The Only Thing to Fear

by Caroline Tung Richmond

  Which could lead to war, Zara thought. If her mom and Mrs. Talley were here, they would have been taking notes and already plotting ways to use this information. “So you’re saying —”

  “What about the Japanese?” Uncle Red cut in. “They’re the Führer’s strongest ally. The Soviets can’t be blind enough to take on both Empires and the Italians.”

  “The Italian economy is about to collapse, and Mussolini III is facing a coup. As for the Japanese, they have enough on their hands with the rebellions in China and the uprisings on the California coast. Let’s face it: The Empire of Japan is stretched too thin. They got too greedy when the war ended. How could they rule Asia and the Pacific and the Western American Territories?”

  Zara nodded. Garrison was right. Although she hated giving credit to Adolf Hitler, he had been shrewd enough to avoid Japan’s current problem. Once he had conquered the United States and executed Roosevelt, he knew he couldn’t colonize the massive country on his own. And so he split the Territories with the Japanese and the Italians, saving the most fertile and most developed portion for himself. That was one of the reasons why the Nazi Empire had thrived — it had conquered a manageable portion of land and had populated it with its ever-expanding population.

  Garrison leaned back on the sofa, now that all of his cards were on the table. “The Führer is losing his grip on the Empire. It’s as simple as that.”

  Goose bumps shivered across Zara’s arms. The Nazi leadership could crack in the next few months, and the entire Empire might soon collapse with it. If part of the borderlands took up arms against the Führer, then others might follow suit. And then, the Territories would have its turn.

  “We believe this is the right time for a full-out revolution,” Garrison said. “That’s why we’ve come up with Operation Burning Eagle.”

  Burning Eagle? It sounded a bit silly, Zara thought, but fitting. The eagle was a favored emblem of the Führer, dating back to the days of Adolf Hitler, who looked to the bird as a noble creature, a rightful symbol of his beloved Germany. Zara knew the bird had once been symbolic for the United States as well, but the only eagles she saw now graced her reichsmark notes and Nazi flags.

  “A revolution seems hasty,” Uncle Red said. He stood from his chair and paced around the debris-ridden room. “We don’t want a repeat of Mission Metzger.”

  “Farragut and I have discussed this at length,” Garrison countered. “That’s why our first move is to drum up support across the Eastern American Territories. Our chapters are strong, but we’re not strong enough to take on the Nazi army. If we can garner more widespread civilian backing, however, we’d give the Germans a good fight.”

  Uncle Red didn’t stop pacing. The lines creasing his forehead made him appear only half-convinced. “You’re talking about rallying farmers and factory workers. Most of them are focused on feeding their families, not joining a revolution.”

  “That’s why we’re going to take over two Nazi forts. We’ll not only take their supplies, we’ll show people that the Alliance is a viable force again. They’ll flock to us in droves.”

  Uncle Red rubbed his beard. “We’ve tried to take camps and forts before, but that hasn’t generated nationwide support. How is this plan any different?”

  “The difference will be television. We’re going to broadcast each attack on live TV. On the Channel Seven evening news.”

  Zara’s heart tapped out an ever-faster beat. If the Alliance could broadcast their victories on television, then they could reach countless Eastern American households. Not thousands of people but millions. A shiver breathed across her back. This was what she had been waiting for. Even her uncle should have been elated at this news.

  But Uncle Red only had more questions. “Break into Channel Seven? How, exactly?”

  “One of our rebels has gained access to the station. Let’s just say she has a talent for this sort of thing.”

  Zara wanted to ask what this “talent” could be, but Garrison had already moved on to the next subject: the forts the Alliance planned to attack. He reached into his coat pocket and dug out a folded map of the former United States, spreading it over the coffee table.

  “The first fort will be in southern Pennsylvania. Camp Hammerstein. It’s mainly a holding depot with guns and ammunition, and only a few hundred guards are stationed there at a time. So we’ll attack the camp and take its weapons this upcoming Thursday evening. Then three days after that — we’ll take that time to regroup and move south — we’ll hit our next target on Sunday night. Fort Goering.”

