Chapter 1: April 24th, 1916
The second explosions shook the walls, causing debris to blow out under our feet, shaking the supports of the second floor. The black smoke began to fill the top of the second story now, entering my nostrils and to the back of my throat like a noose around my neck. I barely lifted my head out the window just enough to grasp fresh air, only to propel back behind the wall in cover from the distant shots that smack onto the window seal, sending any remaining shards of glass to the floor below. I grip the bolt of my rifle, pulling it back to check inside of the magazine to find it empty. Finding no more bullets in my pockets; I toss the weapon to the ground, reaching for my pistol. Once loading the strip magazine onto the top of the magazine holder, I released the charging handle forward which gives off a distinct clink. Once done, I leveled the pistol just to where the barrel is positioned down the fortified road and began to pull back the trigger, allowing it to recoil back against my hand. After letting off a few shots, another barrage of gunfire sends me back behind the wall for cover. Checking around the corner the moment the rounds cease, I begin to load in a few more bullets into the pistol the moment when a second artillery barrage slams onto our direction. The blast sends out a fiery explosion, throwing bricks and concrete into anyone’s path. The entire ground rumbles below me which almost causes me to lose my balance, only to save myself by grabbing onto the edge of the window. “We have to surrender, we can’t take it anymore!” screams out Pearce. I attempted to reply to his holler, only to burrow myself back down from another shockwave of the artillery explosion. Dust and debris sends towards Connolly as he immediately collapses. When two men reach for his aid, they soon find his leg in a bloody mess. Before long, I returned my gaze outside, a new feeling taking over my sense as I fire downrange once more. “They are killing us, we are going to be slaughter from this massacre!” One man screams “We must surrender, we can’t hold out anymore!” I cry out. Waiting for a response, Pierce rips off a tablecloth from one of the tables as he begins to tie it around a pole. Damn it, this is the end, no more of this speculation. For 700 Years, we’ve fought for our independence, fought so hard but it always leads into nothing but failure. Now, this attempt for recognition of freedom will reach its conclusion in just a few more seconds now. The moment Pearce finishes tying the knot, another blast sends me on my back in a heavy slam, causing my head to ache. I lift up to examine the damage to find everyone standing up to their feet. But not even another second to stand up only to be flung back to the ground from another blast at the far end of the building. At this point, Pearce springs to his feet before another blast of the shell could bring us down again, proceeding his way to the exit outside, waving the makeshift flag to signal the surrender. From the distance, I can hear the gruff British accent of a man screaming out to the rest of the people outside. It is inaudible from where I lay, but the echoing shots and explosions that mute the outside starts to cease. Knowing this is the end to our scuffle, I find Harry Boland ascending from the table with his hands lifted into the air. I creep up next to him following in his tracks until we reach outside of the post office along with everyone else. Seeing how the building is now from its elegant and tall shape, now filled with the blazing of fire and bullet holes covering the pillars and walls. The cold fresh air slams along my body like someone just opened a window from a blazing steel factory. Smoke, however, continues to fill the sky above us and to the distance where a full barricade with many rifles trained onto us comes into view. The sudden sight of the battalion almost causes me to shiver. In the distance, the Artillery cannons set along the road further just about six blocks from the looks of. “Drop your guns and take three paces back!” the British officer screams out. I then notice that the pistol was still in my hand. Not wanting to take any chances, I slowly lower my hand to the ground, allowing the pistol to fall onto upon the cobblestone road. With the gun making a metal ping, I slowly raise my posture back. “Move three paces back now!” the commander screams out once more. We all then begin to take small steps back away from the weapons that lie on the floor. The moment this occurs, I turn to Harry, giving out one final response “Game’s over Harry, we lost again.”
After waiting for more than an hour inside of the courtyard just across from the post office, we are all then shove to the side where the iron gates swing open. Once this occurs, a group of men in black trench-coats emerge inside. Their Fedoras cover each piece of their heads and roof of their heads. G-man’s. Each and every one of them storm into the gate, walking towards the crowd. The man with the tan trench coat and the dark brown hat grabs Pearce by the neck like a snake catching a mouse, throwing him to the guards behind him. He then grabs Thomas Clarke, a man who looks as of a friendly next door neighbor, middle age and wears glasses, throwing him into the guards’ path as well. Things nearly went out of hand as he marches to Connolly who was shot in the leg. He stands over him before thrusting his foot at his wound, causing him to go in agony and wailing loudly. I begin to move forward in an attempt to stop the spectacle, my blood curdling and anger filling my head before an arm grabs my wrist, forcing me to stop. “Wait Michael.” Eamon would say lightly. His grasp was as tight as a machine presser, his fingers cringing along the tattered pieces of my outfit. I stared ahead helpless as they begin to force Connolly to his feet. “Till’ when?” I whisper, my breath escaping in a low sigh while waiting for him to respond. “Till’ the next time.” It doesn’t feel more than a few more seconds when the tall postured man stops in front of our direction. His face would spread a wide grin as he marches towards Eamon on my right, his cane rising with piercing precision along his neck. “Eamon De’Valera.” He says with a rough voice, his hands grasping him around the neck before hurdling him to the crowd of guards behind him. I watch as they march all five of them into a truck and drive them away. Harry pats my shoulder the moment they disappear “What happens next Michael?” I turn to him, not knowing how to respond, sharing my thoughts “We won’t play by their rules Harry, will invent our own.”
I stare at the towering supports as they keep the cells up high. Wondering what to expect once I get out, I lay back upon my bed with a heavy sigh of exhaustion and depression. They executed Clarke, Pearce, and Macdonough, but they tried to spare Connolly’s life since he was wounded. But the British councilors did not find that as a reason for him to live and had him executed while sitting on a chair. Expecting the same to happen to Eamon, they lift off his charge since he was born in America. I can’t believe he would do that. While the others died, he ran as a scapegoat and hid himself in nationality. Unsure for that reason, they probably wanted to avoid a war with America since they were still in a war with Germany. I turn my head onto the pillow, the thoughts of the past flowing through my mind. We must get our country, this is ours. If only we may have more people to assist, but it feels like we are overturned by every opportunity. For seven hundred we have failed to take back our country from the British. We have waited too long and I am now prepared to do everything in my power to take our country in its own hands. I will do so the moment I set foot out of this prison. After thinking about it for nearly an hour, I dropped my feet onto the edge of the bed, drifting off to a restless sleep.
Chapter 2: November 9th, 1918
Michael Collins is released from prison...
The steam whistle blows as the steam flows past the train window, leaving a light trail along the edges of the seal. The environment of the cabin smelt of cigarette smoke and coal. Despite it being nearly twenty degrees Celsius outside, the humidity of the cabin was almost unbearable. I fold up the newspaper tossing it to the side of the bench. Nothing ever interesting was on the daily towns, just mainly advertisement and history moments. Harry is still asleep inside the cart across from me. His face was much cleaner and his posture poised out in a restless motion. I give a chuckle while folding my arms, tilting my head to the side for a better view. “They let us out of prison just so we can get ourselves put back in would you say?” I turn to Harry, as he now has one eye open, listening to what I have to say. “Yes, just like a moment in a paradox.” Confusion fills his face as he turns his head to the other side, staring out the window. “Paradox, a statement that contradicts itself of when something occurs over and over again.” I begin to tell him. I clearly notice he is not listening since he let’s out a loud snoring noise. I reach for the newspaper next to me; arching my arm back and forward fast, letting the paper unravel in his direction. “Hey!” I holler while he covers his face until the paper settles.
