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.