ODIN'S WAR

High Spirits

George, Willoughby, and Jeremy trudged their way across the nukescape uneasily. A dense green fog hung in the air, covering everything but the first three feet of space above the soil, causing the three cautious sojourners to occasionally sidestep at the last possible moment in order to avoid a shrunken radiation dusted tree or bush.

“Be careful to watch the radiation meter, Willoughby,” said Jeremy, with a cigar in his clenched teeth. “We don’t know this area of the nukescape very well.”

“Don’t worry,” Willoughby replied cheerfully, “I have an eye on ’er.”

“How far is it?” asked George, bringing up the rear.

“Have no fear, you old coot,” Jeremy stopped the trio, and consulted his map and compass. “You’ve got enough guts in ye to eat those bushes over there.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” George retorted gruffly.

“Can’t be more than about a hundred meters more,” said Jeremy. “They were probably buried in a steel jacketed case, so we can start using our detector any time now. It should be big enough to send us beeps from ten meters away.” Jeremy removed the cigar stub from his mouth and spat.

They continued their march for a few minutes longer, and stopped. Jeremy turned on the detector and a few slow beeps indicated there was something near. “Ha!” he said, “We’re close!” A few turns and a few paces soon revealed the spot, and the three began digging earnestly.

Soon the case was uncovered, and they drew it up with a rope. A few smashes with the shovels, and the old, rusty lock broke away. Opening the case, and two more they discovered deeper down, they found about seventy rifles, still in apparently good condition. George examined them carefully, determining their make, capabilities, and condition.”

“Not bad,” he mused. “Semi-automatics. They’ll tear a man up pretty bad. Problem is, you need to practice with ’em. Otherwise, we’ll end up shooting each other.”

“I’ll take care of that,” said Jeremy. We know a place we can practice. I’ll get together seventy-five or eighty of our best men, and arrange a drill. I know how to use one of these babies.”

They unfolded a set of wheels and strapped the cases to them. Willoughby and Jeremy towed them while George walked behind. Returning to Jeremy’s sonic car, they packed them in, and drove back to Jeremy’s home. They then talked informally, and planned the next and most crucial meeting of MUSIC at which they would decide on the date of the revolution. Jeremy agreed to contact seventy five of the most trusted men, and they would meet in an old abandoned pre-War dwelling.

When the day for the crucial, final planning meeting came, Grunchek, Fredrickson, Jensen, Jeremy and George met to plan. George had spent considerable time with the rifles, and assured the others that fifty of the seventy five rifles were in good working order, and that one of the cases had contained enough ammunition for seven or eight rounds apiece.

“It will be enough,” said Jensen, “Even if the men are very poor shots. There are only thirty guards altogether, twenty outside and ten inside. They don’t seem to be expecting anything at all, no trouble of any kind.”

“Your face is pale,” said Gruncek. “You don’t look well.”

“Must be my nerves,” responded Jensen in a shaky tone. “The tension of the situation must be getting to me.”

“Did everything go all right?” asked Fredrikson.

“Yes. I had no trouble,” Jensen said, averting his eyes toward the floor. “I managed to make a video of the plans and particulars of the security around the complex. I even have the location and frequency of the sonic cars of the archangels.”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Jeremy, “We’ll have them asleep and locked up in a matter of minutes.”

“Yes, I think so,” Jensen spoke quietly. Occasionally his chin fell slowly onto his chest, causing him to shake his head and attempt to refocus his eyes.

“I think you should go home and rest,” said George, “You don’t look well at all.”

“Yes, you are right,” sighed Jensen. “Perhaps it’s more than just nerves. I think you have what you need from me, so I’ll go home and let my wife take care of me.”

“You do that”, said Jeremy, “But get well soon. We’re going to need you when the day comes. We’ll keep you informed of our plans.”

“Yes, thank you. Goodbye, now.” Jensen left, walking unsteadily, as though he were a bit intoxicated.