The train comes to a rest, allowing smoke to pour from the pipes once more. I reach for my and allow it to my side. “So, you ready to get sent back to jail again you old gobshite?” “Aye’, but not before you.” He says in a mocking tone, flinging his hands in front of me. We step off of the train, the steam aroma fills my nose with the sight of the settling smoke from the trains idle. Everyone begins approaching to family members, sisters, long lost cousins as they step off with their luggage and possessions. I turn to Harry, giving him a nudge on his shoulder after sighting a married couple still in their finest dressings “What do ye’ think Harry, shall’ we settle down?” “Ahh, just the two of us.” He says in a joking attitude, hoisting his bag onto his back. We leave the sight of the train until the exit of the narrow doorway comes into view where I find Patty O’Reilly and Garry De’nail standing in front of a car. I approach to them in a friendly stature, both arms out for a big hug the moment a mysterious figure catches my eye. His face would have light wrinkles while a black fedora covers the top of his hair. His eyes appearing dark due to the shadow of the hat covering it.“Hello Mick, how was yer’ ride?” Says Patty. I almost didn’t notice that I nearly ran into him from the sudden distraction of the figure. My breathing slowly increases in a light tone while poising my head directly towards him. “Tell me Patty, how long has that man been there?” I ask him. Garry distinctively over hearing me, turns his head behind the seat as we place the luggage in the back. “As long as we have.” “Well we better get moving, that Dublin Jackie could approach here’ at any minute.” I tell them, sitting myself on the chair. The car would start up, the familiar stench of gas surrounds me once more. The car rocks back, the tires screeching across the gravel and rocks before we take off. We drive for nearly ten minutes until the train station disappears behind us. I turn around, staring down to find a car not too far behind us, the black hat sticking out of the top. I turn back around, anger filling my head to know these men following us. “How did they know we were coming?!” I holler out over to Patty. “They know what we ate for breakfast.” He says in a stern voice. “Well there is only one way to beat them then.” I reply. “What’s that?” Says Garry, keeping his eyes on the road. “Find out what they eat for breakfast.”
The car comes to a stop where we take a step out to the square of Ole’ Den. It was a small village, just like the old town of Cork. It’s definitely better than the old cities of London. Despite the beautiful architecture they have on most buildings and the Big Ben clock tower, it was still rather musty with poverty along every corner. It wasn’t any better here, but the countryside almost causes the entire troubles to evaporate. Many of the stores were open, even some of their windows open and smoke arise from the chimneys of the houses and taverns. I could imagine how much it be to have a place open here, paying more than twenty pounds a day is a fortune in times like this. Hell, if a family was to have that much, I’m sure they’d rather use that on new cattle if their land wasn’t in debt, or rent. I proceeded down in the middle of the square, my arms crossing as I kick out my feet to the ground. There were children just across the street, kicking a leather foot ball back and forth before it rolls towards my direction. I was lucky to catch it with my feet, stopping it from rolling any further. “Aye’, pass it over ere’ big fella’!” the little one cries out, waving his arms in the air as if he was attempting to fly. I send my feet along the rubber football in his direction, watching the two rush around side and catching along once more. I didn’t realize that I was that big. I always thought it was exaggeration until I once took a look at myself. I do notice when standing next to Harry and the others. They say my Height was around Six Feet, but it’s never true on what these doctors say now in days. The kids roll around onto the ground, now appearing to wrestle over the sport instrument. Harry behind me gives off a sudden grasp around my neck, now attempting to wrestle me to the ground with all his strength. I give off a reply by shoving my elbow along his stomach, my breath exhaling briefly as we both fall to the ground like seven year olds trapped in twenty year old bodies. “Ow, you West Cork Muck savage, you knocked me’ wind out of ye’ spine!” He cries out. I couldn’t help but give off another laugh, slowly standing back to my feet. “Can ye’ melt off the Earth like snow in a ditch?” He would give his arms a wave, now appearing to give off another laugh in reply. “Aye, just wait next time and I catch ye’.” My voice would end in a rather croak as I spot the figure over behind his right shoulder. The tall trench coat figure stands in a light posture while he shifts his focus towards the buildings on his right, pretending that his gaze is elsewhere. “‘Ye’ still up for it, you can back down if that bloody G-man stands in yer’ way.” I hesitate, my breath slowing down while the thoughts echo around my mind as if I was speaking in a different language. The breeze of the cold air hits me back into reality, bringing my senses back while my eyes return back onto him. “I feel as if things shall get rough, prepare a way to abandon post, the minute I begin speaking, the Royal Constabulary will have everyone by the Noose.” Harry’s eyes turn back to his left while he returns his vision back towards me, a smile now spreading along his face as he inclines his head in a light bow. “Alright you Catholic Bastard, stir up ye’ hive then.”
The crowd now surrounds everywhere around me, the whole square now covered of spectators while my voice appears to travel around as far as I can hear. “From the past of the candidates, was from this moment of rotting in an English jail should put you up!” The crowd angers out in long growls and responses of hollers, their hands shaking around while their heads poise along each other. “But it was along me’ to be in a week ago.” Their anger soon turns into laughter, clapping their hands together as they step back, nodding their heads in reply. “They can Jail us, they can shoot us, they can even Conscript us! They can use us a Cannon Fodder in the sun, but we have a Weapon, more powerful than the whole arsenal of the British Empire, and that weapon is our refusal, our refusal to bow to any order but our own, any institute but our own!” Everyone begins applauding, their hands lifting high in the air like if they were trying to catch lightning bugs in the sky, their voices echoing all over the village. It wasn’t long as I expected when a convoy of police men begin their approach behind the crowd, the damned trench-coat figure standing not too far from my spot in front of the entire crowd of police troops. A blur emitted along behind him from my puerperal vision as if someone threw a glass of water along my face. I hesitated, my breath slowly increasing while they proceed to level their Batons out of their holsters. I leveled my hand forward, waving along in their general direction to draw their attention behind them. “Our friends from the Royal Constabulary would like to shut me up.” I reply, leveling my hands back to my thighs. The crowd begins to raise their voice out, their own postures poising about as they send curses and growls to their direction. My arms level back up once more, my voice echoing in the village. “Yes, jail me again, shoot me who knows!” And then it hit me, a message for everyone to keep with them and to pass along, a warning in some like towards the rest of the Royal Police. “But I like for you to send them a message, if they were to shut me up, who will take my place?!” The crowd’s hands rise in unison, their shouts in the sound of a growl of a boar while they keep themselves forward. “Who will take their place then if they shut you up!” It was once again, the crowd replies the same line, all crying out for peace and freedom. It was then the crowd of police began their charge forward, their batons leveled and ready to swing at the nearest person they find as the large brawl springs out. People would be sending their canes towards other officers and their fist clashing against one another. Each hit is heard and each fall is seen. It’s a sight that was an unfathomed view. Something that not one person would ever see before, nor’ would ever imagined again. It was the start of something that would be a reckoning sight. A new age of the Revolution has begun.
