Insurgent: Chapter Three
The story begins three months after the close of Republic. SPOILER ALERT -- If you haven't read Republic yet, you might want to wait before reading these entries. A number of events that wrapped up the conclusion of the book are referenced in the early chapters of this one. If you want to read Republic now, you can pick it up at Amazon, download the ebook or listen to the podcast.
The draft versions of this story as posted here on the site are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Please let folks know about it, and feel free to send people the link, but I'll be changing/editing/correcting here as I go along and therefore it's best not to actually forward the text. Again, this is first draft stuff: if you read it, please drop me a line with feedback.
Thanks. Send feedback to charles [at] sheehanmiles.net
Previous chapters:
Brigadier General Tom Murphy stood in the sunlight near the helicopter pad on the roof of the Governor’s mansion, chilled by the cold wind and trying to absorb a little sunlight to offset it.
Despite the fact that his hair had started graying at the temples in the last year, Tom still looked young. His narrow face, clean shaven, still had smooth skin, and he had a tendency to walk around with a half-smile that he knew sometimes seemed inappropriate for a senior military officer. That was fine with him—the smile disarmed people in a way he never quite understood, made him trusted by subordinates and superiors alike.
He’d spent all too many days trying to maintain that half-smile in the last few weeks when it really didn’t feel appropriate at all. Behind the smile, he’d been torn by self-doubt and grief for his brother. Behind the smile, he’d been deeply worried that despite the quick conclusion of the brief war in West Virginia, the roots of the conflict had only been aggravated. And, despite everything he’d tried to do, the situation continued to deteriorate.
The transport helicopter approached, the slapping rhythm of its rotary wings rattling the windows on the rooftop. It settled into its position on the roof, and the rotors began to slow.
Murphy ran toward the chopper, followed closely by his aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Ahmed Johnson, a six-foot-five former college football player. Johnson had been an infantry platoon leader for the last year, and received high marks for his leadership during the ground invasion into West Virginia. A tour as a dog-robber to a gen-eral was a solid ticket punched for an officer with a promising career, and Johnson had jumped at the chance.
The side door to the chopper opened, and a crew chief in an olive-drab flight suit stepped out, then reached in to help out the passengers.
Next out was Tom’s niece, Valerie. Tom almost stumbled when he saw her—she’d always been thin, but now she looked emaciated, her clothes ill-fitting, hair tangled. She looked around, big eyes darting around like a hunted animal. Tom took her hand, walked her away from the chopper, then turned to hug her.
She held on like he was a lifeline, and he was shocked by how much she had shrunk. She couldn’t possibly weigh more than a hundred pounds.
Lieutenant Johnson approached behind her with the new Gover-nor, Al Clark. Clark didn’t look much better than Valerie, though at least he seemed well-fed. Tom released his niece, then held out his hand. Clark gripped it.
“Welcome,” Tom said to the man. “Let’s get inside out of the cold.”
Clark nodded, and the four of them entered the building again.
“We’re right in here, sir, ma’am,” said Lieutenant Johnson, leading the other three to a small sitting room. “Can I get you coffee? Tea?”
Valerie and Clark both asked for coffee, and Johnson quickly ex-ited the room.
Tom sat down in one of the chairs and waved for them to sit as well. He studied them for a moment. Both of them pale, none too healthy. Looking at Valerie, he realized that she’d shrunk in more ways than one—her eyes kept darting around the room, nervous, and he hands lay flat against her skirt. Overall she gave the impres-sion that at any moment she might get up and run. None of the confidence he’d learned to expect from her was evident.
“Have you been treated well?” Tom asked.
She shrugged.
Clark spoke. “As well as could be supposed,” Clark replied. “We’ve both been in solitary confinement for most of the last three months. To be honest with you, it’s a little overwhelming right now.”
Tom nodded. “I understand, I think. I appreciate you agreeing to come in on the chopper. I sent it as soon as I learned you were being released.”
Valerie said, “Thank you. I don’t know where I would have gone if you hadn’t sent it. I don’t even know what happened to my apartment, my things.”
