Battle Road

by Gerry, Frank

  Beck inhaled trying to catch his breath. He was speaking too fast. “Phase Two will be psychological warfare. This is where we'll defeat the enemy. From our assassination campaign we will have built up a reputation as ruthless killers. With that reputation, we will use the threat of assassination on selected targets to force compliance with our demands. We will extort our targets to carry out what we want them to do. For example, we could threaten a DHS official we'll kill everyone in their family unless they delivers state secrets. We could put a gun to a Freedom Party officials head and tell him the bullet will be saved for his wife unless he corrupts central databases, and so on a thousand times. I believe with these methods, we'll be able to cause enough instability that the government would cease to function. The dictatorship will crumble as the gears to it's machinery stop turning.”

  The men and women in the room broke out in applause, some speaking out to indicate their agreement. David stood up and began speaking, quieting the group, “I had been involved in a number of direct assaults on military positions. And I can tell you it was a wasted effort. We lost several people, all for nothing. Each time we blew something up or killed soldiers at some outpost, the government just rebuilt what we destroyed or sent more troops.” David turned to face Dr Beck. “I'm behind you a hundred percent, Sir.” Everyone in the room nodded or signaled their approval.

  Beck looked please. He raised his hands to quiet the room. “The third phase is a coup. We have the loyalty of a sizable number of senior officers in the leadership of the Armed Forces, from Joint Chiefs, to DHS corp commanders. Once we create enough instability in the regime, those officers will move to seize the government. We have plans in place to transition to civilian government once stability in the country is achieved.”

  The v-phone in Beck's pocket signaled an incoming transmission, he took a look at the caller ID. “I have to take this call, it's important. Take a coffee break. I want everyone back in their seats in ten minutes.”

  Dylan, Tien, and David walked out of the conference room together. “I think this plan will work. It's brilliant,” Dylan said.

  “I agree, it is,” quipped Tien.

  “You know, it was Beck who developed the plan and pushed for it at Senior Command. It wasn't until our recent losses that Command finally came around to Beck's thinking,” David said.

  “It's because he knows so much of our history that makes him a great leader,” Tien added.

  “Let's hurry up or there won't be any coffee left,” Dylan said, while picking up his pace.

  The group of rebel leaders where back at their seats in under ten minutes. Dr. Beck looked at his watch before standing in front of the group and continuing to describe his plans. “As I stated, the use of Strike Teams is the means we'll use to carry out this plan. Field operation commanders will control three to five strike teams. These field commanders will never know the identities of the strike team leaders. And each Strike Team will never know the identity of their Operations commander. All communication channels, codes, passwords will be setup beforehand from our Central Command Centers. As usual, all agents will be hypnotized to cleanse memories before being assigned to the field.”

  Dr. Beck stopped speaking long enough to make sure his young officers were taking everything in. “Any questions?” he asked. Alisha, a tall, slim African-American woman near the back of the room spoke out, “Sounds pretty straightforward. Though, has the concept of assassination strike teams been tested in the field?” Beck smiled. “Excellent question, Alisha. Yes. I've been using strike teams for most of the past year. Analyzing whether one, two, or three individuals would be the most effective. We reached the conclusion that two individuals is best. Working in a buddy system, solving problems as they arise, watching each others back, and so on. Anyone else have a question?” he asked, looking around the room carefully. No one had anything to say.

  “Tien, I'm assigning you to be a senior Operations Commander. You'll take the post as soon as you're fit for duty. You deserve it, congratulations,” Beck said. Everyone in the room clapped, showing their support. Various people across the room spoke out offering Tien their congratulations. “Yes Sir. I'll do whatever it is you need of me,” she said. Dr. Beck looked genuinely pleased.

  “Alisha, you're also being promoted to Operations Commander,” Beck said. The room erupted once again in applause. Dr. Beck looked at Dylan. “Dylan, I'm assigning you to initially work with Tien as her technical specialist. I have a very interesting cover for the two of you. Which is why I went against my better judgment of assigning you to work together. But I think this will work.”

