Chapter 12
Brigitte woke him when she came into the room. It was late, and she fumbled in the darkness, changing for bed. While that was nothing new, something about her motions in the dim light made him turn on the bedside lamp.
She had already taken her top off, and she gasped as the light came on, covering her naked breasts with her arms and turning away from him. “Jim! I’m getting changed!”
It wasn’t her breasts that caught his attention, however. It was the deep purple bruise across her neck and shoulders that made him get out of bed and walk over to where she stood. “Show me,” he said softly.
She knew what he meant, and shook her head, her body trembling.
“Brigitte, show me.”
Her shoulders slumped slightly, and she turned around to face him.
Her face was a mottled mask of bruises, and her lip was swollen. Her arms and chest bore similar livid discoloration. She stood there, her arms limp at her sides, head bowed, and she began to cry softly.
James wrapped her in a fierce hug. “Who?” he demanded.
“Jim...” she wept, reaching up to push at him, but he held her tightly.
“Tell me who, Brigitte,” he repeated firmly.
“A couple of soldiers,” she whispered. “The two that are usually at Graeme’s place. Tommy and Len. They just roughed me up a little. I’m okay,” she finished weakly.
James held his step-sister close. “You deserve better than this, Brigitte.”
She shook her head, but stopped struggling against him and instead returned the embrace. “It doesn’t matter, Jim,” she murmured at last. “They’re soldiers. I’m just lucky they didn’t...” she didn’t finish, but stood in trembling silence.
“Did this happen at Graeme’s?”
She didn’t say anything, but her sudden stillness told him everything.
“He let it happen, didn’t he?” James asked softly. “He stood there and let it happen.”
“Jim...” she began.
“No, Brigitte, don’t make excuses for him. Any man who...” he paused, and his eyes narrowed. He held her out at arms length and looked into her dark eyes. “Did he help them? Was he part of this?”
Brigitte looked away, uncomfortable. “He... he was a little drunk.”
Rage ripped through him, and he felt himself begin to shake. Very gently, he pulled Brigitte close to his chest. “Brigitte,” he said in a soft, icy voice, “I’m going to kill him for this.”
Brigitte gasped and pulled away. “Jim, no. You can’t.”
“I can. I will. Him and those cretins he associates with.”
She shook her head, her long dark hair flying around with her vehemence. “You can’t. He’s the son of an officer!”
James looked at the dark purple marks that marred her delicate skin. “I don’t care if he’s the fucking president. He’s a dead man.”
“Jim, you can’t do this. I don’t give a damn about Graeme or his buddies, but if you try to do something, they’ll kill you.” She turned away and wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
James touched her shoulder, very gently. “Look, sis...”
“Damn it, Jim! I’m not your sister! I don’t want to be your sister!” she snapped, spinning around to stare at him. At his hurt look, her expression softened and she reached out a tender hand to cup his cheek. “You don’t get it, do you? Oh, Jim. I don’t want you to get hurt because I don’t know what I would do without you. I don’t want Graeme. I want you.”
James stared at her for a moment, not quite certain he had heard correctly. Then his cheeks flushed. “Brigitte...”
“I’m not your sister, James. I’m not. I’m not Brigitte McLeod. I’m Brigitte Moulin,” she whispered, and James was suddenly very aware that she was only partially dressed. She smiled slightly at his stunned expression. “I have to admit, this isn’t quite how I envisioned things. I was hoping you would... I don’t know...”
He stared at her for a moment in utter silence, his blood pounding in his veins. How many nights had he dreamt of hearing that? How many times had he bit back what he wanted to say? How often had he told himself that she was forever out of his reach because of what his father had told a man in a tent over a decade before? He did the only thing he could.
He kissed her, fiercely, with all the passion he’d never been able to show before.
Then, before she could say anything else, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “I’m going to kill them.”
He’d fallen asleep reading, so he was still dressed. Before she could protest, James turned and left the room.
He had a job to do.
*
James blinked against the bright light streaming in through the patio window into the living room. Alyse, dressed in her uniform, was buttering a piece of bread and staring at the television screen across the room. A well-dressed news anchor was speaking solemnly into the camera while behind him were the pictures of three young men.
“The three men, identified as Corporal Leonard Williams and Private Thomas Kinter of the American Occupational Protection Force, and Graeme Palliser, the son of Colonel Ian Palliser...”
