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Fatma's Son

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posted on Oct, 2 2010 @ 01:48 PM
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Wrote this probably 5 years ago when I was much younger. I thought this would be an appropriate place for it before it was lost to time/inbox cleaning.
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The Presidential Seal sat majestically behind an empty podium as members of the press filed in to take their seats. Colonel Mawby watched on an old black and white television that sat on chair in the corner of his office. It was 9 AM Eastern Standard time for the press, 3 PM for the Colonel in Berlin. Bastards, he thought, moving box after box of paperwork from one side of the dusty room to the other. Tiny and dim lit, nothing in Mawby's office seemed new. “This is not your 21st century military,” he would say. Off color, but it fit his personality.
The Colonel blew dust off of his hung photograph of Douglas MacArthur and took a seat behind his big wooden desk. When the President took the stage he didn't notice how tired or weak the Commander and Chief looked in front of the television cameras. Good Morning ladies and gentlemen....
With a quick knock, Captain Pfau was already standing at the Colonel's desk. A short and quiet man, Pfau's clothes never seemed to fit him right. Saluting, he laid the manilla envelope in front of the Colonel and awaited a reply. Mawby leaned back to look at the Captain.
“Arent'chu boys watchin' this?”
“Too much to do, Sir.”
“What's this?” inspecting the envelope.
“Six pager.”
“Six pager.”
“We need you to sign off ....so that we can send a copy to....” The Colonol had already gone back to watching the television as Pfau stood uncomfortably close to the old man's desk. Silence in the office. Only the President himself spoke. The ability of the United States to garner information from the enemy must not be compromised. It is vital that the men and women of our armed forces have the tools necessary to defend our homeland. The Colonol turned to look at Captain Pfau.
“Damn righ'chya pussies.”
“Sir?”
“I was talkin' to the TV. “ He began fumbling with the envelope “This ole' boy might not be a talker but damned if he don't know just what to say.”
“The President.”
“Yeh, him. Mah niece says he's a fool.” Glancing over the papers.
“When did she say that?'
“Last Christmas. I told 'er have some god-damned respect. My brother in law didn't take to that.” A pause before Captain Pfau spoke up.
“The papers are the usual.”
“Six pager.”
“Six pager.”
“Now tell me this, why can't the six pager be a one pager? Nobody reads the damn things anyhow.” The Colonel put on his glasses and picked got a pen from inside the drawer.
“Protocol I guess, Sir. There's just a protocol, I guess.”
The Colonol chuckled as he initialed the bottom of the first page, “There is a proper way to do things.” More silence as the President's voice grew hoarse and filled the room once more. By this time the speech was over, reporters yelled over each other as the President answered their questions. The intelligence garnered from these terrorists, using established and legal techniques, has helped save countless lives. It has done immeasurable good. “You know I used'ta be able to smoke in this office?” Still signing the forms.
“Oh yea?” Pfau knew where this was going. Everyone had heard this speech before. Colonel Mawby knew what each of the six pages said but pretended to read them to himself anyways; part of his 'proper way of doing things.' He signed page two.
“You know son, we're losin' a little bit of our freedom everyday. Even us one's that fight.” He turned the page. “You see that picture? Douglas MacArthur?”
“Sir.” Pfau became anxious for the Colonel to finish signing.
“I don't got that there 'cause he was a navy man.”
“Of course.”
“I got that there 'cause he was a man's man. Look at that pipe. If it had to be done, he was willin' to do it. No one was gonna tell him where he could smoke.”
“We also do what has to be done.” Pfau spoke up for once. The Colonel hurried through page four and five. The President was finishing up. We do not torture. Nor have we ever tortured. But this country and this administration will do what has to be done, within the confines of the law. Thank you and God bless America. “God bless America.” repeated Captain Pfau.
“Damn. I can't tell if he's soundin' more like us everyday or if we're soundin' more like him.” said the Colonel, resting on the sixth and final page. “I guess we're jus' soundin' more like each other. God bless America.” He finished signing, sliding the papers to the Captain. “You're doin' good son.”
“We're all doing good Sir.”
“Now tell me about this son of a bitch.”
“The who? Sir.” Pfau looked nervous again.
Colonel Mawby reached his old finger outward to touch the manilla envelope. “This son of a bitch.”
“What about him? I don't know everything, Sir.”
“The basics. Who is he? When are these instructions carried out?”
“About a week ago Sir.” said Pfau. The Colonel sighed.
“My instructions will be carried out a week ago. Now that's fast.”
“It's the 21st century, Sir. Everything is fast.”
The Colonel wasn't sure if Pfau was joking and he didn't care much. The television was back to German day time. Even the German soap operas seemed comically abrasive to the casual English speaking listener. “And...”
“He was carrying some parts. That's all the report said. They guy's at the check caught him tryin' to go around the traffic. He didn't have a car or anything. They checked him out. He fit a description.”
“They all fit a description, Captain.”
“This one fit a big description.”
“How big?”
“Big enough. Nothing news worthy though.”
“Nothing news worthy is alright. What did they find?”
“He wasn't talking.”
“He's not talking?”
“He wasn't talking, sir. He's dead now.”
The Colonel looked alarmed for the first time in the conversation, “Dead? And you needed me to sign this? Too much damn paperwork.” He leaned back again, “It's part of losing our freedom. No pipes, no justice, only paperwork.”
“Protocol.” Pfau picked up the envelope and saluted the Colonel.
“How'd he die?”
“Sir?”
“How did he...”
Pfau answered, “Waterboard.” and began shuffling toward the door way.
“What in the hell? On a six pager? How often does this happen?”
“Not very often. It's rare. Cardiac arrest. They did all the right things. He just didn't want to co-operate.”
“I'll be damned.” said the Colonel. Pfau exited the office. On the black and white television, a beautiful young girl was swept up by a bare chested German man. He whispered in her ear, Demutshaltungz-Sie. The Colonel chuckled a little at the site.
It was 7 PM, in a tiny village a few miles outside of Fallujah. Fatima sat on a wooden chair to watch the sunset. She knew that her son couldn't travel back after dark- too dangerous. She would wait another night.



 
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