Michael Bunker - WICK

One might want to note that in that conflict, it did not come down to a question of whether human beings could be bought and sold. Rather, it came down to a question of whether one should wear a white rose or a red rose on one’s lapel. That conflict, the War of the Roses, was ancient even when the last Civil War pierced Pennsylvania. Sometimes, the root and fruit of conflict isn’t visible from ground level.

Clive Darling, using contacts and means known only to himself, called in substantial ‘neutral’ forces to fight on behalf of the FMA in their battle to keep the MNG from moving south. He didn’t want to do that. He liked to remain aloof—above the conflict—but that was not possible in this situation.

Clive had a vested interest in keeping the MNG away from the front door of Amish country, so he brought all of his power and resources to bear on the problem. It should be noted that he had substantial power and resources. It was also notable that he had a very close friend and business associate in Mount Joy. Saving his friend was the motivation that added further impetus for Clive to insert himself into the raging civil war.

One can imagine a world in which Clive wouldn’t have cared at all about what happened in Mount Joy and therefore wouldn’t have taken an interest in its outcome—but that was not this world. In this world, he did care, and he was interested. The reason Clive was interested was that he was fighting a fight that was older than the War of the Roses. He was fighting to save a friend. In his mind, there was something even biblical about it all. This explains why the battle was so brutal and violent. The MNG didn’t know that Clive’s forces were coming, so they attacked what they thought was an inferior force, with the thought of rooting them out of the town.

What the MNG did know, was as shocking as what they did not know, and contributed further to the ferocity of the battle.

They absolutely did know that there was going to be an… overturning… of their own leadership. They did know that the man who was going to be their new commander wanted the way cleared so that the MNG could march south, and then west. For these reasons, the field leadership of the MNG used everything they had—every tool that they could muster—to try to dig the FMA out of Mount Joy. They would have accomplished the task, too, if thousands of well-armed militia, commanded, pre-positioned, and equipped by Clive Darling, hadn’t shown up to save the FMA.

A young officer crouched down behind a burned out vehicle and wondered whether one of the bullets zippingbyhis head would end upinhis head in the next instant. Still, he had to work out the details of why he was here, and what he should do next. His new commander, the little bulldog of a man, had gotten right up in his face and made himself, and his demands, known. The new boss wanted the FMA pushed back. That wasn’t exactly how he’d said it. What he’d said—exactly—was,“ I want this way cleared! ”

Cleared. The bulldog that now controlled the MNG had made a motion with his hand over the map to indicate that no obstacles were to stop the progress of his army. Then he showed how he would march his army—his “settlers” he called them—south along the line he’d drawn through the territory. In order for this to happen, he needed to control the area.

Because the new commander had been so demonstrative in the way he’d swept his hand across the map, the field officers of the MNG used everything they had, every tool that they could muster. Nobody wanted to be the one who failed. The result was a battle of the ages, both symbolically and literally. The MNG was trying to dig the FMA out of Mount Joy, but the FMA, somehow, was holding their ground. The young officer heard the bullets zing by, and he experienced that singular thought that is so common to soldiers in war. The thought crystallized, and it terrified him more than the bullets did. He now doubted if the objective could be met. He wavered. The resistance, which was stronger than he’d anticipated, was starting to seem impregnable.

The man who was the new commander seemed to have an echo about him. It was as though he’d studied the old commander and was now imitating him. He had a way of studying men and exploiting their weaknesses, and now he saw a seam on a map that he could exploit in order to obtain safe passage for his settlement. His plan was visionary. He would simply leave the camp at Carbondale to his enemies, and march his contingent south, protected en route by his friends.

He sat on horseback upon the ridge, watched his army clearing the line in the distance, and enjoyed how beautiful his plan was. His enemy, hiding in the darkness, planning their assault, would come running into the Carbondale camp only to find it deserted, like Moscow left to Napoleon, or the Russian countryside left to the Nazis.

He would have successfully accomplished the task, too, if thousands of well-armed militia, commanded, pre-positioned, and equipped by Clive Darling, hadn’t shown up to save the FMA.

Clive Darling and Pat Maloney stood with Calvin Rhodes along another ridge, under a cover of trees, and bit into slices of apple. Clive cut the slices with his pocketknife and handed them to Calvin and Red Beard as they stood in the cold morning air. Not long before, Calvin had been walking along with the two men, asking questions about the operations that he could now see unfolding in front of him. Looking through Clive’s field glasses, Calvin could see that Clive’s army was moving methodically, street by street, commandeering the entire area with the use of a massive amount of force.

“I think it’s just about over,” Calvin said.

“Then we should head down there,” Clive replied.

“It’s strange,” Calvin said, lowering the binoculars. “I always thought of a war as a meeting of two belligerent opponents. However, here, if you don’t mind me saying so, Clive, your forces were more like a kind of a third party. Almost a disinterested party. You imposed an end to the battle between two combatants using overwhelming force.”

Clive and Red Beard and Calvin walked across the field toward Mount Joy, passing the time, eating apples.

“I don’t know, Clive.” It was Red Beard. “I’m just uncomfortable with the sheer amount of force, especially when it isn’t in self-defense. I mean, nature has forces that could blow up the world and end time. Stuff in space can crash into earth, and put an end to it all in an instant. Then there is all this,” he waved his hand in the air, “but there should be a balance in there somewhere.” Red Beard was showing his discomfort by shaking his head, and grimacing as they walked.

“Who gets to decide, Clive? Should money be able to impose its will, merely because it can afford to buy power? Isn’t that what all of the political parties were doing before the collapse? I mean, you can do this because you have money and you believe yourself to be good, right? Well, it seems to me that all power structures want to limit the power of others, and gather to themselves limitless power—and they think it is okay because they believe themselves to be benevolent. They think that they are good, and everyone else is evil. Democrats, Republicans, Libertarians, Greenies, whoever it is! They believe that their cause is right, so they should make rules for the rest of us. So, Clive, how are you different, if you think that money should be able to impose itself by purchasing force?”

Calvin had been only half following the conversation. He’d been looking at the sky, mostly. He suddenly snapped to, though, when he heard Clive lean into the conversation with an edge in his voice. It was a harsher tone than he’d heard the two men use with each other before. Clive laughed, a bit derisively. “You see that RV, Pat? Do you see Bernice there? That beast cost me twenty million dollars! But that isn’t the crazy part. You want to know what is the crazy part? I’ll tell you, pardner. I have one hundred of these around the country, and all around the world. I can turn off the power anywhere in the world, any time I want. So don’t tell me that money can’t buy power. It comes down to what you DO with that power.”