The Time Surgeons
Chapter 2 Out of the Ashes

“Torpedo in the water!” cried an operator in the aircraft carrier at the center of the flotilla blockading the island nation of Cuba. It was bad enough having a fanatical Communist regime so close to the homeland. It was unacceptable when their Russian masters chose to install nuclear missiles there, a forest of deadly fingers raised obscenely in their direction.

“How many?” asked the Commanding Officer.

“One! Sir!”

“Bearing?”

“Directly at us, Captain!”

“Time to impact?”

“Thirty seconds, Sir!”

For a ship this size evasion was not an option. “Countermeasures, now!”

“Trying! Sir!”

“Only one torpedo? Are you sure?”

“Still one torpedo, Sir!”

The Captain looked at his XO. “Oh, sweet Jesus. Oh. Holy. Christ!”

“Send top priority message to command, soonest! Advise under attack from the submarine we have been tracking. Only one torpedo, which suggests a nuclear warhead. Repeat. Nuclear torpedo. Attempting countermeasures.”

He fought for inspiration and found none. He sent a quick prayer into the ether, hoping God was listening.

“Status!”

“Still coming, sir.”

The Captain and his XO exchanged another glance. It was the last thing they would ever do.

The aircraft carrier disappeared in a nuclear fireball that left nothing of the carrier or the men in it, other than radioactive dust swirling in the mushroom cloud rising above its former location. The ships nearest the carrier were also obliterated, while others further out suffered varying degrees of damage from fatal to survivable. Those still able to fight unleashed their own fury on the submarine that had struck the deadly blow, and any others whose locations they knew or suspected.

Whether it was the shock from their own torpedo or the violence of the counterattack did not matter to Vasili or the other men on the submarine. Nobody would ever find the wreckage that was now their tomb and memorial, sinking into the black depths beneath a once balmy sea.

The American President rubbed his eyes. Why, oh why, did I want this job? No number of willing actresses is worth this crap. More to the point why, oh why, did that idiot Khrushchev put nukes in our backyard?

Much as he wanted to blame Khrushchev, he knew the problem went deeper than that. The whole mess has this terrible feeling of inevitability about it. That bastard Castro wants something, that bigger bastard Khrushchev is happy to use him to get what he wants, we want something else, and none of us want it blowing up in our faces. Yet here we are, marching arm in arm toward Armageddon. And now my own goddamn navy is dropping depth charges on their triple-damned submarines.

What could possibly go wrong? he thought bitterly.

He looked up. I guess I’m about to find out, he thought at the grim, ashen face of the man who had entered. He looked at the man, inviting him to speak.

“Sir. Mr President. I… that is… the… the Russians have hit one of our aircraft carriers with a nuclear warhead.”

The President leapt to his feet.

The rest was as inevitable as the President had feared. The Americans had to react to this aggression, or the emboldened Soviets would sweep through the world; who knew how long the Russians had been planning this, and what they were about to do. A nation renowned for their chess grandmasters. Who knows how many moves ahead they have planned and how many traps they have laid? Already they dangled their missiles in front of our noses as they thrust at us unseen from beneath the sea.

The Russians knew how the Americans would react, and prepared as many missiles as they could, while wave after wave of nuclear armed bombers took to the air.

The revenge of the USA was swift and terrible, but the President was cautious: he would not unleash their entire arsenal, nor did he want to unduly risk his European allies by striking from there. But the Russians struck back, with whatever tactical, strategic and submarine weapons they had at their disposal. The Americans did not realize how overwhelmingly superior their own nuclear capability was: certainly the Russians had done their best to make them believe they were closer to parity. They did not hold back now.

Somewhere in Russia, a young man named Stanislav Petrov looked up to the sky at what looked like a falling star. His brain did not have time to let him see the flash that vaporized him. Thousands of others lost their lives in the same instant. Similar tragedies were repeated in too many other cities, on both sides of the war. Others were less lucky but no less dead, their inevitable deaths stretched out over minutes or weeks of pain.

