Live Free or Die-ARC

by John Ringo

"Yet . . . to battle over maple syrup? The inherent humor of the situation sometimes clouds the truly vast nature of the struggle. For it is not, in the end, what we give up, maple syrup or gold or platinum. It is of a piece. It is about whether we, as a people, as nations that were both conceived in liberty, will continue to cherish that concept.

  "Benjamin Franklin once said: 'Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.' And in this current condition there is, in fact, neither. I understand, as few but the most specialized experts understand, the strategic situation. The Horvath control our orbitals. We can fight but there is simply no way to win. Fighting would appear to be a pointless exercise."

  The producer made a rolling motion and pointed to the ceiling of the mine. Time to speed it up.

  Tyler breathed out, hard, and let loose a puff of smoky breath. Oops.

  "But collecting this maple syrup requires the willing cooperation of thousands of people. Men and women, Canadian and American, who have been born in the concept, instilled in the idea, of liberty. These people of the fields, woods and mountains, pour from these regions to fill our military. Not, as many city folk think, because they're poor or desperate but because this is their essential nature. No person is happy to give their life, but the people of this region believe that there is something larger than their selves. Not just God, although many are believers in God, but a vision, a philosophy, a shared belief in freedom and justice and the battle against tyranny. From their very mother's milk they are filled with this belief, that to die in the cause of freedom brings not heaven but a better place here on earth for succeeding generations.

  "I have taken the tenor of these people and they are determined against yielding. As stubborn as the granite of their mountains, they, almost in unanimity, refuse to yield. They may, perhaps will, be destroyed. But they, and, yes, their children, will die free.

  "They, however, are not under threat. The Horvath threaten to destroy our cities, not these woods, mountains and fields. Let me touch upon that.

  "The Horvath are a very monolithic and communal culture. The very concept of liberty is foreign to them. So I'm going to have to explain something to the Horvath. You may be looking upon our cities as sort of communal groups for which the people of this region are gatherers. This is not, in fact, the case. The people of this region are their own communal grouping, connected to but not of the cities. They are, in fact, almost invariably at odds with the groups of the cities. The cities, you dumb squids, are our enemies. You're threatening our enemies you morons! We hate the people of the cities. I hate the people of the cities! Liberal, whining, socialist pussies! They've never given us anything but trouble! Please, please, please nuke Washington! What has Washington ever done for us? They just take and take and take! The bastards! Kill them all!

  "As for me, I'll tell you what I think!" Tyler said, shouting. He jumped to his feet and flipped a bird at the ceiling, looking straight up. "GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEATH YOU BASTARDS! LIVE FREE OR . . ."

  "Lost the signal from the cabin," Ryan said. "Switching to . . . secondary remote."

  On homes across the nation the view was now of Tyler in front of the 1997 World Series.

  "Hah!" Tyler said, still flipping a bird at the ceiling. "Missed me you egg-sucking ignoramuses! Never heard of a laser relay or a green-screen, have you? Go ahead and try to take our maple syrup! Dumb-asses!"

  "And secondary remote is gone," Ryan said.

  "I think that's good enough," Tyler said.

  "The Horvath are taking over all the broadcast airwaves," Bruce said.

  "Let's hear it," Tyler said.

  "PEOPLE OF THE MAPLE REGION. YOU WILL DELIVER THE SYRUP OR YOU WILL BE DESTROYED. WE WILL DESTROY EVERY HOME, EVERY TOWN, EVERY PERSON. YOU WILL ALL DIE."

  "You will deliver the maple syrup," the speakerphone said in metallic tones. "You will execute Tyler Vernon. You will destroy the resistance in the region. Or you will be eliminated."

  "We're trying," the President said. "You've seen that we are trying! Those people may nominally be under our authority but they are not under our control. We have an arrest warrant out for Tyler Vernon but our agents, those that survive going up to the hills, have been unable to find him. Our military is half in mutiny and half pinned down by fire. Some of it from our own forces! Is there anything that you can do?"

  "Remove your loyal troops," the Horvath said a few moments later. "We will eliminate the resistance of the rural infesters and then you will send people of the urban colonies to collect the syrup."

  "You're going to . . . kill them?" the President said.

  "We will eliminate all resistors," the Horvath replied.

  "I . . ." the President said, gulping. "I can't . . ." He paused at a raised hand from the Marine Corps Commandant.

  The Commandant looked at the ceiling for a moment in thought then nodded, hard. The President made a face but the Commandant just raised his hand in an OK symbol.

  "Very well . . ." the President said, dubiously. "Feel free to eliminate the resistors in the region."

  "We did not need your permission." The call cut off with a click.

  "I just condemned the people of New England to aerial bombardment," the President said.

  "Most of them have moved their families out of the region," the Commandant said. "Women and kids, mostly. Not even most of the women. The rest have dug in hard. You'd be surprised how many old mines, caves and such there are in that area. Which is probably where Vernon is hiding."

  "The Horvath have kinetic bombardment systems and heavy lasers," the National Security Advisor said, dryly. "That area is going to take a pasting."

