No, I won't make you read another blurb of fluff about how my ongoing battle with time traps and procrastination is faring poorly. It'll be a lot easier and faster to just get out of your way and let you read; instead of subjecting your mind to...I'm still talking, aren't I?
. . .
By Friday, we had collected enough traffic from police radio, and our own observations of their scouting patrols, to have figured out absolutely, for sure, money-back guarantee, where the attack was going to hit. With the combination of the transmitters I'd put in the radio towers, our back-door access to their traffic cameras, and my usual interviews of people out-n-about (a little hard to do now, since everyone had either split or hid) we were confident in our plans. The show of force was going to leave Port Matilda on Sunday morning, August 28th, at 0600 sharp, sharp I say! It would drive straight along Route 322 and into the heart of Philipsburg. From there, we had to guess. Our best guess-timation was they'd secure Philipsburg first, then proceed through Chester Hill, enact a "Weekend at Carson's Two: Electric Boogaloo" along the way, and finish with Osceola Mills as the bow to tie everything off. Plan Foxtrot was purpose designed to interdict such an attack, and exactly as Naota said: it was based on our doctrine of not holding the towns, but not just letting the police have them either.
The sight we'd chosen, if you're on defense you generally try to pick your battlefield, was actually three miles from town. There is a spot on Route 322 where the forest pulls back from ten feet away from the road, to empty fields half a mile on either side of the road. The road is also slightly sunken at that point, the low area between two rolling hills. The houses there are, on average, two hundred yards back from the road. This, with the forest even farther back, gives us excellent cover and concealment; while leaving anyone on the road completely exposed. It was also a good spot because any chance of civilian casualties and damage to private property was minimal. With Canti and Josh both giving their within 99.999% certainty, we set about getting into position and readying the field.
Our setup was a classic: an L-Shaped ambush. But, with a twist. The long leg of the L was perpendicular to the road, rather than parallel. On one side of the road was placed Papa Company's 0.50cal machine gun. Their Digger machine gun was placed on our left, the police right, to hit the road with flanking fire. Pike's guys were split 50/50 on the road, dug in ten yards back from the tree line. In the fortifications they were digging, back in the trees, they would be harder to see, and to shoot at. The left half of the line, again the police right, curved around the hill, terminating in a grand, three-story house that sat a comfortable four hundred-ish yards from the road. It had an unobstructed view from its front step, the roughly four hundred yards to the road, and then the half mile past that to the next run of trees. The top floor of that house would be perfect for observation. This line would put fire on the police front, front-left, and front-right, at the bottom of a sunken road, in the middle of a mile-wide field. They would either have to run the gauntlet to break through, running headlong into the combined 800 men of Kilo and Victor Companies, or immediately turn tail and run back from whence they'd come.
To prevent, or slow down, a dash through our line, a visit had been paid to the scrapyard. A Prius had been found and its massive battery made useful; once removed and recharged. A section of asphalt was cut and lifted up, then the battery buried under it. Heavy gage wires were attached to the terminals, run through holes drilled in the asphalt, and left exposed while pointing upwards at the sky. Any MRAP, Bearcat, truck, or car that was unfortunate enough to drive over that battery was in for a nasty surprise. In the meantime, there were a few loose ends to tidy up. First was the captured officer taking up real estate in our shop.
"Afternoon, Officer Thompson." Tommy, with Johnny, Mike, and I assisting, went to see our charge. We'd kept him in his chair on a half-inch steel plate, the chain and custom-fitted shackle on his ankle all welded together, and then welded to the plate, so there wasn't even a lock to pick. Once in the morning, once in the afternoon, and once in the evening we'd cut him loose so he could use the bathroom, stretch and take some exercise. Then we'd weld him back in. Agent Griggs was coming that day with a load of ammunition, some more guns, body armor, medical supplies, and (we'd embarrassingly under planned for this) food. He'd be flying out with our critically wounded that required surgery, and our one prisoner. "Today is a very important day for you."
"It is?" Just under a week in the confines of the shop already had him sullen and subdued. Our basic interrogations yielded nothing. He was a front-line guy and on a need-to-know basis; where he hadn't needed to know anything. Mostly, we just let him hang out and watch TV. Actually...maybe that was what had made him so depressed. "Why's that? Is today the day you're gonna shoot me?"
"No! No, nothing like that." Tommy drew up a chair while the rest of us waited behind him. "It's the first day of the rest of your life. It all depends on how you conduct yourself from this point forward. I'm going to do you a solid and explain what's going to happen to you over the next few weeks. After your stay here and talking with you, I can say you're not 'evil' or a 'bad guy'. You're just someone who's made really, really bad choices; and even worse friends. So, I'm extending some common courtesy. In a few minutes, a plane will be coming to take you to Fort Bragg, in North Carolina. From there, you'll be transferred to the Groom Lake Facility in Nevada. Then, you'll be put on a shuttle and travel two weeks in Suspension to the Galactic Government; it's on a planet called Castra."
"Whoa, whoa, okay...another planet?"
"Where did you think the Medical Mechanica Marines, their Man in Black, and The Red Star of The Solar Federation come from? New Jersey?"
"I know that, I just didn't know you'd be sending me to one! Shouldn't you be, I dunno, using me as a bargaining chip; or something?"
"I'm sorry, but being honest here: you're not worth enough. Your fellow officers think you're dead, haven't come looking or asking for you, and they have nothing we'd want to exchange you for. Now, once you're on Castra, you'll be processed and arraigned at the Galactic Republic Court. The same Miranda Rights and all other rights you'd enjoy here in the U.S. like your Fifth Amendment, will still apply. So don't worry about getting a lawyer or something like that.
"What DO I need to worry about?"
"Your behavior, what you say at the trial, and your sentencing."
"What'll I be charged with?"
"Aiding and abetting The Red Star, aiding and abetting an Agent of Medical Mechanica, illegal searches and seizures under falsified pretenses, attempted murder of Republic Agents, and maybe a low degree of treason; if they're in a bad mood. I doubt it, but cannot rule it out."
"H-how many years am I looking at? I don't know these charges."
"Minimum of five for A&A of The Red Star, minimum of five for A&A of a Red Star Agent, illegal searches is three minimum, attempted murder of Republic Agents is ten minimum, and low degree treason, if they go for it, is twenty years, minimum. So twenty-three without treason, forty-three with treason. Minimum."
"You cannot be serious."
"That's why I'm telling you now; preparing you for what's ahead, at least a little."
"Thanks a lot." Officer Thompson had turned translucent.
"It's all I can do. Okay, plane's gonna be here any minute. Guys, cut him loose and prepped for transfer." Mike held an angle grinder to the bolt securing the ankle shackle. Once cut through, the rest of the bolt fell out. "He's all yours, gentlemen." Johnny now took over. With his terse command tone perfected, Officer Thompson hung on Johnny's every word.
"Good morning, Patrolman Thompson. I'm Sergeant First Class Johnathon Shaw, this's Staff Sergeant Jeffrey Carson and Corporal Michael DuBois. We'll be transferring you to our Central Command today. If you do exactly as told, when told, and give no attitude, and make no problems, you will get no attitude, and no problems. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes."
