 
Patriots & Tyrants

By

Brian Cotton
Copyright © 2013 by Brian Cotton

Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2014

Cover Art © 2013 by Greg Dejaynes

gregory.dejaynes@topper.wku.edu

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing by the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Also by Brian Cotton:

Rebels & Lies
For Randy,

Keep up the good fight, brother
"The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time by the blood of patriots and tyrants..."

-Thomas Jefferson
Table of Contents

.01

.02

.03

.04

.05

.06

.07

.08

.09

.10

.11

.12

.13

.14

.15

.16

.18

.19

.20

.21

.22

.23

.24

.25

.26

.27

.28

.29

.30

.31

.32

.33

.34

.35

.36

.37

.38

.39

.40

.41

.42

.43

.44

.45

.46

.47

.48

.49

.50

.51

.52

.53

.54

.55

.56

.57

.58

.59

.60

.61

.62

.63

.64

.65

.66

.67

.EPILOGUE

.Acknowledgments

About the Author

# .01

Her bike wouldn't start. What a hell of a place for the once great piece of machinery to just die. She slammed her black booted right foot down on the kick starter again and all she got for her effort was the same sound of the engine trying to come back to life. Any minute—no second—now and the Agents would file out of the government complex, ready for the kill. She moved her black helmet covered head to get a look behind her. Sure enough, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Agents running through the automatic sliding doors, guns drawn. She tried one last desperate attempt to get the bike to start. Finally, after she heard the sound of automatic gunfire, the bike decided it was okay to leave. She pulled back on the throttle and the bike rocketed forward. As the bullets whizzed all around her, she said a silent prayer that none of them would hit her.

She still had too many things to do before her eventual death.

***

"What do you mean there's a problem?" Kaspar demanded after he took out another Agent with a three round burst to the chest.

"The explosives..." a young voice said into Kaspar's ear. "The timer isn't starting."

Kaspar moved back down behind the cover of a metal desk. The sound of bullets flying all around no longer scared him. He had been around this type of work for far too long now. The only thing that frightened Kaspar, at this point, were neophyte kids who couldn't do under pressure what they could do in a silent room. All this planning, plotting out every move and action, and the twenty year old kid called Buck was tanking under the pressure.

The rebel moved up from cover again and fired away another short burst, taking out another one. Just one more left. His partner beside him, Jeremy Steinner, ended the gun battle with a perfect head shot. Kaspar stood up fully. He still had his PSD shouldered, the barrel pointed in front of him. Through the sight of the weapon, he saw the dim lit laboratory, their objective was inside. He checked behind each metal desk as they slowly moved forward. Steinner kept his attention on both doors, sweeping from front to back while they moved.

"Buck," Kaspar said, as calmly as he could when all he really wanted to do was throw every profanity in the English language at the kid. "Take your time. Breathe. Are there any Agents close by?"

Static and a brief moment of silence. "No, I think your girlfriend did a good job creating a diversion."

"Was she hit or anything when you last saw her?"

"No, sir."

"Okay, focus on that bomb. We've got ours."

The white door in front of them opened automatically upon approach. There was only the laboratory inside, no Agents, just the computers and devices meant to destroy women's fertility. In the very back corner they saw the box where the "new drug" was being made. Clarke had come across Intel that the USR had made a new kind of drug that stopped women from getting pregnant. Only this one had gotten, what that bastard Danny had called, "all the little bugs" worked out. There were now no deadly side effects. But, like Krys always told him, it still wasn't right what they were trying to do.

Steinner moved in quick. He got down on one knee and started to pull wires and explosives out of his bag. Kaspar moved to one of the computers and stuck a flash drive into one of the ports. His focus then moved towards the door in front of the lab. He kept a close eye, and a trained gun, on it. He was ready for anyone to come through and, as soon as an Agent did, that enemy would be dropped like so many others.

He heard Steinner move around the explosives behind him. He took a peek backward through his tinted lenses to see his partner was nearly done. Steinner placed the plastic explosives against the black boxes where the drug was being manufactured. He was about to set the timer when Kaspar heard something in his ear.

"I don't know if I can do this," Buck said in between quick gasps. "My mind is going blank."

"Now, you listen to me," Kaspar said, eyes trained on the door again. "Your only function in life right now is to set those charges, you get me? You've done this a hundred times before. This time it's for real. Do what you do or we'll leave you here."

A short pause, "Okay, I've got this."

He's also got an ass whooping his way when we get back to camp, Kaspar thought. He heard Steinner behind him get up and move to his side. Kaspar reached towards the flash drive in the port and yanked it out. He placed it into a pocket in his flak jacket; right next to the yellow fabric which had slowly begun to tear apart and fade away.

"Charges set, we're ready to go." Steinner said.

"Good work. We've got to move to Buck's position right now."

The two started to move forward with a quick, steady pace. Their guns were shouldered as they moved. Steinner said, "That damn kid is gonna get us killed."

"It was your job to train him."

"He's done fine in training."

"Which means," Kaspar said as they swept from left to right once out of the hallway. "You didn't do your job in preparing the kid for the real thing."

The two quit talking as they approached the lobby. They moved down to a low crouch and continued their forward momentum to Buck. Kaspar moved his eyes over to the front windows. He saw Agents fire away with their automatics at something or someone. It had to have been Krys. The fact that they were still firing meant that she wasn't dead, yet. He couldn't worry about her right now, though. She could take care of herself.

They moved down the narrow hallway and took the first left. Inside the lab, they saw Buck fiddling around with his explosives. Though the mask over his face covered up his emotions, Kaspar knew what the kid was feeling. That feeling of overwhelming hopelessness that he felt the first time he pointed a gun at a paper target. But, Buck knew the stakes and he guaranteed the others that he could do the job when it mattered. So far, he was failing.

"Steinner," Kaspar whispered. "Go help him out, I'll cover the door."

"Roger."

Steinner moved in quick and startled Buck when he touched him on the back. Not a good thing when the person he scared was nervously putting together explosives. Kaspar kept a watchful eye on the door. He couldn't help but to think of Krys, even though at this point in the mission, his focus needed to be that door. She was good on the bike, he knew, but the sheer amount of Agents firing automatics in her direction put her odds of survival at critical levels. He just hoped she was long gone by now.

"What's the problem, buddy?" Steinner asked as he took out some tools from his flak jacket.

"My mind's all scrambled. I just know that I'm going to screw this up or that Agents are going to storm through here and take me out."

"Calm down. Me and Kas took out the ones that were left. Coast was clear when we moved in."

"I know, but shit, this is nerve wracking."

"Let me help you out."

Kaspar turned his attention to them. "You two better..."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kaspar saw a squad of Agents move in. His turn was quick and precise. His aim was true as he took out the first Agent. He turned his gun to another who tried to move in and delivered him the same fate. Kaspar then began to back pedal towards the metal desks. He took cover behind one of them and started to fire away at the door.

"You go help Kas, I'll finish this!" Steinner yelled. "Let's hope you remember how to shoot."

"Yes..sir." Buck replied.

Buck aimed his gun and fired at the door. Any moment now and the squad of Agents would converge on them. Kaspar heard Steinner's order. He really was going to kick Buck's ass in this life or the next. Kaspar aimed his weapon and fired at the Agents who moved into the room. The diversion had run its course and they should have been long gone by now. He took two of them out and saw that Buck took out a third, though less precise than Kaspar. He injured the Agent enough to take him out of the fight. Kaspar moved back down and fought back the terrible thoughts of Krys's fate.

In the back of the office, Steinner worked at a feverous pace. He was careful to not be in such a hurry that he screwed something up with the configuration of the bomb. Gunfire now filled the room. The Agents began to move in faster than the two rebels could handle. Steinner needed to get back in the game. He finished putting together the explosive then started the timer. He set it for ten minutes then put together a little boobie trap for any poor son of a bitch that tried to dismantle it.

Steinner dropped his tools then raised his PSD and fired away from a crouched position. He took out an Agent then moved forward with his body low. He found an empty desk to take cover behind.

The scene that began to unfold was way too similar to the last time Kaspar fought with his old partners. He wanted to make sure that Steinner and Buck got out of this alive. There was a determination inside that helped him to aim his weapon and take out as many enemies as possible. He summoned that scrappiness that made him such a great fighter in the ring and had turned him into a pretty damn good soldier. When his mag was dry, Kaspar dropped back behind the desk to reload.

More Agents from the outside started to pour in. There was no way the three of them would survive this alone. Kaspar rose up and before he could aim, he caught an Agent who fired at his position. The rounds clanked all around the metal surface which provided a shield for the ex-prize fighter.

As the Agents began to move in, there was a loud spitting of gunfire coming from the left side of the hallway. The Agents inside turned their attention to it. Buck was able to pick one off just as he turned.

"Now!" Kaspar yelled.

Steinner and Buck joined Kaspar in moving from cover to take out the enemies in the room. The Agents had been flanked from their backside which gave the rebels the edge. Moments later, all the Agents were taken down. A figure standing around five foot six walked into the room, sweeping a P90 around. A much taller figure, who wielded an M16 assault rifle moved in, as well.

"Figured you fellas could use some help." a familiar female voice said.

"Krys," Kaspar said, feeling a sense of relief.

"Saving your ass never gets old." Krys replied.

"We need to move out!" the deep voiced, taller figure cried.

The rebels moved out of the room, maneuvering their way through the scattered USR corpses on the crimson stained tile floor. Through the lobby windows, Kaspar could see a stolen USR mounted vehicle which had an American flag painted over the USR insignia. The rebels moved forward and filed themselves into the vehicle through the back. The driver went into reverse, turned the delivery vehicle around, and then floored it.

Just as the large vehicle struggled to gain forward momentum, the explosions from inside the complex could be heard and felt. The force of the blast caused the back of the vehicle to shake. Kaspar tore off his mask at the same time as Buck. Kaspar stood and moved in with a fury. Buck's eyes went wide as he tried to move backward. The kid had bronzed skin and jet black hair. Though he was barely twenty, his physique was one of a body builder in training. Buck could handle himself in a fight with Kaspar, but he just lacked the courage to do so.

"I outta kick your ass you dumb mother..." Kaspar started to say.

He felt a hand grab at his shoulder. Kaspar didn't turn to see who it was, but he stopped. With the tension of the mission still flowing through his veins, and an angry comrade about to kick his ass, Buck was on the verge of tears. Kaspar knew how Buck must have felt about freezing on the mission, but that was all moot to him. The kid nearly got the entire team killed with his sudden forgetfulness. Kaspar finally turned to see who had stopped him. It was Krys.

"Ryan," she said with a look of concern in her eyes. "Let it go. We made it out, that's all that matters now."

"Yeah," Kaspar said. He moved past her and took a seat at the far end.

"We'll talk about this later," the tall figure from before said in Buck's direction. The figure turned to Kaspar as he took off his mask. Sam Harvey's bronzed skin gave away his Native American ancestry. Despite approaching his mid-sixties, the man had not a shade of gray in his jet black hair. His face had a scar underneath his left eye, but there were no signs of age there, either. "Kaspar, these kinds of things happen in war. Just remember that you were once a greenhorn."

"I know, sir, but..."

"No buts. You need to learn to control that anger and empathize with your squad mates. Taking out your anger on him solves nothing."

"Yes, sir." Kaspar replied. He crossed his arms over his chest as Krys moved in to console him.

"Buck," the tall figure said.

"Yes, Father."

"We'll talk about this back at camp."

# .02

Christopher Caine looked down from the top floor of the skyscraper that he called home. The rising morning sun beamed through the dark tinted windows. Caine, the unquestioned leader of the USR, looked down at the citizens that he controlled. They looked so tiny from all the way up here, which was fitting, because that was how Caine viewed those down below. They were too small, and too small brained, to be at his level. Watching them scurry about with their insignificant lives brought great joy to the seventy year old.

The feeling that his mental capacity was superior to everyone else around him was unavoidable. He often thought about his great scheme which kept his identity a top secret. All those citizens, and his various puppets in the political spectrum, had no idea who the true ruler was. The only ones who did were few and far between. The majority of those that did were about to join him for a necessary meeting, though Caine was still puzzled why he had to constantly reassure his fellow Elders.

The truth was that he loved living in the top secret USR Headquarters in his private penthouse on this top floor. Everything he ever needed was provided to him. Food, wealth, sex...not a day went by that he didn't get to enjoy the best things that life had to offer. In fact, he knew that those weren't really luxuries at all but what he deserved. Never satisfied, he always wanted more of them. The only sadness that he felt was that he wouldn't be around that much longer to further indulge in his perfect life. For a god amongst men, the only thing that would defeat him was time. Though he was in great health, and shape, for a man his age he still knew that his time would come.

He shook his head at that awful thought and continued his preparations to give a pep talk to his Board of Elders. They all seemed to get bent out of shape over some new attack on a USR complex just hours ago. He still couldn't figure out how many times he had to tell those people that everything, and everyone, was under control.

Caine turned his attention to the door into the boardroom. The thirteen Elders began to file in and take their designated seats around the large, football shaped table. They were all dressed elegantly, in sharp three piece suits, all made from the best foreign outfitters. All the Elders lived in the same building, only two stories below, and their digs were not nearly as good as Caine's penthouse, which was how it should be. They had to earn their right, and as far as Caine could tell, none of them would. They would have to kill him first or wait for him to die.

"Thank you all for attending," Caine said once all the Elders took their seats. They all gave their full, undivided attention to their leader. "I'll try and make this short."

"Well," a middle aged man named Travis Johnson said. "We can start by going over that damned terrorist attack last night."

Caine pointed his finger. "I'm tired of telling you to not speak out of turn. Now, going on to that point, it was actually the reason for this meeting. I've heard some rumblings from some of you that you feel like this whole resistance thing is getting out of control."

Johnson raised his hand this time. When Caine pointed, he said, "That's because it is getting out of control. I knew from the get go that this whole 'Committee' idea was shit. We armed our enemies and..."

"And, what?" Kerry Blake, Caine's second in command, demanded. "What have they really accomplished? They've blown up a few buildings, sure. Maybe they have caused more damage than we anticipated. But, in the grand scheme of things, we have accomplished our goal. We have spread fear on the citizens and it is those Americans who have taken the blame."

Caine clapped his hands together. "Well spoken, Kerry. Gentlemen, everything is under control."

Johnson raised a hand again before talking. "You can't be serious. We've got to take care of this problem. They've exposed our population control drug. They've discovered each other. And, now, the different rebel groups we armed are banding together..."

"Enough from you," Caine said with a sharp voice. "You have forfeited your right to speak."

Caine had to pause for a moment. This Johnson was inching closer and closer to his own, personal, public execution. He never grew used to another person questioning his authority as much as Johnson did. Sometimes, as hard as it was for Caine to admit, Johnson's points were valid. But, none of that mattered to him. Even if the USR leader was dead wrong, he still expected his men to file in. During his time as a successful politician in the days before the USR up until his time now as ruler of a country, nobody ever questioned him. If they did, there were always dire consequences. After he collected himself, he continued.

"Now, yes, these terrorists have caused some damage. And, like was just said, they have gotten just a little bit out of control. And, yes, we will take care of the problem."

A younger Elder raised his hand and was given permission to speak. "How do you propose we deal with the problem?"

Caine thought about it for a moment. As much as he hated the Elders sometimes, like today, he still needed them. If he lost even one of them, save Johnson who was too stupid to do anything about it, his sphere of influence would drop. To reassure them was vital. Truth was, he hadn't really thought on it. In his mind, the more damage the resistance caused, the better it was for the USR as a whole. The more fear they brought about, the more the USR could step in as the heroes to purge that fear. But, as usual, most of the Elders were just too damn short sighted to see it.

"We'll let them run loose for a little bit longer. Then, we will break their spirit completely." Caine responded.

"What do you mean?" the young Elder asked.

"They think they have an ace up their sleeves..."

Johnson rose from his chair. "You are getting reckless, Caine! We might need that in the future!"

"That's it, Johnson!" Caine screamed. "Get him the fuck out of here. You are going to be charged with aiding the resistance. Enjoy your public execution!"

Johnson's jaw dropped to the floor. With the push of a red button underneath the table, a group of Agents moved in. There was silence in the boardroom. This type of thing was unprecedented. They watched as the Agents grabbed the scared shitless Johnson from underneath his arms and dragged the man out. Johnson started to yell obscenities and how Caine couldn't do this. What Johnson didn't understand was that Caine could do this.

And, he took great pleasure in it.

# .03

Kaspar searched frantically for Krys in the empty, wide open field. His heart raced and the gun in his hand shook along with the trembles. She was just here a moment ago. Where the hell could she have gone? He ran through the empty fields and found her black Speed Triple parked against a dying tree. He investigated the area for any signs of her. There were no foot prints in the grass. He felt the bike, but it was cold, as if it hadn't been ridden in years.

"Krys!" Kaspar cried. "Where are you?!"

But, he knew that she was gone.

Kaspar opened his eyes and his head shot up from the pillow. He moved his frozen blue eyes from left to right and realized he was back in the tan colored tent that he shared with Krys. He looked over and saw her next to him. She was still asleep in her black tank and black panties. Kaspar reached over and pulled the green comforter over her. As he did, she rolled over and faced him. Her tired eyes opened and he was greeted with a smile.

"Hey," Krys said.

"Hey." Kaspar replied.

Krys noticed the concerned look in Kaspar's eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just had a nightmare."

To say that his dream had been a nightmare was an understatement. The last six months that Kaspar spent with Krys were the best of his life. During that time, apart from their battle with the USR, Krys had shown him love like he never experienced before. All those times Mother told him to find someone special and he brushed it off. He could see why she wanted this so bad for him. Without Krys, his heart would have that black hole again, but he swore once again that he would not lose her.

Just like with everything else in Kaspar's life though, he had been dealt a bad hand. She had that poison inside of her still. That drug which the USR dumped into the water supply in the hopes of wiping out a woman's ability to bear children. The whole thing never made much sense to Kaspar. Why would the USR do this to the people they controlled? He always figured that, even though the USR leaders didn't care about anyone but themselves, they needed their people to pay them through their high taxes, to suit up as Agents for them. The whole "population problem" didn't make a lick of sense.

"Was I in it?" Krys asked, her smile gone.

"No," Kaspar lied. "I was stuck in a battle and couldn't move. My voice was gone, too, so I couldn't cry for help."

Krys's smile returned. "No Krys to save your ass again?"

Kaspar moved his body closer to her. He loved the feel of her skin as he rubbed up and down her arms with a soft touch. Why couldn't moments like these last forever? Kaspar moved his head down and kissed her on the forehead. As he played around with her black hair, he noticed something on her neck. After he brushed the hair away from it, what he noticed forced him to wish he was imagining things. But, he wasn't imagining it at all. It was a small lesion. The edges of it were jagged. On the inside was a brownish yellow crust with cracks all around. Small droplets of blood leaked through them. The reality of their situation hit home once more.

"Is it bad?" Krys asked, noticing Kaspar's face.

"It's not too bad," Kaspar lied again. "You in any kind of pain at all?"

"Just a little bit here and there. Not enough to stop me, though. You know how it is. I have my good days and bad days."

Kaspar hoped that today wouldn't be another bad day for her. Maybe she had started to lose track, or didn't want to face the truth, but her bad days had begun to far outweigh the good ones.

"We're going to find that cure," Kaspar replied.

"We can't even be for sure that there is one."

Kaspar rubbed his fingertips slow on her cheek. "There has to be one. They couldn't have made a drug with this kind of an effect without a contingency plan. If all the women got sick, then there would be no one..."

"Isn't that the point?" Krys interrupted. "To save the world from over population? Look, I just want to live out the rest of my life as best I can. I want to spread the word to as many people who will listen. But, I don't need to lie to myself with false hope. And, I don't..."

"There is a cure," Kaspar's turn to interrupt. "We just have to find it."

"Ryan, please."

Kaspar kissed Krys on her forehead once more and rolled over. She moved in close from behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He had to come to the conclusion, at some point, that maybe he was lying to himself as much as to Krys. With all the complexes making the drugs that he and the others destroyed, not one of them had a single shred of evidence that even hinted towards a cure. Kaspar just loved Krys so damn much that he didn't want to lose hope.

He was going to save her...somehow.

***

While everyone else was gathered around for some breakfast chow, Kaspar stood beside Robert Clarke as he feverishly typed away at his military grade laptop. Clarke was such a fast reader, and so fast with typing and mouse moving, that Kaspar had a hard time keeping up. It was a battle within to not interrupt the computer nerd by asking what he saw prematurely. However, that hard lesson was learned long ago that you never speak to Clarke while he did his thing on the computer. The only thing to do was sit, wait, and try to keep up.

Clarke still had the same scraggly, salt and pepper hair which never seemed to see a bottle of shampoo and conditioner. He was like a hermit. All that was missing was a long, scraggly beard to match the hair. For his part, Clarke took the constant ribbing he got from Kaspar and the others well enough, only occasionally taking offense to it. Whenever he would, he wouldn't fight back. He would merely say he didn't appreciate it. Then he would disappear somewhere with his computer. Truth be told, Kaspar grew a healthy respect for Clarke. He might not have been a warrior, but his role in this fight against the USR was one which Kaspar understood as vital.

It had been Clarke who introduced Kaspar and Krys to this new rebel team. After the incident with the lab which left only the three of them, and Greg Boler who later disappeared without a trace, the Wizard (as Kaspar came to call him) hacked the databases of the USR to find out if there were others, like them, who had been used. That's when he found out about Sam Harvey's squad, who operated in a city close to where they were. It didn't take much to gain Harvey's trust. Just the mere mention of the name John Paxton did the trick.

It was finally safe to talk. Clarke shut the lid of the laptop and bit down on his lower lip. Kaspar paused before talking to him. He didn't want to know the answer, but he needed to know. There was always this sense of hope after Clarke went through these USR documents. It was becoming more and more apparent, however, that that sense of hope was a false one.

"Anything?" Kaspar asked, after taking a deep breath.

"Nothing. All those documents you got from that hard drive were explaining how to assemble the new drug. How the drug would be dispersed. How the new drug has been altered to get rid of the bugs from the older strain." Clarke replied. He took off his glasses and rubbed a soft cotton cloth on the lenses.

"You think this whole talk about a cure for the old drug is just wishful thinking?"

"I don't know what to believe to be honest. It wouldn't be out of the question, given the nature of the USR, to not develop a cure and just let the women die off..."

"But..."

Clarke refitted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "But, I could also see them developing the cure so they could make themselves the saviors. The women would praise them, all the while unaware that they were still being used as guinea pigs. We've got to get our hands on it if it exists, though. Not just for Krys, either."

Here we go again, Kaspar thought. Clarke wanted to see her cured as much as he did, but Kaspar also knew that there were underlying political interests that he cared little about. The others wanted to get their hands on the cure to show that the resistance could be trusted. It was something that Clarke and Harvey always talked about. It wasn't enough to broadcast about the experimentations the USR conducted. That could all be wiped out with propaganda by them. But, if they had their hands on a cure...

"If there is a cure, how come none of the databases you've hacked say anything about it?"

Clarke took a small sip of water. "If there is something out there, it would be of the highest security level. Only the cream of the crop within the USR would know about it. They wouldn't want somebody like me finding out about it."

Kaspar smiled. "Anything useful on that thing at least?"

"Not anything that we haven't already discovered."

"Ain't that some shit?"

"How's Krys doing?"

He just had to go there. As much as Kaspar loved her, he knew that Clarke had known her longer and cared for Krys, too. Krys, she just loved everybody it seemed, and she made the computer nerd feel good about himself. With the lifestyle and personality Clarke had, he rarely got any attention from women. But, this strong willed, attractive woman would actually give him the time of day and spend time talking to him. There was no sexual attraction between the two, of course, but there was a bond which grew stronger once it was learned that she had been infected with an experimental drug which was taking her life away, bit by bit.

"Those lesions on her body are getting worse. She...doesn't have much time." Kaspar replied, the words almost too hard to say.

"We'll find it." Clarke replied.

"We better soon. If it exists..."

# .04

William Sullivan sat at his desk, his fingers tapped in quick bursts on the keys in front of him, the sound reminiscent of rats running through a metal vent. Following the incident which nearly got him fired six months ago, Sullivan managed to get re-instated into the department, thanks in large part to the endorsement he received from Captain Fitzpatrick. He found that being allowed back to work to be less fulfilling than ever. His arrest numbers went down, thanks in large part to a decrease in rebel activity after one of their leaders was gunned down in a public execution.

Now, he spent his days trying to find answers as to who was ultimately responsible for his wife's death. The original hypothesis he thought up was that it was the resistance, trying to get to him because he was getting closer and closer to finding out who they really were. But, then, that bizarre broadcast showed up on his television set out of nowhere. A leftover, claiming to be a member of the resistance, got on the air and claimed it was the USR who was behind it. The USR fired back and claimed that it was merely a propaganda piece set up by the resistance. There was nothing to fear, they said, except for the resistance. Of course, that was right before there was an increase in female deaths all across the nation.

The truth, it seemed, would never be revealed to the one time hot shot Agent. The more he dug into the computer files, the more confused he became. There were certain ones which, despite his high clearance level, he could not access. He even went to Fitzpatrick, basically begging for a higher clearance, which was granted. However, right as he went to the computer, not even minutes later, and the clearance level for the files skyrocketed once more. It was almost as if someone high up had been watching him.

He remained steadfast in his efforts through it all. No matter what obstacle the USR would try and throw his way, he would learn the truth. As much as his wife, Julie, despised him towards the end, he still loved her, in a strange sense. She had given him little Davie, the most precious gift anyone had ever given him.

He clicked his mouse and, once more, he got the same security clearance block. The screen flashed red while he cursed under his breath. Sullivan just wasn't making any headway, which flustered him even more, because he rarely ran into any such roadblocks before. He heard his office door creak open. He quickly clicked the little "X" on the top of the screen and the little bastard clearance screen disappeared. He looked up to see Fitzpatrick.

"Will," Fitzpatrick said with a smile. "We got us one."

"Be right there," Sullivan replied, not sharing the enthusiasm.

"Get your ass in there right now."

Sullivan cursed under his breath again before he forced himself out of the chair.

***

The interrogations that Sullivan conducted, which were more and more a rarity these days, changed dramatically in intent. Before, Sullivan was so desperate to find the resistance members that he would do anything to get the answers. Who they were, where they hid out, what their intents were, etc. Now, he didn't even know who he could trust anymore. When he first saw that message on the television, he didn't take it seriously. It seemed like a desperate ploy by the resistance to get attention for their cause. If the USR response was accurate, that there was nothing to fear, then why were women dying left and right and nothing being done about it?

So, as he stared down his first suspect in over a week, he tried to find some way to get information from him about the water supply problem. The man who sat in front of him, a thirty-four year old named Travis Reed, stared right back, unflinched. Reed, his file said, worked in the factories, what he did there was top secret. So top secret that Sullivan didn't even know what they worked on in there. For a man who used to be always in the loop on everything, this bullshit had worn out its welcome a long time ago.

"What have we got you in for today, Mr. Reed?" Sullivan wondered, knowing the answer.

"I don't know," Reed replied. "You tell me."

"It seems like you've been meddling around with the wrong crowd."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sullivan put down the man's file. He placed his hands, with interlocked fingers, on top. He moved his hands up and down several times, tapping on the manila cover. The reason that Reed had been brought in to the station was that he, along with several of his fellow co-workers, were seen getting together after work in some old warehouse. Given the secrecy of the work they did, the powers that be deemed this inappropriate. Reed appeared to be the ring leader of the whole thing, so he was brought in first for questioning. During his brief with Fitzpatrick, Sullivan learned that they would slowly bring in the others to see who the rat would be.

"Tell me about your little meetings that you have with your co-workers."

"What meetings?" Reed demanded.

"You know, the ones where you all hideout in some abandoned warehouse. Don't play dumb with me. We've got hard evidence to support that."

"Is it a crime to have some drinks, non-alcoholic naturally, with some buddies from work?"

"It is when you all work in the same place. And your job is so vital to USR efforts that I don't even know what it is you do in that factory."

Reed leaned in. "What does our work have to do with anything?"

"We just want to make sure that you guys aren't plotting some kind of insurrection...or that you're not aiding those terrorists out there."

"Please...we know the laws, we know what happens to 'citizens' who try to rebel. You think I want to put my family through that?"

Sullivan grew annoyed when Reed used his fingers as quotation marks when he said "citizens". He kept his composure, though. He began to feel himself start to side with these rebels the longer he thought on it. The government that he served everyday hadn't done a damn thing about his wife, yet, in either case. He would need these rebels. Maybe, just maybe, Reed and his pals worked on that substance that was going in the water. Or, even more hopeful, the inevitable cure.

The wheels inside of Sullivan's head started to turn. His attention was now half on the questions he was asking and the bullshit answers he received in return. The other half was on figuring out a reason that he could let the man go. Not just anything, but something he could take to Fitzpatrick.

"You still with me?" Reed asked, trying not to laugh so as not to offend the Agent.

Sullivan nodded his head. "Yeah, still here. Trying to figure out what to do with your sorry ass, as a matter of fact."

"What's the verdict?"

Sullivan pondered for a moment. "You're free to go...for now. But, if you so much as take a shit wrong, we'll know about it."

Reed said nothing and stood straight up. Sullivan opened the door, allowed the suspect to walk out, and then followed behind. After signing a waiver, Reed was free to go. Fitzpatrick looked shocked at the outcome. He pulled his one-time top Agent into his office for a chat.

"What the hell was that?" Fitzpatrick demanded, reaching into his desk for a bottle of moonshine.

"What do you mean? I let him go." Sullivan replied, not bothering to take a seat.

"I know that's what you did, dumb shit. I want to know why you did it."

"We need to get surveillance on his ass. We've got nothing on him. As far as we know, he really is just chilling with his buddies after a hard day's work."

"I don't expect you to understand the severity of this situation, but I do expect you to use your best judgment."

Sullivan leaned in over desk. "Why don't you enlighten me? Maybe if I knew what he and his pals did for a living, I could have used my best judgment."

Fitzpatrick shook his head. "You know I can't do that. It's..."

"Let me guess, 'confidential', right?"

"That's right. Only the highest level Agents know what they do. Maybe if you hadn't gotten soft, you'd be one of us by now. What happened to the Sullivan I used to know? I never thought I'd rather have Mason and Wilcox more than you. At least they got results."

"You know what?" Sullivan shot back, a sarcastic smile on his lips. "Those two thugs didn't know shit without me. Yeah, they got people to squeal, but I was the one who brought in the squealers. If it was all on them, we'd never know anything."

Fitzpatrick shook his head. "We could go back and forth on this all day and night. I'm willing to trust you on this. Besides, that son of a bitch is lucky he works for the USR or else he'd be heading for a body bag right now. But, if this comes back to bite us in the ass, I'm holding you personally responsible."

"I understand, sir. That's why I'm volunteering to lead the surveillance unit."

"Do what you have to. Good bye."

Sullivan saluted his boss. Maybe now he could get some answers.

# .05

Kaspar always enjoyed his morning runs with Krys. The feel of the still cool morning air brushed against his bare arms as they started to push it a little more. She kept with him stride for stride as they jogged. She was looking a lot better now than earlier in the morning. The lesion was covered up by makeup and she didn't look to be in too much pain. Kaspar couldn't help but wonder to himself how much longer she could hold up. She was a strong woman, but even she had limits. Everyone did.

They turned the corner on the forest trail and pushed their legs even harder. Kaspar ignored the burning sensation in his legs as he was now keeping up with Krys. She was pushing it really hard right beside him. Krys had her hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore black sweats and a black sports bra. The lack of any other clothing showed off that rose tattoo that ran down the side of her rib cage almost down to her hip. The image, with the falling rose petals, took on added meaning over the past several months. He used to love the tattoo. It even drove him mad at times, but now with her worsening condition, he couldn't stand the sight of it.

"You keeping up back there?" Krys asked. She turned her head and smiled. "Or are you too busy staring at my goods?"

"I'm keeping up," Kaspar replied. She could always read his mind.

Kaspar pushed his legs hard until he was right beside her. He kept up stride for stride as they made their way through the woods. They were near the campsite, just another mile or so away would complete their five mile run for the morning. The closer they got, the harder Krys seemed to push. Kaspar wanted to yell at her, to tell her that she's pushing herself way too hard, but the words never came out. He just wanted to pretend like there was nothing even wrong with her in the first place.

The inner lie didn't last long. Krys stopped dead in her tracks. Kaspar moved in beside her as she bent her upper body down. Without warning, a river of orange vomit flowed through her mouth. In all, she did five hard gags, each time with the same result. On the sixth gag, there was nothing left to be evacuated. She dry heaved for a few seconds before she slammed her ass down on the tall grass.

"You okay?" Kaspar cried as he knelt down beside her. He started to rub at her back.

"Yeah," Krys replied. She pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket. "I'm fine. Just...pushed too hard is all."

"You don't look fine. You need me to carry you the rest of the way?"

Krys frowned. "I said I was fine. Just give me a few minutes, okay?"

Kaspar nodded in acknowledgment. He stood straight up from his knelt position and just stared off into the woods. Things were getting bad for her. There was no worse feeling in the world to Kaspar right now than the feeling of inadequacy. He wished now, at this moment, that he had the smarts and the know how to fix what was eating away inside his lover. There was no fix to be found, though. He promised to protect her, and it was starting to look like he made another promise he couldn't keep.

For her part, Krys just stood over the grass and tried to catch her breath. Her lips trembled and her breath was short. Kaspar, from his now standing position, reached down and began to rub at her back again. She let out a slight wince when he rubbed at the sports bra over her back. Through the back cloth, he could see the spot looked wet, and the bra stuck on that spot a little bit. When he lifted the black cloth, it revealed another lesion, just like the one on her neck.

"We should go back and rest, now." Kaspar said. "I'll help you back to camp."

"Okay," Krys replied, finally giving up.

She stood and put her arm around Kaspar's neck as he led them back. The walk was slow and, at times, Kaspar felt like he was dragging her. Her breathing consisted of short wheezes here and there. At one point, Kaspar thought that she passed out on him. The hike back to the camp soon became one of the lowest moments of his entire life. He knew the score back when the two of them escaped together. There was always a glimmer of hope that she would be okay, though. That hope was just another cruel way for Kaspar to lie to himself. He wanted to enjoy every moment that he had left with her. Mother was already taken for granted and Kaspar didn't want to make the same mistake with Krys. The past few months flew by so quick. The months felt like just a few days. She was nearing the end and he was not ready to see her go.

No, she's not going to die. Not on my watch.

***

While the others sat around the wooden table in the chow tent stuffing their faces in between jokes and war stories, Kaspar moved at a frantic pace. He got together some water and something to eat. Harvey noticed his team member's desperation and got up from his seat to help him. The steam from his hot cup of coffee brushed against his face as he moved. He took a slow sip and placed it down by his foot on the grass.

"What's up?" Harvey asked.

Kaspar kept his focus on gathering supplies. "Krys just had another episode."

"They're getting worse, aren't they?"

"I didn't say that."

"You need any help?" Harvey wondered. He could tell from Kaspar's pace that the episode she just experienced was worse. He decided not to press it.

"Yeah, if you could grab some meds, that would be great."

Harvey nodded his head, bent down for his coffee, then walked over to the tent next door that had various, stolen medical supplies. Kaspar finished with the plain oatmeal, and then grabbed an orange, placing it in his pants pocket. He turned to see Harvey bring in a small red bag. Harvey handed it over.

"You guys rest up, we might have a beat on another one."

"I'll take care of her. We'll be ready." Kaspar replied.

"Just make sure she's comfortable." Harvey said.

Kaspar slid the bag over his shoulders. "I will. We're going to find that cure."

"I know." Harvey replied, not believing himself.

Kaspar could sense the disbelief, but didn't want to say anything to cause a ruckus. That was one thing that Krys had taught him. She instilled in him a new attitude of letting things go. There was something odd about Krys. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but not even Mother could make Kaspar want to be a better man. When he was with Krys, however, he wanted to be the best person on the face of the planet for her. The first time that he started to feel this phenomena, it was an experience that overwhelmed him.

With his upper body bent down, Kaspar entered the small tent. She was lying there on the bed, a white bucket beside her down on the grass. Kaspar walked over to her and handed her the bowl of oatmeal. She propped her head up using her pillow and began to slowly eat at the steaming oats. While she ate, Kaspar got together the various medications that Harvey gave to him.

"Thank you, Ryan." Krys said, in between spoonfuls.

"Don't mention it," Kaspar replied.

When she was finished with her breakfast, Krys placed the bowl down next to her bucket. Kaspar then passed over the medications that she was doped up on all the time. Pain killers, stomach medicine, and some concoction that Harvey came up with that gave Krys a shot of adrenaline. This wasn't going to last long, as this morning proved.

"Krys," Kaspar said as she took the first of her medications. "We've got to be more careful. We can't push it too hard anymore."

"What do you mean 'we'?" Krys demanded.

"You know what I meant. I'm your partner, I'm a part of your life, too. You've got to take it easy."

Krys swallowed another pill, the taste so bitter she had to pucker her lips. Once she was done, she replied, "How can you say that to me? Women are out there dying, just like me, but I have the power to help them. I told you six months ago, no matter how bad I got, I would continue to fight. There is no letting up."

"I don't want you to quit fighting. It's just, everything is happening so fast, I...don't want to lose you."

"Me quitting, or taking it easy, isn't going to cure me. Yeah, it might make me more comfortable, or extend my life a little bit, but I'm still..."

Kaspar put an index finger over his lips and nodded. He didn't want her to finish that sentence. It was all just too hard to take in. She was right, after all, but he didn't want to see her suffer. If this was the end, she deserved some rest after all that they had been through together. Ultimately, though, it was her decision on what to do. He did promise her that he would stick by her until the end. He also made a promise that either they would find the cure or that he wouldn't get in her way when she got worse. More promises he couldn't keep.

"I know, baby. Look, I know you don't want to live with false hope, but I will save you."

Krys smiled. "You already have."

Kaspar allowed a smile, too. He moved in and gave her a slight peck on the cheek. When he pulled back, he felt a hand on his arm. Krys began to shake her head. Kaspar's grin grew wider. She was so beautiful when she did things like that. At that moment, he also had to fight back a tear. Krys placed her hand on the back of Kaspar's head and pulled him in.

"I love you," she said.

# .06

The squad was all gathered together in the central tent which served as their briefing room. An eager, determined Buck sat in the very front. He was so poised and every word his father said during the briefing was taken with the utmost urgency. The pen in his hand formed words on the pad of paper in front of him at a lightning pace. There would be no more screw ups. He would make sure of that. Steinner sat next to him, a bit more relaxed, but still listening with intent. Dexter Byrd, the man who drove the armored truck during the mission days earlier, sat in the second row, next to Kaspar, who in turn sat very close to Krys. She was seated on his right hand side.

Kaspar's right hand was firmly placed inside of Krys's strong grip. The medications she took earlier seemed to perk her up a bit. She was no longer as lethargic as before. Her stomach pains went away, too. Kaspar tried to focus his attention on the briefing, but his mind kept wandering to the status of her health. These briefings all seemed to be the same, with a few variations here and there depending on the layout of each location. All he needed was a gun, and then he would figure out the rest as it came up. The enemy didn't care how prepared they would be, so Kaspar became very good at improvising. He just hoped that, this time, the kid up front would calm the hell down and do his job.

"You still with me, Kaspar?" Harvey demanded.

Kaspar nodded his head. Harvey took a few deep breaths before he continued with the brief. If there was one thing the old man couldn't stand it was a soldier not paying attention to what he was saying. There he was, spending his precious time explaining what to do so they wouldn't get killed out there, and it was apparent that Kaspar didn't give a shit. That was one thing that he and Kaspar went back and forth on. Harvey knew that Kaspar did, in fact, care. It was just that he did a piss poor job of showing it.

Harvey turned his attention back to the screen behind him. On the screen right now was a hacked, real time satellite image of the complex they were to raid in the coming days. It was located somewhere in the Deep South. The screen showed Agents on their patrols on the outside of it. The way they moved was almost identical to the patrolmen of the last complex and the one before that, too. It still amazed Harvey how the USR operated. Everything was the same, it seemed, and it became rare to see them switch tactics. It spoke to the arrogance of the military and government leaders, Harvey thought.

The complex itself sat, in what looked like a bowl, from the satellite images. There were hills all around it. The hills made for a perfect line of sight for Harvey, who had scout sniper training with the Marine Corps. He explained in the briefing earlier that he would provide sniper fire this go round, given the lay of the land there. Harvey would take down the guards outside, plus create confusion for those inside, which should buy the others some time to get in, get the job done, and then get out.

"Now, moving on." Harvey said after he collected himself. "Buck, we are not sending you in there alone on this one. You'll have Krys and Dex to give you back up. Just don't panic in there. Take your time, breath, and act like there's nothing around you. Focus on the task at hand, just like in practice, and you'll do fine."

"Yes, sir." Buck replied.

Dex, as Harvey called him, looked over at Buck and gave him a wink. He was still getting over a gunshot wound from a previous mission. The bullet penetrated his upper body, where his body armor curved around his under arms. Dexter Byrd seemed eager enough when Harvey called out his name as going in on this one. Byrd was a young man, around Kaspar's age, who spent time as an Agent before getting out when he learned of the population control drug. He spent some time going it alone, taking out Agents at night, using the USR's own training against them. Harvey eventually met up with him and offered him a spot in his squad.

"Steinner, you'll once again have Kaspar alongside you. We're going in silent on this one. I'll be providing sniper cover from the outside. We'll be using silenced MP-5 submachine guns, too. This base, from what we can gather, isn't as highly patrolled as the other ones, so no need for making any kind of racket if we can avoid it. We are still going to try and get whatever Intel we can from the inside, but like always, let's not get our hopes up."

That's exactly what Kaspar was doing when he said it.

***

The briefing had ended just a few short moments before, and Kaspar was already hounding Clarke for information. The layout of the complex was laid bare on the large laptop screen. Clarke studied it hard for Harvey so he could report a complete analysis to him. Kaspar watched as he did his work from over his shoulder. He knew that it made Clarke nervous, but the computer wiz got over it quick enough.

"You find anything new about any type of cure?" Kaspar asked.

"No, they aren't manufacturing it here, or I haven't found anything out about that. How's she doing?" Clarke replied.

"She's fine, now, but these spells she's having are getting worse every time. Those drugs we've got her doped up on aren't going to do the trick forever."

"I know. You'll want to be careful here."

Clarke pointed out the circular lobby area. It was wide, and there was very little in the way of cover. Kaspar nodded in acknowledgement as he saw what Clarke was talking about. It was a good place for an ambush. Clarke had almost gotten used to being Kaspar's unofficial C.O. He knew that his friend didn't pay complete attention in the briefings, so it became his job to point things out to him. The lobby would be nasty if there was any type of fire fight. It would give the Agents plenty of space to surround them. If that happened, the only thing the rebels could do was surrender, and hope that the USR would be taking prisoners. Actually, it would be better if they weren't.

"I see," Kaspar said as he noticed the predicament that they would be in. "You think Buck will do okay?"

"I don't know. He seems like the type of kid that knows all the answers on a test, but then gets anxiety at test time and can't remember anything."

"That ever happen to you?"

"Of course not." Clarke replied, with a cocky grin on his face. He continued to study the layouts. "This one could be dangerous."

"Aren't all of these little missions that way?"

"This looks different, though. I mean, there are too many wide open areas all around. You guys better be extra careful in there."

"We always are. I'm just worried about Buck."

"Don't worry about him. You can't control what he does. If he freezes up in there again, just get yourselves out."

# .07

Sullivan sat in the plain, red car with his new partner, Kevin Little. Little was young, didn't look anything older than mid-twenties, and he still had his boyish looks about him. His dark hair was spiked up in the middle. The thick gel held together what looked to be a Mohawk. Sullivan sighed at the sight of it when they first met. He didn't want to work with any more douchebags. The young detective was sharply dressed in a black suit, as well. Sullivan thought his new partner must have been a real hit with the ladies. Sullivan told the kid to dress casual, but Little replied with, "this is casual".

Outside, the sun started it's descent down the gray sky. With the sun beamed in on his eyes, Sullivan reached down for his sunglasses and slid them on. Little did the same beside him. The audio they were patched into was full of static at the moment. Their suspects were not gathered inside, yet. The two partners said nothing to each other while they waited. Even though Little didn't say much, Sullivan already started to like him. In his mind, he took back the douchebag thoughts he had earlier. The rookie not only didn't talk, but he didn't disobey an order, either. Unlike his former cohorts, the veteran Agent thought that maybe this could turn into a great working relationship.

As they sat in silence, Sullivan's mind turned to Davie. His son was left with Aunt Mary once again, the third night this week he had to spend away from him. Davie was still doing excellent in school, bringing home nothing but straight A's. Sometimes, Sullivan wondered how good Davie was actually doing. He heard stories of the class clowns that disrupted class, didn't do their homework, and still managed to get passing grades. The teachers, not wanting to offend the children in class, couldn't bring themselves to fail a kid when that was what he or she deserved. That fact alone made him question how great of a society they would live in when those kids got older. Hell, George Mason managed to get out of the school system with a passing grade.

"How long you been an Agent?" Sullivan asked, breaking the silence.

"Not long. Just got promoted to Detective status." Little replied. He looked down at the brand new shield attached to his belt as if it were a trophy.

"You got any family?"

"Nah, just my parents who I take care of."

"Any women in your life?" Sullivan asked, thinking of Julie as he did.

"Nope. Nothing long term, anyway, just the occasional one nighter, you know?"

Sullivan raised his right eyebrow, "Be careful with that. You don't want to get caught up in a legal mess with unwanted children. You know how seriously the government is taking that, right?"

"Yeah, I know, I'm careful. I'm thinking about going sterile anyway. I don't want any Little bastards running around."

Sullivan leaned back in his chair. "That's good. This job makes it impossible to raise a kid right and to have a happy marriage."

"You speaking from experience, Will?"

"Sure am."

The two went silent again. Sullivan's thoughts returned to the task at hand. This Reed character worked at a top secret USR facility doing top secret, USR things. He thought back to the broadcast that the resistance, or someone claiming to be resistance, put out several months ago. There had been no other mention or broadcasts from the rebels since that day. Perhaps it was all a ruse by the USR in their propaganda techniques to make people fear the resistance as those who can't be trusted. They set off a bomb in a USR controlled building after all. He kept hoping that Reed and his boys had something to do with whatever had been put in the water supply. The answers wouldn't come by themselves and someone on the inside obviously didn't want him snooping around. There was only one problem and that was the man seated next to him.

Sullivan turned to Little. "What do you think they are doing?"

"Who, sir?"

"The guys we're watching."

"I don't know. Don't really care, either, to be honest."

"Why wouldn't you care? We might have to kill them."

"If it comes to that, then so be it. They made their choice if they are doing something illegal."

"No thoughts at all about it?"

Little started to tense up a bit before he spoke again. "Will, seriously, we're not supposed to know. We're not supposed to question our orders. The USR has reason to believe that they are resistance. So, we do what they say."

"You don't always have to do exactly what you're told."

Sullivan could sense some discomfort coming from his partner. That was good, he could use that fear against him later. Either he was a dedicated Agent, loyal to the death to his superiors, or he was a coward too chicken shit to do anything but.

Whatever the reason, Sullivan had to figure it out fast.

***

Reed began his exit from the USR facility he engaged his work in. As he walked down the sidewalk, he noticed a plain red car that he had never seen before. Definitely a USR surveillance vehicle, Reed guessed. He had been cut loose just two days ago and they were already tailing him. In his own mind he could have given them credit if they held their wad long enough to make him feel more at ease. But, the USR was all about control, so even him seeing the car could be their way of saying, "We've got you now."

He turned the corner at the first crosswalk. There was an urge to look back over his shoulder to see if the car would follow, but he fought it. He didn't want whoever was in the car to know he was on to them. It was far better right now to play it cool. He did, however, pick up his pace a little. It was subconscious. He didn't even realize that he was walking faster than normal. The whole time he walked, he thought about how much the USR knew about his activities late at night. What he did after hours was obviously suspicious, but he and his crew were not stupid, either. They used code words for everything they discussed, so as not to draw suspicion from the numerous bugged devices that were planted all over the city.

Still, his going in to be questioned was expected, and they had planned on at least one member of the team to have to answer for what they did after work. Reed reasoned that he gave off some pretty good bullshit, but if there was ever a time to not be careless, it was now.

It only took a few minutes with his brisk pace to arrive at the old warehouse where he met with his buddies. He pulled out a key from his pocket, looked from side to side to ensure nobody saw him, and then unlocked the door. Inside, the large, empty room was already lit. The others had arrived before him. Reed was ordered to work an extra two hours on his shift. In no position to say otherwise, he accepted.

There was a sense of urgency like few times he felt before when they ordered him to do so. He hoped that the others realized the severity of discretion, which had already been instilled upon them. But, with him being gone for two hours, he didn't know what kind of shit would come from his crew's mouths, this being their first meeting after he was called in. Reed thought about not meeting for a few weeks, but that would only tip off the USR that they were doing something illegal. To just act natural was the best COA.

The only object inside the vast room was a long, wooden table with five chairs around it. The sixth, and last one, at the head, was empty. Reed moved quick to the table. The others stopped whatever small talk they were engaged in as their leader moved in. Reed nodded his head towards the crew before taking off his black jacket and hanging it against the back of his chair. Out of his pants pocket, he pulled out a pack of playing cards.

Everyone in the room had their own codenames. The short, African American middle aged man to Reed's right was Sugar. The skinny, young white male next him was Pinkie. Next to Pinkie sat Dopey, a slightly overweight Latino. On the other side at the far end was Pepper, another African-American male of about average height and build. In the middle was X, a bulky leftover and former member of a Latino street gang. X went straight just before the USR takeover. Finally, next to Reed on the left was Mr. Smith, a white male barely eighteen, whose parents died of mysterious causes when he was young, therefore leading him to the USR camps. Reed's codename was Bossman.

