Patriots & Tyrants

by Brian Cotton

  ***

  All of the men in the tent, which had been built as their command center, were leftovers with extensive military experience. It brought Harvey a great sense of pride to see so many former Americans, even if he saw them all as Americans still, coming together for a cause. This was the first time since the USR takeover that he had witnessed such a thing. There were still doubts within himself about the mission, but for now, he would relish in the fact that so many had joined together. For this moment, at least, they could all feel like things were back to normal.

  Sanders stood in front of them all, with no doubts going through his mind. In fact, seeing all the men gathered together brought with it even more confidence. He was going over the layout of the building with the men, focusing on its weak points, where to strategically place men, etc. Out of pure respect, the men in the room gave him their full, undivided attention while he went over it. Of course, he was nearing the end, when he would ask if there were any questions. There surely would be questions to come his way.

  In private, before the meeting started, Harvey was approached by several leftovers who all gave their opinions about the mission. For many, they thought along the same lines as Harvey, that this was too big of a risk. If this mission went to hell, the resistance would have put forth so much manpower that they would be severely weakened. Harvey tried to talk them down, but he couldn’t help himself but to agree with them. The more he tried to think like Sanders, the less confident he became. He reminded himself that this was war, and to win a war, you had to take risks. But, this was one big risk that could cost them the entire war. Even a victory, depending on the casualty rate, could be seen as a defeat. How much of this was just about an old war veteran trying to prove something before he bit the dust?

  The strategy itself was pretty sound, by Harvey’s estimation. When the USR demolished the White House, they left the pieces of the old building in the ground leading up to their new building as a reminder. America had been defeated, she had fallen, and if anyone ever needed a reminder, they could find it in the grounds. The pieces of stone stuck in the ground would provide some cover for the resistance’s strike team. What Sanders proposed was for the majority of the units to draw the USR’s fire, while a select few would sneak into the building, take it by force, and then raise the American flag atop the roof. That, according to Sanders, would get the message across loud and clear. And, not just to the USR’s leaders, but also to the resistance units all across the country.

  “Any questions?” Sanders asked once finished.

  “Look,” a rebel leader said. “We’re with you about this, but are you sure that this isn’t a waste of our assets?”

  “How could this be a waste?” Sanders demanded right back. “The government tried to use us to further their ends. They didn’t realize that once we found out, we would kick some ass. Like everything else, they just assumed that they could keep us under control. With this victory, and it will be a victory, they will know that we are not to be fucked with.”

  “That all sounds good, but is there any more strategic value to this other than flipping the bird to them?”

  “Of course. It will show the people that there is hope…”

  Harvey cleared his throat and then didn’t bother raising his hand. “Begging your pardon, but the people, at least the majority, don’t even like us. They want us gone. They’ve been brainwashed for too long by the USR. To them, the USR are the good guys, and we are the bad guys.”

  Sanders grinned. “Point well taken. There’s a government that only wants to control everyone, everything, and just because people don’t realize it, we just let it go on. I don’t stand for that.”

  “Nobody does, but…”

  “No buts, Harv. All I know is that there is good and there is evil. No matter what public opinion says, it doesn’t change that we are in the right and they are in the wrong.”

  Harvey simply nodded his head. There wasn’t much of an argument that he could muster to dispute what Sanders just said. The old scarred war veteran was right, after all. Every leftover in the room wouldn’t be here if they didn’t agree to that. But, still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Sanders was becoming more and more of a tyrant. If the war would eventually be won by the resistance, which revolved around the public opinion that Sanders talked about, Harvey hoped that Sanders wouldn’t play a large role in the politics. He had a feeling that Sanders wouldn’t want it anyway. The old man was a war dog, and that’s all he would ever want for himself.

  “What if this fails?” another leftover asked.

  “If this fails? Well,” Sanders rubbed at the scar on his forehead. “If this fails then things will continue to remain the way they are. We all die, the USR continues to reign over the innocent, and it will be like we never fought for them at all. But, what if we succeed? What if this shakes people out of apathy and gets them thinking? We can play what if games all night long, but the only question I have in response is: Why not try?”

  “Things will get worse out there.”

  “Sure they will. Do you think that before the first Revolutionary War that the patriots in that war didn’t fear the repercussions of standing up to their adversaries? Look at all the great revolutions in history. Hard times always come when you stand up to evil. I can tell you this, if we don’t act now, the USR will eventually catch up to us, and then who will fight?”

  With that response, Sanders could tell that the other leaders were starting to buy in. The questions that came his way now were in the way of preparation. Harvey had to give it to Sanders. As much as he disagreed with him personally, Harvey’s respect for Sanders was growing, as well. His never say die attitude was starting to grow on him. Sanders might turn out to be a tyrant, but maybe that was exactly what the resistance needed. Someone who could lead and inspire everyone to stand up to the USR and said fuck you to the consequences. Harvey still had his doubts about the mission, but Sanders was right. If they failed, nothing would change anyway.

  “Any more questions?” Sanders wondered.

  There were none. Only a new found resolve remained.

   

  .50

  The drive to the once abandoned power plant seemed like an eternity. Statue kept looking over at his phone, waiting for a call, but none ever came. The last contact he had with dispatch was when he told them that he fixed the problem and was continuing on route. Dispatch didn’t mention anything about his GPS and simply told him to hurry it up. Now that he was at his real destination, he was calm once more. At least now he had more guns to back him up if it came to that. Throughout his entire trip here, he was not followed, or at least there were no signs of it.

  Members of the resistance were quick in the unloading of the contents of the eighteen wheeler. He offered to help, but they just told him that he had done enough. He didn’t press them about it. After the longest drive of his life, he could use some rest. He turned away from the others and walked to the inside of the plant. Sitting on a chair by the entrance was a familiar face. One that he never thought would bring him so much happiness.

  “X!” Statue cried. “You made it.”

  X moved his head up and stood from the chair. “Statue, you old shit, what took you so long?”

  The two men exchanged handshakes and then X walked him over to the coffee pot. The strong aroma of the coffee was like music to his ears. He grabbed one of the Styrofoam cups and poured the hot liquid into it. He took a sip then walked with X back to the chairs.

  “Any problems on your way in?” X wondered.

  “Not a one,” Statue replied. “Only problem being my nerves. Took me forever to find the guts to switch out the plugs. After that, smooth sailing.”

  “Good, good. Glad to hear it.”

  “Where are the others?”

  X’s facial expressions changed. He was happy to see that his friend had made it to the plant, but there were so many others that didn’t make it. A frown now filled his fa
ce. X had been hardened so long that he didn’t think that he could feel any emotions after all he’d seen and done. But, at this moment, he felt like he could cry.

  “Something happened while you were away.” X said.

  Statue could tell that it was something bad. “What happened?”

  “There were raids on each of us. The government must’ve grown tired of the surveillance game. They came after us hard.”

  “Who didn’t make it?”

  X rattled off the names and hesitated with the last. By the look on Statue’s face, X reasoned that he knew who the last person was, so he didn’t say it. Statue nodded his head then sipped at his coffee. Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw Sullivan walking into the room. He quickly moved the cup from his lips and almost spilled coffee on his hand.

  “The hell’s he doing here?” Statue demanded. He recognized Sullivan from the mug shot that Reed provided to him.

  “The pig?” X asked. “Says the USR took his son. He also tipped us off to the raids.”

  “I thought we couldn’t trust him. And, now, you bring him here?”

  “It was my call.” X said with a stern tone. “He seemed legit enough. I pointed a gun to his head and I got the feeling that he wanted me to pull the trigger.”

  “And, that makes him trustworthy?”

  “I don’t know,” X admitted. “But, if it wasn’t for him, none of us would have made it out alive.”

  “Maybe it’s because he wanted to see where we hide out. To see what we were really up to.” Statue said.

  “Maybe, maybe not. But, he is on a tight leash. He knows that one wrong move and I’ll blow his head off.”

  Sullivan approached the two men. He didn’t like the stares that Statue was giving him, but Sullivan couldn’t blame him for it. The former Agent wasn’t armed, and he knew that the tall man would be packing, so it was best to just play it cool for now. X absolutely forbade him from carrying a weapon for the moment. Sullivan just wondered how long it would take for them to trust him, if ever.

  “Can I take a seat with you gentlemen?” Sullivan asked.

