Anatomy of a Rebellion

Chapter 27

Intermission

Percy's vision had faded out sometime ago; when exactly, he couldn't recall, as his sense of time disappeared as well. When his eyes finally opened again and came into focus the sun's light was cascading into his office. The first face he saw clearly was Wallace. The tired Warrant Officer offered a smile and said, "Are you really awake this time?"

"What does that mean?" Percy mumbled. He tried to blink the sleep from his eyes.

"You've been dozing in and out for the entire day," Wallace explained.

Percy had to take a moment to remember what was happening. It was about three days since the operation in Ozark, and preparations were underway to bring the President to safety. He had wondered why there wasn't more of a commotion over the missing President from his own men, but Kenning had done his best to keep Percy from asking too many questions.

They had done all that Kenning had asked. After getting a night to relax – under the watchful eye of Percy's best soldiers – Kenning asked Percy to get in contact with a man named Ralph. After that, Kenning's contact was swift to give orders to the Major. It took all Percy had to bite his tongue and do what was asked of him. This time, he called upon Baton's squad to escort the President to the meeting point.

"What of the operation?"

"It's going alright so far," was Wallace's answer. Barton and his men had left at 0330hours; it had been close to twelve hours since then. The long operation was due to Ralph commanding Barton's men to take crisscrossing and winding routes. Anything, he said, to prevent them from being spotted.

This left everyone else watching the dots of their transponders roll slowly over the map. All they could think about was the fact that their President had been attacked. It was once thought that the President was untouchable, and certainly generations had passed in which it was. What had changed so suddenly in their nation?

Yet now was the time to look forward, not back; now was the time to make sense of the world they had fought for. They could not believe that America had changed so much in the two years they were away. It was tough enough to return home and find that the southern border was a sea of blood, but to see Americans brutally attack other Americans was enough to make their stomachs do flips. A conspiracy or a coup they could not accept; to watch the very foundation of their nation crumble so abruptly hurt than anything.

Perhaps it wasn't abrupt. Maybe the foundation had weathered away under the strong gale of time and change. It was possible that man had chipped away at its core for generations and only now had it begun to topple. However it felt abrupt to them. When they had left, America was still a proud country and one of the strongest in the world; a nation not without flaws, but whose virtues, can-do attitude and sense of community had made it the envy of all others.

None of this truly bothered them as much as one question: What was the role they were meant to play in this tragedy? Would they be the ones who sat idly by as their nation fell, or would they stand to protect her against domestic enemies? Was it correct, morally, to prop up the tumbling tower of power in America, or was it more beneficial for society that it fall to the ground in rubble? Who was it that they were to betray, who was it that they were to defend, who was it they were going to serve at the end of this era?

"I am no one's master, I am no one's slave," Jordan had whispered to himself in an eerie way. It was as though he had heard the question they all asked themselves and provided an answer. The truth was his nose was buried in a written piece and he had accidently breathed the words out in the silence.

The break provided an opening for discussion. It was as though their voices had been returned to them by Jordan's hushed words. Wallace was the first to speak, "I hope we're not on the wrong side."

"What makes you suggest such a thing?" Mackenzie asked. She was not in the mood to have her mind plagued with doubts. "This entire thing was set off based on intel Ethan received from a Colonel, right? And Ethan certainly believed that man, and so did the Lieutenant."

"The Green Beret pulled out in Ozark after they received word the President was secure," Wakeman added. "They are not quitters; they would not have retreated unless they knew for certain that he was safe."

"How do you know the information wasn't planted there?" Jordan asked with a serious gazed tossed in her direction.

She did not answer immediately. She seemed stunned that Jordan doubted her. "I'm never wrong," was her response.

"I guess you're right," he grinned back. His attention went forward again, his focus solely on the moonlight that snuck through the office window. Seconds passed, although it felt like minutes, before he spoke again. "The only question left is what do we do from here? Do we just bow our heads low and act like humble men? Do we take this chance in history to act upon it, and become heroes in a new era, make our nation untouchable once again?"

