Chapter 8: Consequences

Anderson was tired when he got back to his quarters that night. The Oklahoma heat wasn’t just draining on their guests. That was one reason he made sure he’d stayed hydrated during the day. He’d committed himself to making the final walk-around every night, to let the troops see him checking up on them.

He pulled his weapons belt off and put it on his dresser, sighed, then took the pistol from it, walking into his kitchenette. He sat down at the table in the kitchenette, picking up a small plastic case that was on the floor by his chair. Putting it on the table, he opened it. He took out a blue cloth, unfolded it, then placed his pistol on it.

Glancing at the Iranian-American woman standing in his living room, he said, “Come on in, get us each a water out of the refrigerator, and have a seat. This’ll take me a few minutes.”

Puzzled, she did so. She watched as he pulled a small spray bottle out of the case, some white rags, and a long stick. He also took another bottle out of the case, putting it beside the others. The black case and both bottles had the word ‘Hoppes’ on them. She opened both waters, putting his where he could reach it, then took a drink from hers.

Anderson picked up the pistol, pushed the magazine release with his right thumb, catching the falling magazine in his left hand. He placed it on the cloth, then put his left hand over the top of the slide, racking it back and catching the cartridge in his hand. The click as he pulled the trigger startled el-Azizi. He pulled the slide back a little with his right hand, then with his left hand wrapped around ahead of the trigger, pulled the take-down levers down, freeing the entire slide and barrel assembly. Once those were loose, he set the trigger assembly down, then took the spring and barrel from the slide.

“I should’ve done this last night. But that’s because I’m a bit more anal about keeping my weapons clean when I’m not in a direct combat area. This is a Glock 17 Gen 5 in 9mm. It’s my personal firearm, and since it’s a Glock, I really only need to clean it sometime in the next year or so. But Oklahoma sand is a bitch, plus there’s a bit of blood and brain on it. See?”

He turned the slide over, so she could see a couple of spots of dried blood. “Splatter comes from being too close to the target, something I’m sure you know, as a prosecutor. Oh, wait, you never prosecuted anyone who actually committed a crime that you weren’t paid to let off, did you?”

She lowered her eyes, then sighed. “Sir, I wish I could say differently. You know better. I’ve got a lot to think about, just from yesterday and today. Things I haven’t thought about for more than twenty years.”

“I’m going to guess those have to do with your life choices. What happened to the girl who was the light of her parent’s eyes?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out, quite honestly. I didn’t have an easy time at Barnard, and it’s going to sound like a bad comedy, but I didn’t get along with some of the Jews going there. But I could see that banking, i.e., money, ruled the world. My father showed me that. That was fine, I would go to Yale, become a lawyer for a bank, find a nice man, give my parents grandchildren, and be a modern western woman that had a family history. Then ... the Towers changed the world. You know that. My mother and I spent weeks, months, hoping beyond hope. They found part of his tie clip, that was all we ever got back of him.”

While she’d been talking, he’d been cleaning the barrel and slide, then making sure everything the appropriate, but minimal, lubrication was placed on the parts. He put the pistol back together, then picked the cartridge from the table, loading it back into the magazine. He worked the action a couple of times to make sure things were working properly, then slid the magazine into place, pulling the slide once again. He drank his water, then put the cleaning supplies away. He walked into his bedroom, her bare feet making no noise on the floor as she followed him.

He opened his dresser, opened a box of ammunition, taking out another cartridge and an odd shaped piece of plastic. Putting the box away, he sat down on the edge of his bed, holding the shiny brass, copper, and lead between his index fingertip and thumb. “You saw what happened to Davis. This will kill someone just as dead as crashing an airplane into a building. Her relatives are going to get even less back than you did of your father.” He took the piece of plastic, slid it over the magazine and pushed down, compressing the spring so he could top the magazine off.

“What did Private Rose tell me before handing me his rifle this morning?”

She thought back, then replied, “Something about one in the spout, Sir.”

“Correct. That means he was not only handing me a loaded weapon, but one that was ready to fire as soon as I pulled the trigger. Just like my Glock is, even though there’s not a magazine in it. We keep our weapons loaded and ready to fire at all times. The ringing in your ears should go away by morning, by the way. But that’s also why those men could simply step forward and pull their triggers. We consider ourselves in a combat situation, right now, even if we’re not directly being shot at.” He put the magazine back into his Glock, then put it into his belt. He then went through the same undressing procedure he had the night before, except when he was nude, he stood up again.

“I have no desire to go to bed smelling funky. I’m going to get the sweat off. I’ll leave it up to you, if you want to join me.”

