Chapter 8

The Second Pierce Planning

A chilling wind blew across a long meadow. No trees stood as beacons to act as shields. The tall grasses danced around with their dried brown bodies. On the far of the field stood a lone cabin. It was a rather sad cabin which acted as a lone man to be executed via firing squad and stood as solemnly awaiting death. The winds were the firing squad and the long meadow the court.

Now then picture a lone man slithering this meadow hunting his next kill. With eyes sharp and angular with a deep longing for prey. This snake like predator was not a reptile, but instead the now infamous Pierce Bomber. He slowly walked to the cabin and with sly motions opened it.

With cat-like motions the Pierce Bomber descended upon the treasures in the cabin. A sudden upward thrust of his legs acting as springs and he would be observing old family pictures of whoever lived here: pictures with two parents in their twenties, and one baby in blue, a picture beside it with the same family, but now a baby in pink, and the final picture had two toddlers with a new baby in blue posing. With quick shifting of his eyes the Pierce Bomber quickly grabbed the picture with the parents and three children and stuffed it down his long jean pockets. Quickly he shifted his position and started crawling around the floor with a sound of scorn, but briskful meaning. The Pierce Bomber also looked up towards the stairs with rugs covered in a layer of dust and missing many chunks of them. He grabbed a book. It was a family picture book-something worthless to a criminal, but priceless to a family; a cruel and dark smile grew across his face.

"Everyone gather around!" General Garrison yelled. He seemed relaxed and at ease, but yet still had his great aura of command. He showed no signs of being the shame he was as a drunken man whose only concern was alcohol.

Men stopped shining their weapons, and not drinking alcohol to listen to what the General might have to say.

"All right listen up! I'm only going to say this once! We are going to launch an attack upon a military kiosk, and steal some of their weapons; I think a long term victory is possible, but we will need to start small and somewhere-I think we might need to relay upon a bark and not a bite for now," after finishing his mini-speech he gazed around the room with a slightly depressed look upon his face, "and I will be upon the frontlines with all of you!"

"But sir; you were wounded in action so long ago, and you're sixty years old! I-no we are all worried about your safety! What would happen if you die? Who would be our commander?"

"Please Fred call don't call me sir, but call me Simon or General Garrison, and secondly if we die then we die as martyrs-martyrs to democracy!" With his final statement everyone cheered at the General's comment; everyone but James.

"Excuse me General Garrison, but what good would our deaths as martyrs to democracy do?" James asked-not with some mocking and sarcastic tone, but with a voice which felt free to point out the weirdness in the plan, but also because of the horror who saw the pointlessness of the class the college of martyrs attended.

"Well, well, well don't we seem to have sort of realpolitik thinker here? Is Mr. Bismarck your teacher?" General Garrison demanded to know of James with an actual tone of sarcasm which was a sharp dagger in response to the softer slight slap on the waist by James.

James while deeply hurt and feeling rather disgraced did not withdraw his own dagger and instead kept it hidden-preferring to keep the peace in the room and starting an almost mock civil war in the N.L.F.

While the N.L.F. planned their next moves the Pierce Bomber opened the door to his shack and threw the picture of the family onto his work table with brutish force and without empathy. Besides it rested yet another bomb which he was making-the Pierce Bomber was going to become a serial bomber. Arriving upon his desk he withdrew a pen and wrote on the family picture just above the mother. The pen's red ink spelt out the name-Janice Frankston.

With graceful skill he pulled out a screwdriver with rust coating it as a fancy ballroom jacket and his hand acted as its graceful dance partner-they danced the waltz across screws and would then changed their dance style upon arriving at another screw and together they danced a much faster jitterbug dance. Together they danced an ironic dance that would lead to the death of someone.

"My first bomb only hit Paul where he thought he was safe at the core and in the army and now Paul will know what it means to lose a loved one-a death he will be responsible for," the Pierce Bomber said to no one. Was he simply just trying to really get his thoughts out or was he mad?

James examined his gun. He seemed rather fond of it-after all as the battle became despite in Bees on Hornets he did have to rely upon this gun as his tool to survival. Garrison stood up and shouted, "all right everyone! We are go! Using the cover of the darkness we will sneak up, seize the weapons, and finally leave some message about our bark!"

The Pierce Bomber withdrew his red pen and paper.

General Garrison withdrew a black pen and paper.

"To the Great President and Grand Leader Paul Frankston as you read this I would be long gone…"

"We are still alive Paul and we will have left by the time anyone here does alert the men at Blue House…"

"…but the sorrow and pain I will be inflicting upon you will not be long gone…"

"…However just because we are gone does not mean the idea we have is…"

"…but your wife will be dead. A victim of your own murderous ideals…"

"…the idea that we-The National Liberation Front will be hitting you…"

"…a victim to the sorrow you filled upon me…"

"…a victim to the dictatorship you forced upon us…"

"…the one foolish mistake you WILL suffer for."

"…the 'Democracy of the People.' Good day."

The Pierce Bomber placed his pen back into his pocket and placed his letter to the President in an envelop. With this he turned and started walking. Grabbing the bomb he opened the door and started down a path to a motorcycle.

General Garrison slided across old brick buildings and was followed by large sums of the National Liberation Front who overall moved less stealthy, but were not dead giveaways to the attack. James clutched his weapon with fear. He knew that what they were doing was not crazy, but was instead a smart move, and that terrified him. If one was to ask Sun Tzu he would tell you to place your men in a corner and they would fight to the death as they could not retreat, and that was what Bees on Hornets was when deconstructed, but now they were doing something with which they were going to corner in their enemies. His situation was now inverted.

A/N-I did like doing the whole parallelism thing between Simon's and Edward's letters and I am thinking of trying something like that next chapter.