Season 1, Episode 5 - The Boxtops XXXIX - "Essex (With the Laughing Face)"

Ten years ago. Osip sat in a long horse-drawn cart along with several other Patriot paramilitary soldiers, cradling old carbines from the First American War. The horse pulled the cart through the winding cobblestone streets of Waban, rundown homes on either side. Most of the homes had their shutters pulled closed tight, their doors locked up. The people of Waban holed up inside, as did most of the people in Narragansett, waiting until General Pulaski finally took the city.

Judging by the mood of the city and the excited looks on the faces of the Patriots, Osip supposed Pulaski’s victory over the Quinetucket administration was more or less a done deal by this point. Minister for War Malcolm fled the city with his own forces, leaving the capital - and the rest of the administration - to fend for itself. That only left a few diehards that barricaded themselves within Golden Dome and the Financial District along the coast; Osip heard rumors that one of West Narragansett Technical Academy’s users was leading those diehards in their defense.

As for Osip himself, he was a realist; when the tide of history turns against you, all you can do is ride along. Pulaski would win - no point in dying over a lost cause. Osip knew this was just another part of the negative attitude inherited by the generation that grew up in the aftermath of New England’s crushing defeat in war, but what can you really do? Osip had been one of the Rddhi users assigned to Malcolm’s army; when Malcolm led his forces out of the city, Osip slipped away, as did most of the other users as well as anyone else who saw the writing on the wall.

Upon arriving back at the Academy, he saw a slew of familiar faces along with many new ones. The school had rapidly expanded in the six years since its founding; Osip hadn’t returned there in the four years since his graduation, duty calling him elsewhere. The student population more than doubled as the Academy gained a reputable reputation in academics as well; judging from the animated looks on the faces of the students as they manned anti-aircraft guns and ran messages and supplies around campus, Stockham had boosted the morale of those not considered strong enough, power or academic wise, to attend Cambridge or the Institute.

Osip hadn’t been able to meet with Stockham. Instead, students directed him to Security Chief’s Iyeguda’s office, who sent him off in a cart full of Patriots to reinforce Patriot and Academy mercenaries guarding a bridge over the Charles in northern Waban. The Academy hadn’t come out in open support for Pulaski - none of the major schools or corporations did - but everybody knew all the same. Losing a bridge to one of the many Quinetucket-allied arsonists and bombers would delay the inevitable, and that delay would have a cost - it delayed a return to normalcy, a return to the usual business. When Iyeguda failed to mention it, Osip mentally added “a human cost” to that list as well.

So, off they went, the cart heading down bumpy, worn down roads through a city on the verge of change. Throes of revolution would be too strong a word; there was very little fighting on this side of the city. From the way Pulaski’s fighter triplanes and bombers flew overhead towards Golden Dome, the distant sound of artillery and gunfire in that direction, Osip knew that’s where throes of a revolution would apply. He scratched his chin. More like the defense of a dying revolution, six years in the making, letting out its final gasp of air before Pulaski stomped it out for good.

Osip and company arrived on the southern edge of the bridge, a hastily erected barricade and overflowing barracks guarding it. Paramilitary forces and Academy alumni and students scurried around, trying to handle the influx of civilians from the south. More Academy-held blockades on the northern side of the bridge prevented anybody from entering the city that way; to avoid any congestion, the guards on the southern side tried to return all the civilians home.

A gray sky covered the scene of somewhat organized chaos. Some civilians did as instructed, deciding to wait it out at home until it was all over; other civilians stayed, trying to get out, fearful of what Pulaski’s men would do to the city once they captured it. Osip suspected Pulaski’s men wouldn’t do a thing, considering that physic-powered schools controlled most of the city already, and the only part actually resisting him could be found on the other side of Narragansett. But he was in the know, and the civilians weren’t, even as Academy alumni stood on crates and yelled out to them, ordering their return home.

“Hey, Osip!”

Osip recognized that voice immediately - it belonged to Lukas, another member of his graduating class from the Academy. Unlike Osip, Lukas didn’t possess any powers - just a quick wit and loud voice that made him ideal for a leadership position. Osip and Lukas remained friends while attending the Presidential War College together, Osip as a Rddhi user, Lukas as an officer in training.