There was one other member of the team who was never spoken to by the others ever since they banded together. His codename was Statue, a hulking man who stood near six foot ten, and was almost too tall to work in the factory. They all had a strict no contact rule when it came to Statue. The only one who made contact with him was Reed. Those times were few and far between, as well.

"You bitches ready to get your asses kicked?" Reed asked aloud once he started to shuffle the cards.

The playing cards were X's idea. Instead of a standard deck of fifty-two cards, it contained sixty-eight. Each card had a special coded meaning to it that only they knew. Everyone in the group was responsible, once they first started to meet, to learn the different meanings before they could proceed.

Each night that they met, they would play a mock game of Texas Hold'em, but with each hand, they were in actuality passing out coded messages. Even if the USR had installed cameras, they would have no way of knowing what was really going on. And, even if they did, they would have no way of knowing what messages were being sent. Each man took a code of silence before acceptance as a counter measure. If they were caught, they were to not give out the code under any circumstance. Reed knew all along that when torture was administered, one of them could and likely would break, but this was their only way of communicating with one another. It was a risk worth taking.

The whole operation got started after Reed started to talk with X. Reed was always curious as to how life was before the USR. At the height of the USR takeover, Reed was merely a boy, and he didn't fully understand what was going on. All he knew was that there were more soldiers everywhere and that his parents were told what to do, where to work, and how much they were to be paid. They were forced out of their home and into a smaller apartment. A government official assumed control of all their assets leaving his family with nothing.

X talked about how great it was when there were freedoms. That he had his freedom taken away once when he was arrested for gang activity. The feeling of being locked up in a cage forced him to go straight once he got out. X used his street smarts and started his own small business dealing arms, only legitimately this time. That business, and everything he acquired through it, was of course taken away. The leftover then convinced Reed that, in their line of work, they could aid those who wished to bring the USR down.

Reed dealt out the cards. Once everyone had a five card hand, he carefully placed three cards in the middle. Bossman used a trick that X had taught him a while back. That trick allowed Reed to lay down in the center the hand that he wanted to be dealt. At the center of the table, a three card combination was flipped over.

Any problems shipment?

# .08

The ride to the next complex in the eight wheeled assault vehicle was uncomfortable, per the usual. The rebels were forced to take to the back roads, and more often didn't even use roads at all, to get from destination to destination to avoid detection. The terrain underneath the vehicle's massive wheels jarred the ride up and down. Kaspar, seated on a bench across from Krys, tried to get comfortable, but finally gave up. It was just the two of them in the back. Harvey was driving with Buck in the front seat. The other vehicle, which carried their tents, medical supplies, and weapons was taking the lead in front. There would be no sleep on this ride, and not just because of the bumps, either. He was worried about Krys, still. Every time he attempted sleep, he would have some nightmare where he lost her somewhere.

As he looked at her, she kept moving her eyes from left to right, then back at Kaspar. Even though they were together, Krys still felt a sense of unease when he would stare at her. It was nothing personal, she just didn't like it. Kaspar felt it hard to not look at her, though. She was a beautiful woman, but his glances now were not of attraction, though it was still there, but of concern.

"Would you quit that?" Krys demanded.

"You feeling okay?" Kaspar wondered in response.

"I'm fine."

"For now."

Krys leaned forward, "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, those...look, your body has its limits. You could pass out in the middle of a firefight. Then what?"

"You can be a complete ass sometimes, Ryan."

Krys folded her arms across her chest and leaned backwards to rest her back against the side of the vehicle. Kaspar did the same. They both moved their glances towards the back, staring at the brown earth the heavy tires dug into. It seemed that when faced with imminent death, Krys had also come down with a case of bipolar disorder. Kaspar could never understand how his trying to make sure she was feeling okay could piss her off as bad as it did. The more he thought about it, the more he brought himself to understand. These were her final moments, not his. It was up to her on how to spend them. If she wanted to spend them lying in some cot, waiting to die, or fighting for what she believed in, it was her choice.

"Hey," Kaspar said, breaking the silence between the two.

"What?"

"It's just, I'm sorry, okay? I'm just worried about you...these spells you go under...this whole Goddamn war. I just want to be with you. You want to run away somewhere?"

Krys grinned. "Turning chicken shit?"

Kaspar smiled back. "Maybe...we could go someplace nice. Use our stolen credits on a vacation."

"We could go to the beach, live out the rest of our lives in style. I could see the ocean again."

"That's right..."

Krys started to laugh. "You could get a tan on that white skin of yours!"

Kaspar returned with a laugh. "We'll have to be careful, though, this white skin will turn red real fast. It would be great, though."

There was another moment of silence. In the silence, Kaspar imagined what it would be like to be on some beach somewhere with her. He imagined her in a bathing suit and how beautiful she would look in one. In the vision, they sat in the same folding lounge chair, the end of the chair just in front of the surf from the beach. Kaspar was on the bottom, with Krys lying on top. He moved his hands up and down her lesion free body and the two just sat, listening to the sound of the waves coming in. He felt the warmth of the sun against his skin, he could sense the smell and taste of the salt from the ocean blue. It was all too perfect...

"Yeah...it would." Krys said before she leaned back and a single tear rolled down her cheek. "We just can't."

Kaspar's heart sank. "I know...we have to keep fighting."

"Ryan?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry if I've been an insufferable bitch to you. I love you and I shouldn't treat you like that. This whole dying thing just kind of messes with me, you know?"

"I know," Kaspar replied. "But, you're not going to die. Not yet."

***

Harvey found it difficult to concentrate on the path ahead. His strong, weathered hands gripped the steering wheel as he maneuvered the vehicle up the next small hill. Seated next to him was Buck. His son sipped on a bottle of fresh, spring water and had not once looked over to his father during the entire eight hours of the trip so far. They still had a ways to go and Harvey wondered if his son was going to say anything at all to him.

"What are you thinking about, son?" Harvey asked to break the silence.

Buck took a moment to answer. "I'm trying to think about how I can avoid screwing this up again."

"You'll do fine. You've had one actual mission under your belt now. Use that experience to learn, don't just beat yourself up over it."

"That all you care about? How I'm going to do on the next mission?"

Harvey paused. "Look, son..."

"My name's Buck."

"Okay, Buck, I just want to make sure you're going to be okay for this mission."

"I'll do fine, all right, just like you said."

Harvey turned his attention back to driving. He was going through that battle in his own mind once again. That battle between what it truly meant to be a good father to Buck. He never knew what it took to do that. When Harvey was growing up, he always had a supportive father who raised him right. He was taught how to be a great American and how to serve his country the right way. But, when things started to change, he lost contact with his parents.

After Buck was born, there were complications with his wife's pregnancy. Harvey tried to deny it to himself, but the complications killed his late wife, and he always battled the itch to blame Buck for it. It wasn't his fault, Harvey knew, but it was still all too easy to say that if he had never gotten her pregnant, she would have never died. So, that's what he did, he shifted the blame from his son unto himself. The guilt made it difficult for him to be a good father because, deep down, he wished he was not a father.

Harvey cleared his throat. "You doing okay, son?"

"Yeah, just swell."

"Buck, I want to be there for you, but the road goes both ways, you hear? You shutting me out isn't helping matters at all."

Buck finally looked over to his father. "I'm not shutting you out."

"Then, how come you never, ever, come to me for anything? You never talk about you, what's going on with you, how you're feeling. Nothing."

"You should know how I'm doing. This is all I do." Buck moved his open palm all around in a circle. "I'm just trying to not disappoint you."

"I know that times are tough right now, but you've got to give it time. Once we are done fighting...once we can claim some type of victory..."

"You've been saying that for years. Just one more battle, son. We're almost there, son. It's getting old. How am I supposed to connect with you when I don't know when our luck is finally going to run out?"

Harvey looked towards Buck. "Maybe that's why we should try harder. As long as we are still fighting, when we don't know the outcome?"

"Yeah, right. That's a great plan."

It was useless trying to get through to the boy. Harvey just shook his head and returned to his silent posture in the driver's seat. A lot of what Buck had to say was correct, and Harvey knew it. So, the leftover just did what he knew how to do best. Hide from it. Pretend like the tension wasn't there. The hope was always that Buck would come around to understand, and respect, his father for who he was.

Not being a man who was good with his own emotions, Harvey found it tough to say that he wasn't really fighting for the red, white, and blue. That was just a show he put on for those who fought with him. No. The truth was, he was fighting for Buck, so that he could have a better life than what was out there now. The road was still long and with leftovers only getting older, time was running short. But, he just knew that there would come some point in his lifetime when the rebels would have a significant victory in this war.

He just hoped it would come sooner rather than later.

# .09

Sullivan opened the front door to Mary's house. He unsnapped the shoulder holster and hung it on the coat rack to his left. The volume on the TV blared from the living room, to the point where nobody heard him enter. Through the speakers, Consul Olyphant talked about how great the USR was and that the public need not fear the resistance threat. Everything was under control, he said. The more Sullivan thought about it, the less in control the USR seemed to be. The resistance was still running rampant out there, destroying USR buildings, and killing Agents.

The investigation into Reed and his friends had led to nothing after the initial night of surveillance. Sullivan and his new partner heard nothing but a card game going on. They obviously had a code of some kind and they did a very good job of keeping it secret. The truth would come out eventually, Sullivan hoped. One of them would slip up as they were not experienced in this line of work. They were factory workers after all. He would have to come up with some type of plan that didn't involve Little.

Inside the living room, Davie was lying on his belly, his back legs bent straight up, his hands on his chin. He watched with great interest to the nightly press conference. When he saw his father walk in, he jumped up from his lying position and assaulted Sullivan with a giant hug around his legs. Sullivan reached down and played with the boy's short hair.

"You have a good day?" Sullivan asked.

"Sure did! It's better now that you are here!" Davie replied.

Mary looked up from the recliner. She had that same look of disappointment on her face that Julie would give him. When Julie was alive, they never spent much time with Mary and her husband, Jimmy, who was already in bed. Jimmy worked construction and Mary stayed at home. After Julie's death, it became Mary's job to raise Davie, a job which Sullivan was reluctant to ask of her. She told him that this wasn't for him, but for the boy, and that he needed to find some way to raise Davie the right way. Raising a child the right way, in this world, that was almost like a cruel joke.

"Glad to see you grace us with your presence." Mary said, turning her attention back to the television screen.

"Nice to see you, too, Mary."

"You taking him home tonight?"

"I was actually..."

"Fine," Mary interrupted. "He can stay here tonight. Again."

"Thanks."

There was nothing harder in this world than looking down at little Davie to see that look of sadness when he couldn't come home. Sullivan wanted to take Davie home tonight, more than anything else, but he needed to plan his next moves to get answers from Reed. A lot of the time, especially tonight, he questioned whether or not it was really worth it. Did it really matter how Julie died? Did it really matter if the USR or the resistance did it?

"Can I please come home with you?" Davie asked.

Sullivan shook his head. "You like staying here, right?"

"I do, but I want to come home."

"I know you do, but Daddy's got work to do, you know that. I've got to figure out what happened to Mommy."

"I miss Mommy." Davie replied.

"I do, too."

"Where do you think she is now?"

It took a moment for Sullivan to come up with an answer. In his own mind, she merely ceased to exist, but that wouldn't work on the little boy who would be devastated to hear that. It was an awful thing, he thought, to not believe in anything other than his own existence. One had to make the best out of what he or she had now and then, when it was all over, nothing mattered. He thought about Father Francis's interrogation at times like these. Those church people he would interrogate from time to time seemed to think that there was a Heaven that all the good people went to.

"She's up in the sky, looking down on you. She's so proud of you for being so brave and such a smart boy."

"Yeah?!"

"That's right. Why don't you watch the TV a little bit more while I talk with your Aunt Mary?"

"Okay!"

Davie ran back over to the front of the television set and resumed his comfortable posture. Sullivan felt a sense of guilt for encouraging his son to watch the hatred that went on, but it wasn't like there were any kid friendly shows he could watch. Sullivan turned to Mary and summoned her to the kitchen. She reluctantly stood up from the recliner and followed him in. At the sight of the shoulder holster, with the Glock 17 attached, she groaned. They took a seat across from each other at the red oak table.

"You can't keep doing this to him." Mary said.

Sullivan breathed in deep. "I know. Do you think it doesn't kill me not to have him all the time?"

"This is exactly why Julie wanted to leave you."

There she went again, another tirade about how the only reason that Julie never left him in the first place was because she couldn't afford it out there, on her own, with a small child. She loved Davie too much to lose him, because Davie would almost certainly have ended up with Sullivan. Sullivan placed his opened hand in the air then moved his index finger to his lips. He didn't need this, not today.

"That boy needs his father," Mary continued. "Why do you still ignore your responsibilities?"

"I'm not ignoring anything," Sullivan replied, fighting back the urge to raise his voice. "What I'm doing is for him, can't you see that?"

"No."

"Then, you really are just like your sister."

Mary slammed her first on the table. "You don't talk about her, you hear me, you son of a bitch?"

"That's not necessary."

"She's gone, William. We are all trying to move on from it. Maybe I am just like my sister, but at least I'm not like you."

"Look," Sullivan said as he continued to fight back his temper. "You need to calm down. I told you before. I'm trying to find out what happened to her, who the parties responsible were. Things weren't the greatest..."

"You can say that again."

"Listen to me. I know I screwed up our marriage, I get that. But, even if things were shitty, I still loved her. That's why I didn't leave her. I want to know what happened."

"And, you just ignore your son, you can live with that?" Mary demanded.

"There are a lot of things I'll have to answer for when the time comes. More things than you could ever imagine. But, I can't just forget it ever happened."

"I'll tell you who was responsible. It was them."

Sullivan leaned forward. "Them, huh? Well, they claim that it was the USR."

"Of course they did! Why wouldn't they? They aren't just going to come right out and admit it. Are you really that stupid?"

The Agent leaned back in his chair, shook his head, and then rubbed up and down his face with his hands. He didn't need the insults that she continued to throw at him. Mary never wanted to listen, all she wanted to do was throw every single one of life's problems on his shoulders then tell him it was all his fault. Not today, though. He was not going to deal with it today. What she said was right, he would have to sacrifice (not ignore) time with Davie. But, when he found out...

"You know, what has the USR done to correct the problem? Aren't there still women dying everywhere, just like Julie?" Sullivan demanded.

"It's obviously something that they've never seen before. The resistance, they are cunning, secretive. Who the hell knows what kind of evil concoctions they can come up with?" Mary replied.

"Did I ever tell you about the resistance guy who broke into my house and tried to kill me?"

"Yes, you did. You put your son in danger. Who knows what could have happened?"

Sullivan ignored the blame. Instead, as he talked, images from that night filled his mind. "He saw Davie and, I don't know, he just froze. Like he had some sort of empathy or something. He could've killed me right in front of Davie, but he didn't."

Sullivan envisioned the gun being pointed at his head. The intruder had on a mask that covered his eyes. He wore an American flag patch on his arm. The Agent demanded to know why they poisoned Julie. Something that the man said, about Sullivan "not knowing what was really going on"...then, that telecast by the resistance...

"So, what's your point?" Mary demanded, bringing Sullivan back to the present.

"The point is, in my line of work, Agents would've blown me away without hesitation. Wouldn't matter who was with me. If they wanted me dead, they just pull the trigger, then go home to a warm meal and sleep like babies. With all this talk about how great the USR is and how evil the resistance is...I don't know. I always go back to that moment."

Mary's stare turned ice cold. "You're letting that propaganda piece by those filthy people cloud your thinking."

"Am I? Can't you just think outside the box for just one minute?"

"I'm not saying anymore. The last thing I need is for Agents to pour through this door. Now, if you are going to continue your hate mongering, you can leave. You're going to leave Davie here, anyway. He's the only Sullivan that's welcome in my house right now."

Sullivan said nothing more. He got his things and left Davie behind for another night.

# .10

Kaspar lay next to Krys outside of their tent. The squad had stopped for a few hours so they could try to get some rest before the next mission started. Upon Krys's suggestion, demand really, the two brought their sleeping gear to the outside. The black sky above was cloudless and lay bare the stars. Krys loved to star gaze, so it was out of the question to sleep inside tonight. There hadn't been a night sky this clear in a long while.

Her head was rested on Kaspar's shoulder. He rubbed at her arm and fought back the sleep that attacked his consciousness. His eyes closed once again, but he forced them back open. In the process, his body jolted which startled Krys. She looked over at him and smiled.

"Never thought I'd be asking if you were okay." she said.

"Just trying not to fall asleep." Kaspar replied.

"Really? Why not?"

"This moment is just too perfect to waste."

Krys smiled again and kissed his cheek. "Sorry again for being a bitch today."

"You don't ever have to apologize to me."

"But, I feel like I do. You were just looking out for me and I snapped at you. We...don't..."

Krys started to cough. She forced her body up into a seated position. Kaspar rose up as well and rubbed at her back as she continued her violent coughs. He reached over into one of the cargo bags. Inside was a handkerchief that he handed over to her. She put the white cloth in front of her mouth and continued. The coughs lasted longer than Kaspar could have anticipated. As he rubbed at her back, tears from his eyes were forced back. Would this be the moment? Was this her time?

The attack finally stopped. When Krys moved the handkerchief away from her mouth, droplets of blood were littered all over it. She threw the cloth to the ground in anger. Kaspar reached over and held her close to his side. Although she remained silent, he could feel through the jerks of her body that she was crying. He reached over with his hand and started to run his fingers softly through her hair.

"It's going to be okay," Kaspar said.

"What if it's not?" Krys demanded. She pulled her head out of his chest. "I'm almost at the end and I have so much left to do."

More talk about a cure would only upset her, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he looked up towards the stars, and her eyes followed his to the heavens above. They sat there and marveled at them once again. After a momentary gaze, Kaspar focused his attention back on Krys. He tried to remember how vibrant and full of life she used to be before she got infected. It seemed like only days ago she was that same old Krys. The violent effects of the experimental drug had taken off with a fury.

"What was it you called me, when we first met?" Kaspar asked, trying to change the subject.

"Huh?" Krys replied, confused.

"You remember, don't you? You called me a bitch or something..."

Krys laughed. "Oh, that's right, I called you a butch."

Kaspar smiled. "That's it."

"I'm sorry. I didn't even know you back then. And, you were kind of a pussy back then, too."

"Hey, hey..." Kaspar said with a chuckle.

"Those were good times, back then."

"These are good times, now."

Kaspar looked over to Krys and kissed her on the forehead. These were good times, moments like these. If there was one thing that he learned over the past months it was not to take anything for granted. He did that with Mother and swore he wouldn't for Krys. There were so many things he wanted to tell Mother, but he never did, always thinking he could just do it later. In his mind, Mother would always be there. He learned a harsh lesson when she was gunned down...

The stars, they are so beautiful, Kaspar thought to himself to get his mind away from those horrible thoughts. Not about Mother, he loved to still think about her, but about the Agents who killed her. He peered over at Krys who just lay there, on her back, in complete wonderment at the sight above. He reached over and grabbed her hand. She squeezed it back in response.

If only these moments could last forever...

***

Kaspar's head shot up as a military boot kicked at his side. He reached around for a gun that wasn't there. It was still dark outside, had to be about three or four in the morning. His eyes moved next to Krys, who was doing the same thing after her rude awakening. When his mind finally became alert, he saw that Harvey stood over top him with a no bullshit look on his face.

"Time to get up." Harvey said.

"Yeah, yeah." Kaspar replied. He moved his hands to his tired eyes and rubbed at them.

Kaspar couldn't remember when he had passed out. He was so worried about not losing the moment that his consciousness eluded him. There was no way to know how many hours of sleep he got, but it couldn't have been more than four, given the fogginess in his mind. He nodded his head when Harvey told the two there was coffee ready at his tent. Never being much of a coffee drinker, the thought of having some caffeine in his system to help with the tiredness nonetheless sounded good to Kaspar.

After he stretched, and worked out the ache in his back with a few pops, Kaspar headed over to Harvey's tent. Krys walked beside him, her hand firmly entrenched in his. They just had to keep surviving, Kaspar thought as they walked, until they found something that could fix what was wrong with her. He felt jitters like these before every mission. It wasn't the bullets that would fly, or the thrill of life or death, but the anticipation that there might be some type of information found which could lead them in that direction.

Inside Harvey's tent, Clarke sat on a fold out chair, he sipped at his coffee and played around with a PDA. When he heard the sound of his two old friends walk in, he smiled. Clarke placed the coffee down on the grass and stood. Krys gave him a big bear hug and then Kaspar shook his hand. The two friends each grabbed a fold out chair and sat them next to each other, in front of Clarke.

"You two ready for this mission today?" Clarke asked.

"I guess we'll see." Krys replied. She yawned then asked, "How far out are we?"

"Not too far. A couple of miles, really."

"That's good."

"How are feeling today?"

Krys shrugged her shoulders, "You know, same old, same old."

"Yeah, I hear you."

Kaspar sipped at his bitter coffee. "You think we'll find anything there?"

Clarke sighed, "We can only hope."

"Let's not even think about that," Krys said with a frown. "We've got a job to do. We need to see it through no matter what."

Clarke pointed an index finger in her direction. "She's right, you know?"

"Of course she is. She's always right."

Krys gave Kaspar a playful punch to the arm. "Glad to see you're finally learning."

They all engaged in a short laugh together. The laughter didn't last long, however, because they needed to prepare their minds for what was to come. The grins and laughs ended almost immediately.

"Whatcha looking at?" Krys asked as Clarke stuck his nose back into his PDA.

"Just trying to keep my eyes on that compound. I was telling Ryan earlier that I didn't like the layout of the place." Clarke replied.

"We'll be fine," Kaspar said. "Look, have you found anything out about what's going on in that compound, information wise."

"Negative. This one is no different from the other ones. The firewall is too strong for even my hacking skills to break into. You're going to have to get it from directly inside."

"Got it."

Their conversation was cut short when Harvey entered the tent. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked to him. One thing that was different about Harvey from Paxton, Kaspar came to know, was that Harvey was much more reserved and conservative with his leadership. Even though he didn't command respect like Paxton did, Harvey still expected his soldiers to give him that respect.

"Time to move out." Harvey said.

# .11

Harvey stopped the armored vehicle and pulled on the emergency brake. Once again, his son was seated next to him. Without a word, he turned and winked to Buck before he got out of the vehicle. Buck, annoyed by the gesture, quickly opened the door then hopped out on his side. The others began to file out, as well. Harvey gave them one last note of encouragement before he set them off. He grabbed hold of the camouflaged duffle bag which contained his sniper rifle, silencer, loads of extra mags, and beef jerky. He called out to Buck as they turned their backs to him. Buck stopped dead in his tracks and then looked back to his father.

"You be careful in there, son, you hear?" Harvey asked.

"I got this," Buck replied. "Don't worry about me. You just worry about those sentries out there."

"Good thinking. Remember, just..."

Buck's near perfect posture slouched. "Focus on what I'm doing...pretend like there's nothing there...I got it."

"Okay, and..."

"What now?"

Harvey wanted to tell his son that he loved him, but couldn't think of the right way to say it. It always struck him as bizarre that it was so hard to just say three simple words. He'd freeze up and then do what he always did: give Buck a salute. Buck seemed to be disappointed with the gesture as he simply turned his back and caught up with the others. Harvey cursed himself under his breath. There was no time to sit and dwell on it, though, as they were right in the middle of a mission.

The sniper rifle came equipped with a tripod which rested underneath the barrel of the gun. The pod had a rounded, ball like end to it, which allowed the shooter to easily maneuver the gun in all directions as needed. Once the silencer was screwed onto the barrel, Harvey rested it on the end of the pod. He reached over, clicked the safety off, and then popped off the black latch which covered the scope.

It seemed like ages since Harvey put himself on sniping duty. There was bound to be some rust which he hoped wouldn't be too hard to shake off. He took in a deep breath then tried to get a feel for the wind. The breeze was light, which would make for a good day for sniping. After he adjusted the scope, he lined up his first shot, right at the head of one of the sentries posted outside the compound.

He took in another deep breath and waited for the others to signal their approach.

***

Steinner led the way down the steep hill. They all moved at a deliberate pace so as not to lose their balance and alert the enemy. Kaspar held up the rear, per the usual. He never quite understood why he was always last. Maybe it was just part of his personality, never being one to volunteer anything. Buck was in front of him. As they kept moving down, he could hear the kid's breathing getting heavier. Kaspar didn't want to have to slug the kid in the jaw, or at least feel the temptation to, this time. He hoped that whatever the kid and his dad talked about when they were alone a few nights ago stuck.

The morning southern air was hot and humid. Underneath all that armor and gear, Kaspar could feel his body becoming drenched with sweat. Even in this early morning hour it felt like a million degrees. He was tempted to pull his mask off and wipe away the sweat on his brow, but knew that he couldn't. This would be a miserable, uncomfortable mission, and he would have to train his mind not to let it get to him.

When they reached the bottom, there was a trench with tall, green weeds that grew all around it. The team knelt down behind the cover of the trench to check their equipment. Kaspar made sure his silenced MP-5 had a full mag in it. He then set the rifle to three round burst, though he was sure that, just like every other mission it seemed, he would set it back to full automatic. Everyone gave the all clear to Steinner who radioed in to Harvey.

Let's get this shit going, Kaspar thought.

# .12

Harvey got the signal from Steinner. He took a couple of deep breaths and cleared his mind. All that remained in his thoughts were the targets down below. One thing about sniping that Harvey had learned was how impersonal it was. Taking targets out from long distances away was worlds different from shooting them at close range. A flash of the sun penetrated through the still dark morning sky. It was a signal that they needed to move fast.

The first target was lined up in the crosshairs. Without a blink, Harvey pulled the trigger. Seconds later, the large caliber bullet hit the Agent in the head, tearing through the helmet. There was a small spray of crimson that shot up through the air. The Agent beside him looked around in shock. He reached down to check his fallen comrade. Seconds later, he suffered the same fate. Harvey moved the rifle swiftly around the tripod. He found an Agent reaching down for his walkie. The trigger was pulled and the Agent fell to the ground. He then touched his neck.

"All clear."

***

Kaspar heard Harvey's words. He gripped his MP-5 and prepared to raid the building. Steinner led the way as he stood and motioned for the others to follow him. They moved forward with swiftness. To his right, out of the corner of his shaded eyes, Kaspar saw another Agent go down from a precise sniper shot. When they reached one of the back doors of the complex, Buck pulled out a small explosive and stuck it to the handle. He moved out quick and the small, near silent explosion blew off the door handle. A light kick to the door from Steinner opened it.

The team entered the back door and there were no Agents around. They split up in their two teams. Dexter and Krys went left with Buck; Kaspar and Steinner moved right. With his MP-5 shouldered, Kaspar followed close behind Steinner. It was still before dawn so the shift was smaller than it normally would be. It almost came as a shock to Kaspar that they had not been ambushed, yet.

They kept moving until they got to the end of the hallway where they took a left and entered through the last door on the right. Three Agents were caught by surprise when the two rebels entered the lab. The Agents tried to get their shit together and went for their weapons. A wave of cool, calculated bursts from the silenced weapons put them down before they could. Kaspar moved past the bodies and went for the computers. Steinner moved fast towards the machines which produced the new drug. With a firm grip on the flash drive from his vest, Kaspar inserted it into the USB drive. After that, he turned his attention to the door.

Steinner moved fast when the pressure was on. He was already halfway done when there was a communication over their ears. Harvey was talking to Buck, trying to calm the boy's nerves over the radio. It made Kaspar want to vomit. The kid needed to grow a pair and get the job done, just like everyone else.

The door opened. An Agent walked in and was just as shocked as the others. He grabbed for his pistol, but Kaspar blew him away with a three round burst to the chest, then another burst to the face. What was left of the head made a loud thud on the white tile floor. Steinner stood from the black boxes with the C4 assembled properly. He set the timer for ten minutes then joined Kaspar by the door. Kaspar walked over to the computer and snatched the flash drive from it. Together, the two rebels moved out from the lab.

Their pace was brisk as they tried to keep their noise down. From the conversations over the radio with father and son, it appeared that Buck was doing just fine. All of a sudden, there was silence and heavy breathing through the headphones. Then, the sound became so loud that it caused Kaspar's ears to ring. Gunfire. Steinner yelled for them to move fast. Kaspar didn't need the command, he was already well past his partner. He ran through the circular lobby that Clarke warned about. He didn't take the time to sweep from left to right with his gun. Krys was in trouble.

"We're getting ambushed here!" Dexter cried through the radio.

"How the hell did that happen?" Harvey demanded.

"I don't know! I..."

As they ran, Kaspar unscrewed the silencer from his MP-5. Not much use for it now and he would need all the accuracy he could get. They moved fast to the sounds of the loud bursts of automatic fire.

Just hold on, Krys, Kaspar thought.

Kaspar, in the lead, turned the corner of the hallway. As soon as his body was exposed, a rapid burst of automatic rounds were sent his way. He saw the Agent just before he pulled the trigger and immediately moved back. Several of the rounds hit the corner, causing pieces of the concrete wall to go flying in the air. Kaspar held up his balled fist for Steinner to stop. Steinner obeyed, and then turned his back.

"How's Buck doing?" Steinner demanded into his mouthpiece.

"Not good!" Dexter replied.

Kaspar moved his head slightly over the corner. When he heard the shots, he moved back as more concrete chunks blew past him. Beside him, Steinner was standing in a poised position to shot anything that approached. Kaspar then heard the footsteps of the Agent around the corner moving in closer.

Kaspar moved his MP-5 against the wall and pointed the barrel at the corner. Before the Agent got there, the loud sound of a high caliber bullet breaking through a glass window filled Kaspar's ear. A swift moment later, he heard a body fall to the ground. The Agent who had him pinned down was taken out by a highly accurate sniper's bullet.

"Whoever is stuck at the corner," Harvey said. "You're good to go."

"Thanks, boss." Kaspar replied.

"I'll cover your asses from here. Just keep moving to the others' position."

Another bullet tore through the glass window and struck another Agent in the head. Kaspar and Steinner moved into the hallway now with their weapons drawn. They continued until they were right next to the lab that the others were in. When they reached the opened door, Kaspar pressed his back against the left side of the doorway, Steinner on the right. Kaspar poked his head slowly through the doorway. The Agents weren't watching the door.

Instead, they surrounded the three rebels inside.

# .13

The three rebels were bunched up together behind one of the black boxes which mixed together the drug. The Agents began to converge in on them and continued to fire their automatics into the dark metal box. Krys moved her silenced MP-5 to the side of it, poked her head up slightly, and then fired the submachine gun at one of the Agents. The bullets tore through his armor.

Kaspar made a signal to Steinner. The two moved into the room. They began to fire away with their MP-5s. The Agents inside were caught off guard. They turned their attention to back of the room as they began to drop like flies. Dexter, from behind the box, yelled a command for them to move out and attack. They did so and, after a brief moment of gun fire, all the Agents fell to ground. Nobody from the team was hurt.

"What's your status, Buck?" Kaspar demanded.

"I'm...almost done."

"Get a move on it!"

Buck ran back to work on his C4. Steinner moved in and pushed the kid to the side. He ordered Buck to stand guard at the door. In the commotion, no one saw the Agent sneak in from that door on the far side of the lab. He put a single bullet through Steinner's head. Buck stood motionless as his comrade's lifeless body crashed to the floor. Blood began to leak from the bullet wound. Everyone, except for him, turned and fired a barrage of bullets into the Agent.

"Goddamnit, Buck!" Dexter yelled. "Finish that bomb!"

The kid was still shaken, both mentally and physically. His hands shook as he struggled to get the bomb ready. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he got it done and set the timer for seven minutes. He stood and gave the thumbs up.

"Harv, this is Dex," the rebel said as he touched his throat. "Steinner's down, but we got the bombs done. We're moving out, now."

"Shit!" Harvey cried. "Okay, but you've got some forces moving in from the outside. Shift change. We were supposed to out of here by now! I'll provide cover fire from up here, but you guys better book it."

"Roger."

The team moved down the hallway in near single file. As they moved to the lobby, they began to see Agents drop from Harvey's shots from up on the hill. Once outside, there was mass confusion for the Agents as they continued to fall. Kaspar saw an Agent move in from the left. He turned and fired into him. As the Agents continued to fall, the rebels made it to the hill. Dexter and Kaspar stayed behind at the bottom, in the trench, to give Krys and Buck cover fire. Once they got the signal, they moved up as well.

With everyone up top, Harvey left the sniper rifle behind and ran with the others to the vehicles. Several moments later, they heard the explosions come from inside the complex. They all scrambled their way to escape. Dexter hopped in the driver's seat of the first vehicle and quickly started the engine. In the second vehicle Buck, who had been sitting in the front seat, refused to do so this time. He instead moved to the back with Kaspar and Krys. He figured it was safer in the back, even with everyone pissed off at him, than up front with his father.

Harvey turned the key in the ignition and slammed on the gas. The bumpy ride began and grew more intense as the assault vehicle picked up speed. Harvey looked around with the great vision that the man upstairs had blessed him with. He saw no one in pursuit. Even still, he didn't allow his attention to waver.

In the back, nobody spoke. Kaspar moved over to Krys and began to rub at her shoulders. She had already taken her mask off and tears were running down her cheeks. While he continued to rub on her, he felt an instant fit of guilt deep within. He didn't really know Steinner that well, other than the man was a good soldier, but he was just thankful that if anyone was going to die, that it wasn't Krys. He couldn't, for obvious reasons, make that assertion out loud.

For his part, Buck didn't make a sound, didn't even take his mask off. He just sat there, shaken. He started to rub his hands together and then slammed his balled fist to the side of the vehicle. Kaspar moved in to try and console him, even though what he really wanted to do was knock the kid's lights out, but Buck pushed him off.

"It wasn't your fault," Kaspar said.

"Fuck you it wasn't." Buck replied.

"Listen, we got ambushed. We were caught off guard. It would be a hell of a thing for anyone to put that bomb together under that pressure."

"I'm fast...this is below me. I screwed it up again and now a man's dead. Don't try to make me feel better."

"Okay."

"Listen, everyone!" Harvey cried from the front. "We'll talk about this later, right now, we've got to pick ourselves back up. Buck...we'll talk later, too."

Buck folded his arms across his chest and slouched in his seated position. He wanted to jump out of the vehicle, right here, and just end it. He would never be free from his father's grasp. And, if he quit, then what would happen? Steinner was dead now and it was all his fault. He knew it, tried to accept it, and would eventually take ownership of it. He didn't need someone like Kaspar trying to tell him that it wasn't his fault. In the end, it didn't even matter, Steinner was gone and nothing could bring him back.

He just wondered when it would be his turn.

# .14

X sat at the table and studied his cards. The hands on the table right now had a variety of messages strewn across. Deciphered, they read something along the lines of: Shipment ready for pickup any heat on our end?

This is where the little game that they created got challenging, much like playing actual Texas Hold Em poker. He stared at his cards and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. He started to play a card, but held back. Instead, he folded.

"Don't have shit." he cried as he slammed his cards on the table.

"Pussy!" Sugar said with a laugh. He threw down a card. It changed the message on the table to: Shipment ready, no heat.

Reed, seated at the head once again, wasn't so sure about that assertion. To his surprise, no other members of the crew had been interviewed, yet. They were careful to search the warehouse where they met every day for any kind of surveillance, but didn't find anything obvious. They were all sure, though, that the room was bugged. Everyone was under the hope that their little card game was enough to disguise their communications.

The leader stuck his arms underneath the table and, quickly, pulled a card from under his sleeve. He pulled his arms back up and threw down the Ace of Hearts. Everyone's eyes grew wide when they saw it and the room went silent for a moment. That card was played when there was heat on them, and Reed believed that Sullivan guy was still hot on their trail.

"You fuckin' cheated, dog." Pepper cried out.

"What are you talking about?" Reed demanded.

"You stuck your damn hands under the table and pulled that card out!"

"Please."

"I think I saw it, too." X said.

For a moment, the look in X's eyes scared Reed to death. He had that look that said "I will fucking kill you" which must have harkened back to his days as a gangster. It actually caused Reed to shake for a moment before remembering that this was all just an act for the USR. You couldn't tell from X, though, as his face never changed even when a smirk started to grow on his leader's. He was an excellent actor to be sure.

"All right, all right, we'll play another one." Reed said.

"What about my damn chips?" X demanded.

Now, Reed was starting to get frustrated. X was taking it too far, but maybe that was a good thing. As soon as he saw that Ace, his demeanor completely changed. He was playing off his part really well, but it was starting to get under Reed's skin.

Part of that frustration came from another hard, grueling day at the factory, too. Everything seemed to be going well, from the USR's standpoint. All the guards who patrolled and watched every move of the factory workers didn't seem to be too aggressive with him and his crew. No more than usual, anyway. Reed, at this moment, just wanted to go home and see his wife. Her face haunted his thoughts all the time now. All these long hours, and then the long poker games afterward, were starting to take its toll on their marriage.

Reed loved his wife, Belle. That name for her was perfect, too, at least in his mind. She didn't know what her husband did during his nights out with the crew. She just learned to accept it. She also trusted him with all her heart. Belle knew that Reed loved her too much to do something stupid or to go behind her back in their marriage. She might not have known him all that well, though, as far as the stupidity was concerned. One could argue that what Reed was doing was stupid, no matter how careful he and his crew were, the USR would eventually catch on. The hope was always that they would be done with their mission before that day came. And, that they were long gone by then, off aiding the resistance in other ways.

"Take half of mine, you prick." Reed said. He pushed off half of his chips in X's direction, making sure that they toppled over with the force of the push to give the Latino more work to do.

"Hey," Pinkie said. "You okay, Boss? It ain't like you to cheat."

"I'm...fine." Reed mumbled. "Just missing my family."

"I'd hate to make that pretty bride of yours a widow if you keep fucking around." X said.

"What the hell's your problem?" Reed demanded, this time, he was not acting.

"Just sayin'. Give us another round."

The crew handed their cards in and Reed began to shuffle the deck. He didn't care to force cards to the top this time. His mind was failing him. He tossed the cards around the table. When everyone had five cards, Reed flipped the top three. The resulting message didn't make any sense. Hard times Agents.

"I think we better call it a night," X said. "Bossman is not on his game today."

"Everyone, I'm sorry, I'm just tired. We can play another round tomorrow after work, that okay?" Reed asked.

"Yeah, that's fine."

Before everyone stood, X slammed down two cards on the table. Reed looked at the cards, then back up at X. The former gangster had that same look on his face that threatened an ass whooping coming the leader's way. Beyond the message that X laid down, without talking to Reed about it, X's attitude started to cause some concern. Perhaps the old man was just having a bad day, but in the pit of his stomach, he felt it was something else. He seemed a bit more chippy than usual. It caused Reed to start thinking that maybe X was starting to challenge his authority. He looked back down at the two cards as everyone started to file out of the room.

Mission go.

***

"You hear about that plant last night?" Little asked as he played around with his fingernails.

"How could I not hear about it?" Sullivan replied, not in the mood for stupid questions.

The sun was already set and all that remained was a black sky. Nothing was going on inside the warehouse, which was not a good thing for Sullivan. He had convinced Fitzpatrick to hold off the dogs while he and Little completed their investigation. Somehow he reasoned with his superior that they could catch the factory workers off guard if they didn't feel the heat coming. However, Sullivan knew that this would not last forever, maybe not even past this week. He needed to come to Fitzpatrick with something, anything, to keep the USR Agents off their backs so he could get some answers. He knew what would happen if the dogs were sent in there...they all would die and that would leave Sullivan with nothing.

"Just trying to make conversation, boss. This stakeout shit's for the birds, ya know?"

"I agree," Sullivan replied. "But, we gotta do what needs done."

"When are we going to put an end to them...the resistance I mean."

"Once we compile enough evidence to find where their leaders are hiding, how else do you think?"

"I say, once we find them, we bomb the shit out of them. No need to put our brave men at risk."

"Well, that's an excellent strategy, Kevin. Remind me to give you a call if I ever make it in the military."

That comment got the brat he sat in the car with to shut up for a moment. Those comments from his partner did engage his mind with thoughts regarding the resistance, however. The more and more he thought about it, the more he thought that, for whatever reason, the USR didn't want to totally destroy the resistance. He remembered back when he gave a damn about his job. Whenever he really felt like he had something, the powers that be would call him back, then threaten his family should he try anything on his own. It was only after he was on suspension, when he took the law in his own hands, that he came face to face with one of their top weapons dealers. And, it only took him a few hours.

It made sense why the USR would let the resistance run loose. It could justify them all sorts of tactics to bring them down, but to actually not bring them down, but create a nation full of fear, to keep their citizens in check. A few months ago, he wouldn't have believed it. He was so far up the USR's ass that his line of thinking was different. Maybe he was wrong now, too, but that was how he felt.

The chatter on the inside grew louder. Someone accused another card player of cheating. Both Agents leaned forward with great interest. Finally, something was happening. The bickering went on and on until they all decided to leave the game for the night and sleep on it. Sullivan knew that they were using some form of coded messages on the inside most likely to do with the playing cards. The fact that they were starting to get angry with each other told him that they were about to do something. What that something could be was lost on him. They were doing a damn good job of hiding their code. In his previous professional life, he would have immediately ordered one of them captured so they could torture the poor son of a bitch and break the code. Now, he had to be more rational.

"Let's go get 'em." Little said as he grabbed his pistol and cocked the chamber back.

"Put that gun away, Agent." Sullivan ordered.

"Come on, what are you thinking, let's take them. You know something just went down in there."

"Take them on what, cheating at cards?"

"Please, boss. You think they are really playing cards in there? Something's about to go down, I know it."

Sullivan breathed in and fought back his anger. "What is taking them in going to do? We're outnumbered and, if they are resistance, then they will gun us down. Chill the hell out."

"Let's call for backup, then."

"They won't get here in time. Just shut the hell up and calm down." Sullivan ordered.

Little pointed at Sullivan with his index finger, "The Captain will hear about this."

"The Captain isn't going to hear shit." Sullivan shot back.

"You wanna..."

Sullivan pulled out his Glock 17 and aimed it at the now scared face of his partner. It was time to show this brat that he meant business. He was so close to finding some kind of answers and he wasn't going to let anyone, let alone some punk kid straight out of the Academy, screw this up.

"Now, you aren't going to say anything, are you?" Sullivan demanded.

"You wouldn't dare shoot an Agent." Little replied.

"What do you mean, kid? I've got so much seniority over you that I could blow your head off right now and claim you were sending in a coded message to them. Now, put your gun away, we are leaving."

"Yes...sir." Little replied.

"And, keep your damn trap shut."

The two Agents put away their guns, Sullivan after he made sure that Little had his fully strapped in to his belt holster. After that, Sullivan breathed in deep and calmed his nerves. Half of what he just told the kid was bullshit, but the kid would have no way of knowing. The trust factor with the senior detective within the department had gone down over the past few months. If he did shoot the kid, unlike back then, there would be a thorough investigation upon which they may or may not find him guilty. He wasn't going to shoot the kid, anyway. But, Little didn't know Sullivan well enough to know that.

The only thing that mattered now, though, was that he was still without answers.

# .15

The cool night air crept its way into the medium size tent. Harvey sat on a folding chair at one end, his shaken son sat at the far end. Once the team escaped the compound they set up camp about one hundred fifty miles to the west. While they set up the camp, everyone was quiet. There was no conversation at all. Harvey felt that it wouldn't be the appropriate time to go over what happened on the battlefield, they could do that later. Steinner was a well-respected and well-liked member of the unit. Buck, he stayed the quietest during the set up time. All that could be heard from him were the occasional sniffles as he fought back tears.

Harvey knew that feeling all too well. During his time in the Marine Corps he lost a countless number of men that he respected and liked. Some died that he didn't really care for, but everyone who fought with him and under him were his brothers. Buck didn't even look up from his seated position. His head was straight down at the grass.

"Son," Harvey began, "I know how you must feel."

"Do you?" Buck demanded.

"Don't you forget that I'm a soldier, always have been, always will be. Death is a part of war and something that never gets easier."

"Yeah, well, it was my fault, okay? You don't have to lecture me on that."

"I didn't come here to lecture you. I didn't come here to tell you it wasn't your fault, either. Those are your battles and yours alone."

"So, I just deal with it, that's it?" Buck demanded.

Harvey began to feel a bit guilty for not being able to console Buck. It wasn't in his nature to do so. The battlefield had hardened him to the point that he lost almost all emotional connections to the world. He still loved his son, loved him with all his heart, but he didn't know how to be a father.

What he really wanted to do was pull his son close and convince him that it wasn't his fault, but the way he was trained and the way he lived his life didn't make that come naturally. He picked up his folding chair and moved in closer. Buck's head moved up slightly before going back to the ground. Harvey reached over and started to rub at his son's back.

"Listen to me," Harvey said. "Steinner, he was a good soldier, no doubt about that. We will all miss him. But, this isn't the first time we've had someone die on us."

"It's my fault, though. All the others, they died, and it wasn't anyone's fault." Buck replied.

"You can't go around blaming yourself, though. You guys got ambushed. You had to worry about those Agents pouring into the room so no wonder it took you longer to..."

"It wasn't that I was slow," Buck interrupted.

"What exactly happened in there?"

"We heard the Agents moving around so we hid behind those black boxes. My heart was beating so fast and my breathing was fast, too. I thought I was going to pass out. Dexter kept squeezing my arm, trying to get me calmed down, you know?"

"And?"

"And, well, they heard me breathing. So they moved over and that's about all I remember until the others showed up. The guns started going off and I tried to get that bomb put together in time. I'm sorry, father."

Buck started to cry again. Harvey pulled his son close to him and let him cry. He moved his fingers around his short, black hair and tried to think of the right words to say. While he thought about that, he grew angry that he had been lied to by Dexter. Dexter's story was completely different. Perhaps he was trying to save the kid from a tongue lashing, but that was unacceptable. He would make sure to have a good, long talk with him later. Right now, he had to focus on his boy.

"Did I ever tell you about Scott?" Harvey asked.

"No..." Buck replied.

Harvey almost couldn't believe that he had never told his son this story. It was probably the most vivid memory in his mind, something that he could never forget, yet had never told Buck about it. This caused him to question his fathering skills even further. How could he have not told this story?

"Well, Scott was my best friend. We served together for several years. We got into a fight in Korea and, after I messed up when we were scouting the area, he was ripped to shreds. He was still alive when the battle was over. He kept calling for his mother." Harvey had to pause for a moment before he continued. "I will never forget the look on his face. His eyes were full of disbelief that his life was about to end. I don't think he even talked to me at all, during those final moments, and I was his best friend. He just kept calling and calling..."

Harvey had to stop. He rubbed at his son's head. The assumption in his own mind was that Buck would understand the moral of the story. During this, Harvey's darkest hour, he blamed himself and still blamed himself to this day. However, he kept fighting because he knew what was worth fighting for. He knew that he was on the right side.

"I guess..."Harvey continued. "What I'm trying to say is, you can't let one mistake ruin you."

"I don't think it's this mistake that'll ruin me. I'm not like you. I'm not a soldier."

"Buck, don't give up on yourself."

"What do you think I should do, then?"

"Keep fighting," Harvey replied. "If you ever have a family in the future, and you witness them living in tyranny, you will regret not fighting for them. I have no illusions. We are not fighting in a war that we can realistically win. But, you still have to fight."

Buck thought about what he had just been told. As he did, his father looked over him and remained silent. He wanted his son to think long and hard about what he had said. Deep down, Harvey knew that he didn't want to fight. It would just be a shame if he quit over the loss of a friend. The reason why Steinner died might not ever be known. Harvey wasn't there to witness it and was being fed two stories: one from a hardened rebel and the other from a boy who was scared of the fight and took on too much of the blame.

The father and son's quiet moment was interrupted by Dexter popping his head in the tent. The two looked up and Harvey could feel the anxiety in Dexter from his facial expressions. The rebel leader put on a slight grin and moved his right hand forward, letting his solider know that it was okay to move in.

"Clarke wants to see you, boss." Dexter said.

"Is it urgent?" Harvey replied.

"He seems to think so."

"I'll be there in a minute."

# .16

Kaspar began to circle around Clarke's desk as the computer nerd worked on gathering the Intel from the flash drive. Clarke adjusted his glasses then told the man behind him to stop. He almost felt like he was talking to his old friend, Paxton, when he told Kaspar to calm down and let him work. It was hard enough to concentrate on gathering all the information from the drive without someone in the room making him nervous.

Of course, Kaspar couldn't help it. He was worried about Krys who seemed to be getting worse and worse every day. She was asleep in their tent, too exhausted from the physical and mental stress of the last mission. Not to mention the loss of another friend, something that she said was getting more and more of an ugly habit of theirs. She just wanted the resistance to make enough progress to where she could just rest. They both knew, however, that there was a lot of work to be done.

"Anything, yet?" Kaspar demanded. He walked up behind Clarke and looked over his shoulder.

"No, now stop looking over my shoulder." Clarke replied. "Just...try to relax or something."

"You know that's impossible for me, right now."

"Well, you circling around me and looking over my shoulder is only going to annoy me and make the wait longer."

"Okay, just try to hurry up."

Kaspar patted the old hacker on the back then found Clarke's cot in the corner. He laid his back on it then rested his hand on his forehead. The wait was excruciating. Most likely there would be nothing to find, but there was still hope. Krys needed advanced medical attention at this point. Those adrenaline shots and whatever else they were pumping into her system were losing their affects. She looked horrible after the mission, barely able to hold her head up or keep her eyes open. Kaspar knew that if nothing was found now that the love of his life would be doomed to an early death.

Clarke continued to pound away at the keys. With the tent now a dead silence, the constant clicking of the keyboard started to crawl under Kaspar's skin. Kaspar tried to get his mind off of it, but there was little else to occupy it with. Other than Steinner's death, Krys's trip to that same destination, and fighting against the USR, there was nothing more to his life. He started to think about Mother for a moment when Clarke rose up from his chair. Kaspar began to stand up when Clarke suddenly ran out of the tent.

"Get Sam, now!" Clarke's voice was heard saying.

