Countdown: The Liberators-ARC (64 page)

"What's wrong, love?" he asked. When she told him, he said, "I could tell you that I understand. Perhaps in some way I even do. But the deeper part of the thing? No, that I would have to experience myself to tell you I honestly understood it. A captive I have been. A slave, never."

He grew quiet for a moment, before continuing, "And neither shall you be, from the moment we leave this place. I don't know how to free you legally, since the whole thing is extralegal everywhere I know of. I can tell you that you are free. You can come with me. You can stay here-"

"Not on your life," she said.

"I didn't think that was an option. Or you can come with me to my home and then go wherever you wish."

"What do you want?" she asked.

He sighed. "Me? I want you to stay with me."

Labaan, at the wheel of the car, overheard. He is a good boy, he thought. And always was. If I had had a son . . .

"Come," the old former captor insisted, pushing the thought away. "We must hurry or terrible things will happen. Come."

D+3, Bandar Qassim, Ophir

"I've never been in an airplane before, Adam," Makeda said. If the auto sojourn had visibly upset her, the prospect of actually leaving the Earth's surface looked to have her ready to vomit.

"It's fun," Adam assured her. "Really, I've done it many times."

"How many?" she asked.

"Ummm . . . twice," he admitted. "Not counting changing planes and brief stopovers. On my way to America to go to school and . . . ummm . . . on my way back to Africa. Ot maybe it was three times. But it will be fun."

"I would never personally describe flying as ‘fun,'" Labaan said. "Though I know people who enjoy it. Some of them"-he immediately thought of Lance- "are idiots in my opinion. But it will not be so bad, girl. You'll be safe."

Makeda chewed her lower lip for a moment, then lifted her chin proudly and said, "If I knew for a fact that the thing was more than likely going to crash, and that chance was my only chance to be my own property again, I would still get on it."

Labaan and Adam exchanged glances. Labaan's glance translated as, "keeper." Adam's was more accurately described as accusatory: "And you knew I would find myself tied to this girl when you gave her to me. Bastard."

Labaan laughed and took Adam's hand. "You are a good boy," he said, "and have every prospect of growing into a good man. Try to be a better one than my chief or yours."

"I will," the boy answered. "I promise." Taking the girl's hand, he led her to the airplane that floated to meet them at the dock.

The small floatplane came to the dock and twisted a bit. The engine's roar dropped off to a mild hum. Then the door popped open and a kindly faced man introduced himself. "I'm McCaverty," he said, "and I believe you people ordered a taxi."

"What if they take the boy, and that skinny slave he's acquired, and then don't release our people?" Gutaale fretted.

Taban shook his head. "You've not only been spending too much time with the bleeding hearts, chief, you've been listening too much to your own conniving heart. There is no reason, none, for the American not to give you back your people once he has what he came for. Besides," he pointed to sea, "there are the boats bringing them."

Past the landing craft and their escorting patrol boat that Taban had pointed to, the big boat, the one that had launched the others, had its crane over the side. A slack line ran into the water. Nobody on shore had the faintest idea why.

"Now show some manners and wave your former guest goodbye."

EPILOGUE

D+5, MV
Merciful
, South Indian Ocean

Kosciusko had left the bridge under his XO's command. Now he, like all the other company commanders, the staff, the sergeant major, and pretty much everyone else who could be fitted into the chapel cum recreation cum planning area, sat or, in many cases, stood, to hear what Stauer had to say. Only a few key players, notably the mess sergeant, were not in attendance. Neither was Wahab, as he had to go drop off Adam and Makeda and then retrieve his wife and family before Khalid discovered some things were not quite what he thought they were. The Chaplain, Wilson, had just finished the memorial service for the slain, every one of whom was laying in a refrigerated container somewhere forward. They'd be buried later, somewhere to be determined.

Payments, rather large payments, were already en route to the next of kin of the dead the force had suffered, carried by the two retired general officers who had had a place in planning the operation, back in San Antonio, but were too old, and knew it, for taking a more active role. In Galkin's case, for his next of kin-his mother, living in Saint Petersburg-the money had been sent through Father Pavel, in Paldiski, along with a small contribution to his church. Sure, Galkin hadn't really been part of the force, had never signed an enlistment contract, but, Stauer thought, Let's be big about this. What's a little piece of paper with a signature, anyway?

