Collective Retribution

by Edwards, D. S.

  Rebekah walked down the hallway a few feet and motioned for her companions to get ready. When everyone was ready, she turned towards the stairs and lightly tapped the wall with her fingernails. “Oh, Klaus, you are soooo strong,” she said with a giggle. She slapped her hand against the wall. “Not so rough, slow down a little. Someone will hear us.”

  A few seconds later, the guard from the bottom of the stairs came around the corner. Her companions jumped on him, held him down, and stomped on his head until he quit thrashing. One of the eunuchs put on his uniform. He picked up the guard’s AK-47, walked back to the base of the stairs, and waved to the guard at the top. He waited a few minutes, then motioned for the soldier to come down. He waited until the soldier was halfway down the stairs, then turned his back on him and disappeared down the hallway. The soldier followed him. As soon as he entered the hallway, the slaves repeated their previous performance.

  Another eunuch got into the second uniform. They took up positions where the guards had been standing. The one at the top signaled for his companions to come up the stairs.

  Rebekah knew they had to find a place to hide until the attack started. Mandi had said that the president would most likely send all of his guards outside when the rebels appeared, to prevent entry into the palace. He wouldn’t be expecting anyone already inside, planning an attack.

  Where to hide? She saw nothing big enough to hide all six of them, even if the two uniformed eunuchs stayed at their posts. She’d been up these stairs a thousand times, but the only rooms to hide in were through the double doors, close to the president. The best room would be Fatty’s. Now that he was dead, no one would have any reason to go in there. There was just no way to get in without Billy the houseboy or one of the soldiers seeing them.

  Suddenly the double doors opened a small crack. Rebekah panicked. There was nowhere to run now without being caught. They would have to fight before they were ready—they didn’t have a choice.

  Rebekah raised her AK-47 and pointed it at the doors. She was just starting to put pressure on the trigger when a red-faced, teary-eyed Billy peeked out at her and waved them forward. Billy opened the door wide enough for them to enter. Everyone but the two uniformed eunuchs slipped through the doors and into the open door of Fatty’s room. Billy slipped in behind them and closed the door.

  He walked over to Rebekah, threw his arms around her, and cried into her shoulder with moans of anguish. “I loved her, Becky. That monster made her jump. I don’t know how, but he told her she would jump, and she did. I hate him so much.”

  Rebekah gently rubbed Billy’s hair and held him tight. “You can’t think about that now, Billy. You have to be strong, strong for Mandi. We all loved her, and we owe it to her to finish what she started. Can you do that for me?”

  Billy wiped his tears away and nodded.

  “Okay,” Rebekah said, “here’s what will happen. When the fighting starts outside, I need you to watch the president. We need to know where he goes and who is with him. Can you do that?”

  Billy nodded again.

  “Good, Billy. You watch, and don’t let them see you. When we come through the doors, tell us where he went, and we’ll end this. We’ll end it for Mandi and for everyone who’s suffered at his hands.”

  Billy smiled at her and slipped back out the door, leaving her and her fellow slaves in the darkness of Rollie Patterson’s bedroom.

  Rebekah closed her eyes to the blackness surrounding her. Memories of Mandi filled her mind. She smiled at the memories. Her eyes grew moist as she tilted her head toward heaven.

  “Soon, sweetie, soon. We will not fail.”

  52

  MAP ROOM, PRESIDENTIAL PALACE

  8:15 A.M.

  GENERAL SCHEPER WISHED HE WERE SOMEWHERE ELSE. HE looked at his feet and scraped the toe of his boot against the floor as President Hartley picked up a small marble table and threw it through a window. “What do you mean, they broke through?” Hartley yelled. “You told me this wouldn’t happen, general!” The president paced back and forth across the polished floor. “How long until they reach us?”

  “We have about ten minutes,” Scheper said. “I think it’s time we got you out of here.”

