[lit-ideas] Re: War is a cold business
- From: "Lawrence Helm" <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Mon, 28 Jan 2008 21:52:41 -0800
Sgt. Helmut: Sergeant Helmut reporting as ordered sir.
Colonel Smithers: You must have screwed up royally to be sent down here to
Antarctica. Most people don't even know we have a base down here to send
screw-ups to. I know what I did to get sent down here. What the hell did
you do?
Sgt. Helmut: Just tried to teach a bunch of liberals some history - scared
the hell out of them, I guess, and here I am.
Colonel Smithers: What kind of history?
Sgt Helmut: Just major stuff, the Peloponnesian War, the Punic Wars, World
War One, World War Two, that sort of thing.
Colonel Smithers: Why should that scare the Liberals?
Sgt Helmut: That surprised me too, but they get real antsy when you talk
about things that really happened and might happen again. Seems they've got
these fancy theories that make 'em feel better and they don't like them
upset. You know that they like to hear, that War can just be ended by,
well, wishing it away. All my talk about the wars of the past made it sound
like we might have another one of these days. They didn't like that one
little bit.
Colonel Smithers: You poor fool. Now if you'd been to officer training
school like me you'd know you can't just drop real facts on Liberals. They
choke up, turn blue and the next thing you know you're in court being sued
for cruel and unusual activities.
Sgt Helmut: Cruel and Unusual activities? I didn't know you could be sued
for that.
Colonel Smithers: Well they'll do it. I've seen em.
Sgt Helmut: Shoot. I didn't even know I was doing that to them. I got
back from eight tours in Iraq and they told me to go off to the library and
keep out of trouble. How was I to know these Liberals were so uptight?
Colonel Smithers: You're lucky they didn't put out a hit on you. I've seen
them do that too. You cross the wrong Liberal and you're likely to end up
at the bottom of some river or a suicide in some hotel room you were never
at when you were alive.
Sgt Helmut: We'll at least I can't get into trouble down here can I?
Colonel Smithers: No, son you can't. Your orders say no access to
computers allowed.
Sgt Helmut: Not even video games?
Colonel Smithers: Not even video games!
Sgt Helmut: Drat. . . Say sir, what did you do to get sent down here.
Colonel Smithers: Tortured a village of Afghans until they told me where an
important Al Quaeda leader was.
Sgt Helmut: A whole village?
Colonel Smithers: Yeah. That's what the general asked me too. But don't
give me that look. You're in a heck of a lot more trouble than I am. I go
back next month and you are here for the next six years.
Sgt Helmut: Six years?
Colonel Smithers: Hell has no fury like liberals you try to teach history
to.
Lawrence Helmut
San Jacinto South
From: lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx [mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx]
On Behalf Of Eric Dean
Sent: Monday, January 28, 2008 9:03 PM
To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [lit-ideas] War is a cold business
The familiar hard voice came through the headphones, overriding everything
else. "Helmut, get your ass out here! On the double!"
"Sir, yes sir!"
The colonel was sitting in his usual rocking chair on the porch of the old
beach house they'd converted into command central. The sun was setting over
the Pacific. It might have seemed summery, if one were naive enough not to
realize the sun was setting much further south than it would in the summer.
Helmut wasn't so naive. He wasn't fooled. The slap of mid-winter cold air
as he stepped outside confirmed it for him. It was a winter sunset.
"Helmut, sit down here," the colonel barked, brisk as the cold air he liked
to sit in. With his right hand he gestured to the other rocking chair,
empty beside him. With his left, he pushed aside the array of flat panel
touch screens with which he monitored operations while watching the sunset.
He looked a lot like an aging Robert Mitchum, but had the kind of bark to
his voice that made George C. Scott so convincing as a tough military
commander.
"Helmut, how long have you been with this operation?"
"Oh, I don't know, sir. Several years."
"Several years. Several years." The colonel took the unlit cigar from his
face, turned to Helmut and yelled, "Well how many years does it take for you
to get it right, Helmut?"
"I don't know sir; sorry sir; what did I get wrong, sir?"
"Helmut, the first problem is you don't even know."
"Sir, no sir."
The colonel sat staring at Helmut. "You don't have a clue, do you?"
"No sir."
"What is our mission here, Helmut?"
"To protect the homeland, sir."
"And what do we need to do to protect the homeland, Helmut?"
"We need to get the liberals to organize, sir, like the Marines do, sir."
"And why is that, Helmut?"
"Sir, because if they can't get organized they'll never be able to lead the
country, sir."
"And why do they need to lead the country, Helmut?"
"Sir, because they stand for everything that makes this country great, sir."
"Good, Helmut. So far so good. Now what's your job, Helmut?"
"My job, sir, is to play the role of pompous retired military guy who reads
up on all the military exploits in the world."
"And why would we want someone to play that role?"
"To scare the liberals."
"And why would some pompous old military guy scare the liberals?"
"Well sir, as I understand it, they're supposed to think that maybe I'm
actually explaining how the people in Washington really think. Like maybe
I'm actually feeding ammo to the right wing politicians."
The colonel stuck the damp, chewed end of his cigar back in his mouth,
turned to the sunset and let his rocker tip back. "Yes," he said, a grin
starting to form around the cold stogy. "We want them to think of Sterling
Hayden as Colonel Jack D. Ripper -- 'feed me, Mandrake, feed me.' Great
movie."
Suddenly he jerked back up, rocked forward, planted his feet squarely on the
ground and scraped his rocker around. Now the features of his face were
almost invisible to Helmut, silhouetted against the orange sunset's
splendor. "But why, Helmut? Why would it matter if they thought that?"
"Because, sir, well, sir, I guess I'm not entirely clear, sir. Is it
because maybe they'll be afraid we'll start another war, sir?"
The colonel rocked back again in his chair, and banged against the porch's
railing. "Christ," he said angrily, and scooted his chair up a bit. "I
don't know why I keep doing this. If you're the best we can do, it's
hopeless. Helmut, the whole point is supposed to be that you show these
all-too-complacent liberals just how good the arguments could be. Then
maybe they'll wake up and realize that they can't just sit on their comfy
fat asses and do nothing. They'll actually have to organize if they don't
want four more years of right wing morons running Washington. And we can
show them how to get organized. That's how it's supposed to work, Helmut."
"Yes sir, I understand sir."
"No, Helmut, I don't think you do. The arguments have to be GOOD, Helmut,
they have to be co-her-ent. You understand? Incoherent pompous drivel
doesn't scare anybody. The liberals might even think they don't have to do
anything, that no one would vote for anyone who had such idiots feeding them
their material. You could be undermining the entire mission."
"Sorry, sir."
"You sure are."
"Yes, sir, I am sir. What do you want me to do, sir?"
"You, Helmut?" The colonel stood up. "I want you to pack your bags."
"Yes sir. Am I going somewhere, sir?"
"Yes." The colonel began switching off the monitors.
"Where sir."
"I don't know, Helmut, and what's more I don't give a damn."
Eric Dean
Washington, DC
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