A/N: This is a rather long chapter, but I wanted to cover the first half of their mission in one chapter. I almost cut out the last part until the next chapter, but I've got a specific format that I have in mind for the next chapter – if it works out the way I want, the narrative style of this one would take away from it. Also, this chapter jumps forward and backward a little in its timeline. The events taking place back in Providence are set a little further in the future than the ones with Miles and Monroe. More notes in the end.
Monroe and Miles made the joint decision to set up camp several hours outside of St. Louis. Because of his past experience in infiltrating Truman's men, Corporal Walters would be sent in first to do some recon. They would wait until he'd returned before continuing further.
There were a total of thirteen members to their party (something that Monroe never ceased to see the humor in). They'd already decided to split up and enter separately. Monroe would lead Aaron, one of the engineers and three soldiers in, whereas Miles would lead Devon in with his solders and the other engineer.
As they got closer to their destination, tensions were high. Stealing the riverboat was vital to their mission and it was entirely possible that it was the most dangerous part of it. If they were caught, game over. Monroe knew that what he'd gone through at Truman's hands would be a day at the spa in comparison to what would be in store if they didn't get out of St. Louis.
Although he had the luxury of any one of six soldiers keeping watch, Monroe still could not sleep. He was lying in his bedroll watching the clouds blow in from the west and periodically block out the waxing moonlight. He could hear Miles already snoring several feet away. As he tried to quiet his mind, he idly wondered how Rachel could share a bed with the man and not go insane due to lack of sleep. He'd always been loud (countless childhood sleepovers and sharing quarters in the Marines had taught him that), but it seemed to have gotten a hell of a lot worse as he'd gotten older.
Annoyed, Monroe reached in his pack and grabbed Brodie's ball. He threw it at Miles, hitting him in the back. He chuckled as the impact woke Miles up just enough to quiet him. A few seconds later, Brodie came out of nowhere with the ball in his mouth. He curled up next to his master and chewed on it for a few minutes before laying his head on his paws, the ball securely under his muzzle.
After getting to spend exactly one day as a married couple, Monroe and Charlie prepare to separate for what will at the very least be months, if not permanently. The six man squad that Donovan has sent is already mounted along with Devon and the engineers he's brought with them.
Monroe already said his goodbyes to Daniel and Connor earlier. Danny and Angie are still sleeping. He couldn't bear to wake them, so instead he'd just gone into their room and watched them for a few minutes, doing his best to memorize the image of them sleeping so peacefully. They are a huge part of the reason why he's doing this.
He holds his Charlie in his arms, reluctant to pull away. "You'd better come back to me," she tells him.
Monroe kisses her temple and squeezes her tighter in his embrace. "I always do, remember?" He cups her face and their lips meet for the last time in who knows how long. "I love you." Her breath hitches, so she only mouths the words back. Before he can change his mind, Monroe mounts his horse and waits for Miles and Aaron to finish saying their goodbyes.
Monroe crouched down behind a stack of crates, waiting for Miles' signal. Aaron and the engineer that he'd been assigned to work with were not far away, waiting in turn for Monroe to given them his. At three in the morning, Patriot patrols were sparse, but could still present a problem. They'd already taken out three separate two-guard teams, silently slitting throats from behind and then dragging their bodies into the murky waters of the Mississippi River. They had spent the past half hour slowly getting into position.
As it turned out, Walters had been invaluable. For one, the Patriots were no longer having ships unload south of the city. They'd converted what was once known as Laclede's Landing into a wharf for River traffic. When they'd met up with him, the corporal had been able to give them the basic layout as well as had determined the best boat to take.
Twelve men and a dog were a lot to try to sneak on board, but they had no choice. Still, luck was on their side so far. St. Louis had been a border town and as such the locals had been caught in a tug of war between the Monroe Republic and Plains Nation for far too long. They'd welcomed the Patriots with welcome arms. The lack of resistance had lulled the commanding officer here into carelessness. This would work in their favor.
Monroe heard a low whistle, indicating that all was ready on Miles' part. He signaled to Aaron and the engineer to get ready to board the ship. Their counterparts would be escorted onto the ship by Miles. Once given the signal, they'd have roughly ten minutes to get the hell out of there. They'd be pushing it but it was the only chance they had to get out of there without being followed. Monroe whistled back to Miles – it was now or never.
A chain of one low whistle after another drifted back to the other side of the wharf. A few minutes later a warehouse exploded, signaling that it was time. Monroe sprang into action. Keeping low, he made his way to the gangplank with Brodie at his side. The distraction had the desired effect; the men guarding the deck of their chosen vessel had rushed to the aft of the ship to see what was going on, giving them the opportunity to board the ship. Monroe took the lead with Aaron and the engineer behind him. The three soldiers that made up the rest of his group followed in the rear.