“Do you have to watch that crap?” James asked irritably, pouring himself a glass of water.
“What’s wrong with the news?” Alyse demanded, barely glancing up at him. “Just because most of it is garbage, doesn’t mean there aren’t some useful pieces of information. Did you see Brigitte last night? Did she come home?”
James nodded. “She came in late,” he told her.
“The police have not released details of the homicide, but have indicated that it could be a result of organized crime...”
Alyse shook her head. “Such a shame,” she murmured. “So young.”
Shrugging, James glanced up at the television. “They probably had it coming,” he muttered. “When do you have to head to work?”
Alyse glanced at the clock and squeaked softly. She grabbed the mug of coffee beside her and drank the remains in a single swift gulp. “Now,” she gasped, placing the cup in the sink.
James smiled slightly. “I’ll see you after I finish work,” he called to her as she rushed towards the door. “We’re starting a new project out at the Detention Center, so I might be a little late.”
His step-mother nodded and grabbed her jacket. “Take care, and don’t work too hard.” She waved to him and hurried out the door.
James turned and glanced at the television. The news anchor had moved on to a new subject, fortunately. He grimaced at the screen and picked up the remote. Just as he was about to turn it off, he paused and turned the volume up.
“...naval forces off the west coast of Vancouver Island. Government sources have indicated that the encounter was not hostile, but the US Naval Command has redirected several Destroyers and the Supercarrier USS Barack Obama to the region. Chinese Naval activity has increased in the Pacific Ocean in the last few months, causing speculation from several military strategists that China may be considering action against the United States.”
He stared at the screen in silence for a several minutes, his mind racing. The channel switched to a commercial break, the same ad gently reminding citizens to report any suspicious activity in their neighborhoods. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. If China declared its intention to become involved in the Canadian Liberation, it would change everything. It was something his father had mentioned, occasionally. He had always believed that China would wait out the conflict until the US had been weakened sufficiently to negotiate. While Canada was resource rich, his father had always thought that the Chinese were more interested in Asian expansion than in what he always called ‘European style neo-colonialism’. China wouldn’t want the resources in Canada, he had argued. Instead, they would threaten to enter the conflict when they could negotiate a collective ‘turning of the heads’ while they took over complete control of the Asian Pacific.
James laughed softly. His father had been spot on. With Russia and Britain firmly ensconced on Canadian soil, a solid threat against the US by an Eastern Power would effectively force the Americans into an untenable situation. They couldn’t fight China while their forces were busy against two European powers. It would result in either an escalation to nuclear war, or a negotiated peace, and the US had too much to lose to risk nuclear war. The US would threaten with their nukes, and someone would recommend negotiation. James saw the scenario play out in his mind. Russia would get permanent control of the Canadian arctic, Britain would obtain control of the eastern provinces, and the US would withdraw from the western provinces, leaving control in the hands of American sympathizers. China would take over most of Asia while the rest of the world turned a blind eye. The UN was a joke, especially considering that the permanent members of the UN Security Council included all four of the nations that would divvy up Canada and Asia...
Shaking his head, he flicked off the television. He gave China a week before they declared their intention to intervene in the American Occupation.
*
“You’re fucking nuts, McLeod,” the man beside him grumbled. “There is no way that China is going to get involved in this shit, let alone the rest of it.”
James laughed as he tossed a shovelful of dirt to the side. “Think what you want, Aaron, but China will declare its intention by the end of next week. The US will threaten nuclear retaliation. It’s going to happen.”
“Okay, genius,” one of the other men digging the trench commented, leaning on his shovel and gesturing at the deep hole they were in the process of digging. “If you’re so smart, what the hell are we doing here, digging a trench around the fucking Detention Center?”
James grimaced. “We aren’t building a trench, Dan. We’re building a wall. And it won’t just be around the Detention Center.”
Dan Ingram and Aaron Himmel were the closest thing James had to actual friends. They had been on the same construction crew for nearly four years, and they had gotten accustomed to James’ regular forays into speculation, as well as his frequent comments about how society needed to change. They usually paid him as little mind as he did to their regular stories about the women they had been with and the things they were going to do once the war ended.
Dan’s jaw dropped. “A wall?” he demanded, and then he laughed. “You are nuts, McLeod. How exactly do you see a wall in this? We’re digging a fucking hole.”
