Red America: Green Light

Chapter Three: Casualties Of War

Lorna Dane held her daughter close as the deafening noise from outside continued. Over the sound of her daughter whimpering quietly, she could hear the sounds of clipped commands in Russian and the sound of gurgling screams. She didn’t want to look to see which side was taking a heavier beating, because she knew that her daughter needed her far more than she needed to see the outside. “Shh. It’s okay, honey,” she whispered into her daughter’s ear, kissing it gently as Libby shook with fear and clung to her dolly with white-knuckled fingers. “It’s okay – Mommy’s here. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not now, not ever. I love you so much, baby; don’t you ever forget that. Nobody’s going to hurt you. You’re safe with me. Shh.” And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the noise from outside stopped, leaving Lorna’s ears ringing with the after-effects of the blasts. Telling Libby to stay where she was, Lorna risked a glance from under the table where she and Libby were hiding, just to find out what was going on. What she saw horrified her.

The street was littered with fresh bloodstains and Russian bodies, their armoured forms lying spread-eagled with messy, ragged-edged grenade wounds torn into their chests, and the bodies of almost half of the rebel squad who had attacked the building in the first place. The rebels’ wounds were even more gruesome and severe than those on the soldiers’ bodies, with limbs, heads and guts blown off or liquefied by the Russians’ monstrously destructive new weapons. Chunks of the road had been reduced to cratered ruins, which Lorna recognised as the impact points of explosives (whether from the rebels’ grenades or the Russians’ rifles, she didn’t know, and nor did she particularly care). The scene was one of utter devastation, even on such a small scale, and yet Lorna still had no idea why Jim Logan had had his rebels attack the building in the first place. It didn’t look like a Russian military establishment, since there were no large hammer and sickle emblems anywhere to be found on the exterior, and, from what Lorna could make out through the smoking haze that obscured the building’s innards, there was nothing inside that was particularly important, either. That didn’t answer the question of what those armoured Russians had been doing in there, of course, but Lorna was too angry to think about that now. She was furious that Logan had made such a bizarre decision (ordering an attack on a Soviet establishment in broad daylight was hardly standard practice for him, especially when there were civilians around), and she was even more furious that he had endangered her daughter in doing so. There would be a reckoning later, she decided, but right now she had bigger things to worry about.

Looking down at her daughter, whose tear-streaked face was still buried in her bosom, she said “It’s all right, sweetheart – we’re safe now.”

Libby looked up at her mother and promptly burst into tears again. She was clearly still totally terrified, and Lorna didn’t blame her; it was hard enough for her to understand this whole situation, so it was always going to be harder on a three year-old child who had only expected to go on a day’s outing for some cotton candy and pizza. Lorna didn’t try to talk to her again; instead, she simply cradled Libby against her chest and sang a lullaby to her quietly until the Red Army clean-up crews arrived to take care of their own soldiers’ corpses, as well as those of the rebels. One of the Red Army medics came to her side and offered her a field-issue blanket – a heavy, well-insulated thing that shut out the cold almost instantly. “Here,” she said kindly as she draped it around Lorna’s shoulders and eased a flask of water into her hand. “This should help, yes?” She knelt down beside her then, hesitantly reaching out to touch Libby’s hair, and stroking it gently when Libby offered her no resistance. “Such a beautiful child,” she whispered. “You must be proud of her for being so brave.”

“Yes,” Lorna said in a dry, cracked tone, her throat still feeling parched even though she had just swallowed a large mouthful of water. “Libby’s my little angel.”

The medic smiled. “I have two children myself,” she said. “Mikhail is three, and Anastasia is five. Perhaps they will meet when they are in school together?”

Lorna looked up at the medic, surprised, and for a moment she forgot that the woman was a Russian invader, instead simply seeing another mother who was proud of her children. She gave the medic a wan, pale-lipped smile of her own. “I hope so,” she said quietly. “Libby likes meeting new kids.”

