Chapter 8-7: Blinside - Third Party

Peter- Hawaiian Resistance- Day 71

            Peter watched as two helicopters flew from Anning’s carrier toward the invaders’ line. They had no escorts, no visible armament, and yet, somehow, they took no fire. The truth behind the whole fight was becoming clear. They had never been in danger from the Chinese; it was all a show. In twenty minutes, the battle would end, and the enemy fleet would return to Asia. He never should have trusted the Faction! They were all traitors, they were all maniacs!

            The rampaging truck returned to his street. The booming music stopped as the driver pulled his key out of the ignition. The gunner began pulling empty boxes of ammunition out of the back, where his hefty machine gun was bolted in.

            “Get us some ammo, we gotta get back in there,” the driver yelled.

            Peter stopped his fellow resistance member and walked up to the truck.

            “What are you doing? Get me some fifty-cal!”

            “Why are you here?” Peter asked, leaning on the window.

            “I’m here for ammo, dumbass. Get movin’!” the driver yelled.

            “You’re here to kill people right? Get a little combat high?”

            “What the hell are you talking about? We’re here to save your stupid asses from the Chinese.”

            “Two helicopters just flew from the Faction fleet to the enemy carrier, what do you think that means?”

            “I don’t know, maybe they’re sending in marines or something. Can you just get us some goddam bullets?”

            Peter pulled out his sidearm and executed the man where he sat. The Hawaiian troops jolted up in surprise. Before the gunner could pull out his own weapon, Peter fired two bullets into his chest.

            “The Faction has been toying with us this whole time. We need to fight back while we still have our weapons,” Peter said to the resistance fighters. He gave his orders, called out to the other fighters over the Faction’s radio, then took the truck for himself. The man who’d calmed him in the staging area would have to push up his timetable.

Chapter 8-6: Blindside - Most People Don't Survive the First Warning

Julian- United Human Faction- Night 70

            Richard struggled up out of the dust. Julian had watched as the Union chopper had opened fire on the camp, only to be struck by a Faction rocket. The mask had slipped off the maniac’s face and flung itself across the courtyard. Julian rushed over to it, pulling it over his face as snugly as he could. None could see what had happened.

            “Get this agent medical attention,” he ordered a nearby medical team, refusing to raise his voice for the man’s sake.

            Richard pushed the medics away. “I’m fine. Get out of here,” he barked.

            The rest of the Faction dispersed, pulling away the wounded and dead and beginning to salvage what they could from the crashed helicopter. Julian crouched down next to Richard, inspecting the scratches on his knees and chest.

            “You got off lucky. That doesn’t cut it,” the Masked Man stated firmly.

            Richard glared in response.

            “To lead, you need to know. If there isn’t absolute certainty behind your actions, you cannot survive. John learned that long before we assigned you to his team. That’s why he’s alive and well outside our borders, and you’re sitting in the dirt with blood on your face,” the Faction leader continued.

            “I don’t need lectures, I need control. You tricked me.”

            “You should have seen it coming.”

            Julian took off the mask, stowing it in his combat pack. His entire body shook as he sighed. As much as he denied it, the revolution was taking a toll on his psyche. He couldn’t manage such a disjointed group alone. He needed Sharon. He needed Paul.

Chapte 8-5: Blindside - A Different War

Peter – Hawaiian Resistance- Night 70

            Peter had experience with war. A journalist in Pakistan, Iran, and Korea, he had seen his fair share of killing. He had also seen his fair share or human goodness. He had watched men run into fire to help their comrades. He had seen soldiers playing ball with kids in South Korea. He had watched Marines give water to liberated citizens of desert villages. He had watched Rangers hold back insurgents as they brought Ahmadinejad before the UN for a humane trial. He had watched as soldiers gave their lives for civilians in the name of the United States, and he had seen opposition forces do the same under a different flag.

            The Faction was different. The bright cityscape, covered in flickering white lights, the noisy flashes of gunfire, cascades of flame, liquid and otherwise, and the smoking craters of Anning’s misfires. Faction humvees and gunbeds sped through the streets, shooting to kill any who crossed their patrol routes. Paul doubted that the soldiers knew the nature of those they were fighting, let alone why the war was being fought. He knew from his experiences that the men in combat were Japanese troops trained by the Chinese as a kind of tribute payment. They were not an enemy. In fact, many probably sympathized with the Faction itself.

            Sympathy could not turn down the war songs blaring from every revolutionary vehicle, nor could it stop the fire of men fighting for the kills. When his home was safe, when his friends were safe, he would toss these bastards out of his territory. If they wanted combat for combat’s sake, they could go back to the battlefronts of the mainland.

Chapter 8-4: Blindside - The Champion of His Nation

Admiral Anning- United Human Faction Assault Navy- Night 70

            The Faction ships blew their way through the Japanese forces quicker than Anning had expected, leaving them with little covering fire from the experienced crews of the former US fleet. Several Faction ships were sunk before the battle had truly begun. Anning stood in his Combat Information Center, watching the readouts and measurements as they were made. He was a hands-on leader, often likening himself to Napoleon, if only in his head.

            “Open fire on the enemy fleet. Ignore the Faction boats. We’re going to win this fight, not hold out until the civilians decide they’ve had enough,” Anning yelled to his crew.