  “Knock yourself out.” Statue replied.

  Sullivan took a seat. “You make it in with your shipment okay?”

  “Sure did.”

  With that, the tall man stood from his chair then walked outside. That left just Sullivan and X, who were silent for a moment. Sullivan got up and poured himself some coffee, adding cream and a little bit of sugar. When he returned, he sat closer to X, who seemed surprised by it. The former Agent took a sip from the cup then placed it on the coffee table.

  “What’s this big operation everyone is gearing up for?” Sullivan demanded. Being left in the dark had gotten old long ago.

  “Why do you care?” X demanded right back.

  “I care because if I’m going to fight with you guys, I want to know what I’m getting myself into.”

  “Just know that it’s big.”

  “How big?”

  “You’re not going to quit, are you?”

  “Bet your ass.” Sullivan replied with a grin.

  X moved in closer. “Well, I guess since you’ve seen all that you have so far, it won’t hurt to tell you. You’re still on a short leash, though, Puerco.”

  “Fine.”

  “We’re going after the Capitol.”

  “You’re shitting me…”

  Sullivan’s eyes grew wide at the mention of those words. The Capitol? This resistance really was nuts, or desperate, or a mixture of both. They seemed to fight a guerilla war just months ago and now they were plotting this? The odds were impossible. He looked around to see that there weren’t nearly enough men around to accomplish such a mission.

  “Impossible,” Sullivan said. “You don’t have the manpower to do it.”

  “We’ve got more men on the way.” X replied.

  “You’ve got some kind of small army?”

  “You could say that. All the rebel squads this side of the country are getting together, or so we’ve heard. They should start arriving here any minute, now.”

  “What’s the endgame here?”

  “I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m anxious to get some killing in. It’s been too long.”

  “An old killer, eh?” Sullivan asked with a smirk.

  X’s expression never changed. “Damn straight. I’ve been waiting a long time for this day.”

  “I guess I can’t blame you.”

  “What about you? I thought all you cared about was your son.”

  Sullivan swallowed hard. “Finding my son is my only mission in life right now. If I have to help you guys with this fight to earn some trust, then I’ll do that. I need someone who can have access to USR files who will help me.”

  “I think just the guy is coming who could do that. I just don’t understand how you’ve…changed so quickly.”

  Sullivan shook his head. “It hasn’t been quick, amigo. There’s been something inside that’s ate away at me, you know? It just took way too long for me to figure out that I was fighting on the wrong side. Way too long. I just…”

  Their attention turned to the loud sound of the front door being opened. A fresh group of rebels entered the room. They all had a fatigued look about them. Harvey was leading the way in. He gave the two seated men a nod of the head then headed straight for the coffee pot. After Clarke and Buck moved in, Kaspar entered last.

  Kaspar looked around the room. The bright light from above caused him to blink a few times. When his vision was clear, he saw the sight of a man he never thought he would see again. All of a sudden, the anger inside scorched, he could feel the heat on his skin. Beads of sweat began to form around his forehead. There was nothing in that room now except for the Agent who killed Mother. He moved in with that singular focus. His calm, steady hands gripped the handle of the P99 attached to the holster on his hip. He could almost feel Clarke’s hand reach out for him. With a hard shove, Clarke went spiraling to the ground. Kaspar didn’t even hear the cries for him to stop.

  Instead, he pointed the barrel of the gun directly at Sullivan’s shock laden face.

   

  .51

  The gun was in perfect sync now with Sullivan’s forehead. Sullivan just froze, not sure of what to do, and X started to stand and go at Kaspar. Kaspar didn’t see him. His focus was still solely on the man in the chair. It all started on that fateful morning so many months ago. The Agent in front of him led a raid that ended the life of Mother. The little boy wasn’t there anymore to stop him. There was nothing to stop him. Nothing but his own nerves could stop him now.

  He was about to pull the trigger when a hard punch to the cheek from X knocked him off his feet. Everything started to go blurry while the room spun around him. Kaspar blinked once and tried to get his bearings back. Once the room stopped its spin, the barrel of a gun was now in his face. X stood in a perfect position over him to fire. Kaspar tried to get up but was met with a kick to the chest from X.

  “Whoa, whoa.” Harvey cried from the coffee pot. His Glock was now pointed at X. “Drop that weapon, comrade.”

  “No.” X replied. “Not until he explains what the hell is going on.”

  “I said drop it, he’s cool.”

  There was now a crowd gathered around from all the commotion. Kaspar still hadn’t come to, yet, and now X could feel the barrel of a gun against the back of his skull. Buck’s hand shook, but he now had a good shot at the former gangster if push came to shove. Harvey gave him a look of disapproval and motioned with his head for his son to step aside. Buck shook his head and then moved his eyes to the target. Statue, who managed to sneak back inside once the commotion started, pointed his gun to the side of Buck’s head. Buck saw him out the corner of his eye and froze.

  “Don’t you point that gun at him!” Harvey cried.

  “Tell him to stand down, then.” Statue commanded.

  “Son, Goddamn it, drop your weapon!” r />
  Buck did so and then, with his head straight to the ground, walked away. Statue focused the aim of his gun now on the man who lay on the ground. Harvey watched it all unfold and it seemed like a bad dream. The resistance was about to embark on the biggest mission of their lives and all they were doing now was in fighting. The leftover couldn’t help but wonder what Kaspar’s beef was with the youngster who just sat there, shocked as all hell. He figured that all would be revealed soon enough.

  “What the fuck’s your problem, kid?” X demanded.

  Kaspar rubbed at his eyes as his senses started to return to him. Once again, it seemed that Sullivan would get away with murder. He was just glad that he was still breathing at this point. That hulk who nearly knocked him out could have ended this whole thing right away, but spared him. Kaspar then began to remember Mother once more and his attempt to rise was again met with a boot to the chest.

  “He killed my mother…” Kaspar managed to get out. “In cold blood.”

  “What?” Sullivan asked.

  Kaspar turned his attention to Sullivan. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not, how could you?” Kaspar started to rise and he was allowed to sit upright on the floor now, two guns still aimed at him. “I was in disguise and your son jumped in front of you.”

  The realization hit Sullivan like a Mack truck. How could it be? He remembered that night well. That was the night that he should have died. His son saved him that night. But now, Davie was taken by the very people who used to employ him. It was that night when he began to rethink what he did for a living; to rethink about whose side was the right side. Now, this man was back, ready to kill him without hesitation. If hadn’t been for X, he’d be dead without question. No amount of talking could calm Kaspar down, so he just went silent.

  “You’re just lucky your son got in my way.” Kaspar said.

  “Look,” Sullivan said. He was now standing and held both hands in front of him. “I know how you must feel. I remember that operation, but I tried to reason with your mother. I tried to bring her in. It was my partners who…”

  “Bullshit!” Kaspar cried. “You were in the room, you’re just as guilty.”

  “Okay,” Harvey said from behind. “Ryan, you just calm down now.”

  “Calm down? How do you expect me to do that?”

  “For your own sake…”

  “No, it’s okay,” Sullivan said as he backpedaled at a slow pace . “He has the right to be upset.”

  “What are you even doing here?” Kaspar demanded.

  “My son was kidnapped by the government…I just want to find out where he is.”

  “So, you want to use us?”

  “If that’s how you want to look at it. X, come on, let’s go.”

  X and Statue dropped their weapons. Harvey did the same from behind Kaspar. He also walked over to Kaspar’s dropped P99 and picked it up. Kaspar fought back every urge inside to get straight up and, even if it resulted in his own death, try to break Sullivan’s neck first. X and Statue quickly escorted the former Agent out of the lobby into one of the back rooms.

  Kaspar just sat on his ass and looked around. He noticed Clarke walking towards them with a limp. It took a moment for Kaspar to remember that he had shoved the poor wizard to the ground just minutes ago. One of the rebels who picked up Clarke’s glasses from off the floor handed them to him. Kaspar felt a guilt inside that he hadn’t felt in a long time. The man who he had shoved to the ground was his friend…and Krys’s. He wondered in that moment if his anger was always going to be a hindrance to him.

  “You okay, Robert?” Kaspar asked, still seated.

  “I’m…fine, Ryan.” Clarke replied.

