Authors: Bobby Akart
But the unsung heroes of those early days from 1765 through the Declaration of Independence were the Mechanics. They were the insurgent arm of the Loyal Nine. When it was time to incite Boston’s patriots into action, it was the Mechanics, not the statesmen, who gleefully did the dirty work that led to the American Revolution.
Sarge believed it was raw emotion, not knowledge, that was the impetus for change. The men and women who filled this room shoulder to shoulder had to want change. It was up to Sarge to create the passion necessary to bring knowledge to a boil.
Suddenly, the room became quiet as Steven asked the group to quiet down. Sarge, still sitting on the desk, looked into the eyes of the men and women who would be called upon to risk their lives, and the safety of their families, to fight to preserve the freedoms just as their forefathers did two hundred and fifty years ago.
Sarge took a deep breath and spoke. “Freedom comes at a price. Men and women just like you came together in places like this or taverns down the street to express their desire to break away from tyranny. They enthusiastically shouted that it was their solemn responsibility to pay any price to secure the freedom of a fledgling nation.” Sarge stood to address the tightly packed group of a hundred or so patriots.
“That time has come again, my friends. History shows that the path to liberty invariably involves conflict. Whether it was the American Revolution, which involved taking up arms, or political movements, which required the banding together of like-minded Americans to fight for our Constitutional rights, the course of American history was set by people like you.
“These conflicts demand a very steep price from those who fight them. Oftentimes, when expressing your political opinions, you were demeaned or ostracized by those who disagree with you. When you chose to make your voices heard by banding together as Tea Party Patriots, you were quickly denounced and then ultimately abandoned by the very politicians you helped elect.
“Today, we find ourselves in the same shoes as the Sons of Liberty, in a far greater conflict than the mere exchange of political dialogue. There is a battle for the heart and soul of America looming. Just like our forefathers, we face a tyrannical government that has empowered those who wish to profit from this catastrophic event, both financially and through the stifling of dissent.
“Throughout history, governments have demonstrated their willingness to trample on individual liberties without regard to the long-term consequences. We’ve seen this happen during our lifetimes, and now tyranny has reached new heights in this country.” Sarge paced the floor as he spoke. He stopped from time to time to speak directly to one of the Mechanics.
“Prior to the attack, we lived in a nation where the government became more and more intrusive in our lives. They thought average American citizens were incapable of making decisions for themselves. They told us what we could and could not put in our bodies. They were able to declare us unfit parents, at their sole discretion, for the horrific crime of homeschooling. They told us when and where we were allowed to exercise our second amendment rights.
“They instilled fear in us with reports of angry men in caves or a threatening menace in the deserts of the Middle East. They frightened you with things that go bump in the night. Then our benevolent government offered solutions that took away your freedoms, in the name of keeping you safe. Ironically, their solutions never involved taking care of ourselves.” Sarge unconsciously held the top of his holstered .45 as he spoke.
“My friends, those issues are trivial to the current despotism of this President. Many of you have experienced this firsthand. Americans’ arms are being confiscated. Your food storage is being declared excessive. Some of you have been forced out of your homes for the benefit of the government’s chosen few. Moreover, all of you have been denied access to life-saving food and medical supplies because of your prior political affiliation or your refusal to bow down to a newly appointed government official.
“The President claims he is doing his duty by acting in the interest of protecting the American people. He quickly pointed out it was his number one responsibility to keep Americans safe. He hasn’t learned from history, or the Constitution, although he supposedly taught constitutional law.
“He took an oath, like all governmental officials, to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. His first responsibility as President is to uphold the principles of freedom that define our nation. He has broken his oath of office by trampling on the Constitution for the illusion of security.
“There are many Americans who welcome this because they are afraid. Their security is threatened. I believe this short-term thinking creates a much more menacing state of affairs in the long term. By doing nothing, our implied acquiescence to these intrusive government actions results in another stone laid on the path to tyranny.”