Chapter 3: January 14th, 1919
Michael Collins and Harry Boland in the night...
The sky was once clear for once. The night filled the air with its magnificent stars and far beyond gaze of clouds that could be barely sought by the illuminating light of the glowing moon. The cool air of the night fills the air as the foggy dew brews in. It’s a sight that I can never get old of from the country, something that the coast always brings. “Ey’ Mick, how long ye’ be out and about.” Harry called out, his hat now placed along his head. “I’d be a moment, rather tired from early day.” I replied, resting my back along the tree once more, my legs propped out on one another. “Unless you want to forget about supper, hop along inside we having ye’ night of bond tonight.” “Alright, I’d be up and about.” I holler back just for him to return inside. He would stand their a moment, his arms crossed back once more before he turns his posture back towards the doorway, proceeding to level his hat back from his head while proceeding inside. He always had worn a hat, even if it was just for a moment once inside. He use to have a Fedora that he kept since the night before the Rising, it got lost while we fled towards the Post Office. If I had to guess, it might have been blown by the wind for all I known. I slowly rose from the damped ground. It had rained earlier, but the new wool coat can keep me dry from anything.
Once inside, I made my way towards the living room. It was a rather cozy place with the fire ablaze in the stoned fireplace and the lamps now on. This was the only place with an actual lamp since they were relatively new and expensive. The rest of the house is illuminated by either lanterns or small candles. Even then, it still provides enough light to walk about if in the middle of the night. I proceeded to settle myself on the nearest chair by the fireplace since was still rather cold from the outside. “Aye’ bout time ye’ showed up.” Harry exclaims, placing his hands together. “You got something to say you Dublin Jacky’?” I replied with a gruff manner, leveling my leg along my kneecap in a longing manner. “Ye’ think you something aren’ ye’?” He groans out as if another fight was to proceed. “Alright, calm yerselve’s gentlemen, or the night would never begin.” The elderly woman would exclaim, sitting along the chair ahead of the room. “Maybe I may start the night with a song, down ere’ we make great exclaims.” The young woman next to her replies before standing herself up. The woman looked rather pretty. Her eyes were a light greenish color and her hair was a dark red color. Her face was something however. Her cheekbones had red dimples and her face was in a rather short tone. She didn’t look too tall as well. She looked almost as short as the lamp I rest by. She began to settle her arms by her side, her voice gruffing in a light cough as she cleared her throat, proceeding to give off a light sigh while her voice begins to breathe out. “My own love, said to me….My mother long gone…And, my father will Cite you for your lack of kind….” Her voice was as of a Charming Angel had settle along this very room. Her sound echoed all around and vibrated the very chair I settled. It was Natural Beauty, a beauty that not too many ever acquire. The more she sang, the more I couldn’t resist to watch her while I rested my back closer along the chair, breathing in a light tone. It’s as if I’m in love. Or was I?
I settled myself onto the bike with a light sigh, my feet resting along the individual pedals and my hands gripping the wet metal bars of the steer. I soon push forward, allowing momentum to take its place with the assistance of my feet pedaling along. The bike was rather old, but it still had a smooth ride along the way onto the road. The midnight breeze took in while the dew slowly settled along. It began to even mist somewhat as I began to approach the old barn where I settled the near by post. It’s been a year since the riot in the Square of Ole’Den. Many people injured and hurt, but all leaving inspired. After the entire spectacle, they sent troops down to restore order, leaving a few more to be hurt from the constant attacks. However, despite all this, it was soon to be heard that more than fifteen people volunteered into the fight for independence. Ever since then, it was simple telegrams to other counties and runs along the small villages around, eventually leading back to Dublin. Our plan was to rally everyone up, and bring the revolution back to life once more. Since the Rising, it subsided, but once it is all done on our side, we will spark the flame on it once more. I proceeded inside of the old barn to find the group all huddled around a small fire pit. I reach out towards the hat hanger, resting it along the metal hook while giving off another light sigh as they all focused their attention on me. “So, you’re all serious on this are ye’?” I replied with a light tone, watching their reactions as I move closer to the group. They began to nod in agreement, a couple of them even shifting forward just to hear my side. “Right, now you all understand that people could die once this is brought back up, some of you may even have to do the killing, others may even be killed, but when you do, you are doing this for the country and for independence, without making hate necessary, Britain would never hear us.” I shift my gaze to the back a moment as I step forward, turning back to the group with my hands now resting along my sides. “Now, with the corporate plan of many Guerilla tactics that everyone did for their independence like the Bolsheviks, the French, even the Americans is as simple as this, we jump out of the crowd, strike the enemy, then jump back into the crowd again.” “With what?” The man ahead of the group would ask, his arms settled along his hips. I turn towards his direction, examining their reaction. “What do you got?” They all soon level up an array of Hunting Rifles, Single-Shot weapons and even a few of them with pistols. I give off a light chuckle, approaching forward to the one that replied, lifting his rifle from his grasp. “This is all we need, with the hardware like this, it brings us up to our next step, Patty how far is the British Barracks from here?” Patty’s head would level up, his hands now in his coat pockets in protection from the cold air. “T-Two Miles down the road.” I lift my hand up, mimicking his response. “Two miles down that road there is a full Military arsenal that can get this ye’ train moving.” The man from the back finally stands to his feet, his arms waving up somewhat with the pistol still in his hand. “How are we supposed to do that, we don’t even got bullets!”. I turned back towards him, shaking my head lightly. “Yea but they don’t know that.” I soon spot the nearest meat hook that rest’s neatly along the rack on the wall. I take it in a heavy grasp and sticking it into a cloth bound of hay. “What is this?” I ask him, holding it out in front of him. He would stare at it, confusion filling his face. “That’s a ball of cloth.” I shake my head, stepping back somewhat. “Wrong, this is a weapon.” The entire room begins to react by laughing almost hysterically, their heads shaking in denial as they rest along the walls and barrels that rest in the barn. I turn all around to the group, my eyes focused on each one. “You don’t believe me?” I turn towards a small barrel tub next to a car where oil would reside. With a light dip along inside until it is completely soak, I hesitate the end of the cloth along over the fire pit. The entire hay ball erupts in a blazing fire, illuminating the room around and sending heat to erupt along my forearm. I would spin the clothed ball around close to everyone, causing them to lean back somewhat while hesitating it over their face. “What is it now…Hm?”