  “I’m sorry, man. My anger…his face…I just couldn’t hold back.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No!” Kaspar shouted. He picked himself up off the ground then looked in his friend’s eyes. “It’s not okay!”

  “Look, I understand…”

  “How could you? That man…he killed my mother…”

  “I can understand.” Clarke shot back in a stern tone.

  Kaspar nodded. “I’m just going to…go outside for a breather.”

   

  .52

  This set of barracks was just as dark as the last set. There was just enough moonlight from the clear night sky on the outside through the windows to make out faces. All of the rebels were snug in their bunks. For most of them, it had been a long trip to this makeshift military complex. Kaspar looked around with his P99 held tight in his right hand. He had managed to not only sneak out of his own barrack unseen but he managed to sneak around three other sleeping quarters without waking a soul.

  The hunt was about to be over. In the far left corner he found his prey. Kaspar walked over to the top of the bunk and fought back his heavy breathing. After going undetected for so long, it would be a hell of a time to fold now and get caught. He trained his gun on Sullivan’s head, just like he did earlier, only this time there would be no wavering. He would finish the job that he had twice failed to finish. After he blinked his eyes several times, he pulled the trigger of his gun repeatedly. The loud banging sounds from the gun shook the others out of their sleep. Kaspar kept firing as other rebels tried to grab him and pull him away. One rebel hooked him under his outstretched arm. Kaspar just pulled the trigger faster. He fired until his mag ran dry…

  Kaspar’s head shot up in a fury as he gasped for breath. With heavy breathing he looked around at his surroundings. It was all a dream. He had been lying in his bunk the whole time. There were two warring feelings inside of him as his bare feet hit the cold tile floor. The most dominant of the feelings was that of disappointment. He wished deep down that the dream wasn’t a dream at all. However, he also felt a sense of relief. That lust for revenge, he had thought, was gone that night he let Sullivan live. It seemed that all he did was run away from those urges. Now, when that son of a bitch was staring right at him, the need for vengeance came roaring back from the recesses of his brain.

  Next to the edge of his bunk sat his slippers. Kaspar forced his feet into them and then stood from the bed. He stretched his back and yawned. Just like in the dream, the other rebels were all cozy in their bunks, sleeping away after a long day of traveling. Despite the bunk being the most comfortable bed he slept in for months, the anxiety inside of having Mother’s killer running loose within the complex disallowed any kind of peaceful sleep. He reached for the white T-Shirt which hung from the railing and slipped it on.

  There wasn’t much else to do, so he quietly walked out of the sleeping quarters and walked straight for the lobby. He hoped on the way there that the Agent wouldn’t be in the lobby and force him to do something he would regret later. Instead of Sullivan, there was another familiar face sitting in the lobby. It was that of his friend Clarke. Kaspar still felt guilty for shoving the computer nerd out of his way, but he couldn’t take that back, so he tried not to dwell on it for too long.

  “Hey, Mr. Wizard,” Kaspar said.

  “What are you doing up so late?” Clarke asked without looking up from his computer screen.

  “Nice to see you, too. How’s that ankle?”

  “It’s fine.”

  Kaspar walked over to the water cooler, which sat next to the coffee pot. After several seconds, his Styrofoam cup was almost to the brim with ice cold water. He took the cup and sat at the table next to Clarke. The two didn’t speak for several moments, neither really knowing what to say. Kaspar wondered if deep down Clarke was just pissed off at him for that moment earlier. Then, he saw the leftover still staring intently at his computer screen, he seemed to be closed off to the rest of the world.

  “What are you doing on there?” Kaspar wondered.

  “Just waiting,” Clarke replied.

  “What for?”

  “The USR’s next move. They’ve been rounding up men all over the country.”


  “For what purpose?” Kaspar wondered again.

  “I’m not sure, yet. But, they are using us to justify it. That attack that they initiated on the compound…well, you know what happened…but they are using that to call the military in. That, and those suspected rebels they killed.”

  “Initiate Martial Law. Let me ask you something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Kaspar sipped at his water. “If we weren’t around, do you think that they would be as aggressive as they are?”

  “Of course they would. If not us, they would use something else. It’s in their nature to control.”

  “I just can’t help but think that we are doing more harm than good, you know? We sure as hell aren’t winning.”

  Clarke shut the lid of the laptop, took off his glasses, and then rubbed at his tired, red eyes. “I’ve always had the attitude that it’s never been just about winning.”

  “What’s it about, then?”

  “It’s about just fighting. Fighting for what you know is right. If you do that, it doesn’t matter if you win. Just letting the USR run wild, doing the things they do, that’s never an option.”

  “But,” Kaspar said, “if we don’t win, then what does that mean for the friends we’ve lost?”

  “If we fight until we die, then they wouldn’t have died in vain, even if we lose. We can keep their spirit alive by continuing the fight. Listen, John was so fixated on winning that it made him do things he normally wouldn’t. He had this hope that we could, somehow, some day, win. I never shared that sentiment.”

  “Do you have no hope?”

  “Hope is different from reality. I do hope that we will win, but I’m not going to lie to myself, either.”

  Kaspar took a sip of his water and thought on what Clarke was saying. The leftover was a smart individual and he had never heard him talk like this before. Hoping for a victory that you never attain, that was something that he couldn’t live with, victory was all that mattered. And, considering that victory was a minute possibility, there was no point in hoping. Hope didn’t save Krys, it didn’t save America, and wouldn’t bring a victory to the resistance. The USR, in all likelihood, would continue its reign long after Kaspar and Clarke were dead. Hoping for a different outcome wouldn’t change that, either. No, Kaspar had given up on hope the second that Krys died.

  “We have lost a lot of friends, though.” Clarke said as he readjusted his glasses.

  “We’re the last two.” Kaspar replied.

  Clarke pointed to his laptop. “You know, I’ve lived my whole life on those things.”

  “What, computers?”

  “Yes. While my peers were out partying, drinking, doing whatever, I’d be hiding out in my room, trying to figure out every nuance of the computer. I got pretty good, too.”

  “You regret it or something?” Kaspar asked, not knowing what else to say.

  “Sometimes, yes, when I think about our friends, I was too weak, too ignorant in combat situations that I couldn’t help. That night, when you guys raided that lab, was one the worst of my life. Watching, listening, observing. That was all I could do.”

  “Hey, it’s all right, man. Not everyone’s built for combat.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “We wouldn’t have made it far without the Intel that you provided, and continue to provide. Using that computer, you might feel solitary, but we’ve got to get information somehow. And, we’ve got to have a Wizard watching our ass.”

  Clarke smiled along with Kaspar. “Thanks, Ryan.”

  “And, Robert, I’m sorry about earlier. I let my anger get in my way again.”

  “No worries. Do you buy that guy’s story, though?”

  Kaspar shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe. All I know is that he better stay out of my way when we hit the battlefield. Friendly fire is a bitch, I’ve heard.”

  “Are you being serious?” Clarke asked with a concerned tone.

  “I meant nothing, just forget I said anything.”

  “Okay. Ryan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid. Our next mission is more important than getting revenge.”

  “So you say.”

  Clarke grabbed at his laptop, “Well, I better get to bed. I’ve got a busy morning tomorrow.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ve got to give a presentation to the others tomorrow on the importance of gathering information from that building and not just raising the flag.”

  Kaspar rubbed at his eyes, “They don’t think it’s important?”

  “They do, they just don’t think it’s as important as they should. I’ve got to convince them otherwise.”

  “Okay, well, good luck with that.” Kaspar rose from his chair then walked towards the sleeping quarters. “Have a good night.”

  “You, too.”  

   

  .53

  The leaders of the resistance were all cramped together in the small, rectangular shaped room which had been turned into their situation room. There was a projector screen in the back with a computer animated American flag which waved along with the simulated wind. There was a lot of chatter going on amongst themselves while they awaited Sanders to properly begin the briefing. On top of the room being cramped, it was also hot, which caused Harvey to use the collar on his shirt to try and fan himself.

  Seated next to him was an African-American leftover named Winston who did a lot of talking out loud. Harvey couldn’t tell if the man was actually talking to him or not. He didn’t care to know, either, as he was not in a talking mood. There was so much going on in his mind at the moment that nothing anyone else was talking about mattered. What was running through his head the most, as he looked around the room at all the brave men, was how devastating it would be to lose most, if not all, of them in one failed mission.