"Good. Please remember that we are authorized deadly force at any time. Escape attempts, or attempts to harm anyone, will be dealt with swiftly and severely. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Then hands forward please." Johnny watched while Mike and I handcuffed his wrists and linked them to a chain around his waist, then linked to that a chain to a pair of shackles on his ankles, and lastly one from the one around his waist to a collar around his neck. Johnny supervised with his 870, ensuring his earlier point about 'swiftly and severely' was heeded. Next to last, Tommy attached to the back of the waist chain a bag with all personal effects Officer Thompson had on him when we captured him, a copy of all his information, the letter of commendation Tommy had promised on the morning of the raid, a report on how Officer Thompson had come to be our guest, and transfer papers for releasing him from Overwatch to the I.I.B. once he arrived at Groom Lake. Last, I took a black hood from one of my plate carrier's pockets.
"Oh, please don't make me wear one of those God-awful hoods. I don't know if I'll be able to breathe!"
"Relax, its mesh. You'll be able to breathe just fine." I explained. "It's for your protection, and your family's. Medical Mechanica has spies everywhere. Right now, they think you're dead. But if you're spotted in our custody, they might retaliate against your family, or try to use them as leverage to get you to do something...well, stupid. This bag is reflective and anti-UV, so anyone trying to scan or photograph your face is going to see just a white orb from your shoulders up. Unless...you feel confident that The Man in Black would never do something to Lisa, Zachary, and Gabriel?" I hate being a jackass, I really, really do.
"...Alright. Put it on." The bag didn't zip tie around his neck like other designs. Rather, it had four small clips that snapped onto the collar on his neck. "You sure no one can recognize me with this on?"
"One-hundred percent. Alright, the plane should be landing soon. Let's move." Mike and I took one of Officer Thompson's arms each and marched him outside to Shifty's waiting pickup truck. Mike and I sat on either side of Officer Thompson on the tailgate, while Johnny sat behind all of us on a stack of spare tires; his shotgun's muzzle in the neighborhood of the back of Officer Thompson's head. As Shifty drove us to the runway, I was impressed by the small base that was being built in our grass field. It was all rough wooden buildings, but they were somewhere to sleep and they had power. Barracks and bunkhouses, an armory that was pitifully threadbare at the moment, several underground powder magazines and ammo storages, some mess halls and kitchens, a quartermaster and growing supply dump, a motor pool and mechanic area, showers, latrines as a matter of course, a vastly expanded firing range, and, we couldn't expect them to do without one, a rec hall with TV's, pool tables, and even a stereo. Shigekuni and the vets had really done wonders organizing the volunteers: half by their stellar leadership, the other half by gleefully terrorizing the poor, unsuspecting fools; as sergeants and old hands are wont to do. But in a few short days they had the volunteers regulated into the I.P.A. Volunteer Reserves. Their current task was fortifying the property and airfield itself, digging trenches, setting up barricades and stringing wire. If the cops figured out we were using the strip behind the shop, they would be hard-pressed to capture it for their own use.
While the C-123 lined up, I admired the job Taero had done with only his two part-timers, our old D4 bulldozer, and a grader that once upon a time rough-cut county roads. It's not like we hadn't been keeping it up, but now the runway was engineering precision flat, twice as wide, and smoother than an ice rink. The C-123 had barely stopped and already Griggs' men were pitching crates out the hatch to our guys on the ground. We waited while the wounded were loaded and secured first. I spotted my cousin helping strap in stretchers. He only had time to quickly nod, flash the 'A-OK' sign, and get back to work. Meanwhile, Agent Griggs disembarked to survey his new charge.
"Good morning everyone. Staff Sergeant, how's the leg?" Ah, strictly business and official titles today.
"Hurting, but nothing Vicodin cannot handle, Agent."
"Glad to hear it. And Master Sergeant, how's your arm?"
"Still attached, and will be ready to go in a day or two. Thank you for asking." Shifty followed us and Officer Thompson to the runway's edge. With the short shackles on Thompson's ankles, he could just manage a shuffle. Johnny stood aside a facing off Griggs and Thompson.
"Special Agent in Charge Griggs, I present you this prisoner, Patrolman Thompson, for transfer to the Galactic Republic Courts so that he may stand trial."
"I see. Thank you, Sergeant Shaw." Agent Griggs opened the pouch on Thompson's belt and scanned the first few pages. "State Patrolman…Nathaniel Thompson...took part in a raid on an Overwatch Station...collusion with a Man in Black...but, a letter of commendation from Captain Carson...transfer papers...more papers...I-dotting and T-crossing. All seems to be in order." The papers were returned to their bag. "Patrolman Thompson, do you hear me loud and clear?"
"Y-yes, I do." If the reality of his future hadn't sunken in before, it did then and there.
"My name is Agent Griggs. I will be transferring you to Fort Bragg. You will be under my custody there, and when you are sent to Groom Lake. I am fair, but I am strict. It may take some time, a week at the worst, until the next flight to Groom Lake. Everything will be done to ensure your right to a prompt trial. In that time you are with me, there will be no nonsense. You will not make any part of this process difficult, for anyone. You will do as directed, when directed. Do this, and you will not be mistreated in any way, shape, or form. We are not The Red Star; we know even our enemies have inalienable rights. Do you understand everything told to you?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to make trouble for me?"
"No."
"I'll hold you to it. Do you have any questions?"
"I have a request, before I lose my nerve."
"I cannot promise anything."
"Is...is there a way to get a message to my family? I owe them an apology."
"Warrant Officer Campbell!" Agent Griggs beckoned for one of his men. "I have a need of your recorder." The junior agent handed over a journalist's voice recorder without question. Griggs held it up to Thompson's mouth. "Be brief."
"H-hey, Lisa, Zach, Gabe! It's me, Dad. Listen, I just want you to know I love you all with everything I've got, and, and that everything I've done, and all it's...it's cost me, I did for you. I did it all so you could have the best chance in a world that is going to change fast in ways you cannot imagine; and a chance at a life in that world I could only dream of. Now...Gabriel, Zachary, listen up. Chief Chojnacki needs me to do a very special mission for him. It's top-secret, so you cannot tell anyone, okay? I'll have to do a lot of travelling for this assignment, and I don't know how long it will take. So until I get back, you'll be the Men of The House. If you can do that as best as you can, you'll make me very proud. Lisa, this bit's for you; just you. We were fooled. That...that Man, that Thing...lied to me. Lied to all of us! I know things have been hard on you and the boys, with our loans and paying for your mom's treatments, and them watching their grandmother waste away like that...and I should have known better. Everything He said seemed too good to be true, but I believed Him anyway; because I wanted to. I just wanted so, so, so badly for there to be an answer to everything, or someone who would make it all better; while asking what seemed like nothing in return. I was a damn fool, and saying I'm sorry can never make up for it. I love you, and I hope that someday you can forgive me for chasing a mirage...and dragging you, the boys, our race...our planet...down with me. I...I'm out of time; I have to go. I love you."