Kaspar walked up to the screen and glued his eyes to it. A lot of what was on there was gibberish, technical mumbo jumbo that probably only Clarke could decipher. Clarke ran back into the tent and, without saying anything to Kaspar, sat back down and started to click away at the screen. The fact that he had someone over his shoulder the entire time didn't seem to faze him any longer. There was something of great interest on there and that could only mean one thing.

Could it be?

***

After what seemed like ages, Harvey finally made his way into the tent. Clarke was still silent and Kaspar was too afraid of breaking the man's concentration that he remained silent as well. They both looked up at their leader when he entered the tent. Harvey seemed disturbed, which was obvious, as a fellow soldier had just gone down. But, it seemed to be more than that. Kaspar didn't care to ask, he just wanted to know what the hell Clarke had found.

"What is it, Robert?" Harvey asked, his tired voice shaken.

"I think we might have found it!" Clarke cried with enthusiasm all over his voice.

Harvey started to say something, but Kaspar cut him off. "Found what? The cure?"

"Maybe so." Clarke replied.

Harvey's eyes lit up in unison with Kaspar's. The leader moved the young rebel to the side by invading the space behind Clarke. The former prize fighter didn't care about the apparent rude gesture, he was just so full of excitement. He stopped himself from running out of the tent and waking Krys to let her know. It was far better, at this point, to verify that this was the case and not just some misread technical jargon.

"You see," Clarke said, without looking up from the screen. "There is it, right there."

Harvey gestured for Clarke to get up. Clarke obeyed and smiled wide at Kaspar who was still in shock at the discovery. This had to be it. Why else would Clarke be so giddy at the moment? Harvey seemed impressed, too. When he stood, he turned to face them, and he smiled, too.

"This is it." Harvey said.

"The cure?" Kaspar asked. He moved his body forward with interest.

"Yes, this report is saying so, anyway. It's out in the mountains. Might take a couple of days to drive there, but this is it."

"You're sure? It's not some misread or something?" Kaspar demanded.

"According to this report, this is the only place where the cure is being manufactured."

"Why would they only have one spot where they make it?" Kaspar wondered.

"It's easy," Clarke cut in. "They want to keep the supply as low as possible. If they made it everywhere, then guys like us could swoop in and take it. Not to mention, this is perfectly in line with the way the USR thinks."

"Regardless," Harvey said, "we'll have to play this one close to the vest. We've only got one shot at this. That cure could turn the tides of this war in our favor if we play it right."

"And, Krys, too. Don't forget about Krys."

Harvey folded his arms. "We're all worried about Krys, but this is a powerful tool to have if we can get it."

"Krys is a human being," Kaspar shot back.

"Again, I understand your concern for her. God knows I'm worried about her, too. But, this is something bigger than any of us."

Something inside of Kaspar snapped. It was that same feeling when Paxton accused him of being USR, the same feeling when those bikers at the bar taunted him, when Razor said something about his father. That button, it hadn't been touched in a long time. And, here he found himself, red in the face and having Clarke hold him back. He didn't want to slug Harvey or anything. He just wanted to get up close and personal to let his superior know that what was said went unappreciated.

"Calm down, Ryan." Clarke said from behind.

"Let him go, Robert." Harvey shot back. "If he's got something to prove let him."

Clarke let go. Kaspar got right in Harvey's face. The feeling of hot breath brushed on his face. With his fists clinched, he breathed in heavy breaths, even tried some count to ten BS that Krys taught him. In the end, he simply walked past Harvey and nobody said anything. Kaspar threw the opening of the tent aside as he paced to his own.

It doesn't matter what he says, Kaspar thought. In the end, justice would come for Krys, and then they could use that cure as a political tool all they wanted. As long as Krys got the first dose, that was all that mattered to him.

He held back his enthusiasm as he prepared to tell Krys the good news.

# .17

He found Krys asleep on her cot when he entered. Kaspar tried to be quiet as he moved in and started to take off his clothes. As excited as he was about the news, he knew that she needed her rest. Alas, he was too loud, maybe even subconsciously on purpose. She started to move her head around and then moved her hair away from her eyes. She smiled as she saw Kaspar move in towards the cot.

"Hey," she said in a hoarse voice.

"Hey, yourself." Kaspar replied. He couldn't contain the grin on his own face.

"What's that look for?" Krys wondered with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing, it can wait until morning."

"Okay, keep your secrets." Krys replied.

They both laughed for a moment until Krys started to cough violently. She leaned her head over the side of the cot and reached for her bucket. When it was in line with her mouth, she started to vomit. The whole scene beside him caused a lump in Kaspar's throat. He couldn't stand to see her like this any longer.

He started to say it, but then held back. Absolute certainty was what would be needed right now. There would be no point in saying it, and then by some technical misread or typo, the information would be inaccurate. She already would get upset with him if he even mentioned the possibility of there being a cure for her. It would just be all kinds of wrong to tell her he knew for a fact and then that fact be wrong. Instead, he kissed the back of her head and held her close.

With his arms wrapped around her, he somehow succumbed to sleep.

***

Harvey waited impatiently for Clarke to patch him through to another resistance leader on the laptop. The computer wiz kept telling him that it would only be a few more moments, which was a few too many moments ago already. As he paced back and forth behind Clarke, the man behind the computer didn't dare tell him to stop. It was one thing to say it to Kaspar, another entirely to tell it to a superior. He simply swallowed hard and got over it.

"You're patched through." Clarke said as he stood from his chair.

"About time," Harvey replied.

Harvey took Clarke's place on the chair. On the screen in front of him was a live, real time image of Roy Sanders, a former Delta Force operator who was also suckered into the USR's scheme of setting up rebel squads around the country. His weathered, aged face looked almost tired all the time. On the left side of his head, his hair was singed off almost all the way to the back of his skull. The skin that remained was a crusted red mess that caused Harvey to cringe every time he saw it. The scar was received, from the way Sanders told it, after he got too close to a flame thrower wielding North Korean during the war.

Sanders became close with Harvey once the scheme's lid was blown off by Robert Clarke and John Paxton's old crew. Unlike Harvey, Sanders had never worked with Paxton in the past, as they were in different branches of the military. However, they all saw Paxton's execution on television, and they all vowed that they would continue on with the fight. Their resolve, especially Sanders's, only grew stronger when Clarke's encrypted messages were deciphered.

"Hey, Sam, what the hell you gettin' me up from my wet dreams for?" Sanders demanded.

"I've got some information you might find compelling, you old son of a bitch." Harvey replied, not able to contain the smirk on his face.

"Well, let's hear it then, Lacey was starting to do her thing."

"You know that thing we've been looking for?"

Sanders looked confused. "What thing? Freedom, liberty, a fucking win in this damned war?"

Harvey started to look from left to right to make sure nobody else besides Clarke happened to be in the tent. Other than Kaspar, who he hoped would keep his own damn mouth shut, he didn't want anyone else to know quite yet. It was obviously a delicate situation that needed verification. Nonetheless, they would need some help once they got there, and though he had never met the man, Sanders was someone he knew he could trust.

"That thing that cures the other thing..."

"You found something?" Sanders's demeanor changed completely at the sound of that. His body perked up and he leaned forward almost to the point of head butting his webcam.

"Maybe," Harvey replied. "Obviously, we need keep this between us for the moment, until we can verify all the facts. I've got Clarke forwarding over a report to you as we speak."

"Okay, let me take a look at it."

Harvey watched as Sanders looked over to a monitor to the side. The old soldier's eyes lit up and for a moment the old, tired scowl disappeared. He turned back over to face Harvey through the monitor.

"You think this is for real?" Sanders demanded.

"As real as it gets." Harvey replied.

"How did you acquire this?"

"Ripped it straight from a USR computer, at the complex we just bombed to hell."

"Yeah, I heard about that, damn good job out there. But..."

Harvey leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "But, what?"

"I don't know. Could be a trap."

"Maybe so, but if this accurate, this could be the key to all of our efforts. Everything we've done since learning of that damn terrible experiment. We can cure the women, and not just the wealthy, good to do ones the USR would use that thing for. We also wouldn't hold it back and use it for a propaganda tool."

"Let's say we do get that cure, then what? How would we distribute it?" Sanders wondered.

Harvey unfolded his arms and rested them on his head, holding it up from the desk. There would be no easy way for them to get it out there. Hell, he was even questioning his whole talk about the USR's propaganda. It would be just as easy for the resistance to use it for their own ends the same way that the USR would.

But, he knew that there were good men in the resistance, and he couldn't say the same for the USR. They would do positive things if they could get their hands on it. If they didn't try, they would be in the same boat they were in now, with nothing. They'd still be losing in a war effort that had little chance of success to begin with. This guerilla warfare they were engaged in would eventually meet its end once the mighty USR tightened its grip on them. They needed something. An ace in the hole...a trick up their sleeve...anything.

"I don't know, yet. But, we've got smart people working for us. We can sort all that out later." Harvey replied.

"You've also got to worry about certain soldiers who will get antsy with that in our possession. We would have to play it exactly right."

"We will."

"Talk is cheap, Sam, you know that."

"We've got to try, though. Even if everything went to hell once we got it."

"I agree. What do you need from me?" Sanders asked.

"I'm going to need you and your men."

"How did I know you were going to ask that?"

"This is a big one. We're going to need all the help we can get." Harvey said.

"You want me to get anyone else involved?" Sanders asked.

Harvey pondered the question for a moment. "Better not. We need to be as hush hush about this as possible. We just lost a man and I could use some help, at the very least."

"Who'd you lose?"

"Steinner."

"I'm sorry to hear about that. How's your team holding up?"

Harvey sighed. "They're shaken, and morale's kind of low, I'm hoping that we can verify this cure and that'll boost that. We're going to give Steinner a proper memorial tomorrow then head for the compound."

"I see. Well, I'll get my men ready and we'll move out. We'll meet you about halfway to discuss strategy and what not."

"It'll be a pleasure to finally meet you."

Sanders smiled. "The pleasure will be all mine."

# .18

Sullivan made his way into the precinct's equipment room, which was right next to the weapons cache. He looked around at the different devices available to him as an Agent. The only problem being that he needed to check them all in and out whenever one was in use. And, he would have to come up with a valid reason for having what he came for. There wasn't one that immediately came to mind, so he would have to use deception. With a swift gesture that was sure to be missed by those watching the cameras, he grabbed a tiny, black device that was circular in shape. As smooth as the best pick pockets and jewel thieves, he slid it into his pants pocket.

After he got what he came for, he moved into the weapons room. Inside, there were rows of weapons from advanced assault rifles to the more conventional side arms and submachine guns. With a firm grip on the handle, he grabbed a replacement Glock 17 then exited the weapons cache.

Next, he would have to check the gun out at the front desk. He walked up and saw an attractive young brunette in her late twenties. She was messing around with her hair as she chomped loudly on her chewing gum. When Sullivan walked up to her counter, the receptionist quickly stopped. She swallowed her chewing gum, and then wheeled her chair to the counter, putting on a fake smile when they made eye contact. Sullivan could tell the poor woman hated her job. He couldn't blame her.

"You trading in your side arm today?" she asked. Sullivan noticed her name tag.

"Yes, I am, Susan." Sullivan replied. He handed over his current Glock after unbuckling it from his belt holster.

"What's wrong with this one?"

Nothing, Sullivan thought, but that would be the truth. The truth was something that he would have to evade for the time being. Hell, he felt like he had never embraced any kind of truth in his entire adult life.

"Keeps jamming on me."

Susan took the gun and gave it a quick inspection. She typed in the serial number and waited for Sullivan's mug shot to show up on the computer screen. When it did, she got up from her chair and walked over to a locker in the far end of the office. She pulled out a key and, once the locker door was open, she placed the gun inside, along with all the other malfunctioning ones. After she locked it back up, she returned to her seated position. Sullivan handed her the new gun and, again, she typed in the serial number and attached the gun to his file. When all was done, she handed the gun back to him.

"You have a nice day, detective." Susan said.

"You, too." Sullivan replied.

He felt an instant attraction to the young woman. She had a mature, yet youthful look to her. Sullivan found himself staring into her round, light blue eyes. He then noticed the light from above glistening off of her pink lip gloss. Her supple lips tempted the Agent into climbing over the counter in order to press his lips against hers. There was just something about this receptionist that caused a fire to burn in his chest.

It had been so long since he felt anything for a member of the opposite sex. The fact that Julie already hated him when she died made the whole grieving process a lot easier. Who knew? Maybe a night on the town with a pretty girl would be good for him.

Sullivan leaned over the counter and raised an eyebrow. He tried that look that got Julie's attention all those years ago.

"What time's your shift over?" he wondered.

"Not interested." Susan replied.

Sullivan's heart sank. He had never really experienced an instant rejection from a woman. There was no quick, witty response that came to his mind. It seemed like it would be just another night of apologizing to his son and getting bitched at by his former sister in law.

Maybe next time...

***

Next up on Sullivan's agenda was a meeting with Fitzpatrick. The Captain would want a detailed report of what Sullivan and Little discovered in their investigation so far. The Agent knew that he didn't have much to go on. His mission now was to just try and buy some time. Time, Sullivan knew, was not something that was easy to obtain when working for the USR. They wanted results that they could take to the propaganda machines.

It took a couple of knocks before he heard Fitzpatrick's voice inviting him in. Once it did, he opened the door, and then waited for permission to have a seat in front of his superior's desk. Fitzpatrick leaned back in his expensive chair and rubbed at the beaded sweat on his temple. He reached down for the "medicine" in the bottom drawer of his desk. After taking a swig of the smuggled whiskey, letting the burning sensation do its work down his throat, he put the bottle away then faced his one-time top Agent.

"You better have some good news." the Captain said.

"I'm afraid that there's not much to tell." Sullivan replied.

"And, may I ask, why?"

"These boys are cunning. They have set up a very good way of communicating secretly with one another."

"Which is?"

"Poker. They are passing along messages to each other through poker. Most likely the cards have different meanings. It could even be how they talk shit to each other, I'm not entirely sure..."

Fitzpatrick cut him off by holding his hand up. "You know what I was just doing?"

"No, sir, I don't."

"Let me enlighten you, then. I was just on the phone with the Consul, and he was none too pleased with our current lack of progress, as he called it. You saw the news, right?"

"Yeah, another compound got hit, right?"

Fitzpatrick nodded his head. "That's right. And, now, you come in and tell me that you've got basically nothing?"

The market for time just went down the tubes. Sullivan knew he would have to really make his case, now. He remained quiet for a moment as he tried to think of how he could buy just another couple of nights. He knew, however, he may have just tonight to try and get something definitive. He would not, but he had to make it seem that way to his boss. He breathed in deep before responding.

"I know that we've got very little so far," Sullivan said. "But, you know as much as I do that these things can take time."

"Time is a luxury we don't have."

"I understand that. I mean, shit, you act like I'm a rookie who doesn't know these things."

Fitzpatrick pointed his index finger. "Ever since your wife died, you've been acting like one. You're head isn't in the game any longer. The big boys upstairs seem to think that I need to replace you."

"Listen to me," Sullivan said, trying to muster up any kind of emotion about Julie's death. "Losing Julie was hard on me and my kid. I've tried not to let it affect my performance, but it just happened not too long ago."

"Well, not to be harsh, but you need to get over it if you want to stay in your current position."

This was good, Sullivan thought to himself. The harsh tone of Fitzpatrick didn't faze him in the least. And, he had put up a good enough act to where, apparently, the higher ups didn't realize what his true motivations for staying in the department were. Still, he had to keep the act going.

"Don't tell me just to get over it," Sullivan replied. "I'm trying to be as good of an Agent as I can. My son is living with Julie's sister. I don't even see the kid but maybe a few minutes each night. I'm putting my time in. It's just going to be a while before I fully get over it. How dare you question my work ethic?"

"Nobody's questioning your work ethic. We all know that you're a good Agent, but we've got this resistance running rampant all across the country..."

"But, not in this city, right? Ever since we bagged that one leftover on TV, there's been little in the way of terrorist attacks here."

"You going to take credit for that? Really?"

"No, I'm not taking credit for the USR's work. What I'm saying is that if my job performance, in terms of how many resistance members I've arrested, is in question, you can just look to that."

Fitzpatrick sighed. "That execution you brought up was a huge blow to them. We know they're still around. Watch the damn news. We just have to find them. Maybe finding out where they are hiding is not your expertise."

Sullivan shook his head and let out a chuckle. The Captain didn't see the humor in the situation and waved around his hand in front of him.

"This is a new kind of war, now," Sullivan finally said. "It's going to take some time to adjust to it."

"There you go with time again!" Fitzpatrick cried. "I wish I could be like you and just tell the Consul we need time. He doesn't give a shit how the battle front has changed! He wants results!"

Sullivan leaned forward and put his hand up. "I understand that, but if the Consul wants good results, and not results just to get them, he's going to want us to do our jobs and investigate. Making sure we've got some bonafide resistance members in our grasp, not just some punks who are mad at the way things are."

"I'm pulling the plug on your operation."

"What?" Sullivan demanded in shock.

"You heard what I said. I'm sending men into that little warehouse tonight to send those boys to hell. Hopefully, we can bring one in to spill his guts."

"That's a mistake," Sullivan said as he rose from his chair. "We don't know anything, yet. We don't know who they are, what they are doing, anything."

"And, this helps your case, how?"

Sullivan placed his hands on his hips. "Just give me a few more days. If I don't have anything worthy of the Consul, then send the boys in and fuck this whole thing up all you want. Just a few days, that's all I ask."

Fitzpatrick thought about it a moment. "You've got three days. In three days, I'm sending in the assault teams and firing you, you understand me?"

"You've made yourself perfectly clear."

# .19

The light mist outside sprinkled its way down and tapped at the top of the fatigue colored tent. Harvey and his squad had braved the mist as they held their brief memorial service for Steinner. The rebel leader felt somewhat bad about how short the proceeding ended up being. In a perfect world, they could hold an entire day's worth of ceremonies for their fallen comrades. This wasn't a perfect world, though, especially with a fascist regime like the USR running things. That made the resolve to pick themselves up and get moving to the next task that much stronger. He knew Steinner would say the same thing.

They were all huddled together in the main tent. The screen behind Harvey already had the American flag emblem emblazed in the background. He allowed his team to talk amongst themselves for a while. Harvey kept trying to hide it, but his interest in the room right now was in Kaspar and Krys. He tried to read them to see if Kaspar spilled the beans about the cure possibly being found. There was nothing revealed in either of their facial expressions. Perhaps he had underestimated his young soldier after all.

Kaspar just kept rubbing on Krys's shoulders. The poor woman looked out of it again. Inside his head, Harvey wanted to cure her. But, just like with the debate he had with Kaspar the night before, he knew that it wasn't all about her. Harvey also knew that Krys understood that.

The time for chit chat was now over. Harvey cleared his throat to get his unit's attention. They all stopped talking at once and turned their attention to their leader. Harvey looked around the room for a moment then with a nod of his head, the American flag was erased from the screen, replaced by a real time, satellite image of a USR compound in the mountains. He allowed the team to get a good look at the image before proceeding.

"This is our next target," Harvey announced. He noticed in the back Kaspar stopped rubbing on Krys and leaned forward with great interest. "It's a compound somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. We are still gathering data on it as we speak."

"What's up there?" Dexter, who was seated all by himself to the left, asked.

"What I'm about to tell you should be treated with the upmost," Harvey paused and looked at Kaspar, "secrecy."

Kaspar said nothing in return. He didn't say anything to Krys last night about it, not wanting to upset her, but he hadn't revealed that to Harvey, yet. He simply remained in his forward posture and waited for Harvey to continue.

"There might be something of extreme value in this compound." Harvey continued.

"Which is?" Buck, seated alone front and center, wondered.

"The cure for what's been ailing the female population."

There was a collective gasp in the tent. Krys placed her hands over her mouth and couldn't breathe for a moment. She tried to grasp what the unit was just told. The look of shock on her face surprised Kaspar. In his mind, he thought that she would be more excited than this. If the information they gathered was accurate, and they got there in time, she would be cured. The other part of her mission could be completed, too. She could spread the word on the drug and, at the same time, help those in need. Kaspar reasoned that maybe it was just her way of dealing with the revelation.

Krys remained speechless, which came as a shock to Harvey, too. He continued on with the mission brief, waiting for the moment when Krys would interrupt him with questions. But, as he continued, they never came. He was about to get to where they would be meeting up with Sanders's boys when the interruption finally came.

"Are we sure that this is for real?" Krys asked with hesitation in her voice.

"We can never be one hundred percent sure," Harvey declared. "However, we did rip the Intel straight from that USR computer, so we are pretty sure this is legit."

"There was no evidence of tampering or anything?"

"No."

"So, this is for real..." Krys said as her voice began to trail off.

"As far as we know, yes." Harvey nodded at Krys with a half-smile. "Now, moving on, we will be meeting up with another team for this Op. They will provide us with some extra guns and support."

With a nod, Harvey gave Clarke the signal to change the slide. After a few moments, Roy Sanders's mug shot appeared on the screen. The look of that red scar on Sanders's forehead caused Kaspar to wince. Just the thought of what caused such a nasty mark on another human being made his own forehead hurt a little bit. Harvey continued the brief with letting the team know who Sanders was and how his team was going to help them.

For some reason, the look on the guy caused mistrust within Kaspar. He knew that there was really no reason for the distrust. It was more of a gut feeling. With the seriousness of this upcoming mission, getting the cure for Krys, he wanted to make sure that nothing would get messed up. He raised his hand and Harvey pointed at him.

"Have you met this Sanders guy?" Kaspar asked.

"No, never in person, but we've been in contact for several months."

"How do you know we can trust him, then?"

Harvey looked to ground then back up. "I've been doing this stuff for a lot longer than you. I know when I can trust a man or not. He bleeds red, white, and blue, I can tell you that."

"How many men does he have?"

"Including Roy, we'll have eight more guns for this mission."

That would have to be good enough. Kaspar trusted Harvey, so if Harvey said Sanders was good, then he would just assume that. There was another issue lingering in the back of his head. He raised his hand again. This time, the rebel leader seemed annoyed by yet another question from Kaspar.

"Yes, Ryan?"

"Did you or Clarke find out anything else about this cure? Like, does it describe how long it takes for the cure to take effect?"

Harvey shook his head. "I was just about to get there. According to the documents we uncovered, the cure takes about 24-48 hours to completely wipe out the toxins from the body. The high potency of the drugs will induce a coma during that time frame as they rid the body of them. There is an eighty percent chance of survival."

"Eighty percent?" Krys asked. "That's it?"

"It's better than zero."

Dexter cleared his throat. "What are we going to do with this cure if we get it?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead, yet. Obviously, it will be something very valuable for us to have. But, we'll have to very careful once we get it. There aren't many people we can trust with it."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, this will be probably the most potent political weapon out there right now. If in the wrong hands, someone might try to sell it back to the USR for credits, or even worse, give it back to them freely." Harvey replied.

"And, you're sure we can trust this Sanders guy, right?" Kaspar demanded once more.

"Yes, I'm sure. But, I haven't met any of his men, yet. I trust each and every one of you here in this room, with my life. I'm just saying that extra precaution will be needed once we get in and get the cure out of there."

Krys looked over at Kaspar and, finally, a smile crept on her face. Kaspar smiled back, wanting nothing more than to plant a big kiss on her, but held back not wanting to break the professionalism of the briefing. That smile, he hadn't seen it in its genuine form in a long time. He just wished that they could somehow get over there in a flash, get the cure, and then everything would be like it once was with her. They could run together, continue to fight the USR, and do the other things that...

"We move out in two hours," Harvey's booming voice interrupted Kaspar's thoughts. "Let's get everything packed up on the double. Move out!"

Kaspar began to help Krys out of her seat when, suddenly, she couldn't breathe any longer. Her chest convulsed violently as she tried to draw a breath. She then went to her knees on the grass and gasped for air.

The gasps only lasted a few seconds before she blacked out completely.

# .20

Kaspar kept his gaze on Krys as she still lay unconscious on the small cot. His fingers were gripped on her hand, which lay limp along with her arm over the side of the bed. Her hands felt cold and Kaspar thought that this might be the end for her. On the other side, Dexter worked on the IV, administering the same shit they'd been pumping into her system for the past several months.

As he rubbed at her cold hand, he could feel the skin start to peel away from it. When he looked down, he saw yet another lesion developing on it. He kept telling her in his mind to wake up. They would get the cure for her and she would be all fine again. She just needed to hold on, to not give up, to just...

A moan came from her lips as she started to move her head back and forth. Krys looked like she was trying to escape from a bad dream. Her eyes were slow to open until they finally met Kaspar's concerned ones. With her bearings back, she gripped his arm with both hands. She moved her head up towards his arm and rested it there. Kaspar reached down and rubbed at her hair.

"I'll give you two a minute." Dexter said as he headed towards the front of the tent.

"Thanks," Kaspar replied.

His attention turned back to Krys. He never thought he would see her as weak as she was right now. He got down to one knee and kissed at her forehead. Krys looked up from the kiss and didn't say a word. There was no smile on her face, either. Nothing but dread and sadness could be found there. Tears started to roll down her cheeks.

"It's going to be okay," Kaspar said as he wiped the tears away.

Krys winced before she spoke. "How...can you say that? I've never been this bad before."

"I just know it's all going to work out. We are going to get that cure and..."

"We've been saying this for months now. What if there is no hope?"

Kaspar shook his head. "I can't believe that I'm hearing this from you right now. You've got to stay strong."

"How can I stay strong?" Krys said as more tears flowed. "Look at me. My body is...wasting away before my own eyes. I can't keep this up for much longer. I just want to rest."

Kaspar snapped. "No!"

Krys was taken aback by her lover's sudden aggressiveness. She let go of her grip and laid her head flat on the soft, white pillow. As she closed her eyes, Kaspar started to pace around the tent. There was a sudden regret in him that he snapped at her like that, but she was being so weak right now. He couldn't bring himself to understand the nature of her condition. The only thing that he wanted was the old Krys back and he was starting to doubt, once more, that the old Krys would ever come back.

After he was done pacing, Kaspar walked back over to the bed and got down on his knees again. He rested his tired head on her midsection. The feeling of her hands running through his hair calmed him for the moment.

"I'm sorry I snapped." Kaspar said.

"It's okay. I know how you must feel to see me like this. But, I'm at the end of my rope. I don't know if I even want to go on this next mission or not."

"Please, stay with me out there. One last time, for me."

Krys was silent for a moment before she replied. "Just this one last time, Ryan. After this, I'm done. I can't go on like this."

"It'll be fine," Kaspar moved his head up and faced her. "We're going to get that cure and we're going to save you. I promised that I would."

Their moment was cut short when Harvey entered the tent. The leader tried to sympathize with Krys, but the team needed to move out, and right now. He moved in and looked down at his soldier.

"How are you feeling?" Harvey wondered knowing the answer.

"How do you think I'm feeling?" was Krys's response.

"I know. I hate to rush you like this, but we need to move. Can you move?"

"Yeah, I can move."

She started to get up with Kaspar's help. Harvey walked behind her and took the IV out of her arm then quickly taped gauze to it. With Kaspar's help, Krys was able to get back to her feet. As they walked, her legs wobbled a little bit, but they managed to make it out of the tent.

"Look," Harvey said once they were out, "you don't have to go on this next run if you are not able to."

"I'll be fine, Harv, trust me. I just need to rest on the way there, that's all."

"We'll get you another IV and some room to lie down." Harvey replied. "We're meeting at the vehicles in twenty minutes. We'll take your tent down for you."

With that, Kaspar led Krys to the armored vehicle as Harvey, Dexter, and Clarke worked on the tent. Inside, the others already made a pallet of blankets on one of the benches for Krys to lie down on. Kaspar tried to help her get comfortable. Once settled, he grabbed another blanket and wrapped her up in it.

"Thank you," Krys said with a smile.

"You don't have to thank me." Kaspar replied.

# .21

Three days was not a long time for an Agent. The timeline was sped up by the fact that Sullivan had nothing to go on. Little, his neophyte rookie partner, surely wasn't going to help him. The young gun reminded Sullivan a lot of himself back when he first got promoted. So far up the USR's ass that he couldn't tell left from right. The kid just sat there beside him in the car practicing his quick draw. They were still tuned in to the hideout, and once more, there was nothing going on inside, or so it seemed. Their marks just talked shit and accused each other cheating once again.

Sullivan was sure that the code they spoke in was either the cards, or in the way they talked to one another. He reasoned that the most likely would be the cards because there were only so many combinations of trash talk that could be encoded. With the cards, you had any number of varieties of ways to speak to one another. It was silent, the cameras couldn't pick up on it, and the suspected rebels inside could play it off like they were just playing cards. It was ingenious, Sullivan thought.

That three day time limit caused the Agent to take more drastic measures in his quest for answers. There was little doubt in his mind with all the secrecy and desperation on his employer's part that they were involved in some way with what killed his wife. With his eyes closed, Sullivan breathed in deep as he reached in his pocket for that black device he took earlier in the day. He fiddled inside of the pocket and drew the attention of his partner.

"What the hell are you doing?" Little demanded. "Playing pocket pull, Boss?"

"Don't worry about it." Sullivan replied.

"Okay..."

His fingers found the little red button in the center. He pressed down on the button and in a matter of seconds, a loud, static filled sound cried through their speakers. Both Agents ripped the ear plugs from their ears. Their ears rang from the unpleasant noise that the device caused.

"What the hell is that?" Little cried.

"I don't know. Some kind of scrambler or something." Sullivan replied.

"You did this, didn't you?"

"What?"

"That thing in your pocket. You caused this."

"Fuck you, rookie."

Little was undeterred. "You trying to sabotage this whole thing?"

"Why would I do that? You think I don't like putting food on my kid's table? I'm going in there." Sullivan reached for his Glock 17 and yanked back the chamber. "You stay put."

"The hell you mean 'stay put'."

"I mean, keep your rookie ass in this car."

"You're crazy. This is my case, too."

Sullivan pointed the gun at the kid. Just like last night, Little just froze and didn't make any attempt to subdue his partner. As much as this rookie wanted to put away the bad people and serve his country, he was just as much of a coward who didn't want to get hurt. Sullivan actually liked the change of pace. There was no way he could have gotten away with this maverick behavior before with those two dip shits. They would have put him under.

"You're going to stay in this car," Sullivan ordered. "If you disobey my orders, then I will personally see you put in prison as a member of the resistance."

"You're not going to get away with this!"

"Oh, yes, I am. Remember that little talk we had about seniority? Who do you think they would believe?"

"You've done lost it!"

"Stay put. If I even feel you creeping up behind me, I will turn around and put two in your chest, let you bleed for a little bit, then put one in your head. You get me?"

The rookie simply nodded. Sullivan exited the car and back peddled the first few steps as he faced his partner. When he was certain that Little would comply with his orders, he turned and jogged at a steady pace towards the warehouse. He kept his gun held low at his thigh as he moved. That little device was something else, Sullivan thought. The device was a new invention given to the USR's Agents. It would scramble any video and listening device within a half mile of where the user was. It was supposed to be used to scramble the resistance's communications when the USR would breach their locations. Now, Sullivan was using it to scramble out the USR's signals so he could talk with the resistance face to face.

When he reached the door of the warehouse, he stopped for a moment to breathe. Visions of his son clouded his mind. He wondered if this was really worth it. They were resistance, after all, and their leader in there would no doubt recognize the man who interrogated him days before.

Through the door, he could hear them inside, getting all rowdy over their "card game". He would be outnumbered six to one. If they decided to, they could kill the Agent, and then make a run for it. Somehow, Sullivan didn't think that was going to happen. The men inside still had a plan, and they needed to execute it. If they killed an Agent, they would be forced to abandon that assignment, causing the resistance even more headaches than they already had with the mighty USR breathing down their necks.

Just play it cool.

#  .22

With one swift kick from his left foot, Sullivan was able to knock the door open. The wave of surprise that hit him almost knocked at his concentration for a brief, split second. The boys in the room all dropped their cards and stood from their chairs. The Agent had the upper hand for the moment, as the men in the room were not expecting someone to barge in with a Glock pointed in their direction. Reed pulled out a revolver and held the others back.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Reed shouted.

"I'm with the USR." Sullivan replied back. "I'm not here to arrest anyone. I've come to warn you."

The men started to scramble around, but Reed told them to keep calm. Sure enough, the rebel leader recognized Sullivan from the interrogation room. Reed moved forward, gun still trained on the Agent's head. The Agent kept his gun trained, as well, hoping that the rookie stayed in the car like he was ordered to. Now came the hard part. He had to convince these men that he was, in fact, not here to do anything but warn them of the coming invasion of USR Agents.

"You were the one who interrogated me, right?" Reed demanded.

"That's right, I..."

X moved forward, a Colt .45 in his hands, and pushed Reed aside. Things were about to get out of hand really quick for the Agent. He moved his gun from Reed to the former Mexican gangster.

"Let's blast his ass, homes." X said. "They've found us. We can't risk our operation."

"You can still run your operation," Sullivan said. "Just listen to what I have to say."

"Why should we do that? We know you've got this place bugged."

"Don't shoot." Sullivan said as he reached with his free hand into his pocket. He pulled out the little black device for the all to see. "This is blocking our signal. They can't hear or see us right now."

"I don't believe..." X started to say.

"X, lower your weapon." Reed said.

"Are you loco?" X demanded. "He's an Agent."

"An Agent who came alone," Reed replied. "Agents never come alone, am I right?"

"That's right." Sullivan replied.

The others in the room moved forward now. They raised their handguns and aimed them at the intruder. Sullivan's mind started to race. He should have known that this was a bad idea. In fact, he did know it was, but this was the only way, given his short time constraints. The Agent's eyes darted from left to right at all the guns pointed at him. There was an eerie silence in the room. It was time to change tactics.

"Look," Sullivan started to plead as he raised his gun hand in the air. "I'm not here for anything else other than to warn you, that's all."

"Why the fuck would you do that?" X demanded.

"I want answers. I was hoping you fellas could help me with that."

"Why would we talk to you? C'mon, boss, let's do him and dump the body."

"You would kill an Agent in cold blood?" Sullivan demanded. "That's not smart..."

X cocked the hammer of his Colt back. "Letting you live wouldn't be smart..."

"Okay!" Reed shouted. "Everyone, lower your damn weapons, now!"

The others obeyed and lowered their guns, all except for X. He remained defiant. There was no way in hell he was going to lower his weapon. Reed moved over and tapped the man on the shoulder. He tried to ask him again to lower the weapon, but the mean scowl and focused eyes of X remained on the Agent.

"X," Reed started to say. "If this man was here for anything else, he would've brought an army of Agents with him, but he didn't. Let's hear what he has to say."

"You've gotten soft, Bossman."

"It's the right play."

"Your boss is right," Sullivan said. He inched his gun back into the shoulder holster. "It's the only play you got. You kill me here, you can kiss your operation good-bye. You kick me out, you'll never see me again, and you won't know what the USR is plotting right now, either. So, you lose your operation still. You can listen to me, though, maybe learn a thing or two about your enemy, and continue...whatever it is that you are doing."

"How can we trust you?" X demanded.

"You can't really know for sure. But, you can listen to what I have to say."

"Spit it out, Puerco."

"All right, now all of you, listen up." Sullivan said.

The others moved in around him. Sullivan still felt uncomfortable with this many men who swore that all Agents were their enemies, swarming around him. He would just have to get over it. After taking a few breaths, he gained his composure.

Sullivan cleared his throat. "Okay, they've given me three days to come up with something concrete about your operation."

"What happens in three days?" Sugar asked.

"In three days, if I don't have anything, the USR is going to breach the hell out of this place and kill you all. If you survive the breach, you'll live only to be tortured and publically executed."

"How much do they know about us?" Reed wondered.

"Not much. They know you all meet here after work. They know you play cards. They also know that you are most likely working for the resistance."

There was an instant silence. Sullivan moved his head slow around the room. His eyes roamed around to see if anyone would bite. He still didn't know for a fact that they were actually resistance. It had always been an assumption. The assumption proved to be accurate with the reaction of the men when he entered the room, saying he was USR.

"Anything else?" Reed asked.

"Well, there is one other thing," Sullivan said. "Something that I don't know, and I'm not sure if any of my superiors know, but what is it that you do in the factory?"

"We make things," X answered.

Sullivan allowed a smirk. "What kind of things?"

"Not going to tell you that. We don't even know you..."

"Look," Sullivan said. He placed his hands up in the air. "We don't have a whole lot of time. I've got a rookie sitting in a car right now who's about to blow his wad any second. Just heed my warning. Don't meet up here. You can meet somewhere else if you want, but not here. Just be more careful about being made."

He reached into his pocket and when he did, the men in the room started to go for their weapons again. Reed called them off. Again, Sullivan raised his hands in submission. They all backed off. In his right, cupped hand, rested a piece of paper. The Agent handed it over to Reed. As he slowly began to back away, the men behind him moved over to allow him an easy path back to the door.

Once he was gone, everyone in the room gathered around Reed to decide what was next. Reed unfolded the piece of paper and read aloud from it. It was simply a phone number and instructions for when they would next meet.

"I don't like it." X remarked as he began to pace around the room.

"Well, like it or not, he did tip us off." Reed replied.

"That's fine, he's a real humanitarian. What if this is a trick? To get us out in the open and pick us off?"

"If he wanted us arrested or dead, he could have ordered that a long time ago."

Pinkie stepped in, "I'm with X on this one, boss. We can't trust him. We just need to go forward with the plan and then get the hell out of here."

"Listen, guys, we've got help on the inside now. Potential help, anyway, but he did tip us off..."

"Why would he do that?" X demanded.

"I'm not a mind reader, X, but maybe he's telling the truth, he just wants to talk. Something must have happened to him. Something that we might be able to help him with in return."

"You speaking in maybe's, if's, and hypotheticals is starting to piss me off."

Reed stepped up to the second in command. "You challenging my authority is pissing me off, too, X. Don't forget, you asked me to lead us."

"I'm beginning to think that was a mistake, homes."

"Well, you're just going to have to live with it."

"Not if I relieve you of your command."

Pepper moved in and got between them. "Woah, woah, fellas. We don't need this right now. Boss is right, we did put him in command, let's go with what he says."

"Your boss is going to get us all killed." X replied.

"All right, all right." Reed said. "Look, let's see what happens in the next two days and then decide what to do. If our place gets raided then we'll move forward and see what the son of a bitch wants. If not, then we know we can't trust him, got it?"

"Fine by me."

The men began to gather their belongings and head for the door.

# .23

Harvey and his team already set up camp by the time Sanders showed up with his squad. The sun had set hours ago and nothing remained in the sky but a vast darkness, the clouds covered up the stars and half of the moon. When the motors of Sanders's team's vehicles roared into the night air, the rebels in Harvey's team all grabbed their assault rifles, ready to strike if it happened to be USR troops. They all approached the vehicle with their weapons shouldered and at the ready. Sanders hopped out of the driver's side of his truck and gave a big salute and a bigger smile.

"Lower your weapons, men." Harvey said. He approached Sanders and the two saluted one another.

"So nice to finally meet you." Sanders said as his arm moved down and he held out his hand.

"Pleasure's all mine," Harvey replied, embracing the handshake. "This is my team, one is away sleeping, but here they are."

"Nice to meet all of you." Sanders said.

Harvey's unit all said how it was a pleasure to meet him, too. Harvey told his men to go and help Sanders's squad with setting up their camp. With a laugh, he told them that it would be a great bonding experience. As they moved out to set up camp, Harvey brought Sanders to his tent. Inside, a pot of coffee was already brewing, steam escaped from the top. Harvey poured himself out a cup then offered one to Sanders. The old war veteran accepted the cup and downed it in one gulp. He handed the empty cup to Harvey for another round.

"How can you do that?" Harvey asked.

"What?" Sanders demanded. "This is my normal routine."

"You don't burn your throat at all?"

"Sure, it burns," Sanders replied. He snatched the replenished cup from Harvey's hand. "But, you can't be a pussy and let that get in the way."

Sanders took slow, steady sips from his cup this time. As they sat there, Harvey tried to ignore Sanders's dick measuring contest. His friend would do that from time to time when they spoke on the telecom. Harvey was certain that this old prick had some kind of insecurity about something and so he always tried to win out in who was the bigger man. For his part, Harvey was never an insecure man, nor was he a cocky man. So, when the contests to man up came, he just ignored them.

"What's been going on your way?" Harvey asked.

"Same old, you know? USR's getting bigger and stronger every day." Sanders answered.

"I hear that."

"I hear that you have a sick one in your unit."

"Yes, we do. Her name's Krys, and she got bit by that population control drug a few months back. She's still fighting, though, trying to get through it."

"Then, she's a good soldier." Sanders said, holding his steaming cup of coffee up in the air.

"She is that all right. But, she doesn't have much time left. She needs that cure and we gotta hope that it works on her."

"We'll get it. She'll be the first guinea pig to see its effectiveness."

Harvey let that thought sink in for a moment as he took another sip of his coffee. A guinea pig? Was that all that his comrade had become? She was human being and when she wasn't being doped up on meds, she was reduced to the role of guinea pig. This war was starting to get the better of him. The moral ambiguity of it all was taking its toll on his soul.

"A guinea pig, huh?" Harvey asked.

"Well, I don't want to call her a test subject."

"What do you think we're going to do with this cure if it's there and we get our hands on it?"

"You haven't figured that out, yet, have you?"

Harvey shrugged his shoulders. "I've thought about it some, but nothing concrete or anything."

"I've got some ideas." Sanders replied.

This response got Harvey's attention. Unlike himself, Sanders was a guy who could think ahead and plan things out intricately. For Harvey, he was more of a visionary type of leader. He saw the big picture, but his mind didn't wrap around how to get there. Sanders, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. He could take the big picture and create steps to get there.

Harvey listened to Sanders ramble on about his idea for dispersing the cure without detection, while also making sure that the victims they saved knew that they were, in fact, saved by the resistance. Sanders said that they would have to hack into hospital systems in each of the major cities to find out which women were infected, get their personal information, and then secretly give them the cure. Most of the women infected were already discharged from the hospital and sent to their homes to die a slow death. The ones in the hospital...they wouldn't be so lucky.

"So, if they are in the hospital's care, we just let them die?" Harvey demanded.

"No, we didn't give them this drug, they did. They are the ones who will answer for their deaths in the next life, not us. It's, in a sick way, a good thing that we've got a woman infected with us."

"How is that a good thing?"

"C'mon, bub, I told you already. We can see with our own eyes if this cure even works."

"That poor woman is dying, and we are sitting in this tent, thanking the heavens that we've got someone infected? That is sick."

"Don't lose sight of the bigger picture," Sanders warned with a pointed index finger. "She's just one person. As difficult as it is to say, she's insignificant. We are insignificant, as individuals, in this war. It's us as a collective, and what we do as a collective, which matters. Don't get caught up in just one person."

"She's a human being, Roy. We can't lose sight of humanity, either."

"You sound like you've gotten soft in your old age."

"Soft?"

"Yeah, that's right, soft. Weak."

Harvey fought back the urge to slug Sanders in the jaw for saying such a thing. Nobody ever accused him of being weak in his entire adult life. He fought the feeling and reasoned that this was just another one of his arguments to overcompensate. Harvey took a sip of his coffee and tried to cool himself off.

"I think you've seen too many battles. You've gotten desensitized to all this." Harvey replied.

"Desensitized, huh? I've always been a soldier. I learned a long time ago that I'm only as good as the results I can bring to the battlefield. None of this bullshit is about saving one life. I'm interested in saving everyone."

"And, just don't look at our comrades as people, right? It sounds like you're losing sight of the bigger picture."

"Well, we'll see about that." Sanders replied. He rubbed at the back of his neck and let out a yawn. "What did you think of my plan, anyway?"

"It's tactically sound. It could work." Harvey replied, letting out his own yawn.

Sanders let out a wry smile. "Of course it's tactically sound and will work. I came up with it."

"Yeah, well, don't get too cocky, old man."

"Look who's talking."

Harvey yawned again. "I think it's time us two old geezers get to bed. We've got a long day of driving tomorrow."

"The only geezer I see in here is you."

"That right?"

"Yeah," Sanders said. He stood and, as he was stretching, he took the time to flex his biceps. "I'm still in my prime."

# .24

Reed looked over his shoulders one at a time before he inserted his key into the front door. His two bedroom apartment, which fit his family of five, was in the basement level of a tall building which posed as an apartment complex. Most of the units were ripped up pieces of shit that had only a toilet and a shower. It was in this complex, Reed remembered, that the resistance got into a fire fight with USR Agents after the government implicated some poor bastard. He, followed by his wife and kid, were gunned down by the Agents. The government, of course, went on a tirade about how it was the resistance's fault. Reed knew better. Despite all the long hours Reed put in with the USR, he still only managed to afford this place. But, he couldn't bring himself to complain about it.

Per the usual, it took several jiggles of the key to get the damn lock to unstick. Once the lock finally cooperated, it took another shoulder shove to get the door opened. It was a workout just to get inside his apartment. He was finally inside when he took another deep breath then made sure his door was locked. The tough to open door did serve a good purpose, if the USR or some gang banger tried to break in, he'd have enough time to get to the kitchen and behind the stove. He walked over there, reached behind it, and then took hold of his AK-47. He inspected it, making sure it had a full mag, then made sure the safety was on. He placed it back behind the stove then went for the bedroom.

The sound of footsteps caught him off guard for a moment. He quickly turned and saw that it was his son, Damian, who snuck up on him. After a brief sigh of relief, Reed walked over to his eight year old son. He got down to one knee to get to eye level with him. Damian was growing up so fast. With his job not only costing him long hours, but also his card games after work, it seemed that he was only home to sleep.

"Hey, Dad." Damian sound as he rubbed his eyes.

"Hey, buddy, why aren't you bed?" Reed asked.

"I heard you walk in. I missed you today. I thought I could spend some time with you."

Reed's heart sank. "It's late, and a school night...we'll hang out tomorrow."

"You promise?"

"Sure thing."

Reed walked Damian over to the sink. He reached up for a glass and filled it with water. After the boy downed the water in one large gulp, Reed led him to the bedroom. Inside, Damian's two sisters were fast asleep, one on each of the bunk beds. Damian's sleeping spot was an old air mattress situated in the center of the room. Reed watched his boy get into it and then get snuggled up in the covers. Damian fell right to sleep, just as Reed had guessed.

He shut the door as quietly as he could and then went for the master bedroom. As he opened the door, the low squeals from the hinges forced Belle from her sleep. Reed undressed then got into bed with his wife. Belle wrapped her arms around her husband and pulled him in close. Reed thanked the heavens every day and night that she had not been infected. He figured that there had to be, by some miracle, women who would be resistant to it.

"So glad you're safe tonight," Belle said. The tiredness in her voice was obvious by her low speaking tone.

"Of course, I always am." Reed replied. His lips gave her a soft kiss on the forehead.

"How was it tonight?"

"We can't get anything done. Everyone keeps accusing me of cheating."

Communicating in code followed Reed home, as well. Even though the desire grew within to tell her what exactly he was up to, as it was every night, he held back. The risk of her knowing something was too great if the USR was to bring her in for questioning. That thought just brought nightmares every night for Reed. Even if she didn't know anything, she would still be tortured, likely killed. All he could do was hope and pray that that day would never come. He had already put her in a position to make that outcome a possibility. There would be no ounce of forgiveness for himself if it actually happened.

"You never did play fair." Belle replied with a slight chuckle.

"Hey, now don't you start."

Reed wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. He gave her another kiss on the cheek. The way her cheeks felt against his lips gave away that she was smiling. He would never understand how she could be so happy with him gone all the time.

"I missed you today." she said.

"I missed you, too."

"When are you going to stop playing cards and be around the house more? It's bad enough you work all those hours in the factory."

"I know," Reed replied, breathing in deep. "I've told you that I'm doing this for you."

"Are you gambling or something?"

"We've been over this. I can't tell you what I'm doing. You're just going to have to trust me on this. It's for you and the kids."

"You know that I trust you. Just...please hurry up and finish what it is you are doing."

"We're getting closer."

# .25

Kaspar sat alone in the woods on a fold out chair. He felt an intense craving for a cigarette, but he promised Krys that he would quit. The months of not smoking went by okay, for the most part, but it was on nights like these when the cravings would attack his brain to the point where he almost couldn't focus on anything other than smoking.

With so many things running through his mind at the moment, the mere thought of sleep was rendered impossible. He grabbed a stick and poked around at the small fire he had built for himself. Unlike their last location, here it was chilly when the sun went down. He pulled his jacket across his body tighter to try and conserve his body heat.

His mind, once more, went away from the chill and back to Krys. She seemed to be doing better tonight than she had been feeling lately. Sleep caught her as soon as she laid her head down on the pillow.

He started to question whether or not they would be successful on this mission. They had been relatively successful on all the others that they had undertaken since joining up with Harvey. Still, there had been a lot of screw ups along the way, and another man died because of such a mistake. There was also this feeling of doubt that there was no cure in that building. He tried to reason with his own mind that it was just a lack of confidence on his part. Kaspar couldn't really think of the last time that something he wanted came to fruition.

Off in the distance, he heard the soft sound of branches cracking under someone's feet. When he looked back, he hoped to see Krys awaken to join him for the night. Instead, it was Buck, one of the last people he wanted to see when thinking of a mission going fubar. Buck approached and, in a meek tone, asked if he could sit down next to him. Kaspar gave him a nod of the head. Buck didn't think ahead to bring a chair with him to sit on. Since Kaspar sure as hell wasn't going to give up his chair for him, the kid was forced to sit on the ground. He kicked at the sticks and leaves on the ground to make a spot. The kid moved his bare hands towards the fire then started to rub them together.

"Cold night, huh?" Buck asked.

"Sure is."

"Couldn't sleep, either?"

"Nope."

Buck shook his head then focused on the fire in front. The two sat in silence for a long moment. Buck was still not used to Kaspar's introverted nature. He still grew irritated with the man's one word answers. Buck's mind was still filled with his thoughts about Steinner. About the mission that had gone completely wrong. He needed to get his mind off of it.

"You still thinking about Jeremy?" Kaspar asked.

"Yeah," Buck answered. Son of a bitch. "Can't get it out of my head, actually."