"Gentlemen, ladies, couple of things," Stauer began. "First off, to announce a wedding: Chaplain Wilson will be officiating over a marriage between Miss Potter and myself in three days. You're all invited-Lana Mendes and the Romanian nurses' aides are required-to attend. Ladies, I am informed that the bride will be perfectly happy to have you serve as her bridesmaids in the same attire she'll be wearing, battle dress.

"Gordo, you have the logistics down on that?"

Harry Gordon looked up from a clipboard. "Yes, sir. There's still half a container of booze we stashed away for the victory celebration. Even these reprobates couldn't kill it all off. And, while Sergeant Island says that the 1910 Manual for Army Cooks doesn't have anything specifically about weddings, he can improvise. He also says that, since the manual does not cover the subject matter, perhaps it's a bad idea. However, you being the boss and the manual giving great deference to command, he says he'll play along."

The sergeant major harrumphed. "Sergeant Island is a wise man, sir, and I think you should give his counsel serious weight."

That earned him a dirty look from Phillie until she realized he was smiling-What? Joshua never smiles! Though, of course, he sometimes did-and wasn't remotely serious.

"And," Gordo continued, "Phillie doesn't have to wear battle dress. It seems that Doctor Lin not only sews guts, she sews as a hobby. Or maybe it was a necessity in China. Dunno. Anyway, there is enough white material in sick bay that she is sure she and her own people can come up with a proper dress. Silk, no. White, yes.

Reilly cast a sidewise glance at Lana. Should I ask about a second dress? Nah, I haven't even asked her. And besides, she'll want her poor nose fixed before she consents to having her picture taken. And she'll want pictures. If she agrees. Which, of course, she might not.

"It'll still be battle dress for the bridesmaids, though." Gordo looked personally affronted that he didn't have a solution to that minor problem.

"Fair enough," Stauer agreed. "That work for you, Phillie?"

She nodded, speechless. The whole idea that Wes was actually going to follow through, especially after the fight they'd had . . . Thank you, God. Will You forgive me if I don't have any more sexual sins to confess, since none of the deliciously wet and sloppy stuff I intend to indulge in to excess will be a sin anymore?

"Speaking more generally, and toward the future," Stauer added, "We really need to do some thinking, some planning, and some talking.

"How many of you guys have any idea of how much money we have?" Stauer looked around. No, from the faces only a few do.

"All right." He pointed at a thin middle aged Ophiri, standing against the rear bulkhead, and said, "Courtesy of the ‘late' Mr. Dayid, also late of Gutaale's accounting service, we have . . . billions. A couple, anyway. Not counting the assets we got from this job. If you check your enlistment contracts, you'll note that
I
get to control and dispose of any property seized. Sorry, Reilly, that means I own those tanks you filched.

"What that means, though, is that we can afford to stay together, doing what we do best, until we're finally just too old to walk anymore." Stauer looked around at the small sea of mostly gray-headed, men, with weather- and care-worn faces, and added, "In other words, until sometime next year, anyway."

That drew a hearty and good-natured laugh from the company.

"Or, we can split up the money and each of you will be a millionaire. For about ten minutes until the tax bite hits. And good luck explaining to the IRS where the money came from.

"Before I ask you to decide, I want Boxer to talk to you about life, the universe, and everything. Ralph?" Stauer stepped off center as Ralph took his place.

"Lights. Camera," said Boxer. Immediately the lights dimmed to nothing, to be partially replaced by a somewhat blurry rectangle projected against the wall behind him.

"He wasn't joking, you know," Boxer said, conversationally. "I mean about that tax bite. For the American majority among us, the top marginal rate-and we'll all be in it-is now forty-two percent, and the Social Security and Medicare rate-which is flat-comes in at a little over eighteen percent. And with the cap lifted, you'll pay that on every dollar. The Euro's will pay even more. If you come from a state like California, New York, Illinois, or one or the New England states, you can add anything up to twelve percent to that. And there's no guarantee that that won't go up, even retroactively, because the rates are driving people to flee both high tax states, and the high tax United States, for better climes, rather than being driven into the lower class by being taxed on behalf of the lower class.

