Divided We Fall (6 page)

Sometime later I felt hands on my arms. Kemp, maybe. Sparrow too. They stood me up and led me away with the rest of the squad.

Somehow we found ourselves alone in a windowless boardroom somewhere in the basement of the capitol. The room was dimly lit and empty except for a long wooden table surrounded by cushioned swivel chairs. The walls were stark white and blank except for a row of framed photographs. Military guys. Some generals. A colonel. They were the Idaho Army National Guard chain of command photos. There was a set like this in the 476th armory, showing who was in command all the way up to the governor and the president. I stared at them, not able to look at my squad.

Officers came in and confiscated our gas masks, weapons, and comms. Then they left us alone again. After a while, most of the guys sat down.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sergeant Kemp said. I jumped and spun around to see the sergeant slap his hands down on the table. His face was bright red and there was sweat on his brow, even though it was cold in the air-conditioning.

I shook my head. “Sergeant, I didn’t —”

Kemp waved his hand as though brushing my comment aside. He leaned over the table toward Meyers. “Why the hell did you fire?”

Meyers’s face twisted into a kind of snarl as he stood up. “You talking to me, Sergeant Kemp?”

“Damned right I am!” Kemp pushed himself away from the table and paced the room.

“Well, you better check that attitude right now, Sergeant Kemp, because —”

“What are you going to do? Court-martial me?” Kemp threw his hands up. “We’re probably already headed to prison for that colossal screwup out there!”

Meyers circled the table in four long, fast strides. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”

Kemp ran at Meyers and grabbed him by his uniform coat. “Why’d’ya shoot!?”

“There were shooters in the crowd. Self-defense!” Meyers shoved Kemp back.

“Bullshit!” Kemp drew back his fist.

“Luchen!” I dove for Sergeant Kemp, caught his arm, and pulled him clear. Luchen knocked his chair over as he rushed for Meyers, dropping his shoulder into Meyers’s gut and doing his best to push the big staff sergeant back.

“Let him go,” Kemp said. He threw his elbow into my stomach to break away. He held up his fists for a fight, but the other guys had rushed between them both now. Everybody except Lieutenant McFee.

“You shouldn’t have fired,” Sergeant Kemp growled.

Meyers backed away from the guys, holding his arms out from his sides as though he was so stacked that he couldn’t put them down. He made a big show of breathing real loud through his nose and staring at Kemp. The quiet settled. “We took fire from armed protestors in the crowd. I called Lieutenant McFee for instructions. He ordered us to fire.”

“That is not what happened!” Kemp said.

“Yes it is!” Meyers stepped up to the lieutenant. “LT?” McFee did not look up. Meyers grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “LT! You told us to fire, right? You gave the order. Tell him.”

“I don’t care what he says,” Sergeant Kemp said. “That is not what happened!”

“Listen to me, you dumb sons of bitches!” Meyers shouted. “It doesn’t matter what
really
happened out there. Okay? I don’t know what really happened. Neither do you.” He pointed at one of the generals on the wall, at the picture of Governor Montaine. “But these guys are going to want to know. They’re going to bust in here any second and we better have an answer for them.”

Was he talking about cooking up a story? A cover-up? When people were dead? How did I get stuck in the middle of something like this? I couldn’t let them lie for me. Dad always used to say that a man should never lie to avoid responsibility for the wrong he’s done.

“I’ll tell you what happened,” I said quietly.

Specialist Stein sat back in his chair. Everyone but me sat down too. “They did have guns,” said Stein. “I swear to God there was more than one guy shooting at us from the crowd. That’s why —” He swallowed. “That’s why I fired. Shooting at them.”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” I said louder.

Kemp glared at Stein. “There was no way that —”

“I shot first!” I shouted. “I got nailed in the middle of my mask by a rock and I … I don’t know … I jerked the trigger or something. The weapon fired. It’s my fault.”

