Free All the Colors of Time by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff Page A

battles on several fronts.”
    “Battles? What battles? They weren’t fighting—”
    “They were fighting all right, sir,” said Hilyard
imperturbably. “The enemy just wasn’t . . . people.”
    “What did you see?” asked Oslovski.
    “A farce!” erupted Caldwell.
    Hilyard ignored him. “Evidently in the future, we’ll be
battling forest fires and hurricanes and oil spills . . . or so
it seems.” He shrugged. “Maybe reforestation will replace demolition as a
specialty—an environmental defense specialty.”
    “That’s absurd!” snarled Caldwell. “Fighting men fight, dammit. They don’t damn garden!”
    “What’s wrong with killing forest fires instead of people?”
asked Oslovski. “Or planting trees instead of land mines? Wouldn’t you rather
be the heroes of a constructive process instead of the villains of a
destructive one?”
    “Villains?”
    Oslovski looked him in the eye. “Most of us don’t like war,
General. We hate it. We’re not likely to thank anyone who perpetuates it when
peace is within reach. I know you don’t understand that. Nor will you likely
understand that most of us look forward to a day when the military is obsolete.
Well, it looks like that day isn’t going to come. It looks like the future
needs the military, after all—needs it for construction instead of destruction.
I’d think you’d be happy about that.”
    Caldwell stood glaring darkly at the floor.
    “Looks like our interference in history didn’t accomplish
anything after all,” observed Hilyard. “Maybe even made Gorbachev more of a
hero than he already seemed to be.”
    “Hell,” muttered Caldwell. “What’m I supposed to tell the
Chiefs?” He started toward the door. It scooted obediently out of his way.
    Oslovski shrugged and watched him pass. “You could find
another historical crux and try again.”
    “We don’t have the funds. Dammit, we were so sure that was
the right time and place—the right enemy.”
    “Sometimes it’s hard to know who the enemy really is,”
observed Oslovski. “Or if there’s even an enemy at all.”
    He threw her a scathing glance and passed through into the
hall. She found herself eye to eye with Major Hilyard.
    “We have met the Enemy and he is us?” he murmured, quirking
an eyebrow.
    She smothered her reaction and followed the two men into the
corridor, steering them toward the Conference Room. The rest of the Team was
already there, along with Colonel Ferris, but Caldwell ignored them, dropping
into a chair at the far end of the table.
    Hilyard seated himself next door and sat back in his chair,
watching Oslovski make her way to the head of the room.
    “We have evidently failed in our mission,” said Caldwell. He
glanced at Ferris’s suddenly pale, tense face. “The military of the future, ”—he said the word as if it were
odious—“is apparently more of an environmental defense mechanism than a
national security force.”
    “Those people were defending more than the environment, sir,”
said Hilyard quietly. “They were helping the people of this country defend
themselves against natural disaster. They were helping devastated areas
rebuild.” He smiled. “I’ll bet they see a lot more ticker-tape parades than we
do.”
    Caldwell gritted his teeth. There was that unholy feeling of
relief again, of something stronger. “What do we do, then? Slink on home with
our tails between our legs and admit all the money we’ve spent went down the
rat hole?”
    “We could get a head start on the future,” suggested
Hilyard. “It looked pretty interesting to me, sir.”
    Caldwell glanced at him, pinning his lower lip between thumb
and forefinger. “I suppose we could float some ideas around the Hill . . .
before they sack all of us.”
    “May I make a suggestion?” asked Oslovski.
    Caldwell nodded.
    “First, let us put history back the way it was.”
    “How can you do that?” asked Ferris.
    “By sending you back to the time of the