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For the Love of Freedom

Freedom

By Dennis HumphreysPublished 2 years ago 18 min read
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by: Dennis R. Humphreys

In a not-too-distant land, not that far away lies, a small country. It isn't distant from anywhere in the world, because it lies within the hearts of every freedom loving person that breathes. It isn't even far into the future. It is a small country, that until recently was left to their freedom because there wasn't anything anyone wanted from them... to live their lives as they saw fit for themselves, their families, and their fellow countrymen. Then unfortunately, one day, a key substance used in time travel was discovered. It was the only undiscovered natural resource the country had until now, and it put the country in the news. Tachyonite was the crystal... a beautiful nine sided, pale green crystal, too small to cut for jewelry and too soft for industrial uses, but it's properties were such, that it answered the need of scientists developing time travel. Overnight, this crystal of no important value when it was discovered four years ago, became invaluable.

“I wish they had never discovered that tachyonite crystal here,” Kabir said to his friend as they were sitting in the trench, a number of them were waiting, preparing their diner. “Our country is being torn apart.”

“It seems it would be easier and cheaper for us to mine the crystal and sell it to them peacefully, rather than them starting a war to take us over, just so they have it. I don't understand,” Serge answered.

“There's a lot I don't understand, much of it has to do with greed and politicians controlled by wealthy businessmen. If you ask the average citizen, they would be like us... leave them alone. Leave them in peace to live their lives. But when you have leaders that spend their whole lives leading and becoming more powerful, they become corrupt. We mean nothing,” Kabir explained his thoughts as a small mortar exploded near by.

“They think we're just going to give up our people, our country and our freedom to make a few of them richer?” Serge spoke.

This was the same conversation every evening they sat to eat, preparing their meal. The war had been going on for two months now, with sanctions and denouncements coming in from all over the world against their aggressor, but still the killing continued and slowly the aggressors were taking over a country one fifth of their size commanding far superior arms.

A radio message came to them from their commander as they ate, telling them to be ready for anything at sunup, when his radio call would come in at 6am.

“I guess we'd better try and get some rest tonight. It sounds like we'll be getting out of our trench tomorrow,” Serge told his buddy.

“I hope we can make some headway,” his friend answered him.

“I hope so... I'm beginning to wonder if this is all worth it,” Serge answered.

“Don't you start losing hope. You're just tired. Just imagine how it might be under their reign. Look at how they treat their citizens. Do you want that for yourself or your family. I don't. I'd rather die,” he told his buddy in arms.

The night was filled with explosions. It was more of a psychological effort than meant to kill anyone. Everyone was bunkered down. Its main purpose was to keep everyone awake, tiring them, making them ineffective if they had to fight. Serge tossed all night thinking about his family... his wife and his new born daughter, only six months old. She will have changed so much by the time all this was done, and he returned home. Children change so quickly at that age. He laid there listening to the explosions and the explosive nature of Kabir's snoring.

He had to laugh, if he were asleep and Kabir was snoring, his sounds would be interpreted as tanks moving across the field. The mind always seems to misidentify sounds while it sleeps, slowly becoming identifiable as it gains consciousness. Finally, Serge fell into unconsciousness as sleep overcame him until morning. Still it was not a sound sleep. He was scared.

He awoke in the morning around five. The horizon was getting lighter as the sun was getting ready to rise, peaking over that edge of the world. He heard Kabir rummaging around getting ready to heat up some food over their small, alcohol stove. Warming the rations made them taste better than they were. It also helped the body recuperate from sleeping on the ground all night.

“Good morning Kabir. Did you sleep well?” Serge asked him.

“I didn't sleep a wink all night.” he answered.

Serge had to laugh since it was Kabir's snoring that helped keep him awake most of the night.

“No wonder, that incessant bombing they do just to screw with our heads,” he responded. A crackling sound ensued and a voice came over their radio as several of the men drew their attention towards it in the trench.

“Men... be ready to advance on the enemy at six sharp. I'll give you the sign then when to pull out,” their commander announced.

The men just looked at each other, not saying anything. There wasn't anything to say. Some of them wouldn't be sharing dinner that night in their next trench. They just wondered whose faces they'd be looking into that night. Or maybe others would be doing the looking.

“Everyone head out!” came the command sharply at six and down the trench line men climbed out as the sun rose and shed its light on the potential victims of today's battle.

A few fell right away to bullets fired from the enemy, not making it more than eight feet from the trench. Groups began forming under fire instead of a straight line and some advanced faster than others. Soon Kabir and Serge seemed to be in a group of eight men all headed generally the same way. The others couldn't be seen because of the smoke and airborne soil from the explosions. Small fires began cropping up everywhere. You couldn't see your compatriots, but after an explosion you could always hear one or two men screaming in pain, having been dismembered, blinded or on their way to death, roaring in fear.

On their way forward, another man fell to a bullet. It had gone through his head, just under his hat offering little resistance. Their army, fighting for freedom, had few accessories or weapons to fight with, but they had plenty of love for their country and their countrymen. Would that... could that be enough to sustain them?

