Anatomy of a Rebellion

Chapter 41

Between Us and Them

Long after Royal decided his future, Jordan and William ended their bickering. Wallace, in an attempt to leave the toxic atmosphere in the office, promptly left and cited business reasons. Jordan followed and because he did, William tagged along as well. The two of them continued their conversing, this time mildly enough that Wallace could tolerate it. As a man with two brothers of his own, Wallace was well aware of the fighting that happened between siblings from time to time, but he had never seen it on such a grand scale. He wondered just how warped the Attaway family was. For once in his life, Wallace was thankful he was born into a poor, farming family.

Yet none of that stayed on his mind for long. He was trying to balance a thermos of warm tea with a stack of blankets, which wasn't easy to do with a broken arm. After he trudged through the snow and reached his destination, he had to bother a nearby Private to open the door for him. However, before the soldier could help, Warren had appeared and promptly grabbed the blankets and opened the door. A quiet, "thanks" was muttered but other than that, Warren's existence was not recognized.

Not even the two Attaway brothers said hi. They were too wrapped up in their world to bother with a newcomer. As they stepped inside the old, creaky barn, William asked, "So, how is Anna doing? It's amazing she's still with you. I bet she puts up with it because of the kids."

"So if you had kids, you'd put up with it?" Jordan angrily snapped back. William could only throw his hands up and remain silent. Wallace secretly hoped they would continue talking just so he could have something to focus his mind on. They were on their way to visit the small amount of men they captured from Doyle's poorly executed attack. Specifically, he was there for Doyle himself, but Wallace also wanted to make sure the others were in good condition.

Cow panels were used for walls and doors in their makeshift cells. In order to prevent men from reaching their hands through the panels, they placed chicken wire on the outside. Since they had the space, they placed each prisoner fair distances from each other. Just for extra measure, there were guards near each man. If they tried to escape, they would be caught; if they needed help, someone would be there. For beds they received old twin sized mattresses. There was no running water, which meant no flushable toilet. They did, however, have two buckets; one with clean water (which more often than not froze) and another to use for waste. It looked more like a livestock showing at a fair than a jail.

The four men came upon the man behind the entire fiasco when they neared Michael Doyle's cell. He was discussing something with his guard, who seemed to be getting along well with the young Lieutenant.

"So, the noble truth of suffering's origin would be want?" the Lieutenant said, although with not much energy.

"Exactly!" the young man said. He gripped a book in his hands which looked as though it had been read a hundred times. "The want for immoral things, for bhava, for anything against the precepts."

"You must be speaking of Siddhartha's teachings," Warren interrupted. The duo turned to see the newcomers. The young man, one of Skipper's men, couldn't contain his smile.

"That's right, Minister!" he chirped.

Wallace quickly jumped in and said, "If you'll excuse us, Private, we'd like a moment with the Lieutenant."

The Private said nothing; he merely nodded his head and left. Wallace used his keys to open the gate so they could give Doyle a new, heavier blanket. The Lieutenant was silent. He felt slightly intimidated by the wounded Warrant Officer and imposing Minister. The majority of his silence came from a severe headache he suffered. His head was bandaged, he's ears were still ringing, and he had an incredibly sore back. He wanted the men to leave, so when he saw Wallace sit on the bed, he almost yelled.

"May I ask why you were discussing religion with our guard?" Warren asked. His voice was so perfect that it didn't sound offended, simply curious.

"I haven't figured out what I'm supposed to believe in. I'm a Baptist, personally, but I seem to find reason and truth in every religion," he answered honestly.

There was a moment of silence between them before Wallace said, "I imagine it won't be much longer before we're able to send you home." It was a complete lie. While they had every intention of letting the others go, Doyle was going to be stuck in Union for as long as Percy could hold him. Wallace would make sure of that.

"I'd rather rot in here," Doyle said.

"Are you afraid to confront your failures?" Warren asked, concerned.

Doyle responded, "If you want to get down to it, yeah. I don't really care about my battle track record. I just failed a lot of young men and their families. I don't understand how you can be so content with killing men like that."

The statement was directed to Wallace. The injured man was visibly taken aback by the charge. No matter how much he had convinced himself and no matter how angry he was, Wallace didn't sleep well knowing the deaths of American soldiers had taken place. All he could say was, "I took an oath. I'm keeping that oath."

"You must have taken a different one than I did," Doyle sighed. He wasn't too enthusiastic, but no one could blame him. Being stuck in a cow pen with icicles on the ceiling and several injuries wasn't exactly cause for celebration. "Really, I don't even know why I'm here."

"Because you were following orders," Wallace said.

"Yeah, but why did I join in the first place? Why did you guys join if you were just going to rebel, anyway?"

Wallace answered for the both of them, "We were running away. Just trying to get away from this place. The recruiters are good at convincing you it's just one big hike across the globe. You'd have to talk to Percy to figure out why people join to protect their country. I'm not a patriotic type."