Miles' group was not far behind them. Monroe and one of the solders crept to where the four guards watched the conflagration in the distance. Coming up behind them with swords drawn they were dispatched before they had a chance to react. A growl and snarl from the port side send Monroe investigating. Brodie had another guard by the leg. While the Patriot was distracted, Monroe ran him through.
Miles led the engineers to the boiler so they could get the fire started, while Monroe doubled back to make sure Aaron and Devon got into position. By his estimation, only two or three minutes had passed. The rest of the soldiers spread out to make sure that there were no other Patriots or Civilians on board. Leaving Aaron and Devon, Monroe ran to the gangway to cut the ropes that secured it to the starboard side. His men had returned and were now working on severing the anchor line.
The sound of shouting from the levee did not bode well – they had company. "Dammit," Monroe muttered as he ordered his men to take position. Raising his rifle, Monroe took aim and fired in rapid succession at the Patriots that approached. All six of Donovan's guys now stood with Monroe. "Split up, two on the bow, two aft, the rest stay with me," Monroe ordered them.
Miles showed up a few seconds later. "We still need a few more minutes for the boiler to get hot," he said as he took a few shots.
"We don't have a few minutes. If we don't get moving now, the Patriots are going to be the least of our problems," Monroe said as he kept shooting, taking down anything in khaki that approached. "We're not going to make it."
"We'll make it," Miles said as he left to help defend the bow of the ship.
A few moments later the ship's whistle sounded. "Finally!" Monroe shouted. The vessel slowly pulled out of is berth. Little by little they began to pick up speed. He held his breath as he calculated the time that had passed in his head. They were just passing the ruins that were once the Gateway Arch when the remaining ships at the dock started to explode one after another. Monroe took cover as the ship closest to them went off, sending splintered wood and twisted metal their way. A grunt of pain off to his left indicated that somebody did not move fast enough.
Keeping low just in case the Patriots had patrols stationed up river, he went to check on the men. One of them had taken a large sliver of wood in the arm, but other than that they'd managed to get away unscathed. The Patriots did their best to give chase, but by the time word had spread that someone had stolen a supply ship, they were already gone.
Once they were safely away, Miles worked his way back up to the main deck. "See Bass, I told you we were going to make it."
Monroe rolled his eyes at Miles as he wound a bandage around his wounded man's bicep. "Cutting it a bit close, don't you think?"
Providence: December 29
Charlie stands in Donovan's command tent, arguing over how to handle the latest turn of events. Rumors have been spreading like wildfire about increased Patriot aggression throughout the region. A civilian riot had broken out shortly after the occupation of Frankfort. Reports estimated the casualties to be in the hundreds.
The pre-blackout capital of Kentucky had slowly been rebuilt and had served as a trade hub for the Georgia Federation. Now it was reduced to rubble and ashes. This turn of events could change everything. Sentiments in Providence towards the patriots had ranged from ambivalent to distrustful before the razing of Frankfort, but their little resistance had remained careful because of the spies and hidden supporters the Patriots had placed all over the continent. Now even a few of the known Patriot sympathizers were speaking out against them.
Donovan now insisted that with the majority of the locals outraged that they needed to take advantage and reveal his presence in Providence. Charlie is not yet convinced. "If you out yourself, you're essentially outing my entire family," she reminds him. "We don't even know if they made it out of St. Louis yet. If they are still there or have been captured, revealing yourself could get them killed - if they haven't been already."
Challenger to the presidency or not, Donovan still needs her family's help whether he likes it or not. He decides to tread lightly. "It's a risk, but it's one that I am willing to take." It has been three weeks with no word, meaning it's entirely possible that Monroe and Matheson have failed. If this is the case, Donovan will need new allies, and taking advantage of the communal rage that the people are experiencing may get him that. "If the mission has failed, we will have to build up an army from scratch. Now is the time to start that process."
"This isn't just some mission. This is my family out there, risking their lives to help you overthrow Davis," she argues.
Donovan sighs. "I'll give it two more days. If there's no word after that we have move on as if they didn't make it out. I'm sorry Mrs. Monroe, but this is war. Unless you wish to raise your children in hiding, we have to come up with a backup plan."
Charlie stalks out of the tent. She runs face first into a soldier. She apologizes before she even looks up. As she does so she looks right into the eyes of Scott Walters. "You're back?"