            “You heard their leader, sir. She won’t accept that kind of argument,” a sailor replied, straightening his back.

            “Seaman, do you take orders from her or me?”

            “You, sir!”

            “The Faction doesn't need to know our tactics. Tell our ships to open fire, regardless of range or line of sight. I want to see every ship on this side of the island firing on the enemy. Those on the other side had better be lighting the jungles on fire,” Anning ordered, turning to the leader of his Marine detachment. “Marine, is there a helicopter ready for me?”

            “Sir, we have five transport helicopters fueled and a marine platoon ready to move. One of the helicopters is on the pad.”

            “Get me on one of them, and fly another with a second squad of marines alongside. We’re going to need fighter support on the way to the enemy flagship.”

            “The Faction Regional Commander is on her way to the flagship now. With respect, Admiral, we can’t afford to lose you.”

            “Get me to that ship alive, and I’ll deal with the rest,” Anning said, walking out of the CIC.

            Napoleon sat on his horse and watched his men win his wars. Napoleon’s men lost in the end. Anning refused to lose.

Chapter 8-3: Blindside - Light 'Em Up

Julian- United Human Faction- Night 70

            Julian dismissed his guards before the US helicopter arrived. The enemy couldn’t target him if they couldn’t see him, especially in an area like a school. The men on the other side of the camera would have to see the mask to open fire on someplace there could be innocents. Of course, there were no innocents within a hundred miles of the Faction line. Every man woman and child fought in the streets on the first day of the revolution, regardless of standing. Some, including the man approaching the commander’s tent, had fought harder and more brutally than most.

            Richard entered the tent with his revolver drawn. Julian’s heart skipped a beat as he reached toward the mask, seeking its calming grip. Richard cocked his pistol at the same moment, releasing a held breath as the twisted hammer snapped into place. Julian sat on the matted floor of his tent.

            “Don’t touch the mask. This gun’s got a bullet with your name on it,” Richard whispered, beginning to chuckle.

            Julian stared up terrified, before pulling back his arm.

            “Good boy. Your on my leash now,” Richard said.

            He reached down and picked the mask up himself, pulling on the strap before looking back at the pathetic figure sprawled on the floor below him. The mask would ft just fine when the demagogue was dead. Thinking over the consequences, Julian’s feeling of violation left. He was still invisible in the eyes of those who mattered. The street rat held no sway, especially considering the conversation playing out in Julian’s earpiece.

            “What happens when you kill me Richard? Do you wear the mask? Will people believe that when I’m found dead and the man with your name falls off the face of the Earth? You don’t think they’ll figure it out? Do you think people are that stupid?” the Unmasked Man almost yelled.

            “I’ll take my chances. I’ve changed my name before. Even John doesn’t know who I am!”

            “I know who you are now, freak. I know what I’ve made you! I know you can’t run away anymore,” the leader of the revolution rose to his feet, brushing off his cheap rented suit. “You don’t get to run away anymore, because half the nation knows your face this time. Half the world will be out to kill you to avoid the spread of my plague! You’re my creation! You can’t kill me until you’re already dead.”

            Richard growled, almost throwing Julian off guard, but he kept his new imaginary mask set in place.

            “You walk out of this tent. Watch what they do to you.”

            “The Faction will welcome me. A decisive leader. Someone who’ll lead them to victory, not into the abyss. You’re an anarchist degenerate like I used to kill in the streets. I’m the only one worthy of this mask!”

            “If you really think so, walk out there right now. Test your luck, Campbell. See where it gets you.”

            Julian’s earpiece buzzed with activity. Intercepted US radio transmissions blared, informing the leader of the revolution of their every move.

            “Bushmaster, this is Banshee two. We’re moving toward the enemy encampment now. Requesting permission to engage. Over.”

            “Negative, Banshee. Hold fire unless fired upon.”

            “Roger that. We’re moving in. Cameras on.”

            “Banshee, Bushmaster, Report.”

            “We’ve got fifty plus contacts in the courtyard, more moving out of sight. I estimate thirty moving along the east wall, out of view. Are you seeing this, sir?”

            “Affirmative. You still do not have permission to engage.”

            “I think I see someone with an rpg on the west wall.”

            “Negative, keep scanning for enemy HVT’s in the area.”

            “Oh my God.”

            “What is it Banshee?”

            “Someone just walked out in a mask!”

            “Repeat, Banshee. Did you just say someone is wearing a mask? Over.”

            “Banshee, this is Overwatch. The school has not been cleared. There are civilians in the area. Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage. Out.”

            “Banshee, this is Bushmaster. Repeat last. Over.”

            “We have a single individual with a white mask in the middle of the courtyard. The camera is on him now. Over.”

            “Roger, Banshee. We see him. Priority one target identified. You are cleared for immediate attack.”

            “Bushmaster, Overwatch just ordered us to stand down, over.”

            “Banshee, your orders are to kill the target immediately. Over.”

            “Man, they just said there were civilians. There could be kids in there!”

            “Banshee, Bushmaster. Fire now.”

            “Sir, what should I do?”

            “Light ‘em up, Lieutenant.”

            “Shit. Yes sir, cap’n.”

Chapter 8-2: Blindside - Beginning the Assault

-->

Sharon- United Human Faction- Night 70

            Sharon’s transport boat ripped a divide in the sands of the Big Island, tossing about its crew and leaving behind its formerly onboard motor. The Faction commander threw herself against the bow of the boat, tearing her way into the darkness of war.

