Indivisible (Overlooked by Liberty)

by Blair Smith

  "Hey, I know you, don't I?" The radio operator gawked at Steve. "I've seen you on the news." Morrison's red hair made him more memorable than other journalists.

  "Yes. I'm a reporter." Steve cautiously pulled out his press card and displayed it to the officer in charge. The commander promptly found his electronic note pad and slipped the card in its slot; Steve's picture and statistics came up on screen.

  "At ease, gentlemen. He's the real thing." The soldiers stopped pointing weapons at him.

  "Are we ready to start up again?" the Armdroid controller asked.

  The commander asked Steve, "They're not surrendering?"

  "I'm afraid they're not," Steve muttered.

  Two troopers huffed and puffed up the slope carrying an elongated, plastic crate. They sat it on the ground and flopped down beside it.

  "How many up there?" asked the commander to Steve. He noticed the reporter's hesitation. "Doesn't matter." The commander unlatched the crate and pulled out a rocket. "Let's get 'em, soldiers." He ordered the women who had escorted Steve down the hill to take a couple of rockets to the front line and prepare them. Then he ordered the privates who lugged up the crate, "Get your asses over to each side. The rebels might be sitting back hoping for help from somewhere, I don't want to be caught by surprise."

  Steve Morrison watched the two women pick up the missiles and lug them out of sight in to the thick undergrowth. Something gnawed at his stomach. He had been with the Mountain Boys for five months, through danger and ecstasy--through desperate times with seemingly no escape. He had always thought of himself as an unbiased reporter; yet familiarity tainted that self-image somehow. Steve had not found the Mountain Boys to be the bigots his colleagues made them out to be. Looking down at the red disk case Al had given him, he realized how real it was. He read the name to himself, Chelsea. It seemed as though everyone had someone but him. Steve thought a moment, then spit out his gum.

  "The women got there, sir," the Armdroid controller reported to the commander, "I can see them out my back ports. They're setting up the rockets." The controller heard a thud and a grunt behind him, the words uttered, "You know you're home when . . . . " He turned to look. Steve cracked the controller across the side of the head with a rocket tube.

  Steve Morrison's hands shook as he lifted the visor off the stunned Armdroid controller. He studied the visor screen to see who encircled the Armdroid. The controls were so easy, a child could figure it out. He set the weapon to scan and shoot at the sloped side instead of the bunker. Then Steve pulled the headset off, yanked the fiber-optic cord from its housing and smashed the command pad. After a second of silence, the Armdroid began shooting Army Regulars behind it; the monster had turned on its own. Steve thought of the two women who delivered the missiles, God, what did I do?

  Other than their skirmish with the kids, the Feds still thought Colebrook residents were neutral; meanwhile a group met at the American Legion Hall. Mrs. Larson's faction wanted to fight, even though the Federal troops in town had been alerted and had scattered the Abrams tanks.

  Harvey Madison and the older veterans at the meeting still spoke out against joining the fight with the rebels. Harvey had the podium; the American and New Hampshire flags hung side-by-side on the wall behind him. Neither group really knew whether the Mountain Boys or the Feds had the upper hand in the battle. Government casualties flooded Colebrook's hospital--now a makeshift medical facility for wounded. But the U.S. Government had the numbers to spare. Madison's argument went well. The bombing of Balsams Resort began the conflict; the Mountain Boys' preempted raid started the battle. And the resulting casualties brought the notion of mortality closer to heart. Mothers and older vets of the audience paid closer attention to Harvey's pleas to halt the fighting.

  Vanessa Larson became impatient. She tramped up to the podium and took the mike from him. "Hold on here! Aren't we going to get to hear the other side?" Harvey leaned over to respond in the microphone. Vanessa elbowed him in the shoulder. "It's my turn. This isn't about God and Country, it's about community, the rights of communities across the country to live in peace without oppressive government keeping their thumb on us. It isn't just us. Communities have been fighting for freedom off and on for years--all over the country." She pointed toward Dixville Notch. "Those Mountain Boys up there aren't just from New Hampshire and Vermont, they're from all over: Pennsylvania, Virginia, the Carolinas, Boston, Missouri, you name it." Mrs. Larson stopped to take a breath. Tears ran down her face during her speech. "Those boys up there are fightin' for us." Her voice finally cracked, "I don't care what the rest of you do, but my Josh and my Sam didn't die to look down and see you folks sittin' on your asses."

