The 53rd Parallel

by Carl Nordgren

  “And we're supposed to believe her because that's what she says?”

  “What I know independent of her supports what she says.”

  “She's got to be offerin' us sometin', she must know that.”

  “We are offering something. Something astounding.”

  “You're standin' wit' her?”

  “I stand where I always stand, and she's standing where she always stands, and that's against the British occupation of our homeland and with all others who believe the Brits need to be driven out of all corners of our island. And I'm here to tell you, we've got a plan. A plan to pull off a raid on a British military target that would be the biggest in our history. It not only triples our armaments, it's got a boldness to it that will get the hearts of the people beating again. We'll be needing the guns because recruits will be streaming in when people see what we can do to the Brits.”

  “So you're tellin' us that she's standin' with us again.”

  “It's her plan, and mine, but it's her thinking smart for us, like before the war. And we have the advantaged position to pull it off and fast. Four days from now we're going to walk in to one of their fortresses and take all their guns away from them.”

  “It's Omagh or Ebrington, if you're talkin' the biggest depots they've got. And we've been watching both of 'em for months.”

  “And what you've seen is too big a risk to move. I've heard the debate, and its conclusion is the same each time. So now you've heard me say we'll be leaving tomorrow, and when we return in four days it will be with more armaments than we ever imagined.”

  “An' so yer bargain is ya' pull it off, an' we say she's paid in full?”

  “She leaves knowing there's never a chance anyone drops by their fishing lodge unless she made the invitation.”

  “That's a lot to ask for by someone in no position to be askin' for much.”

  “I'm not sure. There's many among us still who argue we must always stay true to leaving the New World alone. I'm not the only one sitting in this room who knows how our American cousins would fret if IRA violence reached their shores. And if you try to take over their fishing operation, she promises there will be violence.”

  “It's the right rule until somebody steals somethin' from us and runs there to hide.”

  “This woman lost her father to the Black an' Tans. This woman has carried bombs strapped between her legs. And now she's ready to risk her life to arm us again.”

  “An' she stole our money.”

  “That money's gone, there wasn't much, and we never had it anyway. I'm saying we have the chance to be reborn with this move. And not just new recruits, think what happens to the splinters when word gets out what we've done. Flanagan's crew will come running back first and others will drift in soon enough.”

  One of the men nodded in agreement.

  “He's right. But one of us goes with him.”

  Another said, “I'll go.”

  “Thanks Charlie, we can use your help as it seems we could be taking over two hundred rifles and nearly a hundred machine guns, Brens and Stens. And there's mortars and mines. Just tell us what you want, we'll get it for you.”

  “So it is Ebrington.”

  “I'll let you know when it's time to let you know. But you need to pull back anyone you have who's close to either Ebrington or Omagh. We can't have anybody stepping into something they don't know about. You need to do that now.”

  As Tommy and Simon Fobister paddled across the lake on their return to the Great Lodge at Innish Cove, two fishing boats with guests and guides passed them at the end of a day's fishing. They waved.

  Nigig slowly bobbed in one boat's wake and then the other. When they rounded the point into the cove, Tommy saw his father standing on the dock, patting his guests' backs as they showed him the day's catch. His father leaned back with laughter that rolled over the water.

  Tommy rested his paddle on his knees, then pointed it to shore.

  “We could build a chapel, right there, between your village camp an' the guests' cabins on that shelf of land behind those birch trees.”

  “That is where Nokomis built her wigwam as the fires burned.”

  “I was thinking the chapel would be built to honor Mathew's sacrifice.”

  “You will talk with Big Brian and Joe Loon tonight to receive their blessing, then I will show you which trees to cut.”

  “We'll get started tomorrow?”

  “Or the next day.”

  Three days later, in the middle of the afternoon, Maureen sat at a table in the café just across the street from the ten-foot-high brick wall enclosing the Ebrington Barracks. It was the only table affording a view of the main gate, but at such an acute angle all she could see was that the gate doors, as expected, were wide open.

  The yellow scarf she had worn on the boat to Copenhagen was wrapped around her neck.

  A few blocks away on a commercial side street, Kevin and the hurling lad were loading masonry tools and equipment into the back of a truck. “O'Hearn and Son, Masonry Repair” was spelled out in big red letters on canvas signs lashed to both sides of the truck.

  They each wore work overalls. Kevin carried the last kit of tools to the truck. After he loaded them he checked that the heap of canvas signs inside the truck were high enough to hide the four men from the Derry unit Charlie had recruited for Kevin when they returned from Dublin.

  There were six guests at Innish Cove. Louis Angeconeb, Joe Loon, and Old George were guiding them, leaving Brian, Simon, Tommy, and Albert to work on the log chapel.

  The walls were five logs high. Two sturdy pole pines were propped against the top log, and the men pushed the next log up this ramp.

  This Man stood in the middle of the chapel and called for the blessings of Ningaabi'Anong, Waabanong, Giiwedinong, and Zhaawanong, the spirits Gitchi Manitou created to protect each of the Four Directions.

  The log dropped into place, notched ends fitting notched ends.

