by Gerry, Frank
At seven thirty that morning, Helen pushed the door open to Tien's recovery room. She was carrying a couple of mugs of coffee along with a few manila folders. Dylan was awake and reading a two day old newspaper. He hurried over to help her get through the door without spilling the coffee, though she managed to get past the door before he could assist. She handed one of the mugs to him. “I made it the way I thought you said you liked it.” Dylan took a sip. “Yeah it's good.” Actually, it wasn't that good, he was being polite. It didn't really matter anyway, he was just glad to have a cup of hot coffee in front of him.
“I wish you would have taken one of the guest rooms,” Helen said with a hint of concern in her voice. She was speaking softly, trying not to wake Tien. Dylan shrugged his shoulders, “I was fine, really.” He spoke in a hushed voice, as well.
Dylan's borrowed cloths were rumpled. He looked like he hadn't got any sleep. He rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of his left hand while massaging his neck with his right hand. Letting out a yawn, he glanced over at Tien sleeping, then back to Helen. “Thanks for the coffee. I appreciate it.” He took another sip.
The door to the makeshift recovery room opened again. This time an older Latino woman, in her mid forties, wearing faded jeans and a red tee shirt entered the room. She greeted the two with a pleasant 'good morning' as she walked past on her way to check on Tien. Helen took another sip from her mug. “This is Clarisa. She's one of the nurses. She'll take good care of Tien while we go have some breakfast. Afterward we need to talk about a few more things.” Dylan stared at the nurse attending to Tien, only half listening to Helen.
Clarisa approached Helen and Dylan. She spoke to Dylan in a warm caring tone, “She's going to be fine. I'll be checking on her every few minutes. If she wakes up I'll call Helen right away.” She smiled and placed her hand on Dylan's arm to re-assure him. Dylan nodded his head, then asked, “How long is she going to sleep for. Is this normal?” Clarisa smiled again before answering, “Everyone's different. She could wake up in five minutes or five hours. She was awake after surgery. Now she's just recovering. Her body needs sleep. But she looks good. Nothing to worry about. The doctor will be here in a little while to check on her.” Dylan's mind was eased a little.
Helen and Dylan had breakfast in the cafeteria on the first floor. It was small room, as far as cafeterias go, seating perhaps thirty people. A single cafeteria employee handled all the work preparing the food. They both had bacon and eggs, which turned out to be surprisingly good. While they ate, they kept their conversation light, chatting about mundane topics, trying to avoid anything of a more serious nature. Helen took her final bite of the toast and finished her coffee. She tossed what was left of the toast on top of her plate, at least a third of her food remained. She was full. Dylan, on the other hand, had already consumed his entire breakfast. He was just nursing the last of his coffee while he waited for her to finish.
They each grabbed another cup of coffee before leaving the cafeteria and heading over to the stairwell. Helen's office was only two floors up. She always took the stairs instead of the elevator. It was her only exercise these days.
Helen opened the door to her office and entered, beckoning Dylan to follow. “Take a seat.” Helen sat behind her desk. Dylan took the seat in front. The office was a well lit, average sized managerial office with windows that overlooked the highway. It was clean and tidy, with everything in it's place. The desk itself was spotless, not a single paper or any kind of junk was strewn about. Strangely, for an office desk, there was no computer. Only a video phone sat on top of the desk.
Helen checked for messages on the office video phone in case Clarisa or the doctor had tried to contact her office instead of her v-phone. There weren't any. “No word yet about Tien,” she said, before opening one of the manila folders she had been carrying.
Dylan looked around the room as he waited for Helen to read through the documents. There was nothing in the room to look at of any interest, except for Helen. He couldn't help but notice how well her breasts filled her low cut blouse. He felt guilty each time he nonchalantly stole a glimpse of her cleavage. Stop it, he thought.
“OK, sorry for the wait. I want to get everything straight,” Helen said. “First, we're going to get started with your background, education, employment. We need to get all of your information before we can proceed further.”
