Chapter 5. Sewell

This final rotation of Sewell’s last deployment had been as fascinating as it was arduous. The experience had torn him from the comfortable world so removed from reality and into the belly of a fraught deployment. The initial feelings of awe at the scale of the operation were soon tempered by the sheer magnitude of the problems they faced. Sewell quickly understood how even the mightiest of armies could be rendered impotent in the face of vast human suffering. 

Sewell had been stationed at the forward military base that served as the last outpost of the A-I-F-S-F, (Allied International Forces Stabilisation Force) – only Sewell seemed to object to the idiotic nomenclature. This posting was to be his last rotation before returning home, this time for good. It was time, it had been four years of segue from that world of expectation and privilege. It had of course been frustrating and difficult but ultimately reassuring to feel his abilities were not dependent on connections alone. His confidence had grown with each deployment, each small victory, his satisfaction at the organisation’s desire to cultivate his talents palpable. But now the gravity of family duty had overtaken his small rebellion. He had heard rumours and whispers; ill health was advancing, and his duties were far from this alien adopted land. Now at least he felt free to return on his own terms. Truly, they would all look at him differently, the cousins and lackeys who had found it hard to contain their disappointment at his diminutive nature. He still felt those cutting sneers at his automatic right by sheer dint of birth. The only boy, or rather the only one with any interest in doing something. His sisters, all three of them, had taken their own paths, never feeling the expectation, knowing always that their baby brother would take his place as his father had before him. One had never been quite right and her death from an ‘accident’ whilst he was still in junior high had been a strange mix of horror and relief. The exact circumstances remained veiled in family secrecy, but he knew all he needed. A wayward spirit, some experimentation at spring break, a misguided ‘trip’ turned bad. It wasn’t suspicious; indeed, it was reassuringly ordinary, just another teenager whose sense of immortality crashed fatally against the dumb hard wall of reality. She hadn’t been alone, although two others had survived the wreckage. She had, as was her dint, pushed herself further, consumed more and in the end just simply died. Neither sister mourned her; she had, it seemed, always been trouble, perhaps she had done the family a favour. Either way, he had been too young to really know her, she was a stranger to him, a ghost. They all conspired to reinvent and memorialise her as the family’s very own cautionary tale. But his eldest sister, Elma, had escaped the family into a world of books and study. Early fascination with literature had given way to law school and her position as law professor would quickly find remedy through family connections. There was no doubt of her decency and work ethic, but she lacked imagination. Sewell’s closest sister Rose had no such ambition. With his mother so often absent, filling her time as she was wont to do, with innumerable charitable foundations, site visits and conferences. The boy had clung to his ever-doting sister’s side from as early as he could remember. Perhaps this had been his mother’s intention all along. Despite her prolific energy, she rarely found pleasure in the children, choosing instead to forward the family’s liberal political agenda by tending to children from the farthest corners. 

Indeed, Rose teased her baby brother William with the pair having perhaps been adopted; given they shared none of the appetites that distinguished the family’s unflinching pursuit for exceptionalism. Well at least that was true for Rose, whose relationship with Sewell gradually faded as he in turn was gripped by that ambitious compulsion. Instead, Rose reflected on her own complex childhood; a legendary father, an absent mother ill-suited to childrearing, whom she determined to be quite ordinary.  Of course, her version of  ordinary would not entirely denounce the family trappings; a speedy engagement followed by marriage to her high school sweetheart, an innocuous soul called Edgar. The relationship had met with little resistance, her parents too wise to believe their influence could change young hearts and perhaps confident that given time, she would discard the dull soul for another. However, to the mild annoyance of the cynics, the couple settled down into a happy and uncomplicated life. They were provided a home by the ocean and Edgar’s employment within the audit department at one of the holding companies passed without incident. By all accounts and despite all expectations, she had achieved something few others had glimpsed: contentment. Moreover, Rose had achieved this miraculous feat without any fanfare and whilst still maintaining her good relations with parents and siblings alike. 

The kinship with Sewell remained strong and despite his own development into an astonishing adult, she remained the doting sister who was as apt to smother the awkward man to the ground, as to dump water bombs upon welcoming him home from college. Rose’s own children, the only grandchildren so far, were suitably fawned over and regularly intervened in the video calls at holidays that Sewell found himself drawn into. The two kids were angelic and curious, filled no doubt with wonder at the far-flung uniformed uncle. For Sewell had become a mystical figure, the only brother, the genius of the family who had paused work on a PhD to volunteer for a war without purpose. It had been a shocking decision, but one that his father had appeared to take in his stride. The family patriarch had by now survived multiple encounters with cancer, the product of a bit of bad luck as well as a more reckless period that had seen him push his body to the limits. Now in remission, he had resolved to simply support his offspring, learning the wisdom that comes from knowing the limits of control. His newfound ‘live and let live’ outlook borne in part from the pragmatic desire to avoid an untimely conflict should the cancer return. For the wider family, the countless cousins and hangers-on, it all seemed like yet another weird act by the distinctly odd brother who never quite fit in. At larger events, his shyness was  mistaken for being ‘snooty’ and ‘superior’.