James glowered at the older man. “Look at the lines, Dan. We have to go exactly three feet four inches across and exactly twenty-five feet long. That would make the section we’re working on one yard wide – with four inches built in for the wood support – and eight yards long, with a bit of room at the ends for supporting structures. With a wall that size, they need it a deep enough to lay a solid concrete footing. I’m guessing it will be a brick wall, but they might use cinderblock. From the depth we’ve been told to dig, it’s going to be ten, maybe twelve feet high.”
Dan stared at him for a moment, and Aaron grunted and planted his shovel. “Wall or trench,” Aaron muttered, adjusting his hat. “Don’t really matter to me. It pays the rent.”
“You say that now,” James commented softly. “But wait until you’re on the wrong side of the wall.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dan demanded.
James stuck his spade in the dirt and wiped his brow. “Walls are built to either keep people out of someplace, or to keep them in. Right now, I’d say this one is being built to keep people in. I’m betting that there will be other walls put up before too long, though the cost of this one will probably make whoever’s in charge decide to go with chain-link in the future. Maybe razor-wire.”
“You make it sound like they’re building a prison, McLeod,” Dan chuckled.
James looked over at the shorter man, but said nothing. Instead he simply went back to digging.
Aaron frowned for a moment, and then shook his head. “Don’t matter,” he growled. “I’m just doin’ my job.”
James snorted softly at the statement, but chose to hold his tongue. It never paid to compare what your friends said to what soldiers involved in genocides always claimed.
They worked for a while in silence. It was one of the reasons that the three of them had remained on the same work crew for so long. All three of them were diligent workers. Their foreman, Henry Chin, had often commented on how he needed to change up the work crews because so many of his labourers slacked off. Henry knew better than to change the dynamic of their crew, however. The three of them accomplished more together than any other crew out there. While they chatted a bit, here and there, they never let it interfere with their work.
“Alright, McLeod...” Dan finally muttered, pausing to grab his water bottle. “Let’s say you’re right and the Chinks declare war...”
“The Chinese won’t declare war, Dan. They’ll announce their intention to support Britain and Russia in the ‘ongoing effort to liberate Canada from forced American Occupation.’ They don’t want a war with the US any more than the US wants to fight them.” James grabbed his own bottle and washed some of the dirt from his mouth. “They just want to force the Americans to the table.”
“For what?” Aaron asked. “If they don’t want to fight...”
“Wars aren’t about fighting, Aaron,” James muttered. “They aren’t about proving who’s got the better army or the best ships. Countries fight wars for one very basic reason: self-interest. China has the biggest population in the world, and their resources can’t support their population. They need to expand their sphere of influence; they need more space.”
“So what, they’ll invade Canada too?” Dan laughed.
“Not Canada,” James replied soberly. “We’re too far away to make expansion practical. They want the rest of Asia, and if it means that the US doesn’t have to resort to nuclear weapons, the UN will gladly give it to them.”
The other two stared at him for a moment. “Nuclear weapons?” Dan whispered. “You think it will come to that?”
“That’s America’s fallback,” James answered. “They won’t use them, but they’ll threaten to. China is probably counting on it. They know that the US can’t keep this up for much longer. This war is costing American taxpayers a lot of money, even though it doesn’t look like much is actually happening. If China enters the conflict now, there’s no way short of nuclear attack that the US can defend itself. China has the biggest military in the world. The US is already fighting on two fronts. The Americans will threaten China, China will threaten the US, and the UN will step in and politely ask everyone to take a step back, that surely there must be some way to resolve this issue short of nuclear war. China will make demands, the US will set terms, and everyone will walk away a winner... except us and whichever poor bastards China decides are on its agenda.”
Dan whistled softly, but then glanced over at James, his expression slightly confused. “And what about us? Won’t that mean that the US has to withdraw?”
James shrugged and picked up his shovel. “Probably, but they’ve had the last twelve years to set the people they want, people that support them, in positions of power. Things will have new names, but shit smells the same, no matter what you call it.”
Aaron shook his head and started digging again. “You may have thought this out, McLeod, but I still think you’re fucking nuts.”
James grinned at him. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m also right.”
Aaron grimaced and hurled more dirt out of the trench. “We’ll see, I guess.”
“Did you guys hear about what happened to that Palliser kid?” Dan asked, changing the subject.
James rolled his eyes. “There was something about it on the news this morning. Some kind of gang shit...”
