WHERE TO BEGIN - AGAIN

Okay, it's time for me to catch up on all this. A lot has happened. A LOT!

Since I had last written, my billet with Commander Blaine had not changed. Since last time, since our first Maine Ale late night session, I had been vocal with him about his consorting with Commander Lawrence - that latter guy now proposing major new projects for Gilead. New Bethlehem. Openness to the outside world. Blah, blah, blah. More security risks.

Me, I was still a grunt, I'd never had an ambition otherwise. Staying a grunt was the best play in reuniting with my wife and daughter. To get out of Gilead? No! This extreme stuff was necessary but it couldn't continue. Gilead simply had to level out. The extreme stuff, it was messing with ALL our heads. Some Guardians are turning into zombies, others are offing themselves.

Back to the topic. If I'd had a say, for instance - which I did not - I would have advised Commander Blaine to avoid Lawrence, as Lawrence was so obviously complicit in the trafficking of those 86 kids. Those kids were STILL in Canada, and even Lawrence's last trip up north - he had not once tried to negotiate their release. A buddy on his Guardian detail had told me.

Indeed, as Blaine's Number One - if this were the Navy, I'd have been the Ex-O, privately I gave Blaine hell. Privately scorching him about his alliance with Lawrence.

Publicly, especially to the cadre of Guardians I commanded on Blaine's behalf? There was no separation between Blaine and me as far as the men were concerned. I'd even suspended one grunt for voicing criticism of Blaine to others - the exact same criticism I'd offered to Blaine myself.

I'd sent the guy back to Guardian-school, as we euphemistically called it, I'd listen to him, let him air it out. He'd ask me how I could serve a man like Blaine, given Blaine's cozying up to Lawrence. Then off he went, for reeducation. For breaking the chain of command.

I did it uttering my favourite come-back to complainers like him, 'when I want your opinion, I'll give it to you.' That guy's two weeks at Guardian-school included 'the treatment', the kind of harsh punishment meant to convince the man the errors of his ways, and restore the chain.

WHERE TO BEGIN - AGAIN x2

Okay, it's time for me to focus. A lot has happened. A LOT!

Since I had last written, my billet with Commander Blaine had not changed, although I had wanted it to (see below). During our initial, late night Maine Ale drinking session, I had been vocal with him about his consorting with Commander Lawrence.

Then Blaine ordered us to accompany him to the Canadian border, well into the chaotic area known as No Man's Land. At night.

Remember when I'd volunteered to chase rabbits, up there? In the hopes of finding my wife and daughter, when all along she'd been a martha at the Putnam's?

There I was leading the men on Blaine's behalf as he and Lawrence waited on the southern end of 'The Bridge of Spies' as it was called, waiting for some sort of prisoner exchange.

Me, I was glad I was Blaine's man - because Guardian trucks drove up and about two dozen marthas got out - them being in various states of repair. It was obvious that many were coming from some sort of incarceration - probably Mayday-marthas getting what they deserved.

Me, I scanned all of them, one by one - was one of them my love?

None of them were.

When the exchange happened, Blaine took possession - wait for it - of Commander Fred Waterford. Who'd been in Canada! What Blaine did next, he did solo, without reference to either me or the men. Waterford had sat in the back with us, but only for a few minutes, because Blaine ordered our driver into the woods, there in No Mans Land, still only a stone's throw from the actual border.

Then?

Then Blaine told me to stand down - that he was going to escort Commander Waterford himself, alone into the darkness of the No Mans Land ahead. I thought, 'I wouldn't give you a nickel for Waterford's longevity…..'

… even though I was to later find out that Blaine had 'farmed out' his wet-work. Look, I'm the guy he usually farmed that out to. So I had a small investment in finding out who my competitor was!?

Be careful what you wish for. He farmed out Waterford's wet-work to a girl! Someone I was to spend the rest of my time trying to add two and two about.

That, there, is the sum total of the first part of the catch-up I plan to do.