By the time it was over, Russia had been obliterated as a power and indeed a country; much of Europe was in ruins, and the remainder was merely drawing breath before rushing after it; the USA was teetering on the edge of anarchy; even some distant allies had suffered attacks. Tens of millions had died in the USA; a hundred million in Europe.

The fires of combustion lit by the nuclear fires hurled great quantities of soot and other fine debris into the atmosphere and stratosphere, cooling the planet: not fatally, but enough to damage crop yields. Radioactive fallout caused deaths and illness on a worldwide scale. Worse, modern civilization is a delicate instrument: vast tracts of agricultural land barely populated, feeding giant cities; the giant cities making that productivity possible; an intricate web of transport, fuel, energy, water, food and trade tying the whole system together. And above all that, and supported by it like a delicate flower needing deep roots to survive, a thin web of security: medical facilities, police, the rule of law, fire services.

Europe had no chance. The USA descended into widespread anarchy. The rest of the world, damaged less at the start but also not as resilient to the shock, battered by the cold, the fallout, and the panic, followed it. Starving people care little about planning for a future they fear is unlikely to come unless they act vigorously in the present. The victims of their vigorous action were unimpressed by their motives, but the sheer numbers pouring out of starving cities could not be contained. But nor could those numbers, having ravaged the countryside, be sustained or survive much longer than the people who had grown their food and been consumed under their tide.

Within only a few years a billion people, one third of the world’s population, had perished. Over the following decades more died: from famine, from residual radiation, from genetic damage. The world had long since lost count. And there was more. An optimist might have thought that being victims of such a war would have put an end to more wars. An optimist would have been wrong, as they sadly always have been on that particular question. Into the power vacuum left by fallen governments came replacements who were worse: using their guns to take whatever scraps others could still produce, until there were none left to produce them. The enormous productiveness of the food-growing regions on which the world had come to depend could not be maintained without the networks of goods and law that enabled and created the machines, chemicals and security on which it depended. When those networks were gone, food production and availability dropped to what it had been centuries before: and inevitably, the population followed.

The former United States of America was well on its way to dissolving back into warring tribes. Or perhaps it could have saved itself from that fate by turning to another, by bending its remaining strength into a dictatorship of iron.

Instead, something remarkable happened.

The uniform was perfect, and all medals were present and properly aligned. Examining himself in the mirror, General Smythe smiled, as much as he ever smiled, in satisfaction at the effect. He patted the sidearm in its glossy leather holster. The die is not yet cast. But today it shall be, and one day the world will look back on this morning as the start of a new era.

With one final examination of his attire, he crisply turned and marched out of his bedroom, heading toward the meeting and, if all went as he anticipated, destiny.

The United States had suffered terribly in the War. The only silver lining on the radioactive cloud, in Smythe’s mind, was that the enemy who had started it had suffered even more, indeed fatally. But still enemies remain, both within and without. Now is time for the bold.

The US armed forces had managed to hold on to most of their structure and enough of their chain of command, so could still project authority over most of the country, albeit somewhat loosely and in many places tentatively. The lower chains of command, however, were restless, their mood and loyalties worsening as their remoteness from high Command increased.

There was no civilian Federal government any more. Many had died in the early days of the war, including the President. Those that remained, including the new President, had been betrayed by a rogue military unit whose leadership had decided that the times called for a more vigorous, military government. The clique had in turn been crushed by forces still loyal to their oaths, even though those oaths now served an idea no longer embodied.

Now the top leadership of the armed forces were gathered in their mountain redoubt to discuss their strategies for the future, and General Smythe was determined that their decision would be the right one.

He walked into the room and looked around, judging each face in turn.

There was a group of five over to his left: hard-faced men who knew how to grasp the nettle; men with whom he had had many conversations, nothing specific, just about principles; men he knew he could count on. They lacked the true strength required of a bold leader, but they would follow a strong leader if one became apparent.

