When he opened the folder, he found a speech printed out in oversized draft type. The first words were ‘My fellow Americans…’
Gordon looked up.
‘I had some speechwriters give it a try,’ Daryl explained, ‘just to get a first draft on paper for when you got out.’
Gordon shifted his gaze to Elaine.
‘The State of the Union is less than a week away, honey,’ she said. ‘We just didn’t want you to exhaust yourself having to start from scratch.’
‘I told you both that I was going to write this speech myself,’ Gordon said slowly. He looked down at the paper attached to the top of the file with a clip. He turned the pages. Skimmed it. Line after line of total bullshit. It said nothing in a hundred separate sound bites.
He tossed the folder into the trash and began searching the drawers. When he found a leather folder enclosing a legal pad, he pulled a pen out of its desktop holder and wrote ‘State of the Union Address’ at the top of the page. ‘My fellow Americans,’ he began — the only words he used from the professionals’ first draft.
After a paragraph, Gordon looked up to see Daryl and Elaine still standing there.
‘I guess I’ll get back to work,’ Elaine said pleasantly. She rounded the desk and kissed Gordon on the cheek. ‘I’m writing an article for Good Housekeeping magazine on what being First Lady means to me. They sent my first try back because it didn’t make enough references to the debts I owe to my “predecessors ” in the civil rights movement. My predecessors — can you believe the gall!’ she said with obvious humor. She headed for the door. ‘I’m thinking about changing the title to “Why Malcolm X Led Me to the Republican Party.” ’
Gordon kept writing, but a smile crept onto his face. The door closed. Daryl waited patiently. Gordon wrote for a while longer, and then he flipped back to the first page. Without looking up — without needing to check to confirm that Daryl was still there — Gordon said, ‘Okay, I’m done.’
‘Done with what?’ Daryl asked.
‘With the speech.’
Daryl took the pad, thumbed the bottom edge of the paper, and counted the pages. ‘Gordon! That’s less than ten minutes long*.’
‘I’ll speak slowly.’
‘But Gordon…! This is the State of the Union?
‘Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg Address in three minutes.’
‘But we’ve pinned everything on this address!’
‘Read it,’ Gordon replied. Daryl hesitated. ‘Go on. Read it.’ Daryl raised the pad. He read it without saying a word. When he was done, he looked up. He obviously didn’t know what to say. ‘This is what you wanta do?’ he finally asked. Gordon nodded. Daryl pursed his lips and shrugged. ‘You don’t even want to mention the counter-attack? How we’re winning the war even as you speak? There’s a pretty dramatic moment there you’re taking a pass on.’
‘I’ll let the military successes speak for themselves.’ Gordon leaned forward. ‘Daryl, the war is a part of this, but only a part. This speech is about something bigger. I didn’t just sit down here and bang that thing out. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these last few months. I very intentionally didn’t write anything down until I was sure in my mind what I wanted to say. And that’s what I want to say, Daryl,’ Gordon pointed at the pad. ‘That’s it.’
Daryl arched his eyebrows and nodded. ‘Okay. But let’s not let this thing out before you deliver it. Unless, that is, you want a parade of every party notable in the country traipsing through here politely suggesting you cut down on the pain medication.’ Daryl re-read the first part of the speech. ‘You know, you could toss out just a couple of policy ideas so the pundits would have something to sink their teeth into.’
‘No policy ideas, Daryl. No programs. No legislative initiatives. Nothing on the budget or taxes or government or welfare reform. No social issues or doctrines of foreign policy. Not even a mention of the war.’
‘You’re sticking to the “vision-thing,” huh?’ Daryl asked. Gordon nodded. ‘Oka-ay. I’ll type it myself,’ he said as he turned for the door. ‘Shouldn’t take long.’
The overcast sky blanketed Captain Hadley with a sense of security. He’d never felt it on prior trips to the Amur. The clouds held the warmth of the day beneath them. Hadley found himself unzipping his gear during the arduous trek through the deep forest drifts.
But clouds also meant darkness. No moon or starlight penetrated the overcast sky. That was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that his men carried night-vision goggles and the Chinese didn’t. The point and rear men and machine-gunner wore theirs constantly. But the dim light was also a hazard. Nothing triggered a firefight more certainly than stepping right on an ambusher.
Hadley heard curses from the line up ahead. It was the second time he’d heard noise from his men. It was probably nothing more than a low branch. They were growing too comfortable with these missions. Not once in their five trips had they seen any Chinese. That bred a sense of solitude. Of being all alone in an impossibly big space. That, in turn, led to them growing sloppy. All it took was one chance encounter for them to get swallowed up by endless forests.
Four men headed out onto the ice with the drill. The man in front rolled the wheel which measured the distance. The three who followed…
A resounding ‘crunch’ broke the silence like a gunshot. Hadley scanned the white ice for the source. Three men — he counted only three. Two more men rushed out onto the frozen river. Hadley followed them down the bank. It was his first time out in the open. He hadn’t realized just how exposed it felt.
Brief shouts and gasps for air could be heard. Everyone was lying on their bellies and inching forward. ‘Help!’ came a watery splutter. It was followed by the splashing sounds of a drowning man. Hadley and the two men with him dropped to their stomachs and began to crawl.
The man was flailing. Men held each forearm. They were counting in unison. When they said ‘Three!’ they pulled with loud grunts. For an instant they hoisted the soldier from the black river water.
He gasped for air and coughed before being dragged back under. It was as if a great shark held his feet and fought his rescuers. The soldier slowly sank into the ever-expanding hole.
On the next pull the two men got a rope under his armpits. Hadley and the reinforcements went upstream of the hole. They begin a tug-of-war against the powerful current. They sat on the ice and pulled against the raging force of the water.
Hadley got to his feet and dug in his heels. Without saying a word the other men did the same. Hadley could feel the ice almost break underneath him. Several times he repositioned his feet at the last second. Two more men arrived just then from the bank. The five men dragged the fallen man out of the water. The medical officer slipped an oxygen mask over his face. The others stripped their comrade of his clothing in silence. Off came his parka, his liner, his long underwear. Off came his boots and his shell and his insulated leggings. The dark-skinned African-American sergeant lay naked against the white ice.
They put dry clothes on him right there. Everyone carried extra clothing. They dried and dressed the man from head to foot. It was done as quickly as could be expected. Even so he suffered extreme hypothermia.