"What would you do, Mr. Attaway?" Percy asked.

Jordan turned toward them again, a sociable smile on his face. "I'm just a shy freelance journalist. All I want is to be with my family and live a normal life." It was accompanied with a nervous laugh, fitting of the description he gave. Yet to all around him it felt as though it was nothing more than a lie. It appeared as though he was merely acting the part and that deep inside rested a more unsettling mindset that was waiting to be unleashed.

They just chalked it up to Jordan being Jordan. This was a man they had seen transform over the past few years. When they first met him, he was a young, fresh face that had never even heard the word "disaster" until he was sent overseas. A happy-go lucky man who was a bit shy, very humble and who had many jokes to crack and many smiles to share; but that all changed when he had his first taste of battle. He still managed to laugh and provide a grin, but it was ready to crack and used only to mask his paranoia. They watched a good man turn to sin for comfort.

They wondered which Jordan was real: the untouched, innocent, nave boy, or the corrupted, sneaky weasel that smirked in front of them. For some reason the answer didn't seem necessary. Jordan was a complex man, despite his exterior simplicity.

"All of this talk is worthless," Wallace sighed. "We've already made our move."

"We didn't make a move, Mister Chevalier. If I remember right, you had quite a few objections when we spoke of it in Laredo," Wakeman said.

Wallace frowned, "I still do. But for different reasons. I don't make false claims. Unlike the Captain here."

It was obvious Wallace meant for it to be a joke, but Mackenzie still asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You always say no one is as good at getting information as you, especially when it's about other people," he said. "But you aren't even sure if Ellis is the bad guy. That's not even counting the fact you never did figure out anything about Freddie's group."

"He has a good point," Percy groggily agreed with a nod. "That female reporter figured out Freddie was a Duke before you did."

A sudden wave of tension hit everyone in the room. Not because of the jab Percy gave, but rather because only Percy was aware that Freddie had been labeled as such by Riane. Everyone had questions they wanted to ask, like a Duke to what country and did he mean royalty? Mackenzie hid whatever emotions she felt over the criticism and said, "I already knew that. I found out immediately. Just like how I knew all about that female sniper from Texas."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Percy questioned. Despite having a heavy head from the sleep in his body, he was still able to stress his words in a way that made it obvious he was upset.

Mackenzie could feel the rest of the room immediately turn their attention elsewhere; whenever Percy got angry at Mackenzie it always resulted in an awkward atmosphere that refused to ease up. On the other hand, Jordan shifted even more in his seat to carefully watch Mackenzie as she answered. It was an odd gesture, but she ignored it. "Why don't you tell us what you know, then?" Jordan suggested.

She knew that he was baiting her for information, but she gladly gave in. "Freddie's real name is Solomon Flowerdew, Duke of Edinburgh and rightful King of England. He was a senior member of the European Parliament. Every American should know about him by now. The sniper goes by the name Rita, but her real name is Marguerite Tolbert; she is fluent in seven languages and is wanted throughout Europe for the assassination of several key political and military figures. The man who calls himself Huckleberry O'Hara is actually Professor Casper Anderson."

"You knew that Casper Anderson was in Union, but you didn't try to arrest him?" Wallace asked, a rise in his voice due to his surprise. "That man tried to murder your father."

"I'm aware of that," Mackenzie snapped. "But I was given no authority by the Major to arrest him. Even if I was, it wouldn't be right for me to carry out the order. A person with emotional attachment to a case shouldn't be assigned to resolve it, should they?"

Wallace said nothing; he merely allowed his frown to deepen.

"Regardless," Wakeman jumped in, "Major Raymond seems pretty content keeping Freddie's group around, right?"

"I just haven't decided," Percy muttered. "Who is the terrorist and who is the dreamer? Is Freddie really the bad guy, or are we the wrong ones? I just can't figure it out."