David Robbins - Atlanta Run

Using both hands, he gripped the string and pulled until there was a loud click. “The arrow,” Tuck said, and Rikki returned the bolt.

“Hurry,” Locklin ordered.

Tuck slid the bolt into a groove, aligning the shaft snugly. “I’m ready,” he announced.

Rikki peered skyward through the brush and spotted the aircraft banking in from the west. He glanced at the stand of trees, expecting to see a Storm Policeman or two, but instead he spied several men and women in green. The other half of Locklin’s band had circled and silently slain the remaining Storm Police.

Tuck was heading from cover, holding the crossbow with the stock pressed against his right shoulder.

Rikki followed for a better view.

“Stay hidden,” Locklin warned him.

Tuck crouched behind a bush, his gaze fixed on the plane.

The white aircraft was swooping low over the landscape, over the section of ground the Freedom Fighters had vacated.

Rikki could imagine the pilot and gunners scanning the terrain for the band. The green attire worn by the Freedom Fighters would be extremely difficult to see from the air.

Tuck was tracking the plane’s path with the crossbow.

“He’s the best man we have with a crossbow,” Locklin remarked from the Warrior’s right elbow.

The aircraft wasn’t more than 50 feet above tree level and 30 yards to the west when Tuck suddenly rose and sighted. He squeezed the trigger almost immediately, and the shaft was a blur as it sped to meet the plane.

“Hit the dirt!” Locklin yelled.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi flattened as the forest rocked to a tremendous explosion. The aircraft was enveloped in a fiery ball, and the concussion snapped limbs from the tops of those trees nearest the blast. Debris flew in every direction, and a moment later the bulk of the plane, now a tangled, twisted, flaming mass of wreckage, plummeted to the field below with a resounding crash.

The Freedom Fighters voiced a collective cheer.

“We did it!” Locklin exclaimed happily, rising.

Rikki stood and regarded the black smoke billowing on the wind.

“That’s the third plane we’ve shot down this year,” Locklin boasted.

Big John and Dale were leading the other half of the band to rejoin Locklin.

“How did it go?” the rebel leader asked as they approached.

“No problem,” Big John said. “We didn’t lose anyone. They weren’t expecting us to jump them from behind.”

“How many did you bag?” Locklin inquired.

“Eight,” Big John replied. “Four more were already dead.”

“Should we collect their weapons?” Dale queried.

“Of course,” Locklin directed.

Dale selected a half-dozen band members and they hurried off.

“Did you hear that?” Locklin asked the Warrior. “We took down another Storm Police patrol. Twelve more bastards bite the dust.”

“You sound glad,” Rikki noted.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Locklin retorted. “The Storm Police are our enemies.”

“The Storm Police are pawns,” Rikki stated. “If all that you have told me is true, your real enemies are the Peers.”

“Yeah. But the Storm Police are the enforcement arm of the Civil Council,” Locklin said.

“The Peers direct the Storm Police,” Rikki mentioned. “The Peers are the ones manipulating the people of Atlanta. The Peers, in a literal sense, are the brains behind the operation.”

“So?” Locklin responded. “What’s your point?”

Rikki stared at the blazing aircraft. “So for fourteen years you have been resisting the Peers by harassing the patrols they send outside the wall. For fourteen years you have killed pawn after pawn, downed a plane now and then, and prided yourselves on your great victories. But you’ve been deluding yourselves.”

The Freedom Fighters were listening to his every word.

“You think so, eh?” Locklin said.

“I know so,” Rikki declared emphatically. He looked at the rebel leader.

“Do you play chess?”

“I can play chess,” Locklin answered.

“Then you must be able to see the inconsistency in your strategy,” Rikki expounded. “A person does not win a chess match by concentrating exclusively on an opponent’s pawns. Taking pawns is not the point of the game, nor is taking pawns the point of your revolution. If you want to win a chess match, you must checkmate the king. If you want to win your revolution, if you want to free the people of Atlanta, you must checkmate the Peers.”

“He makes sense,” one of the band commented.

“Have you ever tried to assassinate the Peers?” Rikki asked Locklin.

The rebel leader sheepishly averted his eyes. “No,” he said softly.

“How else do you expect to win your revolution?” Rikki inquired. “You can wipe out Storm Trooper patrols for years to come, and I doubt the Peers will consider your band as much more than a petty annoyance. You may actually help them consolidate their power by giving them a threat they can arouse the populace against.”

Locklin studied the martial artist for a second. “I’ve never thought of our rebellion in quite that light. How is it you know so much about revolutions?”

“I’m a Warrior,” Rikki revealed. “I am one of the select few who were chosen to protect my people from any and all threats. Warriors are required to take many classes in the art and psychology of warfare. We’re trained to develop the capacity for creative thinking. My logic is elementary.”

“I agree with everything you’ve said,” Locklin stated. “But it’s easier said than done. Killing the Peers would be next to impossible.”

“But not impossible?”

Locklin’s forehead creased and the shadow of a smile touched his lips.

“No,” he replied slowly. “Not utterly impossible.”

Rikki gazed at the three dead Freedom Fighters. “Would you mind some advice from an outsider?”

“Not at all.”

“If you want to resolve this conflict once and for all, if you want to end the persecution and restore freedom, if you want to insure future generations will not live under the yoke of tyranny, then you must eliminate the Peers and establish a new government. Unless those responsible for formulating and spreading totalitarianism are eradicated, no one can ever be truly free.”

“Will you help us?” Locklin asked bluntly.

“I did not come here to fight a revolution.”

“I don’t care why you came here,” Locklin said. “The fact is, you’re here, and now you have a decision to make. Will you aid us in overthrowing the Peers, or will you stand idly by and do nothing?” He paused. “Somehow, I can’t see you as the type to stand by and allow hundreds of thousands of innocent people to suffer.”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi gazed to the west.

“There is one chance in a million we can pull it off,” Locklin went on, striving to convince this sagacious stranger. “Once a week the Peers meet in the Civil Directorate for an executive session of the Civil Council. It’s the only time we can get them all under one roof with any certainty. They meet every week without fail.” He grinned. “And guess what? They meet tomorrow night.”

Rikki placed his left hand on the hilt of his katana.

“If you led us, we might be able to do it.”

The Warrior glanced at the rebel leader. “You are the head of this band. I cannot lead your Freedom Fighters.”

“Why not?”

“There could be repercussions,” Rikki said.

“What kind of repercussions?” Locklin queried.

“Repercussions against my Family,” Rikki replied. “Ordinarily, we do not meddle in the affairs of others unless they pose a threat to our existence. If I led your mission, I would be violating the cardinal rule of noninterference established by the Elders.”