Anatomy of a Rebellion

Chapter 13

Connections

Ethan drummed a finger against his cheek, signaling his restlessness. He hated politics; why exactly did he run for office again? Government affairs interested him and he loved the complexity of simple systems, but the bickering and scheming he could do without. One thing that had always irritated him was "closed door" meetings, where politicians sat cozy away from the vulture-like media and spoke freely.

He always wondered why they were closed doors. He got his answer that fall. After Mackenzie received orders to Union, he hightailed it back to work. Waiting for him was a stack of papers, and an invitations to one of the illusive and exclusive backdoor meetings. The topic didn't amuse him much, but the thought of finally seeing the true inner workings of the American government did. The most junior Senator invited, he was largely left out of much discussion. The end result was him falling asleep, drool accumulating at the corner of his mouth.

There were a dozen members of Congress present, as well as an editor from the Times. Even when the public couldn't see, the media needed to be there. Ethan assumed the politicians would take whatever course the media figured would sell well. General Ellis and a few of his closest advisors attended the meeting, but hadn't said much. The entire group treated the meeting as a kickback more than business. Enemies that bickered on the Senate floor were best friends here.

"Senator Hughes, say something!"

Ethan peered through one barely open eye at the loud mouthed Senator next to him. How much had he slept through? The old man who shouted at him anxiously ran a finger over his mustache. Ethan grinned; he wanted to say, "Don't you realize how much of a villain that pose makes you appear?" Instead, he waved his hand and said nothing.

"Please, Senator Hughes. We need your opinion on this. Your woman is an officer. You know better than any of us what the atmosphere is there," another pleaded.

Finally, he sat up. "Well I don't know… What are we talking about, anyway?"

The room groaned in annoyance. "Pay attention, would you?" the older Senator commanded. "We're talking about severing the military from a politic body."

"Do you think the soldiers would support complete autonomy from the government?" one asked.

Ethan was unable to keep his jaw from falling. Were such things really talked about? All he could manage to say was, "Is that even legal?"

"Ignore that for a moment and speak hypothetically," he was told. "Imagine if we could eliminate the politics from the military. It would benefit the troops, who wouldn't be moved around based on public opinion. And it would allow the President and Congress to focus on domestic issues."

A curious individual, Ethan was able to mull the idea. The benefits from a politician's standpoint were clear. It would remove one set of responsibilities from their hands, which meant it was one less thing they could be held accountable for. Yet it also meant one less thing they could control; less power in their hands and more power given to another could open the door for a coup d'état.

"It could be illegal," he stressed again. "It would take only a matter of minutes before an opponent noticed and brought it to court. The Justices would have it removed at once."

"You really believe in the integrity of those weasels on the bench?" one laughed. "They're all appointed for political reasons. All of them have been appointed to carry out an agenda! President Kenning alone has appointed enough to carry this through to the end."

Ethan ignored the expert argument and said, "We would be creating the very environment that brought our own colonies to rebel against the British crown. It's visible to the entire world how much we've already been hypocrites, so why add another?"

"The majority of Americans don't understand the specifics of that war, and no one outside of our borders gives a damn," a Senator argued.

"In the Declaration, Jefferson wrote, 'He has affected to render the military independent of and superior to the civil power.' It's there for the entire human race to read at any time," Ethan said.

"Just as we have sworn to protect this nation, you were elected to protect the people and their interests, not a breakup letter written hundreds of years ago," one of Ellis's advisors calmly debated. To this, Ethan had no rebuttal.

"As for commander in chief, the answer is clear. The public and the troops would certainly agree with Lieutenant General Ellis," one suggested. Ethan turned to face the General for the first time in his entire life, and saw absolutely no emotion grace his features. "He has already helped foster legislation and turned the situation at the border around in less than a year."

Ellis finally spoke, his voice even and in command. "We have no desire to make ourselves superior to the people. Their lives and protection are the most important things to us soldiers. Yet it cannot be denied that a man of military birth and upbringing has more discipline and is more apt to improving himself. The military man also has a better, world view and continues to educate himself as situations change. No one deserves the honor of commanding the military more than a man of the military, no civilian deserves to serve the constitution or the government more than us in uniform."

