Battle Road (19 page)

THIRTY SIX

A group of about twenty five men and women, mostly in their mid to late twenties, were assembled in one of the conference rooms of the command center. They were waiting for the meeting to begin. Most were joking around, drinking soda or coffee, trying to kill the time. Some were holding private, somber conversations amongst themselves. Tien and Dylan sat next to one another at the far end of the conference table. David Whitney sat on the other side of Tien.

Dylan was chatting with the group of people sitting behind him, while David and Tien held their own conversation. It had been three weeks since Tien's operation. Her arm was still in a sling and sore as hell even with the pain medication. But otherwise she was back to her old self.

Dylan had undergone extensive training in weapons and guerrilla tactics at the facility. Learning assassination techniques with handguns and sniper rifles, the proper use of various machine guns, bomb making, and pretty much everything he needed to know to get started in the field. Now all he needed was the experience.

In between his training, Dylan had taught the software engineers all he knew of quantum encrypted digital signal transmissions used by Homeland Security. The transfer of information to the engineers was more work than anticipated. Mostly due to the fact that Homeland Security would have undoubtedly changed their encryption methodologies. Dylan worked overtime with the team of engineers to find a solution to that problem.

Dr. Richard Beck walked into the conference room carrying another armful of paperwork and a tall bottle of sparkling water. He was usually on time for his meetings, fifteen minutes tardy was out of character. His usual smile and lighthearted demeanor was gone. The men and women stood at attention as he entered. “At ease, make yourselves comfortable,” Dr. Beck ordered. He took the seat at the head of the table. He dispensed with his usual pleasantries. “I'm sure you've been aware things have been crazy around here lately. The rumors you've probably heard by now are true. We lost one of our command headquarters outside of Hartford,” Dr. Beck said. The pain expressed in his face was evident. “We suffered heavy casualties. A lot of good people died. Many more captured.”

Tien and Dylan looked at each other with wide eyes, then looked around the room, before turning back to Dr. Beck. The elder man opened the top folder on the desk in front of him. “The organization of our operational teams in the field had flaws which led to this disaster. And the missions those teams were asked to carry out were ineffective. Now we're going to regroup and fight a guerrilla war the way I believed it should be fought in modern twenty first century America.”

Beck paused, allowing himself to organize his thoughts. “No longer will we send armed squads to engage in direct military assaults against government positions. That was insane. We can't fight government forces head on.” Dr Beck took another sip of the sparkling water while he flipped through the paperwork in front of him. “No longer will we organize in teams of six to eight individuals. That was too easy to break. Capture one team member and the entire team could be compromised. From now on we'll be focusing on targeted assassinations and the destruction of the technical infrastructure by using Strike Teams comprising of two agents; the Strike leader and a technical specialist. Strike Teams will be able to move faster, hit more effectively, and evade capture more easily.”

Dr. Beck stood from his chair and stretched his arms a bit before pacing behind his seat. “The new plan will be referred to as Operation Battle Road. It will consist of three phases.” Beck paused his explanation while looking around the room. “Does anyone know what the reference to Battle Road is?” Tien shrugged her good shoulder. Everyone else shook their heads, murmured 'no', or looked around the room quizzically. Beck wasn't surprised. “All of you here are officers, the leaders of our fight for freedom, and God willing our future political leaders. It's important that all of you know our history. We need to learn from the tactic's our minuteman forefathers used to defeat the British.” Beck paused again, thinking how best to explain the history to his class of young rebel leaders. “OK, well, in April 1775, as every school kid knows, the British marched on Lexington and Concord. In Lexington, the Minutemen were quickly defeated before they managed to run away. It wasn't until later in the day at the battle of Concord that the small American force stood their ground against the Redcoats. The strongest military force in the world at the time. History records that neither side won a military victory in that battle. However, the Americans won a symbolic victory. Though in reality, if there wasn't a river with a narrow bridge standing between the two armies, the British would have easily defeated the untrained American militia and we'd probably still be speaking with a British accent today. No, the real victory that American Patriots had won on that day was what became known as Battle Road. Farmers, shopkeepers, and men from every walk of life came from all across Massachusetts to fight the Redcoats on their march back to Boston. The patriots hid behind stone walls, trees, whatever cover they could find along the road and picked off British soldiers one by one with their muskets. The British suffered heavy losses. It was because of those guerrilla tactics that the British never ventured outside of their fortified positions in Boston again.” Dr. Beck took another sip of his sparkling water. “Everyone here needs to learn their history. Especially this chapter. We need to use a modern day equivalent of the tactics used that day on Battle Road. That's the only way we'll defeat our enemy.”

While Dr. Beck sat back down in his seat, Tien raised a question, “Who will we target for assassination?” Dr. Beck smiled, “Good question. Phase One of the plan is to use Strike Teams  to assassinate government officials, Freedom Party members, Homeland Security personal, etc. At the same time we'll have Strike Teams consisting of engineers working to destroy their technical infrastructure; communication hubs, database centers, internet servers. We especially want to hit their databases. If we can knock those out, we can effectively cripple the government. However, we know we'll never be able to topple the government by these means. Every time we kill someone, or disable a computer center, another person or another computer will take their place. That's where Phase Two comes into play.”