As they got closer to the enemy's position mortars began exploding around them. Keep moving... keep moving. Don't let the enemy get a line on your position. The seven that were left moved forward. At times like this you don't think about getting wounded or killed. There seems to be some internal driving force that compels you to keep going, for everyone at home... all those peace loving people these usurpers are trying to enslave. You wonder what their leaders told them they were doing here. Were his fellow freedom lovers painted out to be the bad guys in some way for the other army to justify what they were doing here... or was it only a measly paycheck they were fighting for? It was more likely the threat of not joining in the fight when told to.

It was then that Serge's thoughts were abruptly silenced, as a mortar exploded among the seven men.

Serge found himself staring upwards, wisps of smoke floated over, between him and his view of the blue sky. There were no birds to see, nothing else. He had to be dead because there was no pain. If he were alive there would be pain from that explosion. Finally, he became brave enough to turn his head to see what he could see. His army buddy was the first he saw lying next to him with his head turned, facing him. There was a wide eyed dead stare in his face. Inside, Serge said his good byes. Then he ventured to look beyond his friend and he saw the others all lying dead. There were more of them now than before the mortar exploded.

Surely he was wounded. He took toll of himself and he seemed fine. Perhaps a concussion from the blast. He pulled himself over to a dead tree, or soon to be dead tree, and leaned up against it. He seemed to be not wounded physically, but he just wanted to sit there. He hadn't the will or desire to get up and continue fighting. Especially since everyone else was dead.

Serge laid there throughout the day. He saw no one. The fighting seemed to have traveled off into the distance, far enough away from him. He didn't want to move. He seemed bereft of the will to live, or the desire to die. He was somewhere in between. If the enemy were to come up to him now with a gun he would probably not make the attempt to stop him from shooting him. The sun began to fall beyond the hills. Night would fall soon and perhaps or perhaps not, he would sleep. Nonetheless, sleep overcame him in a short while.

“Wake up you miserable freedom fighter,” a woman's voice screamed at him as she violently kicked his boots.

Serge looked up at her, surprised a woman was out here in the middle of the battlefield.

“Who are you?” Serge questioned. “What are you doing out here?”

“I am Baccharia, queen and leader of the Celetians. I led my people against the Teonian invaders who had the largest army in the world at the time. They came to my country to conquer it and enslave us, extracting taxes from us for their benefit.

“That was two thousand years ago!” Serge commented.

“I don't care if it were yesterday. Come with me and you will see what freedom means and what it means to those living it,” she warned him.

Suddenly he was overlooking a city surrounded by farmlands. There were unending oceans of golden grains, waving in the breeze. Serge and Baccharia walked the dusty road towards a a large fortification where the queen lived. Along the way there were people working in their fields all waving and wishing them a good day.

“I divided all the lands up among the people on the condition they work the land to their ability. If they don't work the land someone else will get it... it's up to them. They retain the profits from it and pay taxes out of that. All I do is watch over them, settle disputes and protect them. We have an abundance here,” she enlightened Serge as they walked. Everyone he saw seemed to love their queen and enjoyed their freedom and ownership.

“So why am I here?” Serge asked.

“Look around. You see no one is wanting. You will see it at the palace where the silos are full of grains and the fields are green where there is an many animals. Life is good here and the people are free to do what they will,” she told him.

Baccharia showed him the fortification as much for the people as for where she lived. It was filled with food and there were women cooking, while men were made items for use among its citizens. There was trade going on as well between the people here and others from outside the area. That night everyone gathered to eat and there was tremendous amounts of food for everyone, that came and went. He was informed it was this way all the time by a few of the people with which Serge sat and ate.

Then as he took a last bite, he was standing on a hill overlooking the valley as a large army advanced on it from all around. In the distance the fortification of the queen's was burning while you could see others fleeing the travesty. As the army tightened their circle around the hill the queen stood gallantly steadfast, bleeding from several wounds, with a few dozen armed people, men and women standing the ground with her. As they watched their attackers, skins where handed out to all those standing to quench their thirst. But as they did, one by one ,they fell to the ground.

“You see we fought to protect our lands and our freedom from that invasion force but we were beaten. There were far too many of them in the end. Rather than live lives of slaves, we drank a poison from the mandrake that those of us left, like the others who passed before us, could die free without surrender. The invading army achieved nothing. Our homes and stores of food were destroyed. Our fields of grains burned and our animal slain. And the people to rebuild everything for them as slaves... dead,” she told him as he watched over the land.

As Serge awakened in the battlefield he saw someone walking towards him in the distance. It was hard to see who it was, though it was a full moon. Friend or foe he couldn't tell.

A man in armor approached and saluted him in a way he had never seen before. There was still smoke billowing, and it was encompassing this man as he stood, but then a large plume of smoke burgeoned around them burning Serge's eyes and making him close them to try and rub them clear. When he opened them again he was on a plateau a few hundred feet above the valley floor. There were buildings here carved out of solid stone... ancient as could be. There were a few hundred people around the area... men, women and children. There were animals too and cisterns of water, for the area was dry and parched. It was desert land. But it was their land and they had been free for generations to do with it what they would. They farmed it, and they raised animals until an invading army decided they wanted it. They felt they knew better how to govern these people than those living here and they therefore had no right to self govern.