“They found him and two soldiers beaten to death in Palliser’s home,” Dan told them, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “They say that Palliser had his balls cut off and stuffed in his mouth.”
Aaron choked for a moment, and then laughed out loud. “That’s a ballsy thing to do.”
James smiled slightly at the quip, but then shook his head. “I bet shit’s going to fly over that. Isn’t his old man a big-wig with the American military?”
Dan nodded. “A full bird colonel,” he confirmed. “I wonder what the fuck he was into to have someone do that?”
James swore as his shovel slammed into a buried stone. He shook his head. “Sounds like he pissed the wrong person off,” he observed. “Drugs?”
“Dunno,” Dan shrugged. “Could have been, I guess. I heard that he was into some nasty shit, that his daddy covered a lot of stuff up.”
Aaron spat in the dirt. “I knew the little fucker, a few years back. Far as I’m concerned, whatever he got was less than he deserved.” His voice was venomous.
James and Dan glanced at the other man in surprise. “I’ve never heard you say a bad thing about another person, other than me, Aaron,” James exclaimed. “What...?”
“None of your business, McLeod,” Aaron snarled. “Leave it be. But the world’s a better place without that fucker in it, and that’s the Gods-honest truth.”
“Who’s that, Himmel?” a new voice demanded from above them. They glanced up to see their foreman, Henry, standing looking down at them.
“No one, sir,” Aaron replied sullenly.
Henry Chin looked like one of the famous Asian actors James vaguely recalled from the movies his father had once watched. He was lithe and well-muscled, and his hair was always impeccably groomed. He was also a vicious snake. His dark eyes stared coldly down at the trio in the trench. “The three of you have made better time than any of the other crews, but you’re still slacking. This trench has to be done today so they can pour the concrete footing tomorrow.”
“Today?” Dan exclaimed, looking at the markers that indicated where they had to dig. “Henry, seriously?”
Chin sneered at him. “Quit bitching and start digging, Ingram. If you hurry, you might be done by dark.” He turned and walked away, not seeing the one-finger salute Dan threw after him.
James sighed. It was going to be a long day.
“Huh,” Aaron commented thoughtfully, and James glanced over at his friend. “Looks like you pegged it, McLeod. We aren’t digging a hole. We’re building a fucking wall. And God help us if assholes like that are the ones standing on top of it.”
She had already taken her top off, and she gasped as the light came on, covering her naked breasts with her arms and turning away from him. “Jim! I’m getting changed!”
It wasn’t her breasts that caught his attention, however. It was the deep purple bruise across her neck and shoulders that made him get out of bed and walk over to where she stood. “Show me,” he said softly.
She knew what he meant, and shook her head, her body trembling.
“Brigitte, show me.”
Her shoulders slumped slightly, and she turned around to face him.
Her face was a mottled mask of bruises, and her lip was swollen. Her arms and chest bore similar livid discoloration. She stood there, her arms limp at her sides, head bowed, and she began to cry softly.
James wrapped her in a fierce hug. “Who?” he demanded.
“Jim...” she wept, reaching up to push at him, but he held her tightly.
“Tell me who, Brigitte,” he repeated firmly.
“A couple of soldiers,” she whispered. “The two that are usually at Graeme’s place. Tommy and Len. They just roughed me up a little. I’m okay,” she finished weakly.
James held his step-sister close. “You deserve better than this, Brigitte.”
She shook her head, but stopped struggling against him and instead returned the embrace. “It doesn’t matter, Jim,” she murmured at last. “They’re soldiers. I’m just lucky they didn’t...” she didn’t finish, but stood in trembling silence.
“Did this happen at Graeme’s?”
She didn’t say anything, but her sudden stillness told him everything.
“He let it happen, didn’t he?” James asked softly. “He stood there and let it happen.”
“Jim...” she began.
“No, Brigitte, don’t make excuses for him. Any man who...” he paused, and his eyes narrowed. He held her out at arms length and looked into her dark eyes. “Did he help them? Was he part of this?”
Brigitte looked away, uncomfortable. “He... he was a little drunk.”
Rage ripped through him, and he felt himself begin to shake. Very gently, he pulled Brigitte close to his chest. “Brigitte,” he said in a soft, icy voice, “I’m going to kill him for this.”
Brigitte gasped and pulled away. “Jim, no. You can’t.”
“I can. I will. Him and those cretins he associates with.”