  "How much can they do without seriously affecting the maple crop?" the Commandant said. "And we're talking about a dispersed population, dug in. Think how much trouble we've been having in Afghanistan. Furthermore, that ship looks big to us. But if you actually do the tonnage and make a good guess on engine size compared to the Glatun ships we've seen, they can't actually be carrying that many KEW. Our estimate is, what? Sixteen city killers, max? What, exactly, are they going to do with sixteen nukes, that don't even spread radiation, against that area? Bomb Manchester? It's almost entirely evacuated. Lasers? Footprint of a meter. They can get the woods burning. Oh, boy. Let them bomb the area. Encourage it. That's Vernon's whole plan."

  "Mr. Vernon," the reporter said. "We're very pleased to have this opportunity to interview you. Given that the Horvath have ordered you be delivered to them, there is a warrant out for your arrest for high treason and you are under continual threat, isn't this just a little risky?"

  "Risk is part of life, Jamie," Tyler said. "Given the situation, I'll admit I don't have a lot of freedom of movement. But freedom is a philosophy, not a condition. No truly free man can be made a slave. I will not be a slave to the Horvath or to a tyrannical government of socialists."

  "You have some hard things to say about the residents of cities, Mr. Vernon," the reporter said. "Since we all can't hide, is that particularly fair?"

  "Jamie, I've been fighting the tyranny of you lefty jerks my whole life. If you want to submit to the Horvath, that's up to you. I'm not willing to . . ." He paused at a raised hand.

  "I'm not sure how much of that got out," Ryan said as the room rumbled and dust fell from the roof. "And we're losing transceivers."

  "And it's pretty much harvest time," Bruce pointed out, packing up the gear. Time to move again.

  "I'm not a big fan of maple syrup, anyway," Tyler said. "How many people have we lost in this charlie fox?"

  "Not nearly as many as we should have," Bruce said. "The biggest lost was a 'Peace Now!' demonstration in Burlington. They'd gathered around a big old historic maple figuring the Horvath couldn't possibly hit them. Wrong. Dead wrong."

  "I've had times when I'd find that really funny," Tyler said. "Somehow, though, it's just not as funny as it used to be."

  "You've got a call coming in," Ryan
said. "Hypercom."

  "Bet Osama wishes he had one of these," Tyler said, picking up the link. "Tyler Vernon."

  "Mr. Vernon, this is Saenc Mori with Hypernet Network News!"

  "Hi, Saenc. Kind of busy at the moment."

  "You're going to be busier soon," the reporter said. "The Horvath have sent their final demands to your President. Stop the resistance and execute Tyler Alexander Vernon or Washington, Philadelphia, New York and Boston will be destroyed. Their ship is coming up from the south. Then they will take up stable position over the maple producing regions and use their lasers to reduce them to ashes. That's as soon as their ship completes this latest orbit which is now in . . . forty seven minutes."

  "I guess I got them a little riled," Tyler said, his heart sinking. Petra and the girls were outside Boston. "Guess this is it. Can you get a word to the Horvath?"

  "We've sort of taken over your broadcast system," the reporter admitted. "I mean, it's just sitting there . . ."

  * * *

  "We might as well get out of the news business," the CBS producer snarled.

  "We'd better get out of Washington, first," the anchor replied.

  ". . . so the Horvath should be listening."

  "Fine," Tyler said. "They want me? I'll be at the summit of Mt. Moriah when they come back around. I'll be nice and easy to spot."

  "Isn't that suicide?"

  "I'm tired of hiding anyway," Tyler said, jumping on one of the ATVs parked in the cave. "Let's do this thing."

  There were hardly any trails, much less roads, in the area. And what trails were accessible by ATVs did not make it to the top of Mount Moriah. The last two hundred meters had really sucked.

  It was also . . . Bitterly cold didn't cut it, in Tyler's opinion. The recent cold front was yet to completely pass and the air was not only below freezing but, in one of those tricks possible only in a place as screwed up weather-wise as the White Mountains, humid. He was standing waist deep in snow in a thin, wind-driven icy fog. It was the sort of cold that didn't just cut to the bone. It went through three layers of clothes, skin, flesh and bone so fast that it only stopped when it got around to freezing the marrow. Then it started to chill the body from the inside out. His parts that were in snow were the warmest parts of his body. The Horvath had better kill him quick or hypothermia was going to do the job for them.

  Despite the thin fog it was a great view, though.

  "I can see your house from here," Mr. Haselbauer said, huffing up the last few feet to the summit. "Couldn't you have picked a lower spot?"

  "What the hell are you doing here?" Tyler asked. "This is my big moment. Get your own."

  "So this is your plan?" Mr. Haselbauer asked. "Die? I figured you were going to use your secret 'smelting' lasers."

  "The Horvath ship has a shield," Tyler said, sighing. "We couldn't scratch it. So, yeah, this was my plan. Die. Sometimes it works. Heroic defeats have led to most of the great victories in history. Let somebody smarter figure out how to defeat the Horvath ship. Hopefully motivated by that poor, brave, doomed bastard Tyler Vernon."