The building soon emerges into view. It was a standard two story wooden house with pale windows and misted doorways. “Do it now, and get behind ye’ rock fence once it’s done.” I reply before proceeding along in a leaning motion behind the stoned tablets. The five kids behind me begin to settle their clothed balls ablaze while rushing around the corner, hoisting it overhead towards the top of the roof. Each one of them lands on with precise landing, only one managed to fall to the ground below. I leveled the barrel of the pistol towards the doorway, kicking my leg out for a better posture as people began to settle beside me, their weapons leveling towards the doorway as well. I was now nervous, what if they come running out with their rifles and open fire. We don’t have bullets and if they decide, they could just simply open fire. What if no one is in there and it’s just abandon. The abundant questions of ‘What Ifs’ continued to fill my head as I held my breath once the front door emerges open, a large puff a smoke escaping the doorway. It was a relief the moment the soldiers come stumbling out. Many of them not even wearing their tunics as if they just jumped out of their beds. They would all be hacking and coughing heavily, some of them even falling to the ground while they breathed in as much air as they can, only to be stopped the moment their eyes catch along us. I make my voice in a heavy gruff manner while standing to my feet, leveling the barrel towards their direction. “Hands in the Air!” The soldier’s expressions changed from relief, to outright horror. They all lifted their hands in the air as commander, falling back somewhat in reply. I hop over the blockade, slowly approaching in a fast manner. “Gentlemen, we shall be relieving of your responsibilities.” I call out to them while making my way towards the inside of the building, kicking the door down in a heavy force. The door would collapse towards the floor as I rush inside of the steaming hot room. It was rather difficult to breathe, but air was somehow getting in with the doorway being knocked down. Patty and Henry begin to throw things along the ground, searching for any cache or closet that sticks out. I would scan around the room as well the moment a rack of rifles just across from me lays in order. My breath exhales heavily, a smile spreading along my face before nudging my head forward, attempting to grab their attention. “Here’s what we came for!” Patty and Henry both turn their heads around, immediately rushing forward towards the rifles, grabbing at least two at a time. They would carry the guns towards the table where Harry spreaded a blanket along, stacking each and everyone one of them on top. “Go fast lads, its Christmas.”
I was now exhausted. The early morning is just around the corner as the sun slowly rises. The morning fog and overcast sky is just now settling in, followed by the cool breeze that always follows behind it. I proceed to step forward along the side of the road, the smoke of the building now no longer viewable. It wouldn’t be long before a search party is to roll around these parts. “Let’s get in the abandoned Church.” Patty replied, giving off a slight groan as he hoisted the bag closer to his back. “Fine, the lads may be a pound shaft from this walk, eye’ of them might want a fag.” From the thought of it, I could really use cigarette myself, but there is no time for that the moment. We push down the old wooden door that was once a great double post before proceeding inside. The interior looked rather vague, but surprisingly the windows were still intact. Even some of the benches looked rather new, though many of them have been removed after it was closed. Religion could be rather heavy in these parts when you have Catholics and Protestants upset over one another. British or Irish, there is bound to be conflict between the two. Even the British themselves turn against each other over it. From my opinion, religion is just nothing more than a conflict of its own. Two sides don’t agree with others views and ideas, and would get heated to the point a conflict may approach. The Muslims though have been doing this for centuries, as well as the Christians, the Jews. It’s like you can’t even have your own thought on what you believe in anymore. It’s better to be an Agnostic. At least from that point, you put the mind in your place and keep yourself out of all the bloody Taft. But from there, it’s still bound to be in conflict with Extremist. So from my knowledge, hate it going to be an everyday thing, not mattering what you are. “Put them here.” Garry told one man, in which he replied by settling the two containers along the floor. Patty followed along behind, resting the duffle bag on its side. There was so much to grab, that Harry had to bring in two rags, however the smoke got too much to where we had to abandon the rest to be consumed in the flames. Giles, a new face proceeded to unravel the patches of the bag, revealing the array of rifles in order. My heart fell from the sight of the weapons. It turned out better than I thought it would be. From the looks it appeared as if there were around thirty. I’m surprised myself that we cleaned out that much. Everyone began to reach for individual ones, their hands dragging along the wooden furniture while they settle themselves back, making eye contact with each metal and switch of the rifle. I turned my head over a moment to Patty and Connor where they appeared to be busting open lids of the large metal cans. “Mick, we have more than a thousand rounds from these cans!” James called out, laughing in a heavy manner. It was Christmas after all. I approach to one side of the floor, lifting the long rifle from the table and leveled the barrel towards the ceiling, scanning my eyes along to recognize the feel of it once more. The Rifle looked the same as the one during the Rising, almost identical actually. They sure weren’t into updating their models from the looks of it. I grip the bolt tightly, pulling it upwards and back towards me, which reveals the cartridge holder and barrel a moment before pushing it back forward, locking it in place. “We jump out of the crowd, strike the enemy with everything we can, and duck back down again, don’t give the enemy a chance and strike with all might.” I began talking to the crowd in a rough voice, marching down to the end of the hall where the rest of the crowd resides. I handle the rifle towards the man at the far end, turning my posture back around as I approach back to the end of the Church once more. “Don’t stay at regular places after times of here, and fight with all will, is that clear?” I shouted, turning my posture around. “Yes Sir.” Everyone replied, not so much synced, but something at all. “Stand up!” I holler out, causing everyone to immediately jolt up in response and clasping their arms together. “Do you understand!” I repeated once more. Everyone replies in another heavy matter, their heads nodding as they give off heavy groans, keeping their hands together and their eyes locked onto me with unison this time. “Yes sir!” I hesitate, staring at everyone around me while my arms press along my sides. This is it right here I thought. Here is the new beginning where we begin and how we will fight for our sake once more. With not much in speeches, I leveled my head towards the rest of the Squad, my voice light, but firm as I speak. “I’ll make a Fuckin’ army out of ye’ if it’s the last thing I do.”
Chapter 4: August 8th, 1919
Michael Collins meets a new face...
The Afternoon brought a chilled day. After another meeting with the Delegations of the Sinn Fein, it was time to relax and enjoy the evening. “Mick, ye’ still up and about?” Harry would reply, giving my shoulder a light nudge. I turn my attention to him, sending my elbow back against his side. “Aye’ you Tick, say we find a brew fer’ the times be?” I ask him, placing my hands back along my pockets. The sun would blind me a moment as I cock my head to his direction, watching his reaction. “Ye’ going to hop around like an ole’ hog?” He says. I give off a quiet laugh, my mind going off a moment while I reply to his question. “Ta TuEr Slime.” His head would incline in a heavy shake before settling his hand along my shoulder, pushing me along as if he was guiding me if I was already drunk. “Let’s see about that then Mick.”
