Anatomy of a Rebellion

Chapter 48

Contemplation; Separation

Someone yawned rather rudely and loudly. Wakeman managed to send some sort of a glare in that direction, but said nothing. How could he have anything to say? Wallace, whom Wakeman considered a good friend, was probably dead. Barton was probably in the midst of a full on firefight against a thousand recruits. They were fighting Americans. Something about that upset him. He couldn't figure out why it made a difference. People were people, regardless of their nationality. If they were enemies of his liberties and the safety of his men, it was his job to kill them. Not as a soldier or an American, but as a member of the human race.

Wakeman and his men were slow to leave Union, so by the time they had taken off on the forty minute journey to Ashland, Barton's squad was in the thick of battle. Only the faint roar of the tires against the roadway provided any distraction for Wakeman as his thoughts went rampant. Then the names came; first they said Pulte was injured and few men were dead. This was followed by the news that Pulte had succumbed to his injuries and now Barton was down a Sergeant. Word came that Barton himself had been shot and that it was a chest wound. An awkward silence followed as everyone awaited Wakeman's reaction.

They assumed their squad leader would react to the news by yelling, crying, or cursing God. Instead, Wakeman laughed – loudly. His laughter was so loud that it startled the men in the vehicle with him. It did not subside in the slightest when he tried to speak, "That… that i***t, Barton! I bet he's screaming like a girl right now!" No one else joined in on the laughter, but they could easily picture Barton kicking and screaming over something as small as stubbed toe. If Barton were merely scratched by a bullet, he would certainly assume death was imminent.

Finally the laughter faded away completely. Wakeman had a few orders he needed to give out. "Listen up," he said to those in the vehicle and over the radio. "Barton's a f*****g clown and doesn't know the first thing about how to command and conquer. The guy treats war like it's a video game. I know better than that. We will not do this on a whim; we will not play run-and-gun. We're going to setup a perimeter, patrol that perimeter, and cut off their communication lines and supply lines. We'll get them to surrender without drawing a single drop of blood."

Ashland had been turned into a supply depot long before Wakeman ever joined the military. During its first years as a depot, it was guarded by a hundred soldiers on rotating twelve hour shifts, each station for six months. Then they were sent home. Eventually that changed to fifty soldiers on rotating eight hour shifts for six months. Almost anyone and everyone who wore the United States Army uniform had at least one tenure guarding Ashland. Wakeman had heard that the number of soldiers stationed there was now merely twenty-five. If this were true, a firefight would be a much easier way to win. But Wakeman did not take the value of life lightly.

He wondered if Percy had made a mistake. Surely the Major meant to send Wakeman to Offutt and Barton to Ashland. Based on their respective talents, Wakeman would have done much better securing Offutt. Barton had taken the command center there, but had he truly won anything? There were still hundreds of soldiers that were not directly under his control; Barton's squad had taken part in meaningless and completely avoidable skirmishes. Now, they were locked in a single location, which meant they were easy prey should those hundreds of Offutt soldiers decide to find guns and fight. Also, Offutt housed not only soldiers but also their families, so randomly shooting guns and throwing grenades meant an innocent civilian could get killed. That was not a problem when it came to Ashland.

Wakeman felt a headache coming on. Why am I thinking so much suddenly? he thought. Never before had so many separate thoughts invaded his mind. All he could think about was the amount of death that was going to happen because of Major Raymond's sudden anger. How many fatherless or motherless children would they leave behind at the end of these battles? How many widows and widowers would cry over their loved one's grave? He was never the man to worry over such things. In Turkey, it was Fleetwood who would always wait until sunset before he would ask Wakeman and the others, "So, how many people did we kill today?"

"You know, I really think the Pirates are gonna go all the way this year," a soldier commented abruptly.

"Are you serious?" another laughed. "They traded away their best infielder and Galaviz had surgery this offseason."

"But we have de'Midici now."

"That guy is washed up."

"Maybe…"

"Hey, Derrick, what do you think?" a soldier asked. It was Private Glenn. Despite the difference of rank, everyone in Wakeman's squad had the right to refer to him by his first name. It was a unique quirk.

"Uh, well, honestly I don't pay much attention to baseball," he said. Somewhere inside of him, there was a voice that mentioned how thankful he was for the distraction from his own thoughts. "I'm more of a football guy, myself."

"Yeah," a fireteam leader named Sanchez said. "He's a Bears fan. That's really unfortunate, since their offensive line sucks!"

"Hey!" Wakeman jokingly argued. "I have to represent my hometown, right?"

"You weren't born in Chicago," Sanchez teased.

