Weapons of choice

In a few seconds Jones seemed to find what he wanted. Lieutenant Commander Black let his head fell back slightly, like a man in the front row of a movie theater. He was in Washington, hovering above a huge crowd, perhaps a million strong. He could see the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial and then he was right up close to a black man. His rounded cheeks and pencil-thin mustache filled the-what, the whole screen? — as he punched out a speech, or perhaps a sermon. It certainly rang with the powerful cadence of the fire-and-brimstone revival meetings Black's daddy had favored.

"I have a dream…," roared the Negro. "That one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal…"

The man's voice rang out and filled the world as the footage segued into film of men and women, black and white, under attack by police dogs and fire hoses.

"I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood…"

Newspaper photographs of a black man who looked like he'd been shot on a motel patio faded to color images of a jungle war, of black and white soldiers so befouled with mud and gore that beneath their ruined fatigues all difference had been erased. Lieutenant Commander Black thought he recognized Marine Corps insignia on one Negro whose bandaged, bloody head lay in the lap of a white comrade. The black soldier stared sightlessly into the heavens, his face streaked with tears fallen from the eyes of his friend.

"I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character…"

Snatches of color movies, and strange music, of grinning black basketball and football players cut to images of city workers, black, white, Asian, male, and female running blind and fearfully through streets turned gray by clouds of pulverized cement that rushed at them while a stupendously tall building collapsed straight into the ground behind them. And the same preacher still called out his message in Black's ears.

"Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York…"

Bright, clear color film of U.S. Marines, obviously of many races, standing atop the rubble of some palace in a place identified as DAMASCUS faded to a shaky handheld shot of a beaming Colonel J. Lonesome Jones on the lawn of the White House, escorted by his impossibly beautiful and-for Dan Black-improbably blond and blue-eyed wife.

The woman was teasing Jones, repeatedly stroking the decoration newly pinned to his chest, a Medal of Honor. A black woman, beaming fit to burst and identified on the screen as VICE PRESIDENT RICE, wandered over to shake his hand.

The preacher still roared out.

"Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

The images froze, and Black felt someone tapping on the goggles. He lifted them off. The sudden darkness of the chopper cabin was unsettling.

"You're right, Commander," said Jones, leaning forward, his face dimly illuminated. "Some things don't change. But that doesn't mean progress is impossible. My niece made that film you just saw, by the way. She cut it all together for a school project. Even took the footage at the White House herself. It's nicely done, don't you think? She's only eleven years old, and I suspect she'll be a holy terror to her mother and father."

Lieutenant Commander Black was at a loss for words. "Is she… uh…"

"As white as the Grand Cyclops of the Ku Klux Klan. But she loves her uncle Lonesome, and wants to follow in his footsteps, God help her."

"How did you win the medal?" asked Black, readjusting his headset as he handed the goggles to Ensign Curtis.

"I don't mind you asking, Commander. But I'm not inclined to discuss it with you just yet. That doesn't mean I won't."

"I think I understand," Black said with a hint of chagrin.

"No, I don't think you do," said Jones. "Have you ever been in combat, Commander?"

"No," he admitted.

"Well, the admiral, myself, Airman La Salle over there, and the pilots of this helicopter, we've all been there. Too many times. If I could wish that away, I would, believe you me. I don't want my niece to live my life, but that's the world she was born into. It's not pleasant, but it has its certainties. One of which is that I know every man and woman in this aircraft would cut their arms off to save me if they had to-and they know I would do the same for them. They're my people, Black, no matter what. You, however, you I don't know."

"That's pretty goddamn rich, don't you think?" Black protested. "You blowing in here the way you did, and then demanding that we earn your trust. That's hardly fair."

"Fair's got nothing to do with it." Jones shrugged. "You'll see that soon enough, if you have any sense."

"Colonel Jones?"