Anatomy of a Rebellion

Chapter 25

Failure and Forgiveness

Despite the pounding headache that he had developed, Warren was able to expertly navigate his way through the dark back to his home. It was a path he had taken a hundred times or more in his lifetime. Quietly, he opened his front door and carefully closed it so as not to wake any of his family. Back in the warmth of his house, he heaved a heavy sigh and tried to relax. Once again he navigated the darkness, this time to his bedroom, where he expected to see his wife enjoying a good night's rest.

She wasn't, however. Instead, she stood cradling their infant son in her arms and he heard her coo to him softly. He did not want to disturb the sight; something about it eased his mind. He felt great pride inside his chest - pride as a father and a husband. Delicately the moonlight swooped in through the window and cascaded a brilliant tint throughout the room.

Lunar light illuminated his wife and allowed her motherly smile to glow brighter than ever. At least, that's what he had always believed. For a moment he could recall expertly the first time he had ever seen her under the moonlight. He was just a boy, unknowing of what love was or what marriage meant, but he certainly knew she was beautiful. As they matured, he discovered he had probably loved her since that moment, and he was fortunate enough to have that love manifest into marriage and family.

Now that he was older, he felt as though there was no sight more beautiful than his wife cradling their child in her arms under the watchful eye of an autumn moon. He allowed himself the pleasure of observing that beauty just a minute longer while he rest at doorway. He could have done so forever, but Lindsey had rocked Thomas to sleep and she was in need of some rest. She placed him back into his crib and watched him just a few more seconds before letting out a tired sigh.

When she turned around another sound escaped her lips. This time, it was a quiet, surprised squeal. At first she hadn't recognized her husband, as the light provided only so much assistance. It caused Warren to laugh a bit under his breath. He asked, "Haven't you seen me enough times in the dark?"

"You snuck up on me," she said. Her exhaustion became evident when she approached him. Shuffling her feet, it seemed to take her an eternity to reach him. Or perhaps that was just his anxiousness skewing the passage of time.

Her speed increased dramatically when she saw a dark splotch on his cheek. Like lightening her hand shot to the light switch beside Warren; he caught her wrist and carefully brought it back to her side. There was no sound of fight from her and no strained movements. She just accepted his silent command.

"You're weak," he said. It was laced with concern and a string of anger. She didn't know how to respond. Lovingly, he ran his hand from her wrist to her elbow. With little effort, he pulled her into his embrace. His hands ran up and down her back, feeling each inch of her body. "Haven't you been eating? My God, you feel like you've lost twenty pounds!"

Finally, she realized he wasn't angry with her, just worried. Her arms returned the gesture and his hands stopped their roaming long enough to squeeze her entire body against his. A light kiss was placed on her temple, and he enjoyed the sweet taste of something other than blood for a fleeting moment. He whispered into her ear, "You're not sick are you? I'm sorry I haven't noticed. I'm so sorry."

He was shaking; his voice was uneven and his body trembled heavily against hers. She couldn't help but giggle at his antics. Sometimes, his passion for her was too much and it caused him to act like a small child. Crying over not noticing her weight, for example, seemed like a silly thing to her. She answered, "I'm not sick, and there's nothing for you to apologize over."

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "You don't have enough to eat, isn't that it?"

"It's okay," she whispered. "As long as the kids are eating all they want, we'll be fine. Don't you agree?"

He pulled away and violently shook his head. He argued, "You're no use to our children if you're not healthy. Tell me what I need to do to make sure we have enough to eat. Do I need to take up a second job? I know that being a Minister doesn't pay well…"

There was more for him to say but she pressed her finger against his lips. Silenced, he could only listen to her without argument. "Sweetie, it's just not possible. Where would you get a second job? And once you have that, where would you buy food? Everything's being rationed. It will be this way until migrant workers return and the drought ends. We just have to survive. It'll be tough for a family our size but we can manage."

