The Freedom Fighter

The United States government had fallen after a nuclear war. Most other countries had suffered the same fate. The civilian cost of such a war was huge, sending humanity backwards, to an era of barbarism. In such a chaos, the remnants of former armies, which were now fending for themselves, organized in small independent groups. They gathered all the weaponry, and forced civilian settlements to pay them for "protection".

More than two centuries passed since the great war. During this time, the small groups of army remnants developed into semi monastic military orders. They only accepted strong and healthy young people who were willing to cut off their contacts with the outside world, and follow order's leadership, into their ranks. The members of such orders spent their lives in military training, and were told that they were the protectors of civilization, stability and peace. Since such orders, which only had direct control over small territories where their bases were located, didn't have a civilian economy, they relied on regular tributes from autonomous settlements.

A new country was founded in a corner of north America: American Federation. It united many settlements and new cities. Its territory was previously thought to be unimportant, and therefor ignored by all the military orders. Finding a new potential source of income, Iron Fist, a military order known for its hard discipline, good training and well-kept pre-war hardware, decided to force the new country into submission and perhaps break it down to smaller, easier to control parts.

Victory over this new country was important because of another reason as well: showing the others that nothing can exist outside of the established world order. If left alone, American Federation could become a beacon, lightening another path, encouraging the others to stop paying for "protection", making semi monastic military orders obsolete.

Since much of the land under American Federation control was unknown to Iron Fist, a scout unit, consisting of fast moving light mechs, was sent to gather information. Finding the first village, the unit engaged the guards and eradicated them along with a large number of civilians. Just as the scout unit was about to leave, a missile fired by the reinforcement sent by the Federation hit one of the mechs legs, sending it to the ground.

The pilot ejected, and the unit fought until large drones were sent to retrieve the fallen mech. They were successful, but the pilot, a young woman, who was injured and unconscious, remained and was captured.

A few days later, the invasion was ongoing, as the pilot was taken to an interrogation room, where Federation officers were waiting for her. The two men watched as she was brought to sit behind a table in handcuffs. She was tall and strong. Her face expression was determined and angry.

"We wouldn't have used handcuffs," the older man said, "but I heard that you injured a guard without a reason. So, we can't be careless around you, can we?"

The woman didn't answer. She just stared at him with hatred.

"I am Colonel Marcus Thorne," the older officer said, as they both sat down, "And this is Captain Elias Vance. We are tasked with your interrogation. Name and rank please."

"Lieutenant Jill Sterling."

"Why did you invade us?" Marcus asked.

Jill sat still, and stared at them. It was like this simple question had invaded her system of beliefs. The silence in the room stretched. Finally, she decided to see the question not as an inquiry, but as a symptom of their ignorance. To her, the Federation was the intruder, occupying a land that required the guiding hand of her Order to remain stable. The very idea that she was the invader seemed like a fallacy.

"We are not the invaders, you are. Your invasion against peace and order couldn't go unanswered."

Marcus looked disappointed and sad. "Peace and order," he repeated, "Is that what you call the slaughter of civilians? Most people at the village were not even armed. You didn't even offer them a chance to surrender before the slaughter began."

Jill felt a flicker of confusion, but she quickly suppressed it. The instructors of Iron Fist had taught her that the masses who were not guided by a strong and wise hand were chaotic and prone to madness. To bring true order, one had to prune the diseased parts of a society to save the whole. To her, the screams of the villagers were merely the sounds of the old world dying to make room for something better.

"They had their chance to submit, to accept the world order. But they choose savagery, to form a new so called country for themselves, to put their own shortsighted interests above the world peace and order. Such practices have led to a worldwide destruction once. We won't let them cause such a destruction again."

Marcus sighed, and he exchanged a quick look with Vance, who leaned forward, his finger scrolling through the data on a tablet. He paused on a picture of a burning farmhouse. The dismembered and burning bodies of a family were at the doorway. He showed her the photo, and asked, "What do you call this then? You shot civilians with heavy machine guns, and used flamethrowers to burn down the village. It looks pretty much like savagery and destruction to me."

