Midnight Liberty League - Part I

by Brock Law

started up again, “When I think of the faces of all those men trudging through the snow, tattered and bloodied, I remember that no matter how bleak some moments of my life have been, they will never falter so near the precipice again.”

  “‘The times that try men’s souls,’” Will quoted understandingly.

  Washington chimed in, “‘The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.’”

  Silence returned to the anticipating air between the two men. Washington eased up the highway, benefitting from a lack of late night traffic. Will knew that just across the river, his friends were enjoying the spectacular debauchery of a warm summer night in the iniquitous Manayunk district. He, however, traveled inescapably into the suburban darkness towards a looming and uncertain fate.

  “Actually, that was the march to Trenton,” Washington corrected, “but not bad. I’ve certainly struggled with more hopeless prospects and incapable company. Mostly good men though. No finer staff of officers has ever been assembled.”

  “Were there more that lived on?” Will asked.

  “We have dwindled some from accident and conflict, particularly during war time,” Washington said mournfully, “Samuel Adams, John Armstrong, John Sullivan, Henry Knox, John Jay, John Marshall. Our European allies as well. Rochambeau, Pulaski, and Kosciuszko left our shores to combat autocracy abroad. After the Revolution had concluded and their natural lives ended, they all spread as emissaries of the Enlightenment. Eventually, death came even for deathless, at least as far as we know. Some, however, disappeared altogether.”

  “It’s hard to imagine anyone vanishing, or even existing without notice today. I guess the same could be true for our enemies,” Will suggested with a worried tenor.

  “That could certainly be true,” Washington agreed. “Pulaski’s body was never found. His aid told us he was buried at sea from the ship where his body had been transported after fighting in Savannah. The ship’s captain, however, told us that the body had been taken to shore again and buried. Losing his body was a considerable embarrassment at the time, but later we came to believe that Casamir had already received immortality as a freedom fighter in his native Poland alongside other anti-imperialists of the era. Lafayette personally laid the cornerstone of his monument in Georgia.”

  Will asked, “You think he got up and walked away?”

  “I hope so. We never saw him again,” Washington said. “No matter how old I get, I can never ignore the feeling that something older is watching me. Maintaining a union over such a long period of time is difficult for a nation, and even harder for acquaintances of varying interests. Once our brethren began to venture out again and disperse, many never returned. I fear the same has been true for the last two thousand years. There’s no way to know who may be watching or casting an invisible influence in the world. Occasionally, I do notice the specter of an experienced hand stirring the pot.”

  “Like who?” Will asked with fascination.

  “I’ve never recognized a recurrent figure, but I wonder when I see the same quarrels resurface cyclically in history. Our Revolution disrupted that current to an unknown extent, which is why we were honored to receive the Grail. Invariably, as defender, you become the target. We benefitted from a great deal of secrecy, but as I mentioned, people stray.”

  Will pondered the degree to which the course of world events could have been drastically different. More disturbingly he dreaded the misery of whatever covert and solitary existence would be necessary for him to observe for the sake of sheer survival if, that is, he could endure the quest. Cornered by genocidal berserkers, depended upon by his favorite heroes, and ensnared by his own mystical curiosity, there was no way out now. He was a one man chronological intelligence agency, the sheriff of antiquities, legionnaire of time.

  The two continued to ride along in expanding silence. Will couldn’t tell if Washington meant to remain so idyllic, or if he really was naturally more subdued than the character of the other immortals. He was reminded that Washington once said “Be courteous to all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence.” In that regard the first President’s charisma was appropriately judicious, but the man was giving Will an extraordinarily generous chance.

  Will interrupted the quietude, “Ever thought of getting back into politics?”

  “I don’t think I would be good at modern politics,” said Washington, “I expect more from people than they expect from themselves.”

  “That would make you a pretty good coach,” Will complimented.

  Washington nodded thoughtfully, “Perhaps it’s time for a career change then.”