Ethan could easily foresee such a sudden change in power spiraling out of control, but he never had a chance to voice his concerns. The others were too excited to spout off their own ideas and smack each other on the back in excitement. Ethan felt his brain shutoff. These were the people that were in charge of their country and he realized much too quickly how much of it was just a show. Someone once told him: "Follow the lines, and you'll see they're all one big family." While he tuned out their chatter, he could trace mental lines around all of those in the room. Which family had a stake in which bank; the same bank that supplied funds to that Senator's business; that business which provided supplies to another's organization.

He felt his head spin as he realized the power never changed hands. Finally, he understood why Mackenzie always complained to him about the futility of his profession. The only problem left was: where did he fit in the circle of power?

At that moment, his fiancée was not in the least concerned what he was up to or how stressed he was. She resided in Union next to Percy, who was unable to hide his bored expression. They rested outside of a bus station that just barely reached town. Both of them had better things to do, but Jordan had begged that they came with him. "You'll want to meet her," was all he had told them.

The only other group that bothered to roam all the way to the station that time of night was Freddie. His friend was loaded with supplies. They were close enough to Percy and company that their words were barely heard over the small wind that whistled through. Even after a bus pulled up, their voices managed to reach them.

"Remain vigilant, my friend. I'll be waiting for you." Freddie said to Huck . He offered his friend a strong embrace.

"We'll return within the month, Duke. Wish us luck," Huck said.

"Pax vobiscum," Freddie answered.

Huck moved to step onboard the bus just as the only passenger stepped off. After an awkward sidestep and uneasy apologies, he slipped onto the bus. The passenger was the woman Jordan had waited anxiously for and he let everyone know it by his loud, jubilant yell.

"It's been so long!" was his over exaggerated cry. It was obvious the excitement was somewhat forced. The woman was unable to avoid the bear hug Jordan forced on her. "It's so sad we're both unemployed now!"

Percy pinched his nose; the lack of employment explained why Jordan had yet to leave Union. However it didn't explain why he had yet to return to his wife. "Is this your wife?" Percy asked.

Like a sudden electric shock hit his veins, Jordan leapt away from the woman. Dramatically he held his arms up into an x formation and frowned deeply. "No. This is Riane McDermott. She was a writer for the Times the same time I was and reported a lot on the militia movements happening in New England."

"An article deserving of the Pulitzer Prize, even more than your coverage on Istanbul," Freddie commented. Like a hawk he swooped in to the group and hovered near the newcomer. The corner of his lip curled upward; he was unable to contain his amusement. Just the same, the rest of the group was unable to contain their annoyance at his appearance.

Percy chose to ignore Freddie and extended his hand in greeting. He said, "I'm Major Percival T. Raymond, ma'am."

She accepted his hand and said, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Major." Her words were not heard; he could only focus on her handshake. It was sturdy and confident, but the soft skin of her palm was a stark contrast to what he was used to feeling. Without a single callous or cut, he wondered if she ever used her hands. It so entranced him that he nearly forgot to let go.

When he finally did, he motioned to Mackenzie and said, "This is my adjutant, Mackenzie Ross." Pleasantries were exchanged; Mackenzie's handshake was much quicker than Percy's. The Major said, "Perhaps one day we'll discuss militia movements in detail. I'm interested in your research. But for now, I hope the daily workings of our small military camp will suffice."

"That's actually why I came here, Major. Jordan was able to secure several decent paychecks through his freelance work here. The public has a lot to deal with, but they're still fascinated by war," she said.

On cue, a squad came trotting by during a small run. It was Skipper's men, but with no Skipper in sight. They were led by the one they all called "Boomerang;" a short, young and energetic young man known for his quick and silent sprinting. Effortlessly he took his comrades on a grueling pace with a smile on his face.

When the Major came into view, Boomerang shouted, "Let's say hi to the Major, boys! Hoorah!"

"Hoorah!" they answered back.

He eased them to a standstill. The entire squad nearly doubled over as they tried to catch their breath. Boomerang smiled at the Major, not showing a single sign of fatigue. Percy raised his brow at the others; they fell out of formation and some even ended up on the ground. It was quite a sight to see.

"Howdy, Major, Captain," Boomerang greeted. "What are you doing all the way out here so late at night?"

"Standing," was the first word out of Percy's mouth. "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't it be your squad's day off?"

