Ralph Peters (66 page)

Waters sucked his teeth.
"
Colonel Taylor,
"
he said,
"
do you
really
believe you have a chance to pull this off?
"

"
Yes, sir. A chance.
"

"
Nobody else seems to think so. The experts here don t think you could even get halfway.
"

"
Sir, I know what my men and my machines can do. I saw it today.
"

"
The Soviets want to quit,
"
Waters added,
"
and, while I certainly do not want to belittle our losses, the Soviets have lost a substantial urban population and a regional population they haven't even begun to count. I even understand that the city—Orsk, was it?—was crowded with refugees from the fighting to the south. I'm not certain I could convince them of the wisdom of this move, even if I liked the idea myself.
"

"
Mr. President,
"
Taylor said,
"
I can't respond to that. All I can tell you is that I do not think the time has come to surrender.
"

"
Now
"
—the secretary of state jumped in—
"
we're not talking about a
surrender.
The options under discussion are disengagement, an open withdrawal from the zone of conflict under mutual or multilateral guarantees, or, perhaps, a transitional ceasefire in place, to be followed by international regulation of the problem.
"

"
Whatever words you use,
"
Taylor said coldly,
"
it's still a surrender.
"

"
George,
"
the chairman of the JCS interrupted,
"
you re overstepping your bounds. Considerably.
"

Taylor said nothing.

Waters wanted to know what this battered-looking warrior really had to offer. Was there any genuine substance behind the disguise of the uniform?

"
Colonel Taylor,
"
Waters said,
"
I've even had a report from one of your subordinates, a Lieutenant Colonel Reno, that suggests you may not be competent for the position you presently hold. He makes it sound as though you had a pretty bad day.
"

Taylor's face remained impassive.
"
Mr. President, if you have any doubts about my performance, you can court-martial me after this is all over. Right now, just let me fight.
"

Waters measured the man. For a moment, Taylor was more immediate, more absolutely present in the room, than were any of the flesh-and-blood advisers. Time suspended its rules, and Waters slipped into old visions, accompanied by the aftertaste of a cheeseburger.

"
Colonel Taylor,
"
the President said slowly,
"
have you ever been bitten by a police dog?
"

"
No, sir.
"

"
Neither was I. But my father was. Marching down a road in Alabama, with empty hands and a head full of dreams. They sent in the dogs ... and my father was bitten very badly. It was a long time ago. I was not born in time to see those things. But my father had a powerful command of our language. When he described the fear he felt facing those dogs, well, his listeners felt it too. The dogs chewed him until he ran with blood. Yet, the very next day, he was out there again, marching and singing. He was even more afraid than he had been before, but, as he never tired of telling me, it might have been a very different world if he and just a few other frightened young men and women had given up.
"
Waters tapped a pencil against an empty china cup.
"
My father . . . did not live to see his son become President of the United States. He died of Runciman's disease while I was off giving congressional campaign speeches to dwindling audiences. But I know that he would expect me to face those dogs today.
"
Waters laid down the pencil and considered the image of Taylor on the screen.
"
The only problem is that I'm not quite sure what that means in this context. Does 'facing the dogs' mean sending one Colonel Taylor and his men back into battle with their sabers drawn—or is that merely avoidance, sending other men to face the dogs for me. Perhaps . . . facing the dogs means taking responsibility for my own bad decisions and cutting our losses.
"

"
Mr. President,
"
Taylor said flatly,
"
to quit now would be cowardice.
"

"
That's
enough,
Colonel,
"
the chairman said.

Waters merely nodded and looked down at his empty hands. They were smooth and unmarred by physical labor. Or by animal teeth.

"
Colonel Taylor,
"
he said,
"
I have to make a decision. I'm not going to keep you hanging on any longer than necessary. We're going to drop you off the network now, but I want you to be standing by in exactly thirty minutes. I'm going to go over everything one last time with the people in this room, then I'll give you my answer—oh, by the way—you didn't mention the disturbances in Baku in your plan. Have you seen the imagery?

"
Yes, sir.
"

"
And what do you think about it? Doesn't that complicate your operation?
"

"
Not necessarily. In fact, the demonstrations may provide us with a very good local diversion, if they continue. The Japanese must be worried as hell about their coming over the wall.
"

Waters pursed his face into a quizzical expression.
"
What do you mean by that? What do you think those demonstrations are all about?
"

"
Well,
"
Taylor said,
"
my S-2 thinks it's pretty clear. And I agree with him. The Japanese are learning the same lesson we had to learn the hard way. In Teheran.

Waters thought for a moment.
"
Then you believe those demonstrations are
anti
-Japanese?
"

Taylor looked surprised by the question.
"
Of course. It's obvious.
"

Waters nodded, pondering this brand-new slant. Thank you, Colonel Taylor. You'll be hearing from me in thirty minutes.
"

Taylor's image faded from the screen.

For a moment, there was a dull silence, reflecting the inertia of weary men. Then the secretary of state shook his patrician head in wonder.

"
The man's crazy,
"
he said.

"
Good to see you, Tucker,
"
Taylor said, rising to meet his old comrade. He tried to call up a smile, but an important part of him remained with the President, awaiting a decision.

"
What the hell, George, you're looking ugly as ever.
"
Colonel Williams extended his hand.

Taylor held out his bandaged paw.

Williams hesitated to accept it.
"
What the hell happened to you this time, George?
"

Taylor went the extra distance and grasped Williams's hand, shaking it firmly.

