The Directives (18 page)

A few moments later, she felt the trailer’s momentum slow as Slim let off the gas. Another seemingly endless minute passed before they navigated to the shoulder and stopped. Terri’s seatbelt was off in a second, and after a glance at Betty and Hunter, she was striding toward the coach’s door.

Slim beat her to it, blocking her exit. “Ma’am, please wait just a moment. Colonel Jefferies is on his way back from the lead Humvee and will fill you in immediately.”

“Is he alive?” her worried voice asked.

Slim’s eyes flashed surprise at the question, yet again amazed at the woman’s level of perception. “Yes, ma’am, Mister Bishop is alive. All that I know at this moment is that his unit suffered extreme casualties, and your husband is in surgery at Fort Hood.”

Terri stood motionless, her face filling with a thousand questions. Betty was there, pulling Terri close in a supportive embrace. “How bad is it?” the older woman asked.

Before Slim could answer, a knock sounded on the door. The guard unlocked the latch, admitting the military officer.

After removing his hat in respect, the colonel explained, “Ma’am, I just received a broadcast from Fort Hood on the long range com. The unit assigned to secure the manufacturing facility at Brighton, Texas has returned to the base with over a dozen wounded, including your husband. At this time, he is in surgery. That is all I know at the moment.”

“How far away are we from the base?” Terri asked.

“Three hours, ma’am, give or take.”

The Chairwoman of the Alliance Council reappeared, replacing the frightened, concerned wife. “Well what are we waiting for, gentlemen? Our itinerary has just changed. Take me to Fort Hood.”

Slim’s natural aversion to any deviation from the plan showed on his face, but before the security man could voice an objection, Terri’s stare bored into his eyes.

“You were going to say something, Slim?” she challenged, her tone making it clear the effort would be wasted.

“No, ma’am,” he answered wisely, and then turned to the colonel. “Please inform the base commander of our anticipated arrival. I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying.”

“I’ll brief the rest of the convoy as well,” the officer noted. “I’ll also let the commanders in Austin know we’ve been delayed.”

The colonel started to turn for the door, but then paused. Turning back to face Terri, he said, “We have the finest battle-trauma surgeons in the world at Hood, ma’am. I’m sure your husband will be okay.”

Bishop was lying on his stomach, and it was pissing him off. His groggy mind registered the discomfort of the unnatural position, but was unsure what to do about it.

Deciding that his side, back, or even a fetal arrangement would be more comfortable, his brain sent the signal to roll over.

Somehow, despite the anesthesia, his arms answered the confused command, and he began to rise.

A firm, but gentle hand pressed down on his back, easily defeating the weak effort. “No you don’t, mister. You need to stay off your back for a bit.”

Bishop wanted to protest, but only managed about the weakest, nonthreatening growl he’d ever heard. It was almost funny.

Somewhere, off in the distance, he heard a new voice. It was talking about him, so he abandoned the effort to roll over, instead focusing his attention on what was being said.

“He had four pellets of buckshot in his left thigh,” a male voice reported. “There was some initial infection, minor muscle damage, and several skin lacerations.”

“So he’s going to be okay?” came a familiar voice.

I must be dreaming
, Bishop thought.
That sounded like Terri.

“Yes, ma’am, he’s going to be fine. We had to dig around in there to remove the lead, but it was pretty straightforward. He’s going to be sore for a while, but after the staples come out, he will eventually regain full use of the limb. He had multiple contusions, lacerations and some severely bruised ribs, as well.”

“Thank you, doctor. When can I talk to him?”

“He should be coming around any minute now. But, I have to warn you. From the reports I’ve heard, his physical condition might be the least of our worries.”

“What do you mean?” came that female voice again.

Damn
, Bishop thought.
They must have given me some really, really strong happy juice. I could have sworn that was my wife.

He drifted away from the rest of the conversation, choosing instead to dream about Terri and his son. They were all at the ranch together. It was nighttime, and mom and dad were showing Hunter the stars. His baby blues rivaled the stars’ twinkle. 

A rustle beside him ended the daydream, then a sweet scent registered through the haze. The aroma was familiar, warm, and inviting. He felt a soft touch graze his cheek… a kiss.

The narcotic fog slowed his recognition, his brain failing to connect the dots.
That nurse’s hair smells just like Terri’s
, he decided.
Nice of her to kiss me though. What a wonderful bedside manner
.    

Then reality dawned, Bishop’s eyes fluttering open. “Terri?”

“Hey, babe. How are you feeling?”

Bishop’s throat was dry, his voice cracking. “Terri, what are you doing here? When… why…”

She brushed his hair, leaning in to kiss his forehead and massage away the growing worry line there. “I was on my way to Austin. We heard on the radio that you’d been hurt. I thought I’d stop by and make sure you weren’t chasing any nurses around.”

He moved his hand, reaching for her. She accepted the offering with a glowing smile, squeezing him gently.

