by Trent Reedy
“Jordan, what do you think?”
“It is outrageous. These peace talks run the risk of putting us right back into the same standoff we were in before Operation Unity began. One thing Republicans understand better than Democrats is the importance of negotiating from a position of strength, with the potential for real negative consequences for the adversary always at hand.”
“Democrats understand that concept just fine, except we know that what you’ve just described isn’t negotiation, but intimidation.”
“Fine, Sue. But while you quibble over semantics, people are dying. Maybe the time has come for a lot more intimidation. •—
—• several southern states are actively demanding the preservation of the union. And while the congressional leadership and the governors and senior state leadership of Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi have been in a closed-door meeting for several hours now, we’re told that they will soon be addressing the press.
And here they come, just the governors and senior senators taking seats behind the table as Representative John Lingham takes the podium. He is a Democrat from Georgia’s Fifth Congressional District, which includes Atlanta, one of a handful of Democrats in the heavily Republican South, and chair of the Congressional Black Caucus.”
“Good afternoon. To the members of the press and the members of the FBI: Thank you for joining us today in Atlanta. In my years of working for greater equality and prosperity for all Americans, I have become accustomed to the presence of law enforcement, and once again, I’m in a position to assure federal agents, and the government they represent, that my allies and I mean no harm. I have been in communication for the last few weeks and in meetings today with the Southern Coalition for Unity, which has elected me as its chair. While I am, perhaps, more experienced than some of my SCU Republican allies in helping to raise the voice of protest during times of war, today, instead of seeking an immediate end to hostilities, I am joining my fellow lawmakers in demanding a swift and decisive victory in Idaho.
“We do not believe that any productive gains can be made from negotiations between the federal government and the treasonous war criminal James Montaine. We do not believe the Idaho leadership will ever accept President Griffith’s terms by surrendering themselves to federal prosecution. We hold that such negotiations only serve to give rebel insurgents in Idaho more time to improve defenses, build coalitions, and prepare for a longer, bloodier war. During discussions about the Federal ID Card Act, insurgent terrorists in northern Idaho continue to wound and kill American soldiers.
“I have dedicated my life to the pursuit of peace, and while President Griffith’s desire for a peace settlement is admirable in spirit, it is flawed in execution. We have formed this political alliance because we are concerned about our sons and daughters being sent to a potentially prolonged conflict here on American soil. The Southern Coalition for Unity hereby strongly urges President Griffith and her allies in the Senate and House of Representatives to discontinue Federal ID Card Act amendment proceedings, to end negotiations with the terrorist leadership of Idaho, and to immediately, completely, and swiftly prosecute the sort of total warfare in Idaho that will bring this conflict to an end and allow our southern soldiers to come home. The Idaho Crisis must end now, and we ask for the support of Americans everywhere in helping to ensure that it does. Thank you. •—
We stayed in the dungeon for the next two weeks. TJ made it down once a few days after our trouble outside the school. JoBell was okay, but the Fed was watching her house again.
“It’s too risky for her out there,” I said. “She should go into hiding. If not here, then somewhere.”
“That’s what I tried to tell her,” TJ said. “I thought she was going to slap me. She’s determined to stay out of this whole war, to live as normal a life as possible, I guess. But I don’t know how much longer everybody else will. People are getting pissed. I’ve heard talk around school about people wanting to stage a walkout, a protest against the curfew and other stuff.”
“That’s stupid,” said Sergeant Kemp. “The Fed will never stand for that. People could get hurt. You need to stop anything like that.”
“Yeah,” I said. “And if you step in and stop it, that might help keep the Fed from suspecting you.”
TJ nodded, but I could see the fear in his eyes. All this dangerous sneaking was draining him.
I slapped him on the arm and he jumped a little. “Hang in there, man,” I said. He nodded. “You’re doing good.”
