Mighty are the Many

Introduction

In 1999, a relatively unknown group of militaristic agitators, who had quietly been growing to a huge membership since the eighties, overthrew the American government. Striking swiftly during the chaos that followed their assassination of President Clinton, the so-called Troopers swept across the nation, distributing mail bombs, executing citizens, and terrorizing the population. Members of Congress were imprisoned or shot, and judges who refused to take a new oath of loyalty were imprisoned and replaced by those who would support the New Republic. The Troopers gained control in an astonishing six months, and shocked Russia and Britain were too busy handling well-timed riots and rebellions to assist the floundering union. The year 2000 became known as the Glorious First Year of the New Republic, and years were then reckoned from that point.

* * * * *

In a small California town, in the Glorious Fifth, Katherine Schaeffer celebrated her twenty-sixth birthday. At five-foot-nine, with her volumes of flaming red tresses, Kat easily stood out in the crowded room. This was no ordinary birthday, though. Instead of throwing a party, she was having an underground meeting. In the cellar of her grandparents’ badly patched farmhouse, Kat and a band of determined patriots carefully made their plans. They were going to have to recruit a lot of help to do what they were trying to do. Kat glanced around the room nervously, not used to being in charge. Slowly, they began to formulate a plan for expanding their base of operations.

They would start out small. The Trooper fort nearby had been abandoned the week before. Using data gathered from informants and a complicated counter-intelligence network, they knew that the Troopers would not be returning. It provided the rebels with exactly what they needed. California Fort 581 would become headquarters for Operation Hornet. Kat let her mind wander momentarily to her childhood, listening to her father tell stories. He used to run heavy equipment, a huge yellow bulldozer called a Kamatsu. Occasionally, he would plow over a hornet’s nest, buried in the ground, and would have to jump down from the tractor and run to a safe distance. Then he would watch as the angry bees attacked the metal monster. It seemed so hopeless, those tiny bees stinging themselves to death on the impervious steel. But after a while, the engine on the tractor cut out, and the remaining bees left the area to build another nest. Kat’s father, upon returning to the Kamatsu, found the engine and exhaust pipe clogged with the bodies of dead hornets. So, even though they were so small and seemingly unable to fight the massive force opposing them, the hornets were able to defeat the tractor because of the immense quantity of them. No matter how much Kat hated bees, she had to respect them, for their story provided the basis for the Rebel plan of attack. Bringing her attention back to the present, Kat stood to conclude the meeting.

"Okay, now that we’re all familiar with the information, we’ll close. I don’t have to tell you to be careful; you all know that we can’t afford to attract attention at this early stage. See you in three weeks at the new headquarters." Kat was put in charge of the movement because it was her idea. She was the one with the plan, and the possible suggestions for implementing it. Still, she felt vastly under-qualified for the job. She had no experience relative to pulling off a revolution, and felt the heavy responsibility of thousands of lives depending on her. Deep in thought, consumed by doubt, Kat collected her papers and turned to go.

"Wait a minute, you can’t just let your birthday go by unnoticed! We have something for you." Tracker handed her a small bundle. "Happy Birthday!" Kat carefully unwrapped a small medallion with an inscription on the back: "Mighty are the Many." It was their motto. Looking around at her group of trusted friends, she saw representatives from every segment of the population, all races and ages, putting all of their trust in her. They were willing to pay any price for their cause and each other. Kat knew that it had taken a lot for Tracker to get the medallion. He got his name from his highly tuned skills in tracking down objects, people or information that they needed. He provided all kinds of critical data about what Troopers were moving where, how heavily armed they were, and how long they would be in any particular location. He also managed to procure any and all supplies the rebels required. A tall, thin man with striking green eyes, he was both well-liked and well-respected. The group couldn’t function without him.

"Thank you," Kat said simply, her eyes moist and her voice strained with emotion. Her friends hugged her and wished her well as they filed out of the room, but Tracker stayed behind. Knowing he wouldn’t be noticed by the shuffling crowd of people, he took advantage of the opportunity to glance over Kat’s nicely-shaped figure. Watching as she hugged and talked with people, he marveled once again at how openly loving she was, how honest and straight-forward. He could see the weight of the tremendous undertaking before them pressing her down, but still her heart was so full of love and selflessness that she found a smile and a warm greeting for each and every person in the room. As the last group of people headed out the door, Kat’s face began to crease once again with worry. Tracker’s green eyes softened with concern, and he approached her.

