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49
It was sunny, not too cold, the kind of Sunday Tory loved, a last Fall day before the golden leaves fell and the dark months of winter settled like a blanket. She would also be glad when this morning was over with, for the White House lawn was covered with flags, bands, people in uniform, families, Congressmen, Supreme Court Justices, and more families. Civilian police and state troopers from as far away as New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and North Carolina were on the streets to help keep order. The only military units in sight were two or three marching bands. Congress had quickly passed, and the President had signed into law, the so-called Roman Law, which forbade the presence of any military leader in the city at the head of his forces. This was similar to a famous law the Roman Republic had enacted after tossing out the last Etruscan emperor in 519 B.C. That and a consular system of government with checks and balances had delayed the republic’s becoming an empire and a totalitarian state for five centuries.
Before the parade, hundreds of neatly uniformed military personnel and their family members milled about. Tory pressed as close to her love as she dared. She introduced him to her grandmother, who had come especially to Washington for today’s ceremony, a white-haired woman in a buttoned up dark blue coat, who rarely smiled and wielded her black handbag as though it were a weapon. She did seem to like David. Maybe that was a good sign.
Tory did not fully trust that David would remain hers. I’ve had too many failures at love, she thought, but here I go again. He kept giving her looks that made her feel warm inside. Their hands were clasped together, and on them sparkled a pair of gold wedding bands that Maxie had borrowed from First Lady Mrs. Bradley, whose daughter was about to get married soon. Maxie had promised to return the rings shortly, when David and Tory had a chance to buy their own. Mrs. Bradley had been more than happy to help out. Maxie had arranged a brief ceremony at the White House late last night, with a hastily summoned Air Force chaplain officiating and Maxie and Tom Dash as witnesses. The big family wedding ceremony could come later, Tory and David thought. They were just happy to be husband and wife. Tory had to admit that she still felt some tight little band of fear inside; how could something this wonderful last for her? When all the excitement died down, would he get cold feet and—no, not David. She squeezed his hand, and he glanced at her with a little frown, then a look of understanding, at her uncertainty. He squeezed back, and she glowed inside.
White House tailors had sewn their new insignia of rank on last night. Effective last midnight, she was a captain, he a major.
“I want to take you away from here,” David whispered in Tory’s ear. She whispered back: “I just want to go someplace and hold hands with you.” Briefly, he squeezed her hand, in the secrecy between their bodies, and she squeezed back. Even that was beyond regulations for two officers on parade at the White House, but today who was really checking?
Maxie brought a nice-looking tall man in dress Army uniform. “Hiiiii y’all.” Slash smile, small nose, smoky voice; but the sunny blonde hair was tamed with hairpins; and the lovely eyes had shadows, not enough to dull the glow of her personality, but those eyes had seen young people die. She hugged Tory. “When do we disco?”
“How about this evening?”
“That’ll work,” Maxie said. She whispered: “You like Tom?”
Tory examined Major Tom Dash. Of course Maxie would meet someone with a name like that. He seemed friendly and gentle enough, with just that aviator’s thrust of chin, and that doctor’s wrinkle of brow, as he and David were comparing notes about some man thing—how many pounds of thrust in an F-1 or some such thing, how many cannons on an Elizabethan barkentine. She told Maxie: “So far, I don’t see the ego.”
Maxie punched lightly with a white glove. “Never again.”
“You’re off to a roaring start, Max.”
“My parents agreed to throw a big wedding next month. Everyone on Earth will attend. I know this is the man for me.” She must have thought of past personalities, for her eyes slitted with anger and she made fists. “I’ll never again let a guy be so mean to me.”
“If you forget, I’ll send you to Dr. Van Meeuwen.”
“Oh look,” Tom Dash said, putting his arm around Maxie as she pressed against him, “isn’t that Allison Miranda of ANN?”
Indeed, Tory spotted the ANN news crew moving about, interviewing people. There were two camera persons and the unmistakeable attractive, dark-haired Allison Miranda. “They’re coming our way,” Tory said.
“Isn’t she just gorgeous!” Maxie enthused.
“Hi,” Allison smiled excitedly as she came toward Tory with an extended microphone in foam wind cover. “Aren’t you the M.P. officer who saved the President’s life?”
“Er,” Tory began as cameras surrounded her.
Soon, uniformed personnel were called into formation, and civilians were gently herded behind rope enclosures.