Sewell’s ailing father watched his son's progress from afar with unreserved delight, whispering to anyone close, as secrets, news from his latest deployment. The son and heir, it seemed, had at last become the source of unbridled pride. Even his most scornful cousins were forced to admit that should public service beckon, Cousin Will’s uniform would prove a priceless commodity for consolidating the family’s political position. But Sewell had no such ambitions. He just wanted to get away and find out what it felt like to live outside the ‘Sewell’ family bubble, reasoning that the military was the only place he would find sanctuary, a world where despite all his privilege and influence, he could disappear and perhaps find himself.

Sewell’s attachment to the Technical Intelligence Corp was originally intended as a peripheral assignment, one carefully engineered to keep him out of harm’s way without seeming too much like a cop out. For despite his protestations, the senior command was not going to allow this unusual recruit to blow up in their faces. The family’s reputation was inescapable, their interests were political and industrial, serving as one of the largest contractors to the armed services through innumerable corporations. The commanders were entirely disinterested in the young man’s true motivations, preferring instead to focus on mitigating the risk to reputations and careers alike. All the brass had quietly agreed that the young Sewell’s time with them must remain unexciting. He was to enjoy a normal but uneventful stint, his experience was to be positive and must in no way reflect poorly on any of the well-oiled structures in place. However, Sewell had other ideas.

His initial deployment had been accompanied by a series of gruelling treks, which to his surprise he had quite enjoyed. Sewell revelled in the wandering adventure, the discovery of it all, the thought that perhaps his had been the first footsteps to trace that path. He was on a frontier, a newcomer who could make his way on his own, undeterred. He was determined to soak up every moment of freedom from his family that he could.

Sewell always knew it would be temporary, always understood where his path would ultimately lead; that one day, half reluctantly, he would need to return. One day, he would need to follow his father into the family business.    

However, during those last weeks of service, despite his best efforts, he was still uncertain as to how he would, or more to the point, could effect change. With all his abilities, along with the seemingly bottomless resources that his position afforded him, what good could one person do in the face of the horror of war?  A meat grinder for innocent life, where casualties were more likely children than combatants and the enemy refused to ponder the slightest modicum  of decency in their pursuit of a medieval and expired cause. For despite the overwhelming might of a superpower, with its relentless and unmatched technological capacity, human misery still prevailed in the path of war. The disorder of conflict and chaos subsumed any slither of promise. How could this spiralling entropy be brought under control? As far as Sewell could see, despite trillions of dollars and untold lives lost, the situation was no better than it had been a decade prior. Hopelessness grew unchecked, and worse still, the enmity was likely to infect the wider region in this part of the world once this last outpost was finally, inevitably redeployed. Their tenure merely the latest in a series of failures, each humbled by an inexorable spiral of missed opportunities. Nothing mattered, that much was clear. They were merely carving lines in the sand, only half cognizant that the next storm could blow away their efforts into the void. When this last outpost was finally withdrawn, hardly anything would remain of their best efforts, nothing would be changed. Perhaps this lesson above all was what he needed to understand to feel comforted in returning to his family’s warm fold.  At least within that place it was possible to record some betterment of lives through the production of another disposable consumer product, albeit only to the benefit of already privileged lives. The consumerist, spoiled herd whose troubles were unrecognisable in scale to the desperation of the masses that clawed at the barbed fences of the base. The countless faces who pleaded with the remaining troops. They all had a story, all had their prepared exceptions, all crying for escape, to find opportunity elsewhere. Anywhere would do. But soon they would have no one left with whom to plead. With the West’s attention span exhausted, its hands having grasped this nettle and recoiled, they would all be left to their own fate. No one pretended anymore that it was going to be okay. They sometimes wondered out loud if perhaps without the outsiders, they might finally work things out for themselves. That was at least the sentiment, but no one believed it much.

