Chapter 35
Tommy
Dublin
January, 1911

Tommy raced through the dark streets, careful to duck into a nearby alleyway every time he saw someone in uniform. Curfew had been set and it was the early hours of the morning with no sign of dawn breaking. He was grateful for the snow that lined the streets that softened his footsteps.

The revolution was beginning to pick up speed. He was filled to the brim with hatred for these English soldiers that patrolled Dublin's streets at night, wary of revolutionaries like him. There had been more upset from the Irish in the last several weeks than before his brother had been killed. His group of Irish nationalists had grown tremendously and there were several young lads who listened and followed Tommy blindly. Many were still teenagers, meeting with the outlawed group against their mother's wishes to avenge their fathers and brothers who had been oppressed under the English boot.

He had called a meeting at the last moment, knowing they could gather in the basement of the old flat where Tommy and his brother used to live. Tommy had heard there was an English diplomat coming to Dublin that very morning to oversee the Irish nationalists being squashed and jailed.

Enough.

It was time the English learned that the Irish wouldn't let it happen anymore. No longer would they all stand by and watch their independence be snatched away by the mainland. Tommy would make sure he had English blood on his hands before the day was done.

"Tommy!"

Across the street in another alleyway, two fingers motioned to him. They were just a block away from their rendezvous point and the English soldiers on patrol rounded the corner, leaving the street abandoned.

"Let's go, lads," Tommy said to them before bolting down the street, careful to try and not lose his footing in the snow.

Cian and Nathan followed him. The two lads had shown up to Tommy's nationalist meetings at the end of the summer, neither of them over twenty. They were educated boys, attending university in Dublin to study politics and history. They had taken to Tommy as an older brother, camping out in his flat night after night. They were rash and impulsive, but their hearts were in the right place.

Cian, who was smaller with jet black hair followed Tommy eagerly, blending in with the early morning hours. Nathan's striking Irish red hair made him stand out more, but he followed noiselessly. When they reached Tommy's old flat, a small window at the base of the building in the alleyway opened ever so slightly. The three quickly slipped through, pleased to see the small room was packed.

"You called and we answered," one of the men said to Tommy, crossing his arms. "I hope there's a damn good reason for dragging us all out here at this hour."

Tommy sat at a nearby table, taking a cigarette from his breast pocket. He was able to feel his grandfather's watch, ticking loudly as if to remind him they didn't have much time. Nathan offered him a light which he took gratefully, taking a long before speaking. "Augustine Birrell will be in Dublin in just a few hours."

Many of the older men stiffened, grumbling to the others around them. The younger lads like Cian and Nathan all looked at one another.

"He's part of Asquith's cabinet as Chief Secretary of Ireland," Tommy said. "He's come to make sure us rebels are put in our place."

"Chief Secretary of Ireland?" one of the men spat. "He's not even fuckin' Irish!"

"Here, here!" several men cried.

"And what has he done for the Irish? Nothing!" Tommy could feel his hatred boiling up inside of him. "Those bastards in Asquith's cabinet just push around home rule, thinking if they make enough of a show we'll all be grateful." He slammed his fist on the table, feeling the blood rush to his face. "They think we're stupid! Well, I've run out of patience. We need to send a message loud and clear to the English, the only way we can truly get their attention."

There was a murmur of agreement around the room.

"He'll be at Dublin Castle at eight o'clock to give a speech to the Catholic bishops and the general public," Tommy continued. "That's our time to strike."

Nathan suddenly began rummaging in his trousers. He pulled out two small revolvers and placed them on the table.

"We're with you," Cian said. "We'll do it."

Tommy paused mid-drag, staring at the two lads. They wore stony expressions, their chests puffed out as they waited for his response.

"Won't you all be hung?" one man asked. "You two have your whole lives ahead of you."

Cian smiled. "My father worked as a footman in the castle and brought me often as a boy. I know all of the servants' passages to get out of their undetected."

