Marine Corps Stories: Patrons

Glasses with liquid gold that bubbled up to the surface stood on the table. Two steaming plates with duck and truffles permitted the party of two to partake in the luxuries of being president and the top Marine general as Chairwoman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

President Odin Cask blew onto the stuffed waterfowl on the table. General Misha Wainwright, sixty-one took a bite of her food.

“This is exquisite,” she said.

Cask, sixty-eight with salt and pepper wavy hair, chewed on the victuals. He possessed a wide face with little wrinkles that belied his age.

“Yes, it is.”

“I was talking about this withdrawal.”

Cask quickly shifted gears. His mind nearly rankled. He felt a stab of pain in his consciousness like a dagger. “Yes, that.”

“I’m thinking about having all troops out of Iran within the next six months. Saudi Arabia should be nine months. I, as you know, will be retiring soon.”

The secret service members kept hawkish eyes on the surroundings. Their black sunglasses and black uniforms made them contrast with the white space around them.

The Delawarean patrons knew of the special presence but respectfully could care less about the president and the general being in their presence and respected their space.

“I think that we’ve got our enemy whipped. And they know it,” Misha said. Her high cheek bones and seasoned face illustrated a slight smile.

Cask grinned. “Absolutely. The quicker that we get our boys and girls out of harm’s way, we’ll be enabled to focus on diplomacy. That’s where you and the other top brass come into the picture.”

“I love it,”Misha said.

“I love it, too. It’s a great strategy for all of you.”

“This time I was talking about the duck.”

Cask burst out laughing, but it was largely inaudible.

“But the strategy is great, too.” Misha said, elegantly chewing on another truffle with a wink. “I’m going to be visiting the reformed Iran. There will be a contingency, obviously, concerning whether the new government will take hold. But with me penning a Declaration and the other JCS drawing up a Constitution, there may be a glimmer of a chance for the goddamn place to experience solidarity with the US. This was and still remains a selfish war. That’s the good part. For all the months that we’ve been fighting Iran, the time has come for some serious reconciliation.”

Cask nodded his head. “Understood.”

Then, the waitstaff cleared the table and brought dessert. Raspberry mousse beckoned the couple to take in the sweets.

Cask instructed Misha. “Look around this room. These people didn’t use forced taxes to fund these wars in Iran and Saudi Arabia. They did so out of the understanding that to pay for the military is within their own self-interests.”

“I agree.” Misha said as she spooned up some kissel amd sorbet.

“I mean it’s profound devotion to the idea of individualism. Here we are in the greatest nation in human history and we have the documents that now fully respect the distinction from government and ISEE.”

“ISEE?”

“Ideas, science, education, and economics. These four pillars that should be separated from government ought to boost both countries. Saudi Arabia will fall in the coming months.”

“This may be the fastest declared war that we have won handedly in American history,” Misha said.

Cask sipped his champagne.

“It’ll be a blink instead of a thousand-yard-stare by comparison. I’m sixty-one and I don’t want to spend the rest of my days devising strategy and drawing up plans to destroy.”

“The American people looked past my age and lack of a wife and kids as trivialities in relation to governance.” Cask paused. “But I wish to change all of that with you.”

Misha let out a slight gasp. “I have two grown boys. I haven’t needed a man in my life that would bring me joy the same way that my late husband did. So, O, as long as the Constitution doesn’t forbid it, I would like to ask you to be my husband.” Misha held out a platinum engagement band.

Cask took hold of Misha’s cocoa butter soft hands.

“I will marry you. Yes.”

“Well that was sweet.”

“What was it this time? The mousse?”

“No,” Misha said. “You.”