Turnbull smiled as he polished the action of his AK-47.
“Well, I was taught by the best.”
Colonel Jeff Deloitte sighed, pulled up his left camo sleeve, and looked at the cheap Seiko on his wrist. 1348 hours – that meant 48 minutes of priceless time wasted waiting for the Southern Indiana Security Region Fusion Cell meeting to actually get underway.
“There are unacceptable levels of transphobic normative bias within our security apparatus,” said Xeno, pounding on the table. Xeno was the civilian security advisor to the governor of Indiana. Xeno used only one name, and leaned slightly toward male identity stereotypes in appearance while tending generic for xis pronouns. Deloitte’s S2, the brigade intel officer, had provided a bio of each of the participants for his commander; according to the report, before the Split, Xeno had been named Phil and worked for the IRS.
“I agree, eliminating anti-trans bias must remain a key priority in everything we do,” responded Chief Roberta Clemens, who commanded the People Security Forces for the region. She was in uniform; a female lieutenant sat uncomfortably at the chief’s side. Unlike everyone else at the table, the lieutenant did not have a nameplate listing her name, organization and preferred pronouns in front of her.
The one before Deloitte read:
Colonel Jeff Deloitte
Commander, Military District of Southern Indiana and 172nd Brigade.
Pronouns: “He,” “His” and “Him.”
Deloitte sullenly looked over the cast of characters sitting around the table. Also in attendance was Franco X, the head of the region’s People’s Volunteers. He was about 25, and he was decked out in the usual PV coverall uniform, which looked hamper-fresh and had a mustard stain on the belly. Franco X, who the S2 reported had been a petty thief before the Split, was drawing what looked like stick figures with exaggerated genitals on his note paper and barely paying attention.
Only one of them impressed Deloitte – Senior Inspector Darin Kunstler from the People’s Bureau of Investigation. He sat quietly, watching, listening – which in Deloitte’s eyes made him potentially formidable.
At 1355, Deloitte decided that his patience was fully expended. Xeno had moved on to discussing South Pacific Islanders’ Day events and had just inquired how many tanks Deloitte would be sending for the parade in Indianapolis when the colonel spoke up.
“You are wasting my time,” he said, and the eyes all went to him.
“I work for Governor Bayh!” Xeno snapped.
“And I work for President Warren. If we aren’t going to talk about security, I’m going to go train my soldiers.”
“Well, if you don’t think racism against South Sea Islanders is an important problem…,” began Clemens.
“They prefer ‘South Pacific Islanders,’” corrected Xeno.
“Sorry,” said Chief Clemens, chastened.
“Stop,” said Deloitte. “I think the only problem that matters is security in this region, and how you are losing control of it. I assumed that was the purpose of this meeting, which is why I took time away from doing my job to come here to Indianapolis to attend this circle jerk.”
“Security is only one piece of the puzzle” Xeno said. “We in the People’ Republic are about disrupting paradigms of oppression.”
“I didn’t have the dubious benefits of going to a college where they taught us about paradigms and made fine distinctions between South Pacific Islanders and South Seas Islanders. Sadly, my West Point education focused on soldiering, as has my career, and I’m at this meeting because if you people don’t get your shit together, then I’m going to have to deploy my brigade to practice that skill right here in my own country and I don’t want that. You don’t want that.”
“Maybe we should move on to the matter at hand,” suggested Kunstler of the PBI, though the way he said it did not make it seem like a suggestion at all.
“The problem is,” said Franco X, looking up from his etchings, “that some country motherfuckers drew down on one of my boys in Jasper the other night. My boys deescalated though, but they could have had to regulate. And we need some payback.”
“I debriefed your men,” Kunstler said evenly. “One man pulled a pistol on eight of them and they ran. They dropped their weapons and ran.”
Deloitte laughed, disgusted; Franco X glared.
“You got a problem?” challenged Franco X.
“Yes,” said Deloitte. “You and your untrained, undisciplined punks are a joke.”
“The People’s Volunteers are an important expression of the people’s anger against racist fascism!” shouted Xeno.
“Uh huh. We’ll just have to agree to disagree then, Xeno. In the meantime, we seem to have a more tangible problem – Jasper. Maybe we can talk about that.”
“That’s a typical linear military response,” Xeno sneered.
“Well, that’s the problem with being a military leader, xir. I’m forced to deal with tangible reality instead of college campus bullshit.”
“Colonel, we all appreciate your input,” Kunstler said. “And your point of view. Your region is critical. It supplies a significant amount of the Republic’s agricultural output and it contains key transport routes. And we know that the red states want it.”
“Inspector, I have a brigade to command. It has to be trained and ready. I have a lot of things to do and a lot of restrictions put on me that keep me from attaining the kind of combat readiness I need to do whatever President Warren might have me do. And sitting in here listening to this nonsense is not helping me get the mission done.”
“That’s a patriarchal –,” Clemens began.
“Sorry that five thousand years of military leadership and experience don’t fit into the paradigm you learned at Wellesley.” Deloitte knew the PSF chief’s pre-Split law enforcement experience had consisted of getting tear gassed by D.C. cops while protesting Donald Trump’s election back in 2016.
Kunstler sat back and watched Deloitte engage. He knew the colonel’s record well, and the Command Diversity Officer reported directly to him regarding the commander’s loyalty to the Republic. Deloitte was a holdover from the old United States Army. His family was from Vermont, so when the country split in two he stayed with the blue and in its army. Tactically, his ratings were near the top: Special Forces with a focus on counterinsurgency. But his loyalty ratings were iffy at best – no outright treason, no contacts with the red states, just a refusal to go along and understand that considerations of form often outweighed considerations of substance.
Kunstler assessed him as a skilled professional soldier, which meant he probably did not understand that military competence was far less of a consideration to those in power than reliability. Stalin had gutted the Red Army of its most talented officers even as the Nazi menace loomed, prioritizing loyalty over skill. And Kunstler fully understood and appreciated that cruel logic.
But when push came to shove, what would the colonel choose? That was the question, and the fact that it was a question made him a potential liability. For now, though, he was useful.
“Lieutenant Kessler is here from Jasper. Maybe we should hear from her,” Kunstler said. The group’s attention fell onto the uncomfortable officer.
“Well, we had a problem with a revanchist family,” said the lieutenant. “They had retained firearms, they had flouted other laws. We moved to apprehend them and there was a shootout. We lost three and killed several of them. The main perpetrator is still in the wind, but we will find him. There were rumblings in the town after our operation, so I called for support from the People Volunteers, who patrolled twice. On the second time, they were met by armed resistance.”