Part 8 (1/2)

With the song of birds in the air, Linda and Patricio sat on a blanket spread on the side of a small hillock. To the northeast gurgled the creek in which she had swum as a girl. Between the hill and the creek, on gra.s.s weeded and kept smooth by family retainers, Julio, Lambie and Milagro played a game of ball, Milagro, in particular, giggling madly as her two older siblings tossed the ball to and fro over her head.

It was contentment; it was happiness. His love was with him and the results of that love were with them.

Hennessey heard Linda say, ”It's hot, Patricio. Here, why don't you have a beer?”

While keeping one eye on the children, he held out a hand for the bottle she offered. As he took it, his nose was a.s.sailed by the stench of rotting flesh. He closed his eyes and whispered, ”Oh, no.”

When he could bring himself to open them again, he looked at his wife. She knelt motionless by his side, flesh turned black with decomposition and bones beginning to show through as the flesh fell away in long rotten strips and irregular pieces. She made no sound.

Pained, frightful cries came from the children. ”Daddy! Help us!”

Almost too frightened to look, still Hennessey turned his gaze toward the creek. The children's game had stopped; the ball sitting still on the smooth gra.s.s. They stretched blackening arms out toward him, pleading, imploring. Even as he watched, little Milagro exploded in a cloud of bone and rancid meat. Lambie and Julio shook and s.h.i.+vered, screamed and begged, as their bodies fell to ruin.

Hennessey looked back to Linda. She was no longer there. In her place lay a neat pile of disconnected bone. The children's screaming stopped. He looked back for them.

In their places, too, were little piles of joints and ribs.

”Martina? This is Patricio. Would it be all right if I stayed with you and Suegro Suegro for a little while?” for a little while?”

Finca Carrera, Cochea, 29/7/459 AC Poor Patricio, thought Linda's mother, Martina. She looked out to where her son-in-law sat unmoving on her front porch, the picture of human misery. Some food she had brought to him lay untouched, except by the flies, on the porch railing. thought Linda's mother, Martina. She looked out to where her son-in-law sat unmoving on her front porch, the picture of human misery. Some food she had brought to him lay untouched, except by the flies, on the porch railing.

It's like he's died inside.

He had told them he had no remaining relatives barring one cousin that he wished to see in the Federated States. And even with Annie he found it difficult to talk.

When he had called a few nights back, his voice choking with misery and horror, and asked if he might stay for a while, the family had naturally taken him in. Though it seems to have done little good. Still, it can't have been good for him to stay in that house. Though it seems to have done little good. Still, it can't have been good for him to stay in that house.

Nothing worked. Hennessey took no interest in anything. He just sat there on the porch, day after day. What pa.s.sed through his mind no one knew. The only interruptions to his vigil came when he took the short walk to Linda's and the children's ”grave.” Sometimes, too, he slept in the bedroom the family had provided. Just as often, however, he would fall asleep in the chair on the porch. He hardly spoke to anyone. He drank far, far too much.

Arranging some flowers on a table beneath the window, Martina thought, Poor broken man; he's got nothing left. I don't think I've ever seen a sadder sight than the way he just sits there, day after day, no hope or purpose. Poor broken man; he's got nothing left. I don't think I've ever seen a sadder sight than the way he just sits there, day after day, no hope or purpose.

She resolved to demand that her husband find something to interest Hennessey, something to give him even a little interest in life. Maybe cousin Raul can think of something to help. He's mentioned that he thought very well of Patricio. Maybe cousin Raul can think of something to help. He's mentioned that he thought very well of Patricio.

Linda's father shook Hennessey's shoulder.”Patricio, there is someone who wishes to see you.”

At the insistence of his wife, the father had invited distant cousin and old family friend, Raul Parilla, to come to talk with Hennessey. He'd been there when it happened. happened. And Patricio had always spoken of Raul with respect. Perhaps it might do some little good for his son-in-law to talk with the retired general. And Patricio had always spoken of Raul with respect. Perhaps it might do some little good for his son-in-law to talk with the retired general.

Parilla remained one of a very few influential Balboans interested in giving the country an army again. Linda's father was not one of them, though the more politically minded Martina was. was. The fact that there was such a group was an open secret. As Parilla had told The fact that there was such a group was an open secret. As Parilla had told Senor Senor Carrera, they did little more than debate about it. The group had accomplished precisely nothing yet...and it had been years. Carrera, they did little more than debate about it. The group had accomplished precisely nothing yet...and it had been years.

Hennessey didn't even look up. Twirling the ice filled gla.s.s in one hand, he said, ”I don't want to see anyone, Suegro Suegro. Please ask whoever it is to go away.”

”You will want to see this one, Patricio. It's General Parilla. He wants to ask you for some advice. Talk to him, won't you? For me, if nothing else.”

Shrugging, Hennessey agreed. Parilla had been with him that day, that counted, as did their long standing friends.h.i.+p. ”Okay, Suegro Suegro. I'll see him.”

Linda's father led Parilla out onto the porch. Hennessey stood up; though he knew the general well, and though neither was any longer in service, old habits die hard. The two shook hands and sat down. Linda's father left them there.

Parilla lit a cigarette before beginning. At his first exhalation, he said, ”How have you been, Patricio...you know....since...?”

