Revenge of the Pothead Ch. 10-15

"Are you prepared to testify regarding the case of your ex-wife or shall we be forced to compel your testimony, Lieutenant Walker? Either way, you're giving testimony, or you will face a general court-martial for insubordination and obstruction of justice. I don't think that I have to explain to you the ramifications of a court-martial, do I, Lieutenant?" Captain Gomez made it plain that he was prepared to be a hardass if necessary.

It wouldn't be necessary, of course. I was more than happy to testify, though I wished that it didn't come at the expense of my patients. I would tell them exactly what I recommended. It wouldn't be quite as harsh as I led Megan and even myself to believe, but it would still be rough. Someone had to provide medical care to those sent to the salvaging work in DC.

Megan was a nurse by trade. She still had those skills, even if rusty from recent disuse. She was also pregnant. Actually being worked to death in DC wasn't necessary at all. Being forced to treat their many ailments on a daily basis, being forced to watch most of her patients die from overwork, malnourishment, heat stroke, or whatever else might kill them in DC ... that would be punishment enough. Even as cold and unfeeling as she was toward me, presumably this would break her heart to watch it constantly for however long she was sentenced.

That was what I told the panel, too.

"And why send her there instead of somewhere else?" the head of the military court demanded of me, "why not salvaging work in DC itself? Or if you still think that she's of good use as a nurse, why not keep her here and put her to work in the hospitals?"

"For the first, and I believe that you can confirm this by testing, but she intimated with me that she was pregnant. I see no reason to doubt her on that issue. I have no idea as to paternity. For the second, her nominal allegiance to the enemy was one thing, but she gave aid and comfort to their cause.

"She deserves to be punished, but in a way that involves restitution. Long, grueling, unpleasant, psychologically scarring, and biologically hazardous restitution. Nursing work in a penal colony. I could think of precious few things worse, though I would recommend that she get to live outside of the colony and commute to it. You don't want a pregnant woman living in those conditions, do you?

"She's a widow and soon she will be a mother. She could use the job and income. Life will be hard enough on a single working mom. No sense in putting her in a minimum wage post with her background and education. Nursing work at a penal colony is undesirable, but still better than working retail or waiting tables," I stipulated loudly for Megan's benefit as she sat there in her chair at the defense desk.

I really wasn't being that merciful. I was getting my revenge in my own way. Megan would have to treat case after case of malnourished, overworked convicts of both sexes, see things that might well traumatize her, and still have to pay for babysitters which would cut into her spending cash. She would have few, if any discretionary funds for a good while. Planning for retirement would be a real bitch, especially with the new version of Social Security still being drawn up. All of her old FICA credits were long gone, weren't they?

Best of all, she would likely have to give birth where she worked. That would be awkward as fuck, wouldn't it? Maternity leave would be minimal at best. On the other hand, word had it that the Commandant was rolling out a plan for state-paid parental leave for fathers and mothers alike. There was even talk of either a wage subsidy or a universal basic income, but no real promises had been made yet.

Until she got her regular nursing license back, possibly long beyond that, she'd be stuck in that job definitely. Including possibly as a condition of her parole. If not quite a slave, she was clearly and absolutely an indentured servant. It was little better than a work-release program for a convicted felon. She would probably have little if any time for a social or love life, would she?

Best of all, Megan mouthed "thank you," evidently feeling grateful that I hadn't advised the panel to shoot her or make her an actual convict laborer in DC. Well, she wouldn't thank me when her hair turned all gray on her or she had a stroke from too much stress and work after a decade or so. Sure, she had a roof over her head, food on her table, and money in her wallet, but she would have to earn all of that with considerable work and serious occupational hazards.

Next to her, even a combat nurse like me had it easy. And that was a saying a lot. She'd probably damn me to Hell in her mind in the next six weeks, but that was the price that I would gladly pay for my revenge. Megan certainly wouldn't have it easy, would she?