  Scheper led the president and his five-man security detail across the house and down to the wine cellar. The general pushed on one of the wine racks. It slid aside, revealing a long tunnel. Scheper and the president entered the tunnel. The soldiers closed the door behind them. Scheper knew they would follow a trail from the garden to the base of a hill, the exit point of their tunnel. An Apache gunship would be waiting for them in a small clearing a few hundred yards away.

  The general couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead as they ran down the tunnel. The floor of the tunnel gradually sloped downwards for the first hundred yards, then dropped off sharply for another hundred, finally leveling off the last seventy five yards. Scheper and Hartley arrived at where it leveled off and were stopped cold. The tunnel had collapsed and completely blocked the way.

  The president screamed in frustration. They were only a few yards from freedom, and there was nothing they could do. They turned and raced back up the tunnel to the wine cellar. Scheper pushed open the door and cautiously stepped out. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll check out the main floor. Don’t come out until I come back for you.”

  Scheper sprinted up the stairs, three at a time. He got to the main floor and kicked his feet into high gear.

  He had no intention of going back for the great President Hartley. The man was a joke and would just slow him down. The palace and the Collective were most assuredly lost. The only thing left for Edzard Scheper to do was escape and go back to his beloved Germany. He decided he would hide in one of the second floor rooms, near a window. When the fighting reached the palace, he would try and escape amidst the chaos. He would probably return in disgrace, but he might be able to come up with some lie that would help him retain at least a shred of dignity.

  53

  ONE MILE WEST OF THE PRESIDENTIAL PALACE

  8:17 A.M.

  THE SUN WAS WELL ABOVE THE HORIZON BY THE TIME NIRSCH and the resistance reached the second line of Collective defenses. Early morning sunlight had melted the snow that had piled up during the night, making the ground wet and slippery. The rebels’ line stretched over a mile wide, with heavy artillery out front and ground troops tucked in tight behind. Their jet aircraft had left the fight to refuel and their helicopters had never shown up. Nirsch didn’t expect the fighter jets back before his army engaged the U.C. troops. They didn’t have the luxury of an airborne fuel tanker, so the jets had to fly all the way back to Utah.

  The Collective forces were well dug in. The trenches reminded Nirsch of the ones the Germans used in World War I. Most of the Collective’s heavy armaments had been destroyed by the Israelis, but Nirsch had no doubt there was still a few big guns spread out along the high ground behind the trenches.

  They got to within a half mile of the trenches when the fighting erupted, obliterating the stillness of the Rocky Mountain morning. The air vibrated and the ground rocked as the .50-caliber rounds tore into them. They lost a few vehicles, but most withstood the barrage. They also lost ground troops when the bullets slipped between pieces of equipment. It didn’t really matter where the rounds hit a person. The shock and force generated by the heavy projectiles guaranteed that if you were hit, you weren’t leaving the battlefield alive.

  The resistance moved forward until the entrenched U.C. forces were within range. The closer they got to the U.C. line, the less fire that came from the Collective’s heavy guns. They didn’t want to risk hitting their own troops. As soon as the rebels rushed the trenches, the U.C. let them have it. People fell all around Nirsch as 5.56 NATO rounds filled the air.

  Nirsch knew there was no way this could continue. He signaled for his infantry to turn and retreat. They’d just made it out of range of the small arms fire when Nirsch looked to their southern flank. The entire contour of the ho
rizon was moving like an earthquake. When Nirsch realized what he was seeing, his legs nearly buckled. Panic filled him.

  It was the Mexican drug cartels. At least five hundred thugs on horseback were riding in, trying to flank them. Nirsch radioed for reinforcements from the north, but they were preoccupied with the men in the trenches. Nirsch knew he and his troops would have to face the cartels head on.

  When the cartel riders were within range, the rebels opened up on them, taking out at least a hundred in the first volley. The barrel of Nirsch’s SCAR was red hot as he went through magazine after magazine. Only a few horses made it in among Nirsch’s troops, and these were quickly dealt with.