            She was surprised by the brightness of the night. Anning’s jets towed bright trails of flame over the top of the volcano, likely showering the opposite ocean with burning hot tracer rounds. Her own men, many of whom had already disembarked, covered the beach with glowing markers and flares as they charged into cover. Some soldiers marked their presence with loud yells, pops, and flashes as they marked the mountainside as their territory and, in many cases, their homeland. Inexperienced civilians test fired their weapons into the distance, some gasping as the weapons protested with force, others breaking down in sobs as the reality of their fates became evident. Those Hawaiians who chose to continue fighting clustered around the experienced Faction troopers, running into the streets and jungles to meet the enemy, and those who did not often looked back toward Maui, watching as Anning’s ships spread molted metal across the horizon. Anning’s own carrier was a true marvel, a mobile weapons platform covered in anti-aircraft machineguns, what Sharon would label as artillery cannons, and the bright, silent railguns of science fiction novels.
          She was distracted, and rightly so, by a raft hovering at the edge of the tide. She waded toward the Admiral’s forces and leapt into the boat. A Faction agent, burn scars covering his once handsome face, accelerated toward the Japanese command ship, ready to give his life for the sake of his brothers. Sharon was not sure she could make the same sacrifice, but understood that, this night, she could die with dignity.

Chapter 8-1: Blindside - Another Favor

-->

John- United Human Faction- Night 70

            A bright flash of yellow bathed the base, followed by a wave of grey concrete dust. The blast threw John from the top bunk onto the floor of the barracks, twisting back his arm and cutting the side of his scalp. Walls blew loose around him, and screams were cut short by further flashes and echoes of explosions. He quickly pulled himself off the ground, cursing as his wounded shoulder popped back into place. A dizzying array of lights arranged themselves over his vision, and the ground began to sway. John closed his eyes and tried to focus on his own balance. He couldn’t lose his composure, not during an attack like this. He wouldn’t let down his brothers.

            John opened his eyes, stabilizing his stance and brining his vision level. American soldiers lay crumpled before him, some with sidearms in hand. The sound of ricocheting bullets began to fill the tight outer corridor, telegraphing the approach of the first wave of Vietnamese foot soldiers.

            “What happened? John help me out!” a civilian yelled from behind.

            John turned to see the reporter assigned to his unit on the ground behind him. The idiot had always been unprepared for combat, but seeing him lying on the floor in what appeared to be a business suit was more appalling than usual.

            “Get on your feet, dumbass. We’re under attack. Korean Bulldozer hit the west wall hard. We got men down,” John yelled back. “Make yourself useful for once!”

            “Not now, God, not now,” the reporter muttered, strikingly unconcerned.

            The man wiped his suit clean and investigated several new holes in his once pristine sports coat. He quietly sighed and ran his fingers through his dirty blonde curls.

            “Fine, if you’re not going to help, I can leave you behind.”

            After checking to make sure the hallway was clear, John sprinted to one of his fallen comrades. Saying a short prayer, he pulled the pistol from the man’s limp grip. The weapon was unfamiliar, definitely not standard issue. It was light and felt flimsy in his hand, had a smaller clip than he was familiar with, and cocked awkwardly. It felt more like the weapons local cops threatened him with when he was a reckless teenager than those he had been trained with before he shipped out.

            “Dammit, John, we can’t have this right now! Snap out of it and lets work out an escape route!” the reporter yelled, slowly walking out into the hallway.

            John was stunned. Where was he? A POW camp? Had he been captured? For how long?

            “We need to get out of here before they blow the whole place to hell. The soldiers will shoot you on sight if I’m not with you,” the reporter yelled over the increasingly frequent sounds of gunfire.

            John turned, noticing that the dead soldier now appeared Korean and that the civilian in the suit was no journalist. His posture, his gait suggested a confidence not found in any amateur journalist. This was a man with experience.

            The experienced man grabbed John by the arm and began dragging him out into the cold. Last John remembered, he had been fighting in the Summer Offensive. He didn't remember trudging through frozen wastes. In fact, he had no recollection of how long he had been detained, or even who had captured him.

            “We can’t go out there, the enemy’ll see us,” John screamed pulling out of the man’s grip and dropping his weapon.

            His confusion grew as he ran back toward the rubble, the ground falling farther from his vision, and his legs moving farther to the side the quicker he ran. Something wet dripped down from his hairline as he fell to his knees, staining the snow red. The impact of a well-polished shoe threw John to the ground. The gash in his head seemed to pull itself open further as it came into contact with the frozen ground.

            “That airstrike wasn’t exactly subtle. Do you really want a war with the Canadians? They’ve got the whole European Union on their side.”

            “Sir, I don’t plan the ops, I just follow my orders.”

            “By that logic, you would have yelled Oppenheimer the second you saw me. That’s my challenge. The reply is Shiva.”

            “Senator Glass, we need to get you out of here now. There are two helicopters a mile north that’re spun up and ready to fly back to DC.”

            “I’m not leaving without my escort. He’s the only person I trust right now.”

            "The one you nailed in the back of the head?"

            "Did you see anyone else with me?"

            “Someone pick that guy up and get him back to the exfil point! We're already late!”

