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The moment we got out from the asphalt and hit the dirt road that led to the mountain, we dismounted the Bearcat and spread around. Our patrol continued uphill where forest slowly received us. It was barely morning where the headlights of a battlewagon illuminated the muddy terrain and chased off the nosy animals.
Commander stayed in the cabin where he monitored the radio channels and gave us orders. I knew lazy fuck didn’t wanted to walk in the cold, but I had to keep my mouth shut if I ever wanted to get paid. This whole situation caused anarchy in my mind. Why were we here? Why the USA needed a Private Military Contractors to operate in the wilderness and control their militia? One of the guys in the regiment compared this to a Star Wars movie. Liberals took over the cities, made their versions of utopia, while republicans took their guns and went for the hills. In his story, rebels were for the republic; therefore the republicans were the good guys. He started a fight with an officer that told him how his story was the other way around, and that the rebels from the movie were better men than the rednecks with guns we had to police. Me, I enjoyed the movie.
– Here they come. – Commander said slamming the door of a Bearcat and pulled up his belt to ease the walk he begun grunting about.
I swung my head toward the edge of the rocky wall beside me and saw a man in the raincoat, standing above us, weapon in hand. His friends came from the turn, all of them in un-matching uniforms, different insignias and patches on their arms, a ruff folk and a proper militia. Just from their appearance, I could see they were disorganized, rebellious and outlaws to the point of that rogue cowboy flare. History of hard times and combat was on their dirty unshaved faces. Booze drifted from their breath like a perfume casually worn by the lonesome drunkards sorrowed by the misery of their hardships.
– Greetings! We are here by the authority of the New World of America. We were sent to make an inquiry of a whereabouts of a man called the Bear. – Commander spoke in a resting sheriff fashion that stuck on him for the years of patrolling this area.
– Why don’t you guys swing by our base where we can talk? – chubby man said scratching his belly and corrected his sports hat, when Commander nodded and smiled before he showed us to move out.
Upon arriving in what was a militia’s base, I saw the strategically posted field kitchen, the dormitory placed in an old wooden cabin, men doing exercise but failing to do them simultaneously like a normal military. Among the tents, their children played hide and seek while on the other side, a butcher carved freshly gunned down deer. Smoke rose from a few places, campfires that were occupied by chalks of men and caldrons they cooked stew in. By my training, I counted several scouts poorly hidden in the three lines. Laughter and chatter was ever present in the groups of guards that came from their shifts patrolling the forest and the hills around us.
A steely gaze of our Commander told us to take sides and do a defensive stands, but keep our sights down and not-alarming. I came closer to the stomp where militia leader took out a tomahawk from the log and sat down. Our Commander took the opposite seat and a girl in a camouflage uniform brought them hot coffee. Strange silence levitated for a moment until both men got familiar to their surroundings and estimated the threat they posed for one another.
– So, the Bear. The warrant for his arrest was issued by the City Police Department. – Commander started the business, when his interlocutor raised hand and stopped him in the spot.
– I know why you were sent. The boy told me everything about it. He is a good boy. He didn’t do any harm. – man spoke frowning, throwing his hands about and slapping his knees.
– He dislocated the man’s jaw and beat down two more men. That’s plenty of harm if you ask me. – Commander pierced through the chubby guy causing a pause, – Are you going to make a problem about this? All you need in another strike and they are sending real army here, not the National Guard, not the Police, the Army. Now, you know those boys are trained to do harm. You have no men to take them in a fight. They’ll send the drones, the robots the whole package. We are not asking, we demand you hand him over. – Commander pushed himself in the man’s face and knocked on the stomp with his finger while trying not to yell at the Headman that made grimaces and moved its head.
– We got our rules here. We are “The Natives”. We are Americans, a free folk that have seen the truth of the corporations that use us as slaves. We bow to no one. I’ll punish him instead of giving him to those bastards. – Headman pointed his hand in the direction of the city, when Commander cleared his throat and leaned forward.
– You would want to whip the boy for acting like a man? Let us have him. The worst case scenario, he would spend some time in a warm room with three meals and a proper bath. Come on, I’ll throw in a good word that you were cooperative and helpful. That would mean something in the eyes of those that think you are savages. You know these glitter wearing directors think you guys are filth that’s out to be washed away, burned or something even worse. Have mercy for the boy. I’ll be at his side the whole way. – Commander was whispering more than he was talking which seriously shook the Headman and made his question the possible outcome.
Headman stopped to think, and then he unwillingly nodded and stretched his hand toward the smiling Commander that shook his ruffled hand. The agreement was made and so we had to wait for a patrol to fetch us the culprit. Mercenaries were never considered a nice thing to see, especially in the militia’s camp that considered us as foreigners to their lands. They were not suppressing themselves from spiting in our direction, gave us looks and aimed at us with sticks pretending they were weapons.
The man was brought in ropes; his face bloodied as he probably struggled and tried to get away from the chasing party. They gave him to me, and I pushed him in the vehicle. A false friendly smiles where exchanged between the Headman and the Commander, then the doors got shut and engine roared down the mountain.
– What will happen to him? – I asked the Commander who lit his cigarette.
– Death by hanging. The man he punched was a son of a deputy director of the New World of America Corporation.
Written by Nenad Jevtić – www.dronstadblog.wordpress.com
A note from me after reading this post:
I totally gave you a tough post to write on, put you still managed to pull out the gist of this type of writing. Really feel blessed to see someone writing the same niche as me. Keep up your good work. Hope to see more from you!