Live Free or Die-ARC Read online

  "And Tyler Vernon didn't run for office," Tyler said, smiling thinly. "In case nobody covered this in history class, when you work to get into the chair you're occupying, that comes with a lot of responsibility. That's why you get perks like a car and driver and your own airplane. Not to mention a nice crash pad."

  "Can we cut the verbal fencing?" the President asked.

  "Gladly."

  "You're really upsetting the Horvath," the President said.

  "Are we reasonably secure?" Tyler asked.

  "We are, as far as can be determined, very secure," the President said. "One of the things we've been using the credits we've gotten for is getting something resembling security back in our systems."

  "Which, I'm sure doesn't upset the Horvath at all," Tyler said. "And I'm planning on upsetting them even more."

  "Why in God's name?" the President said, angrily. "Damnit, Vernon, this is not a game! There are people's lives at stake. Millions of people's lives at stake."

  "Yes, there are," Tyler said. "And I'm fully cognizant of that. I'm going to do my level best, am doing my level best, to keep them alive. But there is more to life than simple existence, Mr. President. Sorry, but this country was not founded on existing under tyranny. Quite the opposite."

  "That is a very nice sentiment," the President said. "But in the Revolutionary War, the nation did not face extermination."

  "Did it not?" Tyler asked. " 'Those who would surrender essential liberties for a little temporary security shall receive neither security nor liberty.' That gets thrown around a lot in terms of whether we incarcerate terrorists, tap communications, what we're allowed to do with our sexual organs. Essential liberties before the Horvath used to mean, or seem to mean, whether we had the right to get drunk on a flight and insult stewardesses. Whether marriage was between any two people whatever their gender! But what Ben Franklin meant by security was whether your home was going to be burned to the ground. Whether you were going to be killed without rhyme nor reason. Whether property and businesses would be seized. This is what essential liberties really mean, Mr. President. And what temporary security really means. And we have given up essential liberties for temporary security and how very secure do you feel, Mr. President? Sitting at ground zero of Horvath target number one? How secure?"

  "Then do you have a plan to get the Horvath from the sky?" the President asked, angrily. "Because the Joint Chiefs are the people who are hottest on my neck to get you under control. They don't want to lock you up, they want to bury you!"

  "I've got about as much of a plan as the Continental Congress had in 1775," Tyler said.

  "And that is . . . ?"

  "Win or go down fighting."

  "That's suicide," the President said. "You're nuts."

  "'Our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.' They want the maple syrup, let them send their own troops down. And then things will get really hot."

  "They won't send their troops," the President said, touching a folder.

  "Oh," Tyler said as if gut punched. "You have to be kidding! That is low. Not to mention unconstitutional."

  "I'll give you a quote," the President said. " 'The Constitution is a document, not a suicide pact.' We've been in . . . close negotiations. Send in our troops and get the maple syrup or they start with DC and work their way down a list."

  "So are your troops planning on extracting, and processing mind you, the maple syrup?"

  "If necessary," the President said. "The Pentagon can come up with the most amazing plans on the spur of the moment. We are hoping for widespread support as a patriotic gesture."

  "You need to look up the definition of patriotism," Tyler said. "Although you'd probably have to use a dictionary from before the PC era. So am I under arrest to be delivered to our benefactors or am I free to go?"

  "I'm hoping for your support in this necessary action," the President said.

  "Will you settle for neutrality?" Tyler said. " 'While I, personally, am grieved by this gesture by our government, any armed resistance would be both counter-productive and mean that fine Americans would simply be killing other fine Americans. It's really a very sad day.'"

  "Glib."

  "Thank you. I used to write."

  "I'm quite serious about sending in troops."

  "I'm sure you are. And I'm quite serious that it will be a sad day."

  Seven

  "This is Courtney Courtney with CNN and I'm in beautiful Northfield, Vermont where after a series of record lows the temperature has climbed to a balmy forty-seven degrees and you can simply smell spring in the air! I'm embedded with Company A of the First Battalion Eighty-Seventh Infantry of the Army's Tenth Mountain Division. The company has been given the mission of tapping local maple trees to supply syrup for our Horvath friends!

  "I'm talking with Specialist Benjamin Putman who is the company's designated maple tapping expert. So, Specialist, did you go a special school to learn maple tapping?"

  "Yes, ma'am," the specialist said, smiling fatuously. "It's called my mama's knee."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I'm from about thirty miles from here, ma'am. I was born and raised in Caledonia county."

  "So you learned maple syrup processing at your mother's knee," the reporter said, smiling thinly at the joke. "I guess that makes you an expert, then. But on a personal note. Since you are from this area, what do you think of the military being sent in to, basically, take this sap?"

  "Just following orders, ma'am," the specialist said. "Just like every soldier whose ever followed an order that people might not like. Like, you know, the SS comes to mind."

  "It's not quite that bad, specialist."

