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GWOT VI - Good Samaritan
GWOT VI - Good Samaritan
"If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him." - Lin Chi, Zen master
The first thing that caught his attention about the girl was that she was naked.
He couldn't help that. But he had to look. She might have a weapon. Or be spotting for bandits.
She was naked, and bruised all over, and wild-eyed. But her frame was that of a young woman, not a child, and she had the muscles of an athlete.
She also had marks around her neck, thin red lines that made it look like someone had tried to strangle her.
He leveled his rifle.
"Who are you?"
She looked at him. Said slowly, unavoidably spitting a little blood.
"You have the advantage of me, sir."
"I'm afraid I do. These are bad times. I live here. You?"
"Passing through. Do you have a phone?"
He cocked his head. His wife was already on the phone to the Sheriff, who wouldn't come out.
Not at night. Not in Iowa. Not anymore.
"Yes. Who would you call?"
"Someone who will reward you richly."
He shook his head, and motioned with the rifle for her to keep her distance.
"No use for money. No use for games either. Who are you?"
"Corporal Sarah McConnell, 15th California. MP brigade."
He backed away hastily and made sure the rifle was pointed at her.
"Can't blame a girl for trying," she said next.
He'd come within half a second of having his rifle taken away from him. His own damn fault, for thinking she couldn't be a threat.
"Now, sir, my unit will be looking for me. If you help me, we will find a way to make it right. If you let me alone, I suppose we'll let you alone."
The threat was unstated.
"Be on your way, Corporal," he said at last. A pause. "Stock tank water's clean."
She turned for the stock tank.
She was not naked. She was unclothed. He could see the difference. And the deeper red marks on her buttocks.
He walked back to his truck, not taking his eyes off for fear she would turn back.
Rummaged a bit in the back, amid the tools and tarps and wire. Found a towel, found a shirt. Cursed himself, opened his first aid kit, removed some bandages, put them in his pocket. Thought about it. Added a roll of duct tape.
He walked halfway towards the stock tank. Held up the items, before her wary gaze. Put them down on the dirt.
Walked back to the truck. Started it. Backed up slowly, to make a wide sweeping turn around.
The lights warned him, even before he heard the music.
Soldiers of God patrol.
Big jacked up pickup trucks, approaching.
He stopped. Avoiding them was the same as running, which was the same as fighting and the same as death.
But he could die for harboring. And his family, too.
He rolled down his window and turned off his headlights as he waited. Turned on the interior light, so the Soldiers of God could see him clearly. Made sure his rifle was on the passenger seat, out of reach.
They turned down the music as they approached.
"Evening," the patrol leader said. A big burly man in the unmarked uniform of the Soldiers of God. But he had a collar.
"Evening, Reverend."
"Looking for trouble."
"Reverend?"
"A girl. Naked. Seen her?"
"No, Reverend. What do I do if I find her?"
"Shoot her. She killed two of my men. Then call us."
He nodded.
"Go home, farmer. We've got this."
He did as he was bid. The trucks spread out, on their search. Fortunately the ground was dry, not muddy.
Behind him, the night lit in fire. The world roared.
"GET OUT OF THE TRUCK!" the loudspeaker ordered. "DO IT NOW. LIE ON THE GROUND."
He again did as he was bid.
The Reverend was in the grip of a black and a Hispanic, both in patterned uniforms.
The Reverend's men were dead or dying.
"Use wire, save the zip ties," a tall lean man called to the soldiers trussing the dying. His collar winkled gold in the reflected light of the burning Christian trucks.
"Reverend. I am Major 18. What is your church?"
He spat.
"We are all Christians. You are a heathen and a heretic!"
"Pagan, actually. Reverend. You did not answer me. If you do, I will burn your church to the ground."
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because I will burn the nearest THREE churches to the ground if you do not. Tell me, Reverend, are you a Godly man? A Christian man? Save your neighbors if you are, for you will not save your own. Or yourself."
The Reverend tried to spit again, but his mouth was dry.
They pressed his hands against an electronic device, which beeped.
"Reverend. 1st Pentacostal House." A touch of another device. "Seven miles north north west. Excellent."
"We have computers too. You have family in California!"
"Actually, I don't. And if I did, Homeland would have taken care of that for me. And done me a favor to boot."
The Californian officer with the oak leaves, the Major, took off his left glove, held up his hand.
Ruined. Fingernails missing.
Slapped the Reverend with it.
"Three churches burn because you lack faith, Reverend. Any words for your neighbors, the ones you doomed for simple lack of Christian charity?"
"Fuck you."
"And that is why we will win, and you will lose. Reverend, as the commanding officer of California forces in the field, I find you guilty of the capital rape and murder of a California soldier, Sarah McConnell. The penalty is death. The sentence is immediate."