Tommy slapped Cian on the back before shaking both of their hands."Good lads. Let's devise a plan before dawn."

Over the next hour, the group authored a letter to the British Parliament about their intentions, all the while discussing with Cian and Nathan how they would execute their plan. Tommy's back was aching as he'd spend the morning stretched over the table, analyzing every detail as they jotted down different tactics. This was the height of his revenge for his brother. His brother died at the hand of an Englishman, so now an Englishman would die at the hand of an Irishman. And not just any Englishman, but a delegate that would shift the entire narrative of home rule. Several others at the meeting volunteered to go with Cian and Nathan, Tommy included. He wasn't going to let these two lads he had been mentoring pay the price for his grand scheme. If their plan would be discovered, Tommy would gladly take responsibility and hang for Ireland's freedom.

"Alright lads," Tommy said. "Those of you not coming to the castle, hang low for a few days. We'll get out our statement for the Irish Republic out to the city as soon as we can without revealing our identities and location." He took a final drag of his cigarette before stamping it out on the floor. "Where's John? We need his printer for the pamphlet."

The men looked around the room. John Hanson, the person who owned the local newspaper and printed the Irish Nationalist's pamphlets in secret, was nowhere to be found. He had been there at the beginning of the meeting, sitting quietly with his arms crossed as they had discussed assassination plans. There was a long pause before someone said, "He left."

Just as this was said, there was a pounding on the small door of the basement. "Open up!" a voice cried. "Police!"

Shit.

Immediately, everyone started scrambling. A handful of men blocked the door with the table Tommy had been using while someone blew out the lamps, immersing them in darkness. The rest of the men went to the small window, sneaking into the alleyway and signaling the all clear so others could follow.

Unsurprisingly, Cian and Nathan flocked to Tommy. "Is the plan still in place?" Cian whispered, frightened.

"As long as they don't kill us," Tommy said, ushering them to the window. Whoever had knocked on the door was not trying to break it down. Tommy knew the police hadn't figured this out on their own. John Hanson had tipped them off, the bastard. He must have been caught printing their pamphlets and promised to rat them out to save his own skin. The police were probably already aware of their assassination plot.

"Get out!" Tommy cried, pushing his way to the small window. "Come on lads, quickly now!"

By a miracle, there were no soldiers waiting outside. Just as Tommy, the last person to leave the basement, scrambled through the window, the door was broken in.

"Halt!"

They were already racing down the streets of Dublin, doing their best not to slip on the icy roads. It wasn't long before they heard strange pops behind them. Nathan, who was running behind Tommy, let out a cry. Tommy, Cian, and Nathan ducked into a nearby alley, trying to catch their breaths despite the pounding of their hearts.

"We're committed now, lads," Tommy said, wiping sweat from his eyes. "We have to make it to Dublin Castle. If we don't, we'll surely hang for no reason."

"Your arm!" Cian cried, pointing to Nathan. Nathan had been shot in the shoulder, grasping his left arm as blood began to seep through his shirt.

"The sons of bitches got me," Nathan grunted. "But it's okay. I shoot with my right arm."

Tommy tore off part of his own sleeve and wrapped it around the wound. "We can't stay here long," he said. "And I won't be hunted down like a dog."

They heard more gunshots and approaching footsteps. Tommy grabbed Cian and Nathan by their collars, pointing them further down the alley. "Hurry!" Tommy said, taking off in a full sprint.

They found themselves in Barnardo Square, surprised to find it so empty in the morning hours. City Hall loomed over them, almost as a reminder of English oppression with the British flag flying high above. They heard the pops of gunfire, hiding themselves in the shadows of the great building.

"We're almost there," Nathan said breathlessly. "Once we reach the back of Dublin Castle, I can show you the way to the kitchens."

