4
Y MINUS TWO
CAMP PENDLETON
OCEANSIDE, CALIFORNIA
Brigadier General Clayton P. Vine, USMC, looked up from the training schedule when the intercom buzzed. One of his staffers told him the civilian V.I.P. had arrived. Vine had played power games when he was younger, forcing people to wait unnecessarily on him when they were on time for appointments; but he had grown out of that. The military–and the government in general–wasted entirely too much time with stupid little games designed to prove who had more power.
“Let him in.”
The door opened and one of Vine’s marines announced the visitor before shutting the door behind the State Department errand boy.
The errand boy was a mid-30s nerd with one of those fancy new Blue Tooths and a haircut that appeared downright unsanitary. He glanced around the office–which was tastefully built of stained wood—not that cheap paneling that simulated the real thing. The walls, of course, were bedecked with a few framed photos and several framed awards. There was also a US flag and the Colors of Vine’s present command.
The errand boy strode forward and shook the general’s hand. Vine encouraged him to have a seat, and he did.
Vine asked him all the polite garbage like how his flight had been, if he had any trouble finding Vine’s headquarters,and so forth. He had entertained errand boys before, and knew these pleasantries were expected. One never wanted to piss off anyone from the State Department.
The errand boy made a few polite comments about formations of marines he’d seen marching as he passed on his way here.
Finally the errand boy got around to business…in a bureaucratic way. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, the domestic situation is a bit worrisome.”
Vine said nothing, unsure what the errand boy was referring to. He wondered what exactly Washington was worried about. There were issues with police and demonstrators in various cities, but that was hardly a concern of the Marines. He could be referring to the influx of radical Muslims, hiding among the hordes of Latin refugees invading the country. But that was unlikely, since the administration he worked for obviously wanted to make the situation on the border worse, not better. None of it made sense to Vine, but then politics rarely did. Most of what the Marine Corps did made sense; which was one reason Vine loved being a marine.
“The President and Secretary thought it important that we touch base with our senior commanders in all the Armed Forces,” the errand boy said. “And I thought it best to meet with you face-to-face.”
“That’s good,” Vine said, resisting the urge to demand he get to the point. “I appreciate it.”
“Even with all this technology nowadays, I still think it’s the best way to communicate.” The errand boy checked something on his beeping smartphone, then slid it back in his pocket. “First of all, I want to personally thank you for your service to the President over the years.”
Vine nodded. His career had spanned the terms of a few presidents, and he considered his service as to the Corps anyway, but he went along with the assumption, hoping the errand boy would spit out what was on his mind.
“I understand you’re up for promotion.”
Vine nodded and smiled, which was not what he wanted to do. This civilian dweeb mentioning specifics of his career made his stomach queasy.
“Obviously my superiors and I understand how important it is to retain quality leadership,” Errand Boy said. “My uncle served in the Marine Corps, so I know the deal.”
You don’t know your sphincter from a gopher hole, kid. You should have sent your uncle to talk to me.
“So with the situation like it is, it’s imperative that the President knows he can count on you.”
“You lost me, son,” Vine said. “I’ve been in the Corps so long I can’t remember life before it. I’ve served with honor and been faithful to my duty. Is there some reason the President—or anyone else—suddenly questions my ethics?”
“Of course not,” the errand boy replied. “I took a look at your records, and your ethics are peerless…except, of course, for that brief dalliance with the young woman in Japan about 30 years ago.”
The queasy feeling got worse, and Vine’s blood ran cold. How did the State Department know about the affair? His wife never found out, and neither had his commanding officer. He would certainly have heard about it if they had. He’d felt guilty about the moral lapse for years afterwards, but finally chalked it up to youthful recklessness—no harm/no foul—and forgot about it.
“So it’s not really about ethics,” the errand boy said. “It’s about loyalty.”
The cold, sinking sensation intensified. Vine couldn’t very well swear to his own loyalty when they knew he’d once cheated on his wife.
The errand boy chuckled and held his hands up, palms-forward. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m not here because anybody’s upset that you got a little side action when you were young.”
“Why are you here, then?” Vine asked, losing his ability to maintain the polite tone.
“As I said, the domestic situation is getting ugly, General. Not everybody out there welcomes change. And change isn’t always easy–sometimes it makes things uncomfortable, even though it ultimately works for the greater good. And sometimes bringing change requires some people to adjust their methods, and perspective.”
Now it was dawning on Vine what this was about. He’d heard scuttlebutt about a purge taking place across all the branches of the armed forces. He knew about a few of the senior commanders who were sacked a while back—vocal critics of how Benghazi was handled. He assumed that was the extent of the purge. Obviously not.