* * *
We passed much of the time listening to the RIR and the Fed broadcasts. The Fed had mentioned a manhunt and reward for any information leading to the identification or arrest of the terrorist who had tried to attack Freedom Lake High School. They had to have figured out who was driving the motorcycle. We guessed that the Fed didn’t want to let people know I was still alive.
The news described riots in Oakland and Detroit. Federal troops had been sent to clear out and tear down this giant tent city the homeless had built in Oakland. People who once had solid middle-class jobs had recently been forced to live in cars or scrap wood shacks, and then even those had been taken away. The trouble in Michigan set fire to blocks and blocks of abandoned houses and businesses. With all of the fighting and uncertainty, the value of the dollar was collapsing. That made everything more expensive, and with the added uncertainty in Texas, gas was expected to hit fifteen bucks a gallon by summer. People didn’t even know whether they could afford to get to work. Many were mad at the president, saying she should either stop the war or finish it really fast. The whole country— well, that whole country, the United States, was falling apart.
At first, everybody in the dungeon was kind of pissed over having another person to squeeze into the already-cramped space, but it was hard not to like Becca. She liked to cook, and she worked some serious magic in our little kitchen. She broke into the MREs and started mixing up new dishes, like beef stew with cheese tortellini. She heated and buttered the shelf-stable bread and changed it from a chalky dead slab to something sort of good. Beyond that, Becca had a gift for listening, and for celebrating the best in whoever she talked to, so that just about everyone left a conversation with her feeling better about themselves. First Sergeant Herbokowitz was in charge, but Becca quickly became our caretaker.
Finally Herbokowitz started letting patrols go out again. We agreed that the M4s were too big to take out on recon runs, as they were too hard to hide. So we were breaking rule two until we could find other, smaller weapons. That left us with my .45 as the only handgun. I agreed to let the others use it, since I was banned from missions for a while. Sparrow and Luchen went first. Then Kemp and Crocker. We still wanted to make a move against the Fed and hit their headquarters at the old cop shop.
Finally, me and Sweeney and Cal were allowed to go topside. Since Schmidty had made plenty of tracks in the snow to and from the shop, we agreed it would be best to simply go out the front door when it was clear. Better that than making a trail out the back of the tunnel that would look suspicious. After fighting for at least ten minutes with the stupid latch on the door, the three of us got out of the dungeon.
The lights were on, but the shop was dead quiet. That was weird for the middle of the day. Schmidty had kept the place open this whole time. But where was he?
I thought about going right back downstairs, but I figured I’d take a very careful look around first, in case Schmidty was in trouble. I drew my .45 and almost shot the man as he came out of the front office. Schmidty stopped and stared at me a moment. “You gonna shoot me?” He reached into his front pocket for his pack of cigarettes.
“Sorry.” I put the gun back in its holster.
Sweeney patted my back. “He’s a little jumpy. We’ve been down there a long time.”
“They finally let you out after that stunt you pulled at the school, huh?” Schmidty tapped the side of the pack, found it empty, crumpled it, and threw it over near the trash can.
“
They’re going to give us another chance at recon. Pretty soon, we’re going to start hitting the Fed back,” I said.
“How’s business?” Cal said.
Schmidty flipped him off. “Go to hell.” He braced a hand against his back as he sat down in his old dusty swivel chair, searching in a desk drawer, probably for more smokes. “Nobody allowed to drive. People couldn’t bring in their cars even if they wanted to.”
I looked around the empty shop. “Then why—”
“Someone has to be here to pretend like this place is open. If it’s closed all the time and the Feds detect heat signs or something, they’re gonna start to wonder, aren’t they? Plus, if those sons of bitches come, I want to be here to distract them and warn you.”
“Geez, Schmidty, you’re a real hero of the resistance,” Sweeney said.
Schmidty found a cigarette and pointed it at us. “I don’t know anything about that shit, but if you boys are going out fighting, you better wise up. Not like last time. What were you thinking?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Kind of an emergency situation there.”
