Post by Lady Laiin on May 24, 2012 20:42:22 GMT -8
Chapter One - False Promise
"If you are going through Hell . . . keep going." ~ Winston Chuchill
"If you are going through Hell . . . keep going." ~ Winston Chuchill
“Rise up! Rise up! Rise up!”
Callie Winters tried to wake up – tried to force herself out of the nightmare she endured. She twisted her arms, struggling in vain against the ropes binding her wrists before her, whimpering with fear.
“Workers of America, you have nothing to fear! Nothing to lose! Rise up!”
Callie tried to stand, to get her bound feet under her, but the guard behind her just pushed her roughly back into her kneeling position. The wooden stage hurt her knees, and the bright lights all around stung her eyes.
“RISE UP! RISE UP! THROW OFF YOUR CHAINS!”
Beside her, Callie could sense her father trying to escape – as were the dozen other men and boys. Callie was the only girl on display.
And display it was. The crowd before the stage let out a resounding cheer that echoed through the air, assaulting Callie’s eardrums. It was like the peel of doom-bells. Again Callie’s eyes drifted unerringly to the nooses rigged around them. Terror froze her veins. Again she struggled.
“Let us go,” her father begged. “We’re honest American citizens – oof!”
“Shut it,” one of the guards growled. Even his uniform was demonic – reds and blacks, trimmed with gold. He returned to attention with his fellows – two behind each prisoner. Callie licked her lips.
“Faithful proletarian, you have shown your dedication to the cause!” the speaker shouted. “This country is ours, if we but rise up and take it!”
Liar, Callie thought, not daring to voice the condemnation. The Federals are on the ropes, but the Unionists are breaking your so-called country. Reed’s in over his head – he, at least, knows it.
“These are the people who have oppressed and exploited you!” the speaker declared, spawning a chorus of boos and shouts as he waved to the line of captives. “From the Winters to the Adams, these are managers and slave-holders who have sought to put you down and pasture you like animals! These are those who would pay allegiance to Long!”
“Never!” one of the captives roared. “Stars and Stripes forever! Agh!”
He fell over, a guard having hit him with the butt of his rifle. The man defiantly forced his way back to his knees, only to be knocked over again. He didn’t get back up. There was blood on his head. Callie squeaked in horror.
“You may have noticed we’re short a few nooses,” the announcer informed the crowd. “I think we shall let the children watch their parents be punished for their transgressions, don’t you? Then we shall be merciful – show their children the mercy the Federals and the Unionists never did! We shall not resort to bombs and fire in cities! We will only purge the criminals and the evil! We shall offer the young a chance for redemption! Those who join the Army of the Combined Syndicalists shall be spared, those who refuse will share the fate of the oppressors!”
The crowd was cheering – cheering. Callie lunged toward her father as he was picked up, but the guard behind her grabbed her hair and pulled her over. A chorus of laughs resounded from the audience.
“Callie, no!” her father called. He was struggling, but it only won him a few blows. Callie screamed as she was pulled back upright by her hair.
“FOR THE PEOPLE!” the speaker chanted. The crowd started to pick it up. “FOR THE PEOPLE!”
“Please, no! I beg you no!” Callie’s father was sobbing. One of the guards snickered and pantomimed a chicken.
“FOR THE PEOPLE! FOR THE PEOPLE! FOR THE PEOPLE!”
“DADDY!” Callie screamed. Laughter, and another pull of her hair.
“I beg you, no!” Callie’s father gasped one last time as he was pushed over the trapdoor and the rope put around his neck. “Stop!”
“DADDY!”
“FOR THE PEOPLE!”
The speaker raised a hand and the chanting stopped. Slowly, he walked around the men arranged to die. He laughed once, then turned to the crowd.
“See the vengeance of the proletariat!” he cried.
“NO!” Callie screamed.
The trapdoors opened and the men fell. Callie’s father was one of the few who simply jerked once, as if all the life had shot from him, then went still. The others started kicking and dancing in the air as they were slowly suffocated.
“See the punishment for evil?” Speaker shouted. “See the punishment for abusing and oppressing the workers? Do you see, children?”
Callie shouted something wordless and tried to gain her feet, but wound up falling over. More laughter chased her, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to get to her father’s side. Or perhaps to kill the Speaker.
“Choose, now!” Speaker roared at the boys on the stage, staring with horror as the remaining men died. “Will you serve in Reed’s Army of the People, or will you take the paths of your fathers and uncles?”
He glared at Callie. “You have no future in the Army of the People. You can’t even walk straight!” he laughed uproariously at his own joke. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a special offer right now – it’s not soldiering, but it’s still supporting our brave men in the field against the capitalist scum. Make your choice, girl!”
Callie slowly looked up. Fear conflicted with grief inside her for one brutal instant of her life. She opened her mouth. Speaker smiled, his teeth crooked.