Dylan nodded, “OK.”
“Dr Beck will be here in a little while. Afterward, we'll talk more about, lets see, it's, uh, digitally encrypted control transmissions for UAV's; Unmanned Aerial Vehicles. Aerial drones. Is that correct?”
Dylan looked at her matter-of-factly and simply replied, “Yup, that's it. Quantum encrypted digital signal transmissions to be precise.” He tried his best to keep his eyes averted from her breasts. She continued jotting down her notes. “We'll only cover high level descriptions. To inform our engineers exactly what it is you'll be teaching them.”
“Hello,” Dr. Beck said, as he knocked on the side of the opened office door. Helen hadn't finished collecting her background information. But that could wait. They both stood as Beck entered the room.
“I apologize for being early. My previous meeting was cut short and I thought I'd head right over here,” he said, putting his manila folder on top of the desk.
“Quite alright, Sir,” Helen said.
“I'll give you a call when I'm done,” he said, while trading places with her behind the desk. Before stepping out of the office she smiled and nodded at Dylan to indicate goodbye.
Dr. Beck relaxed a bit behind the desk before he began speaking, “Yesterday you told me you didn't know what the truth was. Today, I'm going to point you in the right direction. If you're going to help us it's important for you to understand what's going on. It's important for you to want to help us.” Beck emphasized the word 'want'.
Beck leaned back in his chair again. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. “Dylan, the entire reason we are fighting is to restore the Constitution. That's really all there is to it. It's that simple. We're fighting for our country, for our democracy, our right to live in freedom.” Beck stopped talking, intentionally waiting for Dylan to respond.
Dylan sat in his seat not knowing what to say. Or even if he was supposed to say anything. After a few awkward moments, he realized Beck expected him to say something, anything. He tried to express himself as best he could, “I think I've known the truth all along. But what could I do? I'm just one person trying to survive, going along with the flow. I think it's easier to believe what you're told than to ask questions.” Thoughts crashed inside Dylan's head of the complicity and complacency of his former life.
Dr. Beck continued his lecture. “The end of our democracy didn't occur when Thompson was elected president and the Freedom Party gained a majority in both houses of Congress, immediately disbanding the Republican and Democratic parties. The end of our Republic didn't occur when the Freedom Party repealed the twenty-second Amendment to the Constitution, enabling Thompson to be elected President for life. No, our democracy ended long before those events.”
Dylan's face betrayed his confusion.
“To quote the Bard, 'The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves',” Dr. Beck spoke solemnly. He hoped Dylan would understand the meaning of his words. Dylan shifted his position in his chair. He looked even more uncomfortable than before.
Dr. Beck smiled as he went on to explain, “Dylan, you already know why our Republic ended. You just don't realize you already know. You told me that you chose a safe existence all of your life. Well, so didn't the American people. It started decades ago when our leaders used the War on Terror to manipulate fear in people in order to gain political power for themselves. As our Constitution eroded slowly, piece by piece, the American people did nothing. Over and over again, they chose imaginary safety above freedom. They chose comfort above their duty to protect the rights and freedoms for future generations. And by the time a group
of Christian extremists calling themselves the Freedom Party came to power with their mantra of 'No Compromise', our Republic was over. Compromise, of course, being the foundation of democracy.”
Beck let his words sink in before continuing. “The American people are to blame for the end of our democracy. Not any power hungry tyrant. Not an extremist political party. In a democracy our leaders can only do what we allow them do to.” Dylan shook his head. “I knew there was something wrong. My whole life, deep down, I knew. But what could I have done?”
Beck ignored his question. “Slowly over time, a few thoughtful intelligent people started standing up, speaking out what had happened to our country. They of course were jailed or never seen again. But the numbers grew. Eventually a political movement was born. It was called the Democratic-Republican Party. It was short lived, Homeland Security crushed it early on. I tell you this as part of our history. A history that will never be told by the state run media. All references to the political movement was erased from the digital records. This was the beginning of the War on Terror at Home as it was officially called.”
