by Joan Arling

Feedback is always welcome: joanarling@e-scribblers.com.

Copyright © 2010 by Joan Arling. All Rights Reserved.

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“What is it, Colonel?” snapped the General, annoyed at being interrupted from studying the maps of what was, to him, hostile territory. He and his troops had been stationed at the border for what seemed like forever, yet the leaders of his country had always deemed it unwise to unleash their power. Politicians! Always fearfully testing the waters, lest they jump into something other than tepid!

“A dispatch, Sir!” With that the Colonel held out a sealed envelope, which the General snatched from his hand.

“Dismissed.”

When he was alone again, the General broke the seal of the Lord Chancellor and opened the message. ‘Not to risk lives or material... keep the borders safe against what must be regarded as a danger to our moral integrity... yada yada... unless unmistakable provocation of the highest order... thoroughly documented... ’

Unless provoked! As if the very existence of that territory beyond the border, which he refused to call by the name its depraved inhabitants had given it, was not provocation enough to any right thinking man. A documented provocation, though, was something else, even if it would only serve to protect the asses of those too afraid to bear the fallout of overt action.

A deep furrow creased the General’s forehead. Could that provocation not be somehow, ah, accelerated? The enemy was much too craven to cross the border, but what if...

“Colonel! See that Bush reports here a.s.a.p!”

William G. Bush had been an up and coming Lieutenant until alcohol had not only severely interfered with the functioning of his liver, but also with his military career. When he had once too often been found snoring away his inebriation during watch duty, he had been given the opportunity of voluntary retirement from the service, and he had needed no reminder of possible alternatives. And then, his drinking and poker buddy, and former superior, General George Cline, had hinted that he might be even more useful to the cause as a civilian; as such he was not subject to certain procedures, and he would have considerably more leeway in interpreting any direct orders.

He looked over the band of camouflaged men he thought of as his unit: Tom, ex-Sergeant, who had embezzled funds to cover his gambling debts; Mark, ex-Corporal, who had been set up by a minor, or so he claimed; Lennard, ex-Lieutenant, who had fallen prey to an unfriendly judge for expressing his beliefs under a white hood. All good men, who, like himself, had been caught in unlucky situations that had stopped their progress. But, he noticed with pride, they were all devoted to serving their country, nonetheless, and the particular abomination that called itself Amazonia, just beyond the border, would make even the most hardened fatherland traitor’s blood boil.

“Milady my Queen has called upon her lowly servant?”

Gabby looked into the stony face of her lover. “Still mad at me, Linda? I told you that I had to go over the message from Michelle, and it took me most of the night to decipher it. You know how careful she has to be, especially now that she has finally undergone surgery, and still remain at her post.”

Linda’s nose wrinkled. “You know that I don’t trust him — err — her... And you seem to be taken in by... her way too much! As your advisor... ” Her pout had Gabby fight to keep her face serene.

“You are just being jealous, when there is absolutely no need to be! You know very well how few sources of information we have, and the fact that I admire her valour and her dedication does not in the least detract from my devotion to you. C’m’ere, let me hold you, and then advise me on my plan of action, will you?”

Linda flowed into her sovereign’s arms and brushed quivering lips by hers. The two of them retreated to the privacy of a room attached to the office of the head of state.

In the locker room, Sena shed her armour and contemplated the attire laid out for her. A dress, albeit simple, and made of coarse linen, but still a dress. So femme! She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the snickering around her until it became too much.

“Will you kindly SHUT UP? Do you think I would willingly dress like this?”

Her mates sobered — somewhat. Jan approached her, caressing her bare shoulder. “Hey, I’m really worried. You sure you are up to what might happen?”

Sena closed her eyes and tried to shake off her misgivings. “Nothing is going to happen. They’ll abduct me, and put me in a cell, and that is it. And once this whole shenanigan is over, we’ll hopefully have some years of peace. Isn’t that worth it?”

Jan smiled through tears she tried unsuccessfully to suppress. “I just cannot bear the thought of you getting hurt.”

Sena looked into Jan’s eyes. “So this old and hardened soldier means something to you?”

“Just come back sane and whole!” And with that Jan fled the room.

William Bush, scout extraordinaire, motioned his men to spread out silently. They had been waiting for hours in the damp cold of the wood, and their joints protested the sudden movement. However, he watched with pride as they moved like shadows through the darkness, and made certain that no one was in sight as they crossed the border. No one, that is, except for the foolish woman to walk so near to the demarcation line that separated the two countries. And all alone in the night.

Sena heard the stealthy movements from two hundred yards away and rolled her eyes. These guys would never qualify as Amazons, not only for the most obvious of reasons! It took all of her self-control not to turn around and laugh out loud. If these fumbling bastards would only hurry up and get it over with — but no, they had to sneak up to her with all the subtleness of a hippopotamus! It was kind of a relief when a black sack was pulled over her head, shortly after she heard two of them bump into one another, and she waited, struggling only weakly, while one of them frantically searched his pockets for the bottle of ether that he was supposed to anaesthetise her with. Finally she breathed in the fumes and became unconscious.

