Chapter 24

Militia Field Hospital
Raleigh, North Carolina
June 7, 2011

“So, that’s the last of the patients to stitch up from the final assault. Triage can be lifted now, thank God, if He really exists. I got my doubts, looking at a world as crazy as this one. I never thought that I’d miss the old, corrupt civilization of the past, even the posh bastards of the Etonian elite. Little secret. I’m not as ... upper crust as I let people believe. Old habits die hard, of course. I’ve found that pretending to be an aristocrat usually serves me well. Stiff upper lip and all that jazz,” Anne confessed in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Yeah, well, I suspected as much when I learned that your ex’s name was Mick. Not exactly an Oxford man’s name, at least not from what I’ve seen. But your secret’s safe with me, Geordie,” I winked at her.

“How could you tell that I’m really from Newcastle?” Anne’s eyes widened like saucers now.

“Just a few voice inflections now and then. Face it, I can pick up little details like that faster than most folks realize, but I’m always discreet if I can help it. Now, tell me, what is going on over in the Old Country, among all of the John Bulls?” I teased her a bit more.

“Hell if I know. Think that I have access to that kind of news? I barely know what’s happening in another state these days. If I had to guess, it’s probably a military junta of some kind, but you never know. The loss of London was a big shocker, no doubt of that, including to the British economy, I dare say. But it’s great news for the salvage industry, isn’t it?” Anne laughed at her own isolation from her native land due to the distance and constant disruption of the global internet.

“That’s probably true everywhere, I imagine,” I conceded as we finished scrubbing and headed to the mess tent together.

“Hey, Chief, Ralph, did you hear the latest?” Sam asked us as he sat down with us.

“No, love, do tell,” Anne asked her fiance with a passionate kiss.

“Yes, by all means, brief us!” I chuckled, though part of me feared bad news.

“Commies have been pushed back into a pocket of western Pennsylvania centered on Pittsburgh, which they’re holding onto for dear life. Place is under siege and the Militia has already begun house-to-house urban combat operations. There’s gonna be a nasty butcher’s bill for that offensive, but we can afford the losses far better than the Reds. Wagner and his crew still hold central and eastern PA, of course, but if they lose Pittsburgh, that’s much of their steel industry gone overnight,” Sam updated us now with a sudden look of pain, “I’d hate to work a hospital up there.”

“And if Jersey joins the Front, it’s all over but the cheesesteaks in Philly,” I observed casually.

“They’ll taste a lot better when the Commies fall, that’s for sure,” Anne quipped, “I can’t imagine what they’re using for bread, but from what I’ve heard, it isn’t wheat. And their meat is still meat, alright. Mystery meat, that is. Dogmeat? Horse? Cat? Rat? That would drive me bloody bonkers!”

“Human?” Sam interjected with the kind of gallows humor pretty normal for a surgical unit.

“To say nothing of the cheese. Yikes!” I commented, making Anne blush when combined with Sam’s joke.

At least, I hoped that it was a joke. That was when a letter was placed into Anne’s hands, of all people. It was Mick. I could see that her hands shook as she opened the envelope, which somehow made it all the way across the Pond to North Carolina. I couldn’t blame her. Who could guess what the news might be?

Dear Anne,

I write to inform you that these are my last days here on Earth. It looks like you’ll get your wish, after all. You’re to be a widow and avoid the complications of divorce. Unsurprisingly, it’s because I’ve been sentenced to death by a military court. For rape and grievous injury, even though in the latter case, I maintain that I only defended myself from the “victim.” I’m not alone, of course. Clive and several of the others have been convicted and face the same doom.