Anatomy of a Rebellion

Chapter 24

Faith and Understanding

The trip back to Union was done at a much different pace than the frantic drive to Ozark. Traveling in a convoy of military vehicles made it difficult to keep a low profile, but going the speed limit and avoiding major highways and roads helped out. This meant a painfully slow trip home. The civilian that was attached the Kenning was abandoned at the first hospital they came to, while Kenning had little choice but to follow the orders of the armed soldiers. The feisty President had a few choice words for Wallace, whose lack of energy by that point had translated into a lack of sympathy.

The most difficult task he had was getting information out of the President. Kenning did not see the need to explain what had happened to Wallace; in return, Wallace refused to explain why his men had suddenly arrived to save him. The lack of communication between the two of them created a rift and a heavy, tension filled atmosphere. In the end, it was decided that Kenning would talk to Percy the moment they got back to Union. The Warrant Officer hadn't even thought about how Percy had been shot. Was Percy in the condition to speak with the President?

Long before Wallace and the convoy arrived back into Union, Percy did. Chiang Sun had taken the injured to a civilian hospital, where the soldiers and Jordan were treated quickly. The doctors had advised Percy to stay for at least a day, but he dismissed their concerns and immediately left back for Union. They had convinced him to take a shot of painkillers, which made his head fuzzy and irritated him more than had he just been in pain.

The evening was near when he stumbled back into the office building where Mackenzie and Chiang Sun's men continued to work. They paid him no mind. He was glad they didn't stare at him as he used the wall to help steer his heavy body and aide his hazy vision. Once he was near Mackenzie he pushed off from the wall and stumbled to her desk. He arrived rather unceremoniously; his knees buckled under him and he had to rest his chin on the desk near her.

Freddie eyed him curiously, no sign of concern behind his expression. Mackenzie ignored him. Finally, Percy said, "What is the mission status?"

"Successful," she answered. "They're on their way back to camp with the President."

"So, he really was there," Percy said to himself. It was uttered in a voice that sounded almost relieved. Mackenzie looked down at him and could only see this top of his head, his brown hair freshly cleaned from his visit to the doctor's. He craned up to see her, saw how tired she was, and asked, "Have you rested?"

"No," was her immediate response. Her attention was turned back to her work. "I'm waiting for the Warrant Officer to return."

"Have there been any casualties?" he asked.

"Aside from the party you evacuated with, none. Except," she stopped work long enough to think. Should she tell him now about Chen or wait until later? She heard his body shift as he placed an arm up on the desk to better support his body. "Chen's squad is missing in action," she informed him.

"Why did the entire Company leave without searching for them?" he asked. The edge in his voice was obvious.

"Well, Percy, she never said they all left," Freddie kindly pointed out.

Mackenzie had to bite her tongue and not rebuke him. Instead, she opted to calmly inform Percy of what had happened. She said, "There was no time. The Sea Dogs were already on their way."

Percy shot up and towered over Mackenzie, but he was soon bent over and holding his gut. He struggled to speak against the pain; what little he managed to sneak out had to find its way through his gritted teeth. "The Sea Dogs?" he asked for clarification. "Did you have them attack Ozark?"

She said nothing; it wasn't her idea and she was originally against it, but she didn't want to throw Wallace under the bus. It was Freddie who offered up the information. "Don't be so quick to get angry, Percy!" he said with a smile. "Especially to the poor Miss Ross. She was merely following the advice of Chevalier!"

"That bastard," Percy wheezed out.

Mackenzie didn't hide the glare she sent Freddie. She was tired of him. He hadn't left her side since this mission had first begun and he showed no signs of slowing down. "Are you a robot?" she wanted to ask him. Freddie just smiled. He told the Major, "You can ask the Sea Dogs all about it. They're waiting for you in Mackenzie's office."

Percy wasn't sure if he had heard right. How could the Sea Dogs be all the way in Union? If they had truly done an attack on Ozark, they would have returned to their station first. The time it would take to return to their station and then arrive in Union would too great for them to be there at that moment. Even if they had gone straight from Ozark to Union, they would have had no place to land their planes and it would require approval from very far up the chain of command. Military jets simply do not attack American soil and then land on American soil.

Still, he decided to go to Mackenzie's office to check for himself. It was a sluggish journey. When he arrived there her door was already open, and despite his blurry vision he could clearly see three pilots. One threw a paper airplane into the air and watched as it summersaulted back towards him; another one was on his toes digging through the top drawer of Mackenzie's cabinet; the last one stood at her window and watched the sun as it began to disappear behind the horizon.

