To Win the Heart of a Rebel
Prologue:
Two Weeks Earlier
Quatre walked the cold halls of the orphanage, slowly making his way to the board room. Under normal circumstances he would have tears running down his face from the news he was entrusted to deliver. As he travelled through the passageways he had grown up as an orphan in, he reminisced about his childhood. Within those very walls he had been protected from the outside world, loved by the Sister Helen and Father Maxwell and then grew to be a man. He had chased his best friends through those hallways, one of them always searching for more mischief.
Now however, it was with a heavy heart that he maintained a slow pace to the boardroom. As he turned the corner, the bright light of the fireplace threw light and heat throughout the room. The study contained a modest wooden desk and table, with four chairs that were currently being occupied by soldiers. Father Maxwell had converted this room from the orphanage's official records to an official headquarters for the regional branch of the Irish Republican Army. This room housed papers, battle, escape, bombing, riot and strike plans for the entire county of Armagh. The importance of secrecies in this war between the British Army and the Irish Republican Army was top priority.
Quatre listened to the hum of voices inside as the occupants discussed the issues of the day. That issue being the news that a British bomb squad unit from an engineering division of the military had been moved into the county. That would mean that any future bombing attempts must be exceptionally well planned and executed. Or else the bomb squad could get the chance of disarming it before the bomb had a chance to detonate. Then they could turn over the decommissioned parts to intelligence and they could trace the materials back to this region.
Quatre was startled out of his thoughts by the pattering feet of four small children racing around the corner. They whooped and hollered until they were out of site, and brought the occupants of the room a chuckle. Even Quatre couldn't help but smile. This building was still the Maxwell Orphanage as well as the regional headquarters for the main reason that Father Maxwell and Sister Helen would, under no circumstances, give it up. Also, it provided a good, if not the best front for secrecy. No one expects members of the clergy to be involved in any type of warfare. Especially not the guerilla style they were forced to use against the British occupation of the six counties of Northern Ireland.
Quatre took a deep breath, reviewing the message in his head. He cleared his throat and pulled all the courage he could muster. He was a soldier now, and couldn't choose when he was allowed to break down, and this was definitely not the time.
He rounded the corner and all the occupants of the room snapped up at his entrance. Quatre could feel a mild nausea coming on, so he took a moment, cleared his throat again, and then spoke.
"Solo Maxwell was charged with high treason against the Crown for the attempted thievery of Her Majesty the Queen's weapons in a military depot yesterday afternoon." His voice was strained and his blue eyes threatened to spill over.
Here he searched for one face in particular. A long-haired young man stood frozen, poised with one hand over a map that was laid out over the table. Duo looked alarmed, as well he should be. His normal cherub face was one of cheer, even when times had gotten tough at the orphanage, and then even when the war became more focussed in this area. Now it was pale.
The papers were not being shuffled around anymore. It was like people were frozen in time.
Quatre continued.
"Solo Maxwell is to be shot to death by firing squad tomorrow at noon-consecutive with the firing of the noon gun. The execution will take place with the three other captured Irish Republican Army members."
At this point in the message he turned to Father Maxwell, ignoring the pained look in his eyes and said, "Is there a responding message?"
The room was dead quiet.
Quatre wished he could be dismissed so he could finally grieve for his childhood friend.
Finally Father Maxwell spoke, "That's fine Quatre, there is no return message."
Duo slammed both fists into the table in front of him and cursed out loud. He spun around in a fury of motion, throwing open a wooden crate that was slid up against the wall. Duo's face was grim as he selected firearms and materials for explosives.
When he was finished he stood tall and dared anyone in the room to protest his actions.
No one did.
When Duo Maxwell passed Quatre in the doorway he kissed his cheek chastely and growled loud enough for the entire room to hear, "You tell them we're coming for them," and he disappeared down the hallway.
Sometimes Quatre hated to be a messenger in the IRA.
Heero Yuy stared mutely out the window of the cell he was sitting in. Being both the main prison coordinator in the jail, as well as a major field agent in the British Army, Heero had many different talents.
Taking shit was not one of them.
He was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of an eight by eight foot cell as a traitor. He was here to make sure the man knew how the events that afternoon would transpire.
Ever since he'd sat down, the man had not stopped his cursing of the Union, of the British population and of the Queen herself. Now that was a hard one to let pass. Also he insisted adamantly that he be treated as an Irish prisoner of war, and not a British subject guilty of treason.
Heero had interrupted the man only once to say that the priest would be here at the eleventh hour, to take his confession and that the guards would come for him at ten minutes to noon.
The man had no fear it seemed, and even as Heero left the cell he wondered what was going through his mind, knowing he only had two hours left to live. Unfortunately for Heero there had been a warning from the intelligence unit that there could be a possible uprising one county to the north as a result of this execution. Three of the four prisoners were born and raised in those counties.
He decided to occupy himself with making rounds to the guards on the gate of the base, ensuring that everything would go smoothly. When that was done he signed out the keys to the rifle room and checked over all the rifles needed for the execution at noon.
At 11:45 the artillerymen gathered their equipment and proceeded to ready the noon gun for its routine and traditional firing of black powder. It was just a way to tell everyone that it was twelve o'clock, but it was hardly necessary for the time period. Heero handed out the rifles one by one to the squad of ten men. He had already loaded four of them, and handed them out randomly so the riflemen would not know who actually shot the prisoners.
As the four men were brought outside to the courtyard at exactly eight minutes to the hour, Heero watched as the guards tied their hands to the posts. It was a clear day and both the firing squad and prisoners were solemn in attitude.
When everyone was in place, Heero stepped out to his place beside the firing squad and pulled out his revolver.
"Does anyone have any last words?" Heero's unwavering voice carried strong across the courtyard.
It was a traditional custom to ask if the party being executed wished to get something off their chest before their deaths.
Three of the men just closed their eyes and looked at the ground, as many normally do. The fourth, however, he watched the squad.
Heero looked at his watch and found that it was two minutes to the top of the hour.
"Ready."
The wood of the rifles and slings snapped as the soldiers preformed their drill perfectly.
"Aim."
The rifles were brought up to their shoulders and each soldier had a specific target.
And the fourth man, Prisoner Maxwell, said clearly to them all, "God damn your Union Jack and long live the Republic!"
"Fire!"
All four men dropped to the ground as far as they could go before the binds pulled taught. Heero rushed to them, checking to see if anyone was still alive. He carried the revolver for that specific purpose, to ensure the execution went as clean and quickly as possible. Had one of the riflemen missed, the prisoner could be dispatched easily.
None were alive, so Heero turned the bodies over to the burial squad and went to gather the rifles and dismiss the squad. He had a mountain of paperwork to do as well.
Even as he walked away he figured that he couldn't possibly forget that prisoner and his loyalty to his cause. The priest that had been witness to the execution now took over the site as well, giving last rites to the fallen soldiers.
