Ghost Troop Home Page    April Fools Part 1

 

July 18, morning, letter to Dr. David Kelly, England

Dear Dr. Kelly,

Mrs. May didn’t take it seriously when she came home to covered windows and reinforced doors last night.  Tony Blair and George Bush were on TV, and the last thing the president had to say was that he and the prime minister would address “the issue.”  I had a feeling that I was part of that issue.  Two mentors, both WWII vets, had warned me earlier that day that I was becoming an issue affecting the president’s credibility, and had better hole up in my home for a while.

My wife is a rational woman, so she took all my paranoia with a grain of salt, until she looked up from her morning coffee and saw CNN reporting that you, a Blair Government gadfly, were dead under suspicious circumstances.  She wanted to stay home with me, but I sent her to work.  There’s no sense in putting us both at risk.  I told her to go to her parents’ house if she wanted to be safe.  She said she’d think it over, but she was in shock.  I have no idea what she’ll do.  She’ll be home this evening, if she’s coming.

So you’ll never tell anyone else that your government sexed up the evidence on weapons of mass destruction, will you?  Well, at least I’ve told what I know about the Bush Team’s cover-up of military casualties, whatever he does to me.  You became frightened and tried to recant, while I’ve been flying at them stirring up as much fuss as possible.  I hope my plan works better than yours.

I’m sorry we never had the chance to meet, because I think I would have liked you.  I believe you were a man who was interested in the truth, and it’s earned you the same wages as Socrates, Jesus, Gandhi and Martin Luther King.  You’re in good company now with them.  I’m still among the living, but I’m afraid payday is coming for me, too.

Do you know, my friend, after the police found you, it didn’t take CNN half the morning to imply that you were “under great pressure because of your testimony in Parliament.  They hint that maybe you…, well, you know, killed yourself.  I bet you’d like to laugh at that one with me!

They just announced that you were found with a container of barbiturates by you, and say you bled to death from a slashed wrist.  That’s interesting…  An upset man might take downers to calm down, or he might kill himself instead of calming down, but why would he take downers to calm down, then still kill himself?  We both know you didn’t kill yourself, though.  They killed you.

CNN is the only sound in the house.  I’m in my library, counting on my truest friends in my crisis.  Homer and Plato, Shakespeare and Byron are there, along with a hundred others, standing guard on the shelves, each waiting to take a bullet for me.

Well, the president’s men are going to have to get messy if they want to get me, and that means blow my house up, burn it down, or machine gun it through.  All that will cause a bit of ruckus.  They’ll have to use something spectacular.  One of my oddities is that I practice tae kwon do daily, and have been doing so in the years since I left military intelligence.  This makes me difficult to deal with in close quarters.  I wonder if they know that.  If not, I’ll soon be teaching them about the five-foot staff.

I must say, it’s not really so hard to talk to a man you’ve met who has been fighting in the same Infowar.  You just dropped into my bunker beside me, and you happened to drop in dead, but we’re comrades just the same.  Welcome to the same company as Professor G and Mr. Coleman, my mentors, who are also a bit shaken now.  Should I still be alive when George Bush and Tony Blair are removed from office by their legislatures, I would like to pay my respects to your family in Great Britain.  I will tell them that it came down to men like you, and them and me against men like the ones who have misled our countries.

I believe you to have behaved honorably as a man, and hope that I will acquit myself as one to the end as well.  The war is still raging, and here I sit, stoic except for the trembling of my fingers and the tears on my face.  I do not weep for myself, I weep for my country.

My eternal esteem,

Captain Eric Holmes May

 

July 18, twilight, last will and testament

All my love to those I love.  They know themselves.

To my student Mehran Talabi, my books of Latin.

To my student Zachary Budd, my books of Greek.

To my student Caesar de Paz, my books of Spanish.

To my student Andre Rodriguez, my books of Russian.

To my children Caroline and Andrew, my books of English.

Among these books they will find some marked with a bookplate given me by my parents when I was a teenager serving in the First Cavalry Division.  It bears a quote from Miguel de Cervantes Don Quixote:  “The man who fights for his ideals is the man who is alive.”

To my wife my letters, poetry, essays and stories, along with my beloved first-edition of The Seven Pillars of Wisdom by T.E. Lawrence.  She will give my captain’s bars to my young friends Miju Yu and David Danford, both now at West Point, as a reminder of what happens to captains who go to war.

My wife, keep this for yourself:

Gretchen May, you are the one

who has crushed me and cured me

since I have been a man.

You are the flowing form of Yin

in the angry arms of Yang.

You are my earth as I course the tides

of water, wind and fire.

I love you because you pull us,

as I push us, into one another.

I am so happy that I do not care

that my life is short,

for your kiss is my eternity.

E.

 

I salute all my brothers and sisters who have worn the uniform of their countries.  From my comrades I ask a soldier’s funeral.  Have my remains cremated, then given to my wife.  They will be buried with her at her demise.

Captain Eric Holmes May, Military Intelligence, United States Army

PS:  Although sane, I am about to go to the mental hospital to tell them I believe I will be assassinated by order of the president of the United States.  I believe they will admit me without too much trouble.  Perhaps between a psychiatrist and a lawyer I can cover myself in the protection of habeas corpus until all this is over.  I hope I don’t die.  Twenty miles away seems like forever…

Oh well, I won the contest, anyway.  I played a better April Fools joke than George Bush.

 

 

July 18, midnight, dialogue

Captain May:  Gentlemen, thank you for coming.  Do not talk.  I’m supposing we’re bugged.  Use the keyboard instead.  I have to leave quickly.

Caesar:  Why, sir?

Captain May:  Because the storm is coming.  Today there was nearly a riot in the House of Representatives.  The Democrats went aside to gather against him.  The Republicans summoned the capital police to remove the Democrats…

Andre:  You’re kidding, sir?

Captain May:  No.  Afterwards, on CNN, the Democrats were saying words like “tyranny,” “one-party rule” and “police state” – words not heard in American politics.

Caesar:  But the news they said that the trouble in Congress was just some kind of budget argument that got out of hand.  They said the cameras were off when it happened, so they couldn’t show us.

Captain May:  I know, and that’s why I know we haven’t won the Infowar yet:  They’re still lying.  The tension comes on the live broadcasts, though, especially on CNN Crossfire.  Today men’s faces were red as they used words like regime change, military takeover and impeachment.  All week they’ve been threatening each other, nearly coming to blows.  Carville and Novak are both hinting that blood is on the president’s hands, and when men of such different views agree, indeed the storm is coming.

Andre:  How long will you be gone, sir?

Captain May:  Until he loses power.  I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten to me yet.  I’m surprised he didn’t have me arrested when I wrote the piece for the Chronicle back in April.  When the people find out he covered up the body count in Iraq, they’ll be outraged.

Caesar:  Do you think we’ll impeach him?

Captain May:  Yes, unless something bigger distracts them.

Caesar:  Like what, sir?

Captain May:  Like another war, maybe even a world war.

Andre:  I heard that Bush is flying here to Houston tonight, Captain May.  If he’s read the things you’ve been publishing, one of his men might arrest you.

Captain May:  They may be able to call me some kind of informational terrorist under the Patriot Act and put me in an internment center, but I doubt they’ll bother.

Andre:  Then why are your hands shaking, sir?

Captain May:  Because I think they’ll kill me.  Each of you take a copy of this report, and start passing it out.  Cheeriyut!  Kinyay!  Pi Yong!

 

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