massive-nuclear-explosion“What now?” The young boy no older then fifteen asked, looking over at the man holding the notebook.

For a moment he stood there starring off into space, thinking off the bad timing of this news – their supplies lines were all but severed; they had lost communication with another resistance outpost; and the front line had been pushed back considerably in the past few weeks, cutting them off from one of their largest weapons depot.

“Gather everyone you can,” he said putting the notebook down. “Anyone old enough to fight is to report to me immediately. Collect as many weapons as you can find – anything, even if its something as simple as a pitch fork.” Moving he walked out of the dark cave were the old man now lay, dead, covered head to toe in soot and ash. As he walked he was followed by the other men who were in the room with him, men considerably younger then himself.

“Mitch, that won’t be very many. We have men in the field and many more injured.” One of the soldiers said, speaking up when the other would not.

“We have no choice. We can win the battle right now.” Mitch said, turning to face the others. “We still may lose the war, but if we don’t at least try and take this step we certainly will. Now go, get as many men as you can, we leave first thing in the morning.”

“You aren’t going with, are you?” The same man who spoke up before asked. “We need you here. Without you we are nothing more then kids playing a game of Cowboys and Indians.”

Mitch turned to face him as the others moved past them and ran down the hall. “I need to be there to make sure everything is executed properly.” Turning he opened the door to his private quarters and walk in, the younger man following behind. Before the younger man could answer back, Mitch opened a footlocker at the foot of his make-shift bed, the younger man stood in shocked silence when he saw the contents inside. “I am the only one who knows how to use this.”

Still unsure about what to say, the younger man knelt down and started to reach for the sticks of dynamite in the footlocker.

“No touching, Jason.” Mitch said closing the locker before he reached his hands inside. “This stuff if old and can be. . . moody.”

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