Many different emotions crossed her face, then she simply nodded. This nighttime shower wasn’t quite the repeat of the morning shower. She wasn’t as tense around him, allowing herself to brush against him more. Something about him both seriously disturbed her, with his brutality, but also called to her, with the kindness he’d shown her. When they were done, dried, and had used the bathroom again, she was again shackled to the floor. Once she was in place, he smacked her on both ass cheeks with his bare hand instead of his baton.

“The first was because you were still owed one from this afternoon. The second was because you didn’t remind me.” He noticed the clock, turning the lights out as he got into his bed. Less than ten seconds after he did so, the camp speakers clicked on, playing ‘Taps,’ to sound the end of the day.

Even as physically tired as she was, she lay on the floor nearly an hour, listening to Anderson’s breathing as he slept, her mind in a tumult. He’d corrected her by smacking her with his hand, not his baton. He’d also made certain that she’d gotten her release earlier today, even if his own teasing had been what’d caused her to need it. He was a brutal man, but ... so confusing. She finally drifted off to troubled dreams.

Their routine the next morning was similar to yesterday, but went a bit smoother for both of them. The only difference was Anderson putting on his full equipment belt, instead of just taking his baton. When they arrived at the exercise field, Jackson greeted Anderson.

“Good morning, Sir! We may have an issue with Four and Five this morning.”

“Of course. It must not be that serious, or you’d have woken me.”

“Just a heads-up, more or less. Epps isn’t doing well, and from our monitoring, it appears Five is concerned they’ll be held responsible as a group for what happens with Epps. Four has broken into two groups, those commiserating with el-Kabir and el-Lone, and those with intelligence.”

The loudspeakers clicked and played ‘Reveille’ as before. There were still trash can lids banging, but no shrieks this time. All five barracks emptied quickly, with four women practically carrying Epps as they ran for position. It was apparent how the women from Four had split up, with eight slightly off to one side.

Anderson had half-expected that to happen, simply from their records. Those were the remaining eight obvious ‘Muslim’ women they’d been sent. None of them were using their birth names, which were normal American names. That’s why he’d pulled Jones out of that barracks, which was where she was originally slated to go.

Jackson’s yell to the women was echoed back without hesitation this morning, so the women had learned yesterday. However, from Barracks Five, one of the women yelled out, “Sir, we have a problem!” in the brief silence that followed.

He looked in their direction. “Private Madrid, what’s the main malfunction today?”

The Private quickly ran into the group, pulling his baton in case it was needed. When he saw what was going on, he sheathed it, then told the women involved to quickly carry Epps to the rear of the formation. Once that was done, he sent them back to the group. He knelt by the woman, then stood up.

“First Sergeant, this guest is physically incapable of participating!”

“Understood. For the rest of you, we’ll begin stretches.”

Anderson and el-Azizi followed through with the stretches, which warmed her up from being cold. He was paying attention, because he was expecting trouble at some point. However, nothing happened the entire time, surprising him. There’d been a couple of women vomit again, resulting in correction, but nothing serious like yesterday. About ten minutes before the exercise period would be over, Anderson stopped, then walked to the rear of the formation.

There was plenty of light so he could see Epps’ face. Her eyes were slightly bulged out, open, but not focusing. He knelt by her, touching her throat. Her pulse was rapid, and when he turned her head, he could see she had blood dripping from the ear on the side of the head where she’d been hit. Nodding, he stood up.

“Tell me, did you ever have a dog or cat, or other pet that got sick or hurt?”

“Me, Sir?” el-Azizi asked. At his nod, she answered, “I had a kitten when I was little. She wouldn’t stay in our apartment all the time once she was grown. I was – ten, I think – and she got out, was gone for a week. One of our neighbors found her and brought her home to us. She’d been in some kind of fight, a terrible one. She’d lost an eye and had huge rips in her legs. I was crying, and went with my father to the vet. There was really nothing we could do.” She paused. “You’re asking me what to do about her?”

“She might survive with immediate brain surgery. As in, sometime within the next half hour or so. You know that’s not going to happen. Right now she’s in pain and misery.”

Closing her eyes, el-Azizi remembered the pain on her beloved cat’s face, the last pet she ever owned. She’d never wanted to experience that pain again. Without opening them, she softly said, “This isn’t right. We shouldn’t be in this place, with no care.” Opening her eyes, she looked down at Epps. “The world is not a fair and just place, though, is it? Another day like yesterday, you will only make life more miserable for those who have to care for you, and the result will still be the same, won’t it? You’re going to die. I would blame the Captain, blame Private Lincoln, but I find I cannot. I have been a part of the system that brought all of us together in these circumstances, and I find that I do not particularly like myself right now. Sir, as for Epps, her time here is done. Perhaps we can keep the rest of your guests alive.”