“Just stay the hell away from the school now. Since your stunt, that place is a fortress. Whole fire teams guarding each door. Machine gun nests on the roof. It’s a mess.”
“Sure,” I said. “No problem. Any other pointers?”
“Just this. If you are going to do something to stop the Fed, you better do it soon. They’re getting set up for what looks like a damned long stay.” Schmidty sat back in his chair and was about to light up. Then the rumble of an engine came from outside, followed by the sound of tires rolling over crunching snow and gravel.
“The Fed!” I hissed, pulling out my .45 and waving it toward the dungeon. “Go, go, go!”
In seconds, Cal and Sweeney were back by the closet, yanking the steel ring that would lift the hatch. Sweeney pulled, then knocked on the lid. “Hey!” he said quietly. “Open up.”
“It’s stuck,” Sergeant Kemp said from beneath the metal. “Something’s wrong with the lock. There’s this one little piece of metal that’s stuck behind …”
“The hell we gonna do?” Cal asked. “Give me a wrench or something. I’ll split the Feds’ damned skulls.”
“A .45 and a wrench against rifles and machine guns?” Sweeney whispered. “See? This is why we should never break the rules. I tried to tell them, if you put the M4 under your coat kind of up —”
“Come on.” I ran for the steel ladder to the loft above the office. The guys were right behind me, scrambling up the rungs through the metal tube cage near the top. We ducked behind a stack of three rolls of pink insulation just as we heard the front door open. There wasn’t much between the dusty plywood loft floor and the Feds in the room down below. “Don’t move,” I whispered as quietly as I could. I prayed they hadn’t already heard us.
The inside door of the office creaked. Several pairs of boots clunked on the concrete floor of the shop below.
“Still open for business, Mr. Schmidt?” said a voice with some kind of Hispanic accent. “Even when people are no longer allowed to drive?”
“Thanks to guys like you,” Schmidty said with fire.
“Thanks to rebels like your partner, Daniel Christopher Wright.”
It was so quiet then that I worried the Feds might hear my heartbeat thumping in my chest. The ghost of the wound in my left hand throbbed. Though it was cold up in the loft, a bead of sweat ran down from my temple.
I heard the flick-hiss of Schmidty’s lighter. “You fellows need some work done on your Humvees?” The anger was gone from his voice. He had control of himself again. “Is that why you’re here?”
“I am Major Federico Alsovar.”
“I know who you are.”
“What you may not know is that General Thane himself has assigned me to lead a special task force to locate and apprehend Daniel Wright. It seems a lot of rebels and their sympathizers have become rather fascinated with him— fist flags, ‘We will give you a war’ graffiti, and so forth. They feel sorry for the boy and his poor, dead mother.”
I heard the sick squelchy rattle of someone hocking up a loogie, the splat as it hit the cement. “Well, congratulations on your new assignment, Mr. Alsovar,” said Schmidty, “but you still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”
“I am pretty sure you and I are going to wind up down at my headquarters, Mr. Schmidt. But let’s keep up the appearance of following procedures. I will allow you the opportunity to be a patriot again, to serve your country, the United States, by helping me with my mission. Where is Daniel Wright?”
“Thought you people said he was dead.”
“It’s better for the morale of the nation that people think he’s dead. Another of the president’s ‘tactical deceptions,’ I’m afraid. But you and I both know he’s alive,” said Alsovar. “Where is he?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“You and his father were friends. Wright is half owner of this business. I think you know exactly where he is. I’m going to have my men search the premises.”
Schmidty coughed. “You got a warrant?”
Major Alsovar laughed. “Under the Unity Act, soldiers operating on the basis of reasonable suspicion do not require warrants. Why? Do you have something to hide?”
“I just believe in the right to privacy, is all.”
“Citizens of the United States enjoy a right to privacy. Rebels? Not so much.”
“But you already searched this place!”
“Yes,” said Alsovar. “But I think maybe the situation has changed. Perhaps my soldiers weren’t careful enough when they were here before. Gentlemen, conduct your search.”
