Anatomy of a Rebellion

Chapter 8

Red Flag

Three long days passed. Wallace and Percy had slept at Warren's house. For Percy, it was because he had nowhere to go; for Wallace, it was because he wasn't sure how to face his family. Finally, after the third day, he decided it was time to see them. He knew better than to visit the house. They would be on the wheat farm, breaking their backs like always.

Squealing baby hogs deafened all other sounds to Wallace. He had made a detour to check on their pigs. The other workers gave him odd looks; he wasn't sure if it was because of they hadn't seen him in years or because he was dressed in a suit as he fed the pigs. He didn't notice their stares, however, because he was too focused on the small piglets.

There was one spotted baby that kept getting kicked out of the feeding line. He frowned when he realized the little pig was being picked on. Gone for a minute only to return the next, Wallace got a bottle from the barn. It had been there since he was a little kid; his brother Alan always had a baby bottle handy and full of milk just in case. Wallace had thought ahead and brought a quart of milk, which he rushed into the bottle. The milk was a little warm but it was better than nothing.

He leapt over the fence and approached the hogs. Swiftly he swiped the spotted piglet up and hauled it to the fence. After situating himself comfortably, he held the pig like it was his own baby. Surprisingly the piglet did not struggle. It found the way Wallace held him rather cozy. Wallace did not have a lot of practice holding small animals, but he had a lot of experience watching. Somewhere deep within his memory banks he had hidden a sealed page or two about his older brother.

One day when he was just six or seven, he followed his older brother out towards the barn and where the pigs were. He watched as his brother made sure each pig got a fair amount of food; however when Alan Jr. picked up a baby pig and bottle fed it Wallace got curious.

"Why are you doing that?" young Wallace asked. Alan Jr. looked to Wallace and smiled brightly, his eyes squinted so much behind his glasses that they appeared closed. To Wallace, the glasses made his brother look smarter and more mature; to their dad, Alan Sr., the glasses were a disgrace and a sign of weakness.

"Because the little guy hasn't gotten a chance to eat," he answered honestly. "The other pigs don't want to share."

"Then he should fight back. If he's too weak to get his own food he doesn't deserve it," Wallace declared.

Alan Jr. never stopped smiling at his little brother.

It would take several decades for Wallace to really appreciate his brother. Word of his mother's death had just reached him, but he was thousands of miles away serving his country. Frustrated, upset, frightened and heartbroken, Wallace immediately sent letters to everyone in his family. He hadn't expected Alan Jr. to write, as he had left home years ago and moved to some fancy suburban town. Imagine his surprise when the brother he hadn't heard from in over a decade was the first to write back. Not only that, Alan Jr.'s wife had baked him cookies. Sure, it wasn't going to bring his mother back to life, but it did remind him of home.

Now, as Wallace sat bottle feeding a pig, he couldn't help but think of his older brother. He wondered if Alan Jr. would be proud of him. Wallace had gone and fought in wars he knew his brother would disagree with; in fact, Wallace had fought well in those wars and had the medals to prove it. Would Alan Jr. be proud of him for his achievements, and smile kindly like he always had? Or would he shake his head and tell him that it was wrong to call those deeds "achievements?" It didn't matter, though, because Alan Jr. was dead. Wallace still couldn't believe it.

"What are you doing?" the voice of David asked. Wallace turned to face his younger brother, surprised at his sudden appearance. He hadn't seen David in years. Back then, he was pale and desperately in need of a shave. Now, he was tanned and sporting a clean face. Within his eyes, it was evident he had matured greatly.

Wallace just smiled, "Thinking about Alan."

David joined his brother at the fence. "It was a heart attack. There was no chance he would survive. Dad didn't think we should tell you," David told him.

"Have you been alright?" Wallace asked.

David shrugged, "Sis took the news harder than anyone. She wanted to tell you so bad. You know, you're all we have left now. Dad… he doesn't really say much."