"
My own stupidity,
"
Taylor said.
"
Minor stuff. I just wanted to make sure I collected another Purple Heart.
"

Williams laughed, but the sound was buried under the racket of the tactical operations center. The regiment had established its headquarters in a small network of field shelters near Orenburg, in Assembly Area Platinum. The facility offered good camouflage, light ballistic protection, and no defense whatsoever, should the new Japanese weapons descend through the darkness. The staff worked hectically, as was the American custom, and no one seemed bothered by the threat of a Scrambler attack. The weapons were so overpowering that men quickly blocked them out of their immediate consciousness, as soldiers from an earlier generation had done with nuclear weapons, or as men had learned to do with the plague.

Williams pulled a younger man into the circle of power defined by the two colonels. A warrant officer. Fresh-faced kid lugging a briefcase that hardly suited the field environment.

"
George, this is my wonder boy, the one who broke the bank. He's all raring to go, just dying to get into the fight.
"
Williams smiled happily at the younger man.
"
Chief Ryder, this is Colonel Georgie Taylor.
The
Colonel George Taylor.
"

"
Honored to meet you, sir,
"
the warrant officer said in an absentminded voice, as though he were thinking of things far away. He wavered about offering his hand to Taylor, eyes dwelling on the dirty bandage. But Taylor snared the boy and gave him a welcoming handshake even as he sensed that something was wrong. There was something about the kid, something uncannily familiar . . .

"
Welcome to the Seventh Cav,
"
Taylor said.

"
So, George?
"
Williams said.
"
What's the word? We get the green light?
"

"
Still waiting,
"
Taylor replied in disgust.
"
The President's making his decision right now. With the NSC.
"

"
And all the fucking straphangers, I bet,
"
Williams said. He made an exaggeratedly sour face.
"
Christ, I know one of those sonsofbitches personally, old Cliff Bouquette from the Agency. Talk about a worthless, lying, overdressed piece of shit.
"

"
I'm worried, Tucker.
"

Williams folded his arms across his big chest, nodding.
"
Poor old Waters just doesn't have a handle on this stuff. But, what the hell can you expect, when less than five percent of the members of Congress have ever worn a uniform. They read a fucking book by another peckerhead who's never tied on a combat boot, and suddenly
they're
military reformers. Jesus Christ, the country needs a goddamned draft. Even if it only applies to freshmen congressmen.
"

Taylor nodded, used to Williams.
"
I almost thought I had him. I thought he was going to say yes. He seemed on the verge of it.
"

As he spoke Taylor could not help turning his eyes again and again to Ryder. It was as if he had known him, years before. Yet that was obviously impossible. The warrant officer was too young.

Who the hell did he resemble?

"
Chief?
"
Williams said.
"
Why don't you head over to the deuce's shop and introduce yourself. Colonel Taylor and I need to talk.
"

"
Yes, sir.
"
Ryder ducked his head slightly in obedience, rendered a halting salute, and moved off in search of the intelligence section.

"
Good boy,
"
Williams told Taylor as soon as the warrant was out of earshot.
"
Computer tech. Absolutely brilliant. Not a field soldier, of course. I'm counting on you to take care of him, Georgie.
"

Taylor barely responded. His head moved slightly, but it was clear that his thoughts were elsewhere.

"
That bad?
"
Williams asked.

Taylor shrugged.
"
I don't know.
"
He clenched his hands into fists, bouncing them off each other, a boxer testing his gloves. The discomfort in his burned hand did not even
register on him.
"
Damnit, I thought he was going to give me the go-ahead. Talking about his father and Alabama. Rousing stuff. Right off the campaign trail. Then he backed down at the last minute and told me he'd just made up his mind to make up his mind in a little while.
"

"
Washington's not as crazy about all this as they were this morning, I take it?
"

Taylor snorted.
"
That's a fucking understatement
.
You can hear them all running for the trees from here.
"

"
I'll just bet that little puss Bouquette has his snout in it,
"
Williams said.
"
Typical goddamned civilian hotshot. I never knew him to get a single tough intel call right. But he's got terrific connections. Never wore a uniform, unless it was at some overseas prep school. But he figures he knows your job and mine by virtue of family lineage and intuition.
"

Taylor did not respond. He knew of Bouquette. More than he wanted to know. Courtesy of Daisy.

He wondered if Daisy was still there, in the same room as Waters. But better not to think of all that now.

"
Hard day, George?
"
Williams asked. His tone of voice made it very clear that he understood as only another warrior might understand.

Taylor looked at him.
"
I lost Dave Heifetz,
"
he said matter-of-factly.
"
In the Scrambler business. And Manny Martinez. They hit us at Omsk on the way out.
"
Williams looked pensive.
"
Didn't know Martinez. But Heifetz was a hell of a soldier.
"

"
Yes. He was that.
"
Taylor turned his head in disgust.
"
And here I am talking about him as though he's dead. While the poor bastard's bundled up in a wing-in-ground, pissing all over himself and wondering what on earth happened
.
.
.
and what's going to happen.
"
Taylor took a step to the side, as if trying to move away from himself.
"
God almighty. I just don't know what to do for him. And for all the rest of them. What do you do, Tucker? What on earth do you do? You know what it's like to write the letters to the wives or parents when some poor trooper buys the farm. But what the fuck do you write when Johnny's coming home as a physical vegetable with unimpaired emotions and a perfect grasp of the world around him. With memories of what women are like, with—

"
George. You're tired.
"

"
No
. Really. What in-the-name-of-Christ do you do? Send the folks back home a catalog for oversize cribs and disposable diapers? Oh, by the way, Mrs. Jones, your husband may prove a disappointment to you on several counts, owing to his recent unfortunate term of military service. Jesus, Tucker . . . it's a hell of a thing to find yourself wishing that your own men had died.
"

"
Maybe we'll find a cure.
"