Both Tommy and Cian nodded, pressing themselves further into the shadows as they saw soldiers enter the square. Tommy glanced at Nathan, seeing how his white shirt was stained red almost all the way through. He was putting on a brave face, but based on the way he was gritting his teeth together and his freckles stood out against his paling skin, he was in a lot of pain. Nathan clumsily led them behind the building until they were entering Dublin Castle. Tommy looked up at the walls before them and eyed the gates that blocked off all the entrances.

"Halt!"

"Shit," Tommy gasped, seeing a group of soldiers coming towards them. He felt for his pocket watch, quickly glancing at the time. It was nearly seven o'clock in the morning. They still had an hour before Birrell would arrive. Tommy stupidly had left the small basement in such a hurry that he had not brought his own pistol with him. The only thing he could do was run.

Nathan and Cian drew their guns and followed him. The only thing guiding Tommy was the adrenaline pulsing in his veins and his desire to live. He couldn't die like this. His plan wouldn't– couldn't fail. He would not meet the same fate as his brother. He would avenge his brother.

It wasn't until he had hid behind a small building near the castle gardens that he realized Nathan and Cian were no longer with him. He peeked his head around the corner and saw Cian was half-carrying Nathan who was looking more gray as blood was dripping down his side. Tommy realized with horror that he had left them with English soldiers right on their heels.

"Remember," Tommy had said to them a few hours earlier. "We could all be hung just for talking about this plan. Do not be found out, do not give yourselves in. Even if we are discovered and surrender, they will still kill us."

Cian put Nathan on the ground before pointing his revolver at the soldiers. There were four of them, all armed with rifles pointed in Cian's direction.

"Stop!" one of the soldiers said, cocking his rifle. "Surrender now!"

Nathan pulled himself up and somehow managed to draw his own revolver as well. Tommy almost cried out, but he was unarmed and would surely be shot if they discovered him.

"Home rule for the Irish!" Cian cried, waving his revolver in the air. "We will no longer be silent!"

Four shots rang out. For a moment, the gardens were filled with smoke and the smell of gunpowder. The soldiers slowly lowered their rifles, revealing two bodies lying in the snow covered grass. Nathan was bent over in a sitting position, his face to the ground. Cian had been thrown on his back with half of his face missing and his revolver still in his hand.

Tommy had to cover his mouth to stifle his scream.

Dead.

Unseeing.

Unmoving.

Just like his brother.

The soldiers quickly took the revolvers from their hands, hitting both with the butt of their rifles to see if they were truly dead.

"Should we get a cart?" one of the soldiers asked, motioning to the bodies.

Another lit a cigarette, nudging Nathan with his foot so that he fell on his side. There was now a stain in the middle of the lad's shirt that matched the one on his sleeve. "Leave them," the soldier said. "Let them be a warning to any other revolutionaries lurking about."

They left quickly, clearly anxious at the possibility of other rebels revealing themselves. Tommy hid in the shadows of the small building, vomiting repeatedly and shaking with shock. He couldn't look at Cian's face which was distorted and bloodied. He at last emerged from his hiding place, going to Nathan's side and falling on his knees.

He let out a cry that sounded like a wounded animal. He knew he should probably be less conspicuous, but he couldn't help it. The pain from his brother's death came washing over him all over again. And this was the second time Tommy's foolish actions had gotten someone killed.

Cian and Nathan were bright lads, not having seen much of life. And they had died in anger.

He grabbed fistfuls of snow covered grass, relishing the way the cold made his hands go numb. This assassination wasn't for home rule. It wasn't for the lads he had dragged into his revolutionary meetings. It had been a way for Tommy to act on his revenge for his brother.

How many more lads had died today because of him?

"Sleep well, lads," Tommy whispered at last, standing up and running away before he would be discovered. But as he ran and felt the cold winter air burn his throat with each gasping breath, he knew he was leaving behind this damn revolution once and for all.

This would be the last time he would run away.

This has been my favorite chapter to write thus far. Tommy Ryan deserved a backstory, to understand why he acted so heroically and yet so angrily during the Titanic's sinking.

Let me know what you think...