  On his left was Clarke, who didn’t say anything, either. He had just enough room to mess around on a little PDA with notes, images, whatever. Harvey wasn’t sure what Clarke was planning to do, but he could tell from their conversation last night, that it was something big. The old hacker kept going on and on about how important it was for them to get Intel from the Capitol and to get as much as possible. No matter what Harvey said to the contrary, that they wouldn’t have the time, Clarke kept right on insisting about it. Harvey got to the point where he was almost more interested in what Clarke would do versus the actual mission brief.

  After what seemed like ages, Sanders showed up in the front of the room. In his hands was a waist high wooden podium which he slammed to ground. Whether it was intentional or not, he had everyone’s attention after the fact. He stood right beside the projector screen, cleared his throat, and then pulled out a bottle of water from one of the shelves behind the podium. After taking a long drink, he was ready to start his briefing.

  “Gentlemen,” Sanders said with a hint of hoarseness in his voice. He cleared his throat once more before he continued. “I want to thank you all again for your bravery and dedication to our mission. I know that I’ve talked to most of you before, but to everyone else I’m meeting for the first time, I just wanted to say thanks.”

  The men in the room greeted him back with slogans from the different branches of the military they served. There was a mixture of hooyah’s, oorah’s, and a host of other cries. Sanders smiled while he raised his hands for the room to quiet down. Hearing all these men with rallying cries from the old days would make any sane soldier grin. It made him think back to how silly it was to get into it with members of rival branches. At the end of the day, they all served their country, and now that country was gone and they, along with the other men who weren’t in the room, were all that was left of it.

  “It really does mean a lot,” Sanders continued. “The USR may be in power, but America is not dead. You are all proof of that. We’ve got a huge undertaking on our plates. Nobody has dared try something this big since the U
SR came into power. We’re going to give them their first real ass kicking.”

  That comment revved up the crowd again. There was a loud collective cheer and then clapping hands. Sanders took control of the mass once again with a motion from his hands. The men grew quiet rather quickly. Sanders pointed towards the back of the room where one of his men was stationed. He clicked on the laptop in front of him and a real time satellite image of the target building appeared.

  “This is our target,” Sanders said just as the image went onto the screen. “Notice all the pieces of the White House lying about. Let that sink in. Of course, it offers great cover in a wide open area like we’re attacking in. But, let it anger you. Let it drive you out there on the field of battle. It should remind each of you why we are doing this.”

  There was a moment of silence in the room as they all stared at the image. After Sanders gave them all some time to think about it, he continued on. The mission brief was pretty straightforward for the most part. The resistance would attack from the front of building drawing out the enemy’s fire.

  On the satellite image, they could all see the soldiers that were posted in front of the Capitol. There were several tiny buildings scattered about the grounds which served as meeting rooms and bathrooms. The soldiers were all armed and they seemed bored as hell as they walked around in slow paces. It must have been a shitty thing to get posted there, Harvey thought as he watched, to guard a place no one dared attack.

  On the roof, they could see a line of sniper rifles along the edge. Instead of having men manning the guns, the snipers up top had set up a foldout table and were engaged in a card game. Sanders pointed this out to the men in the room. He used their sloppiness to motivate the team. Harvey knew better, though. When the battle started, they would not only have the soldiers on the ground, but sniper fire from above to deal with. That fact only added extra anxiety inside about the mission.

  “Which brings us to the next part,” Sanders continued after he took a moment to take a drink of water. “We need a team to move into the building, take out any poor USR bastards left in there, and then raise the flag on the roof. Obviously, I’ll be on the ground, directing things from there.”

  “I’ll go,” Harvey said standing up in an instant.

  “Thank you, Sam.” Sanders said. “But, you don’t have a team left.”

  “That’s right, they all died for what they believed in on that mountain. Obviously, I’ll need some volunteers to go with me.”

  “Is there anybody else?”

  “No!” Harvey shouted. “Don’t try to take this away from me.”

  “Sam, there’s no need…”

  “If he wants to do it,” Winston said aloud. “Then let him. You asked for volunteers and he’s obviously up for this.”

  There was a collective yes from all the men in the room. Sanders grinned and then regained control of the room. For Harvey’s part, he remained mad as all hell over it. Why did Sanders want to keep him from this? He was beginning to realize after all this time that the man who appointed himself the leader had no respect for him. Why, Harvey didn’t know. All he did know was that he was tired of it. Perhaps it was because he didn’t share the same tyrannical views of war that his supposed comrade did. To Sanders, Harvey continued to learn, there was only one way to fight a war. Harvey just didn’t share that same view. In fact, the views that Sanders expressed were closer and closer to those of their enemy, the more he thought about it.

  “Fine,” Sanders said once the room was finally quiet. “Have it your way, but don’t fuck this up, you understand me?”

  “I won’t.” Harvey replied. “The sons of bitches who go to fight with me better understand one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?” Sanders wondered.

  “I’m the one who raises the flag.”

  “If you get that far…”

  “I will.”

  “I can spare a couple of men,” Winston said. “I’m sure any of us could.”

  Sanders cleared his throat, “We’ll sort that out later. Harvey can have his way and sit the hell back down.”

  Harvey obeyed and allowed a grin on his face as he did. Once he was seated, he began to strategize in his mind how to properly go about this. Around this time, the most unlikely voice spoke up. It was shaky at first, but grew with strength as he went on. It forced another smile on his lips.

  “There’s something else we need to talk about,” Clarke said as he adjusted his glasses and rose from his seated position.

  “And, what would that be?” Sanders asked, not hiding his amusement at Clarke’s standing up. A few of the other soldiers in the room let out chuckles as well.

  Clarke did his best to ignore them all. “There’s going to be some valuable Intel in that building that we’ll want to extract.”

  “We won’t have time for that.” Sanders said shaking his head. “Once we accomplish our mission, we all know that the USR is going to blow that place to hell, just like that compound with the cure in it.”

  “That’s why you need someone with the proper expertise to go in there.”

  “And, that person would be you?”

  Clarke nodded his head. Again, Sanders grinned and the others talked amongst themselves. Clarke remained undeterred. This was his chance to get in on the action and feel like a real member of the resistance and not one that just sat back while the others went out and fought. There was a large amount of nervousness that flowed inside which caused an involuntary shake in his legs. It all went ignored.

  “That’s right,” Clarke replied. “We may never get a chance like this again. We do not want to blow this.”

   “The most important thing we can do is raise that flag. We will focus on that first.”

  “I agree that it is important to do that, but how can we just overlook the wealth of information we can get? There’s something going on right now. Men all over are getting abducted from their homes by USR soldiers. It has to be for something, I’ll bet there’s at least something in there on the computer systems I can find.”

  “Why can’t you just get it yourself?” Sanders demanded. “What, with your expertise?”

  Clarke ignored the comment. “I’m good, but I’m not perfect. Some of these systems have firewalls that I can never break through. But, if I had hands on access…”

  Sanders sighed, “Once we raise the flag, then if the place is still standing, you can go in at your own risk…”

  “Not good enough.”

  “Don’t you ever interrupt me again…”

  “He can go in with us.” Harvey said. “We’ll watch his back.”

  “That man has no combat experience…”

  “What if he’s right, Roy? What if we never come across a gold mine of information like this again?”

  Sanders rubbed at his scar. “Your boy gave us the Intel on that cure, and look where that got us.”

  “Last time I checked,” Harvey shot back. “The United States was a democracy, not a dictatorship. Let’s vote on it.”

  The chatter in the room began once more. There were some who were on Sanders’s side. Their need to raise the American flag and stick it to the USR overcame everything else. They didn’t see the strategic value of having information. In their minds, they had waited for this day for a long time. They were done sitting on their hands, watching the USR dominate their once great country. The USR needed to be taught a lesson: the United States wasn’t dead, yet. Harvey couldn’t bring himself to blame them.

  It was shortsightedness on their part, Harvey knew, but the majority of the men in the room agreed with him. The cries for allowing Clarke in on the mission were heard by Sanders and the computer expert. Sanders looked sternly right in Harvey’s direction. The mean look didn’t bother Harvey in the least. He didn’t show it, but he took great pleasure in seeing Sanders like this.