Scattered around the room were other groups, but his eyes skipped over them. They had varying opinions, but none had strong enough opinions or wills to cause trouble: like his core group, they would follow whatever man had the courage to seize the rudder and steer the ship through the dangerous waters ahead.

There were only two men on whom his eyes rested with cautious appraisal. General Schaffer was dangerous. A brilliant strategist and tactician, he could be a valuable ally and extremely useful asset for the future. However his loyalties lay with the man next to him, and worse, those loyalties were not merely ideological but personal. Schaffer’s loss would be a blow, there was no denying it; but losses always happened in war, and there was nothing for it but to go on with what you had left. After all, that is what everyone in this room had been doing since the war started, and why they were gathered here today. But Smythe hoped there would be no loss. Yes, there was a danger that Schaffer’s loyalty would make him do something precipitate, demanding an unfortunate response. But as long as he had time for a few seconds of reflection, he had the wit to see where the wise course lay: so with luck he would bow to historical necessity whatever his personal feelings. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

That left General Rushman, the top officer and man in charge, whom Smythe now studied carefully while trying to appear not to. Smythe had trouble understanding Rushman. His opinions were those of a weak man, yet he commanded the loyalties of his men as if he were strong. He seems like a sheep, yet one who imagines he has teeth and claws. And somehow draws others into seeing them too.

A memory from long ago floated sharply into Smythe’s attention: some agricultural show he had attended as a boy on a holiday in far Australia. He remembered sitting next to his father on the rough wooden planks that provided seating above an open arena, the hot southern sun shining down through inadequate shade; he could almost still feel the trickle of sweat down the side of his face. His father was pointing to the arena, explaining the finer points of the trials, where a farmer was signaling his shaggy black and white dog to herd sheep into a pen. Smythe could recall the sound of his father’s voice but not the words. What had struck him about the scene was not the ewes, milling about confused and docile, nor even the dog, circling around to cut off their escape and approaching, crouching, to nudge them in the right direction, but the sole ram of the flock. The ram had surprised the young Smythe, for it displayed what to him seemed the quite un-sheeplike behavior of facing down the dog, stepping forward and stamping his foot aggressively at it. To Smythe, the contest had seemed surprisingly even: the ram, threatening the dog, who had to be content with its own feints and threats. But eventually, inevitably, the dog had won and the sheep were penned.

Smythe smiled inwardly, the smile not reaching his lips. Yes, my friend, that is what you are. One of the sheep, yes, but the brave ram, standing up for your flock. I could almost admire your courage. But no matter how brave the ram, still the dog outmatches him. And he stands no chance against the wolf.

At the other end of the room, General Schaffer was conducting a similar assay of the men present. He held his head erect in his usual crisp posture, but he was worried. He glanced briefly in General Rushman’s direction. He did not see worry there, only resolve. This morning he had warned Rushman of the overall mood of the group, noting that the only real danger was from Smythe. Rushman had nodded, but put his hand on Schaffer’s shoulder.

“I know, Bob,” he had said. “But don’t do anything. Stand by my side, but it is vital that you make no move. Do you understand? Do nothing except follow my lead.”

Schaffer could tell that there was a general mood but no general plan in the room. The men present had their opinions and their cliques, but no unified design. They were like balls in a roulette wheel: agitated and jumpy, wanting to end up somewhere but not knowing what slot they would finally fall into. But something in Smythe’s posture and the way he scanned the room told Schaffer that if he was going to do anything, today was the day. Like Schaffer, Smythe knew that enough of the others would follow the lead of any man willing to take that lead.

He looked again at his friend, remembering their time in the Korean War. They had been ambushed and were under fire, with Schaffer cut off, pinned down and facing death: when Rushman had saved him in an act of daring and bravery, risking his own life and almost losing it. Rushman had dragged him out of the fire zone but Schaffer couldn’t walk. Rushman should have escaped, but the two hid in the tropical foliage, trying not to breathe as enemy soldiers stalked past their noses. The two had been firm friends ever since. And now we are coming under fire again, and you order me to stand aside. Do you see the danger? I hope you know what you are doing.