Jill looked at the image, but her face expression didn't change. She did not see any horror in that picture. Instead, she saw a necessity. The instructors had taught her that the path to a lasting peace was paved with a firm hand. To her, the fire was not a weapon of terror, but a cleansing flame that removed the rot. The Federation was a cancer, and the only cure for such a disease was the iron fist of Iron Fist.

"You have to be blind to the grand design to see it that way," Jill replied. Her voice was firm, lacking any hint of doubt. "Those people were not victims. They were obstacles. By refusing the Order, they chose to exist outside the law, and those who exist outside the law are no longer protected by it. We did not murder them. We removed the chaos they represented."

Marcus stared at her for a long moment. He did not look angry, just exhausted and sad. "The 'law' you speak of is nothing more than a collection of rules written by men in a fortress who forcefully take food, fuel, minerals, and other goods from the people who hate them. You call this a 'world order', but it is just extortion, exploiting defenseless people."

"Only an ignorant can see it that way," Jill replied in anger, "We protect people, we settle their differences peacefully, we avoid war and discrimination. We put humanity above all shortsighted interests."

"But here you are, waging a war against people who you see inferior," Captain Vance cut her short, "and speaking of shortsighted interests, did you know that your comrades saw you ejecting after your mech was hit, but chose to save the death machine instead of you?"

Jill thought for a moment. The memory of the cockpit's flashing red alarms and the sudden, violent jolt of the ejection seat came back to her. She expected to see a familiar face when she opened her eyes, but saw enemy medics instead.

"I'm just one person," she said, "But a battle mech can save thousands. What they did only proves my point. We won't let personal feelings, interests and calculations obscure the bigger picture for us."

"By the way, how does Iron Fist treat the prisoners?" he asked, "That is if you take prisoners at all. Do you offer them medical assistance, do you sit around a table to talk to them, or you have different ways?"

Jill felt a prickle of irritation. The question was a trap, an attempt to make her feel a sense of hypocrisy. In her mind, the treatment of prisoners was a matter of utility. Those who were useful were kept as laborers to support the Order, and the others were simply harvested for human organs. To her, this was not cruelty, but a logical allocation of resources for the benefit of humanity.

"We treat prisoners according to their value to the Order," Jill answered, her voice devoid of emotion. "Those who submit and acknowledge the correct path are given a chance to serve. Those who persist in their delusions are handled with the efficiency required to maintain stability. There is no room for sentiment when the survival of civilization is at stake."

Marcus leaned forward, "Efficiency. That is a convenient word for slaughter and slavery. We have gathered some information about your Order. Torture is a simple routine for prisoners. The things I heard are terrible. Slavery, butchering humans for their organs, forced breeding for women prisoners to increase your numbers .... Tell me, how did you become a member in the first place?"

"My parents were killed by raiders, by people outside the law, like you." Jill responded with anger, "Iron Fist adopted and raised me to become a strong and noble person."

"Do you remember your parents? Have you seen their picture, or talked to someone who knew them?

"No."

"How many of you have a similar backstory?"

"Many. Most of us."

"Don't you find that strange? Did you know that your Order has a selective breeding program for women prisoners, with the aim of producing healthy and strong soldiers, who they brainwash since childhood? You are probably a result of this program yourself."

Jill felt a sudden surge of indignation. The idea that she was a product of a breeding program was an insult to the nobility of her calling. She saw herself as a freedom fighter, a warrior of the Order, a champion of people, not some lab specimen created for utility.

"Lies! Our men and women are free. Our relationships are not a cover for prostitution, like yours. Our children are not left to starve, or be misguided by people like you. We teach them human values and the art of keeping peace and order. If some women are viewed as breeding animals, they exist only outside of the law, in places like your occupation area."

"Haven't you noticed some anomalies?" Elias asked, "Is it by pure accident that almost all of you are tall and muscular, with no health issues? One in every three people suffers from cancer outside your barracks. How many patients have you got?"