"That'll do." Agent Griggs had tapped Thompson's shoulder, then ended the recording. "Don't worry, we'll get it to her. But now, it's time to leave."
"Well then. Agent Griggs!" Johnny readied to complete the handoff. Mike and I held Thompson while two of Griggs' men waited. "I officially transfer control and authority of this prisoner. He's all yours."
"Accepted. Gentlemen, get Officer Thompson onboard." Griggs' agents hefted Thompson like he was hollow and carried him up the slowly retracting ramp, their commander right behind. The C-123 made a quick taxi to the runway's end where Country did his run-up and checks, then screamed down the mirror smooth strip and took off for Fort Bragg. Left behind was a mound of crates, boxes and bags, and a crawling wrench in my stomach. Having stood by for Patrolman Thompson's last goodbye, the idea of a quick, gallant, and neat little war died in my mind. There would be no 'Troops home in time for Christmas.'
. . .
"Rig, I'd like to have a word; if you have a second."
"Exactly one second, just for you." Rig waved him to the other side of one of G&R's many misfit toys: a ramshackle work truck that anywhere else would have long ago been put in a crusher. "I'm taking some targets over to the 3-Gun, hop in." The truck bed was full of replacement targets and backstops for the obstacle filled range. "S'on your mind?"
"I took your advice and went around asking questions."
"You did? 'Bout what?" They passed through the Boneyard and along the edge of a small town that had sprung up in the field; populated by the I.P.A. Volunteer Reserves.
"What we talked about on Saturday, any why you and your family's so messed up." They waited for a patrol to cross where the road split into a T at the runway's edge. Shigekuni and the Legionnaires had whipped the Volunteer Reserves into fighting shape over the past week. Now even an opossum or raccoon couldn't sneak in without being caught, and five-man squads prowled everywhere out to the farthest edges of the property in roving patrols.
"As you should. It'd be rather, bold, is the politest term I can think of, to expect you to take all I'd said at face value. So, what'd you hear?"
"Same's what you said, in not as many words. It all checks out; as far as I gathered." Well known as they were, the Carson's history was common knowledge. That wasn't exceptional though, in a region where everyone knew everyone's background; that much from Mabase had not changed one iota. This time though, it was less saucy gossip, and more resigned sympathies. "So you've got that goin' for yah, which's nice."
"It is, isn't it? Don't wanna say 'I toldja so'...but..." Rig stopped the truck. "Nah. Hey, mind helping out?"
"Sure." They offloaded targets and backstops at the now four times enlarged 3-Gun course. This was in addition to the brand new standard range. All the shooting practice everyone was getting in was 'seeding a future lead mine' as Shifty put it.
"That all you wanted to talk about?" Rig asked as they threw off another backstop.
"No. I just, I haven't really sat down and planned out how to say any of this. My freestyle's never been so good, and I don't feel comfortable winging it."
"Eh, give it a try." Rig encouraged. He sat on the tailgate to rest his leg. "Surprise yourself."
"I'll try." He watched another patrol making its rounds, giving himself a few more seconds to procrastinate. "I...I don't know what to do. As far as I can see, there's no obviously good, or decent even, option. Run, Hide, Fight. That's all. Running's no good. I moved a continent and ocean away to B.F.E. and everything, Haruko, Medical Mechanica, still found me. I'll bet I could move to, Vulcan, was it?"
"The mostly tropical planet, yeah. That's Vulcan."
"Vulcan, or Fero even, that colony, to try and get away from it all. And, I just know it, I'd be out at eleven at night to take out the trash, and there'd Haruko be...vagrant as ever, sleeping behind the bushes next to the dumpster; waiting for me. Or, I'd look up and see some, I dunno, Red Star Space Destroyer or some shit, coming into land on my neighborhood."
"I doubt, if you moved to Fero, that Haruko or even The Red Star would be the sum of your fears. The wildlife is what'd get you, and why even The Red Star hasn't fucked with it. But, I'm interrupting. As you were."
"Is it really that bad there? Wow...anyway. Hiding isn't good either. Commander Amarao described a bit what life under The Red Star's like. It sounds not much different than being locked in Tommy's old room. No Freedom of Speech, no Independent Thought, no Free Expression, everything rigidly controlled and monitored by an authority I can never question or get rid of; and both I suppose could shoot me whenever they wanted."
"Hey now. My job is to protect and train you; 'member?"
"Unless I opted for Option Two, and then attempted escape; 'member?"
"In that specific circumstance, okay."
"Like I said. So that's really no good. And the only way I can fight, at least immediately, is through you and O.W."
"But we're on your 'No Christmas Card List', aren't we?"
"Uh-huh. You were right, saying it'd be bold of you to expect me to forget. I don't know if I ever can. It's beyond a burned bridge, it's the foundation too; even the reasons why I was brought here were dishonest. Just about all you've told me makes sense or checks out, but..."
"But, you can't be sure if we'd ever pull another stunt like that again; right?"
"Right."
"I dunno what to tell yah man, 'cept I feel for you. That's nothing, but it's all I can do; at the moment."
"That's kinda how I feel, there's nothing really I can do. And it's really annoying. I don't know what happened. A month or so back, right before we went to Roman's and got shot at, damn I sounded so dumb; didn't I? I'm gonna fight, and I'm gonna do this, and I was gonna do that...now I don't know what I'm gonna do tomorrow. I was so fired up, then I learned what could be the tip of an iceberg, and now I'm just...stuck."
Either Rig couldn't think of anything to say, or sitting in silence didn't bother him while Naota teased out the gnarled ball of his thoughts. For the umpteenth time, he wondered 'Why me?' He didn't think of himself as anything remarkable. Far from dead weight or useless, not to put himself down. But he hadn't been born under a magic sign, marked by an angel, nor was his coming foretold in legends of old; or anything else similarly fantastical. The only thing that set him apart, in his mind, was that he, somehow, had 'The Right Head'. And that fact brought up a crucial thought he hadn't had earlier. In a way, his head clarified things in such a way that he wondered why he'd missed something so obvious.
"I...think, I just now saw a lightbulb come on?"
"Yeah...yeah, you did. I don't necessarily like it...but it does clear some things up."
"Is this like, ah...'I've achieved Enlightenment' kinda clear...or just 'my path forward is clear' kind?"
"More the second one. See, I really have only ONE option, because of this." He tapped his temple. "M-M has a direct line to me, whenever they want, and wherever I go. They can send a bot through, or anything else as far as I know, whenever they feel like it. And with impunity...forever. So, no matter where to or how far I run, or how deep and dark of a hole I crawl into, they'll always be in my head; rent-free."
"And 'fore you ask, there's no known cure; in Humans or any other species. I'm afraid you're correct though, in that you're stuck with this particular demon in your head."
"I didn't think there was. Is there anything I can do, at all?"
"Not that I know of. Have you asked your Doctor about the benefits of surgical decapitation?"
"I'll pass, thanks. And don't try to make me laugh. I'm trying to be moody and filled with teenage angst here."
