Uprising

by Chris Harris

  They did not consider themselves revolutionaries or traitors, quite the opposite. They felt they were the true American patriots, ready to defend their rights and homes to protect the America they thought it should be. Once they had paid their taxes and obeyed the reasonable laws of life, they should be left alone to pursue the American dream of democracy, rights, liberty, opportunity, and equality.

  They’d always thought that one day it would be the corrupt government who sought to take away their God-given rights as American citizens, and they would be called to fight. The shock that it was foreign invaders who had nuked their cities and wanted to take everything away from them, took them some time to rationalize and alter their outlook on what they had joined the militia for.

  Their numbers swelled as more joined. Ordinary citizens who would never have countenanced being part of any fringe militia decided to load their guns, pack everything they could into their vehicles, and take their families to seek out the militias that were rumored to be gathering in the mountains.

  What to do next was the only thing they disagreed on. Some wanted to vent their anger immediately, searching out and killing the invaders who were taking control of innumerable cities, towns, and villages under the guise of their humanitarian effort.

  Others, those with more strategic military knowledge, urged caution knowing organization was the key to success. The cooler heads prevailed, persuading everyone that first they needed to secure their position and then they could observe and plan the best way to fight back.

  Lookout posts and bunkers that covered every approach to the wilderness they now called home were constructed. Roads were blocked, or charges were set on trees and hillsides so that a press of a button would make them impassable.

  Many had served and understood that ‘defense in depth,’ meaning not just a single layer of lookout posts and bunkers, would be essential. Overlapping fields of fire were created and every road or trail had a system of fallback positions in case they were in danger of being overrun.

  Training in basic tactics and fire discipline was given to the new arrivals if they had no military experience. The militia met regularly and trained for a whole host of scenarios, so they tried to impart as much of the wisdom and experience they had gathered over the years on the new arrivals as quickly as possible.

  Working everyone hard each day, the work progressed rapidly, until they deemed that even with their limited numbers and the weapons they had (most legal, some not so that were brought out from storage now that fear of Federal interference had disappeared) they would be able to defend and repel an attack by a far stronger force.

  Escape routes were mapped and planned, just in case, to take them deeper into the wilderness if any attack against them looked likely to succeed. When the work was deemed acceptable by the leadership they began to look outwards again.

  Intermittent contact had been made with other militias around the country via ham radio. Comfort was taken from the fact that other groups were all doing much the same. Often distrustful of other groups, the transmission, asking for leaders of the various militias up and down the Appalachian range to meet for a war council, was initially met with suspicion.

  As far as they knew it could be a trap set up by the invaders to cut the heads off the groups that their intelligence must know were gathering. Only after more conversations and information exchanges did they satisfy themselves that the request was valid.

  Leland had arrived in Kentucky whilst all the preparation work was being undertaken. He was known to most of the leaders, some just by reputation, and had served with others, so his acceptance into the inner circle was quick and smooth.

  He did not stop or deny the rumors that he had been involved in a far more secretive group of patriots, but instead used it to build his reputation. He and Cobb had quietly discussed what they would and would not say so no holes could be found in their cover story of why they had been in New York when the attacks began. They simply said they were in New York to meet up with arms dealers who had a pipeline to access weaponry currently unavailable to them.

  News of the terrorist attacks in New York had never been linked to any American group and was all blamed as a Chinese diversion wholly created by them. It was the truth after all; they just failed to omit the part the Movement played in allowing it to happen.

  Leland was asked if he wanted to be one of the small group of leaders to go to the Holly River Base. He refused, claiming his time would be better spent training the militia. Knowing there was going to be government leaders and current serving members of the military there, who may have more information on him than he knew, it was a risk he was not prepared to take. Accepting his reasoning he was given command of the militia whilst the others left in ATVs and pickups loaded with fuel and supplies, using the myriad of tracks and trails that wound through the mountains to reach Holly River.

  Leland, along with most of the community, gathered to watch them leave. Everyone had a sense of anticipation. They felt strong and united, invincible in the stronghold they had created; ready to take the fight to the enemy. Leland knew the reality of what was to come would be far more brutal and terrifying than those that had not experienced combat realized. He was ready though. It was time to start doing what he enjoyed most.

  Killing.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Two

  Troy cautiously approached Caldwell using the same route he had before. The road was clear, so they risked travelling closer. Hiding and camouflaging the trucks in a dense copse of woods not far from the road, he and his men set out on foot to cover the last few miles. Silently and stealthily, they worked their way into a position that gave a good view of the town. They worked in pairs, each one taking their turn to adopt a position of cover and raise their weapon as the other moved. They leapfrogged one another in a silent display of perfectly trained infantry troops which showed Gardner that he had less work than he anticipated to make the rag-tag unit a cohesive one.

  At first glance everything looked normal. It was only when he studied the town through his binoculars that the true picture emerged. The only vehicles on the streets were military. Even though they were American vehicles the soldiers manning the machine guns on them certainly weren’t; their uniforms showed they were Chinese. Trained to lie unmoving, they observed, making mental notes to write down later, building up a picture of what was going on.

