Uprising. Douglas L. Bland

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СКАЧАТЬ piece of our vast lands to these poor devils so they wouldn’t starve. In return, they gave us diseases that killed our bodies, and laws that confused our elders. Then they kept the land and tried to grow corn in rocks. They never understood that the land decides who lives and who dies. My forefathers,” he added, “should have listened to the old woman by the river.”

      In 1904, the Department of Militia and Defence purchased 22,430 acres from the settlers, saving them from starvation but as usual ignoring the Algonquin people’s claims. The army has occupied the land ever since.

      Alex smiled wryly. Here he was on his own ancestral lands with a mere handful of young natives attacking a modern military base that was home to 4,400 professional soldiers.

      * * *

      Joan Newman peered wearily into the darkness. Nothing but a two-lane gravel road, and at the sides, nothing but the bush: rocks, trees, road, rocks, trees, road. As she scanned the way ahead, the same irritating little rhythm beat in her brain as it did so often on such nights. Stay alert. Don’t hit a deer, please don’t hit a moose – rocks, trees, road. Oh God, she thought, if I did hit a moose, would anyone care? Yeah, actually. My boss would care. The car would be totalled. All that paperwork to get rid of my corpse. He’d be really mad. Rocks, trees, road. Rocks, trees, road.

      * * *

      A wave of his arm sent Alex’s scouts along Crest Road towards the target, this time with Sergeant Christmas in the lead. The patrol followed a few minutes later, the individual warriors in the surrounding darkness simply marching into the footsteps before them. They were confident in their leaders, especially Gabriel and Christmas, and they each knew what they were to do. Or rather, they’d been told what to do. “Follow the rehearsed plan; do your assigned part; don’t worry about anything else. If there is a surprise, follow the drills.” These rules had been hammered into their heads in training night after night for weeks. Weeks, Alex thought, not months. Five minutes of panic is all it would take to create total chaos. He took a deep breath. Too late to worry about that now. He had to focus on his own tasks.

      The protective lights surrounding the Petawawa ammunition and weapons storage area, which was located on Menin Road on the outskirts of the base’s built-up areas, shone brightly through the vegetation, allowing them to see it well before Steve Christmas and his scouts reached the compound. As they approached the outer perimeter, Christmas quickly surveyed the roadways, the first storage bunkers, and the wire – everything was as he remembered it, including being unguarded, as usual. He listened for a few minutes then sent young Patty Roy back to bring up the patrol. He sent his other scout, Denny Villeneuve, 200 metres down the road towards the base to warn of approaching vehicles. Then he sat back for a more thorough look at the compound.

      Alex slid into the ditch beside his second-in-command. “Ready, Steve?”

      “Yeah, guard’s out. All quiet. Typical weekend night in Petawawa.”

      “Okay, let’s go.” Alex waved the first section into action.

      The warriors, crouching, sprinted to the front gate, a high wire barrier topped with razor wire, no obstacle really – except to honest people. Alex was pleased to see Pierre Léger, following the drill, step forward, quickly cut the padlock, and push open the gate. He was less pleased to hear it swing open with a loud squeal, perhaps protesting the unexpected disturbance. Léger’s section jogged through past the first bunker, down the lane to their assigned bunker. Up came his bolt cutters, snip snip, and the metal door was open. As the others wrestled off their backboards and packs, Léger scanned the interior with his flashlight, looking for the supplies on his list.

      The other two sections moved into the compound, breaking into smaller squads as they too headed to their assigned bunkers. This raid was no random scavenger hunt. Each section and squad had received detailed orders to collect specific weapons and munitions. Though they had never been in the compound before, or even seen it up close, they recognized their targets from the maps and photos Alex had shown them over and over again, and from the scale model he and Christmas had built in the training camp.

      The raiding party had a complete description of what was stored in each bunker, thanks to supply officers, military clerks, and civilian employees loyal to the Movement and the cause who were stationed in Petawawa and in the National Defence Headquarters in Ottawa. But they also had a carefully considered shopping list. The priority items were linked to the “grand strategy”: anti-aircraft and anti-tank weapons; explosives (C4, plastic explosives, detonating cord, and primers and fuses); fragmentation and smoke grenades; small-calibre automatic weapons and ammunition; and, if the team had carrying space, a few anti-tank mines.

      The ammo compound at Base Petawawa held supplies for most of Eastern Canada and for overseas deployments – everything the army needed: rifles, grenades, explosives, every calibre of ammunition, M72 and Carl Gustav anti-tank rocket launchers and ammo; and of special interest, Blowpipe anti-aircraft missiles. Many of the Canadian Forces’ best weapons were outdated by the fast-moving standards of modern warfare, but they would certainly provide the Movement with a vast edge over any police opponents.

      A hiss from Christmas’s radio broke the silence. “Headlights approaching,” whispered Villeneuve.

      “How many … what speed?”

      “Looks like a single, a car, I think. Not very fast – slow actually. Hey, it just pulled in front of the old building down the road, shining a light around.”

      Steve turned to Alex. “Company coming, single car. An MP, I think …checking buildings. Not too alert by the looks of it … just the routine meathead patrol.”

      “Right! Close the gate. Put the lock and chain back on. Pass the word – lights out. They know the drill.” At least I hope they do, he thought.

      Alex watched the nearest patrol anxiously as it stopped collecting its load and scattered into the shadows of the bunkers. Christmas, crouching, dashed outside the gate and dropped into the shallow ditch beside his leader. “Set.”

      Alex watched the approaching car. “Okay. We can’t take a chance that the MPs might see something and then, after we let the car go, raise an alarm. We’ll take them down. Okay, as we rehearsed the other night – once the car halts at the gate, I’ll take the driver’s side … you take the partner.”

      “Got it.” Christmas crossed the lane and dropped into the ditch. Just like the ambush outside the camp in eastern Afghanistan, he thought as he struggled to flatten his large frame into the low grass. But this time, no inquiry.

      Villeneuve warned, “Passing me now.” He dropped into his backup position, hoping that the car would not try to reverse towards him if something went wrong.

      The car pulled into the entrance lane as expected. Joan Newman shone a spotlight across the gate then casually over the compound as she had done on too many night shifts. “Boring, boring, boring,” she told herself, “the usual Sunday night bullshit. I’ve got to get myself a life – maybe even that jerk, Jack.”

      The door flew open. Joan felt someone grab her collar and lift her sideways and backwards out of the car. She fell hard on the road, the impact taking her breath away. A dark shape loomed over her, pistol in hand, and stepped hard on her right arm. “Be quiet, don’t do anything stupid, and you’ll be okay.”

      The other front door was already open. She heard someone switch off the engine. Feet ran towards her. Joan caught her breath and growled, “If you guys are frigg’n’ militia on an exercise, you’re in big trouble. Let me up.” She moved to sit up but was knocked roughly back down.

      “Shut СКАЧАТЬ