World War

by C M Dancha

  and, "…. governments are instituted by men, deriving their just power from the consent of the governed…"

  and, "…. whenever any government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute a new government…."

  The crowd, including Trang Mau and some other warlords, spent hours asking Easton to explain what these passages meant. To Rollie and Klever's surprise, the warlords seemed to be more accepting of the edicts of democracy than their underlings. The only rational explanation for this was that the warlords were already filthy rich and could see that their hold on power was going to end one day. The world would soon belong to either the Black Cross or World Council. With each lecture Easton gave, the possibility of a democratic government outmaneuvering the socialist and fascist governments for world domination was more of a possibility. And, there was no question, that democracy meant a better life for everyone, including the warlords.

  By the sixth week in camp, Klever had finally accepted the idea that her boyfriend was a reproduction of President Thomas Jefferson. She was agnostic to Rollie's explanation of Easton's background and existence. She and Rollie argued for hours about the reality of cloning and Easton being Jefferson. Every time Rollie thought she was sold on both; she would come up with another challenge. Eventually, Rollie ended the arguing by telling her, "Klever, you either believe he's a clone or you don't. It's no different than believing in the existence of God. Either you believe, or you don't. It's that simple."

  Date's belief in Easton grew each day. Not once did he waver from his duty to Easton and, in response, Easton's reliance on the Samurai grew.

  When Date saved Easton from a pulse bomb air attack their allegiance to each other was forged for life. And, it was during that same attack that Raul decided that it was imperative to find the mole in their group.

  32

  THE TREE OF FREEDOM SPROUTS IN THE JUNGLE

  "Did you find their bodies yet, lieutenant?"

  "Not yet, commander. We're identifying the bodies as quickly as possible, but we brought only one DNA reader. So many of the terrorists were vaporized in the attack that piecing together who was killed has been very difficult."

  "How much longer, lieutenant?"

  "Commander Sweats, I would estimate between ten to twelve hours."

  "Get it done in six, lieutenant."

  Sweats was fuming as he walked out of the temporary command center. Since attacking the rebel position, his air-mobile group had been pinned down for days. In this God-forsaken part of the world, the jungle was stifling hot and insect infested. To make matters worse, the monsoon rains started during the attack and had continued nonstop. The downpour made life miserable and tracking the rebels impossible.

  When he entered his billet, he threw his lavender beret across the room and plopped down in a makeshift cot to sleep. He hadn't slept much since the attack. The botched attack had been extremely costly. His orders had been to surround the rebel base, lay down a perimeter barrage and then contain the rebels until they surrendered. Instead, one of his field officers gave the order to blast the entire rebel base. The result had been total chaos. In the pandemonium, many of the rebels escaped. When the battle subsided, and he found out who gave the botched order, M.C. had put an energy burst into the officer's brain. He couldn’t allow nor accept incompetence.

  Being promoted from First Officer to Commander of an air-mobile group was a great honor. He was excited to leave Macon, which had become too small for his intellect and talents. He and his unit now roamed the world taking on whatever mission the World Council assigned them. Most of their missions were simple seek-and-destroy attacks on Black Cross positions. This mission, however, had been different. The World Council command center in England had located his brother's rebel group. They’d directed M.C. to capture Rollie, his girlfriend Gretchen and Raul Hakala. The prisoners were to be taken to the second largest cave in the world, located on the eastern shores of the Black Sea. When he’d asked what to do with the other captured members of the rebel group, he’d been told to use his best judgment. He’d been in the Lavender force long enough to know what that meant.

  He’d messed up a golden opportunity to finally be rid of his uppity brother. Instead of completing the mission satisfactorily, he now lay on his cot trying to think of a way out of the mess. Was he going to report to the World Council that the targeted rebels had escaped, or been vaporized in a botched attack? This was the worst situation he’d been in since beginning his career with the World Council. He was desperate enough to pray to Grandma LeeLee's make-believe God and ask for divine intervention. At least he'd have another chance to capture the rebels if the mythical Almighty listened.

  His micromic sounded before he could speak with the Man upstairs. "Sweats here."

  "Commander, this is Evelyn's assistant, Ramirez."

  "Yes, sir." M.C. sat up on the cot, knowing he was talking with the man many believed to be the second most powerful person on the World Council.

  "Commander, you were unsuccessful in your mission." It wasn't a question but rather a statement of fact. There was no sense denying Ramirez's accusation, somehow, news of the botched raid had gotten back to World Council headquarters.

  "Sir, one of my officers made a grave blunder—"

  "Commander Sweats, I don't care how it happened. All I want to know is what are you doing about it?"

  "We're running DNA identification tests, trying to establish if the primary targets were killed or escaped."

  "Commander, forget that. We’ve just received a confirmed report that the rebels you were supposed to capture are still alive and on the move.

  M.C. didn't know whether to sigh in relief or prepare for his dismissal from the Lavender forces and returned to a ho-hum existence in Macon.