Dr Beck took another break, taking a sip of the bottled water he had brought with him. Dylan sat transfixed, amazed at what he was hearing for the first time. “We had no choice,” Beck continued, “with our political leaders arrested or dead, no political options available to us, our only recourse was to fight. How I got involved, let see, I volunteered to work as a chief of staff for a friend of mine who became an upper level official in the Democratic-Republican Party in Massachusetts. When the leadership was arrested, I don't know why I wasn't. Somehow I fell through the cracks. Or was just lucky. I don't know. Eventually, I managed to go underground and help establish the resistance. We've got bases in every State now. But it was slow, painstakingly slow getting started. It took years. We're at the point now, as you probably know, that we have an outright rebellion against the illegal regime in Washington.”
Dr Beck was finished with his speech. He looked content that he explained what he needed to as briefly as he could. “The question now,” Beck asked, “is what are you going to do. Will you join us as a Patriot and fight for your country. Fight to restore our Constitution, so that future generations will know what it means to grow up in freedom. As our forefathers had done for us?”
Dr. Beck sat back in his chair, folding his arms, trying to get as comfortable as possible. He spent too much time behind desks these days. Dylan looked directly into Dr. Becks eyes, without hesitating answered, “Yes Sir. I wholeheartedly, absolutely want to be part of your cause.” “Excellent. You'll swear in later on, when we get another officers to witness the oath. Helen will be your immediate CO, um, commanding officer. And let me just say, congratulations.” The two men spent several minutes talking about their lives, their interests, their families. Dr. Beck was interested in every new recruit. Especially, recruits he thought held potential.
Breaking way from a mundane line of conversation, Beck changed the subject. “We already have a lot of software engineers. We need soldiers. Your experience these past couple of days is more valuable than you realize. We could use a good field agent with your smarts. That's where I'd like to assign you. How would you feel about that?”
Dylan thought it over. With so much having happened these past few days, his life turned upside down, it was difficult to process it all quickly. “Yes, Sir. I'd like that.”
“Good. First you'll transfer all of your knowledge on drone communication technology. We have some of the brightest engineers there are. They just need your inside knowledge. Once that's complete you'll start your tactical training. This command center has a training facility down in the basement. You'll learn weapons, explosives, tactics from the best people we have. Eventually we'll discuss the strategies we use along with our countermeasures.”
The desktop video phone began to beep, signaling an incoming transmission. Dr. Beck hit the receive button. Helen's face popped up on the display. “Excuse me, Sir. I didn't want to disturb your meeting. But we have good news for Dylan,” she said. Dylan stood up upon hearing there was news for him. Beck swung the display over so both men could see. “Tien just woke up. She was asking for you, Dylan.”
THIRTY SIX
A group of about twenty five men and women, mostly in their mid to late twenties, were assembled in one of the conference rooms of the command center. They were waiting for the meeting to begin. Most were joking around, drinking soda or coffee, trying to kill the time. Some were holding private, somber conversations amongst themselves. Tien and Dylan sat next to one another at the far end of the conference table. David Whitney sat on the other side of Tien.
Dylan was chatting with the group of people sitting behind him, while David and Tien held their own conversation. It had been three weeks since Tien's operation. Her arm was still in a sling and sore as hell even with the pain medication. But otherwise she was back to her old self.
Dylan had undergone extensive training in weapons and guerrilla tactics at the facility. Learning assassination techniques with handguns and sniper rifles, the proper use of various machine guns, bomb making, and pretty much everything he needed to know to get started in the field. Now all he needed was the experience.
In between his training, Dylan had taught the software engineers all he knew of quantum encrypted digital signal transmissions used by Homeland Security. The transfer of information to the engineers was more work than anticipated. Mostly due to the fact that Homeland Security would have undoubtedly changed their encryption methodologies. Dylan worked overtime with the team of engineers to find a solution to that problem.