  As soon as they repelled the horse attack, the resistance turned and began advancing again. Most of the trenches had been cleared, so there was less resistance than before. The rebels started across the trenches and headed toward the palace.

  Several Apache gunships appeared on the horizon and bore down on them. It was chaos as the resistance turned back and ran for the relative safety of the trenches. Nirsch got to the edge of a trench and dove in just as several 60 mm rounds ripped into the dirt where he’d been standing. The choppers made their first pass and were banking for a second when two exploded in white-hot fireballs. The resistance Black Hawks had arrived and were firing sidewinders at the Apaches.

  The Apaches were outnumbered by resistance choppers three to one. After four passes, all the Apaches were down. The rebels again left the safety of the trenches and sprinted toward the palace. Nirsch could see the white stucco walls reflecting in the sun a half mile in front of them. The sounds of battle from the other side of the palace didn’t seem to be subsiding as Nirsch and his troops ran head-on into another deafening volley of .50-caliber fire.

  The resistance Black Hawks made short work of the big guns and tore through the lines of troops defending the palace. The resistance rushed the palace walls with a mighty shout. Several civilians passed Nirsch and jumped into the middle of the fleeing U.C. troops, biting, clawing, punching, kicking, and tearing them apart like wild animals. Nirsch stopped his charge and hung back while they vented their pent-up frustration and anger. When it was over, the rebels had a clear path all the way to the palace.

  Nirsch caught one of the horses that had belonged to a cartel soldier, reached into his pocket, unfolded the flag he’d placed at the entrance to Boise after their initial attack, and galloped hard for the palace.

  54

  PRESIDENTIAL PALACE

  8:40 A.M.

  REBEKAH HEARD RUNNING FOOTSTEPS COMING TOWARDS ROLlie’s door. The door opened and Billy rushed in.

  “The president…all of them…they went to the wine cellar,” he said, panting.

  Rebekah led the way as they all, including Billy, ran toward the cellar. They were in the last room before the cellar when they heard footsteps coming toward them. Rebekah wasn’t sure how many were coming or whether they could win a gunfight against trained military personnel. She jumped into a side room, dragging her companions with her.

  She closed the door partway and watched General Scheper sprint by their hiding place and continue out of sight. Rebekah and the others ran to the cellar. It was empty.

  “Are you sure they went into the cellar, Billy?” she whispered.

  “Positive. I watched them come down here.”

  Rebekah was confused. Billy had seen them go this way, yet there was no one around. They couldn’t have slipped past them. There were only so many doors and stairs leading to the bottom floor, and as far as she knew, there were no other stairwells that led back up to the palace from the basement level.

  One of the shelves of wine began to move, rattling the full bottles. Rebekah jumped to the side as the secret door opened, revealing the shocked face of President Hartley.

  Rebekah didn’t hesitate. She swung the butt of her rifle, catching him in the temple. He crumpled to the ground like a ragdoll, unconscious.

  They dragged the limp body back up the stairs and across the floor to the sitting room. Hartley started to come to and thrash about.

  “Take your hands off me!” he shouted. “I am the president. I will have you all killed!”

  One of the eunuchs looked Hartley in the eyes, smiled, and hit him again, renewing his unconsciousness.

  55

  PRESIDENTIAL PALACE

  9 A.M.

  SCHEPER RAN ACROSS THE MAIN RESIDENCE FLOOR AND TOOK the stairs down to the kitchen. The palace was totally abandoned. The remaining soldiers had deserted their posts and fled into the countryside. None of them had cared about the Collective or its ideals. All they cared about was the little piece of power and wealth they would have received if they’d been successful.

  The general opened the outside kitchen door and carefully looked around. He could see the rebels coming up the hill, but everyone else was definitely gone. He ran across the garden and slipped into the trees. He had gone a few hundred yards when he saw hundreds of rebel ground troops and vehicles blocking his path only a quarter mile out. He would have to slip out the other way. He ran back the way he’d come and exited the trees at the garden, moving directly into the path of a fiftyish man sitting astride a tall black horse and carrying an American flag.