Sergeant Kemp slouched in his seat. He put his face in his hands. “It’s okay, Wright. It might have happened to anyone.”

“Yeah,” said PFC Nelson. “But the Army gets real pissed about accidental discharge.”

“Yeah,” Meyers said. He looked hard at Kemp. “One of the guys in your team —”

“In your squad!” Kemp said.

“In my squad,” Meyers agreed, speaking calmly. “In the lieutenant’s platoon. We’re all in this. And we better figure out what we’re going to say because when they start asking —”

Sergeant Ribbon sprang to his feet. “Atten-
tion
!”

We all stood up and snapped to attention as an officer in a dark blue Army service dress uniform opened the door. He stood for a moment in the shadows at the end of the room. I couldn’t see him all that well, because at the position of attention I couldn’t move my head, but out of the corner of my eye I could tell he wore a ton of ribbons on his chest. He took three even steps forward until he stood in the glow cast by the lights over the table.

“At ease,” said the officer. We all shifted so that we stood with our feet shoulder width apart and our hands behind our backs. Now that I was allowed to move my head, I saw he was a short man, broad in the chest, with his little remaining gray hair buzzed short to Army regulations. “I’m Brigadier General McNabb, Commander, Idaho Army National Guard.” The general looked at each of us in turn. “You soldiers can relax. Have a seat.”

We all sat down. General McNabb remained standing. “We’ve secured your weapons and counted the rounds. Eight rounds are missing from this squad’s initial load, one from one rifle, three from another, and four rounds from a third. Now I want to know what happened out there.”

All of us except for the lieutenant exchanged nervous glances around the table. Sergeant Kemp stood up. “Sir, I respectfully request that I be allowed to speak with an attorney before —”

“You don’t need a lawyer, Sergeant. No charges have been filed. I’m trying to find out what happened.”

“Nevertheless, sir, I think that under the circumstances —”

“This isn’t open to negotiation, Sergeant! This isn’t a happy, peaceful civilian world. There are twelve people dead out there. Nine more have injuries from gunshots, including two of my soldiers. I am ordering all of you to tell me what the hell happened!”

Silence fell on the room. Twelve people dead. Twenty-one people had been shot. My mouth felt watery, my stomach cold and hollow. I put my hands to my face for a moment until I smelled the blood. The redheaded girl’s blood was still caked in my fingernails, still sticking my pants to my knees.

I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to throw up again.

The door opened at the end of the room, but I didn’t move or look to see who it was. Luchen grabbed my arm and pulled me up.

Governor Montaine approached the table, wearing a blue suit and tie with a white shirt. His graying brown hair was sticking up funny. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a small plastic ashtray. He placed the cigarette in his mouth, flicked the lighter, and lit up, holding out the pack toward our squad. “Smoke?”

I would have loved a cigarette right about then, but nobody else was taking, so I kept my mouth shut.

“It’s a government building, sir,” said Sergeant Kemp.

The man removed his jacket. “That it is. I’m Governor James Montaine.” He hung his coat on the chair, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie. “Sometimes I think we can bend stupid little rules, especially on nights like tonight. Relax. Please sit down.”

We took our seats. The governor flicked a little ash into the ashtray. He pulled another long drag on his cigarette. “I’m not going to lie to you boys. I’m all about straight talk in my campaigns, and believe it or not, I believe in straight talk. And the simple fact is that we are in a world of shit. I have phone calls from everyone all the way to the Pentagon. That guy in the White House will probably be calling soon enough. The press is going crazy, naming this the Battle of Boise. Everybody wants to know what really happened. Why don’t you start by telling me?”

Sergeant Meyers stood up at attention. “Sir, our squad was ordered to go downtown to hold position near the riot. The protestors were out of control, sir.”

“I know that, Sergeant. That’s why I called in the National Guard in the first place. Why did you start shooting?”