  “Yes Sir,” replied Dylan.

  “Everyone else, you'll be getting your command assignments during the next day or two. The command staff is just finishing up the work now. Any questions? Good. OK then. Attention!” Beck commanded. The young officers all rose to stand at attention. “You're dismissed,” he said, then went about collecting his papers from the conference room table.

  THIRTY SEVEN

  The next day, Thursday evening at quarter to six, Dylan stopped by the cafeteria to pick up a couple of sandwiches, chips, and soda's before heading over to the temporary living quarters in the east wing of the office building complex. The sandwiches weren't much of a dinner. But he learned to get use to eating them since they were served four nights a week.

  Dylan knocked on the hollow wooden door to Tien's makeshift apartment. Formerly an executive's office suite with large glass window facing the highway, blacked out for secrecy. Having an apartment was one the benefits of her recovery process. Nearly everyone else slept in cots setup inside office cubicle’s.

  Tien opened the door, a white fabric sling held her arm. “Alright, I'm starving,” she said, seeing the food. She stepped to the side, letting Dylan get past her, before closing the door behind them. “Al Jazeera should be on in a minute,” Dylan said, referring to the only remaining legitimate news organization in America. He walked over to the old, ragged couch in the corner of the room and put the food on top of the plastic crates used as the coffee table. The tiny fifty inch TV on the wall was already on, though the sound was nearly all the way down. Tien picked up the old fashioned remote control unit, turned to Al Jazeera, and increased the volume while she sat down next to Dylan.

  “Push over a little,” she said, trying to make room for herself so that her arm with the sling didn't push against the side of the couch. Dylan had already opened her diet root beer and was just opening the container for her sandwich. “Oh, sorry,” he said, just barely audible while pushing against his side of the couch. Tien leaned forward to grab her soda and turned her head towards Dylan. “Someday we're going to remember back when we use to sit in this old flea infested couch. In a room not much bigger than an actual closet.” Tien leaned back in the couch with her drink. “And we're going to laugh about it. We're going to tell stories about it for years to come. Each year remembering something different about our time here,” she said, all the while grinning at him with the silliest look on her face. “You're probably right,” Dylan said, before letting out a brief, acknowledging laugh.

  Silence ensued between them, each staring into the others eyes. Tien was first to break the pause. “I love you, you big geeky techo-nerd.” A full two seconds flew by before Dylan could respond. His tongue tied trying to find a witty comeback. “I love you, you brainy golden haired girl.” Tien was still dying her hair platinum blonde. She smirked at him with a wide grin, “Oh, that's a really great comeback. You're such a smooth talk'ah.” She leaned over to the coffee table and picked up her sandwich.

  It was getting near eight o'clock. Dylan was laying back in the couch. His stack of notes strewn about the couch and floor. His feet laying on top of the plastic crate coffee table. He had long given up studying for the night. Surfing the TV channels instead. “What a pain in the ass to have to keep pushing a button to find something you want to watch. I miss my home computer finding what I want for me. People in the old days had
it tough,” Dylan spoke in a hypnotic monotone while clicking through the television channels.

  Tien was in bed reading. Transfixed to the information in front of her. She didn't pay attention to what he was saying. “Really, that's nice,” she said. Not that she usually paid attention to any of his intentionally asinine statements.

  Tien had removed her sling, resting the sore arm on her stomach. Using that hand to prop up the paperwork she was reading for their upcoming assignment. They were given entirely new lives, new jobs, new identification, new social security numbers, a home, cars. Dr. Becks staff had created entire life stories for each of them; where they grew up, went to school, their fourth grade English teacher, their boyfriends and girlfriends in high school, what colleges they went to, what foods they like.