The Major looked around. There were no trees nearby. But there was the windmill for the stock tank. And a rope with tied noose hanging ostentatiously from the side of the gun truck.
"She's alive," the farmer found himself blurting.
"What?" the Major said, as the Reverend cursed and started cursing the farmer's soul.
With horror, he realized that he had not saved the Reverend … but had instead doomed his own family.
The Major motioned to his men. They beat the Reverend mercilessly and dragged him away some little distance. Then the Major approached the farmer.
"Where?"
"Nearby. Likely under the stock tank."
"California Republic!" called a female voice as rifles turned, proving him wrong.
"Out slow and careful," barked another female voice. "We will shoot."
"I know," Sarah said with her hands high in the air, as she got out of the back of the farmer's pickup.
"Corporal, you are out of uniform," the Major said mildly. "Report to the medic."
"Sir," she saluted crisply, and did so.
The Major considered the farmer carefully, motioned his men to return the Reverend. Made a slight shooing motion left and right, which caused the soldiers on either side of the prisoner to spread out, while still not letting go.
"Reverend. This man tried to save your life, at some risk. What should I do with him?"
"He is a traitor to the Church and a traitor to Iowa. Kill him!"
The Major sighed, drew his pistol with his good hand and shot the Reverend twice in the head.
"If you had said to let him go, I would have let you go," he said sadly to the corpse.
"No churches will burn today. Nor will your home. These men, these bandits, pay for all with their lives. Element, attention to orders. For capital rape, unlawful combatants, take their names, kill them now."
His men spread out. One of the wounded screamed until the pain woke him up enough to admit his name, then the gunshot ended his pain forever.
"Farmer. Nothing happened here. You were held at gunpoint. I killed all these men. I let you go. Go home. Tell no one."
Wearing someone else's uniform pants and the farmer's old shirt, Corporal McConnell interposed herself.
"Major, I promised him reward if he helped me."
"He didn't. Because nothing happened."
She saluted.
"Yes, sir."
"Leave your truck and your rifle. Walk home. And thank what Gods you believe in, every day for the rest of your days. Go now."
###
The Sheriff came at dawn with his posse. Of Christians.
They buried their dead, who had already been stripped by their killers.
They asked close questions of the farmer. They searched his truck. Searched his home. Threatened his family. Apologized. They had to be sure.
Then they left.
The farmer went back out to the truck, to finish driving it home.
It took him a moment to realize, the gas had been a quarter from empty.
Now it was full.
"If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him." - Lin Chi, Zen master
The first thing that caught his attention about the girl was that she was naked.
He couldn't help that. But he had to look. She might have a weapon. Or be spotting for bandits.
She was naked, and bruised all over, and wild-eyed. But her frame was that of a young woman, not a child, and she had the muscles of an athlete.
She also had marks around her neck, thin red lines that made it look like someone had tried to strangle her.
He leveled his rifle.
"Who are you?"
She looked at him. Said slowly, unavoidably spitting a little blood.
"You have the advantage of me, sir."
"I'm afraid I do. These are bad times. I live here. You?"
"Passing through. Do you have a phone?"
He cocked his head. His wife was already on the phone to the Sheriff, who wouldn't come out.
Not at night. Not in Iowa. Not anymore.
"Yes. Who would you call?"
"Someone who will reward you richly."
He shook his head, and motioned with the rifle for her to keep her distance.
"No use for money. No use for games either. Who are you?"
"Corporal Sarah McConnell, 15th California. MP brigade."
He backed away hastily and made sure the rifle was pointed at her.
"Can't blame a girl for trying," she said next.
He'd come within half a second of having his rifle taken away from him. His own damn fault, for thinking she couldn't be a threat.
"Now, sir, my unit will be looking for me. If you help me, we will find a way to make it right. If you let me alone, I suppose we'll let you alone."
The threat was unstated.
"Be on your way, Corporal," he said at last. A pause. "Stock tank water's clean."
She turned for the stock tank.
She was not naked. She was unclothed. He could see the difference. And the deeper red marks on her buttocks.
He walked back to his truck, not taking his eyes off for fear she would turn back.
Rummaged a bit in the back, amid the tools and tarps and wire. Found a towel, found a shirt. Cursed himself, opened his first aid kit, removed some bandages, put them in his pocket. Thought about it. Added a roll of duct tape.
He walked halfway towards the stock tank. Held up the items, before her wary gaze. Put them down on the dirt.
Walked back to the truck. Started it. Backed up slowly, to make a wide sweeping turn around.
The lights warned him, even before he heard the music.
Soldiers of God patrol.
Big jacked up pickup trucks, approaching.
He stopped. Avoiding them was the same as running, which was the same as fighting and the same as death.
But he could die for harboring. And his family, too.