  “Fort Goering?” both Zara and her uncle said at the same time.

  Garrison knocked his knuckle on the map. “That’s why I came to speak to you. You know this town better than anyone else, Red. We’re going to need your expertise on local logistics — road conditions, water supplies, anything about Fort Goering that we don’t already know.”

  Uncle Red could only blink. “You want to attack Fort Goering in less than a week?”

  “We can do it, even with a shortened timeline. We have to strike now while the Empire is distracted by the Reds.”

  “We’re talking about an all-out attack on one of the biggest forts in the Territories!” Uncle Red said incredulously. “How are we supposed to go up against tens of thousands of Nazi soldiers? Or their troop of sentinels?”

  Frustration flitted across Garrison’s eyes, but only for a second. “Don’t forget that we have our own soldiers and weapons, and a few tricks up our sleeves. This won’t be a suicide mission.”

  “There’s no guarantee of that.” Uncle Red’s jaw hardened. “Look at what happened at Fort Metzger.” His eyes cast downward and he added, “I lost my sister there.”

  “I understand — I lost people, too, that day — but we’re stronger now. We’re better prepared. We’ve got a good shot of pulling this off, but our odds would be better if you’ll help us.”

  Zara jumped in because her uncle wouldn’t. “What do you need?”

  “Zara, this isn’t —” Uncle Red protested.

  “We need information,” said Garrison. “I’ll be in Greenfield until tomorrow morning. We could scout out the fort, find the weak points. That’s all we’re asking for. Information.”

  “That’s not too much to ask,” Zara said to her uncle. It wasn’t like Garrison wanted Uncle Red to lead a charge at the fort. “We could at least give him that, couldn’t we?”

  Uncle Red wasn’t convinced, which shouldn’t have surprised Zara, but it frustrated her all the same. “What else do you plan on asking for? Do you want to use our farm as a gathering point?” Red asked gruffly.

  “Right now I need hard data. That’s it,” replied Garrison.

  Nearly a minute passed before Uncle Red had a reply. Zara was almost certain that he was going to quit the Alliance altogether, but his response surprised her. “I can tell you what I know, local topography and roads and whatnot. That’s easy enough. But scouting out Fort Goering will be much harder.”

  “We don’t have to get too close. I only need to get my bearings so I can relay the information to my colleagues.” That politician’s smoothness returned to his tone. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask of you, Redmond. The Alliance will take on all of the legwork.”

  “If I do this,” said Uncle Red slowly, “I don’t want Zara involved.”

  “That’s my decision,” Zara said, anger coursing through her. He was treating her like a little kid again. Sure, she wasn’t a chapter leader like her uncle was, but she knew just as much about Greenfield as he did. Zara looked to Garrison for support, since she wasn’t getting any from her uncle. “I can help, too. I know this town like the back of my hand. I can tell you the best places to camp, to get water.”

  “I appreciate that. We don’t see enough of your enthusiasm in the Territories.” Garrison chose his words carefully. “But I’m afraid I have to defer to your uncle on this. He’s the leader of the Greenfield chapter, and he makes the calls on who goes o
n a mission. That’s our policy.”

  Zara sank into her chair, stung. Here was her chance to finally join the Alliance, but even Garrison had shot her down. She didn’t know what else she needed to do to become a part of the resistance — kill the Führer with her bare hands?

  Garrison clapped his hands together. “I’m grateful for both of your help. I can’t tell you how much it’ll mean for the Alliance. And, Red, your assistance will be critical. We need to take over Fort Goering if we hope to launch Operation Burning Eagle.”

  Uncle Red raised a brow, looking as if he might renege on his agreement to help Garrison. “I thought stealing the supplies and getting on Channel Seven was the operation.”

  “They’re precursors to the operation, but not the operation itself. No, no, we have something much bigger planned for that.”

  “And that is … ?”

  “We hit the Nazis where it’ll hurt them the most. We’re going to march on Neuberlin.” Garrison smiled wickedly. “We’re going to take it back.”