“You can’t do this!” Schmidty said. “This is private property!”
“Restrain him,” said Alsovar calmly.
Schmidty grunted. “Get off me, you sons of bitches!”
That was it. No way was I letting these bastards take Schmidty in. I rose up a little to peek over the insulation, .45 in hand. Below, Schmidty cracked a Fed lieutenant in the nose with a quick hard jab. Blood splattered out in a circle from his fist. Another soldier came up from behind and swung the butt of his rifle at Schmidty, but he ducked under the blow and threw an elbow into the soldier’s gut. I’d never seen the old guy move so fast.
“Come on, you shithead Feds!” Schmidty said. “You know who you’re messing with? I done my time. Seen more combat than you!” The lieutenant had recovered enough to lunge at Schmidty again, but the old-timer dropped him with a right hook.
Major Alsovar calmly drew his nine mil and aimed it at Schmidty. “I am authorized to kill any insurgents who offer resistance.”
I started to stand up. I’d shoot the major before I let him hurt Schmidty. But Schmidty was standing still while a sergeant major and a captain zip-tied his hands behind his back. Hands were on my shoulders. Sweeney and Cal pulled me back down to a crouch. “You can’t take on all those guys,” Sweeney whispered. The Feds started tugging Schmidty toward the front door.
“Come on!” I whispered. “We have to do something.”
“Even if Wright was alive, you think you could use me as bait to bring him in?” Schmidty yelled. “He wasn’t that damned stupid! He would never have risked himself for a washed-up old guy like me.”
His act was a warning for me to stay out of sight. Or maybe he believed that’s how I would choose to play it. He was wrong, though. I’d been forced to kill men to save my friends before. If I had to, I’d do it again.
The scuffle moved to the office below us. “He would never have risked letting you assholes arrest him! I taught him too well!”
“I’m classifying this whole place as a rebel installation,” Alsovar shouted. “Turn it upside down. Impound any resources the rebels might find useful. The tools, the parts, everything.”
I pressed my eyes against my fists. They’d arrested Schmidty. Now they were taking over the shop. They’d gone too far.
“Wright, pay
attention,” Sweeney whispered. “Someone’s coming.”
He was right. I heard the scrape of boots on the metal rungs of the ladder. This was it. Even if I’d wanted to obey Schmidty and stay hidden, I couldn’t.
“What do we do?” Sweeney mouthed.
“We go out fighting,” Cal whispered.
“With you all the way.” I bumped fists with him and rolled onto my back, stuffing my .45 into the insulation so I could work the slide action to chamber a round without making too much noise.
Footsteps hit the wood next to us. I aimed my gun so I could handle the guy when he came around the insulation pile.
“Wait until I shoot,” I mouthed to Cal. “Sweeney, you get his gun.”
Cal nodded and moved into a three-point stance. He had his football game face on, ready to destroy.
The Fed rounded the corner with his rifle ready. I fired two rounds. One hit his chest plate, one went through his neck. Cal tackled him and Sweeney had his M4 in an instant.
“Let’s take ’em out!” I shouted. Sweeney ran to the edge of the loft and fired four rounds into the shop. I joined him in time to see Alsovar duck into the office. I picked off the sergeant major with my .45. Sweeney had already wasted two lieutenants.
“Hurry, before they get away!” I climbed halfway down the ladder and then jumped the rest of the way to the floor. Cal skipped the ladder, lowered himself over the edge, and dropped. Sweeney was right behind him.
I holstered my .45 and picked up an M4 from one of the dead lieutenants. Cal took the rifle off the sergeant major. “Let’s go get Schmidty!” I said.
“Wright, you okay?” Kemp shouted as he led Luchen, Sparrow, Bagley, and First Sergeant Herbokowitz out of the dungeon.
“Oh, now he gets the hatch open!” Sweeney said.
“Pack it up down there,” I said. “We gotta move out!”