Sewell wondered whether back home they would realise how little real action or conventional service their boy really had experienced. Whilst few could imagine him the hero, even the most sceptical would have to admit that he’d done something, been somewhere and no doubt witnessed things that they had only briefly glimpsed on news reports. The truth was that since a very gentle basic training within the reserves, Sewell had artfully navigated his own path and hadn’t so much as loaded his weapon in years. In fact, as it stood, he was unsure entirely as to where all different components for his required sidearm had settled within the corners of his space. He determined to use this reprise to locate the items in question, if at some point someone would ask him to return them or at least check them out. 

In the evenings, Sewell typically swallowed dinner in the mess hall with a clutch of other men from the Corp. They got along well, referred to rather admiringly as the real Geek Squad. Everyone knew to avoid discussing his name and they were all making the best of it. The tenor was professional but calm, with the commanding officer acting without any pretension. Remaining enigmatic and curiously playful, Sewell often enjoyed the practical jokes that went awry. More importantly, here no-one mocked his brilliance, they respected it. When Sewell spoke, they listened. Indeed, everyone seemed intent on doing everything they could to impress this strange transplant from another world. Sewell realised that he would soon miss the evening camaraderie found within his tight-knit unit. It was so much simpler here, it had allowed him to breathe and grow, far from the crushing expectations that lurked ever present at home. But this night, Sewell excused himself early, returning to his quarters to recover some of the sleep expended over the preceding nights which had been dedicated to his extended send-off. The home in which he had grown so comfortable was no more than a small room within the garrison building. Its familiar smell, the reassuring layout, its mundane simplicity calmed him even as he went about recovering the weapon that he had for so long omitted to consider. Rummaging within the metal containers under his small bed, its tight sheets having become a daily habit. Whilst spartan, the room was not without artifice: photos of his sisters and nephews, some books that he had brought but never read, even a memento or two. The room had indeed witnessed its moments, hosting that first real experience with a woman. Sure, there had been some moments back in college; the odd fumble, but nothing that had transported him, nothing that had left its mark. But that had all changed here, could he still smell her? He’d grudgingly accepted the transient nature of the affair, but still longed for that feeling, that excitement – a high that he had not felt before and to which he felt the need to chase. The messages had dissipated, the responses slowed until finally, well, he got it– it was over.

Relieved, the case was right where he had left it those months prior. The weapon and all its parts were neatly contained, all pristine and untouched. On a whim, or was it curiosity? He held the weapon momentarily. It felt lighter, perhaps he was a little stronger, indeed these past six months in this country had transformed his slim physique almost by osmosis. He wasn’t exactly built but, equally, felt a little less sheepish. But then it happened, his private cell rang out of nowhere, as if by provenance he had summoned her. Her name beat its path across the small screen. Sewell at first hesitated to answer, but then the ringing stopped, pocket dial no doubt, accidental discharge, just as well. Moments later, the disappointment still palpable, it came again, no accident it seemed, and he answered this time, careful to disguise his enthusiasm. It didn’t work, she could read him, and he knew it, he liked that about her, no fooling that one, her now familiar disdainful tone was strangely comforting, its boldness, the sheer abandon of her terse turn of phrase. 

“Sewell, what gives?”

He felt a surge within once again, breathless and in that moment could only imagine what it would be like to smell her. 

“This isn’t a social call, but I’m sure, well you know…”

Her explanation had been oblique; it didn’t make much sense, a weird story about some boy, some brilliant kid or something. 

“Has all of us scratching our heads here about what we can do, what we should do? I mean, if we just leave him here then, well you know, it’d be a shame given, well, you’re the genius around here, aren’t you? Can you just, you know, takes one to know one and all that.”

“It doesn’t really work that way… and I am hardly a genius.” The truth was more blurred, by his first test he had fallen just a fractional point short of the mark, within a margin of error, but to the boy the blow was sharp enough to ensure he would never again test his wits against a nominal metric. Instead he determined to work his mind into exhaustion. Sewell had always excelled, always caught on fast but was reassuringly normal, or so his parents had reminded him often. A chess prodigy at nine years old, it had been wondered if Asperger’s might be present, the worry and paranoia of parents already grappling with the errant impulse of the stray sister. But the reports were uneventful, the boy was just “really bright, if a little introverted.”

“Look, I’m shipping out next week, not sure I can be of any help. Where is he anyway?”

He listened and nodded, playing hard to get; his only reliable tactic. 

“I’ll erm, well ok, let me look into it. I could maybe, you know, hop a transport out there but I’m not a child psychologist, no idea why I would be of any use, but I suppose I can check his maths. Does he play chess at all?”