"Maybe they could put your head in a jar. In all seriousness, you're on the part of the map that says 'Here be Dragons'. I can't tell you what to do, partly because it's not my place, and because I wouldn't know what to say if it was."
"You don't have to. This's the lightbulb. I have no choice, but to fight. The choice is how I go about it. Until I find a way to close the channel, or Medical Mechanica ceases to be, I'm a danger to myself, to everyone around me, to whichever planet I'm on, and everything and everyone else on that planet too. They sent that huge Activation Hand through me to start their Iron in Mabase. Who knows what they'll send next?"
"Agreed. There's a 'but' coming though, I can feel it."
"But...I mean, well..."
"But you kinda-sorta don't wanna fight 'longside us because you're still plenty pissed about everything?"
"Yeah." At least Rig wasn't tip-toeing around the issue. "And I don't know who I can trust…"
"Can I stop yah right there?" Rig took out his tobacco can, dipped, packed, chewed, and spat. "'Cause we've have this conversation before, and we do ourselves no favors having it again; agreed?"
"Sorry if I'm going in circles, I just can't figure out what to do."
"And that's why I'm going to be brutally honest here. Real deal, no bull, no punches pulled honest. Okay?"
"Yes, please!"
"Right. 'Kay, you, have…fiddle-fucked, your week away. The shooting, for realsies, not like last Saturday wasn't, but the no turning back kind, starts in less than thirty-six hours. You. Are. Out. Of. Time. There'll be no more 'who do I trust?' and 'what does it all mean?' talks. That drum circle has packed up and moved on. It's time to make decisions. You've had most of a week to decide on staying, hiding, or running. I don't think you're gonna run, 'cause you'd have done it already if you were. So…hide, or fight?"
"Oh, come on! There's no way you can make it that simple!"
"Yes I can. I just did."
"No, you're just trying to funnel me into, into some binary choice."
"Okay, fine. Name a third, fourth, fifth option. Name one other choice."
"Look, I don't wanna have to make some…"
"No, see, this's the problem. You want your position to be 'I have no position.' I don't know what childhood trauma, or whatever, has made you unwilling to get emotionally invested and involved in your own life, but you don't get to do that this time."
"Yes, I do! I'm still free, aren't I? At least for now? I can always choose not to decide; isn't that still making a choice?"
"…In the academic sense, yes."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're being unrealistic."
"Well, fuck that. I'm choosing my free will, and my right to not choose. It's not some hidden dark past, as I'm sure you're well aware; with your files and all. It's that I refuse to let other people make my decisions for me. I choose what I get emotional over, I decide if a fight is worth my time, I make the call on if I'll engage my mind, my heart, my well-being, my life, and nobody else. Just me, and me alone. And it is my right to make my position that of no position."
"Now, that, is a level of independent thought and self-direction one can only hope to aspire to. I really do mean that; and envy your self-awareness on the subject. However…however, right now it counts for precisely dick. The reality is there's an N.O. channel in your head that no one can do a damn thing about, there's a thousand Red Star Marines and a thousand cops with murder on their minds headed this way, and if they catch you, they're gonna shoot you in the fuckin' head. So you can sit around, complaining about how life isn't fair, and try to explain to the cops how you're a non-committed, conscientious objecting bystander in everything while they line you up next to the shallow ditch they're gonna dump your corpse in, and no one could reasonably find fault with that, OR…or, you can get pissed off and do something about it."
As much as it stuck at him, Naota knew Rig was right; and he'd partially agreed already. He just didn't like his options; at least the obvious ones. But Rig was right again: he was out of time. The forces of M-M and their allies could be upon him in a matter of hours. He might get a head start running, but how far could he really get? Security meant doing M-M's job for them, conveniently boxed up in Rig's basement for a leisurely pick-up. Or…fight for an organization he trusted only as far as he could throw it.
'Haruko would have no problem here. She'd do the first thing that felt right, trust her gut and not overthink the problem to death…and like magic, she'd come out on the other side shitting rainbows. But why…how? Maybe, because she makes a decision, no matter how dumb, and commits; and succeeds just on force of will alone. That…that could work.'
"Okay Rig, here's the deal. Since I'll only die tired running, hiding sounds like slow suicide with more steps, I can't join the G.S.P.B., and don't have enough ammo for a one-man guerrilla band…Overwatch, that is, you…are the best I've got. However…"
"However, indeed."
"However, a few things. I want a position up front, on the lines, at the face. Do not stick me in some make-work job and forget I exist. And don't think you can just throw me a rifle and shove me forward. You're the one who wants me here, so you're going to be stuck with me; at least for the time being. Wherever you go, I'm going. I'm also going to need some form of collateral."
"Okay…I think I have a job in mind that'll be perfect for you. But the collateral? Do you have something in mind? Let me guess... it's like pornography: you can't define it, but you know it when you see it."
"Yeah." And there it was, in front of him the entire time. "That, right there."
"This?"
"It's your N.O. detector, isn't it?"
"It is." Rig unsnapped the carabiner from his belt loop. "And a damn good one."
"It belonged to your Dad, didn't it?"
"It did. And yes, it is…precious, to me."
"You're the only one out here, the only one that's tried to get me to join. I don't know if that's because you were ordered to, or if it's just because you personally want me to join; and I don't care. You are my handler, my contact, recruiter…so you will be the one I'll blame, and punish, if any of you screw with me again."
"I'll do my utmost to not fuck up." Rig stood, drew himself to full height without crutches and ignored his leg's pain for the moment. He gave it one last look, then handed over his father's N.O. Detector. Naota accepted without fanfare and secured it to his own belt loop. "The onus is on me now. Another albatross to the flock…but one I won't mind."
"Sooo…what now?" All considered, things were rather anti-climactic. "What's the job you have in mind?"
"Spotter." Rig gave the carabiner one last look before tearing his eyes away. He took up his crutches and hopped around the truck. "My leg is still too fucked up to be running around, in and out of trenches 'n' such. I'm on long gun duty, and I need you to be my spotter."
"Spotter? But, isn't the spotter usually the more experienced shooter?"
"Yeah, they usually are. But my eyes are as good as marbles at really long distances. You'll be able to better see wind changes and spot shot splashes than I would. We'll spend all day tomorrow practicing. We can get your equipment out of my locker and start getting you familiarized with it tonight."
"Is that really it though? I'm, y'know, in?"
"That's it, really." Rig opened the door on his side. "All of summer was most of the basic training you'd get at Fort Bragg; minus the rules and regs, the legalese bullshit. Normally there would be a ceremony, swearing in, we'd go for pizza and beer afterwards…"
"But this isn't 'normally' is it?"
"We're at DEFCON One. So no, not normally. Then again, is it ever normal with you around; I wonder?" Rig smirked as Naota walked around to his side. "C'mon, Private Nandaba. I think we'll just draw all your gear now and let everyone in on the secret."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Private Nandaba?" The truck was automatic, so Rig could drive left-footed. They took off with a whiplashing jerk. "That's all? I've got an N.O. channel, doesn't that count for something?!"
"Alright…fine. Private, First Class, Nandaba. There."
"Thank you! Was that too much to ask for? A little bit of respect goes a long way, y'know."
