Gettysburg: A Tale of the Second War for Pennsylvanian Independence (7 page)

Now that they were beyond the wall some 150 meters, the QB
led them at a perpendicular angle to the road and back into the woods. Their
pace slowed as their path grew thick again. And with her adrenaline fading, the
throbbing pain in the captain’s ankle demanded notice. But she gritted her
teeth and led them deeper into the zone. After half an hour’s broken march, they
came into a clearing, where her ankle failed at last. She tumbled to the
ground, cursing.

Hatch knelt beside her and spoke quietly so the others
couldn’t overhear. “Mary, that’s enough for now.”

Through a clenched jaw, she said, “They’ll be coming.
Transport.”

The lieutenant shook his head. “They’d have been here
already. Our heat sigs are obvious. They must’ve written us off, at least for
now. Maybe they really are negotiating the politics of our extraction with the
elders in the AZ. Hell, I dunno. But I think we can afford a rest.”

“We need to keep—”

“Mary!” His whispered urgency cowed her stubbornness. “If
they come, whether they catch us here or a mile from here won’t really matter,
will it? You need a rest.”

Her energy drained, her will to fight as low as it had ever
been, she nodded wearily.

Hatch stood up. “Hawkeye, climb the tallest tree you can
find within fifty meters. Keep an eye on the wall.” As the spotter nodded and
turned to carry out his orders, the lieutenant said, “Smoker, Trick, can you
range for half a click toward the interior and report back?”

“That’s not necessary,” said the QB.

“Captain—”

“I know exactly where we are,” she finished.

Trick asked, “How can that be, ma’am? I know we’ve all got
the GIS maps, but thanks to the Ruling, the AZ isn’t part of the public
record.” The principal purpose for the Richmond Ruling had been to exempt the
Plain People on New Pennsylvania from having electronic devices—TRIDs and
BICEs—installed. But one of the subparagraphs, one few paid attention to, exempted
the AZ’s interior from grid surveys by Transport. Not many people believed the
Authority actually kept its end of the bargain on that point, but at least the
zone wasn’t on the official maps accessible by the public. “Unless the SOMA
passed along intel—”

“Nothing so nefarious, Lieutenant. I was raised here.”

Hatch did a double take. It was the first he’d heard of that
little fact. “You?”

She turned to him. “Why so shocked, Lieutenant Hatch?”

“Yeah, why so shocked?” asked Stug. “I was raised plain
too.”

The sergeant’s tone was defensive, challenging his superior
to make something of it. But Hatch just shook his head, laughing to himself.
The irony of two of B Company’s best fighters—one with the iron will of a billy
goat, the other the strength of a bear—raised as plain folk could not be
denied.

“Guess that whole pacifist thing fell through, eh?” he said.

Neither his captain nor his sergeant was laughing.

“Lieutenant,” said Stug with barely repressed anger, which
in such a large man was somehow more frightening then all-out rage, “all due
respect—but try not to speak about things when you don’t know anything about
them. Sir.”

Hatch stared at his old friend. He’d really hit a nerve. “Stug,
I—”

“We don’t need to go ranging, ma’am,” cut in Smoker.

“Lieutenant?”

“
They’ve
found
us
.”

Rifles came to ready positions, but when Smoker nodded in
the direction of the threat, she did so without raising her own. Coming toward
them were two men wearing simple clothing and sporting long beards, which
wisped in the light warm breeze as they walked. Both were shaded by
broad-brimmed, flat hats, and they seemed to have no qualms about approaching
the heavily armed soldiers.

“Weapons down,” said the QB simply as the plain men
approached.

“Good morning,” the older man said. He removed his hat,
shaded his eyes, and noted the position of the sun. “Although, it
is
getting along a bit.” Replacing his hat, he said, “I’m Paul Noffsinger, one of
the elders here in the AZ. Welcome.” He held out his hand.

Every member of B Company stared at it. They weren’t sure of
protocol. And one or two were just a little wary of touching the hand of what
were, to some, near-mythical people.

The QB moved forward. “Mary,” she said shaking his hand
firmly. “Captain Mary Brenneman.”

The second man stepped forward. He didn’t offer his hand.

“That’s an Amish name,” he said simply. Direct, as if
stating the current temperature for everyone’s edification. “Are you Amish, Ms.
Brenneman?”

She stared just as directly at him. “And who are you, sir,
if I might ask?”

“Name’s Shetler,” he said. Each syllable was cut sharply.

Noffsinger stepped forward. “Aaron, is that tone necessary?
These people are tired and could use a good meal.” The fact that they were
TRACE soldiers recently in battle and clearly on the run from the Authority
hung unspoken in the air.

“If we feed them, we could incur Transport’s wrath,” said
Shetler.

“And if we don’t, we could incur God’s,” responded
Noffsinger with a sigh that said they’d had a score of such conversations.
“Come,” he said, motioning to the soldiers, who stood awkwardly, unsure how to act
around such pious people. “We have food. It isn’t far.”

Shortly after noon, they were sitting in Paul Noffsinger’s
barn and wolfing down a hastily prepared meal of fresh vegetables, warm bread,
and jerked beef. The curious community had gathered as word spread of their
arrival. Out of respect for Amish traditions, the QB had made her troops stack
their weapons and packs against one of the horse stalls, though she was careful
to keep them in plain sight.

“We know about what happened in Gettysburg,” said
Noffsinger. “It was . . . unfortunate.”

Smoker stopped eating. “Unfortunate?” She sounded insulted.

