Authors: Brandon Huckabay
Dawn of the Mad (50 page)
Petor’s unmistakable voice broke his train of thought. “I hope we are not disturbing you, Johnny.” Roman focused and saw his friends Petor and Chana.
“No, of course not,” Roman replied. “I’m just trying to make sense of things. Life never follows a straight path. This uncertainty is what makes people human.”
“That is true Johnny. You could say the ones who dare stray from the usual path are the ones who make a difference.”
Johnny stood up and stretched. The air was warm but comfortable. Even though he had spent the last couple of weeks in the Forward Operating Base surrounded by large Hesco barriers, trees provided a reminder of life that was not governed entirely by the military.
Roman, Petor, and Chana eventually had met the Air Force General who had assumed command of the country until a democratic election process could be reinstituted. Several isolated clone units remained on the loose, as well as armed gangs roaming the countryside and foreign military units whose very existence was denied by the countries that had sent them. Roman had accepted the general’s generous offer to spend the last month at Fort Hood, training soldiers and leading them in clearing out sectors, one by one. Lawless areas remained, but the government was taking them back. Chuikova’s troopers had proved highly reliable, and after a short time, dozens of them were interspersed with U.S. military units as advisors, training them on their weapons systems and equipment.
“I still take it you two are going to stay?” Roman asked as he looked at Petor and Chana, each wearing a set of tan military coveralls. He smiled as he noticed them holding hands. Chana was nearly a foot taller than Petor and they contrasted each other sharply, but their love could not be denied.
“Yes,” Petor said. “We are going to start over here. We want to have a child. We are free here to have children, a right we did not have back home. It may not be the best timing right now, but I think it will be OK. The sky is just so
blue
here, and there’s all the
green
of the plants. We haven’t seen anything but grey skies and buildings our whole lives. So much color.”
Petor had let his hair grow, and his bearing had changed. He was a far cry from the thin, nervous shell of a person who had pestered Roman in the Academy chow hall so long ago.
“What have they offered you two?” Roman asked.
“We will relocate to the capital city called Washington. There, we will be advisors to General Rasmussen and the new government. Perhaps when all this settles down, I can teach at one of the universities. I would really like that. A society where there is no oppression is an intoxicating concept.”
“Just watch yourself,” Roman warned. “I don’t think there is any utopia in the works here, but I do think that you will have more freedoms than you are accustomed to. When the military wields the political power of a nation, the results aren’t usually favorable for the long haul. That might not change on Hellenheim, but I think we’re on the way to a good civilian government here.”
Petor examined the dusty ground at his feet and began to draw a line with the toe of his boot. “I agree. The revolution at home may not turn out so well. And don’t forget that Hellenheim is just one of many planets.
Those that lost in the Great War may now try to get revenge. I don’t wish to be a part of that.”
Roman smiled and grasped Petro’s hand, a gesture that culminated in a hug. “You take care of yourself here,” Roman said, “and keep a place to stay for me, will you? Who knows when I might drop in and say hi.”
Petor nodded as a single tear rolled down his left cheek. “Thank you, Johnny. Thank you for everything.” The two men held their embrace for a few seconds longer, and separated. Chana stepped toward Johnny, her eyes also watery. She leaned forward and kissed him on his left cheek. She opened her mouth as if to say something but instead wiped her eyes and took Petor’s hand in hers.
Roman could see Matthias and Scotts waving to him in the distance beside the FOB’s dining facility, each one holding a bowl of ice cream. Roman nodded in their direction and turned back to Petor and Chana.
“I will never forget you two, and I have no doubt you guys will be fine. I think I’ve made my own decision about the future. I want to see what’s out there, you know.” He fished around in the pocket of his overalls and withdrew a small, ovoid metal object. He looked at it thoughtfully, before placing it in Chana’s hand, closing her fingers around it.
“I don’t really have anything, but I was hoping you guys would give this to your kid, something to remember me by.” Roman turned and walked toward Matthias and Scotts.
After a silent moment, Petor asked Chana, “What is it?”
Chana uncurled her hand to reveal Roman’s police badge. It was a little scratched and slightly tarnished but in remarkable shape considering what it had been through with Roman. Petor read the badge’s inscription out loud. “Detective, Metropolitan Police.” He traced the raised lettering and continued, “Badge number 442.” Petor looked up and started to call out to Roman. This memento of Roman’s life was too much to accept. Roman, however, had walked away to join his friends.
“Geez, you guys aren’t playing round!” Roman said, letting out a long whistle as he watched several U.S. Army soldiers loading large pallets into a solitary drop pod. Every pallet appeared to be loaded with beer.
“We’re also loading up ice cream and DVD’s,” Scott said. “I like watching the DVD’s made here. Jean Claude Van Damme is my favorite.”
Scotts produced a can of Natural Light from a cargo pocket and opened it, taking a long swig.
“So when are you guys out of here?” Roman asked.
“We need to talk to you about that,” Matthias replied. “We’re leaving tonight as soon as they finish loading. Your government wanted us to take some people with us to study and document our journey. Johann didn’t seem to mind. But obviously, you need to make a decision. Sorry to put pressure—”
Roman cut him off. “No worries. I want to go. As a matter of fact, I’m ready.”
Scotts slapped him on the back. “That’s great!”
Overhead, a formation of three U.S. Air Force F-15’s flew in formation, followed by three of the marshal’s tactical fighters.
“Maybe could you teach me to fly one of those things?” Roman pointed skyward as the fighters roared overhead.
Scotts threw back his head and laughed. “Why start small? Have you ever flown drop pod? I’ll show you how to get this hunk of junk off the ground in no time.”
Matthias and Scotts threw their arms around Roman, and together the trio walked inside the drop pod, the cargo doors closing behind them.
THE END
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