"I hear that," Kaspar replied. Instinct crept in and he reached for the pack of smokes in his pocket that weren't there.

"You experience a lot of death or something?"

"You could say that."

The little girl was in his arms, again. She was breathing her last breaths. Kaspar couldn't hear it come from her lips, but he knew that she was blaming him for her death, as well as the deaths of her parents. The team...they were just too slow. He looked up and saw Krys lying down on the bed with blood leaking from her mouth. That death was his fault, too...

"You still with me?" Buck asked.

"Yeah," Kaspar replied. He shook his head free from the vision then cleared his throat.

"I can't help but blame myself for what happened."

"Don't blame yourself for that, Buck. He knew what he was into."

"I know, but it was my mistake that cost him his life."

"C'mon, snap out of it! If you keep blaming yourself, you'll never be a good fighter out there. You've got to move on."

"You sound like my father."

Kaspar shook his head. "Maybe your father knows what he's talking about."

"What about you? You've obviously experienced a lot before we met."

"There was this family," Kaspar started to say. He took a moment to rub his brow. "It was one of those deals. Easy mission, get in, get the family out, everyone goes home happy."

"But..."

"We arrived too late. By the time we got there the USR had already showed up. We tried...Lord, we tried so hard to save them. This Agent takes the mother and daughter into the back bedroom. I run in after them. The bastard takes them both out. I bust through the door just as he did the girl. Seconds late."

Buck half smiled. "Sounds like we have a lot in common, then."

"No," Kaspar shot back. "We don't have a lot in common, Buck. Steinner was a soldier...these were innocent people that got wiped off the face of the earth."

"A life is a life."

Kaspar turned and looked the kid straight in the eye. "There's a difference."

Buck threw up his hands in defeat. "Okay."

"Anyway, like I was saying, you can't wallow in your own self-pity."

"How did you cope with that little girl?"

Kaspar looked to the sky and then dropped his head back down. "I didn't. Just like with my mother dying, and pretty soon with Krys. That's why I'm so miserable all the time, I guess."

"What happened to you mother?"

Kaspar went in detail the whole story with Mother. The words became almost too difficult to say the more he went into it. Buck just sat there, wide eyed at the whole ordeal. In the back of his mind, as he got deeper and deeper, the feeling of guilt entrapped Kaspar. The anger about his father also swelled up inside. When he got to the part about his confrontation with Sullivan, the kid finally said a word.

"Why didn't you kill him?" Buck asked.

"It was because of the boy. Trust me, not a day goes by that I don't think about if I made the right decision or not. And, every day that Krys gets closer to dying, the guilt of not killing the son of a bitch gets stronger."

"Why's that?"

Kaspar sighed, "Because it was not just the asshole's son that kept me from doing it. It was also her. She wouldn't want me to kill a man in cold blood right in front of his son. I've always wanted to be a better person when I'm with her. But, she's almost gone, you know? No reason to be a better person then."

"What are you talking about? We're about to get the cure and she'll be fine."

"If the cure even exists. If we're not on some wild goose chase. Not only that, but you heard, didn't you? There's only that eighty percent chance of success."

"You gotta have hope, though, or else what's all this shit for?"

The kid had a point. But, what good was hope without anything substantial coming about? Kaspar could hope all he wanted that this miracle cure would perk her right back to the way she was before, but that hope wouldn't change the facts. Either there was a cure or not. Either the cure would kill Krys or make her better. And, not only those facts, but also the fact that the unit would either get whatever was in that complex or they would die trying. What was the point of hope? He tried to feel hope when the two of them escaped with Clarke all those months back.

Look where that got me.

The irony—hypocrisy even—was not lost on Kaspar. This whole time he had been trying to get Krys to not lose hope and here he found himself losing his. It didn't quite make all that much sense to him. After all, they were about to raid a compound where something that could finally help her was supposedly kept.

Kaspar decided to change the subject. "What's the deal with you and your old man, anyway?"

"What do you mean?" Buck demanded.

"I don't know. It just seems like you've got a rocky relationship or something."

"Yeah, he wants me to be this great soldier." Buck smirked. "Some great soldier, huh?"

"You're still young. You're making rookie mistakes."

"Well, what if I don't want to be that?"

"What else would you do?"

Buck thought on it for moment. He gave a smile. "A musician or an artist."

Kaspar laughed. "How do you plan on using that out there? Might as well keep on with the good fight."

"It was a joke, that's the point. I've got nothing else out there for me. If I could though, I would be like a jazz musician or something."

"Yeah, that'd be great wouldn't it?"

"What would you be doing?"

Kaspar rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "Hell, I'd probably still be boxing, I guess. Only thing I'm good at, other than shooting Agents, of course."

The two shared in another laugh. This was the first time that Kaspar had spent any kind of time with Buck apart from the battlefield. The kid seemed to be an all right guy. A bit too hard on himself, but Kaspar couldn't say anything to him in that regard. After the laughter was over, they sat in silence for a while again before Kaspar spoke up.

"Listen to your father."

Buck dropped the smile on his face and looked dead into Kaspar's eyes. "What?"

"You heard what I said."

Buck stood. "What business of that is yours?"

"I'm just saying. You don't know what it's like to not have your old man around. All I had was my mother."

"Then we're the same, but opposite."

"Huh?"

Buck sighed. "My mother died while giving birth to me. I always felt guilty about it...and I'm never quite sure if my dad ever blamed me for it."

"I'm sure he doesn't. He just wants what's best for you."

"Well," Buck said as he turned his body the other way. "I think that's about enough of this talk for now. I'll see you around, huh?"

"Sure, kid."

Buck started to walk for the campsite, leaving Kaspar alone with his thoughts once more.

# .26

Harvey and Sanders sat in the back of an armored van with a laptop set up on a fold out table. The laptop belonged to Sanders and, of course, had a large screen enough screen that it could've passed for a small television. On the screen was a GPS image of the target compound. There was a road that led up the mountain to it, but there were checkpoints every few miles from what they could see.

"This is going to be tricky." Harvey said.

"Yeah, no shit."

"Well, we obviously can't just drive up the road."

"Obviously. We're going to have to park our vehicles somewhere far off and then walk."

Sanders played around with the image and pointed out what, in his estimation, would be the best place to park. Harvey noticed the distance involved from where his comrade finally stopped. He could tell, even from the smaller scale of the image, that the two teams would have to make it a long way by foot without detection.

"How long of a hike is that?" Harvey wondered.

"We're looking at between ten to fifteen miles." Sanders replied.

"That long, huh?"

"You gotta problem with that? Don't think you'll make it?"

"It's not me I'm worried about."

Sanders placed his coffee on the table. "Who are you worried about? That girl?"

"She's not in her best condition right now."

"Well, there's no other way. Either she goes or guards the vehicles, I don't care. Just one person, remember?"

Harvey's jaws clinched. "Yeah."

"Good. So, the way I figure it, we make the hike. Once we get closer, we can try and get a good look on the security outside the building."

"Makes sense."

"You're pretty good with a sniper rifle, right?"

Harvey shrugged his shoulders. "I've got some skill."

"Don't be so damned humble all the time. We could use that skill to clear a path for ourselves."

It took a bit longer than he would care to admit, but Harvey began to realize that Sanders was taking complete control over an Op that he was originally supposed to just be helping out with. The old Marine had never been an in your face type of guy, it just wasn't in his nature. Now, he felt his grasp on this mission slipping just a bit.

"Hey," Harvey said, puffing his chest. "This was my Op, remember?"

Sanders grew a scowl on his face. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean. I asked you for help and all you've done is try to take over what we've been trying to do."

"Look, big guy, I respect your military record. But, leave the strategy to me. You're right, you did ask for my help, and I'm giving it to you. If you want to make this all about yourself, then me and my unit will just pack our things and go it alone."

Harvey was stumped. There was no comeback that came to mind, strategic or witty. He just sat there, dumbfounded. Sanders could have just been playing him, but then again, he could have been dead serious. There would be no way of knowing unless Sanders came right out and said it. Even if he did say it, with a drop dead serious look, the truth likely would have been hard to find. On the computer screen, and now face to face, Harvey found his comrade to be nearly impossible to read. None of that mattered, however, because this was likely the most dangerous—important—mission that he and his team would undertake. He just had to swallow his pride and take what he was given.

"All right," Harvey said. "We'll play it your way, for now. But, if this thing gets fucked up, you are the one to blame, not me."

"The mark of a great leader is not giving a shit about the critics. You'll do well to learn that, even in your old age."

"Touché."

# .27

The sight of the factory where his targets worked at caused a wave of curiosity to pour through Sullivan. It also caused a slight wave of anxiety, as well. Once again, he had been forbidden from getting too close to those he investigated, which got under his skin even more now than before. Before, he would just take it all in stride, but now his mind was more than a little bit questioning of the powers that be.

His excuse for not showing up to work today was that he was sick and just needed the day to rest. That, of course, was utter bullshit. Sullivan's actual reason for calling in was so that he could get a closer look at what Reed and the other boys did for a living with the USR. As he walked to the front door of the facility, one final bit of emotion hit him right in the gut. It was guilt. He felt guilty for not calling in sick and taking Davie out of school for a day of one on one time with each other. All that would have to wait, he supposed, as he approached the door.

After a deep breath, he yanked down on the heavy metal door handle and into the lobby. Inside, there was a desk in the far right hand corner which served as a check in area. The lanky, middle aged man behind the counter didn't show a shred of emotion as Sullivan approached him. Sullivan decided not to use any either. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his credentials.

"William Sullivan, Detective, USR Agent."

"How may I help you, sir?" the man behind the counter asked.

"I need to talk with one of the employees that works here. Travis Reed."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Reed. On what business?"

"Confidential, my man. Just get him over here."

"Just one minute."

Sullivan took a seat on one of the uncomfortable, pumpkin orange chairs to the left. He felt that maybe there was still some good to be done with his current standing in the USR. It still provided him the chance of using his title to get shit done. The man behind the counter was like any other man or woman in the United Society of Reason...they didn't say anything but yes to an Agent. It occurred to him, as it did months before when his wife died, that he had no clue what he would do after he either quit or was forced out of the department. After he found the answers he was looking for, who knew? He might even join the rebellion. But, where would that leave Davie?

"He's on his way." the man said.

"Good. Have him meet me in the back." Sullivan replied as he stood from his seated position.

"Of course, sir."

Sullivan walked towards the door on his right, which led to the back alleyway. A perfect spot for him to have a little face time with Reed once again. He wondered if the suspected rebel actually took his advice or not. Right now, it didn't really matter. He needed to have this talk with him to try and gain some trust with his target. Sullivan couldn't blame the guy for not immediately trusting him for the same reason that he was able to quickly get the man behind the counter to do what he wanted.

The sound of the door creaking open behind him forced the Agent's attention towards that direction. There stood Reed, who threw his hands in the air, almost in defeat. His head went straight down, and then pointed straight up at the sky. When this little ritual was over, Reed finally approached the Agent.

"What the hell?" Reed said aloud.

"Calm down," Sullivan replied. "I'm not here for anything but to talk."

"Talk about what?"

"Have you cancelled your card game?"

Reed thought for a moment. "Yes."

"Let's go for a walk."

"Fine."

The two men walked around the corner and down a mildly busy sidewalk. Sullivan, for the first time that he could remember, grew weary when he saw an Agent in full riot gear. The instincts inside him caused his head to move to the side so as to avoid all eye contact. Reed, to his credit, just acted like everything was cool and even nodded at the Agent. Sullivan turned left and led the two into a deserted alley littered with trash. They walked about midway down before he stopped. Loose pieces of paper blew around them along with the steady wind.

"What the hell is going on?" Reed asked.

Sullivan rested his back against one of the walls. "I need you to trust me."

"You know that that's a large request."

"I realize that. There's not much else I can do other than ask for your trust."

"How do you expect me, us, to trust you, an Agent?"

"Remember when you were brought in for questioning?"

"Yes, of course I remember."

"I've been holding back the big guns ever since. We've been watching you. I volunteered for the investigation, because I knew someone else would be too eager to get a gold star by their name, if you catch my drift."

Reed rubbed at his chin then looked down either side of the alleyway. "Why us?"

The Agent pulled his upper body off of the wall and approached the suspected rebel. He, too, now looked from left to right down the alleyway to make sure nobody was listening in. For the first time in his career, he was about to breach the oath of secrecy that all Agents took when they were hired on to their respective departments. There was no going back now, though, he told himself. It was time to get some answers.

"For some reason, all of your buddies have abandoned the streets of the major cities they used to operate in. For the past six months, there has been little to no resistance activity for me to investigate."

"I'm aware of that," Reed replied with a smirk. "You think I'm going to tell you where they are?"

Sullivan shook his head. "No. I don't care what the resistance as a whole is up to."

"So, you don't care about them blowing up your compounds that build that drug then?"

"No, I don't. In fact, I applaud them."

Reed raised an eyebrow. "I'm confused."

"My wife...she was infected by some kind of poison that our doctor had never seen before. Then, I see something over the TV that the USR was responsible..."

"They were!" Reed cried. He took a breath and calmed himself. "They created that drug to promote their population control, killing off countless women in the process, unaware of the side effects. Or, maybe they were aware, which is even scarier. I just thank God that my wife hasn't been infected, yet."

"Yeah, well, the boys in my department are all hush hush about it. They don't even talk about it. It's like they don't care or that it's not really going on."

"Okay, so what does this have to do with us again?"

Sullivan folded his arms across his chest. "I've tried searching every database in our network. Every time I get close to the truth, my clearance gets blocked, almost like someone is watching me."

"Wait a minute," Reed said, holding his hand up. "You think that I'm going to provide you with some type of answers to your wife's death?"

"You do work in a top secret USR facility and you resistance folk seem to know more about this poison than anyone I work for."

Reed paused before speaking again. He tried to get a read on this Agent he was talking to. The deep feeling within that he was being trapped started to take over. To tell this man what he did in the factory could give this Sullivan a good enough reason to arrest him. After the arrest, Reed knew what came next. However, it was obvious to him that Sullivan had been hurt in some regard by his employers. He didn't even seem like he wanted revenge as much as just wanting answers. Either way, he had to play this one right. Having a mole inside the USR couldn't do anything but help.

"Look, I don't trust you enough yet to tell you what I do." Reed said.

"I understand that."

"But, I can tell you that it was in fact the USR that initiated your wife's death with their experiments and that it is the resistance who is trying to fight back against them for it."

"Okay," Sullivan said. "Time to cut this short. Here, take this."

Sullivan looked around before he reached into his jacket pocket. When his hand came back out, the fingers gripped a small black cell phone. Reed seemed to a bit apprehensive about taking the phone.

"Relax, it's not bugged. I know that you guys can scan the thing anyway to make sure. I'm here to help. If I wanted to bring you boys down, I would've called in a SWAT team instead of barging in that warehouse myself."

"Okay, what's the phone for?"

"Keep it on you. If I hear of anything, I'll call to warn you. My standing in the department isn't very high right now. I had to call in sick today just to meet with you. I don't know how much longer I'll even be employed."

"All right."

"Stay low. I know this is ironic, but don't trust anyone in there. If you feel the heat or anything, take your family, and book it the hell out of town."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to keep in contact with you until you trust me enough to give me some answers."

# .28

Those pair of wide, brown eyes stared right back into Harvey's. He could feel her pain. There was a time when he had to sit out an operation because of injury. Actually, there were more times than he cared to remember. Such was the case when running these rebellious black ops that went against the government. Her condition was getting worse and there was simply not a chance that she would survive not only the hike, but the bitter cold they would face as well.

"It's your choice, of course," Harvey said after he cleared his throat. "But, I must advise you to not go out on this one. Not in your condition."

Krys faked a laugh. "My condition hasn't stopped me, yet. Not going to now."

"Look, I understand..."

"How can you understand?"

"I understand because I'm a soldier. I've had these talks with others before. Had the same talks directed at me, too. Look..."

"I'm going, Sam. That's the end of it."

Harvey stood from his stool and looked down at his comrade. There was great admiration inside for the woman's fighting spirit. But, there was a time to go with your balls out, so to speak, and a time to sit one out. This was a time for the latter, but there would be no getting through to her, and he knew it. Ever since they linked up, her mind and her focus had been on one thing. Spreading the word about the USR experiments and finding a cure. Although the unit's activities had led to less time for spreading any kind of word, she was about to embark on her second, and most important, obsession. It would take a bullet to stop her.

Through the front of the tent, Kaspar entered with two cups of steaming coffee in his hands. He looked shocked to see Harvey here. The sight of the leader, looking so concerned while talking to Krys, caused him to have chill bumps. Harvey stood and shared a salute with Krys. The leader didn't say anything to Kaspar as he walked out. Kaspar took a seat at the stool and handed over a cup of coffee to Krys. She took it and slowly sipped at the steaming hot liquid.

"What was that about?" Kaspar asked as he blew on his coffee before taking a sip.

"It was about the next mission. I was told not to say anything about it."

Kaspar raised his right eyebrow. "Really?"

Krys smirked back. "Yeah. He told me not to tell you that I'm being asked to sit this next mission out."

Kaspar's heart sank and all the playful little emotions on his face disappeared. In their place was an ice cold stare. His mind raced as to what would happen next. Why would they ask her not to tag along on this one? Even with her worsening condition, she was one of the best and most valuable assets Harvey had at his disposal. It could've had something to do with the added reinforcements that Sanders character brought along with him. There was only one way to find out and he was too afraid to ask.

As he studied her, he didn't notice anything different physically. There were no more lesions around her neck. If there were any new ones, they weren't large enough to really notice. Her voice sounded weak, but that was nothing different, either. It had to be the added guns, Kaspar figured.

"What do you think?" Kaspar asked.

"You know I'm not going to sit this one out. Not when we're this close." Krys replied.

"So, tell him to kiss your ass."

"It's not that simple."

Oh, Christ. Kaspar thought. Here we go.

"Huh?"

"The security at this place is no picnic."

"Of course not. Especially if they've got in there what we think is there."

Krys tried to raise herself up from the bed but was too weak. Kaspar moved in and placed his hand on her head. He could feel her getting colder. The weather was getting colder, too, the further northwest they moved. The cold weather did nothing to help her get comfortable. They were told that they would have another day's drive before they were close to the target. It would be another long day in the armored vehicle for her. Those bumps in the road didn't allow her to sleep, which was what she needed more than anything else.

"We've got to park the vehicles about ten miles from the compound where we won't be seen. Then, we've got to hike the rest of the way." Krys informed.

"Shit." Kaspar replied.

"Tell me about it. That's a rough hike even for a healthy person."

Kaspar looked her straight in the eye. "You can't make that hike."

"What?"

"You heard me. It's not only ten miles of walking, with all of your equipment, but we're going to be in the mountains. The cold, not to mention any obstacles we might run into. You'd be dead before we even got there in your condition."

Krys frowned. "Everyone keeps saying that 'in your condition' bullshit. I know that I can do it. Nothing's ever stopped me before."

"You've got to pick your battles, Krys. You know deep down you couldn't make it that far out in the cold."

"I'm sure as hell going to give it a try."

Kaspar sighed. "Try to get up out of bed."

"What?"

"Give it a try."

The sight of the woman he loved being so sick that she wasn't able to get out of bed almost brought tears to Kaspar's eyes. He watched her struggle until he couldn't stand it any longer. He repeated over and over that it was okay to stop trying. Krys simply kept pushing until she was seated upright.

"You see, I've got this." she said.

Kaspar ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her cheek. Krys moved her head over and rested the cheek on his forehead. Her body trembled as she began to weep. With the sound of the crying, Kaspar wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Whispers in her ear that everything was going to be okay didn't stop the expressions of sadness from pouring out. Kaspar knew how embarrassed Krys was right now. With her strong will and cocky attitude, the scene that just now unfolded must've felt like the lowest point in her existence.

"We'll get this cure," Kaspar said. "I'm going to personally inject it into you. I'm going to save you."

"I hope you do, really, I do." Krys replied.

"In order for me to do that, you need to stay alive. You've got to sit this one out, baby."

"Okay," Krys said. The words were almost too hard to say. "I'll sit this one out."

"You will?"

"Yes, I will. Don't make me say it again or I'll puke."

Kaspar let go of her and stared straight in her eyes. There were still a few tears running down her cheek. With his fingers, he brushed them away. She managed to smile at him and, although it was hard given the circumstances, Kaspar smiled back.

"Your ass better make it, though. I'm not going to sit back and you not make it."

"I'll make it. You know me."

# .29

The mission brief went well enough Harvey thought as he sat down in his tent. Of course, Sanders took complete control over the mission brief from Harvey and didn't even allow the man to speak the entire time. The act had gotten old to the former Marine. This was his team and his operation. Now, Sanders was acting like it was he who discovered this compound and that Sanders, not Harvey, asked for the help. It was complete bullshit.

Over to his side was another cup of coffee. With his fingers gripped on the warm Styrofoam, he brought the steaming liquid to his lips. After he let the hot liquid run down his throat, he reached over for his pack of cigarettes. Just as he was lighting up, Buck walked into the tent. The kid didn't say anything. He simply walked into his father's tent and rested himself on the bed.

Buck reached into his pocket for a tennis ball and began to throw it in the air. Harvey was familiar with the game that his son played right now. During the wars he fought in, there was a lot of time to sit around in your tent and await your next order. Harvey began to throw a tennis ball in the air with the object being to get as close to the top without actually hitting it. As he watched his son go at it, he smiled as he realized he had been passed on his own invented game.

"What do you think about the mission?" Harvey asked.

Buck's eyes remained on the top as he continued the game. "Sounds good. No bombs this time. No chance for me to screw something up."

Harvey sighed. "You're never going to get over this if you keep on beating yourself up."

"I know that, but I can't stop thinking about Steinner. Would he still be alive if I hadn't been on that mission? Is it really my fault? I can't bring myself to answer any of those questions."

"War, and life for that matter, is full of unanswered questions. All we can do as men and women is try to learn from the past."

"Yeah, well, I'm still hurt by what happened, okay."

"Nobody said you couldn't feel any kind of emotion towards it. But, let that emotion make you stronger, not bring you down."

"Whatever."

Buck continued to play his game while Harvey looked down at the ground, taken aback by his son's blatant disrespect. There was a voice in the back of his head telling him to kick the little bastard out. Instead, he just sat there, staring at the ground wondering how he could get it through his son's thick head that death on the battlefield was inevitable. It almost felt like Buck did this kind of crap on purpose. When he finally looked up, Buck was just lying there, the tennis ball rested on his chest.

"You ever think about mom?" Buck asked with his eyes still straight up.

Harvey's face turned ice cold. "Where's this coming from?"

"I'm just asking if you ever think about her."

"Of course I think about her. She was the love of my life. The best parts of my life were with her."

"I see," Buck said.

After another moment of silence, Harvey spoke up. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm sure you didn't. I'm going to go somewhere by myself and think."

"Son, let's talk about this."

Buck had already gotten up from the cot. When he heard his father's voice, he stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't turn his body around to face his father. Instead, he merely turned his head and gave him half his face.

"Come on back in." Harvey pleaded.

"There's nothing to say." Buck said before he walked out.

Harvey gripped his cup of coffee and threw it to the ground. Words were never a strong suit for him. It seemed like he said things that could easily be twisted around to mean something completely different from what he intended. Buck knew this, of course, so when the little shit got angry or frustrated, he pulled a stunt like he just did. Now, Harvey was the bad guy once again while his son got to walk around and play the victim.

The rebel leader was ready to get up and grab another cup of Joe when Sanders walked into the tent, unannounced. Harvey felt like the luckiest man on the face of the planet. Just when he needed a pick me up, there stood the one person that he wanted to see. Sanders gave an expression that asked permission to walk in without actually saying those words. Harvey nodded and stood from his stool. Sanders walked in and sat down on the stool while Harvey moved over to his cot.

"What's going on with that little puke?" Sanders wondered.

"Father and son bullshit. You need to talk to me, Roy?"

"I sure as hell didn't come here to sit on your comfortable stool. Why don't you get us both a cup?"

Harvey held back what he wanted to say and instead went over to his coffee pot and poured out two cups. Sanders was a lot like himself when it came to coffee. Both wanted theirs to be straight up black. No sugar or cream to ruin one of God's greatest gifts. As he handed over the cup to Sanders, he felt a sense of shame once again. Not only did Sanders take over this operation, he was now giving orders in Harvey's own tent. Regret for asking for his help began to cloud the old Marine's thoughts. The regrets were always overruled by the realization that this operation would not be successful without Sanders's guns and his strategic thinking.

"What's up?" Harvey finally asked.

Sanders took a sip from the cup. "Just wanted to get your thoughts on the briefing."

"Your delivery was impeccable."

Sanders put on a scowl. "I don't give two rat's asses about how I delivered it. I'm a soldier, not some faggot public speaker. What did you think about the mission plan?"

"I think you've got it all figured out, Roy. What else do you want from me?"

"So, you don't have any thoughts, any suggestions, nothing?"

"I just don't know about that hike. We'll be worn to hell before we even reach the compound. The weather conditions won't be favorable, either."

"Those little pussies you've got under your command better cowboy the fuck up. I know my men can make it."

Harvey's face turned a beet red. "My men are brave and they've been through a lot together. Don't you ever disrespect them like that again, you get me?"

Sanders remained undeterred by the threat and gave Harvey a smirk. "What are you going to do about it? I've already taken over this mission with little resistance from you."

"You really want to make this about you and me? We don't have time. I don't have the energy to waste on these petty little arguments. I needed your help and I'm humble enough to admit that you're a better strategist than me. I just don't feel comfortable with that hike."

Sanders thought on that for a moment then took another sip. "You still thinking about that girl? Did you talk to her, yet?"

"Yes. She doesn't like being asked to sit out a mission."

"She'll get over it. Once we get that cure in her, she'll be right as rain, killing the bad guys again. Is she why you don't like the hike?"

Harvey laughed to relieve the tension he felt. "I don't like the hike because I don't fucking like it."

"Let's move onto something else, then."

"What?" Harvey demanded.

"That boy, Ryan I think, he's totally got it out for that woman. Do you trust him on this?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean. Is he going to jeopardize this Op trying to be a hero for that woman?"

Harvey hadn't thought about this before. If they got the cure and there was very little of it, and they had to conserve it, he knew that Kaspar would give his life if needed to make sure that Krys got a dose. Still, there was an entire compound full of the stuff. It had to be assumed that that building was only there to produce it. Harvey considered that outcome to be a very remote possibility. But, it was still a possibility.

"I trust him," Harvey said after thinking the details through in his head. "If anything, I think he'll fight harder."

"What if something goes wrong? Like we were sent on a wild goose chase and there's nothing there?"

"He'll be fine. You worry about your own men, Roy. I've got mine under control."

"Control? That sounds like something you struggle with."

"This conversation is over. You can see your way out."

Sanders was again defiant. He gave Harvey another smirk before he stood from his chair and walked out. There was something mumbled under his breath as he left the tent. Harvey didn't pay any attention to it.

The rocky relationship was only getting rockier.

# .30

Reed's back was still sore from another grueling day at the factory. Having just showered and changed in the locker room, he was putting on his street clothes when X tapped him on the shoulder. Reed looked up at him unsure of what the supposed loose cannon would do next. All the reformed gangbanger did was make a simple hand gesture with his thumb by his ear telling Reed to meet him outside once he was ready. The leader understood and he finished getting ready. The closer he got to the back door, the faster his heart rate rose.

The cool air outside felt good as it brushed against his skin when he first walked out. Work in the factory was not only hard labor, but it seemed that the USR didn't deem the factory workers worthy of the credits it would take to air condition the place. Reed looked around for X but couldn't find him right away. After a few short moments, he heard a whisper sound to his right. He turned the corner of the factory and found his friend motioning with his hand to come closer. While Reed wore a light jacket and jeans for the cooler weather, his comrade simply wore a sleeveless vest made of leather to go with the worn out jeans on his legs. Reed approached, preparing his mind mentally for the worst.

"What's up, X?" Reed asked in a low tone.

"Heard you talked to the enemy today." X replied.

"You heard that, huh?"

"Let's get the fuck out of here, amigo."

The two began to walk with a brisk pace down the deserted sidewalk and streets around the factory. Because of the grueling nature and hours with their work, everyone who worked in the factory was exempt from the USR's mandated curfew. All they had to do was show their credentials and they were given a free pass. Tonight, they were kept several hours later than what they normally worked. That tipped off Reed, and he's sure X and the others, that someone was onto them. They couldn't meet for their card games after work if they were in the factory until midnight. Reed didn't mind the extra work, but he knew there were certain others in the crew who would be upset about it. It seemed that they were going to X now and not him, which pissed off Reed to a certain degree.

Without warning, X grabbed at Reed near the chest, his strong hands gripped his jacket as Reed was shoved into the brick wall behind him. Reed's breathing quickened as he looked into the eyes of a man not afraid to kill. X let the tension build by not saying anything at first. In the process, he quietly dared his leader to say anything to him without permission.

X pressed Reed further into the wall. "What are you doing talking with an Agent, bro?"

Reed talked through his heavy breathing. "He came to the factory. I was called down to talk to him. I wasn't going to say 'no'."

"Was it the same pig who crashed our party the other night?"

"Yes, but listen..."

X moved his face closer to Reed's. "Listen to what? I think you're sleeping with the enemy, homes."

Reed fought through the stench in X's breath as his mind raced. "Look, he's disillusioned, his wife..."

"I don't give a shit about his wife. What I do care about are my homeboys that you're putting in danger. I should kill you right now."

X reached into his jacket pocket and reached for his old switchblade. With a push of the switch, the clean, shiny blade popped up through the handle. The sight of the weapon caused Reed's heart rate and breathing to escalate to the point where he thought he would pass out. The words "wait, wait" didn't come from his mouth as his vocal cords failed to respond. X held the blade close to Reed's eyes.

"You know how many people I've killed?" X demanded.

Reed shook his head.

"More people than you can imagine. Now, I want to know why you're talking to the enemy."

"Just...let me breath for a second."

X let loose of his one-time friend. Reed's sore back slid down the brick behind him. When his feet touched the ground again, he bent over and grabbed at his knees. The fatigue from the workday was still clouding his mind, now he had to deal with X's bullshit. Their whole operation to this point was built on trust. Now, there was some dissention within the group thanks to this Agent who wanted to play both sides. Reed feigned catching his breath so his mind could work. How could he explain this to X? He tried to reverse the situation and think how he would react if X was the one that seemed to flirt with the enemy.

"Look," Reed began. "He wants out, okay? That drug in the water supply killed his wife and he wants answers."

"Why us?"

"Because, the USR has done such a damn fine job of weeding out the resistance. That Agent seems to think we're the only ones left in town."

"I don't buy it. It's a trap."

"It could be, I agree. But, if it's not, think of the advantage we could have with someone on the inside feeding us information."

X pondered that for a moment. "I don't like it. You need to stop talking to him right now."

Reed reached into his jacket pocket for the phone. "He gave me this. He told me that he would call me on this phone if he sensed any trouble."

"Give me that."

X snatched the phone from his hands. He held it up close and began to inspect it. Reed simply gasped for breath again.

"Is it bugged?" X demanded.

"I don't know, okay? We can run a tracer on it to see."

"What all have you told him?"

"Nothing. He has no clue what we do in the factory. It's forbidden even for him to know by his superiors. I think he's telling the truth."

X slid the phone into his vest pocket and put the knife away as well. He then reached over and patted Reed on the back. The leader grew confused as to what would happen next. Was it really over after X threatened his life with that knife?

"Pick yourself up, homes." X said. "Just had to make sure."

"Make sure what?"

"That you weren't switching sides. We'll take a look at that phone to see if it's bugged. Just, don't trust that Agent, okay?"

"Not sure who I can trust at the moment, actually." Reed replied.

"Well, you can trust us. If that Agent wanted to fuck around with us, he would've done it already."

"How's our little mission going?" Reed asked with a sense of relief in his tone.

"We've got the shipment ready. Statue is going to export our goods within the next couple of nights with that truck. Just gotta make sure he's all clear. After that, we disappear." X replied.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to fight with the resistance. What about you, homes?"

"I'm not sure. I've got my family to look after. We'll probably go on the run. Maybe I can find a job somewhere after that."

"Unlikely. The USR's going to be looking for you. You'll have to go underground."

"Thanks for the reassurance."

"I'm not here to comfort your patty ass. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

# .31

The combat vehicle came to complete stop. Under Sanders's direction, the rebels were able to avoid detection, just as he planned. They sat now on the mountain some thirteen miles away from their target. Kaspar felt the vehicle stop and his nerves were starting to get the better of him. His body was shaking, and he wasn't sure if it was from the cold air outside, or if it was from those nerves. He still struggled with pre-fight jitters.

Krys's head rested on his lap. Somehow, she managed to get some sleep during the trek up the mountain. When the vehicle stopped, she started to move her head as her mind left the dream world and reentered the real one. She moved her hand up to her burning forehead and wiped at the sweat. Then, her eyes made contact with Kaspar's and her mouth revealed a smile. Kaspar smiled back down at her.

"Hey, you." Krys said.

"Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?" Kaspar replied.

"I feel like I'm burning up."

Krys reached for the zipper on her jacket, but Kaspar moved her hand aside. He unzipped the jacket for her. She needed help rising up from her lying position and then she slid her arms out. The fact that she was burning up was not a good thing. The combat vehicles they rode in did not have heating on the inside, and the temperature outside was frigid.

"See you outside, Kas." Dexter said as he stood and moved for the back of the vehicle.

When the door was opened, the cold air blasted its way through. Dexter was quick to shut it, but the damage had already been done. Krys's demeanor immediately changed. Now, she felt a sharp chill run down her spine. A curse from under her breath could be heard as Kaspar maneuvered himself down the bench.

"Might need that jacket after all," Krys said through her chattering teeth.

Kaspar handed over the jacket and helped her put it on. Once on, Kaspar then helped her try to get comfortable on the bench. There were blankets in the back and two were placed overtop her. She rested her head on a white pillow and struggled to take a deep breath. Kaspar moved off the bench, got down on one knee, and rubbed at Krys's forehead.

"You be careful out there." Krys said.

"I will. You going to be okay back here?" Kaspar wondered.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Robbie's going to be here to look over me."

"Not sure he's the best person for that."

Krys smiled. "He'll do fine. We should be able to avoid detection all the way out here, anyway."

"I don't want to leave you here."

"I know, but they need you and your gun. Trust me, I'll be fine. You just need to focus on the task at hand."

Kaspar could feel a lump in his throat as he swallowed hard. "I'm going to save you."

Krys smiled again. "I know."

Kaspar was about to move in for a kiss when he heard a loud banging noise on the back door. He shouted to hold on a moment then focused his attention back on Krys. It was always obvious to him, but the woman in front of him had never looked more beautiful. The greatest privilege of his life was being the one that Krys loved. That love was returned ten-fold on his end. Besides Mother, no other person loved him just for being exactly who he was. The thought of not having her around any longer caused him to feel a great, vast darkness inside. He moved his face close and embraced Krys with a kiss.

"You better get moving." Krys said.

Kaspar pulled away. "Yeah, I guess so. You just hold tight. Try to stay warm."

There was that damn banging on the door again, only louder this time. Kaspar looked to the door then back at Krys. With a wink, Kaspar turned and moved to the door. Once there, he turned and gave one last look to Krys before he opened it. He was met by the ice cold stare of Sanders once it was opened. Sanders helped with the shutting of the door.

"About fucking time," Sanders scowled.

"Just had to make sure she was okay."

"You need to focus on the mission."

Kaspar bit his tongue. This old bastard was the wrong person to get in a shouting match with, and Kaspar knew it. The rebel moved over to the others who were dressed in the same white camouflaged fatigues as him. The new uniforms, different from the black ones they wore on every other mission, were provided by Sanders and his crew. Kaspar wiggled around in his as the closest one to his size was bit snug. It brought back memories of the first time he suited up for one of these missions. He reasoned that the tighter fit would help him to stay warm, which would be essential. They had a long hike on their hands, feet, and everything else.

Dexter moved over and patted Kaspar on the back. There was a halfhearted smile on Dexter's face. He was a man who was not good with emotion. Still, Kaspar appreciated the gesture. All around them were men from Sanders's unit. During their travels to this spot there was little time to get to know any of them. They all looked tough as hell, though. Sanders simply didn't allow them to be "weak" with any kind of emotion other than a gung ho, let's fuck some Agents up, attitude.

In the middle of the make shift arc that they all made, Sanders was having words with Harvey. It didn't seem like a confrontation so much as the two old war veterans making sure the plan was in place. Over to his right, Kaspar noticed Buck standing by himself, his arms folded across his chest. The kid was leaning against the trunk of a pine tree. The snow underneath Kaspar's boots made a crunching sound which gave away his approach. Buck looked to the sound, saw his comrade, and then looked back into the distance again.

"How are you feeling, Buck?" Kaspar wondered.

"I'm doing fine," Buck replied without looking over. "Just ready to get this over with, you know?"

"I hear you."

"I hope it's in there and that we can find it."

"You're telling me. Your lover isn't sitting in the back of a vehicle dying."

Buck smirked. "Just because I don't love someone who's infected doesn't mean you've got more reason than me to get it."

"Why do you want it so bad, then?"

"Well," Buck said with a shake of the head. "I just want to make my old man proud, I guess."

"I'm telling you, kid, you already have."

The conversation was cut short with a loud whistle from Sanders. Kaspar made a gesture with his head to follow him over. When they arrived at the huddle, the bitter cold was already getting to Kaspar. He reached into his flak jacket and grabbed the white Balaclava. It fit snug on the top of his head and he didn't fold it all the way down to cover his face just yet.

"Okay, girls," Sanders said. "We've got a long hike in front of us. Just suck it up. If you don't think you can make it, you can stay behind with the woman and Robert."

Kaspar bit his tongue again.

"Now, we want to make it there in as short a time as possible, you get me? So, go to the equipment truck, get your shit, and get back here. Double time it!"

# .32

There was nothing but the cold. That was all that Kaspar could think about as he forced his way up trying to keep pace with everyone else. His attempts at guessing how many miles they had gone to this point stopped long ago. Every time he thought they might be close, there were more miles of snow covered ground. There was no feeling in his toes any more. His face, despite being covered by the white Balaclava, felt like someone was stabbing all areas of his cheeks with a sharp razor blade.

The afternoon sun glistened off of the metallic silver lenses which covered his eyes. When he looked up, he thought he saw something blink in the sky. With all the mental and physical exhaustion, he felt that it must have been an illusion, so he just ignored it. He pressed on and felt a temptation to fire the PSD, which was slung across his chest, into the air so he could place his hands on the hot barrel. All the others, they seemed to be pros at this, especially Sanders's crew. None of them seemed to struggle and, even if they were, they were skilled at not showing any signs of it. He just didn't know, with the way his body ached, how he could even attempt to get into a firefight with the USR. Not when he couldn't feel his hands.

As he continued to follow the others up the endless mountain his thoughts started to drift away from him. Of course, the only person he was thinking about at this point was Krys. Was she okay? Did she finally succumb to the poison inside of her and die? There would be no way of knowing until they got back. Sanders was very clear that he wanted radio silence from all members of the team and there would be no exceptions. Sanders didn't want this mission to go fubar, but then again, nobody else did, either. What made Sanders so high and mighty?

The climb went on. Somehow, even though he felt as if his entire body was numb, Kaspar could feel the burn in his hamstrings and upper legs. So tired, he just needed to sit down somewhere and build a fire, then continue on. But the others, they just kept at it with their steady pace. When would it end?

Kaspar saw Krys in his mind lying in a casket. They didn't make it in time to cure her. All he wanted right now was to see her smile again. Was that too much to ask? He imagined them when they first got together. She made him feel like the best person on the face of the earth, and Kaspar knew that he wasn't, but she still loved him all the same. There was never a time when Krys made him doubt their relationship. Just like with everyone else, they had their spats every now and then, but she always told him how much she loved him even when they fought. He just didn't know what he was going to do if he couldn't save her.

More snow, more steps, more sharp stabs to the face. Kaspar didn't even know how he was still standing at this point, when he couldn't feel his feet. How had he managed to keep pressing on? The more he tried to ignore the pain, the more intense it grew to the point that it was all he thought about. There was another temptation in his mind to run to the front and ask Sanders how close they were. He knew what the response would have been, though, so he just kept moving.

Harvey was right next to him. Just like Sanders, despite his age, he moved like he was thirty years younger. Kaspar peered over at him and tried to catch a glimpse at even the slightest bit of fatigue but there was none to be found. Harvey, who wasn't even wearing his mask, looked to Kaspar and nodded his head.

"Just got to keep moving," Harvey said through the sharp, howling wind. "We'll be there soon."

Kaspar couldn't bring himself to talk with his chattering teeth. He simply nodded his head back. How soon was soon, though? Another hour of this shit? Maybe more? Kaspar's thoughts drifted from Krys to Mother now. If there was an afterlife, he wondered what she was up to at this moment. Was she looking down at him, urging him on, even though he couldn't hear it? Instead of that, he pictured her sitting down on a rocker, knitting away at her latest masterpiece. She was completely at peace, which was what she deserved after all she went through on earth.

That anger over her murder burned inside once again, even in these bitter conditions. With all these missions they ran trying to stop the USR's experiments in population control, he almost forgot why he was in this in the first place. It was because of her, to avenge her death. Even though he let one of them go, he knew that with every success, he was in turn, succeeding in that revenge. He would take down as much of the USR as he could before he joined her, but then, what would anything he had done to that point matter?

Up front, Sanders held his left fist straight up in the air. The hand signal ordered everyone to stop. With a wave of his left arm up and down, that meant to get down. Kaspar obeyed the order along with everyone else. Down on one knee, he shouldered his PSD and aimed it forward, ready to gun down the poor Agent who showed his face.

The longer they remained down, the more focus was lost. He tried with everything not to think about the cold, but it clouded his mind to the point where he didn't feel as if he could pull the trigger in time if they were ambushed. After what seemed like an eternity, Sanders finally gave the all clear. They were up and at it again. Kaspar struggled to get back up. With the fatigue and the cold, his legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each.

They kept pressing on and they arrived at the top of a hill. When Kaspar reached the top, he looked down and a wave of relief swept through him. They had made it. The compound sat there, downhill a little bit, and it still looked fairly small from here, but they would be there before he knew it.

"Huddle up, men." Sanders ordered.

The team moved in towards Sanders and huddled around him as ordered. He gave each person a look before he talked. When he got to Kaspar, he made a motion with his hands for him to take off the mask. Kaspar did so, but with reluctance. When the Balaclava left his face, the bitter cold wind stabbed at it with even more fury. What the hell did it matter if he was wearing the thing, anyway?

Once Sanders was satisfied, he continued. "Listen up, ladies, there's our target right down there. We've got to..."

Just then, off in the distance, the loud sound of a set of jet engines echoed through the cold air. They all looked up to see three fighter jets, flying low, to the point where they could all see the USR insignia on the tails. They continued to fly in low towards the compound. Kaspar watched in horror, unsure of what was about to happen. He soon found out.

A wave of missiles from the fighters headed straight for the compound.

# .33

The explosion was deafening. Even from the distance at which the compound went up in flames, Kaspar could feel the heat of the fires on his face. He cursed aloud and got to his knees. The tears flowed free. As he stood, he caught a glimpse of an Agent pointing his weapon at him. Before the Agent could fire, Sanders took him out with an automatic burst.

"Goddamn it!" Sanders cried out. "I thought I fucking heard something!"

Sanders ordered his men to retreat. There was an assault vehicle full of Agents and they all came pouring out of it, M4 Carbines drawn and firing. Bullets tore through the snow covered ground all around Kaspar. He was in shock, staring down at the compound which was gone, and along with it, the cure was gone. This was Krys's last shot and it was going up in flames.

The bullets continued to fly in his direction. Harvey reached over and grabbed Kaspar by the shoulders and forced him to the ground.

"The hell is the matter with you?" Harvey demanded.

"The cure...Krys..."

"Forget about that right now, we've got to get the hell out of here!"

Harvey shouldered his PSD and fired away at the Agents who were making their way down the hill. Kaspar gathered himself and started to run down. He ran so fast that he lost his balance and went tumbling down the snow covered ground. When his momentum finally stopped, he collected himself and turned. The other squad members were moving their way down. A few would stop every so often to fire at the Agents in pursuit.

This was all a setup, Kaspar thought as he aided in the gunfire. His adrenaline was finally kicking in and he no longer felt the pain or the cold. All that mattered now was getting out of here. He couldn't think about the cure right now, Harvey was right about that. Dying on this mountain would do nobody any good. They would have to try and find another way.

Kaspar tried to aim at the Agents, who also wore white fatigues, the only thing giving them away were the white helmets. He prayed that he wouldn't hit any friendlies on accident, but he had to try and help. He fired at the white helmets as three of Sanders's men went down. The ones that survived were getting closer. The image of Sanders's scar on the side of his face came into view. Sanders lowered his body and slid the rest of the way to Kaspar's position.

"We've got to retreat!" Sanders cried as he turned his attention to the white hats.

"What the hell happened?" Kaspar demanded over the gunfire.

"No idea! No time to think about it right now!"

More of the rebels made it down. Kaspar could almost see the whites of Dexter's eyes before he was gunned down by a barrage of bullets from behind. Harvey and Buck were the last ones to make it. They all looked to Sanders. The Agents continued their descent down. They stopped firing for a moment.

"Move!" Sanders yelled.

The unit turned and continued to run down. In front of them were several trees which they could use for cover. The Agents resumed their firing as they got closer down. Kaspar made a run for one of the trees. Another of Sanders's men went down just as Kaspar reached the tree. Chunks of bark from the evergreen went up in the air as he pressed his back against it.

When there was a break in the tree going up, Kaspar sidestepped and searched for a white hat to shoot at. He found one and held down the trigger. The Agent never stood a chance and went down. Kaspar had to be fast. Another Agent pointed his gun at him and fired. He made it the safety of the tree trunk just in time. That Agent was taken out by Buck. Kaspar never thought that Buck would save his ass.

"You okay?" Buck asked from Kaspar's right.

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Let's move!" Sanders cried once again.

Kaspar reluctantly left the cover of the trunk and ran. The blasts of gunfire echoed through the cold air. A couple of rebels stayed behind to provide cover. Once Kaspar and the others made it down some more, they turned at Sanders's order to provide cover for those that stayed behind. Kaspar took out two more Agents before the rebels made it.

"Move it!" Sanders cried.

All but two turned to run again. The two that stayed took out several more Agents before the enemies managed to take cover behind the trees. One Agent reached for his flak jacket and blind tossed a frag grenade in the air. It landed next to Kaspar.

"Grenade!" Kaspar cried once it hit the ground next to him.

A new kind of adrenaline rush entered Kaspar. He ran harder than he knew he could. After a few steps, he dove forward and the grenade went off. Shrapnel flew through the air and a piece of it slashed the side of his face. He cried out in pain, but quickly got up with the help of Harvey.

"You all right?" Harvey wondered.

"Let's just get out of..."

More gunfire. Kaspar turned and fired on an Agent who slipped through. Five rounds hit him in the chest before Harvey aimed for the head. Everything was going to hell again, Kaspar thought as he and Harvey jolted forward. Why couldn't anything they planned just go according to that plan?

The gunfire continued. All the rebels were now in a line, down low in the snow. Sanders ordered them to hold the line. Kaspar emptied the mag in his PSD and grabbed a fresh one. Fully reloaded, he awaited Sander's orders to fire. The Agents were still moving in their positions around the trees for cover. There were about eight of them left, from what Kaspar could tell.

The rebels fired away at the trees, but the Agents had a solid position now behind them. They would have to make a bold move and try to ambush them there. Kaspar started to doubt Sanders's leadership. They were now without any cover, left behind where their enemies were now. Sanders yelled for them to take their grenades and throw them towards the trees. Kaspar grabbed a hold of one and yanked it from his flak jacket. He pulled the pin and threw it. The explosives went off and the Agents scattered from behind the trees.

Out in the open, the Agents fired towards the rebels. The rebels in turn fired back. After a long moment of straight gunfire, gun smoke filled the mountain air. When the smoke cleared, all the Agents were either dead or bleeding to death on the snow. Some were taken out by the explosions, but most by the gunfire. On the other side, two more of Sanders's men went down. All that remained were Sanders, three of his men, Harvey, Buck and Kaspar. The threat seemed to be over for now.

They had a long hike downhill to deliver Krys the bad news.

# .34

Krys took the news of the failed mission about as good as anyone could take a death sentence. She just went silent and remained that way as they made their escape from the mountain. Two hours passed in the back of the vehicle and still no words were spoken. Kaspar rubbed at his cheek where the bandages had been placed. The bits of shrapnel that fileted his face had given him one large, nasty gash and several other scratches all across the side of his face. It hurt like hell when Sanders used the tweezers to get the small pieces of razor sharp bits out.

Across from him, Krys lay down on the bench, all bundled up under the blankets. Kaspar grew haunted by the wide eyed, emotionless look on her face. The only thing that remained to occupy his mind, until Krys felt like talking, was the mystery of what exactly happened. Those were USR fighter jets, that much was certain, but why would they do this?

Kaspar had to accept where they were at this point. Krys, as much as he hated to admit it, was likely to die within...hell, he didn't want to speculate. There was nothing he could do to save her any longer, unless there was a miracle waiting somewhere at the end of this darkness. Somehow, he doubted it. Too much was wrong with this world to hope for something as impossible as a miracle.

He started to say something to her, some type of motivational talk, but held back. The way he figured it, she needed the time to sit and think. As much as he loved her, and as much as he wanted to, there was nothing he could say to make the poison go away. Instead of talking, he got up from his seated position and moved to a seat right next to her head. He moved his fingers to her strands of hair and played around with her soft locks. Krys slowly moved to her side, her breathing heavy, and looked at Kaspar with those wide, brown eyes that Kaspar loved. There was no room for smiling, though, not right now.

Krys coughed then said, "I'm sorry."

Kaspar raised an eyebrow. "You're sorry? For what?"