Rushman called the meeting to order.

“The country is in ruins,” he said. “But it can get worse. We’re all that’s left to stop its slide. The question is, how are we going to go about it? The main question is one of authority. You know my feelings on the matter. That even though the civilian government is gone, it is still the Constitution of the United States that we are sworn to protect and serve. That it is our duty, not only legally but morally, to return our great country to the civilian government that made it great as soon as possible. If any of you aren’t on board with this, now is the time to say so. Our task is difficult, maybe impossible. We certainly can’t succeed if we are divided among ourselves. So again: come on board or state your case now: or forever hold your peace.”

For a few moments nobody moved or spoke. Then Smythe stepped forward.

“I agree we must be united. But your course is folly. The people are scattered and afraid. Those who aren’t afraid are looting. Civilian government? Of whom, for whom? I agree, the task ahead of us is fraught with difficulty. We need strength, not squabbling. Action, not speeches. Authority, not votes. We have the power. We must use it.”

The room took its collective breath, knowing that the future of the country and perhaps the world hung in the balance of this debate. Smythe stood rigidly, glancing around the room. He saw little hostility: what there was of it mostly the kind that hoped somebody else would stop him, rather than the kind that manifests itself in action. Most were just watchful. His own clique were not ready to come out in his support, not openly, but their watchfulness had a different tone: an edge of anticipation. Even Rushman and Schaffer did not look at him with hostility but with deep attention, as one might look at a bear, wondering if after its bluster it would run or attack. Then Rushman responded softly.

“You are speaking of a military dictatorship.”

“A military government, yes. For the period of the emergency. We can worry about a return to civilian government when the time is right.”

“And when in history, John, has a military dictatorship ever decided the time is right, unless forced to do so? And who is there left to force us?”

“If there are none left to force us, why should we bend the knee to their weakness and cowardice? Let us build something out of these terrible ashes: something glorious. We are the only real army left on Earth. Our country cries out for a new path to glory. The world lies open before us.”

He raked his eyes across the faces in the room, baring his teeth in a way that could be confidence or the slap of a challenge. “There is a time for the wolves to serve the sheep. See where it has brought us! I say… it is time to do better! Time for glory!”

Rushman looked around the room, looking each man in the eye: those who did not refuse the contact. “Glory? We are the product of what may have been the greatest nation on Earth, the greatest of all time. A country founded not by accident but on ideals: for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. A country whose birth, yes, was aided by force of arms: but whose purpose was not continuing the rule of arms but bequeathing a life of freedom. Can we betray that legacy?”

He could see that some were moved; but that none would rise to his defense. “One of our greatest generals was George Washington. Learn from him. He could have been king, but like the great Roman general Cincinnatus, he stuck by his ideals and, having won the war, left power to the Republic he helped create. Do not betray his legacy. Perhaps you can forget our legal duty. As General Smythe will remind you, there is nobody to enforce it except ourselves and our own integrity. But our moral duty is still to serve the Republic. Even if the Republic is no more, the idea of this Republic can never die, and it is the idea that is worth fighting for and dying for: but better than all, living for.”

As he spoke, Schaffer’s eyes darted around the room. You are trying to win them with words, my friend. But you can only win with words when men are open to listen. Too many here have their own agenda. Too many feel the siren call of power. You must know this. What are you counting on?

As if reading his mind, Smythe stepped forward. “Fine words, Arthur. But now is the time for boldness. We have the power. We must use it, and build something better upon the ruins.” He rested his hand on his sidearm in silent but unambiguous signal, and the room tensed.

Rushman sighed. “Yes, I fear you are right, General.”

He stood and bowed his head, leaning for support on the edge of his desk. “Some battles go only to the bold.”