  Washington’s posture remained dramatically akin to that of his portraits. Even behind the wheel of the truck, his resolute brow and posture kept him from reclining casually. His appearance was never exaggerated though; he was careful not to seem haughty to a disrespecting eye. Instead, he moved with purpose, directionally and determinately.

  “I’m sure this will be confrontational.”

  Washington wagered, “This meeting may only be the prelude to conflict. I believe tonight will be daunting, but uneventful if we provide the means to stall these proceedings and capitalize on the opportunity to scrutinize our enemy.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  Washington replied, “You, I and Ben will meet them in the open field by Potts’ house.”

  “Just the three of us?” Will stammered.

  “Correct,” Washington said. “Everyone else will be stationed at various points around the park. I don’t want them to know who and how many we are, but they are at least aware of my presence. We’ll wait awhile and change positions if we don’t make contact. Let’s keep as close to the vehicle as possible. Keep alert and watch the fringe for what they are concealing. Any signs of overwhelming force and we’ll disengage.”

  “We’ll also be trespassing on government property,” Will reminded him.

  “The park ranger is almost as old as I am,” Washington replied drolly. “Stay quiet, and we’ll trust our distinguished friends to call if there’s some problem at the entrance road.”

  The truck glided off the highway. As they turned off the exit ramp, Washington revved up a narrowing local road, incidentally with the same rumbling of Will’s rapid heart rate. Fortunately, the engine’s rocky influence in the cabin disguised the young man’s jitters.

  With the ambient glow of the country’s second largest shopping mall finally diminishing behind them, the terrain grew woody. Trees and fields replaced apartment towers and parking lots as they neared Washington’s 1778 headquarters. The fauna grew tall and wild, shielding the destination of each curve they wound around. A panicky ticking began to intensify in Will’s brain. Though Washington was navigating relatively unobtrusively, in Will’s view they were hurdling raucously through the unkempt landscape. With the darkening of their surroundings the glaring headlights increased Will’s anxiety, but Washington was undeterred. The truck roared through the forested hills towards the site of the encampment.

  As they rounded another bend, a cluster of luxury SUV’s appeared in a dirt lot off the main road, vigilantly beaming in all directions. Washington slowed, approached, and bounded off the road into the gravel. He pulled up to the center of the ring. As the truck came to rest Washington’s phone buzzed.

  “Alex,” Washington spoke into the receiver, “what do you see out there…that’s surprising…no other cars on the outskirts…and no one has driven by…then let’s proceed as planned.”

  As Washington hung up, the headlights on one of the other vehicles switched off. Then the responding lights inside the cab exposed Franklin as he shut the car off and stepped out. In snugly fitting camping vest and unblemished sneakers, he crossed in front of Washington’s lights and came up to the driver’s side window.

  “If it’s alright with you George, I wouldn
’t mind riding up there,” Franklin suggested. “I’m not quite as limber as you two.”

  “Hop in,” Washington invited.

  Franklin crawled into the back seat. The moment he slammed the door shut, the remaining SUV’s all began to drift away. The synchronized team disassembled and ventured off down the adjoining rural roads. Lastly, Washington peeled out, and crossed to the entrance of the sanctuary. The truck stalked up the inclining route, which became more trail-like as they proceeded. The banks of the hills heaped up along the passenger’s side, shrouding Will’s view. They casually ascended the mount, unable to see more than a few yards ahead through the thick brush. The truck jostled on the cushioned suspension over the uneven country road.

  Eventually, the land flattened out as they traversed up to the plateau of the encampment. Washington pulled off the road once they reached a paved pedestrian trail. He maneuvered behind some light scrub and shut off the truck. All three peered out into the shapeless night.

  “Still quiet. I figured we would have seen some sign of them by now,” Will stated.

  “I hope you weren’t expecting air raid sirens,” Franklin said.

  “The only division of the Third Reich that could have managed covert finances and maintained such precise organization is the SS,” Washington affirmed. “We aren’t going to see