"I'm sorry that you couldn't save me. I know how badly you wanted to."

Kaspar moved in close and gave Krys a kiss on her lips. Krys didn't have the strength for any kind of intimate kiss, but Kaspar didn't care. Any kind of kiss from the woman of his dreams was good enough for him. He cherished the kiss and, after their lips left each other's, he could feel a single tear run down his left cheek. Krys moved her hand up and wiped it away just as tears started to flow from her own eyes. With a strong tug, Kaspar pulled her close from under her arms, and she rested her head on his chest. He kissed the top of her head then looked straight ahead. Only one thought ran through his mind at that moment.

The USR will pay...in blood.

***

The two old war veterans sat by themselves in the back of their vehicle. They had their laptops turned on, wired in to the news stations which were rapidly reporting the news of, what they called, the worst act of terrorism ever committed against the USR. Several of the Consuls from all over the country were condemning the resistance and the old way of life which led to this atrocity. Harvey had to slam his laptop shut as he couldn't stand to listen to it anymore.

"Hell of a thing to do," Sanders said, eyes still glued to his large computer screen.

"What?" Harvey demanded.

"This, the USR, its one helluva power play."

"We were setup all along, weren't we?"

Sanders nodded his head. "No doubt about it. They destroy the cure, which was probably leaked to your guys on purpose, get us on video heading in that direction. Then, the big bad Agents move in to save the day. Like I said, helluva power play."

"You don't sound a bit surprised."

Sanders shook his head. "I'm not surprised. I could smell this trap from a mile away."

"Why'd you agree to help us then?" Harvey demanded. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Sanders didn't reply.

"How many men did we lose today? All on some farce that you saw coming? Now, Krys is about to go. No way we're going to be recovering from this for a long time."

Sanders sighed, "So easy to give in to defeat you are, Sam. There are still others like us. Units that the USR built to expand their influence. We'll strike back at them hard. They won't even see it coming."

Harvey shook his head and leaned back in his chair. Sanders was talking all crazy again. The cure was the one thing that the resistance could possess that could've changed the tides in this war. Now, that trump card was gone, and all they had to show for it were the lives of brave men. There was nothing else they could do. Not right now, anyway, with their unit all beat to shit.

"Stop shaking your damn head," Sanders said. "I've known rookie pukes with more dedication to the mission than you."

"Rookie pukes don't know better, either."

"So, what now, we just fold our tents and pack it in?"

"Not forever, just until we rest up and maybe find some more guys."

Sanders stood and walked over to the side of the vehicle. With his arm rested against the cold steel wall, he buried his head into it. After several sighs he faced Harvey again. Harvey could sense the sadness in his new partner's eyes. It was a sadness that he could understand. The war seemed more and more like one they couldn't win. He wondered if Sanders could sense the same thing. If they couldn't win, Sanders seemed like the type to give them as much hell as possible before the end. Harvey was more of the take it easy type. He didn't see it as giving up the way his partner did. To him, it was more about resting before the next battle; making sure they had all their ducks in a row first.

The two soldiers remained in what would've looked like a trance like stare to the uninformed. The whole time, Harvey tried to get a read on what exactly Sanders was thinking. He obviously had something in mind, the only thing that bothered Harvey was how much trouble they were about to get into.

"Let me ask you something," Sanders finally said. "Soldier to soldier, have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harvey wondered.

"Nothing philosophical or any of that bullshit. I mean literally, have you looked in the mirror? We're getting old...we're already old. How much time do you think we have left?"

Harvey sighed. "I know we're not young anymore. But, just because we're old doesn't mean we need to be fool hearty."

Sanders slammed his fist on the side of the vehicle. "Who's being fool hearty?! I've got just a few more years left, you get me?"

"I understand, but we've just suffered a major loss. Let's take some time..."

"There you go with time again."

"What do you propose?" Harvey asked.

"We've got that geek of yours in that other vehicle, right?"

Harvey shook his head. "We can't trust any of that, not after today."

Sanders slammed his fist one last time before he took a seat. Harvey felt pity for the old soldier. It was never easy to suffer a defeat. Everyone dealt with it differently. For Sanders, it was always about the next fight. That was the way his mind operated. Sanders rubbed his hands together as he sat.

"How about something we do know about...for a fact."

"What's that?"

"D.C." Sanders replied. "The Capitol."

Harvey was shocked at the mere mention of the Capitol. Almost anyone who was a leftover knew about D.C. Right at the beginning of the USR's reign, they blew up the White House as a way of saying that the old ways were over. The rubble from the explosion was never cleaned up. There were still chunks of the old structure stuck into the ground. In its place, the USR built a smaller, five story structure which also served as a way of saying the United States was defeated. We are here now. It was a key structure for the USR. One that, if the resistance brought down or took over, would cause serious shockwaves through the USR's leaders.

"No," Harvey said with a shake of his head. "Absolutely not."

"Why the hell not?" Sanders demanded.

"We don't have the man power to carry out such an operation, for one thing."

Sanders smiled. "I've got connections too, you know. We can assemble a squad large enough if we wanted to."

"What about the repercussions?"

"There will always be repercussions, you know that, Sam."

"Not like this. The USR will up the ante if we succeed."

"We've got to do something. We can't just roll over and play dead for a while. They certainly don't give a damn about harming—killing—their own people as we saw tonight. They need to be reminded that we're still around and not playing their fucking games."

"So, this is about us proving something to them? It's too risky."

"Of course we're trying to prove something to them. Not only that, but if we could do something...drastic like this, it will motivate the other patriots out there. Besides, you want the USR to think that they can just do this shit and get away with it? Not me. No, I'm going to get on the phones with my contacts. You want in? You can join us. I'll let you think about it."

With that, Sanders sat back down in front of his computer. He grabbed a pair of headphones and turned the volume up. All Sanders wanted right now was to be alone, but being stuck in the vehicle with Harvey made that impossible.

Harvey walked over to one of the benches and lay down on his back. The thought of striking back at the heart of the USR was intriguing, but he just couldn't get past the feeling that it was too soon. They still needed recovery time. But, maybe Sanders was right for once. He wasn't getting any younger and the USR was only getting stronger. If they could succeed in taking over that building, that could send the right message to all the other resistance units around the country that there was hope. Harvey forced his upper body back up. He looked in Sanders's direction and his partner looked back. With a thumbs up, the message was clear.

Harvey was all in.

# .35

"Ryan, I think something's wrong." Krys said.

Those words jolted Kaspar from his sleep. For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming as he saw Krys fall off the bench. He moved over to her with swiftness and picked her up. Her entire body shook and her lips trembled. When she started to gag, he reached over for the orange bucket next to them. Once he placed it in front of her, she started to vomit into it without control. The vomiting was so fierce that she only had a few seconds in between each evacuation to breathe.

This was it, Kaspar thought. There was a feeling of guilt inside when it didn't hit him as hard as he thought it would. However, he told himself that he had been anticipating this moment for so long that he was almost desensitized to it. Still, there was a massive feeling of sadness that gripped him on the inside. He fought back the tears in an attempt to be stronger for her.

As he held her, he reached into his pocket for his walkie. He cried into it telling everyone to stop and pull over if it was safe. Krys was very sick and she needed some kind of medical attention. When the words were said into the device, he could feel the vehicle stop dead in its tracks. Krys finished vomiting and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. In all the times that she was sick, she never looked this bad. Her face was pale and her lips were blue. She was gasping for breath.

The doors behind them opened and the rest of the crew filed into the back. Kaspar saw Harvey, who had a concerned look on his face. With a simple shake of the head, Harvey's eyes dropped. The rebel leader had a syringe in his hand and moved in on Krys.

"No," Krys said at the sight of it. "No more, please. I just want to rest."

"Are you sure? This can make you feel better." Harvey replied.

"I said no. It's over, Sam. Just let me be."

Harvey nodded his head and turned. He told the others to file out and give the two inside some privacy. The door shut behind Kaspar and Krys again. Kaspar looked deep into his lover's eyes and tried to picture her healthy, happy, and free once again. His heart was sinking at the thought of this being the last image of her that he would ever see.

"Not yet," Kaspar said. "Not like this. Take the meds."

"Why?" Krys asked.

"It's to help you."

"Ryan, I'm ready to go. I've been suffering for so long. I just want it to end, the suffering, I just want it to end."

Kaspar could not fight back the tears any longer. His grip on her body grew stronger. He lifted her head close to his. He didn't care if she had just been sick. He brought his lips close to hers and kissed them. After the kiss on the lips, he gave her several pecks on her cheek. He then moved his forehead to hers. She was so cold, that was the one thing that struck Kaspar more than anything else. He never realized that a person could get this cold and still breathe.

"Ryan," Krys said with trembling lips. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

"Don't stop fighting. And, don't fight just to avenge me or your mother. Find the real reason behind what we're doing and fight for that."

"Okay," Kaspar replied. He started to run his fingers through her hair.

"You're not going to are you?" Krys asked with a small laugh.

"I'll try. But, you know why I joined this fight, and now you're gone, I don't see any real reason other than to kill as many of those bastards as I can."

"Just, try, as long as you try, that would make me happy."

"I'll try."

"Can you see that?" Krys wondered.

"What?"

Those were her last words. When the breathing stopped, her body went limp and became heavy. Kaspar wept and held her body close to his. All the experiences she had in life, all the highs and lows, all of the love that they shared, was gone in that instant. Kaspar wondered what it must have been like for her. For someone who truly lived her life to the fullest and now, in the blink of an eye, it was all gone. Did anything she did even matter, in the grand scheme of things? It mattered to Kaspar, of that much he was sure of, but once Kaspar met his eventual end, what then?

The words he wanted to say, that he loved her with everything inside, didn't come out in time. He would never be able to tell her, wouldn't be able to speak to her ever again, and the weeping at that thought grew stronger. He looked into her wide, brown eyes that were once so full of life, and now they only looked aimless. Kaspar became haunted by the image of her dead eyes being wide open. It reminded him of Mother, the last time he saw her. Was this his lot in life? Would anyone he cared about suffer a cruel, early death? For the second time, Kaspar felt like his life had been snatched away from him.

"Krys?" Kaspar asked out of sheer hope that she would snap out of it. He began to shake her body. "Krys? KRYS!"

The others outside heard the shout and opened the door behind him. Kaspar didn't bother to look over to them. He buried his head into Krys's chest and began to weep without control. None of the others tried to intervene, except for Clarke, who had a tear run down his own cheek. He walked over to Kaspar and placed a hand on his shoulder. Kaspar didn't move. The only movement from him came from his lungs, which tried to draw breath in between the sobs.

Clarke said a silent good-bye to his old friend and walked out.

***

A clap of thunder brought Kaspar back to the present. After the thunder came another strike of lighting. The bolts above lit up the black night sky and illuminated the near empty field. The intensity of the rain increased which created deep puddles of rain water atop the thick, green grass. He felt the lump in his throat and that promise that he made, that he wouldn't cry and instead stay strong, came close to being broken. He watched as six of his brothers lowered the makeshift casket into the ground. There were others along both sides of the deep chasm where their comrade was buried.

After another clap of thunder, he felt a firm hand grip his left shoulder. Kaspar turned that way and nodded his head at Clarke. Clarke looked deep into his eyes through the thick lenses with beads of water dripping down them. It was at this moment that Kaspar realized that Clarke was the only friend that he had left.

Harvey shouted something that was nearly muffled by the thunderous skies above. Three of the men turned and pointed their M16 assault rifles to the sky. Harvey screamed "fire!" and they obeyed. The loud cracks of the rifles echoed in the air. Kaspar jolted in surprise just before Harvey ordered another round of fire.

As the men fired, the ones on either end of the burial ground began to unfold a large American flag. When it was completely unfolded, Harvey had a few things to say about patriotism and how the world had just lost a great warrior. Not just a warrior, Harvey reminded all of them, but a great person and friend, as well. Kaspar paid little attention to it. Instead, his mind was consumed with the memories he had with Krys. These memories that he had would last in his consciousness as long as he remained alive. In that way, it would be like the fallen was never really gone. However, just like with Mother, Kaspar knew that she would never be visible in this world again.

Harvey turned to Kaspar and asked if he wanted to say a few words. He nodded and walked to the front. What could be said about the person who brought him to life and was now gone? The person that he loved the most in this whole world left him and now he was forced to wander around, alone. As his mind raced for something to say, he took a deep breath, fighting back a few tears as he did. He would regret this moment forever if he simply said nothing at his one true love's funeral.

"What can I say?" Kaspar started. He felt the lump in his throat again and paused to clear it. "Krys was the funniest, strangest, and the most brave person I have ever met. I am positive that as long as I live, I will never meet someone that I will love more than her. When we first met, I was so self-absorbed in my own sorrow, in my own self-pity. She taught me that it was okay to live with my pain. And, no matter how selfish or stubborn I was, she loved me like no one has ever loved me. She was the best person on the planet. And, believe me when I say this, the USR will pay for her death."

He had already forgotten the promise that he made to her with those words.

# .36

The Board of Elders watched the news broadcasts on the large TVs which lined the side wall. Most of the members couldn't hold back the smiles on their faces as the news affiliates from all across the USR reported on the latest deadly attack brought about by the resistance. Anti-American rhetoric was also present on nearly all of the broadcasts. The USR, the reports said, would not sit back and just let the resistance tear this country apart.

For his part, Caine kept a low profile at the end of the table. He watched with intent eyes and his ears were wide open. Destroying the cure, to some, was a bad move. There were no doubt others in his Board that felt the same as that other prick, but after seeing his fate, they kept their mouths shut. The only one he knew for sure was on his side was Blake, who as second in command, had obvious political reasons for siding with him. There was just too much power to lose by doing something stupid and speaking out at inappropriate times.

Caine had enough of the TV and turned the screens off. His Elders looked to him with anticipation in their eyes. They were ready to know what would happen next. A few of the Elders had already talked to Caine outside of the Boardroom, but Caine reassured each individual that everything, again, was under control. When would they realize that he knew all the right moves to make?

Before he spoke, his eyes moved down the table to each one of his men. At the end was Blake, who had a peculiar smirk on his face. He nodded his head towards his leader and Caine nodded back. Blake was the only one who knew what was to come. Their next phase of control over the population was about to commence. It was all thanks to those resistance members who tried to take what was his. They could, whether they wanted to admit it or not, thank themselves for what was about to happen.

Caine marveled to himself for a moment at the brilliance of his plan that was set in motion. With all of the compounds which were used to manufacture the population control drug, he assumed that the resistance would also be searching for the cure to the old drug. So, after another compound was attacked, he intentionally leaked the whereabouts to the cure on the computer systems. It was very much a high risk/high reward operation. The hope was that the resistance would take the bait and go after it.

It worked to near perfection as the cyphers that he dispatched all around that mountain caught a glimpse of a team of terrorists hiking their way towards it. Once Caine received confirmation, he called in the birds and also a hit squad to take out the rebel squad. It didn't work to full perfection, as some of the rebels survived the attack. However, the more significant damage had been done. The cure was destroyed and, thanks to the cyphers, they had visual evidence of the resistance at the scene of the crime. It was truly brilliant.

"Gentlemen," Caine said. "Congratulate yourselves!"

There came a sharp round of applause from the Elders. They looked to their leader with smiles and looks of accomplishment. This was one of Caine's favorite parts of the job. He truly got off on the accolades and lesser individuals giving him praise. When he said 'congratulate yourselves' what he meant was 'congratulate me'. Caine held up his hand to quiet down the applause.

"Now," he continued. "On to the next assignment, I suppose. From here, we've got more leeway to advance our cause. Which is to keep those filthy buggers down there in check. We are going to intensify our search for the resistance. And, those fools are so scared out of their minds that they will not say anything about it. In fact, I think that they will grow needier of our services."

"How do you propose we do that?"

Caine smiled. "It's quite simple, my friend. Let me introduce you all to General Hank Blackman. He was a member of our Committee here in this city."

The room grew silent as the decorated war veteran walked into the room. Though the medals and flag pins from other countries meant nothing to him now, he liked to show them off whenever he could to let people know he meant business. He wanted people to respect what he'd been through. It worked, as he received nothing but respect from anyone he ever encountered. Whether it came from those resistance dogs or these high and mighties in their fancy suits that must have cost a fortune.

Blackman had a lot to think about in the past few months after his Committee was put out of commission. The USR still paid him a nice sum of credits for time served. The more time he had to think, the more he wanted to stop thinking and get back to work. He was delighted when he got the call from Caine about a new operation that the USR was to conduct, though the full specifics were not mentioned to him. All that mattered to Blackman was that they wanted him to be the leader of it and the old General couldn't help but smile big while he held the phone.

"Evening, gentlemen," Blackman greeted, "you all look dressed for some fine occasion."

"It is a fine occasion," an Elder said. "We just scored another victory."

"That you have," Blackman agreed with a head nod. "However, there is still work to be done. There are still rebels out there ready, willing, and able to strike back at us. They are always out there. We have to snuff them out."

"That's correct, General, sir." Caine said with a sarcastic tone to his voice. "We need to up our game and hunt these boys down."

"How do you propose we do that?" asked an Elder.

"It's simple," Caine replied. "General?"

"We've got plenty of surveillance on the ground, in the form of your Agents on the streets. However, the resistance is still in hiding. To up the ante, we are going to apply military personnel on the ground."

"Declaring martial law? Brilliant."

"That's right," Caine spoke up. "With troops on the ground, in our major cities, we will be able to not only find the rebels, but also keep those little ants out there in check. As we all know, these citizens that we have under our control don't know what's good for them. They think they do, but they don't. Our military, they will be able to further help them on the path of righteousness, so to speak."

There was a loud bat of laughter that filled the room from Caine's words. Caine joined them with a few chuckles of his own. He truly loved his life and it was moments like these that brought even more joy to his soul. With a wave of his hand, he got the Board to quiet down.

"All right, let's settle down. The General has some more to tell us, isn't that right?"

"That's correct, sir." Blackman replied. The General was growing tired of the Board's games and lack of respect. But, they were the USR's leaders, so he had to just deal with it and respect them. "We might have some rebels sneaking around here, in this city."

There was a collective gasp from everyone but Caine and his second in command. He had their full attention now. There was nothing but looks of complete anticipation from them. Gone were the stupid jokes and the snide remarks. Blackman soaked all of their looks up and breathed in deep.

"That's right, they are right under our nose." Blackman continued. "We need to put an end to their activities."

"What have they been doing?"

Blackman answered the Elder with a complete breakdown of each of the suspects. He explained, in great detail, about the top secret factory that they worked in. When he got to the point of what department they were involved in, the attention in the room grew more intense. It took him a few minutes, but he finally got to the end about the best COA to bring them to justice. Of course, there would be no trials or anything like that.

No, Blackman had the perfect solution for dealing with the problem.

# .37

Sullivan rocked the recliner back and forth with gritted teeth as he watched what was going on in the news. The cure, it had been destroyed, and the USR was blaming the resistance for it. That, of course, didn't make any sense to Sullivan as he thought about how the USR operated...how he operated when he was the big shot Agent in town. To the USR, the truth wasn't important. What was important was how they could spin the truth to create their own truth which, of course, the public believed because they didn't know any better.

Davie was wrapped up close to him on his chest. The little boy fell asleep about an hour ago. He almost sent the boy to bed, but with what little time he spent with his son, he just let him sleep. Even though the boy was unconscious, Sullivan still felt like this was a way of spending time together. He looked down at him and smiled. The smile quickly dissipated, however, when he thought about the type of world Davie would live in when he grew up. That was a life that no father in his right mind would have for his son. Not a world where its leaders poisoned their own people.

Sullivan cradled the boy and quietly moved him to the back bedroom. They were at Mary's house once again. Surprisingly, he was able to get out of work today at a decent time. They went to the hideout, which of course was quiet, so they got to leave. The investigation on the suspected rebels would grow a bit more intense, and Sullivan knew it. They would start to go after them at home.

Once he had Davie in the bed, he tucked him in nice and snug. Davie began to blink his eyes a little bit as he woke. He asked his father what was going on. Sullivan smiled and told his son to go back to sleep. Within seconds, Davie was back in dreamland. Sullivan stood over the bed for a moment and just watched his boy sleep. The boy was so at peace in his bed, no doubt dreaming about being a superhero or something. Putting away bad people like his dad was supposed to do. For the first time, Sullivan could feel something inside like he was about to do the right thing. The only downside, which would be almost enough to make him not go through with it, was that he would have to leave Davie behind while he went out and fought.

The time for thinking about that was premature. Sullivan turned and quietly closed the door. As he walked down the hallway, he pulled out his black cell phone which had a secure line to keep the USR's curious ears away from his conversations. The number to the phone Reed had was on speed dial. Sullivan pressed the number, listened to the phone quickly dial the number, and then listened to the phone ring four times. He was starting to get nervous until Reed finally answered after the fifth ring.

"This is Travis," Reed said.

"Travis, Sullivan, how's everything?" Sullivan replied.

"Doing just fine, on my way home from work."

"Good. You being followed or anything?"

There was a pause on the other end. Sullivan assumed that it was Reed checking his surroundings. There was also some chatter that Sullivan could hear on the other end. It must have been some, if not all, of Reed's boys talking amongst themselves. Sullivan really hoped that it was only a few and not all of them. He had enough faith in Reed's smarts to trust that he knew better.

"All clear," Reed replied after the brief moment of silence.

"We were at your funhouse today. We didn't see or hear anything."

"Of course not."

"Listen to me, things will get tougher from here. They are going to get more aggressive. I haven't been able to convince my superiors that there's nothing to worry about."

"Okay."

"Whatever you guys are planning, get it done. Get it done fast. Can we meet tomorrow?"

"Yeah, where?"

Sullivan named the time and place.

***

Kaspar sat by himself in one of the vehicles. His mind was consumed with visions of Krys. She was all over his thoughts and there was nothing he could do about it. When he closed his eyes, he envisioned her smiling at him. When his eyes were opened, he saw her lying dead in his arms, unresponsive to his attempts at saying, and then screaming her name. His body rocked back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm. The knuckles on his hands were a pale white from clinching them together.

His quiet time was interrupted by the sound of the back door opening. Kaspar looked up to see Harvey walk in. The old Marine didn't even bother to ask if it was okay to come in, which bugged Kaspar a little bit, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't need someone, anyone, to talk to right now. It was just that the one person he wanted to talk to was gone.

"How are you holding up?" Harvey wondered as he reached back to shut the door.

"Trying my best," Kaspar replied. "It's hard, though."

"I understand, Ryan. I've had to go through a similar loss myself."

"I know, Buck told me about it."

Harvey's face dropped. "What did he tell you?"

Kaspar breathed in. "Not much. Just what happened when he was born."

Kaspar could see that the comment hit home hard for his leader, so he decided to shut his mouth and, when Harvey didn't say anything for a while, there was that awkward silence that caused Kaspar to want to just be alone again. When Harvey finally collected himself, he looked to his soldier with stone cold eyes.

"We're going to get them." Harvey said.

"Excuse me?" Kaspar asked. The comment came out of nowhere and caught him off guard.

"I said, we're going to get them. I know that I can trust you not to say anything, so what I'm about to tell you is to be considered extremely classified."

"Why me?"

"You never said anything about the cure...back when we first learned about it."

"Okay," Kaspar said. His spirits started to go down with the mention of the cure.

"Listen, we, Sanders and I, are planning something big. Something that will strike at the very heart of the USR. It's going to be risky, and the repercussions immense, but we think it will be worth it."

Kaspar's curiosity piqued. "What are you planning?"

Harvey went into all the details regarding the planned assault on DC. Through it all, Kaspar grew more and more ready for the fight. His attention began to leave Harvey somewhat at times, but when his leader kept going into how much this would hurt the USR, if successful, the words fired him up. He was ready to grab a gun and go right this minute. When he told Harvey as much, the leader warned that this mission would take careful planning and they couldn't just rush the place.

"So," Kaspar said. "What's it going to take?"

"Well, Sanders is currently getting with our contacts, we're hoping that we can get a small force together in a united effort for this Op, but it might not be that simple."

"Why not?"

"This is dangerous and unprecedented. Since the USR has come into power, nobody has tried anything like this. Our operations have always been small, you know, guerilla war type stuff."

"Right..."

"And, whether we win or lose, the people of the USR are going to be the ones to suffer the most. The USR will be more than a little pissed off when we take down one of their beloved symbols of America's defeat. Their control over the population will get out of control. You think it's bad now? Just wait until a few weeks from now."

Kaspar leaned forward. "What happens if we can't get enough folks to do this?"

"Let's not think that way, son. I'm hoping that there are enough like-minded men brave enough to punch the USR in the mouth and stand up to the counterblow."

Kaspar took a moment to think about what he had just been told. There was a mixed feeling inside as he wasn't quite sure exactly how to feel about this. Of course, he wanted to strike back at the USR, but not for what Krys would consider the right reasons. Once again, he was consumed by his need for revenge of any kind. The USR had taken away Mother, now they took away Krys, and Kaspar was left with nothing. However, he thought about what Harvey said about the consequences of such a bold move. Was his need for revenge more important than the lives of the men, women, and children who already lived in fear? Was the need for the old ways to come back worth that high of a cost? Kaspar simply didn't know.

Kaspar looked directly into Harvey's eyes. "Do you think this would be worth it?"

"I don't know the real answer to that one. I just know that something needs to be done. The people out there," Harvey said as he pointed towards a window, "they need something."

"Something what?"

"Something to have hope in...."

Kaspar pointed his index finger at Harvey. "You see, that's where you're wrong. The people out there, save a few leftovers, don't give a shit about what we do. They hate us. They want us to be found out and killed. To them, life under the USR is the only way to live."

A nerve was struck within Harvey. "What makes you think so?"

"I'm not a leftover, you know? I don't know anything about what life was like before the USR took over. Don't really know which way is better..."

"How can you say that after your mother..."

"My mother is the only reason I'm in this. If she had never died, I would still be boxing or doing something else with my time. I've never been bought into one way or the other. I know that the USR is into some funky shit, but I also don't know any other way."

Harvey smirked. "So, you've really learned nothing since you joined the fight."

"I've learned a lot. But, we've been so busy demolishing the USR's labs and whatnot that I've only learned how to fight. And, I've learned what love is, but that's about it. No 'this is why America was so great' other than a few speeches from John back when he was still alive."

"I understand your ignorance, and I don't mean that as an insult. When things settle down, if we are still alive, I swear to you I will teach you about America."

Kaspar smiled, "Looking forward to it."

"If only you knew, Ryan. All the talk in the world couldn't clue you in unless you actually experienced it."

Harvey then started to do something that really caught Kaspar off guard. The old Marine started to talk about himself, which he had never done before. Kaspar listened as Harvey told him about how he grew up, without much money but with a loving family, and he had his freedom. The freedom to talk about whatever he wanted, the freedom to pick his own way, not a predetermined order of things that the USR saw fit. When he joined the military, Harvey explained, it was of his own freewill. Nobody from the US government forced him into it because he was more physically fit than others. He joined because he loved his country and wanted to fight for it. In that way, things for Harvey weren't much different since he decided to fight back against the USR.

The one thing that struck Kaspar was that Harvey didn't say anything about his life before he joined up with the resistance. He simply said he had a wife and when Buck was born, she died. The leftover didn't mention his feelings toward the incident as he spoke about it in a matter of fact tone. The thought of living under a totalitarian regime seemed to get under the old man's skin more than the death of his wife or the birth of his son.

It was after his wife died that someone approached him with a job. That someone, unknown to him, was an undercover USR government official who was assembling a resistance squad much like the one Paxton started. After that, he was gung ho in his fight, raising his son at the same time.

"Truth is," Harvey said. "I'm not sure it was really me who was raising my boy. It was more of a team effort. Every man who fought with me played a role in raising Buck."

"Maybe that's why Buck is so upset all the time." Kaspar said.

Again, Harvey's face dropped. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Listen, I grew up without my father, so I can understand."

"Buck didn't grow up without his father."

Kaspar leaned forward. "You were physically there. I'll just leave it at that. Maybe you should talk to Buck about it. Not to me."

"You mind your own business about my son and I's relationship."

"Just saying," Kaspar replied. He held up his hands in the air.

"So," Harvey said in desperate need of changing the subject. "What are your feelings about the mission?"

Kaspar shrugged. His thoughts from earlier were in the back of his head. "I'm just thinking about Krys. Before she died, she told me to fight for the right reasons, whatever the hell those are."

Harvey sighed. "Fighting for the right reasons is a tricky thing."

"I hear you."

"You've just got to get beyond your personal vendettas, which will take time, and really consider why we are fighting."

"I'll try."

Harvey looked down at his watch. "Well, it's getting late, I'm going to try and get some shut eye."

"All right, I'll see you tomorrow."

"And, Ryan?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

# .38

Sullivan sat in the chair in front of Fitzpatrick's desk with a scowl on his face. Things were not going well with this supposed routine meeting with his superior. In fact, he was waiting for his boss to ask for his badge and gun. Little was sitting next to him and, unlike his partner, he seemed to be in a good mood today. Sullivan began to question whether or not his partner had ratted him out. That seemed unlikely, given the fact that Little was a coward who wouldn't dare do anything to put his perfect life at risk.

The meeting started out bad and quickly escalated to horrifying. Sullivan was forced to answer questions about why he called in sick the other day. Why there had been no collected evidence against the suspects. And, most important to Sullivan, why he felt that he should still have a job with the department.

Sullivan tried his best to explain away his absence from work. However, he failed to get a doctor's note, and of all the times he had called in, Fitzpatrick decided that today was the day to demand one. When the Agent tried to say that he wasn't sick enough to go to the doctor, Fitzpatrick fired back with if he wasn't sick enough to go, then he wasn't sick enough to miss work. Sullivan just sat there after that, the scowl growing more intense on his face by the minute.

"What's that look for?" Fitzpatrick demanded.

"I don't know, sir. You act like I'm a damn rookie or something. You know that these things take time."

"Time, again, is a luxury we don't have."

Little spoke up. "You know what I think, sir?"

Sullivan looked over to Little, who looked back into his eyes. The look on the elder Agent's eyes said to Little that he would love to hear what he thought. The younger Agent caught his drift. Sullivan could tell by the way he sort of squirmed at the look. It was as if Little's balls would finally drop, but the coward in him took over once again.

"Yes, Detective?" Fitzpatrick said.

Little cleared his throat. "I just think that maybe we're moving a little bit too slow, that's all."

"Too slow?" Sullivan demanded with his eyes still locked on to his partner's. "What makes you think that?"

"It's just, you know, we haven't gotten anything on them."

"That's because they are very good."

"If I may," Fitzpatrick said. "I think that your partner might be right. And, also, I find it very suspicious that after I warned you about only having three days, you call in sick, and when you go to the warehouse, the suspects are nowhere to be found."

The scowl grew more intense. Sullivan was found out and he knew it. He swallowed hard and knew what was coming next, as well. Instinctively, Sullivan reached for his badge. Fitzpatrick caught it with his eyes. The Captain threw up his arms.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing, sir," Sullivan replied. "I'm pretty sure what comes next. I've been through this before."

"Kevin, if you would please leave the room for a second?"

Little nodded. "Yes, sir."

The two Agents remained silent as Little stood. The rookie politely saluted his Captain, who saluted him back. When it came to Sullivan, Little did not make any kind of gesture to him. Sullivan could sense that the young rookie just wanted to get as far away from him as possible. When the two Agents had a quiet, private session, Fitzpatrick began to rub at his brow before he said anything.

"You know how I feel about your skills, Will." The Captain finally said. He stopped rubbing at his forehead and gave Sullivan his full attention.

"I know." Sullivan replied.

"I'm just sad to see you willing to give up your badge so quickly. Without any kind of fight or whatever. I just want to make sure everything is okay before we moved forward."

Sullivan thought about that comment before he spoke up again. Everything was not okay. It hadn't been okay since Julie left this world. The guilt he felt for staying an Agent while his wife wanted him to quit and find something else still lingered. She knew the types of things that would go on, it was all over Sullivan's eyes, and she just wanted something better for him. In his stubbornness, and his pride, he went against her wishes and it ruined their marriage. It ruined the relationship he had with the woman he loved. Then, when it became apparent that it was the USR who was behind it, things just got worse.

However, despite his feelings about it, he couldn't reveal that to Fitzpatrick. He would have to lie and pretend like he was still wallowing in his own self-pity about her death. It had worked well for him up to this point. In the midst of their silence, his thoughts also drifted to that of Reed and his resistance partners. The time to act was now, but Sullivan didn't know how to go about it. He still had his son to worry about. In the back of his mind, he knew that he would have to leave him for at least a little while, but he didn't want to accept it just yet.

"William?" Fitzpatrick said, breaking up Sullivan's thoughts.

Sullivan shook himself back to the present. "Yeah? Sorry."

"How is everything? I mean, do you feel that you can still do your job effectively?"

"I don't know, sir. The wounds from my wife's death still haven't fully healed."

"I can see that. Listen, why don't you take a few days of leave?"

Sullivan almost smiled, but held back. "Are you sure that's necessary, sir?"

"I just think that, with your current performance, and the fact that I don't want to fire you, I think that's the best course we can take right now. I'll need your badge and your firearm."

Fitzpatrick made a motion with his hands for Sullivan to hand over the items to him. Sullivan, with a fake reluctance, stood from his chair and complied. After the items were on the desk, Sullivan again felt that sense of relief that he felt when he went through this six months ago. After saluting the Captain he turned his back on his superior and walked out the door. Now, he had the space and the time he would need to get the information needed.

After the door was closed, Fitzpatrick picked up his phone and dialed just one number into the key pad. It rang only once, and then he could hear the decryption sequence go through its process to ensure the line was clean. It took about a minute for the voice on the other end asked him to code in. He did so.

Fitzpatrick then asked for the Consul's office phone.

# .39

Sullivan looked down at his watch. As he saw the time, he picked up the pace of his walk to the bridge where he was to meet up with Reed. Things were about to go downhill for him and he knew it. He could feel the prying eyes of the USR staring straight at him. The feeling of paranoia caused the Agent to look around from side to side as he continued towards the bridge. Even though there had, for as long as Sullivan could remember, been Agents on every street corner always watching, this time he felt like they were all looking at him. He did his best to avoid all eye contact with them.

Once he reached the end of the street, he could see the bridge, and he saw that Reed was already there. Reed seemed to have the same feelings as Sullivan, because he was looking around every few seconds as well. Sullivan started to approach Reed, but stopped in his tracks. He looked around him one last time and, once he felt assured that he was not being followed, or that nothing was out of the ordinary, he approached Reed from behind.

"Travis," Sullivan said in a low voice.

Even though he was speaking with that low tone, the salutation from the Agent startled Reed. Sullivan could see the man jump at the sound of his name. Once Reed turned around, he placed his hand over his chest and let out a slow, deliberate exhale.

"You scared the shit out of me." Reed replied.

"Sorry," Sullivan said. "I didn't want to attract too much attention."

"That's nearly impossible in this city, under this government."

Sullivan nodded his head in agreement. With his right hand, he made a gesture for Reed to follow him towards the bridge. The rebel hesitated for a moment, not knowing whether to trust Sullivan to lead him under a bridge. With a genuine smile, genuine enough for Reed anyway, Sullivan gestured again. The hesitation was still there, but Reed reasoned that if this was his time, it was simply his time and there was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable. If he tried to run, there were Agents on every street, ready and willing to put him down. Besides, he had, with great reluctance, grown to trust this Sullivan character.

Once under the bridge, Sullivan reached into his jacket pocket for a piece of gum. Reed's eyes grew as Sullivan first opened up his jacket, ready for the Agent to pull out a gun and end it all. Sullivan noticed the look and smirked. He held out the opened pack of gum to offer Reed a piece. Reed declined.

"I doubt you brought me out here to chew some gum together." Reed said.

"You never know," Sullivan replied. "Your breath is pretty rank."

Reed wasn't in the mood for jokes. "What did you want to talk about?"

"First of all, I have to warn you, I was just suspended from the force today."

"Really?"

Sullivan nodded. "Sure did. It isn't the first time, though it could be the last."

"Why's that?"

"I think I'm done serving the USR for a while."

"What happened to you? I mean, you are high up in the ranks, why change your mind now?"

Sullivan took a deep breath then told Reed the whole story about Julie. A lot of the parts, especially when he got to the part where he told the doctors to pull the plug, almost choked him. Reed, for his part, just stood there and listened. His eyes still wandered, but he was becoming more comfortable under the bridge, where there was very little line of sight.

In the middle of telling his story, the Agent grew surprised at himself. Sullivan was never one to talk about his life or his feelings with people that he didn't know. He wondered, as he kept talking, how exactly he ended up in the stage of his life that he was at. A once dedicated Agent, who swore to hunt down and kill all the resistance leaders in his city, was now talking to one openly about his life and what he wanted out of the life of an Agent. He also couldn't help but think what if he had come to this realization sooner. Maybe then, during Julie's last moments on earth, they could have shared some love together before the end.

"I understand, I think." Reed said once Sullivan got to the end.

"I want to know the truth, like I said."

Reed nodded his head. After he looked around him one more time just to make sure, he went into all the details that he knew about the population control drug that killed the Agent's wife. He talked about how the USR feared overpopulation and the drug was just one more form of their control. Reed also went into detail how the USR distributed the drug into the water supply system, how they knew there were bugs in it, but went through with it anyway. No regard for the lives of the women they would kill. What Reed told him, unlike before, was much more detailed. This wasn't just some angry rebel any longer, but he seemed to be a well-informed citizen.

More than once, Sullivan shook his head in utter disbelief. At one point, he had to stop himself from interrupting the rebel and telling him to get real. The more Reed went on, however, the more the guilt inside Sullivan grew. He realized that he had been fighting on the wrong side this whole time. Even though some of the juicier parts of Reed's story were hard to believe, he couldn't shake the feeling that a lot of it had to come from some kind of truth.

The USR simply denied the problem, and then went so far as to blame the resistance for destroying the only place where they were developing a cure. It was all just one big control game to the USR. And that, Sullivan knew from his prior cases and arrests, was an undisputed fact. The USR craved that control, so using a population control drug, no matter the consequences, seemed right up their alley.

"Hard to believe?" Reed said after he finished. He could tell from Sullivan's facial and body language that the Agent was having a hard time wrapping his mind around what he was being told. He couldn't blame him.

"Sure is," Sullivan replied. "I worked for the USR and, even experiencing a lot of the things that I was basically forced to do, I just can't imagine they'd stoop to such a low."

"Well, believe it. I've got no reason to lie to you."

"You've had everything you just told me verified?"

"Sure," Reed replied. "After that one rebel leader was executed at the Consul's office, we were approached by someone who provided us with the evidence."

"Who was this person?" Sullivan wondered.

Reed smirked. "Not telling."

"Understandable. Listen, you need to protect yourself right now. I'm no longer on the inside. I can't help you in that department."

"Understood."

# .40

Harvey bent his head down and rubbed at his black hair. The conversation he just had with another rebel leader didn't go as planned, which could be said for a lot of the conversations he was having. Clarke, who was setting up the Com-links for him and Sanders, kept trying to encourage the old man into keeping his head up. That was impossible to even think about at this point, Harvey thought. He was starting to question the legitimacy of what they were planning. Perhaps he was right all along, and Sanders was the one who had it all wrong. The general sentiment that he kept getting was that this was too soon to try something as huge as going after the Capitol.

Some of the others had concerns about their manpower. They were, of course, running their own Ops all across the country and couldn't spare any of their men. The more Harvey tried to explain to them why it was so imperative that they at least try something, the more he began to doubt his own words. At times, he felt like it was Sanders talking through him rather than himself.

Sanders, who sat across from him in the tent, seemed to be doing more than okay. He had that smirk on his face as he reached his pen down to the yellow paper. It looked like he had gotten another squad to come and help. Harvey looked to his own pad. There were only two names written down and they had a total of ten men put together. Sanders wasn't having much better luck, but his list was significantly longer than Harvey's.

Was this even worth it? That was the question that flooded Harvey's mind. Combine all these forces together, on a dangerous mission, and then if it failed what would happen? They would have sacrificed good men and it couldn't be considered anything more than a huge victory for the other side.

Sanders looked up from his paper. "You look down. Not having any luck?"

Harvey slammed his fist on the desk. "I've got two damn squads that have agreed to help. Two."

"That's okay, we're not done calling."

"I've talked to several of our fellow leaders and they are all saying the same thing. It's too dangerous. Too risky. It will only make things worse out there for the people."

"Things have a tendency to get worse before they get better. Come on, you're old enough to know that."

Harvey rubbed at his forehead. "I just don't know, Roy."

"Don't know what?"

"This war. I just don't know anymore. It's hopeless. The USR is only getting stronger. I've spent countless hours, lost good men, on sabotaging those labs. Then, I lost almost all the rest trying to get that cure. I just feel like if we do this, and we lose, that it's only going to get more hopeless."

A disappointed look grew on Sanders's face. He looked straight into Harvey's eyes and just stared for a moment. Harvey felt like Sanders was looking deep into his soul to see if there was anything left. Harvey wondered the same thing. If only more of their fellow warriors had the courage to do what was necessary, maybe then his feelings of hopelessness wouldn't be so strong.

"Listen to me, Sam." Sanders said to finally break the silence.

"I'm listening."

"No, I mean open your fucking ears and let this set in, okay?"

"Go ahead." Harvey replied, growing impatient.

"I know this seems like a major step forward, going after DC and all. But, sometimes it takes brave men like us to do something crazy. A lot of these pukes we're talking to, they don't have any hope. They sound like you, actually. But, if we can do something crazy and succeed, just think of the morale boost. We can get them on our side then plan something crazier. This guerilla warfare BS we've been doing, it ain't gettin' the job done."

Harvey let those words sink in for a moment before responding. In that time of pondering, he grew envious of Sanders, for a moment. Sanders was a man who knew only one thing and that was war. The old Delta Force soldier sitting in front of him never had a family, never had much of a care to start one, either. There was nothing that could deter him from the ultimate goal, which was always winning the war. In this case, he would stop at nothing to kick some USR ass. For Harvey, the question was always how they could win. For Sanders, even though he did want to win, the question was always the next battle. He didn't care about the scale of the fight.

There was nothing but courage inside of Sanders, even if he was a difficult person to deal with sometimes. Harvey wished he could be like that. The analytical part of his brain just never ceased to rear its ugly head during moments like these. He was never a coward; he just couldn't get past doing the pros and cons of every fight.

"I hear you on that." Harvey replied.

"So, are you backing out, or are you going to cowboy up?" Sanders wondered.

"You know I'm in for this."

"Then you need to let those that you talk to know that. I can hear the doubt in your voice, and it's making me want to vomit. When I talk to these folks, I'm letting them know I'm all in, no doubts. No second guessing."

Harvey sighed. "Have you even thought about what would happen if we lost? All those men would be gone."

"I don't allow myself to think that way. Maybe it's a flaw on my part."

"I understand." Harvey replied.

With that, Sanders looked back down on his computer as he tried to get in touch with another rebel squad. Harvey looked down at his screen and started to do the same thing. He conceded that Sanders was right. The resistance, at this point, couldn't sit back and worry about the consequences. They had to move forward and continue to take the war to the USR. If they suffered a defeat, no matter how significant, then so be it. At least Harvey could go to his grave and tell his maker that he fought bravely and with courage for what he believed in. That was more than a lot of folks could say.

When the next face appeared on his screen, a renewed sense of vigor filled his soul.

# .41

Caine was in the midst of his daily trance when he heard the phone next to him buzzing. It was the red phone, which meant the call was urgent, or at least it had better be urgent or the caller would suffer the consequences. When he decided to pick it up, the operator on the other end told him that a Captain in the police force was calling the Consul about a potential rogue Agent. The operator was a handler for a USR spy, and who always kept Caine's identity secret, would continually feed him information like this. It was the only way that the dictator could keep his and the Elders identities secret, but still be in the know about what was going on in their country.

The Agent in question, William Sullivan, was investigating the suspected rebels who worked for the USR. Caine knew where those men worked, so he knew that it was imperative that anyone working in that factory be put to justice as quickly as possible. The potential of something getting leaked or, far worse, something getting stolen to use against the USR was far too great to not take seriously. Caine told the operator to make sure that the problem was dealt with or that spy could kiss his ass good-bye. After he shouted this into the phone, he slammed it on the cradle.

Whenever he felt like this, like the rage inside of him would take over, he always looked down at his citizens and the feelings inside began to calm down. He knew that it was only fitting that a man as enlightened as him should lead those imbeciles down there. There were times when he felt bad about thinking of his fellow man in that light, but then again, the rationalization always came that his knowledge was above that of the citizens under his rule. Because of that, it was only fair.

Once satisfied, his mind quickly switched to the meeting he was about to conduct with Blackman. There were a lot of things about the former general that Caine didn't care for, mainly that the old man, even though he changed his ways, at one point fought for the United States. That sickened him to a new kind of disgust to even think about it. He also didn't like Blackman's in your face, you're going to respect me, attitude. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with that attitude, but for anyone other than himself, Caine saw it as a character flaw.

Blackman sure did have a grand plan, though. For that, Caine could respect the man. At least he knew how to up the ante on those lesser beings below. Having not only Agents on every corner, but also the military patrolling the streets now would ensure that those citizens would never get out of line. Caine and his fellow leaders knew what was right and now the citizens below would fall in line and live out what was right, too. The thought of it brought a smile to Caine's face just as the doorbell to his office rang.

Caine pushed the red button on his desk. "Come in."

The door immediately opened. At other end stood Blackman, like always standing in perfect posture, and next to him was a middle aged military grunt. The man had a thick, black goatee around his mouth, his head shaved to the skin. Caine rationalized that the man next to Blackman was the one the ex-general had talked about. It brought another smile to the dictator's lips.

When they were finally seated in front of Caine's desk, he offered them glasses of water, but both declined. This refusal for something that Caine freely offered got under his skin a bit, but he let it go, too excited to hear what the two military shits were going to say. It took him a second to collect himself after the refusal, but he quickly asked Blackman to introduce him to the military man seated next to him.

"This is Lieutenant Guy Masters," Blackman said. "A rising star in our military."

"Nice to meet you, Lt. Masters." Caine said with a salute.

Masters saluted back, picking up on the sarcasm of the gesture. "Pleasure's mine."

Blackman went on to explain all of Masters's accomplishments while fighting for the USR. The whole time that he spoke, Masters just stared with ice coldness at Caine. The dictator just stared right back. The stare that he received was like a double edge sword. He really liked the aggressiveness of the man who would be a leader in the next phase. The fact that he was unafraid, knowing who he was dealing with, to just stare like he could snap at any moment, rush the table, and kill Caine was seen as a good thing. It was also a negative. Caine started to get the feeling, after the positive thoughts left him, that Masters could be a loose cannon.

It was around the time when Blackman got to the medals Masters earned that Caine started to raise his hand for silence. The medals, those were things that Caine wanted banned from the USR military. The sight of old war vets, like Blackman, brandishing their medals around like trophies sent a crawling sensation up his skin. When the regime change happened, and he arose to dictator, he said that his military would never wear such things. But, alas, he was voted out by other Elders and top military leaders. Not wanting to get on their bad sides too early, Caine gave in, something of a rarity for him.

"That's about enough, General." Caine said. He still grew disgusted at calling Blackman that. It wasn't like he earned the title of General fighting for the USR. It was a title that carried over from the past.

Blackman sighed. "What are your thoughts, sir?"

"Let me ask you a question, Guy."

Masters leaned forward with same blood thirsty stare on his face. "Go ahead."

"Do you know what it is that we are asking you to do?" Caine wondered.

"Of course, you are going to send me and my men out there to root out the resistance. Whatever it takes."

"Do you know what kind of measures you will have to take?"

The stare started to dissipate for a moment and a smile started to grow on Masters's lips. Caine was pleased. The right man for the job had been picked after all.

Masters sat tall in his chair. "Listen, I've been at this game long enough to know that some citizens out there are going to have to be sacrificed for the greater good. The ends justify the means, that's my philosophy. Always lived by that. Don't you worry about me and my men turning chicken shit if we have to sacrifice some quote 'innocent' civilians."

Caine clapped his hands together. As he mouthed the word 'bravo' he looked over to Blackman who didn't look too pleased at what the Lieutenant had just said. There was always something about Blackman that wanted to hold on to the past. The fact that he was a leftover, a decorated leftover at that, added to Blackman's mixed feelings. The mixed feelings were never enough to warrant any kind of punishment or anything of that sort, Caine knew where Blackman's loyalties were, but when the mention of innocents being harmed came about, Blackman's demeanor always changed.

Caine turned his eyes to Blackman. "Something wrong, General?"

"No, sir." Blackman replied.

"Very well, then. You take the Lieutenant outside and acclimate him with the team. And, Guy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do remember that what you've seen today is to be kept with the utmost secrecy. If we ever find out you've told anyone, even one of the little grunts under your command, anything about who we are, you will suffer a terrible fate that you can't possibly imagine."

"Understood, sir."

***

The USR spy got the call in from his handler. The situation with Sullivan had gone on long enough. The rogue Agent needed to be put down immediately. This was an order straight from the top, the handler stressed, so the spy knew that anything other than absolute success would lead to his punishment. The spy often thought of this, ever since he got into this line of work, about what would happen should he fail. The most likely punishment would be torture, several days' worth, and then an execution, either public or private. Either way didn't matter to his employers.

He finished putting his Walther PPK-S back together after a thorough cleaning. It was his ritual, even though he hadn't fired this particular gun in quite some time. He always killed his targets with a fresh gun. He felt that this was the only way to do it. To kill another human being with a dirty gun just didn't feel right. It also made each kill feel all the more pure to him, as well.

With the gun reassembled, he grabbed a black silencer and screwed it on, making sure that it fit right. Once satisfied, he removed it and placed it in his briefcase which lay on the bed next to him. The spy stood and stretched his back then walked over to the mirror. He stared into his own reflection and told himself that this had to be done. Not just for his own sake, but for the sake of the country. He never did enjoy the killing, but he did enjoy the fact that he was serving the USR.

