William Weber - Patriots

“I don’t have time for this,” the Chairman said. “The Constitution’s been suspended anyway. It’s no longer relevant. Besides, what is this, primary school?”

“The right to a speedy trial,” a man with a John Deere cap said from the crowd.

Nearby, a woman holding a pistol spoke up next. “The right to a jury of your peers and a right to legal counsel.”

The Chairman’s head was swiveling left and right as more and more voices spoke up.

“‘Give me liberty or give me death,’” John said. “Who spoke those words, do you know?” He was looking straight at the Chairman’s forehead and the beads of sweat building on his brow. “You don’t, do you, Jacob? That’s your real name, isn’t it? Jacob Golosenko. Yes, we’ve been in contact with the military and they know all about you.”

Diane spoke up now, her voice tense with fear. “You told me you served in the Marines as a medic, but I knew that wasn’t right.”

“They’re called Corpsmen, Jacob,” John added scoldingly. “Medics serve in the army.”

“And that word you uttered when I nearly broke your wrist. Biliat .”

“It’s a Russian curse word,” a townsperson said to their left. “My mother and father immigrated here from the Ukraine.”

“This is ridiculous,” the Chairman wailed. “You attacked our town and now that you lost you’re prepared to say anything you can to save your skins.”

Just then the radio they’d taken from John when they were captured hissed with static.

The Chairman’s eyes found it. “This is how you’ve been communicating with the leader of your little insurgency, isn’t it?” the Chairman asked. “Well, I’ve got something I want him to hear.” He grabbed the walkie and raised the pistol to John’s forehead.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Jacob,” John said calmly.

The mob was starting to stir. It looked as though they weren’t so sure anymore about this little man who had suspended their inalienable rights and liberties.

The Chairman regarded John defiantly. “Watch me,” he said and pulled back the hammer.

He brought the walkie to his lips and depressed the button.

From the corner of his eye, John caught the silent muzzle flash from the side of the hill overlooking the town.

Then came a thud, like a fist slamming into wet dough, and the crack from the rifle as the sound finally caught up. John had a front-row seat to the entire grisly sight: the Chairman’s head coming undone, a gout of blood spraying the people beside him. His eyes remained open and staring, but they’d turned inky black. Whatever life force had once been in the man was now gone. Jacob Golosenko collapsed in a heap as though the invisible strings holding him up had been snipped by a pair of giant scissors.

Eagle Eye hadn’t cut and run.

For a moment, the men and women assembled around them stood stunned. John then turned to one of the Spetsnaz who’d been protecting the Chairman. “Tell me what you know about Paul Revere.”

With the Chairman’s men either dead or in custody, John, Diane and Brandon set off at once to find the kids. After checking the apartment and finding it empty, they headed for the prison. There were still people in the cells, many of them cowering, wondering what was going on out there with all that gunfire. Several wept when John had the guard release them.

He and Diane searched through the thin faces, not seeing Emma, Gregory, Natalie or Kay among them.

Then someone heard voices coming from one of the first-floor offices that had been set up as interrogation rooms. The door was locked and John kicked it open to find Kay and the kids, clutching each other.

“Oh, thank God,” Kay said, as thick tears streamed down her face. “I was sure they were coming to kill us all.”

Emma and Gregory ran into John’s arms.

“We thought you were dead,” Gregory told him.

“I knew you weren’t,” Emma replied with typical sibling rivalry.

It looked like some things never got old.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” John told them. “I prayed quietly every day that you’d be kept safe.”

“Did you pray for me too?” Diane asked. “I’m feeling a little like chopped liver over here.”

John laughed, stuffed a hand into his pocket and produced the silver necklace with the sapphire heart.

Diane’s jaw dropped. “Where did you find it?”

“Near the cabins. When the fear that I’d never see you again got too strong, this was what kept me going.” He put it around her neck and pulled her into a kiss.

For his part, Brandon helped Kay off the floor, looking shocked and disturbed by the bruises on her face.

“Who did this to you?” he asked angrily.

She squeezed him tight. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Not anymore,” Diane said next them. “The man who did this can’t hurt anyone else.”

Then Brandon and Emma exchanged a look.

“You miss me?” Emma asked sheepishly.

He gave her a hug. “You have no idea.”

“You’re not blushing,” Emma observed, studying his face. “You always blush when we hug.”

“A lot’s happened since you’ve been gone,” John said.

Emma clutched her belly. “I’m starving. Is there anything to eat?”

John and Brandon exchanged a glance.

“I’ve got just the thing,” Brandon said, grinning.

The next few hours were spent caring for the wounded on both sides. Another group was tasked with burying the dead. What a waste of life, John thought as he walked among them, helping to sort the more serious cases. He’d seen a similar scene played out back in Knoxville, but then it had been good guys versus the scum of the earth. Here it was more a case of the good guys versus innocent folks who’d been deceived and misled.

Among the dead was one body which looked familiar. Thin and underfed, high cheekbones. But it wasn’t until John turned him over that he knew for sure it was Gary. He’d taken a shot through the neck that severed his spinal cord. He had probably been dead before he hit the ground.

Moss appeared by his side, looking like the weight of seeing all this death was taking a toll on him. That was one of the unknowns of combat: how a man would deal with seeing friends, family and brothers in arms lying motionless before you.

“Did you check on Rodriguez?” John asked.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Cranky as ever, but fine.”

“Good,” John said, eyeing a long-haired man with black cargo pants. “What did Marshall have to say?”

Moss shook his head, like he didn’t want to speak.

“Was he wounded?”

“No. Dead.”

Their eyes met and John put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s why the offensive turned into a rout. Once news spread that Marshall had taken a bullet, people got scared, lost the will to fight.”

“I’ve seen it happen, even to professional soldiers,” John told him. “Losing a commander is often like losing a parent.”

Moss looked up and John knew that was exactly how he felt. Marshall had been like a father to him.

“I remember he wanted nothing more than to see his wife and child receive a proper burial,” John mentioned. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to be laid next to them.”

Moss nodded, his hands folded behind his back.

Glancing over, John couldn’t help but notice the concern on Moss’ face. “As his second-in-command, I guess that makes you leader of the Patriots now,” John said.

Moss offered him one final glance, but didn’t say a word.

“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine,” John was telling Moss the next day as he went over his speech. Moss was getting ready to address the townspeople of Oneida. As head of the Patriots it only made sense that he also lead the town.