  “Okay, fine!” Sanders yelled. The room went silent. “Take the boy with you, but he’d be
tter come out of there with gold. And, if he slows you down, you know what to do. You leave him and raise that damned flag.”

  “I assure you,” Harvey said, “the mission will be completed.”

   

  .54

  The two weapons “experts” who roamed the abandoned power plant, which had quickly become something resembling a military base, were a pair of short, skinny twins. They went by the code names “Smith” and “Wesson”. Harvey about hit the floor when he learned that. And, when he actually met the two, he couldn’t believe it. He waited all morning for someone to tell him that it was all just a practical joke. The nicknames couldn’t have been real, nor could the fact that they were the ones consulting on weapons.

  For instance, Wesson’s combat fatigues, which had to be replicas, fit him too big. The pants were all baggy and the jacket left way too much room in the arms. The kid finished it off with a fatigued hat that fit slightly over the tops of his ears. There was just no way that the twins had ever seen combat. The mission was a go tomorrow night and they were dicking around with these fools. Anxiousness before combat was nothing new, but he was especially feeling it right now.

  Smith was dealing with the ones who would be fighting on the field outside of the Capitol. It would be Wesson’s job to “teach” Harvey’s team about some of the weapons which had been smuggled just days ago that matched their mission needs. Wesson led the team down a hallway then they took a right turn inside of a cramped room. Why were all of the rooms so cramped? Beggars couldn’t be choosers, Harvey told himself as he tried to keep his internal complaining to a minimum.

  Wesson flipped the light switch and, after several flickers, the room became illuminated. What also became illuminated was the stupid grin on Wesson’s face. Harvey had Kaspar and Clarke with him. The other leaders also volunteered some men to him on loan. In total, a team of eight would charge the building in hopes of gathering Intel and raising the American flag on the roof. All around the walls of the room were weapons cases stacked high with a long, wooden table in the middle.

  “Welcome to my playground, boys.” Wesson said.

  “Your what?” Harvey demanded. 

  “My playground, man!”

  “Do you even know the first thing about shooting?”

  “Of course I do.” Wesson replied, same stupid grin still on.

  “So, you’ve fired a gun at someone?”

  “All the time, bro. Me and my brother, Smith, we’ve got access to all of the USR’s VR training that they put their soldiers through.”

  Harvey rolled his eyes. “VR training?”

  “Damn straight my man,” Wesson said with a wink. “I can live, breathe, and think like a soldier. Also, I can fire any gun I want. Just like the real thing.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, ‘bro’.”

  “Enough chit chat,” Wesson said as he rubbed his hands together. “Let’s dig in, shall we?”

  Wesson reached underneath the wooden table, gripped the handle of a weapon’s case, and then slammed it on the surface with no regard. With a flip of the notches around the front, the case popped open, and inside sat one of the most beautiful assault rifles Harvey had ever laid eyes on. The material of the gun was jet black, almost to a mirror sheen, he could almost see his own smile reflected off of it. It looked like a cross between an M16 and a P90. He reached in for it, but then the damn kid snatched it away from him.

  “The ZX-17, my friends, the latest in high tech weaponry being developed by the USR.” Wesson announced with a great sense of pride, as if he build the damn thing. He lifted it up and shouldered it.

  “Is the safety on, kid?” Harvey asked.

  “Of course it is,” Wesson replied. “Moving on. This baby is still in development. Not even USR soldiers will be armed with them. It’s a high powered gun, almost no recoil, got good shooting range, too. But, this is for the guys on the ground.”

  Wesson tossed the gun to the side. Harvey couldn’t believe how the kid could just disregard such a beautiful weapon like that. Wesson didn’t have any idea the kind of gun he was mishandling. Probably the VR disorienting him from reality, Harvey reasoned.

  The skinny kid slammed another box onto the wooden table. The others flinched and Harvey could tell that he was not the only one who was growing tired of Wesson’s carelessness. Again, after both notches in the front of the box were unsnapped, the box shot open. This gun was much different from the ZX-17 before it. It was a short barreled submachine gun from what Harvey could tell. Wesson grabbed at the folded stock and lifted the gun into the air. As the gun flew, the stock unfolded and, once again, Wesson shouldered the gun as if he really knew what he was doing.

  “This is the Kriss.”

  Kaspar’s eyes went wide. For a moment, the room emptied out and the only thing he could see in front of him was Krys. She looked at him with that smile that drove him mad. Her hair was flowing along with the wind. Then, with a blink of the eye and nudge on his arm, she was gone again.

  “You okay, dude?” Wesson demanded.

  “Uh…” Kaspar said, moving his arm away from Clarke’s grasp. “Yeah. It’s just, I…what did you say that gun was called again?”

  “The Kriss. K-R-I-S-S.”

  “Oh, I just thought I was hearing things. I…knew someone by that name.”

  “Really?” Wesson asked with an animated look of concern on his face. “She break your heart?”

  “Let’s not get into it.” Kaspar shot back with his fists clinched.

  Wesson noticed the fists. “All right, all right, shit. Let me just show you what this baby can do, okay?”

  “Fine by me.”

  “All right,” Wesson said as he lifted the gun up to his chest. “The Kriss is a bad ass mother you know what. A submachine gun, yes. Nothing special about it just looking at it, right?”

  There was silence. Wesson made an expression with his face awaiting an answer.

  “Uh, no.” Harvey replied.

  “At least someone’s paying attention. Anyway, the Kriss fires .45’s, not 9MMs like some lesser guns, so it’s got a shit load of fire power. You’re wondering about the downsides, right?”

  Silence.

  “Um, no,” Harvey replied to once again break up the silence. Just get on with it already.

  “Have you ever fired one of these babies?”

  “No.”

  “Then how can you not wonder if there are any downsides?”

  Harvey rolled his eyes once more. “Like you can tell me the downsides?”

  Wesson smirked. “We’ve been over this.”

  “What are the downsides?” Kaspar demanded. He was growing as tired of Wesson’s shit as much as Harvey was.

  “Glad you asked, fellow brother in arms. There are no downsides…other than missing the infinite ammo power up.”

  “Every gun has a downside.” Harvey contended.

  “Care to give this baby a spin?” Wesson asked. He clicked off the safety and held the gun out. “Just hold down the trigger and don’t release it until the mag is dry.”

  Once Harvey took hold of the gun, Wesson motioned with an open arm to move to the shooting range. Upon approach, Harvey clicked the gun to full auto, and then aimed the gun at the target in front. He was impressed by the lack of weight in the gun and the compact design made it easy to aim. What really got his blood pumping was what happened once he pulled the trigger and released a full mag. The others who gathered around were impressed as well. They stood in awe at the bullet holes in the target. They were all center mass. There was very little in the way of spray. All the rounds hit the target and were just inches apart.

  “Brilliant,” Wesson said. “The design, the craftsmanship of this gun is awe inspiring.”

  “There’s almost no recoil.”

  “Exactly. An automatic, with no recoil, .45’s for stopping power. No downsides.”

  “Let me see it.” Kaspar said.

  Harvey
turned and handed it to him. With the Kriss in his hands, even before firing a single round, he knew that this was his new favorite gun. Wesson anxiously handed him a full mag. He held the mag in his hand for a moment before reloading the gun. The crosshairs from the scope were pointed center mass on the target. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Once they were opened, Sullivan’s figure appeared on the target.

  Before pulling the trigger, he knew what he had to do.

   

  .55

  This was a conversation that he didn’t want to have. That was all that Harvey could think about as he pulled his son from lunch and into a private room. Buck had no idea what was going on. He didn’t even question his father as to why he didn’t want him to storm the building with him. To Buck, it was just as good to fight outside as it was inside. The young kid never would have thought that his father was going to pull him out of the mission entirely. That he would be asked, and if need be, told to not participate. This mission was too dangerous for a green solider like Buck.

  The only fear that Harvey had, really, was how Buck would react. Buck was prone to think that any kind of criticism was simply a slight on him. In almost every case that was not true, but that was how Buck took it. He was a lot like his mother in that way. She would do the same thing anytime Harvey tried to talk to her about things. That thought brought about a quick smile which was gone almost immediately. Buck didn’t even notice it.

  “What do you need, pop?” Buck demanded. “That damn tofu they feed us is delicious.”

  Smartass, Harvey thought before he spoke. “Let’s have a seat over there.”