"And now I'm demoting you for back-sassing your N.C.O." Rig gave him a 'come on now' glance over his glasses.
"…I walked right into that, didn't I?"
"Like a sapper into a minefield." They were back at the shop. Rig put the truck in park and killed the engine. "Real shit now though. I cannot make any promises, if you'll make it to the other side…alive…in one piece, unscathed, unmarked. But I will say this: I will do everything in my power to make sure you do not regret your decision, and will accept any punishment of yours if I do. Are we in agreement?"
"What do you expect from me?" Rig had put his elbow on the center console, hand up for an arm-wrestle style grip.
"Kill every Medical Mechanica Marine and every Human Traitor you can." Short, simple. Easy to remember. The best kind of plan.
"Deal." They shook on it.
"Friends?"
"Friends." They started to get out of the truck. Only then did Rig realize his crutches had shifted in the truck bed to Naota's side.
"Hey man, wanna do me a solid?" Wobbling on one leg, he pointed across the truck. "Toss them bad boys my way."
"Sure…" Hands on the crutches, Naota saw his one chance. "If you can catch me, Hop-Along!" Crutches in hand, he trotted to the shop. Swearing, growling and red-faced, Rig hobbled after. "This's payback for Sunday morning!"
"You sunova bitch! Get back here!" Round and round the lot Naota led Rig in penance for so rudely awakening him. "Give those back! That's an order, goddammitt!"
"Oh…whatcha gonna do? Demote me?"
"I'll invent a lower rank! Just so I can bust you down to it!" In hindsight, Naota wished he had savored his last normal night for just a bit longer.
. . .
"Aaacck! Ih ah gwis Vinculum nitahgo!" (Liberas: Aaacck! Sons of a Vinculum whore!) Haruko swore when she realized all of her possessions, except for what she was wearing or had in her pockets, were still at Naota's house. A few days more, several painkillers along, and all of Craig Kauffman's food eaten by Saturday, she felt well enough to travel. She knew she should stay a few more days. Her face was in a constant dull ache, and split by piercing headaches, the flesh crawled and itched as it slowly knitted together, and any facial expression was a knife to the wound. But Atomsk had a week long advantage and overtaking that would be a battle itself.
"Best get this over with." She picked up what few belongings she did have, combined them with what she was taking from Craig's (Fun-Yuns, Cheese Doodles, an odd amount of canned pineapple and pineapple juice, all the medical supplies, a flashlight, batteries, lighters, some spare shirts, sweats, and hats, and the last of his liquor) and lashed the load on the back of the Vespa's seat. The doors were relocked and the key replaced; everything was put so it would look like she'd never been there. And there was the odd chance she might need to come back. Y'never know.
For a Saturday evening on the waning edge of summer, Philipsburg was deserted. A few pinpricks of light shone at gaps in drawn curtains here and there, but otherwise the town was dead. Rather than roar through and draw every eye and ear on her, Haruko meekly puttered along. Chester Hill, on the other side of the Red Moshannon River, was just as empty. With the temperature dropping and pressure falling, a slow chill sidled up to Haruko. Even with her senses on full alert she couldn't shake the unease permeating the air; nor see a reason for it. There were no M.I.B., no M-M Marines, no robots...but the feeling persisted.
'Better not go past G&R's front door...' She rightly decided, turning off the main road towards Gearhartville. 'Can't expect them to be waiting with coffee and doughnuts, wondering where I've been. If I go around... out by Stumptown, I should be able to sneak in.' This proved significantly easier planned than executed. Road blocks had been set up, barricades barred entry, men were patrolling and building sandbag walls, barbed wire was being strung, trenches dug and fortifications built, all in a ring around the Carson's property and a few other houses in the neighborhood as well. Even the Country (In)Convenience and its fuel pumps was guarded. None of the men had a consistent uniform, gear, loadout or weapon. But all had the exact same brand new green and black patches on their shoulders. 'OVERWATCH' ran across the top of the patch, below that a keystone with 'I.P.A.' at the keystone's top, and a crossed pick-ax, shovel, and single flame at the keystone's bottom, then below the keystone and the patch bottom '262'.
'Huh. Rig wasn't kidding. They really are with Overwatch. Not that some rando is gonna have access to near-peer N.O. ability...but it's one thing to think of, versus actually see. Huh. Best keep moving.' Through the briars, brambles and bushes even rabbits avoided she slunk, finally making it to the back of Naota's house. Procedure dictated her to wait and observe the house, making sure it was empty. A combination of time scarcity, an uptick of activity on the road and several people yelling orders, and her own impatience, convinced Haruko the house was 'empty enough'.
'When did we get a new stove?' She wondered as she made her way through the kitchen. Up the stairs, left turn, across the landing to Naota's room. Unknown to her, when King's men had repaired the damage from the raid, the had also picked up everything in Naota's room. Unsure what to do with her things, they'd left them behind. Naota couldn't decide to throw it all out or not, so he had tossed Haruko's backpack in the far corner behind his desk and left it out of sight and mind. This made her search distracting enough that she didn't hear the boots coming up the stairs.
'Ah-Haa! There you are!' Backpack with anything and everything she'd need, helmet on top of that, and goggles and gloves neatly packed inside the helmet, it was all there. 'Of all the places to stash my stuff, of course he'd pick the hardest place to spot. Now...wait a second.' She froze as an inner chord struck a warning note; a beat too slow. 'He'd behind me...isn't he?'
"Haruko... I'm gonna assume you're only here for your stuff." Naota sounded like he was standing in his doorway.
"Maybe I just missed you?"
"Maybe I shoot your other eye and finish what Rig started?"
"Yeah, I just want my stuff. Where did you come from? Wait, wait...don't tell me. Garage?"
"Garage."
"Dammit. I knew I should have checked there."
"That's why I figured you weren't here for me. You went straight for my room and weren't searching the house."
"Well deduced, Watson. So now what?" She could take him, easily. Several factors ruled it out. Her reaction time was admittedly not at peak. There was no way of knowing if he had a gun on her without turning around and risking getting shot. And finally... she couldn't. There wasn't any will in her to plant her right foot, turn, push off, stay low and under any gun's muzzle, connect her shoulder to his solar plexus, carrying him across the landing and pulverize him against the bathroom wall... her mind blocked that series of actions completely. She'd force herself if left no other choice, but for now she held off.
"Now, you're going to put the bag down." Thmp. "Okay. Put your hands on the back of your head, lock your fingers together. Good. Go down to your knees, then cross your ankles. Sit down on your feet. Do not move unless I tell you to. If you do, you're getting shot in the head. Got that?"
"Got it, Simon-Says." The position he'd put her in ensured she couldn't stand without falling over or dropping her hands first; nor could she get at anything outside immediate arm's reach. Naota walked around to her right side, far enough so they could see the others face. He was trying to look serious and tough, but was clearly nervous. Her face, half bandaged, showed little. "Wow, look at you. A fancy-fresh Overwatch Enlisted uniform. You look stunning. I didn't think you'd join up?"