"Listen, Kat," he said quietly. "I know you’ve been feeling a lot of pressure lately, and I know how unsure you are of yourself. I wanted to tell you, those people out there, they put their trust in you for a reason. You can do this, and they know it."

"God I hope so," Kat said, her voice still tinged with uncertainty.

"Kat," he said firmly, taking her hand in his, amazed at how soft it was, "I believe in you." And then, quickly, but ever so gently, he brought her hand to his lips, turned, and walked out of the room. Kat stood there and stared after him, a rosy glow in her pale cheeks, while a hot, tingling sensation spread through her hand.

"Well, my goodness," she said softly, and smiled. Tracker never ceased to fascinate her. He had such a mysterious air about him. No one knew exactly how he managed to do all the things he did for them, but it was understood that Tracker would always provide. He devoted all of his time to the cause, never asking for anything in return. Kat depended on him not only for the materials he supplied, however, but also for the moral support and expert advice he had to offer. If only he wasn’t so attractive. Kat pushed that thought to the back of her mind. She didn’t have time for that kind of complication.

* * * * *

In another small room, deep in the interior of the Pentagon, Commander Dawsen and General Ferret were enjoying a bottle of wine. They raised their glasses of fine, blood red liquid and toasted their fifth year of power, laughing about their ability to keep Europe and Asia in a turmoil with planted agitators constantly stirring up rebellion. Commander Alfred Dawsen, who bore a strong resemblance to a bloated rat, was the leader of the Troopers, and the self-proclaimed ruler of the nation. He was ruthless, cunning, willing to step on anyone to get what he wanted. General Hank Ferret was his physical opposite, having a thin, sharp nose and slight body frame, and was his chief military advisor. Ferret issued all orders to the Troopers, controlled their operations, and was the tactical genius behind the phenomenal success of the take-over. Those two figures had taken a nation by storm, and held it in a firm grip.

* * * * *

At Headquarters three weeks later, a more confident Kat, her friends, and three hundred followers met to discuss the details of their plan of action. Their goal was to overcome the Troopers at the capitol, defeat the individual forts, and restore the United States to the democracy it once was. Their problem was that they lacked sophisticated weapons. Troopers were equipped with automatic rifles, grenades, and machetes. Members of Operation Hornet had handguns, hunting knives, and a few shotguns. Also, thanks to Tracker, they had some instructions printed off the web years earlier on how to make pipe bombs and Molotov cocktails.

"All right, this is the way I see it. We have inferior weapons, but we also have several distinct advantages," Kat pointed out. "Thanks to Tracker," she turned to smile fondly at him, "and his info web, we know that the fanatical Commander Dawsen refuses to use tanks, ships, missiles, or nuclear weapons to conduct war. Apparently his ego has gotten the better of him. We also know that he has not destroyed these little treasures." Kat grinned. "They’re being stored. Now, we need to get to the capitol, and since Dawsen has shut down every major form of mass transit, we’re stuck going by car. Obviously we can’t all go together or at the same time. So what do we do? Tell them your idea, Mr. Geffreys."

"Well, if we get about five people to a car, and we spread out over I-80, I-90, old Route 66, and every other possible way to get to the East Coast, and then converge on D.C., they probably won’t figure out we’re all working together. On the way, we meet with our allies and get them ready to attack the forts. That way they’ll be able to prepare their own people and recruit more to meet us at the capitol. We’ll have to be really careful not to attract attention, but I figure we can get enough people within the next six months to really put the stinger on those tyrants!" Geffreys, his wispy gray hair floating about his wrinkled face, looked proud of himself. He and his friends in the local chess club seemed like harmless old men, but they had traveled a lot in their retirement before the days when travel was dangerous. They knew the American highway system by heart. Carefully, they had plotted out the best ways to transport their offensive forces to Washington D.C.

"At that point," Tracker took over, "I send out the necessary signals to my people, who send the necessary signals to their people (and here he was grinning broadly) and so on, so that the attack on the forts across the nation is almost simultaneous." Their signals were sent in a special code developed by shy, unobtrusive Michael Farley, a teen-age computer genius. Michael didn’t like to take credit for his amazing ability to create an entire language, and one that the best government counter-intelligence super-computers couldn’t crack, but he did feel secretly proud of what he had done. He sat at the back of the room during most meetings, observing the more outgoing people around him, satisfied that he had done his part to help the cause.