Sarge paused and looked around the room. The eyes of his fellow patriots gave him the answer he sought.
“Our price,” he started and then hesitated. “Our price to be paid is making the difficult choice between security and liberty. We have to choose fear or freedom. But I must caution you, my friends, freedom isn’t free.”
Chapter 39
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
7:15 p.m.
Citizen Corps Region I, Office of the Governor
99 High Street
Boston, Massachusetts
O’Brien stood alone atop 99 High Street. The cool fall air chilled him slightly, so he fastened his jacket. It had been a productive and interesting day. He was starting to feel the euphoria of power that had enveloped him three weeks prior. Lighting another cigar, he was anxious to get started. But first, there were some important decisions to make.
He heard the rooftop door slam and turned to see La Rue escorting Pearson to the table. A bottle of whisky awaited the men. Pearson, who had eluded capture, had spoken with O’Brien yesterday. He was very grateful to clear up the misunderstanding and was anxious to report his information to O’Brien. La Rue had details of his missing men as well. O’Brien poured a glass of whisky for each of them and took a swig, swallowing hard as he downed the glass completely. He quickly poured another.
“Gentlemen,” said O’Brien, raising his glass, “enjoy.”
“Thank you, Governor,” toasted Pearson. “It’s good to have our problems resolved.”
“It is, Pearson,” said O’Brien. “Let’s try to move forward and put things back on track.”
“Agreed,” he replied. “I have some information that relates to our colonel. Apparently, he’s known as a wild card, frequently bucking command when he sees fit. He is tolerated because of his stellar combat record and connections in high places.”
“How high?” asked La Rue, taking a sip of the whisky.
“The highest,” replied Pearson. “He has passed over several cross promotions to commands that would have given him more visibility within the Corps. My source tells me he was in line for a full bird anyway. He must have clout in the Pentagon or the White House.”
“Is he untouchable?” asked La Rue.
“No.”
“Governor, I have confirmed our suspicions,” said La Rue. “Our missing men are being held at Fort Devens under armed guard at the former federal prison camp there. I have men observing Devens round the clock. They recognized some of their buddies through a window. They are not allowed outside of the building where they are housed.”
“What about my guns?” asked O’Brien.
“I can’t say with certainty, but I know the MBTA vans are not there,” replied La Rue.
“I can help you there,” interrupted Pearson. “The images you told me about on the phone are real. The trucks were found abandoned in various wooded locations on the west side of the Hudson. The trucks were moved across the state line into the Albany area before the borders were closed due to the Indian Point meltdown.”
“This is one sly bastard,” said O’Brien. “How does all of this relate to the Quabbin Reservoir?”
Pearson looked at La Rue, who gestured for him to go first in responding.
“Back in the spring, Quabbin Reservoir was acquired by a trust, and the area specifically located on the Prescott Peninsula was supposedly designated to be a safe haven for abused mothers and children.”
O’Brien looked from Pearson to La Rue and back to Pearson. “Well, was it?”
“We don’t know for certain,” replied Pearson. “No one has seen the facility. In fact, no one has been allowed on the Peninsula since a very well-orchestrated campaign event, which included Hillary and Senator Morgan.”
O’Brien studied the two for a moment and then asked, “Is there any reason to believe it’s not a home for wayward souls?”
“It’s the level of security, Governor,” replied Pearson. “The place is crawling with either active-duty military or former private contractors. These guys are real pros and have the gear to support the theory that they are former members of the armed forces.”
“I think Colonel Bradlee has something to do with this,” added La Rue. “I find it very suspicious that he’s lost so many men to defections. And how did he hijack our guys and the trucks. He had to have a lot of help to pull that off.”
“So you think that Bradlee is holed up at Prescott Peninsula, hiding under the skirts of widows and orphans or some shit?”
“There may not be any widows and orphans, Governor,” replied Pearson. “I think it’s a ruse for something bigger.”
