“Do your people have a contact number for SFC Beckett?”
“Yes sir, Mister President?” Terry nodded.
“Good, extend his leave to forty eight hours and then get him on a plane here. I’d like to meet him before he returns overseas.”
Terry hesitated.
“Why, sir?”
“Why not?” Putting his mug down he turned sideways in his seat to face the door.
“I have not met anyone who was directly involved in the fighting yet, and so I would like to speak to this young man about his experiences…and I am after all the Commander-in-Chief so I can do stuff like that, and you as a minion should obey without question and back away to the door, bowing as you go to see it is done.”
Terry smiled.
“I thought the bowing minion thing was the reason we threw off the yoke of imperialism?”
“I thought it was because we didn’t want to pay for the war against Napoleon?”
“I’m pretty sure bowing and scraping played a big part, Mr President.”
The President dismissed him with a wave of the hand. “Whatever.”
His Secret Service Agent was stood inside the door, hands crossed in front and seemingly taking no interest in the goings on of government.
“Mike?”
“Yes, Mr President?”
“Could you give us a moment; I want a private word with General Shaw.”
“Certainly Mr President, I will be right outside.”
The doors closed, shutting them off from the outside world for a while.
“That was a nice thing you did just then, Mr President.”
Moving his folder into the centre of the table in front of him, the President looked back at Henry.
“Why, because I didn’t want Mike to witness what I am about to say?”
Henry shook his head.
“No sir, keeping that young 82nd man, Beckett, away from Germany when the Reds hit his unit.”
“I thought you believed that everyone should do their share, no matter what their status in life, General?”
Henry had been fairly sure the showdown couldn’t be far off when he had read the Washington Post three days ago. It had been a two day old copy and although an article on a Congressman’s daughter starting boot camp had been on page five, he had begun to look over his shoulder for a high ranking military policeman, and an armed escort walking with purpose toward him.
Fishing a copy of Das Spiegel from out of his briefcase he slid it along the table to the President.
“Centre spread, Mr President.”
Opening the magazine the President read the article’s headline and looked at the glossy photos of rich American’s enjoying the snow in Aspen.
The article was in German but President read aloud in English.
“America’s rich and the beautiful aren’t training for arctic warfare here, they are partying whilst members of their own countries lowest wage brackets are dying on the firing line………….”
He closed the magazine and pushed it back.
“You have an issue with this, General Shaw?”
“I have several issues, Mr President. That one vies for the top slot with my other pet bug bear.”
“Which is?”
“Millionaire football players, Mr President. Despite earning more in one year, than an entire team of scientists trying to find the cure for cancer will ever see in their lives…they strike for even more pay.”
Henry was toying with him and he knew it, but he played along anyway.
“General, there is a football season and there is a baseball season, but there are no biology or chemistry seasons that millions will pay good money to watch, but if there was then we would have millionaire test tube jockeys by the score. This is not an ideal world, or hadn’t you noticed?”
Henry ignored the reply and continued on.
“My other ‘issue’ dates back to March 3rd 1863. President Lincoln signed the Federal Draft Act in the full knowledge that there was a clause included that allowed the rich to dodge military service for the sum of $300.” He fixed the President with an enquiring look.
“What’s the going price today Mr President?”
“You are being simplistic, General.” He took a sip of coffee and Henry sat waiting.
“The reason we, as a democracy, win wars is because we make a trade off. Some people, those with the means, build the weapons we need and others use them. They keep the wheels turning by doing what it takes to keep the unions sweet and looking the other way while corners are cut. If you piss off those with means you don’t get the same cooperation.”
Henry countered, speaking very deliberately.
“Or the funds for the war chest come election time.”
“For your information General, I have goals just as you have goals, and before I leave this office I would like to see full education, education for one hundred per cent of the population, and the poverty line knocked back another five per cent if not eliminated altogether.” The President’s face was becoming flushed.
“I do not happen to like even a small fraction of the people I have to deal with in order to get even the smallest worth of good out of the shit I have to put my seal to.”
Henry sat back and regarded his commander in chief.
“You are the President, and you tell them that you serve the will of the people and what’s good for the people is good for them.” The President was shaking his head at the naivety of the man.
“Do you know how much it costs just to get nominated? Let alone run an election campaign?”
Henry didn’t respond, but it wasn’t because he didn’t know, it was because he didn’t care.
“It’s a fallacy that ‘just anyone can be President’. You have to get sponsors to foot the bill, and they all have agenda’s.”
“Mr President, we have reached a point where a line must be drawn. As the leader of democracy you are supposed to be the last word in integrity, yet you sold your soul to get here.” It was the last straw for the President, who was well aware of the situation without having to be reminded of it. His temper had been held in check up to this point, but now it snapped as he swept away the mug before him with a violent sweep of the hand.
“God dammit Henry…you’re a Marine, and you took an oath and so you do not ever, ever, play politics while you are in that uniform!” The coffee mug flew across the room, shattering against the wall.
With a bang the door flew open and Mike took a step inside. Balanced on the balls of his feet and in a half crouch, he had his jacket open and a hand on his firearm. He took in the room and then focused on Henry, his eyes narrowing slightly. Behind him stood two Marines, their hands were on the cocking levers of the M-16s they held.
Raising his hands the President calmed them.
“It’s okay, it’s okay…. just an accident”
Henry had remained seated and calm, as unruffled by the exhibition of temper as he was at being considered a physical threat to the President in the eyes of the Secret Service.
When they had backed out of the room and the door was again closed the President took a deep breath and allowed the anger to settle.
“My eldest son got his call up papers today. He turned eighteen just three days ago and his mother is pissed as hell at me. Added to which, some long standing friends of ours have stopped calling her since their sons and daughters got call up papers, she’s pissed at me about that as well.”
“I was eighteen when I first put this uniform on, Mr President.”
“You volunteered and there wasn’t a war going on at the time.”
“The advisors were in Vietnam and the writing was already on the wall.” Henry sighed.
“If it’s any consolation, my father was entirely pissed at me.”
“Why, he fought in Europe and again in Korea?”