Boomerang smiled and said, "It's just like the Skipper says, Major: war is a 24/7 job!" Then he turned back to his comrades and said, "Okay, let's get going. You guys want a cadence?" There wasn't any real noise except the exhausted pants of his friends. "Alright, move out!"

Royal was in the middle of the squad and was one of the first to regain his composure and follow Boomerang down the road. The impact of each breath was devastating to his chest, but he pushed forward; each jolt his legs felt when he stepped jarred his entire body. He had to break his form just a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow. He was happy he opted to run shirtless, otherwise the garment would have been soaked and weighing him down.

"Up in the morning, outta the rack!"

He heard everyone struggle to follow the cadence; he wasn't even brave enough to try. His ears were barely able to hear Boomerang shout out the second line. Mustering all of his strength, he answered, "Greeted at dawn with an early attack!" The loud cry motivated the others; if this young greenhorn could still have enough energy to sing cadence, they felt they better have enough to sing it louder.

As they ran towards town, the sight of the construction lights glared against the darkness. The barracks, helicopter pad and tower were already completed; the apartments would be done by the end of the end and Percy's office building was well underway. For Royal, it was utterly surreal. Not even a year ago that land was full of wheat and corn, and those crops were the livelihood of this town. To him, it was the perfect representation of how fast things can change when you're not looking.

His mind shot back to the cadence when he heard Boomerang sing, "Queen of battle follow me!"

The sound of the others echoing the call rang throughout the open farmland. It was able to grace the ears of Wallace, proof he had decent hearing despite the years of abuse it took from war. Lost amongst a crop of dead cornstalk, he wasn't sure how far away the marching squad was. Besides, his mind was much more focused on the handful of dirt in his hands.

A loud sigh escaped his lips. He was a farmer's son; a single glance was all he needed to know the soil was ruined. Try as he might to be optimistic, a feeling of dread eclipsed all feelings of hope. The town would make no money from their dead crops and again the country would feel the tightening grip of a food shortage. The drought that strangled their country was turning out to be more devastating than any war they fought.

His brother David was beside him. When he heard Wallace sigh, he knew it wasn't good. "What do you think?" David asked.

"Well, I'm not an expert," Wallace admitted. "But I think it's pretty obvious it will be a while before the soil is back to where it was."

"And Dad refused to sell any of the land to you guys. We're left with a hundred acres of dead crops and worthless dirt."

"Did Pierre keep his land?"

"Only because Dad and Abigail pressured him to," David answered. "He's pissed enough already, I can't imagine how he'll react when we tell him it's worth nothing."

Wallace let the dried dirt seep through his fingers and back onto the ground. "Wasn't Pierre mad that we built the base here in the first place?" Wallace asked.

It was David's turn to sigh, "Yeah, but to be honest he's mad all the time. I swear he's the only guy who can find something wrong in anything. Give him the Bible and he'll tell you why Jesus was a fraud; tell him there is no God and he'll convince you to accept Jesus into your heart. I think he only feels important when he's riled up."

Finally Wallace stood from his crouched position. He dusted off his pants and popped his back for good measure. For a moment he stood motionless and without a single thought. If he did think, it would inevitably lead to stress of some sort. Work was stressful, family affairs were stressful… heck, life in general was stressful to Wallace. It wasn't that long ago that he was a carefree guy. Even in Turkey, when he was ordered to march straight into Istanbul against his best wishes, he did it with a relatively happy-go-lucky grin on his face.

He kept dwelling in silence, even though David swayed in boredom next to him. He realized his stress came from what he saw as betrayal – the promise of leave given to him by his commanders, only to be whisked away to Texas. He wondered how many times he had been backstabbed; by the military brass alone, it was countless times. They promised them supplies, backup, relief from their hard work but they received none of it. They proclaimed that sending them to fight was in the best interest of their country, but was it really?

Surely, every war had soldiers who held such thoughts, and for Wallace the military brass was not his only source of frustration. There was Percy, who made brash decisions that seemed pointless; the passing of his older brother, which felt like a knife in his back; the actions of militia members, who destroyed lives and declared it justified; the politicians, who sacrificed citizens and soldiers for the sake of a vote. Everywhere he looked, he found corruption, sorrow, and greed.

All of this was built up over time, probably dating back to the first time he was ever put in timeout. Yet he couldn't figure out what was the tipping point. Another loud sigh escaped his lips and he finally spoke. He said, "You know, I just feel so weak right now."