            The ground fell away as the Canadian stars faded into darkness.

Chapter 7-9: Neglected Motion - Friend or Foe Recognition

Julian- United Human Faction- Night 70

            Julian logged on to the Faction Command Network for the first time in a week. The red “spheres of influence” as Paul’s late wife spread across the map like wildfire, combining satellite maps and online resources into a comprehensive record of Faction and “Allied” actions. Karen had never seen the Faction as a force for good. In her mind, Napoleon was a greater destroyer than those who had defeated him. Julian’s mind had begun to change lately.

            Red spots, a mile in diameter each, marked Faction control zones. Across the entirety of the United States, and now small pockets of Eastern Europe and the Middle East, where prior revolutions had already destabilized the classical power structure, were blanketed with the spots. Even Colorado was now represented by the clear revolutionary paint. Julian couldn’t help but smile. His college friends’ pet project had finally become a defining force in the world. He finally stood at the crest of the wave.

            The Faction border was met with a thick blanket of blue. US troops, each assigned numbers and GPS signatures, rushed to the front every day, awaiting their chance to defend the antiquated America of their forefathers. Paul’s doubts had always been justified. It was not entirely Thomas’ fault the East had not followed the lead of the war-torn West. Julian’s thoughts wandered for over an hour. He wondered where Sharon was, who Richard was, how he would be remembered should his face become known post-mortem, and how he would choose to die.

            His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden explosion of color above the northern border. A blip of blue flickered and died in Canada, a nation suddenly engulfed in red. Jeremy Glass was dead. That was the only explanation. And now he would have to reprogram the entire recognition system, if he could figure out how.

            He thought of telling Sharon to make more masks.

Chapter 7-8: Neglected Motion - Philanthropic Murder

Peter- Hawaiian Resistance- Night 71

            The non-Faction troops waited apart from the mainlanders. The loud music of the Faction troops pulsed across the western shore of the island, forcing the beats of brutal war drums and the screams of violent vocalists into the minds of every man, soldier or not. Peter sat by his friends; those who survived the initial Chinese sweep of the island chain, at least. Many tried to calm themselves quiet guitar strumming or even the last desperate scratching of a pen before battle. Peter sat quietly, consciously deciding whether he would be able to take another’s life when his own was endangered.

            The thought seemed so cliché, so obvious. He felt as if he should think something more profound in what would certainly be the end of his days. Perhaps he should think about the political implications of his actions, of the impact he would have on the people he had grown up with. He could not distract himself from the deep fear that he would be unable to pull the trigger.

            How selfish he was, to ignore everything in the fear that he might show too much mercy. What would happen to everyone he knew when he choked? How could he live with himself, knowing he had contributed to his home's destruction? Hands clasped around his scavenged Chinese rifle, Peter began marching toward the Faction camp. He would join the men who had come to the islands for the blood, not those who were subjected unwillingly to it.

            "Five hours until deployment," the camp megaphone blared. "All units ready gear, get all vehicles stocked and fueled. We deploy in five hours."

Chapter 7-7: Neglected Motion - Prepared for Treason

Sharon- United Human Faction- Night 71

            The early morning brightened earlier than was ever intended, as Anning’s ships began firing on Chinese ground troops and boats alike. The earlier reconnaissance had paid off, even at the cost of two fighter jets. Anning himself barked coordinates to his aides, who, in turn, barked orders over their radios to the long-range cannon batteries and allied ships in the former US Admiral’s fleet. Sharon approached carefully, knowing not to tread in the bitter officer.

            “The ground forces are ready to advance as soon as your ships have fired their last shots. Contact me when the coast is clear,” she said to him softly.

            “Don’t leave just yet. I want to show you how a fleet operates. Maybe you could teach that old man a thing or two about tactics,” Anning grunted, pointing at the large map displayed on what Sharon assumed was a map of the naval battlefield. “We are positioned behind the island, where the Chinese are unable to see us. That means that we can shell them as long as we want, but we’ll never be able to focus our fire on specific ships. We just don’t now where they are, and I’m not willing to throw my pilots’ lives away in the hopes of finding them. Our ships are the strongest on the planet. We dominate every sea in every ocean. The Chinese are using cheap knockoff models, and your men don’t have anything coming close. That means that when we can see our opposition, we can tear them apart. I can’t see the Chinese, so I can’t kill them. On the other hand, the old man’s fleet is perfectly visible.”

            “Don’t threaten us Anning. If we could push back the entire US Army, we can beat you.”

            “I’m not threatening you, I’m warning you. Next time that son of a bitch questions my loyalty and blocks my maneuvering, I’m sinking every trash heap in his fleet. You’re dismissed, General.”

            Sharon stepped out of Anning’s CIC, ready to speak with her Admiral.

            “Is there a problem, ma’am?” a Faction marine asked as she left exited through the bulkhead.

            “Not yet. Get a message to our Admiral. Say that Anning’s orders take precedence over his own, but that mine still have top priority.”

            The marine saluted and ran toward the flight deck. She could only hope the Chinese fleet would sink to Anning’s guns before her own.