After a moment with his thoughts, Kevin Little moved to the bathroom to shower.

# .42

Sullivan breathed in deep as he pulled his car along the sidewalk in front of his house. Even though he really wanted to see Davie tonight, he knew that was impossible. It was far too late to go see his boy tonight. Especially since Davie had school tomorrow. He had just gotten done with another dead end meeting with Reed, this time in an old picnic shed at a local park. Reed filled him in on the current situation with their mission. Even though Sullivan was dying to know, Reed still refused to tell him what they did in that factory.

Reed also confided in Sullivan, letting him know that their continuing partnership had caused rifts from within. The Agent tried his best to comfort the rebel leader, but Sullivan knew that there was little he could do to make the rest of those boys trust him. He was, after all, involved with the enemy. During his time as an Agent, he led the charge to bring them down. He couldn't expect them to trust him now.

"I'm telling you," Sullivan told Reed near the end of their meeting. "I'm done with the USR. I've done some thinking about it today and I'm through."

"I want to believe you...in fact, the greater part of me does believe you." Reed replied. "But, I just can't convince my men to take that chance. It's not fair to them, as they've been with me for the long haul."

Sullivan nodded. "Again, I understand that, but you keep that cell phone on you. I'll let you know if I find out anything, okay?"

"Sure thing. I appreciate it."

"Well, good luck to you. Take care of yourselves, you hear? If you ever need another soldier in your war, just give me a ring."

"Will do."

And, with that, Sullivan turned his back on Reed and walked out of the park still with very little answers. It was during the drive home that he began to feel a sense of contentment inside that if he never found out exactly what happened to Julie, then that was okay. As hard as it was for him, his relationship and time with her had passed, and he needed to move forward, somehow, with Davie.

With the car put in park, Sullivan got out of the vehicle and started his short walk to the front door. The neighborhood was quiet tonight. Then again, it was always quiet every night once curfew hit. He was still feeling blessed that he had not been stopped by anyone. If he did, all he had to do was flash his credentials and the rest would take care of itself. Even if he was under suspension, having anything Agent in the title went a long way.

He inserted the key in the lock and moved in. Once inside, he reset the security system by the front door and hung his jacket on the coat hanger to his right. Something felt out of place. Nothing obvious to the naked eye, it was more of a gut feeling felt within. Sullivan became cautious with his movements. It was right up the USR's alley to kill an Agent they felt was beyond salvage. Given Sullivan's dealings with Reed, if anyone knew about them, that term fit Sullivan like a glove.

Like all of the gut feelings Sullivan had in his life, this one turned out to be true, as well. When he reached the dining room, he saw a man in aviator sunglasses and an expensive black suit sitting at his table. When Sullivan's movements could be heard, the man in the black suit flipped on the light switch behind him. His silenced PPK-S pointed straight forward in Sullivan's direction.

"Have a seat," a familiar voice said.

"Little?" Sullivan cried. "What the hell are you doing here? Did Fitzpatrick send you here?"

"Not exactly," Little repeated. He made a motion with the gun for Sullivan to have a seat. As Sullivan obeyed the silent order, Little reached up with his free hand and removed the sunglasses. "You've been snooping around in places you shouldn't, Agent...or is it ex-Agent at this point?"

"Ex." Sullivan replied.

Little chuckled. "I see."

"Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"I'm with the USR...not from your department or anything. I'm something of a chameleon. The USR gives me jobs all over the country and I carry them out. Sometimes, it's things like surveillance, intelligence gathering, really boring shit."

"And, other times?"

"Well, let's just say that at other times, I'm ordered to take out the trash. This is one of those cases."

Instincts started to kick in within Sullivan. He doubted that this man would have a change of heart, unlike that one rebel who broke into his home. Both situations were the same, however. He had a gun pointed at him with no easy escape. Little was obviously a trained killer, something that Sullivan wouldn't have expected, but the boy was a damn good actor.

"How long have you been watching me?" Sullivan demanded.

"You've been trying to access files on your work computer. Files which contain highly sensitive and classified information." Little paused for a moment when Sullivan's facial expressions began to change. "You look surprised, my friend. Did you not think we keep a log of every time you tried to access those files?"

"Of course I knew that," Sullivan replied. "I'm just surprised that you people would go to this much trouble over some curiosity."

Little chuckled again. "We know that your...fascination with our little experiments go way beyond just curiosity. You lost a loved one to that experiment, didn't you?"

Sullivan nodded.

"You would love nothing more than to get answers to her death. What you fail to realize is that there are things in this life which don't need answering. You just have to trust that the USR, in all her dealings with citizens, has humanity's best interest in mind. If you trust that, then you can live a much easier life, free from worry."

Sullivan smirked, "How am I not supposed to worry when you're killing innocent civilians?"

"You're starting to think like them," Little replied with a smirk of his own, his handgun still aimed for a perfect kill shot at Sullivan's head. "Don't do that, you're not. You've let your little tragedy cloud your thinking. Ever since your wife's passing, your performance has gone way down. We could just fire you, but now you're dealing with the enemy. You've been having secret meetings with Travis Reed, have you not?"

"What if I have?"

"We know you have, because I know you have. Do you know how hard it is to sit back and pretend like I have no clue what's going on when I knew exactly what you were up to?"

"If you're having job related stress, maybe you need to find a new one."

Little let out a small laugh. At that exact moment, Sullivan forced the folding edge of the table upward with his left shoulder. He shoved it so hard that the edge almost came right back down on him. Little fired his gun at the movement. The bullets splintered through the edge of the table. Sullivan moved fast. He pulled the little six shooter from his ankle holster, flicked the safety off, and then fired twice at Little. Each round shattered the spy's knee caps one at a time.

The spy cried out in pain. As he fell to the ground, he squeezed off two more rounds from the PPK-S. The bullets flew through the dining and shattered some of Julie's old china. When Little hit the ground the gun flew from his hand. Sullivan approached, now with the upper hand. He bent over and picked up the silenced handgun that was now well out of Little's reach. The spy tried to reach for it anyway, but it was all for naught. With both guns pointed between his eyes, gone was the arrogance in them, only fear remained.

"It's over," Sullivan said. "Tell me what your next move is."

"I'm a patriot," Little said, almost unable to get the words out because of the pain. He continued to writhe around on the floor. "I will serve the USR until the very end. Just do what you gotta do."

"What do you mean by that?" Sullivan demanded once more.

"There's going to be a whole new ballgame out there. One with a new set of rules. You think that we've got guys on every corner now? Just wait until the military takes over the streets."

"They are going to declare martial law?"

"That's right. Once we take care of your boys, that is."

"What?"

"Your friends you've been talking to...they will be the first to go and it will signal the start of a new kind of USR. One in which the military and the police forces work in harmony to root out the resistance. It's going to be hell...for citizens such as yourself. Their plan to take out the resistance members should be starting right about..."

Little reached behind him for another gun that he kept at his back side. Sullivan saw the sudden move and pulled the triggers from each gun twice. The four rounds shattered through Little's skull, killing the spy instantly. The instant death was not poetic. That man on the ground deserved a far worse fate.

There was no time to stand around and think about punishments, though. Sullivan reached for his black phone and dialed Reed's number. His heart raced through all four of the rings.

"Travis," Reed said over the receiver.

"Travis, its Will. Listen, the USR has been onto to me."

"What?"

"They sent in a spy to shadow me. He knew everything. He said that the USR was about to initiate Martial Law. They are going to use your deaths to justify the need for it."

"Shit!"

"You need to get lost now. Get your family safe, if you can. Just get the hell out of wherever you are."

"What about you?" Reed asked. Sounds of his family could be heard in the background.

"Call your people. Tell them to meet at the bridge where we met in two hours. We'll go from there. I'm going to join you guys. I've nothing left for the USR. I'm nothing but expendable now."

"Okay, I'll relay the message."

"Be careful." Sullivan said.

"You, too."

Sullivan ended the call and ran straight for his car.

# .43

Just as Reed ended the call with the last of his comrades there was a banging noise outside his door. The door was already barricaded with a strong piece of wood, but that wouldn't hold out for long. There was no escape from here. Being in the basement level, they didn't have any back windows that could be used. Unless there was some kind of miracle, like Reed being able to fight them off on his own, there was no hope for them now.

"You all stay back here," Reed said. "Stay close to your mama okay."

The children all moved in on Belle. Tears were welling up in her eyes. Reed couldn't stand the sight of it, but he couldn't worry about that right now. He fucked up big time and his family was about to pay the price for it. As he moved to the kitchen, the pounding on the door grew louder and more aggressive. The wood was starting to break in half. Reed grabbed the AK-47 he had stashed behind the stove and clicked the safety off. Down on one knee, he kept the weapon trained on the door.

He wondered if all that he had done was worth it.

***

Masters waited patiently outside the door to the apartment. His men would breach the door soon. All he wanted at this point was to get in there, deal with the maggots inside, and be done with it. It was on to greener pastures from here and he knew it. The dogs inside needed putting down and he was the perfect man to do it. He personally requested with Blackman to take out the leader of the group. Masters would take no joy in killing off the others. He wanted the leader. He had to let that leader know who was really in charge.

One more hard lunge by his men and the framework around the door started to splinter. Masters trained his G36 towards the door and spit out the toothpick he had been chewing on. While the others in his squad carried the standard issue M4 Carbines, each customized to their own individual tastes, Masters liked the G36. It was lightweight, so he could move it around better. It might not have packed the power of the heavier duty Carbines his squad used, but a head shot was a head shot. It didn't matter what size round did the killing, so long as the killing got done.

Just the thought of putting a bullet in Reed's head brought about a smile.

***

Reed never found room in his life to be a religious man. He was always too busy working and trying to reconcile however he could a relationship with his family. It was at this point in his life, however, that he found himself praying even if he didn't know how. One more shove, and the door would give way, and that would be the end of his life.

The sweat that beaded around his forehead started to flow free down his face. His aim, which had once been steady, now trembled along with his hands. This would be impossible. He didn't know the size of the squad on the outside, but any numbers that they would bring in would instantly beat one.

When the breach first started, Reed didn't want them to break through the door. He wanted to savor the last moments of his life as best he could. The wait was almost too much to bear now, though. Reed was half tempted to walk to the door and open it for them. No need to make it easy, though, he reasoned. He might as well give them a little hell before they subdued him.

That last lunge forward by the assault team outside finally breached the door. As soon as the door came crashing in, Reed held down the trigger of the AK and the automatic rounds flew through the air. He managed to take out the first man, the bulky guy who was leading the charge on the door, with several bursts to the mid-section. The other men tried to climb over him and Reed took out a second one.

It was no time to get cocky, but the adrenaline was now flowing free through Reed's veins. His once shaky aim was straight again. He felt a sense of calm as he got up from his kneeled position to take cover in the hallway. As he back peddled towards the cover, his finger remained on the trigger, sending out bursts of five at a time. The assault team grew more cautious. He managed to get a rough count of how many were left when he saw a flash bang being tossed into the apartment. Reed shielded his eyes with his lids squeezed shut. The screams from his family members in the bedroom soon became drowned out with a deafening bang which ringed at his ears.

On the outside of the apartment, anger filled Masters's insides. How could the two men who lay dead on the ground allow some heathen to put them down? No matter, his team still had the upper hand. When the flash bang went off, the assault team finished their breach inside the apartment. Masters entered in last, bring up the rear. He heard screams from all over the basement level of the apartment building. The screams of the "innocent" brought another smile to his face. They would all have something to really scream about in due time.

Back inside, the ringing in Reed's ears started to ease up a little bit. His family's cries from inside the bedroom were audible once more. The sounds of the assault team moving in could be heard, too. Reed moved the barrel of his AK over the side of the wall. He let out an automatic burst.

This is no good, Reed thought.

He made a break for the bedroom. With a strong dive towards the door it was forced open. Belle screamed the loudest, but everyone inside shared in the cries. Reed mouthed the words "I'm sorry" before he turned his attention back to the hallway. The assault team started to move in. Reed could feel his family behind him huddle against his back.

Covering his family, Reed held his finger down on the trigger and cried incoherent words.

# .44

When it came to waiting to protect his own life, X had the patience of Job. The booby traps around the door to his apartment were already rigged. The poor son of a bitch that opened the door would be in for a hell of a surprise. X held the twelve gauge shotgun in his hands. The barrel was pointed at the front door. All the lights in the place were turned out. The only light in the room was that which penetrated the drapes over his windows. He had been waiting in this position ever since he got the call from Reed that the USR was onto them and sending in troops to kill them all off.

For a moment, he thought for sure that it was that Agent who was talking to Reed who tipped off the USR. However, according to Reed, it was Sullivan who tipped off his one-time friend that they were coming. If it was him, why would he do that? He wouldn't, X reasoned, so maybe he really was on their side. If not on their side, he definitely wasn't on the USR's side. That much was made clear by now.

In the moments waiting for the eventual ambush, a sense of guilt started to bellow up inside of him. When he first approached Reed about starting up a small resistance group to aid the others, their relationship was built on trust. He should have trusted his friend more when it came to the Agent. He should have known that Reed wouldn't have steered them in the wrong direction. It was mainly his own desires to defeat the USR that caused the mistrust. X didn't want anything to go wrong and at the first sign of trouble, he relegated back to his old ways. He just hoped that Reed made it out okay with his family.

Outside the doors, he could hear footsteps on the old wood. Being Catholic, X went north, south, west, east with his right hand. After the ritual was complete, his grip on the shotgun returned. There was no fear now. If this was his time, it was his time to go. That's how he always lived his life. During the fast times of being a gang member, death was always right around the corner. X learned not to fear it, but to embrace it, and that made him a dangerous man. He hoped that the dangerous man would return for this firefight. The old X would be needed to get through this.

The door handle started to jiggle a little bit. Whoever was messing around with it was shocked to find that the door was unlocked. Would he fall for the trap? The answer soon became yes. The USR soldier swung the door open. The ax, which rested above the door frame, was turned loose. The silver end of the red blade cut right through the soldier's face. It was an instant death and his body hung with the ax firmly placed in his skull. The other soldiers took a step back for a moment. They looked in shock as their comrade hung by his tip toes outside the door.

X cracked a smile as he waited by the door. Eventually, the soldiers pushed aside their fallen squad mate and entered the apartment. At the sight of the first soldier, X pulled the trigger on the twelve gauge. The soldier took the buck shot to the side and fell, bleeding out on the floor. X did the same to the second man who tried to enter. When the second one fell, he raced from his seated position to behind the couch, which faced the door. Automatic gunfire now filled the room.

X used the shoulder strap of the shotgun to hang the weapon against his back. His Colt .45 rested in his hip holster. He gripped the weapon then held it in his hands. He popped up from his cover and took out another soldier with five quick squeezes of the trigger. The other soldiers were quick to return fire. X ducked back down. The count of men left was four.

One solider gripped a grenade attached to his flak jacket. At the sound of the pin falling, X quickly dove to the right. The grenade went off almost as soon as it hit the ground next to him. He could feel the heat of the explosion as he finished his dive and was now behind his recliner. The automatic rounds from the USR's assault rifles ripped through his beloved chair.

X moved his body towards the side of the recliner. He aimed the Colt at one of the soldiers and pulled the trigger several times. The rounds penetrated the soldier's armor and he fell. Three more to go.

The three soldiers that remained started to move around the apartment. The dim light in the room didn't allow X to fully see what was going on. Instead, he was now relying on his ears. Through his ears, he could hear one move around to where his couch used to be. X pointed the Colt in that direction and squeezed the trigger twice. When the body hit the floor he continued the countdown. Two.

X stood now. With his head held low, he made a run for the bedroom. The two remaining soldiers fired their assault rifles in that direction. The rounds tore through the drywall beside X. One got through and hit him in the back of his right thigh. X fell to the ground in pain. He crawled the rest of the way and took cover against the wall by the door frame. He could hear one of the soldiers get a little too antsy and move in on his position. X pointed the Colt in the direction of the noise and pulled the trigger twice. He heard the body hit the ground. One.

The last soldier moved back and took cover by the recliner. X got on his belly and used his elbows to pull his body forward. The chamber on his Colt was empty. With the press of his thumb, he released the empty mag and replaced it with a fresh one.

"You're a dead man!" the soldier cried out.

X ignored the man. All his focus was on how he would kill the last one. He could hear the soldier outside take slow, deliberate steps towards the bedroom door. In the darkness, the soldier had no idea what was sitting on the top of the door frame. It was a nifty little device that X had stolen from the factory. It took him a while, but eventually, he was able to sneak home all the parts he needed. The thing was still in development so there were still bugs in its programing. Now was a good time to find out if it actually worked. All that was left now was to activate it.

The switch was under the bed. X reached under and flipped it. In an instant, the machine gun became active. The motion detectors didn't pick up on the soldier's movements like they were supposed to. The turret sprayed automatic rounds at random. Still, the solider was hit by a few stray bullets which shredded his body armor. X flipped the switch off.

Now came the hard part, as if what he just did was easy. He forced his body upward and tried to ignore the pain of his now blood soaked thigh. He limped out of the apartment, pushing aside the body of the poor bastard that blocked his exit.

In the hallway, there were the looks of the terrified tenants who came out of their units once the gunfire had ceased. They all knew X. They knew he was a good man and they all had distressed looks on their faces. He repeatedly denied any help from them. When one man offered to call an ambulance, X told him absolutely not in very colorful language.

Once outside, he made it to his truck. Inside the truck, he placed the Colt into the concealed holster on the right side of the driver's seat. He turned the key and ignited the engine. The blood from his thigh now soaked through the seat. X ripped off his shirt then tied it tight around the wound in an attempt to ease off the bleeding. He knew where he had to go next.

He just hoped that he didn't bleed to death on the way.

# .45

Sullivan kept his head low behind the bushes. The Captain would no doubt be home soon, after a long, hard day of trying to catch the resistance. Sure enough, moments later, headlights from off in the distance could be seen. At the sight of them, Sullivan reached into his hip holster and pulled out his Glock. Those pesky second thoughts were already creeping their way from the back of his mind to the forefront. He still felt a little bit of hope that maybe he could talk to Fitzpatrick and get this heat off of him. The two still respected each other. At least there was still respect on Sullivan's end.

He shook his head. There was no going back now. The USR had already sent a spy in after him. His employers no doubt felt the same way. The once great Agent had become a liability now. Being a liability, in this world, was not something a citizen wanted to be. Those people weren't simply shunned away, they were executed. Sullivan already got lucky once with Little. It was up to him to make his own luck now.

The car parallel parked against the sidewalk. Sullivan took a deep breath and made his move. He kept his upper body low, beneath the trunk level of the car to stay hidden. Just as the engine was cut off, he grabbed the door handle to the back driver's side seat. With swiftness, he had his gun in Fitzpatrick's neck before his superior even knew what was going on. When the cold barrel of the Glock hit Fitzpatrick's skin, Sullivan could hear the old man let out a gasp.

"Give me your gun." Sullivan ordered.

"Will, what the hell are you doing?" Fitzpatrick demanded.

Sullivan applied more pressure. "I said give me your weapon. Slowly."

Fitzpatrick obeyed. He grabbed the gun from his shoulder holster and then deliberately held it in the air. Sullivan then ordered for him to toss it to the back seat. Again, the Captain obeyed and let loose of the gun. It hit the floor board next to Sullivan.

"Do you realize what you're doing?" Fitzpatrick ordered once more.

"Yes, sir, I do." Sullivan replied. "I'm done, you hear me?"

"Done? What happened? Why not just give me a call?"

"Because, you sent a spy to my home to execute me, you son of a bitch."

"I have no idea..."

Sullivan pressed the gun even further into Fitzpatrick's neck. Again, the Captain gasped and his breathing quickened. Sullivan felt a wave of satisfaction at the sounds of the frightened man. He thought about how many times he had to point a gun at a suspect, not knowing whether or not that suspect was guilty of anything. The man in the front seat, he was guilty, as was the man in the back seat who held the gun. Deep inside, Sullivan knew that he was doing the right thing. He just needed to carry it out.

"Don't lie to me, you understand? I'm the one with the gun, don't you forget that." Sullivan replied.

"What happened?"

"That Kevin Little, the man who you said was rookie, well, he wasn't a rookie after all. He was a Goddamn USR spy!"

"You're kidding me."

"Don't play dumb with me. I know that you played some role in all this."

Fitzpatrick's eyes started to dart from left to right. Sullivan could see them through the rear view mirror.

"Nobody's coming to save you." Sullivan said.

"Just, let me think for a minute."

"No, there's no time for thinking. I came here to tell you something and to give you a warning."

"A warning? Will, is this really..."

"Really what? Necessary? Of course it's necessary."

"We can talk..."

"Shut up!" Sullivan cried. "Now, you listen to me, and listen closely. I'm done with your games. You tell your boys, whoever they are, to stay the hell away from me. This is your warning: if you come near my son, I'll..."

Fitzpatrick sighed. "You're son? He's already been taken."

In that instant, nothing but rage filled Sullivan's insides. They had already taken his wife with their experiments, now they had his son? It took everything in him to not pull the trigger...prematurely. Instead, he pressed the gun so hard against Fitzpatrick's neck and that it caused the old man's head to shift to the left.

"What are you talking about?" Sullivan demanded.

"I called in to the Consul, told him that I was concerned about your performance. I didn't know they would go this far, but they called me back and told me that you were beyond salvage. They were going to kill you and take your orphan son to one of the schools to raise him right."

"I knew it," Sullivan said. "You set me up and now my son is gone. Which school?"

"I don't know. It's classified. All I can tell you is that it's not in this city. They are transporting him now."

"I'm not playing! Where?!"

"I don't know! If you want to kill me, go on ahead, but either way, you'll never know where he is!"

Sullivan's heart began to sink as he eased the pressure of the barrel against Fitzpatrick's neck. He couldn't believe how terrible of a father he was. All the missions and side missions he was involved in were a priority over his family. In all the scrambling around, trying to gather the troops, his son was in the background. All he wanted to do was make this a better place for him. A lot of good that did him, he thought. Now, Davie was with the enemy and there was nothing Sullivan could do about it.

"How can you tell me you didn't know this would happen?" Sullivan demanded. "You know how our system works."

"You can blame me all you want," Fitzpatrick said. "But, you know who is at fault here. You've been getting way too close to the enemy, letting them cloud your thinking. I don't even know why I let you back on the force in the first place. If you want to kill me, go on ahead."

Sullivan really wanted to kill Fitzpatrick. His finger shook against the trigger so violently that he almost accidently discharged his weapon into him. Killing Fitzpatrick, though, wouldn't solve anything. There was enough blood on his hands as it were. Instead, he gave two hard blows against the side of the Captain's head: once for knocking him out, the other for making sure.

With Fitzpatrick out cold, Sullivan exited the vehicle then ran straight for his car. He resisted the temptation to drive straight to Mary's house to verify if Fitzpatrick was full of shit or not. The risk was too great. They would be waiting for him there and that wouldn't bring Sullivan any closer to his son. He couldn't save him if he was dead.

The guilt inside swept over him. He should've been there more for his son but he wasn't. The horror that filled inside was that he now would never have another chance to be with him. To teach him how to be a good man, to raise him right in an insane world. He didn't even know what time he was abducted which hurt the most. It was in that realization that Sullivan discovered how distant he was. How could he let this happen? How could he not know?

As the tears flowed down his cheeks, he went straight for the meeting place where he told Reed to meet. He hoped that the others got the message. There was no longer any access to USR computer systems. He would have to try and figure this all out on his own.

Davie, forgive me.

# .46

X was downtrodden when he pulled his truck to the meeting spot and only saw three others there to greet him. Only Dopey, Sugar, and Pinkie were there waiting on him. He got out of the truck and slammed the door shut behind him. The others had a look of concern on their faces when they noticed his limp as he walked towards them. They all offered their help to him, but X waved them off. Just like everything else in life, he would take care of himself.

"Have you guys heard from anyone else?" X asked, instead of accepting help.

"No," Dopey said, with his head slightly down.

"It's been way too long to have not heard something." X replied. "We've got to prepare ourselves for the worst."

"Which is?" Pinkie wondered.

"That they all died trying to get here."

With those words, there was instant silence as the truth of the statement began to sink in. X didn't want to believe it, either. As much as he butted heads with Reed and others in the group over the months that they were together, they were still his family. One of the life lessons he learned over the years was that you don't mess with someone's family. When you started to mess with family was when things started to get real ugly.

The moment of silence became interrupted by the pair of headlights penetrating the darkness. X looked to the car that pulled up, hoping that it was another one of his friends. However, they all started to draw their weapons at the sight of the Agent who paid them a visit several weeks ago.

Sullivan saw them drawing their weapons, so as he approached, he drew his Glock, too. He didn't see Reed with them and he felt at that moment that his day was going to from bad to worse.

"Is this all that made it?" Sullivan called out. "Where's Reed?"

X, Colt drawn, limped forward to Sullivan. "He must be dead. Do we have you to thank for that?"

"Of course not!' Sullivan replied. "I was the one who tipped him off!"

"Sure you did, Puerco. Or, maybe you orchestrated this whole night just to pick us off. Not gonna happen."

"That's funny, since the USR tried to kill me tonight, too."

"Nobody believes your lies!" X cried.

"You know what?" Sullivan said. He lowered his gun and then threw it to the ground. With his hands placed behind his head, he continued. "They've got my son, all right? If you want to kill me, just go ahead and do it."

Sullivan closed his eyes, got on his knees, and waited. Meanwhile, X aimed the Colt for a perfect shot right between the eyes. He heard some rumblings from the others and the leaves under their feet rustled as they approached. They were all looking up to X now as their leader until Reed showed up again. That didn't seem to be a possibility at this point.

While Sullivan waited, there was a conflict of emotions going on in his head. A part of him wanted the man to pull the trigger. Not that he was suicidal, but because he failed his son, and for that, he did deserve death. However, he did want to find him. He had to find him and rescue his boy from the schools. They would brainwash Davie into becoming something that Sullivan did not want him to become. He tried so hard, even when he was still a full on Agent, to make something better for him. Being a USR lackey wasn't what he had in mind for that.

"Come on," Dopey said with his gun drawn. "Let's hear him out. What could it hurt?"

"What could it hurt?" X replied with his eyes still on his target. "He could rip us apart from the inside."

"Does it really look like we haven't already been ripped apart?"

X took that point into consideration as he lowered his weapon. All the men at his side lowered their weapons in unison. X offered his hand to Sullivan. In a fit of shock, Sullivan didn't know what to do at first. He stared at the hand for a moment and wondered if this was all for real or not. Finally, he took the hand and X helped him up to his feet. The former Agent then brushed off the debris from his pants.

"Thanks," Sullivan said as he brushed.

"Don't thank me, yet." X replied. "You've still got to prove to me that this was the right decision."

"Who knows what's right anymore?"

"What's your plan? Why are trying to use us?"

Sullivan shook his head. "I'm not trying to use you. I'm simply trying to figure out a way to find my son. I know that you all have access to USR systems on some level. I'll fight with you so long as I can find my son."

"Okay," X said with a nod. "We can always use an extra gun, especially when we're down like we are now. But, if I even think that you are selling our secrets to the USR, I will put a bullet in you, understood?"

"You have my word."

Dopey move in beside X. "What's the game plan now?"

"We go to meet up with Statue. He should be delivering the goods now."

"What about your leg?"

"The leg's fine, Dopey. Let's just head out. You," X said as he pointed at Sullivan. "Get in the car with Sugar and Dopey. You can leave your car here. No telling if the USR has your car bugged or not."

Sullivan smirked, "How do you know that your cars aren't bugged?"

"We've checked them, but don't have time to run a scan on yours. Get in with them or stay here. Your choice."

Sullivan didn't have a choice at all. He simply nodded his head and did as he was told.

# .47

Kaspar looked down at the yellow shard of fabric in his hand. It had been attached to his flak jacket ever since his first mission against the USR. He thought about what it meant. How it was a reminder of Mother. How she was taken away from him by the USR. The mere thought of ever being happy again with her loss would have seemed ridiculous. Then, he met Krys. She showed him how to live, taught him what love really was, and completed his life. Now, she too was taken by the USR. It seemed like an endless spiral. Whomever he could get close to would be taken away.

He attached the yellow fabric back to his flak jacket and set the Kevlar vest to the side. As he sat on the cot by himself, nothing but thoughts of Krys filled his mind. No amount of mental preparation could have prepared him for the emptiness he felt without her here. There was a sense of denial deep inside that he still felt. He just knew that, at any moment, Krys would walk into the tent and ask him why he was being such a bitch. The thought of the playful insults she would throw at him from time to time caused a rare smile to grow on his face. There were only a few ways to keep her alive in his heart and one of them was to never forget anything about her.

Kaspar stood and stretched out his back. There were rumblings going around that the resistance would be plotting their next move and fast. The mystery of what this big mission would be that Harvey hinted at kept him going for the short term. He was anxious to get moving with the next thing, if for nothing else but to get his mind away from her.

According to the news broadcasts, which who could really trust those, the USR discovered that the resistance threat was far worse than anyone imagined. The military was called in to help with the problem and they took out several resistance members last night. They posted all of their faces on the screen one at time. However, they also said that there were some who escaped and they had evidence that the threat was growing. The military would now be working in unison with the police forces to ensure the citizens' safety. Kaspar thought about what Harvey said about this big mission. He said that things would get worse, but Kaspar couldn't imagine it getting much worse than the footage he had seen already.

Whatever the case was, Kaspar knew that he would be ready.

***

"It's unfortunate that this had to happen," Sanders said, looking down at his large computer monitor. "But, at least this has shocked others into action."

"Yeah," Harvey replied.

Ever since the government controlled news agencies reported of the resistance members who were killed, several of the rebel leaders around the country who initially said no were changing their minds. This latest development almost hurt Harvey on the inside watching what was happening. Did it always take something terrible happening to move good men to do the right thing? That was the question that haunted him and he didn't have an answer for it. He certainly didn't share Sanders's apparent enthusiasm for the events that unfolded.

Harvey was learning more and more things about Sanders as time went by. For himself, Harvey was never a believer in the old phrase that the ends justified the means. He always saw that quote as pure bull. His partner, however, he seemed relish in it. Every time the USR made a move on the innocents, he got excited. It seemed to give the old war veteran a sense of justification for fighting back. The fact that the USR destroyed the foundations of America was enough justification for Harvey.

"You're doing it again." Sanders commented.

"What?" Harvey demanded.

"You're getting all blue on me."

"I don't share your enthusiasm. We lost good men. The innocent civilians out there are going to be the ones who suffer."

"Look at the bright side, though. We've got some more help for this thing. We might not have gotten this kind of help without it."

"I understand that, but we shouldn't celebrate it like it's a victory."

"I don't see it as a victory, you hear me?" Sanders's face turned red to match the red scar on his head. "This is a tragedy, no doubt about that. Yes, the innocents will suffer, but if this is what it takes to shake our allies into action then so be it."

"All right," Harvey said. "Let's just move on with our strategy."

"Agreed."

The two military minds sat down in front of one of the laptops and discussed their views how their plan could be a success. They also discussed the help that would be coming in. Overall, the estimated total of rebels would be somewhere above one hundred. It was lower than Sanders would have liked, but Harvey felt that they could work with that. That number was certainly better than what they had before the events of last night. A fact that Sanders liked to throw out there every now and then, after they said that they would move on, and to agree to disagree.

"We'll be meeting up with several of them tomorrow night," Sanders went on. "I've talked with a few squads based in the Midwest today. They'll be ready to meet here."

Sanders pointed on his screen to a glowing dot on the map. Harvey nodded in agreement.

"Sounds good," Harvey replied.

"The others on the east coast, obviously, will be headed straight for the Capitol."

"What about those on the west coast?"

"Afraid that we don't have that much support past the Midwest. Those on the West are focused on their own battles. It would cost them too much to move across the country. We'll have to do without them. But, they are planning on getting together to plan their own Op in the near future. They are concerned about this threat, too."

"What do you think our chances are?" Harvey asked.

It took Sanders a moment to answer that question. Harvey could see the wheels turning inside of the old man's head. The movements of his eyes gave that away. He started to rub at his chin and the wheels seemed to turn faster. For Harvey's part, he thought that their chances were moderate, but not enough for him to feel comfortable about a full on victory.

"I think we can do this," Sanders replied. "We've got good men fighting for us. It's going to be a tough one, but I like our chances."

Harvey wished he was as confident.

# .48

Masters stood outside the door of a nice, red brick townhouse in the suburbs. The morning sun had risen and was almost to the top of the sky. This was different, he thought as he watched the two combat jeeps move up and down the street, complete with a soldier on each manning the .50's on top. Usually, they were in the inner city, cleaning up the trash that infested there. Now, they were called to the places where the more upper echelon of the population lived. To him, he didn't care, he was anxious to do his duty.

The soldiers under his command seemed ready, too. His number one was banging on the door next him while Masters waited, his G36 in both hands. The soldier was on his third round of the bangs when he turned to Masters and shook his head. Masters was about ready to call for the breach when the door finally opened. The instant it did, his men moved in so fast that the woman who opened it was knocked to ground.

Masters moved in last as his men went to work. There wasn't even a thought to helping the woman, who was in her mid-thirties, up to her feet. She seemed well enough to do it herself. The woman had that same scared look on her face that the decorated USR soldier had grown accustomed to. As she rose to her feet, she wiped away the blood which leaked from her lips. The bitch must've bit her bottom lip on the way down. Masters also noticed that she was too scared to scream. She just kept staring, the fear was in her eyes, so that at least gave him some satisfaction.

Over to his left, Masters caught sight of a little boy. The boy stood there, coming up to Masters's knees, and looked upward. There was no emotion on the boy's face. He was holding a teddy bear close to his chest. After a moment, Masters allowed a grin to creep along his lips. The boy, too young to know what was going on, smiled back up. Masters reached down and rubbed at the boy's hair. After that, he looked back over to the woman, who managed to get back to her feet. Tears ran down her face now.

A loud commotion that came from upstairs broke the silence. By the sounds of a man shouting out curses, Masters assumed that his men found the mark they were looking for. The woman cried "no" as the man, with a soldier on each side, dragged him from the stairs and through the living room. Masters shouldered his G36 and pointed it at the woman. She assumed the position, getting down to her knees, and putting her hands behind her lowered head.

"This is a fucking sham!" the man yelled as he was dragged out the front door. "Honey, I will get home soon!"

"I love you!" the woman cried.

Masters moved over to the woman. With her head lowered, she could see his military boots. At the sight of them, she raised her head and once again made eye contact with him. Masters raised his left hand and then backhanded the woman across her cheek. Her mouth stayed wide open in shock.

"I didn't give you permission to speak," Masters said. "You take care of your boy, now."

When the Lieutenant walked out, he slammed the door shut behind him. With his G36 now across his chest, he made his way to the armored van which would transport their prisoners to their destination. Masters didn't know all the details, but like a good soldier, he carried out his orders. It didn't make a lick of sense to him to take citizens who actually made some sort of contribution to society away, but orders were orders. So long as he got some killing in, or at least got to rough up a few of them, that was all he cared about.

The soldiers who dragged the man opened the back doors and threw him inside. There were already seven men crammed on the inside. The back doors slammed shut leaving the men, scared out of their own minds, alone in the darkness to think about what would come next. There would be no way for them to even guess. They were already in pure shock to be taken from their homes without notice.

Masters watched the van take off as he reached for his walkie. He punched in the correct codes and got patched in with Blackman.

"Sector eight a success," Masters said into the black device. "Moving on to Sector nine."

"Good job, Masters." Blackman replied. "Any problems?"

Masters rubbed at his forehead with his free forearm. "None to report. This mission is for panty waists. Don't you think that with my expertise I could be doing something more vital?"

"This mission is vital, Lieutenant."

"How vital?"

There was a pause. "You know I can't tell you that. It's of the utmost secrecy. Just know that you are serving the USR with this mission."

"Understood," Masters said with a sigh. "We're moving out to the next Sector."

***

The sun was nearly finished with its descent behind the tall buildings of Caine's city. He looked down to see the little ants scurry about to their cars, cabs, buses, whatever their form of transportation for getting home would be. A buzzing noise from his desk shook him out of his trance. Caine walked over to the desk and pushed the red button underneath.

"Yes?" Caine said with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Sir, this is General Blackman, may I have a word?"

"Come on in."

With a press of the green button, the doors unlocked. The loud sound of the clicks let Blackman know it was okay to enter. A moment too soon and the electroshock from the door handles would put him on his ass. Once inside, Blackman saluted his leader, who gave him a halfhearted salute back. Caine reached underneath his desk for his smuggled whiskey. After he poured himself a shot, he offered one to Blackman, who declined. Caine shrugged his shoulders and then took the shot in one quick swig. The burn of the alcohol felt good going down. Soon, the effects of the alcohol would calm his nerves.

"What can I help you with, General?"

Blackman cleared his throat. He still got nervous every time he talked to Caine. "I wanted to fill you in on what happened today."

"Go ahead."

"All the Sectors you provided for us were cleaned out. We got all the names on the list imprisoned except for one."

"Who would that be?"

Blackman pulled out an index card and searched for the last remaining name that hadn't been crossed out from that particular Sector. Age was getting to the old General, no way in the past he would forget a name like that. Sloppiness was something that he never tolerated as a military leader, but that was what was happening to him. It caused a feeling of disgust followed by disappointment.

"William Sullivan," Blackman replied.

"I sent a spy after him. I added him to the list just in case."

"I understand. We found your spy dead on the floor. Four shots to the head. Looks like the poor bastard was knee capped as well."

"I see. And, he's nowhere to be found?"

"No, sir. His vehicle was missing. No traces."

Caine nodded his head. These spies he sent out were always a wildcard. Some of them were coolly efficient. Give them a job and they completed it then moved on to the next job. Simple as that. But, there were also the occasional ones like Little.

Caine had high hopes for the youngster. He seemed to have a knack for this sort of thing. The reports he would give were detailed enough. After three successful kills before the other night, this one was looking like another success. The fact that Little didn't report in wasn't that much of a concern, at least not until now. He was supposed to work in secrecy. Caine assumed that the spy just moved on to wait for his next assignment.

"Well," Caine said, "I guess that's what I get for sending in a spy to do the military's work."

Blackman grinned, "Yes, sir."

"That Sullivan didn't go check on his son, either. If he had, he'd be Swiss cheese right now."

"Sullivan, that name sounds familiar."

"It should. He took part in a kill operation that led one of Paxton's recruits to you."

Blackman searched his mind then let out another grin. He remembered that kid whose mother had been killed. "That's right, now I remember. What happened to him?"

"He went off the deep end...beyond salvage."

"It pains me to see good men go that route."

"There are no good men out there."

Caine pointed to the window and Blackman nodded in acknowledgement. After that, the secret USR leader reached down for another shot. Once again he offered Blackman a shot, but the offer was again declined. Caine shook his head and told himself that it wasn't worth losing his temper over. If the old man in front of him didn't want to accept, well, that was his Goddamn loss. After he quickly swallowed the shot, the effects of the whiskey started to fill him from the inside. He leaned back and looked straight at the ceiling.

"Can I ask you something, sir?" Blackman asked.

"Anything."

"This new operation...is it really necessary?"

Caine's head shot down and his eyes lasered in on Blackman's. "The fuck did you just say?"

Blackman held up his right hand. "I'm just asking."

"Of course it's necessary. Why wouldn't it be?"

"It just seems, according to those under me, like a waste of good manpower."

"You let me be the judge of that." Caine reached under the desk. The comment forced another swig. "You just keep doing what you're told."

"Do you ever feel guilty about the things we do?"

Caine took a shot then slammed the glass down on the desk. "Do you want to be executed?"

"No, sir, of course not. Just asking you, man to man."

"I think this conversation is over. You can see your way out. It concerns me to hear you talking like this."

"Yes, sir."

Blackman gave another salute which was not answered by Caine. The old General simply bowed his head, turned, then walked out the door. Once out, Caine picked up his red phone. He told the female voice on the other line to come up to his office alone. While he waited for his mistress, he thought about what Blackman asked him. The only feeling of guilt he felt was that the world had gotten as bad as it had. The world needed men like him to teach what was right. He briefly thought about issuing a kill order on Blackman, but then decided against it.

Blackman would be needed. For now.

# .49

The tall leftover pulled the truck to the side of the road and then put on the emergency brake. After the engine was shut off, he grabbed his phone and dialed in to his bosses. He gave them a status report, that the truck was broken down, but he wouldn't require any assistance. The voice on the other end of the phone pressed him, but he continually declined it. He told them that if he couldn't fix it, then he would call, but he reminded him that he was the best mechanic on the payroll. After taking that into consideration, the voice on the other end told him to hurry his ass up.

The night air outside felt cool as Statue opened the door and walked to the front of the truck. He rubbed at his face while he tried to remember what Reed taught him about hacking into the GPS system. The trick being that he had to make sure those watching his progress couldn't see that he veered off course. The systems the USR used on their own vehicles, of course, were state of the art. However, every computerized system, according to Reed, could be hacked.

Statue stared off into the black distance as he grabbed his pack of cigarettes. They would be needed at this critical juncture of the mission. After all that planning, carefully packing away a weapon here and there, and it all came down to this one little procedure. If he couldn't fool the Agents watching him with the truck, then it was all for naught. Statue didn't like all this pressure put squarely on him, but what else could he do? He was the truck driver. Nobody else on the team could do it.

Even with being a heavy smoker, Statue never smoked all the way to the filter. Usually when he threw out a cigarette, it was about eighty percent depleted. With this one, though, he smoked it all the way to the filter and didn't realize it at first. He threw the butt into the woods on his right and then moved back into the truck. After a quick, silent prayer, he grabbed his black bag. Inside, he took hold of the black, rectangular device and plugged it in to the receptacle by the truck's radio. In the heat of the moment, he forgot where the power switch was located. Once he found it, he clicked it on. A green light at the top started to blink, letting him know that the device was hot. There was another black cord at the bottom. At the end of the cord, the plug matched that of the GPS system.

Statue was almost afraid to touch the GPS. One wrong move would tip off those watching him. This old truck he was driving wouldn't stand a chance against a host of USR squad cars. Not to mention, the resistance would be short on their weaponry. His left hand was visibly shaking as he reached towards the GPS. With his right hand, he grabbed the screw driver from the bag. Once all the screws were out, the GPS was free to move. He had it out of the console then looked around for the right plug to pull out. Unplugging the wrong one would surely tip off the USR that something was wrong.

He scanned all of the plugs then thought he found the right one. It was instinct that told him to pull at the black plug in the upper right hand corner. He took a deep breath then put his left thumb and index finger around the square plug. In his right hand was the plug from the device. Reed explained that what the device would do was read the coordinates that the USR put into the GPS system. Once the coordinates were read by the hacked device, it would fool the GPS, making it look like the truck was still moving in the proper direction. Once that happened, Statue could drive anywhere he wanted to go and anyone keeping track of the truck would have no idea.

The only problem, and it was a doozy to Statue, was that split second when he unplugged the GPS and then plugged the device into it. This maneuver would be caught if the person who kept track of his truck watched with any kind of intent. Statue prayed that they weren't. He considered another cigarette before doing the switch, but thought better of it. It was now or never...

His hands were quick. The plugs were switched in less than a second. That was what was impressed upon him when given the job. There was a feeling of accomplishment inside and he quietly applauded himself. Statue also hadn't breathed in several seconds so he finally exhaled. He stared down at his phone, waiting for the dreaded call from dispatch demanding to know what had happened to his GPS. The call never came. He exhaled again and pulled out his other phone. With his now calm fingers, he typed in the numbers and waited. The other line rang two times before an answer.

"This is Statue, Operation Blackbird is a go."

***

All of the men in the tent, which had been built as their command center, were leftovers with extensive military experience. It brought Harvey a great sense of pride to see so many former Americans, even if he saw them all as Americans still, coming together for a cause. This was the first time since the USR takeover that he had witnessed such a thing. There were still doubts within himself about the mission, but for now, he would relish in the fact that so many had joined together. For this moment, at least, they could all feel like things were back to normal.

Sanders stood in front of them all, with no doubts going through his mind. In fact, seeing all the men gathered together brought with it even more confidence. He was going over the layout of the building with the men, focusing on its weak points, where to strategically place men, etc. Out of pure respect, the men in the room gave him their full, undivided attention while he went over it. Of course, he was nearing the end, when he would ask if there were any questions. There surely would be questions to come his way.

In private, before the meeting started, Harvey was approached by several leftovers who all gave their opinions about the mission. For many, they thought along the same lines as Harvey, that this was too big of a risk. If this mission went to hell, the resistance would have put forth so much manpower that they would be severely weakened. Harvey tried to talk them down, but he couldn't help himself but to agree with them. The more he tried to think like Sanders, the less confident he became. He reminded himself that this was war, and to win a war, you had to take risks. But, this was one big risk that could cost them the entire war. Even a victory, depending on the casualty rate, could be seen as a defeat. How much of this was just about an old war veteran trying to prove something before he bit the dust?

The strategy itself was pretty sound, by Harvey's estimation. When the USR demolished the White House, they left the pieces of the old building in the ground leading up to their new building as a reminder. America had been defeated, she had fallen, and if anyone ever needed a reminder, they could find it in the grounds. The pieces of stone stuck in the ground would provide some cover for the resistance's strike team. What Sanders proposed was for the majority of the units to draw the USR's fire, while a select few would sneak into the building, take it by force, and then raise the American flag atop the roof. That, according to Sanders, would get the message across loud and clear. And, not just to the USR's leaders, but also to the resistance units all across the country.

"Any questions?" Sanders asked once finished.

"Look," a rebel leader said. "We're with you about this, but are you sure that this isn't a waste of our assets?"

"How could this be a waste?" Sanders demanded right back. "The government tried to use us to further their ends. They didn't realize that once we found out, we would kick some ass. Like everything else, they just assumed that they could keep us under control. With this victory, and it will be a victory, they will know that we are not to be fucked with."

"That all sounds good, but is there any more strategic value to this other than flipping the bird to them?"

"Of course. It will show the people that there is hope..."

Harvey cleared his throat and then didn't bother raising his hand. "Begging your pardon, but the people, at least the majority, don't even like us. They want us gone. They've been brainwashed for too long by the USR. To them, the USR are the good guys, and we are the bad guys."

Sanders grinned. "Point well taken. There's a government that only wants to control everyone, everything, and just because people don't realize it, we just let it go on. I don't stand for that."

"Nobody does, but..."

"No buts, Harv. All I know is that there is good and there is evil. No matter what public opinion says, it doesn't change that we are in the right and they are in the wrong."

Harvey simply nodded his head. There wasn't much of an argument that he could muster to dispute what Sanders just said. The old scarred war veteran was right, after all. Every leftover in the room wouldn't be here if they didn't agree to that. But, still, he couldn't shake the feeling that Sanders was becoming more and more of a tyrant. If the war would eventually be won by the resistance, which revolved around the public opinion that Sanders talked about, Harvey hoped that Sanders wouldn't play a large role in the politics. He had a feeling that Sanders wouldn't want it anyway. The old man was a war dog, and that's all he would ever want for himself.

"What if this fails?" another leftover asked.

"If this fails? Well," Sanders rubbed at the scar on his forehead. "If this fails then things will continue to remain the way they are. We all die, the USR continues to reign over the innocent, and it will be like we never fought for them at all. But, what if we succeed? What if this shakes people out of apathy and gets them thinking? We can play what if games all night long, but the only question I have in response is: Why not try?"

"Things will get worse out there."

"Sure they will. Do you think that before the first Revolutionary War that the patriots in that war didn't fear the repercussions of standing up to their adversaries? Look at all the great revolutions in history. Hard times always come when you stand up to evil. I can tell you this, if we don't act now, the USR will eventually catch up to us, and then who will fight?"

With that response, Sanders could tell that the other leaders were starting to buy in. The questions that came his way now were in the way of preparation. Harvey had to give it to Sanders. As much as he disagreed with him personally, Harvey's respect for Sanders was growing, as well. His never say die attitude was starting to grow on him. Sanders might turn out to be a tyrant, but maybe that was exactly what the resistance needed. Someone who could lead and inspire everyone to stand up to the USR and said fuck you to the consequences. Harvey still had his doubts about the mission, but Sanders was right. If they failed, nothing would change anyway.

"Any more questions?" Sanders wondered.

There were none. Only a new found resolve remained.

# .50

The drive to the once abandoned power plant seemed like an eternity. Statue kept looking over at his phone, waiting for a call, but none ever came. The last contact he had with dispatch was when he told them that he fixed the problem and was continuing on route. Dispatch didn't mention anything about his GPS and simply told him to hurry it up. Now that he was at his real destination, he was calm once more. At least now he had more guns to back him up if it came to that. Throughout his entire trip here, he was not followed, or at least there were no signs of it.

Members of the resistance were quick in the unloading of the contents of the eighteen wheeler. He offered to help, but they just told him that he had done enough. He didn't press them about it. After the longest drive of his life, he could use some rest. He turned away from the others and walked to the inside of the plant. Sitting on a chair by the entrance was a familiar face. One that he never thought would bring him so much happiness.

"X!" Statue cried. "You made it."

X moved his head up and stood from the chair. "Statue, you old shit, what took you so long?"

The two men exchanged handshakes and then X walked him over to the coffee pot. The strong aroma of the coffee was like music to his ears. He grabbed one of the Styrofoam cups and poured the hot liquid into it. He took a sip then walked with X back to the chairs.

"Any problems on your way in?" X wondered.

"Not a one," Statue replied. "Only problem being my nerves. Took me forever to find the guts to switch out the plugs. After that, smooth sailing."

"Good, good. Glad to hear it."

"Where are the others?"

X's facial expressions changed. He was happy to see that his friend had made it to the plant, but there were so many others that didn't make it. A frown now filled his face. X had been hardened so long that he didn't think that he could feel any emotions after all he'd seen and done. But, at this moment, he felt like he could cry.

"Something happened while you were away." X said.

Statue could tell that it was something bad. "What happened?"

"There were raids on each of us. The government must've grown tired of the surveillance game. They came after us hard."

"Who didn't make it?"