”I don't know how to answer that, Raul. Not well? Yes, that. I have not been well.”

Giving a quick fraternal squeeze on the shoulder, Parilla said, ”Well, man, I can understand that that. I wish...but there weren't any words that day. And I have none now. Except I am so sorry.”

”Yes. Me, too, Raul. But sorrow doesn't help. Nothing helps. Only that one time have I felt any better, and shooting strangers on the street is not something I can make a hobby of.”

Parilla nodded understanding. Jimenez had told him the story. In the same shoes, he could not imagine feeling or acting any differently.

”I came here to ask advice, Patricio.”

”Yes, so said my father-in-law. I don't know what help I could be, but if I can can help...” He let the words trail off. help...” He let the words trail off.

Parilla's mind groped back over fifteen years, to the day he had first met a much younger Hennessey, then a lieutenant leading a joint Federated States-Balboan small unit exercise at the Jungle Warfare School at Fort Tec.u.mseh, on the southern side of Balboa. Despite having his recon party compromised, Hennessey had managed to win through in the problem, a company raid. Since Parilla had only a very basic idea of how to conduct a raid at all, he had been impressed.

”I think you can. But tell me...you never have, you know...why aren't you still with the Federated States Army? And...too...why don't you go back now? I remember; you were good. good.”

Hennessey nodded quietly, then paused to think about his answer.

”Well,” he began, ”I can't go back. They don't want me.”

”Why not? It makes no sense to me, your leaving. It never has.”

Hennessey sighed with pain, an old remembered ache to go along with the fresh agony. ”There's nothing I can tell you that won't sound like sniveling, Raul.”

”I know you are not a crybaby, Patricio.”

Muscles rarely used stretched Hennessey's mouth into something like a grimace. ”No. No, I'm not. You really want to know?”

Seeing that Parilla did, he continued. ”Raul...you know that in the Army, nearly any organization I suppose, you will often be forgiven for being wrong. What they never tell anyone is that you are very unlikely to be forgiven for being right.”

Parilla looked honestly perplexed and said so.

Another deep sigh from Hennessey. ”It had to do with training; my approach to it. I'm not the only one it ever happened to. You remember General Abogado? He got bounced for much the same thing, though he had some other issues, as well. In any case, let me ask a question of you, Raul. In the old Guardia Guardia who trained the privates on a day to day basis?” who trained the privates on a day to day basis?”

”Their sergeants and corporals mostly. Is there a better way?”

”No. None. At least given good sergeants and corporals. But that isn't the way it worked most places in the F.S. Army. There, oh, since time immemorial, most of the day to day training has been closely supervised by officers. Mostly, it doesn't work very well, either.”

”No. I can't see how it could,” Parilla agreed.

”Well...I did something a little different. I had been watching and experimenting with the training of individual soldiers very closely for nearly two decades. In all that time, every time someone mentioned ”individual training,” the stock solution was: ”tighten up the training schedule,” ”waste not a minute”...you know, all that rot.”

”I decided to try something a little different. I made my subordinates loosen the training schedule, to leave a lot of gaps and holes for the sergeants to use. Then I made them put on the schedule certain things that had to be done by Thursday night...or else. Told them I would test for it, too.”

”Well, they didn't believe I was serious. It was too different a concept. The first week I tested-had my sergeant major test, actually-the whole d.a.m.ned battalion failed and so I held them over the next night until nearly midnight retesting. Next week it was about five-sixths of the battalion to just after eleven PM. Then about three-fourths until ten or so. By the time six weeks rolled around I had privates going to their squad leaders and saying, ”Forsooth, sergeant, I am in desperate need of getting laid. The only time to do that is Friday night. The only way to have Friday night off is to pa.s.s the m.u.t.h.af.u.c.kin m.u.t.h.af.u.c.kin colonel's test. So colonel's test. So teach teach me this s.h.i.+t, please.”” me this s.h.i.+t, please.””

”About that time my my boss got wind of it; tubby little fart of a dumb-a.s.sed tanker. ”Tuffy” was his nickname.” Hennessey sneered with contempt. ”Don't ask me how he got or why he deserved the nickname ”Tuffy;” the evidence was pretty thin on the ground. He was so fat he couldn't squeeze through the hatch of an armored personnel carrier without greasing his ponderous gut. Anyway, he was a clueless, stupid s.h.i.+t. I explained what I was doing and he told me to stop. I answered, ”No, sir. Relieve me if you want but this is starting to work pretty d.a.m.ned well.” Well, he wouldn't do that. But he hated it. He hated me, too, for defying him.” boss got wind of it; tubby little fart of a dumb-a.s.sed tanker. ”Tuffy” was his nickname.” Hennessey sneered with contempt. ”Don't ask me how he got or why he deserved the nickname ”Tuffy;” the evidence was pretty thin on the ground. He was so fat he couldn't squeeze through the hatch of an armored personnel carrier without greasing his ponderous gut. Anyway, he was a clueless, stupid s.h.i.+t. I explained what I was doing and he told me to stop. I answered, ”No, sir. Relieve me if you want but this is starting to work pretty d.a.m.ned well.” Well, he wouldn't do that. But he hated it. He hated me, too, for defying him.”