“He’s done a remarkably fine job. He must have worked hard and taken some risks.” said Gruncek, obviously impressed with the video, which was now showing on Jeremy’s screen. The plans were so detailed, that MUSIC’s strategy was easily determined. The emergency exits were open, and allowed entry as well. Additionally, no vehicle could travel faster than a quick walk inside the security zone, which extended for about thirty five yards around the complex. It seemed incredible that such a slow evacuation procedures should exist, with the possibility of fire or gas.

“This must not be a complete file,” said Fredrikson, “There are probably special plans for the archangels themselves.”

“No, there can’t be,” said Gruncek. “This tape seems to be the definitive file.”

They carefully surveyed the diagrams and figures, re-sketching their earlier plan to create a diversion in the main underground station where Jensen worked, and forcefully takeover the auxiliary plan where they could contaminate the life support systems in order to force an evacuation. It all seemed quite simple, and the information they now had in front of them allayed much of their earlier fears about inadequate weaponry and personnel in charging the main underground station. They even hoped that the radiation would spread quickly enough that evacuation would not be entirely successful. All present were disturbed by the fact that many innocent, honest people may become contaminated by the radiation, including Jensen himself, who would be at work that day as usual. Nonetheless, the pain of exposures or guilt over any number deaths seemed to be greatly lessened in their impassioned pursuit of an ultimate goal, which was the complete annihilation of the I.C.C.E. organization, and the establishment of a republic.

“Have you met with the men, Jeremy?” asked Willoughby.

“Yes. They are not the best shots yet but they’l1 do all right.” Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. The small group tensed as if they were one body, expecting a blow. Jeremy went over and opened the door part way.

“Fromo?!!” he exclaimed

“Yes, by god, it’s me, Fromo. I’ve brought some friends, too. .We heard about a meeting, and damn, we had to cane and see about it.” Jeremy opened the door all the way, and Fromo stumbled in, followed by about five men in their late fifties or so.

“How did you know about it?” asked Gruncek.

“I know and ICCE has got to go. There are a lot of things, that need to happen, but the first thing has to be to be that ICCE becomes history. Fromo waved his arm toward the men standing behind him.

“That’s right,” said a tall, well-built man behind Fromo, “We’re willing to fight with you.”

The two groups looked each other for over for a minute.

“All right,” said Jeremy, “We can use you, but we can’t give out our plans yet. There is a meeting of all of us, troops and leaders together, next week. If you give us your names and addresses, you will all be informed of the agenda, time and place the night before it all happens. Just be ready to fight, and fight hard. “That’s all we can do for now.” He hitched his trousers in a casual manner, and puffing his cigar, he got out a long sheet of paper and a pen from a nearby desk, and nodded his head to Fromo.

“You first.” Fromo signed his name and address, with a flourish practically at every stroke. The others filed in behind, and soon, six more bodies were added to MUSIC. They all felt as though the air were electrified, as the excitement of the coming day of revolution grew, and as they began to feel a sense of both purpose and strength in their growing numbers.

Fromo and the other five were soon ushered out, talking in a low rumble as they went. The original party then made final plans. They set a date for the meeting, when all members of MUSIC would gather for the attack.

It was not to be a long wait for MUSIC, as they felt the momentum build; the archangels, while they knew quite a lot about MUSIC from Jensen, did not know exactly when the attack would come. Spurion himself was tense with anticipation, like a hungry cat in sight of a crippled bird. Yet because Jensen had become so ill, and was forced to leave the meeting early, MUSIC’s exact plans were as yet unknown; so, while Spurion felt reasonably comfortable, in view of the information he had provided MUSIC surreptitiously, he did not feel entirely secure. Sometimes, even the smallest doubts about one’s survival can cause a penetrating anguish.

The morning was unusually clear for a day after the nuclear contamination. The leaders of MUSIC had gathered in a large field near the auxiliary plant they were about to take.

“Where’s Jensen?” asked Willoughby.

“His wife told me he was deathly ill,” started Jeremy, “He just lies in bed rolling his eyes about, and clenching his fists. I think,” he lowered his voice, “he has radiation poisoning. His color is ashen white, and he hasn’t eaten in days.”