"Our superiority is a result of rigorous training and healthy living, something that your dirty mind is unable to understand."

"Enough of that," Marcus tried to calm the situation, "Let's discuss the war situation. You are currently accused of being a war criminal. A large number of civilians were massacred by you. However, we understand that you were brainwashed. If you cooperate with us by offering any useful information about Iron Fist, we can offer you amnesty. Of course, you can consult with a lawyer before deciding. We can appoint a lawyer for you."

"What's a lawyer?" Jill asked in confusion.

"Oh ... no surprise that you don't know!" Elias said with a smirk, "A civilized court is something alien to you. A lawyer is a person who knows the law, and can defend you against accusations at a court."

"I don't need anyone to defend me," Jill said with confidence, "I stand by everything I have done."

"You truly think you are a righteous person, don't you?" Marcus said, sounding disappointed, "A freedom fighter, a hero, a savior, something like that? You were told these lies by people who brainwashed you since a young age. Can't you at least try to think for yourself?"

Jill felt more angry to hear that. He spoke as if she were a child, a lost soul in need of rescue from a benevolent hand. To her, his pity was the ultimate insult. "You think you are clever? Just wait and see what your ignorance and arrogance brings you. Right now, as we are sitting here, my comrades are preparing to advance. Soon, you will see our true might. You were extremely lucky to damage the light mech I was piloting. Soon, you'll see dozens of heavy mechs, against which your primitive weaponry and weak soldiers can do nothing except humiliating themselves."

"Yes, in fact we have already encountered them." Marcus said, "Your pre-war technology is impressive, and well-kept, but that's all you have. You haven't built anything significant since the great war. But we have. We are managing at the fronts."

"Forgive me," Elias jumped in the conversation, "But your death machines, those pre-war mechs ... How much does it cost to repair and maintain them, to keep them in operational conditions after all these years? By our estimates, a quarter of the continent should work only to keep them operational."

"The cost is irrelevant. The Order provides peace and stability. You can't put a price on such things. We do not trade in coins like merchants, we trade in duty."

Marcus looked tired and sad. His hopes of getting something out of Jill had faded away. He had failed to change her mind, and felt sorry for the young woman, but saw no option. "So, you are not willing to cooperate then, and you don't want a lawyer, am I correct?"

"Cooperate with you?! I rather die! And keep your lawyers for yourself. Perhaps they can beg for mercy when our army arrives."

The two officers called the guards, who took Jill back to her cell. It was a small room, with a private bathroom. There was a bed, a chair, and a small table there. Soon after, a doctor came to check her wounds.

Several days passed. She was given a newspaper everyday, along with a few books to read. This was the first time that she was reading something aside from her Order's educational material and propaganda. These were strange to her. The newspaper contained criticism of the high council of American Federation, pointing out their mistakes and shortcomings. The fact that such things could be printed inside the Federation was strange to her.

There was also news about the war. It seemed like Iron Fist had surprised the Federation at first, making a significant progress. But then war had came to a stalemate when the enemy learned how to oppose their pre-war technology using new tactics and inventions. The tide had turned when a mass mobilization was declared in the Federation. As the newspaper wrote, factories worked triple shifts to produce the needed equipment, and the people had volunteered to fight in large numbers. As a result, Federation had achieved several important victories and Iron Fist was pushed back.

She saw several pictures of heavy mechs, which she once thought invincible, and dreamed on piloting, destroyed on battlefields. The newspaper also wrote about several uprisings in other cities, which once paid tributes to Iron Fist. They had stopped paying for protection, and joined the Federation in the war.

Jill was worried, and felt ashamed for not being there to help her comrades. At nights, she usually thought about her friends and colleagues back at home, the group sports they played, the computer battle simulations, all the training and education they spent together. They were all keen to make the world a better place. Anything else seemed pointless. Life without the Order was unthinkable. But now, she was stuck in a cell, unable to participate in the war, when she was needed the most.

