Anatomy of a Rebellion

Chapter 15

Sunrise

Church call never sounded haunting to Percy before. It was such a simple bugle tune that beckoned him more than hurt him. Yet when one of Patterson's men began to play it with much emotion outside of Warren's church, it felt like a punch to the gut. The Private had begun by assembling the squad leaders by bellowing out "Fall In;" such an outdated form of communication almost went over the heads of Chiang Sun and Skipper. The call continued until the Major arrived at the barracks.

The Private stopped and offered a salute. Once the salute was returned, the Private asked, "Major, if you don't mind me asking, where is Sergeant Patterson? He hasn't arrived yet."

That was when Percy first informed another of Sergeant Patterson's death. It slipped out effortlessly, but he hurried away after the words left his lips. The bugle player remained silent for a solid minute before he picked up the instrument and played again. He played Last Post and hadn't quit since then. Others in the camp knew what the cycle meant.

Inside the church, the squad leaders appeared so relaxed in their dress. Most had been roused from bed and didn't bother with uniform regulations. Their boots were untied, their shirts were not tucked and not buttoned, their hats were backwards if on at all, and they lounged lazily. Percy informed them of the incident with a stable and calm voice.

No one reacted loudly to the news. Percy saw his squad leaders hang their heads in contemplation. Even Chiang Sun and Skipper reacted; it wasn't because they were particularly close to Patterson, but rather out of the understanding of what it means to lose a comrade. The atmosphere changed from that of ease to a thick, hanging mist of depression and sorrow. Something caught in Percy's throat; a small noise emitted that was heard only by Goldwin.

"Why?" Wakeman asked. His voice was shaky. Attention was focused on him. They saw his nose twitch and his eyes tear up. His face got red as he tried to prevent himself from crying. He told himself he couldn't cry. "What did he do? Jimmy is the most docile man I've ever met. Why did they kill him?"

Percy cleared his throat to ensure his voice would come out steady. "They didn't mean to."

A loud THUD echoed throughout the church. Everyone now focused on source of the noise: Chen. He had slammed his fist down as hard as he could against the pew in front of him. "Why… why do we do this?" he stuttered out. He didn't bother hiding the tears that had fallen. His unfocused vision sat solely on the pew he struck. "Why do we fight? And Die? They repaid Patterson's service by killing him? I don't understand this country!"

The sudden shout hit every soldier directly in the heart. Alone it multiplied the confusion and pain they all felt. Again the only noise to accompany them was the bugle, which faded into another call. They were interrupted briefly by the sound of the doors opening. Only Skipper and Percy bothered to see who entered. Outside, they caught a small glimpse of Jordan and Riane, who poked their heads inside but did not intrude.

The one who did step foot inside was the Minister. Warren looked like a Chaplain ready to perform service, dressed in a neat button up shirt and slacks. His collar shone like a beacon around his neck. For a moment he stood and observed in order to get a good feel for the group. Such a sight had been seen by his eyes too many times, and he knew exactly what had happened. Swiftly, he approached Percy at the front.

"Chaplain," Percy breathed out. It hurt him to speak, but the sight of his friend relieved him. "Sorry about using your church."

"His church is always open to His children. It is unlocked for a reason," Warren said.

"Of course," Percy nodded. He watched as Warren sat down on an unoccupied chair off to the side. The elder crossed his legs and arms. He was there to offer support only if it was asked of him. The presence of him alone gave Percy the strength to issue orders. He took a deep breath in and said, "I will be informing Patterson's family of his passing soon. The Captain will have a bit of R&R. I will not be requesting a new Sergeant or promoting anyone. Patterson's men will be placed under Mister Chevalier."

Wallace heard his name but didn't react immediately. Inside, he was battling between the joy of being in command again and the sorrow of losing Patterson. Outside, he remained emotionless. His face was upturned and strained but unmoving. To him, it felt as though he pulled Patterson's men right out of his dead hands. It was like theft. He knew Percy wanted to hear him say something in acknowledgement, but nothing came out of his mouth.

They were interrupted again. It was when the bugle abruptly halted and true silence entered. Their ears perked up at the awkward cutoff point. Again the church doors opened. This time, Jordan stepped foot inside. It was on accident, however. He was backpedaling; a very irate deputy pushed him backwards.

The scene grabbed everyone's attention. Eventually, Jordan simply sidestepped. The deputy's name was Tuggle. Everything was clearly written on Tuggle's face; his red cheeks were puffed out as he tried his best not to explode in his rage.

"What the hell is with the noise, Major?!" he yelled. "It's two in the morning; you can't have a kid playing trumpet at that time! Ever since you got here, your Company has made noise every damn night. I'm sick of it!"

The squad leaders sans Skipper and Chiang Sun began to stand. Fortunately, Warren quickly intervened. Within seconds he was in front of the deputy. He said, "I did not give you permission to enter my church. Present a warrant or please leave."

Confused, Tuggle blurted, "A warrant?"

"Yes," Warren said. "This is private property. Unless you have my permission or a warrant issued by a judge, I'm afraid you are trespassing. I will kindly ask you once to leave."