O’Brien poured another drink. “How are we going to get to the bottom of this?”
“Archibald, your Citizen Corps leader in Belchertown, is planning a raid on Prescott Peninsula,” said Pearson. “He’s coordinating with hundreds of local men to raid the shores by boat and storm the front gates. They think there’s food being protected, and they’re hungry.”
“Good,” said O’Brien. “I heard a saying once, the rich swell up with pride, but the poor rise up from hunger. Let the people take what they need and deserve.” He stood and poured the last of the whisky into his glass.
“Marion, I want my men back,” started O’Brien.
“I understand, Governor,” he replied. “But I need more than what we have. Do you want me to load up the gangbangers and unleash them on Fort Devens. That could get really ugly, fast.”
Suddenly, the eastern sky lit up as if Fenway Park had sprung to life for a night game. O’Brien abruptly turned to look over the roof’s half wall.
“Right on cue, gentlemen,” he said, gesturing toward Boston Harbor and the wharfs along Seaport Boulevard. “Help has arrived.”
Six Watson-class prepositioning ships were making their way to dockage at the piers. Provided to the United Nations by the administration years before as part of its downsizing program, these vessels contained the unique all-white paint and distinctive U.N. logo in black. The ships, manufactured by Cabot Industries, were each capable of carrying three hundred troops with a nearly four-hundred-thousand-cubic-foot cargo area for all types of vehicles.
A Russian-made, all-white Mi-26T helicopter flew up and down the harbor from the North End to Castle Island Park. The sound of the rotors was deafening as the noise reverberated off the skyscrapers of Boston. A slightly smaller gunship, the Mi-24, moved at a lower altitude, buzzing northward toward the Charlestown Navy Yard and back again.
A variety of armored vehicles began to slowly disembark onto the wharfs. Medical trucks towed howitzers from the cargo hold. Finally, the Indian Army T-72 tanks rolled out of the bowels of the ship. O’Brien began to laugh.
“Boys, now I’ve got my army.”
Chapter 40
Thursday, September 29, 2016
6:00 p.m.
Town Hall
Belchertown, Massachusetts
Archibald stood alone in the shadows of the town hall, pulling his jacket closed as the night air began to displace the day’s unusual warmth. Residents from the surrounding areas came to hear his final speech before the anticipated raid upon Prescott Peninsula.
Pearson was already sitting on the stage. When Archibald first received the wanted poster, he thought something was amiss. Pearson hadn’t acted like a man who should be on the run for treason. Archibald was never accused of allowing Pearson the opportunity to escape, but it was not his intention to detain the man either. As a result, he gained a friend in Pearson and an alliance, of sorts.
Belchertown was perched atop a hill overlooking the Connecticut Valley to the west and the Quabbin Reservoir to the east. The Church of Christ’s spire, which was nearly the eighty-foot height of the town’s water tank, was visible for miles in all directions. Originally settled as part of the Connecticut Western Reserve, the surrounding lands were granted to Jonathan Belcher, who later became the royal governor of Massachusetts.
Belchertown made history in 1774 as the first municipality in the country to refuse to pay its taxes to the Loyalist English government in America. Archibald studied the history of his small town. It was storied. On a night just like this one, in 1774, the people of Belchertown came together and created a militia, a small fighting force, under the leadership of Captain Caleb Clark. They proudly marched east to join their fellow patriots the day after the Battle of Lexington. Over half of the men residing in Belchertown saw service in the Revolution, and the other residents, although poverty stricken and hungry, were active in supporting the fight for freedom by giving their time and what belongings they had.
While their cause was noble, the aftermath of the Revolution for the citizens of Belchertown was devastating. The men returned home from the War broke, and their farms were damaged from neglect. The fledgling government faced enormous debt and financial challenges. Washington’s solution was to levy taxes upon the farmers’ land. The farmers’ solution, true to their predecessors’ penchant for rebellion, was to refuse to pay the tax and take up arms.