Patriots & Tyrants (Rebels & Lies Trilogy Book 2)

by Cotton, Brian

  “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. X’s gun still aimed at his head. “I was in disguise and your son jumped in front of you.”

  The realization hit Sullivan like a runaway freight train. 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 make shift 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 metal post 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.”

&n
bsp; “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. It was always the same image. 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 just went on about his son, who would be fighting in this mission, about how he was anxious to kick some ass. Harvey half paid attention, and that half was cut even more the longer it went on. Winston just kept talking. Like one of those people that released tension by hearing their own voice.

  There was so much going on in Harvey’s mind at the moment that nothing anyone else was talking about mattered. Not even his new friend. 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 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 in the old days. There was a mixture of Hooah’s, Semper Fi’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 USR came into power. We’re going to give them their first real ass kicking.”

  That comment reeved 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 faded in on the screen.

  “This is our target,” Sanders said just as the image went onto the screen. “Notice all the pieces of the White House, the old Capitol building, everything that represented the American government is all 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 draw the enemy’s fire in front, after they surrounded the battlefield with their tanks, military vehicles, Jeeps, whatever they had in their arsenal.

  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. He made a motion with his right hand for Harvey to sit back down. “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.”