Tuggled sputtered, "I am a deputy of the law! I don't need your permission to step foot inside a church. Especially when you're breaking the law!" He reached inside his pocket and produced a small computer. "But just to humor you, I'll get a warrant in fifteen seconds. I'll see to it this entire group is arrested and your church is brought down!"

As he prodded away at his computer, Percy rushed over. He swiped the device out of Tuggle's hands and threw it against the church's ground. It bounced once and didn't seem damaged. Percy lifted his heel and dug his boot onto the screen, which effectively broke it. The rage Tuggle felt multiplied. He grabbed Percy by his collar and shook him. Somehow, the Major was able to produce a grim of amusement.

Percy said. "Oh, look. It seems an accident occurred and now your computer is damaged. Guess you can't get that warrant."

"Damn you, Major!"

The grin on Percy's face was gone in an instant. "Put me down, deputy, or I'll have my squad leaders remove your hands," he threatened. Not one to test the odds, Tuggle let go of Percy's uniform. Once free, he casually swiped away any imaginary dirt on his uniform and straightened it. He said, "You get out of here before I have you escorted out. You do not want to piss me off!"

Tuggle backed down. He casted a glance across the church to see several very emotional soldiers glaring back at him. He awkwardly took a step back before he turned to leave. Somehow, he managed to regain some of his fire; he stopped, turned and pointed a finger at Percy. He said, "The Sheriff will hear about this. And I'll be sure to see that this church is shut down immediately!"

They watched as he stomped out of the church in a huff. He never bothered to close the door and was out of sight in a flat hurry. The quiet lasted only a few seconds before it was divided by Skipper's roaring laughter.

"Did you see the look on that bastard's face?" he asked.

Percy let out a loud sigh. He said, "You guys are dismissed."

The sound of his soldiers standing and shuffling out deafened any other noise. As they passed, they slapped his shoulder – a sign of respect they opted to use rather than salute. One by one he watched them leave, until not a single footstep was heard. In front of him, he saw Jordan and Riane flipping through their photos while Skipper and Chiang Sun remained seated. Behind him, he could feel the presence of Warren and Wallace.

"Will you be alright, Percival?" Warren asked.

It was ignored. He ordered, "Wallace, I want a patrol team. A group of four, led by a Corporal or higher, that will patrol Union from sunset to sunrise. Every day. Make sure that every soldier knows to travel in groups of three, all armed."

"Of course, Major," Wallace answered. Truth was he was very nervous about such a routine, because he didn't want to scare his hometown. Would such a patrol really make them feel more welcomed? Yet he had no energy to argue and certainly wasn't in the mindset.

"Being betrayed sucks," Skipper said. His comment was greeted by a single nod from Chiang Sun. "I know you don't see it this way, since you're not a cynic like I am, but the people backstabbed your Sergeant. Just give me your word and I promise I'll find every fuckin' termite in this town and break their ass."

"I'll have to request you refrain from using such language inside my church," Warren said.

"Regardless of his language and lack of tact, the Sergeant is correct," Chiang Sun said. "How long must one allow betrayal to happen? It occurs in many forms and it's evident that your team has suffered from it. Eventually, you will have to destroy the root of the betrayal."

"Please do not talk of murder in my church," Warren groaned.

"I didn't say murder. But perhaps, revolution. Not of the government, but of society. On an individual to individual scale."

Wallace raised an eyebrow as he tried to imagine something like that. He ended up shrugging and proclaiming, "I don't know anything about that. That's too complicated for a farm boy like me." He let out a sigh, signaling his frustration. "Besides, at this point in time, I don't think I can take sides. I mean… we know what happened but I just can't – I can't turn against my town. I'm sorry."

Percy's face twisted. He looked confused and offended. "When did I tell you to 'turn against' Union?" he asked. "I am an officer of the United States Army. I would never allow violence against an American town. However, protection of you guys is my most important duty. For this reason I ask for the patrol team. That is the only action I will take in light of this incident. Honestly, shouting at the deputy was just a show."

He twisted and began walking towards the pulpit. There rested Patterson's hat, stained in blood, which had been taken from his body before the authorities arrived. For whatever reason, the hat had always held special meaning in Percy's Company. Perhaps because it was worn as a crown, a symbol of excellence and courage that his soldiers exhibited. Holding it felt a little unreal. Soon, he would have to hand it over to Patterson's wife.

Percy looked through the open church doors and realized the sun was about to rise. How quickly the early morning had gone by. He said, "Wallace, get into dress uniform. We'll be walking to the apartments soon."

"I will come with you," Warren said.

Jordan shoved his hands into his pockets and said, "I think I'll be going home. I have a lot of material to look over tomorrow. I need to get some sleep." He was halfway turned around and ready to wave when he noticed Riane staring at him. He knew that look – she was furious he was walking away from a perfect opportunity to get a good, emotional photo that they could sell. His hand, which was chest high for the wave, went towards his neck awkwardly. As he pretended to scratch, he said, "You can go with them. Well, see you guys."