Again the paper airplane took flight. This time it turned toward Percy. He stopped it from leaving the office. "Ah, Major!" Wilson greeted, having now seen Percy.

Conroy stopped his snooping and Rawlings briefly looked over his shoulder. "Major Raymond!" Conroy shouted in greeting. "We've been waiting for you. Heard you took a hit, glad to see you're okay."

"I'm kind of okay. My head's a little… blurry," he admitted. It managed to clear when he realized the gravity of the situation. If the Sea Dogs really were in Union, that meant they really had bombed Ozark. There was no possible way to escape the media lynch mob that would soon be after the Army and Navy. He asked, "Why are you guys here? Shouldn't you be at your station?"

Conroy explained, "Our station is the USS Sable. And to be honest, Major, we were told to stay on land after we took off. Straight from the mouth of Admiral Palko, said that if we thought the President was in danger we should do what needed to be done, but that we should stay away from the brass until the dust cleared. Seemed like Union was a good fit."

"He means to say, seemed like you were a good fit," Wilson chimed in. "The Admiral said she's had suspicions about General Ellis for a while now, so she wanted us to be in a safe place as a backup."

"The Admiral told you this?" Percy asked.

"Well…" Conroy looked at Rawlings's back and saw that his friend didn't move. Percy realized it was Rawlings they trusted, much like the relationship of Mackenzie and his Company. "You could say that. Not sure what good we'll do, without bullets and fuel and all that," Conroy said.

There was an awkward silence between them as they figured out what to say next. It was Wilson who broke it. In a quiet tone he said, "We hope you're men all made it out alright. Nothing worse than hitting your own."

"I'm sure Chen is alright," Percy told him. "We'll have to discuss this more later. Right now, I advise you all to rest."

Wilson and Conroy looked at each other before they moved. It was Conroy who took the first step. The two passed by the Major without making eye contact. That left Rawlings alone with the Major, who decided to turn his back to the window for the first time. Percy waited patiently for him to leave, but the Lieutenant Commander stood like a statue.

Percy was unable to see Rawlings face, as it was shadowed, so he had no clue why the pilot had yet to leave. He felt as though Rawlings had something to say, but had a question of his own. "Did Admiral Palko really tell you to do that?"

"After Corpus Christi, none of us care too much for that guy," was his only response. Again there was silence.

Percy never really had alone time with any of the Sea Dogs, and the time he did have with them was brief. Rawlings gave off a very arrogant signal, perhaps intimidating to anyone other than the young Major. Instead of cowering like others would, Percy stood taller, more intrigued by Rawlings than anything. He wanted to know why the pilot stood so proudly.

"I have a question for you, Major," Rawlings said. His voice was that of a politician, smooth and youthful but with enough maturity to demand authority. "How much do you know about the man sitting by your Captain out there?"

Percy did not hesitate to answer when he said, "Everything my Captain knows, of course; which is everything the world knows."

That was the end of the conversation. Rawlings may have had more to say, but the loud, booming voice of Wallace hit Percy's ears like thunder. He had no idea what Wallace had said, yet he knew without a doubt that it was his voice. Percy stumbled back towards where Mackenzie sat and caught the sight of Wallace just about to sit down. By the time Percy had made it to them, Wallace had his feet propped up on a desk.

"I could really go for a smoke right now," Wallace said.

"I thought you quit smoking?" Mackenzie questioned.

Wallace gave a dramatic shrug, "I did. Days like today just stress me out."

It was then that Percy made his presence known again, by once more collapsing onto the ground, a desk the only thing preventing him from rolling over completely. He looked up at Wallace who gave him a worried glance. The Warrant Officer's eyes were somehow still visible despite the grime on his face, and under those eyes the bags were evident. That's why Percy was a bit surprised when he heard Wallace ask a simple question.

"Are you alright?" Wallace asked him. Percy sighed loudly. Of course Wallace would be worried, as they were friends whom had grown close over the decade they knew each other, but couldn't the Warrant Officer worry about himself for once? It was a trait most would admire. However, Percy found it a problem. What if Wallace overworked himself on the grounds that he needed to aid others who were hurt or tired? Then the Warrant Officer would be useless.

For this reason, Percy always purposely ignored Wallace's concerns. He brushed off the question and asked his own. "Where is the President?"