  "Figured as much," Haselbauer said. "Which is why I'm here. Couldn't let the Rebs get all the credit."

  "You and your Rebs," Tyler said, shaking his head. He took out his cellphone and loaded in the battery. It had been out for a couple of months and the charge was low but, what the hell, it wouldn't have to last long. And with the carrier signal going there was no way that the Horvath could miss and hit some innocent. Hopefully, with him dead they'd back off on destroying the region. At least for a while. He fumed for a moment then couldn't hold it in.

  "The only reason you won was you outnumbered us ten to one! And had all the cannon foundries! And that might not have happened if Jackson hadn't had his first bad day at Seven Pines! The Union's as bad as the Horvath!"

  "Shouldn't start a war if you don't have cannon," Mr. Haselbauer said, smugly.

  "Well, that was the point wasn't it?" Tyler said. "The South wanted industries and northern monopolies, abetted by northern congressmen, wouldn't allow it. So when we started to sell our agricultural products to the British for, among other things, mill equipment, you went and put a block on that! An unconstitutional block given that it was essentially a one hundred percent export tariff. There's a reason it's called the War of Northern Aggression." His phone rang and he pulled it out with a snarl.

  "What?"

  "Mr. Vernon, are you and Jason Haselbauer, a noted resistance leader, actually rearguing your country's civil war in your last few moments? Oh, hi, this is Saenc Mori with Hypernet News Network. Your cellphone network isn't exactly secure, either."

  "Not much better to do, Saenc," Tyler said, dropping smoothly into professional mode. "It's pretty cold up here. Ask those Horvath to hurry, will you? A nice orbital death ray would feel good about now."

  "On that subject, the betting on your survival is one hundred to one, do you have any comment?"

  "I'll take a thousand credits on the nose," Tyler said, instantly.

  "Isn't that a bit of a risk?"

  Tyler closed his eyes and wondered if there was some sort of lobotomy involved in becoming a newscaster.

  "If I live I get a hundred thousand credits, Saenc," Tyler said, slowly. "If I die, I won't really care that I'm out a grand. Think about it."

  "True. Well, your bid has been registered by a bookie called Ongotuli the Knife who says 'You'd better be good for it.'"

  "Aware that these may be my last words: I'm good for it."

  "You have about three minutes. The moment of decision for Washington, however, has past and the Horvath seem to have chosen not to fire."

  "Damnit," Tyler said. "What does it take to get these guys to get rid of all our problems for us?"

  "You really don't care for city people, do you?"

  "Hate 'em," Tyler said. "Bombing's too good for 'em. They need to be chopped into little bits and buried alive."

  "And Philadelphia. Apparently the Horvath disagree."

  "Don't care for Horvath, either," Tyler said. "Especially if they're not going to gut cities."

  "And New York is still there. The Horvath ship is about to clear the horizon, Mr. Tyler. Seriously. Last words."

  Tyler thought about it for a second and then shrugged.

  "There is no joy without pain. No victory without sacrifice. This is my victory."

  "Very nice . . ."

  "Sorry, cutting in here," a new voice said. "Horvath ship. Take no hostile action in regards to the maple gathering regions or their polity or tribes. Say again, take no hostile actions or you will be destroyed."

  "This is unacceptable," a metallic Horvath voice replied. "Who is this?"

  "This is Commander Faeth Riang of the Glatun heavy cruiser Kagongwe and . . ."

  Tyler was looking up and actually caught the sparkle.

  ". . . not only are you about the size of my long boat, your shields are down. Power down your weapons and leave orbit so we can negotiate or I will finish what my secondaries just did with my main gun. Mr. Vernon?"

  "Yes?" Tyler said.

  "Could you ask your people to possibly begin gathering maple syrup? My sailors are about to mutiny."

  "Right away," Tyler said, "Hey, everybody. Olly olly oxenfree! Time to get to work!"

  "Thank you. I assure you, you won't have any more trouble from your Horvath . . . benefactors."

  Tyler hung up the phone and shrugged.

  "So, we froze our ass off for nothing."

  "Can't say that," Mr. Haselbauer said. "It's still a fine view. Take it the cavalry arrived."

  "Yep," Tyler said, feeling strangely depressed. And badly in need of a drink. "And now we've got to actually, you know, work."

  "Been workin' my whole life," Mr. Haselbauer said. "Best make some calls."

  "Yeah," Tyler said, looking at his phone. "Me too."

  He hit speed dial.

  "Hi, Petra. Can I talk to the girls?"

  "Mr. Vernon," the CNN reporter said to
a background of a boiling pan of maple syrup, "things seem to be progressing well in the maple syrup harvest."

  "Quite well, Courtney," Tyler said. "Despite some reports to the contrary, the weather is cooperating very well and it looks to be a bumper crop."

  "So all's well that ends well," the reporter said. "Mr. Vernon, you said some very harsh things about the people of our great nation's cities. Surely you weren't serious."

  "Courtney," Tyler said, seriously, "I'm an American patriot. All of America. I don't care for certain strains of politics, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't give my life to save the lives of others. Other Terrans even. I just wish that those who disagree with me could at least agree on that."