“I will tell my children to look out for her when she starts school, then,” the medic replied, before she glanced around the makeshift triage facility that had been set up in the closed-off street outside the restaurant. “I must tend to the other wounded now, but you are free to call me back if you feel you need further treatment, or if you need me to find somebody to take you back to your apartment.” She grasped Lorna’s free hand then, and squeezed it gently but firmly. “I hope your little one feels better soon.”

“Thank you,” Lorna said softly. She gathered the blanket closer around herself and Libby, sitting still and quiet for another half an hour until her daughter stopped crying and asked softly if they could go home. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Lorna said. “We can go home any time you want.” She picked Libby up and carried her over to where the medic was standing. “Could you help us get home now, pleased?” The medic nodded and smiled, before gesturing to a couple of soldiers. They led her to a small armoured personnel carrier and drove her straight to her apartment block before helping her disembark, taking her hand to help her keep her balance as she stepped down to the ground. Lorna thanked them, and climbed the stairs with Libby in her arms. When she got to her front door, she knocked on it after letting Libby down to the ground again. Her mother came to the door almost before Lorna had had time to draw back her hand, crying out as all her obvious pent-up worry was released in a single instant.

“Oh, God, I was so worried,” she whispered, reaching forwards to hug Libby and then Lorna tightly. “I didn’t even know if you’d been caught up in that explosion. I hoped you weren’t anywhere near it, but then when you didn’t come home for so long –”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Lorna said, nevertheless feeling a familiar, comforting sensation of security in her mother’s arms. “We’re here now. The Russians cleared up the mess, and helped us home.”

Her mother nodded thoughtfully. “They have their moments, don’t they?”

“Yeah, sometimes they do,” Lorna said, walking over to the refrigerator and reaching inside for a carton of milk. She drew the carton out and found a glass from the cupboard at her eye-level, pouring a generous measure of into it and handing it to Libby. “There you are, sweetheart. Drink that – it’ll make you feel better.” Libby took the milk and began taking small sips from it without saying anything, and Lorna felt a painful stab of worry. Libby’s silence was the thing that concerned Lorna the most, especially considering her usual level of volume. She knelt in front of her daughter and said “You know you can talk to me about anything, don’t you, honey?” Libby still didn’t reply, instead glumly dropping her eyes back to her glass of milk. “Don’t be scared, honey,” Lorna said encouragingly. “You can say whatever you want to. I promise I’ll listen, cross my heart.” She marked two diagonal lines over the centre of her chest with her fingertips, and it was then when Libby finally spoke.

In a tiny, frail voice she said “Why did they try to hurt me, Mommy?”

Lorna bit her lip and felt tears beginning to flood down her face. “Oh, Libby, they didn’t come for you,” she said, kissing Libby tenderly on the forehead. “You’re the most wonderful little girl in the whole world. Nobody wants to hurt you, I promise.”

“But why did they come today?” Libby asked persistently. “What did I do?”

Lorna sighed, stroking Libby’s delicate green curls. “You didn’t do anything wrong, honey. There are just people in the world who can’t get along, and sometimes they do really mean stuff to each other – but there are people out there who want to help other people as well. Do you remember the nice lady who gave us that blanket today? She thought you were beautiful, didn’t she?” Libby nodded, her expression softening a little. Heartened at the improvement, however slight it was, Lorna continued “And do you remember the nice man who gave you the chocolate bar today as well? He thought you were beautiful too.” The crushing irony that both of those people had been Russians, while the people who had destroyed her daughter’s good mood had been Americans, didn’t escape Lorna’s notice. She mentally bookmarked it as another thing she would take Jim Logan to task over the next time she saw him. “We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Libby frowned. “Why don’t those people like each other, Mommy?”

“Well,” Lorna began, sitting her daughter down onto the couch in front of the television and wondering just how she was going to condense the history of the Soviet conquest down into sentences a small child could understand, “you know how you see those soldiers on the streets all the time? Well, a long time ago, before you were born, the soldiers came across the sea and they said to us that they were going to be in charge. Lots of people didn’t like that, so they decided they were going to fight the soldiers to make them go away.”