"Oh, my God, this is my fault," he mumbled. "If I hadn't pressured you into having another kid. I'm so sorry."

It was true that she had hesitated to go for a fifth child when economic difficulties and war seemed to be suffocating the country. Yet she never felt pressured, and found the statement offensive at best. Warren failed to notice the step back she took.

Her tone changed from a comforting wife to a stern woman. "Do you regret Thomas?" she asked. Warren was so shocked at such a question he had no time to answer. "Because I don't. And if you think my weight is more important than ensuring our kids get fed then you married the wrong woman."

He smiled; he wouldn't have expected her to react any other way. The smile was evident when he spoke, "I don't regret Thomas or any of our children. I don't. And you're beautiful, you're weight doesn't matter. But you're health does. Our family won't be complete if you're sick. I wouldn't be complete. I love you."

Finally, he kissed her. He had been waiting as patiently as he could since he first arrived home. Seeing her all worked up over their infant son pushed him over. It started innocent enough; reminiscent of their first kiss, he hesitantly and softly pressed his lips against hers. He watched her facial features carefully and took joy in watching her relax completely.

So badly he wanted to just let their love consume them. However, he had forgotten about the hole in his lip. Harshly he was reminded of it when a cute little nibble from his wife caught the wound. A sudden taste of blood caused her to worry, but she didn't withdraw until she heard a noise from Warren's throat that sounded unusual. Her hand returned to the light switch and flipped on the bedroom light.

"Oh my God!"

Part of his face was covered by his hands, which covered his mouth as the blood began to flow freely again. The rest was there for her to see; his eye was almost swollen shut, the bruising on his cheek had covered the entire left side of his face, and the fall against the rocks had cut his head open. The sudden burst of light caused his head to ache so much he swayed a bit. Lindsey stabilized him.

He refused to make eye contact when he answered the unasked question. "I got into a fight," he said. "I… hit my son. I hit Royal."

"Royal did this to you!" she shrieked in disbelief.

Their conversation was cut short when the phone on their dresser rang. Warren had to stretch a little, but it was within his reach. After two quick rings, he had answered with a heavy, "Hello?... Yes, what is it?... I'll be there in ten minutes." He tossed the phone back onto the receiver and told Lindsey, "I'm going to the high school. I'll be back."

He hurried out without a kiss or an "I love you." His head hurt to the point where such things slipped his mind.

Wallace was the one who had called him. One of McGill's men had come to him and asked that he go to the high school gymnasium. When he arrived, he saw that a wrestling mat had been pulled out and two soldiers were practicing self-defense moves. That was the way he had perceived it as, anyway. It wasn't until he recognized one of them as McGill, with a newly fitted splint, did he realize why the soldier had rushed him there. By the time he had arrived a crowd was growing. No one seemed willing to step in.

So he called Warren, needing his mediation skills. When he returned to the gym from making the call, he caught the sight of McGill landing harshly on her back. That was at least the seventh time he had seen that happen to her. The man she was fighting – Goldwin – was not at all interested in hurting her.

As she heaved heavy breaths on the floor, the pain evident in her face, he too caught his own breath. He begged, "Please Corporal McGill. Let's stop this. We've been doing this for hours."

Somehow, she got up and charged him. He had noticed she was a formidable fighter and even with a broken leg she would be difficult to defeat. She stood no match against Goldwin, however, who had been training since he was old enough to walk. Mainly, he parried and dodged. Only when she seemed winded did he throw her to the ground.

"Man, she is going to kill herself," Boomerang commented. "I tried to f**k it out of her, but I guess I'm just a boy in her eyes."

"You should have let me handle her," Roo joked.

"Did she say anything in particular to you?" Wallace asked Boomerang.

The youngster had to think about it. "Hmm," he mused out loud. "Not that I can remember. She was really angry about something, though."