"You may be wondering how we’re going to overpower their more advanced weapons," Kat began again. Her voice was strong and clear. "That’s where you and I and every available citizen come in. ‘Mighty are the Many.’ We will overcome them with the sheer size of our army and our determination to restore our country! For every fifty people killed by their machine guns, we will have five hundred behind them, throwing homemade bombs and picking off Troopers with our small guns, until we can take over a few machine guns." Her words wove a spell of hope and determination among the audience. "And, once we get enough people, we will be able to take over the storage sites and use the weapons held there, which I’m told include grenades, grenade launchers, mobile missile units, and tanks, although we’ve yet to find someone who can drive one."

"I can," someone spoke up. Kat glanced up from her notes, and a man stood up in the crowd. He was a few years older than Kat, with a trim body and confident stance. "A lot of us can. We used to be in the Army. Dad was at the Persian Gulf. Joe here drove a tank over there. And we know where to find more guys with army experience to help us on the way to D.C. We’ll round ‘em up." The man took his seat again, feeling a sense of usefulness that he hadn’t known since his days in the army.

"Great!" Kat said. "Thank you....?"

"Frank, Frank Kelter," he said.

"Thanks, Frank. That’s the most important thing. No matter how little they think they may be able to do, we need every person we can get. If we get big enough, nothing can stop us." As the meeting continued, and details were hashed out, the crowd became increasingly enthusiastic. Kat felt a growing sense of power and confidence, watching the effect her words had on those gathered before her. Observing from off to the side, Tracker felt like Kat was blossoming before his very eyes. She was so much more confident than she’d been in the beginning. She believed in herself more, and that was communicated to her audience. When they finished, those three hundred people were united behind their leader, with a strong sense of purpose, and they were ready to begin their task of raising support.

Afterward, Tracker drove Kat back to her grandparents’ farm. They sat in comfortable silence during the drive, with Kat dozing off by the time they reached the dirt driveway. Tracker glanced over at her, smiling at the way her eyelashes fluttered towards her cheeks, and brushed a stray red curl away from her nose. She woke up as the car pulled to a stop, and let him open her door for her. Then he walked her up to the doorstep.

"Good night," she said, turning to open the door. But Tracker had his hand resting gently on her arm, keeping her back.

"Good night," he said, as he leaned forward to kiss her. In an act of sheer will, Kat pressed her finger to his lips, and opened the door.

"Neither one of us can afford this kind of distraction right now, Tracker. I’m sorry." She smiled wearily at him, a mixture of desire and sadness in her eyes.

"Don’t be sorry," he whispered softly, kissing the palm of her hand. "I’ll wait." And with that, he walked away, leaving a lonely, exhausted Kat alone in her doorway.

"I sure hope so," she whispered softly, watching his taillights fade into the dust and darkness. Sighing, she went inside and upstairs to bed.

* * * * *

"Haven’t you cracked that damned code yet?" Commander Dawsen squeaked. His voice tended to reach unbearable levels when he was agitated.

"No sir, we’re on it sir," General Ferret replied. He stood at attention along with his next-in-command, General Arnold.

"The nerve of those idiots, moving against me, ME!!! As if they could ever hope to conquer me." Dawsen laughed. "There’s no way they could do that, IS THERE, General?" he said, looking pointedly at Ferret.

"No sir, no way at all, sir." Ferret replied mechanically.

"Good," said Dawsen, and left the room.

Ferret glared after him, then sighed. Ever since the reports of unbreakable code transmissions started coming in, Dawsen had been a nightmare to be around. He was paranoid to the extreme, prone to frequent mood swings and violent outbursts. Gone were the days of laughing and drinking, secure in their invincibility. Dawsen and Ferret had begun to realize that they just might be more vulnerable than they thought.

* * * * *

A couple of months later, armed with stolen military weapons, approximately three-quarters of a million people, traveling at night with no lights, arrived in D.C. They came in thousands of cars, interspersed with a few stolen tanks, with masses of people on foot, men and women, young and old, all clinging to the inspiration of their fiery-haired leader. At dawn, the battle began.

As the day wore on it became clear that the rebels were too great in number, the Troopers were being overwhelmed. Dawsen began to panic. He needed a way out. As the Pentagon was falling into the hands of the rebels, with Trooper employees fleeing in mass confusion, Dawsen grabbed frantically at the first upper-ranked uniform he saw. It was Ferret.

