“By the way, I already have a team there,” Bob announced.
“Why there?”
“Seemed like a good staging area, and besides, they’re looking for a lost Black Hawk. Figured it might be stashed in one of the hangars. All right, I’ll order them back to that airport.”
Bob turned and shouted an order. One of the troopers deployed on the security perimeter around the choppers nodded and went to the pilot’s window of the Black Hawk Bob had come in on. Seconds later, the three Apaches turned sharply to the southeast and began to climb out of the valley.
“Satisfied?” Bob asked.
“It helps.”
“Now can we get in out of the cold?”
John nodded and pointed to the jeep. Bob climbed into the passenger seat. The trooper who had passed his order to the pilot shouted a protest and started to come forward, weapon not pointed toward them directly but raised to the ready.
“It’s all right, Captain!” Bob shouted. “Wait here.”
“But, sir!”
“I’m with friends. Order the men to keep perimeter and wait. I’ll be back in one hour.”
The captain nodded reluctantly, saluted, and turned away.
“He gets a little too nervous about me at times,” Bob said.
“I hope he doesn’t get nervous while we’re gone. Not a threat, sir, but there are well over a hundred heavily armed people down there.” He nodded back toward the campus.
“I trust you. Just make sure they stay away from where the choppers are waiting.”
John did not reply.
“You do know that if I am not back in an hour, things can quickly grow ugly.”
“Are you doubting my word”—he paused—“General?”
Bob looked back at John, who was climbing into the narrow backseat, smiling but glance firm. “I trust you. We both have to trust each other now.”
Again John did not reply. “Take us to Gaither, Maury,” John said to Maury, who switched the jeep’s engine on and put it in gear.
“Your name Maury?” Bob asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Nice jeep. Original?”
“1942 Wills.”
During the short drive back to Gaither, Bob chatted with Maury about the jeep, its history, and how he always preferred them to Humvees.
As they passed the library on one side and the girls’ dorm on the other side of the road, John could see anxious faces peering out of windows, nearly all still in winter camo, weapons slung on their shoulders. Malady stood in the doorway of the dorm, ready to go. John told Maury to stop.
“Kevin, keep everyone inside, weapons grounded. And for heaven’s sake, no one is to go near where the choppers landed. You got that? Once you feel things are secure with our people, report to me down in Gaither.”
“Yes, sir.” Kevin made the gesture of saluting even as John told Maury to head on to Gaither Hall.
They turned into the rear parking lot of Gaither, slid to a stop, and dismounted. Bob offered his hand to Maury, who reluctantly took it, and thanked him for the ride and brief history lesson about jeeps.
John climbed out of the back of the jeep and led the way inside. The corridor was packed with anxious students and staff, all of them suited up, all of them armed.
John stopped, looking over his shoulder at Bob, who came in behind him, pulling back the hood of his parka. The old general did not hesitate or show fear. He actually smiled, coming up to John’s side.
It was a tense moment.
John took a step forward and held up his hand in a calming gesture. “This is General Scales. He is an old friend from long before the Day. General, these are some of my troops.”
Bob actually stiffened and offered a salute, which some then returned, though many continued to just stand in silence, their hostile gazes obvious.
“Colonel Matherson, my compliments, you have a good-looking command here.”
Good-looking? John tried to not show any reaction. In an earlier age, a world long ago, those standing in the hallway would have been described as a ragtag-looking bunch at best, winter camo made out of bedsheets, most of the young men unshaven, all of them thin, wiry after two and a half years of privation and two deadly campaigns behind them. A few had offered salutes in return, but the rest were wary, eyes cold and obviously expecting that before the day was out it would turn into a fight to the death… and though scared were ready to face it.
“All of you,” John said in a calm voice. “We are in stand-down. I want you to keep your weapons slung and follow proper procedure to ensure chambers are empty. We don’t need an accident. Remember what I told you about how things went out of control at Lexington Green. We don’t want that here because one hothead takes matters into their own hands. Do we understand each other?”
“Sir, are we surrendering without a fight?” one of them cried.
“We are not at war here. The general is here to talk things over.”
“With Apaches as an opening move?” another student shouted angrily.
“All of you listen to me. This is not Fredericks. I know this man. He could have come in here with gunships tearing us apart before we even knew what was hitting us. He’s here to talk. So I want all of you to relax, get back to whatever your assigned duties are, ground your weapons, and for now leave them in Fellowship Hall if you are going outside. No one is to go near the ball field. The troops up there have firm orders to protect those helicopters, and that means shoot first and ask questions later. Your venturing up there could be seen as a hostile approach, and then… Lexington Green again. You all got that?”
There were nods, a few soft “Yes, sir” replies, all of them saluting John while avoiding eye contact with Bob, an obvious gesture to indicate who was still in charge as far as they were concerned, and the group started to disperse.
John opened the door to what had been the president’s office, motioned for Bob to step in, and then closed the door behind him.
“You handled that well, John, thank you.”
“What else was I to do? Order them to shoot you and then storm the field and get slaughtered?”
Bob looked around the room, offering a smile as he took his parka off. “Lord, I do recall this room. Remember I visited this campus years ago.” He paused for a moment. “Mary was buried out of this chapel. Our friend Dan Hunt was president. I sat in here with him after the service for Mary. I remember he was in tears for you that day.”
John offered a chair at the long meeting table and turned away for a moment so emotions wouldn’t show as Bob conjured up the memory of that day. It was Bob who had recommended John for the job at this college, having served with Dan Hunt, the two of them classmates from West Point.
“I don’t see him here,” Bob said softly.
“He didn’t make it—died during the starving time after everything went to hell.”
He looked back at Bob, who was gazing at Dan’s favorite painting, George Washington kneeling in the snow in prayer at Valley Forge.
“The list goes on and on,” Bob said softly, “all those who didn’t make it.”
“I wondered about you across these years, sir,” John replied, “but now you are here.”
“You take inspiration from that painting?” Bob asked. “Is that why you kept it?”
John studied it for a moment. “Only recently started to use this office, just for state council meetings. I felt it was kind of a shrine to a good leader. But yeah, on a day like this, it’s worth studying.”
Bob did not respond to John’s obvious touch of cynicism. “How Washington kept his strength through that winter at Valley Forge is beyond me at times. If he had lost his way, the American Revolution would have truly been lost.”
“That’s worth thinking about now.”