Anatomy of a Rebellion

Chapter 28

Loyal To The End

"Fire!"

The sudden volley of gun shots deafened Percy for a brief moment and brought him back to reality. His mind had been elsewhere; back to a time when he was just a boy in a town known more for its football team that its residents. He could recall the taste of his mother's chilled pasta, the sound of his father's radio, and the weight of the thick Pittsburgh air. He felt bad for drifting out at such an important event, but he was confident that Private Stiller would have just grinned and said, "Wouldn't have it any other way, Major Ray!" It was like a trademark slogan for the kid whenever he was asked to do something by Percy. It would be missed.

Why did I sit so close to the firing team? Percy asked himself. He was not too keen on funerals and tried to position himself somewhere away from the crying strangers who latched onto events such as these. "Firing party!" Wakeman's voice cried, "Present arms!" Percy dared to peek over at the Sergeant; his eyes were red rimmed, from either too much sorrow or not enough sleep.

The last few days had been a whirl wind. After arriving back in Union, the Company was forced to scramble together forged reports on the entire situation in Ozark. They had to explain why they were there and account for every possible moment they were away from their base. Jordan had quite possibly "whittled a medal with his pen," as moves to honor Percy and his men ripped through the government and media. They were ignored by the Easy Eight. Meanwhile, Sergeant Chen and his squad returned to Union. He received a long, expletive fueled rant from Percy, but a funeral had to be carried out. Private Stiller was killed in Ozark, and Chen had personally carried the corpse all the way back to Union. Contacting his family proved to be a hassle, and when they agreed to bury him at Union it created another logistic battle. Many times, the mental and emotional toll of preparing for a funeral was worse than attending one.

Military funerals were treated more like parades then services to the fallen. Some had claimed it was always like that, especially in America, but Percy wasn't too sure. Strangers flocked to the sound of taps; they would weep openly over the eulogy of a man they did not know, claim he was a hero, and then say "God Bless America!" before going about their way. Stiller had a funeral that was no different.

Patriotism as it was celebrated in America was generally a false love, Percy had long ago decided. It was proven in recent years. Millions of Americans rose their flags up high (or went and bought one immediately), recited the pledge, and sang the Star Spangled Banner as passionately as ever before. They talked about how things needed to change for the better, but regardless of how tough the drought was, how hungry they got, or how hopeless things seemed, they would always believe. Yet when they got up the next day, they went back into the same routine of being more concerned about celebrity gossip, the water cooler rumors at work, and how much more right they were compared to everyone else in the country. They were still divided and they were still far too arrogant and far too ignorant.

"I'm so sick of funerals," Wallace whispered. It was more to himself that anyone else, but it helped once again bring Percy back to the present. Othello had latched himself onto the Warrant Officer and tried to smile at his uncle. Percy had originally protested against having the seven year old attend, but Wallace had claimed, "David is out of town and Pierre is working. I have to take him with me." By the time taps faded, Percy realized the nave innocence of Othello was exactly what they needed.

"Firing party! Order arms!" Wakeman shouted, his voice just about to crack.

"How many more of these will we have to attend?" Wallace asked to no one in particular.

"None," Percy said. "And you have my word on it."

Wallace could only nod; it was a sign that he would do whatever was necessary to ensure Percy's promise was kept. Their conversation was halted by the arrival of Chiang Sun. Both Skipper's squad and that of Chiang Sun did not attend the funeral, partially because operations of the base could not halt entirely and partially due to the fact both squad leaders felt their presence was not necessary. To see the Chinese Sergeant meant that Percy was needed for something, otherwise no man would have the guts to interrupt a soldier's funeral.

However, he went to Wallace and said, "Mister Chevalier, I have O'Hara waiting for you."

"Excuse me, Major," Wallace said to Percy. "Give my regards to the family."

Wallace then followed Chiang Sun away from the festivities with Othello not far behind. Percy was also about to leave when a strong arm wrapped itself around his shoulders. He turned to see Specialist Thornhill of Wakeman's squad, who yelled, "Major! We're going to the tavern, you should come!"

"Yeah, you still owe us drinks!" another added.

"Give Major Raymond some room to breathe, guys," Wakeman said with a small laugh. "I don't think he can get shitfaced with the painkillers he's taking."

Thornhill removed himself from Percy as the groans of disapproval came from Wakeman's squad. Instead he turned and attached himself to Riane, who had been silent the entire funeral. "Why don't you come with us, Miss McDermott? We could use a pretty lady around who isn't a snob like the Captain, ya know!"

