The War After Armageddon

“Contrary to the Hollywood myths of my youth, Marines don’t much care for slaughtering old men, women, and children. But to tell you the truth, Gary — Christ, that sounds funny, but I guess we’re in this one together now — to tell you the truth, I’d say the odds are against us getting to Damascus before Sim Montfort gets his finger on a whole row of nuclear triggers. I am determined, but not entirely confident.”

“But those odds don’t bother you. Right?”

Morris chuckled. “Old Marines like me have trouble with sophisticated math. And I regard it as my personal duty to the Corps to get to Damascus before the U.S. Army shows up. Not that we Devil Dogs are glory hounds, of course.”

“Thank you, Monk. See you in Damascus.”

“Semper Fi, sir.”

NAZARETH

“Well, how does it feel to be mayor of Nazareth?” the colonel from corps asked.

Lieutenant Colonel Pat Cavanaugh would have rolled his eyes, if his eyes hadn’t been too damned tired.

“It’s cured me of any latent ambitions I might’ve had to run for public office,” Cavanaugh said. Glancing past the full bird with the “McCoy” name patch to the last pallets of bottled water being un-loaded, he got back to business. “Sir, I hate to be a whiner, but that isn’t going to be enough for this whole city. Not by a long shot.”

“I know that,” the colonel said. He carried himself like a former athlete who had gone into sales. “We’re doing the best we can. First priority has to be keeping the troops hydrated.”

“I’ve got somewhere between fifty and eighty thousand people who need water.”

“And I’ve got a war to support. And the old man’s got every vehicle that’s still banging on at least two cylinders joining the biggest road rally in history. I don’t have enough trucks, I don’t have enough fuel, I don’t have enough water, and I should’ve fixed it all to a state of immaculate perfection half an hour ago. Look, I’m told you and the old man go back a long way.” The bird colonel nodded toward the heart of the now-quiet city. “Not that he seems to have done you any favors lately. Anyway, if you know him half as well as I do, you know he expects miracles. And gets them. But I’m just about out of tricks. I can’t turn water into wine, and I can’t turn thin air into water. Or diesel, for that matter. I’ll push all the water I can down to you. The old man trusts you to handle this mess down here, and that obligates me to you, and you’ll just have to trust me.” The colonel lowered his eyes for a moment. “Colonel Cavanaugh, I’m not crazy about infants dying of thirst on my watch, either.” He looked back up, suddenly fierce. “But don’t get too soft. That won’t help. Cut back too far on the water rations for your troops, and it ain’t going to help anybody over the long run. Now, can you give my guys an escort back out of this little plot of Paradise? We took some sniper fire coming in.”

“I’ve got a Ranger platoon combing that section right now. We’ve weeded out a lot of the stay-behinds, but there’s still some unfinished business.”

“I heard it got ugly yesterday.”

Cavanaugh swept a fat black fly off his forearm. “Snipers seeded in a crowd opened up on some Marines I’ve got OPCON. The Marines let them have it. All I can say is that the marksmanship training at Lejeune’s pretty good.”

“That’s when it got out of hand?”

“It was already out of hand. That just made it worse.”

“You’ve got things back under control, looks like.”

Cavanaugh shrugged, tired of the work, tired of the stench, just plain tired. He wanted a shower, and he wished he could turn himself inside out to get at that dirt, too.

“The nukes did it. I’m not sure how they knew what was going on, but they figured it out fast enough. Jungle telegraph. I’ve still got some sullen types squatting down in the town square and giving us the hairy eyeball, but most of the rags are staying behind closed doors.”

“Figuring we’ll be out for revenge?”

“Won’t we be?” Cavanaugh asked.

“Not if old Flintlock can help it. Not revenge against civilians.” The colonel met Cavanaugh’s eyes dead-on. “God knows, I love the old man. But sometimes I wonder if he’s trying to piss up a rope.”

“We can’t just kill them.”

“Or let them be killed? By our little MOBIC brothers? I figure Montfort’s prayer-book posse still has the wherewithal to execute that particular mission. And they’ll be angry enough.” The colonel pulled off his helmet and scratched his brushcut. “Speaking for myself, I just don’t know anymore. I’m not sure it’s not a losing battle. After the J’s popped those nukes.”

“I can’t let myself think like that, sir.”

“No, I suppose not. Mission first. Sorry. We’re all tired.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tired and sick of the shit sandwich we’re in. Between the J’s and the MOBIC, and not sure who’s worse.” He reset his helmet and sniffed the air. “Christ, this place stinks.”

“When we cut the water supply, it killed the sewage system. Not that it smelled great before, sir.”