  Dylan got up from the couch and stretched. A mischievous expression crossed his face. He walked over to the side of the bed that Tien lay closest to. “I think you need a break. Come on, dance with me,” he said while gently tugging the manila folder with it's stack of papers out of her hands, then taking hold of her good hand to beckon her to stand up. Tien looked up into his eyes. She smiled. Pulling herself up from the bed to her feet. Dylan put his arms around her waist, she pulled him close. They danced in silence, in a slow whirling motion. He was careful not to touch her injured shoulder. “Ordinarily this is where I instruct the computer to play some soft jazz,” Dylan said, while tilting his head back slightly to get a better view of her face. “I bet you had lots of experience doing that,” she teased. “All the more experienced gained to do this.” Dylan tilted his head down and leaned forward in a slow deliberate motion to kiss her. Their eyes locked on one another. Dylan moved most of the way forward, stopping just shy of her. Allowing Tien to finish the motion by closing her eyes and extending her lips to meet his.

  They kissed passionately, until Dylan clumsily grabbed hold of her bad shoulder. Tien let out a screech, “Aaargh!” She took a step back. Her left hand reaching for her opposite shoulder. Her head crunched over to the right side.

  “Oh shit, I'm sorry. Come on, sit down Are you alright?” Dylan asked, while motioning her to the side of the bed.

  Tien sat down, Dylan sitting next to her. She lifted her head straight up to look at the ceiling, and began laughing hysterically. He gazed at her wide eyed, then began to smile. “This is just too funny,” she said, quieting her laugh. “Every time we go at it, something happens; aerial drones, car chases, a bullet. We've had the worst luck. What's a girl have to do to get laid around here.” She started laughing again.

  Dylan laughed. She was contagious and it was funny. “It might make a good story someday,” he said.

  “Yeah, we could write a book. Call it 'Insurgents In Love'.”

  They laughed together once more.

  As their laughter subsided, Dylan rubbed her back gently. “How's your arm feel now,” he asked. “Better. I think it just hurts when I strain it. Or extend it too much,” she replied. Dylan smiled at her, “Well, I think we'll just have to be very careful not to strain your arm then.”

  Dylan stood, gently reaching for Tien's good hand in a gesture for her to rise. She stood and faced him. “I love you so much,” he said. “I love you,” she responded. He looked into her eyes while he slowly undid the buttons to her blouse. Her arms remained by her side until the last button, where she helped him slide the shirt off, exposing her lacy red push up bra. A small bandage still covered her bullet wound. Dylan leaned over and kissed her neck passionately. His right hand caressing her breasts. She extended her neck skyward. Breathing heavily, she slowly unbuttoned his shirt with her good hand.

  THIRTY EIGHT

  It was a bright and cold morning. Hovering around twenty six degrees. Not unusually cold for late January. A light dusting of snow fell overnight. Covering the existing dirty snow already on the ground. The movers where finished delivering the last piece of furniture to the modest single family bungalow in the quiet neighborhood of West Newton, a nearby suburb of Boston.

  Dressed in winter coats and hats, Tien and Dylan took a break and stood together in front of their new home. A house bought and paid for by funds supplied by any number of foreign countries supporting the rebellion. They watched the workmen gather their moving blankets and dollies. Dylan's beard was mostly grown in. With dark rimmed eye glasses, it would be difficult for anyone to recognize him. Tien, on the other hand, was still recognizable. Her hair was now a short, stylized, golden brown. Whenever she left the house she covered her face with a pair of large eye glasses, the kind that were the latest fashion. Still, facial recognition computers could possibly pick her out of a crowd.

  “Good job you guys.” Dylan handed the delivery foreman a hundred and fifty dollars as a tip. “Thanks a lot. We really appreciate your hard work,” Tien added. “You're welcome, enjoy your new homes, folks,” the foreman said before heading off. Tien rubbed her gloved hands together, then snuggled up against Dylan. They stood watching the workmen jump into their truck and head off down the road. When the truck was finally out of sight, as if on queue, the pair turned and faced the front of their new house. Tien put her arm around him and leaned her head against his shoulder. He returned the gesture, putting his arm around her shoulder.