"Sure, that sounds like fun," she smiled.

Jordan smacked his forehead in disbelief as the hoots of approval came from the guys. "You should come, too, Jordan!" someone said.

"No thanks, guys. I'll pass this time," he said. He could only wave goodbye at the squad as they hauled Riane toward Tom's Tavern. Then he turned his attention to Percy and said, "We should go see what Wallace was pulled away for."

Jordan's desire for knowledge was the only reason Percy agreed to go along. He was otherwise not in the mood to bother with work. The temperature had dropped to frighteningly chill levels, which just made Percy wanted to hurry inside even more. Despite the cold, there was still no snow to show for it. It was likely Union would not see any precipitation for many more months.

This was all that Percy had on his mind when he arrived inside. He had been following Jordan mindlessly and was a bit surprised to find himself standing in front of his own office. The empty chairs at the desks of squad leaders were behind him, and the unusual silence made him a bit jumpier than normal. Before Jordan could even bother to knock on Percy's door, it flung open. Revealed to them was Mackenzie, ready to stomp away.

"Major," she angrily greeted. "Tell him this is ridiculous."

Percy, already irritated with the day's events, said, "I don't know who I'm saying that to or why. Why the hell are you all in my office?!"

Inside sat Huck, his hands zip tied; on guard stood Roo and Chiang Sun, while Barton and Wallace looked like scheming children in the corner. It was Huck who first spoke, "This is ridiculous! You have neither right nor authority to arrest me!"

It was directed at Wallace. The Warrant Officer responded, "I don't need any. You're suspected of attempted murder. As a member of the US Army, that's more than enough."

"I told you not to worry about this," Mackenzie seethed at Wallace. "Release him!"

"No."

"I am innocent until proven guilty in a court of law!" Huck continued to yell. He struggled against the rather tight zip ties that bounded him to the chair. "I demand a fair trial and to be judged by a group of my peers! You know nothing of rights!"

Wallace could only argue, "You have no form of identification on you. Therefore, you are not a US citizen and not legally protected by any of our rights."

"Your rights?" Huck cried. "Get out of here! Rights are not ordained to one specific country; they are not protected by law and I do not need any legal authority to grant them upon me! I am born with them as a member of the human race!"

"You are really are him, aren't you?" Mackenzie asked.

"Who the hell are you and why should I answer that question?" Huck spat.

"She is Mackenzie Ross, daughter of Congressman George Ross," Jordan answered.

Huck's expression betrayed all; he immediately felt his jaw drop and his eyes widen. His gaze dashed around everyone in the room, all of them armed and all of them mad. Fear gripped him. After years of analyzing the psychological state of society, he knew he was in a good position to wind up dead if Mackenzie was somehow still emotionally wounded. The struggle to remove himself from his bounds ceased; he had completely resigned himself to his situation.

Everyone expected a confession or an apology. Instead they got a man who merely clamped his mouth shut and kept his eyes focused on the floor. After silence stilled the air for a few long moments, he spoke. Through clenched teeth he said, "I'm not some kind of neo-Unabomber. My beliefs are radical to some, I admit, but I would never attempt to kill someone. Especially not him." Finally he looked up, specifically at Mackenzie. He could tell that she was doing her best to remain calm; her red face, tight lips, squinted eyes and deliberate breathing were proof of that.

"Are you trying to say you didn't do it?" Wallace questioned. He sounded like a bad cop on a poorly written TV drama. "As a professor at Harvard you told your students that institutionalized education was a waste of time and money. You preached to them that civilization as a whole needed to be destroyed and reborn. You taught violence. Isn't that true? Before you were even a professor there you were a student, and your thesis on natural law made claims that the only way to rescue society from its current downward spiral was a complete overhaul of humanity. You are a radical."

"A radical, yes! I am! But I am not a terrorist!" Huck argued. "Miss Ross you must believe me when I say that I am not who the news claims I am!"

"If you are innocent, why didn't you just turn yourself in?" Wallace continued to press.

"Are you nuts?" Huck gasped. "The media has already labeled me guilty. In this country, I'm as good as dead." Again he focused his attention on Mackenzie; he turned so violently in his chair that it nearly toppled over. Struggling against the zip ties, he claimed, "Your father was an inspiration to me! I turned to political theory and natural law because of his influence! Why would I want to kill the man that I helped campaign for?"