Chapter 7-6: Neglected Motion - The Thousandth Man

Richard- United Human Faction- Night 70

            Julian’s caravan reached the militia outpost outside Omaha near midnight. The local troops immediately began preparing the vehicles for the next stretch of the journey to Columbus, Ohio, while the Faction drivers and travelers slowly crawled to their pre-determined rest zones. Julian leapt out the back of his armored transport. It was a vehicle obviously stolen from Union forces, and sloppily painted in the grey and red of the Faction. Julian donned his mask while he exitd, letting none catch a long look at his face. A quick glance would be good, he must have thought. It would start rumors about the identity of the wearer, but keep his actual face a secret. Or he was being sloppy.

            “Sometimes I wonder if you really want to wear the mask, sir,” Richard whispered as he approached.

            “So do I, but that won’t be a problem for long, right?” Julian replied, looking up at the tall, blonde street rat.

            “Don’t doubt me,” Richard hissed in reply.

            Julian chuckled, insulting Richard’s pride once again.

            “I’m not your goddam dog. I have the respect of every man in this city, as well as everyone in the main defensive line, and those who once served under General Gerrard in White Sands. I think some of them are with your attack force now. If I showed up in that mask, they’d follow me without a single complaint.”

            “I’m sure they would, but if you were to die, who would replace you? You’re not a safe hero, Richard, you're a figurehead. I'm safe, because I'm anonymous. There are a thousand Julians in this army, and I’m not one of them.”

            The Masked Man no longer turned to look his men in the eyes when he spoke to them.

            “You think you’re a god now? Remaking yourself as you please?”

            “You were quite convincing back in the capital. I think I might be able to conjure a few bolts of lightning now and then, as long as you kneel before me and maybe sacrifice a goat every once in a while.”

            Richard stopped, ready to take his rightful place earlier than planned.

            “I heard about Arya,” the Masked Man said, continuing to walk toward his personal tent. “My man said your box of matches was missing right after the attack.”

            “Are you saying I’m killing our men?” Richard yelled, alerting several of Julian’s personal guards. Weapons raised they approached the agent-turned-General.

            “Get out of here, he won’t kill me until I’m well out of sight. The coward doesn’t like dealing with the cleanup,” Julian stated, beginning to chuckle.

            There was no way for Richard to turn the conversation around. He’d lost. Again.

            “Remember what John taught you, underling,” the Masked Man squeaked, “about keeping your mouth shut. You never seem to learn your lesson. Remember that there are a thousand men who could hold the torch.”

            Julian disappeared into his tent, and his entourage disappeared into the crowd. Richard would have his day, and he would add a third round to his cylinder.

Chapter 7-5: Neglected Motion - Lucky Catch

Paul- United Human Faction- Night 70

            Thomas’ scout was not as careful as he should have been. A quick strike to the back of the man’s neck ended his night’s mission. Paul pulled off his mask, certain that his identity was safe, and that his breathing was restricted by the solid faceplate, and began searching through the enemy’s possessions. The dark-clad man’s only appropriate clothing was his “Gearslinger,” as the label plastered to the largest pouch of the bag made abundantly clear. Inside was a jumble of papers, several tools, and a selection of protein bars. It was obvious the man was not an experienced woodsman or an experienced revolutionary. Of course, that fact should have been obvious when the scout was caught off guard by a liberal arts major from San Francisco.

            Paul pulled everything out of the pouch. It would be easier to take inventory if he could see what he would be stealing.

            Among the religious propaganda Thomas had been preparing since he joined the revolution, Paul found several maps, including one of the enemy’s home base. Paul couldn’t help smiling, knowing that his plan had gone far better than it had had any right to. He quickly gathered the maps, food, and ammunition from the scout, then handcuffed him to a tree before putting his mask back over his face. The Faction soldiers would decide the victim’s fate.

Chapter 7-4: Neglected Motion - Dreaming of the President

Jeremy- United States Senate- Night 70

            The drone of the F-35’s was cut short by a stream of bright light and a trail of flame. Jeremy thought he could make out the faint outline of a parachute in the black winter sky, but he couldn’t assume the pilot had survived such a brutal surprise attack. He could imagine the stress of the Canadian government, with a relatively miniscule standing army, a brutal revolution to the south, and too few resources to ensure protection from the west. Jeremy could imagine President Athia desperately pleading for permission to fly planes through Canada, only to hear a stern refusal from the other side of the phone line. And he could imagine the Joint Chiefs urging him to ignore the threats of AA attack. It was too late for negotiations in the New World.

            “What the hell was that?” John yelled, a dark solidity overtaking his features.

            “Stone cold soldier this morning? You should know what that was,” Jeremy mocked, hoping to tease John into snapping out of his PTSD fugue.

            “Did another 35 go down? I swear to God the fuel is burning the jungle quicker than the bombs.”

            Jeremy looked to his cellmate in disbelief.

            “Look at your clothes, John! Tell me where you are!”

            John looked down at his prison garb, rolling the orange fabric in his hands. The stony tension left the muscles of his cheeks and brow, and his bottom lip fell slowly. Certainly assuming he had experienced a hallucination, he crept back into his bunk.

            “It was a 35,” Jeremy whispered.

            John shuffled uncomfortably.

            “I’m not out of favors, John. The Canadians shot down one of our birds. What does that say to you?”

            “I heard you the first time,” John mumbled, sitting up. “They know you’re here, don’t they? Ever since I killed that Major at the Tower, his men’ve been following us, right?”

