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11
Edward Carstairs, Freedom Party candidate for President, gadfly, loudmouth, climate change denier, flat-earther, and general pain in the ass to anyone in any established department of government, charged into the conference without waiting for an invitation, much like he’d inserted himself into the series of debates scheduled in the runup to November’s election.
“The second I get to the White House, I will have your stars, General,” he snarled at Duke as he walked past.
“Colonel,” Duke corrected, his voice even. The big man looked completely unfazed at the interruption, as if he’d been waiting for it.
The florid-faced politician froze in mid-stomp and turned back to the TECH Ops CO. “What did you say?”
“I said, I am a colonel, not a general. Mr. Carstairs. Now, would you kindly return to your quarters? Or are you hungry? Do you need someone to show you to mess, perhaps?”
“Did you make a wrong turn on the way to the restroom, sir?” Raptor asked, following Duke’s lead and keeping her tone light. Carstairs already looked more than halfway to blowing a gasket, the last thing they needed was him stroking out in the middle of their base.
“I am not hungry, I know where the damn bathroom is, and I will not return to that piss-poor excuse for a jail cell you call ‘quarters!’ I don’t know what kind of convict you expect to live in that room, but it’s barely big enough to turn around in, much less for me and my wife to share. This situation is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been in Congress for eight years!”
“Those are Pyro’s quarters,” Tank said, his voice a low growl. He didn’t look at the rotund, red-faced politician, but every face in the room turned to stare at the big man. “Pyro died this afternoon trying to protect your fat ass. He’s lying in a morgue with a dozen bullets in him while you’re in here bitching about sleeping in a bed he didn’t make it back to. So if you want to sleep on the floor, go ahead. If you want to walk out the front door and get yourself killed, you go ahead. But if you say another goddamn word about how shitty it is that you get to sleep in my friend’s bed while he’s wrapped in a body bag, I’m going to stand up and right here in front of my commanding officer I am going to rip your fucking head off and shit down your neck. Then I’m going to shove your head so far up your ass it comes out the other end. You understand me, cockmonkey?”
Carstairs’ red face went ash-white, and beads of sweat popped out on his forehead as he stared at the huge man wrapped in steel and hydraulics. He no doubt remembered the strength Tank had shown back at the convention center, and it looked to Raptor like he had little doubt the man-monster could make good on his threats.
“I-I’m sorry, son. I truly am sorry for your losses today. I’m sorry to all of you.” As no one got up to hit him, the brief glimpse of humanity they’d been given faded, and they once again watched the politician take hold as Carstairs found his rhythm again. “But that does not excuse the abject failure of this organization to perform their very simple job – secure the facility against threats.”
This time it was Raptor who spoke, standing up before Tank murdered the man. “That wasn’t our mission, sir. We were tasked with aiding the Secret Service in protecting the candidates, and providing a visual presence to deter trouble. Our primary objective was to keep you and the other candidates safe, and on that front, sir, I think we did a damn fine job.”
“A damn fine job?” Carstairs’ face was back to full crimson now, as if he could somehow shift its color with his mood, or whatever mood he chose to project. “You call that a damn fine job?”
“They do,” came a new voice, and all heads turned as Democratic candidate Vincent Fortuna walked into the room. Far from the cowering man they’d escorted from the convention center, this Fortuna seemed completely together, restored, and vital in a set of BDUs scrounged from the Bunker’s uniform storage. His lean form presented a complete counterpoint to Carstairs’ fleshy figure, and the relaxed smile on his face was welcoming, where the Freedom Party candidate seemed livid and threatening. “I do, too, to be honest. These men and women kept us alive and without a scratch, at great risk and loss to themselves, and I appreciate it.”
He smiled around the table, and as his warm hazel eyes met hers, Raptor couldn’t help but give him a slight smile back, no matter how much she knew he was pandering. “Now, today’s operation could have gone better, but it certainly seems like the team was set up to fail from the start. I don’t know much about that, but I know that when the going gets tough, the tough get going, so let’s get going on working together towards a solution and find the culprits behind these dastardly attacks!”
“I don’t know if he sounds like a motivational poster, or a Little Rascals cartoon,” Viper muttered to Lone Star, who nodded.
“Gentlemen, if you would please excuse us and return to your quarters, we have—“ Duke started, but stopped with a sigh as yet another man stepped into the conference room wearing scavenged BDUs. It seemed to Raptor that only Carstairs chose to play the “bedraggled victim” wardrobe card, with the major party candidates going for the “rugged man of action” look.
“I bet the loudmouth found out the hard way that we don’t carry fatigues in size fatass,” Lone Star whispered to Viper. The lanky man held up a fist, and Lone Star bumped knuckles with him.
Jared Henry stepped to the front of the table like he owned the room, shouldering Carstairs aside without a second glance. He nodded to Fortuna, then turned and snapped off a crisp salute to Duke, who returned it. Henry then surveyed the room, his blue eyes piercing under his close-cropped grey hair. “I’m sure you all know how grateful we all are for the sacrifices you made today. I know what it’s like to lose men in battle. It sucks, and it doesn’t ever get easier. It sure doesn’t help to have a bunch of DOJ pussies second-guessing your decisions. Or worse, and bunch of jackasses on The Hill who’ve never strapped on a pair of boots.”