"Because you are a psychopath," Wallace dared to say.

"Do not categorize me that way," Huck said. He had lived his adult life enduring attacks from those who did not know him; anymore would surely drive him insane. "I'm just a hillbilly from West Virginia. I left it all behind: the simple life, the easy days, and that stupid name. I didn't realize that my beliefs would land me so many enemies."

Mackenzie believed him. It was obvious that the man before them was indeed the Casper Anderson in her report; he was, without a doubt, the young professor at Harvard that appealed for a revolution. Yet he was not the one who tried to kill her father. For how many years had this man been running from a guilty verdict that he did not deserve, one that was handed down by the media rather than the courts? To him, she could only say, "It isn't fair that you've had to live your life in hiding. My father would be furious if he knew."

"Thank you," Huck smiled.

"Well I don't believe it," Wallace said. "You are just another smooth talker, like that friend of yours."

"Jay, tell them the truth," Huck pleaded to Jordan. The reporter shifted at the sound of the nickname.

Percy grew weary of standing. He moved past everyone and took a seat behind his desk. He then removed his cap and set it down; his energy was restored immediately. He pointed to Huck and ordered, "Get that man out of here and let him go. I have no use for him. In fact, I want all of you out of here except you and you."

The two that he pointed at were Wallace and Mackenzie. They stood motionless while Barton, Chiang Sun and Roo eased Huck out of his cuffs and out of the office. Jordan shifted to the corner but refused to leave. Percy paid him no mind. When the door closed, a thick, awkward silence filled the room. Wallace felt himself sweat in nervousness, an act he had never done in front of Percy before.

"We had to bury a good man today," Percy solemnly reminded them. "Out there in the frozen dirt is a casket with a good man in it. God dammit, Wallace what are you doing? Why the hell would you think today of all days would be the time to confront anyone?"

Wallace shifted his stance yet said nothing. Rarely did Percy ever call him by his first name. After he managed to clear his dry throat, he said, "I apologize, Major."

It was quiet again. Mackenzie remained still. Percy addressed her next. "How is morale in the Company?" he inquired.

"Surprisingly high," she said. "Everyone is wondering what your next move will be, Major."

There was no chance to answer as a loud "thud" against the window of his office broke everyone's attention. Othello, alone and bored outside Percy's office, smashed his face against the glass and made funny faces. It forced Percy to think for a moment.

"Christmas is soon," he said. His eyes were still on the boy outside. "I want everyone to enjoy it."

Othello's face was joined by another. This time, it was a pilot, his tongue out and it licked the dirty glass. The gesture got a laugh from Othello only; the adults were not as amused. Before he detached himself from the window his comrades swung open the door to Percy's office without offering a single knock. The first in was Wilson; his bangs has been trimmed and his hair cut into a neat buzz cut. He carried with him a single piece of paper, which was slammed onto Percy's desk. Behind him, Rawlings entered, offered an apology for their intrusion, and then stayed near the door. Conroy finally pulled himself away and entered the office.

He greeted loudly, "Good Evening, Major, Chief, Mr. Attaway, and hello lovely Captain!" This was the first time anyone had seen him in civilian clothes. He looked so unbelievably American with his white tennis shoes, faded jeans, pea coat and t-shirt. Rawlings and Wilson were similarly dressed, with the only marking of their profession the "US NAVY" wind jacket that Rawlings wore. The Sea Dogs had a reputation that they were as destructive and arrogant as the Easy Eight; it was interesting to see the real them, not guarded by uniforms and medals.

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you have returned to the Sable?" Percy vehemently asked. He ignored the paper.

Conroy answered with a toothy grin. "I already told you, Major. We were told to stay here. That there paper is the official transfer of my unit to the Union base. Or whatever the hell this dry shithole is called. You're stuck with us, Major Raymond!"

"s**t," he cursed under his breath. After a loud sigh, he said, "I have no use for three worthless planes and their pilots. We don't even have runways, aside from the ones owned by farmers for their crop dusters."

Wilson laughed, "This isn't the twentieth century, Major. Our planes can take off vertically."

"I have no crew or supplies," Percy continued to argue.

"I'm transferring my men right now. Supplies will be taken care of by Admiral Palko of the Navy." Conroy assured him.

"I feel like you requested this transfer," Percy frowned.

Conroy's grin grew, "A dog is loyal to the end. We never forget."