  Tien was the first to break the silence. “Do you think we'll ever experience this for real someday. Being married and buying a home together. Struggling to make the payments. Arguing over which paint colors to use. Doing all those thing that normal people do?”

  Dylan thought it over for a few seconds, searching for the right words to use. But he couldn't find any that would comfort her. “I don't know how to answer that Tien. We both know our personal longevity is measured in weeks or months, but not years.” Tien had been looking up at Dylan while he spoke. She did her best to hide her pain of the reality that he expressed. Tien's voice cracked slightly as she began speaking. “I know. Sometimes I think this nightmare will be over with quickly and we'll just start new lives together and we'll all be happy. But that's not going to happen. I know it. I have to keep reminding myself that we have to fight, to sacrifice so that our children will know what it is to grow up in freedom. It's our duty.”

  The couple stood in silence before their house for another minute before Tien took Dylan's hand. “Do you realize how incredibly lucky we are? We share a love that most people spend their entire lives without ever knowing is possible. And if we can have that even just for today, isn't that true happiness?” she asked. A tear formed in the corner of Dylan's eye. He was touched to the very core of his soul. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly. Tien reciprocated, placing her arms around his neck. When they finished, Dylan spoke first, “I'm alive because of you. What I mean.” Tien stopped him from speaking another syllable. “I know exactly what you mean,” She smiled up at him, “For the first time in my life I feel truly alive, as well.”

  The moment was interrupted by the next door neighbor. “Hello, there.” Tien and Dylan turned to see a heavy set, middle-aged, black woman approaching them carrying a brown paper shopping bag. “Hi, I'm Maggie Preston. I saw you out here and thought this might be a good time to stop by and welcome you to the neighborhood. This is for you,” she said, handing the paper bag over to Tien. “It's a quiche, with bacon. I figured you could use a homemade meal for lunch instead of going out for fast food.”

  “Thank you,” Tien and Dylan said in unison.

  Maggie went on, “My husband won't eat anything unless there's some kind of meat in it. So I figured I'd make something you'd both enjoy. I hope you're not vegetarians.”

  “That's so kind of you. No we're not vegetarians,” Dylan said, before starting in with their prepared response. “I'm Bill Hines. This here is my lovely wife Stephanie.” Tien piped in, “Everyone calls me Steph. Thanks again for the quiche. We'll have for it lunch. The stove is really the only thing we have at this point. The microwave is buried somewhere under a pile of boxes.”

  Maggie smiled with a grin from ear to ear.
She seemed like a genuinely warm person. “You're going to love this neighborhood. The people are great. Not a single nasty person. The Newton school system is the best, do you have children?” the middle-aged woman inquired. “No, but hopefully someday soon,” Tien responded. She continued the ruse. “We're from LA. Well, I should say we've lived in California for the past eight years. Bill grew up on the North Shore. I'm originally from New Jersey. And we're finally making the move back East for Bill's new job.”

  “Well, after you're settled down, in a few weeks, you'll have to come over for dinner. Meet my husband Walter. The kids are all grown and off at college. So, we always enjoy having company,” Maggie said. Dylan sensed the woman was about to engage them in a long conversation. “I think that's a great idea, Maggie. We'd love to have dinner with you and Walter. But, I don't mean to be hasty. But we really do have to get going. As you can imagine,” Dylan said as he lifted his hand towards the house.

  “Of course, I'm sorry. Well, it was nice meeting you. Good luck with everything,” Maggie said, as she walked away. “It was nice meeting you Maggie. And thanks again for the quiche,” Tien said.

  “Actually, I think it would have been a pleasant dinner. She seems like a really nice woman,” Dylan said, alluding to the fact that they will never sit down to dinner with Maggie and Walter. Their instructions where clear, it was important to meet the neighbors, appear friendly, and lay the foundation of their new identities. But at the same time they had to keep their distance to avoid exposing their deceptions. Any number of slip ups could occur at a friendly dinner date. They were taught it was always the smallest details that could trip them up and blow their cover