“Gotcha!” “Quiet, we’re still in enemy territory!” Tom and Mark carried the kidnapped woman towards the border, while William and Lennard watched out for witnesses. They made it back through the forest, oblivious to about a hundred pairs of eyes watching over their heroine.

General Cline paced back and forth in front of his prisoner, whose hands had been manacled behind her back, and whose face only showed a stoic indifference.

“So you got caught trespassing, eh? Or should I say spying, seeing you are in civilian clothes?”

The woman’s eyes never even turned in his direction. The General drew himself up to his respectable five foot four, so he could easily look down on his sitting captive. Sena’s silence was, if anything, only accented by the low whir of the camera recording his astute examination. ‘Proper documentation, hah!’ They asked for it, they would get it.

“And armed, too.” He indicated the rifle lying on the table. Sena suppressed a snort. Guns! Penis substitutes! What use were they against an unseen enemy with a sharp, and silent, sword? She mentally rolled her eyes, her expression still giving away nothing.

“Don’t get your hopes up, we have removed the bullets.” Then, for the camera’s sake, he summarised, “An armed foreign spy in civilian disguise. That amounts to a declaration of war, and at least justifies measures to prevent that from occurring ever again.” Satisfied that he had done everything anybody could ask of him, he returned to his private quarters, from where he placed calls to his staff and his companies’ commanders.

General Cline sat in his field tent, scowling. So far, he had seen nothing of the WAC of legend. And legend seemed to be all there was to it. He wondered where all of the people were; the few settlements his glorious troops had conquered — well, taken, anyway — had been almost deserted. Or perhaps totally deserted, if you didn’t count a few cats and goats. Something was a tad off here, that much was sure. And now this: the so-called ‘Queen’s Palace’, where he had planned to apprehend the ringleader of all those rebellious women, was empty. Bereft of workers or inhabitants. A hollow shell. He should have known that fighting womenfolk would prove to be ungratifying. There was a reason, after all, that for a long time only men had been allowed to serve. Ah, those times of yore!

The Minister of War was a very unhappy man. Having to face his superior’s wrath was not something he willingly did, he’d rather have to answer a parliamentary committee.

“Are you even listening? Is it true that you let that General of yours, what’s his name, John Clean or something, invade Amazonia, and that his band of boys are marauding the cities there right now as we speak?”

“Just a task force to reconnoitre... ”

“An entire battalion?”

The Minister tried to assuage his irate wife, “Now there —”

“Don’t now-there me! And don’t try to tell me that my friend is lying!”

The Minister turned to the other woman sitting at the table, and almost swallowed his tongue when he recognised the Lady Minister of the Interior of Amazonia.

“Well, Minister, it looks like we need to talk some.”

“Uh, well, I don’t really... it does look like there might have been a certain lapse of judgement on behalf of General Cline... ”

“Nothing that cannot be, shall we say, repaired?”

The Minister winced at the choice of word. This was going to be expensive, and it could well cost him his office.

“Naturally”, he hastened to assure the Amazonian.

“Fine. Then there is only the small matter of a detained Amazonian citizen, who also happens to be my niece... ”

Would that this nightmare were over! When he looked up again, he saw his wife’s packed suitcases.

“What, are you... ”

“I am accompanying my very good friend and go see for myself what havoc these half-wits you call soldiers have wrought amongst our sisters!”

The Amazonian Minister rose. “Come, darling, you know we have to pick up Rosie; she’ll sure be waiting.”

Rosie as well? The Minister sank into a seat.

“Cline! You jackass! You silly sonofabitch! You goodfornothing! How could you provoke our neighbouring nation like that?” The War Minister punctuated the syllables with his pudgy forefinger, beside himself with fury.

Cline’ face was scarlet, and his brow prominently displayed a vein that looked like it might burst any moment. “With all due respect, Sir, I only did what was best for my country.”

“The best for the country? Why don’t you go cut your throat, if that is your benign interest? And what does the country matter in this case, anyway? No, don’t answer, because I’m telling you. I don’t give a horse’s shit for this country! No, you stupid, pea-brained excuse for a life — my wife left me, and my mistress, too! And even you can probably imagine where they went. And who is going to iron my shirts and keep the house, now that women are becoming an ever scarcer commodity? And all because of your asinine acts of totally unprovoked hostility! Your insignia, NOW, Civilian Cline!”

Tired and shaken, Mr Cline returned to his home. His wife was sitting on the couch, occupied with a crossword puzzle. Without raising her eyes she asked, “So, how’s your day been?”

“Just... ” He looked up to see his arch enemy come in from the bathroom, clad only in a towel. “WHAT???”

Gabby bent over to his wife and pecked her cheek. “Be ready in a jiffy”, she said, and retired to the bedroom. When she re-emerged, the ex-General’s face had turned ashen. “Shall we? I promised to take care of a certain ‘trespasser’ myself.” She extended her hand towards the wife, and together they made their way to the door. Passing a side table with a chess board, Gabby picked up the white king and laid it gently on its side.

Some of the names in this story may resemble
those of characters both fictional and non-fictional.

The authoress does not apologise for that.

The End

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