Some 400 of them stood numb and frightened by the surprise and over use of force.
Brutally harassed into the street, woken from bed by armed police officers.
Standing huddled in a huge grey group as the officers and cadets harangued them with taunts
and threats of rifle butts.
It was a summer of unrest in the inner cities
, the crowded ill fed people grew restless and unemployment soared adding misery to the plight.
The culture had gotten to the point that, if you didn't work for the government or military or police you were on assistance and to be assisted was to be a burden considered almost criminal to the elite.
Being as it was that in 2003 the 'prison workforce 'laws were invoked to help the war efforts in the Middle East.
Virtually all-manufacturing jobs were assigned to the incarcerated
the parolee's and workfare recipients doing most service related work.
Therefore a good per cent age of all healthy adults was overseas at any given time trying to fight a war on two fronts.
The Euro/Persian Conflict was at a standstill and so were the economies of most continents
that were how the democracy slowly seeped out of the country to the point of martial law.
Since 2004 there had been so many terrorists and political prisoners in penitentiaries the prison voting laws were revoked.
Civil rights of war criminals were re established allowing hard labor.
Martial law does not require an election to be held but the party itself may choose to elect a new party leader.
The police where getting visibly angry at the growing taunts and chants.
They were used to the people following orders, crisp quick and clear ...this was different this was new to them.
The tactics were never used and it shocks the troops themselves to be using such military tactics on home ground.
Still on this rather cool, clear, Friday morning in august the mood was softly changing.
Whispers and pointing posturing and shouting grew all day.
In that summer of nervous feints and posturing group after group tried to form.
Was disbanded broken or its leaders imprisoned.
The politicians knew this was still a mindless seething feeling more than a conscious effort.
They also knew no single voice in this country could be allowed
To rise high enough or be heard long enough to become a leader,
A voice no one must allow this generation to have
A hero other than the govt they must not have that or they will regain hope and with hope all is possible
No hope could seep in, in the guise of a neither icon nor martyr to solidify this foe!
Grabbing a man and enlisting the help of 3 other officers they pull him from the angering crowd.
Who try to hold onto him?
Stunned and uncomprehending they stare with glazed over minds as the anonymous man is dragged. Screaming toward his executioner.
Halfway up the steps the commandant stares past him. A shadowy grey figure seems to part the
Restless crowd and shifts to the front to walk through the police line to the bottom of the steps.
Placing his fist upon his hips.” I’m Boris. " Then he turns to face the crowd.” The request lines are now open!"
There are laughs and catcalls as they all realized who it is these police want.
And the complete stupidity of the entire day is brought them to the point of surrealism.
A few snicker and a spattering of cheers leaps forth from the crowd.
Drowning out the sight of the commandant grinding his cigarette under foot with a scowl.
Soon a grin of the purest sadistic satisfaction grows over his face.
Boris in a dirty pair of blue jeans and scuffed up work boots which haven't seen a lace for some years,
Nonchalantly begins his climb up those dark steps one by one to the jeers and cheers from behind him.
"Ok Boss as the man once said Yaw really got me now ...So going to let Mr Welsh go home are we?"
The commandant motions 4 guards to move in behind Boris
He then levels the pistol and pulls the trigger in a motion so quick
It’s done and the body falls to a crumpled heap
As the widow screams 'no' and the crowd. Presses down forcefully upon the police.
Boris jumps up the stairs 3 at a time and grabs the commandant as the guards take him down kicking.
"The commandant regains his posture and pulls at his shirt top button."
"Asshole" Boris spits at his boots.
He only grins a sardonic grin and smacks Boris with the back of his hand with all his strength.”
Boris spits out blood and looks his capture in the eye.
"Hit me harder next time and try to earn your pay bitch."
"Well I expected a little more Mr Fucking Radio"
And he slaps him from the other side causing Boris to fall to his knees.
"Stand him beside me” he barks "Lets see how he dies, free Boris radio indeed...your such a joke of a man Boris looks at him lengthwise as the guards back away and the commandant lingers in his victory pose
Boris raises his hand in the familiar middle finger position and flips it toward him to the laughter and hoots from the crowd.
Even some police cadets cant help to cheer on his boldness.
"Oh come now Mr Boris no pleading and begging, I’m sure your trying to be brave for your little audience
But why bother...they all have to die, you know that We cant let news of today’s events get out now can we?"
Yes Boris knew that as soon as he knew they were looking for him, he’d have stepped up sooner,
if he knew that’s what this man wanted.
Boris and the commandant glare at one another
A top that darkened stairway and in the foreground the crowd surges and pushes chanting.
A sad comment of a little mustered dignity in the savage face of needless death.
A rising song of forlorn brotherhood
"Free Boris...free Boris...free Boris" Then one woman jumped up and screeched "NOW"
That’s what broke the spell, that high pitched voice wailing 'NOW" made the commandant turn away
And in doing so his pistol arm lowered slightly.
Boris surged forward in a split second of instinct with the strength of a wild animal attacking.
He grabbed the arm and spun cracking the elbow and wrenching the wrist splitting it painfully.
As the commandant twisted screaming in agony
Boris dropped and raised the arm in motion with the swing so that when the commandant
Pulls the trigger the bullet slid into the skull of the policemen and tossed his body stumbling
Over Sally and down the stairs to the feet of the cadet that had laughed moments before.
With crazed panic the commandant watched as Boris spun his uselessly fractured appendage
toward the other guard who had tossed his gun to the ground that raised his arm in surrender. Boris motioned and the guard kicked his weapon toward him.
Boris pulled his arm free of the commandant took up the second pistol.
Boris looked as this guard and began to smile slightly as he opened his coat.
At first Boris thought he was going for his side arm but instead the young cadet turned his lapel inside out to bring into view a shiny red button
in bold white text it read " Radio Free Boris."
The tension tore out of Boris in a flash and he laughed as he drew the commandant into his face and kissed him laughing
"Good bye Comrade Pig " and as the commandant began to open his mouth and beg pitifully for his worthless life
Boris put both pistols to the commandant’s eyes and pulled the triggers in a single fluid motion.
The brain matter splattered the column and blood trickled onto the stone steps of the museum of natural sciences.
Boris stood up and looked out to see the crowd bustling forth and the police throwing down they're weapons and turns Hands held high in surrender.
Several cadets’ shot they're superiors One being pulled off the corpse of his former lieutenant
As he was repeated beating the mans dead body with his rifle butt
A chance to make up in frustration for the officer who was now completely faceless forces past in discrimination upon him. The crowd they’re that day knew ...they instinctively woke up and realized what was happening and what must be done about it. With out conspiracy or plot without deed or word this group of nobody's and nameless faces had by fortune and necessity
become what would be the spearhead of a movement to over the Americas Continental Government.
Upon the stairs lay the broken bodies of their first 3 martyrs
on top the stairs looking slope shouldered and defeated a sad smile upon his face.
He cared nothing of being the Icon of a generation and the father of revolution
Boris looked out into the crowd exhausted.
There was nothing to think about nothing to do or say. There was only a grey numbness. They all shared that day.
Equally and the bond of revolution was in their blood.
They had a leader and icon, martyrs and the greatest enemy ever faced.
The only thing they didn't have was a slogan to rally behind.
The son of Mr Welsh reached over to Boris from his father’s faceless body pushing the megaphone into Boris's hands.
Timidly Boris clicked the button. And in a dry voice he said.
"Das is not radio Das is revolution"
And the street filled with cheers and shouts the hallow victory of a revolution being born. The commandant had ensured his own nightmares had come true.
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