“Is that why they came today?” Libby asked.

“Yes,” Lorna said. “Sometimes they do things like that because they want to make the soldiers remember who they are, and they forget about anybody who gets in the way.”

“Oh,” Libby said softly, still sounding like she didn’t completely understand. “Does that happen often?”

“No, it doesn’t happen very often,” Lorna lied. “But I tell you what: I know somebody who can tell you a lot more about this than I can. Maybe I’ll be able to get him to say sorry for what he did today, too.” She doubted that very much, of course – but she’d be damned if she didn’t at least try, for Libby’s sake...

The next day, Libby woke Lorna up early, stirring from her slumber at around six-thirty and immediately huddling closer to her mother thanks to the early-morning chill. She had asked if she could sleep in her mother’s bed the night before, just so she could feel a little safer, and Lorna had of course agreed without hesitation. She had spent half an hour helping her daughter to put on her night clothes and brush her teeth before reading her a story and turning off her bedside lamp. The last thing she remembered from the night before, in fact, was drifting off to sleep with Libby curled up in her arms. Libby had woken up a few times during the night, crying out and thrashing wildly thanks to some particularly vivid bad dreams, causing the duvet to fly off the bed and crumple onto the floor in a jumbled heap. Lorna hadn’t been even the slightest bit angry with her, even after the fifth or sixth time it happened. Instead, she had simply sung Libby a lullaby in a soft voice until she nodded off again, cuddling her tightly so that she could feel secure. It had left her exhausted, of course, but she knew it had been necessary. She couldn’t let Libby down – not when she needed her the most.

“Hey, princess,” she said, smiling with bleary eyes at her daughter. “Are you ready for some breakfast yet?”

Libby squeaked with excitement and threw off the duvet with an enthusiasm Lorna couldn’t remember ever having had herself. The shock of the cold air hitting her skin jolted her fully awake, her skin prickling into gooseflesh and the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She swung her legs out of bed and crossed the room to where her hand-me-down shower robe was hanging on the hook screwed to the inside of her door, and shrugged herself into it with a single practiced movement. Then she put on her slippers and followed Libby out to the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes a little as she found Libby a bowl and a spoon, and opened a fresh box of Libby’s favourite cereal. She didn’t like that that particular cereal happened to be both expensive and coated in sugar, of course, but it made Libby happy, so she supposed she had to let her have this one luxury. Considering all of the scrimping and saving their family had to do on a daily basis, it seemed only fair.

Pouring herself a bowl of oatmeal and drenching it in milk, Lorna sat down next to Libby and said “How are you feeling this morning? We had a pretty bad night, didn’t we?”

Libby looked thoughtful for a moment, then said “I’m okay, Mommy.” She paused. “I liked you hugging me last night. It made the bad dreams go away. They were nasty.”

Lorna smiled, even though she was sure that Libby would be having more bad dreams sooner rather later. It was practically unavoidable. “Good. I’m glad I could help, honey. If you want to sleep with me again tonight, just say so – I’ll be working until pretty late, but if you’d like me to stay with you, you just get into my bed and we’ll meet in the middle, okay?” She touched Libby affectionately on the nose with a fingertip. “I’ll try not to disturb you – but you have to promise not to bother Grandma, or I’ll carry you back to your own bed myself. Do you promise?”

“Yes, Mommy,” Libby said solemnly, her expression looking almost impossibly earnest and sincere. Lorna smiled again, and ruffled Libby’s pastel green hair with one hand.

“Good girl,” she said. “Now we should both finish our breakfast, or we’ll both be hungry for the rest of the day.”