  "As you say, ma'am," the specialist said. "On the other hand, I think you might want to read up on your history a bit more. SS didn't start by killing six million Jews. Started by taking their homes and businesses. Got around to the gas chambers later."

  "Why don't we just concentrate on the process of extracting maple syrup," the reporter said. "I understand that it's not exactly hard."

  "Well, it's not exactly hard and it's not exactly easy, ma'am," the specialist said.

  "Why don't you show us how it works?"

  "First you take a drill of the right diameter and you tap the tree," the specialist said, knocking with his knuckles on the maple. "This one is below ten inches in diameter so you can only get one tap in. You apply your drill and drill in just far enough to get into the wood. You don't want to drill too far. Just enough to get through the bark and set the tap. Then you take your tap and a hammer and you hammer the . . . Oh f . . . udge."

  "What's wrong?"

  "Well, see how the wood split up like that? That's bad. You don't get a seal with a crack like that. This tree's basically useless for this year. Oh . . . darn!"

  "What?"

  "I forgot! When it's too warm the trees'll crack if you try to tap 'em! I've got to go check on the rest of the company's work. They've been tapping all morning. If they're all split . . . !"

  "Well, there you have it," the reporter said through gritted teeth. "Even experts in this business can make . . . mistakes. This is Courtney Courtney with CNN . . ."

  "And we're . . . clear."

  "They are going to flatten New York."

  "Yeah. But Atlanta's waaay down the list."

  "I'm not from Atlanta."

  "I am."

  "This is Desiree Romane with the Canadian Broadcasting Service interviewing residents in the Trois Riveaux area of Quebec province, a major area of maple sugar production. Excuse me, sir? Excuse moi, monsieur?"

  "Que?" the heavily clad man asked without pulling down his scarf. The balmy temperatures of the day before were dropping like a rock.

  "Vous travaillez dans l'industrie du sucre d'érable? Do you work in the maple sugar industry?"

  "Oui."

  "And what is your opinion of the Horvath demand that we turn over all our maple sugar?"

  What exploded from the man was a torrent of Quebequois
too fast for even the Quebec native to understand.

  "Perhaps for our English speaking viewers?" the reporter asked, desperately.

  "Pox upon English viewers," the man said in a thick Quebequois accent, "Pah! What I said is that the cheese of a donkey aliens can go eat merde! We are finally paid what our sugar is worth and they wish us to give it to them for nothing? They may nibble upon the end of my manhood! They may kiss my very hairy bottom which has some boils . . . !"

  "And we're having technical difficulties with the transmission from Trois Riveaux. But here is Madeline Bathsome in Ontario province speaking to . . . ?"

  "Mr. Duncan McKenzie who is the owner of a large maple distillery here in Chapleau. Good afternoon, Mr. McKenzie."

  "Good afternoon, lassie."

  "So, how is the maple tapping going?"

  "Well, unless you're a complete moron you don't tap yet. But it's not looking so good."

  "Really?"

  "Ach. Terrible. Weather's all wrong. Not going to get much sap no how. No way. And we've had a real rash of injuries this winter. Lots of slips on the ice and such. I completely threw out my back carrying in firewood. Can't hardly get out of bed."

  "You . . . look perfectly fine."

  "Hurts terrible. Need an MRI. But Health Service is backed up months. May not be on my feet till summer."

  "And you . . ."

  "Do most of the tapping on my land, aye. Probably not going to get naught this year. Terrible shame."

  "We're in Littleton, New Hampshire speaking to Captain Michael "Werewolf" Wolff, commander of Bravo Company, Fourth Battalion, Thirty-First Infantry. Captain, you've been getting armed resistance I understand."

  "Yes, ma'am," the captain said. He had his helmet locked in place and body armor and battle rattle over his cold weather gear. "A bit. We've some vehicle damage as well as three men in the hospital and one lightly wounded. That's ignoring the men we have in medical for cold weather injuries."

  "Have you been taking a lot of fire?"

  "Not a lot so much as how, ma'am," the captain said, clearly frustrated. "The majority is what is defined as harassing fire. Just enough to get the troops' heads down and keep them from tapping the trees. Occasionally we've gotten some sniper fire. That's what's put my boys in the hospital and I'm not real pleased about that. So far, fortunately, there have been no deaths."

  "Have your troops been returning fire?"

  "Yes, ma'am. As has been said, it's a terribly sad day when Americans are fighting Americans. Over maple syrup."

  "And have your men killed or injured any of the enemy?"

  "I'm having a hard time using the term enemy, ma'am. But if you're talking about the local aggressors, not to my knowledge, ma'am."

  "Your troops have taken fire. And they've returned fire. And they haven't hit any of the . . . local aggressors?"

  "Not to my knowledge, ma'am."