  "Commander, I'm going to give you one more chance to get this trivial assignment done correctly. As soon as I hear again from our mole…"

  As M.C. listened to Ramirez, Gretchen was dragged from the outdoor meeting pit located in the middle of the new rebel camp. She was cursing and screaming at her accusers. "Half of you aren't even real people. You're fakes; pretend humans! Your souls are already in hell. Go away and let real people run the world."

  Her anger boiled over when Rollie gave a cold shoulder to her crying and begging for forgiveness. There was no way she could change their minds. Her fate was sealed, no matter how many times she declared her love for Rollie and fondness for the rebel members she’d spent the last two years with.

  Rollie still couldn't believe that Gretchen had betrayed the group. He understood the threats by the World Council to kill her family members still living in Europe if she didn't cooperate. But not trying to find a solution other than sell out her friends was unforgivable. And, it wasn't only one act of betrayal. It had been many, starting with telling the World Council that Rollie was in Macon. That had been followed by a short message to the enemy about their location in Charlottesville. It was only a day or two later when the Lavenders stormed their rental houses. Raul watched everyone in the group closely that night. Otherwise, the Lavenders would have captured Rollie and his conspirators in the hidden floor at Monticello.

  Raul outmaneuvered her while he collected evidence and convinced himself that she was the mole. Without the help of Triplett, the friendly artificial intelligence bug he put in Phoenvartis's computer system, it would have taken twice as long to pinpoint her as the spy within their group. Sadly, his delay in taking her into custody resulted in the raid on the rebel camp which got a lot of good people killed. He still found it hard to believe that she was crazy enough to put herself in harm's way by staying in the base camp when the air-mobile group attacked.

  "Rollie, she's your companion. What do you want done with her?"

  He looked around the campfire at the men sitting there. All their faces were highlighted by a subdued orange glow from the Climatrol positioned in the middle of the pit. He and a few other scientists at Pho
envartis had invented the small, round device which kept campers comfortable in the wild. How ironic that years later he and a bunch of patriots would use a Climatrol to stay bug-free while protecting themselves from the elements. His gaze went from Raul to Trang, Hattori, Easton, Milkweed and a couple of the other warlords, hoping to read their thoughts.

  "I cannot defend her whatsoever. Gentlemen, I will accept whatever decision you make."

  There was temporary silence in the pit until Raul spoke. "Anyone have a suggestion on what to do with her?"

  Easton was the only one to respond. "She has caused a terrible disaster to befall our brotherhood. Had it not been for the air-mobile incompetence, all of us would have been killed or captured. As it was, we lost several comrades. Trang, I know you lost two men who had been your friends for years. Raul, you'll never be able to call upon and rely on Murphy again. And, I lost my best friend and lover, Klever O'Beberg."

  Easton rose and started to pace around the pit as he preached to his associates. "Gentlemen, Gretchen, the traitor among us must pay the ultimate price. I recommend that she make one last contact with the World Council and give them our new coordinates."

  The pitch of his voice rose to near, all-out anger. "This time, however, we will be waiting for them and Gretchen, the traitor, will not survive this next battle. She’ll be the sacrificial lamb who is tied to an exposed yak-yak gun. She’ll be a sitting duck for our attackers."

  Easton paused for a couple of minutes to make sure everyone agreed with his plan.

  "One last thing. I don't want to hear the word rebel used again to describe us. We are patriots, not rebels. We’re fighting to protect our God-given right to freedom. Rebels are those who fight for intolerance and domination of their fellow man. Patriots fight to free their fellow man. If you agree, raise your glasses in a toast to your rights as a man; life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."

  Deep in a Southeast Asian jungle, a group of eight men, all from diverse cultures and backgrounds, some birthed from women and other from machines, gave their solemn oath to fight evil in all its forms.

  33

  TIME TO GO ON THE OFFENSE

  "Rollie, you better come over here."

  Rollie picked his way around the dead and the bomb craters. When he reached Raul, there was no reason to ask his friend what he wanted. Laying on the ground was his brother, barely recognizable through the sweat, grime and heavy layers of blood and body fluids still oozing from deadly wounds. M.C.'s left leg was missing from the knee down and his left arm was nearly severed at the shoulder. His lavender beret was now a rich crimson indicating that beneath it was a serious head wound. In a major city with modern hospital services, M.C.'s arm and life could be saved. In the jungle, he had only minutes to live.

  Rollie dropped to his knees at his brother's side. "Can you hear me, M.C.? What are you doing here?"

  M.C.'s eyes shifted to see his brother's face peering down. He tried to speak but he could produce only a weak groan.

  Rollie answered his own question when he spotted the air-mobile commander's insignia on M.C.'s uniform. M.C. had led his men into the trap set by the patriots. The attack transports were suckered into firing on holographic patriot positions and weapons. By the time they realized they were fake, it was too late. The patriots picked off the air-mobile attack transports one by one. Then they rounded up the Lavenders not killed and put them into containment corrals. Only thirty percent of M.C.'s men had survived the assault.