Once more Goldwin slammed McGill to the ground. This time, her broken leg took the majority of the impact. An obvious cry of pain escaped her lips and it looked like she wouldn't be getting back up. Goldwin took a knee beside her, wiped the sweat from his own forehead, and brought his breathing back to normal.

"Corporal," he said to her, his voice stern. "Enough. I can't allow you the pleasure of beating yourself up any longer. A soldier knows they need to be in immaculate shape in order to provide the best assistance to the team. If you permanently damage your body then what good are you?"

It was then that Warren arrived. He did not know McGill as well as he knew others that served with Percy. There was no purpose for him to be there, so why did Wallace call him in the first place? With a heavy sigh he entered the gymnasium. Wallace was the first to notice him and greeted him with a frown. "The hell happened to your face?" he asked. Warren waved him off.

"We'll discuss it later. What's going on here?" Warren inquired.

"That's what I'm trying to find out. Jennifer shouldn't even be walking. I can't imagine what has her so worked up." Wallace said. He carried a scowl on his face when he spoke. Warren knew this was something that greatly frustrated and worried Wallace. The Minister felt his willingness to help increase tenfold when he realized it was important to his friend.

He approached the scene with silent footsteps. No one greeted him, no one questioned him; he floated to the wrestling mat and rested at McGill's side. He took a seat on his rear and casually crossed his legs, propped his elbow on his knee and held his chin. It was time for him to listen, not to lecture; it was time for him to learn, not to teach. Inside he laughed. If only he could figure out how to do that with his own son, maybe his face wouldn't hurt so badly.

"So," he started awkwardly and quietly. "You're going to have to explain to me why a young woman like yourself is being voluntarily thrown around a wrestling mat."

A weird noise escaped McGill's throat, something in between a sigh, swallow and sob. Goldwin succumbed to his own exhaustion and fell backwards; Warren wasn't even sure if he was still awake. That didn't matter however, as his entire conscious was focused on McGill. Whatever she said and however she said it was all Warren cared about. To him, being a good listener meant catching and understanding the undertones of every word uttered – and even the ones that weren't.

It took a few moments but McGill did eventually speak. "It's hard to explain," she said with her eyes focused on the gymnasium's ceiling. "I don't understand why I get so upset over something that happened a few years ago. I thought I had forgiven him…"

Warren allowed her to trail off into silence. He knew she would continue when she was ready to explain in more detail. Instead it was Wallace who decided to pressure her. He strolled quickly to the mat, knelt, and said, "You have to get over it Corporal. So you got screwed by the system? That s**t happens."

Warren shot him a glare but Wallace expertly waved it off. "I was screwed by the entire organization," she said. Venom was thick in her a voice and her emotions were again bubbling to the surface. "Sergeant Trout knew that man was lying, but when the trial was over, he said to me, 'That's what you get for being a woman.' f**k him."

"The hell are you talking about?" Wallace asked. "Did that asshole punish you just because you're a girl? So you punched a guy for talking smack about pilots, a man would have done the same."

Her eyes darted away from the ceiling, met with Wallace's just long enough to send an annoyed expression and say, "I punched him because he r***d me," and then went back to the ceiling.

There was no need to see Wallace reel back, as Warren was fairly positive he felt his friend react. It was as though Wallace had somehow managed to shift the entire world by the force of his own surprise. In fact, upon hearing the confession, Warren did not look at McGill, but instead found himself first checking the reaction that Wallace had. Anger and shock were written on his face. First, his mouth gaped open just barely enough for air to escape, yet no words followed; then, his entire face turned red starting with his cheeks.

Warren had to steady Wallace with a firm grip on his shoulder. McGill was not done speaking, and he knew it was best that they heard everything before they suddenly ran off. She continued without much effort, an almost emotionless recital of her story. "I went to the military police about it almost immediately, but he was too much a veteran and had a lot of authority so everyone was too scared to do anything about it. The higher up I went, the less anyone seemed to care. So I went into the chow hall and punched him the face. I guess I shouldn't have reacted the way I did."