She shook her head, her long dark hair flying around with her vehemence. “You can’t. He’s the son of an officer!”
James looked at the dark purple marks that marred her delicate skin. “I don’t care if he’s the fucking president. He’s a dead man.”
“Jim, you can’t do this. I don’t give a damn about Graeme or his buddies, but if you try to do something, they’ll kill you.” She turned away and wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
James touched her shoulder, very gently. “Look, sis...”
“Damn it, Jim! I’m not your sister! I don’t want to be your sister!” she snapped, spinning around to stare at him. At his hurt look, her expression softened and she reached out a tender hand to cup his cheek. “You don’t get it, do you? Oh, Jim. I don’t want you to get hurt because I don’t know what I would do without you. I don’t want Graeme. I want you.”
James stared at her for a moment, not quite certain he had heard correctly. Then his cheeks flushed. “Brigitte...”
“I’m not your sister, James. I’m not. I’m not Brigitte McLeod. I’m Brigitte Moulin,” she whispered, and James was suddenly very aware that she was only partially dressed. She smiled slightly at his stunned expression. “I have to admit, this isn’t quite how I envisioned things. I was hoping you would... I don’t know...”
He stared at her for a moment in utter silence, his blood pounding in his veins. How many nights had he dreamt of hearing that? How many times had he bit back what he wanted to say? How often had he told himself that she was forever out of his reach because of what his father had told a man in a tent over a decade before? He did the only thing he could.
He kissed her, fiercely, with all the passion he’d never been able to show before.
Then, before she could say anything else, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “I’m going to kill them.”
He’d fallen asleep reading, so he was still dressed. Before she could protest, James turned and left the room.
He had a job to do.
*
James blinked against the bright light streaming in through the patio window into the living room. Alyse, dressed in her uniform, was buttering a piece of bread and staring at the television screen across the room. A well-dressed news anchor was speaking solemnly into the camera while behind him were the pictures of three young men.
“The three men, identified as Corporal Leonard Williams and Private Thomas Kinter of the American Occupational Protection Force, and Graeme Palliser, the son of Colonel Ian Palliser...”
“Do you have to watch that crap?” James asked irritably, pouring himself a glass of water.
“What’s wrong with the news?” Alyse demanded, barely glancing up at him. “Just because most of it is garbage, doesn’t mean there aren’t some useful pieces of information. Did you see Brigitte last night? Did she come home?”
James nodded. “She came in late,” he told her.
“The police have not released details of the homicide, but have indicated that it could be a result of organized crime...”
Alyse shook her head. “Such a shame,” she murmured. “So young.”
Shrugging, James glanced up at the television. “They probably had it coming,” he muttered. “When do you have to head to work?”
Alyse glanced at the clock and squeaked softly. She grabbed the mug of coffee beside her and drank the remains in a single swift gulp. “Now,” she gasped, placing the cup in the sink.
James smiled slightly. “I’ll see you after I finish work,” he called to her as she rushed towards the door. “We’re starting a new project out at the Detention Center, so I might be a little late.”
His step-mother nodded and grabbed her jacket. “Take care, and don’t work too hard.” She waved to him and hurried out the door.
James turned and glanced at the television. The news anchor had moved on to a new subject, fortunately. He grimaced at the screen and picked up the remote. Just as he was about to turn it off, he paused and turned the volume up.
“...naval forces off the west coast of Vancouver Island. Government sources have indicated that the encounter was not hostile, but the US Naval Command has redirected several Destroyers and the Supercarrier USS Barack Obama to the region. Chinese Naval activity has increased in the Pacific Ocean in the last few months, causing speculation from several military strategists that China may be considering action against the United States.”
He stared at the screen in silence for a several minutes, his mind racing. The channel switched to a commercial break, the same ad gently reminding citizens to report any suspicious activity in their neighborhoods. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. If China declared its intention to become involved in the Canadian Liberation, it would change everything. It was something his father had mentioned, occasionally. He had always believed that China would wait out the conflict until the US had been weakened sufficiently to negotiate. While Canada was resource rich, his father had always thought that the Chinese were more interested in Asian expansion than in what he always called ‘European style neo-colonialism’. China wouldn’t want the resources in Canada, he had argued. Instead, they would threaten to enter the conflict when they could negotiate a collective ‘turning of the heads’ while they took over complete control of the Asian Pacific.