“Let’s hope that isn’t true,” said Grunchek. “If it’s as you say, it could be a slow and painful death.”

“I know.” Jeremy’s reply was curt and cold, since he obviously did not want toidi6buad the matter further.

The small group stood for a moment in the cool air, half waiting for the ‘army’ to gather, and half waiting as though a church service were about to begin, but no one knew what hymn to sing first. Soon however the first few soldiers arrived, and were greeted-in a semi-formal fashion. As the crowd began to gather, so did the excitement of the moment. The leaders decided it was time to begin, and Jeremy stood slightly apart from the group and raised his voice.

Attention! Most of the men -stopped talking and looked around, taken in by the novelty of the situation as they stood in the barren and misty grey nukescape about to follow this man, unknown to many of them, into a mission with a decidedly, uncertain outcome. Jeremy’s voice thus commanded their utmost concentration.

“Everyone, formation!” Jeremy called again.

The men fell into rows, and stood more or less at attention facing Jeremy, who addressed them as Chief military leader, though the situation still seemed although it were unreal and they were all mock soldiers. “You will all follow the instructions which I gave you during the last briefing and training session. Those of you who are as yet unclear concerning our exact course of action will be re-briefed. We will begin the operation one half hour from now.” Jeremy stood tall and firm as he directed those who had not been the last session to form a group aside from the others.

Jeremy then read the orders for each of the several platoons, saw each platoon leader, and tested their knowledge of the plan. The half hour was soon up, and the platoons trudged off, watches synchronized, and a communicator with each platoon leader to coordinate activities. Willoughby and Frederickson had designed them so that they operated on a frequency unknown to ICCE, so that the platoons could communicate without being discovered.

George, Grunchek, and Frederickson went with the assault force which was to take over the ICCE headquarters, while Willoughby and Jeremy went to lead the attack on the auxiliary post.

The smaller group arrived at the post after an hour’s trek in silence to avoid any sonic car detections. The small band waited in a group of hills just above the station, as Jeremy listened to the communicator for word from the three men who were creating the diversion at the main power plant. Approximately two minutes later than anticipated, the word came through, and after a few minutes, several ICCE soldiers rushed out of the aux plant, piled into their sonic cars, and raced off. Jeremy motioned his platoon to move forward, and they inched down the slope, moving one by one from one little hillock to another. They were soon at the door of the igloo shaped building, and waited for the next order from their ‘captain’, who stood with them, but made no signs or motions. Voices were heard in the exit tunnel. Two men came through the door, and Jeremy and the man on the other side each grabbed one by the shoulders and jerked them aside. While the soldier’s skulls were cracked with a small iron bar, some of the other platoon dove into the tunnel with their rifles before it closed. Inside there was a crack! Crack! as the old rifles fired true, followed by the sound of hand to hand combat. Outside, Jeremy and the rest waited anxiously, cut off as the door had mechanically closed them out. The ’captain clenched a newly lit cigar in his teeth and muttered without removing it, “I hope those Bozo’s are tough, or we’re hamstrung out here.”

Soon, the door opened, and two blonde heads emerged with a grin each. “They’re dead, Cap’n!” said one.

“This isn’t a funny business, you two. Get out of the way.” Jeremy pushed past the twins, add was followed by the rest of the platoon. Four bodies were in the tunnel. Two at the front were lying, limbs askew, with their skulls cracked by an iron pipe, the blood still flowing down their ears.

When Jeremy reached the other end, he stopped for a second to check the bodies. Each had been cleanly shot through the chest. He turned around to Willoughby who was now standing just behind him. “They do a mean business,” he said softly. “Turn ‘em over,” said Willoughby. Jeremy kicked one, and the body rolled over. The back was mutilated. A large hole had been torn. “They make a mess goin’ out”, said one of the platoons just behind Willoughby. The tunnel was completely silent for a moment, as the living looked at the dead and did not know what to think. So they didn’t ″contemplate the situation, but turned dumbly to their leader. Then Jeremy stepped over the bodies, walked through the open door, and stepped into the corridor. He was followed by the rest of the platoon. They moved cautiously down the hail to the center of the building, where the control room was. The heavily insulated walls had kept the sound of the rifles in the entrance tunnel, and consequently the two guards who stood outside the glass doors of the control room had not been alerted to the entrance of the Jeremy’s platoon. “We’ll take ’em head on” whispered Jeremy. “Come low around the corner, you three,” he pointed to three young men behind him. “Willoughby, you stay safe. We need you.” They all tensed.

