Read an Excerpt
Liberty's Dawn
Book One of the Liberty Trilogy
By Art Theocles
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2012 Art Theocles
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4697-5157-3
Chapter One
Days, Weeks, and Months ... and Years
Morning on the York River was pleasantly comfortable for their tasks on this twelfth day of October 1781. The boys planned their fishing charade and wasted little time getting on station, as the days grew closer to the date of surrender. Their voyage proceeded as it had on the many days before this one—row a bit toward the French fleet, fish a bit, and become part of the scenery that would become one of our nation's defining conflicts, the battle for freedom and independence at Yorktown, Virginia.
On this day, though, the boys noted one difference as the wind blew stiffly out of the northeast; the brackish water of the river danced turbulently around their small vessel.
"It's a ship!" blurted Sid. "To the northeast ... just one, and she's British!"
A small, lone British naval vessel, apparently caught north behind the French blockade weeks before, was swiftly heading south to run the blockade in an attempt to escape to the freedom of the Chesapeake and the open seas.
"It's suicide," remarked Nik. "That captain doesn't have a prayer running this armada." Nik could see that the French fleet had expertly begun forming up for the engagement.
"They are making incredible time!" John now nervously warned. "If we don't move quickly—"
Ba-boom! Boom! ... The northernmost French vessels were already firing on the incoming enemy vessel.
"Options, guys?" asked Sid with the full realization that they would be at the center of the battle in mere moments. The British ship had used the stiff wind and wind direction to move at an incredible rate of speed down the York River and was now almost engaged with the French fleet nearest to the boys' position. There was no time for the boys in their small boat to move out of the way; the battle was upon them. They could see elements of the northernmost French fleet turning southward, adding their fire to the area.
The French cannons were firing from the front and toward the entire right side of the boys now as they secured their rifles and gear onto the small craft; the noise was deafening. The heavy choking smoke of gunpowder and the concussion of the close cannon fire was utterly debilitating to the boys, as the naval barrage continued to spray its deadly reports into the skies above them.
"We weren't counting on this!" yelled John.
"Row, row!" yelled Sid as each came to the disturbing fact that they were now directly in the path of the fleeing British vessel and the French cannon fire. The concussion and fire that the British vessel had experienced down the line of the French fleet had altered its course slightly south, putting it on a collision course with the boys' small craft.
"Holy—" John yelled. "It's headed right for us! You might have finally succeeded in killing us this time, Nik!"
Sid was still yelling for the boys to row as Nik quickly finished the tie-off of his gear and screamed, "Prepare for a broadside hit! Jump out of the right side of the boat! It doesn't look like—" Just then, the burning British vessel rushed past the boys, upending their craft and tossing them into the river.
The boys desperately attempted to surface as the pull of the fleeing British ship forcefully and uncontrollably towed them under the murky, cold river water. They managed to pop up together about a half mile down river, hanging on to their overturned craft, while the detonation and sinking of the British vessel finalized well beyond them. As water dripped down his face into his eyes and mouth, Sid took a deep breath and asked in an extraordinarily calm voice, "So, how did we get into all this again?"
* * *
July 14, 2009. It was just another day when Nik began his morning like any other in the past 775 days—wake up, get the kids to school, and kiss the wife as she leaves for work. Morning coffee from his favorite coffee establishment was a must—it wasn't a famous, upscale latte institution, but a corner gas station that happened to brew a good cup of joe. The daily visit to this venue checked another box for Nik as he meandered through these days; it gave him all sorts of folks to talk to about all things present-day. Nothing seemed to be out of bounds, conversation-wise, at the shop—politics, religion, taxes, what open job might appear soon and where, why the hell oil was so expensive, who was making all the money with it, and most of all, the day's pending weather.
Nik, a middle-aged, not-so-slim, tired-looking man of Mediterranean descent wandered into the gas station entrance and was greeted by his friend and shop manager Shana (pronounced Shay-na), who was always happy to see him—or so it seemed, he guessed. "Hey," Nik openly greeted anyone who cared to listen. "How's it goin' today?"
The greeting was typical and general and always seemed to draw the same response from most people: "Same stuff, different day" (SSDD), which made Nik chuckle.
"Any job leads?" someone asked.
"Nah," grumbled Nik, "SSDD." This conversation could, depending on the mood of the crowd, only last a few minutes, or it could draw out to an hour or so. Finishing up at the coffee shop, Nik headed back to the house in a quiet area in the flats of eastern North Carolina.