  The patrols were in strength; multiple vehicles drove in convoys around the area, all armored and all with a full complement of soldiers inside. Never deviating from a set route, they were only patrolling the immediate area around the base. It was a defensive posture, not going out looking for trouble, but maintaining a small perimeter to stop any threats getting close.

  The base was bustling with activity. Forklift trucks and heavy machinery were raising and thickening the walls made of earth-filled gabions that surrounded the base. Large sandbagged emplacements were being built inside the compound by soldiers who were clearly working fast and with purpose. Motionless, Troy lay still for hours calculating the enemy forces and disposition until his sergeant, who was by his side, nudged him and directed his attention to the edge of the town.

  He kept his binoculars pointing in the indicated direction until he saw two men appear from the side of a building, crouching low, from where his sergeant had spotted them hiding. They were cautiously making their way into town.

  Troy knew with inevitability what was going to happen. The Chinese patrols stuck to a regular pattern and timing. He glanced at his watch knowing what the answer was going to be. The next patrol would appear behind them in the next two minutes. The wide-open street would give them very few options if caught in the open to escape. He could do nothing but watch. He was too far away to shout, and if he fired his weapon as a warning it would give their position away.

  Willing them to hide, he was staring at them so hard, it was like he was trying to send them a telepathic message. But it was too late. With dreaded fasciation
he watched as the first of the patrol vehicles rounded the corner behind them. Too late they noticed it and were caught in the open.

  He watched the shock on their faces as they desperately looked around for a means of escape. Finding nowhere close, they turned and ran. He decreased the magnification on his binoculars, so he could see both the men and the Humvee with a soldier manning the fifty cal. The vehicle sped up, rapidly closing the gap between them. He was just beginning to think that they wanted to capture or question them when the soldier on the machine gun opened fire. The two fleeing men stood no chance against heavy bullets fired at such close range and their mutilated corpses fell to the road.

  It took a few seconds for the heavy booming sound of the gun firing to reach them.

  The sound of multiple guns firing made him snap back to look at the base. Every gun emplacement on the walls was pouring fire indiscriminately into the surrounding area until eventually it petered out and stopped.

  They are on edge and expecting attack, thought Troy as he lay there. The locals, if there are any alive, are on a strict curfew. Those two men were shot without any attempt to stop and question them. If the rest of the Chinese forces are acting this way, sheltering in their bases and not controlling the area, then we need to press the advantage and do our best to keep them bottled up where they can do no more harm.

  Troy had seen enough, it was time to investigate the camp they were meant to liberate. He gave a few hand signals and he and his sergeant slid back from their position and joined the men who were scattered in a defensive position around his location.

  Toby sat on the dirt next to Harris, who had positioned himself on the bottom rung of the rough ladder they had used to scale the fence. He wanted to discourage any who wanted to break out before their scouts reported back. Toby had been telling Harris how he wanted to try and get back to his uncle in California as he was the only family he had.

  “Toby, do you know how far California is? It’s gotta be a thousand miles at least from here. Face it, dude, there is no way we are going to get there on our own.”

  Toby looked at Harris with a grin on his face. “Did you just say ‘we’?”

  Harris was a little shocked himself to realize he had. He had grown to like the young man who, at first, he had thought was weak and annoying. After caring for him after the beating he had taken when they were first captured he had continued to assume the role as his protector in the camp. Harris had never been close to anyone since leaving the army and taking the job as a security officer. Always the solitary individual, even as an only child to elderly parents who died in a car accident when he was in Afghanistan. The army had given him the only feeling of camaraderie he ever had.

  Two tours in Afghanistan, though, were enough for him and he handed in his papers and retreated into the solitary life he led now. That was until Toby and Marissa entered his bunker and his life. He assumed the role of protector and if not a father figure, then a big brother.

  He replied, “You don’t expect me to trust you to get there all on your own, do you? I think you would find it hard to find your way out of an open door in a ten-foot by ten-foot room on a sunny day.”

  Toby was still smiling at him. “Ah, come on, big man. What you meant to say is that you’d miss my wit, charm, and natural good looks.”

  Harris looked at him. “And that, Toby, is why I thought you were an irritating little dumbass when I first met you. If I were you, I’d shut up before I change my mind.”

  He turned around and looked down the road in the direction the two scouts had gone. “Come on guys, where are you?” he complained softly to the air in general. “If we don’t get out of here and get some food, and more importantly water, then most of us are going to be too weak to make it.”

  They both sunk into silence as they stared down the road. Toby eventually leaned up against the ladder next to Harris and slipped into a fitful sleep. Harris stayed alert, one eye on the road and one eye on Toby.

  The not so distant burst of firing followed by the crescendo of many more guns joining in roused the whole camp from the stupor they had sunk in to and created mass panic. Harris, this time, could not stop the crowd as they surged the ladder. They pushed him aside, knocking him to the floor as they fought each other in their desperation to escape.