"It was the best, or rather, least worst option." G.S.P.B. uniforms border on regal, the I.I.B. dress smart and sleek, and O.W. opts for utilitarian simplicity: brown calf-high boots, bloused green-gray pants, and a green-gray tunic with four large square pockets, a row of dark buttons, military shoulder straps, a band collar, and a set of suspenders holding a pistol belt; the pistol itself now aimed at her. For the second time in a week she was staring down a pistol barrel: the 0.45 caliber cavern of a Ruger P90. "It's better than running away or waiting for the Red Star to pick me up."
"That so? Well... good for you; I guess. Different strokes. So, are you gonna turn me in, or capture me, or something?"
"All I'm doing is holding you here."
"For what?"
"Until everyone else gets here." The yelling outside was now on the front lawn and the backyard, and gravel crunched in the driveway as several vehicles pulled up. "You tripped a dozen or so alarms getting here." Ohhh... they were surrounding the house. To keep a low profile she had left her guitar behind. And since she eschewed traditional firearms, she was unarmed. She could put up a good fight, but she had her limits and wasn't at her top. If even Rig had access to N.O., there was no telling what might be waiting for her outside. She needed to leave five minutes ago, and getting caught was unacceptable.
"Naota...you don't want to do this."
"What? Finally see you held responsible for your fuck-ups? Oh no, I really, really do."
"No, that's not what I meant." She rose up to her knees and uncrossed her feet.
"Hey, hey! Stop, stop...stop moving!" He took a step back as she slowly brought her right leg around to stand up. "I said STOP! If you don't, I'll shoot you!"
"No...you won't." She began to stand by degrees. "You said so yourself."
"No, I didn't! Last warning or, I-I shoot!"
"Yes, yes you did." She now was standing, but still with her hands on her head. "You want me to do my time, have a good, long think in prison. Shoot me, and that's all blown away. Quick, easy. No effort on my part. You want me to suffer... don't you? I'm not wrong, am I?"
"Well, not entirely. But I still can't let you leave."
"You're not letting me leave, you know. I am leaving regardless of any orders of yours to stop me. Just do whatever you have to do to convince yourself otherwise." She picked up her bag and shouldered it. "I'm going now."
"Y'know what? Good fuckin' riddance." Naota shook his head. "Atomsk again, right? If I keep you here, there'll be a trial and all, and it'll be a horrendous pain in my ass to put up with another minute of being in the same room as you. So just go, may your suffering be chasing Atomsk from now until the end of time, and never catching him. And know this is for ONE reason only."
"What's that?" She was genuinely curious.
"You brought that rifle to me, the one you put together. If you didn't give even the slightest of shits about me, you would've kept it to yourself. You would have left me in the dark, but you care; even if neither of us want to admit it. And because of that, it opened my eyes to everything I had willingly ignored. So...thank you, for that."
"Really? Well, you are so very..."
"Don't ruin it. Just take the thanks and get the fuck out."
"You're in the doorway." He had moved back to block her way out.
"You don't get to walk back through my house."
"Haruko Haruhara! We have you surrounded!" Josh's voice rang out over a loudspeaker. "If you surrender now, you'll get a fair trial at the Galactic Court Martials!"
"And if I don't?" She grinned at Naota.
"Shifty and Rig beat you half to death, we hold a thirty second trial on the lawn, and hang you with steel cable from Clifford: The Big Red Crane, and park it next to the road so your corpse can serve as a warning sign."
"I think I'll pass..."
"Then you've gotta do something for me."
"Which is?"
"You are to leave, pursue Atomsk, fly into the sun, I don't care. But you are never, ever... to darken my doorstep with your presence again. And if you do, there will not be a trial... for I, will kill you. Am I understood?"
A flippant remark welled up in her mouth and died before it got past her lips. She remembered their last argument, and how he'd struck a word-based blow. He'd been animated, emotional, eyes wild and confused. Now his eyes had gone cold and dark. While his voice was nervous, his hand was steady and his pistol's muzzle held dead on at her nose. While not as far gone as Rig with a '1,000 yard Stare of Seeing Death', it was a hair lower at 'I have never killed anyone...but am considering my options.'
"I understand." She surprised herself at the smallness of her voice. "So, this's goodbye then. For good, this time."
"And don't you forget it. Now, time for you to leave." He shifted his aim slightly to the right. "STOP! STOP OR I WILL SHOOT!" He ordered so everyone outside could hear. BAK-THOOM! BAK-THOOOM! Two slugs blew out a panel of his bedroom window. "Well?! Fuck're you waiting for?!"
"Out the window?! Really?! You're an ass, y'know that?!" She crossed her arms in front of her face, dove head first out the remaining window and landed with a roll that popped up into a high handspring. Once on her feet she scampered off between the trees with bullets snapping around her ears, and disappeared into the Pennsylvania countryside.
. . .
"Dammitt! We were this close!" Johnny swore after the ceasefire order had been given. "And where the fuck is Shifty?!"
"Right...here Johnny, right...here..." Having been on the far side of the property, Shifty had sprinted the whole way when he'd been frantically summoned, only to be one minute too late. "What'd... I miss? Whew..."
"Naota, you okay in there?" Rig yelled up at the house. Naota opened his window, minding the shot out glass. "What happened?"
"I cornered her in my room, drew on her and asked what she was up to. She said she was only here to get her stuff. I told her not to move, and then she moved... and, I missed."
"Ahhh shit. Well, she's gone now. C'mon down." Rig holstered his own pistol and waved for Naota. The crowd that had surrounded the house dispersed back to their posts. All grumbled about how it 'wasn't natural' that someone could move that fast or dodge their rounds. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm sorry Rig, she was right there; I can't believe I missed."
"It's okay, you're alright and that's most important. And I'm impressed you got off two shots without a mark on you! She goddamn near killed me! Hey, how did she look?"
"Rough." And that was the honest truth. "Half her face is bandaged, the eye I could see is black, her voice sounds like she's exhausted, and she couldn't quite stand upright; I think some of her ribs are broken. You put a serious hurt on her."
"Did she say where she was going, or doing?" Shifty joined in. "Do you think she'll be back?"
"No, I don't think she'll be back." He looked back up at his empty window. "She's after what she's always after."
"Atomsk." Shifty nodded. "And he took off a week ago; headed west. 'Long as he doesn't decide to double back, I agree this was the last we've seen of her."
"Why didn't he head, like, into space or off to some other planet?" Naota wondered if that question would sound silly.
"Probably the same reason he hasn't planted his feet and finished Haruko off." Rig alluded.
"He's weak, or wounded, or sick, handicapped in some way." Shifty elaborated. "If Rig, untrained with N.O., nearly killed Haruko, you'd think Atomsk would just mop the floor with her and be done with her. But he hasn't, he keeps running; and hasn't left the planet when he's had plenty of time to do so."
"How do you know he is still here?" Naota pulled at the N.O. detector on his belt loop. "Are these detectors that good?"
"O.W. has satellites that would detect the huge N.O. spike required for him to leave. We couldn't stop him from doing that, but at least we would know."
"Well, hopefully he decides to hide on Fero next."
