Her Name Is America

War Hawk

February 16, 2003

United Nations Headquarters

New York City, United States

The fluorescent lights in the bathroom made the red lines in the whites of my eyes entirely obvious. I leaned my head back to apply more eye drops. They helped, but only slightly.

Stepping back, I stared at the puffy bags under my eyes. My black power suit starkly highlighted how pale my skin had become. My hair had also darkened from months on end spent indoors. Most days, I avoided looking at myself in the mirror.

I elbowed my way through the bathroom door. Just outside, someone was exiting the men's bathroom.

"Ah, USA."

We each gestured for the other to proceed down the hallway and ended up in a brief stalemate.

Russia moved first, taking in my appearance with a sideways sweep of his eyes. I hadn't seen him since the day after the attack, and the memory brought a rush of negative emotions to the surface. I fell into step with him silently.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Ready to put this to rest."

"Weapons inspectors found nothing, da?"

"That's immaterial," I said curtly. "Saddam Hussein has hidden weapons from the UN in the past. He's given us no reason to trust him."

"But...there is no evidence."

My temper flared. Leave it to Russia to have sympathy for a dictator. "We presented the evidence last week. What more do you need?"

I felt his eyes on me. "More than blurry satellite images."

I shot him a stern look. "Don't you realize these terrorists won't stop with the US?" I said with an edge. "Trust me, they're coming for you next."

He hummed skeptically. "USA...seeking revenge for the Gulf War is not the solution."

I stopped dead in my tracks and turned on him with narrowed eyes. "Excuse me?"

My dramatic reaction didn't change his demeanor at all. "Seeking revenge for the Gulf War—"

"Russie, there you are!"

My eyes went to France like a hawk's. I clenched my jaw and straightened my back as he joined us, trying not to show how upset I was. Judging by his reaction, it was written all over my face.

"Everything will be okay, Amérique," he said with a compassionate smile. "You will see."

Pleasantly surprised, I nodded. I made eye contact with Russia, who quickly looked away and offered France a handshake. "Frantsiya."

In the General Assembly chamber, I sat behind Colin Powell and the rest of the American delegation. The other permanent members of the Security Council—the UK, France, Russia, and China—were seated nearby. Close enough that I could see the deep frown on England's face. Any vote from a veto-wielding Great Power would instantly kill the resolution to authorize the invasion.

After a brief preamble, the vote began.

I focused on the electronic board displaying the votes live. The first vote came from the UK—a green light in favor. The US naturally voted the same. My eyes darted to the Russian Federation, waiting for the little red light to illuminate. Instead, a red light appeared on the opposite side of the board.

I froze.

"France...?" I breathed.

The staffers around me muttered amongst themselves. I gripped the armrests of my chair as the floor beneath my feet began to tilt and sway.

Germany's opposed vote quickly followed. Then Russia's. My eyes flickered across the board as nation after nation voted against us, engulfing the two green lights in a sea of red. Sound and color seemed to drain from the room.

"The vote is not unanimous. The resolution will not be put forth at this time."

I pushed through another door in hot pursuit of the French delegation. Concerned members of my staff rushed to keep up with me as I stormed down the hallway. As if sensing my presence, France turned at the very last second before I roughly shoved my hands into his chest. He stumbled backward.

"Putain, Marie!"

His people reacted immediately. France was swept away by a bodyguard as another grabbed my arm in a steely grip. When the French ambassador barked something at him, he released me. I took the opportunity to surge forward and smack France across the face. Multiple bodyguards pounced on me this time, and the ambassador allowed it with a resigned look in her eyes.

"How fucking could you?!" I yelled after him, jerking at the hands that restrained me.

He cast a torn look in my direction before turning away.

Secret Service agents quickly extracted me from the French. One gently took my arm and urged me away. "Madam, please..."

My eyes were glued to the back of France's head. I stepped forward and pointed my finger as if I could physically send my voice to strike him. "I will never forget this!"

His steps faltered, but only briefly.

~

Putain, Marie | Damn it, Mary!