Battleflag

Lieutenant Marcus finished reading, cleared his throat, and folded
up the paper. After a brief, stunned silence a mighty cheer rang up
from the crowd and echoed through the bunker like a blast wave. The
residents cheered, clapped their hands, and some giggled like school-
children on Christmas morning. For the first time in a long time,
Wynn felt hopeful. He smiled and his eyes sparkled with uncried tears.
“They’re coming, Wynn! It’s true!” Donny embraced his friend.
“Battleflag...” Wynn, still dazed, returned the hug. A single tear
trickled down his cheek.

***
In a matter of minutes, the entire bunker was animated and many
were drinking. One man held a crude, handmade guitar and he tugged
at the strings softly. A crowd had gathered around him, laughing and
singing and dancing.
All were overcome with emotion. All, that is, but one man — the
man in uniform, the stranger. He just stood there, quietly leaning
against the wall and propping himself up with the walking stick. Every
once in a while the residents would walk up to him and offer their
hands — he gave each a single firm pump, and sent them on their way.
He smiled once or twice, but it was a distant, empty smile.
“Donny,” Wynn snapped. “I have to find my sister. I have to find
Nellie.” He shook his friend by the shoulders.
Donnie laughed and nodded. “I saw her playin’ with the other kids,
outside the gen-room. You go get her, Wynn. Go tell her!”

***
A few yards from the closed doors of the generator room, some of the
bunker children busied themselves with their usual pastimes. The
boys kicked rocks and fallen debris around and chucked them at the
walls playfully. The girls played hopscotch at a safe distance from the
boys. Wynn ran past the smaller groups of people that had formed
around the edges of the larger crowd, and leapt across the main level
of the shelter until he reached the grayish-white walls of the gen-room.
There, he saw his sister.
“Nellie, get over here!” Wynn shouted and waved.
The small girl turned. “Winnie!” she screamed, and threw herself
into her brother’s arms.
“I told you not to call me that,” Wynn said and held her close, the
girl’s long black hair tickling his face.
“Tough luck, Winnie,” she whispered, then giggled.
“I love you, sis.”
She pulled away and looked up at him, her hair draped over her
shoulders. “Love you too, bro.” She smiled. “Did you hear? The other
kids said that the rebels are coming to save us. Do you think it’s true?”
“I hope so, Nellie. I really do.”
“Me too!” She jumped back into his arms and squeezed tighter. He
squeezed back.

***
By the afternoon things had settled down and many of the drinkers
had drunk themselves to sleep. Donny was slouched over a garbage
can, half-conscious, his insides revolting against the oily bunker gin.
Once his stomach settled, Donny would sleep it off as he always did.
For Wynn, drinking bunker gin was like drinking turpentine, and he
couldn’t stand the stuff.
The stranger was now sitting on a small wooden chair not far
from where he had been standing. The walking stick was resting on
the ground by his feet. He stared blankly into nothing, taking quick,
rhythmic puffs of a dwindling cigarette. The bunker folks had left him
to his thoughts.
Wynn saw his chance. He approached the man and held out his
hand. “Captain, thank you for coming, sir,” he said and smiled.
The man in uniform tilted his head, nodded, and shook the boy’s
hand.
“My name’s Wynn, sir, and I really appreciate it. I know you risked
your life to get here.”
“Wynn...” the Captain said softly.
“Wynn Caden, sir.”
“Wynn Caden,” the Captain took another puff of the cigarette and
calmly rubbed his chin. “Pull up a chair.”
He did.
“I’m Rom. Pleased to meet you, young man.” The man took another
puff and blew a thick ring of smoke into the air. It floated upward and
dissolved quickly, the residue flowing into the air vents.
“Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“You’re the computer kid, right?”
Wynn’s pale face lit up. “Yes, sir. I’ve been helping the rebels for two
years now.”
“Yes, of course. You took down the Oakridge Power Station last Fall.”
“I had a lot of help,” Wynn muttered.
“Of course, of course. Good work, son.” He flicked the cigarette
away. It died a slow death on the bunker floor.
“Thank you, sir,” Wynn said.
“So Wynn, do you have any family here?” the man asked, his eyes
staring off into the distance.
“Only a sister. She’s turning ten next month”
“You takin’ care of her?”
“Yes, sir.” Wynn nodded.
“Good, good. You been alone a long time?”
“More than eight years now. Our parents died in the first uprising.”
The man sighed. “I’m very sorry.”
“There was a raid in our neighborhood, and we were caught in
the crossfire.” Wynn paused and took a deep breath. “They died pro-
tecting us.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The man shook his head and leaned over
slightly in his chair.
“Yeah. It’s been a long time, you know? Some rebels found me and
my sister hiding in a ditch and brought us here, to the bunker. We’ve
been here ever since. That’s about it.” The boy’s voice was dry and it
cracked as he spoke.
The Captain placed his hand on Wynn’s shoulder. “It’s a tragic
story, but a story I hear all too often.”
Wynn bit down on his lip and held back the tears. It took effort.
“Have you eaten, Captain?”
The man shook his head, disinterested.
“I’ll bring you some lunch,” Wynn said and flew off his chair before
the man could protest. Moments later, the boy returned with canned
beans and cracker bread for two. They popped the cans open and
scarfed the food down.
“Thanks very much, son,” the man said after he was finished. “So,
how’s your sister doing? She’s only ten, you said?”
“Yes. She’s holding up. Some of the women here volunteer to watch
the children during the day. Nellie’s with them now.”
“That’s real good.”
“Yeah,” Wynn said and laughed. “I promised I’d read to her later. I
do most nights.”
The man nodded and forced a smile, but there was a profound sad-
ness in his eyes. “Wynn...” he whispered after a lengthy pause. “Do
you think it’ll ever end?”
“The war, sir? I don’t know.” Wynn lowered his head.
“Do you still hope?” the man asked, his eyes swelling.
“Some days.”
“And what about those other days?”
“Those days are hell.” Wynn said and frowned.
There was a long, heavy silence.
“Let me ask you something, Wynn,” the man said finally, raising his
head. “If you could help turn the tide of it all, would you?”
“Of course I would, sir. In a heartbeat.”
The man nodded. “And would you give your life for the cause
knowing that your sacrifice would give others a fighting chance?”
Wynn thought of his sister. “I wouldn’t hesitate.”
“Then listen closely, son,” the man said and the corner of his mouth
ticked up. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
For the first time since he arrived, the man seemed lively and alert.
He leaned forward in his chair and the boy sensed a sudden change in
the Captain’s demeanor. Wynn saw the man’s ancient face transform,
betraying a slight glimpse of youth.
“As you know, this whole mess started with the Augustine Wars
some thirty years ago. I’m in my fifties now, though I look a lot older
than that, but I was around your age when the damned thing first got
going. Everything before that we call the former times.
“By the time the war was over, the fate of many nations rested in the
hands of weak leaders and weaker governments. Twelve of this coun-
try’s most powerful generals decided to take matters into their own
hands, and their armies marched on our cities.