"Ma'am," he addresses her. "Yes, I just got in. I stopped by the farmhouse on the way in but they said you were here. I thought you'd like to hear the news."
"What happened?" Charlie's voice trembles. They'd expected him several days ago, and she is almost afraid to hear the answer. His delay suggests that there may have been problems. "We expected you to be back already."
"I stayed behind to make sure they got away and to do a little recon. They must have made it to Illinois and so far the Patriots haven't even figured out who stole their boat." He smiles in admiration. When he'd been assigned to this mission, he'd thought it was doomed to fail. He is clearly impressed that they actually pulled it off.
Charlie's eyes fill with tears of relief. "Thank you, Corporal." She whispers before walking away. She bursts in the door when she gets home. "They made it!" she announces when she enters the kitchen where the rest of the household is gathered for dinner.
Chicago, December 19th
Monroe stood on the bow of the riverboat as Devon guided it close to the banks of the Illinois River. They were just south of the city. After much discussion they decided to scout the area out before revealing their presence. They'd have to slow down considerably as they navigated the Channel that would take them into Lake Michigan. It was too risky to do this without knowing what was going on around them.
Despite Aaron's protests both former generals had decided to enter the city together, with the rest remaining behind. With Walters no longer with them, they were the best people for the job. On top of that, Miles still had contacts that may prove useful.
A few hours later they slipped into the city unnoticed. The hoods of their coats at least provided some concealment as they wound through the streets of Chicago. They quickly discovered that all hell had broken loose in the past two years. The city had once been a staging point for the Militia. Soldiers had been sent here to await orders that would disperse them throughout what used to be Illinois and Indiana.
Since the bombs dropped the Militia had deserted their posts and had split up into several different factions. One of them seemed to be largely in control of the city and the majority of supplies while the remaining factions vied for scraps. They sought out a "friend" of Miles' from his time here in exile. He had been a rebel sympathizer and had occasionally been used to ferry information along.
"How you doing, Abe?" Miles said as the door to the old barbershop opened.
The small Jewish man did a double take when he saw Miles Matheson standing on his stoop. "Miles! What are you doing back in the city?"
"A little bit of sightseeing. Figured I'd catch a Cubs game while I was here and after that maybe visit Shedd Aquarium."
"Huh?" Abe said in confusion.
Miles just rolled his eyes. "Are you going to let me in or not? I'll explain when I'm not standing in the street like a vagrant."
He slowly stepped aside to let Miles in. Miles stepped forward to enter with Monroe directly behind him. Abe had not seen his second visitor so was a little uneasy when he realized that Miles was not alone. "Who's your friend?" Abe asked.
Monroe took off his hood and turned around. It took a second for his host to realize exactly who he'd let into his home. "Is that… No, you wouldn't have. You brought Monroe here?"
"Relax. I'm not here looking for rebels." Monroe reassured him. "Well I am, but not like that."
"We need your help, Abe," Miles cut in. Over the next few minutes Miles explained what they were doing in town. "We need coal, ammo and food. Can you help us?"
Abe sighed nervously. The Patriots had not bothered with Chicago up until this point. There was too much violence and chaos here and the seemingly hadn't wanted to risk their men yet. But, all of the factions were well aware of the threat that they imposed. It was one of the few things that had kept them from wiping each other out. At some point, they may need to work together to keep them out.
"I might know someone who can help. There is a small faction that has been fighting to keep the peace. They were the last of the Militia to desert and have made a few friends as well. Let me see what I can do" Abe instructed them to stay put while he sought out his contact. A little later he returned. "This is Lieutenant Martinez, leader of the faction I was telling you about."
A few hours later, they had more help than they'd bargained for. It took a day of planning but they'd found a way not only out of the city but were able to trade the old riverboat for a more efficient lake steamer, and this time they didn't have to fight their way out to do it.
January 17 - Providence
Charlie and Rachel were at the kitchen table with Bob Beecher. They had been working on a backup plan to evacuate and defend the town if the need should ever arise. After Corporal Walters had returned with the good news, Donovan had revealed himself and his intentions to the town. It had been a very tense few days following that.
At least already having the Sheriff in on things had helped. Charlie still got a few odd glances in town because of her relationship with Monroe, but most of the people were willing to follow Beecher's lead. If the Sheriff had known and had been willing to let him go free, most of their neighbors figured there must have been a very good reason why.
Donovan had lent a few of his men to help protect the town, but he kept the camp where it was. Its location was better and he didn't want to make it look like he was occupying the town. There was enough animosity after the massacre in Frankfort and he was trying his best to set himself apart from his rivals. If an attack came, Donovan promised to aid them but they needed to be able to hold the Patriots off until then. That was where the Matheson's came in. This was their resistance, after all.