The Tavern was in view. It was an ordinary stone building with a nice hay roof and a wooden furniture interior. A rather Cozy place, if you could void out the drunks that walk out of these place. But nonetheless, it was no more than a get together after work. Male, Female, British, Irish, American, Protestant, Catholic, Atheist, it doesn’t matter who one is as long as brew is being presumed out. Many people see Irish men as drunkards, but we are no different than the rest of the world with bars. Many of us are just simple people like he or they. The only difference of ones being drunk is that we are more than silly goers. Only time when it’s a problem is if there is a British Officer that may be having a bad time and is looking for somebody to jail in. It is rare, but it could happen before one even knows who he is. Once inside, I find the establishment rather busy as always. Everyone appears settled at the bar counter which was just left ahead, and the Booths divided up by the walls were individually settled along side between them. The inside itself was rather dim, but still able to see throughout the room. There was even a madam playing a violin just at the corner of the room. The music was rather lovely and melodic, settling the relaxing tone on almost anyone that entered the room. Charlie, the bartender, would poise his gaze to me with his hand leveling in the air. “Aye’ Mick, glad to see you back, ye haven’ yer’ usual spot?” He would reply, placing a rag along the front of the table. I just realized that I was staring about along the woman playing the violin, completely out of tone from the man behind the counter. “Charlie good man, I’m looking for my normal spot as always if it is no longer occupied.” I proceed to make my way along the front of the table, finding it empty as usual while placing my arms onto the table, giving off another light sigh. My spot was never occupied for some reason, it was like people who were here before knew that I was coming, or it’s just a vacant post that is uninteresting to the eye. “I know Mick, the usual.” Charlie would proceed to step back from the view of the table as I continued to pull free of my gloves. “Good man ye’ are.” I reply to him, setting down onto the wooden stool. Many antiques lay about onto the shelves, including a lovely picture of a landscape with a woman standing around. The woman looked to be rather young, but hard to tell due to the dirt along her face. She wielded a small shovel on her right hand as if she was preparing to dig along the cold soil tundra. A male would not be too far behind, a wheelbarrow in his grasp however and his attention pointing towards the plants that lie about. He looked as if he was harvesting while the woman was planting down the seeds of the crops. I always stare at this picture, soon coming to a guess as if they are husband and wife. Even at a time like this, they are finding themselves at work on their land. It wasn’t uncommon for couples working together to produce food for themselves, and their landowners. Hard Work indeed I always tell myself. Something that I was use to with my father back in Cork, with having to help carry bags of potatoes and carrots along home where mother would be awaiting back at the house. There, she would have it prepared for dinner while my sister sits about, assisting her along by. Even my older brother tags along close with my father, feeling as if he was the one in charge of everything. Ever since my father passed, however, that’s what ended up occurring. It’s not too easy with all of that, having to go by and do what you can to feed your mother, sister, and pay off the land. As the tone is I always think, get by with what you can, and spend the time with whom you love as long as- “Mick, looks like you got a shadow.” Harry would reply in a low tone, sending his elbow in direct impact along my forearm. I level my head up from the table, not even noticing that my drink was already residing beyond my eyes. “Just beyond your left, second booth on the right.” He replies once more, leveling his drink from the table where he begins to sip the liquid inside. What is he talking about? I slowly poise my eyes towards the direction he exploited, making myself look as if I was reaching for the napkins that rest onto the far end of the table where there I turn pale from the sudden sight. It was a figure way too familiar, the black fedora on his head and the trench coat covering his entire body. It hanged down his legs and wrapped with a belt securing his waist. His eyes would be a bluish color and his face appearing medium fixed. I can see everything of what he looks like and he was damned to be the same man from the minute I stepped off the train, the moment of the square riot. It’s a G-Man and he is following my every move, and now he is tracking my spots where I sit back. I turn back towards Harry, placing the napkins between him and my shoulder. “He can’t stick around Harry.” I reply in a low mumble, fearing that he may even be able to hear what I say. Harry settles himself forward closer, releasing a heavy cough as if he is attempting to cough out a cat. “What are ye’ going to do then Mick?” What can I do? I haven’t even thought of what I should attempt. I know he can’t be alive anymore, but what could I do so it can end here? “I’m going to go outside and follow along a few blocks down the road, there is a small alley where I could do my thing. If he decides to follow me, I’ll pump him there and take off.” Harry would level a cigarette from a small carton box, placing it between his lips as he prepares to strike a match, turning his eyes in my direction. “You have yer’ ‘dinger’?” He asked with a low tone. I leveled my hand to my hip, my palm tapping along the plastic grip of the handle. Harry poises himself back forward, his breath exhaling heavily from the smoke of the cigarette. He places both hands together, his eyes now gazing along mine. “Do what ye’ have to do Mick, I’ll meet up later.” I give off another exhale before pulling myself back from the table, my hand setting along his shoulder before poising myself out towards the doorway, exiting rather roughly without shutting the door behind. It had just began to rain. It landed on the top of my head immediately while I proceed to slowly walk along the sidewalk. Don’t turn around, I keep thinking to myself. He’s most likely right behind me from any thoughts if he is following me. The Alley came closer into view as I near it. My breathing began to increase more until rushing around the inside of the tight space. It was rather cramp, but by moving the trash-bin, it gave me just enough room to do my thing and take off. I lift the pistol out of my coat pocket, resting it along my thigh while placing my left palm onto the wall. My breathing increased once the echo of the footsteps began to slowly grow louder. The rain almost causing it to be inaudible as it falls along the ground and the top of my head. What if he is armed as well, he may be able to shoot me down before I could let out a shot. I can’t give him that chance in that case if he is armed. I slowly press myself against the wall, the barrel of the pistol now leveled to the outside as I poise my heels up, ready to rush out. His steps grew closer and closer until its sound was only a few feet away. He may have some friends with him, Christ the entire army might be behind him ready to pump me at once, no G-Man would let themselves fall off guard just to chase down one man. I lurched about out of the alley, my hands gripping the sudden chest of the figure. Thankfully it wasn’t a poor citizen, but now he is in my grasp, face to face. I quickly push him back in the wall of the building, my breath giving away in fight of his strength. I completely forgot about the pistol, immediately shoving the barrel of it under the man’s chin with all my strength. His arms level out while I finally meet his eyes and face for the first time. He was a rather short man, his face a small poise and with brown eyes. His hair, which was shrouded in the fedora, was now hanging somewhat out on his front forehead. Just pull the trigger, I keep thinking, but he didn’t pull any resistance whatsoever. I then give off a heavy sigh, my finger resting closer to the trigger guard as I finally speak. “Been on my tail for weeks, pretty eager for a ‘G-Man’, Aye?” The man finally release a low exhale, his arms retreating back to his sides as his high pitch voice gives off. “I got a message for ye’.” His hand slowly begins to slide in his coat pocket, only to cease once I push the barrel against his chin deeper. He releases a heavy groan before pulling what looks like a small paper out from his pocket. “Don’t you ever calm down?!” He mumbles out, leveling the folded wad towards my direction. With the grip of my pistol remaining tight, I reach towards the paper, lifting it from his grasp without eyeing it. “Names and addresses of the whole cabinet for the delegates of the Sinn Fein, it is declared as an illegal organization and are to be lifted tonight.” He finally replies, his voice sounding rather distraught. I grew confused, leveling the barrel of the pistol from his chin and back to my thigh. “Why are ye’ giving me this, what are you trying to do?” I ask with a rather sore along my throat myself. “Five years in the force leaves me in nothing but despair, nothing is ever done while they tell us a job has to be done, let’s just say you can be persuasive.” I poise back to the paper, my head shaking heavily when I look back into his eyes. “Why should I trust you on this, a ‘G-Man’ giving me something to go off of?” He gives off a smirk, his head shaking in a light manner. “What was that ye’ say then, our only weapon is our refusal…I’ve seen ye’ before, watching your speeches and motives to everyone around, even during the Rising you all had.” It was something I couldn’t even fathom of while my back begins to touch the wall. “I leave you be for tonight, if what you say is a blasting lie, I will find you. But if what you say is the truth, meet me in the library by dawn.” He lifts himself from the wall, his hands now reaching to the top of his hat, gently arranging it back onto his scalp. “Please, lying is a sin.” He mumbles back before turning his posture to the left, making his way back out into the street and disappearing in the distance.