X rattled off the names and hesitated with the last. By the look on Statue's face, X reasoned that he knew who the last person was, so he didn't say it. Statue nodded his head then sipped at his coffee. Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw Sullivan walking into the room. He quickly moved the cup from his lips and almost spilled coffee on his hand.

"The hell's he doing here?" Statue demanded. He recognized Sullivan from the mug shot that Reed provided to him.

"The pig?" X asked. "Says the USR took his son. He also tipped us off to the raids."

"I thought we couldn't trust him. And, now, you bring him here?"

"It was my call." X said with a stern tone. "He seemed legit enough. I pointed a gun to his head and I got the feeling that he wanted me to pull the trigger."

"And, that makes him trustworthy?"

"I don't know," X admitted. "But, if it wasn't for him, none of us would have made it out alive."

"Maybe it's because he wanted to see where we hide out. To see what we were really up to." Statue said.

"Maybe, maybe not. But, he is on a tight leash. He knows that one wrong move and I'll blow his head off."

Sullivan approached the two men. He didn't like the stares that Statue was giving him, but Sullivan couldn't blame him for it. The former Agent wasn't armed, and he knew that the tall man would be packing, so it was best to just play it cool for now. X absolutely forbade him from carrying a weapon for the moment. Sullivan just wondered how long it would take for them to trust him, if ever.

"Can I take a seat with you gentlemen?" Sullivan asked.

"Knock yourself out." Statue replied.

Sullivan took a seat. "You make it in with your shipment okay?"

"Sure did."

With that, the tall man stood from his chair then walked outside. That left just Sullivan and X, who were silent for a moment. Sullivan got up and poured himself some coffee, adding cream and a little bit of sugar. When he returned, he sat closer to X, who seemed surprised by it. The former Agent took a sip from the cup then placed it on the coffee table.

"What's this big operation everyone is gearing up for?" Sullivan demanded. Being left in the dark had gotten old long ago.

"Why do you care?" X demanded right back.

"I care because if I'm going to fight with you guys, I want to know what I'm getting myself into."

"Just know that it's big."

"How big?"

"You're not going to quit, are you?"

"Bet your ass." Sullivan replied with a grin.

X moved in closer. "Well, I guess since you've seen all that you have so far, it won't hurt to tell you. You're still on a short leash, though, Puerco."

"Fine."

"We're going after the Capitol."

"You're shitting me..."

Sullivan's eyes grew wide at the mention of those words. The Capitol? This resistance really was nuts, or desperate, or a mixture of both. They seemed to fight a guerilla war just months ago and now they were plotting this? The odds were impossible. He looked around to see that there weren't nearly enough men around to accomplish such a mission.

"Impossible," Sullivan said. "You don't have the manpower to do it."

"We've got more men on the way." X replied.

"You've got some kind of small army?"

"You could say that. All the rebel squads this side of the country are getting together, or so we've heard. They should start arriving here any minute, now."

"What's the endgame here?"

"I don't know. All I do know is that I'm anxious to get some killing in. It's been too long."

"An old killer, eh?" Sullivan asked with a smirk.

X's expression never changed. "Damn straight. I've been waiting a long time for this day."

"I guess I can't blame you."

"What about you? I thought all you cared about was your son."

Sullivan swallowed hard. "Finding my son is my only mission in life right now. If I have to help you guys with this fight to earn some trust, then I'll do that. I need someone who can have access to USR files who will help me."

"I think just the guy is coming who could do that. I just don't understand how you've...changed so quickly."

Sullivan shook his head. "It hasn't been quick, amigo. There's been something inside that's ate away at me, you know? It just took way too long for me to figure out that I was fighting on the wrong side. Way too long. I just..."

Their attention turned to the loud sound of the front door being opened. A fresh group of rebels entered the room. They all had a fatigued look about them. Harvey was leading the way in. He gave the two seated men a nod of the head then headed straight for the coffee pot. After Clarke and Buck moved in, Kaspar entered last.

Kaspar looked around the room. The bright light from above caused him to blink a few times. When his vision was clear, he saw the sight of a man he never thought he would see again. All of a sudden, the anger inside scorched, he could feel the heat on his skin. Beads of sweat began to form around his forehead. There was nothing in that room now except for the Agent who killed Mother. He moved in with that singular focus. His calm, steady hands gripped the handle of the P99 attached to the holster on his hip. He could almost feel Clarke's hand reach out for him. With a hard shove, Clarke went spiraling to the ground. Kaspar didn't even hear the cries for him to stop.

Instead, he pointed the barrel of the gun directly at Sullivan's shock laden face.

# .51

The gun was in perfect sync now with Sullivan's forehead. Sullivan just froze, not sure of what to do, and X started to stand and go at Kaspar. Kaspar didn't see him. His focus was still solely on the man in the chair. It all started on that fateful morning so many months ago. The Agent in front of him led a raid that ended the life of Mother. The little boy wasn't there anymore to stop him. There was nothing to stop him. Nothing but his own nerves could stop him now.

He was about to pull the trigger when a hard punch to the cheek from X knocked him off his feet. Everything started to go blurry while the room spun around him. Kaspar blinked once and tried to get his bearings back. Once the room stopped its spin, the barrel of a gun was now in his face. X stood in a perfect position over him to fire. Kaspar tried to get up but was met with a kick to the chest from X.

"Whoa, whoa." Harvey cried from the coffee pot. His Glock was now pointed at X. "Drop that weapon, comrade."

"No." X replied. "Not until he explains what the hell is going on."

"I said drop it, he's cool."

There was now a crowd gathered around from all the commotion. Kaspar still hadn't come to, yet, and now X could feel the barrel of a gun against the back of his skull. Buck's hand shook, but he now had a good shot at the former gangster if push came to shove. Harvey gave him a look of disapproval and motioned with his head for his son to step aside. Buck shook his head and then moved his eyes to the target. Statue, who managed to sneak back inside once the commotion started, pointed his gun to the side of Buck's head. Buck saw him out the corner of his eye and froze.

"Don't you point that gun at him!" Harvey cried.

"Tell him to stand down, then." Statue commanded.

"Son, Goddamn it, drop your weapon!"

Buck did so and then, with his head straight to the ground, walked away. Statue focused the aim of his gun now on the man who lay on the ground. Harvey watched it all unfold and it seemed like a bad dream. The resistance was about to embark on the biggest mission of their lives and all they were doing now was in fighting. The leftover couldn't help but wonder what Kaspar's beef was with the youngster who just sat there, shocked as all hell. He figured that all would be revealed soon enough.

"What the fuck's your problem, kid?" X demanded.

Kaspar rubbed at his eyes as his senses started to return to him. Once again, it seemed that Sullivan would get away with murder. He was just glad that he was still breathing at this point. That hulk who nearly knocked him out could have ended this whole thing right away, but spared him. Kaspar then began to remember Mother once more and his attempt to rise was again met with a boot to the chest.

"He killed my mother..." Kaspar managed to get out. "In cold blood."

"What?" Sullivan asked.

Kaspar turned his attention to Sullivan. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"No."

"Of course not, how could you?" Kaspar started to rise and he was allowed to sit upright on the floor now, two guns still aimed at him. "I was in disguise and your son jumped in front of you."

The realization hit Sullivan like a Mack truck. How could it be? He remembered that night well. That was the night that he should have died. His son saved him that night. But now, Davie was taken by the very people who used to employ him. It was that night when he began to rethink what he did for a living; to rethink about whose side was the right side. Now, this man was back, ready to kill him without hesitation. If hadn't been for X, he'd be dead without question. No amount of talking could calm Kaspar down, so he just went silent.

"You're just lucky your son got in my way." Kaspar said.

"Look," Sullivan said. He was now standing and held both hands in front of him. "I know how you must feel. I remember that operation, but I tried to reason with your mother. I tried to bring her in. It was my partners who..."

"Bullshit!" Kaspar cried. "You were in the room, you're just as guilty."

"Okay," Harvey said from behind. "Ryan, you just calm down now."

"Calm down? How do you expect me to do that?"

"For your own sake..."

"No, it's okay," Sullivan said as he backpedaled at a slow pace . "He has the right to be upset."

"What are you even doing here?" Kaspar demanded.

"My son was kidnapped by the government...I just want to find out where he is."

"So, you want to use us?"

"If that's how you want to look at it. X, come on, let's go."

X and Statue dropped their weapons. Harvey did the same from behind Kaspar. He also walked over to Kaspar's dropped P99 and picked it up. Kaspar fought back every urge inside to get straight up and, even if it resulted in his own death, try to break Sullivan's neck first. X and Statue quickly escorted the former Agent out of the lobby into one of the back rooms.

Kaspar just sat on his ass and looked around. He noticed Clarke walking towards them with a limp. It took a moment for Kaspar to remember that he had shoved the poor wizard to the ground just minutes ago. One of the rebels who picked up Clarke's glasses from off the floor handed them to him. Kaspar felt a guilt inside that he hadn't felt in a long time. The man who he had shoved to the ground was his friend...and Krys's. He wondered in that moment if his anger was always going to be a hindrance to him.

"You okay, Robert?" Kaspar asked, still seated.

"I'm...fine, Ryan." Clarke replied.

"I'm sorry, man. My anger...his face...I just couldn't hold back."

"It's okay."

"No!" Kaspar shouted. He picked himself up off the ground then looked in his friend's eyes. "It's not okay!"

"Look, I understand..."

"How could you? That man...he killed my mother..."

"I can understand." Clarke shot back in a stern tone.

Kaspar nodded. "I'm just going to...go outside for a breather."

# .52

This set of barracks was just as dark as the last set. There was just enough moonlight from the clear night sky on the outside through the windows to make out faces. All of the rebels were snug in their bunks. For most of them, it had been a long trip to this makeshift military complex. Kaspar looked around with his P99 held tight in his right hand. He had managed to not only sneak out of his own barrack unseen but he managed to sneak around three other sleeping quarters without waking a soul.

The hunt was about to be over. In the far left corner he found his prey. Kaspar walked over to the top of the bunk and fought back his heavy breathing. After going undetected for so long, it would be a hell of a time to fold now and get caught. He trained his gun on Sullivan's head, just like he did earlier, only this time there would be no wavering. He would finish the job that he had twice failed to finish. After he blinked his eyes several times, he pulled the trigger of his gun repeatedly. The loud banging sounds from the gun shook the others out of their sleep. Kaspar kept firing as other rebels tried to grab him and pull him away. One rebel hooked him under his outstretched arm. Kaspar just pulled the trigger faster. He fired until his mag ran dry...

Kaspar's head shot up in a fury as he gasped for breath. With heavy breathing he looked around at his surroundings. It was all a dream. He had been lying in his bunk the whole time. There were two warring feelings inside of him as his bare feet hit the cold tile floor. The most dominant of the feelings was that of disappointment. He wished deep down that the dream wasn't a dream at all. However, he also felt a sense of relief. That lust for revenge, he had thought, was gone that night he let Sullivan live. It seemed that all he did was run away from those urges. Now, when that son of a bitch was staring right at him, the need for vengeance came roaring back from the recesses of his brain.

Next to the edge of his bunk sat his slippers. Kaspar forced his feet into them and then stood from the bed. He stretched his back and yawned. Just like in the dream, the other rebels were all cozy in their bunks, sleeping away after a long day of traveling. Despite the bunk being the most comfortable bed he slept in for months, the anxiety inside of having Mother's killer running loose within the complex disallowed any kind of peaceful sleep. He reached for the white T-Shirt which hung from the railing and slipped it on.

There wasn't much else to do, so he quietly walked out of the sleeping quarters and walked straight for the lobby. He hoped on the way there that the Agent wouldn't be in the lobby and force him to do something he would regret later. Instead of Sullivan, there was another familiar face sitting in the lobby. It was that of his friend Clarke. Kaspar still felt guilty for shoving the computer nerd out of his way, but he couldn't take that back, so he tried not to dwell on it for too long.

"Hey, Mr. Wizard," Kaspar said.

"What are you doing up so late?" Clarke asked without looking up from his computer screen.

"Nice to see you, too. How's that ankle?"

"It's fine."

Kaspar walked over to the water cooler, which sat next to the coffee pot. After several seconds, his Styrofoam cup was almost to the brim with ice cold water. He took the cup and sat at the table next to Clarke. The two didn't speak for several moments, neither really knowing what to say. Kaspar wondered if deep down Clarke was just pissed off at him for that moment earlier. Then, he saw the leftover still staring intently at his computer screen, he seemed to be closed off to the rest of the world.

"What are you doing on there?" Kaspar wondered.

"Just waiting," Clarke replied.

"What for?"

"The USR's next move. They've been rounding up men all over the country."

"For what purpose?" Kaspar wondered again.

"I'm not sure, yet. But, they are using us to justify it. That attack that they initiated on the compound...well, you know what happened...but they are using that to call the military in. That, and those suspected rebels they killed."

"Initiate Martial Law. Let me ask you something."

"Go ahead."

Kaspar sipped at his water. "If we weren't around, do you think that they would be as aggressive as they are?"

"Of course they would. If not us, they would use something else. It's in their nature to control."

"I just can't help but think that we are doing more harm than good, you know? We sure as hell aren't winning."

Clarke shut the lid of the laptop, took off his glasses, and then rubbed at his tired, red eyes. "I've always had the attitude that it's never been just about winning."

"What's it about, then?"

"It's about just fighting. Fighting for what you know is right. If you do that, it doesn't matter if you win. Just letting the USR run wild, doing the things they do, that's never an option."

"But," Kaspar said, "if we don't win, then what does that mean for the friends we've lost?"

"If we fight until we die, then they wouldn't have died in vain, even if we lose. We can keep their spirit alive by continuing the fight. Listen, John was so fixated on winning that it made him do things he normally wouldn't. He had this hope that we could, somehow, some day, win. I never shared that sentiment."

"Do you have no hope?"

"Hope is different from reality. I do hope that we will win, but I'm not going to lie to myself, either."

Kaspar took a sip of his water and thought on what Clarke was saying. The leftover was a smart individual and he had never heard him talk like this before. Hoping for a victory that you never attain, that was something that he couldn't live with, victory was all that mattered. And, considering that victory was a minute possibility, there was no point in hoping. Hope didn't save Krys, it didn't save America, and wouldn't bring a victory to the resistance. The USR, in all likelihood, would continue its reign long after Kaspar and Clarke were dead. Hoping for a different outcome wouldn't change that, either. No, Kaspar had given up on hope the second that Krys died.

"We have lost a lot of friends, though." Clarke said as he readjusted his glasses.

"We're the last two." Kaspar replied.

Clarke pointed to his laptop. "You know, I've lived my whole life on those things."

"What, computers?"

"Yes. While my peers were out partying, drinking, doing whatever, I'd be hiding out in my room, trying to figure out every nuance of the computer. I got pretty good, too."

"You regret it or something?" Kaspar asked, not knowing what else to say.

"Sometimes, yes, when I think about our friends, I was too weak, too ignorant in combat situations that I couldn't help. That night, when you guys raided that lab, was one the worst of my life. Watching, listening, observing. That was all I could do."

"Hey, it's all right, man. Not everyone's built for combat."

"I guess you're right."

"We wouldn't have made it far without the Intel that you provided, and continue to provide. Using that computer, you might feel solitary, but we've got to get information somehow. And, we've got to have a Wizard watching our ass."

Clarke smiled along with Kaspar. "Thanks, Ryan."

"And, Robert, I'm sorry about earlier. I let my anger get in my way again."

"No worries. Do you buy that guy's story, though?"

Kaspar shook his head. "I don't know what to believe. All I know is that he better stay out of my way when we hit the battlefield. Friendly fire is a bitch, I've heard."

"Are you being serious?" Clarke asked with a concerned tone.

"I meant nothing, just forget I said anything."

"Okay. Ryan?"

"Yeah."

"Don't do anything stupid. Our next mission is more important than getting revenge."

"So you say."

Clarke grabbed at his laptop, "Well, I better get to bed. I've got a busy morning tomorrow."

"How so?"

"I've got to give a presentation to the others tomorrow on the importance of gathering information from that building and not just raising the flag."

Kaspar rubbed at his eyes, "They don't think it's important?"

"They do, they just don't think it's as important as they should. I've got to convince them otherwise."

"Okay, well, good luck with that." Kaspar rose from his chair then walked towards the sleeping quarters. "Have a good night."

"You, too." 

# .53

The leaders of the resistance were all cramped together in the small, rectangular shaped room which had been turned into their situation room. There was a projector screen in the back with a computer animated American flag which waved along with the simulated wind. There was a lot of chatter going on amongst themselves while they awaited Sanders to properly begin the briefing. On top of the room being cramped, it was also hot, which caused Harvey to use the collar on his shirt to try and fan himself.

Seated next to him was an African-American leftover named Winston who did a lot of talking out loud. Harvey couldn't tell if the man was actually talking to him or not. He didn't care to know, either, as he was not in a talking mood. There was so much going on in his mind at the moment that nothing anyone else was talking about mattered. What was running through his head the most, as he looked around the room at all the brave men, was how devastating it would be to lose most, if not all, of them in one failed mission.

On his left was Clarke, who didn't say anything, either. He had just enough room to mess around on a little PDA with notes, images, whatever. Harvey wasn't sure what Clarke was planning to do, but he could tell from their conversation last night, that it was something big. The old hacker kept going on and on about how important it was for them to get Intel from the Capitol and to get as much as possible. No matter what Harvey said to the contrary, that they wouldn't have the time, Clarke kept right on insisting about it. Harvey got to the point where he was almost more interested in what Clarke would do versus the actual mission brief.

After what seemed like ages, Sanders showed up in the front of the room. In his hands was a waist high wooden podium which he slammed to ground. Whether it was intentional or not, he had everyone's attention after the fact. He stood right beside the projector screen, cleared his throat, and then pulled out a bottle of water from one of the shelves behind the podium. After taking a long drink, he was ready to start his briefing.

"Gentlemen," Sanders said with a hint of hoarseness in his voice. He cleared his throat once more before he continued. "I want to thank you all again for your bravery and dedication to our mission. I know that I've talked to most of you before, but to everyone else I'm meeting for the first time, I just wanted to say thanks."

The men in the room greeted him back with slogans from the different branches of the military they served. There was a mixture of hooyah's, oorah's, and a host of other cries. Sanders smiled while he raised his hands for the room to quiet down. Hearing all these men with rallying cries from the old days would make any sane soldier grin. It made him think back to how silly it was to get into it with members of rival branches. At the end of the day, they all served their country, and now that country was gone and they, along with the other men who weren't in the room, were all that was left of it.

"It really does mean a lot," Sanders continued. "The USR may be in power, but America is not dead. You are all proof of that. We've got a huge undertaking on our plates. Nobody has dared try something this big since the USR came into power. We're going to give them their first real ass kicking."

That comment revved up the crowd again. There was a loud collective cheer and then clapping hands. Sanders took control of the mass once again with a motion from his hands. The men grew quiet rather quickly. Sanders pointed towards the back of the room where one of his men was stationed. He clicked on the laptop in front of him and a real time satellite image of the target building appeared.

"This is our target," Sanders said just as the image went onto the screen. "Notice all the pieces of the White House lying about. Let that sink in. Of course, it offers great cover in a wide open area like we're attacking in. But, let it anger you. Let it drive you out there on the field of battle. It should remind each of you why we are doing this."

There was a moment of silence in the room as they all stared at the image. After Sanders gave them all some time to think about it, he continued on. The mission brief was pretty straightforward for the most part. The resistance would attack from the front of building drawing out the enemy's fire.

On the satellite image, they could all see the soldiers that were posted in front of the Capitol. There were several tiny buildings scattered about the grounds which served as meeting rooms and bathrooms. The soldiers were all armed and they seemed bored as hell as they walked around in slow paces. It must have been a shitty thing to get posted there, Harvey thought as he watched, to guard a place no one dared attack.

On the roof, they could see a line of sniper rifles along the edge. Instead of having men manning the guns, the snipers up top had set up a foldout table and were engaged in a card game. Sanders pointed this out to the men in the room. He used their sloppiness to motivate the team. Harvey knew better, though. When the battle started, they would not only have the soldiers on the ground, but sniper fire from above to deal with. That fact only added extra anxiety inside about the mission.

"Which brings us to the next part," Sanders continued after he took a moment to take a drink of water. "We need a team to move into the building, take out any poor USR bastards left in there, and then raise the flag on the roof. Obviously, I'll be on the ground, directing things from there."

"I'll go," Harvey said standing up in an instant.

"Thank you, Sam." Sanders said. "But, you don't have a team left."

"That's right, they all died for what they believed in on that mountain. Obviously, I'll need some volunteers to go with me."

"Is there anybody else?"

"No!" Harvey shouted. "Don't try to take this away from me."

"Sam, there's no need..."

"If he wants to do it," Winston said aloud. "Then let him. You asked for volunteers and he's obviously up for this."

There was a collective yes from all the men in the room. Sanders grinned and then regained control of the room. For Harvey's part, he remained mad as all hell over it. Why did Sanders want to keep him from this? He was beginning to realize after all this time that the man who appointed himself the leader had no respect for him. Why, Harvey didn't know. All he did know was that he was tired of it. Perhaps it was because he didn't share the same tyrannical views of war that his supposed comrade did. To Sanders, Harvey continued to learn, there was only one way to fight a war. Harvey just didn't share that same view. In fact, the views that Sanders expressed were closer and closer to those of their enemy, the more he thought about it.

"Fine," Sanders said once the room was finally quiet. "Have it your way, but don't fuck this up, you understand me?"

"I won't." Harvey replied. "The sons of bitches who go to fight with me better understand one thing, though."

"What's that?" Sanders wondered.

"I'm the one who raises the flag."

"If you get that far..."

"I will."

"I can spare a couple of men," Winston said. "I'm sure any of us could."

Sanders cleared his throat, "We'll sort that out later. Harvey can have his way and sit the hell back down."

Harvey obeyed and allowed a grin on his face as he did. Once he was seated, he began to strategize in his mind how to properly go about this. Around this time, the most unlikely voice spoke up. It was shaky at first, but grew with strength as he went on. It forced another smile on his lips.

"There's something else we need to talk about," Clarke said as he adjusted his glasses and rose from his seated position.

"And, what would that be?" Sanders asked, not hiding his amusement at Clarke's standing up. A few of the other soldiers in the room let out chuckles as well.

Clarke did his best to ignore them all. "There's going to be some valuable Intel in that building that we'll want to extract."

"We won't have time for that." Sanders said shaking his head. "Once we accomplish our mission, we all know that the USR is going to blow that place to hell, just like that compound with the cure in it."

"That's why you need someone with the proper expertise to go in there."

"And, that person would be you?"

Clarke nodded his head. Again, Sanders grinned and the others talked amongst themselves. Clarke remained undeterred. This was his chance to get in on the action and feel like a real member of the resistance and not one that just sat back while the others went out and fought. There was a large amount of nervousness that flowed inside which caused an involuntary shake in his legs. It all went ignored.

"That's right," Clarke replied. "We may never get a chance like this again. We do not want to blow this."

"The most important thing we can do is raise that flag. We will focus on that first."

"I agree that it is important to do that, but how can we just overlook the wealth of information we can get? There's something going on right now. Men all over are getting abducted from their homes by USR soldiers. It has to be for something, I'll bet there's at least something in there on the computer systems I can find."

"Why can't you just get it yourself?" Sanders demanded. "What, with your expertise?"

Clarke ignored the comment. "I'm good, but I'm not perfect. Some of these systems have firewalls that I can never break through. But, if I had hands on access..."

Sanders sighed, "Once we raise the flag, then if the place is still standing, you can go in at your own risk..."

"Not good enough."

"Don't you ever interrupt me again..."

"He can go in with us." Harvey said. "We'll watch his back."

"That man has no combat experience..."

"What if he's right, Roy? What if we never come across a gold mine of information like this again?"

Sanders rubbed at his scar. "Your boy gave us the Intel on that cure, and look where that got us."

"Last time I checked," Harvey shot back. "The United States was a democracy, not a dictatorship. Let's vote on it."

The chatter in the room began once more. There were some who were on Sanders's side. Their need to raise the American flag and stick it to the USR overcame everything else. They didn't see the strategic value of having information. In their minds, they had waited for this day for a long time. They were done sitting on their hands, watching the USR dominate their once great country. The USR needed to be taught a lesson: the United States wasn't dead, yet. Harvey couldn't bring himself to blame them.

It was shortsightedness on their part, Harvey knew, but the majority of the men in the room agreed with him. The cries for allowing Clarke in on the mission were heard by Sanders and the computer expert. Sanders looked sternly right in Harvey's direction. The mean look didn't bother Harvey in the least. He didn't show it, but he took great pleasure in seeing Sanders like this.

"Okay, fine!" Sanders yelled. The room went silent. "Take the boy with you, but he'd better come out of there with gold. And, if he slows you down, you know what to do. You leave him and raise that damned flag."

"I assure you," Harvey said, "the mission will be completed."

# .54

The two weapons "experts" who roamed the abandoned power plant, which had quickly become something resembling a military base, were a pair of short, skinny twins. They went by the code names "Smith" and "Wesson". Harvey about hit the floor when he learned that. And, when he actually met the two, he couldn't believe it. He waited all morning for someone to tell him that it was all just a practical joke. The nicknames couldn't have been real, nor could the fact that they were the ones consulting on weapons.

For instance, Wesson's combat fatigues, which had to be replicas, fit him too big. The pants were all baggy and the jacket left way too much room in the arms. The kid finished it off with a fatigued hat that fit slightly over the tops of his ears. There was just no way that the twins had ever seen combat. The mission was a go tomorrow night and they were dicking around with these fools. Anxiousness before combat was nothing new, but he was especially feeling it right now.

Smith was dealing with the ones who would be fighting on the field outside of the Capitol. It would be Wesson's job to "teach" Harvey's team about some of the weapons which had been smuggled just days ago that matched their mission needs. Wesson led the team down a hallway then they took a right turn inside of a cramped room. Why were all of the rooms so cramped? Beggars couldn't be choosers, Harvey told himself as he tried to keep his internal complaining to a minimum.

Wesson flipped the light switch and, after several flickers, the room became illuminated. What also became illuminated was the stupid grin on Wesson's face. Harvey had Kaspar and Clarke with him. The other leaders also volunteered some men to him on loan. In total, a team of eight would charge the building in hopes of gathering Intel and raising the American flag on the roof. All around the walls of the room were weapons cases stacked high with a long, wooden table in the middle.

"Welcome to my playground, boys." Wesson said.

"Your what?" Harvey demanded.

"My playground, man!"

"Do you even know the first thing about shooting?"

"Of course I do." Wesson replied, same stupid grin still on.

"So, you've fired a gun at someone?"

"All the time, bro. Me and my brother, Smith, we've got access to all of the USR's VR training that they put their soldiers through."

Harvey rolled his eyes. "VR training?"

"Damn straight my man," Wesson said with a wink. "I can live, breathe, and think like a soldier. Also, I can fire any gun I want. Just like the real thing."

"I wouldn't go that far, 'bro'."

"Enough chit chat," Wesson said as he rubbed his hands together. "Let's dig in, shall we?"

Wesson reached underneath the wooden table, gripped the handle of a weapon's case, and then slammed it on the surface with no regard. With a flip of the notches around the front, the case popped open, and inside sat one of the most beautiful assault rifles Harvey had ever laid eyes on. The material of the gun was jet black, almost to a mirror sheen, he could almost see his own smile reflected off of it. It looked like a cross between an M16 and a P90. He reached in for it, but then the damn kid snatched it away from him.

"The ZX-17, my friends, the latest in high tech weaponry being developed by the USR." Wesson announced with a great sense of pride, as if he build the damn thing. He lifted it up and shouldered it.

"Is the safety on, kid?" Harvey asked.

"Of course it is," Wesson replied. "Moving on. This baby is still in development. Not even USR soldiers will be armed with them. It's a high powered gun, almost no recoil, got good shooting range, too. But, this is for the guys on the ground."

Wesson tossed the gun to the side. Harvey couldn't believe how the kid could just disregard such a beautiful weapon like that. Wesson didn't have any idea the kind of gun he was mishandling. Probably the VR disorienting him from reality, Harvey reasoned.

The skinny kid slammed another box onto the wooden table. The others flinched and Harvey could tell that he was not the only one who was growing tired of Wesson's carelessness. Again, after both notches in the front of the box were unsnapped, the box shot open. This gun was much different from the ZX-17 before it. It was a short barreled submachine gun from what Harvey could tell. Wesson grabbed at the folded stock and lifted the gun into the air. As the gun flew, the stock unfolded and, once again, Wesson shouldered the gun as if he really knew what he was doing.

"This is the Kriss."

Kaspar's eyes went wide. For a moment, the room emptied out and the only thing he could see in front of him was Krys. She looked at him with that smile that drove him mad. Her hair was flowing along with the wind. Then, with a blink of the eye and nudge on his arm, she was gone again.

"You okay, dude?" Wesson demanded.

"Uh..." Kaspar said, moving his arm away from Clarke's grasp. "Yeah. It's just, I...what did you say that gun was called again?"

"The Kriss. K-R-I-S-S."

"Oh, I just thought I was hearing things. I...knew someone by that name."

"Really?" Wesson asked with an animated look of concern on his face. "She break your heart?"

"Let's not get into it." Kaspar shot back with his fists clinched.

Wesson noticed the fists. "All right, all right, shit. Let me just show you what this baby can do, okay?"

"Fine by me."

"All right," Wesson said as he lifted the gun up to his chest. "The Kriss is a bad ass mother you know what. A submachine gun, yes. Nothing special about it just looking at it, right?"

There was silence. Wesson made an expression with his face awaiting an answer.

"Uh, no." Harvey replied.

"At least someone's paying attention. Anyway, the Kriss fires .45's, not 9MMs like some lesser guns, so it's got a shit load of fire power. You're wondering about the downsides, right?"

Silence.

"Um, no," Harvey replied to once again break up the silence. Just get on with it already.

"Have you ever fired one of these babies?"

"No."

"Then how can you not wonder if there are any downsides?"

Harvey rolled his eyes once more. "Like you can tell me the downsides?"

Wesson smirked. "We've been over this."

"What are the downsides?" Kaspar demanded. He was growing as tired of Wesson's shit as much as Harvey was.

"Glad you asked, fellow brother in arms. There are no downsides...other than missing the infinite ammo power up."

"Every gun has a downside." Harvey contended.

"Care to give this baby a spin?" Wesson asked. He clicked off the safety and held the gun out. "Just hold down the trigger and don't release it until the mag is dry."

Once Harvey took hold of the gun, Wesson motioned with an open arm to move to the shooting range. Upon approach, Harvey clicked the gun to full auto, and then aimed the gun at the target in front. He was impressed by the lack of weight in the gun and the compact design made it easy to aim. What really got his blood pumping was what happened once he pulled the trigger and released a full mag. The others who gathered around were impressed as well. They stood in awe at the bullet holes in the target. They were all center mass. There was very little in the way of spray. All the rounds hit the target and were just inches apart.

"Brilliant," Wesson said. "The design, the craftsmanship of this gun is awe inspiring."

"There's almost no recoil."

"Exactly. An automatic, with no recoil, .45's for stopping power. No downsides."

"Let me see it." Kaspar said.

Harvey turned and handed it to him. With the Kriss in his hands, even before firing a single round, he knew that this was his new favorite gun. Wesson anxiously handed him a full mag. He held the mag in his hand for a moment before reloading the gun. The crosshairs from the scope were pointed center mass on the target. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Once they were opened, Sullivan's figure appeared on the target.

Before pulling the trigger, he knew what he had to do.

# .55

This was a conversation that he didn't want to have. That was all that Harvey could think about as he pulled his son from lunch and into a private room. Buck had no idea what was going on. He didn't even question his father as to why he didn't want him to storm the building with him. To Buck, it was just as good to fight outside as it was inside. The young kid never would have thought that his father was going to pull him out of the mission entirely. That he would be asked, and if need be, told to not participate. This mission was too dangerous for a green solider like Buck.

The only fear that Harvey had, really, was how Buck would react. Buck was prone to think that any kind of criticism was simply a slight on him. In almost every case that was not true, but that was how Buck took it. He was a lot like his mother in that way. She would do the same thing anytime Harvey tried to talk to her about things. That thought brought about a quick smile which was gone almost immediately. Buck didn't even notice it.

"What do you need, pop?" Buck demanded. "That damn tofu they feed us is delicious."

Smartass, Harvey thought before he spoke. "Let's have a seat over there."

Harvey pointed towards a set of tables and chairs to the right. They both walked over to them and took a seat. Buck sat across from his father with a raised eyebrow. Harvey almost chickened out, but he knew that this was something that had to be done. He took a deep breath and looked deep into his son's eyes.

"Son," Harvey said. "I don't want you to go on this next mission."

Buck stood and slammed the chair to the ground. "That's impossible! I'm going and you can't stop me!"

"Listen to me, son."

"No," Buck said as he pointed his index finger. "You listen to me. I'm going out there. This mission is way too important for me to just sit it out."

It was Harvey's turn to stand. He looked at the still pointed index finger then gave a hard, stern look to Buck. Buck relaxed his posture and then lowered his finger. His hands were now in the pockets of his blue jeans. Harvey moved in closer to his son, but Buck's head just lowered to the ground.

"Buck, this is going to be a dangerous one. Who knows what will happen out there? If they call in reinforcements or they bomb the place..."

Buck's head shot up. "I know the risks. I'm still going out there."

"No, I'm your father, and I forbid it. That's the end of it."

"Why don't you want me to fight?"

"Because..." Harvey started. "You're too young for this. The other missions, they were dangerous, but not so much as this one. Not to mention, you've frozen under pressure before, and..."

"Ha," Buck said. "You're so full of shit. Weren't you the one who told me not to let one mistake haunt me forever?"

Harvey nodded, "Yes, I did. But, again, son, this is completely different. I will not allow you to go."

"What am I supposed to do then?" Buck asked as he lowered his head. "Just sit here and twiddle my thumbs."

"You could sit here and think about your life and how you want to live it. You're only twenty years old. There will be plenty more missions for you to go on." Harvey moved close and then put his hand on Buck's shoulder. "Can't you see that I'm just looking out for you?"

"I can see that," Buck replied as he moved his shoulder from the grip of his father's hand. "I can also see that you still don't trust me out there in battle."

"It has nothing to do with trust. I don't want to see my son bleeding out there, wishing he had stayed behind."

"Whatever."

The two stood in silence then. Harvey kept looking around the room, thinking of something to say, but nothing came to his mind. Buck just looked to the tile floor and ran his feet along it. It was a battle of wills, but at the end of the day, Harvey knew he had the upper hand. He could personally make sure that Buck was nowhere near the battlefield.

A part of him, though, felt the guilt of having to make a decision that should have been his son's, who was a grown adult. However, he was not yet a man, and was too young to make these kinds of life altering decisions. Not only life altering, but potentially life ending. Buck could stay back and sulk all he wanted to and would eventually get over it. If Harvey allowed him out into the battlefield...

"You've grown so much," Harvey said to break the silence.

"I'm surprised you noticed." Buck replied.

"Look, I know that I haven't been the world's best father, but when all this over, I promise that we will catch up."

"Just let me go, Father. I won't die and I won't disappoint."

"The decision has already been made."

"Fine", Buck replied. He turned and stormed out of the room.

Harvey didn't attempt to stop him. He had a mission to prepare for.

# .56

The rain outside started to pick up in intensity. Kaspar leaned against the wall and used the overhang above him to avoid the rain drops. He had a hand around his cigarette. His eyes were nearly covered by the hood of his sweatshirt as he took another drag. That lightheaded feeling started to overcome him. It had been a while since he had a smoke and now, it seemed, that filthy habit was about to be picked up again. Krys got him to quit initially, but she was gone now, and there was nobody else to care enough to tell him not to.

He was waiting for Sullivan to come out, if the coward would come out at all. Kaspar got some help from one of the rebels by telling the rebel his story. The rebel took Kaspar's side in an instant and told him he would see what he could do. If everything went according to plan, Sullivan would walk towards the small building directly behind the power plant for a top secret meeting. Kaspar, of course, had no way of knowing how gullible the supposed former Agent was, but there was always the chance.

The mission to come could wait, Kaspar thought as he remembered what Clarke told him the night before. To not do anything stupid, that the mission came before anything else, all that bullshit. It was not that Kaspar didn't understand the importance of the next mission. That much he did understand. The problem was that he had something personal to finish and he was going to see it through before the mission. After all, he could very well be killed in that USR controlled building and then who would avenge Mother then?

Kaspar was back to his old ways. He knew it, but couldn't help it. He never dreamed that his eyes would see that piece of shit again. If Krys were still here, Kaspar knew that she would talk him out of it. There would have been something in her bag of tricks to convince him that it was the wrong thing to do. Unfortunately for Sullivan, she wasn't here anymore.

After taking one last drag, he saw his target, walking towards the small building just as planned. The poor bastard bit the hook. Kaspar threw the cigarette to the side and started to make a run for Sullivan. Loud splashes of water flew from under his feet. His mark heard him coming but Kaspar didn't care. Sullivan turned and prepared himself for the incoming fight. Kaspar just kept running, ignoring the stings from the tiny droplets of rain, intent on ending this part of his life and moving on. When he got close, Sullivan put up his fists in a defensive posture. This would be easy, Kaspar thought, nothing compared to some of the other fighters he fought in his past life.

"Come here, you son of a bitch!" Kaspar cried.

The two met in the middle of the field, already drenched from the rain fall above. Kaspar took a swing which Sullivan ducked under. The former Agent threw his own which connected to the left side of the face. The ex-prize fighter took the shot and didn't feel it. There was so much adrenaline flowing through him that he could have been hit by a car at low speed and still gotten up. Kaspar faked right, and then delivered a left hook to Sullivan's cheek.

He went for another shot, but his opponent ducked under it. This time, Sullivan wrapped his arms around his attacker's midsection. During the attempted takedown, Kaspar threw a hard punch at Sullivan's right ear. Sullivan remained undeterred. He grabbed at Kaspar's left leg to throw off his balance. With all his strength, he pulled the leg up and Kaspar's foot was lifted off the ground. Kaspar tried to fight it off, but Sullivan threw his body weight to the left. Eventually, the attacker couldn't keep his balance and Sullivan tackled him to the ground.

Upon impact with the wet grass and mud, the back of Kaspar's head hit hard on the ground. The force of the impact nearly knocked him out, but he managed to keep his consciousness. Sullivan, on top of his opponent in a kneeled position, looked down at him. In an instant, he delivered a sharp blow to the nose. Blood leaked out of it like water from a geyser. Kaspar knew that his nose was broken the instant it was hit. Sullivan went for another one but stopped himself mid punch. He stood over his attacker and spit on the ground.

"What the hell's your problem?" Sullivan demanded.

Kaspar moved his hands to his nose. "You know what it is. You killed my mother!"

"I told you already, I didn't pull the trigger. I tried to stop my men from doing it. I wanted to bring her in for questioning."

"You think I'm going to believe that?"

"Believe what you want," Sullivan barked. "I'm done defending myself to you. My son has been kidnapped. I've got to get him back. That's all I care about now. And, I'm not letting anyone, let alone you, stop me. I would advise staying the hell out of my way from now on."

Sullivan turned to walk away. Kaspar tried to force his way from the ground.

"I'm not finished with you!" Kaspar cried.

Sullivan turned back around. His opponent managed to only get back to a seated position. The fogginess in his head was throwing off his balance. The former Agent moved in, blocked a halfhearted swing, and then punched the fallen fighter twice with two hard right hooks. After the hooks, he used his foot to kick Kaspar back to the ground.

"This is finished," Sullivan said looking down as he extended his hand downward. "I'm learning how to repent. You need to learn how to forgive."

"To hell with you." Kaspar replied.

Sullivan then stood tall. "Fine, I'll leave you here to bleed and think about it."

With that, Sullivan turned and walked away, ignoring all the obscenities that were shouted his way. Once Kaspar realized that he wasn't coming back, and that he was physically unable to chase after him, he laid his head onto the wet grass. He then reached up with both hands to his nose. With one sharp turn, his crooked nose was popped back into place. Kaspar let out a loud cry and then did what Sullivan left him there to do.

He bled and thought about what to do next.

# .57

"What happened to you?" Buck wondered as he took a break from shooting rounds from his Glock 17 into the paper target.

"I picked a fight." Kaspar replied. The white bandage over his nose had small droplets of blood leaking out.

"I can see that. You got your ass kicked, didn't you?"

"Let's try minding our business."

"Fair enough," Buck replied as he resumed his firing position.

Kaspar pulled out a handgun of his own, the P99 that used to be Krys's, and started to fire away at a separate target next to Buck. He fired in three round bursts from the semi-automatic. Each time he practiced on getting two to the chest and one to the head. It was a technique that Paxton tried to teach him as well as Krys. After all this time he still wasn't a pro at it, but he could manage.

As he fired the last three rounds from his mag and started his reload, he asked himself again why he didn't take a gun to that failed confrontation with Sullivan. He realized that he made a conscious choice not to. He figured that he could give him a tune up and that would have been good enough. However, he made a huge error in underestimating Sullivan. He knew that his adversary would have had hand to hand combat training by the USR. Still, in his anger, he relied on his own instincts and the fact that he had never lost a fight in his life.

"What's got you all hot and bothered, anyway?" Kaspar asked noticing the pouty look on Buck's face.

"Mind our own business, right?" Buck replied, finishing off his own mag.

"Just curious, I guess."

"Well, my father wants me to sit out this next mission, so I guess I'm just wasting ammo."

Kaspar raised an eyebrow. "You going to listen to him?"

"Well, yes, at the end of the day he's my father. I have to respect his demands, I suppose."

"May I ask how old you are?"

Buck laughed, "Why?"

"Just tell me your age."

"I'm twenty."

"Twenty, huh?" Kaspar turned his attention back to the paper target and aimed. "I think that makes you old enough to make your own decisions."

Kaspar fired off another mag into the paper target. He lowered the gun once it was empty and looked at his handiwork. He wasn't quite satisfied with it, but it wasn't poor marksmanship, either. With a sigh, he grabbed another mag from out of his pocket, reloaded, and then looked to the target. The firing in his left ear ceased and Buck cleared his throat before Kaspar got to firing again.

"Yes?" Kaspar asked.

"You think I should go, then, disobey my father?"

"I don't know what to tell you," Kaspar replied. He lowered the gun then turned to face the young man. "Like we talked about before, I wish I had a father to look out for me, keep me out of trouble. But, at the same time, it's not his place to tell you what to do or how you should live your life. Do you think you'd regret not going?"

"I don't know, yet. I know if I got hurt real bad or if I was bleeding to death I'd wish I had listened."

"Let me tell you something, kid. I'm not much older than you, but you can't ever know what's going to happen." Kaspar cleared the lump in his throat with a hard swallow. "Sometimes, I wish Mother never got shot, but then I'd still be doing the same things I'd been doing. I also wouldn't have met Krys..."

"I'm really sorry about what happened to her..."

Kaspar lifted a hand and shook his head. "No apologies. What happened to her couldn't have been prevented. What I'm saying is: I think for people to truly find happiness, they need to make their decisions, take the circumstances that come along with it, and live with whatever happens."

"But, if I die out there, I'm not going to live with anything." Buck replied with a smirk.

"You want to make difference, though, don't you?"

"Sure I do."

"And, is it for yourself, to prove something to your old man..."

Buck interrupted, "I don't know why. Obviously, I don't know any different. I was raised into this life."

"But, the fact remains that you want to make a difference for...something. You can't do that sitting on your hands. Your father needs to let you go, to understand that you're a grown ass man, I guess."

Buck smiled, "You think I should go, then, right?"

"That's your problem."

Buck lifted the handgun in his hand and pointed it at the target in front of him. There was an uncontrollable smile growing across his face before he fired. Kaspar noticed it and the instant guilt trip hit him like a runaway freight train. It really wasn't his place to tell Buck what to do, or to try to convince the kid to get into something way over his head. Kaspar also couldn't just sit back and have Buck not do something because his father told him so. He would never outright admit it to Buck, but he envied him. For those reasons they just discussed. His own father didn't give two shits about him, and here was this kid, who had a father trying to keep him away from battle. Harvey was only looking out for his son's best interest, and Kaspar knew that, but at the same time, Buck was a grown man. He reasoned with himself that what he told the kid was right.

Kaspar, aiming at the paper target, just hoped that Buck didn't have to die to prove a point.

# .58

There would be no sleeping tonight. No matter how much Harvey's brain told him to go to sleep, when his head hit the pillow, no sleep would come. It was going to be another long night before a battle. One would think that a decorated soldier like Harvey would have been used to it by now, but that was far from the case. As much as he loved the feel of battle, the emotions, the adrenaline rush, he could never stand the night before.

Out in the main lobby sat Clarke. He was sitting upright in a perfect posture just staring off into the distance. Harvey was surprised to see that there was no computer around. It seemed that computers were attached to Clarke's hip most of the time. The old Marine walked over to the coffee pot and poured himself a steaming cup.

"Don't you ever sleep?" Harvey wondered as he pulled up a chair across from him. This was not the first time he had caught Clarke up late.

"I'm kind of an insomniac," Clarke replied with a slight chuckle.

Harvey smiled, "What are you thinking about?"

"Isn't it all over my face?"

"No," Harvey said, peering through the crystal clear lenses over Clarke's eyes. "I don't see any emotion at all."

"Oh, right. I'm thinking about the mission tomorrow. I've never gone in on an actual fight like I'm about to."

"You think you can handle it?" Harvey asked, wincing as the hot coffee pierced his tongue.

"I'm not too sure. Not sure I even want to."

"I'm confused. You were all gung ho about it at the meeting today."

Clarke sighed, "I've always hated being left out. Left out of a mission, left out of whatever, so I thought this would be my opportunity to get in on the action. Not be left out, you know?"

"I guess. Hey, if you're having second thoughts..."

"No," Clarke replied sternly. "I'm not cowering out now."

"So, what's it going to be then?"

"I'm going to go in there and, hell or high water. I'm going to get that information from their computer systems. That's my role in this whole thing. I'm the tech guy. I'm not going to fail."

Harvey sipped at the coffee once again and then looked into Clarke's eyes. What he saw was a deep resolve. If Clarke was feeling like a coward, he was doing a good job of hiding it. Even though he hadn't known Clarke that long, and didn't have a real opportunity to get to know him as they went on missions together, he admired the bravery that Clarke was displaying. Not to mention that he was good friends, possibly best friends, with an old war buddy, that led him to be more prone to trusting him. The computer wizard hadn't betrayed that trust, yet, but he wasn't so sure about putting him in a battle situation. He was so green that it was radiating off of him.

"What happens," Harvey wondered, "when we get in a jam in there?"

"You think we will?"

"We're bound to. We're about to commence on the greatest attack the USR has seen."

"I'll have to rely on you guys."

Harvey waved his index finger in the air. "Might not work that way. Can you even handle a gun?"

"I've fired handguns at shooting ranges."

"You ever have to use it on someone?"

"No," Clarke replied with his head down.

"I see."

"Is it hard...to kill someone?"

"The first time you do it, yes. But, it does get easier, I guess. It's never a fun thing to kill an enemy. You just have to know that you're in the right, and that you're fighting for what you know is right. After that, and you've done it so many times, it's not so bad. You've got to take out anybody who stands in your way."

"I'm not sure I could handle killing someone...even an enemy."

Harvey leaned in close which took a hold of Clarke's attention. "I need to know that you can handle this. If you even for a second think that you can't, let me know, and I'll talk to Roy. Nobody will think..."

"No! I'm doing this." Clarke cried. His breathing started to quicken. "I need to do it. No more sitting back, waiting. I've got a job to do and only I can do it. Nobody else can."

"Can you handle it?"

Clarke hesitated, "Yes."

"Okay, that's all I need to know."

Harvey knew that Clarke was just saying what he wanted to hear. His hope was that, even if he didn't mean it fully, just saying the words would instill some much needed confidence in him. There would be no way to be sure until they were actually in the field, and that was what scared the hell out of Harvey. Would his life, and by extension, the lives of his unit be at risk bringing along a virgin whose cherry was about to be popped? He had already lost enough good men in this war and the thought of losing another didn't sit well in his stomach. There was still time to...

"What are you pukes doing up so late?" Sanders demanded as he stormed into the lobby. Underneath his arms rested blue prints for the battle that had been drawn up earlier in the day.

"Roy, how are you, sir?" Clarke said.

"Don't call me 'Roy'."

"Sorry, sir."

"You know what?" Sanders cried as he slammed the blue prints onto a table behind them. "Don't call me 'sir', either. Just don't talk to me right now."

Harvey stood. "There's no need for that, Roy."

"Don't you start with me, you hear? I've got too many things on my mind right now."

"Getting flip with us isn't going to change anything."

Sanders slammed a fist on the table. "This mission is too important. I need to look over these battle plans with a fine tooth comb to ensure that we are victorious. I also have you and that...hacker to worry about. Just give me some peace and quiet."

"This is a public lobby...maybe you should go somewhere more private."

Sanders stood up and went face to face with Harvey. Harvey could see the anger in his comrade's eyes, but he didn't waver. He just stared right back. If it came to blows, then so be it. Harvey had faith in his hand to hand fighting capabilities against the leftover in front of him.

"I've grown tired of your insubordination." Sanders said.

Harvey didn't back down. "I've grown tired of your disrespect and bullshit."

"Don't you forget who is in command here."

"Maybe I should relieve you of your command."

Sanders balled his fists. "Go ahead and try."

Clarke stood and put his hands on both of the men's chests. "Come on, guys, we don't need this. Sam and I will go elsewhere."

"Fine by me," Sanders replied, eyes still square on Harvey. "Our final meeting is tomorrow morning, nine sharp. Do try to get some sleep."

"Fine. You just worry about the outside tomorrow night. My men and I will take care of raising the flag."

"Make sure you do. If you don't, and you're not dead, I'll kill you myself."