Home, a small country house a few miles outside of town, provided all sorts of opportunities to keep him busy, none of which he was really all that excited about availing himself of. He was a product of what some have called "The Great Recession" or "The Recession of 2008"—or 2009 or 2010 or something like that. Nik regularly embroiled himself in the news of the day and the financial mischief of the US and world markets and concluded, after trying to make a little headway in the stock market, that it was all rigged and that the normal person (or the "little guy") was just plain screwed. Nik had often told his compatriots at the coffee shop that "it's like bringing a knife to a gun fight" or "a pistol to a cannon battle" or something as equally badly weighted, unbalanced, and bleakly depressing.
Day after day, Nik had watched decisions made by current "leaders" on issues that, in the past, were clearly covered by the rule of law that we enjoyed in this country for more than two hundred years. Their interpretations of basic American ideals were what most Americans found, well, just plain un-American.
Sid: yo
Nik: yo
Sid: How goes?
Sid, a long-time college buddy of Nik, started the morning text conversation off the same way every day, as he was also in his own sort of "place" those days.
Nik: SSDD
Nik: it doesn't change
Sid: Yeah, I hear ya
Sid, a fairly fit, tall individual of northern European descent, worked for a large techno conglomerate on the other side of Raleigh, North Carolina, and was having a tough time with the typical corporate mumbo jumbo that was, unfortunately, inundating the way all of American business did things those days. Nik, having been in local and corporate management for a large, multinational pharmaceutical firm, tried to talk Sid through some of the more exasperating situations that had him—how should we say?—screaming in colorful metaphors.
Nik was always a straightforward, hands-on sort who didn't enjoy the "fun-ness" of the modern business protocols and shenanigans. Honestly, Nik thought all the modern "better ways of doing things" were an utter waste of time and effort. He didn't have a problem with modern tools or technology, but scorecards, scrums, tollbooths (all terms used in modern project management arenas), endless meetings, and anything to do with the modern human resource process were utterly worthless to him (and, in his opinion, to everybody else as well). Not to mention the "modern work and labor" methodologies that had folks losing their jobs in droves as one person picked up the tasks for three or four people in the name of efficiency and the almighty buck. He tended to think all the savings ended up in some top manager's pocket as a bonus—a bonus on the suffering of some out-of-work slob.
Nik believed in the free market but also understood that greed and stupidity drove the free market to a place that none of us should ever go. Yes, there was a balance, but the absurd justification for the just-in-time, last-minute manufacturing decision making that had occurred in businesses in the recent years to save twelve cents per thousand dollars off the bottom line was the thing of B- or Z-type management horror stories. One simple interruption in the supply chain immediately caused shortages, outages, and potential loss of life in some cases—all for twelve cents. This was clearly an oversimplification but painfully factual.
Sid: Shooting this weekend?
Nik: maybe?
Nik: let's see if we can get clearance from the towers ...
Sid: Yeah, LOL (short for laughing out loud)
The "tower" reference, a modern-day code shared by all middle-aged males who matured (or tried to) in the late nineties, was, of course, the loving reference to wives and families involved.
Sid was a bit of a gun collector, World War II stuff mostly. Nik was generally along for the ride and had a couple of modern rifles. If anyone asked when they were at the range, Nik always referred to Sid as "the gun guy." Nik enjoyed shooting targets and was generally satisfied to simply hit the poor, unsuspecting scrap of printed paper at whatever range they chose for the day. He went into each day at the range with little expectation and laughed about it most of the time. Sid had some military experience and shooting training and, all-in-all, really enjoyed the history of the weapons themselves. Nik had a passion for history, admitting to all that he was not an expert by any means, but he was one who really enjoyed knowing our history on the planet we call Earth and, more specifically, our nation's history.
They regularly attended the local gun shows to see what was out and about in the world of firearms and such. There was something strangely addictive about the gun show experience—the many smells; the other "interesting" folks looking around at the items and wares for sale, auction, or raffle; and, ah yes, the enormous assortment of dried "meat" products of every shape, size, and flavor. Sid usually had a part or piece he needed for one of the older weapons he had, and they spent a very long time picking through all the booths and displays for whatever Sid might require or whatever caught Nik's eye. They tried to avoid the shows in the hot summer months, as the hosting venues often didn't handle the air-conditioning needs very well, especially for a place as warm as Raleigh, North Carolina; they strongly disliked the heat and humidity. For Sid and Nik, cold weather was a treat!
Every once in a great while, Sid nudged Nik into purchasing something new for the range experience and was the general antagonist for Nik's growing collection of modern firearms. Nik commonly referred to Sid as "a bad man" (for enticing Nik into spending money). It went both ways with the two men and was generally a source of great jocularity. The happenings of our modern times were a subject Sid and Nik spent a lot of breath and energy on.