"Rockford is close enough," Wakeman said. "It's better than being a fan of the Browns, though. At least my team won some games last season."

Sanchez had no retort, so instead he asked, "Do you think the Major follows any sports?"

Wakeman tried to picture Percy at a sports stadium, a paint covered face with beer and fries being shoved into it; he used all the powers of his imagination to visualize Percy leaning closer to a TV set, his eyes not allowing a single blink as the seconds on the clock went by, his hands balled into fists as he sent all of his energy toward the players on the field; then, the excitement or disappointment exploding out of the Major like a firestorm, as the shouts of happiness or anguish eclipsed all other noises within miles. All of the men in the vehicle with Wakeman laughed at the face he made while those scenarios were played out in his mind. "Nah," Wakeman said, "I really doubt he likes sports."

"Man, he's kind of a weirdo, isn't he?" someone mentioned. Normally, they would be reprimanded for such a comment, but Wakeman secretly agreed. He loved Percy; no matter where Percy told him to go, Wakeman would go there. If Percy were in danger, Wakeman would save him. This was respect between friends more than respect between superior and servant. That was the only reason Wakeman ever thought about taking up arms against America.

He had a family that still lived in Rockford; two sisters, his parents, countless cousins, nieces and nephews. Then there was his fiancée. He hadn't even thought about whether or not she would somehow be caught in the crossfire, or if she would be angry at his choice. She was a student at Loyola University and had an entire future left to be decided. How much would his decision affect her future happiness? Why am I hesitating now? I know this is the right thing to do. For my men, for my girl, for myself. I have to do this.

A sigh came from Wakeman. For some reason it silenced all around him. It was as though all of his doubts were emitted through that faint sound that escaped his lips. A wail broke through that tranquility, however. From the Humvee radio a siren screeched; an alert from a monotone voice said, "An announcement: As of zero hour, all state and local authority will be assigned to military personnel. Repeat: As of zero hour, all state and local authority will be assigned to military personnel. Stand by for instructions. Repeat: Stand by for further instructions. This is an announcement…"

"Oh my god, they're instating martial law!"

"That's illegal! It's unconstitutional!"

While the outrage over such an abrupt announcement continued, someone bothered to turn on a public radio. The newscaster's voice had become a familiar sound to them since they had returned to America. "… suspension of habeas corpus, I think. Are they saying it's the Insurrection Act? Can you check that for me, Bill? We're getting a confirmation on this folks, but I believe they're using the Insurrection Act of 1807 to justify this clearly unjust act. It's a state of emergency? Well I know that, God! It's a state of God damn emergency for the entire world if this is true! What's that? They're telling us to cut? Who is? Now they're telling us we can't even talk about it? What is this country?"

That announcement alone justified all of Wakeman's actions. No longer did he feel plagued by doubts. Any man who dared to defend the act of martial law was not a soldier of justice and was an enemy to him and to the happiness of everyone he cared about. Never once in his younger years had he even a passing thought that his country could fall so low. Yet that day he felt as though he was born for that moment in history. Only one thought remained: What would Major Raymond do about the news?

Back in Union, Percy reacted dully to the announcement. After it was delivered to him, he supposedly responded by saying, "So?" To him, whatever the government did or did not do from that point on was meaningless. He was already at war with them. It was Jordan who sprang into action. Once he felt as though his family was safe from the flooding Missouri River, he hightailed it back to the Union base. Inside that little office building of Percy's he scrambled to find a telephone he could use. The only people there were the Sea Dogs and Goldwin. Riane had spotted Jordan and followed him inside.

It was then that she first heard that martial law was in effect. The Sea Dogs curiously watched the two reporters tried to figure out the phone system Percy had in place. After several failed attempts by Jordan to contact the outside world, Goldwin handed him a phone and instructed, "It's ready for you to dial out."

"Thank you," Jordan said as he grabbed the phone and dialed a number. While the ringing on the other side clouded his hearing, he muttered, "Who the hell is allowing this to happen?"

"I bet William is laughing his ass off right now," Riane spat.

"Are you kidding me?" Jordan questioned, surprised. "You know Will better than that, Ri. He's probably furious right now. Foaming at the mouth!"

"That was when we were still in college. He's not the same guy," she countered.

"Come on, girl, I know he's a rat sometimes but he isn't a tyrant. You act like he's the bad guy, but if I recall correctly it was you who cheated," Jordan said. It was unusual to hear him defend his brother like that, especially in front of Riane. She remained silent. An awkward atmosphere struck and the Sea Dogs suddenly felt crowded. Jordan had nothing left to say and the other end finally answered. "Jeff! This is Jordan!... yes, I just heard… of course, I'm fine… We're all fine… Can you do me a favor? Get me access to the public radio… yeah, it's a lot to ask I know and… Yes… Can you tell Will to call me?... Thanks."