I saw Meyers’s eyes dart my way for a second. “Sir, there were armed civilians among the protestors. We took fire. At that point Lieutenant McFee gave the order to shoot those protestors who had guns.”

McFee sat up in his seat and opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but then stopped. The governor looked his way for a moment as if waiting for him. When he stayed silent, the governor raised an eyebrow and took a drag on his cigarette. The cherry flared brightly. After a moment he let the smoke roll out. “You’re telling me that some of the protestors had guns? You say they shot at you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Sergeant Meyers.

This was all wrong. Meyers was trying to pass it all off on the lieutenant. I couldn’t let that happen.

The general cleared his throat. “Why am I only hearing from NCOs? Lieutenant McFee, is this true? Did you give the order to fire?”

The lieutenant’s eyes were wide open.

“Pull yourself together, Lieutenant,” said the general.

McFee licked his lips and swallowed. “Sir, there were a lot of people. Um … protestors. Okay. I’m not … I mean, I don’t —”

I stood up. “Sir, I fired the first shot.”

Everything was quiet. I remembered the feel of the little recoil in my M4. The surprise. How bad I wanted that bullet back.

“What did you say, Private?” the general said.

I thought I saw Sergeant Meyers shake his head a little as if telling me to shut up, but I’d gone this far. I had to tell him now. “Sir, someone in the crowd threw a rock. It hit me in the face. In the gas mask. The shock of it.” My eyes were stinging. No. I couldn’t cry. Not here. I wiped my eyes. “I don’t know. I was surprised. My fingers jerked. I accidentally fired my weapon. I don’t know if I hit … anyone. My lenses in my mask were cracked and I could hardly see. I’m so sorry.”

Governor Montaine sighed. “How old are you?” He sounded different now. Sad.

“Seventeen, sir.”

“Seventeen? You still in high school?” the governor asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“And how old are you, Lieutenant?”

“Twenty … twenty-three, sir.”

The governor snuffed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Why do I have kids doing missions like this, General?” He spoke slowly and quietly.

If General McNabb noticed the anger in the governor’s voice, he didn’t show it. “Sir, most of the Idaho Army National Guard is deployed to Iran. Our forces here are limited. You asked for enough troops to effectively assist the state police. Young soldiers like this PFC would never deploy without having completed their training for their military occupation specialties, but to accomplish the mission, I was forced to resort to activating almost all of our remaining soldiers, certainly all who had completed basic training and were slotted to a combat unit.”

Governor Montaine walked to the end of the room, looking away from us. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally he turned back to me. “Son, I want you to listen to me for a second —”

Something in my chest tightened up. “Don’t call me ‘son,’ sir.”

General McNabb cleared his throat. “Private,” he said in a warning tone.

“Sorry, Governor, but I’m not your son.” It had been me and Mom on our own for a long time now, but I did have a father once. The hell if I was going to let some politician or anyone else call me “son.” “My father was killed in the war,” I said to the governor. “In Afghanistan.”

“He was in the Army?” the governor asked.

“The Idaho Army Guard, sir.”

“Why’d you sign up?”

“Sir?”

The governor sighed again. “You’re only seventeen. Why did you enlist?”

“I signed up because … Sir, I just … I love my home. Wanted to serve my country. Do my part.” I had really believed that when I enlisted. I wanted to believe it now, but after what had happened tonight, my words sounded fake, rehearsed, too polished, like Montaine doing one of his speeches.

The governor shook his head. “The bullets from all the soldiers who were called on this mission have been counted?” He looked at the general, who nodded. “And your squad is the only one missing rounds. Something’s not adding up. Some of the men must have reloaded or fudged their initial round count.”

“Or someone besides my soldiers was firing,” said General McNabb.

“Some of the people in the crowd did have weapons, sir,” said Sergeant Meyers.

Was that true? There was a lot of gunfire, but how could anyone tell where it was coming from? Twenty-one people had been hit, but only eight of my squad’s bullets were gone.