Lies & the Lying Liars Who Tell Them_ A Fair & Balanced Look at the Right - Al Franken [99]
A dozen feet away George Bush was oblivious to the amorous antics of Ashley and O’Reilly. Bush gazed up at the moon, thinking back to another moonlit night just six months ago and half a world away. He cursed the bad luck that had put those Mexican day laborers in the bus shelter beside the dusty road that stretched between his favorite bar in Midland and his favorite bar in Lubbock. He didn’t remember swerving around the school bus and hitting them. When Poppy bailed him out the next morning, he told his son the bad news. Because the Mexicans had died, the Air National Guard was now out of the question. Bush would have to serve in the actual military, and the sweet deal that would have allowed him to do his military service entirely by mail was now a thing of the past. Why? Why? Why did those dead Mexicans have to spoil everything?
Bush was rudely awakened from his self-pitying rumination by a hand suddenly clutching at his forearm. It was Cheney. The fear of having a heart attack had brought on another heart attack.
“Help . . . George . . .”
Cheney’s face was white with fear. His pulse was weak and thready. His eyes seemed glazed. Bush’s own heart skipped a beat. “Don’t leave me, Dick! Don’t leave me! I can’t make it alone!”
“The pills. I need . . . a pill,” Cheney sputtered.
“Nah. No more wakey-wakeys for you, pal.”
“Not . . . wakey . . . wakeys,” Cheney gasped, “ni . . . ni . . . nitro . . .”
Kerry rushed over and, pushing Bush aside, took the nitroglycerine tablets from Cheney’s shirt pocket and slipped one into his mouth. As Cheney’s breathing slowed and his color began to return to normal, Kerry grabbed Bush by the collar. “Listen. He has eighteen more pills. That’s enough for eighteen more heart attacks. Give him the pill the moment you notice anything unusual.”
“Yessir.” This latest heart attack had clearly upset the annoyingly jocular Bush. “Sir?” he asked haltingly. “Sir, we’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”
“Sure, Bush. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Skip? Do you ever get scared?”
Kerry smiled. “Let me tell you something Bush. Any man out here in the shit who says he’s not scared is just crazy, a liar, or both.”
“I’m not scared,” said O’Reilly from his position deep inside the gun tub.
Task Force Brave Eagle was late. Limbaugh blamed Buchanan, who had taken an extra forty minutes to climb out of his foxhole. Buchanan thought it was Gramm’s fault for losing the flashlight. Gramm was sure that Gingrich was responsible, for wasting time arguing over who was going to take point. Gingrich, in turn, blamed Stoner, who, after taking point, kept wandering off in the wrong direction. Stoner, who had dropped acid, had decided to follow a hallucination of Ted Williams, whom he blamed for trying to lead him toward a secret fishing hole instead of the river. And all of them hated Limbaugh for the terrible smell that seemed certain to give away their position. Plus, somewhere along the way the exhausted fat man had set down the radio and intentionally forgotten to pick it up.
“Task Force Brave Eagle. Come in, Task Force Brave Eagle.” Kerry tried the radio again.
“Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
“Shut up, O’Reilly,” Kerry shot back. “We’re going to complete the mission.”
“They’re not coming! They’re dead. Charlie got ’em. And Charlie’s gonna get us, too!” Thomas wailed.
Kerry slapped him. “Thomas, get a grip on yourself.”
Bush stepped forward. “I have a suggestion. Why don’t we take a vote? All those in favor of leaving immediately, raise your hands.”
Four arms shot up, while Cheney waved weakly to indicate his support as well. Only Kerry and Gore stood steadfast.
“Okay,” said Bush. “Five to two. Let’s get goin’.”
“We’re not going anywhere. Till I say so.” Kerry was in Bush’s face. After a moment, Bush backed down.
“Sure, Big Guy, you’re the boss.” Bush grinned. The reporter