  As Albert trimmed one end and Simon the other for a tighter fit, Brian took a deep drink from the water bottle then handed it to Tommy.

  “Not many priests as young as you has already built his first church.”

  “I'm just a candidate.”

  “Just makes it more impressive… I'll bet I could get the bishop to fly in for a couple days fishing to bless this when we're through.”

  “Maybe.”

  “It's the Catholic way.”

  “Don't know it needs to be a Catholic chapel. Maybe it's a place where all us sinners go to find peace, not just the Catholic variety.”

  Maureen was served her tea. She looked up as the sentry stepped out on the sidewalk, took a last puff on his cigarette, then flicked it into the street. When he turned to go back to his post, she could see the Sten strapped over his shoulder, but she couldn't tell if the magazine was in place.

  She sipped her tea, wiped her mouth, then removed her Colt pistol from the pocket of her jacket and checked one more time that it was loaded and ready. She replaced it in her pocket.

  She mumbled low. “Lord, forgive me for what I am about to do. May you keep as many safe as you can. May you welcome the innocents to your heavenly kingdom.”

  Kevin climbed behind the wheel of the truck, the hurling lad settled in next to him, and they drove the streets of Derry towards Ebrington Barracks.

  “It was a bad turn of luck your blow killed a man. With a bit of good luck and cool heads all 'round, you and your cousin will be on your way to Chicago within the week.”

  Maureen checked her watch. Precisely at two o'clock she laid some coins on the table, crossed herself, and stepped outside into the street.

  Charlie watched her from his car, parked across the street and a few doors down from the main gate.

  An Ojibway girl, no more than nine or ten, carried a baby boy on her hip when she came to check the work site.

  Tommy smiled at her, rubbed the baby's chin with the back of his hand, and continued his story.

  “
We took a ferry out to Inis Mor last year, some of my friends from seminary. There's a place where St. Edna built the first church on the island, 1,500 years ago, where people have been prayin' together for peace an' love an' grace in their lives ever since. An' just down the road from the ruin of his church is another church with an old sculpture just inside the door. It's a wood carving, about so tall.” He held his hand just above his waist. “It's a worn, but wonderful, image of Joseph, and he's holding an infant Jesus up on his shoulder. Jesus is no more than two or three, an you can feel Joseph trying to collect him, to hold him safe as Jesus is climbing Joseph like he's a ladder. Details of faces are worn, but I picture 'em both laughing.”

  “That's exactly what we need here in this chapel.”

  Maureen approached the main gate, stopping short of the opening, distracted for a moment by two children passing by.

  Charlie stepped out of his car. He was wearing a full-length oilcloth rain slicker.

  The truck Kevin was driving pulled up to the corner but waited there, the engine idling.

  When Maureen took her next step, it was with a heavy limp. She made it to the open gate then leaned against the wall, demonstrating her obvious pain, checking that all was consistent with their reconnaissance of the past days. She confirmed that once again the sentry's Sten had no magazine and, as the hurling lad's cousin had assured them, the soldiers were in the barracks or offices and none were out and about in the open grounds beyond the gate.

  Maureen tried to walk but her ankle hurt too much. The sentry noticed.

  “Can I 'elp you, miss?”

  Maureen removed her scarf and began to bandage her ankle with it, and Charlie relayed the go sign to Kevin. The raid began.

  “Could you now? I've just stepped off the curb an' twisted me ankle an' it's hurtin' just to stand on it… Maybe I can just rest here for a moment.”

  “There's a chair inside the guardhouse. Let me give you a hand.”

  He smiled when the lovely woman put her arm over his shoulder, and he carefully supported her weight as they entered the one-room guardhouse. She slumped into the chair.

  “Would you like a drink of water?”

  “Water would be grand.”

  He turned and Maureen slipped the pistol from her pocket as she stood and pressed the point of the barrel against the sentry's head just behind his temple as the truck pulled off the street and entered the gate.

  “Sit down an' shut the feck up or you're dead. I know that Sten hain't loaded, so place it on the floor at your feet.”

  Kevin stopped the truck at the guardhouse.

  Charlie walked in behind the truck, whispered encouragement to the men hiding, and entered the guardhouse where Maureen stood over the sentry.

  Charlie removed his raincoat. He was dressed in a British uniform. He had concealed a coil of rope under his slicker and tossed it to Maureen. He picked up the Sten, looped it over his shoulder, put on the guard's hat, then stepped outside to assume the guard's role and position.

  The truck drove on, across the empty and open grounds, past the offices and mess hall, past the barracks, to the far corner where the storage buildings and armory sat side by side. There were no soldiers to be seen.

  Maureen hammered the pistol handle hard against the sentry's head and he slumped down out of the chair to the floor—out cold. She tied his arms and legs and gagged him with the yellow scarf. She pushed him behind the small desk in the corner and covered him with Charlie's rain slicker.

  She stepped back outside, crossed the street, and sat behind the wheel of Charlie's car.

  Tommy was notching the next log by cutting a sharp groove on the bottom of each end. Then he cut a sharp ridge on the top of each end.

  Albert examined his work as Brian watched them both.