"I know," Wallace answered. He put the piglet down onto the ground and watched as it scurried around the pen, now full of food and life. "He means well," he said of their father. It was tough to defend him, but he didn't want any rifts in his family. He heard a sniff come from his brother; he turned to face him, and to his surprise, David was wiping a tear away. "What the hell are you crying for?" he asked.

David had to sniff again and let out a sigh. "I'm just glad you're home," he admitted. Wallace grabbed his little brother's head and pulled him into a one armed embrace. It was a moment only brothers could share, and despite the sense of loss both felt, they were content with the world for that brief second.

"Come on you lazy bastards, it isn't that heavy!"

Their embrace was broken when they heard their dad's angry yell. Despite the fact it was quite the distance away, they heard him loud and clear. He had such a piercing voice. Curious, the two brothers left the pigpen and walked towards the noise. Once around the corner, they caught the sight of several workers pushing a tractor. Atop the tractor was their father, shouting orders like a drill sergeant.

Wallace could have gone to help, but he wanted to avoid farm work. Farm work was one of the few things he didn't miss when overseas. Especially when they were stuck doing tasks that didn't make much sense to him, like pushing an obsolete tractor which had broken down fifteen feet outside the shop.

"Dad," his brother-in-law, Pierre, whined. "Why do you even still have this piece of junk?"

"It's not a piece of junk!" he snarled. "These machines do the work so we don't have to!"

"But sir, this tractor is like a hundred years old," a worker pointed out. He wanted to stretch the argument out as long as possible, because that meant he could take a longer break. A drop of sweat landed on his nose, so he wiped his forehead with his sleeve. The other men with him were just as worn out as he was.

"It still runs, doesn't it?" argued the old man.

"Actually it doesn't," replied a fellow worker.

"That's why we're pushing it," Pierre added. Alan Sr. grumbled, but not loud enough for the rest to hear.

It was such a bizarre sight, the two brothers almost laughed. Yet the dismal sight of the weary workers and dying crops prevented them from doing so. It was evident in a single glance that the drought that shook their region that summer was going to do serious damage to the economy. Even more importantly to them, it was going to hurt their own income drastically.

"Hey check out this car!" a worker near the fence yelled. Thankful for the distraction, every worker – even David and Wallace – went to the fence. It was probably an odd sight for whoever was in the car; ten to twelve sun-scorched bodies lined up to watch it pass by. It was an odd sight for those against the fence, too. It's not every day a sleek, black car with tinted windows drives through Union.

"Looks like a Senator's car," remarked one worker.

"Yeah? Figures! We work our butts off for dead wheat and they get a ride like that! I can't even afford a car," another lamented.

"Why would a Senator be passing through Union?" asked David. The group watched as the car pulled to the church. They still had a good view of the scene, though some had to lean around others to see. Warren exited the church, probably curious like the rest of them. From the driver's door a young soldier stepped out, which caught Wallace's attention. The soldier rushed around the back end of the car and opened the passenger door. Instead of a politician, a Lieutenant exited.

"Oh, man! That dog Percy!" Wallace exclaimed. He took off towards the church, ignoring the strange stares his fellow workers gave him. Like a bullet he hit the fence near the church, which caused his body to almost flip over it. Sure enough, the Lieutenant was Percy's subordinate, Mackenzie Ross.

"Welcome, ma'am," Warren warmly greeted her. Neither one noticed Wallace trying to slip through the fence.

"Mackenzie!" Wallace shouted as he tumbled through the fence and tried to pick himself up. After awkwardly stumbling on the ground, he jogged to the female officer. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Is that anyway to greet a superior officer?" she asked. He shot a glare at her.

"I'm off duty, Lieutenant," he said. "Why are you here? Union is thousands of miles from –"

"I was ordered here by Major Raymond," she interrupted. "I was told if I found the church, Chaplain Taylor would show me his location. Can you take me to him?" she asked.