  Harvey pointed towards a set of tables and chairs to the right. They both walked over to them and took a seat. Buck sat across from his father with a raised eyebrow. Harvey almost chickened out, but he knew that this was something that had to be done. He took a deep breath and looked deep into his son’s eyes.

  “Son,” Harvey said. “I don’t want you to go on this next mission.”

  Buck stood and slammed the chair to the ground. “That’s impossible! I’m going and you can’t stop me!”

  “Listen to me, son.”

  “No,” Buck said as he pointed his index finger. “You listen to me. I’m going out there. This mission is way too important for me to just sit it out.”

  It was Harvey’s turn to stand. He looked at the still pointed index finger then gave a hard, stern look to Buck. Buck relaxed his posture and then lowered his finger. His hands were now in the pockets of his blue jeans. Harvey moved in closer to his son, but Buck’s head just lowered to the ground.

  “Buck, this is going to be a dangerous one. Who knows what will happen out there? If they call in reinforcements or they bomb the place…”

  Buck’s head shot up. “I know the risks. I’m still going out there.”

  “No, I’m your father, and I forbid it. That’s the end of it.”

  “Why don’t you want me to fight?”

  “Because…” Harvey started. “You’re too young for this. The other missions, they were dangerous, but not so much as this one. Not to mention, you’ve frozen under pressure before, and…”

  “Ha,” Buck said. “You’re so full of shit. Weren’t you the one who told me not to let one mistake haunt me forever?”

  Harvey nodded, “Yes, I did. But, again, son, this is completely different. I will not allow you to go.”

  “What am I supposed to do then?” Buck asked as he lowered his head. “Just sit here and twiddle my thumbs.”

  “You could sit here and think about your life and how you want to live it. You’re only twenty years old. There will be plenty more missions for you to go on.” Harvey moved close and then put his hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Can’t you see that I’m just looking out for you?”

  “I can see that,” Buck replied as he moved his shoulder from the grip of his father’s hand. “I can also see that you still don’t trust me out there in battle.”

  “It has nothing to do with trust. I don’t want to see my son bleeding out there, wishing he had stayed behind.”

  “Whatever.”

  The two stood in silence then. Harvey kept looking around the room, thinking of something to say, but nothing came to his mind. Buck just looked to the tile floor and ran his feet along it. It was a battle of wills, but at the end of the day, Harvey knew he had the upper hand. He could personally make sure that Buck was nowhere near the battlefield.

  A part of him, though, felt the guilt of having to make a decision that should have been his son’s, who was a grown adult. However, he was not yet a man, and was too young to make these kinds of life altering decisions. Not only life altering, but potentially life ending. Buck could stay back and sulk all he wanted to and would eventually get over it. If Harvey allowed him out into the battlefield…

  “You’ve grown so much,” Harvey said to break the silence.

  “I’m surprised you noticed.” Buck replied.

  “Look, I know that I haven’t been the world’s best father, but when all this over, I promise that we will catch up.”

  “Just let me go, Father. I won’t die and I won’t disappoint.”

  “The decision has already been made.”

  “Fine”, Buck replied. He turned and stormed out of the room.

  Harvey didn’t attempt to stop him. He had a mission to prepare for.

   

  .56

  The rain outside started to pick up in intensity. Kaspar leaned against the wall and used the overhang above him to avoid the rain drops. He had a hand around his cigarette. His eyes were nearly covered by the hood of his sweatshirt as he took another drag. That lightheaded feeling started to overcome him. It had been a while since he had a smoke and now, it seemed, that filthy habit was about to be picked up again. Krys got him to quit initially, but she was gone now, and there was nobody else to care enough to tell him not to.

  He was waiting for Sullivan to come out, if the coward would come out at all. Kaspar got some help from one of the rebels by telling the rebel his story. The rebel took Kaspar’s side in an instant and told him he would see what he could do. If everything went according to plan, Sullivan would walk towards the small building directly behind the power plant for a top secret meeting. Kaspar, of course, had no way of knowing how gullible the supposed former Agent was, but there was always the chance.

  The mission to come could wait, Kaspar thought as he remembered what Clarke told him the night before. To not do anything stupid, that the mission came before anything else, all that bullshit. It was not that Kaspar didn’t understand the importance of the next mission. That much he did understand. The problem was that he had something personal to finish and he was going to see it through before the mission. After all, he could very well be killed in that USR controlled building and then who would avenge Mother then?

  Kaspar was back to his old ways. He knew it, but couldn’t help it. He never dreamed that his eyes would see that piece of shit again. If Krys were still here, Kaspar knew that she would talk him out of it. There would have been something in her bag of tricks to convince him that it was the wrong thing to do. Unfortunately for Sullivan, she wasn’t here anymore.

  After taking one last drag, he saw his target, walking towards the small building just as planned. The poor bastard bit the hook. Kaspar threw the cigarette to the side and started to make a run for Sullivan. Loud splashes of water flew from under his feet. His mark heard him coming but Kaspar didn’t care. Sullivan turned and prepared himself for the incoming fight. Kaspar just kept running, ignoring the stings from the tiny droplets of rain, intent on ending this part of his life and moving on. When he got close, Sullivan put up his fists in a defensive posture. This would be easy, Kaspar thought, nothing compared to some of the other fighters he fought in his past life.

  “Come here, you son of a bitch!” Kaspar cried.

  The two met in the middle of the field, already drenched from the rain fall above.
Kaspar took a swing which Sullivan ducked under. The former Agent threw his own which connected to the left side of the face. The ex-prize fighter took the shot and didn’t feel it. There was so much adrenaline flowing through him that he could have been hit by a car at low speed and still gotten up. Kaspar faked right, and then delivered a left hook to Sullivan’s cheek.

  He went for another shot, but his opponent ducked under it. This time, Sullivan wrapped his arms around his attacker’s midsection. During the attempted takedown, Kaspar threw a hard punch at Sullivan’s right ear. Sullivan remained undeterred. He grabbed at Kaspar’s left leg to throw off his balance. With all his strength, he pulled the leg up and Kaspar’s foot was lifted off the ground. Kaspar tried to fight it off, but Sullivan threw his body weight to the left. Eventually, the attacker couldn’t keep his balance and Sullivan tackled him to the ground.

  Upon impact with the wet grass and mud, the back of Kaspar’s head hit hard on the ground. The force of the impact nearly knocked him out, but he managed to keep his consciousness. Sullivan, on top of his opponent in a kneeled position, looked down at him. In an instant, he delivered a sharp blow to the nose. Blood leaked out of it like water from a geyser. Kaspar knew that his nose was broken the instant it was hit. Sullivan went for another one but stopped himself mid punch. He stood over his attacker and spit on the ground.

  “What the hell’s your problem?” Sullivan demanded.

  Kaspar moved his hands to his nose. “You know what it is. You killed my mother!”

  “I told you already, I didn’t pull the trigger. I tried to stop my men from doing it. I wanted to bring her in for questioning.”

  “You think I’m going to believe that?”

  “Believe what you want,” Sullivan barked. “I’m done defending myself to you. My son has been kidnapped. I’ve got to get him back. That’s all I care about now. And, I’m not letting anyone, let alone you, stop me. I would advise staying the hell out of my way from now on.”

  Sullivan turned to walk away. Kaspar tried to force his way from the ground.

  “I’m not finished with you!” Kaspar cried.

  Sullivan turned back around. His opponent managed to only get back to a seated position. The fogginess in his head was throwing off his balance. The former Agent moved in, blocked a halfhearted swing, and then punched the fallen fighter twice with two hard right hooks. After the hooks, he used his foot to kick Kaspar back to the ground.

  “This is finished,” Sullivan said looking down as he extended his hand downward. “I’m learning how to repent. You need to learn how to forgive.”

  “To hell with you.” Kaspar replied.

  Sullivan then stood tall. “Fine, I’ll leave you here to bleed and think about it.”

  With that, Sullivan turned and walked away, ignoring all the obscenities that were shouted his way. Once Kaspar realized that he wasn’t coming back, and that he was physically unable to chase after him, he laid his head onto the wet grass. He then reached up with both hands to his nose. With one sharp turn, his crooked nose was popped back into place. Kaspar let out a loud cry and then did what Sullivan left him there to do.