“We fought gallantly for years, until it had come to this. There were three hundred people left on this rock. The invaders had no way of getting up here without being killed one at a time. It was an incredible edifice these people could protect but it was our last stronghold,” the man told him.

Serge watched with the man in armor as a thousand men built a stone and dirt ramp to the summit of the rock. So far they had committed several months to the project but they had time and the men. It was only a matter of time before they made it to the top. There they could slaughter the country's last freedom fighters.

The only weapons these people had left were bows and arrows, spears, sling shots and rocks which they hurled down onto the soldiers as they worked and got close enough. It was a matter of time before the rest were butchered.

“Who are you anyway and what are you showing me this?” Serge asked.

“I am Captain Rulious Yaseph and these are the last of my people. We lived for many years in peace here with our families, and we were successful, because we all worked together as a community. I was a farmer. We were free men for four hundred years after ousting those that enslaved us before. We enjoyed and loved the freedom we lived under and we prospered with it because of the joy it brought the people. Then one day this army was sent from their king to take what we had built, for himself because he thought he was deserving of it, only because he had a bigger army. For twelve years we fought and for the past year we have held onto this last position,” he told Serge.

“It appears you are losing,” Serge told him.

“Not really. We will die free men. They will not subject us to their tyranny or enslavement. They will not get what they want. It takes just men to fight evil with a commitment to never surrender. These are evil men. When ever there is control in their hearts believing they have a right to what you have, they are ethically and morally evil. Good must stand up to it. In the end good will prevail. The battle may be lost but the war will be won,” he told Serge.

Then again, as before, Serge saw the remaining people drinking something and falling asleep.

“It's the sleep of death which we all prefer to being captured. If we are captured we will be subjected to slavery and that we have vowed to avoid. We have limited resources to fight with, so most of us may be killed, but even if a few of us live and become slaves, they have won. None of us will survive here this day,” he told Serge.

Serge watched as the commander went over to where a cask of the liquid was. He took a cup and dipped into the liquid and drew out a full container. He turned to Serge and raised his drink.

“Here's to freedom. If I can't savor its cooling flavor, so then will this be my drink,” he saluted Serge, raising his cup and drinking it full down.

The scene darkened and Serge found himself again in the battlefield leaning against the tree. Once again he found himself staring at a figure in the distance walking towards him in the moonlight.

The figure was a stoic one as it walked carefully among the bodies of the fallen... stepping across the holes created by the explosives. Then he realized it was one of the people that lived in this land long before his people came to this place.

“You are an original native to this place... a Tanian?” Serge asked.

“Yes, my name is Anuk. My people lived here for many generations in freedom. We worked the land and hunted it, taking only what we needed and no more. We lived simply and peaceably, only fighting when someone threatened our lives or wanted to take what we had. That is why we fought your people. You came and took what we had away. You took our children, our women and our land for your own. Many times, we died to the last person rather then let you take what was ours. Perhaps now you know what it is like,” he told Serge and suddenly they were standing together in an open field as far as you could see.

There were many men on horses attacking a village of Anuk's people. Many bodies laid on the ground... warriors, old men, women and children. They all did what they could to resist the intruders. Their lives were sacred to them but no more so than the air they breathed, the sky they looked at each morning, the ground they touched, or the flowers they smelled... their taste for freedom was unquenchable, amplified by these other things, while all things seemed amplified by the flavor of freedom.

Serge watched as one after another fell dead to the ground, killed by their attackers. Women threw rocks at those attacking, but even those not offering any resistance because they were so old, were massacred in the path of the soldiers circling the settlement. Children used sling shots to hurl stones, and they too were killed.

Serge watched seeing what his ancestors had done. Someone once said there was always karma to pay. Is this what his people were doing now? Paying for their transgressions against these people.

Anuk watched Serge watching the genocide as it unfolded, as it was throughout the land with these people. He saw how it effected him.

“What do you feel?” Anuk asked him.

“Disgust... is this showing me what we're paying for now?” Serge asked the man.

“No... it's showing you that history repeats itself if you let it. There are evil people out there that cause things like this to happen because of their greed. It must be stopped and it must be stopped before it gets to this point. You have a war on your hands, that threatens what you hold dear just as we had in our times. You must always be attentive to those that might take your freedom. If you are not willing to die for it, you don't deserve it...” he told Serge as a bullet hole appeared in his forehead and he dropped at his feet. As he watched, the warrior dissolved into the ground and it grew dark.

The battlefield was getting lighter as the horizon brightened. Serge looked out at his fallen comrades in arms and said a prayer over them, swearing their lives would not have been spent in vain. His legs were stiff from sitting for hours in one spot on the damp ground but he got up, not deflated as he had been. He picked up a couple of extra ammo clips and guns from his friends' bodies and began walking towards the enemy lines.

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