Chapter five
Calculated Power
Two dusty quarter horses plodded to a halt as the driver called, “Whoa,” easing back on the reins. The military taxi stopped before a red-brick secondary school scheduled to reopen next week after summer break. With fresh rolls of barbed wire and dozens of armed troops marching around, classes would have to wait.
“This was the best option we had for housing the prisoners,” said Colonel Ashby. He looked a sight better than yesterday, washed, shaved, and in a crisp uniform with a cottony bandage taped over the gash on his forehead. Azaleen suspected she looked much better too.
Earlier that morning, Lark and the team had a formal send-off from the base. With the colonel and a complement of Marines present, Azaleen had shaken each VERT member’s hand and wished them luck. They took the same jeep and motorcycles they’d brought to New Charleston with an escort of twenty MPs in two antique ethanol troop trucks, canopies over rows of seats in the backs.
When she’d locked eyes with Lark, an unspoken promise fired between them, emboldening Azaleen even more.I’m not alone,she was reminded,and neither is she.
A powerful gust shuddered through the red maples shading the yard between the sidewalk and the tall cypress doors of the educational building.Rosalind has done good work getting these schools up and running,she thought, picturing the older Secretary Keane. The lifelong educator was the queen’s first choice for theposition, and her zeal for education had doubled the number of schools in the kingdom in the ten and a half years since.
Colonel Ashby climbed out of a coach that looked as if it belonged to the nineteenth century and handed Azaleen down onto the patchwork walkway.
“Keane Gymnasium.” She read the large letters carved into the nameplate arching over the double doors. The building dwarfed the surrounding homes and neighborhood stores, with only the surviving pre-war cathedral, its steeple soaring, appearing grander.
“Yes, but she didn’t name it that herself,” Ashby commented. “The secretary once taught here in a one-room schoolhouse thrown together from tin and wood after a post-ruin major hurricane devastated most of the city. Our mayor and city council wished to honor her, and, when the funds arrived to erect this two-story structure, they insisted on naming it for her. The community shares in using its auditorium, basketball gym, and outdoor sports facility.”
“I’m glad to see national funds put to such good use. A shame it must house prisoners.”
“Colonel Ashby!” A frazzled corporal called over the roar of his motorbike. Turning off the engine, he raced up to them. “Sergeant Cantore just returned from scouting in his balloon and says there’s a storm comin’.” The young man halted, popped a salute, then bowed to Azaleen.
“Sorry, Your Excellency. The sergeant says we’re in for a squall later today—not hurricane force, but not weather you want to be caught in.”
Azaleen glanced to the east. While the sun still shone overhead, thunderheads mounted in the distance.
“Perhaps you should remain as our guest until the storm passes, Madam Queen,” Ashby suggested, concern edging into his voice.
“We’ll see how long the interrogations take,” she answered, “and what the sky tells us then.”
The colonel nodded respectfully and turned back to the corporal. “Report to Major Dunham and convey my orders: immediately secure tarps to all damaged roofs—on the base and in town. There should be plenty in the maintenance shed. Batten down the hatches, Adams.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” He snapped a stiff salute, pivoted on his heel, and raced back to the bike.
“This way.” Ashby swept his hand toward the pebbled walk that cut through overgrown grass to the school building’s steps.
As she strode inside, her shoes echoing on the tile floors, Azaleen wondered what it would have been like to go to school in a place like this with other children. She was fortunate to have had tutors, but was glad her sons enjoyed the full experience of attending classes and engaging in games and group projects. She glanced up at high ceilings—a place for the heat to gather. A smile warmed her at the sight of a green banner bearing the national motto: From root, resilience.Citizens on the coast embody it more than most, she wagered.
“Why choose the school?” she asked.
Ashby, who had remained oddly silent, motioned to a door secured by two steadfast security guards. “It isn’t a good idea to round up hundreds of enemy soldiers, throw them together in a large facility, and then expect to keep them there with minimal manpower. I’ve divided the men and women into different rooms—no more than twenty in each—petty officers separated from enlisted sailors, and so forth. The ranking officers are on another wing and floor, making it more difficult for them to communicate with their countrymen.”
He stopped at a staircase and motioned for Azaleen to go first. “Ingenious.” She started up the flight ahead of him.
“There’s no need for you to trouble yourself, Madam Queen,” Ashby said. “I can handle this … unpleasantness. Give me your questions, and I’ll add them to mine if any haven’t made the list.”
“It isn’t merely about the questions,” she replied. The hem of her airy, floral kaftan brushed her thighs, skimming the peach leggings beneath as she climbed. “Yes, I want to know where the rest of their fleet is, what targets the army marches on first, but we need to learn more. It’s about looking into their eyes, sensing their morale, measuring what kind of men these are who assault our shores. Do they believe in their leader, or simply follow orders?”
“I see,” Ashby said as they reached the second floor. “Do you still wish to question the officers then?”
“Yes. We can gather useful observations from the sailors, but they won’t possess vital information.”
“Certainly.” The colonel tried to mask his agitation at Azaleen’s encroachment on his role, but she noticed it simmering just below the surface.
“How many are there, and what ranks?”
Ashby inhaled sharply and listed them. “Two ship captains, three commanders, a handful of lieutenants, and a dozen ensigns. Out of courtesy, we brought in cots for the officers; however, we can’t begin to supply them to all the prisoners. The enlisted and NCOs have adequate seating but must make do with sleeping on the floor.”