A drum began its deep, measured tolling. An eight-person color guard with the U.S. flag and other banners moved onto the now-cleared lawn in synchronized steps. Ahead of them walked the Master of Ceremonies, a tall Army major with drawn saber raised before his dark blue dress-uniform shoulder.
The President and his wife stood at a podium, flanked by senior members of all three branches of federal government. Also present on the stage were Meredith Cardoza and her three children; and the top flag officers of each service, the Joint Chiefs, with their new Acting Chairman, General Rocky Devereaux.
Two bands waited, one at either end of the stage: a Navy brass band; and an Army fife and drum corps with antecedents in Revolutionary War times. Drums pounded and brass blared while the M.C. and his assistants formed the honorees into a long straight line, a motley of beautifully tailored dress uniforms representing all services. A Coast Guard admiral, master chief petty officer, and a U.S. Navy Muslim chaplain stood with Ibrahim Shoob’s family at one end of the line. An Army Command Sergeant Major, a Colonel -rabbi, and a colonel waited with Solomon Goldman’s wife and children. Similar clusters of bereaved families and military representatives stood in for Jankowsky, Tomasik, Lewis, and so many others. The M.C. escorted Tory to the podium, where she sat between Mrs. Bradley and General Devereaux. The new Speaker of the House, Representative Daley of Washington State, who had briefly assumed the role of Acting President of the United States while Cliff Bradley was in a coma, sat nearby. He was a dour man, resembling those old busts of Roman city fathers. He always wore black suits and never smiled. Life seemed for him to be one long funeral. He held on his lap a plain wooden box the size of a jewelry case.
The music fell silent and President Bradley opened with some brief remarks. There would be other ceremonies, and other bereaved families to be honored, as things were sorted out and fallen heroes buried, before this blot could pass into history along with the Civil War. Bradley singled out Tory for intelligence and heroism, and she didn’t really hear the words for her ears were singing, with a rushing like waves on the shore. In the crowd, smiling, Grandma winked, and Tory winked back. Her next assignment was Command and General Staff College, and after that the sky was the limit. Rocky had told her: that star—maybe more than one—might end up on Breen shoulders yet! Loaded with medals, including the Legion of Merit for Valor, Tory sat down. Mrs. Bradley put a gloved hand on Tory’s sleeve and whispered affectionately: “The President, the Speaker, and a number of other people will put strong letters in your record.” There was a round of cheering, and a brass rendition of The Army Song, for Tory.
Meredith Cardoza, in a firm, clear voice spoke about the necessity to forgive, and about the healing process that must now begin, the sooner the better. It would be the best tribute the nation could give her late husband.
One by one, the high muckity mucks made speeches.
Then the award ceremonies began. The Joint Chiefs walked along the line of honorees returning salutes, pinning medals, shaking hands. With them walked old sourpuss Congressman Daley, holding that small wooden box as if it contained the ashes of a loved one.
Uniformed soldiers carried satin pillow displays, one pillow for each type of medal—and the pillows were crusted with many medals. Today General Devereaux handed out many Purple Hearts for those wounded in action. Tory watched as the group moved to Colonel Richard Bellamy, and then to newly created Marine Corps Warrant Officer Marguerite “Jet” Steffey. The family of each person killed in action received a pillow full of medals, and lengthy condolences. Tory thought Hala Shoob would collapse as the generals and NCOs surrounded her; yet Hala stood with grim pride and accepted Ibrahim Shoob’s medals in recognition for his heroism and sacrifice.
The generals and admirals, along with President and Mrs. Bradley, Congressman Daley, and other officials, moved into position near the color guard. A Marine solemnly escorted Tory behind them. The M.C. called out: “Your attention please.” It grew very still. Just one drum made a very tiny beat, one stick tapped against one rim, softly.
Everything happened in slow time, solemn time, military time. The M.C. marched in dignified, gliding steps toward Maxie. Maxie stood between her mother and father, who beamed proudly. Maxie’s uniform gleamed with the medals she’d just had pinned on. The M.C. approached Maxie; halted facing her close up; spoke a few words with her; and then about faced. Tory watched the look of puzzlement, or horror? grow on Maxie’s face. Maxie stepped to the MC’s right, slightly forward. Then, in step, they marched toward the color guard—two tiny figures on that green expanse.