Dr. Richard Beck walked into the conference room carrying another armful of paperwork and a tall bottle of sparkling water. He was usually on time for his meetings, fifteen minutes tardy was out of character. His usual smile and lighthearted demeanor was gone. The men and women stood at attention as he entered. “At ease, make yourselves comfortable,” Dr. Beck ordered. He took the seat at the head of the table. He dispensed with his usual pleasantries. “I'm sure you've been aware things have been crazy around here lately. The rumors you've probably heard by now are true. We lost one of our command headquarters outside of Hartford,” Dr. Beck said. The pain expressed in his face was evident. “We suffered heavy casualties. A lot of good people died. Many more captured.”
Tien and Dylan looked at each other with wide eyes, then looked around the room, before turning back to Dr. Beck. The elder man opened the top folder on the desk in front of him. “The organization of our operational teams in the field had flaws which led to this disaster. And the missions those teams were asked to carry out were ineffective. Now we're going to regroup and fight a guerrilla war the way I believed it should be fought in modern twenty first century America.”
Beck paused, allowing himself to organize his thoughts. “No longer will we send armed squads to engage in direct military assaults against government positions. That was insane. We can't fight government forces head on.” Dr Beck took another sip of the sparkling water while he flipped through the paperwork in front of him. “No longer will we organize in teams of six to eight individuals. That was too easy to break. Capture one team member and the entire team could be compromised. From now on we'll be focusing on targeted assassinations and the destruction of the technical infrastructure by using Strike Teams comprising of two agents; the Strike leader and a technical specialist. Strike Teams will be able to move faster, hit more effectively, and evade capture more easily.”
Dr. Beck stood from his chair and stretched his arms a bit before pacing behind his seat. “The new plan will be referred to as Operation Battle Road. It will consist of three phases.” Beck paused his explanation while looking around the room. “Does anyone know what the reference to Battle Road is?” Tien shrugged her good shoulder. Everyone else shook their heads, murmured 'no', or looked around the room quizzically. Beck wasn't surprised. “All of you here are officers, the leaders of our fight for freedom, and God will
ing our future political leaders. It's important that all of you know our history. We need to learn from the tactic's our minuteman forefathers used to defeat the British.” Beck paused again, thinking how best to explain the history to his class of young rebel leaders. “OK, well, in April 1775, as every school kid knows, the British marched on Lexington and Concord. In Lexington, the Minutemen were quickly defeated before they managed to run away. It wasn't until later in the day at the battle of Concord that the small American force stood their ground against the Redcoats. The strongest military force in the world at the time. History records that neither side won a military victory in that battle. However, the Americans won a symbolic victory. Though in reality, if there wasn't a river with a narrow bridge standing between the two armies, the British would have easily defeated the untrained American militia and we'd probably still be speaking with a British accent today. No, the real victory that American Patriots had won on that day was what became known as Battle Road. Farmers, shopkeepers, and men from every walk of life came from all across Massachusetts to fight the Redcoats on their march back to Boston. The patriots hid behind stone walls, trees, whatever cover they could find along the road and picked off British soldiers one by one with their muskets. The British suffered heavy losses. It was because of those guerrilla tactics that the British never ventured outside of their fortified positions in Boston again.” Dr. Beck took another sip of his sparkling water. “Everyone here needs to learn their history. Especially this chapter. We need to use a modern day equivalent of the tactics used that day on Battle Road. That's the only way we'll defeat our enemy.”
While Dr. Beck sat back down in his seat, Tien raised a question, “Who will we target for assassination?” Dr. Beck smiled, “Good question. Phase One of the plan is to use Strike Teams to assassinate government officials, Freedom Party members, Homeland Security personal, etc. At the same time we'll have Strike Teams consisting of engineers working to destroy their technical infrastructure; communication hubs, database centers, internet servers. We especially want to hit their databases. If we can knock those out, we can effectively cripple the government. However, we know we'll never be able to topple the government by these means. Every time we kill someone, or disable a computer center, another person or another computer will take their place. That's where Phase Two comes into play.”