As the war continued, several other military orders, which were previously considered rivals, joined Iron Fist in the war. Freedom Falcons, Suns of America and Sword of Light attacked Federation from several directions. This was now a war between two different paths for the future, a war which shaped the future for many years to come.

One day Jill heard sounds of scream and cry from the corridor. People were running around, as if it was an emergency situation. She didn't understand why. No newspaper was given to her that day, or the next.

Two days later, the door to her cell was opened. It was Colonel Marcus Thorne. He looked even more defeated than when interrogating her.

"Congratulations," he said in a sad tone, "You won."

"What?" Jill asked in surprise, "How?"

"We managed to repel your initial assault. Other military orders came to your aid, but we repelled them as well. We were at your doors, when a nuclear missile was launched against our most important military base. The base and anyone in it were reduced to vapor and ash. Iron fist threatened to launch more missiles, this time aimed at our cities. We didn't want a second apocalypse, so we negotiated. We accepted to give them twenty percent of our annual income regularly in exchange for peace and their non-interference in our internal affairs."

Jill stared at him in surprise. This was not the victory she imagined. She had expected the Federation to crumble, to see its people accept a new world order. Some material gain from all the death and destruction seemed absurd.

"But I'm not here to congratulate you," Marcus continued, "I came to talk about your fate. They may not be kind to you if you return. You have seem too much. Their propaganda, I mean Iron Fist and other orders, has been repeating lies about the war. They say we started it, and they only acted in defense; we committed horrible war crimes, but they protected the people; we tortured and killed all prisoners, but they were kind to those who surrendered; and the result was determined in battlefields, where they gained heroic victories. They even say the nuclear explosion was our fault; we were preparing a nuclear missile to launch at them, but they attacked and damaged it, causing it to explode at our base. But you are a witness to some of those things. You think they will allow you to just walk around in their territory, and freely talk about what you have seen?"

Jill frowned, "Why would they lie? The Order does not lie. We are a brotherhood of honor and truth. That's something you cannot understand. Other cadets and officers are like my brothers and sisters. You think I believe you over them? Why are you even telling me this?"

Marcus sighed in disappointment, "I'm just trying to give you a chance. If you ask for asylum, we will grant you. There would be no trial or any kind of consequence because of your participation in the war. You can live in the Federation as a free citizen. But if you go back, the consequences may be dire. As I said, Iron Fist has promised not to interfere with our internal affairs as a part of the peace treaty. So, they can't interfere if you become a citizen here."

Jill chuckled, "You seriously expect me to choose you over them?! I won't believe a word you say," and pointing at the newspapers, she continued, "nor do I believe the ink on these papers. I'll hear the truth from my brothers and sisters when I get out. Now, release me. If there has been a peace of any kind, I should go free."

"Fine," Colonel said, as he turned to leave, "We'll call your command center, and tell them where to pick you up."

Jill could hardly believe it. She was finally going home. The thought of being greeted by the order excited her. She took a look at the stack of newspapers, and felt bad for letting them bring doubt to her mind, even if it was just little and for a short while.

A few hours later, she heard a helicopter landing. Shortly after, a guard opened the cell's door, and guided her outside. Unlike always, they didn't use handcuffs. She was escorted outside the building, where she saw the helicopter, which had an Iron Fist symbol on it. Colonel Thorne pointed at her, showing her to Iron Fist soldiers, standing by the helicopter, and then turned to Jill, pointing towards the helicopter, without saying anything.

Jill started walking. Iron Fist soldiers just stared at her until she got close. Then, without saying anything, grabbed her violently, put her in handcuffs, covered her eyes with a blindfold, and dragged her inside the helicopter.

Jill kept asking why they treated her like that, repeating that she had stayed loyal to Iron Fist. But they refused to answer, and said nothing at all.