If the surprise in General Smythe’s mind had had time to crystallize into words they would have been I did not know he could move so fast, as Rushman whipped the gun he had hidden under his desk and fired three shots. As Smythe’s body crumpled to the floor, Rushman watched him fall. You are not the only man to have read Machiavelli, John. For all his questionable ethics, the man had plenty of wisdom. Like never leave a dangerous enemy alive to plot his revenge.

Then he lifted his head to address the room.

“Let there be no more talk of military dictatorships. Haven’t we seen, around the world and throughout history, that the rule of guns does not work?”

He raked the audience with his eyes.

“It is the barbarian who sees a mighty pyramid rising above the desert and, not understanding how it grew, seeks only to take it. To build his palace on its crown, never knowing why it crumbles beneath him.

“Do you understand? That if we try to live as despots on top of a pyramid of slaves, then within our own lifetimes, let alone our children’s, our lives will be more miserable and brutish than if we had been content to be equals in a free society?”

He looked at Schaffer, who had not moved from his side but whose own guns were now drawn, pointing in deadly emphasis at the men in the room. Thank you for trusting me. It had to be me. Some of these men will hear reason. The rest will hear only strength. And it had to be me who had the strength.

To the rest, he simply said, “So let us learn from history, not be seduced by dreams of plunder. We are not servants of sheep, but guardians of freedom: our own as much as that of our people. There is no room here for despots. If that is what you want, if you want to use the tragedy of an entire world as a stepping stone to your own power, then I suggest you slink away in the night – as the curs you are, not the wolves you imagine. We will not stop you. Try to set up your fiefdom far from here. But be warned. We will hunt you down. One day, we will destroy you.”

Again he looked at each man in turn. This time, they all met his eyes. “There is no conflict between glory and right. What could be more glorious, and more right, than rebuilding greatness? So for all of you who retain the integrity of your oaths and the nobility of your souls: we have a lot of work to do. Let us work together as men, not brutes, and see what brighter future we might build.”

Over the subsequent years, a government was formed with the strength of the military behind it, but dedicated to the defense of the people, not their rule. They knew that things could never be the same. From the city at the center of their power, Rushman and his generals called for a new Constitutional Convention, bringing the best thinkers from all the distant corners from whence they could acquire them. As in the first such convention centuries ago, perhaps these were flawed men; perhaps they made errors; but they worked to correct the errors of the past, and perhaps save the future.

This might have been impossible before the war: too many people, too many interests, too many conflicting ideals. But this was a smaller country, with fewer delegates selected according to the ideas that had founded the country, not those that had fought with and nearly destroyed it. And so a new Constitution was forged out of the ashes of one country, to become the spine of the new.

The new government was named the Protectorate, as its role was not to rule but to protect; not to tell people how to live, but to allow them to live as they saw fit, provided that their way was to the benefit of others.

The Protectorate started as impregnable in its center of power, with thin tentacles stretching in many directions to its earliest allies. They had been the cities and regions still strong enough to maintain their own existence and still loyal to the ideals of the republic. As the decades passed the Protectorate spread its power and authority across the country. Where it could, it absorbed regions without violence via promises of protection, law and peace. Where it encountered warlords it crushed them. It had learned from the war and the wars before it, and had neither patience with appeasement of its enemies nor desire to make war with its friends. If a region did not want to join it, but had its own version of a peaceful government, then treaties were made. The Protectorate knew that winning the future required unification, but it had patience. It knew that war was not necessary; that eventually the advantages of trade and friendship would absorb the independent regions anyway. Only if a region would not accept peace was it considered a threat. Threats were eliminated with neither delay nor mercy.

In many ways it was a leaner and meaner version of the country it replaced. It was less free but not terribly so. The government knew how much had been lost and how desperately it needed to restore it. Its constitution banned nuclear weapons, but not nuclear power; it encouraged science, but not science that could destroy the world again. It sought to become a mighty industrial and technological power once more, but one lacking the fangs that could ravage itself. It was as if a viper had learned it could die from its own bite and, knowing it could not trust itself to never bite again, relinquished its venom.