"Resting," Wallace said. "He hasn't had the chance to sleep, eat, or even really be alone for a while. It was per his suggestion that he have some time to himself." The way he stressed the word "suggestion" signaled to those who knew Wallace best that it was more than that. Kenning had demanded he be left alone. Warren was aware of this and let out a low chuckle; it was the first time he made his presence known. Wallace nodded to him and said, "There's some men in your church. They might need guidance."

Silently he acknowledged the statement and began the journey toward the church. He hated counseling soldiers more than anything. Not because he didn't want to, but because of the complexity involved. Everyone faces fear and nightmares, the majority irrational and easily conquered when one grows strong in spirit. Soldiers, however, have faced nightmares in reality; their fears are not from something that may happen, they are from things that have happened. At least, that is what Warren believed.

During his time in uniform, he had lived those same experiences and shared those memories with other men. Somehow, he kept his heart steady, spirit strong and mind clear. Above all the others he stood, a comforting hand extended to all those who needed it. He was the rock that held many of his comrades to the Earth. It was a difficult role to uphold and whittled away at his strength. When he left, he told himself he would no longer have to tend to such wounds. He would focus only on common concerns.

That would not be the case, he realized once his son joined. Who would keep him on the path, anchor him to reality, and comfort his wounds? He knew few men strong enough and wise enough to take on a task so trying. He had prepared himself to again be a mentor to a soldier. He did not plan, however, on having an entire Company posted at his doorstep. He certainly did not foresee them needing guidance from a smalltime Minister. Where was a Chaplain?

Once he arrived at his church, he saw the doors wide open, the lights on, and about a dozen men scattered about inside. They were silent. Slowly he walked inside and took a seat next to the man furthest in the back. It was Skipper; the Sergeant's eyes were closed as though he were sleeping and his brows twitched when Warren sat next to him. The Minister did not begin the conversation.

Skipper quietly said, "Religion is worthless." The comment surprised Warren, but he said nothing and allowed Skipper to explain. "It forces you to be weak. It tells you that you are not the strongest and never will be the strongest. It demands obedience and preaches slavery. It tells you that true freedom cannot be obtained. It has frightened people so much they have done horrible things to each other in the name of it. Yet it has survived. Despite its evil, despite man's quest for truth and acceptance, despite man's desire to be free… we may advance to a point where we are but a drop away from being God, and it will still conquer us."

Finally, Skipper opened his eyes. He shifted them to gaze at Warren, who merely appeared interested in the observation rather than upset. For an uncounted period of time they watched each other. It allowed Warren the chance to truly gauge Skipper; his interaction with him was limited, and Warren believed the best way to know a man was to stare into his eyes. Skipper kept shifting his eyes, a sign of distrust, and it almost unsettled Warren.

Skipper suddenly began to speak again. "A true warrior of good intention does not rely on a god or other spirits. He must rely only on his own spirit. He must cultivate it, nurture it, and make it resilient against all evils. It must know only truth and justice."

"And have you made your spirit so?" Warren asked.

Skipper shook his head. "No. My spirit is damaged from outside lies, to the point where truth does not exist in my world. Justice is foreign to me, as it is with most humans. To many, justice is whatever must be done or said to justify our own feelings. True justice is emotionless, fair to all regardless of man's manufactured excuses. I am very weak; that's why I turn to a supposed God to help ease my troubles. I want to believe there is a benevolent power out there that can somehow cure all ills. I have yet to see it with my own eyes, though."

"Reason is a powerful tool," Warren said. "It appears as though you possess it and use it well. Believe what your mind begs you to."

It wasn't until Warren turned away that Skipper felt as though his face was familiar. He said, "Royal is your son, isn't he?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Warren smiled. "Somehow he manages to get into as much trouble as I did, too."

Skipper did not return the laugh that Warren offered, but he managed a small smile. "He seems like a good kid to me," he said.

"Must have been the Army," Warren guessed. "The Drill Sergeant might have knocked some sense into him."

"I hope he keeps a light heart," Skipper said. His smile was gone and his tone was much more serious. "This was his first time in combat. He seemed fine, though. Maybe you should talk to him just in case."

It was then that Skipper motioned forward, and Warren could see the back of Royal's head at the front pew. His head was down and at his side was Evelyn, whom had probably waited in that very seat for the past two days. Since they were little that was where they had sat for service; now, it was where they waited for each other. The sight made him hesitate. Surely Evelyn and God provided all the comfort Royal needed at that moment.