The helicopter took off, and after a long flight, it landed. Jill had continuously talked during the way, trying to explain that this was a mistake, but to no avail. No one said a word to her. She was dragged to a cell, much smaller than the previous one, where there wasn't even enough room to stretch her legs. She had no idea where the prison was located, and didn't even knew such a place existed at all.

She knocked at the door, and demanded answers. A few male guards came and beat her up, making it clear that she had no right to ask questions or disobey.

During the next days, Jill was taken outside for medical examinations and a shower. The guards did not talk to her at all, except when ordering her around. They took her uniform, and offered her plain white clothes. There were other prisoners there, mostly women, in the same clothes. On short occasions, when guards weren't watching her closely, she tried talking to them. But they acted like zombies, not bothering to answer or even look at her. They just stared at walls indifferently.

One day the guards took her to a room, with a medical bed in middle of it. They laid her down and closed her arms, legs and neck with straps, making her unable to move, before leaving the room. Shortly after, a man who was dressed like a doctor entered.

He had a look at a clipboard, and asked, "Jill Sterling?"

Jill stopped struggling against the straps, surprised that someone was finally talking to her. "Yes, that's me. What's going on here?"

"26 years old, no health issues, no injuries, no mental conditions." The man read from the clipboard, "A fine specimen. How are you feeling?"

"How do you expect me to feel?!" Jill yelled at him, "Explain to me. What is going on here? Why was I brought here? I have been loyal to our cause. I fought with honor, and tolerated prison without showing any weakness or cooperating with the enemy. What's this all about?"

The man smiled, and said, "Well, what can I say? Perhaps the things you just mentioned are your sins. You are not getting out of this room alive ... alive in the head I mean. So, we can speak freely during the little time we have."

Jill's face went pale, and she found herself unable to speak. The man realized her shock and relieved her of asking questions.

"You know too much, have seen too much, have been exposed to hostile ideas and way of thinking. The Order can't have you talking to young cadets, saying things you shouldn't say. You may be loyal, but the risk is too great, so it's not logical to accept it. You have already been declared dead, tortured and killed by the Federation, while staying loyal to the Order until your last breath. That's something that inspires the cadets, isn't it? But you returning home, talking about what you have seen ... That produces opposite results."

The man approached a table, and started preparing a syringe, as he continued, "The only reason we keep you alive, at least partially, is that your body can be used for reproduction. Our loses have been great during the war. The Order needs healthy and strong soldiers to replace the fallen."

Jill couldn't say a word. Her worldview had crumbled. She didn't know who she was, or what she stood for anymore.

The man said, "But don't get mad. If it wasn't for such a need, you wouldn't have existed in the first place. I looked at your file. Your mother was in exactly the same position as you are right now. We try to find perfect biological match for the prisoners here. You are a good example of our success yourself, and you shall continue the line, providing us only the finest human beings."

Holding a tube filled with a white liquid for her to see, he continued, "We found a perfect biological match for you too. But before we begin the process, there is something else we need to do. Something that is mutually beneficial."

Jill had stopped struggling. Tears were flowing from her eyes. She just stared at the man.

"You don't have to suffer anymore," He said, "You don't have to feel anything anymore. We'll lobotomize you, remove a part of your brain which makes you feel emotions. You have seen the other prisoners here, haven't you? Wouldn't you rather be like them, not feel anything? Just imagine the torture of caring about everything that goes on around you for the rest of your life, while you can't do anything about it. Not caring about anything is definitely a good thing for someone in your position. As for us, a lobotomized woman can still give birth to healthy children, and is easier to control. So, it's a win-win."

Jill wanted to scream, to fight, to tear the straps from the table and kill him along with everyone at his side, but the crushing weight of the revelation had paralyzed her more effectively than any physical restraint. Everything she had ever believed in, the nobility of her Order, the purity of their mission, was a lie.

The man stood by her, holding the syringe, and said, "Any last words? This injection puts you to sleep. When you wake up, you will be like other prisoners here."

Jill had nothing to say. She closed her eyes, and waited for the injection. She felt a sting in her arm, and then nothing.