“I hope I can relieve you on that score at least,” Tom said. “Your Dad asked me to take care of that—your rent was taken care of, and the lease closed out. All your things are here in Charleston. For now, at least, you’ve got a room here at the governor’s mansion, until you find a place to live.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Clark spoke. “Tell me a little more about the situation, General.”
Tom sighed. His concern for Valerie, and his desire to make this a personal reunion, was outweighed by duty and the need to brief them on what had been happening in the state. But he didn’t have to like it. He started to reply, and was interrupted by the return of Lieutenant Johnson, bearing a tray with a coffee pot.
Johnson placed the tray on the small table between them, then smoothly poured three cups of coffee. “I’m afraid we don’t have any actual cream here,” he said, “but we do have some of the powdered stuff. I’ll check with the house staff on getting that corrected.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Tom said.
Valerie sat with her hands cradled around the mug, absorbing the warmth, and breathed in the steam from the coffee, savoring it.
“Well,” Tom said. “Here’s the situation. I know the two of you were arrested the day hostilities began, so I’ll walk you through it. Essentially, we had a three day ground-war here. The state National Guard put up a ferocious fight, but they were simply overwhelmed. On the third day, Governor Slagter shot himself, and I accepted your father’s surrender, Valerie.”
Her face jerked up. “Personally?”
Tom nodded, very slow. “Yes. I didn’t think—well, let’s just say I thought it would be best all around if it were he and I. He was taken into custody, and I suppose you know by now the results of that.”
Tom blinked his eyes as they watered involuntarily. The others were wiped out of his vision momentarily, as a vision of his brother’s execution intruded. The brother who had been his friend, and his hero. He shook his head forcefully to clear his mind.
“Valerie, for what it’s worth, I want you to know his last thoughts were of you. He…he asked me to look out for you, find out where you were being held and get you free. I’ve been doing everything I could to do just that.”
She stared at him, obviously fighting to maintain some semblance of control.
“Go on,” Clark said.
“Once we formally accepted the surrender,” Tom said, “Most of the federal troops were pulled out. I was appointed military gover-nor, with a reinforced brigade all the military forces left. I’ve been working to get things back up and running ever since. I can’t even begin to tell you what a challenge it’s been.
“I’ll be frank—West Virginia is bankrupt. Much of the state has gone through this winter with no power, minimal phone lines, no services. Schools are still closed in a lot of counties because there is no money to pay the teachers and staff, and no heat in the school buildings. The state police are only up to half the manning they should have, and that is shaky. The three National Guard brigades are currently in custody here in Charleston, but all of their officers have been discharged, so we’re not really in a position to put them to use any time soon.”
Clark nodded, taking in the information. Tom only knew the former Congressman by reputation—the two had never met before now. He couldn’t help but wonder how the three months of impri-sonment had affected him. Would he be effective as governor? God only knew they needed a strong hand at the helm, but that hand had to be a civilian’s.
“How is the economy?” Clark asked.
“It’s a shamble,” Tom replied. “We’ve had considerably difficulty getting basic services back in the place, particularly power. Conse-quently, business is still slow, and jobs are scarce. It’s much worse in the cities—at least in the rural areas, people are more prepared to deal with long periods without work. We’ve had riots in Charleston, and the mood is sometimes very ugly. Plus, half the legislature is still absorbed in the whole independence issue. It took me two months before I could even get a quorum to meet in the State House. As I’m sure you can imagine, the first order of business was to elect a new governor: the last thing I want is a long-standing military governor. You got stuck with the job.”
Clark responded. “That must have created some difficulty in Washington.”
Tom smiled wryly. “You could say that. There were howls from the Justice Department and Homeland Security in particularly. The media has been reporting dutifully every day on the absence of any charges pressed against the two of you. That’s one of the reason I flew you out here in a military transport—if you’d flown commer-cial, you’d have never made it through the cordon of reporters.”
“I can only imagine,” said Clark.