Beck inhaled trying to catch his breath. He was speaking too fast. “Phase Two will be psychological warfare. This is where we'll defeat the enemy. From our assassination campaign we will have built up a reputation as ruthless killers. With that reputation, we will use the threat of assassination on selected targets to force compliance with our demands. We will extort our targets to carry out what we want them to do. For example, we could threaten a DHS official we'll kill everyone in their family unless they delivers state secrets. We could put a gun to a Freedom Party officials head and tell him the bullet will be saved for his wife unless he corrupts central databases, and so on a thousand times. I believe with these methods, we'll be able to cause enough instability that the government would cease to function. The dictatorship will crumble as the gears to it's machinery stop turning.”

The men and women in the room broke out in applause, some speaking out to indicate their agreement. David stood up and began speaking, quieting the group, “I had been involved in a number of direct assaults on military positions. And I can tell you it was a wasted effort. We lost several people, all for nothing. Each time we blew something up or killed soldiers at some outpost, the government just rebuilt what we destroyed or sent more troops.” David turned to face Dr Beck. “I'm behind you a hundred percent, Sir.” Everyone in the room nodded or signaled their approval.

Beck looked please. He raised his hands to quiet the room. “The third phase is a coup. We have the loyalty of a sizable number of senior officers in the leadership of the Armed Forces, from Joint Chiefs, to DHS corp commanders. Once we create enough instability in the regime, those officers will move to seize the government. We have plans in place to transition to civilian government once stability in the country is achieved.”

The v-phone in Beck's pocket signaled an incoming transmission, he took a look at the caller ID. “I have to take this call, it's important. Take a coffee break. I want everyone back in their seats in ten minutes.”

Dylan, Tien, and David walked out of the conference room together. “I think this plan will work. It's brilliant,” Dylan said.

“I agree, it is,” quipped Tien.

“
You know, it was Beck who developed the plan and pushed for it at Senior Command. It wasn't until our recent losses that Command finally came around to Beck's thinking,” David said.

“
It's because he knows so much of our history that makes him a great leader,” Tien added.

“
Let's hurry up or there won't be any coffee left,” Dylan said, while picking up his pace.

The group of rebel leaders where back at their seats in under ten minutes. Dr. Beck looked at his watch before standing in front of the group and continuing to describe his plans. “As I stated, the use of Strike Teams is the means we'll use to carry out this plan. Field operation commanders will control three to five strike teams. These field commanders will never know the identities of the strike team leaders. And each Strike Team will never know the identity of their Operations commander. All communication channels, codes, passwords will be setup beforehand from our Central Command Centers. As usual, all agents will be hypnotized to cleanse memories before being assigned to the field.”

Dr. Beck stopped speaking long enough to make sure his young officers were taking everything in. “Any questions?” he asked. Alisha, a tall, slim African-American woman near the back of the room spoke out, “Sounds pretty straightforward. Though, has the concept of assassination strike teams been tested in the field?” Beck smiled. “Excellent question, Alisha. Yes. I've been using strike teams for most of the past year. Analyzing whether one, two, or three individuals would be the most effective. We reached the conclusion that two individuals is best. Working in a buddy system, solving problems as they arise, watching each others back, and so on. Anyone else have a question?” he asked, looking around the room carefully. No one had anything to say.

“
Tien, I'm assigning you to be a senior Operations Commander. You'll take the post as soon as you're fit for duty. You deserve it, congratulations,” Beck said. Everyone in the room clapped, showing their support. Various people across the room spoke out offering Tien their congratulations. “Yes Sir. I'll do whatever it is you need of me,” she said. Dr. Beck looked genuinely pleased.

“
Alisha, you're also being promoted to Operations Commander,” Beck said. The room erupted once again in applause. Dr. Beck looked at Dylan. “Dylan, I'm assigning you to initially work with Tien as her technical specialist. I have a very interesting cover for the two of you. Which is why I went against my better judgment of assigning you to work together. But I think this will work.”

“
Yes Sir,” replied Dylan.

“
Everyone else, you'll be getting your command assignments during the next day or two. The command staff is just finishing up the work now. Any questions? Good. OK then. Attention!” Beck commanded. The young officers all rose to stand at attention. “You're dismissed,” he said, then went about collecting his papers from the conference room table.

                  
THIRTY SEVEN                                            

The next day, Thursday evening at quarter to six, Dylan stopped by the cafeteria to pick up a couple of sandwiches, chips, and soda's before heading over to the temporary living quarters in the east wing of the office building complex. The sandwiches weren't much of a dinner. But he learned to get use to eating them since they were served four nights a week.

Dylan knocked on the hollow wooden door to Tien's makeshift apartment. Formerly an executive's office suite with large glass window facing the highway, blacked out for secrecy. Having an apartment was one the benefits of her recovery process. Nearly everyone else slept in cots setup inside office cubicle’s.