Daniel shuffled into the kitchen. "Riders comin' in – armed." He said gruffly. Charlie sprang into action. She ran for her crossbow as Rachel rang the bell out back to signal the hands and Gene to come in. Charlie poked her head into the living room to warn Priscilla who was keeping the twins entertained so Charlie and Rachel could plot in peace.
"Keep them out of sight until we know it's safe," she said.
By the time the five riders came up on the house, they were ready. Charlie stood with her crossbow loaded and aimed while her mom and two of the farm hands had rifles pointed at them as well. The rider in the lead held up a hand to slow his men. He dismounted and approached the front porch. "That's close enough!" Charlie warned. He stopped a dozen yards or so in front of her.
Charlie watched him carefully. He was dressed in an odd combination of Militia uniform and civilian clothes. "I'm looking for Charlie Monroe," he said as he held his arms up so she could see he meant no harm.
Charlie kept him in her sights but she slowly advanced towards him. She stopped just far enough away to keep out of arms reach. "Well you've found her. What do you want?"
The stranger reached into his coat. The sounds of several guns cocking echoed around them. He pulled some folded pages from the inner pocket of the garment. "You're husband sends his regards along with this letter," he says as he hands it to her.
Charlie breaks the wax that seals the pages from prying eyes. She glances down to see Monroe's bold script. "It' okay, stand down!" she calls over her shoulder. Knowing that Monroe wouldn't have sent any communication with someone he didn't trust, Charlie turned and headed back to the porch. She sat with her crossbow in her lap for a few minutes as she contemplated the letter in her hands. She took a deep breath and lowered her gaze to read.
December 20, 2030
Hey Charlie,
Hopefully by now Walters has returned so you know I'm still among the living. Sorry Baby, you can't get rid of me that easily. We got out of St. Louis no worse for wear. Pvt. Riley took a chunk of wood in the arm, but that was about it. I have to admit, stealing the boat was kind of fun – plus we got to blow shit up; always a good time.
Whatever the hell cocktail your mom cooked up worked perfectly. It took about ten minutes for the acid to eat through the plastic, then BOOM. Don't tell her this, but her aptitude at creating explosives out of nothing makes her probably one of the scariest people well, ever.
Anyway, so far things have gone pretty well, all things considered. We met no resistance on our way up the Illinois. The Patriots know they have a boat missing but they must have thought we'd head down the Missouri, because they don't seem to have a clue where to look.
Chicago is a mess, but that is working to our advantage. We've gotten some help. First thing in the morning, we're supposed to have a lake steamer and fresh supplies. Our help has come from an odd faction consisting of former Militia and the rebels. Interesting how bad times can bring people together, but then again I guess we're the prime example of that, aren't we?
I'm entrusting this letter to Martinez and am sending you a hundred trained men and women to join the cause. Tell Donovan he owes me a drink when I get back in thanks.
It should take us 2 days to get up Lake Michigan and make it around to Sault Ste. Marie via Superior. We're cutting it close. We have to see what's there and then get going again before the lakes freeze. I'm starting to doubt that we'll get to the St. Lawrence River before it's frozen for the season, so we'll probably have to go on foot. It'll add to our trip, needless to say.
Enough shop talk. I miss you and the kids so much. I wish I didn't have to be here. It'll be Christmas in just a few days. We missed it last year since we were on the run and I hate that we're going to miss it now. I already missed the twins' birthday because of these star-spangled fucks. Guess we can add that to the long list of shit they've stolen from everybody. I hope there's a special place in hell for men like Jack Davis – and hopefully it's nowhere near the spot that's reserved for me.
I swear when this is over we're getting away for a few days – just the four of us. And when we get back from that, I'm locking you up with me in Avery's guest house for a week to make up for lost time. Hope everything is okay back home. Tell Rachel I'm not corrupting Miles too badly. He still has most of his liver intact at any rate. Aaron is doing well. He's a lot more adept at piloting a boat than he is at riding a horse, that's for sure. As much as he complains about being away from home, I think deep down he's enjoying this little adventure.
Martinez is getting ready to part ways with us, so I'd better end this quickly. Give Danny and Angie a hug and a kiss for me and send Connor my regards Tell Daniel I said to take it easy (and please make sure he actually does it).
I love you with all that I am and will do my best to get home to you as soon as I can. I'm not sure when I'll be able to send word again, but I'll try to get a message to you soon.
Love,
Bass
The letter had taken almost a month to reach her. Later, as Charlie curled up alone in their bed she took the letter out again to re-read it in private.