James laughed softly. His father had been spot on. With Russia and Britain firmly ensconced on Canadian soil, a solid threat against the US by an Eastern Power would effectively force the Americans into an untenable situation. They couldn’t fight China while their forces were busy against two European powers. It would result in either an escalation to nuclear war, or a negotiated peace, and the US had too much to lose to risk nuclear war. The US would threaten with their nukes, and someone would recommend negotiation. James saw the scenario play out in his mind. Russia would get permanent control of the Canadian arctic, Britain would obtain control of the eastern provinces, and the US would withdraw from the western provinces, leaving control in the hands of American sympathizers. China would take over most of Asia while the rest of the world turned a blind eye. The UN was a joke, especially considering that the permanent members of the UN Security Council included all four of the nations that would divvy up Canada and Asia...
Shaking his head, he flicked off the television. He gave China a week before they declared their intention to intervene in the American Occupation.
*
“You’re fucking nuts, McLeod,” the man beside him grumbled. “There is no way that China is going to get involved in this shit, let alone the rest of it.”
James laughed as he tossed a shovelful of dirt to the side. “Think what you want, Aaron, but China will declare its intention by the end of next week. The US will threaten nuclear retaliation. It’s going to happen.”
“Okay, genius,” one of the other men digging the trench commented, leaning on his shovel and gesturing at the deep hole they were in the process of digging. “If you’re so smart, what the hell are we doing here, digging a trench around the fucking Detention Center?”
James grimaced. “We aren’t building a trench, Dan. We’re building a wall. And it won’t just be around the Detention Center.”
Dan Ingram and Aaron Himmel were the closest thing James had to actual friends. They had been on the same construction crew for nearly four years, and they had gotten accustomed to James’ regular forays into speculation, as well as his frequent comments about how society needed to change. They usually paid him as little mind as he did to their regular stories about the women they had been with and the things they were going to do once the war ended.
Dan’s jaw dropped. “A wall?” he demanded, and then he laughed. “You are nuts, McLeod. How exactly do you see a wall in this? We’re digging a fucking hole.”
James glowered at the older man. “Look at the lines, Dan. We have to go exactly three feet four inches across and exactly twenty-five feet long. That would make the section we’re working on one yard wide – with four inches built in for the wood support – and eight yards long, with a bit of room at the ends for supporting structures. With a wall that size, they need it a deep enough to lay a solid concrete footing. I’m guessing it will be a brick wall, but they might use cinderblock. From the depth we’ve been told to dig, it’s going to be ten, maybe twelve feet high.”
Dan stared at him for a moment, and Aaron grunted and planted his shovel. “Wall or trench,” Aaron muttered, adjusting his hat. “Don’t really matter to me. It pays the rent.”
“You say that now,” James commented softly. “But wait until you’re on the wrong side of the wall.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dan demanded.
James stuck his spade in the dirt and wiped his brow. “Walls are built to either keep people out of someplace, or to keep them in. Right now, I’d say this one is being built to keep people in. I’m betting that there will be other walls put up before too long, though the cost of this one will probably make whoever’s in charge decide to go with chain-link in the future. Maybe razor-wire.”
“You make it sound like they’re building a prison, McLeod,” Dan chuckled.
James looked over at the shorter man, but said nothing. Instead he simply went back to digging.
Aaron frowned for a moment, and then shook his head. “Don’t matter,” he growled. “I’m just doin’ my job.”
James snorted softly at the statement, but chose to hold his tongue. It never paid to compare what your friends said to what soldiers involved in genocides always claimed.
They worked for a while in silence. It was one of the reasons that the three of them had remained on the same work crew for so long. All three of them were diligent workers. Their foreman, Henry Chin, had often commented on how he needed to change up the work crews because so many of his labourers slacked off. Henry knew better than to change the dynamic of their crew, however. The three of them accomplished more together than any other crew out there. While they chatted a bit, here and there, they never let it interfere with their work.
“Alright, McLeod...” Dan finally muttered, pausing to grab his water bottle. “Let’s say you’re right and the Chinks declare war...”
“The Chinese won’t declare war, Dan. They’ll announce their intention to support Britain and Russia in the ‘ongoing effort to liberate Canada from forced American Occupation.’ They don’t want a war with the US any more than the US wants to fight them.” James grabbed his own bottle and washed some of the dirt from his mouth. “They just want to force the Americans to the table.”
“For what?” Aaron asked. “If they don’t want to fight...”