Gilead had just come to face the rest of the world - not my business, not really. I'm part of Commander Blaine's cohort. Commanders, they controlled what was released to the world. I kept my nose out.

Yet as I write this, Commander Blaine is himself in prison. A Gilead prison. That alone has left me and the men in limbo. So far, no competing Commander has ordered us any different - until we hear from a legitimate authority in Gilead, we still work for Blaine. I work for Blaine.

For me telling you this, it's all a matter of where to begin.

MY LOVE

My love and I are biding our time, the rare times we see each other.

As I've written, she was at the Putnam's estate, an upgrade for the whole house given that Warren Putnam was the High Commander of New Gilead.

Was.

This time, Commander Blaine did not farm out his wet-work. I would have done it to Putnam on Blaine's order, particularly because the Chancery had convened the High Criminal Court of Gilead, and it had ruled against Putnam.

Me, I was not going to argue. From that point, I knew my job.

I was the guy who'd gone up to his breakfast table, where he was dining with his Wife. All the Commanders were there with their Wives. I'd said to him, "Commander Putnam, you are to come with us."

Please understand, there's an immense pleasure talking to a dick like him like that. Especially since I knew what was about to happen. I just didn't think that Blaine himself would take care of the wet-work.

Putnam had said, "what could be so important that you would disturb me in the middle of breakfast?" Boy, was he in for a surprise. Putnam was being pitiful, and I hate pitiful.

Blaine had executed it perfectly, sorry for the pun. Putnam, he had his own protective cohort as did all the other Commanders. Indeed, when Putnam had salvaged Commander Ray Cushing, Putnam had done the same thing. He'd taken more of his own Guardians into the field when facing Cushing, than were at arm's-length to Cushing.

The other Commanders that breakfast? If they had consolidated their forces, I would never have arrested Putnam. I wouldn't have disobeyed Blaine, but I would have pulled him aside and slapped him up the side of the head - privately, of course.

Then again, Blaine thinks tactically better than I do. So with Putnam at breakfast, that was not a concern. Keeping situational awareness, I could see that (although there were far more Guardians on site than our little cohort), the command and control among them could not be coordinated quick enough - and wasn't - until Blaine had pulled the trigger.

Yet, that was #2 - the second time when Blaine hadn't farmed out the wet-work to me. Twice. I complained to him privately. But when one of the guys asked me that very same question, I docked him a day's pay - then donated that pay to his econo-wife back in Detroit. He himself was not out of pocket, but the point was made.

GETTING TO THE POINT

Okay, I've gone on too long about Putnam's demise - it's because I obsess over tactical details on such things.

The point of this little section? My wife. She was then a martha at the Putnam's, and with Mrs Putnam now a widow, that whole household was up in the air. Wives-widows had ended up in the Colonies for less.

Because of what my wife and I had had endured - losing our child, and now on the search for her - both my wife and I were concerned for Angela Putnam, the child of their house.

So where did Mrs. Putnam end up? Are you sitting down?

Mrs. Putnam is now Mrs. Joseph Lawrence. I shit you not. The former-Putnam household, most of it transferred to Lawrence's.

The one Commander that I would gladly put a bullet into the head of, save for the fact that the man I took orders from - Commander Blaine - would be pissed.

So to catch up? My wife is now in the Lawrence household. As a martha.

And my guy, Commander Blaine, he's in prison.

Awaiting any contrary orders, the guys and I spitballed tactics to spring him. But there were obviously no tactical avenues. So we bided our time.

COMMANDER BLAINE'S WEAKNESSES

Okay, there's more, far more, to come up to speed on.

Women.

I never thought he would marry. One thing I miss since he met Mrs. Blaine, there's no more nights of me taken bootleg ale over to his place. He married the D.C. High Commander's somewhat gimpy daughter - any other girl like that in Gilead would be dealt with….. well, let's just say that it would be quick. Especially the whimperers, I hate whimperers. Better to just shoot them.