He changed his mind when he watched his son and Evelyn suddenly stand to leave. They passed by him quickly and didn't notice his presence. At least my son had the mind to not show up in blood stained clothes, Warren thought when he noticed Royal's combat uniform had been replaced with his service uniform, although it was haphazardly thrown on. Without a word to Skipper, Warren left and followed the two youngsters out into the very cold autumn air.

Royal had the mind to remove his coat and place it around Evelyn's shoulders. He whispered something into her ear and then lightly kissed her temple. By this time, the sun had set completely and only the moon lit their surroundings. Warren knew he would lose them soon to the darkness if he didn't stop them at that moment. Awkwardly he cleared his throat. Royal tried to keep moving; Evelyn, however, stopped dead in her tracks.

"Mister Taylor," she greeted warmly. "How are you this evening?"

"I am fine, thank you Evelyn," he answered automatically. "How are you both doing?"

Even she knew the question was directed at Royal. Instead of answering she turned to him and expected a reply. Royal had yet to turn to face his father. A small tug on his arm by his girlfriend finally got Royal to spin, although it was a bit forced and off-balanced. Clumsily he managed to regain his footing. Already angry at his father for appearing, he was even more embarrassed he looked so klutzy in front of him. The emotions were mostly kept in check.

"What is it?" Royal asked. The tone of his voice displayed his displeasure and his exhaustion. He sounded ready to fight but without the energy to do so.

"You sound vulnerable," Warren observed. "Are you alright?" Through the dark Warren's eyes cut like bullets; it forced Royal to turn away. When he did not answer, Warren continued, "I understand full well the meaning of combat. I understand the sorrow associated with being a soldier. Son, do not bear that burden alone."

"What, do you want me to turn to God for strength?" Royal viciously inquired. "What has He done for us? Why do you keep praying to something that hasn't even granted us rainfall? People are dying all over the country – hell, even in this town! – and all you do is keep wishing for something to change. I don't get it."

It confused the Minister greatly that his son suddenly felt the need to rant in such a way. He expressed his concern when he said, "I don't understand. Why are you questioning faith now?"

"Because faith isn't helping."

"I'm not asking you to trust faith," Warren said. "I am asking you to trust me." He stepped forward a few steps, an arm extended in friendship.

Just when Royal was within arm's reach he took half a step back away from his father. It startled Warren, but more upsetting was the obvious fear and pain in his son's eyes. Like a deer in the headlights, Royal stared wide-eyed at his father, motionless. After a few dramatic breaths, he said, "Stop. Dad, just stop it."

"Royal," Evelyn whispered. She held him at arm's length and forced him to remain still. "Why don't you just talk to him?"

He felt trapped and defenseless; out of instinct he tried to get away. His right arm flew up without a thought and knocked Evelyn in the jaw. It was not a punch or a slap, but something in between a shove and nudge. She made a noise of alarm and not pain. The action didn't sit well with Warren. To him, he just witnessed his son hit a woman. He responded upon instinct, too.

Royal was so surprised he had just hit Evelyn he didn't have time to see his father reel back for a punch. It wasn't until he felt a hard fist connect with his cheek did he notice; immediately adrenaline hit his blood and he felt nothing after the initial impact. Warren was more frightened than anyone at his own actions. He held his position for a few seconds after he realized he had just hit his son. Discipline in his house never meant hitting someone; to square up a good punch on his son was horrific to him.

Shocked just the same, Royal's mind went into fight mode. He felt betrayed. While the hit was very strong, it clearly wasn't full force. Royal would not hold back. No matter how tired or surprised he was, he managed to muster up enough force to lay out the strongest hit he ever threw in his life. Unlike Royal, Warren had time to react, yet he didn't. He allowed Royal to hit him. The punch connected with his left cheekbone, nearest his eye. He stumbled back, was just about to regain his balance, and was hit again in the face by another strike.

This time he fell backwards. Several seconds of time passed before he became aware again. His head was throbbing and before him stood a soldier he did not know. "Are you alright, sir?" the soldier asked him. Warren nodded wordlessly. The soldier carefully helped him to his feet.

Another soldier had grabbed Royal and screamed, "What the hell is the matter with you, man? Get your s**t together!" Royal was pushed back, disregarded by the others in uniform. He huffed and stomped away. This time, Warren didn't follow. Instead he turned and walked the opposite direction. He needed to sort things out before he dared approach his son again.