  “Your son does his work well.”

  “My son does his work very well.”

  Kevin parked the truck between the storehouse and the armory. The cousin had told them of a crack in the foundation of a wall in the storehouse and they planned to fix it. There was one soldier sitting on the steps. Kevin grabbed a clipboard from the front seat, stuck a pencil behind his ear, and held his pistol concealed behind the clipboard. He hopped down from the truck to come around to the rear as the soldier nodded to him.

  “You're repairing that bit of a crack?”

  “That's right. It's a small job now, could be a big one later.”

  The soldier stood and headed to the truck.

  “My father is a stone mason in Manchester. Wants me to join him when my soldierin' days 'r done. He don't know I enlisted to keep from joinin' the trade.”

  “It's good honest work.”

  Kevin pulled back the canvas flap covering the back of the truck. As the soldier stepped up to check out the tools, Kevin knocked him hard with his pistol and the soldier slumped over a toolbox. Two Derry men grabbed him and pulled him into the truck, tied and gagged him, and stashed him behind the canvas.

  The hurling lad pulled off his overalls to reveal his British uniform, and he dashed to get the armory keys while two of the Derry men dressed as laborers helped Kevin unload their tools and set up to repair the foundation crack. Kevin repositioned the truck to stay close to the repair site and closer to the armory door.

  Kevin emerged from the cab of the truck in British khaki as the two Derry men dressed as day laborers began to repair the crack and the other two, in uniform, followed Kevin to the armory door. The hurling lad handed the keys to Kevin, then assumed his post as lookout.

  Kevin found the proper key and the armory door swung open to reveal the largest cache of British arms in all of Northern Ireland.

  Kevin headed straight to the Brens, grabbed two, and carried them to the truck. He directed the men. “You and I grab weapons, you grab ammunition for the weapons we grab.”

  The men pushed the next log into place, Tommy at one end, Albert at the other, Brian and Simon in the middle. Tommy was tired, and his end was lagging, so Brian shifted his hands towards Tommy's end and pushed harder.

  The log slid up and into place, bringing the walls to shoulder height.

  “If you thought there was any chance of Katie an' Patrick comin', we could have the weddin' here. Right here, at the chapel. That is, unless Maureen has been makin' plans there that we can't get out of.”

  Maureen started Charlie's car but stayed parked at the curb. Charlie kept his post, walking back and forth from the open main gate to the guardhouse, keeping his face hidden as best he could, watching for anyone headed towards the armory.

  The Derry men and Kevin carried load after load to the truck, pausing only to cover the growing piles of rifles and machine guns and ammunition with the canvas signs.

  When the hurling lad saw two soldiers coming towards the storage buildings, he scooted around the truck and told the crew.

  The laborers slapped some fresh cement against the foundation wall.

  Kevin swung the armory door shut, the four of them inside, and they continued to stack weapons and ammunition just inside the door.

  “When we get this stack loaded, we've got plenty.”

  When the repair men saw the soldiers walking by, they called them over.

  “Someone around here is lookin' smart. An easy repair today, could have been a problem soon enough.”

  “I don't know about that, mate. But I do know Captain Barkley, an' he won't be happy with your lorry parked 'ere. You need to park it over behind the guardhouse.”

  “We're just finishin' up now… by the time we'd move it we'd be done with the job. We'll be out of here before you know it.”

  “No skin off mine, mate. Just lettin' you know Barkley can blow pretty hot.”

  The soldiers moved on, the laborers tapped out an all clear on the armory door, and the men quickly loaded their last stockpile into the truck, covering it with canvas.

  Maureen spotted the British army lorry as it rounded the corner and headed their way, towards the barracks. She pulled the car
out into the street at an angle that blocked passage and then applied full choke to flood the engine. The car stalled in the path of the army lorry, stopping it ten yards short of the main gate.

  She got out of the car and began to pound on the hood in exasperation.

  The driver had stopped just a few yards short of the car. The passenger upfront was a sergeant and he got out to see what the problem was.

  “You 'avin a bit of motor troubles, miss?”

  “My husband will be furious. He's told me keep me hands off his Vauxhall.”

  “Maybe ya could listen to him then. She's stalled out, is she?”

  “I'm afraid so.”

  “Let me give 'er a try.”

  Albert took the baby boy from the girl and set him up on his shoulder, and they walked back to their camp for a midday meal followed by Simon.

  Brian and Tommy stood side by side, examining their work.

  “I took so much away from you an' Katie an' poor little Patrick. I will never pretend otherwise.”

  “When I return, I will tell them what I have found here. All of it. The beauty, yes. The lovely people, yes. But I must also tell Patrick and Katie about Mathew's death. They are so afraid of violence in your world, I don't know how else to say it, so it's hard to predict how they will react.”

  “I understand.”

  One Derry man dressed as a laborer was driving, the other sat in the cab with him, and Kevin and the others sat in the back amongst the piles of weapons and the bound British soldier. The truck drove across the open yard, stopping at the guardhouse. Charlie checked that the sentry's ropes were holding then returned in time to climb into the back of the truck.