As if on cue, Libby wolfed down the remainder of her cereal, and when Lorna had finished her own bowl, she skipped into the bathroom and waited for her mother to spread a small amount of toothpaste onto her miniature toothbrush. As Lorna brushed her own teeth, Libby tried studiously to keep up, with Lorna giving her occasional guidance and pointers until it was time to rinse away the lingering food with a small amount of mouthwash. She sipped from the bottle cap that Lorna had used to measure out a suitable amount of the mint-flavoured liquid, and then copied Lorna as her mother swilled the mouthwash around her mouth and then spat it out into the basin. Lorna wiped her daughter’s chin with a towel and congratulated her enthusiastically. “Well done – you’ll be able to do that without me soon,” she said. “Maybe you can try it again tonight – but make sure Grandma is there to watch you. I don’t want you to eat your toothbrush while I’m away!”

Libby giggled. It was heartening for Lorna to hear her making such a sound after the horrors of the day before, but she wasn’t going to think of Libby as being totally out of the woods yet. She knelt down and picked Libby up, carrying her over to the couch in front of the television so that they could watch her favourite cartoon together. Lorna didn’t exactly like the fact that Ursa Major featured all kinds of subtle pro-Soviet messages, but fortunately Libby was still far too young for any of them to register – so to her it was just a cartoon show about Vladimir the friendly brown bear and his various animal friends. Lorna flicked the television on just in time for the show’s theme tune to start, so she joined in with her daughter as Libby started to sing the theme tune at the top of her voice.

When the show had finished, Lorna shifted Libby off her lap so that she could knock on her mother’s bedroom door. “Mom?” she asked hesitantly. “Are you awake in there?”

“Yes, honey, I’m awake,” came a muffled reply. “I’ll be out in just a second; I just need to make my hair look a little tidier, that’s all.”

“Good,” Lorna said. “Look, I’m going to be going to work soon, so could you watch Libby for me?”

“Sure, Lorna,” her mother said, before she opened the door and smiled at her daughter. “You go ahead and get to work. I’m sure Libby and I can have some fun together – can’t we, sweet-pea?”

Libby smiled broadly. “Yes, Grandma.”

“That’s my girl,” her grandmother said, before she beckoned Lorna into her bedroom and lowered her voice so that Libby couldn’t hear. “What do you want me to do with her today? I’m worried she might get scared out in the open.”

“Then take her somewhere else,” Lorna said bluntly. “She likes museums. Take her to one of those, and hope that Jim Logan and his asshole buddies don’t decide to bomb that as well.”

“All right,” her mother replied, before she hugged Lorna tightly. “I’ll do my best to keep her safe. Have a good day.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Lorna disengaged herself from her mother and picked up her leather jacket from its hook on the inside of the front door. Then she filled her kit-bag with the essentials she would need throughout the day – deodorant, some make-up, spare underwear and clothing, and so on. “I’ll see you later.” She shrugged herself into her jacket and then picked Libby up, kissing her on the cheek and hugging her tightly. “I love you, Liberty Dane – don’t you ever forget that.”

“I won’t, Mommy,” Libby said quietly, suddenly looking downcast. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart, I know,” Lorna said, once more feeling tears at the edges of her eyes, “but I have to. I’m so sorry.” She put Libby down, dabbed at her tears with her handkerchief and then touched her daughter on the nose with a fingertip. “Be good for Grandma.”
“Okay, Mommy,” Libby murmured. “I love you.”

Lorna took Libby by the hand and led her over to the door, so that she could keep hold of her for as long as possible before she had to leave. When the door shut behind her, Lorna leant against the wall outside her apartment and sobbed quietly for a moment or so before she took a deep breath, wiped at her eyes and nose, and made her way down the creaking staircase to where her bike was parked. Slipping a piece of the front wheel out of a small bag in her jacket’s left pocket, she reaffixed it to the bike’s chassis with a small wrench she kept in her other pocket. She’d learned the hard way that partially dismantling her methods of transport was the only way to keep them from getting stolen, especially in this neighbourhood.