  “Hello, Edzard,” the man said. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Levi Nirschell, and you are standing on American soil. If I am correct, you were not invited, and I have a real problem with illegal immigration.”

  Scheper raised his weapon and tried to fire as the American spurred the black horse and ran over the top of him. The sharp crackle of bones breaking beneath the horse’s hooves was the last sound the general heard before slipping into blackness.

  56

  PRESIDENTIAL PALACE

  9:10 A.M.

  NIRSCH WALKED HIS HORSE TO THE CENTER OF THE GARDEN and yelled toward the palace.

  “Richard C. Hartley! You have been found guilty of high crimes and treason against the United States of America! Come out now and face your accusers!”

  A deafening roar went up from the crowd of civilians and resistance troops.

  There was no movement from any of the doors or windows. Nirsch waited a few minutes for the crowd to quiet, and tried again.

  “You have exactly three minutes to come out. If you choose not to answer to the charges, we will come in and drag you out. Either way, your reign ends today!”

  The balcony doors opened. A pretty blond girl about eighteen years old emerged, followed by several young boys carrying the twisting, thrashing, cussing, spitting body of the former U.S. president.

  “I am the president! You can’t do this to me!”

  Several of the resistance troops and hundreds of civilians began pouring into the courtyard and looking toward the balcony.

  Someone from the crowd shouted, “Throw him down!” Then someone else took up the cry. Soon everyone was chanting in unison. “Throw him down! Throw him down!”

  The eunuchs holding Hartley began to swing him back and forth. On the third swing, they let go, sending him over the railing and into the air. He flapped his arms and kicked his legs, screaming all the way to the ground. He hit with a hollow thud and bounced a few inches. The crowd was on him before he stopped twitching. They kicked, punched, ripped, tore, and clawed until there was nothing left of Richard Hartley but tattered clothing.

  Nirsch walked his new horse under the balcony and stood tall in the stirrups. He handed the flag up to the girl. She hung it from the railing as the crowd erupted into a cheer.

  Nirsch turned his mount and trotted through the crowd, not bothering to look back. It felt good to be on a horse again, and it was a beautiful fall day. He decided he would ride for a while and let the blue sky and sunshine chase away the “collective retribution” they had just served on Richard C. Hartley.

  Rebekah waved after the stranger that had reached up to her with the flag, but he wasn’t turning around. She wondered about the man. She wondered what kind of hardships he’d endured. Was
he a slave somewhere? Had he been a soldier? Did he have a wife and family?

  The single shot stunned the entire crowd into silence. Everyone dove to the ground and held their breath, waiting for violence to erupt again. No more shots rang out, no more screams and sounds of dying filled the air. Just silence.

  Rebekah raised herself back up and looked out over the heads of the crowd. Nothing moved except a tall black horse with an empty Spanish saddle on its back.

  Edzard Scheper left the rifle on top of the dirt mound. He stood and winced in pain as his broken bones rubbed against each other. He was going home, going back to his homeland. “No one will ever forget the name Scheper,” he said. “One day schoolchildren will sing of my life.” He limped off through the trees, a smile on his lips and a German folksong playing in his head

  Endlich Das End

  EPILOGUE

  ADAM NIRSCHELL SAT IN HIS LEATHER CHAIR, ARMS FOLDED ON top of his desk, and stared out the window at tulips and daffodils reaching toward the cloudless blue sky. He did enjoy his garden. It was the one place that sometimes made him forget he was constantly surrounded by concrete, the breakneck pace of city life, and the pressures of his job. He missed Eastern Oregon springs. The wild buttercups dotting the rich green blades of meadow grass in little yellow splashes. The tender new leaves on aspen trees, fluttering in the warm breeze. The snowcapped mountains that looked so big and so close it seemed you could reach out and touch them.