            “They don’t know that you killed him, but they know where we are, yes. Now that Canada’s attacked us, they’ll waste no time breaking us out,” Jeremy whispered, smiling honestly for the first time in months.

            “I’m not on your side, Jeremy. I’m going to D.C. to break the back of the government, not to help you restore it.”

            “You’ll follow me into the Oval Office as my escort, then push me aside and murder the President?” Jeremy’s smile was replaced with his wide grin.

            “He’s already dead.”

            Jeremy’s smile disappeared, as did his grin. Could John be telling the truth? Had they already lost the war?

            “That’s impossible, there’s no way that fighter would be flying up here if Washington had fallen!” Jeremy began to yell.

            “He died on day one. The New York team couldn’t secure the target with the Secret Service all around, so they fired a bazooka at the President's motorcade. I would say it was a lucky shot, but they knew which car the President and the Senator were in. I heard something about Virginia taking out the VP, too.”

            Jeremy backed against the wall, trying to comprehend what he had heard. The idiot Speaker was in control of the government. He could imagine the fool following every order given by the Joint Chiefs, and he could imagine himself taking the position by force.

            “You’d better have a few favors to lend me. I don't think anyone in Washington is waiting with open arms,” John muttered as he turned to ward the wall.

Chapter 7-3: Neglected Motion - Neutral Parties

Peter- Hawaiian Resistance- Day 70

            The Island of Hawaii was a beast no amount of shelling could tame. The Chinese, or, as the Faction overseers commonly reminded their foot soldiers, the Japanese, forces refused to give up a single inch of shoreline in the days following the initial bombardment. The only chance at victory before Chinese reinforcements arrived was the Faction Admiral’s risky four-day invasion plan. Regardless of Anning’s obvious disdain for the old fisherman, the orders stood.

            “Hey, Belgian get over here,” a Faction private yelled, holding a chain of fifty caliber rounds in his hands.

            “Get one of your own guys to help you, we’re here for defense, not murder,” Peter yelled in response.

            Peter was one of those who took offense to the Faction men’s terminology. He had never chosen to fight for their side, and, had he been living on the mainland, these traitors would be poised in his sights. He made sure the local crews knew it, too. The Faction unit chuckled before the private shouted back.

            “Don’t worry, kid. Next time you get put in concentration, we’ll be the jailers.”

            A second terrorist joined the private and helped him to load the rounds into the turret of their jury-rigged “gunbed” truck.

            “Don’t worry, Peter,” a male voice whispered from behind him, “once we push out the foreigners, we’ll be ready to deal with the traitors.”

            The man was gone by the time Peter turned.

            “All non-Faction units report to your stations for briefing,” the loudspeakers of the schoolyard staging area blared. In the next days, Peter knew they would lose their home. They had only to decide who to let steal it.

Chapter 7-2: Neglected Motion - Guardian Angels

John- United Human Faction- Day 68

            “Alright, John. It’s time for us to break out,” Jeremy whispered from the bunk above.

            “It’s only four in the morning. Shouldn’t we eat first?” John replied half-heartedly.

            “No, John! The time is right now. The guards are in the process of changing shifts, giving us the opportunity to pick the lock to the cell and run out to reclaim our possessions,” Jeremy said sticking his hand through the bars to feel at the lock.

            “Jeremy, listen to me right now,” John mumbled, groggily sliding out of his bunk. “You know me. I worked in a fake prison for quite a while. Me and my terrorist friends put all kinds of criminals behind bars before we released them to the wolves. I can tell you right now that none of them managed to pick any locks, and even if the bastards had, they wouldn’t have gotten past us. Think about that for a minute. Some asshole from Vietnam got together with a drug dealer from Ecuador and a sociopath from East LA, and not one man got away from them. Do you really think that you can escape from trained policemen in a jail manufactured by an international power?”

            His question was answered by a loud hum, which grew into a ground-shaking growl. Jeremy looked back in surprise, and hopped to the small window in the back of their cell. By the time he was able to peek through the metal bars into the open air, the growl had evolved into the distinct sound of an American supersonic jet. The unnaturally white contrail scarring the pale blue sky only bolstered Jeremy’s hopes.

            “I’m not out of luck,” Jeremy whispered. "Our trip through Canada did not go unnoticed, and now the Union will make its move to reclaim its last semblance of legitimacy."

            “That sounded like an F-35. I remember how those things shelled the jungles in the war,” John said, fully alert.

            “They must be flying reconnaissance.”

            “Nah. They use stealth planes for that. F-35s have bombs strapped to ‘em. Looks like Canada is turning into a neutral highway.”

            “They usually fly past later at night.”

            John looked to the Senator, expecting to see the man’s joking grin. The Senator Elect smiled, but only for a moment.

Chapter 7-1: Neglected Motion - The Doubtful Killer

Paul- United Human Faction- Night 67

            Paul walked the forest paths alone, not trusting the soldiers assigned to him by the General. These men were either incompetent or brutish, and Paul had no use for either trait. The leader of the platoon, a former Agent who called himself Cain, was the only man in the group who could be trusted, but given the man’s track record before the revolution, Paul still wouldn’t put his life in the hands of the former gangster.

            “What are we dealing with out here, sir?” Cain had asked as they left the main force.

            “Ghosts, according to Julian. I’d say it’s a group of deserters. Probably disillusioned fanatics, definitely dangerous. We’ll have to keep watch at all times,” Paul replied.