So Jordan walked home alone, back to the hotel room he had stayed at for months now. Why didn't he just buy a house? He asked himself that regularly but knew the answer: this was not his home. His home was in New Jersey. There he had a house, a family, a routine he could go back to whenever he pleased. Yet for some reason he ran back to his solitude every time. The best excuse he had was, "I have to finish my work. If I don't, we won't have any money." It was a lie and everyone knew it.

From the time he got to his hotel room until the time Riane returned, he sat in front of his computer. For whatever reason, he couldn't sleep. He felt anxious and depressed. The mixed feelings gave him a stomach ache. In an attempt to fall asleep, he began to browse over the ridiculous amount of data he had. All of the photographs and video he had ever shot was waiting to be viewed. His intent was to create a documentary or perhaps a memoir, anything to make it look like he had a job.

Eventually his eyes began to burn a little, but they still refused to close. Now his mind was moving faster than it had before. All of the memories he had collected since he became a journalist rushed back. This wasn't unusual and it was very bothersome. Still, he didn't turn away from the screen until he heard the door close.

He didn't bother to turn around. Instead, he leaned back until his head was over the back of the chair. The world was upside down, but in the darkness it looked all the same. Riane stood at the entryway and gave him a puzzled look. "What are you doing up still?" she asked.

"Hmm," he hummed, feigning thought. "Couldn't sleep, really. I miss my wife." Cautiously he tried to gauge her reaction; she didn't even flinch. He whipped his head forward and sat up properly. Expertly he spun around on the computer chair. With his legs and arms crossed, he looked like a guru meditating upon a mountain top. His eyes were closed, his brows furrowed as he thought. "That picture you took of the bugle player was excellent. I think you should sell it."

"Have you been looking through our stuff?" she asked.

One eye opened when he answered, "Yeah. I want you to look at something."

He spun back around to face the computer. In turn she moved up to the computer and gazed over his shoulder. The screen had been paused in the middle of a video Jordan had shot; the time and date stamp placed it at about three years ago. She said, "Why are you looking at something this old?"

He ignored her question and instead explained, "This was the first video I took as a war correspondent. At least, the first I bothered to save. That man there," he pointed to a Private First Class just to the right of the frame. His back was facing the camera. "This is the last record of his face."

He clicked play. The sound blared out of the speakers and gave Riane a bit of a jump. The explosions, the gunfire, the shouting… it all sounded muffled and strained when recorded. It could not properly illustrate the chaos. The shaking camera, which dived and swirled about, was barely able to keep up with all the movement. The only sound she could hear was the Private shouting, "We've been compromised! I repeat! Our position has been compromised!"

Jordan's heavy breathing over the tape nearly drowned out the squawk over the Private's radio. It was Wallace, who said, "s**t, s**t! We need backup! My squad's been divided! A whole damn street!"

"Get down!" the Private ordered. He turned his body towards the camera and for a split second she could see his face. It was covered with so much sweat, which had collected and held onto every particle in the air. Blood mixed with the mud to create a paste that he wore almost like a battle mask. Even though his voice was shouting, his face looked so calm and peaceful. He was under control.

Then, it was gone. A bullet tore right through the side of his head and sent Jordan ducking. He paused the video. The sight of the Private's body slumping down remained on his screen.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. He said, "I stayed there until the raid was over. The rest of the tape is just me screaming and sobbing like a baby. That man's name was Nickel J. Douglas, Private First Class. He was nineteen years old when he died. I am alive today because he used himself as a shield to protect me. I feel as though I owe them something. I feel like I owe every man that wears Percy's patch a part of me. These men are greater than any others that walk the Earth.

"I've never released this video. I realize that most Americans are desensitized. Something like this video, there just isn't gore and barrels of blood. It's tame to them. They don't understand that this was a real man, with a wife and a family. They don't understand a life was lost that day. They can't make the connection. So I told myself I would make that connection for them. Do you understand? People become a journalist for one of two reasons. Either they want to investigate, to get the facts and get them out; or, they want to take those facts and bring them home, have them make sense and give them a connection to the individual. In order to do that, I have to connect myself to their lives. I am their brother, not just another embedded journalist.

"When I got word that Jimmy died, I felt a bit of my heart drop. I just lost a friend. You gave me that look in the church and I knew what you wanted. You trust my photography skills more than yours, right? But I can't take a picture of his wife crying. I don't even want to think about it. Maybe one day, you'll learn. I got the Pulitzer Prize because my stories made them cry. Yours was better written and more informative, but mine was real."

She could only smirk and say, "I know that. That's the only reason I'm here right now."

He sent her a lighthearted glare. "I don't think you're listening," he said. "Imagine if you learn to love these guys. They're soldiers, and even though Percy doesn't lose a lot of them, some will still die. Don't you understand I want to cry right now?"

"Then cry."

He very faint sigh escaped his lips. He stood and said, "I'm going to bed."

She watched as he retreated to the king sized bed and collapsed on it, still in his shoes. Then she turned her attention to the glow of the computer screen. What other videos did Jordan have? She decided to find out for herself.