We reached Battle Mountain, Nevada, a place appropriately named for what happened there. We knew Burns was on our trail hard since the speech, but we had no idea he knew where we were heading. Hindsight is a bitch sometimes. We moved under the cover of night, backtracking along the route and setting up dozens of false trail on the way, but when we passed into Nevada, we had no idea of what we would encounter. Jacks and I were assigned to organize our communications, but his mind wasn’t in the job. North T was his brother, whose death is something he will never recover from. I watched him go through reports from Colorado, thumbing through reports of casualties that occurred after my speech, something I still haven’t recovered from, and write down the names on a small sheet of paper and stuff them in his jacket pocket. I lost myself in news from the east, mainly from the Western New York area. I’m still ashamed that I never shed a tear when I read my sisters name on the report from the casualty list from the prisoner camp outside of Syracuse. Goodbye, Jennifer, I hope the next life will be as good as the one we’re fighting for.
We reached the Nevada/Utah border a few days after we left Colorado, tired and somber for a bunch that knew we were making progress towards what John said was “our saving grace”. We camped outside of the Nevada border, fires kept to a minimum, but the fact that we were expected blew all of our plans out of the water. It was nearly midnight when the first shots rang out in the warm, clear night. Flares shot up all around us as there was a mad scramble for weapons and ammo. I awoke with a start, confused about what was happening, but I clearly heard John yelling to our forces to mobilize and get to the western perimeter. I stumbled around in my tent, trying to grab boots and gun all at the same time and failing at both. I managed to get the boots half on and the shotgun loaded before I hear John’s voice cut out half through an order. I stumbled out of the tent, ready to die, but was met with a ring of my fellow patriots firing at vague shadows advancing from a twinkling of gun fire in the distance. We had prepared for this, but our preparations melted under actual gunfire. We began a grudging retreat towards the vehicles and horses, but the sound of jet engines in the distance told us that we wouldn’t get far.
I ran back to my tent and grabbed as much of the communications as I could and set fire to the rest. Tents burst into flame all over the camp as bodies began to pile up in both ranks. I made my way to a horse and stuffed the notes I was able to save into the saddlebag and walked in its shadow, keeping my pale face out of the moonlight. I had watched enough movies to know what I was doing and one of us had to reach Battle Mountain to contact the resistance force there and let them know what happened. I was only about twenty feet out when Jacks and John, who was sporting as improvised tourniquet around his neck, caught up with me. We quietly made our way west, avoiding random patrols who were sent, as far as I can tell, for people trying to escape.
Under the circumstances of our situation and the fact that we had to make sure John didn’t die at any moment, we took another two weeks to Battle Mountain. Reaching that god forsaken place is something I will never, ever, be able to forget. We rode up slowly since none our signals were responded to, but as we reached the point where we were supposed to meet our contacts, we found out why. While not an attractive town to begin with, the site of all two thousand, eight hundred plus lay in a giant hole dug in the center of the town. Men, “rebels”, women, children. No one escaped Burns and his troops. Some near the top showed signs of torture, but the rest were just riddled with bullet holes. Jacks tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a nearby building that was once the supermarket. Holes splattered with red covered the side nearest the parking lot. They did it right here, this very spot, at least fifteen at a time. I have no idea how long it took them to kill almost three thousand people, but there was no reason for this massacre. The “rebels”? Sure, kill the people fighting for freedom, but not the innocent others. Not the children. Not our future. A voice came to me outside of the supermarket, a voice I had burned into my memory. Burns was waiting for us.
“Ah, you finally made it. I was beginning to think no one escaped from our little fun in Utah. Please, friends, calm down. All I have with me is a token force or the army, nothing more than two hundred troops. Let’s be civil.”
I remember those words to this day. He sounded so eloquent, so in control. I couldn’t help but follow suit.
“We need medical attention. Honoring the Hague agreement in the treatment of prisoners of war, we ask for medical attention for our friend.”
Burns simply smiled. Two medics ran out and grabbed John, pulling him into a nearby building. Jacks and I stood there, waiting for the inevitable, knowing that our General was more important that a bookkeeper and his assistant.
“Gentlemen, please be at ease. You are my. . . honored guests. I’m sure many people have questions for you, but right now, we will be civil with each other, right? Good. Sargent, please escort this man to the best accommodations this town has.. excuse me, had to offer.”
Jacks was gently taken away by two soldiers flanked by another two. We were still considered dangerous, even though unarmed. Apparently ideas are more dangerous than bullets. I was left standing with two soldiers and Burns himself. My anger at him faltered in the scopes of two trained soldiers so I simply turned my back and stared into the body filled hole behind me. I could hear the footsteps slowly approaching me, knowing that it wasn’t a soldier, just a murderer. A government sanctioned murderer. A murderer that I needed to know more about.
“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Burns?”
“Of course, Brian.” I could sense the smile in his voice as he said my name.
“Why them? They had nothing to do with us. Why not just eliminate us?”
He laughed, “Brian, you really are innocent, aren’t you? I could have wiped out every last person in our camp, but I didn’t. Not out of any morality or something foolish as that, but because you’re only one sect of terrorists that plague our new country. I know why you question why I am keeping you and your friends alive, but it is really easy to understand. I need to know why the Mexicans and Cubans have mobilized. I need to know why Canada has closed its borders to government officials. As the communications officer of the largest cell in the United States, you will be able to share this information with me. As to why these people, these citizens had to die? For you, Brian. Each and every person here died for you. Each plea for mercy was for you. ”
He turned to walk away as the soldiers with him gently escorted me away when he stopped and the soldiers stopped in unison.
“Sometimes, Brian, I regret what I have done to our own people. Sometimes I think what I am doing might be wrong. I force myself some mornings to wake up and take the lives of American citizens. I do what I do because I am honorable. I do what I do because I know what I do is for the betterment of our great country. I do what I did here because I have come to realize that the ends justify the means. I will kill you someday, but know that even after both of us die, the country will continue.”
With that, He turned and walked away as I was led to a small hotel and shoved in a room that was sealed with metal bars over the windows. The ends justify the means, he said. Three thousand deaths rest on my shoulders. I was not about to let them have had to die in vain. Burns supplied me with paper and pencils to continue my records, I don’t know if it was because of some sense of repentance or sadistic humor, but either way, my records will continue and I will survive. At least until Texas, where I died.
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