“What specific change are we talking about?” Vine asked.
“Well,” Errand Boy said, “there are some old traditions and rigid ideas about what the military can and should be used for. We need to take our concept of the armed forces to a whole new level. Times like these call for flexibility. For thinking outside the box.”
“All right,” Vine said, in a tone meant to coax out more information.
Errand Boy crossed his legs the way a lady does, removed his glasses, and polished the lenses with a handkerchief “The ways of war are changing, as I’m sure you know, General. There’s no more one nation against another, sending bomber formations at each other’s factories; soldiers stabbing each other with bayonets; that sort of thing. At least not in the developed world. We’ve got modern technology; a different definition of victory; and different threats. Our men and women in uniform won’t necessarily be tasked with fighting enemy soldiers…or shipping off to some faraway land to do it.”
“Let me spell out what I think you’re driving at,” Vine said, his face heating up. “And you tell me if I’m right: the President wants to know if I’m willing to command my marines to fire on American civilians, based on his say-so.”
The errand boy’s head rocked back on his neck as if he’d just received an invisible slow-motion blow to the face. “Well, I wouldn’t…”
“And you all believe that what I did in Japan is an insurance policy just in case I don’t want to dance to the President’s tune,” Vine interrupted. “Is that it?”
“I assure you, nobody in Washington thinks any less of you because of some harmless booty call in the previous century,” the errand boy said, nonchalantly.
“And furthermore,” Vine continued, “my promotion, and therefore my career, depends on me agreeing to this. Does that sum it up?”
The errand boy shrugged. “Perhaps that’s not the most delicate way to phrase it. But yes.”
Vine wanted to tell him where to stick delicate phrases. Vine had never concerned himself with politics. There were only a few times he even bothered to vote, and he’d never even watched a presidential debate. The only campaign promises that motivated him had to do with the military budget.
Vine’s father, however, had been different. A marine, for sure, but he also considered history and politics to be important. In one of their last conversations before he passed away, Vine’s father reminded him that Clayton had taken an oath to uphold and defend the Constitution. Vine had never read the Constitution, and only knew what other people claimed that it said. His father said that it was the law of the land–the fundamental core of American government. His father said America was unique because, here, individual rights were sacred whether laws were written acknowledging them or not. In America, government’s purpose was to protect those rights.
His father would go on at length about this, and Vine couldn’t remember all the details, but that was the gist of it.
Vine hadn’t studied what his father had; and didn’t agree with him about everything…but something just struck him as wrong about using the Marines as a weapon against Americans.
“I’m curious,” Vine said. “Why are you so sure we’re going to need to fight a war against our own civilians? The country’s what—240 years old or so? There’s never been a need for this before.”
The errand boy frowned and checked his watch. His whole demeanor changed as the pleasant, respectful facade was dropped. He paused before speaking. “It’s obvious from your hesitation that you’re not the man for the job. I thought you were smarter than this. But not everybody can handle the adjustments necessary to make change work.”
“Why won’t you answer the question?” Vine asked. “Why are you so sure you’ll need my marines to kill civilians? I mean, even in the Civil War, armies fought other armies. What do you anticipate?”
The errand boy stood from his seat and gave a curt nod. “Of course I don’t need to tell you that the subject and details of this conversation are classified; not to be disclosed to anyone without the expressed permission of the President.”
Vine rose to his own feet. “We didn’t discuss anything of strategic significance, young fellah—there’s no national security concerns here. I’m not legally obligated to keep any of this secret. But then I suppose that’s where the implied blackmail threat comes in.”
The errand boy already had his back to Vine by then, but flashed him a wry grin over the shoulder on his way out the door.
The errand boy walked back to his rental car using one thumb to compose a text message. Once behind the wheel, he finished it.
“Nix Vine. Won’t play ball.”
He sent the message, started the engine, and scrolled through his notes to find the next senior officer on the list.
And just like that, Clayton P. Vine’s career in the United States Marine Corps was over.
Within the next few days Vine would be notified that his second star had been pinned on somebody else’s uniform.
Someone who passed the litmus test.
Vine would be thanked for his service and forcibly retired. If he leaked the reason behind his sacking, his affair with the young lady in Japan would be leaked, adding disgrace to injury.
For the rest of his life, Vine would wonder if he’d done the right thing. Was his instinctive moral resistance important enough to throw away what he loved most of all?
For the first time in 40 years, he felt the urge to cry. The Marine Corps was his entire identity. Wasn’t it worth keeping, at any price?
Despite the anguish of his shockingly crushed spirit, he suspected it wasn’t.