa wanted me to stay with her, but I told her I couldn’t.”
The Director laughed sharply. He moved his head in short jerks like a wolf gulping its meat. “Nice try, Mr. Higgins.” He leaned across the desk. “Your kind makes me sick. We’re