REV, PART IV

By Michael Shay

Pale Horse is our emblem, the Third Army of the Apocalypse in the Armies of God's Republic. We wear the emblem on our sleeves, right under the flag patch with its white cross surrounded by a sea of 56 stars on a blue field, adjacent to its red and white stripes ("red for the blood the Redeemer shed for our sins," says REV). On my other sleeve are sergeant's chevrons. This is a war with many casualties and quick promotions.

And me, just another grunt in a long line of draftees dating back to the Civil War. My great-granddad told me tales of Vietnam. My granddad was hauled into the ill-fated Arabian Gulf Wars. Then came the HIV plagues and then The Great Purge of the New Millennium. My dad fought in the First New Crusade. Now here we are, waist-deep in the Third New Crusade, sponsored by Americorp, part of "The Trinity of U.S. Companies" ("On earth to serve the Lord -- and you," boasts the vid ads).

Today, we take a breather on the road to Kandahar. "Infidels suffer defeat on every front," warbles the anchorman on the Americorp Channel. And more news. The Boer Army is in Addis Ababa. The Second Army of the Apocalypse (Red Horse is their emblem) is pushing toward Bahrain. The Fourth ("The Bloody Fourth," after that mess in Cairo) is fending off a Libyan counter-attack on Tripoli. The Israelis are getting the upper hand in Syria. The EEC United Army is in Tunis. The Vatican troops are in prison; the pope under house arrest. The White Russians are busy with the Uzbeks and the Kazakhs and we won't be hearing from them for a while. All quiet in Pan-Asia. So says the Americorp Channel.

"I guess we'll be home by Christmas after all," says Bender the optimist, looking up from his vid screen.

"And I'm Santa Claus," I say. "Ho, ho, ho."

"Be careful," says Bender, eyeing the soldiers setting up the mess tent. "You know Santa's on The List."

"I know," I say. "I had to memorize it in Basic just like you. 'Satan's List: A is for abortion, B is for books, C is for Catholic, D is for doubt...' "

" 'S is for saints and Santa Claus.' So cool it."

"I'll cool it." Hard to do, with these hot desert winds whipping off the dunes and water strictly rationed. "Where's Smith?" I ask.

"Said she wanted to take a walk," Bender says, pulling dried applies from a ration pouch. "Funny kid."

"How so?"

"Likes to take walks."

"Hah! Hasn't been in the army long enough. Give her time."

"Maybe so. But she's kind of a loner, like you."

I turn to look at Bender. "Loner? Me? Mr. Congeniality?"

He laughs, tossing another shriveled fruit in his mouth. "She goes into the tent and prays for hours and hours." Bender's moon face gets serious. "Other day I thought I heard her say something about the Virgin Mary."

"Spying on our new guy, Bender? I thought that was what she was sent here for?"

"That kid? A spook? You gotta be kidding. Besides, I just happened to be coming into the tent while she was praying, that's all."

"Maybe she was dictating a vidfax to a friend. 'Dear Mary: I'm still a virgin.' " I laugh, but Bender doesn't join in.

"The Virgin's an icon -- it's on..."

"I know. It's on The List."

"The List is important."

I nod. "I know, Bender, I know. I'll keep my eye on her. If I notice any backsliding, we'll nail her."

"Rivet her, you mean?" A sly smile breaks out on Bender's normally placid face. He laughs. I join in. "You're sick, Bender, you know that?"

"I know it. I really do."

* * *

The next day we're up and moving before dawn. The first wave of infantry had smashed through the muja line and we have to follow their advance.

We're moving fast, the ATV we hitched a ride on leaving a wake of dust. The ATV behind us ducks in and out of our wake like a dappled gray ghost. Squat body, fat, knobby tires, cockpit for the driver and gunner. They're ugly contraptions, but functional, especially in these deserts. There's a half-dozen other grunts back here with us. They're Ordnance guys -- boomers, we call 'em. We ride on top of cases of artillery shells. Makes me nervous. I'm used to crosses.

"The Rangers have broken through the Kandahar perimeter," says Smith, nodding at her WristBib. I do wonder about her commitment to the cause. Her green eyes are clear and sharp. She speaks well, which may mean she's a reader. I have no way of checking this out, since we readers are isolated, with only our vidbooks for solace. "How far to Kandahar?" she asks.

"Thirty miles, I figure," I say.

She nods, as if the info means something to her. She may be calculating the miles in Illinois distance, where 30 miles means something totally different. I know we could be covering these same 30 miles for a month -- or longer.

She settles against the bulkhead of the ATV and I ogle my WristBib. The story was "Touched With Fire." It began, "They stood in the blazing sunlight for a long time." The ATV whines and a buzz of voices comes from the grunts huddled toward the cockpit. I read on, knowing what happens next, but I relish rediscovering it.

Smith shifts next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I see a glint of metal fall from her pocket, followed by a flash of black and silver. I look up from my book to see it click on Smith's knee, then clatter to the metal top of the ammo box. The clump of crucifix and beads sits there, like a snake ready to strike. That's how Smith stares at it, as if it was a poisonous snake. Then slowly, she looks up at me and she can see I know a rosary when I see one, that I know the trappings of a Papist and that she prays to the trinity and the saints and the holy virgin. Her eyes are as wide as the desert. She sits so still in the bucking ATV that a fly swoops in and makes a home on her freckled nose.

"What was that?" asks Bender.

"You drop something, soldier?" I ask Smith, even though I know what it is.

Bender eases off his ammo box and tries to get a peek. I do what I have to do; with a toss of my wrist, I reach over and knock the crucifix between the boxes, away from Bender's line of sight.

"Smith!" I yell, summoning outrage. "Don't you know anything?"

"What?" she asks.

"The dog tags go around your neck, not in your pocket!" I roll my eyes; shake my head.

Bender smirks, and settles back onto his perch.

"New guys," says one of the Ordnance guys up front, shaking her head. "Don't know shit from Shinola." All the Ordnance grunts laugh and Smith turns red.

"Watch your language," says Bender.

Smith bends over to retrieve her rosary and I yell, "Leave 'em where they are soldier. You can get those tags when we set up camp tonight and you police this vehicle and all the others."

"Yes sir," she says. She looks at me strangely, probably wondering about my motives.

"Yes sergeant."

"Yes sergeant," she says.

Bender looks over and winks at me. I wink back, but wonder if I've bought some trouble.

Go to Part V of REV