David just c****d his head at the sudden declaration.

Unsure if David was listening, Wallace continued. "I'm not entirely sure why I became a soldier, but a good reason was because I didn't want to see the people around me suffer. Yet everywhere I look, somebody's dying or something's happening. I don't even know what I'm saying, honestly."

"You can quit, Wallace," David said. He sounded a bit emotional, but Wallace pretending not to hear it in his tone. "I mean, no one would blame you. Even Dad is proud of all you've done. I'm sure Major Raymond would find a way to get you out. Just quit."

"Then I would feel even more powerless," Wallace said. "I don't think quitting is the answer. I've got to keep my head in the game and keep fighting. Even if you're down by ten runs, the opposing pitcher still has to make twenty-seven outs, right? I figure those aren't too bad of odds if everyone is doing their best."

David chuckled and said, "I'm not really sure if that was a good analogy."

Wallace finally turned to face his little brother. He mustered up the best grin he could and said, "f**k it. Let's go get something to drink. It's too damn hot out."

Throughout town the sound of the cadence that had passed Percy and Wallace now reached another man. Freddie stood on the step of the only hotel in town, the faint light of the stars cloaked by the bright light just near the hotel sign. He took a deep breath as the cadence passed him and the soldiers didn't even spare a glance. That was fine with him, since he was too used to being ignored. Despite being night, it was still much too hot and the air did little to comfort him. It took a lot of energy to step forward until he finally had momentum on his side.

Two soldiers rushed around the corner with quick strides and were so preoccupied with themselves they didn't even notice Freddie. The youngest was an officer, dressed in a ridiculous powder blue uniform, the chin strap from his combination cap on as tight as possible. The other was a Sergeant dressed in fatigues, his patrol cap down so far it covered his eyes. It was Goldwin and new squad leader Chiang Sun; the Lieutenant marched with such tunnel vision he hit Freddie square on the shoulder.

It caused Goldwin to stop. He froze and stared at Freddie for a solid five seconds. It wasn't for any reason other than he could not see in the dark. He wasn't sure if he had hit a person or an inanimate object and Freddie did not help the situation by remaining perfectly still. Finally, Goldwin was able to figure out what had just happened.

"Pardon me, sir!" he said. "I didn't you see there."

"You can't see much at all, it seems," Freddie observed.

Goldwin shook his head. "No, sir," he confirmed. "My vision is only about fifty percent, unfortunately."

Freddie smiled to himself. Such brutal honesty and the ability to acknowledge one's own weakness were hard to come by. Chiang Sun lifted his head to view the civilian they had unceremoniously run over better. This allowed Freddie to see him. His left eye was destroyed and the cornea so scarred it appeared almost white; a total of four large scars littered the left side of his face, while countless smaller ones peppered from his brow to his chin. His ear was cut in half. Freddie's reaction was to look away.

Chiang Sun was not offended. Even English emitted from his mouth when he said, "I apologize for my appearance."

"No," Freddie said. "I apologize for my reaction. I just forgot how bad it is."

Goldwin asked, "What is bad, sir?"

"War," was his short reply.

Chiang Sun shook his head, "I must disagree, sir. It is wrong for an individual to dismiss an action as either good or evil. The focus of our endeavors must be the root of the action. If you trim a tree, it will grow fresh limbs."

"So what, in your opinion, is the root cause of war?" Freddie asked.

"Is it not obvious?" Chiang sun responded. "The root cause of all strife in this world is the corruption of natural law. That would be the violation of the contract that bounds us to society: to forfeit our rights so that we may take the rights of others."

Freddie's was unable to hold back the change in his expression. Brows furrowed, lips tights, and body rigid in a defensive posture, he dared to look at Chiang Sun again. He was surprised and almost unable to formulate a complete sentence. Finally, he asked, "You are… Chinese?"

Chiang Sun nodded.

"Ubi libertas, ibi patria," Freddie quoted.

"Fiat iustitia, et pereat mundus," Chiang Sun said.

Goldwin felt his eyes widen. Clumsily, he said, "V… vitam impendere vero?"

Under the dim streetlight they stood in the warm silence. Suddenly, Goldwin and Chiang Sun were in no hurry. From three very different backgrounds, three very different individuals realized they had something in common. Its significance would not show its face to Percy for quite some time.