“Wars aren’t about fighting, Aaron,” James muttered. “They aren’t about proving who’s got the better army or the best ships. Countries fight wars for one very basic reason: self-interest. China has the biggest population in the world, and their resources can’t support their population. They need to expand their sphere of influence; they need more space.”
“So what, they’ll invade Canada too?” Dan laughed.
“Not Canada,” James replied soberly. “We’re too far away to make expansion practical. They want the rest of Asia, and if it means that the US doesn’t have to resort to nuclear weapons, the UN will gladly give it to them.”
The other two stared at him for a moment. “Nuclear weapons?” Dan whispered. “You think it will come to that?”
“That’s America’s fallback,” James answered. “They won’t use them, but they’ll threaten to. China is probably counting on it. They know that the US can’t keep this up for much longer. This war is costing American taxpayers a lot of money, even though it doesn’t look like much is actually happening. If China enters the conflict now, there’s no way short of nuclear attack that the US can defend itself. China has the biggest military in the world. The US is already fighting on two fronts. The Americans will threaten China, China will threaten the US, and the UN will step in and politely ask everyone to take a step back, that surely there must be some way to resolve this issue short of nuclear war. China will make demands, the US will set terms, and everyone will walk away a winner... except us and whichever poor bastards China decides are on its agenda.”
Dan whistled softly, but then glanced over at James, his expression slightly confused. “And what about us? Won’t that mean that the US has to withdraw?”
James shrugged and picked up his shovel. “Probably, but they’ve had the last twelve years to set the people they want, people that support them, in positions of power. Things will have new names, but shit smells the same, no matter what you call it.”
Aaron shook his head and started digging again. “You may have thought this out, McLeod, but I still think you’re fucking nuts.”
James grinned at him. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m also right.”
Aaron grimaced and hurled more dirt out of the trench. “We’ll see, I guess.”
“Did you guys hear about what happened to that Palliser kid?” Dan asked, changing the subject.
James rolled his eyes. “There was something about it on the news this morning. Some kind of gang shit...”
“They found him and two soldiers beaten to death in Palliser’s home,” Dan told them, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “They say that Palliser had his balls cut off and stuffed in his mouth.”
Aaron choked for a moment, and then laughed out loud. “That’s a ballsy thing to do.”
James smiled slightly at the quip, but then shook his head. “I bet shit’s going to fly over that. Isn’t his old man a big-wig with the American military?”
Dan nodded. “A full bird colonel,” he confirmed. “I wonder what the fuck he was into to have someone do that?”
James swore as his shovel slammed into a buried stone. He shook his head. “Sounds like he pissed the wrong person off,” he observed. “Drugs?”
“Dunno,” Dan shrugged. “Could have been, I guess. I heard that he was into some nasty shit, that his daddy covered a lot of stuff up.”
Aaron spat in the dirt. “I knew the little fucker, a few years back. Far as I’m concerned, whatever he got was less than he deserved.” His voice was venomous.
James and Dan glanced at the other man in surprise. “I’ve never heard you say a bad thing about another person, other than me, Aaron,” James exclaimed. “What...?”
“None of your business, McLeod,” Aaron snarled. “Leave it be. But the world’s a better place without that fucker in it, and that’s the Gods-honest truth.”
“Who’s that, Himmel?” a new voice demanded from above them. They glanced up to see their foreman, Henry, standing looking down at them.
“No one, sir,” Aaron replied sullenly.
Henry Chin looked like one of the famous Asian actors James vaguely recalled from the movies his father had once watched. He was lithe and well-muscled, and his hair was always impeccably groomed. He was also a vicious snake. His dark eyes stared coldly down at the trio in the trench. “The three of you have made better time than any of the other crews, but you’re still slacking. This trench has to be done today so they can pour the concrete footing tomorrow.”
“Today?” Dan exclaimed, looking at the markers that indicated where they had to dig. “Henry, seriously?”
Chin sneered at him. “Quit bitching and start digging, Ingram. If you hurry, you might be done by dark.” He turned and walked away, not seeing the one-finger salute Dan threw after him.
James sighed. It was going to be a long day.
“Huh,” Aaron commented thoughtfully, and James glanced over at his friend. “Looks like you pegged it, McLeod. We aren’t digging a hole. We’re building a fucking wall. And God help us if assholes like that are the ones standing on top of it.”