  Harvey Madison stood by, waiting for the right moment to intervene. He couldn't gauge the audience response; they sat looking beyond Mrs. Larson in stunned silence, maybe because of what she said, or possibly because of the events whirling around them, he couldn't tell. Some in the audience cried.

  "Like I said," Mrs. Larson said as she stomped to the exit at the back of the room, "I know what I'm doin--" she froze when she turned around to finish her sentence.

  Colebrook residents gazed to the front of the room. Harvey turned to see what everyone looked at: Thad stood in the door behind him, bare-chested and smeared with dried blood. He held the Pack 220 flag, a reminder of what had been lost in the Massacre. His very presence would sway the group to fight. Harvey knew that; the silent gesture convinced even him. There are things worth fighting for; community is one of them. He walked up and hugged the expressionless boy. "What have you done, Thad?"

  A Volvo station wagon sped past the Abrams tank that sat in front of the Philbin house. Mrs. Larson hit the brakes and spun 90 degrees. Revving the engine, Vanessa drove the car head on into the front of the tank. She got out holding her bleeding forehead with one hand and pointed a 22-caliber revolver with the other. "Get out of there! Get out of there, now!"

  Soldiers near the Philbin house aimed their weapons at her. A private in the tank uttered, "That bitch is crazy. Are we supposed to take this, sir?" he yelled to his Captain.

  More townspeople followed, some by vehicle, some on foot. Harvey had grabbed the U.S. and New Hampshire flags from the Legion Hall.

  Tiffany noticed Thad among the group. Astounded, she uttered, "How'd he get out?" She had already talked to the commander about her interview with the boy. "Sir, what are you going to do?"

  Both groups pointed weapons at each other. The commander rubbed his stubbled face and tried to decide. "I know one thing: We're not going to shoot the people we came up here to defend."

  Tiffany pulled the pad from her side pouch and held out the note for the captain to see. He had read the statement before but this time the stark print became an ominous threat: "THE GHOST PACK HAS SWORN TO FIGHT THE FEDS UNTIL THEY GO, OR UNTIL THEY HAVE NO ONE TO RULE."

  Dixville Notch, New Hampshire

  With the Pack 220 flag mounted in the corner, Harvey Madison drove the lead tank up Route 26 toward Dixville Notch, at times topping fifty miles an hour with the sixty-one ton Abrams. Vacant jeeps, left behind by officers and messengers, littered the roadside; victims of Masada snipers dangled from open doors--some sprawled on the ground.

  A Mountain Boy stepped onto the road and waved down the tank carrying the Pack 220 Colors. A message had been lasered up from an earlier lookout describing the tank activity. As insurance, a motor-gunner sat in wait at the road's edge, ready to cut a hole through the armor of the Abrams. Harvey stopped and opened the hatch.

  "What's going on?" asked the rebel. He looked uneasy standing in the open. With clear skies, they were easy targets for the Federal satellites to shoot down on them.

  "I'm Harvey Madison. I'm in the Colebrook Covenant. We got these tanks for you, and we need to get to Max's deer camp."

  The rebel was skeptical that an older man had captured a tank; mos
t elders in the community hadn't been enthusiastic about the cause. "How did you get them?" He glanced at the motor-gunner hidden along the roadside.

  "The troops in Colebrook just took off. They found out about the first Dixville Massacre and lost their loyalty to the military," Harvey answered.

  The rebel still thought it looked suspicious--until Thad forced his head out the same hatch. The rebel recognized him. "Thad, you with them?" The boy nodded yes. The sentry finally waved a halt signal to the motor-gunner. Harvey's story about the Colebrook outpost of troops pulling out surprised the rebel, "Is their communications center south of town still up?" From the communication center, Federal troops could beam signals to a satellite for additional air support or supplies. Loss of that link would isolate Federal troops, transforming them into a less adventurous bunch once they realized they might not have backup.