“
Lieutenant
,” the QB admonished. “Elder Noffsinger,”
she said, drawing the conversation away from the previous day’s events, “you
are the minister here?”

He nodded, glancing once at Smoker. “One of them.”

“The Amish have multiple preachers speak when they worship,”
explained Stug for the group’s benefit. “Services can last for hours.”

“That sounds awful,” said Trick without thinking. He looked
up sharply. “Sorry.”

The captain gave him the eye, then said to Noffsinger, “I
think I knew your father. He was also a minister?”

Noffsinger sat back. “Yes, yes he was. You
are
Amish,
then,” he said, confirming something for himself. “And
that
Mary
Brenneman.”

“Used to be. Not anymore,” she said around the beef she was
chewing.

“Oh yes, she used to be one of us,” said a new voice
entering the barn. A large man approached. All heads turned from the table.
“But now she’s shunned.”

Stug couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. Hatch smelled
the electricity in the air. Noffsinger, who’d suspected the truth and had only
now seen it confirmed, stood up from the table.

“Marcus, your suspicions seem to have been proven correct,” Noffsinger
said, his hands coming up to placate the other man. “But it is also true that,
at times, we help TRACE.
Many
of their fighters are formerly of the AZ.
We have never used that fact as a litmus test for our willingness to provide
succor.”

“None have ever shamed us as she and her family did,” the new
man—Marcus—said, his anger growing. “We should turn her and her rebel friends
over to Transport immediately.”

Stug began to stand up, but Hatch put his hand on the sergeant’s
thick forearm. They shared a look, and the lieutenant merely shook his head.

“Who are you?” asked Mary.

“Marcus Yoder,” he said. His eyes dared her to remember.

The QB looked down at the table briefly, then stood. “We
must leave. Elder Noffsinger, everyone,” she said, casting her eyes across the
stunned onlookers, “on behalf of TRACE and the SOMA, thank you for your
hospitality. You’ve given us aid when we needed it most. Blessings upon you and
all in the AZ.”

Hatch started to rise.

“Oh, no, please stay,” said Yoder, his words dripping with
crocodile honey. “You look tired. No need to rush off. I called my cousin,
Donavan, with Transport. They’ll be here shortly.”

“Sonofa—” Stug rose as one with the others to retrieve their
weapons.

“Marcus!” Noffsinger gasped. “You had no right—”

“
I have every right!
” Yoder exploded. “After what she
did to my family?
Every right!
”

B Company was already slinging their gear when they heard
the whine of the first airships in the distance. Everyone in the barn began to talk
at once as violence threatened to erupt all around them.

“Hurry up, people!” said Hatch.

“Elder Noffsinger, my apologies for what I have brought down
on your head,” said the QB quickly. “You must evacuate this barn, with all your
people. We must make our stand here.”

“No!” said Noffsinger. “We cannot condone your committing
violence here! This is our home, our land!”

“See? It’s in her nature. Like her stubborn father, her
hot-headed brother,” said Yoder, venom in his voice. “She poisons us all with
her very presence.”

The captain looked to be at a loss. Obviously, the Amish
were not clearing out, and yet to run now with her fellow soldiers would be committing
pointless suicide. Fortifying the barn would at least give them the opportunity
to take a few of the Authority with them.

Then all the TRACE fighters in the barn shook their heads simultaneously.

“Was that what I think it was?” asked Stug.

Another ping resounded in their skulls. Someone was trying
to contact their BICEs.

“No sense hiding now,” said Hatch, connecting to the Internet.

“—extraction from your present location. Captain
Brenneman, please respond. This is Lieutenant Norwich of Stillen Company. Our
orders are to conduct your extraction from your present location . . .”

Stug’s baritone whooped so loud it filled the barn from
stalls to hayloft. “They’re ours!”

“No!” shouted Yoder. “Transport is on the way! I will not
allow—”

“Marcus! Quiet yourself,” said Noffsinger, visibly perturbed
by how events had unfolded. “You’re already in trouble with the elders. Try not
to compound it.”

Admonished, the other man glared daggers at B Company’s
captain but said nothing more.

Noffsinger turned to her. “It is good that God has provided
your deliverance, Mary Brenneman. For if it were left up to me . . .” His hands
showed that he had no idea what his decision would’ve been.

“I understand, Elder,” she said.

Heralded by the babble of livestock, the airbuses were
landing in the barnyard.

“No time for long goodbyes, ma’am,” said Hatch, with a wry
grin. “Your deliverance awaits.”

“Go,” she ordered, and the others began to move out. Turning
to Noffsinger, she said, “Don’t punish him harshly, Elder. And if Transport
gives you a hard time, say we merely held you hostage until you fed us and we
could get away. It’s what they’ll say anyway, when they spin this battle for
the public.”

“Go now,” he said to her. “And may God bless.”

The ride to the TRACE safe zone provided a final release of
tension for the eight survivors of Gettysburg. Crammed into one airbus, the
exhausted and overfed members of Bestimmung Company held loosely to the straps
keeping them in their seats, their heads lolling. When they landed, the airbus
opened to a busy camp. In one corner, one of the cargo ships full of okcillium
sat, scorched but intact.

“At least one of ’em got away,” breathed Stug. They had all
stopped to stare at the ship sitting on the ground, looking like nothing so
much as a beaten-down prizefighter. The same question was in all their minds,
and they hardly needed their BICEs to share it.

“Was it worth it?” asked Smoker.