  Garrison and Uncle Red spent the entire evening hunched over the kitchen table, going over the layout of Fort Goering and the terrain of Greenfield, marking up an old map that Uncle Red dug up in the barn. After a late dinner of boiled beef and cabbage — one of the few dinners Zara knew how to make — the two men slipped out the back door to scout out the fort in person. She was tempted to follow them, like she did with Mrs. Talley, but she had a hunch Uncle Red would catch her with those watchful eyes of his.

  I’ll talk to Garrison on my own, Zara thought. He and Farragut needed all of the recruits they could get, she reasoned. But after she thought about how to approach Garrison, Zara realized that he would probably shoo her away like Uncle Red had, albeit more diplomatically. No matter how much she wanted to join the rebels, she was getting refused at every turn.

  So she decided to take matters into her own hands.

  After Garrison left early the next morning, Zara set her plan into motion. As nightfall blanketed Greenfield on Wednesday evening — a day before the planned attack on Camp Hammerstein — Zara slipped out of bed to get ready for her very own mission. She scanned the sky beyond her window for any sign of Sentinel Achen. He was overdue for a weekly night patrol, but he tended to stay on base whenever it rained. Luckily for her, a thick sheet of clouds had gathered over Greenfield, pregnant with a spring storm.

  Zara returned to her mattress and yanked out a stack of papers she had hidden underneath it. She had spent the night before scribbling on each sheet by hand until she reached over two hundred copies. The message was simple:

  Channel Seven. Evening news. Don’t miss it.

  She had stolen the blank papers from school and had written everything longhand, too nervous to use the academy’s copy machines. She knew it was risky to leave her handwriting for the Nazis to find, but it was a risk she had to take. Even if the Germans discovered one of these slips of papers, they would have to check everyone’s penmanship in Greenfield before they discovered her.

  Zara tucked the papers into an old backpack, the same one she had worn to primary school, and she was about to tiptoe out the door when her boot crunched on a sheet of newspaper. She picked it up. Earlier that day, Bastian had slipped this article to her while she was dousing the boys’ locker room with bleach.

  “Just read this. Please,” he had said, pressing the paper into her hand. “And I’m sorry again about your friend Frau Talley.” His fingers had lingered on hers before he stammered something about running late and hurried out the door. Zara watched him go, rubbing the spot where their skin had brushed. Normally, she would have shuddered at a Nazi’s touch, but Bastian hadn’t been rough like his father’s soldiers would have been. Instead, his hand had felt soft and warm on hers. Surprisingly gentle.

  Then Zara had scowled at herself for thinking such a thing.

  She uncrinkled the article. Even in the dark room, she could make out the words. It had appeared in the Brussels Post and was dated a month prior.

  GESTAPO ARRESTS RESISTANCE MEMBERS

  KRISTIANE WAGNER, BRUSSELS BUREAU

  In a late-night raid, the Gestapo arrested fifty members of the Widerstand, a terrorist group with a network throughout Western Europe. The criminals have been charged with thirty counts of treason and twelve acts of terrorism, including the bombing of the Düsseldorf railway in June that led to the deaths of fifty-three German citizens.

  “We have been tracking activity of this particular Widerstand chapter for nearly three years,” said Chief Sergeant Bernhard Backer. “This arrest will ensure the safety of the citizens of Brussels, who have been forced to live in fear since these animals arrived in our city.”

  Key arrests in this raid include Arthur Farber and Edith Huber, leaders of the underground Communist Party of Germany, which was banned in 1933. The Gestapo also arrested Albert Dubois, another communist sympathizer and former veteran of the Nazi Navy. Dubois’s son-in-law, Colonel Erich Eckhart, released this statement upon his father-in-law’s arrest: “My family denounces the actions of Herr Dubois. He has brought shame to us and to the Nazi Empire, and shall deserve any punishment he receives.”

  The article continued, but Zara had stopped reading. After school ended, she had slipped into the computer lab to empty its garbage pails and to do some research of her own. She had discovered half a dozen articles similar to this one, citing the traitorous Albert Dubois. Apparently, Bastian had spoken the truth about his grandfather, although she wouldn’t let herself believe his story about wanting to join the Alliance. He could be using this information to gain her trust. And she was smarter than that.