The phone was returned to the receiver. He could feel Riane send him a slight glare. She asked, "Are you mad at me?"

He didn't look her in the eye when he said, "It's whatever. It happened in the past. Right now I'm more focused on fixing this mess of a country."

Then he left. Riane opted to sit down after that. She stared listlessly into nothingness and allowed her thoughts to focus on current events. It was frightening but also somehow exhilarating that such sweeping changes were happening to her country. When she was in college, she probably dreamed that such drastic things would happen, if only to shake up an otherwise dull and boring world. Now it was a sudden and scary truth.

"Do you need a hug?"

The question snapped her back to reality. She blinked in the direction of the noise and saw Wilson being elbowed by Rawlings. The younger pilot rubbed the spot where Rawlings hit him. Wilson felt his face flushed and he apologized, "I'm sorry. You just looked kind of lonely and with the comment Mr. Attaway made – ow!"

Rawlings nudged Wilson again. Sometimes the youngster didn't know when to keep his nose out of other people's business and it greatly annoyed the much more gentlemanly Rawlings. Riane smiled at the three men and said, "Actually, I noticed you guys look ready to takeoff."

"Yep," Conroy nodded. "Just awaitin' on the OK from our grease monkeys."

"Can I go with you guys?" she asked

"Absolutely not/Of course you can," Rawlings and Wilson answered simultaneously. The two men shared a look between each other, and it was Rawlings who continued to speak, "We can't put an innocent person's life at stake for no reason. It's too dangerous for her and it's too dangerous for us."

It bugged Riane a bit that Rawlings casually talked about her as though she wasn't in the room. She argued, "It wouldn't be for 'no reason.' I'm a reporter after all."

Rawlings said nothing and merely offered a, "hmph" noise. He was a man of little words and refused to waste them on a girl hell bent on arguing. It was Conroy who said, "That should be alright, assuming you can handle it." It was a direct challenge, and Riane accepted it with a fierce nod.

A Sea Dog mechanic strolled in at a rather casual pace with a seemingly blank expression on his face. He stopped in the middle of the room with his hands shoved into his pockets and glanced over the occupants. The expressions sent his way by the pilots gave away their curiosity; they thought for certain the mechanic had come to tell them it was time to fly. Instead, he turned to the radio that sat on Barton's desk and turned it on.

The group seemed uninterested in whatever the mechanic was doing until they heard Jordan's voice. Wilson said, "Wasn't he just here?"

"Listen," the mechanic commanded. Everyone was silenced.

They caught Jordan's pirate speech halfway through. His voice waivered only briefly between collected and excited: "We have outgrown this nation, this society. Our throats have been burned by the nectar we have sucked from our mother's n****e; we have weaned ourselves free of the poison they told us was milk. The others still lap the milk of lies, as though it was their only salvation. Their bodies are bloated, leaving their minds destroyed. We are not saying we have outgrown the Constitution or Magna Charta; we are not saying that the Bible or Koran has no place in our world any longer. Only in slavery are such things forbidden or dismissed, where all must conform to their master's beliefs.

"We believe in and respect the individual mind. The throats that once burned as it drank poison are now parched. We thirst for the knowledge hidden from us. We long to drink the wine of the wise, our bodies thirst for the wild winds of liberty. I'm tired of being told we are not in chains; I'm sick of hearing others tell me that I do not know 'true' oppression. Either you are a slave or you are not – there is no in between. How dare they have the gall to chain our right arm to a tree and smugly declare, 'You're still half free.' I'll cut the wretched thing off, rather than waste another moment in their false freedom.

"They slaughtered the Goddess Libertas. They stabbed Lady Justice with Her own sword. Now they dare to turn it against us. With such arrogance they command us to obey their laws. Blindfolded, gagged and chained, we are unable to protest, to question, or fight.

"We rot. There are enough people in the world to rise up but they do not. Technology has made them lazy; the lies have made them ignorant. Drunk off of empty promises, they have been corrupted by sloth and greed. We are born enslaved to our peers, forced to serve them in their idleness. They roll around in their filth and they cry out for us to clean them up. Those that tempt their masters and dare rise are slaughtered. Every time they open their mouths they are muzzled. Every step they take forward, they are pushed back and trampled on. There is no respect between authority and innocence in this world.