  They both tried to plead with them, but reason had gone out of their panic-filled minds. Fearful of Toby getting crushed, Harris placed a protective arm around his shoulder for support and pushed his way out of the throng. Both stood watching as the camp emptied itself and scattered in all directions.

  Toby stood swaying next to Harris in the empty yard watching the last man run wildly down the road. He would have stumbled and fallen if his large friend had not placed an arm around his shoulder. They said nothing for five minutes.

  Toby looked around. “What do we do now?”

  “We wait. That firing came from the direction of the town. Those idiots could have waited until we had a better idea of what direction to head in. If there is any more firing, it’ll probably be aimed at them. We work out where it came from and go in the opposite direction.”

  They turned and sat in the shade of one of the roughly built structures in the camp. Toby drifted off again, the adrenaline rush of trying to stop the others escaping wearing off and leaving his body the exhausted, malnourished shell it had become.

  Harris caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. Three figures in camouflage appeared from the undergrowth and, staying low with their weapons held ready, ran toward the gate.

  Harris nudged Toby awake and helped him to his feet. “What’s the matter? Toby muttered weakly.

  Harris was smiling. He knew the soldiers approaching were elite troops just by the way they moved and how they dressed. When he was in Afghanistan he had come across special forces soldiers several times. They exuded that aura of calm and quiet competence that as a young man thrust into the terror and chaos of a war zone for the first time, he could only one day hope to achieve half as well.

  “The cavalry has arrived, my friend, the cavalry has arrived.”

  They both slowly walked toward the gate. One of the soldiers pointed his weapon toward them. Harris raised his arm in the universal sign of welcome, and the soldier lowered his weapon a fraction but still kept it aimed at them. The other soldier was watching the back of the third who was fiddling with the padlock. Once he succeeded, he unwound the chain and lifted the locking bar from its brackets, throwing it aside. The three slid through the gap in the gate and with their weapons still searching for threats, approached the two lone inmates.

  One of them spoke. “Where is everyone?”

  Harris looked at him. He could tell he was the one in charge. “It’s, err, it’s just us,” he admitted hesitantly. “They didn’t wait for the scouts I had sent out to come back; they all panicked when the firing started half an hour ago and rushed the fence.”

  Troy looked at the roughly built ladder made of pieces of wood tied together with blankets. “You built that?”

  “Yeah. When the Chinese pulled out yesterday we needed a way out of the camp, so I got everyone together and built it. I sent a few locals over the fence to scout the area to identify the best route for us to get out of here if we needed to. Then all that firing started and they all panicked. I tried to stop them but there was nothing I could do; they rushed the ladder and virtually climbed over each other to escape.”

  “Why didn’t you two go too?” Gardner asked.

  “Well,” Harris said, suddenly worried that he had done the wrong thing, “I decided to see if any more firing started and then we’d head in the other direction.”

  Toby’s legs could not support him anymore and he collapsed onto the ground beside Harris. More of Gardner’s men had appeared from the bush and were, without any commands, setting up a perimeter around him.

  Troy crouched down beside Toby. “Is he alright?”

  “Not really, buddy. We have been together since all this
shit began. He’s still recovering from a beating he received when we got caught and he tried to protect a friend who was travelling with us,” he explained. “I’m getting worried about him, he has been struggling to eat and is getting weaker and weaker. An English guy who was working in the camp gave him some peanut butter a few days ago and that made a difference for a short time.”

  Troy interrupted. “You met Cal?”

  Harris looked confused. “Who?”

  “The British dude? He was sent in by us to fetch some intel out of the camp. We were all set to liberate you and the other camps around here yesterday but got called off at the last minute. I requested we come back today to observe and gather more intel for when we get the go to liberate them.”

  He looked around and shrugged. “Guess we’re too late now.”

  The sound of firing coming from the direction of town stopped any further conversation. It built up and the booms of explosions shook the air. Troy waved toward the sounds.

  “The Chinese are hunkered down in their base and working hard to improve the defenses,” he explained. “The firing you heard was them killing two men we observed entering the town. They are so nervous the whole camp began firing in all directions as soon as the first shots were fired. I’m sorry to say they were probably the scouts you sent out, and if others from the camp went that way then I imagine it’s them who they are firing at now. It does answer your question though as to which way to go. Anywhere but toward town is my recommendation.”

  “Okay,” Harris said with a knitted brow. “Err, mind if I ask who the hell you guys are?”

  “Sorry,” Gardner said as he extended a gloved hand, “Troy Gardner, Captain US Combined Applications Group.” He saw the confused look on Harris’ face deepen. “Special Forces,” he added, seeing the dawn of realization wash over him.

  The firing continued for a time then slowly diminished. Troy knew the unarmed civilians would have stood no chance and been slaughtered in the face of the firepower the Chinese had. Outwardly calm, internally he was seething with rage. The mission to liberate the camps had been cancelled and now the blood of innocent civilians was on his hands. He stood silently staring in the direction of the town and the massacre he knew would have taken place there.