"Atomsk's not that desperate!" Shifty laughed.
"I'm just glad he's out of our territory and not our problem anymore; and Haruko the same by extension." Rig said and now nodded at the shop. "And besides, we've got more immediate issues."
"Oncoming police army?" Naota shuddered at the thought.
"Yep. Oncoming police army."
"Here's hoping I don't screw up running into them half as bad as I did with Haruko just now."
"Just bring out whatever it was that helped you survive last Saturday, your journey over the river and through the woods, with the Sheriff's deputies we go…and you'll be fine."
"If you say so…" Naota reluctantly agreed, but couldn't shake the icy chill of fear clouding his heart… or was that regret for letting Haruko go? He wasn't sure which, but was sure he'd rather not know.
. . .
Standing at attention, his rifle resting on his shoulder, Patrolman Hynen blinked out the fog misting on his eyelashes. Overnight the temperature had dropped into the low forties, several inches of rain had poured in a thundering torrent, and the pressure had bottomed out. Now the front had passed and high pressure weighed on everything. Swirling fog enveloped Clearfield and Centre counties. Any dawn that would have shone was blocked out on that morning of Sunday, August 28th. Captain Chojnacki, Sheriff Sarabyn, Chiefs Strong and Warburg, and Mayors Aldritch and Vanderlip, were addressing the gathered forces, now 800 in all. Bolstering their number was a small detachment of Medical Mechanica Marines. They had been assigned to only observe their new Human allies. These Marines stood off to the side, clad head to toe in their formidable armor plating and black uniforms, faceless behind their goggles and respirators; speaking whispers to each other in their archaic language. Hynen eyed them on the edge of his vision as they nodded and pointed at the formation; and wondered what they thought of him and his.
"…maintain legitimate authority over these counties, and all citizenry within." From behind a lectern atop an elevated stage, Sheriff Sarabyn broke into Hynen's wandering mind. These were the closing remarks and Sarabyn was the last speaker. Hynen blinked more dew off his eyelashes and tried to pay better attention. "We have been tasked by our new mentors, the Priests of Syrinx, to be Workers of Their Will on Earth, to pave the way for an enlightened and progressive future. A future free from want, from the panics of the crowd, the transient passions of the mob, and the foolishness of the ignorant masses. Our Human Race, plagued by the conflicting, short-sighted, squabbling and clawing wills of billions, shall finally be united and work together as one. No more trade barriers, no more petty wars, no more feverish nationalism over a sorry patch of dirt and a colorful rag. Earth will finally, and forever, know Peace. Under the light of The Red Star we, you brave visionaries before me, will shepherd our fellow Humans to a world that will be at last content. With the benevolence and wisdom bequeathed by Syrinx in his ancient vision so many ages ago as a framework, his Priests our Masters, their Operatives our Mentors, and their Marines as our Brothers in Arms, it is our duty, our obligation to set our chaotic world on the right course, and direct it on the correct heading. To be given such a blessing of tools and assistance for this task, and refusing to act in the only logical fashion… would be a Crime Against Humanity."
Patrolman Hynen risked a look around, as much as he could without turning his head. To his left and right, he saw only eyes dazzled with stars. Around him was being spun dozens of iterations of the same dream. Just imagine it: the wars around the world, over. Crashing economies and the looming specter of the debt collectors coming after…managed and banished. Societal upheaval, quelled. Cultural rot and decay, stemmed and the culture reborn in a new, flourishing form. The listless, stupid and useless, given purpose. Rabble-rousers and agitators, the boat-rockers and the ungrateful, at last put in their place. Imagine…it's easy if you try…
"…be those who will stand against us. We know who they are, even though they go by an ever-changing set of names. Calling themselves whatever so-called-patriot word of the day doesn't change their nature. Undisciplined. Individualists. Selfish. Short-Sighted. Disobedient. Insubordinate. Ungrateful. Spiteful. Anarchists. Embarrassing anachronisms of an old, immature chapter of our bygone past. These holdovers are about to be written out of the pages of history, and cannot bear the thought of admitting their entire existence has been in the wrong. They will lash out and try to drag us back down to their level, so we all can be equally backwards. So it falls to us, this newly formed Red Terran First Police Battalion, to ensure that Humanity's future is not ruined before it can even begin! Brave, bold, enlightened officers of the First Battalion! What is our purpose?!"
"We will guard Humanity from its own destruction!"
"What is our mission?!"
"We will strike down anyone that would drag us back into the shadows!"
"And how will we do this, this righteous, this just, this virtuous task?!"
"We will do this by any means necessary!" The officers raised their rifles at the sky, shaking in scarcely contained zeal.
"And…in who's name do we do this essential work?!"
"SYRINX! For Syrinx!" They roared, feeding off each other's energy in a positive feedback loop of euphoria. The World, their World. Its image would be in their image. Its Arbiters would be them alone. And it all lay just down the road… almost in their grasp.
Meanwhile, The Man stood aside and monitored his pocketwatch. One of the faces contained a single hand, ticking towards the top of its face. As the officers worked themselves into a frenzy, it moved faster until topping out a single tick shy of its peg.
'Not quite there yet. Hmmm…' The Man willed the hand to budge. It stubbornly refused. 'Perhaps after today. After today's test, there will be no doubts remaining and this will no longer be a concern. If not…' He surveyed the Humans to his left, then gave a respectful nod to his Brothers on the right. '…If not, no matter. We have performed our roles a hundred times, and then a hundred times over. Either way, Earth will be ours.' He closed his pocketwatch, then his eyes, and took a deep sampling breath of the cool morning mist, savoring the scents of the dirt, the stones, the trees. By far, his favorite smelling planet. 'And if these Humans no longer want to be part of Earth by either failure or lapse of sanity, then that choice is theirs to make, all on their own.'
. . .
"Good morning gentlemen, Mister Pike, Mister Voyze, Mister King."
"Good morning to you, Captain Carson."
"Pike, please. Tommy's fine."
"Sorry. Old habits."
"Don't worry about it." Tommy fiddled with his tobacco tin before settling his nerves and stowing the can. "Ohhhhh…boy. Oh God, oh boy, oh-kay…woo! Let's do this." He hopped up onto his truck's tailgate and raised his arms. "Hello! Good morning, good morning! Can everyone hear me?!"
"Mornin' to you too! We hear's yah!" One of the men at the back of the 1,100 large crowd confirmed.
"Thank you plenty, Mister Holz! Gentlemen, this is it. D-Day, and your last chance to back out. This is an all-volunteer force, but from today on we will all be committed. Leave now or forever hold your peace." No one left the crowd. "Good. The attack's supposed to come in…" Tommy checked his watch. "Four hours. So before we go, there's a few words I'd like to say." His nerves creeping on him again, Tommy took out his tin, packed his lip, chewed and spat.
