The Funeral Bake Meats

The gallant charge of the 1st Volunteer Infantry up the Molotov Heights has been told, with all the horror, excitement, glory and bloodshed inheren. But the decidedly inglorious conclusion remains to be told.

General Slurry's response to the battle was entirely reactive, showing no intiative, common sense or appreciate. He was so angry with Groggy Dundee and his other commanders that he ordered their arrests, even as the charge reached its bloody apex. The fact is that Slurry was an incompetent, with no ability to manage or dictates, baled out of his situation with the gall and sand of his subordinates and more than a little bit of luck. It took him until the end of the day to even realize that General Jenkins had been killed, though the circumstances were decidedly fuzzy.

General Ramsey's regular division had spent over eight hours battering away at the small Russain position at Belkin. They finally overran the position at around 4 PM, long after the Molotov Heights had been cleared of Russian and Cuban troops, with a loss of nearly 1,100 men - more than all the regiments assaulting Molotov Heights combined.

Other than a handful of rearguard actions, the seizure of Molotov Heights affectively ended the campaign. The small garrison in Green City, now under the command of a young Captain Malkin, was surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered by Slurry's forces. The Russian fleet and air defenses guarding Green City were destroyed, the last Russian defenses in the interior overrun by Palacian insurgents, and though he was ordered by Moscow to fight to the last man, Malkin was smart enough to realize that so much as drawing a bead on an American soldier would result in just that. After two days of shelling and another day of negotiation, Malkin surrendered the city on May 10th, bringing the Palacian Campaign to its anti-climactic conclusion.

* * *

MAY 11TH, 2009
10:00 AM

In grudging recognition of their liberation of the city, Groggy's regiment, battered and shaken by their fighting, uniforms tattered, equipment a shambles, some of the men racked by disease and wounds, all suffering fatigue, were the first Americans to enter Green City. Lieutenant Emma, promoted to Colonel by direct orders of Secretary Gates (one suspects with arm-pulling), proudly joined Generals Diaz and Cortez in leading; they received cheers from the happily-liberated Palacian populace. But they must have exerted all their energy on cheering their countrymen, for they received Groggy's men coldly and mostly quietly, watching but not showing any emotion. It was more like a funeral march, in the words of Eric Glenn, than a triumph.

"Hardly a rousing triumph," Groggy remarked curtly to Captain Harriman, eyeing the weary Palacians who came out to greet them. Harriman said nothing.

The Americans marched to city square and faced off against the Russian garrison, standing at attention. Only about 80 men were present; perhaps this was the whole garrison, Groggy mused. They were starched and pressed tan dress uniforms, much the envy of Groggy's men and women, still sweltering in their tattered combat uniforms. Emma and most of her Palacians were present; the men were even more weary, and straining at the bit to massacre their oppressors. But needs must for diplomacy; Emma would accept the city's surrender.

An impossibly young officer - Captain Evgraf Malkin, just twenty-six - appeared in full dress uniform, saluted Emma, and hauled down the Russian flag to a somber playing of the national anthem. He then presented the flag to Emma, who handed it to General Cortez. One of Cortez's aides marched forward with a patchwork Palacian flag - a dark green background with three white stars in the foreground. All those present saluted the flag, and then Emma accepted the surrender of Malkin's garrison.

Through all this, Groggy's men were merely onlookers. After the grim ceremony was over, they were to help clear out the remaining Russian troops from their barracks and occupy them. They would run up an American flag over the barracks, but with no fanfare - they were here in a supporting capacity only, to be quiet (as if such a thing were possible) and allow Palacian liberty to run its course. Groggy's men felt slighted; despite doing the lion's share of the fighting, they were receiving no glory, no recognition, no cheers of triumph and happiness and appreciation. They were auxillaries to a doomed cause.

Groggy felt that these celebrations were a mere gesture, that Palacios would only be nominally independent, and that American business interests would inevitably swoop in, dictating to the new country their terms for rubber, sugar and banana purchases at the point of bayonets - his, no doubt. Groggy wanted to no part of an imperial war - at least, not if he was the one on the imperialist side. He didn't have the temprament to be a liberator, but he didn't have the stomach to oppress either.

* * *

News of the American triumph on Palacios, of the surrender of Russia's last New World bastion, flashed around the world instantly. Russia had been humiliated and stymied by America, and the world waited with baited breath a response.

Obama's gesture had been successful; it not only embarrassed the Russians, but cowed them completely. Amazingly, against all predictions, the Russians stood down, their only move in Eastern Europe an invasion of helpless little Moldova on May 7th - a futile eleventh-hour gesture that only won them scorn. Putin and company had been defeated, humiliated, emasculated, and immediately sued for peace - but the presence of their large armies on the borders of Eastern Europe indicated that they would settle for only the most favorable terms.