"Unfortunately, in the long run, there are no better climes. First slide."

A map of the world appreared, showing sea lanes interrupted by markers of explosions off the coast of Somalia, both coasts of Panama, the Straits of Mallaca, and some few other places.

"Those markers you see," Boxer explained, "were piratical attacks on shipping ten years ago. Next slide." The map remained, but the number of markers dropped roughly in half. "That's this year's. Looks better, no? Well . . . as a matter of fact . . . no. Because . . . next slide." The map disappeared, to be replaced by a chart showing the number of merchant vessels actually in operation carrying goods, and their average tonnage. More precisely, it showed the severe drop in both.

"That's right," Boxer said. "There are fewer piratical attacks only because the volume of international trade by sea has dropped through the floor. Next slide."

The map returned, this time showing explosive markers on land. There were a lot of them. Everywhere. "That's terrorist incidents, ten years ago. Next slide.

"That's last year's. Note how many fewer there were. Good thing, right?

"Wrong. Most of the areas that don't have any terrorism now-Afhanistan, Iraq, Egypt, for example-don't have it because they've fallen to Sharia law, and a) the imans and mullahs don't put up with that shit while b) why engage in terror; they've got what they want. In places that haven't yet fallen-Europe, notably, but also Africa, Latin America, and Asia-and which have large Moslem minorites, terrorist incidents are way up. Moreover, ethnically, culturally, or religiously motivated crimes-robbery, rape, arson, murder-have been going up at an average increase of six percent a year for the last ten years. As far as crime goes, sometimes the Moslems are the culprits, sometimes the victims, and sometimes they've got nothing to do with it at all. It's not altogether clear that anybody, or any group, respects law much anymore.

"Terrrorism, by the way, would certainly have gone up even more except that money is tight. Why is money tight? Next slide."

Boxer went silent for a moment, giving his audience the chance to digest the information. This one concerned the price of oil. On the face of it, the information was good. Oil had been dropping irregularly but generally for ten years.

"This is why money is tight and part of why terrorism is down. The oil states, and especially Arab and other Islamic oil states, don't have any to give away. Their governments are barely hanging on, and to do so they're having to liquidate assets held in other countries to keep up their massive welfare systems and the security forces that try to keep a lid on things. In the long run, of course, this is death to them. It's only a matter of time before there's armed revolution in the streets of Riyadh and Kuwait City of a size and power they can't put down.

"No bad thing, you think. Fuck ‘em, you think. But why is the price of oil down? Next slide."

This one showed industrial output from Europe, Asia, and the Americas. It was all bad news. All of it.

"Next."

That one showed the growth in budgets of various trans- and supranational organization, ranging from the United Way to the European Union to the United Nations.

"Interesting, isn't it, how while everything else is sinking into the sewer, the budgets of the transnational progressive organizations, fed by ‘contributions' from the developed world, and various frauds like ‘cap and trade,' keep rising? As domestic taxes keep rising? As the governments of the world prove ever less capable of ‘soaking the rich' and ever more adept at soaking the working class under the guise of soaking the rich? I'd suggest that that's not entirely a coincidence.

"No more slides," Boxer said. "But remember, those were just a taste of what's going on. Remember, too, that all the really measureable things aren't very important, and all the really important things aren't very measureable. Worse than all that material shit is this: people in our civilization don't have any hope any more. They don't have any faith. They've stopped believing things can be fixed.

"Some years ago, a German attempted to list all the reasons for the collapse of the Western Roman Empire. He stopped when he reached two hundred. There were probably more. I imagine that, in our more complex world, we could come up with five hundred, or a thousand. No matter. We don't need to. The pattern is clear, as clear as anything has ever been. To quote a wise old man of my acquaintance, ‘Civilization is on the ropes.' And that's even without a plague or new ice age. And I wouldn't bet against those, either."