Thus science, cautiously overseen, was treasured. In the early years that was difficult. Many of the finest minds had been lost. And no matter how great the mind, there is only so far science can go if all it has to work with is a blackboard or a magnifying glass. Much of the delicate equipment required for advanced science had been lost, the knowledge and machines needed to build more now dust as well. The Protectorate held on tightly to what remained; ensured that, whatever other priorities called on its wealth and manpower, education and science were never left to wither and die.

There was much to rebuild and little wealth with which to do it. When struggling even to survive, there was no room for fantasies that wealth could be created out of a vacuum simply by printing pieces of paper alleging it. So at first little could be done to preserve the knowledge which remained, other than hold on to it with grim determination. But as the rebuilding proceeded and production increased, slowly the scientists of the Protectorate approached, then equaled, and finally began to exceed the science the world had once known.

But if its scientists were imbued with the mandate to learn. they were also instilled with a desire for caution: new knowledge was carefully examined for its potential to help or to harm the human race. If the harm was too severe further work was avoided. Usually this was voluntary: they all knew the reasons, and believed in them with the fervor of survivors. If any mavericks thought they knew better and decided otherwise, they soon found their ability to continue in their chosen profession curtailed or lost forever.

The Protectorate valued freedom, as long as it stayed within prudent bounds.

Meanwhile, as the decades turned into centuries, the same process that had absorbed a country was applied to absorbing the world. The Protectorate spread rapidly across the devastated lands of Europe. In less shattered areas, there were often strong governments to resist its advance. But once again these were handled by treaty or force, whichever was appropriate.

In more ancient times, villages facing the outward sweep of the empire of Rome had learned that to surrender to Rome could bring peace and wealth, albeit under the yoke of governors and tribute; whereas to resist Rome was likely to bring fire and death. The countries of the new world learned something similar. Except instead of the yoke of tribute, the Protectorate offered only the benefit of knowledge and trade. Rome had wanted the world in order that its wealth could pour into its own coffers. The Protectorate merely wanted the world.

Life was still hard and neither the people nor the government of the Protectorate were squeamish, but nor did they wish to waste men and money on conquest. Yet their one driving force was unity: the world could not be left at the mercy of disputing powers. It had tried that and almost died.

They had one crucial advantage: by choice or circumstance, nowhere else on Earth had retained as much advanced knowledge as they had, nor kept as much unified territory with which to sustain industries based on that knowledge. So they resolved the contradiction between peace and expansion. They invested in science and technology in order to maintain and enhance their superiority. They invested heavily in spies, in order to know their enemy. And if they learned that an enemy was becoming dangerous, they invested heavily in assassins.

And so the Protectorate spread its power across the globe, first as thin filaments of influence; then as thicker cables of treaty; finally by absorption.

Governments might not have liked this process. But governments by their nature are infested with people who enjoy power. The best of them seek it in order to improve the world; the worst of them, in order to trample over others. In either case the Protectorate was not interested in anyone else’s desire for power, for it knew where that could lead whatever the motives.

The people those governments ruled were more open to change. They might have been less so under the influence of their own government’s propaganda, but the Protectorate became expert in its own methods. And as more people came under the Protectorate’s power, they learned that it was a good power. Not perfect, certainly: but generally better than what they had had before.

And so two things spread outward from the growing edges of the Protectorate’s empire: their spies, and the knowledge that the Protectorate was a realm of its word. If it promised peace with honor and protection of rights, that is what it delivered. If it promised destruction, that came even more swiftly and certainly.

Not all countries were absorbed. Some were peaceful republics or democracies themselves and happy to deal with the Protectorate as allies and partners. Some were more despotic, perhaps monarchies, even dictatorships, yet ruled by wise leaders: who were also happy to be friends rather than enemies of the Protectorate, especially when they knew what became of the latter. For its part, the Protectorate was happy with these arrangements. It had its spies in place to monitor for danger and betrayal and its assassins on call to handle such crises. And it was patient. It knew, from its own history, that eventually all would come into its arms, and the world would finally be safe forever.

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