"I wish I could say something, even if it was like that," Doyle said. It was a bit awkward for Wallace to hear someone suddenly dive into a self-discovery mood; as for Warren, he had plenty of experience.

The Minister asked, "You mean to say you went through four years of officer's school without a reason?"

"I just do things because they're expected of me," he said. "I was told, 'You're going to go into the military academy and you're going to succeed.' That's what I did. I guess the propaganda that came from the wars and the heroic acts within them helped convinced my parents that's what real men do. And as you know, some kids always listen to their parents."

"That's the only real difference between me and you," Wallace said. Doyle said nothing, he just stared at Wallace indifferently. The silence was broken when he asked, "Do you have a girlfriend or a wife?"

"Yeah, what's it matter?"

"Quit," Wallace said. "Just quit. Go back home and stay with her. I know you've already seen some combat, but you can still sleep. If you're so unlucky to get home alive, you'll never be the same guy. Take this opportunity to get out of this bullshit career."

His frustration was written all over his face, and Warren wondered if this wasn't a moment for him to vent rather than Doyle. They had come in with the simple plan of providing support, but it ended up giving all men something to think about. It seemed to have hit Jordan the hardest; he suddenly said, "I have to go," and proceeded to hurriedly leave the barn.

The cold winter hit him hard and knocked the wind out of him. His nose was already red and the sight of his breath escaping into the afternoon wind gave him chills. He was joined soon after by only one man, Warren. The Minister surprised him when he appeared and clasped a hand on Jordan's shoulder. Warren said, "You left in a hurry."

"Sorry, Warren," Jordan said through a small smile. "I just have a lot on my mind. The world is changing in a hurried pace."

Warren returned the smile. "You're a good man, Jordan. Don't ever forget that." He then gave Jordan two hard pats on the shoulder before departing.

Jordan let out a sigh before another shiver took control of his body. Another person appeared; this time it was William. The younger brother stared at him for a few moments before allowing a slight grin to grace his features. Then he, too, departed in a direction opposite that Jordan was headed. So the reporter allowed his feet to drag him to Tom's Tavern. He was not an alcoholic and rarely drank, but he had a feeling that before this year was over, he would indulge a bit more often.

Of course the Tavern was full of soldiers. He loved how they complained there was no money for food, but they somehow were able to scrape up money every day for a night of drinking.

He spotted Freddie and Huck by themselves at a table toward the front window, so he took a seat with them. When the waitress stopped by to take his order, he asked for brandy and coffee. Huck greeted Jordan when he said, "Your brother is a pain, Jay."

Jordan rubbed his temples, "I know. What an arrogant ass he's grown to be."

"You don't tell him much, do you?" Freddie asked.

"No. Honestly, he tells me a hell of a lot more about what's going on in the government than I do about my dinner."

"Then why did you tell that girl?" he asked again. His displeasure was evident in his tone.

Jordan raised a brow, unsure of what Freddie was talking about. It took a moment of brain-rattling memory sorting before he recalled ever admitted anything to Riane. He covered his face and muttered, "Oh, s**t. I should tell her not to say anything to Will or Percy." He pulled out his cellphone, dialed her number, and waited patiently.

She was not going to answer. Her phone was nowhere near her. It had been left on Barton's desk; the Sergeant asked McGill to give it back to her; the Corporal ran into Royal outside the church and entrusted it with him. While he aimlessly wandered Union, Royal met with his friend Edwin and the two got lost in conversation. It wasn't until the phone let out a loud ring in his heavy coat pocket did Royal remember it. Edwin questioned what Royal was doing with a cellphone; after it was explained, Edwin suggested he try going to the hotel. There was, after all, only one hotel in the entire town.

Royal felt like an i***t and took his friend's advice. He was happy to enter the lobby to the large building, where warmth immediately heated his frozen face. Quickly his eyes darted around. He should have just gone to the front desk, but something told him she waited in the lobby. Soon enough, his eyes captured her. She was bored, her tired eyes staring straight into a laptop screen, seemingly disinterested in work.

He jogged to her. Before she noticed him, he said, "Miss McDermott." She looked up from her laptop and blankly gazed at him. He pulled her cellphone from his pocket and said, "I'm sorry ma'am, but you left this on the Sergeant's desk."

She took it from his hand, saw the amount of missed calls, and tucked it away. "Thank you," she said. Her eyes went back to work. Royal, however, remained stagnant. After a few moments passed and his stare got to be too distracting, she looked back up at him. "What is it?" she asked. It sounded a bit rude, but it helped snap him back to reality.

After a few harsh blinks he said, "I'm sorry, ma'am. It's just… we experienced combat for the first time together. This may sound weird, but I feel like we're kindred spirits because of it."

She seemed surprised. "I hope you're dealing with it well," she said.

He nodded, "Yes ma'am. You as well. Have a good night."

She watched him depart, his eyes seemingly all over the place as he marveled at the size of the building he was in. It made her chuckle. When she was a teenager, she marveled at the size of the city, so it was easy to relate to his wide-eyed expression. Her attention turned to her phone; a voice mail was left by Jordan. His voice screeched, "Ri, girl, go find out what the hell my brother is doing here in Union. And for the love of God, do not mention me or really anyone for that matter."