Yet the High Commander's daughter, she turned out to be fertile. Atta-boy, Commander Blaine, I knew you were shooting something other than blanks! Yet with him now in prison, his pregnant Wife had returned to D.C., herself quite pissed off.

Why? One word - Blaine had a girlfriend.

I have colleagues of mine who work for other commanders. No one likes being ordered to discipline a Wife - god they can be bitches. One Guardian had handled the amputation of a Wife's finger, she'd read text while in Chancery, right there in front of ALL the Commanders. What did she think was going to happen?

But that is tough work for Guardians. In former days, even in the military, you'd be treated for PTSD for arranging mutilations of women.

Not. In. Gilead. You'd be proscribed prayer!

Where was I, I'm starting to wander.

Right, Commander Blaine had married. But he had a girlfriend. No more random evenings at his place for me.

THEN THERE WAS THAT MAYDAY CHICK

She'd been in the Waterford house as the Commander's Handmaid. It's none of my business how it was that then-driver, Guardian, and Eye of God Nick Blaine ended up banging her, knocking her up. I guess that's where Blaine's Eye bona fides, they help him avoid the landmines that would end the likes of me. If I'd been banging the Commander's Handmaid.

We'd escorted Commander Blaine to the border on at least three occasions, including when Commander Waterford had been salvaged. Me, I'd not asked questions when Blaine had got back to our tactical van, up there in No Mans Land.

I'd never confronted him about it - I couldn't discern if it had been a security matter. But I was aware that he'd gone to Canada to meet with the 'Mayday chick', the former Ofjoseph who had stolen those 86 children. Blaine had taken a file about the Mackenzie child, given to him by Lawrence.

The very Joseph Lawrence where my wife now works as a martha, thanks to Naomi Putnam….. er, Naomi Lawrence.

Are you keeping track? I'm not sure I am.

Then again for me, it is not important. I have my chain of command. It still remains with Commander Blaine, he in prison. I also know where my wife is, so I don't want to mess with that chain of command.

I HAD TO ASK

As his Wife was headed for D.C., but before he had socked Joseph Lawrence on Lawrence's wedding night, I'd taken the opportunity to take some bootleg Maine Ale to his house. We were finishing the six-pack with our third each, his Wife now gone.

Blaine had said, "So, what's this big favour you have to ask? And before you do, please remember I owe you my life many times over!"

"It's two things, Colonel." I'd purposely used his rank rather than his Chancery title.

Blaine looked annoyed at me. "Can we drop rank for a second?"

"I'd rather not, sir. The ale is making me too bold! Best that at some point I don't forget who the two of us are." He shrugged his shoulders. So I continued with a well placed, "Colonel… I need two things, which I also believe are to your benefit. But in all honesty, it's completely selfish."

He finished his third in a long draw, put the bottle on the side table, folded his hands, then looked at me.

I said, "I need a transfer. Not away from your command per se. I want to be assigned to this house - personal security. From your personal, chief of your security detail, to your body man. So that I could live here."

Blaine looked concerned, "there are many, dude, who would see that as a demotion. They'd think I was pissed with you."

I continued, "well, I told you it was selfish. The Putnam martha, now at Lawrence's. Can she also be transferred here. I mean, she hasn't been at the Lawrence's long….."

I was usually better at reading Colonels. He'd never had that 'what's going on?' look when we'd been chasing Nighthawks.

He then broadened into a wide grin. "I had a good feeling about you two!" He got up, disappeared into the kitchen and came out with his own six-pack of chilled Maine Cottage Ale.

Holding it up he said, "this is how I know it is illegal!"

THE SOCK

But it never got that far. Embolden by ale, Commander Blaine made the first and only tactical, strategic mistake I'd ever seen him make. He went from our drinking session, straight over to Lawrence's wedding celebration and socked him in the jaw.

In front of the Commanders of New Gilead.

The reason Blaine had done that? The Mayday-chick. She'd been the one to whom Blaine had farmed out Waterford's salvaging. In Gilead, who farms that out to a woman?