He rolled down his window and turned off his headlights as he waited. Turned on the interior light, so the Soldiers of God could see him clearly. Made sure his rifle was on the passenger seat, out of reach.
They turned down the music as they approached.
"Evening," the patrol leader said. A big burly man in the unmarked uniform of the Soldiers of God. But he had a collar.
"Evening, Reverend."
"Looking for trouble."
"Reverend?"
"A girl. Naked. Seen her?"
"No, Reverend. What do I do if I find her?"
"Shoot her. She killed two of my men. Then call us."
He nodded.
"Go home, farmer. We've got this."
He did as he was bid. The trucks spread out, on their search. Fortunately the ground was dry, not muddy.
Behind him, the night lit in fire. The world roared.
"GET OUT OF THE TRUCK!" the loudspeaker ordered. "DO IT NOW. LIE ON THE GROUND."
He again did as he was bid.
The Reverend was in the grip of a black and a Hispanic, both in patterned uniforms.
The Reverend's men were dead or dying.
"Use wire, save the zip ties," a tall lean man called to the soldiers trussing the dying. His collar winkled gold in the reflected light of the burning Christian trucks.
"Reverend. I am Major 18. What is your church?"
He spat.
"We are all Christians. You are a heathen and a heretic!"
"Pagan, actually. Reverend. You did not answer me. If you do, I will burn your church to the ground."
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because I will burn the nearest THREE churches to the ground if you do not. Tell me, Reverend, are you a Godly man? A Christian man? Save your neighbors if you are, for you will not save your own. Or yourself."
The Reverend tried to spit again, but his mouth was dry.
They pressed his hands against an electronic device, which beeped.
"Reverend. 1st Pentacostal House." A touch of another device. "Seven miles north north west. Excellent."
"We have computers too. You have family in California!"
"Actually, I don't. And if I did, Homeland would have taken care of that for me. And done me a favor to boot."
The Californian officer with the oak leaves, the Major, took off his left glove, held up his hand.
Ruined. Fingernails missing.
Slapped the Reverend with it.
"Three churches burn because you lack faith, Reverend. Any words for your neighbors, the ones you doomed for simple lack of Christian charity?"
"Fuck you."
"And that is why we will win, and you will lose. Reverend, as the commanding officer of California forces in the field, I find you guilty of the capital rape and murder of a California soldier, Sarah McConnell. The penalty is death. The sentence is immediate."
The Major looked around. There were no trees nearby. But there was the windmill for the stock tank. And a rope with tied noose hanging ostentatiously from the side of the gun truck.
"She's alive," the farmer found himself blurting.
"What?" the Major said, as the Reverend cursed and started cursing the farmer's soul.
With horror, he realized that he had not saved the Reverend … but had instead doomed his own family.
The Major motioned to his men. They beat the Reverend mercilessly and dragged him away some little distance. Then the Major approached the farmer.
"Where?"
"Nearby. Likely under the stock tank."
"California Republic!" called a female voice as rifles turned, proving him wrong.
"Out slow and careful," barked another female voice. "We will shoot."
"I know," Sarah said with her hands high in the air, as she got out of the back of the farmer's pickup.
"Corporal, you are out of uniform," the Major said mildly. "Report to the medic."
"Sir," she saluted crisply, and did so.
The Major considered the farmer carefully, motioned his men to return the Reverend. Made a slight shooing motion left and right, which caused the soldiers on either side of the prisoner to spread out, while still not letting go.
"Reverend. This man tried to save your life, at some risk. What should I do with him?"
"He is a traitor to the Church and a traitor to Iowa. Kill him!"
The Major sighed, drew his pistol with his good hand and shot the Reverend twice in the head.
"If you had said to let him go, I would have let you go," he said sadly to the corpse.
"No churches will burn today. Nor will your home. These men, these bandits, pay for all with their lives. Element, attention to orders. For capital rape, unlawful combatants, take their names, kill them now."
His men spread out. One of the wounded screamed until the pain woke him up enough to admit his name, then the gunshot ended his pain forever.
"Farmer. Nothing happened here. You were held at gunpoint. I killed all these men. I let you go. Go home. Tell no one."
Wearing someone else's uniform pants and the farmer's old shirt, Corporal McConnell interposed herself.
"Major, I promised him reward if he helped me."
"He didn't. Because nothing happened."
She saluted.
"Yes, sir."
"Leave your truck and your rifle. Walk home. And thank what Gods you believe in, every day for the rest of your days. Go now."
###
The Sheriff came at dawn with his posse. Of Christians.
They buried their dead, who had already been stripped by their killers.
They asked close questions of the farmer. They searched his truck. Searched his home. Threatened his family. Apologized. They had to be sure.
Then they left.
The farmer went back out to the truck, to finish driving it home.
It took him a moment to realize, the gas had been a quarter from empty.
Now it was full.