“Ready, Now!” The three men and Jeremy sprung out into the corridor, and opened fire.

The two guards dropped instantly, and the platoon rushed to the entrance to the control room. The technicians inside were shocked, and stared through the glass at the guerrilla outfit. Suddenly a voice was heard over a loud speaker in the corridor.

“You have no way of gaining access. These windows are shock proof, stun proof, and bullet proof. We are issuing a call for help and you. . •

At that moment, Willoughby finished removing a nearby steel panel, and reached in with a pair of specially insulated gloves, and connected a circuit.

The door opened and Jeremy and his platoon casually walked-in. They looked around as though they were buying a house. Jeremy blew a puff of smoke into the middle of the room, and said, “Nice place you have here.”

The chief technician just looked, as they were tied up by Jeremy’s men. One of them recognized Willoughby.

“You!” he shouted. “You don’t know what you’re doing! You are a traitor!”

“A traitor to a bunch of rats and a murderous dictator?” said Willoughby calmly. “Gladly.” He moved to the control panel and began to read the instruments. Jeremy contacted Gruncek outside ICCE headquarters. “Station taken, operation underway.” “Good” came the answer. “Awaiting final word. Out.”

“Jim,” said Willoughby, nodding to one of the sandy haired twins, “Bring the stuff.” Jim came up with a small box. All we have to do is to place this box into that chamber.” Willoughby pointed to a small door in the control panel. “And the radiation will be spread throughout their life support systems.”

When Grunchek received the message, he was both relieved and queasy in the stomach. His party was to move into position in about twenty five minutes, each man stationing himself in a position so that all exits were covered, while Grunchek himself was to make sure Spurion did not escape out of the private hatch which showed up in the videotaped plans. He turned to Frederickson, “You and a couple of men make another quick check before we move in. We don’t want to have anything unsuspected happen.”

“Right” replied Frederickson. “John and I will make a pass on the far side. We’ll be back in twenty minutes or less.”

The two pairs left in different directions. After about twenty minutes, Frederickson and his mate returned. “They’re about the strength we figured on,” said Frederickson, “but they’re not in their expected positions. They’re not sleepin’ either.

“Huh!′ grunted Grunchek. I wonder why that is. And I wonder where George and Swilley are?”

At that moment a voice came from behind them.

“He’s dead!” Grunchek turned, and Swilley appeared behind them. “What?” said Grunchek, startled stunned. There was an invisible stun shield surrounding the rear escape hatches. He walked into it.” Swilley was breathing hard.

“Where is he? said Frederikson.

“I managed to drag his body into a bush. I don’t think anyone saw us.” Swilley leaned on his rifle and dropped his chin to his chest. Grunchek looked at Frederickson. Both knew that the plans Jensen had given them had shown no stun fields surrounding the building. The sick and agonized feeling of a situation out of hand and the unknown crawled its way up to Grunchek’s face, where the skin tingled in fear.

“We’ll have to change strategy,” he said. “We’ll post men around the back, and have them shoot over the stun field from the hills. When they enter the sonic cars, we’ll wait until they’re nearly out of the protected area before we rush them.”

“I’ve still got the frequency coordinator,” said Fredrickson, “I think it won’t be disrupted by the stun field. They’ll have to lower the stun field to escape, and since they’ll be trapped in their cars, we can get them anyway.” He held the small electronic box up as reassurance. “And they have to escape the radiation in a very short time.”

“So do we,” said Grunchek, “So do we. We’re going to have to get them quickly.” He checked his watch and spat on the grey, dusty terrain. “They’ll be out any minute. Everyone to his place, NOW” he shouted under his breath, and the men sprinted to their positions.