  There was no use asking M.C. any questions. The best Rollie could do was talk to M.C. as a loving brother. A brother who held him blameless for the unprovoked attack and didn't consider him an enemy. He reached into his memory to recall the loving words Grandma LeeLee spoke over dying members of the Sweats family.

  "M.C., you are going to His kingdom. It's a land of milk and honey where every day is sunny, and you get to play with butterflies and puppies. You won't have a care in the world and won’t want for anything. The sun shines all the time, even when it's raining. The streams run full of as many fish as you want to catch. Your pet dog from when you were a boy will be there. Grandma LeeLee will welcome you and introduce you to all those who have looked over you during your time on Earth. It will be like old times when you and I were kids. Grandma will sooth your injured soul and make you feel special. Mom and Dad will be there and oh so happy to see you. You will be filled with their love and adored by all those you meet. For the first time since you were a baby, you'll feel truly wanted. Brother, you go to a better place than the one you are leaving. Embrace His Kingdom which is sin free. I will soon follow you. Wait for me with loving—"

  That was as far as Rollie got before he was interrupted by a medic who pronounced his brother dead. He picked up his brother's corpse and carried it to the area used for burials. Ten minutes later, he found Gretchen's remains which he wrapped in a thermal blanket and took to the burial site. He looked at the remains of two people who’d played important roles in his life and wondered if he could have prevented their horrible deaths. He considered saving body samples from each corpse. They could be cloned sometime in the future when the world was at peace and there was little opportunity and temptation to do the Devil's bidding. Realizing that day may never come, Rollie laid M.C. and Gretchen to rest with all their remaining body parts. These two people were better off in the hereafter rather than given another chance at life on Earth.

  Easton called the leaders of the patriot group together for the first of many strategy sessions. The first order of business was securing their base camp and redefining security procedures. They could not tolerate any more surprise attacks.

  It was clear to Easton that his group couldn't sit out the World War. If they wanted a chance at survival, they would have to join the fight. His decision was based, in part, on the history of the old United States. Each time the fledgling country tried to isolate itself from the rest of the world and avoid entering a war, it backfired with devastating consequences. Delay had led to nothing but senseless and excessive deaths. This war had now reached a point of threatening the sovereignty of the patriot group and it was time to press the believers of freedom into action.

  "Trang, how many revolutionary groups can you convince to join our movement?"

  Trang's answer was immediate since he’d been thinking about this very issue since the first attack on their base camp. "At least fifty groups for sure, Mr. Easton. There are another fifty groups which might need some prodding but may be good candidates for our movement. In all, I can add about fifty thousand troops."

  "That's great. Please start recruiting immediately and keep me updated on your progress."

  Easton turned to Hattori. "Same question for you Date. How many revolutionaries who purchased your cloaking device would be willing to form an alliance with us?"

  "Mr. Easton, sales of my cloaking device have dwindled to almost nothing. The World Council no longer has the manpower to maintain the monitoring program. Tracking every person in the world is no longer a priority and is only done selectively when it might benefit the war effort. So, I would say that at least twenty-five thousand of my customers will join the cause for freedom. They all share an intense hatred for the World Council and other types of government domination and interference in their lives."

  "If you would, Mr. Hattori, please coordinate your recruiting effort with Mr. Trang."

  Easton then addressed the entire group. "Mr. Trang and Hattori are not the only ones responsible for bringing recruits to our cause. If you know of good, decent people who would fight for freedom, please tell them. We need every patriot available to defeat the World Council and Black Cross. If we lose to either of these despotic movements, the world will spiral into darkness for hundreds of years. One last thing, gentlemen. As many of you know, the fastest way to kill a serpent is to cut off its head. The same thing applies to evil movements like the Black Cross and World Council. Get rid of the top person and the movement will fall apart because most of its followers h
ave joined out of fear. So, my question for each of you is simple. Do you know of anyone who can get close to the leaders of the World Council and Black Cross? Put bluntly, do you know of anyone who could assassinate the leaders of these two forces of evil?"

  Easton's question was a radical change to the meeting agenda and caught everyone by surprise.

  "You don't have to answer my question now. Think about my question and let me know if you have any potential candidates."

  Before the group disbanded to start their assignments, Miguel squeezed in one last question.

  "Mr. Easton, I have a question for you. Now that we refer to ourselves as a patriot group, should we start addressing you as President, your former title?"

  Easton respectfully answered Miguel's question after a moment of self-indulgent enjoyment. "No, Miguel. You can continue to call me Easton or Thomas or Mr. Jefferson. I've already served as a President many, many years ago. It was very hard on me then, so I don't have any intention of serving another term as President now."

  In the following months and years, most of the leaders in the patriot group ignored Easton's request and addressed him as President. He accepted the title with honor and matched their trust in him by not touching another drop of alcohol.

  34

  THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB

  "Easton, I know someone who might be able to take out Evelyn or Gott."

  "Who's that, Raul?"

  "Her name is Sophia Groetschow. She also goes by Catherine and a bevy of other aliases. She worked at Phoenvartis in a middle management position which was a cover for her real activity as a deep mole."