  He bled and thought about what to do next.

   

   

  .57

  “What happened to you?” Buck wondered as he took a break from shooting rounds from his Glock 17 into the paper target.

  “I picked a fight.” Kaspar replied. The white bandage over his nose had small droplets of blood leaking out.

  “I can see that. You got your ass kicked, didn’t you?”

  “Let’s try minding our business.”

  “Fair enough,” Buck replied as he resumed his firing position.

  Kaspar pulled out a handgun of his own, the P99 that used to be Krys’s, and started to fire away at a separate target next to Buck. He fired in three round bursts from the semi-automatic. Each time he practiced on getting two to the chest and one to the head. It was a technique that Paxton tried to teach him as well as Krys. After all this time he still wasn’t a pro at it, but he could manage.

  As he fired the last three rounds from his mag and started his reload, he asked himself again why he didn’t take a gun to that failed confrontation with Sullivan. He realized that he made a conscious choice not to. He figured that he could give him a tune up and that would have been good enough. However, he made a huge error in underestimating Sullivan. He knew that his adversary would have had hand to hand combat training by the USR. Still, in his anger, he relied on his own instincts and the fact that he had never lost a fight in his life.

  “What’s got you all hot and bothered, anyway?” Kaspar asked noticing the pouty look on Buck’s face.

  “Mind our own business, right?” Buck replied, finishing off his own mag.

  “Just curious, I guess.”

  “Well, my father wants me to sit out this next mission, so I guess I’m just wasting ammo.”

  Kaspar raised an eyebrow. “You going to listen to him?”

  “Well, yes, at the end of the day he’s my father. I have to respect his demands, I suppose.”

  “May I ask how old you are?”

  Buck laughed, “Why?”

  “Just tell me your age.”

  “I’m twenty.”

  “Twenty, huh?” Kaspar turned his attention back to the paper target and aimed. “I think that makes you old enough to make your own decisions.”

  Kaspar fired off another mag into the paper target. He lowered the gun once it was empty and looked at his handiwork. He wasn’t quite satisfied with it, but it wasn’t poor marksmanship, either. With a sigh, he grabbed another mag from out of his pocket, reloaded, and then looked to the target. The firing in his left ear ceased and Buck cleared his throat before Kaspar got to firing again.

  “Yes?” Kaspar asked.

  “You think I should go, then, disobey my father?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” Kaspar replied. He lowered the gun then turned to face the young man. “Like we talked about before, I wish I had a father to look out for me, keep me out of trouble. But, at the same time, it’s not his place to tell you what to do or how you should live your life. Do you think you’d regret not going?”

  “I don’t know, yet. I know if I got hurt real bad or if I was bleeding to death I’d wish I had listened.”

  “Let me tell you something, kid. I’m not much older than you, but you can’t ever know what’s going to happen.” Kaspar cleared the lump in his throat with a hard swallow. “Sometimes, I wish Mother never got shot, but then I’d still be doing the same things I’d been doing. I also wouldn’t have met Krys…”

  “I’m really sorry about what happened to her…”

  Kaspar lifted a hand and shook his head. “No apologies. What happened to her couldn’t have been prevented. What I’m saying is: I think for people to truly find happiness, they need to make their decisions, take the circumstances that come along with it, and live with whatever happens.”

  “But, if I die out there, I’m not going to live with anything.” Buck replied with a smirk.

  “You want to make difference, though, don’t you?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “And, is it for yourself, to prove something to your old man…”

  Buck interrupted, “I don’t know why. Obviously, I don’t know any different. I was raised into this life.”

  “But, the fact remains that you want to make a difference for…something. You can’t do that sitting on your hands. Your father needs to let you go, to understand that you’re a grown ass man, I guess.”

  Buck smiled, “You think I should go, then, right?”

  “That’s your problem.”

  Buck lifted the handgun in his hand and pointed it at the target in front of him. There was an uncontrollable smile growing across his face before he fired. Kaspar noticed it and the instant guilt trip hit him like a runaway freight train. It really wasn’t his place to tell Bu
ck what to do, or to try to convince the kid to get into something way over his head. Kaspar also couldn’t just sit back and have Buck not do something because his father told him so. He would never outright admit it to Buck, but he envied him. For those reasons they just discussed. His own father didn’t give two shits about him, and here was this kid, who had a father trying to keep him away from battle. Harvey was only looking out for his son’s best interest, and Kaspar knew that, but at the same time, Buck was a grown man. He reasoned with himself that what he told the kid was right.

  Kaspar, aiming at the paper target, just hoped that Buck didn’t have to die to prove a point.

   

  .58

  There would be no sleeping tonight. No matter how much Harvey’s brain told him to go to sleep, when his head hit the pillow, no sleep would come. It was going to be another long night before a battle. One would think that a decorated soldier like Harvey would have been used to it by now, but that was far from the case. As much as he loved the feel of battle, the emotions, the adrenaline rush, he could never stand the night before.

  Out in the main lobby sat Clarke. He was sitting upright in a perfect posture just staring off into the distance. Harvey was surprised to see that there was no computer around. It seemed that computers were attached to Clarke’s hip most of the time. The old Marine walked over to the coffee pot and poured himself a steaming cup.

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” Harvey wondered as he pulled up a chair across from him. This was not the first time he had caught Clarke up late.

  “I’m kind of an insomniac,” Clarke replied with a slight chuckle.

  Harvey smiled, “What are you thinking about?”

  “Isn’t it all over my face?”

  “No,” Harvey said, peering through the crystal clear lenses over Clarke’s eyes. “I don’t see any emotion at all.”

  “Oh, right. I’m thinking about the mission tomorrow. I’ve never gone in on an actual fight like I’m about to.”

  “You think you can handle it?” Harvey asked, wincing as the hot coffee pierced his tongue.

  “I’m not too sure. Not sure I even want to.”

  “I’m confused. You were all gung ho about it at the meeting today.”

  Clarke sighed, “I’ve always hated being left out. Left out of a mission, left out of whatever, so I thought this would be my opportunity to get in on the action. Not be left out, you know?”

  “I guess. Hey, if you’re having second thoughts…”

  “No,” Clarke replied sternly. “I’m not cowering out now.”

  “So, what’s it going to be then?”

  “I’m going to go in there and, hell or high water. I’m going to get that information from their computer systems. That’s my role in this whole thing. I’m the tech guy. I’m not going to fail.”

  Harvey sipped at the coffee once again and then looked into Clarke’s eyes. What he saw was a deep resolve. If Clarke was feeling like a coward, he was doing a good job of hiding it. Even though he hadn’t known Clarke that long, and didn’t have a real opportunity to get to know him as they went on missions together, he admired the bravery that Clarke was displaying. Not to mention that he was good friends, possibly best friends, with an old war buddy, that led him to be more prone to trusting him. The computer wizard hadn’t betrayed that trust, yet, but he wasn’t so sure about putting him in a battle situation. He was so green that it was radiating off of him.

  “What happens,” Harvey wondered, “when we get in a jam in there?”

  “You think we will?”

  “We’re bound to. We’re about to commence on the greatest attack the USR has seen.”

  “I’ll have to rely on you guys.”

  Harvey waved his index finger in the air. “Might not work that way. Can you even handle a gun?”

  “I’ve fired handguns at shooting ranges.”

  “You ever have to use it on someone?”

  “No,” Clarke replied with his head down.  

  “I see.”

  “Is it hard…to kill someone?”

  “The first time you do it, yes. But, it does get easier, I guess. It’s never a fun thing to kill an enemy. You just have to know that you’re in the right, and that you’re fighting for what you know is right. After that, and you’ve done it so many times, it’s not so bad. You’ve got to take out anybody who stands in your way.”

  “I’m not sure I could handle killing someone…even an enemy.”

  Harvey leaned in close which took a hold of Clarke’s attention. “I need to know that you can handle this. If you even for a second think that you can’t, let me know, and I’ll talk to Roy. Nobody will think…”

  “No! I’m doing this.” Clarke cried. His breathing started to quicken. “I need to do it. No more sitting back, waiting. I’ve got a job to do and only I can do it. Nobody else can.”

  “Can you handle it?”

  Clarke hesitated, “Yes.”

  “Okay, that’s all I need to know.”

