Indivisible (Overlooked by Liberty) (14 page)

      
"He'll know you."  The Mountain Boys were out of their element in Boston; the inner city was nearly all African-American.

      
Chaos just smiled.  Butch had begged him to go with them a week earlier.  He knew the boy was being coy.  Butch had met The Wizard; yet he never disclosed details about him.  The Rousells maintained their allegiance to Helen, despite their awe of the armed fighters.

      
Two rebels carried Helen's gear out and packed it on a sled.  She found a spot to sit on top and tightened up her white parka in preparation for the trip.  Butch, Thad, and Tater approached her.

      
"Any orders for us while you're gone?" Butch asked.

      
"Yes.  Don't talk to any more reporters, Butch.  You almost got the guy killed.  And don't go around cutting people.  Keep that knife in your pocket."

      
Helen waited for some kind of finality.  "What is it?"  The boys gave a Scout salute.  Helen hesitated but finally did a halfhearted salute of her own.  After an awkward pause, Thad gave Helen a hug.  She instinctively returned the squeeze, absorbing the sensation of little arms looped about her neck--the small, vulnerable frame of a child.  A swarm of memories returned--of Barry--of sunny days.  She wiped a tear from her eye with her mitten.  "We gotta go while the snow flies."  She sniffed and avoided looking up at them as the boys walked off.  "Hey," she called after them, "you boys take care of one another.  And take care of Tater for me," Tater still sat resolutely beside her sled.  The golden retriever looked up at Helen with a trusting lap-dog grin.  Helen shook her head no, "Sorry girl.  You have to stay." 

      
Helen patted Tater on the head.  She had warmed up to the animal since the Dixville ordeal.  Tater reminded her of Barry; the dog and boy had been inseparable.  But taking the dog to Boston wouldn't be right.  And Thad, needed the companionship more than she.

      
Butch led Tater off and waited by Max's truck.  They waved good-bye as the procession of snowmobiles with sleds took off down the trail.  Two or three people rode on each rig.  Chaos was in the middle of the pack and gave the boys a thumbs up and winked as he roared by.  Butch and Thad returned the signal.  Other soldiers did the same, the boys returning the sign as each passed.  Helen responded with a wave and a restrained smile as the caravan trailed off through puffy flakes and disappeared into the forest.

      
Butch and Thad watched the sound until it diminished into the distance.  They looked at one another, then down at Tater.  Thad nodded to Butch.

      
Butch understood, "Right, Thad.  They ain't seen the end of us."  He pulled an electronic notepad out of his pocket and turned it on.  A note appeared:
Union Wharf, Boston
.  "Nope, they ain't seen the end of us."

-

Chapter 9

-
       Chaos' company traveled in groups of about fifty each, on different routes toward the coast of Maine.  Point teams with cash in-hand forged ahead to secure trucks and vans for transport in Portland.  The groups communicated only with the laser transmitters, devices the technician had managed to rig on riflescopes.  Point troopers for each company would laser information back to the headgear of someone in each group, but the communicator only worked if there was direct line-of-sight.  Maine's flatlands made it difficult to get enough elevation to scope-in the receiver and speak to them.  Snowmachines blazed a trail as the rest of the expedition used cross-country skis.

      
They weren't the redneck dolts Helen thought them to be.  Many of them were from the North Country.  They ranged in age from seventeen to thirty.  A surprising number were from the Midwest.  She recognized three young men from Colebrook.  They greeted her by name.  When they spoke to Helen, or even Steve, they used Ma'am or Sir.  They were a disciplined lot who appeared to be in good condition, skiing thirty miles the first day proved that.

      
Point teams prepared camp and collected firewood; cloud cover allowed them to have a fire that night.  When Helen's group arrived in the valley, a warm yellow glow seeped through the trees ahead.  A spot had been cleared in the snow for Helen's tent.  One of the young men detached a tent and flung it into the air where it instantly uncoiled into a five-man tent, her quarters for the night.  Steve Morrison had to bunk up with four rebels; he was expected to endure the austere conditions the fighting men did.

      
After dinner, everyone sat around the many campfires and chatted or listened to CB radio skip.  Most listened to channel 6, The Wizard's station.  Tonight, their guest host was 606 from South Carolina, a prerecorded broadcast.

      
Steve Morrison sat beside Helen at a fire.  The reporter still brooded over the incident at Helen's house.  "This must be the most idiotic thing I've ever done in my career--what's left of a career--if I survive this.  Hell, we could be jumped by Army Rangers right now and shot."  Helen gave him a perturbed glance.  "What?"  Steve didn't understand.  "I know you people lost a lot in the Dixville Massacre, but going up against the government is pointless.  You must realize you can't win."

      
"I guess it doesn't matter anymore.  When my son's life was taken, so was mine."  Helen turned and looked squarely at the reporter, "Have you ever loved someone so deeply?  No parent should ever outlive their child."

      
"Well, I don't know--"

       
"No.  You don't know.  If you knew, you wouldn't be sitting here whining.  What happens to me doesn't matter.  The Feds did more than murdered sixty-four kids; they crushed our dreams.  They took our children.  They violated our homes."  Helen shook her head, "And we're pissed.  We are
so
pissed!  There's your story, reporter.  Write it down."  Helen reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a electronic notepad, "Here.  Use this." 

      
Steve took it from her and began scribbling down the words, then stopped.  He looked up like a scolded puppy.  "I don't need to write it down.  I'll remember."

      
The exchange between Helen and Steve had stilled other conversations around them.  Only distant mumbling could be heard at other fire circles.  Eventually, Steve struck up conversation again by asking rebels around the fire where they were from.  One young man said he was from North Carolina, another, Georgia.  Crucible was the youngest of the original Tobacco Boys who survived the Tobacco Wars.  Still freckle faced at 20 years old, in a southern drawl, Crucible declared his home was Colebrook.

