It wasn't a question requiring an answer. Clark stayed at attention and fought the urge to explain himself. He and the AG stepped aside to let a file of enlisted get past, their sergeant keeping them in step with obscene jody calls. 'Don't feel too bad, Captain,' the AG said to Clark as the men stomped past, even their footfalls in unison. 'You're going over Niagra Falls for this, yes. I have my own career to consider. But maybe your friends at the Pentagon can find you a job when this is all over. I think you'd make a perfectly capable dog catcher.'
Clark clamped his teeth shut, ashamed more of the AG's lack of professionalism than his own complicity in the breakout. He didn't say a word as he was lead into an impromptu armory set up in the gymnasium. The AG selected a sidearm for him, an M9 Beretta, the standard weapon for the officer corps since the mid-eighties and a definite step up from the old traditional Colt .45. It felt heavier than Clark remembered'he hadn't hefted one since his last visit to the pistol qualification range, nearly a year past. He fed his belt through the weapon's holster and checked the safety before putting it away.
'You'll at least have a chance to redeem yourself,' Braintree told him. Clark kept his eyes front so he didn't have to look at the man. 'That's more than I can say for the three troops who were eaten alive during the breakout.'
Clark felt his knees turn to water and he consciously forced his spine to stiffen. He hadn't heard about those casualties. He had dozens of questions to ask'what were their names, had their families been notified, were they weekend warriors or heroes from the fighting in Iraq'but he hadn't been given permission to question his superior officer.
Vikram was waiting for him in the school's lobby when he was dismissed. The Major belonged to the Regular Army and had no standing in the command post and in the interest of base security he shouldn't have been allowed inside at all but Clark was truly glad to see his old friend.
'He chewed out my fourth point of contact,' Clark said, surprising himself a little. It was a euphemism he hadn't heard or used since the earliest days of his career. 'I'll be lucky not to be court-martialled after this.'
Vikram shook his head to brush away the negativity. 'We can do good in this world, or we can be miserable over the bad that is already done. What would you have me do?'
'Get up to Florence. Sit on the prison, clamp it down. We cannot let the work there be delayed, no matter what else happens. You may receive new orders while you're there'I can hardly ask you to counter them, but make sure before that happens that Florence is airtight.'
Clark dismissed him and headed down to the parking lot of the school where a convoy of RTD buses was headed out, stuffed full of civilian evacuees. A motor pool staff sergeant assigned him the last military vehicle in the lot'an enormous lumbering eight-wheeled M977 HEMTT (Heavy Expanded Mobility Tactical Truck) that was built for hauling cargo. Before Clark could even inspect the two man crew he had his platoon, too, a scared-looking group of warfighters who fell into ranks behind their platoon sergeant without a word.
'Sir, platoon reporting for duty, sir!' the platoon sergeant barked. He looked like a prospector with a bushy white non-regulation hair spilling out of his helmet and eyes like embers set at the bottom of dark pits. He had his men in line, though, there was no question of his ability. He gestured and a specialist ran up holding a soft boonie hat'a fisherman's hat in desert camo'as if it were a crown. Clark understood the gesture and knew he should not outwardly acknowledge it. These were veterans and they were acknowledging that he was one of their own. He put on the boonie hat and handed his peaked uniform cover to the specialist in return. He had no doubt he would get it back dry cleaned and reblocked. The sergeant major nodded discretely and turned to face his platoon. 'Attention to orders!'
'Drive on, chief,' Clark said. It was the traditional order to keep up the good work. The platoon leapt like synchronized swimmers into the HEMTT's boxy cargo compartment. Clark rode up front with the crew in the much more comfortable shovel-nosed cabin. The driver got the prime mover roaring and shuddering out onto a deserted Colfax Avenue, threading the needle between big tent churches and peepshow parlors, fast food franchises and gas stations.
Everything had changed.
Monster Nation
Chapter Thirteen