Callie spit in his face, then lurched from the floor and slammed her head into his teeth. The Speaker staggered backward.
A blow hit Callie and she crashed to the ground. One of the guards was over her, rifle raised. He kicked her several times, causing her to scream, unable to fight back or evade.
“Stop!” the Speaker announced. “She has chosen. Rig her up.”
“NO!” Callie pleaded, but she was grabbed by two men, who started dragging her to the nooses. She watched as her father was cut down and a new noose was rigged. His body fell to the stage with a thump.
“RISE UP!” the Speaker called.
“Are you sure this will work?” the man asked, clutching his rifle.
“Just do your job, Irregular,” Major Thomas Hardy grunted. He picked up the phone from its jack, idly listening to the sounds of the Syndicalist rally a few blocks over.
“The phones don’t really work,” the irregular offered helpfully. Hardy sighed.
“This one will. Go check out that rally.”
“Yes, sir,” the irregular replied with a salute. He was an eager kid – probably hadn’t seen battle yet.
Hardy had been at Saint Paul and Milwaukee. He knew what he was getting into. He rang a number and leaned against the wall, wondering if there was time for a quick smoke.
Probably not, he decided with an inner sigh. He popped a stick of gum into his mouth instead.
“Hello?” a wizened old lady’s voice sounded from the receiver. “Is that you, Jack?”
“Hey, Ma,” Hardy said, thinking fast. “You wanted me to pick up two loaves and a carton of eggs, right?”
“Is that right, dearie?” the old lady replied. Hardy had no idea who she was. “I thought it was one loaf and some milk.”
“No, Ma, my list says two and eggs. You having memory problems again?”
“Hold on, Jack. Old Man Doug’s at the door again. Let me see what he wants. He fancies me, you know.”
“Oh, Ma,” Hardy sighed. He continued chewing while he waited. After five minutes, he casually checked his pistol, then holstered it. After ten, he made sure he had his officer’s saber and knife, as well as the grenades he’d went to a lot of trouble to beg, borrow or outright steal. They were hard to come by.
“Doug wants to make some toast this morning. Two loaves and eggs?”
“Should be enough. What’s he bringing?” Hardy asked, spitting out the gum.
“He says his daughter’s got twelve loaves, since she’s coming with her friends. No eggs though. It’ll be a regular hoedown.”
“Thanks, Ma,” Hardy acknowledged. “I’ll get shopping.”
“Ma” had hung up before he even finished. Hardy sighed, then abandoned the telephone and marched off after the irregular.
Where did that boy go? Hardy thought with a flash of irritation. Must have climbed into that hotel to get a look at the rally.
Hardy followed his train of thought and went inside the ruined building. The Unionists were bombing Chicago night and day to try and convince Jack Reed to surrender. It hadn’t worked, and there were rumors Reed had even run the St. Lawrence river on a steamboat and made it to Europe. Fool’s rumors, for sure.
Hardy entered a room to find a pair of irregulars trading a single set of binoculars, a scope-equipped rifle lying unattended beside them. Hardy cleared his throat.
“Major, sir, I was about to come get you!” the boy from earlier called, saluting. “There’s something big goin’ on down there. Fucking executions, if you get my drift.”
Hardy frowned. “Alright, son, let me have a look.” He took the offered binoculars and examined the old stadium ahead of him.
Hardy was thirty-four years old – just too young for the Weltkrieg. But he’d been in DC during the retreat action, and had fought with Old Man Doug all across West Virginia and Kentucky in the astounding Douglas Breakout. He’d fought Unionists, Syndicalists, and even New Confederates.
But he’d heard his granddaddy’s tales about the War Between the States, and the firing squads where Dixie men put suspected Union spies to death. Of course, he’d also heard of the opposite number, but that didn’t really matter to a Californian like Hardy.
What mattered was the collection of boys – and a girl! – being led toward nooses by a legion of Syndicalist troops. Anger washed through the Major and he clenched the binoculars, nearly breaking the irreplaceable item.
Focus, he told himself. You and the irregulars need to find their commander – Colonel Johnson, or something. Whatever – I know what he looks like.
“We should do something, sir,” the boy chimed in. “We can’t let them kill civvies – and kids, at that!”
Idly, Hardy wondered if the girl down there was any younger than the boy was. The major was damn certain that the boy was still grappling with puberty.
Probably wants to be a big damn hero and save the damsel all white knight-style.
Hardy stiffened. “Boy, get Lunt and get him moving in on that stadium with everything we’ve got.”
“We’re saving them?” the boy asked, eagerness flashing on his face.
“Don’t get all heroic,” Hardy grunted. “That’s their commander in the front goddamn row. Markie, get in position. We’re doing this.”