Kicking the bike to life, its engine growling in protest, she accelerated through the dirty, garbage-strewn streets as fast as the bike could manage, avoiding Soviet patrols as best she could. Since they were so frequent at all other times of the day, Lorna had found that mornings were generally the best times to get wherever she needed to go. A few five-man squads armed with little more than rifles and a couple of grenades each were much more preferable than a battalion’s worth of troopers with tanks support, after all. Thanks to the sparse traffic, it didn’t take her too long to get to her workplace. The gaudy neon signs advertising her dancing had already been lit, spewing bright pink and green light out in all directions. From what Lorna understood, Soviet law technically prevented bars from offering nude dancing before a certain hour, but this was generally overlooked in many areas because of the obvious morale boosts it gave the Russian troops. Her spots on stage weren’t until much later, though, so for the majority of the day she would either be serving drinks or sexually indulging Russian soldiers. She didn’t particularly enjoy the latter part of her job, but it was something that she endured for Libby’s sake. The additional benefit of extracting information for the resistance had been a bonus in the past – but after Jim Logan’s mistake the day before, Lorna wasn’t exactly in the mood to keep helping him out.

She saw her boss cleaning glasses behind the bar and said “Morning, Frank.”

Frank looked up. “Hey, Lorna. Nice day off?”

“Not really,” Lorna replied. “You see that explosion on the news yesterday? My daughter and I were right next to it.”

“Damn, Lorna,” Frank said, his expression clouding over with concern. “You get hurt? How’s Libby?”

“No, I’m not hurt, but Libby was fucking terrified,” Lorna said flatly. “She’ll be having nightmares for weeks.”

“Then I think you should go home,” Frank told her. “I think your daughter needs you more than I do.”

“I can’t,” Lorna said. “She’s with her grandmother, and... I know Jim Logan will be showing up here sooner or later. I want to tell that ragged little bastard exactly what I think of him. Maybe then I’ll go home.” She paused. “I really need to do this, Frank – Logan needs to know what he did to my little girl. If I don’t I’ll feel even worse than I do now.”

“Okay,” Frank said, still looking uneasy about her decision. “Okay. If I see him I’ll send him to you. I’ll cancel those sessions with Russkies I had you pencilled in for, too. Judy can cover those.”

“Thanks, Frank,” Lorna said, leaning over the bar and kissing him on the cheek. “That means a lot.”

Lorna threw her head back so that her green hair whipped around her face as she finished her afternoon dance, the whoops of the crowd ringing in her ears as she let her body relax. She took a bow and then retreated off the stage as she always did, leaving a satisfied audience behind her. As she moved towards her dressing room, Frank caught up with her and grabbed her by the shoulder. “Better be ready, kid,” he said in a low tone. “Logan’s in there.” Lorna felt something cold slide into her hand, and she looked down, to see a Soviet army pistol clasped in her fingers. “Just in case you want to make your point a bit more strongly,” Frank continued.

“Thanks again, Frank,” Lorna said. “I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied. “I never liked the runt either.”

Lorna smiled, and then turned towards her dressing room door. Pushing the door open, she entered the room with the pistol in both hands, and found Jim Logan sitting in his usual chair with his usual long-necked bottle of beer in one hand and a cigar in the other. His jovial expression changed in an instant when he saw the gun in Lorna’s hands. “Put your hands up, you fucking bastard, and stand up,” Lorna snarled, the pent-up rage she had been keeping under control since the day before finally emerging. Immediately, Jim raised his hands and stepped away from the desk.

“Darlin’, I –” he began, before Lorna darted forwards and cracked him across the face with the butt of the pistol, sending him staggering back as he clutched at his momentarily-bruised cheek.

“Shut the fuck up,” she snapped. “You talk when I’m finished and not before, understand?” She fixed him with her icy glare, and said “You sent those people to blow up that building yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but I had my reasons –” Jim said, before he received another punishing blow across the face.

“Shut up!” Lorna cried, furiously. “Why couldn’t you have waited until there weren’t so many people around? You nearly killed my daughter because you were so fucking stupid!”

