Free The Coward's Way of War by Christopher Nuttall Page A

unpredictable intervals.  Doug knew several of his comrades who had never found a permanent job because they could be called away, even though the employers had never quite admitted that that was what they were doing.  The National Guardsmen knew the truth.  There were times when he wondered if the country was truly worth defending, the way it treated the men and women who put themselves in harm’s way for the sake of their country.
     
    “I have no idea,” he said.  He pulled himself to his feet, passed the garden fork to his wife and stepped back inside the house.  The blessed cool from the air conditioning struck him right in the face and he smiled in relief.  New York was cool compared to the sandbox, but working in the garden had made him feel hot and bothered, a reminder that he was not as young as he had once been.  His bleeper was where he had left it, mounted on the wall where he could hear it anywhere inside the house.  It was bleeping incessantly and would continue to do so until he shut it off.
     
    He picked the small device up and tapped his code into the system, accessing the message.  As he had expected, it was pithy and uninformative, ordering him to report at once to the nearest muster point.  It wasn’t a command he could disobey.  The Army National Guard would regard it as desertion, which carried a prison sentence and permanent disgrace.  He smiled as he placed the bleeper on his belt, knowing that Lindsey would not be pleased.  Reporting in to the Guard meant that he wouldn't have to carry on with the gardening.
     
    “They want me instantly,” he called, as he found his coat and ID card.  He had a bag packed and stored in the cupboard for immediate deployment, a precaution he’d been taught by the old sweats when he’d first transferred into the Guard.  “I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on.  It’s probably just an exercise.”
     
    Lindsey came into the house, her dark eyes worried.  She might play the harridan at times, but he had never doubted her love for him, or her fear that one day he might get permanently crippled – or killed – while on deployment.  In some ways, a National Guardsman’s wife was worse off than a soldier’s wife, even though she saw her husband most of the time.  She might never know when he would be plucked from her arms and sent to fight the foe.
     
    “Just an exercise,” she repeated, nervously.  They both knew that it could be a great deal more.  “Take care of yourself, all right?”
     
    She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, and then turned away, hiding her eyes from him.  Doug understood and allowed her to conceal her tearing eyes.  He patted her back awkwardly and walked out towards the car parked in the driveway, hearing – as he left – the sound of another bleeper behind him.  Lindsey’s bleeper was permanently tuned to New York’s Emergency Medical Department, which could summon her at any moment to help deal with a medical emergency.  The implications worried him, for he didn't think that his muster orders and her summons were just a coincidence.  The National Guard had trained for disaster relief and civil disturbance as well as actual war-fighting; he looked into the distance, half-expecting to see a mushroom cloud rising up like a dark harbinger of death.  There was no sign of any attack.  The suburb seemed perfectly safe and tranquil.
     
    He climbed into the car, started the engine and pulled out of the drive.  Whatever was going on, he was sure, he would know the truth of it soon enough.  Perhaps it was just an exercise, after all.
     
    ***
    “ Hey, kitty cat,” one of the other junior reporters called.  “Did you hear the news?”
     
    Mija Cat looked up impatiently.  Young Olson had delusions of grandeur, a fairly common delusion among the reporting community, suggesting that he would probably be the first to make senior reporter.  He not only fancied himself a great reporter,