"You’ve got to get me out of here, Ferret," he whined. The General stood frozen a moment, unsure what to do. Just then, Kat, Tracker, and a band of Patriots burst into the Pentagon hallway, carrying rifles and a couple of semi-automatics. Kat stepped forward away from the others to address the two men before her.

"We meet at last, Commander, General," she said, nodding at each in turn. "What do you think of my handiwork, eh?" She smiled with pride at what they had accomplished that day.

Dawsen’s jaw dropped open. He couldn’t believe this wild-looking red-headed woman had defeated him. Ferret’s eyebrow went up in surprise. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that he respected her.

"You pathetic little weasel!" Dawsen shrieked at his general. "You let yourself get out-smarted by a woman, for crying out loud!"

That was the final insult for Ferret. "You sniveling rat, you were never fit to be a leader!" he cried as he pulled his nine millimeter from it’s holster, aiming at Dawsen’s forehead.

"STOP!!" Kat screamed. "We’re starting over, General, we’ve got to do it right. If you kill him, democracy and justice die with him!" Ferret stared at her. "Let him go to trial, General. Please," she pleaded. Slowly, the general’s arm lowered to his side, and Kat breathed a sigh of relief. Tracker stood in silent amazement at what she had just pulled off. He had certainly never met another woman like her.

Two days later, the once-mighty Commander and General Ferret were taken to trial. A new judge was elected for the special trial, and twelve jurors were selected from among seniors at D.C. high schools and students at the various universities located in the capitol. Dawsen and Ferret, knowing they had no allies left, wisely chose to represent themselves. They were convicted of treason and sentenced to life imprisonment.

Meanwhile, Tracker had been busy. All over the nation, local militias led by ex-military officials or local police personnel, gathered together and swarmed against the forts in their areas. When one was defeated, they traveled to the next nearest fort to help wherever they could. Signals continued to be sent further westward, triggering uprisings along the way. By the end of the Glorious Sixth, the few remaining forts had been abandoned. Kat was overjoyed, busying herself with the task of spreading the joyful word. Newspapers began running again, television stations were repaired, and radios were brought out of concealment, long since condemned as methods of spreading dissent. The news traveled fast. On February 18, Glorious Seventh, Tracker walked in to the makeshift offices of the Patriots carrying newspaper from a small coastal town in California. It read, "PATRIOT VICTORY AT FORT 787!!" Katherine wept openly. It was completed. The United States was officially liberated. Old Geffreys jumped up, grabbed a member of his chess club, and danced. Tracker, smiling broadly, strode up to the woman he loved and kissed her soundly.

"I told you I’d wait," he said as he smiled down at her.

"I’m glad you did," she said, grinning, and kissed him again. She had anticipated this moment for so long, it was almost too wonderful to be real. Tracker’s smile looked fit to split his handsome face. At last, he had his arms around what mattered to him most of all, and he didn’t intend to let go of her.

* * * * *

Members of Congress who were still alive were released from prison about a week later. Presidential elections were set for November of 2008. At the inauguration of the new President, who was Tracker’s older sister Barbara, Kat was presented with a Medal of Honor on behalf of all the Patriots who had fought to free the country, and she was asked to give a speech. Years ago she would have balked at the idea, but the Katherine who stepped up to the podium that day was a different person than the shy girl she had been in high school.

"We, the people of the United States, have proved what a truly great nation we are. We have wrestled our freedom away from tyranny, and re-established the democracy our forefathers created. It could never have been done without the total cooperation of so many dedicated Americans. We called upon you to save our nation, and you responded with unparalleled support." She spoke with sincerity, the emotion in her voice adding to her appeal as a leader. Without a doubt, Katherine would be in attendance at another inauguration in the future, her own. But that is the future. She continued, "I say to you this: America is an inspiration, a testimony to the strength of the human character. America is every man, woman, and child, and we are mighty indeed." A resounding cheer went up from the crowd gathered at the almost-repaired White House that January day, and though it was a cold morning there was a warmth and camaraderie among them that brought tears to the eyes. More so than ever before, the proud citizens of the United States of America felt a special bond with each other, a feeling that was cherished for years to come. It was America’s finest hour, because she had never been more unified. A new flag was raised in the capitol that day. It looked just like the old one, except for these words embroidered in gold across the red and white bars: Mighty are the Many.