"This infection is destroying society and we must cut it out before it consumes us. But they continue to feed it. Told to dismiss evil, they were obedient to their masters, yet unknowingly allowed the beast to grow. This means war. And I have no stomach for war. I have seen it. I have watched the sunset over a hundred men's final breathes. I watched the night sky flash destruction while the thunderous trot of armies caused earthquakes. How many families must I see suffer, how many children must I see die, before war ends?

"I realize that it will never end, so long as men remain idle in protecting their rights. Why must they be so foolish as to allow something as artificial as government to control them? Yet we do not hesitate to undo their mistakes. With respect to our rights, given to us in nature and not handed down by a manmade entity, we will rise up.

"So let it be known: at zero hour we shall no longer recognize the United States government as an authority over us. Its actions against the rights of man have rendered it void; it no longer has the privilege of calling itself a nation."

The last bit was unheard, as Rawlings managed to make a lot of noise as he stood up. His face was more serious than before, which Riane didn't even think was possible. The pilot adjusted his suit just a tad and said, "It's time for us to go." Then he promptly left. Conroy and Wilson hesitantly followed. Conroy tapped Riane on her shoulder and motioned for her to come along. She was quick to join them.

This "speech" by Jordan was also heard by Wakeman's squad. By the time Jordan had finished, Wakeman's men had stationed themselves about a half of a mile away. When it was over, Wakeman and his men displayed their annoyance via compliments, groans, and twisted facial expression. One man said, "Great! It's bad enough they probably already know about Offutt, but we can't exactly be sneaky or patient about this when everyone knows we're coming."

"He never actually mentioned us by name though, right?" another said. "At least, I didn't hear anything like that."

"Yeah, it was rather vague," a fellow soldier commented.

Wakeman listened to the conversation with mild interest but didn't reveal he was paying attention. While his men talked amongst themselves over what they should do next, Wakeman was the only one who bothered to actually look at Ashland. Through his binoculars he could make out the important details of the depot. There was no outward sign of any changes despite the announcement. Then his eyes spotted the flagpole; dancing in the harsh wind was the United States flag, upside down. He casually mentioned, "Looks like they're under distress."

"What?" Sanchez asked. "Then they need our help. We should – oh, wait. Never mind." It was a harsh reality that an American base under attack was now better for them than one that was stable.

Wakeman said, "We should at least check it out. I'm not too keen on waltzing up to the enemy, but if this speeds up the process I won't complain. Sanchez, take your fireteam to the front gates and request permission to get in. I'll come with you to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

They occupied one vehicle and casually rolled up the front gates. The vehicle pulled to a stop by the guard station, which was empty. The group waited for what seemed to be at least a whole minute before Wakeman said, "That's weird. Let's just go in." Then the fireteam left the Humvee behind. Wakeman slashed his ID card through the scanner and the gate opened without a problem. They strolled in relaxed, with their guns slung over their shoulders. It wasn't until they heard three consecutive pops ring out that they hoisted their guns up and were ready to attack.

One soldier caught the sight of blood and motioned for the others to follow. It led them to the flagpole, where a bleeding American soldier lay, his dying hand pressed against his wounds in futile fashion. Wakeman was at this young man's side in an instant. There were no hurried attempts to save him, and the Private who lay dying did not mind. It was obvious he would die. The comforting hand of Wakeman on his shoulder eased the fear a little.

"What happened here, Private?" Wakeman asked in the most hushed and soothing tone he could.

"Mutiny," the Private answered with hesitation. "Treason. I don't know."

"Who did this?" Wakeman inquired.

"I did," the Private answered. "And Greg, and June, and a couple of others. Argh." A few sounds of pain came from the man's lips, but he was quickly able to regain himself. "They're probably dead. They said they were gonna once everyone was gone."

"Why?" Wakeman asked. He violently shook the man's shoulder. "Why, kid? Come on, these are Americans you've killed!"

"And what's it to you, Sergeant?" the Private managed to smirk. "Don't tell me you can see Ashford's flag in Union?"

Wakeman frowned. He removed his hand from the Private's shoulder and said, "You can rot here with your dead comrades, you arrogant punk." Then he stood, grabbed his radio and said, "HQ this is Wakeman. We've secured Ashland."

He had turned away from the Private and focused his eyes elsewhere. His body was turned toward his men, and Sanchez saw a very frustrated and upset look flash over Wakeman's face. He asked, "Are you alright, sir?"

"I'm fine," he answered quietly. Then he turned back toward the flag pole and pointed up at the American flag. "Take that trash down from the staff! This land doesn't belong to the Americans anymore!"