Emotion boiled up inside the Texan. He was so happy to see his bride, so thankful she was there. Tears started streaming down his cheek, embarrassing sobs that he couldn’t seem to control.

Terri didn’t speak or move, she just held onto him, letting him work it out. Finally able to control his voice, Bishop stared at her with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. “Things went so terribly wrong. It was so bad…. the bodies… dying men… we can’t let that happen again.”

“I heard, baby. I’m here, and we’ll work it out. I’m so sorry this happened.”

She watched as Bishop’s eyes lost their focus, the terror on his face indicative of some horror being relived from vivid memories. She felt the shiver roll through his frame, and then he began sobbing again.

After he had recovered, she bent close and whispered, “I love you, Bishop. With all my heart and soul, I love you. I’m here for you. We
will
work this all out together. I promise.”

For three days, Bishop remained bedridden at the doctor’s behest. Terri brought Hunter in as often as possible, the infant seeming to give his father as much comfort as anything.

On the fourth day, the couple began walking short distances, the circulation and exercise prescribed to accelerate Bishop’s healing.

When it was just the two of them, during the quiet hours of the day, Bishop would speak of Brighton. His recounting began with short, snappy sentences, and then he’d stop, anger and frustration causing him to pull back into the recesses of his mind.

Over time, he began to extend, including more and more details about what had gone wrong, why people had reacted the way they had, and why the killing had been so intense.

Terri had been briefed on the mission’s outcome from the senior officers at Hood. She had seen the reports filed by the surviving soldiers. She knew it had been a terrible experience for all involved. She also understood that Bishop had been in the center of the whole ordeal.

It was on the fifth day that General Owens stopped by to visit Bishop in the infirmary. Terri was at her husband’s bedside when the senior officer entered the room.

After pleasantries and greetings had been exchanged, Bishop got serious. “General, we can’t use that same strategy again. We have to come up with something different.”

Trying to placate the wounded man, Owens nodded politely and smiled. “Of course my officers will modify our procedures and mission profile, sir. I know they’re already working on improving the defensive capabilities for the next mission. There have even been some discussions on including some armor with each group. We’ll be better prepared next time.”

Terri was surprised when Bishop sat straight up in the bed. For a moment, she thought he was going to physically accost the visitor, so intense were his eyes. “No, sir. We’re not going to do any such thing. There’s been another victim from the collapse, one I didn’t realize until Brighton… a causality that none of us considered, but now we know.”

Owens was slightly taken aback, not familiar with anyone questioning his authority or decisions in this way. “I don’t understand?”

“The Army, sir, or at least how the public looks at the military. Before the collapse, Americans respected and honored those who served… those who sacrificed for their freedom. That perspective is the causality. It didn’t survive the downfall.”

Owens frowned, the expression making it clear he couldn’t process what Bishop was trying to tell him.

The Texan, frustrated by his inability to form the words, tried again. “Civilians looked at the military to protect their freedom… their way of life. But that freedom no longer exists. Liberty died with society. The pursuit of happiness perished with the apocalypse, or more accurately in the months and years that followed the downfall. People can no longer live the way they want to live. Their definition of being free is only a memory, a fading image of something they’d experienced long ago. They are now slaves in their minds – indentured with servitude to hunger.”

“Okay. I follow you so far, but what does that have to do with my soldiers and the uniform? We didn’t cause the collapse. We’re blameless,” the general shrugged.

“Few people think the Army is responsible; that’s not the point. What I’m trying to say is that you can’t defend something that no longer exists. In their minds, freedom is an illusion. There’s no nation to defend, no constitution to uphold. When we paraded into Brighton, we represented something that was so far from those people’s reality, we were nothing but a ruse. They had already been deceived enough and wanted no part of a military intervention.”

Owens disagreed. “While I think I see what you’re saying, is it wise to change our strategy based on a single incident?”

Bishop looked down, dismayed. “You’ve read the reports, sir. Didn’t it strike you as odd that the locals could gin up the population so easily against us? The agitators were shouting phrases like, ‘Remember
Katrina,’ and ‘Remember Waco,’ during the riot. The vast majority of their people took up arms against their own Army. They fought and died in droves. Not because of a few crooked leaders or some big lie – but because we represented something so foreign to their reality it was as if the Chinese military was rolling into their homes.”

Owens nodded, “Yes, I read the reports. But do you really believe that attitude will be prevalent?”

“That attitude is completely understandable. We weren’t there when they were suffering the worst of it. No one showed up to help or lend a hand. Now, the average person is suspicious and has no faith in any authority beyond the men and women who survived the hard times beside him. We are foreigners in our own land.”

The general shook his head, not wanting to accept Bishop’s explanation. “That may have been true in Brighton, but I don’t think it’s reasonable to assume that example as typical. I’m going to recommend my officer’s modifications to the council.”