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.