  "I don't know," answered Harvey. Thad tugged on Harvey's shirt as a reminder. "Listen," Harv continued, "Thad needs to get an important message out."

  "Can you run that thing?"

  "Somewhat. It's a little different from what I'm used to, but I'm learning."

  The rebel climbed the tank. "I'm Bondo. We'll signal around and let everyone know you're in the area." To Thad he said, "Can you and your brother guide him up to Table Rock." Thad turned back to Harvey as Bondo spoke; he didn't have a brother to communicate for him anymore. The rebel continued, "We'll laser in coordinates and use the gun on this thing to take out that communications hub down in Colebrook." Thad nodded yes and edged below.

  Harvey said in a tempered voice, "Bondo, I think you should know, his brother's dead. Butch got shot trying to capture a tank."

  "Oh." Bondo sighed. "That's a shame. Thad's the last one now." He became misty-eyed, and rubbed his scarred thumb with the index finger of the same hand; it had become a habit, a reminder of the cause. Bondo recalled the nights the Rousells spent at their campsites; they sat around the campfire telling stories or jokes. Butch recited the Dixville Massacre repeatedly, adding more flavor to it with every telling. Thad softly played his harmonica after fires burned down and everyone settled in for the night. The Rousell brothers and the dog became mascots of a sort, circulating from campsite to campsite, eating and sleeping there. After their mother took off with her boyfriend in the fall, the Mountain Boys became their only family. Anyone seeing the Rousells' approach, instinctively smiled. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll pass the word. If for some reason you come under fire, give up the tank. We can't let anything happen to Thad."

  "We've found the system to be compromised, sir," explained the Network Security Advisor to President Winifred. "The note we received from the alleged Ghost Pack earlier was put through by somebody's password within the system. We followed up on it and believe the security of the network has been breached. The message today was under an anonymous login, and addressed to you. Very few people know your Fednet E-mail address. The note signs off as Billy, your son."

  "What?" Winifred yelled. "If this is somebody's prank, I'll hang the bastard. Hook me up with this so-called Ghost Pack."

  The Network Advisor turned the President's portable computer around and set it up for Fednet mail.

  Lucas Bennett had only watched until now. He had many questions for the Network Advisor: "Jim, at the very least we have a major security breach. I'm not all that familiar with these systems, but if this guy has used two different passwords already, what makes you think he doesn't have access to all messages in the system. Hell, Jim! We don't know what they know. They must have known when we were coming and what weapons we were using. How could you let this happen? You stupid shit! You stupid, stupid shit!"

  Jim's neck and face turned red, "Wait a minute! We don't know who this is. It could be just a hacker."

  "Trace the damn call!" Lucas was livid, now face to face with the Network Advisor.

  Jim, calm but angered, "It's going through Quebec. And thanks to your sanctions on that country we're not getting along with them right now. It can't be traced."

  "Luc," said the President, "let's get on with this. I want to talk to this guy."

  An unspoken truce was declared as Jim pulled up the message sent earlier. The President read it. Winifred typed in:

  Subject: THE FIGHTING

  Date: Tue, 6 Aug. 2024 04:15:03

  From: President Winifred

  Reply-To: BILLY WIN

  Attachments:

  Ghost Pack??????:

  We're talking. What do you have to say?

  "Do you think they're still waiting on-screen?" asked Winifred.

  "It's only been fifteen minutes," Jim answered.

  Billy looked over Thad's shoulder as he read it. "Tell him that I'm okay, and ask him if he can do anything to stop the Army at Dixville." Thad typed in what Billy had dictated and clicked send.

  Lucas, watching over the President's shoulder, "Ask him how we can be sure he's William?"

  Thad looked at Billy for a response to the request for verification. "How can I prove that?" Billy thought aloud. "Tell them the rotor is the weakest part of the model copter I have. Check it."

  After reading the treasured reminder from his son, President Winifred focused on the model helicopter resting in front of him. He lifted it by the rotor blade. The copter separated and fell to the desktop. "Shit!" Winifred began typing feverishly, hitting backspaces, retyping. "Shit, shit, shit!" The President got up and pointed to the chair, "You type, Luc."

