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La Resistance
Ex-CIA. Armed. Dangerous. Rebel. Mad. James fits all of these- but he’s also the best man I’ve ever met (Dr. Alan Wrigley, PhD. Ex-Government Psychologist). “James Montgomery, leader of Free America, is just about the biggest threat to American Security… to exist. (John McPalin, President Elect, November 2008)
“Every day, we grow stronger. In the last three months, our numbers have tripled! Nearly a third of the United States population now declare themselves to be members of Free America. Our organization is not what they call us. We are not scattered anarchists and angry teenagers. We are America. We are the people- the people, who want freedom from governmental over sight, ridiculous surveillance and a government that doesn’t hesitate to shoot dissenters. If not for luck, I’d be dead- is that what the constitution said about protest?”
The screen switched from his speech earlier in the day to the TV commentators. “Well, Jim, that’s quite a speech- what do you think this is going to mean for our average American at home?”
“Honestly, Ted, I don’t think they’re doing much anytime soon. Unless they’ve got some sort of ace up their sleeve, the police are going to keep breaking up their rallies, even if it lets them recruit more members from those who see police violence, and they [Free America] won’t do anything. But hey, I’m just a correspondent- lets ask Bill what he has to say.”
“Thanks Jim- I’m going to have to disagree with you on this. I think these Free America people have something to them. They’re not just a protest group- they’re true rebels. But they clearly have little in the way of intentions that actually disagree with the constitution. Admittedly, their policy on foreign importation (or, at least what Montgomery said when he was campaigning) is just a tad different from your average constituent of old, but it’s not far off. They have America behind them. I think they’re going to do something.”
With the newscaster’s words going through his head, James decided he could go to bed at last. The massive compound Free America owned in California had become his home as of late, as nowhere else was safe anymore. It was sad, almost, that his nation had come to this. But if it took a maverick to save his country from those who didn’t respect its constitution, (and the McPalin sitting in office wasn’t one) then he was going to have to do something. Something decisive. Or, he knew as well as anyone, his movement would shrivel and die, exactly as the more cynical of the newscasters had suggested.
James was not one to turn in early, but tomorrow was the day for his movement to begin its transformation from a rebellion into an army, an army to fight for his beloved constitution (the same one his job at the CIA had shown him was being ignored), so he had every intention of turning in early. All the same, it was past midnight by the time he sank into the mattress provided by Free America in his quarters. Being a general was definitely nice… better than the beginning, he reflected, staring at the ceiling… his ghosts returning to haunt him. The two reservists, during the first protest… the police still couldn’t put a name to him on it, but it was fairly obvious that it had been one of the protestors… and he was by far, the most active of them back then. As he had learned later, they had both been married men… his actions leaving widows behind. It was sad. He could never accept killing, really, as a political means. But, when push came to shove, he would do anything to bring freedom back to America. And that, he told himself, would require sleep, real sleep- something he rarely allowed himself.
It was sometime around four in the morning when he awoke. He wasn’t sure what it was that had caused his mind to stir from rest… but it was something. Less than a second later, his hand was wrapped firmly around the grip of the Glock Automatic he kept by his bedside. Regret was something for hindsight, and if one had to kill to defend oneself, that was another issue entirely. James Montgomery, PhD, was about as good as they came in that field, that of defending oneself. A black belt in Karate and a world-renowned expert in the Israeli Krav-Maga, he was never truly in danger in hand-to-hand combat. But if this was the military, finally cracking down, it would not be hand-to-hand combat- it would be Green Beret snipers taking shots at him from hundreds of yards away- hardly a fair fight.
The first step to surviving whatever was going on was getting out of his room, easier said than done. He stood up and dressed quickly, opting for American night camouflage over his traditional apparel- anything to get out, assuming things had, in fact, gone to hell. Unfortunately, as he glanced up at the monitor and saw that almost every alarm in the facility had been tripped, it was looking more and more that way.
With great haste, James began undoing the many security measures attached to his door, and cursing himself for his paranoia at the same time. With that done, he bolted down the hallway, handgun up and pointed forwards. The gun in his hand gave him confidence… but after the doubt he had felt last night, he was starting to wonder if he would be able to use it. It came down to it quickly; as he turned a corner to see two soldiers, most definitely not members of Free America’s small army of security personnel, advancing down the hallway, assault rifles up. Fortunately for him, they didn’t expect him to be out already, so he incapacitated them both in a matter of seconds.
As James sprinted through the compound, he narrowly avoided another three soldiers, who would fortunately fare no worse than being busted down for failure. He broke out of the main residence building, careful to stay low and out of sight. As he bolted for the gate, a soldier cried out “There he is!” and the fire started again. Narrowly avoiding the line of fire of what had to be a humvee, he was nearly at the gate when he saw the last man. It was… instinctive. His days at the CIA, before he had realized how wrong it all was, had put a reflex into him, one that made it all too easy that night. The soldier was looking away, and in a single moment, James brought up his pistol, firing without thinking. Three muffled cracks later; the man was on the ground, blood seeping from the new holes in his skull. This man was dead… and he didn’t have to be. Instantly, James knew it was wrong. People died every day… but none more should die from his hand than had to. He wanted to go to sleep, and get lost in his dreams right there. The chattering of the machine gun brought him back to his senses, and he ran, running like he never had before.
So yeah...
Edited by Swimmer, 14 November 2008 - 22:03.
