Bring On the War Mice

General Ramsey concluded the meeting and led them through a side door. Before exiting the massive hangar, Parker took one last look around. The technicians continued eagerly reassembling Igby’s Battle-Suit while the team in the blue lab coats remained huddled over their computers, busily analyzing stuff he could only assume to be highly important. The UFO was gone, much to his dismay, having apparently disappeared through one of the many side doors along with the partitions and scientists. He’d desperately wanted to show it to his friends. Especially to Bubba, with whom he had once done a report for school, discussing the possibility of extraterrestrial life existing somewhere in the universe and what it would be like, what it would mean, if such beings visited Earth.

  Parker trailed behind the others. He looked over his shoulder as the door behind him closed on its automated mechanical tracks. He caught a final glimpse of the giant eagle. It stared right through him.

  He hurried to catch up. They were in a corridor with more side doors. General Ramsey led them to an elevator. As they rode, the General showed them a computer display inside the door. Parker could make out the words Barracks, Mess, Study Hall, Ready Rooms 1-5. “This is a direct route to your Barracks,” said General Ramsey, pointing to the Barracks button. “This wing is now officially restricted to all personnel except for you. You will have absolute privacy to help you concentrate on the mission. You’ll each have your own room surrounding a communal bathroom. Sunny, you’ll have your own lavatory. Laundry service will be provided free of charge but you will make your beds every day and hang up your clothes. This isn’t a hotel. You are not on vacation. I expect you to keep your rooms clean and tidy and your appearance to be appropriate at all times. We run a tight ship here.”

  “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” chimed Bubba.

  “Indeed it is,” said the General. “This elevator will also take you to the Mess Hall.” He motioned to Mess on the display and tapped the screen.

  “What’s that?” asked Parker.

  “What’s what?” replied General Ramsey.

  “That,” said Parker. He pointed at the display screen. “That red thing. There, at the bottom.”

  “Oh. That’s the Restricted Level. We won’t be going there.”

  “How come?” asked Bubba. “What’s down there?”

  “Restricted stuff,” said Sunny.

  “Excellent deduction,” said Igby. He smiled at Sunny. She smiled back.

  “Like what?” asked Parker. He tried to ignore the funny feeling he had again while watching Sunny smile at Igby.

  “Restricted stuff,” replied General Ramsey. He winked at Sunny. The elevator shuddered ever-so-slightly. “You will get chow three times a day. Chow is not allowed outside the Mess Hall under any circumstances. Is that clear, Mr. Black?”

  “Crystal,” said Bubba.

  Colby spoke in a deep voice, sounding suddenly fierce and gruff. “‘I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said Thank You and went on your way. Otherwise, grab a weapon and stand a post. Either way, I don’t give a damn what you think you are entitled to!’” Colby looked around. Everyone stood looking at him. “Colonel Jessup says, ‘Hi.’”

  General Ramsey scowled at Colby.

  “I mean, yes, sir,” added Colby. “Perfectly clear, sir.”

  “Good,” said the General. “Adjacent to the Mess Hall is the Study hall, where I expect you to be whenever we are not working in the simulators or up in the hangar. You’ve got a lot to learn in a short amount of time.”

  Parker realized he had been mistaken. He was only now discovering what it meant to be a soldier. His dad must have gone through these same emotions. He decided right then and there that if his dad could do it, so could he. He hoped he could, anyway.

  “Exactly what do we need to learn, General?” asked Sunny.

  “Excellent question,” said General Ramsey, turning to Igby.

  Igby’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. “We’ve got to teach you orientation to the flight environment. Basic aerodynamics. Navigation. Meteorology. Battle tactics . . . .” Igby took a breath. “That’s just the theoretical stuff. Then there’s the really important stuff like Battle-Suit integration and interface. Takeoffs. Basic flight maneuvers. Formation flight. Weapons application and dispersal . . . . Oh, and landings of course. You’ve got to be able to land.”

  “When exactly will we be, uh, you know . . .” said Parker.

  “Deployed?” said General Ramsey.

  “Yeah,” said Parker. General Ramsey scowled again. “I mean, yes, sir,” Parker added.

  “Your team will be deployed as soon as you can be ready to go,” said the General. “I would like to see you fully operational two weeks from now.”

  “Two weeks!” said Colby. “You’re nuttier than my parents. There’s no way we can learn all that junk in two weeks.”

  “Is that a fact?” said General Ramsey. He seemed to get even taller.

  “It takes me a month of rehearsal to memorize my lines,” said Colby. “Then there’s blocking and pacing and a million other things to think about. Not to mention the technical stuff that takes months of hundreds of people working fourteen-hour days. And that’s just making a movie. This is real. If we don’t learn our parts and know our lines perfectly, we could get killed. Or worse.”

  “What’s worse than getting killed?” asked Bubba.

  “Let me see,” Colby pinched his chin like a philosopher. “You could get mangled, burned, shot down, blown up, paralyzed. You could be a drooling vegetable slobbering all over yourself staring at the ceiling all day like those poor guys in the V.A. Hospital I told you about. How’s that for starters?”

  Bubba didn’t say anything.

  “Then you had better learn your duties well,” said General Ramsey. “We’re counting on you. The whole world may be counting on you.”

  Parker didn’t like feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. An ominous quiet filled the elevator. He knew the others didn’t much care for it either.

  “It isn’t going to be easy,” said Colby.

  “I never said it would be,” said General Ramsey. “But nothing worthwhile is ever easy. It’s like I told you before, history does not long entrust the care of freedom to the weak or the timid.”

  “But we’re just kids,” said Colby.

  “Yeah,” said Bubba, “Parker just turned thirteen today.”

  “Is that so?” asked General Ramsey. Parker nodded. “Happy birthday. But don’t think because you’re young you can’t make a difference. Great works are performed, not by strength, but by perseverance.”

  “Who said that?” asked Parker.

  “Samuel Johnson,” replied Sunny. “My dad gives me Quote of the Day toilet paper,” she explained. “Every time you spin the roll a holographic image comes to life to act out the quote for the day. Samuel Johnson was a couple days ago. This morning it was Ghandi.”

  “Samuel Johnson talks to you in the bathroom?” asked Bubba. “Who is he?”

  “One of the greatest writers of all time,” said Sunny. “The other day he said, Do not let yourself hope for much and you will be the less disappointed.”

  “That’s a dangerous mentality, my dear,” said General Ramsey. “In fact, it’s not one to which I choose to subscribe. If I don’t allow myself to hope what we’re planning to do will make a difference, then we may as well turn off the lights and lock the doors and all of us go home. I’ll risk disappointment if it means doing what’s right. Doing what’s right requires hope. Often times, hope is all we have.”

  You’re more right than you know, Parker mused silently to himself.

  Chapter 6

  The Last Supper