  Lucas sat down and rested his hands on the computer. "What do you want me to say?" Lucas suspected that they were being set up, "You know, this so-called Ghost Pack could have had the informa--"

  "Shut up and ask William where he is." Ordered the President as he paced. "Ask him if he's in danger, if there's any shooting around." He walked back to look at the screen. "Tell him to stay put. I'll send in Special Forces to rescue him." While the Chief of Staff typed, the President picked up the phone connected to his private secretary, "Shelley, arrange to have Air Force One prepared immediately, and have them set a flight plan for the North Country with a helicopter waiting there to take me to Colebrook, New Hampshire." He listened a moment, "Yes! Right now!" Winifred hung up.

  Lucas Bennett had prepared the message as Clifford arranged his flight. "I got it. Send it?" asked Lucas. The President nodded.

  After reading the White House note, Thad turned to Billy for a response. Billy looked away. He didn't know what to tell his father.

  Subject: THE FIGHTING

  Date: Tue, 6 Aug. 2024 04:15:15

  From: BILLY WIN

  Reply-To: President Winifred

  Attachments:

  CAN'T COME BACK. WE'RE FIGHTING THE FEDS. THE FEDS KILLED SOME OF MY FRIENDS TODAY. I'M IN THE GHOST PACK NOW. WE TOOK A TANK FROM THE FEDS AND GAVE IT TO THE MOUNTAIN BOYS.

  "I don't understand this," a frantic President looked back at his Network Advisor, "You say we can't trace this because their line goes through Quebec?" The Advisor nodded yes. The President picked up the phone to his secretary again, "Shelley, get me Prime Minister Merrique on the phone, right now." Winifred motioned for Lucas to get out of the seat so he could type. "Luc, if we still have a satellite link to Serrac, ask him if some young school boys were shot and if a tank has been captured." President Winifred typed out a letter asking his son who the Ghost Pack was. He begged William to let them know their location. A few minutes later, a message appeared. Thad had authored much of the response.

  Subject: THE FIGHTING

  Date: Tue, 6 Aug. 2024 04:15:20

  From: BILL WIN

  Reply-To: President Winifred

  Attachments:

  THIS IS THAD. BILLY'S
FREIND.

  PACK 220 WAS THE SCOUTS KILLED AT DIXVILLE LAST YEAR. BUTCH AND ME LIVED. FEDS DON'T NO THAT. WE REBUILT THE PACK AND NOW WE ARE GHOST PACK 220 CAUSE THE GHOSTS OF THE MASSACRE STILL LIVE TO FIGHT. BILLY TOOK AN OATH AND JOINED THE PACK. BILLY SAYS HE IS NOT LEAVING TIL THE FEDS GO. SO SEND THEM HOME. WE ARE KICKING THERE ASSES ANYWAY. WE GOT TO GO. BYE.

  Winifred turned to Lucas, "Is this true? Are they beating us?"

  "I think it's a ploy," said Lucas. "The battle is taking its toll on them, too. They must be ready to break."

  "How many casualties did you say we have so far?"

  "About twenty-two hundred."

  "Is that the actual count or the figure we give the media." President Winifred was losing confidence in Lucas Bennett's judgment.

  "It's the actual."

  Winifred sighed and turned to the newly replaced window, "This is no longer an uprising. This is a civil war and my son's in the middle of it. It's like they were ready for us." He turned to Luc, "And their casualties?"

  Lucas lifted his hands, "It's so hard to say."

  "Just a guess!"

  "I would say, maybe half as much. I don't know. We sent our troops in there from all sides and they got eaten up by motor-guns with balls that cut through armor. The units fighting up there just haven't come back. They're jamming all frequencies so our troops are fighting blind. We have to use handwritten messages to communicate, and sometimes they shoot the messenger."

  The President had closed his eyes and shook his head no through Bennett's entire report. "Is that a joke? 'Shoot the messenger.'" The Network Advisor had been standing to the side quietly the entire time. Winifred lashed out at him, "And what the hell's wrong with you?" Jim reacted with a stunned look. "Go trace the damn call! Trace the damn call!" The Advisor scurried out of the Oval Office, chased by the President yelling, "What the hell's wrong with you? I don't care how you do it, just do it!"