  "Captain, we did some research on your unit. It has been in combat in Afghanistan against the Taliban and Pashtun tribesmen. They are considered some of the best mountain troops in the world. And this unit, with many of these same soldiers, scored an impressive record of kills. You're saying that you haven't killed or injured any of the . . . local aggressors."

  "That would seem to be the case, ma'am."

  "That doesn't make much sense to me, captain."

  "Sorry about that."

  "Perhaps you could explain to your viewers what the difference is here in New Hampshire? Is it possible that your troops are simply not aiming because these are people who matter and Afghan tribesmen don't?"

  "You mean these are American citizens and Afghan terrorists aren't, ma'am? That would seem to be a tautology."

  "I believe I said matter, captain."

  "Have you been to Afghanistan, ma'am?"

  "No, I haven't, captain. Does that matter?"

  "Only to particulars like why it's harder to hit someone who is bellied down in snow, using camouflage and cover and an expert sniper versus tribesmen who run screaming at you firing from the hip in the open, ma'am. I don't know exactly who told you that Taliban are crack mountain fighters, ma'am, but they're not. Not anymore, anyway. Here we're dealing with fellas that not only know the woods like the back of their hand but are, in many cases, former US military. And until recently this was a pretty hardscrabble area. They did a lot of hunting for the dinner table. That tends to dial up your targeting skills, ma'am. And what they are targeting, with some care I might add, are my troops. Who, yes, don't particularly want to be doing this job but they're following orders."

  "I see," the reporter said. "And when you collect the sap?"

  "We process it," the captain said, obviously growing impatient. "You put it in pans and boil it over an open flame. We'll be mostly using local wood."

  "Wood?" the reporter said. "Isn't that a bit . . . Doesn't that release a lot of greenhouse gases?"

  "Greenhouse gases?"

  "Yes, captain. Carbon dioxide."

  "You're talking about global warming? Yes, it releases a lot of greenhouse gases. Even worse than the smoke from the fires is what gets boiled off of the sap! It's the most powerful greenhouse gas on earth!"

  "I thought . . . doesn't it just release steam?"

  "Water vapor!" the captain said, practically shouting. "Look it up! It's the most powerful greenhouse gas on earth! We're up here trying to keep our cities from being nuked, trying to collect sap, SAP! while UNDER FIRE and you're worried about GREENHOUSE GASES? Are you absolutely INSANE? You didn't ask me about the vehicle damage! Go ahead and ask me about the vehicle damage, Miss Smarty-Pants!"

  "Have . . ." the reporter stammered. This sort of thing was gold but having a heavily armed soldier seemingly losing it was a bit flustering. "Have the insurgents been planting IEDs?"

  "NO!" the captain screamed. "One of our unoccupied humvees was taken out by a LASER rifle. WE don't even have laser rifles! The guys who have been so carefully and considerately shooting my boys in their thighs have LASER RIFLES! We're outnumbered, outfoxed and outgunned. And you're worried about CARBON DIOXIDE?"

  "HALT, WHO GOES THERE?"

  "Sergeant of the guard, asshole."

  "Respond to challenge: Done."

  "In a screwed up situation."

  "You may pass."

  "You never will. I'm serious. I've got that feeling."

  "Like the hills have eyes?"

  "No, you moron. Like there are about five times our number of locals up in the hills just trying to figure out how to get us to leave without going to trouble of killing us."

  "Does have that feeling. I'd rather be ass deep in Taliban."

  "I wouldn't go that far. But it is a terribly messed up deal."

  "Yup."

  "Ayup."

  The sergeant counted on his fingers for a moment.

  "Dick, did you say 'Ayup' just a moment ago?"

  "Nope. Said 'Yup.' Guy pulling the tap out said 'Ayup.'"

  "Ayup." There was a thunking sound and a clatter of metal.

  "We went to a lot of trouble putting those taps in."

  "Try doing it for a living, soldier boy."

  Thunk. Tinkle.

  "Quiet night tonight, Dick."

  "That it is, sergeant."

  "I seem to remember some wind from the east, though."

  "More like northeast."

  "Northeast. Could have covered a lot of noise."

  "We've got FLIRs."

  "Probably shouldn't want to flip them down, soldier-boy."

  Thunk. Tinkle.

  "Probably not. Yup. Quiet night."

  "Ayup."

  "Howdy, soldiers," Mr. Haselbauer said, sighing. "Come on in and take a load off."

  "Mr. Jason Haselbauer?" the lieutenant said, nervously. If the local resident started going off they didn't have tasers. Or, for that matter, a Javelin anti-tank round. He hadn't really appreciated being tasked with 'making friendly contact with potential local insurgent' anyway.

  "The same," Mr. Hasel
bauer said, waving for the squad to come in. "We're about to set down to vittles. Got 'nough for some hungry soldiers."

  "Uh, sir, we have our own rations," the lieutenant said just as he caught a whiff from inside. "But if you insist . . ."