“I haven’t seen you since college graduation,” Osip said with a grin. The two friends shook hands; Osip sized his friend up. “You got fat.”

Lukas gave him a grin right back. “Mary’s cooking hits the spot,” he answered, rubbing his stomach. He wasn’t really fat, just stout, with bright blonde hair. “Speaking of which, check this out.”

He rustled through his wallet and produced a picture of he and his fiance all dressed up, standing in front of a painted woodland background.

Osip whistled at the rare sight of a picture. “What was the occasion?”

Lukas laughed. “No occasion. When you’re in love, every day’s an occasion.”

“Alright, pal,” Osip said, playfully pushing him away. After that, his face grew serious as he saw dirty civilians shamble past them. “Where’s Mr. Shokahu? I was told he was in charge here.”

Lukas scratched his face. “Ah, well, he had some…personal business to attend to. Essex is in charge now.”

“That old hag?”

“Your old hag.”

Osip just shook his head. Old jokes from their high school years died hard.

“But where did Mr. Shokahu go?”

“Not sure. Someone brought a telephone to him…after that, he left, just like that. You should’ve seen the look on his face.”

Both men had Shokahu for a teacher. He was a lively guy, full of passion, despite his years fighting in the trenches. He never shirked from a duty, especially when it involved his students. Whatever called him away today, it must’ve been serious.

“Guess that’s that,” Osip supposed. “I’ll go check in with Essex.”

The two men gave each nods and departed. Osip heard Lukas yelling out to civilians, telling them to stay away from the bridge, his charismatic voice providing the carrot and the carbine slung over his shoulder serving as the stick.

Osip carefully maneuvered through men and women in military fatigues. He glanced over and it seemed like the crowd doubled in size; so much for stopping any congestion. This bridge was only of secondary importance in the grand scheme of things anyway; the main thrust of Pulaski’s advance would come via the Kendall Bridge that would bring him to the heart of the city. This bridge out west was more for formality and contingency.

Yet, Osip had a job to do, and that was to get orders from Essex. He headed deeper into the makeshift military encampment. A few Patriots and alumni sat on several boxes around a barrel fire, listening to a radio one of them brought. Since the main broadcasting tower could be found in Golden Dome, the Quinetucket government still controlled the airwaves.

“We dare Pulaski to do his worst,” a female voice called out in defiance over the radio. “Everyone here is willing to lay down their lives to protect the Quinetucket constitution and the freedoms it provides. We will not disperse, we will not retreat, until we find either victory or death.”

A few Patriots laughed at that. Osip ignored, since his true target sat nearby, separated from them, a sad smile on her face as she listened to the voice on the radio, facing away from him. In the four years since he last saw her, she seemed to have grown a lot more weary, if her hunched over shoulders had anything to say.

Osip remembered the military formalities at the last moment. Essex was a Class 5, so-

“Second Lieutenant Essex,” he greeted with a salute.

Essex slowly tilted her head over at him, a tired look on it. “Sergeant,” she said formally. Then she broke into a small grin. “Osip.”

With her allowing a more casual tone, Osip took a spot on a crate nearby. A local map of the bridge and surrounding neighborhoods stretched out across a dirty table laid out in front of Essex; nearby, technicians worked tirelessly over a wireless telegram table.

Osip had a lot he wanted to ask about - the Academy’s evolution, how her teaching was gone, any romantic suitors he should be aware about - but business came first.

“What’s the situation here?” he asked.

Essex calmly gestured at the drawing of the bridge on the map. “The northern side’s secured. The southern side’s the issue. There’s far more civilians than shoulders. Every group we manage to send back home, three more appear.”

“Any signs of trouble?”

Essex struck a match and lit a Boston Accent cigarette. Smoke covered the bridge. “Just a few scuffles, nothing too serious.”

Osip nodded. “Your orders for me, then?”

Essex took a long drag, letting silence hang in the air. Her eyes glanced up at Osip. “Did you like my teaching back then?”

He scratched his head, surprised by the question. “Sure. I think you did a good job. It certainly got me interested in Rddhi theory and all that.”

Essex slowly let her eyes drift back down to the map. “I’m thinking of throwing in the towel. Going to research only.”

Osip tripped to lighten the mood. “Was I really that bad of a student?”