  Zara stuffed the article under her bed — she would burn it later — and crept out the back door with her bag slung over her shoulders, avoiding the creakiest floorboards so she wouldn’t wake her uncle. The two of them hadn’t spoken much since Garrison’s visit. For years, she had gone along with his wishes because she thought he would one day give her a chance. But after Garrison’s visit, she wondered if that “one day” would ever come. Her uncle only wanted to protect her, she knew that, but this time she couldn’t listen to him.

  Thunder rumbled overhead as she darted toward Greenfield and toward the cluster of shabby houses many of the miners’ families called home. She crept to the tree-ridden hill overlooking the houses and removed the papers from her bag. Then she summoned a wind at her fingertips, letting it build until her hair lashed against her face and the pages rattled in her hand. She released all two hundred of them at once.

  The papers whirled toward the houses, their white color like doves’ wings against the black night. With a storm coming soon, Zara tried to steer the flyers under the creaky porches or windowsills to keep them dry from the rain. The miners would find the papers in the morning, and there was a chance they would just throw the slips away — but maybe their interest would get piqued and they’d spread the word across town. Then the whole township would turn to Channel Seven tomorrow night, just as she and Garrison hoped. Zara knew it wasn’t much, but it was the least she could do for the Alliance under her uncle’s vigilant eye.

  Lightning threaded across the sky and the heavy threat of rain lingered in the air, but she didn’t head home. With the papers scattered, she still needed to tackle the second part of her mission — a mission she had hoped her uncle would undertake, but her hope had drooped after yesterday’s conversation. Perhaps he could put off burying Mrs. Talley, but Zara certainly couldn’t. She hadn’t been able to save Mrs. Talley from Sentinel Braun’s powers, but she could give her a proper farewell.

  With the courthouse in sight, Zara quietly passed the grocer and the drugstore, and then she donned her knitted mask. She veered a hard left to approach the small military museum that was tucked behind the courthouse. The museum had closed hours before, but Zara scouted around it anyway, although she doubted any Nazis would take a rain-soaked nightly stroll. She scaled the slippery fire escape to access the building’s roof and then crept to the very edge, her
gaze fixed on the courthouse that lay a hundred feet ahead.

  A shiver rippled down Zara’s spine, a mixture of cold and fear. The last time she was here this late, she had ripped apart the Führer’s portrait, but now that seemed trivial compared to what she planned to do. Eyes squinted, Zara spotted a single soldier on the square’s rooftop, dressed in an olive-green poncho. Colonel Eckhart must have assigned him to the square after Dieter’s portrait was vandalized.

  It was a good thing she had come prepared.

  Zara gauged the distance between the two buildings and rose slowly to her feet. Her fingers snuck into her bag and she pulled out a tranquilizer needle that she had taken from the barn, needles that her uncle used to sedate their milking cow from time to time.

  On the rooftop, the soldier turned away from Zara. It was now or never.

  She took off from the rooftop and rocketed toward the courthouse. The wind picked up as it carried her, its sound masking her approach, and she pointed the needle at the soldier’s neck. He was only twenty feet away, now ten, now five.

  Zara raised her hand, ready to plunge the needle through his skin, but the soldier spun around at the last second. Crying out, he reached for his gun. Zara’s feet hit the roof and she lunged at him, but the soldier knocked her hand away. The needle tumbled into a puddle, rolling out of her reach.

  As the soldier fumbled for his pistol, Zara quickly threw herself on top of him, scrambling for the gun, not knowing what else to do. Her plan was crumbling to pieces in front of her.

  With a grunt, the soldier rolled over and pinned Zara down. He reached for the mask. “You’ll be sorry for this!” he cried in German.

  Zara clawed at his arms, but he weighed twice as much as she did. His fingers nearly caught the edge of her mask before she jerked her jaw out of reach, but she couldn’t dodge him forever. Once the soldier saw her face, it would all be over.