The ticking of the drum stopped. It was very silent, like the silence of death, Tory thought, the stillness of tombs. Only the wind moved, ruffling the old officials’ white hair, and the colorful regimental parade flags, some heavy with more than two centuries’ battle ribbons. Maxie was one tiny, unwavering figure in that sea of colors.
“Lieutenant Colonel Maxine Lee Bodley, United States Army Nurse Corps,” said Representative Daley, “on behalf of the Congress of the United States, I am privileged to offer you our sincere thanks. You represent not only yourself today, but all the nurses of all wars, all the women in our armed forces, all the daughters of America. I am proud to be able”—he opened the wooden box, assisted by Mrs. Bradley—”to present you today”—he draped the blue ribbon around her neck, with a medal that hung just over her bow tie—”with the Congressional Medal of Honor for remarkable valor in the face of enemy fire, and for service to your fellow soldiers and to your country above and beyond the call of duty.” He read from a slip of paper: “With snipers killing fellow nurses around you, and your safe retreat advised, with casualties piling up, you did single-handedly establish and keep operating an emergency triage facility between several burned out city vehicles. While battle raged back and forth for many hours within yards of your position, while ordnance continually passed within inches of your person, you kept treating the wounded, thus saving many lives. When the last remaining medical officer was shot dead, you directed emergency surgeries. When bandages ran out, you used parts of uniforms. In the end, you were able to orient loyal armored, transportation, and infantry units that not only secured your position, but in fact led to a decisive maneuver in outflanking and isolating the disloyal forces who soon after surrendered. The Nation is grateful.” He shook Maxie’s hand without a change in his dour death mask and stepped back.
The M.C. raised his saber and bellowed. “Present—Arms!” The Joint Chiefs of Staff—and everyone else present in uniform—turned to salute the medal itself—and by default the woman wearing it—while the Army’s Old Guard fife and drum corps played The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Tory, at attention and saluting, noticed Maxie and Devereaux were the only two persons who remained dry-eyed. How did they do that?
Then it was mercifully all over, and people were dispersing. Maxie and Tom came over, and Tory’s and David’s families mingled. Maxie had her arm around Tom’s waist, and today nobody seemed to care about decorum. Tory felt David’s hand reach for hers, and her fingers wriggling with his in a loving squeeze, and she almost, almost felt like letting go, like trusting him, loving him, which she wanted so badly to do.
“Let’s flee this place,” Maxie said. “I implore you. If I see another medal—”
Tory breathed a big gust of relief. “Yes, let’s get out of here. You always know such fun places to go around town, Maxie, and maybe this time we can go without a big scene, what do you think?”
“I hope I don’t have to spend the rest of my life saluting everybody,” Maxie said.
Tory said: “Knowing you, it’ll work out somehow.”
Tom said: “Y’all, Maxie was talking about these wild discos and watering holes.” As Tom spoke, Tory noticed for the first time a bit of a countrified drawl, very soft-spoken.
“We’re gonna party tonight,” Maxie said pressing a white-gloved hand against Tom’s chest, briefly putting her cheek against his shoulder. Her face had a happy glow.
“And I’m gonna teach you how to fly,” Tom said. He put his arm around Maxie.
Tory thought if you hurt her, I’ll teach you how to fly. But he had gentle eyes; like David, and a sweet smile. And he did carry on a very nice, if rather shy, conversation about his father’s ranch, and how he’d studied forestry but always wanted to be a pilot.
While he spoke, Tory noticed Maxie darting off and getting in a big conversation with David’s mother and sisters. Maxie shook their hands and nodded, and they put their heads together in an exchange information. Soon they were all nodding. Probably trying to establish that they are Bodleys eight places removed on the Warington side, Tory thought, squeezing arms discreetly with David. They watched as Maxie fell silent at last, drinking in Tom Dash’s wonderful sweet prattling.
ALLISON: National election results are in— Clifford Bradley has been reelected President of the United States on a new party ticket. The Vice President is Meredith Cardoza. Bradley and Cardoza’s American Moderate Party, the largest new moderate-center party, took the executive and legislative branches by landslides. Over 90% of the eligible population voted, as a result of the extensive voter registration and education drives conducted by mainstream news and nonideological voter societies after the collapse and disappearance of OCP and MCP, the demise of CON2, and the reaffirmation of the 1787 Constitution. Fringe parties, including Democrats and the Republicans, took less than 5% of the vote.
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