going to teach you about respect. It may kill you, but I swear we’re going to pound some patriotism into that thick and cunning skull of yours.”
The Director pressed a button on his desk.
Jake stared in at the man in disbelief. “Is this a joke? This is my reward for fighting my way back?”
The door opened and three guards looked in.
The Director pointed a thick finger at Jake. “Take this piece of garbage to the isolation cell. Let him contemplate the coming lessons we’ll drum into his thick hide.”
Jake rose in a blaze of rage. He ripped off his shirt. “Look at this!” he shouted. There was a pucker scar, a bullet wound on the side of his ribs. “A Chinese assault rifle did this. What about here.” He pointed to a furrow along his side. “Shrapnel, plain and simple. And here,” he showed them his left biceps. “That’s from a bayonet. You know what a knife-scar looks like, don’t you? I’m sure you get them all the time sitting your fat butt here in safety. I was in Amarillo and it was hell!”
Jake glanced at the three guards frowning at him. They were beefy and each clutched a baton.
“Sure,” he said. “You’re brave against me, three to one.” He clapped his hands. “If you phone the cops in Gunnison they’ll tell you I asked them to take me here. I volunteered to fight, and that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been shedding blood for my country and you want to torture me. Tell me you’re a patriot. Come and fight with me at the front. Let some Chinese artillery pound your position and let’s see if you cut or run or hold for the swarm attack you know that’s coming.”
Jake was panting, and there was fiery rage in his eyes. Three batons—maybe it was time to fight three to one and just go down swinging. This was complete crap.
“What do you say, Director?” the chief guard asked. “He sure doesn’t sound like a deserter.”
The Director stroked his chin, measuring Jake. “I’ll call the police in Gunnison. If they confirm your story…I’ll add you to the Eleventh CDMB.”
Jake was too angry to say anything more. He was too pumped up for action. Slowly, he backed down, forcing himself to sit. He stared at the floor, refusing to look at anyone.
He heard the Director talking into a phone. The man was gruff. The Director waited, and he then asked several questions. He grunted, likely receiving answers. Finally, the Director thanked the police officer and hung up.
Jake looked at him.
The Director stared back, finally nodding. “Your story holds. Maybe you did fight in Amarillo. We’re sending you out tonight. The Eleventh is headed for Denver. The Chinese have been inching there. If you want a fight, son, you’re going to get it.”
Jake nodded.
“Go on, take him away. I have work to do.”
“Yes, sir,” the chief guard said. The man motioned to Jake. “If you’ll follow me then...”
Jake waited a half-second, wondering if the Director would apologize for earlier. No, the man ignored him, writing something on paper. Jake said nothing more as he stood, deciding the sooner he left this place the better. Denver, it looked like he was going to fight again after all.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
“I’m still not sure why you think I should attend this meeting, Mr. President,” Anna said.
They were in the Oval Office, the President staring out the window at the snow-covered Rose Garden.
David Sims looked different in person than he did on TV. He was plump with wispy blond hair that barely covered his bald spot in front. His pale blue eyes were alert like a hawk, though, just as on the tube. He wore a black suit and his shoulders were back as they used to be before the war.
“You’re my second pair of ears,” he said.
“But sir—”
Sims turned to her, and there was concern in his eyes. “You’ve spoken with Chancellor Kleist. You can testify to his offer and the faith in which he gave it.”
“But the others won’t accept me as—”
Sims made a decisive gesture. “I’m the President. I decide whom I trust and whom I don’t. Your advice has always been good, and today, I’m going to need all the good advice I can get.”
They were about to speak with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, with General McGraw of Army Group West and the Director of Homeland Security, Max Harold.
I’m the wrong person to be in on this meeting, Anna told herself. There