“The militiamen used tactics taken right out of our own military’s manuals,” the speaker continued.

“Then it’s safe to assume,” a female voice asked, “that some or all of the assailants had military training.”

“Oh,” the expert du jour responded with great confidence. “There’s little doubt about that. Many militia units actively recruit former military. After all, they are better trained, disciplined, and more physically sound than your average American male. What better way to obtain the skills and experience you’ll need in a conflict with the Federal government,” the expert asked rhetorically, “than to utilize the very same soldiers that government itself has trained? It’s sort of like what the Confederate States did when they seceded from the Union in 1860.”

This analogy made Scott wince. He hated it whenever “subject matter experts” used historical references incorrectly. There is no comparison, Scott found himself muttering, between the Southern Confederacy and the current militia movement. None.

Finished toweling off, Scott walked out to where Jan was sitting before the television, watching it intently. As was her habit, she had showered, done her hair and makeup, and dressed first so that she could avoid dealing with the steam and mist that always lingered in the bathroom after one of Scott’s long showers. Even though he always offered to go first, she seldom accepted the invitation. Besides, on days like this, it allowed her to spend more time catching up on the news while Scott dawdled in the bathroom.

Her interest was less on what was being reported than on how it was being done. The host of her own news show as well as a stringer for World News Network, Jan was forever looking for new ideas, new approaches, and even new faces. That she wasn’t impressed with this particular journalist was obvious. Her eyebrows, scrunched together in the center, forced her eyes into narrow slits and left small furrows across the bridge of her nose.

“You’re going to mess up your makeup if you keep screwing your face up in that expression,” Scott remarked in an effort to get her attention.

Jan ignored his remark. Instead, she threw her hand out toward the television. “Look at that!” she proclaimed. “Who in the world do they have producing this travesty? The Marx Brothers?”

Pausing a few moments to watch the tube, Scott tried hard to discern some difference between what he saw on the television before him and any number of other shows he found himself forced to watch. After deciding that there was no real difference, Scott shrugged. “Looks okay to me,” he finally announced.

“Okay?” Jan exclaimed as she took her eyes off the set and looked at Scott for the first time since he had emerged from the shower. “Scott, put on your glasses, for God sakes. This ‘show,’ not to mention the twit who’s hosting it, is an embarrassment.”

With another shrug, Scott turned and walked away. “If you say so.”

When Jan didn’t return his taunt, or even take note of the fact that he had been standing next to her stark naked, he realized that she was too caught up in what was being said. As he went about dressing, Scott cocked his good ear and listened.