Interlude

MAY 4TH, 2009
NEAR SEGAL, PALACIOS
10:00 AM

Jim Tate hurried through the army camp just as a torrential rain storm began to pour down on them. He was garnering a fresh set of interviews with the fighting men of Groggy's regiment, hoping to file his next story before the next action occurred.

"I wanted to be the first kid on my block to get a confirmed kill," Miles Truelove said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as Tate hurriedly entered it into his iPhone.

"I just hope this is all over soon," Sergeant Terry Falk said wearily. "I covet victory, but I don't really relish the fighting."

Susie, still in utter shock over her boyfriend's death, was utterly catatonic, refusing to say anything. She simply sat, staring wide-eyed, until Tate finally got some decency and scurried away.

Elizabeth had a similar reaction. "Well, my boyfriend is lying in hospital with a broken shoulder and I've twice almost been killed. What's your question?"

Whalestoe happily recounted his exploits for the eager young reporter. "So I was there, on the lip of El Graperdurer," he said haughtily, a newfound eloquence finding itself in his manly deeds. "Me and Sven here fought like lions. I bagged myself a brace of Russkies, shooting with one hand, pop pop pop, brains exploding everywhere, slicing and slashing with the other, blood gushing from their throats 'n' mouths like spray from a whale's backside. 'Twas a cinch to kill 'em all, and the only problem is knowing when to stop. We have to take prisoners, ya know." Sven Celeton, a man of few words, could only nod his assent.

"Have you ever heard the sound a bullet makes when it shatters a Russkie's skull?" Corporal Beck asked Tate. "A bullet that hits the skull sounds like a stone splashing into a pond. Until last Monday, I hadn't heard that sound in years," he mused wistfully.

Having collected a few dozen such quotes, Tate walked away from the gatherings of weary and ragged soldiers. He saw Eric Glenn, sitting by a tree at the edge of the camp with his ubiquitous laptop, flash, cigar and buxom brown senorita.

"Do you actually do any reporting?" Tate asked his colleague, more than a bit annoyed by his blase, slothful demeanor.

"I blog," Glenn said quietly.

"This should be the greatest adventure of your life, Eric," Tate said with the enthusiasm of a hyperactive child. "Why can't you enjoy it? Enjoy the fact that you're documenting history and perhaps even playing some small part in it?"

"Why should I follow your firing line, for a matter that's no concern of mine?" Glenn quoted quietly. He had a cigar between his teeth as he kept poking away at his laptop.

"If it is a sin to covet honor, than I am the worst offender," Tate shot back.

"Quote or misquote all you like," Glenn said. "It won't do you any good when the bullets start flying." He then threw his cigar to the ground, spitting, and took a swig of gin from his ever-present flask. Tate rolled his eyes disgustedly and marched off, eager to Tweet.

2:00 PM

"If I have to answer one more question from that goddamned reporter," Miles Truelove spit, "I'm going to vomit."

"Some people have no respect whatsoever," Beck said quietly, cutting the end off a cigar with his knife.

"How are we supposed to answer "How do you feel that your friends just got killed?" Truelove continued. "What an asshole."

Angel sat quietly, rocking back and forth, her face pale and her eyes wide with a sense of shock and guilt.

"Angel, you haven't said much of anything this past week," Elizabeth said, putting her hand on her friend's shoulder.

"I've killed at least two men," Angel said. "How can I live with myself?"

"You get used to it," Beck said. "It's just the way the world is. Some men are better off dead."

Angel shot him a disgusted look. "Yeah, that helps so much," she said.

"I wonder what adventure the Old Man is planning for tomorrow," Truelove said.

"We'd be at war with the entire world if he were President," Beck agreed quietly.

"I don't care about that so much," Elizabeth said. "Every military officer's a bit crazy. It's just that, we hardly ever get to see the bastard."

"Hell, he won't even condescend to spend any time with us," Dan muttered, pouring himself a glass of coffee. "It's the least he could do after we all got our heads shot off for his sake."

"Those Colonel's epaulettes must have gone to his head," Elizabeth said, shaking her head sadly. "I knew him before he joined the Army. He was a great guy, and now..."

"Hell, he's an officer," Truelove said bitterly. "They're all the same. Rare is the officer who gives a damn about anything but himself and the book."

"Groggy has little respect for the book, I think you'll find," Dan replied. There was a collective snicker, and a moment of quiet friendship and comfort.

"If nothing else," Truelove commented, punctuating the pregnant silence, "He who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother."

"Indeed, sir," Dan replied. "Those abed in England shall think themselves accursed they were not here, whilst any lives who fought with us upon this day!"

"Except they'll be alive," Angel muttered quietly, her eyes cast down at the ground as a streak of lightning shot through the sky.