“So, that’s the situation. To the extent we can, we’ve been run-ning relief supplies all over the state. Food, water, generators. And that brings us to this morning. One of my supply columns was at-tacked by some locals claiming to be militia. They managed to make off with both weapons and supplies, and shot down to helicopters. I don’t know where they got surface-to-air missiles, but they have them.”
“Dear Lord,” Clark said. “Do you know who they are? Where did it happen?”
“No idea who they are. It happened in Whitesville—that’s in Boone County, not too far south of here, on the Coal River. It begs the question whether we’re at risk of looking at a wider insurgency, or is this just some disgruntled locals. I don’t know the answer to that.”
He watched Clark to gauge his reaction. He knew Clark had voted against the independence referendum last fall. At the same time, the then Congressman had returned to Charleston to accept the position of Secretary of State in the briefly independent West Virginia. Where did his loyalties lie?
Clark nodded, face betraying nothing. “Who is investigating?”
“My provost marshal. You’ll meet him later on. Unfortunately, we’ve got some serious gaps in the state police and military depart-ment, and frankly, I don’t trust the acting Secretary.”
“Who is that?”
“Asa Hatfield. Do you know him?”
Clark shook his head. “We’ve met once or twice, that’s it. I don’t even know which way he went on independence.”
“Nobody does—he plays his cards close to the vest. If you’re up to recommendations from me, that’s one of my first ones. You need someone you can trust in that job, and I don’t think he’s it.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Clark said. “If I remember correctly, Hatfield’s brother was Logan County Sheriff, one of the brigade commanders in the Guard. Any idea what happened to him?”
“Captured. He’s in Kansas, awaiting his court-martial.”
“That can’t make the brother happy.”
“No, it certainly doesn’t. He’s one you want to keep an eye on.”
A pause in the conversation; then Clark spoke again. “All right, what happens next?”
Tom replied. “This afternoon, the Chief Justice of the State Su-preme Court will swear you in as Governor. At the same time, I’ll formally step down as military governor of West Virginia. I’ll retain my status as an advisor and overall commander of the military here. I’ve called for a cabinet meeting immediately after, so you can meet your department heads. From there—it’s up to you. I’ll advise you, and offer all the resources I can. The bottom line is, we’ve got to get this state up and running again, and quickly. As bad as things are, I’m very worried they could worse. We’re in a race against time.”
As he spoke, Tom watched Valerie. Her face was closed, expres-sionless, and the more he watched her, the more uncomfortable he became.
“For now, I’ll ask Lieutenant Johnson to show you to your rooms so you can get cleaned up. I’m going to put him at your disposal for the next couple of days if you need anything at all.”
“Thank you, General.”
Tom stood. “Governor—we’ve never known each other, but I know you were friends with my brother. I’d be honored if you’d just call me Tom.”
Clark smiled. “Tom, then. Thank you.”
Valerie stood without a word, and Lieutenant Johnson said, “If you’ll come this way, I’ll show where you are staying.”
The two started to follow the young Lieutenant; then Valerie stopped. She turned toward Tom, her face showing the first expres-sion he’d seen—grief etched in every line.
“Tommy—you were the only person my Dad listened to. Why couldn’t you stop him?”
Tom took a step back, the question a slap in the face. The half-smile slipped into a grimace. “Valerie—I don’t think anyone could have talked to Ken about this. I tried. He was determined.”
“I know,” she whispered.
Tom Murphy was ten years younger than his brother had been, only ten years older than his niece. Looking at her now, she seemed like the kid he’d known twenty years ago—composed, serious, but fragile. In three years she’d lost her entire family: brother and father just in the last six months. Was it any wonder than she was reeling?
“Valerie, I can never replace your Dad, but—if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me. I promised him I’d do whatever I could to take care of you.”
She shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.” Then she turned away.
Copyright © 2008 Charles Sheehan-Miles, All rights reserved.
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posted 08/11/2008
So, a large number of people have written and commented in the blog asking when the next chapter will be. The answer is, very very soon. Sometimes real life gets in the way, but I think I'm back on track schedule wise.
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posted 04/16/2008
Insurgent Chapter Three
posted 04/05/2008
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