"Yes! Please follow me," Warren said with a fierce nod. He turned towards the dirt path that led to his house. Mackenzie moved in behind the Minister. Wallace used this as an opportunity to get away from the field and practically danced his way in line.

Percy was inside the cool Taylor house helping Lindsey with housework. It wasn't something he found interesting or exciting, but he felt as though he had to repay their kindness somehow. Since he and Wallace had rested comfortably on their sofa and eaten their food, it felt only right that he would help with small chores. Currently, that small chore was becoming a hassle, as Percy had no clue where to put the cups.

Lindsey, Warren's wife, laughed quietly as she watched Percy bumble around in the kitchen. She moved in front of him and opened the cabinet furthest to the right, exposing the plastic cups Percy was looking for. He felt the back of his neck heat up in embarrassment and annoyance. He muttered, "Thanks," and placed the clean cup in the cupboard.

"No, thank you for the help, Percy," she said with a smile. He found this as a chance to rest for a moment.

"It's the least I can do. I've really invaded your personal space," he said.

"Nonsense," she assured him, "You're like family."

This was a true statement. Kind-hearted Lindsey took a liking to Warren's friends the moment they met. While Wallace pestered Warren as to why he – the most handsome boy in their school – fell madly in love with Lindsey – the most boring girl in their school – before they knew what love was, everyone knew Lindsey was the best wife a man could have.

The front door opened, and the two turned to face the entryway. In walked Warren who moved quickly towards the kitchen. Mackenzie and Wallace were not far behind; the Sergeant let out a loud sigh and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Instinctively, Mackenzie snapped into a salute, which caused the still walking Wallace to bump into her. She remained motionless until Percy returned it.

"Lieutenant, I see you found Warren alright," he said.

"Yes, Major."

Realizing that Mackenzie was there on business, Warren motioned towards the den and said, "Please make yourselves at home."

Wallace wasted no time in making himself comfortable. He flung himself onto a tan antique sofa, face first. Mackenzie and Percy opted to remain standing. "Would you like a drink?" Warren asked. He walked to the wine cabinet and began to dig through the assortment of drinks.

Wallace perked his head up. "Liquor?"

"Wine," Warren said.

"Oh, sure, why the hell not?"

"Miss Ross?" Warren asked.

Mackenzie took a seat as he answered, "No, thank you." Warren removed a bottle and a glass, both of which he handed to Wallace. He assumed the Sergeant could pour his own drink.

"Do you have the report?" Percy asked immediately. His desire to find out about Freddie was obvious. While it wasn't unusual for him to demand reports quickly, he typically started meetings with chit-chat to ease the mood.

She handed him the small electronic pad that housed her report. He flipped through it aimlessly while she talked. "Finding someone based on a first name alone is impossible. The name isn't even unique. But O'Hara was easy. As soon as I put his name into the database, a red flag popped up," she said.

"What does that mean?" Wallace inquired.

"Means he's wanted," Percy answered. He arrived at Huck's page. There was no picture, only a composite sketch, but it looked exactly like him. "Why isn't there a picture?"

"Because he doesn't exist," she explained. "It might be an alias, we're not sure. If it is, he's done a good job of forging birth certificates, marriage certificates, education history, and employment history. He holds a doctorate from Harvard. This guy is brilliant. And Freddie is no different. The information the feds have gathered on him is incredibly impressive, but lacking a birth date, place, and name. But we know he attended Cambridge and Harvard."

Indeed, the report was impressive. Again there was no picture, but the computer generated model was almost perfect. Percy saw no use in reading the report, that's why he had Mackenzie. He knew she had memorized the entire thing on her way over.

"Why are they wanted?" he asked.

"Terrorism," was the answer. "In fact, we know them well. The assassination of the Turkey president, Prince Daniel, and General Wright, just to name a few. As well as bombings in China, Europe, Mexico, Texas – "

"Texas?" Wallace interrupted. "American soil?"

"They're blaming Corpus Christi on him," Mackenzie said.