As always, the ever-communicating chat network remained an open line of communication throughout the day—not the traditional teen chat method but "the more refined kind of chat" that streamed text as data instead of just an SMS (short message service) text. Nik chuckled about that explanation openly and had many compatriots among the chat waves—far less than your average teenager, but for someone in his early forties, he had plenty to waste away the day. Friends and colleagues from jobs past texted Nik throughout the day with stray comments about this or that, always stirring at least a three- or four-line back and forth. Most of the conversations were in good fun, some were worthy conversations about real things, and some were just simple daily commentary on the annoying items of the day. Everyone needs that in these times.
John: Yo, what you up to?
Nik: SSDD
Nik: it doesn't change
John: Yeah, too much work here
John: Not enough people
Nik: yup, same story everywhere
Nik: it sucks
John was a friend of Nik's from the local area. They had met some thirteen years before and had become friends through working together and some family interactions. John, an average-looking American male from the south, was in the medical industry on the information technology (IT) side of things, trying to keep folks happy. Nik had led some project and technology support groups in the past and understood the impossibility of anyone in IT ever being able to please anyone on the business side of anything. You could be making marshmallows, fishing hooks, nuclear warheads, or a pooper scooper you use in a cat box. IT folks were forever the redheaded stepchildren who always got the blame for everything wrong with a business, which was utter garbage.
John: people just want more and more!
John: with me and what army?
Nik: Yeah, I hear Ya ...
Nik: gimme a job, I'll help
John: I wish
Nik: Wahoo! Do more with less!
Nik: What a great motto
Nik: geez
John: it's a crime is what it is!
And so the day's conversations persisted—every day, week after week, and month after month for the past twenty-five months for Nik as he endeavored to find a new job or career.
As Nik moved through the common day with the news or financials blaring in the background, a daily cleanup around the house commenced. Yes, in all fairness, it didn't always happen, but something got done no matter how small. The past few weeks had brought warmer weather and little annoying gnats; they were maddening! Nik endeavored to figure out (almost daily) where the little pests were coming from and tried to end their existence once and for all. The process ended up with the same angry rant; he would throw his hands up and move on to vacuuming or dusting the TV, which seemed to spew terrible news minute after minute. Again, twenty-five months of that would drive a man to crazy things. Thankfully, Nik didn't have any crazy vices; his definition for substance abuse was drinking a two-liter bottle of soda in one day. So how crazy could it really get?
Sid: Dude!
Sid: Beowulf!
Nik: lol
Nik: maybe
Sid: BOOM!
Nik: Yes Sir!
What Sid was referring to was the last purchase Nik had made at the gun show. Nik, being one "who wasn't going to have a collection exactly" wanted to "you know ... have something to cover the spectrum," as it were. He had the standard close-cover protection of a dependable 9mm and .45-caliber pistols; he had the "standard" tricked-out, railed-up, two-stage triggered AR-15 from last year and was looking for something, you know, a little bigger. Nik fell quickly for the idea of one of the AR-type rifles that fired a .50-caliber, pistol-type round for maximum "wow and effect." This was warmly and affectionately referred to as a Beowulf assault rifle! Yes, for all you literary types, Beowulf, like the story and the hero it's named after—that's on purpose.
Nik: maybe John would come too?
Nik: would also need tower clearance ...
Sid: LOL ... Yeah
Nik: I'll ask
Nik: Dude!
John: Yo
Nik: Shooting this weekend?
Nik: me, u, and Sid
John: I wish
John: I can always ask?
Nik: Uh, try and tell ... k, ttyl (short for "talk to you later")
That night the typical answer came through—it's fine, we all get it, it's our duty. We are husbands and fathers; we need to be there as much as we can.
John: Yo
Nik: Shooting this weekend?
John: Um, no ... lots of family stuff ...
John: Got clearance to game for a bit ...
Nik: well ... ok ... when and where?
Yes, folks, in the year 2010, thirty-eight- to forty-four-year-old men got together and challenged each other to computer network gaming. Commonly known as a LAN party, you log on to a first-person shooter game of your liking, virtually run around any kind of scenery or scenario, and blast each other's characters, commonly referred to as "killing pixels." Others were contacted, the gaming was set, refreshments were purchased, snacks were devoured, and good play and fun were had by all.
As Nik, Sid, and John were hanging out and cleaning up the computer area in Nik's basement after the session, Sid blurted out, "So how about a boys' outing?" As the two desk-plumped, out-of-shape, computer professionals glared at him like he had lost his mind, he added, "Steak, campfires, and some good, safe mountain firearm fun!"
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Liberty's Dawn by Art Theocles Copyright © 2012 by Art Theocles. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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