            "Any better theories? We have records of all desertions."

            "I know what's going on here, but I can't tell you. That's the one and only truth. Can you live with that?"

            "I sure as hell hope so. I wouldn't want to die out here because some rich little college boy didn't want anybody to know his dirty secrets. You know, Paul, I hear more around here than the generals, and I know that something's been going on between you and Masky. You'd better not be trying to get back on his good side."

            Paul stopped, shocked by the man's confidence. None in San Francisco would have spoken to him so -it took a moment to recognize the word- fairly. This "Cain" was more the leader of the revolution than Paul had ever been.

            "I don't think there's any reason for me to be kissing his ass. For all you know, I could have been the one wearing that costume back on the coast."

            Cain chuckled.

            “Right. I don’t like the thought of killing my own men, though. I know I caused problems for my commander before the war, but that doesn’t change my allegiance. I’m here to keep my boys alive, not to prop up some superhero reject, hear me?”

            Cain hefted his SAW and left before Paul could respond. The Agent was a man bred up on loyalty and respect, not idealism. In this fact, Julian saw a man who couldn’t be trusted to finish a job. Cain saw himself as a man who respected oaths.

            The crash of gunfire pulled Paul out of his trance and into the reality of the moment. The darkness was torn apart by the muzzle flashes of both the Faction’s weaponry and that of an unknown force in the woods. Paul fought back a smile as he donned his dark mask. In his black and grey outfit, Paul could disappear without a trace. Cain would live up to his name, and the morning would reveal the identities of his foes, regardless of prior obfuscation.

            Unfortunately, by the time the Faction reached Thomas, Paul would have already broken his neck. Not for the revolution, Paul cared little about the fate of the war, but for Karen. Blood for blood. It would all be fair. It would all be right.

Chapter 6-8: Unforseen Developments - Recurring Thoughts

Sharon- United Human Faction- Day 66

            The peaceful Hawaiian shore contrasted sharply to the burning husks of former Faction and Chinese naval vessels. Countless beached sailboats dotted the coastline, their torn sheets following the dictates of the wind. Metal and concrete jutted out from the sands, remnants of great Chinese ships and prisons left decimated by Anning’s carrier and the improvised explosives of the escaped civilians. Sharon surveyed the damage as a foot soldier returning from the front line. The fight for the Big Island was far reaching, with Chinese artillery regularly striking Haleakala, where Faction snipers peppered enemy speedboats and those foot soldiers foolish enough to walk the northern coast of the island. She frequented the sniper nests, often looking through the scope of a rifle, but never pulling the trigger. She had learned the bitterness of violence in the initial surge, and she felt no craving for a second taste.

            The murder she had committed in the prison camp had, after several days, swayed her to Paul’s side. In her memory, without the sweat and adrenaline of combat, the event was far more disturbing. Each night, she imagined herself in the dark halls of the prison camp, pistol at her side. Her face was cold, stiff, inhuman, and her steps fell slower than those of her comrades. Calmly, she would roll back her shoulders and turn the corner to find a pair of men she already knew would not survive the night. During the day, she liked to believe she had tried to save the prisoner and spare her opponent. She liked to believe that she could have shown mercy, that some part of her had fought the urge to kill the Chinese soldier. But her dreams always played on her darker suspicions. She walked around the corner, immediately raising her weapon. She screamed at the soldier as she walked forward, some nights warning him, others egging him on, until he panicked. The shocked soldier stared down at the body on the ground and at his bloodstained hands. The dream Sharon would take no notice of his horror, mercilessly firing a bullet through his skull.

            Unsettling as the dreams were, Sharon found herself gathering tactical information from the memory. Most importantly, she noticed that the “Chinese” soldiers they fought were, in reality, members of several Japanese fleets pledged to China after the Second Korean War. There was no loyalty tying these men to the goals of the Chinese, and, with motivation, they would cross the Pacific and turn on the nation that had so forcefully demanded their loyalty

Chapter 6-7: Unforseen Developments - Invisible Enemy

Paul- United Human Faction- Night 64

            The trees of Pike Forest were likely the safest the soldiers of the Faction’s Main Offensive Army would see for months, yet they seemed to have the most horrific effect of any Paul had led them through. The trees’ wood seemed darker at night than in the day, even in the light of their solar flashlights. The dirt seemed too stiff underfoot in places. The animals were quieter than they had any right to be. Men cowered around campfires rather than in the clinical safety of their Kevlar tents, and ghost stories ran rampant through the barracks. Stories spread of men, reported as deserters, who had been pulled away by shadows in the night, by invisible men with violent intentions.

            “Some of my soldiers are sayin’ we ran over an Indian burial ground, or something like that,” General Klein of New Mexico complained to julian, Masked as always. “I’m sick of having our progress slowed to a crawl because a couple assholes from the Washington line decided to slip away in the forest.”

            “It says here that twelve men from Washington disappeared alongside over forty six of your men. Damn, General, that’s more than a full platoon, how did you manage to keep moving with those kind of casualties?”

            “They aren’t casualties, they’re desertions!” Klein screamed.

            “You’re troops claim otherwise,” The Masked Man stated. “I hear all over the camps that your boys got snatched by ghosts.”