      
"How's that?"  Morrison questioned because the southern accent was obvious.

       
"It's like the boss says," the rebel quoted Chaos, "you know you're home when you're willing to fight for it."  The lad looked at Helen, "Right here's our home, Ma'am.  We're here for
you
."  Other rebels at the fire circle nodded in agreement.

      
Chaos entered the group and poured a steaming cup of tea from a metal pot poised at the edge of the fire.  He looked around cautiously; lively discussion was absent here.  He brought the tea to Helen.  "Hi.  I thought you might appreciate some warm, mint tea.  Keep your gloves on, it's a little hot."  He sat down beside her.  "This time of day is nice.  If there's cloud cover, we sit around the fire and shoot the bull.  Someone usually has a comment about Crucible over there.  With those freckles, it looks like he stood behind the wrong cow."

      
"Thank you."  She smiled.  The steamy cup radiated between her hands as she huddled to the glow of the campfire; damp March air swiped her back.  The rebels' confirmation of their devotion to the Covenant's cause had suddenly bolstered her spirit.  To that point, she had felt alone, many miles from home. 

      
Most of the Tobacco Boys had come to the North Country after hearing The Wizard's broadcasts about families left shattered from the Massacre.  Helen had met Chaos only twice before this.  He charmed everyone.  Helen also felt the allure: His good looks weren't the only attraction; he was mysterious in his own way, never really talking about himself.  His philosophical quotes showed he was a thinker, possibly well educated--not like Tumult and Snake, the white trash that led the other factions.  Chaos seemed kind.

      
The incident at her house that morning disturbed her; she had never seen the warrior side of this group.  Helen realized the Tobacco Bunch were responsible for hundreds of casualties in their own uprising and wondered if they would have ordered the reporter killed or if it was all an act.

      
"This is as good a time as any to ask," said Helen.  "How will you get Max out?"

      
"Well," an awkward hesitation ensued, "Ah...I could show you."

      
Helen glanced at Steve.

      
Steve blurted, "I don't think it's likely I'll sneak off to a pay phone out here and warn anyone."  Steve looked past the Southerner's charm; he hadn't forgotten about the incident that morning.

      
"I'm sorry, you're absolutely right.  It's not likely you would tell anyone of the plan, but it is possible.  The fact is, only myself and five others in this expedition know where we're going and what we're there for.  What the soldiers don't know they can't tell.  It's not that they're traitors to the cause, it's just that the Feds have been known to use chemicals to jog memories.  At least that happened to us in the Tobacco Wars."

      
"Can the Federal Government drug prisoners like that?" the reporter questioned.

      
"Mr. Morrison, you haven't had the pleasure of meeting Tumult, my overseer.  Unlike myself, he is compelled to quote Adolph Hitler.  His response to you would be: `You stand there with your law.  I stand here with my sword.  We shall see who prevails.'"

      
The reporter quipped back, "But Hitler didn't prevail."

      
"I disagree with Tumult's ideology.  But, sir, that fanatical little Nazi got beaten by the sword." 

      
Chaos turned and led Helen to his tent on the edge of the encampment.  Inside, he pulled a pocket computer from a front pack beneath his coat and laid the unit near a larger unrolled view screen.   The vinyl-like monitor glowed when receiving the signal, displaying what appeared on the small PC.  He brought up a map of the compound in Boston where the Feds held Max.

      
Helen preempted the Southerner's briefing, "I want to get something straight: We're getting Max, right?"

      
"Correct.  Attack packs will take you and Max out of the city immediately.  Another group will remain behind as a distraction." 

      
"One other thing bothers me," Helen continued.  "This seems to be a large group of well-trained fighters here.  Why so many?"

      
"E-mail from The Wizard said that there were a number of large gangs in Boston.  If they are united under one leader as they were awhile back, this endeavor might be in jeopardy.  Our mission is twofold: One, to gain custody of Colebrook's Covenant Leader; and two, to purchase as many armaments as we can carry back.  If we run into a problem, I want enough forces to deal with it."

      
"One of Colebrook's Covenant Leaders?  You make my brother sound like a military objective."

      
"He is a military objective, Ma'am.  Honest leadership is a treasure in these times.  Getting him out of Boston and back to the North Country is our first priority."  Chaos turned his attention back to the view screen and began explaining the map.

      
Helen watched distantly and rubbed her hands on the sides of her snowsuit.  She felt a streak of uncertainty race through her--the very thought of attacking a Federal compound.  "Excuse me.  How many guards are there at this compound?"

      
"It's a small compound.  About thirty to forty in all, with perimeter guards armed with Colt pistols."

      
"How can we be sure this is going to succeed?"

      
"We can't be sure it's going to succeed."  Chaos waited for Helen to absorb this possibility.  "It's natural to have last-minute shakes.  I assure you, Ma'am, we plan to go in cleanly and come out cleanly.  We're not looking to shoot guards just doing their jobs.  If there's a mishap though, we will have the forces to secure an exit out of the area.  The other team leaders and myself have learned a lot from The Wizard about the city.  Our connection with him there is crucial."  Helen nodded her head and looked at the map on screen.  "The plan is simple."  Chaos continued.  "Two of our boys go in as Max's attorneys.  They'll be placed in a private room for a conference.  Our men will overpower the guard at the door and tie him up inside the room.  They'll signal us at the window so we know where they are, we'll get them out of there with a tether stretched to another building.  They'll be on the ground at the secured end of the tether ten seconds after the window is taken out.  Perimeter guards will be held at bay with cover fire."