I approached inside of the small cellar doors, allowing the recruiter to shut it beyond my person. It was always very thick in the atmosphere, rather damped in some spots. Wasn’t terrible, however, there was worse to experience with the fear of getting raided, or even being attacked by Loyalist. They intend to state the position if they know where our base of operations are set foot. The worst of all, though, is a rouge unit. They don’t just disclose the locations, but names, addresses, and every operation on the book. But with the help of sleeper agents, it isn’t long before we take them out before they can do any real damage. The voices echo down towards the end of the hall, bouncing around in every corner as I approach closer. Must be another petty argument from the sounds of it, can only try to steer away from it rather than stolk the old lines. “Ah, and here’s Mister Collins, now maybe we can have some real info, can we now Connell?” The short stubby figure would lurch from his chair, his hand gestured in a danger point as if he was preparing to shoot an invisible gun. “Objections like that Mister Griffin, is nothing more but an immature act on your part, Mister Collins is only in design for Minister of Intelligence, not politics!” I proceed to settle myself along the front of the chair, my head cocking along Connell while he continues his ravage speech. “Then maybe I can end the conversation with some ‘Intelligence’ do I may so to speak, now?” The room would grow quiet, everyone’s attention now poised at me and their chattering coming to a close. “Then what does the Minister of Intelligence proceed to the group?” I waited for Connell to say that, reaching along in my coat pocket where the old tattered form from the G-Man handle to me earlier in grip, setting it along the table near to Boland for him to pass along. “Names and Addresses to King of the whole cabinet to be lifted tonight.” Griffin would slowly stand up, his hand dragging along the front of the form with a heavy concentrated look, slowly passing it towards De’Velara. “How do we know it’s genuine?” He would reply, releasing a heavy sigh. “We don’t know, but it could very well be.” Responded Boland. I finally come to a conclusion as I settle my hat along the table. “This is a controversy that cannot be overlooked, no one sleeps home tonight, and everyone must warn other officials.” De’Velara levels his head up, passing the small form along to his right. “I disagree…” He adjusts his glasses from the sudden conclusion. “Do sleep at home tonight; if Mister Collins is gulled then we’ll sleep soundly. However, if it is remarkably the truth, then they’ll arrest the Cabinet, but the public outcry will be deafening and maybe the world in general will listen.” I remain in shock, is he really saying these words, he can’t be. I stand up hastily, pressing my hands firmly onto the edge of the table. “Jesus Dev’, you can’t be serious, we’ve been rotting in English Jails for long enough man!” He remains in his normal posture, shaking his head in a light manner. “I am serious Mick; this is an opportunity we must not pass.” With nothing more to say, unless if I want to be forcefully excused, I settle myself back onto the chair without saying another word.
The night dew settles along the Cobblestone road, reflecting any buildings and static decorations bouncing back up. The bicycle takes up any water along the rubber tires, causing it to become slippery, but still able to control. Boland catches up alongside on his bike, his headlight now illuminating on. “Fuck em’.” I groan under my breath, pedaling rather harder. “Mind your Language.” Boland replies, shaking his head heavily. “Forgive me Harry, but they do this to us once more, then fuck them in the future.” I now turn the bike along the corner, proceeding down the road with anger still filling me. “We just need to stick together Mick, they may not understand, but those few do I’m sure.” “Harry, they’re going to tail along Dev’ if it’s the last thing they do.” “We just have to see Mick, maybe it’s not-“ His voice would trail off while he slowly stops his pace, turning his head to the right. “Mick!” His voice would cry out in a halt as he lurches off his bike, rushing to the far right of the building wall. I’d come to a full stop before making my way off the end of the bike, pushing it in the direction of the park bench resting along the end of the sidewalk. What’s his problem, what is he looking at. It wasn’t long before a low hum begins to echo down the end of the road, and then Head-Lights coming to view along the road as well. They grow bigger and bigger, with the Engines running louder when it finally comes into clear view, an armada of trucks, motorcycles, and soldiers, lots of them. They pass by in a fast pace, kicking off any water beyond its tires and disappearing into the neighborhood. “Christ, the ‘G-Man’ was right!” Boland kicks the park of his bike up, jumping along top of it while he begins to push forward alongside me. “Come on; let’s see what they’re up to.” I jump back onto my bike, pushing the contraption forward back onto the sidewalk, and eventually on the road. A sick feeling came over my stomach; I already knew what was happening.
The screams and hollers can be heard drifting along the air in the distance of the trucks. “Good god.” Harry would mumble under his breath. “Not to close Harry, there’s nothing we can do.” It wasn’t long before the familiar voice can be heard down by the apartments. “This is an Illegal arrest, by this Illegal occupation, no warranties whatsoever, all is lost for ye’ muck savages!” They carry Dev’ onto the back of the truck, as well as many more delegates that I known settled calmly along about. The Trucks steam off their exhaust, pulling along forward while Dev’s voice carries along with it. We would stand in shock for the time being, our breaths exhaling in mist forms from the cold dew. I then slowly push forward once everything subsides, the trucks out of sight and their noise no longer heard. “Safest house in Dublin now…”
Chapter 5: August 9th, 1919
Michael Collins gets more insight on the rouge G-Man...
The sun was out today, and the air surprisingly calm, even warm somewhat. The city is now in life as the cars, civilians, and trams pass alongside the road. I slowly approach between a couple, continuing on foot along the sidewalk, fixing my hat about onto my head before spotting a man that was all too familiar. Harry would have his arm neatly tucked around another arm of a figure which soon comes about to be Kitty. I couldn’t resist once they were in site as I approach behind him, sticking my head through the two. “Top of ye’ Mornin’!” Kitty would give out a sudden yelp while Harry twist’s his head in my direction, his face rather close to mine as if he was about to kiss. “Ye’ Blimey knickerbocker, where’s your manners on personal space.” I lean back forward, leveling my hands in assurance. “Alright, Alright, I apologize; I understand my presence is not welcome.” “It’s no trouble, Mister Collins.” Kitty replies, leaning back near Harry while he happens to turn himself around, giving a light bow in reply “Take care of yerself’ Mick, and try not to pop beyond anyone more will yea?” I proceed about in my normal stature, signaling a light wave while I go back about in my normal route. Was fun while it lasted.