Tien opened the door, a white fabric sling held her arm. “Alright, I'm starving,” she said, seeing the food. She stepped to the side, letting Dylan get past her, before closing the door behind them. “Al Jazeera should be on in a minute,” Dylan said, referring to the only remaining legitimate news organization in America. He walked over to the old, ragged couch in the corner of the room and put the food on top of the plastic crates used as the coffee table. The tiny fifty inch TV on the wall was already on, though the sound was nearly all the way down. Tien picked up the old fashioned remote control unit, turned to Al Jazeera, and increased the volume while she sat down next to Dylan.

“
Push over a little,” she said, trying to make room for herself so that her arm with the sling didn't push against the side of the couch. Dylan had already opened her diet root beer and was just opening the container for her sandwich. “Oh, sorry,” he said, just barely audible while pushing against his side of the couch. Tien leaned forward to grab her soda and turned her head towards Dylan. “Someday we're going to remember back when we use to sit in this old flea infested couch. In a room not much bigger than an actual closet.” Tien leaned back in the couch with her drink. “And we're going to laugh about it. We're going to tell stories about it for years to come. Each year remembering something different about our time here,” she said, all the while grinning at him with the silliest look on her face. “You're probably right,” Dylan said, before letting out a brief, acknowledging laugh.

Silence ensued between them, each staring into the others eyes. Tien was first to break the pause. “I love you, you big geeky techo-nerd.” A full two seconds flew by before Dylan could respond. His tongue tied trying to find a witty comeback. “I love you, you brainy golden haired girl.” Tien was still dying her hair platinum blonde. She smirked at him with a wide grin, “Oh, that's a really great comeback. You're such a smooth talk'ah.” She leaned over to the coffee table and picked up her sandwich.

It was getting near eight o'clock. Dylan was laying back in the couch. His stack of notes strewn about the couch and floor. His feet laying on top of the plastic crate coffee table. He had long given up studying for the night. Surfing the TV channels instead. “What a pain in the ass to have to keep pushing a button to find something you want to watch. I miss my home computer finding what I want for me. People in the old days had it tough,” Dylan spoke in a hypnotic monotone while clicking through the television channels.

Tien was in bed reading. Transfixed to the information in front of her. She didn't pay attention to what he was saying. “Really, that's nice,” she said. Not that she usually paid attention to any of his intentionally asinine statements.

Tien had removed her sling, resting the sore arm on her stomach. Using that hand to prop up the paperwork she was reading for their upcoming assignment. They were given entirely new lives, new jobs, new identification, new social security numbers, a home, cars.  Dr. Becks staff had created entire life stories for each of them; where they grew up, went to school, their fourth grade English teacher, their boyfriends and girlfriends in high school, what colleges they went to, what foods they like.

Dylan got up from the couch and stretched. A mischievous expression crossed his face. He walked over to the side of the bed that Tien lay closest to. “I think you need a break. Come on, dance with me,” he said while gently tugging the manila folder with it's stack of papers out of her hands, then taking hold of her good hand to beckon her to stand up. Tien looked up into his eyes. She smiled. Pulling herself up from the bed to her feet. Dylan put his arms around her waist, she pulled him close. They danced in silence, in a slow whirling motion. He was careful not to touch her injured shoulder. “Ordinarily this is where I instruct the computer to play some soft jazz,” Dylan said, while tilting his head back slightly to get a better view of her face. “I bet you had lots of experience doing that,” she teased. “All the more experienced gained to do this.” Dylan tilted his head down and leaned forward in a slow deliberate motion to kiss her. Their eyes locked on one another. Dylan moved most of the way forward, stopping just shy of her. Allowing Tien to finish the motion by closing her eyes and extending her lips to meet his.

They kissed passionately, until Dylan clumsily grabbed hold of her bad shoulder. Tien let out a screech, “Aaargh!” She took a step back. Her left hand reaching for her opposite shoulder. Her head crunched over to the right side.

“Oh shit, I'm sorry. Come on, sit down Are you alright?” Dylan asked, while motioning her to the side of the bed.

Tien sat down, Dylan sitting next to her. She lifted her head straight up to look at the ceiling, and began laughing hysterically. He gazed at her wide eyed, then began to smile. “This is just too funny,” she said, quieting her laugh. “Every time we go at it, something happens; aerial drones, car chases, a bullet. We've had the worst luck. What's a girl have to do to get laid around here.” She started laughing again.

Dylan laughed. She was contagious and it was funny. “It might make a good story someday,” he said.

“
Yeah, we could write a book. Call it 'Insurgents In Love'.”

They laughed together once more.

As their laughter subsided, Dylan rubbed her back gently. “How's your arm feel now,” he asked. “Better. I think it just hurts when I strain it. Or extend it too much,” she replied. Dylan smiled at her, “Well, I think we'll just have to be very careful not to strain your arm then.”

Dylan stood, gently reaching for Tien's good hand in a gesture for her to rise. She stood and faced him. “I love you so much,” he said. “I love you,” she responded. He looked into her eyes while he slowly undid the buttons to her blouse. Her arms remained by her side until the last button, where she helped him slide the shirt off, exposing her lacy red push up bra. A small bandage still covered her bullet wound. Dylan leaned over and kissed her neck passionately. His right hand caressing her breasts. She extended her neck skyward. Breathing heavily, she slowly unbuttoned his shirt with her good hand.