“What?” Jim said, confused. “You don’t live anywhere near there.”

“I had a day off,” Lorna said, her tone as cold as ice. “I was taking Libby to the park – we were just about to have lunch when your bunch of heroes decided to give that building a new doorway.” She stepped closer to Jim and put her pistol right against his skull. “We were this close to getting turned into mincemeat, you fucking idiot. Couldn’t you have waited? No, I guess you couldn’t – can’t let Jim Logan go without getting his moment of glory, right?” She snorted scornfully. “I felt safer when the Russkies came to clear up your mess than I do with you, Jim – at least they gave two shits about the people they were supposed to be saving. Libby’s going to be having nightmares for weeks thanks to you.”

“Look, kid, I’m sorry –” Jim said, before Lorna shook her head.

“Not good enough,” she snapped. “You better tell my daughter that, right to her face. Tell her why you ruined her day out and scared the fuck out of her, just to make yourself feel like the Lone fucking Ranger.”

“Just let me explain,” Jim said, taking a step backwards. “You saw those guys in the black suits of armour, right?”

“Yeah,” Lorna said. “So the Russkies have new weapons. Big deal – they get them all the time. Still doesn’t explain why you couldn’t have dealt with them at night.”

“Okay, okay – I know it was a bad choice, but it was my only option. I had to do something fast,” Jim replied. “You remember Tony Stark?”

“I remember him,” Lorna said. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“When Kitty & Jamie were bringin’ him back from San Francisco he was goin’ to bring back this new weapon with him – his ‘Iron Man’ suit, he called it. Then he switched sides because Kitty told him he’d have to leave the thing behind. From what Kitty tells me, seems like the Ivans were pretty sold on the idea of makin’ more.”

“So why the explosion?” Lorna demanded, her finger tightening on the pistol’s trigger. “Get to the point, Jim.”

“The point is, those guys were wearing the same kind of armour, only smaller. The Ivans have almost every scientist in the United States working for them right now, whether they want to or not. Everything in that first suit’s been shrunk down so that a man can wear it. The only thing we can do now is take them out before they perfect the design and use it somewhere else.”

“Like where?” Lorna said, not quite believing what she was hearing. “They own the whole damn world, Jim. From what I hear, we’re the only country that hasn’t just rolled over and given up completely.”

“I got contacts all over the place, Lorna,” Jim said. “It ain’t just us that’s tryin’ to get rid of the Reds. I’ve been keepin’ in touch with my buddy Victor up in Canada for years now, and he’s doin’ exactly what we are down here – him and a whole bunch of other Canucks all over the country. There’s a whole bunch of Limeys kickin’ the Russkies’ asses in London. The French are busy trashin’ Red Army bases in Paris. Any country you can think of has people who don’t want the Ivans there – the only reason you ain’t heard about it is because the Russkies don’t want you to. You see why I needed to junk those things before they got shipped out? People need me to help them, an’ I can’t let them down.” He paused, sighing, and rubbed at his eyes. “Look, Lorna, I’m sorry about your kid – she’s a sweet little thing, an’ I hate that I upset her – but I didn’t have any choice. If you want me to apologise to her face, I’ll do it the next time I see her.”

“Good,” Lorna said, finally lowering her gun. “She’ll appreciate that.”

“I hope so, kid –” Jim said, the ghost of a smile appearing on his hairy face.

“But,” Lorna said, holding up a finger as she cut him off again, “I want you to swear to me that you will never put her or anybody else in that kind of danger ever again. Ever. Swear it to me, Jim, or I’ll never speak to you again.”

“All right, darlin’. I swear,” Jim said, before he pointed to the door. “Guess I’d better go.”

“Yeah,” Lorna said. “Guess you better had.”

When he had gone, Lorna ran her hands over her face and let out a long sigh. The anger she felt at Jim Logan was still there, below the surface, but she knew that he was a man of his word. She knew that he was doing what he was doing because he thought it was right.

Didn’t make it any easier to stomach, though...