December – Sault Ste. Marie
They made it Sault Ste. Marie without incident. The lake steamer that Martinez had procured for them came with a captain with a lot of experience with the Great Lakes as well as a skeleton crew. With Donovan, Aaron and the two engineers they had more than enough men to keep the ship moving around the clock. Neither Miles nor Monroe had realized how poorly executed their plan had been until they'd dealt with their new captain. Maybe they would have made it, maybe not – but the lakes were nothing like the rivers.
Captain Gray had made sure to inform them on multiple occasions that the riverboat they'd stolen could have very well resulted in nothing more than an untimely death by drowning this close to the end of the shipping season. Plus, would it have ever given them the speed needed to make it east before the lakes froze.
They made the port in just two days. The goal was to get Monroe to the mouth of the St. Lawrence by New Year's. This gave them two days to get any soldiers they may find committed to Donovan before they pressed on. The journey across the lake would take a week and Monroe was adamant that he have an extra day of leeway.
As they pulled into port they caused quite a stir. The dock workers quickly set up the gangplank, but as soon as Monroe set foot on it twenty armed men came out of nowhere. One of them spoke up, clearly being in charge. "It's been a while since we've seen anything but local traffic here. Identify yourselves."
"That depends on who's asking," Miles shot back.
"Sergeant Jacob Laughlin, Peninsular Army – formerly of the Monroe Militia." The young man called out. Monroe and Miles shared a look. They both found the introduction interesting. "Now who exactly are you?"
"Generals Matheson and Monroe of the United States Army, also formerly of the Monroe Militia," Monroe announced. He held his breath as he waited for the younger man to process his words. He knew he was taking a big chance with the way he'd chosen to introduce them.
The sergeant looked utterly confused. "That what?"
Miles gave the order for everyone but the current crew on duty to appear on deck and unarmed. They only needed enough men below deck to make a run for it if they ran into further trouble. "Why don't you board us and we'll talk?" Miles suggested.
Laughlin considered this for a few moments before he turned to give an order to one of his men. Cautiously he made his way up the gangplank with nine of his brethren. They searched the ship, noting that while they had enough in the way of weapons to cause trouble, at least no one on board (except for the two so-called generals) no one was currently armed.
On hour and several drinks later, Laughlin agreed to send word to his superiors about their presence on the Peninsula and of their reason for being there. He refused to offer any promises, but all things considered it was better than they'd hoped for. Monroe and Miles had both been keenly aware that there had been a definite possibility that they'd be shot as soon as they'd been identified.
A messenger arrived two hours later with instructions to bring them in for a meeting. The man in charge was one Captain Shawn Harrison. After word had gotten out about the destruction of Philadelphia and the disappearance of the president-general of the Republic, their commanding officer had deserted. Harrison had stepped up to take command of all 1,200 soldiers assigned to protecting the northern border and policing the area. He'd called them all in to the base outside of the city, but only 900 men had heeded that call (or survived the return trip).
He'd been unwilling to force any man to serve without knowing whether or not he'd even be paid for their loyalty, but Harrison had not been willing to abandon his post himself. With all of the Patriot activity south and west of the area, they were a little stuck. With little to do other than hold down the fort, Harrison had been rotating soldiers in and out of active duty for two years. In that time since, the region had established itself as a new and independent state, simply known as The Peninsula.
Miles and Monroe explained about Donovan and that he had a legitimate challenge to the presidency. They took the time to give Harrison a basic rundown of all the crimes that Jack Davis had committed against not only the people but of neighboring nations as well. This made the captain nervous. If the Patriots had destroyed the Monroe Republic and the Georgia Federation before attempting to pull a coup on Texas then they could very well go after Canada next. They would be caught in the crossfire.
"So will you help us?" Miles finally asked after hours of talking. Monroe sat back for this part of negotiations. If Harrison agreed, his men would be fighting directly under Miles. It was important to their cause (and to his own sanity) that he and Miles be seen as equals. After all, it wasn't the Republic they were being asked to defend. It was the entire United States that called upon any aid it could receive.
Harrison hesitated. "I'll need to discuss it with m men. Most of them have settled down since the bomb destroyed Philly. I won't drag them from their homes and families without their consent."
"Fair enough," Miles replied. "But we need an answer soon."
After spending the next day in a holding pattern they were informed that the regiment had voted to fight with an understanding that until such time that the U.S. could be established in reality, they would fight as allies only – not a subordinate army. If they managed to survive the Patriots and reestablish the federal government, then Harrison would be willing to address the permanent assignments of his men.