The Library appears to be on a slow day since there is only a few girls, and a book-keeper stocking an aisle. I hold my position once the small figure in the Trench-Coat comes into view once more, wondering about along a small table. I go along behind his posture, giving a quick tap behind his right shoulder. “What ye’ ate for breakfast.” He would shake his head lightly, placing his hands together as he eyes back in my direction. “The Delegates of the Sinn Fein still go lifted…Assuming all wasn’t as plan?” “They wouldn’t listen, in fact they almost wanted it to happen, now there is no more but to strike back with what we have.” He would lift his hat free from his head, his face now becoming much clearer. His face is in a medium stature, and his cheekbones rose below his eyelids. His hair would be pulled back in a short form, appearing in a brownish color. “And now you and yer’ other boys are on the run, everyone is trying to search for you at this very moment.” It’s such a confusion, more than any other fact how he is explaining this to me. “By god yer’ a bloody double G-man.” He gives a quick grin, his arms now crossed together. “You don’t believe me, do you?” “I’m not sure, for all I know this is just a game and yer’ prepared to leave me into my doom and be put to mercy by the King himself.” He begins to slowly lean himself forward, his arms now rested along the table. “Then tell me what I can do, to make you change your mind.” I had that exactly in my mind; however I doubt he would even carry through it. “I want into the castle’s archives.” His face expression would change, now in a much more serious tone. I guess it was too much; it’s already a struggle for new members to even go in and out. “Name’s Bray.” He levels his hand in my direction, holding it still while I reply in his manner, shaking his hand heavily. “So, what’s the git?” He leans back along the front of the chair, placing his left leg over his knee. “There’s an old pass-card by the name of ‘John Grace’, good lad who left about, but I know a lad who forgot to resign it from the books. Haven’t updated them in a while, play as him when you come up to the castle walls and they’ll be sure to let you in.” It was all too good to be true with what he’s going on about, but the question is, is it? “Where can I get the Pass-Card?” He then reaches inside of his coat pocket, retrieving a small worn leather pad with an array of information, settling it just a few inches in front of me onto the table. I grip it tightly, sliding it under my palm and into my coat pocket. “Get a hat, and come to the castle at night, they’ll have a hard time seeing yer’ face if you do get caught.”
The rest of the men would all be bound up together, continuing to sip along their pints. I would lift the small glass from the table, edging the end of it along my lip before taking another quick drink from the glass, hearing the chair by my side pull out. “Everything fine, Mick?” Harry would give the bartender a quick wave with his hand, turning his gaze back towards me. “Well, being the Minister of Intelligence is a hard job, taking a load off by having a quick drink makes everything better.” “I can see that, but if that’s the case then you should try another position, say Minister of Treasury?” “A pleasure job mind you gobshite, why don’t ye find yourself a time of yer’ own, you’ve been as lazy as a Pinted Goat ever since.” He gives off a heavy groan, waving his hand in my direction. “Yer’ just jealous cause I’m meeting the finest women to known, and she wouldn’t go with a funny fathom like you.” I would stand up, leveling my fist up while sending my right one in a playful hit against his side. “Want a bet on that ye’ Dublin jackey!” He lurches to his feet, prepared to send his fist in my direction before the bartender appears out of no where. “Ey ye’ drunken gobs, dun’t ey’ think about a tussle in ere’!” I settle myself back onto the booth, my hand waving in reply. “Ah, just only the two of us going at a good night, nothing to be in heated over.” “Well, unfortunately Harry, I must cut it short for it’s a busy night on my part.” He lifts his drink back up from the table. “Agh, going so soon?!” I stand back up from the chair, placing the fedora hat on my head. “It is a sad change of events, but the Ministry of Intelligence has his duties.” “Well then, Mick, don’t fall in the Lions Den.” I prepared to leave, giving one final response to him. “Only if it’s on business, Harry.”
The damned rusted bike grows slower everyday from the dew. It won’t be too long when I have to take it to the shop to have it back in its normal speed once more. The gate of the castle is slowly coming into view, even the guards uniforms are reflecting from the fire just not too far from them. This is it, if this card doesn’t get me in, then I am as good as dead. With this in thought, my heart beat grew heavier when the front tires of my bike touched the curve of the first stop. The guard along the post came up, his rifle slinging along his shoulder as he comes into view. He was nothing more than a young lad, a rather peachy face to be instinct, nothing more than just a young kid at the age of twenty; but his dialect was soon to be recognized once he started to speak. “Business here sir?” he stated firmly. I reached inside of my coat pocket, retrieving the small passport loaned by the G-Man, handing the end of the leather frame in his direction. “John Grace, Special Intelligence.” He grips the pass card with a heavy grasp, quickly scanning his eyes across the seal and text before tossing it back in my palm. “Precede, Mister Grace.” I reassure him with a quick bow, pedaling the bike once more into the large square. It was rather large with lines and post’s in every feet. The buildings in general had some lights on, but their doorways remain dark. Rather quiet in the night, and much smaller than I imagined. But there was no time to admire the privilege of infiltration, need to do this job before they notice something out of place. I proceeded to the first doorway, it was a wooden frame, but very thick. The iron handle pulled down very fluently and swooned its heavy form towards my position, giving me the entrance of the first lobby. Once inside after shutting it behind my person, I take my first glance of the structure and build, hoping to bring back the inside from of the building in-case I was to come back here and not get lost. I happened to stop a nearby guard who was doing his patrol post, patting him along his shoulder firmly. “Pardon me Guvener’, but forgive my response on the direction of detective ‘Bray’, been all over on the West Side of the castle and never had the privilege to proceed in the East side where he may reside.” The pale looking guard figure would fix his posture in my position. His dark hair appearing in a short form while his green eyes pierced there gaze ahead. “The detective department ‘is’ on the West Side, where Mister ‘Bray’ should be located.” My heart began to pound heavily, dammed me how I could have let that go. Without thinking, I tapped my foot heavily, nodding my head in reassurance. “Ah, good lad, but I was positioned on the second floor of the castle, no more than along that area where I was never informed, I have important business to inform him about family back home before I go on home.” The man would finally step back, his arms lowering back to his thighs. “Ah, secretarial division, hope the news isn’t a dimmed time for Mister ‘Bray’, he’s a good lad; the Detective Division is down the hall behind me and the third door on the left.” I relieve my mind and stress as the guard steps alongside, waving his hand forward. “I appreciate the time and do inform that the news is only letters of his mother, and may you be able to loan a match along my departure, ran out of sticks on the way here this afternoon and can use a fag this stressing night..” The Guard reaches into his front pocket, tossing out a small matchbook in my hand. “Keep it, can get these things all over in the Barracks without even paying a single pound.” I give him a surely pat along the side of his arm, beginning my progress into the hall. It was rather dark with only lanterns illuminating the path. There was, although, pictures hanging from either side and miniature statues on mantelpieces. Quite cozy place, makes anyone feel like they’re in a large mansion than a military castle. The door came closer once approached, the white mahogany shape fixes onto the hinges while the door knob would look to be in a glass shape. I send my hand along the top of it, stepping back for it to open. Instead of it opening, a voice would emit on the other side. “Who is it?” It could be anybody, with the door muffling the voice on the other side there was no way to tell who it is. I decided to go along with it, clearing my throat as I speak. “John, Grace.” Silence would fill the air, no response coming back. I fixed my leg back, readying to run to the left