[center][b]Carthage Must Be Destroyed [/b][/center]


[h3]1939
Salt Lake City[/h3]


Even though Hank hadn't slept for twenty-seven hours, he was wide awake as the driver of his jeep rolled into the city. The sights they slowly passed left him awestruck. Many buildings were either half-destroyed or smouldering from fire, and even more just heaps of rubble. The road they were on was little more than mud after so many trucks tires and tank treads ripped it to shreds. Two NEWI Jackrabbits flew overhead, gunfire bursts erupting from them.

And then there were the bodies. 

Piles and piles of dead men lined the streets they passed. Bodies dressed in the olive drab of the US Army uniforms mingled with the men in the powder blue of the LDSA. The Mormon uniforms were streaked with mud and blood, just like the faces of the dead men who were inside them. Hank applied the word men loosely to many of the Mormon dead. Boys were more like it. Peach fuzz and pimples as far as the eye could see. If any of them were older than eighteen he would have been surprised. 

His job with the army often put him miles and miles away from the front lines. He still dealt with the horrors of war, but from a distance. Usually by the time FAAD arrived, the bodies were gone and the rebuilding process was underway. Hank had been in Denver the last few weeks, helping recover anything of value from the wreckage of the city. FAAD set up shop south of Salt Lake City, on the outskirts of occupied Provo. Hank and the other curators and historians were preparing their reports on Utah's cultural significance when Colonel Anderson told him his presence was required at the front.

Now here he was. A deuce and a half rolled past them on its way back to base. Hank saw many weary young men on the back of the truck, almost all of them with the thousand yard stare. He suddenly felt very foolish in his pristine clothes that were never soiled and his helmet with the oak leaf that had never been dented or scratched by enemy shrapnel.

A pair of MPs stopped the jeep at a sawhorse barricade. After Hank and his driver confirmed who they were, they were let through and led to a olive drab tent. 

A tall, dark haired man with wire-framed glasses met them at the front flap of the tent. Hank caught a glimpse of the name PARKER sewed on to his fatigues. His helmet identified him as a Lt. Colonel. Like Hank's, it was in perfect condition.

"Colonel," Hank said with a salute. "Major Dr. Henry Carter, Fine Arts and Archives Division."

Parker lazily returned the salute It was always that way with upper rank solider, Hank noticed. They wanted the salutes to them to be perfect, but could afford to be sloppy returning it. Respect to them was a one-way street. 

"Follow me, Major."

Parker led Hank into the tent. More command staff worked at desks with pencil and paper and typewriters. A map of Salt Lake City took up most of one wall, a red circle showing the army's encirclement of the LDSA. An even larger map of the city was spread out on a table that took up most of the tent's center. Markers denoted the US and LDSA positions respectfully. A heavyset man with gray hair and two stars on his shoulder and JASPER on his fatigues turned away from the map and looked at Hank and Parker.

"General," said Parker. "Major Carter."

"Always wanted to meet a FAAD boy," he said as Hank saluted.

"Tell me what you need from me, General," Hank said as the general returned his salute with an actual decent one.

"Context," said Jasper.

He pointed a finger at the map.

"What's left of the Mormons has been encircled in the radius on the map. There are some platoons serving as guards, but the church elders, army high command, the last few Mormons and their families are all inside the Tabernacle. Maybe nine thousand people total, majority of them are civilians. This is where you come in, Dr. Carter. Now, we've been told that you have extensive expertise on the building. We need to know main routes of entrance and exit."

"Hank, sir," he said. "You can call me Hank. I wrote a two hundred page historical and architectural analysis of the Tabernacle in grad school. Unless there's been some modifications over the past four years, I know of every way in and out."

"What about hidden escape routes?" asked Parker.

Hank stepped forward and looked down at the map on the table. An artillery shell exploded nearby, shaking the table left and right. Hank was the only man in the tent who flinched. He could feel his face flushing in embarrassment as he tapped a spot not far from the Tabernacle.

"One was installed on the northwest side of the building in 1931 after the leadership began to enact radical policy. They were afraid of unrest and violence from both Mormons and non-believers. It comes out at a high school about a mile away."

He traced the path from the Tabernacle to the school. The building sat on the outskirts of LDSA territory, far enough into US occupied territory to avoid sentries. Jasper nodded at Parker, and Parker quickly walked off.

"Anything else?" the general asked."Any other ways to get in and out that only they might know about?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Hank shrugged. "Since the war started, who knows."

"We're ready, general," said Parker. "Two platoons are setting up in front of that school. They have orders to open up on anyone who comes out. Ready for the assault,sir."

"Head on assault?" Hank asked. "That might be risky."

He realized he made a mistake the second the words left his mouth. Jasper stared blankly at him while Parker's face seemed to visibly bristle. The general's expression shifted to a smile that was very cruel.

"Thank you for your insight, Major," said Jasper. "But I am through risking men today. I'm ready for the whole goddamn war to be over with. Denver was a hell of a punch, now we've got to knock the sons of bitches out."

Jasper walked towards the tent flap. Parker and Hank trailed in his wake. 

"They can fire when ready," Jasper said to Parker, who passed it on to another aide.

They came out of the tent and onto an overlook ridge. Below was the city and the Tabernacle. Hank could see the ring of troops and tanks that encircled it. A loud cacophony started up suddenly. Artillery guns from miles away were all opening fire at the same time. A shell exploded against the roof of the building, sending fire across the top of the Tabernacle. 

"No!" shouted Hank. "What are you doing?! You said that there were civilians in there."

Both men stared coldly at Hank.

"We're ending the war," said Jasper. "The Mormons helped start this thing. By god, we're finishing it. If that means some women and children die, then so be it."

"We lost thousands of men taking this city," said Parker. "Thousands of husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers They're gone and they're not coming back. Whole families were shattered because of the Mormons. They were killed because this cancerous religion was allowed to prosper. No more. It dies today. The Tabernacle, the LDS, the city itself."

Hank started to speak. The sound of another explosion cut him short. All three men turned to see the Tabernacle ablaze. Even from this far away, they could hear the screams. A door opened and a woman ran out, smoke curling from her clothes. A machine gun burst opened up from somewhere and she fell to the ground, her clothes igniting and her dying body catching fire.

Explosive shells bombarded the building, one after the other. The Tabernacle turned into an inferno, the heat felt from even their observation point. Hank felt tears burning his cheeks. End the war, he thought. A war led by opposing dictators and radical committees. A war waged on the dead of Denver, a war waged on the ashes of the Church of Latter Day Saints. A war of atrocities and political oppression on all sides. The US would win, no doubt about that. Even though it didn't deserve to. 

He suddenly remembered Scipio from his ancient history class in college. At the sight of Carthage's destruction, the great general had wept. For he knew that this fate would one day befall Rome, as it would eventually befall any city or any people. As it would one day befall America. 

Without a word, Hank walked away from Jasper and Parker. He suddenly needed a drink very, very badly.