  Harvey knew that Clarke was just saying what he wanted to hear. His hope was that, even if he didn’t mean it fully, just saying the words would instill some much needed confidence in him. There would be no way to be sure until they were actually in the field, and that was what scared the hell out of Harvey. Would his life, and by extension, the lives of his unit be at risk bringing along a virgin whose cherry was about to be popped? He had already lost enough good men in this war and the thought of losing another didn’t sit well in his stomach. There was still time to…

  “What are you pukes doing up so late?” Sanders demanded as he stormed into the lobby. Underneath his arms rested blue prints for the battle that had been drawn up earlier in the day.

  “Roy, how are you, sir?” Clarke said.

  “Don’t call me ‘Roy’.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “You know what?” Sanders cried as he slammed the blue prints onto a table behind them. “Don’t call me ‘sir’, either. Just don’t talk to me right now.”

  Harvey stood. “There’s no need for that, Roy.”

  “Don’t you start with me, you hear? I’ve got too many things on my mind right now.”

  “Getting flip with us isn’t going to change anything.”

  Sanders slammed a fist on the table. “This mission is too important. I need to look over these battle plans with a fine tooth comb to ensure that we are victorious. I also have you and that…hacker to worry about. Just give me some peace and quiet.”

  “This is a public lobby…maybe you should go somewhere more private.”

  Sanders stood up and went face to face with Harvey. Harvey could see the anger in his comrade’s eyes, but he didn’t waver. He just stared right back. If it came to blows, then so be it. Harvey had faith in his hand to hand fighting capabilities against the leftover in front of him.

  “I’ve grown tired of your insubordination.” Sanders said.

  Harvey didn’t back down. “I’ve grown tired of your disrespect and bullshit.”

  “Don’t you forget who is in command here.”

  “Maybe I should relieve you of your command.”

  Sanders balled his fists. “Go ahead and try.”

  Clarke stood and put his hands on both of the men’s chests. “Come on, guys, we don’t need this. Sam and I will go elsewhere.”

  “Fine by me,” Sanders replied, eyes still square on Harvey. “Our final meeting is tomorrow morning, nine sharp. Do try to get some sleep.”

  “Fine. You just worry about the outside tomorrow night. My men and I will take care of raising the flag.”

  “Make sure you do. If you don’t, and you’re not dead, I’ll kill you myself.”

   

  .59

  Sanders stood at the podium with all of the soldiers under his command staring back at him. There was an overwhelming amount of energy that he could feel inside. The feelings became too intense to hold in. They were all in the lob
by, the only room big enough to house them all. It was still cramped, each man touching arms with his fellow soldiers on both sides, but they would have to make do. When he decided it was ready to start the briefing, he gave several pounds on the podium with a balled fist. The loud bangs echoed through the microphone in front of him and he got his men’s full attention. Several of them even jumped at the sound.

  “I can’t tell you how deeply moved and excited I am to see you all here today.” Sanders said with a grin. “Tonight, we are going to give the USR a swift kick in the ass.”

  That comment got a rise out of the men. They all lifted their voices in cries as if the mission was already a success. That was good, though, Sanders thought as he moved his hands up and down to get control back over the room. It was better to have a group a touch too confident than the other way around. These men had seen too many battles, battles in which they lost friends and fellow soldiers, and the USR was still seemingly standing tall. They needed something like this, and Sanders knew it.

  “Okay, okay, let’s cool it a little bit. We haven’t won anything…yet.”

  Sanders went on to explain the specifics of the mission. The USR would, if all went according to plan, be caught off guard with the amount of force that would be coming their way. The resistance would move in with their vehicles and surround the building. There was a fair amount of concern within Sanders as not all of the teams had armored vehicles. Some resorted to vans, or other vehicles which wouldn’t stand a chance against an attack versus an enemy armored vehicle, but it would have to do because there wasn’t another option for them.

  They would build a perimeter around the building with rebels all around the circle. The remaining units would converge on the USR building and take on the ground troops who would move out to take on the threat. After that, Harvey and his unit would move into the building and, after gathering as much Intel as possible, would raise Old Glory on top, replacing the USR flag.

  It all seemed too perfect to Sanders as he explained it. However, he knew that it wouldn’t be the case once they got out there. On the battlefield, he knew, anything could happen. As was typical for him, he felt a sense of guilt glaring around the room, looking into the eyes of all those looking up to him. Some of them would not make it through this alive. But, he also knew that their sacrifice would serve the greater good, which moved his guilt level down several notches.

  “Of course,” Sanders continued. “Not all of us will make it out of this alive. So, if you find yourself lying on the ground, knowing you are about to die, just think about your fellow men out there fighting with you. Think about those innocent civilians you are fighting for. And, remember that you can go to your maker, whoever that may be, and tell it that you died with honor. You’re giving freedom a chance to ring once more!”

  There was a loud collective roar from the crowd once again. Sanders threw up his hands again to get control. It took a few moments, but the men quieted down.

  “I commend you all for your courage. There are a lot of cowards in this thing, on both sides, but none of you are. We’ll meet back here at 1800. You’re free to do whatever until then. Please be geared up by then. Dismissed.”

  Kaspar, who was standing in the back of the crowded room by the door, reached for the handle and threw the door open. The rush of cool air from the outside felt good against his arms and face. While he walked outside, and the others moved out all around him, he wondered how Sanders could be so long winded when there was no air to breath inside there. That no longer mattered to him now, as Sanders finally finished.

  The words about courage, bravery, and death hit him hard in the gut. He didn’t know if he had courage, or if he was still just that angry young man who wanted revenge and nothing more. Deep down, he wanted to be courageous, but he didn’t know if that was in him at all. Since he was free to do whatever he wanted, he would do the only thing that came to his mind. It wasn’t like he had anyone to spend what could be his last moments on this earth with, anyway.

  Kaspar moved straight for the shooting range.

   

  .60

  Sullivan reached down for his flak jacket. With a firm grip he lifted it up off of the bench and tightened it around his waist. During his time as an Agent, he had the best training that credits could buy. He never had to use his combat training, however, as his line of work just called for breaking into people’s homes, using his weapon as necessary, and then questioning his suspects. Being in a real combat situation was something new to him. He tried to remember that training, but it all seemed to fail him now, most likely due to the nerves.

  “You okay, Puerco?” X wondered as he geared up.

  “I’ve never been in combat.” Sullivan admitted, reaching for his ZX-17.

  “It’s okay, I haven’t, either.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I’ve had training, though, huh?”

  X ducked under the shoulder strap of his assault rifle. “I’ve never had training, and I’m not as nervous as you. It’s easy. Just point your gun at the enemy and fire.”

  “I guess so,” Sullivan replied.

  “Hey,” X said, slapping Sullivan on the shoulder. “That’s easy for me to say. I don’t have any family or anything to lose. Just stay close to us, we got your back.”

  Sullivan half smiled as he thought about Davey. This battle wasn’t about anything to him other than a means to find his son. He had to find a way to get in good with the resistance so they could perhaps help him out. He was also fighting for his son. Davey was in the hands of what was now Sullivan’s enemy. The thought never crossed his mind that he would actually be fighting for the resistance. All that time he spent chasing after them seemed like a waste. He wished now, more than ever, that he had taken up his wife’s demands and got out. Maybe none of this would have happened.

  One of the things about life, though, is that one can’t know the future and one can’t change the past. Sullivan struggled with those thoughts. He also wondered if he was doing the right thing at all in going after his government in this way. If the USR found out he participated in this battle that would only mean bad things for his son. But, since he couldn’t tell the future, he just had to go full steam ahead with this thing. He knew that he couldn’t go on a search for Davey without any help. His old employers sure as hell weren’t going to help him. They were the ones who gave him up in the first place.

  “Why are you in this shit?” Sullivan wondered as he worked on the shoulder strap of his rifle.

  “I don’t know,” X replied. “I just want to make a difference, you know? Make up for all the bad that I’ve done. All the damage I’ve caused.”

  “Nothing to do with the old red, white, and blue?”

  X pondered for a moment. “I guess so, maybe a little bit, but back in those days, I sure as hell wasn’t a patriot.”

  “I see. I suppose we all have our own reasons.”

  “That’s true. Some of these other guys bleed those colors. Not me. I only bleed crimson.”

  “Understood,” Sullivan replied.