incase something was to happen before the door swings open and Bray’s face comes into view. “Come in, Mister Grace.” I sigh in relief, slowly stepping inside to take a quick view of the room as Bray shuts and locks the door from behind. “Okay, that went better than I expected.” I finally replied, lifting my Fedora free from my head and onto the desk next to him. “Sorry Mick, I’m just rather nervous.” I admit to my own fears, giving my hand in recognition. “You should be, but not as much I, however.” Bray would step along side of my posture, making his way to a door that sits across the room, pulling it open freely. “The shelves on the right are proclamations of the ‘IRB’, the two ones in the middle are some ‘Sinn Fein’, and the one on the far left wall is more ‘IRB’, but also names and addresses of high end leaders. All are documented, dated, and authored by the men involved, there reports are on the top shelves with their names, addresses, and other affiliations.” It was a gold mine of what I am hearing, the breakthrough of every type of intelligence and I am standing in front of it. It was hard to even believe, but I finally come to, giving him a quick pat along his arm. “You just saved me a lot of running around.” I proceeded to step in, turning my head over my shoulder to him. “I’m going to lock you in here, but if someone comes by and find you in here, you’re on your own.” “Alright, thanks.” Bray would bow his head, shutting the door back in place before a heavy lock emits along the front door. I’m on my own now; it’s time to get to work. I quickly start off by gripping the step stool, stepping to the top where the names of the authors are listed of the entire work. By just scavenging through a few folders and files, I manage to find a manifest of all the names and addresses listed amongst each and every man from Nineteen-Sixteen, all the way to now, many of them still living in the area. I shove the paper into my case, keeping it in a spot where I know it’ll be safe before jumping to the right, scavenging a paper that appears to be a list of the reserves. I salvage that too in-case something was to happen, shoving it inside of the case as well. It feels like it’s been only thirty minutes, and I already have grabbed enough information to binge the boys for months. I jump to the bottom of the shelves, making my way to where the Sinn Fein was organized. Thankfully, they were all organized alphabetically, listing the authors of those who investigated it, and all delegate members. I scan my eyes across the text momentarily, ensuring each name and photo that is listed through the files. WIthout warning, a sudden bang of a table echos outside, clustering forward through the cracks. “Get up ye’ polish drunk!” the hoarse voice cries out. It wasn’t Boland, and it sure wasn’t Irish. The mans voice continues to holler, appearing to be near the door. Hide, find a place to hide! I begin to turn all around for any place to search, but besides bloody book shelves, there is nowhere else to hide. Now I really begin to panic when the noise of the door emits across the lock. I lift my head to the top of the ceiling for any windows, but finding supports with no ceiling. I start to climb against the shelves with all my strength, going as fast but quiet as possible. Once the on top of the shelf, I reach onto one of the beams, gripping it in a heavy death grasp; pulling myself over on top of it. It doesn’t feel more than three minutes once my legs were in a good position, the door swings open and a male figure with dark black hair and medium built steps inside, reaching towards the shelf on his right. I can see Bray standing at the doorway, looking in more fearful than I am at this moment. Just keep it together Harry, act normal. In the outside of his face I can see he is normal, but in the inside he is terrified. The man would be pulling away seperate files, his hand slamming across each slide of paper that the folder holds. Don’t look up, I kept repeating in my head. I was prepared for anything if he was to look up by lifting my hands over my head, ready to jump on him. The man spends more than three minutes scanning across the same pages before finally slamming it in two, stepping away from the shelf and back towards the doorway. Bray moves aside for him to enter while speaking in his direction. “Ye dun’ in ere’?” Bray asked. The gruff voice responds back as another moaning echos outsides. “Aye’, close it now, and come on ye’ pumped gag.” It would sound as if the man would be carrying someone away from the room while Bray shuts the door back in place, a locking echoing on the otherside. I breathe out a heavy sigh, lowering my head onto the end of the shelf and back onto the ground with both feet. I start to rummage through the boxes once the hearing of boots disappear back outside. I continue this for an array of three hours, memorizing as much content as I could fit in my head. Irish Republican Brotherhood, Notices of our list’s, the ones that put it all together and called the shots, those that listed our names and diagrams. I also start to make copies on scraps of paper that are left along the ground, placing them in substantial folds before the morning light comes out, breaking through the cracks and bars of the window. I blow out the lantern, setting it beside where it once reside the moment an unlocking sound begins to emit out. I manage to spring to my feet and rush behind the wall the moment the door opens. Bray’s face appears out, standing in place to be looking for me. I give him no challenge by stepping back out with my hands clenched onto the files “What ye’ have fer’ breakfeast?” I ask him. “Time to leave, Mick.” He replies, making the door shut behind him with his hands twisting about on the lock. “One minute.” I ask him, attempting to catch the last note of this document. “You’re pushing it!” He growls out, stomping forward with anticipation. “Can you get me the copy of these G-Mans addresses, they’re the most important?” I ask while holding out the small folded paper. Bray takes the paper with a light grip, pulling it down into his pocket. “I could try, what’s it for anyways?” I turn back forward, setting the folders and books back onto the shelves. “All these has just brought our wing a few yards in our progress, however it’s not going to be easy once carried out and things are going to get rough.” Bray steps back once I approach towards the door with my hat in hand. “How rough?” He asked. I give the cock of my head over my shoulder with the only reply, exiting the room. “Very rough…”
A sudden slam of a door causes me to open my eyes, finding myself resting on my own hand. “Jesus Christ Mick, where the hell have you been?!” O’Connell’s voice blurts out from this accusation and I only reply with a light moan. “Working…” I hear the rustling of another person entering the room while O’Connell takes the seat in front of me. “Working where, we thought you got lifted!” I start to pull myself up from the table, dragging my right hand across my cheeks. “I’ve received highly classified intel of British Intern forces working outside of Ireland and high-constables in Britain; as well as names and addresses of all the current officials and ‘G-mans’ operating amongst the vicinity of Dublin.” Patty steps around side, crossing his arms with Connell jotting down amongst the list. “Mick, where the hell did you get all this?” I stand up, retrieving a fag from the cardboard carton. “No time to say, I also want five men from the private forces without families.” Patty walks around, bringing up an array of notes while Connell stands back up to his feet, moving around. “Why Mick?” He asked confusingly. “Just do it will you, for fuck sake!” I holler out in command, storming into the other side of the office the moment Harry walks in. His face appears stressed, but relieves out once I come into view. “Damn Mick, where the hell have you been?!” I could do nothing more but pat him on the back, directing him back into the main office hall where O’Reilly would proceed to already be writing down on the paper before I even opened my mouth. “Yer’ about to see you goat, listen to this.” I started on forth, lifting the fag up between my lips and holding out the lighter under the end until it illuminates into a flame. “Fer’ the concepts and minds of the G-Man that wonder about in the ramparts of the wall, be it known that further action inside will be predominately put to death. Those that comply are to leave the castle at once, and return to yer’ families. You have fourty-eight hours to act on these actions. You have been warned, signed the ‘Irish Republican Army’.” They all stand around me speechless, Patty still writing down on the paper but Connel only falling back down onto the chair and Boland now turning back towards me after I spoke. “Ye’ Serious…?” He would ask me as I lift the cigarette from my lips, blowing a cloud of smoke ahead of me. “I’m afraid so…”