Providence, February
Charlie sat on her bed, a folded letter in her hands. She'd not yet opened it. Just knowing it was from him made her feel like her world was just a little bit better. Miles had ridden in just a few hours ago. After debriefing with Donovan he'd returned home to spend one precious day with Rachel, Charlie and his great-niece and nephew. After which, he'd be returning to where his men were camped just east of Jackson, Missouri awaiting his return and orders from Donovan.
Danny and Angie were excited to play with their father's oldest friend and had climbed all over him for hours. Miles would never admit it aloud, but he enjoyed the attention. If he took the occasional foot or knee to the junk as they climbed and pounced, well he'd recover. After the twins were put to bed, Miles had retreated to the bedroom with Rachel, leaving Charlie free to read her letter in private. In the quiet of her room, she finally broke the seal.
December 24, 2030
Charlie,
By the time you get this, I'll hopefully be on my way back, weather permitting. It will take about a week for us to get to the mouth of the St. Lawrence and another three or four days from there to get to the bay. We're pushing it, I know. So far the temperature has been mild – at least that's what the locals in Sault Ste. Marie have been telling me. I think they're fucking crazy, because I've been freezing my balls off since we left Chicago.
I won't bore you with all the details of our mission here. If you're reading this then Miles has already told you all of it by now. By the way, whatever he's told you about me is a damn lie and I reserve the right to defend myself at a later date except for the bit about the snow. That's real and I won't apologize. He's had it coming since the tenth grade.
We're about to disembark now. I guess I don't really have much more to report except that I love you and miss you and the kids, and I wish this was all over so I could come home to you.
All my love,
Bass
Charlie folded the letter and put it away in the dresser next to the other one. She hated that she couldn't write him back, but there'd be no way to get it to him. As she climbed into bed, she idly wondered what happened when her uncle and husband were teenagers that deserved the retaliation of bribing dozens of teenagers to pelt Miles with an onslaught of snow while they were in Sault Ste. Marie.
Apparently, after the initial assault (which had gone on mercilessly for twenty minutes) the harassment had continued until the army had moved out. Miles had told her that every time he'd turned a corner in town he'd taken a snowball to the face. He'd almost forgotten Monroe's childish love of immature pranks – he'd given up the practice when he'd taken up the role of President of the Republic.
Six weeks had passed since Monroe had written the second letter. She was a little worried. In that time he should have been close enough to send some type of word. With no news, they didn't even know if he'd made it to St. John. For all she knew they'd been sunk and drowned.
In the time since his last letter, Charlie had been very busy. They'd put the men from Chicago to good use and have kept the Patriots at bay so far. There'd been a minor skirmish with a few scouting parties, but after Frankfort, the Patriots have kept a low profile in the area.
Donovan had set up a recruitment camp of his own between Providence and Franklin. Their training takes a bit longer, a month and a half but the difference is that their troops are willing. 75 trained soldiers were graduating with their first class in a few days, and 100 new enlistees were ready to start shortly thereafter.
They'd also taken on six more displaced hands to work the farm. With more mouths to feed than ever, the local farms will not only have to keep the town well fed but they will also have to help supply an army. Lean times loom in the future but the people of Providence had become dedicated to the cause very quickly. There'd been more than a few former Federation soldiers that had volunteered to fight under Donovan. Things were really starting to pull together. Now if only there was some word from Monroe, they could reach out to Texas and finally go on the offensive.
Somewhere along Lake Erie, December 29.
Monroe's luck did not hold out. They would never make it to Lake Ontario. The Welland Channel that connected the two easternmost lakes had frozen over. Captain Gray suggested that they make port in Lackawanna on the old Republic side of the lake. Although it was a risk, Aaron and Gray could make the negotiations for supplies before they snuck Monroe out. As long as they avoided any major former republic settlements, they should be able to make the journey north to New Brunswick. It was unfortunate that their course had only saved them a little over a week, but they had to take what they could get. It would be at least a three week journey to St. John, if they were lucky.
It only took a few hours to double back towards their destination. Monroe was below deck as the ship pulled into its berth. It wouldn't do to be seen. They really didn't know what they'd find here. The community had been thriving at one point before the collapse of the Republic, but they didn't know if the Patriots had gone around the fallout zone or not.
Monroe was quietly contemplating the drink in his hand with Brodie at his feet in the galley when Aaron burst in. He looked up to see that Aaron appeared quite winded an excited. "What's wrong?"
"You've got to come up and see this," Aaron said before turning around and heading back up.