Essex rested her hand on a palm, the cigarette held between her fingers. “It’s because you’re all good students.”

Osip didn’t understand that answer, but a yell from Lukas interrupted their conversation.

“The bridge is closed until further notice!” Lukas called out from atop of a stacked pile of crates behind the barricade to the southern side of the bridge. “Return to your homes! Martial law is in effect!”

Murmurs rose among the swelling crowd that quickly escalated.

“Why are we taking orders from a Rddhi school and not from Quinetucket?”

“Because the Rddhi schools drove Quinetucket out of power, of course!”

“They’re the same people that brought us into the First American War in the first place!”

“Please, calm down!” Lukas yelled out. “As long as you remain in your homes, we can guarantee your safety until the country has stabilized.”

“Merchants of death!” A tall man yelled out. He raised his arms and the chant cascaded across the crowd.

Recognizing the trouble, Osip rose from his seat, Essex following soon after. Behind Lukas, mercenaries and Patriots clutched their rifles, uncertainty in their eyes.

“Nobody has permission to fire!” Lukas yelled out to the men and women behind him. The mercenaries, since they world for the Academy, obeyed orders, but the Patriots - just a paramilitary group that proved useful in certain situations, but were ultimately only loyal to the new political order they wished to create - proved less receptive to Lukas’s order. Considering they were just armed civilians as well, not all of them had combat experience, meaning they were more likely to lose their cool and fire.

The barricade didn’t make it all the way to the encampment; a row of Patriots provided a wall for Essex and her entourage as they headed toward Lukas until they reached the start of the barricade. Civilians pressed together, but kept their distance from the paramilitary wall, wary of the pointy bayonets held by each Patriot.

“No more Rddhi merchants of death!” a man cried out as he broke through the crowd and rushed between the Patriots. In his hand he held a pistol, aimed squarely for Essex. One of the Patriots lowered a shoulder into him; the man fell to the ground, his pistol firing wildly into the air.

The crowd screamed and panicked; Lukas screamed at those behind him not to fire, and his voice carried enough force that everyone there held their tongues, merely pointing bayonets at anyone thinking of climbing over the barricade. Over near Essex, sharp whistles rang out as several more civilians followed up on the man’s attack, only to be immediately greeted by bayonets and billy clubs.

Osip frowned, realizing that this seemed like it had been planned in advance. Then he saw them; civilians moving with purpose and motive, trying to push through the soldiers. Okay, the fact that they now sported balaclavas and bandanas might’ve given their revolutionary nature away as well. The revolutionaries working in support of Quinetucket - made it past the first line of Patriots.

Osip stepped up, backfisting a revolutionary who got too close. When another aimed at him with his pistol, he took a calm breath and punched the air in front of him; red sparks illuminated his hand as a fireball rocketed toward the man, knocking both him and his pistol to the ground. When one of them tried to stab Essex, she calmly focused the Rddhi into her palms and struck several pressure points in his arm in quick succession.

That seemed to make the revolutionaries wary. They slowly backed off, the man with a now useless arm now joining them; Osip greeted a man who tried to raise a pistol with a fireball to the chest. With that show of force, combined with the Patriots reorganizing their wall, spelled defeat for the revolutionaries. They slipped away back into the crowd, which was now in the process of sprinting off. Hopefully back home, but Osip knew the other barricaded bridges might suffer the same violent escalations soon enough.

With the immediate threat gone, the defenders all caught their breath and consolidated their position.

“The Dorrites,” Essex surmised, the cigarette having never left her mouth. “Our intelligence suggested some of their operatives would be in the area.”

Osip looked at her blankly.

“A revolutionary group from the original Quinetucket revolution,” she explained. “Part of the broad coalition that came to power. They were quickly brushed aside and followed their own path since then. I doubt they support either Quinetucket or Pulaski now. But if Quinetucket somehow wins this, they’re more likely to bring them back into government than Pulaski.”

Osip looked at the bloodstains and dropped weaponry that now littered the ground ahead of them. “I see.”

He looked back over at her. “You know, you seemed like you enjoyed teaching me that. Maybe you shouldn’t throw in the towel just yet.”

Essex let the finished cigarette roll out of the fingers; it bounced against the ground, rolling up against a fresh bloodstain.

She looked up at the gray sky. “Maybe.”