No one had thought to ask about chess, but they would do their best before he got there. It seemed she wasn’t alone, there was a big huddle of them, a brood of clucking do-gooders attempting to make lemonade out of the chaos. 

Perhaps it was all just a ruse, perhaps she yearned for me also? Sewell thought that made more sense, for weren’t women like that? Unable to admit certain things, wouldn’t they concoct fanciful tales to avoid facing their true intent? He knew this to be nonsense, she wasn’t of that sort, if that sort existed at all. This wasn’t like that, but the possibility afforded some comfort, at least for now. Regardless, this surely would be more interesting than what was scheduled for the next few days; the inventory categorisation was well in hand, they could easily spare him for a couple days. Perhaps one last adventure would be a fitting end, his commanding officer wouldn’t object, he never really had in the first place. In truth, his C.O. was a canny leader who had long before Sewell’s arrival learned of the necessity to capitulate procedure, save the energy, and simply accommodate talent. Colonel Hastings had grown to admire the bookish and newly minted Major, holding Sewell in special regard, often marvelling at his prowess and never missing an opportunity to laude this unique asset. The army could afford certain accommodations for no better reasons than that it served his country and their mission to do so. It was not lost on Sewell that Colonel Hastings was mindful of his own future outside of the army, after this place was all boarded up. Neither man needed to articulate the opportunity this junior officer might afford Hastings once the uncertainties of the outside world took hold of his fate. Whilst nothing was expected, it was natural that he might wish to return the consideration one day. Hastings mused over the different life that lay ahead, a comfortable position in one of those high-paid consultancy jobs that everyone talked about. He wasn’t greedy and wouldn’t expect anything, but it would of course be appreciated, with the army pension being what it was. The two had only once touched on the subject, Hastings very careful, hating how it made him feel, conscious of the power dynamic. But it had been quickly remedied by the ever-courteous Sewell, who had made his view clear: it would be unthinkable for him to forget the guys on the outside, it was a promise in return for nothing, because he respected him. 

In fact Sewell quite liked the old bastard,, who had on more than one occasion stuck up for him and offered suitable cover whenever he had pissed on the wrong doorstep with his behaviour. He admired the colonel for being unrelentingly straightforward and decent. He had, as far as Sewell could see, been fair to all the guys, not just him. Clearly the colonel was no politician and his manner was perhaps ill suited to higher command. Moreover, like Sewell, this last deployment had given the colonel his fill of the Army. He had seen the withdrawal as a betrayal and showed real emotion when they’d shared concerns for the “poor bastards we’ve left high and dry”. Most preciously, the colonel had assisted Sewell in maintaining at least the modicum of anonymity. He had never asked about the family or the wealth and he’d always just treated Major Sewell as one of the team. Was it not natural for the colonel to one day ask for such consideration to be repaid? Sewell didn’t mind a bit. Who knew, the old war hound might yet prove himself an asset. At the very least, Sewell understood that he’d need to establish his own loyal network back home and why not start with his old commanding officer?

But these past months had also been demoralising, his mission being to lead a small contingent of troops assigned to recover the surveillance tech that had been spread throughout the terrain. Often disguised or concealed within rocks, a multitude of pressure sensors, listening bugs, heat signature and infra-red detection had woven an impenetrable protective fence. The scale was vast, they had already boxed fourteen containers of the stuff, which individually was often no larger than a handprint. Much of the network had been of Sewell’s own design, powered mostly from cheap civilian solar cells. But now the network had been designated a weapon; information was power. Sewell’s innovation had demonstrated to an unwieldy Army the power of low cost connected tech deployed at scale. Indeed, there was now talk at Congress of deploying the system to help protect borders closer to home and so it all had to be dug up, retrieved, powered down, labelled, and boxed. 

It was all soul destroying and pointless. It defeated the whole idea of disposability in the first place, and of the people left behind, were they not worthy of its protection? Sewell’s objections had been ignored and orders were orders. How disappointed they’d all be to discover that half of it wouldn’t survive the journey, the change of air pressure from travel would degenerate electronics never intended for redeployment. He was doubtful if more than ten percent would have enough life to warrant redeployment. It was “a complete fucking waste of time, but welcome to the army.” Better to simply leave them in place to degrade, after all, they were of no use to anyone else anyway. It was all a waste of time, but the work gave him an excuse to join the team and see all the country one last time. That unexpected call had interrupted what Sewell had assumed would be a slow wind-down before his return. And so, backpack and laptop in hand, he ventured out, hitching a ride with the timely transport that was readying its departure even as Sewell tapped on its surprised driver’s window.

Edited by Kathy Pelich

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