Monroe downed his drink. With a shrug he got up and followed. Sensing the excitement Brodie ran after him, not to be left out. When he reached the deck, he could not believe what he saw. There before him was the flag of the Monroe Republic waving defiantly in the breeze. "What the hell?"
Aaron and the three remaining soldiers were already standing on the dock. He took a deep breath and slowly made his way down the gangplank to join them. Men – in Militia uniform were scattered around the dock working alongside civilians. Monroe was waiting for the other shoe to drop. At some point he was about to get a gun to the face, he was sure. Instead, when he'd reached the others he was surprised once more. "Sir!" The sergeant standing next to Aaron immediately saluted him.
Monroe just stood and stared for a second before turning to Aaron. "What the hell is going on here?"
Aaron nodded in the direction of the sergeant. The poor man was still standing there saluting him. His training demanded that he hold the position until Monroe gave him leave to do otherwise. Rolling his eyes, he saluted the man back. The man lowered his hand and stood at attention. Before he could say anything further the rest of the soldiers and stopped working and assembled behind the sergeant.
Monroe looked around him, becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. "Stop that, you don't have to –" He drug a hand through his hair. "At ease." He felt the panic rise. This wasn't what he'd expected, nor was it what he'd wanted.
"General, permission to speak freely," the sergeant said.
"Huh, what?" Monroe looked at the man. He was rather young, maybe thirty and looked every bit the part of his position. "Granted," he said.
"Welcome to Lackawanna. It is good to see you sir," he said.
Monroe just nodded and slowly backed up. Not taking his eyes off of the scene before him, he made his way up the gangplank. He'd deny it later but right now he was making a complete retreat. Aaron and Gray shared an awkward look. "He's probably forgotten something on the ship," Aaron explained to the sergeant before turning around and following Monroe back to the ship.
He found Monroe back in the galley tossing down another drink. "What is going on here, Aaron?" he asked when he realized he wasn't alone.
"From what we've been told, everything north of the fallout zone is intact – apparently you didn't have to reform anything. There is still a Monroe Republic and they still consider you their leader," Aaron began.
"What? How is this even possible?" He started pacing the room. "What does this mean? What about those nano-thingies?"
Aaron shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."
The panic that he'd been fighting back on the dock now bubbled over. "Donovan's report said that there may be soldiers near St. John. They didn't say anything about this." He stopped pacing and whipped around to face Aaron. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"
"Maybe this can work to our advantage," he replied. "Think about it. They're already happy to follow you."
Monroe sank back down in the chair and held his head in his hands. "Are they? Or are they just afraid to say otherwise? It didn't exactly end well and my reputation wasn't exactly stellar anywhere in the Republic towards the end."
Aaron looked at Monroe like he was an idiot. "Seriously? You might be able to kill a man with your bare hands, but you are only one guy. Afraid of you or not, you've been gone long enough that if they wanted you dead they'd just kill you." His condescending tone came as quite a shock. "You could, oh I don't know, go back out there and find out what's been going on up here for the past two years."
Eventually Monroe pulled himself together and faced the men waiting anxiously on the dock. It was almost surreal as he was greeted with excitement and respect. The sergeant directed him to one Captain Roberts when Monroe asked who was overseeing the installation in Lackawanna.
Roberts was evasive but did inform Monroe that all commanding officers were under permanent instructions to immediately escort their President and General to the provisional capital on Rochester should he ever return to take his rightful place. Not knowing what else to do, Monroe, Aaron and the three U.S. soldiers set out with their armed escort to Rochester.
The journey took four days, during which time the platoon that escorted them insisted that Monroe be treated with every respect due to his station. The U.S. guys were accepted as Monroe's personal guards. It was the only way that he was able to get them passed his so-called militia. By the time that they reached their destination, Monroe's nerves were well frayed. He'd been saluted and sirred to death.
Their entrance into Rochester was no better. It seemed that a rider had gone out ahead and informed the inhabitants of his impending arrival. They were slowly lead through the winding streets until they came to a rather large brick building in the center of the city. Monroe kept his head up and tried to ignore the men he passed as they were led up the stairs of what he'd been informed was serving as the capital building. The structure appeared to have once been a bank.
They were led to an office on the second floor that clearly had belonged to the bank's president at one point. The double doors were opened for him. Monroe stepped inside with his companions right behind him. A man stood looking out the windows behind the desk. "You're all dismissed," he told the guards. Monroe watched as all of the militia men saluted him before taking their leave, closing the door quietly behind them.
Monroe opened his mouth to speak when their host turned around. He leaned over to Aaron. "Okay, either I just went crazy or those nano-things are fucking with me again," he said quietly.
