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    We The Peoples
    We The Peoples
    We The Peoples
    Ebook81 pages1 hour

    We The Peoples

    By Philip JN Cohen

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    About this ebook

    Philip JN Cohen explores the dimensions of patriotism and politics in his debut work. "We The Peoples" follows the story of new army recruit Caleb Quinn as he grapples to understand his post-revolutionary world. In the heat of battle he is captured by the enemy, spending time in a POW camp. Upon his return home, he finds himself isolated from his friends and comrades, and bolts into the sewer. Will he make it out alive?

    Examine the nature and limits of our obligations to the state and vice versa, in this dystopian military drama.

    This novella is based on an earlier story, written by the author while he was serving in the U.S. Army and never published.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPhilip JN Cohen
    Release dateFeb 21, 2012
    ISBN9781465835703
    We The Peoples
    Author

    Philip JN Cohen

    Philip JN Cohen is a freelance photographer and science fiction author living in Southern Vermont. He spends a great deal of time in front of his computer in the wee hours of the night, drinking cold coffee and trying to earn his keep. He is recently engaged to marry another writer, proving that we've both lost our minds.

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      Book preview

      We The Peoples - Philip JN Cohen

      We The Peoples

      Philip JN Cohen

      Published by Philip JN Cohen at Smashwords

      Copyright 2012 Philip JN Cohen

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      For Jessi,

      the love of my life who pushed me to start writing and supported me through sleepless nights of editing and literary heartache. Thank you.

      Prologue

      There was so much blood and dirt dripping through his eyes and down his nose. Colonel Harris was convinced of failure before the next push had even begun. He lay in the mud on the side of The Hill, his breath hard and ragged. He was desperately thinking of some way to make things work.

      It had all gone so horribly wrong. After four and a half years of fighting in the streets, they had become poised to take the most symbolic victory they could hope to manage. From just a few hundred meters away, the dome of their objective loomed.

      The Colonel was one of fourteen that remained. The rest lay littered like spent matches to any given side of where the present battle raged. The smell of the dead and dying filled his nostrils. Blood and sweat and burning hair and bowels loosening. Men screamed for their mothers. For water. For the end to embrace them. The Colonel was certain he was losing his grip on reality. Disoriented and disorganized, the fourteen survivors of Delta Troop 2/1 Cavalry would soon be expected to charge. Again.

      It was highly unlikely they would take their objective. The Loyalists had fortified the National Mall with everything the high command could spare them. It's strategic value was wan. It's emotional value could end the war. Nests of burrowed machine guns and small, mousy machine gunners flanked the steps that had once led to the chambers of the senate. The senate hadn't met in six years. Colonel Harris reflected that he was unsure whether or not there were still Senators. A small patch of land, maybe fifty meters ahead, had been cleared and planted with land mines and trip wires.

      A sigh broke from the Colonel's lips against his will. There was no way they were going to make it. There was no way to make this work. Soon he and his soldiers would be dead. And with them the revolution. His mind resolved to the fate they were to face, he stood up amongst the chaos and bellowed out. A primal yell. Rage and anguish and a not-yet-dead dream of something better for his nation. His nation god dammit!

      And so they charged.

      And one by one, they fell. Never to get back up again.

      Three weeks later a new flag was raised atop the dome of the American Capitol. The war raged on around them as a gaggle of seven men hoisted the red and black banner of a new nation. It was beautiful. Colonel Harris would have loved it.

      Chapter 1

      04.02.29 F.E. 1630

      If you don’t get moving any faster than that, I’m gonna break your skinny legs, Maggot!

      The Drill Instructor was bellowing at the top of his lungs. His slick, well treated beret crouched down his head to highlight fierce and angry eyes. The matte black of the Peoples military uniform combined with the black of a Drill Instructors head gear gave the man an almost sinister look. He was viciously beating the worn down soldier about the shoulders and back with fierce, stinging, rapports. Recruit Quinn pumped his legs harder and harder. His strength was failing him. The strikes landing squarely on his shoulder blades were hardly helping the matter.

      Quinn had joined the Peoples' Army at eighteen, right out of school. His lean and graceful body had seemed made for the military and with a proud line of veterans in the family, the decision to join had almost been a given. With his shock of red orange hair and a field of stars worth of freckles on his face, he stood out sorely amongst the Recruits. Today was not the first time he had been set aside for individualized punishment. The Drill Instructors referred to the process as ‘soldier focused conditioning’.

      You’ve got thirty seconds to reach the end of this track, Recruit! The expanse before Quinn stretched for what surely was miles. Thirty seconds? he thought, The man’s clearly lost his mind! Quinn knew, as did any other Recruit with half a mind, that the tasks in the first few weeks of training were never quite attainable.

      He pushed himself anyways. The muscles in his calves felt close to popping. The blisters on his heels throbbed and broke, spilling pus and blood throughout torn and tattered combat boots. Moisture wicked off of his nose into the cool morning air. Lungs filled with air and emptied; rhythmically, if not peacefully. The sharp, cacophonous, thuds of two pairs of boots, rattled an otherwise quiet field of grass.

      Thirty seconds was up. Quinn was well short of the stated objective and knew without thinking what was to come.

      Get on the floor and start pushing! I’ll let you know when enough is enough. The Drill Instructor paced back and forth while Quinn dropped to the floor, pushing his nose repeatedly into the dirt.

      One, First Comrade!

      Two, First Comrade!

      Three, First Comrade!

      As he exercised his body and mind, Quinn rejected the creeping thoughts of how sore he would be later, how

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