Her face twisted at the terrible message. The phone was slipped into her pocket. She closed her laptop, and stood to head toward her room upstairs. At first she planned to take the stairs, but abruptly opted for the elevator instead. It was a rare move for her. Once inside, she felt content being alone. However, just as the elevator began to close, a hand snuck itself between the doors and they reopened. The man wiggled his way inside and did not offer an apology for halting Riane's trek to her room. Instead, he focused on readjusting his tie and suit.

Riane paid the man no mind. She was too focused on other things. While the power shifted dramatically across the world, the Solicitor General had paid a sudden visit to Union. She knew William well enough to know that he had to be up to something.

"Ria – I mean, Miss McDermott, what are you doing here?" the man in the elevator asked. She turned to the brown haired man to see that it was none other than Julius Cross. The intern couldn't offer her anything other than a shocked expression.

"Mister Cross," she forced out. It sounded so formal and out of character. "I should ask you the same."

"Well, uh, I'm here to see Will – I mean, General Attaway," Cross stumbled out. Riane wished she had taken the stairs. She could hear him try to swallow his nervousness away. "So, I'm sure you've heard about a new law."

"Is that why you are here?"

"Kind of," Cross cryptically answered. He shifted his eyes over to sneak a look at her. She remained motionless and stared blankly at the elevator panel. "The Yankees traded de'Medici."

"I saw," she said. The elevator dinged to signal they were at her stop. The door swooshed open but she didn't move. Cross shifted uncomfortably; the tension was unbearable for him. If Riane felt it, she didn't show it. When the door closed and the elevator continued up, she said, "It's great to see you and Will are still friends."

He physically winced. He changed the subject, "I haven't seen your work recently. Are you only writing for underground publications again?" It was met with silence. It irritated him. He wanted to lightly smack her in the head, a playful move more than anything, but instead stressed his hands into fists and held them still. Finally they arrived at the top floor. When the door opened, Cross quickly moved out of that metal cage and straight to the door.

He only had to knock once before someone answered. It was William; he had arrived home thirty minutes prior and promptly removed his jacket and loosened his tie. A glass of whiskey was in one hand while the other held an electronic notebook. On his face rested a pair of glasses, which he adjusted after opening the door. "Cross, you arrived fast," he greeted. His eyes glanced over his friend's shoulder and spotted Riane. "Did you climb the elevator shaft chasing after him or me?" he teasingly asked.

Shocked at first, she adjusted her expression to mask her emotions. "I hate when you wear glasses. I can't tell if you're serious or not," she said.

"Well, it was you who said I looked better with them," he grinned. She was about to protest when he silenced her, "Don't flatter yourself by thinking I'm wearing them for you. I took my contacts out because they were irritating my eyes."

She mimicked him, "Don't flatter yourself, I don't care whether you wear glasses or not. Nor do I care why you wear them."

William felt his eyes harden, "Why are you bothering me?"

Cross awkwardly shifted his eyes between the two. William's mask started to crack and it made Cross nervous. Riane was never the best at hiding her bitterness. It was just too ridiculous for the intern to bear, so he pushed past William and entered the suite without a word. Inside he was greeted by William's bodyguard. William and Riane both ignored him. Riane answered the question honestly, "I want to know why you're here. I think 'personal business' is a bit of a bullshit excuse, don't you? You're slyer than that, Will."

"Slyer? Don't be stupid, I have nothing to hide. I'm the most powerful man in this country," he bragged. He knew it was an inflated assessment of his abilities, yet it wasn't too far from the truth.

She seethed, "You're powerful because of the money you hold, that's it. Get a grip, Will. You've done nothing but ruin other people in this pointless power grasp you're attempting."

"When you were in college, you never cared about how much money someone had, did you? You believed in treating everyone equally, no discrimination. So what happened?"

His question went ignored, and instead she threatened, "I will topple the aristocracies that run this country. You can't keep chopping at America forever, no matter how powerful you think you are. I'm going to destroy you."

"You already have," he snapped. There was something vulnerable in his voice as it cracked just enough to reveal that he had just admitted something very close to him. Through the glasses she could see those green Attaway eyes betray his emotions; a hard stare forced itself inside her mind and burrowed its way deep. It barely affected her. Almost instantly he tore his eyes away and looked away. He composed himself and said, "I have a government to protect. Unless you plan to stay the night, I suggest you leave now."

She stepped back, decidedly refusing the offer. Despite having his hands full, he managed to gracefully close the door. The sound of it clicking shut brought her back to reality. As her line of sight found only the white door, she suddenly remembered why she had gone to William's room in the first place. As the conversation ran through her mind once more, she realized she hadn't gotten an answer out of him.

"s**t," she cursed to herself. Her mind was empty of thoughts when her hand rose up and knocked on the door one more time.