Aaron just shook his head. "Neither," he replied indicating that he was seeing the same person Monroe was.
"Jeremy," Monroe said cautiously with a nod of his head.
Jeremy Baker came out from behind the desk and approached. "Head or gut," he said as he stood a few feet away from his former friend and leader.
"Excuse me?" Monroe said, having not really recovered from the shock of seeing what he was sure had been a dead man.
"Okay, both then." Before anyone could react, Jeremy swung low and punched Monroe in the stomach with all of his might. The blow knocked the wind right out of him, causing him do double over just enough for him to land a second punch in his jaw, snapping Monroe's head back.
Donovan's men immediately drew their side arms and pointed them at the assailant. Their instructions had been very clear: keep Monroe alive and unharmed so he could complete his mission; take him out if he betrayed Donovan. "Stand down, Riley," Monroe said when his breath came back. "I'm pretty sure I deserved that."
"No, what you deserve is to be taken out back and given a complete total beat down. But that would be bad for morale, you fucking asshole," Baker snapped. "You ordered me killed."
Monroe gave Aaron a pleading look and then turned back to Jeremy. Aaron took the hint and led the soldiers out of the room. Apparently these two men had a lot to talk about. "How are you even here?"
Jeremy went back to the window and looked down at the circle below. "You know, for a paranoid psycho, one would think you'd have picked your own guards. I was in charge of your security after Miles left, remember? The men you ordered to kill me were my guys. Of course they weren't going to kill me. I did have to take a bullet to the shoulder so there'd be enough blood. Next time you order someone executed for a crime they didn't commit, maybe you ought to watch to make sure they're actually killed, you dumbass."
Monroe sat down on one of the two leather chairs that were positioned for guests in front of the desk. "God, Jeremy I am so sorry. I was so – sick back then," he said, not knowing how else to explain it.
He turned around and sat down behind the desk. "No, you were a goddamn fucking paranoid lunatic back then. What the hell happened to you? I was the last friend you had on this earth, the only one of them that actually knew you and gave a damn about you. And what did that get me? You ordered me executed on a fucking whim."
They talked for a while, Jeremy explaining how he'd come to be the temporary leader of what was essentially the last intact portion of the Monroe Republic. He'd been in Uttica in hiding after Monroe had ordered him killed and had remained there until the bombs had gone off. The risk of fallout had kept everyone north of a certain point. Essentially they were isolated from the rest of the continent. Aggression from Quebec had kept them from going the northern route to join up with the rest of the Militia, so here they'd stayed.
Fearing total chaos, he'd quickly realized that the Northern Republic (as it now was called) needed some type of leader before things fell apart. So, he'd promoted himself to colonel, stepped up and taken on the job. It had been months before they'd really heard anything, and even then it wasn't much. They knew that Monroe had not been in Philly when the bomb dropped, but that was about it. They'd only recently found out about the collapse of the rest of the Republic and the Patriots.
As far as they knew, New Jersey, Connecticut, Rhode Island and Delaware were total wastelands now. Massachusetts was just iffy. Without having any scientific community to tell them where was safe and where wasn't, Jeremy had recalled the division that was stationed in Boston and they'd stayed well north of the fallout zone.
Knowing that it was the easiest way to get people to follow him, Jeremy had led under the guise that he was only doing so while Monroe was in absentia. For appearances the Northern Republic had remained loyal to their President and General, but Jeremy had never actually expected him to return. The orders to bring him home were only a formality.
He'd run things as he'd seen fit and they'd prospered in the process. He'd overturned some of the harsher laws that had oppressed the people and had kept the Militia in check. The army now protected the citizens from invasion from Quebec without stealing all their food and abusing the power they were given.
"You've done well, Jeremy. I'll admit it. Far better than I ever did," Monroe finally told him. "How many men survived the bombs?"
"All of them," Jeremy said with a smile.
Monroe was taken aback. "They entire third division?"
"All 7,000 of them give or take a hundred."
Monroe closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. "Thank God." He rose from his chair and let Aaron back in, dismissing his "guards" for the night. "Take a seat Aaron, we've got a lot of work to do."
A/n2: I debated on whether or not to include Jeremy at all. I know a few other fics have done this (Nod to Sally_Port on A03 here). More than anything I wanted to include the head or gut scene (yep, I stole that line from the Last Boy Scout and I'm not ashamed to admit it). I am curious to see what people think of the letters because the format I'd like to use on the next chapter to describe the patriot war will be via letters back and forth between Monroe and Charlie – to kind of give it a civil war tone… Anyway thanks for the support and comments thus far!