Free Gettysburg: A Tale of the Second War for Pennsylvanian Independence by Chris Pourteau Page A

Noffsinger, “I
think I knew your father. He was also a minister?”
    Noffsinger sat back. “Yes, yes he was. You are Amish,
then,” he said, confirming something for himself. “And that Mary
Brenneman.”
    “Used to be. Not anymore,” she said around the beef she was
chewing.
    “Oh yes, she used to be one of us,” said a new voice
entering the barn. A large man approached. All heads turned from the table.
“But now she’s shunned.”
    Stug couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. Hatch smelled
the electricity in the air. Noffsinger, who’d suspected the truth and had only
now seen it confirmed, stood up from the table.
    “Marcus, your suspicions seem to have been proven correct,” Noffsinger
said, his hands coming up to placate the other man. “But it is also true that,
at times, we help TRACE. Many of their fighters are formerly of the AZ.
We have never used that fact as a litmus test for our willingness to provide
succor.”
    “None have ever shamed us as she and her family did,” the new
man—Marcus—said, his anger growing. “We should turn her and her rebel friends
over to Transport immediately.”
    Stug began to stand up, but Hatch put his hand on the sergeant’s
thick forearm. They shared a look, and the lieutenant merely shook his head.
    “Who are you?” asked Mary.
    “Marcus Yoder,” he said. His eyes dared her to remember.
    The QB looked down at the table briefly, then stood. “We
must leave. Elder Noffsinger, everyone,” she said, casting her eyes across the
stunned onlookers, “on behalf of TRACE and the SOMA, thank you for your
hospitality. You’ve given us aid when we needed it most. Blessings upon you and
all in the AZ.”
    Hatch started to rise.
    “Oh, no, please stay,” said Yoder, his words dripping with
crocodile honey. “You look tired. No need to rush off. I called my cousin,
Donavan, with Transport. They’ll be here shortly.”
    “Sonofa—” Stug rose as one with the others to retrieve their
weapons.
    “Marcus!” Noffsinger gasped. “You had no right—”
    “ I have every right! ” Yoder exploded. “After what she
did to my family? Every right! ”
    B Company was already slinging their gear when they heard
the whine of the first airships in the distance. Everyone in the barn began to talk
at once as violence threatened to erupt all around them.
    “Hurry up, people!” said Hatch.
    “Elder Noffsinger, my apologies for what I have brought down
on your head,” said the QB quickly. “You must evacuate this barn, with all your
people. We must make our stand here.”
    “No!” said Noffsinger. “We cannot condone your committing
violence here! This is our home, our land!”
    “See? It’s in her nature. Like her stubborn father, her
hot-headed brother,” said Yoder, venom in his voice. “She poisons us all with
her very presence.”
    The captain looked to be at a loss. Obviously, the Amish
were not clearing out, and yet to run now with her fellow soldiers would be committing
pointless suicide. Fortifying the barn would at least give them the opportunity
to take a few of the Authority with them.
    Then all the TRACE fighters in the barn shook their heads simultaneously.
    “Was that what I think it was?” asked Stug.
    Another ping resounded in their skulls. Someone was trying
to contact their BICEs.
    “No sense hiding now,” said Hatch, connecting to the Internet.
    “—extraction from your present location. Captain
Brenneman, please respond. This is Lieutenant Norwich of Stillen Company. Our
orders are to conduct your extraction from your present location . . .”
    Stug’s baritone whooped so loud it filled the barn from
stalls to hayloft. “They’re ours!”
    “No!” shouted Yoder. “Transport is on the way! I will not
allow—”
    “Marcus! Quiet yourself,” said Noffsinger, visibly perturbed
by how events had unfolded. “You’re already in trouble with the elders. Try not
to compound it.”
    Admonished, the other man glared daggers at B