Raptor found herself nodding without even realizing it. She stopped herself, thinking This guy is good.
“You all know that I am the only one of the three of us that ever served, and I saw my fair share of action in the first Desert Storm. So I know the kind of strain you’re under ever day out there, dealing with impossible situations on not enough information, and having to make life or death decisions in a split second. I’ve been there, and the last thing I want to do is to make you think we don’t appreciate everything you’re doing for us.”
“But,” Viper said before the smooth politician could go on.
Henry looked at the skinny hacker and nodded at him. “Yes. But, there are some things that simply cannot be done, and barging into the homes of American citizens and violating their First, Second, Fourth, and Fifth Amendment rights is one of them,” He banged his fist on the table for emphasis, rattling the water glasses.
“Pretty sure we didn’t force anyone to testify against themselves, Mr. Henry,” Blackout said from his chair. The tall man was in an almost mirror image of Viper’s posture, his chair kicked back and his feet on the table. The only difference was there was no hint of a sarcastic smile across his chiseled black jaw.
“What are you saying, son?” Henry turned to him.
“You mentioned the First Amendment, which protects speech, press, and religion. Since we attacked a cult leader’s compound, you could make some argument that they were exercising their First Amendment rights to express their religion, or that they were exercising their right to speak freely when they criticized the government. They had guns, so there’s your Second Amendment. I suppose you could say we violated their Fourth Amendment right against illegal search and seizure, but most law enforcement agencies would say that when they opened fire on us, exigent circumstances applied and we could go anywhere in that compound we wanted to in search of guns or other dangerous elements. But nowhere in that op did we require anyone to incriminate themselves, which is what the Fifth Amendment protects against. That’s why bad guys plead the Fifth on the witness stand, so they won’t get busted for their own crimes when they’re testifying against someone else.”
Henry’s face started off calm, but as Blackout continued his lecture on Constitutional law, his complexion slowly reddened, until by the time the tall sniper finished, the politician was almost as crimson-hued as Carstairs. “Who do you think you are, son? Some kind of lawyer?”
“Law professor, actually, sir. I served ten years in the JAG Corps, then left the service to teach at Georgetown. Duke convinced me to re-up when this program started. He said it would be a way I could serve my country again, and the country could repay a debt that it owed me.”
“And exactly what the hell do you think your country owes you, son?” the perpetually-angry Carstairs asked.
Blackout stood, his full six and half feet towering over most everyone in the room. He removed the black tactical ball cap that sat atop his head, then pulled unbuttoned the long-sleeved black dress shirt he wore. The cybernetic left arm he sported came into view as he did so, and he folded the shirt and laid it on the table. He pulled his black t-shirt over his head, allowing the visitors to see the fully robotic arm and shoulder that hung from the left side of his body. He stepped away from the table, unbuckling his belt as he did so. He unfastened the button on his black tactical pants and let them fall, the gleaming metal of his cybernetic right lower leg and entire left leg shining between the line of his boxers and his crumpled pants.
Blackout looked at the candidates, his dignity untouched by standing half-dressed in a room full of completely clothed men and women. “Sir, I don’t believe my country owes me anything, except the protection of my rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. But I gave up one arm, a kidney, three ribs, half my pelvis, one and a half legs, and three years of my life in rehab, so I appreciated Duke’s offer to let the United States of America balance those scales somewhat, and give me the opportunity to combat her enemies at home and abroad in the process. My country doesn’t owe me a damn thing, but you do, sir. Respect. I have fought for this country, bled for this country, lost brothers for this country, almost given my life for this country, and I will not sit here and be talked to like a fool by anyone, much less two men who had never worn a uniform and another who can’t even remember what the goddamned Fifth Amendment says. Now would the three of you please get the fuck out of our conference room before I decide to stop being polite and, as my mama said, show my raising all over your sorry asses?”
Blackout bent over to pull up his pants, then dressed without a word. Every other TECH Ops member got to their feet as he did so and stood, arms folded across their chests, staring wordlessly at the three candidates. After a pause that stretched almost to the interminable, Henry turned and stomped out of the room, the other two men hot on his heels.
Lone Star leaned over and closed the door, and everyone took their seats. The team all looked at each other, then Breaker spoke. “You think I oughta tell them you got fucked up in a snowmobile accident on vacation in Colorado?”
Blackout grinned across the table at his teammate. “Nah, let the dumb fuckers think I got my shit shot off by a Taliban sniper or something. I never said I was wounded in action. Just said I served, then left to be a professor. I didn’t mention I lost my arm and legs on winter break the second year I was out of the Navy.”
Raptor laughed, and it was an almost unfamiliar sound after the events of the last few days. Too bad it was the last time anyone would hear it for a while.