Regardless of this, Groggy's men. They remained on the island for weeks, as the new provisional Palacian government was set-up and power transferred. Groggy, however, wanted no part of it - and he knew his weary men didn't either.

* * *

MAY 20TH, 2009
3:00 PM
XXII CORPS HEADQUATERS, GREEN CITY

Wearing a hastily-organized dress uniform, Colonel Dundee walked with Captain Harriman to meet with General Slurry. He was dreading the conference, still expecting a reprimand - or worse - for his actions on Molotov Heights. Slurry was not a man to let insubordination go lightly, whatever the results.

Slurry met Groggy in his field uniform, sweating like a pig. He hastily gulped down water, then moved onto something stronger, while Groggy stood impatiently, waiting for the General to notice him.

"Congratulations, Colonel Dundee," he said finally, putting his bottle to the ground and gasping. "You've managed to blatantly disobey orders and get away with it. And not only that, but become a hero to boot! They're talking of you for promotion to Brigadier General, position on the Army Chiefs of Staff - even a Congressional Medal of Honor!"

Groggy was stunned, but he was too tired and weary for his narcissistic side to take much notice - for the moment. Once he recovered himself, he might appreciate this more fully.

"Your regiment is being disbanded," Slurry said tersely. Groggy was quite happy to hear this; he had no stomach for occupation duty, and he knew his men didn't want to remain on Palacios for the summer heat and swarming mosquitoes. "Starting the first of June, your men are to be sent back to America and mustered out of the Army." He then pulled out a handkerchief and coughed heavily. "You're a lucky bastard all around," he continued. "Some of us have actual work to do, you know," he chided, wiping his sweating brow and neck with his handkerchief, then taking another long swig of bourbon.

Groggy said nothing. He merely stood at attention, trying to take in what he'd been told. This would be good news for all of them, he thought. No occupation, no disease, no heat. And home, as soon as practical. Thank God for that.

* * *

Captain Harriman was waiting outside, trying in vain to read a Spanish Cosmopolitan, when her Colonel emerged. She immediately sprung to attention, still jovial even in the face of her commander's exhausted decrepitude.

"We're going home, Captain," the Colonel said quietly.

"That's great news, sir!" Anna replied cheerily. Groggy, however, kept his head down and said nothing more. They hastily exited the headquarters and climbed into the jeep, driving back to the regimental barracks.

He knew this knews. The last nine days had been hard on everyone. Groggy's men were confined to barracks, not allowed to celebrate their victory by boozing or whoring or hitting the town - some misguided moralist leading to even more tension and lower morale amongst the troops. Perhaps it was designed to prevent some Iraq-like incidents from occurring, but surely penning troops so badly in need of rest and relaxation up in sweltering barracks was worse.

Groggy finally spoke up. "Have you spoken to the Commissary about air conditioners?" he asked. The barracks had only two functioning air conditioners, turning the barracks into a sweltering, unbearable hot sty.

"Yes, sir," Harriman said. "They said they only have a few available, and they're being doled out by priority.

"Even one of those little hand fans would do wonders compared to what we have," Groggy said off-handedly. Then he added, "At least we'll be gone in a few weeks."

"Yes, sir," came the reply.

The two then lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive, each caught up in their seperate thoughts. As the jeep approached the crumbling barracks, the two soldiers on sentry duty - Elizabeth and Steven - stood at attention. Groggy stopped as he entered and turned to the sentries.

"Elizabeth," he said to his old friend. "We're going back home in a few weeks

Elizabeth smiled, but said nothing.

"You're a fine soldier, Elizabeth," he added, not knowing how much the bloodshed and the loss of her boyfriend had affected her.

Followed by Harriman, Groggy then walked into the barracks, seeing a bunch of his men, some shirtless, others dripping sweat through fatigues, standing ill at ease, restless, angry, struggling to survive in the sweltering heat. They all snapped to attention, but Groggy marched past them with scarcely a recognition. He immediately entered his office, bare now that the Russian army paraphenalia had been cleared out, and he lowered himself into his desk, dismissing Anna with a wave of his hand. She saluted, smiled and shut the door behind her, leaving the Colonel alone.

Finally, he said. This is over. He then fell asleep in his desk. He strangely did not feel his usual sense of satisfaction at having a job done; he felt as if he could never live again.

And he dreamed about Edith, about home, about his loneliness and emptiness. And he snapped awake, and saw himself still in his office, late afternoon sunlight dappling through the windows. And he felt the warm sweat dripping through the armpits of his jacket.

Well, told himself. Just a few more days, anyhow. Then he chided himself: Plenty of time to think then.