Caliphate

Camp Stotsenberg, Philippine Islands, 18 July, 2107

"Sit. Drink. That's not a request."

The O' Club for the camp was in a large plastic foam building, set off away from the troop billets lest the soldiers see their officers drunk and silly. Local hires did the maintenance, keeping the grass trimmed and the jungle at bay. The building itself was formed by blowing up a large, Quonset hut shaped balloon and then spraying it with the foam. Once the foam hardened, the balloon was removed and sections were cut away for doors, windows, and air conditioning units, which were installed as kits. Furniture came disassembled in shipping containers, it being the job of the troops to assemble it. The foam came pre-tinted for the natural environment. In some cases, of course, no tint was necessary as white, snow-white, was the dominant color.

The method had many advantages—cheap to heat and cool, more durable than canvas, and bugs loathed the taste of the foam.

"Sit, I said."

Hamilton, just returned from Iowa, looked at the table around which sat Thompson, Miles and Fitzgerald. An amber bottle graced the center, standing out against the starched white tablecloth. Hamilton couldn't see how much was left in the bottle. It didn't matter anyway; the club had plenty more where that came from.

"Yes, sir," Hamilton answered Thompson's command, pulling out a chair and taking a seat.

Miles reached over and took the glass from in front of Hamilton, while Fitzgerald uncorked the bottle. Into the glass Miles plunked several cubes of perforated ice. He then held the glass out for Fitzgerald to fill before setting it down in front of the company's junior lieutenant.

"How was the funeral?" Thompson asked.

"Bad," Hamilton answered, ignoring the glass. "I had to lie to her parents, and her brothers and sisters, her aunts, uncles, cousins, high school friends. 'I'm sure she went quickly, without pain.' 'No, no . . . she wasn't raped.' Do you have any idea how hard it is to explain to parents why the coffin has to stay closed?"

"I do, actually," Thompson said. "And, as it turns out, she wasn't raped. I got the forensic report while you were gone."

"That's something anyway," Hamilton said, wanting to believe but not at all sure his commander wouldn't lie to him to spare his feelings.

Thompson, no dummy, caught the doubting tone in Hamilton's voice. "I'll let you read it, if you think you're up to it."

"Maybe later, sir."

"Drink up, Lieutenant," Thompson said.

"Drink to forget?" he asked.

"No, son. We don't drink to forget. We drink to remember."