"That's better. Today, I won't make appeals to the idea of the Galactic Republic, or a host of planets we've never been to; and some of us never knew existed. I'm not even going to implore you to think of your families, the futures of your kids. That'd be as ridiculous as asking you to remember to breathe! I know you all do, they have never left our thoughts and hearts. Instead, I want to remind you of something; so that you might remind that gathering in Port Matilda in turn. And that is that we, I, you, are NOT merely Human Beings. We are not some mere bipedal, hairless apes come down from the trees. We are Men, we are Men of The West! We are FREE MEN. We are the most endangered species of all types of Man, the Uncommon Free Man. We are Uncommon that we do not rush for a smothering blanket of security. Instead we seek to hone whatever talents Birth saw fit to gift us, and we fight our own battles. Uncommonly, especially in this day and age, we are not 'kept citizens', humbled and dulled under the charge of some uncaring bureaucrat. We willingly take our daily calculated risks, dreaming and building, succeeding, and failing, on our own. Incentive is never bartered away for a dole, a humiliating handout. Across the Galaxy even, it is Uncommon for us to prefer the challenges of our lives, rather than a guaranteed and bland existence; the thrill of our accomplishments over the dead-end paralysis of a Utopia. As Free Men we will not: trade any freedom for beneficence, and never our dignity for charity. We refuse to cower, bow and scrape, before a self-appointed Master, nor bend to, nor tolerate, any threat. It is our Heritage, our Right, to stand tall, proud and unafraid. To think for ourselves, to act for ourselves, to enjoy the fruits of our own creations, and to face the World, the Galaxy, the Universe itself… and boldly without a shred of guilt or apology declare: This, by my hand, by MY FREE WILL…I have done."
Tommy's words rolled over the unarranged group. No applause was needed, everyone felt himself take the speech in and identify with it in his own way. It corrected slouching postures, straightened uneasy backs, and hardened any flagging resolve. Understood was this fight's true purpose: the right to fail, or conversely, the right to make their own lives and not choke down whatever poor ideas some tyrant force-fed them.
"I apologize if my English literature classes got out; I've been trying to forget them for years. They keep coming back." Tommy apologized. "But that's the size of it. We all lead Uncommon Lives, you and I. But it's what we chose, and that alone is a reward in of itself. Some people don't see it that way; which doesn't make them bad on the face of it. Succeeding, and failing on your own is a lot of work, and can be terrifying. All of us have been on the failing side of things at least once. The problems begin when those other people, who cannot face the fear of the unknown, their unwillingness to accept or risk failure, think that they know better than you. Their way is the only way…or else. The Good Idea Fairy popped in, gave them a touch of her magic wand, and now they are privy to all the secrets of the universe. Sure they are. Pull the other one, it's got bells on it. All this is, is a convenient fable to try dragging you along with their schemes and fever-dreams, and they'll stick a gun in your face should you disagree. And, as of last Saturday, they have shown they are plenty willing and happy to use that gun. If their ideas were so wonderful, their new paradigm such a revolution of thought, their Utopia a no-brainer, surely they could let the results and merits of their argument speak for themselves? Instead, after the raids last week, and by their massing in force right now, they are demonstrating they are only interested in crushing anyone who dares to have a different opinion. They want you dead, they want your legacy shattered, your hard work ruined, they want all of your money, all of your shit, and they want your family as fertilizer and your children as pets. All because a coven of decrepit old druids in faggy robes fooled a uniformed gang with guns into worshipping their Moon God. Well, I've got on me a bayonet, a fighting knife, an entrenching tool, a tomahawk, a crowbar, my two steel toes, and two big middle fingers, that all those damn Red Star Priests can take and shove right up their useless asses; and all that and then some, to anyone stupid enough to tolerate their crap! Who's with me?!"
"I AM!" The cry rang out across the mountains. "I am with you!"
"Will you fight alongside me, as Free Men together?"
"I will! For Virtue, Liberty, Freedom!" They each pledged, invoking their Pennsylvanian Motto.
"So be it!" Tommy declared, and one step further, agreed: "And so shall I. Now…" Tommy checked his watch again. Plenty of time. "Before we go and do what needs doin', Ri…Staff Sergeant Carson, and P.F.C. Nandaba would like to send us off with a song. Guys, if you're ready?"
"We're ready." Naota confirmed as Rig made a third final cable check. The massive basement stereo had been hauled to the surface for this morning performance. "Then they're all yours."
"Good, uh, good-good morning everyone." Rig had just remembered how it felt to have a crowd of over a thousand staring at him.
"Mornin' Rig." They patiently answered. "Mornin' Naota."
"Thanks. So, if you're half as nervous as Naota and I are, and who'd blame you, we've always found the uh, right song can calm you down; and amp you up at the same time. If that makes sense. So we're gonna do one for you this morning, then we'll all be on our way. It's one of my favorites, so here's hoping I don't screw it up, and that you like it. Ready Naota?" With a nod from Naota, Rig pressed PLAY on a remote and the stereo began piping out a growing swell of sound, closely followed by a heartbeat thudding drum, and thumping bass…and the sliding metal of a sword being drawn…
*I see a dark sail… on the horizon…
Set under a black cloud… that hides, the sun...
Bring me my broadsword… and clear understanding.
Bring me my cross of gold… as a talisman.
Get up to the Roundhouse, on the clifftop standing!
Take women and children, and bed them down…
The men of the I.P.A., many knowing the song themselves, joined in. Their singing nearly overpowered Rig and Naota's guitars. Now the mountaintop hummed with sound, and the stones under their boots resonated with the music's vibrations.
Bring me my broadsword! And clear understanding…
Bring me my cross of gold… as a talisman…
Bless with a hard heart… and those that surround me!
Bless the women and children, who firm our hands!
Put our backs to the North Wind!
Hold fast by the river!
Sweet memories to drive us on, for the Motherland…
Many had their eyes closed. They were thinking of small faces, a loved one's last tearful words, reflecting on their lifetime sum of efforts and how it all could be taken away. A few prayed for their own physical safety. Most prayed instead for the strength, for the courage, to conquer the great task before them.
I see a dark sail… on the horizon…
Set under a black cloud… that hides the sun…
So bring me my broadsword! And clear understanding…
Bring me my cross of gold… as a talisman…
So bring me my broadsword!
And a cross of gold, as a talisman…
Broadsword!*
. . .
*Broadsword - Jethro Tull
It seems kind of silly to put the song marker on, when it's right at the very end of the chapter. But if there is ONE thing I am with fanfiction (it obviously isn't prompt or timely) it is CONSISTENT.
This chapter makes me a bit nervous; just like Rig and Naota's conversation after the G&R Raid. Or at least the first half of this chapter does. Bringing disagreements to characters to reasonable conclusions without waving the Plot Magic Wand isn't easy, and I salute those who have mastered the skill.
That said, I personally like the second half. It, again personally, lays out the ideas of the opposing sides and is the 'what we are fighting for' moment, and is a look into the minds of both sides; what motivates them and drives them on. Top-down, controlling/managing/engineering and tailoring society to your exact, precise ideals...or letting people go their own way, at their own pace, to their own ends; wherever or whatever those might be. A battle as old as time. Who wins this time? You'll have to keep reading; and I'll have to keep writing too haha. But please do let me know what you though of this chapter, as it is full of things I am trying to get better at. Thanks all once more for reading!