# .59

Sanders stood at the podium with all of the soldiers under his command staring back at him. There was an overwhelming amount of energy that he could feel inside. The feelings became too intense to hold in. They were all in the lobby, the only room big enough to house them all. It was still cramped, each man touching arms with his fellow soldiers on both sides, but they would have to make do. When he decided it was ready to start the briefing, he gave several pounds on the podium with a balled fist. The loud bangs echoed through the microphone in front of him and he got his men's full attention. Several of them even jumped at the sound.

"I can't tell you how deeply moved and excited I am to see you all here today." Sanders said with a grin. "Tonight, we are going to give the USR a swift kick in the ass."

That comment got a rise out of the men. They all lifted their voices in cries as if the mission was already a success. That was good, though, Sanders thought as he moved his hands up and down to get control back over the room. It was better to have a group a touch too confident than the other way around. These men had seen too many battles, battles in which they lost friends and fellow soldiers, and the USR was still seemingly standing tall. They needed something like this, and Sanders knew it.

"Okay, okay, let's cool it a little bit. We haven't won anything...yet."

Sanders went on to explain the specifics of the mission. The USR would, if all went according to plan, be caught off guard with the amount of force that would be coming their way. The resistance would move in with their vehicles and surround the building. There was a fair amount of concern within Sanders as not all of the teams had armored vehicles. Some resorted to vans, or other vehicles which wouldn't stand a chance against an attack versus an enemy armored vehicle, but it would have to do because there wasn't another option for them.

They would build a perimeter around the building with rebels all around the circle. The remaining units would converge on the USR building and take on the ground troops who would move out to take on the threat. After that, Harvey and his unit would move into the building and, after gathering as much Intel as possible, would raise Old Glory on top, replacing the USR flag.

It all seemed too perfect to Sanders as he explained it. However, he knew that it wouldn't be the case once they got out there. On the battlefield, he knew, anything could happen. As was typical for him, he felt a sense of guilt glaring around the room, looking into the eyes of all those looking up to him. Some of them would not make it through this alive. But, he also knew that their sacrifice would serve the greater good, which moved his guilt level down several notches.

"Of course," Sanders continued. "Not all of us will make it out of this alive. So, if you find yourself lying on the ground, knowing you are about to die, just think about your fellow men out there fighting with you. Think about those innocent civilians you are fighting for. And, remember that you can go to your maker, whoever that may be, and tell it that you died with honor. You're giving freedom a chance to ring once more!"

There was a loud collective roar from the crowd once again. Sanders threw up his hands again to get control. It took a few moments, but the men quieted down.

"I commend you all for your courage. There are a lot of cowards in this thing, on both sides, but none of you are. We'll meet back here at 1800. You're free to do whatever until then. Please be geared up by then. Dismissed."

Kaspar, who was standing in the back of the crowded room by the door, reached for the handle and threw the door open. The rush of cool air from the outside felt good against his arms and face. While he walked outside, and the others moved out all around him, he wondered how Sanders could be so long winded when there was no air to breath inside there. That no longer mattered to him now, as Sanders finally finished.

The words about courage, bravery, and death hit him hard in the gut. He didn't know if he had courage, or if he was still just that angry young man who wanted revenge and nothing more. Deep down, he wanted to be courageous, but he didn't know if that was in him at all. Since he was free to do whatever he wanted, he would do the only thing that came to his mind. It wasn't like he had anyone to spend what could be his last moments on this earth with, anyway.

Kaspar moved straight for the shooting range.

# .60

Sullivan reached down for his flak jacket. With a firm grip he lifted it up off of the bench and tightened it around his waist. During his time as an Agent, he had the best training that credits could buy. He never had to use his combat training, however, as his line of work just called for breaking into people's homes, using his weapon as necessary, and then questioning his suspects. Being in a real combat situation was something new to him. He tried to remember that training, but it all seemed to fail him now, most likely due to the nerves.

"You okay, Puerco?" X wondered as he geared up.

"I've never been in combat." Sullivan admitted, reaching for his ZX-17.

"It's okay, I haven't, either."

"I guess it's a good thing I've had training, though, huh?"

X ducked under the shoulder strap of his assault rifle. "I've never had training, and I'm not as nervous as you. It's easy. Just point your gun at the enemy and fire."

"I guess so," Sullivan replied.

"Hey," X said, slapping Sullivan on the shoulder. "That's easy for me to say. I don't have any family or anything to lose. Just stay close to us, we got your back."

Sullivan half smiled as he thought about Davey. This battle wasn't about anything to him other than a means to find his son. He had to find a way to get in good with the resistance so they could perhaps help him out. He was also fighting for his son. Davey was in the hands of what was now Sullivan's enemy. The thought never crossed his mind that he would actually be fighting for the resistance. All that time he spent chasing after them seemed like a waste. He wished now, more than ever, that he had taken up his wife's demands and got out. Maybe none of this would have happened.

One of the things about life, though, is that one can't know the future and one can't change the past. Sullivan struggled with those thoughts. He also wondered if he was doing the right thing at all in going after his government in this way. If the USR found out he participated in this battle that would only mean bad things for his son. But, since he couldn't tell the future, he just had to go full steam ahead with this thing. He knew that he couldn't go on a search for Davey without any help. His old employers sure as hell weren't going to help him. They were the ones who gave him up in the first place.

"Why are you in this shit?" Sullivan wondered as he worked on the shoulder strap of his rifle.

"I don't know," X replied. "I just want to make a difference, you know? Make up for all the bad that I've done. All the damage I've caused."

"Nothing to do with the old red, white, and blue?"

X pondered for a moment. "I guess so, maybe a little bit, but back in those days, I sure as hell wasn't a patriot."

"I see. I suppose we all have our own reasons."

"That's true. Some of these other guys bleed those colors. Not me. I only bleed crimson."

"Understood," Sullivan replied.

***

Kaspar grabbed the Balaclava from atop the desk and then, after folding it, stuck it in the pockets of his black pants. He zipped up his flak jacket until it was snug around his chest and midsection. The yellow fabric from Mother's blanket seemed to wither away more and more with each passing battle. He wondered when it would be completely gone as he attached it to the Kevlar.

The sounds of feet hitting the tile floors outside of the room were swift. Everyone seemed to be anxious for this battle. As he often did, he wondered if this battle would be the last to fight. He knew that the USR would not be defeated today. They would merely be given a black eye, as that was the best possible outcome. Kaspar stopped asking himself if it was worth it or not, but he soon realized that it didn't really matter. As long as the USR was in power, the most they could hope for was a sucker punch, like this one.

The Kriss was now firmly in his hands. He clutched it tight and held it close to his chest. When he closed his eyes, he saw Krys's face. The look in her eyes had already started to fade, just a little bit, and she was only taken from him a short while ago. It would only be a matter of time before he would struggle to remember her exactly as she was. She would then just become a figure in his memory. He swore when she died that he would keep her alive inside, somehow, but even Mother was starting to fade away in some respects. Mostly from being distracted by his relationship with Krys. The thought of her beauty fading away in his memory scared the hell out of him, but it wasn't like they had taken a bunch of photos together.

A tap at the door brought him back to the present. A quick turn revealed that it was Harvey vying for his attention. Kaspar nodded his head at his leader and gave him a salute. The leftover saluted back and gave a wink.

"You ready for this thing?" Harvey wondered.

"I guess we'll see," Kaspar replied. "What's up?"

"I'm going to make Clarke your responsibility in there, okay?"

"Sure, but why me?"

"I know you'll take care of him. He's green, so you'll have to have him on your hip at all times. He won't make it without it."

"You can count on me, sir."

"Good man."

"Sir?" Kaspar asked just as Harvey prepared to walk out.

"Yeah?" Harvey asked as he turned back around.

"Do you think he'll find anything in there? Robert, I mean."

"We'll see. We might not have time."

"I just hope he does."

"Why's that?" Harvey asked, confused.

"I just want to know that this is for something more than just raising a flag."

Harvey put his head down then approached Kaspar. Once he got close enough, he placed his hand on Kaspar's shoulder. "Trust me...just raising that flag is enough."

"How so?"

"To everyone out there, looking for something, anything, to believe in. It will spark the other resistance factions into action. Even if we all die trying...it won't be for nothing. You get me?"

"Yeah," Kaspar replied with a sigh. "I think so."

"Good. We're meeting outside in ten minutes."

***

Harvey found Buck sitting by himself in one of the barracks. His arms were folded across his chest, his frowned face pointed straight at the floor. Sudden doubts crept inside of the old man as he considered letting the boy go after all. If all he was going to do was mope around, then maybe a little dose of reality would help him out. However, Harvey knew deep down that keeping him away was the absolute right thing to do. He would not waiver.

"Son?" Harvey said as he inched closer.

"What?" Buck demanded.

"I'm sorry that you can't go out there tonight."

"No, you're not."

"You have to understand..."

Buck's head shot up and his eyes met square with his father's. "No, you need to understand. I'm grown up. I'm old enough to decide what I can and can't do."

"You're not. You only think that you are. Trust me, you'll thank me for this someday."

"Father, please..."

"My decision is final, Buck. I'll see you later tonight after the battle."

"Fine. I hope you make it out alive."

His son's comment hit him like a sucker punch to the heart. He "hoped" his own father made it out alive? Did the fact that he was trying to keep him out of danger really bother him to that point? No matter, the decision was final, and no amount of sulking or hurtful comments would change that.

"Son..."

Buck turned at his father's voice. Once again, Harvey couldn't get out what he truly wanted to say.

# .61

Kaspar's nose started to ache again as the assault vehicle pulled out from the power plant towards the Capitol. As he rubbed on it, he noticed Clarke across from him rubbing his sweat covered hands together in swift motions. Seated next to Clarke was one of the volunteers from another squad. He already had his mask on and he seemed nervous as well. The rebel kept moving his right leg up and down while he gripped the Kriss in his hands. The back of the vehicle was filled with such volunteers. The feeling of going to battle with complete strangers didn't make him feel any better about this mission. He missed the others, especially Krys, who had all passed on.

He refocused his attention on Clarke. The perspiration from his forehead ran down his face. The wizard took off his glasses and wiped at the sweat with a white handkerchief. On top of the nervous breakdown, Kaspar could tell that the old man was about to hyperventilate.

"You need a paper bag?" Kaspar wondered out loud, hoping to lighten the man's spirits.

"Go to hell." Clarke replied.

"Look, I'm no expert in this combat stuff, but you've got to relax. You'll do nobody any good in there if you have a complete meltdown."

"This was a horrible idea. I shouldn't be here."

Kaspar could feel the others nervous tension, but since they were strangers, they didn't say anything. It didn't really matter to them, anyway, as Harvey made it clear that Clarke would be Kaspar's sole responsibility. If things got hairy in there, the others would continue on the mission, abandoning the two if need be. Kaspar knew that if they were all comrades that type of action would not be considered. But, since this would be their first battle together, the other rebels obviously didn't trust Clarke to get the job done. Kaspar couldn't blame them. He was having his own nervous breakdown on the inside thinking about being attached to a man who never swatted a fly. The key for Kaspar, though, was that he kept in on the inside.

"You want us to pull over and let you out? So you can walk back to the base in shame?"

"The thought crossed my mind." Clarke said.

Kaspar shook his head in disgust. "No, you know that you need this. You've been waiting for your chance, now you've got it."

"I know, but..."

"No buts, Mr. Wizard. You know if you put your head down and walk your ass back home that you'll regret it forever. Put your big boy pants on. You'll have me in there watching your back." Kaspar gave the old man a wink.

"I guess so..."

"Good luck to you," a rebel with a thick Jersey accent said.

Kaspar turned to him. "Mind your business."

"I'm about to go into battle with you. It is my business."

Kaspar was about to stand and then realized that it wasn't worth it. He could feel something pulling him back, but he couldn't tell what it was. The feeling was strong enough to stop him in his tracks. He leaned back and heard the order through his ear piece for everyone to put their masks on.

They had begun their approach to the Capitol.

***

Sullivan gripped the Balaclava in his hands and pulled it over his face. He peered through the tinted lenses as the others did the same. There was a feeling of sheer disbelief that this was actually happening. The vehicle jolted to a stop. Everything was silent for a moment. X reached over and tapped him on the shoulder before he put his own mask on. Sullivan reached to his side, gripped the ZX-17, and then swung it over to his midsection. The eerie silence remained and everything seemed surreal. The former Agent, who swore to destroy the resistance, was now fighting for them. Once he stepped out of that vehicle, there would be no going back. Just when he thought the moment of silence would last forever, the back doors of the assault vehicle were swung open.

A deafening blare from the sirens of the building mixed itself with the bursts of gunfire.

Sullivan was the last out of the vehicle. The others in front of him took out the Agents who tried to converge on the vehicle. Once he was out, he could see one firing away at one of his squad mates. He shouldered his weapon and fired a three round burst, dropping his enemy. It wasn't so bad which was a thought that struck him as odd. The sound outside was deafening and he could hear cries from men being wounded all around him. In front, to his right, lay a piece of the old White House, and he made a run for it, making sure to keep his head low. Once he made it there, he rested his back against it and wondered what would come next.

Pieces of the structure which he hid behind started to fly in the air from enemy rounds. Sullivan moved up, fired at another Agent, and took him out. All around the Capitol were the rebel vehicles. Those that were stationed at them fired at the enemies outside of the circle. Sullivan was stuck on the inside. Another rebel moved to his location and, for a moment, the former Agent had to keep himself from shooting at him. He still wasn't used to them being his allies.

"You okay, Puerco?" X asked.

"Doing just fine," Sullivan replied, lowering his weapon.

"We thought you were going to shoot us." Statue said as he moved towards cover.

"What do we do now?" Sullivan asked.

"We've got to move in on that building, take out as many as we can, not get dead. Didn't you pay attention at the briefing?" X demanded just before he moved up from cover and took down an Agent.

"Of course I did," Sullivan shouted above the gunfire. "It's just a little bit different when we are actually here."

"What is?"

"The plan!"

# .62

"How's it going on your end?" Sanders demanded through Harvey's earpiece, the sound of gunfire in the background.

"We're almost there." Harvey replied from the driver's seat.

"Get a move on it!"

"On the way."

Harvey wished that he could turn off the damn earpiece but he knew that he couldn't. It was, after all, Sanders's plan for Harvey's team to hold back and allow the distraction to run its course. With a shake of his head, he continued to drive. Off to the right, he could see the target building and the rapid flashes from automatic weapons. The look of the ensuing battle actually brought a smile to his face. He had grown tired of assaulting random USR complexes. This is what it was about: assembling a force to rain down justice on their enemies.

His attention was returned to the road in front. The distraction seemed to be working well enough as there was no one on the road to block their path. He pressed down on the gas and the vehicle picked up speed. Once he took a hard right, the first sign of the enemy came into view. The masked rebel on top took aim with the .50. He fired at the two USR squad cars as the Agents panic fired back.

The bullets from the automatic shredded the cars. The Agents outside of them quickly moved out of the way before they were crushed to nothing. With a loud smash, the vehicle took the squad cars out and continued in its pursuit of the Capitol. The circle created by the rebels left a large enough gap in it for Harvey to drive through. When he did, he could see some of his comrades cheering him on. He kept his focus on the building in front, however, and kept on driving. Upon approach, he swung the steering wheel to the left, and then pulled the armored vehicle to the back of the building. He killed the engine and then reached for the intercom system above his head.

"Mission go!" he cried with enthusiasm.

Kaspar heard the call and swung the Kriss to his chest. The others did the same, all except for Clarke, who just sat back and struggled to get his mask on over his long, nappy hair. Kaspar moved over to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

"This is what you've been waiting for." Kaspar said.

"Maybe I was in a little over my head." Clarke replied.

"Just stick with me."

The doors swung open and the rebels in the back were the first ones out. As Kaspar moved forward behind Clarke, he could feel him dragging his feet. With a shove, he forced the computer nerd forward without much protest from the target.

"You've got to move!" Kaspar shouted.

By the time they made it out of the vehicle, what few USR Agents were guarding the backdoor were taken out in quick succession. Harvey moved to the door and ordered the largest of the rebels to it. The rebel took hold of his shotgun and fired. The slug tore through the handle and Harvey kicked it the rest of the way open. He held his Kriss forward and did a quick sweep before signaling the others to move in.

The hallway which led to the back door was dimly lit, with the lights fading in and out. As they moved forward down the hall the sounds of the battle going on outside grew fainter. Two Agents moved in from an adjacent hallway. Harvey and the large rebel aimed and fired their weapons, taking the two enemies out. A third Agent reared his head and it was blown off with a three round burst from Harvey's gun.

Once they reached the end of the hallway there was a stairwell to their left. Harvey huddled everyone together in front of the stairs. Kaspar and his friend were the last to join the huddle. Kaspar noticed that the masked man with the shaking leg now had shaking hands. All the others were calm and collected along with Harvey. Next to him, Kaspar swore he could hear Clarke beside him hyperventilating.

"Here's the game plan..." Harvey started to say before Agents moved down the stairs.

"Tangos!" one of the rebels shouted.

Everyone, with the exception of Clarke, aimed their weapons at the incoming enemies and fired away. The Agents managed to get a few shots in before they were taken down. The rounds from their shots tore holes through the concrete walls, but missed their intended targets.

"Just move up to the fifth floor!" Harvey shouted.

# .63

There was a young man, not much more than a boy, screaming with his mask off as he clutched at Sullivan's feet. The former Agent tried to ignore it, but the louder the boy's screams, the more it scorched at his soul. The boy's armor was shredded and blood filled his mouth. Sullivan bent down to try and help him before a strong grip formed on his left shoulder.

"We can't do anything for him, Puerco!" X cried. "Let's move!"

Sullivan shook his head, yelled he was sorry, and moved on behind X. He kept his head down as the rounds from the enemy's assault rifles flew above him. He joined up with X, Statue, Dopey, Pinkie, and Sugar who were all bent down behind a piece of rubble. They all checked up on each other's status. Pinkie had a bullet graze his arm, Sugar's migraines were kicking in, and X's wounded leg was still holding up with little pain. Other than that, they were all fine, for now.

"What now?" Sullivan wondered.

"We stay alive," X replied, "and we kill as many of those bastards as we can."

With that said they each moved up, found enemy targets, and fired away.

***

Sanders looked away from his binoculars and back down to the radar system on his computer. He was holed up in his assault vehicle behind the driver's seat. There was a feeling of guilt that he wasn't out in the field of battle, but he knew that his place, for this mission at least, was here. Someone needed to observe the enemy's movements to keep the others informed. He could tell from looking at his radar that the men out there would be overwhelmed soon if Harvey's ass didn't pick up the pace.

"Eagle one," Harvey said into his mouth piece, "what's your status? Over."

"Eagle one reporting," the leftover said with a heavy sound of gunfire in the background. "We're getting over run here, sir. Over."

"Just keep fighting, over." Sanders replied. He swore under his breath while he waited for a response.

"What's Eagle Five's status? Over."

"You let me worry about that, over."

"Over and out."

***

Harvey used the small mirror to get a peek inside the fifth floor computer room. Agents were spread all over the place inside. It was obvious, from the moment the resistance's presence was felt, that this room was a priority for them to defend. Harvey wouldn't have been shocked if someone told him that every available Agent in the building was sent in to defend this room. Harvey's fear was not that they were outnumbered. He trusted his men to take care of that. What scared him was how Clarke would react.

Inside the computer lab sat a large computer with a 40" HD monitor with eight hard drives plugged into it. There were also desks around in three rows of five. The desks had computers of their own. The Agents inside, dressed in all black with black helmets, were armed with M4 Carbines and huddled together, waiting for the inevitable breach into the room. The LED lights illuminated the room from above and reflected off of their goggles.

After he put away the mirror, he looked over to his left to see all the men under his command leaned up against the wall. He reached into his flak jacket for a flash bang and then held up all five fingers. He dropped them one at a time and, when he reached the final finger, he pulled the pin and threw the grenade into the room. A few seconds later a bright flash filled the room as well as the deafening sound from the flash bang.

The Agents inside immediately started to backpedal and aimed their assault rifles towards the opening. There were scattered shots as they moved back which hit the walls all around the room. A couple of Agents stumbled into the desks behind them as they moved back and they fired their guns into the floor as they hit.

"MOVE IN!" Harvey cried.

The rebels moved into the room and took advantage of their brief moment of surprise. Harvey was in first and took out an Agent who hit one of the desks. He then moved his gun to the right and took another one out who scrambled for cover. The others moved in behind him and took positions around the room. Kaspar was in the room next to last and he had to almost drag Clarke into the room. As the hearing in his ears started to come back he could hear Clarke's protests.

"Get in there!" Kaspar cried, ignoring them.

Kaspar pushed Clarke in front of him with his left hand. His right hand gripped the handle of the Kriss with the index finger on the trigger. As they moved forward into the opening, Kaspar raised the submachine gun, found a target, and held his finger down on the trigger. The gun fired on full auto and took out Kaspar's target.

The depleted caps on the rounds arched into the air and a few landed on the back of Clarke's neck. He winced in pain as Kaspar continued to guide him towards one of the desks for cover. He took another Agent out in the process. When they approached the desk, Kaspar gave the Wizard a hard shove to the back, which forced the leftover to go flying towards the cover spot. Kaspar, with his head still ducked low, sat down beside him.

"You okay?" Kaspar cried over the gunfire in the room.

"I...I'm fine. Just cover my..." Clarke started to say.

An Agent moved towards their position. He was over the side of the desk with his gun drawn at Clarke. Out of pure instinct, Kaspar aimed and fired. The rounds tore through the Agent as he fell to the ground. Had Clarke's eyes not been covered Kaspar would have been able to see the wide eyed look on his face.

"Just stay down!" Kaspar ordered before he rose up to continue the fight.

On the other side of the room, Harvey had just taken out another Agent and bent down behind cover to reload. The silent rebel who was so nervous before became a war machine in the heat of battle. He emptied the last of his mag into an Agent, his fourth kill, and moved back down beside his leader.

Kaspar took aim at an Agent in front of him and fired. He had just enough time to see one of his comrades go down and then another. Kaspar aimed towards the direction of the second rebel's killer and fired off several rounds on full auto. He then aimed left to take out another. A flurry of enemy rounds came flying in his direction from three Agents, so he moved back down to cover. He reloaded his Kriss and checked on the status of his friend. Clarke gave him a thumbs up.

The Agents's numbers were starting to dwindle. Harvey popped up and took another one out. He managed to get a quick count on how many were left. There were four, maybe five if one was hiding somewhere. As he went down he heard the sound of automatic gunfire and the cries of a comrade. The man fell to the ground and Harvey wondered if it was another volunteer. If so, the silent man next to him was the last of them. What the hell did those leftovers give him? Even Clarke lasted longer than the supposed hardened soldiers. Harvey felt guilt for thinking that way, but he couldn't help it. The mission now seemed to be going very bad.

Kaspar moved to the side of the desk. He placed his Kriss along the side of it and fired. The rounds chewed into the desk directly in front of him, causing the Agent using the desk for cover to expose himself. Before a flurry of rounds came Kaspar's way he saw the Agents start to aim their weapons at the large computer hard drives. A moment of panic swept over him.

"They're going for the computers!" Kaspar cried.

"You can't let them...take them out!" Clarke added.

Harvey turned to his new partner. With a nod of his head the man seemed to understand what he was saying. They both moved up from behind the desk and fired away at the Agents. The Agents turned their attention to them and fired their way. Harvey kept his head low and moved forward as he took out one of the Agents in front of him. The rebel beside took another one out. Kaspar provided cover fire from his position at the front of the room.

A few stray rounds hit the computers but they remained intact. With his new silent partner beside him, Harvey scanned the room for targets. Kaspar kept his gun firing on full auto keeping the last three Agents in their hiding spots. Kaspar's gun went dry and he moved back behind the desk to reload.

"You ready for this?" Harvey asked.

"You bet." a familiar, albeit deeper, voice replied.

Harvey didn't take the time to process the voice he heard. Instead, he focused his full attention to the hiding spot where the last Agents were. As predicted, they moved up from their cover spots when the gunfire ceased. When they did, the two rebels started to fire away at them. They instantly moved in different directions.

"Left!" Harvey cried.

His partner turned his attention to the left while Harvey took out the Agent to his right. The last Agent started to back pedal and fired his gun towards the computers. Harvey and his partner quickly took him out.

"Clear!" Harvey yelled.

# .64

"Shit, this is not good." Clarke said as he pulled up a chair, his damp, gray hair dripping from the back of his Balaclava.

"What the hell are you going to do?" Kaspar asked. He knew that something was off when Clarke used a swear word.

"I'm going to try."

Harvey moved in behind them. "You going to be able to salvage anything?"

"We'll see."

"We've got to raise that flag, you two going to be okay by yourselves?"

"You serious?" Kaspar asked. "Not if there's another hit squad like that coming for us."

"I don't think so. They've got enough problems outside. I've got to accomplish this mission."

Clarke cleared his throat as he feverishly got his tech gear out of his bag. "This is a part of the mission."

"I told you before, this is a secondary objective. Everything we've done so far will be in vain if that flag isn't raised." Harvey replied.

"Just go," Kaspar said. "I'll watch his back here. Just hurry the hell up."

"Okay, if you get overrun, just call for us on the radio." Harvey pointed to his partner. "You, come with me."

His partner simply nodded.

***

Sullivan took out yet another enemy and then moved back down behind the safety of the broken white stone. It was just in time to see one of his new buddies get hit. The rebel was hit twice in the chest and his body flew back. His head slammed against the earth beneath. The rounds hadn't killed the man, yet, but it certainly wasn't looking good for him. The USR soldiers were starting to overwhelm their invaders. There really wasn't time, but X moved over to his friend, pulled his mask off, and then looked into his eyes through tinted lenses.

"Sugar, you okay?" X asked.

"I can't...feel anything." Sugar replied.

"It's going to be okay, you hear me?"

"You just...take...care of them...don't let..."

Sugar's head moved over to the side and his breathing stopped. X let out a curse before he shot up from behind his cover spot and fired at any and all the enemies he could see. Sullivan could feel something in the pit of his stomach as he joined in with X. Statue took Pinkie with him to another block of ruble to the right of their current position.

"We can't hold out much longer!" Sullivan yelled in between firing his ZX-17.

"We've got to!" X shouted back.

***

"How are we doing?" Sanders demanded through Harvey's earpiece.

"Kaspar is on the fifth floor with the Wizard," Harvey replied. "Another soldier and myself are heading up to the roof to raise the flag."

"Make sure you take out those snipers and fast. They are shredding our men on the ground."

"Consider it done. Out."

Harvey almost felt himself throwing up. Sanders talked all big and bad and he wasn't even in the battle right now. That was okay, though, Harvey reasoned. They needed someone on the outside looking in. His new partner followed him close behind as they reached the stair case again. Harvey stopped in front of it and the other rebel moved to the other side of the door. The leftover held up his fingers and when he reached "zero" he swung the door open.

The silent one went in first, Kriss drawn and ready to fire. There was an uncomfortable silence in the staircase. It was the kind of silence that didn't belong. The calm before the storm. Harvey just hoped that Kaspar could fend for himself if it came down to it. He felt rotten for leaving the two down there by themselves, but it had to be done, the mission still needed to be accomplished. Even if all the men inside the Capitol died it wouldn't matter as long as that flag was raised.

They reached the end of the hall where the red door leading to roof stood. Harvey took a deep breath then reached for the silver handle. Once again, he raised his fingers for a countdown. His partner watched with intent. Once all his fingers were exhausted, Harvey pulled down soft on the handle.

Surprising to him, nobody was watching the door. He aimed his Kriss at a sniper directly in front of him, at the edge of the roof, and fired. The round tore through the back of the enemy and he fell to the ground where he would bleed to death. The loud rumble from the submachine gun startled the other snipers on the roof. They each dropped their sniper rifles and pulled handguns from their thigh holsters and fired at the intruders. Harvey moved to his right while firing his gun at the same time. He took out another sniper before he stopped for cover behind a ventilation box. His partner was behind a second ventilation box, about ten yards from his position.

"You okay?" Harvey cried as the enemies started to move around the roof.

"I'm fine!" the partner cried. "You?"

"I'm great," Harvey said. It was then that he realized that he had been hit. He looked down at the source of the pain. It was his right shoulder and the blood was leaking through his black shirt.

"You sure you're not hit?" the partner asked as rounds from the enemy started to ping off the metal box.

"I said I'm fine."

Harvey ignored the kid, pivoted right, and fired away at an enemy position.

# .65

"How's the hacking coming?" Kaspar asked with his back turned to Clarke. He had kept his gun shouldered the entire time that the Wizard was at work. It would just be a matter of time, he knew, that the USR would send some Agents into the computer lab for some much needed clean up.

"I'm working as fast as I can," Clarke replied. "Some of this stuff is disturbing to say the least."

"Is it anything useful?"

"I'm not quite sure, yet. My main interest is why those men are being abducted all across the nation."

"Well, you better get to something juicy fast."

"Working on it." Clarke replied.

Kaspar resumed his quiet demeanor and refocused his full attention on the doors that came in to the lab. In the background, the sounds of typing and clicking away from Clarke filled his ears. The sounds were starting to get distracting, almost making him nervous, as he continued to watch. He knew that he couldn't tell Clarke to stop unless he wanted to just leave without any Intel. The feeling within that it was a mistake to bring the leftover in on this mission started to fill his mind. What information could he get on that computer that would make it all worth it? The hope was that this whole thing about men being abducted could turn the citizens of the USR against their leaders, but they had tried that before with the population control drug, and with no apparent luck.

"You almost done?" Kaspar demanded as he started to grow more nervous.

"I'm about as close to being finished as when you asked me two seconds ago." Clarke replied. He reached up and rubbed at the Balaclava on his head. "Got it."

"Got what?"

"I've got access to the files about the abductions. This is pretty..."

Just then a wave of Agents poured through the room.

***

Harvey heard Kaspar's pleas for help through his earpiece but didn't have the time to respond to them. The firefight was growing intense on the roof. Even though the Agents only had pistols with them, they had the advantage in numbers and were damn good gunfighters at that. Harvey moved right and found an Agent taking shots at his partner. He fired a five round burst into the Agent and dropped him. The stock of the gun punched at the wound on his shoulder and sent a stinging pain all the way down his arm. He bit his lip and continued on.

The silent one took out another one of the snipers. The enemy was now down to two. They were both hiding behind a black, metal ventilation box in front of them. Harvey got the attention of his partner by slamming his fist into the metal box he was using for cover. His partner looked over at him and paused. The leftover pointed his right index finger at the rebel first and then moved it to the position of the snipers. One of the snipers popped up and fired a few rounds from his handgun at Harvey's cover spot. After the brief interruption, his partner acknowledged his understanding of the order.

Harvey counted to three with his fingers. On three, he motioned with his hand for the silent one to move forward. As soon as he started to make a run for it, Harvey pivoted over to his left and fired towards the box. With his finger planted firmly on the trigger, the Kriss spit fire and a wave of rounds slammed into the black box, sending sparks flying into the air.

The partner kept his head low and didn't flinch at the sound of bullets ricocheting off of the black metal. When he reached the box, he lowered his body more and flattened his back against it. The automatic fire from the leftover ceased. During the shooting the rebel was able to mask his footsteps with the gunfire. He waited and listened for any sign of movement from the two enemies on the other side.

The moment that a shot was fired the rebel popped up and fired his submachine gun into the sniper. The sniper fell to the ground, the .45 caliber rounds pierced clean through the armor. Harvey heard the shots and turned his attention to the action. He saw his partner take out the enemy and then saw the final enemy move up to get a shot in. That sniper never stood a chance as both of the rebels fired their weapons into him.

"Clear!" the silent one shouted.

Harvey reached for his throat. "Snipers out. Preparing to raise the flag."

"About fucking time!" Sanders's voice cried into his ear.

Kaspar's voice cut in with the loud boom of automatic gunfire in the background. "We could really use you two down here, sir!"

"The flag comes first!" Sanders yelled.

"Got it," Harvey said.

The fatigue deep inside of Harvey's body caused his legs to ache. It didn't help matters that the bullet wound in his shoulder nearly rendered his arm useless. His partner tried to get in front of him to see how he was doing. Harvey pushed him aside, his only focus, only function at this moment was to raise that damn flag.

Upon approach to the flag pole he called his partner over to help. The silent one was instructed to bring down the flag with that disgusting red and black USR insignia on it. His partner got to work on lowering the flag as Harvey undid the straps across his chest. Once the straps were slid off of his shoulders and down his arms he undid the zipper. With a glance upward, he saw his partner almost had the enemy flag to the ground.

"You sure you're okay?" his partner asked as he unhooked the USR flag.

"I'm fine," Harvey replied. He knew that he heard the voice from somewhere and whoever it was did a bang up job of disguising it because he couldn't know for sure. None of that mattered now, though. He had to raise the flag and go help Kaspar fend off the Agents after him.

"What should I do with this one?" his partner asked with the flag in his hands.

"Burn it." Harvey replied.

Harvey watched as his partner stepped aside and put a Zippo to the USR flag. He wanted to sit and watch it burn but there were more pressing matters. With a firm grip on the end of the flag, he moved the hooks on the rope into the holes. He made sure that the hooks were on tight with a couple of tugs at them. Once satisfied, he started to raise the flag.

He wanted to enjoy the moment as the flag started to go up. All the oppression, control, and wickedness of the USR seemed to go away for just this moment. It was like old times again, he thought, as he watched the flag move its way up. Just then, his shoulder started to ache as he continued to pull the rope down. With a few grunts he tried to ignore the pain.

When the flag started to slow his partner came over. He tried to grab at the rope but was met with a weak push from Harvey.

"Let me help you." his partner said.

"Step aside." Harvey replied. "I have to do this."

"Fuck you!" the silent one cried. "I'm helping!"

Harvey grunted once more as his partner got behind him and reached over his shoulders. 

# .66

Sullivan took out another USR soldier as he, Pinkie, and Statue pressed forward. X was lagging behind them, as was Dopey who stayed with him to provide cover fire. The bullet wound in his leg caused a significant limp by now. The black of his pants covered up the blood that was soaked through. He made it to their position with his head held low.

"You gonna make it, big guy?" Sullivan asked.

"I'm all good, Puerco. This leg is killin' me though."

"Are you bitching about some leg?"

"Watch who you talk to like that. I'm bound to turn into my gangster self."

Sullivan popped up and fired away at another solider. One of the enemies returned fire and a round grazed him across the arm. Sullivan dropped to the ground and winced in pain. X moved up and took that soldier out along with another one. He came back down and looked at Sullivan reaching for his wounded arm.

"You gonna bitch about that arm now?" X asked.

***

"I got this!" Harvey shouted as his partner refused to back off despite the protests.

"You need my help! Our friends are down there by themselves. They need our help! Now, stop your belly aching and let me help you!"

There was no disguise in the voice this time. Harvey didn't want to believe it, though. He simply grunted again and let the boy behind him take over. His eyes moved up to the flag that was rising through the darkness. Harvey relinquished control and let the kid behind him do the work on the rope.

As he watched the flag move up, it made all this madness worth it. It wouldn't be long from today when all the other rebels would awake from their slumbers. When they caught a glimpse of Old Glory flying true once more, how could they not be inspired? And, the USR, he wished that he could see the looks on her leader's faces when they saw that flag on their Capitol. The one building that they built to try and prove, once and for all, that they had defeated America and that it was no more. They had developed a nasty habit for underestimating the resistance.

Now, they would know that America was not dead. Yet.

***

"Sir!" a rebel shouted. "Look over there to the building!"

Sanders grabbed his binoculars and zoomed in on the Capitol building. He almost couldn't believe his eyes. The old bastard had done it! Sanders never thought he would see the day when the American flag would fly free in the wind like it was now. Being mesmerized by the sight in front of him, which forced his jaw open, he almost forgot that there was still an operation in progress.

"Get me the camera!" Sanders shouted behind him.

A young rebel reached beneath him and took hold of the small digital camera. He handed it forward and Sanders snatched it from his hands. He moved the camera forward and aimed the lens towards the flag. The picture on the little HD screen on the side showed a small picture of the scene on the roof, so Sanders pressed down on the zoom button. After a few moments of recording, he placed the camera back on his lap and picked up his walkie.

"RETREAT!!!"

***

Sullivan heard the call and stood from his position. He fired his assault rifle at two USR soldiers then turned and made a B-Line for one the trucks. All the rebels around did the same thing, running for any available vehicle as instructed in the briefing. Sullivan stopped, remembering that X was hobbled by a bullet wound to the leg. When he turned, he fired his rifle at the soldiers who were chasing after them. He took out three and then caught a glimpse of X limping towards him.

"Just go, man!" X cried.

"No way!" Sullivan replied as he took out another soldier.

"We'll never make it!"

"Yes we will. Come on!"

X propped his arm over Sullivan's shoulder. Sullivan called for Statue, Dopey, and Pinkie to give them cover as they moved. The three who provided cover started to back pedal and fire their weapons at the advancing USR troops.

They were moving too slow and Sullivan knew it. He tried to pick up the pace, but X's leg injury wouldn't allow him to move any faster. He preemptively asked Davie for forgiveness in his head as they continued to move. If he got killed out here on this field no one would save Davie from a life of brainwashed servitude. But, Sullivan just couldn't turn his back on X, or any of the other men who he had just done battle with.

"You gotta move faster!" Sullivan yelled.

"I'm trying, Puerco!" X replied.

***

Kaspar didn't know how much longer he could fend off the squad of Agents who poured through the room moments before. He lost track of how much time had passed since Harvey and the other one left to raise the flag. Clarke was ducked and cowering behind a desk next to Kaspar as he raised the barrel of the Kriss over the top of the desk. He blind fired in a desperate attempt at keeping the enemy at bay until help arrived.

The mag in the submachine gun was exhausted. It took several clicks until Kaspar realized he needed to reload. After he pressed the magazine release he reached in his flak jacket for another mag. A wave of shock hit him like a freight train. He had exhausted his supply of mags for the Kriss. He cursed under his breath and slid the submachine gun across his shoulders to his back. He then reached down and yanked the P99 handgun from his thigh holster.

"I'm not going to let you die, Robert!" Kaspar cried.

Clarke said nothing.

Kaspar popped up from his cover and immediately ducked back down when a wave of automatic gunfire came in his direction. He slammed his fist against the metal desk behind him. There would be no way out of this unless they got help. This must be the night when he could rejoin Krys and Mother in the afterlife. They wouldn't have to wait long for him, after all. If he raised his head, he knew that he was a dead man, but he couldn't think about that. It wouldn't be long before the Agents converged on his position and, if he was going to die, he was going out like a man and not a coward. He took a deep breath.

With both hands firm in their grip of the P99, he prepared himself to die.

# .67

Before Kaspar could rise up to face the Agents, he could hear the sound of gunfire coming from his left. The two rebels caught the Agents off guard. They quickly turned their attention to the back entrance to the lab. Kaspar took this moment to move up and take his shots at a few Agents while they were focused on the new combatants. With the sight of his gun aimed on the center mass of an Agent, he fired the semi-automatic four times, taking that Agent out of the fight. Agents returned fire and he moved back down.

Harvey and his partner took out four of the Agents with their element of surprise. They then ran in different directions searching for cover. The five remaining Agents regrouped and started to scatter about as well. Kaspar was able to catch one off guard and took him out. Once again, he was forced to duck back down as the enemy returned fire.

There was a newfound resolve deep within Harvey. He simply wasn't going to die after raising that flag. With a swift motion, he moved up from cover, found an Agent who moved up at the same time, then took him out with a quick four round burst from his Kriss. His partner moved up and tried to find a target. He couldn't get a shot off, however, as a flurry of rounds were shot his way. He ducked back down and took several, quick breaths.

"Just stay down," Kaspar said with a calm voice to Clarke.

"Okay," Clarke replied.

Kaspar stayed as low as he could and moved left. He was out in the open for a moment as he moved forward. Right before he reached the desk to his left, an Agent moved up and fired at him. The rounds ate away at the tile floor underneath as he moved to the safety of cover.

Harvey heard the shots and moved up. He saw the Agent who was firing at Kaspar and took him out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another Agent come out of his cover spot. He took him out as well. Rapid flashes like a strobe light could be seen to his right. Harvey tried to get down in time but a bullet grazed his cheek and ate away at the skin. Through the torn black cloth of his Balaclava, a long, thin streak of blood flowed down. He could hear the cries from his partner beside him.

"NO!" the partner cried. He moved up from his cover and saw the Agent who was taking shots at Harvey.

Both the silent one and Kaspar fired their guns into that Agent. After the Agent took about fifteen rounds to the chest and a couple to the head, he dropped to the ground dead. There were no more Agents left in the room. Kaspar felt a huge sigh of relief hit him as his breathing started to move back to a normal rate.

The silent one dropped his gun and ran through the smoke filled room towards Harvey. Harvey held his hand on the wound of his cheek and was breathing quickly. At the same time, Kaspar moved over to check on Clarke. Kaspar started to think about when his luck would run out. There was simply no way in his mind that he could have survived so many close calls. It looked like his two ladies would have to wait just a little longer. He reached down to help Clarke off the ground.

"You need any more time on the computer?" Kaspar asked.

"No," Clarke said as he walked towards the computers. He unhooked his hard drive from the USR's computer. "What I've got is damning, and something needs to be done about it. I'll tell you all about it on the way back."

On the other side of the room, Harvey's partner bent down in front of him. He tried to get a closer look at the wound. He moved the leftover's hand away from it.

"Looks like a graze," the partner said. "You'll be fine."

"Who are you?" Harvey asked with pain in his voice.

The silent one took off his Balaclava.

"We've got to get out of here, Father." Buck said.

"Buck, I thought it was you. How did you..."

"I bribed one of your guys to let me take his place. Six packs of smokes."

"You don't smoke, son."

Buck smirked as he pulled his mask back on. "They were yours."

Harvey smiled underneath the mask. "Help your old man up, would you?"

Buck reached his hand down and gripped his father's. With a thrust backward, he helped Harvey to his feet. The leftover tapped his son on the shoulder.

"You fought well, son." Harvey said. He still had a smile that beamed underneath the mask, ignoring the pain that came with it.

"You, too." Buck replied.

"Wait a minute," Harvey said as they moved their way towards the stairs. "You told me 'fuck you'."

"Yes, I did. Sorry about that. Heat of the moment."

"We'll talk about it later."

***

The assault vehicle was in sight. It would only take a few more steps and they would be there. Bullets whizzed all around them as the USR troops tried to take out the retreating attackers. All around the circle, the various vehicles were peeling out. The one in front of Sullivan and his buddies had a driver who waved his arms forward, urging for them to hurry on. Bullets bounced off of the bullet proof glass which prompted the driver to get more animated with his pleas.

"Almost there..." Sullivan said.

One of the rebels went down. X couldn't help himself but to look back when he heard the man scream at the pain. The body was that of a tall man. X cursed aloud to the loss of Statue, but he still pressed forward. They finally reached the vehicle. Sullivan helped X get into the back of it when the doors opened up. He then turned and provided cover fire for Pinkie and Dopey to get in. As he fired, he took out three more troops and then moved into the back of the vehicle. When the doors closed he ripped the Balaclava off of his head so he could breathe.

"Shit!" Sullivan cried. "I can't believe we survived that."

"We all didn't make it," X said. He ripped off his mask and threw it to the ground. His breathing was heavy. "We lost too many people on this shit."

"Hopefully that flag will do its job and inspire people, though." Dopey said.

"Yeah," Pinkie chimed in. "It wasn't all in vain."

"No, it wasn't, I suppose. As long as we continue the fight." X looked over to Sullivan. "What's next for you, Puerco?"

Sullivan looked to the ground. The vehicle's quick, forward momentum took his stomach away for a moment. Rounds from the outside pinged their way off of the bullet proof armor on the outside. All he could see was Davie's face.

"I've got to save my son. But, I can't do it alone." Sullivan replied.

"You fought like hell out there for me." X replied. "You might have saved my worthless life. We'll help you find your kid."

"You would?" Sullivan asked with confusion in his eyes. "But, I was your enemy..."

"Was, that's right. But, you're one of us now and we look out for each other."

Sullivan couldn't fight the smile back any longer. He reached out and embraced handshakes with X.

***

Kaspar kicked the door open at the exit. Their escape vehicle was still intact. There was a fear inside that the enemy would have dismantled the damn thing while they were in the fight inside. He reached for the door handle and forced the double doors open. He helped Clarke get inside before he entered himself. Harvey moved for the passenger seat while Buck moved to the driver's seat. Buck slammed the key into the ignition and brought the vehicle's engine to life with a roar.

As the vehicle pulled out, Clarke reached for his black laptop and tore off his mask. He had a wealth of information inside of his hard drive and he had to make sure that the information was ripped intact. It seemed like an eternity before his computer came back to life. When it did, he adjusted his glasses, and then started to pound away at the keys. He quickly started uploading programs, getting all the information on his computer for mass distribution.

Kaspar left his mask on and leaned back against the side of the vehicle. The adrenaline from the fight was starting to wear off and his hands started to shake. He moved his eyes down to his flak jacket. All that remained of the yellow piece from Mother's blanket were a few strands. The once tight construction of the fabric, which was knitted together with expert hands, started to loosen. Kaspar finally took his mask off and looked with a curious eye towards Clarke.

"So," Kaspar started to say. "What the hell did you find in there?"

Kaspar's eyes went wide with both anger and shock when he got the answer.

This war was far from over.

# .EPILOGUE

Caine couldn't believe what his eyes saw on the screen in front of him. The American flag was waving free and proud on top of the Capitol. His Agents had already torn the flag down and burned it by now, but he kept replaying the file that was sent out across the USR networks from an anonymous source.

There was a buzz from his desk. He pushed the red button, "Yes?"

"It's Blackman, sir."

"Come in."

Caine unlocked the double doors from under his desk. The leftover General moved in with a slow pace. Caine could tell that Blackman knew an ass kicking was coming his way. Blackman walked with a calmness that the head of the USR could respect, but felt that it was disrespectful to him, given what had just happened.

"How the hell are you so calm?" Caine demanded.

"Leaders usually are, no matter the circumstances." Blackman replied. He saluted the leader but was not given a salute back.

"Sit the fuck down." Caine demanded. Once the leftover had sat down, Caine pointed his finger towards Blackman. "How the hell could you let this happen?"

"Me?" Blackman shot back. He wasn't used to people pointing fingers his way. The disrespect given from Caine had gotten old long ago.

"Yes, you. I've put you in charge of all military operations. This falls on you."

"All due respect, sir, but you have hamstrung our forces on some top secret bullshit that involved kidnapping citizens and moving them to concentration camps. This came as a complete surprise. Who could have guessed that the resistance had a force of this size?" Blackman replied.

"You let me worry about that top secret mission, soldier. Just do your job and make sure this type of thing never happens again. It'll be your life if you fail me again."

"Yes, sir. What do we do now?"

Caine rubbed at the short stubble of his chin. "We'll need to respond in some way. Those fuckers out there might think that they've gotten some type of victory, but we all know better than that. Don't you worry, the citizens of the USR will pay for this, not the resistance. They are so small that we can deal with them later. No, it's those that they are trying to 'save' who will suffer. They will know the wickedness of the United States of America in a way that they've never seen before. Trust me on that."

Blackman didn't like the sounds of that and liked the look in Caine's eyes even less. "What are you thinking?"

"You're dismissed, General. Get out of my sight."

The General stood from his chair and gave an empty salute back to Caine. This just wasn't right. America had its problems, but Blackman had been a soldier his whole life. Taking out a loss in battle on innocents wasn't becoming of a soldier. He had to play his cards right and, when the time came, he had to make a decision that could cost him his life.

Once the General was out of the room, the doors slammed shut behind him. Caine waited a moment, took a shot of whiskey, and then picked up the red phone on his desk. It rang three times before there was an answer.

"Masters," the voice said.

"Guy, this is Caine. How are you, my lad?" Caine replied.

"I've been a lot better to be honest, sir. I just saw what happened to the Capitol. While my men and I were dicking around, the resistance gave us a swift kick in the ass."

"Don't you worry about that, son. What you've done was a great service to your society."

"Cut the shit," Masters said. "What's next for us?"

Caine was taken aback for a moment but let the remark from his top man slide. After all, the USR needed men like Guy Masters who weren't afraid, not even of the man who was one order away from making sure he was six feet under.

"I've got special plans for you and your men..."
Patriots & Tyrants

# .Acknowledgments

It's hard to believe that I am here, once more, less than twelve months later with yet another chapter in the Rebels & Lies series under my belt. I've learned a lot about self-publishing, or indie publishing, during my first nine months into the process.

One of the things that I have learned was not to fall for the trap of having high expectations. And, that goes beyond just sales or five star reviews. You can tell who really has your back when it comes to doing something crazy like try to make it as a self-published author.

No, I didn't become the next Hugh Howey with the first novel of my career. Far from it, to tell the truth, but I haven't given up, yet. I say all this as a thank you to my friend, Billy. He's always been there as one of the few who have supported me in this journey of trying to make it as an independent author. He's reminded me, time and again, that this is not about the money, the fame, the movie deals, or anything that could come from this endeavor. No, this journey that I've taken came about because I love to tell stories. I love to write. The art of creating something with Microsoft Word, a notebook, or anything else I can write with is my passion in this life.

I also must thank my wife, Chrissy, who is always behind me. Sure, there has been some tension between us as I spend the long hours it takes to chase my dream, but you are always there with an encouraging word. You have put up with me through two novels. Could you put up with me for a third?  I love you.

# About the Author

I lived in many parts of the country growing up, but I have always considered Springfield, OH to be my hometown. Patriots & Tyrants is my second novel. A third volume in the series is, as of the release date of this book, in the early stages of development, but will be out by next summer. I invite you to follow me on twitter @bcottonauthor.

You can also find the Rebels & Lies facebook page to get the inside scoop on the series. I am also available for questions or comments or anything else there! facebook.com/rebelsandlies

Finally, my blog can be found at: lonewolfproject.wordpress.com

If you enjoy my writing, then I encourage you to leave me a review on the book's Amazon page. It's a great way to help spread the word! Even if you just liked it a little bit, feel free to leave your thoughts. Thank you and I can't wait to get the next volume up and running!