            Paul looked up from his notes, not sure if Julian honestly believed in the foot soldiers’ story, or if he was simply mocking the General. Klein jumped to the second conclusion.

            “You might think you’re the best man in this army, but that gives you no right to talk down to those of us who have given up everything for your cause!“

            “I’m not talking down to you, I’m voicing honest concern for my troops,” stated the Masked Man in a tone not conveying concern for the lives of his troops.

            “About ghosts?”

            “Yes, General. Are you not concerned?”

            Klein was speechless.

            “You are aware that two of our agents went missing in the same area where you lost your men, correct?” he continued, turning back toward Paul. “Tell the general what happened last time an agent tried to desert.”

            Paul hesitated.

            "I'd rather not, if you don't mind."

            Julian continued to stare expectantly, but a quick shake of Paul's head proved his unwillingness.

            "Suffice to say, his partner brought him back, shall we say, incomplete, then recruited a suitable replacement, right Paul?"

            "That's the clean version," Paul said, shuddering.

            “And these disappeared men aren’t just any agents. These are trusted men. Carlos and Thomas were their names. They were both yours, too, weren’t they Paul?” the leader of the revolution mocked.

            “So what do you want me to do about it? Go hunting through the woods for fifty corpses? We’ll be able to take Washington before we’d be able to find them. I say we push forward. No more security stops. No more head counts. I’d rather lose a division in rushed combat than another unit in these woods,” Klein replied, obviously upset.

            “So you would call these fifty men acceptable losses?” Julian asked.

            “In these circumstances, they have to be.”

            “Paul, take fifty of Klein’s men and sweep the forest for ghosts,” the Masked Man ordered, whispering as he left the command tent. “Clean up your mess. I don’t want to see that freak alive again.”

Chapter 6-6: Unforseen Developments - Jailbirds

John- United Human Faction- Day 64

            “Damn, John. This sure feels familiar to me,” muttered Jeremy, leaning against the bars of their cell.

            “How do you plan on getting out this time? There’s no war here, and no sympathetic guard either,” John asked for the hundredth time. “And don’t say God’ll save you because of your name. I think you’ve run out of favors at this point.”

            “We could dig our way out. They give us spoons with every meal.”

            “If you want to spend hours pounding on the concrete with a spoon, be my guest.”

            John chuckled. His wife had always told him the Faction would land him in a jail cell. For the first time in their short marriage, he was willing to admit she was been right. There was no escape from this prison, and even if they managed to cross the outer wall, there were miles between them and their nation. They would freeze above the Northern border, no matter the circumstances.

            “You look like you have an idea,” John stated, slightly afraid.

            Jeremy smiled and nodded.

            “Don’t do anything, it’ll just piss them off,” John moaned.

            “Jailer! Let me go,” Jeremy yelled down the hall. “I’m a member of the United States Senate. Do you want a war on your hands? I demand to be released to the US embassy!”

            “There hasn’t been a US embassy for two months. Back away from the bars.” the jailer called back.

            “It was worth a try wasn’t it?”

            “No. Get back in your cell.”

            Jeremy slowly set himself back onto the bottom bunk.

Chapter 6-5: Unforseen Developments - Flash of Consciousness

Peter– Hawaiian Prisoner- Day 63

            Shots rang out from across the street where Peter lay, feigning death. He felt blood leak from the gash in his arm every time his heart pulsed, but he still felt the need to maintain consciousness long enough to escape. He watched through squinting eyes as his allies, all escapees from the Chinese concentration camp, rushed toward the enemy line. He slowly rose to his feet and picked up his stolen rifle. They would break the Chinese alongside the Faction, no matter which side they would have supported on the mainland.

Chapter 6-4: Unforseen Developments - A Victor's Trauma

Sharon– United Human Faction- Day 63

            Two weeks of fighting had barely scratched the Chinese Navy. The Faction’s first assault had allowed them to capture the smaller half of the islands, but since then guerilla attacks had done little to take the Eastern half of Maui. The other islands were impenetrable.

            Sharon had remained in Lahaina, far from the brutal combat. She had had her share of killing, maybe more. A quick check of the Chinese guard’s weapon had revealed an empty magazine. Even in avenging a civilian death, the idea of killing a technically unarmed man weighed heavily on her. She had known she would need to dirty her hands, but she was unprepared for the repercussions of an act of violence. She kept the man’s dog tags not as trophies, but as reminders of the pain.

            The fires in the ocean were beginning to dissipate. Sharon had watched the flames jump from wreckage to wreckage between meetings with her commanders, but this was the first day she could see them begin to die down. It had an impact on her, a sort of rekindling of her revolutionary spirit. She knew the cost of war, but she held tight to the belief that it would bring about change. Like the Admiral had said on the docks, the war wouldn’t change anything if it didn’t impact everyone.

            The makeshift command center was empty on the second day of January. Sharon had to assume the worst, rushing back to her jeep to check on the battlefield. From the peak of Puu Kukui, she could watch the progress of the Faction’s ground forces. She expected to pull up her telescope and view the demise of the Faction’s last ground forces, but her reality was finally better than the fantasy. Shells rained down on the Chinese line as a force of civilians pushed them toward the Faction line. It was a massacre. It was victory.

            She turned on her radio to listen in on the combat. The visceral chatter made her heart pound. They might be able to win Hawaii.