Wallace figured out how to speak again. "What? Shouldn't have reacted – you should have killed him! I'll kill him! What was his name? What unit?!"

Warren tightened his grip on Wallace's shoulder. McGill sighed, "You don't have to. He died in Greece immediately after my trial. It felt like… retribution."

"I see," Goldwin suddenly joined. "Your behavior today makes more sense. Try to use your energy, this pent up anger, and use it towards something more positive. Beating yourself up more than you already are? You're better than that, Corporal."

After trying to control his own anger, Wallace stood without a word and hurried to leave. Warren could sense that Goldwin was the man to leave the Corporal with, so he went after his friend instead. He kept his distance from Wallace until they were a bit away from the group. When he caught up with Wallace, they were already out of the gymnasium and deep inside the dark halls of the high school.

The Minister's voice cut the darkness when he said, "What are you going to do? Run away from your problems?" Wallace halted yet did not turn to face Warren.

"I never run away," Wallace quietly argued.

"I know," Warren said with a small smile. "I may be old but I still recall with great ease the days we spent in these hallways. I recall a young man with great potential and a big heart getting into quite the number of fights."

"Yeah," Wallace had to smile at the memory, too. "And there was always a tall, broad shoulder guy in the back waiting to jump in. Funny he grew up to be a Minister. We weren't so different back then."

Warren felt his smile fall when Wallace finally turned to face him. Defeat was evident in the Warrant Officer's posture. "Then tell me why things are different now?" Warren asked. "Why can't you control yourself?"

A loud, annoyed and frustrated sigh escaped Wallace's lips. His arms were tossed up into a half shrugged before he spoke. "Everyone around me is getting f****d. My men can't get enough money to pay their bills, to keep their families fed. There's a war on every landmass in the damn world and we're stuck with the burden of winning them. I don't understand it. I don't understand why us? Why does it matter to us? And how do they expect us to want to win when we're not getting any respect? It's not like it used to be, Warren. It's different now. Soldiers are the bad guys, the oppressors! It's like, America did such a good job of convincing its children that war was so terrible that they think anyone who participates is a bad person.

"Then I hear stories like McGill and what happened to my sister; I see what's happening at the Pentagon, in Congress; I see what guys like Ellis are doing and the Marine Commandant and I just… that's not even counting the famine, the riots, the drought, the bullshit that's happening in Union and Nebraska and everywhere else in this country. We went through decades of peace and prosperity. We fought not a single battle, had not a single man die in combat for years after the War on Terrorism. We were the top of world when it came to healthcare, wealth, industry, science and technology that bettered our lives. We were making the world a better place! I'm just a dumb farmboy, I can't see where we went wrong. I don't get it.

"To make it worse I feel so helpless and powerless against all the evils of the world. I left behind four guaranteed scholarship opportunities to join the Army. I saw that other people in other countries needed us so I gave up my future for them. I trained my ass off, kept myself strong for others and did whatever it took to save them. We have liberated millions of people everywhere in this f****d up world. But I can't protect my family or McGill or any of my men. I fail constantly."

"So what?" Warren asked. "Everyone fails every day. Admitting those failures and seeking forgiveness? That's the mark of a man. You need to set an example for that young woman out there. You're her superior, so act like it."

"You can't seek forgiveness from the dead."

"You can always seek forgiveness from those who are grieving," Warren argued. "The greatest fight you have is not out there. It's here! In this country, this town, this life. You still have David to mentor and Othello needs his uncle more than ever. You have to help fill that role."

"God dammit," Wallace muttered. His voice was louder when he announced, "I'm going."

Warren's yell of, "Hey!" stopped Wallace in his tracks. The Minister spoke to his friend's back when he asked, "And what are you going to do? Remember what the Lieutenant said. Use your anger in a positive way."

"I'm just going home," Wallace answered. "I need to clear my head. We have a lot of work to do starting tomorrow."