"I don't believe it," Percy said. He tossed the pad onto the coffee table. He wanted nothing to do with what he thought was a slanted report. "Corpus Christi was a slaughter. It was executed by America."

Everyone was more baffled by the accusation than upset. The hint of anger that was in Percy's tone only added to the confusion. "What? Why would you blame America for that?" Wallace questioned.

"It was too well orchestrated to be anyone else," Percy claimed. This time, his emotions came out. "Two dozen Mexican troops cannot kill a thousand sailors, marines, and soldiers. I don't give a damn if they were distracted by a pipeline explosion. I bet that damn explosion was set off on purpose. You mean to tell me General Scott hadn't sent that Marine air squadron in to kill us off on purpose?"

"I think you're taking everything a little bit personally," Wallace tried to reason.

"To hell if I am," Percy cursed. "That's why Freddie wanted us to do this report."

"That's a bold accusation. What will you do if it's the truth?" Warren's stern voice said. It was evident on his face and in his tone that he did not appreciate the charge.

Percy didn't have an answer; he felt himself calm down in the face of Warren's question. "I don't know," he answered. For a moment he rested in deep contemplation. During the silence he was able to formulate a much more immediate concern. "How does he know about your scar?" he asked Mackenzie.

She seemed taken aback. "What?" she blurted.

"The scar on your shoulder blade," Wallace explained. Then, in his best joking tone he said, "Did you sleep with him?"

"Not the time for jokes," Percy intervened.

"Especially that kind," Warren added.

"Who knows about that?" Percy asked. "Us three, Ethan, Jack, Jordan –"

"Jordan!" Warren shouted. Everyone placed their attention on him after the sudden outburst. "That rascal? I'd bet my life it was him. He can't keep his mouth shut to save a man."

"He also knows everything about everyone," Wallace added. "Think about it, Percy. He's been with us for years now. He's chummy with everyone and has the only constant connection to back home."

Percy twisted his lips in thought. "He was the only person that sniper talked to in Laredo," he mentioned. "That's a security issue for my Company. Have him brought here immediately."

Wallace sighed, "Percy. It's been three days since we got leave. We fought for over two years. Everything deserves a rest, don't you think? Even Mackenzie probably doesn't want to be here."

Percy looked to his Lieutenant and saw that Wallace was correct. It was evident that she didn't appreciate being called out to Nebraska when she had a fiancé waiting patiently in Washington. He said, "Do what you have to do. I trust your judgment. If you feel as though this isn't an immediate concern, please rest."

She understood and offered only a nod as she stood to leave. Another silent nod was directed to Warren and she was soon out the door. Wallace wasted no time in following, and said, "Well, if you guys will excuse me, I'm going to enjoy what leave I have left." This left Percy and Warren alone, and they stood in silence until the front door closed behind Wallace.

Warren sat down on the sofa and propped his head into his hands. It was obvious he was thinking, perhaps more than the others had. "Why would you say that America is guilty?" he finally asked.

Percy provided a very small shrug. "I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just stressed."

"Percival," Warren said. Hearing his full name caused the Major to focus. He noticed the age in his old friend for the first time; the graying hair and wrinkles around his brow were evidence that he was indeed a mortal. The tone he voiced was thick with concern, and Percy did not want his friend to worry. But he had nothing to say. So Warren again spoke, "Please. I need to know. If my son is sent out to die –"

"Warren," Percy strongly interrupted. "He is a soldier. That's what we do. You have to accept that he will be called upon to fight and perhaps die for this country. You know that as well as I do. Face it as fact. You can pray for him every day if it makes you feel better. Now, I promise you that I will do everything I can as an officer to protect him."

"No, you're right," Warren waved him off. "I have to accept it and pray for him. I just don't want him to die so America can secure a defeat. If he must die, I want it to be for something worthwhile. When we fought together, didn't it feel like we were doing what was right? But now… Percy, I just hope you're wrong."