Land For Peace

     [A short story for you today, as I’m rather tired and need to spend some time recharging my batteries. The subject matter of this one may disturb or displease some readers. Please remember that it’s fiction. And remember this as well: no matter what the war is about, or who did what to whom before, during, or after it, the victors will be the ones to write the history books. —FWP ]

     We met on neutral ground.
     I was second to arrive, though not by intention. Nothing lived in that blasted woodland. Nothing but twigs and char remained of what had once been a verdant forest.
     As we approached the tent, his elite troops moved forward from a thousand points of concealment. Each brandished one of the diabolical new weapons that had cut down Gabe’s forces as a scythe mows ripened wheat. We hadn’t divined their principle of operation. Likely we never would. It was a reminder which of us had sued for peace, a reminder I didn’t need.
     My retinue cringed at the sight of his massed honor guard. I’d expected a show of force from him, but I’d underestimated the effect on my staff.
     The fury that had fueled me throughout the campaign rose in me again. It was useless now. I leashed it as best I could, bade my troops be calm with a raised hand, and pulled back the flap on the tent.
     He sat at his ease, at a long table with a pebbled metallic surface. He was unarmed. The table was bare. Except for the chair reserved for me, there was nothing else in the tent.
     I acknowledged him with a nod and eased myself onto the chair. He smiled pleasantly, as saturnine as ever, and waited while I settled myself. Outside the tent was perfect silence.
     “I never expected this,” I said.
     His expression did not change. “I did.”
     “I still don’t understand why you –”
     He held up a hand. “It’s not necessary that you understand. We fought and you lost. Agree to what I’ve asked and we need never speak again.”
     “Is that how you want it?”
     His jaw muscles rippled, but he kept his silence.
     Of course that wasn’t how he wanted it. I could give him all he’d asked, but we both knew full well that it was not what he really wanted. That was gone forever, and no act of mine could change it.
     “Gabe would have wept at this. He always felt there was a chance that–”
     “Gabe,” he said through lips that barely moved, “was a fool who lived in a world of his own making. He wasn’t much of a soldier, either.”
     My self-control cracked and my hands balled into fists. “Don’t besmirch my friend’s name.”
     “Why not?” His brow creased and a shadow darkened his face. “How long have you and yours done everything you could to blacken mine?”
     I remained seated, but it was a considerable effort. “You earned every word we said about you.”
     “Did I? Well, perhaps some of it. Let it pass. Do you plan to haggle, or can we end this quickly?”
     A last thread of defiance twanged within me. “I can still field a sizable force. I could keep you fighting over this pigsty for a full year, perhaps two.”
     He sighed. “What would the point be, Mike? You’ve seen what the disruptors can do. My entire army has them now. Gabe didn’t stand the slightest chance. You won’t either. Do I have to lay siege to—to headquarters to get you to back off and leave me to what I’ve won?”
     “We could develop a defense.”
     A mirthless smirk. “Don’t count on it.”
     I stood and turned away, unwilling to let him see the tears that filled my eyes. I’d been charged with stopping him. It just wasn’t in me to concede without a fight. I wasn’t made to accept defeat on any terms, much less unconditional surrender.
     “Mike,” he said to my back in a voice that was almost a caress, “I know you. You think it’s a betrayal not to go down fighting.” I turned to meet his eyes again, and found a well of sympathy there that I’d thought gone forever. “But it’s hopeless now. You can’t shield against the disruptors, and you don’t have enough support among the autochthones to impede my movement or threaten my supply lines. You’re defeated fair and square. If you don’t let it go now, I’ll have to kill you all, and confound it, man, that’s the last thing I’d want to do.”
     A bubble of pained laughter escaped me. “‘Confound it, man’?”
     He shrugged. “In the course of a campaign this long, you’re bound to pick up a few local habits.”
     I nodded and sat again. A long silence passed.
     “Will you tell me why, at least?” I asked.
     “I’ve never made any secret of it.”
     “No, not that. I meant the ambush.”
     He looked puzzled. “It was the most effective way to bring the disruptors to bear. Gabe’s forces were entrenched, they couldn’t bug out, and my troops had better theater coverage than at any other point in the campaign. If I’d gone against you frontally in the field, I’d probably still be fighting two armies instead of one.”
     “You didn’t have to slaughter them that way. You could have contacted headquarters and proposed a demonstration. We could have negotiated a settlement.”
     “Oh?” Heat rose into his face. He stood and planted his fists on the table. It was not a pretty sight. “And who would have stepped up to be the guinea pig?”
     “I–”
     “Don’t even think it, Mike.” That red fury of his had become the stuff of legend. “You wouldn’t have volunteered, and you could never have shoved anyone else forward in your place. Better that three million of you died in honorable combat. The war is over. Take that for what it’s worth and let the rest of it go.”
     That final cord of resistance snapped.
     “All right,” I said. “It’s yours. Do as you like with it.”
     I rose and left the tent. The spring day around me would have been a thing of perfection, had it not been for the smoldering remnants of the forest, the dismay on the faces of my entourage, and the glowing coal of agony in my chest.
     I was about to summon my second and give orders for the march home when the tent flap rose again, and he came out to confront me one last time.
     “Mike…” He paused, looked away, then caught my eyes again. “It will be all right. I won’t abuse them.”
     The pain in me crested and broke loose as a shout of despair that ripped through the forest like a disruptor bolt.
     “No? Then what has this war been about?”
     His eyes turned to orbs of steel. “Your propaganda and my independence. I told you I wouldn’t serve. I told him.” His glare softened, and he put out his hand.
     I took it in mine. For an instant the old song of love hummed between us, the melody that had lived in us all when the world was new. I could see that he felt it too.
     “Good-bye, Lucifer,” I whispered.
     It called forth a crooked smile. “Doesn’t that mean ‘God be with you’? Ah, well. Take care of yourself, Michael.”
     I released him to the ordering of his new domain, returned to my troops and led them back to their long home.

     Copyright © 1997 Francis W. Porretto. All rights reserved worldwide.