Capitalism served to veil this primal fact from the masses. Driven by the insatiable greed for material objects, the majority of the world’s population didn’t know what effort went into the food they so hurriedly threw into their baskets at the supermarket. Better they should grow their own vegetables and raise their own cattle than lust after that bigger diamond or fancier automobile.
After a hard day’s work in the fields, Marie felt more complete, both physically and spiritually. And she contributed this coming together of mind and body directly to the positive influence of Cootehill House. This was Dr. TYronne Blackwater’s greatest gift to the Brotherhood, and as far as Marie was concerned, she would always be indebted to him for it.
Satisfied that her tomatoes now had a better chance to grow to maturity, the redhead tied up the last plant and stood to examine the rest of her garden briefly. Beside the row of tomatoes that already had several yellow buds on it were a line of sprouting carrots, radishes, and cabbage. Yet another part of the garden was reserved for canteloupe melons. By far the largest patch held that Irish staple the potato. If all went well, she’d be in the midst of her first harvest shortly, when her hard labor would really bear fruit.
Already looking forward to this day, Marie stepped over the low stone wall that kept the rabbits and squirrels away, and began her way toward the manor house to wash up. After leaving her mud-stained boots in the anteroom, she crossed through the kitchen. The pot of mutton stew that she had started earlier in the day was cooking away on the stove. It filled the room with a tangy aroma, and she knew the lads would eat their fair share come supper-time.
She used the large restroom on the ground floor to wash up in. It took a bit of scrubbing to get the caked dirt out from under her chipped nails, which hadn’t seen a proper manicure in years.
Before returning to the kitchen to check on dinner, she decided to stop by the doctor’s study and read the newspaper one of the lads had just brought up from Dundalk. This room was on the other side of the parlor, and it was one of Marie’s favorites. It had been Dr. Blackwater’s parents’ bedroom long ago, and it had a cathedral ceiling, a fireplace, and a splendid view of the meadow. The doctor had his desk set up in front of the window, to take advantage of the direct light.
As she sat down in his favorite red leather chair, Marie picked up the newspaper that lay before her on the desk. She couldn’t miss the bold type headline that graced the front page, nor the photo of the attractive middleaged woman and two young girls. By now all of Ireland was talking about the deaths of Mrs. John Maguire and her daughters. As Marie skimmed the article, she noted that a good part of it centered around the fact that Dr. Maguire was still missing, and that the police hadn’t ruled out any implication on his part in the homicides.
Marie couldn’t help but snicker at this groundless innuendo. She knew that it was just like the decadent capitalistic press to make such a sensational insinuation for the purpose of selling more newspapers.
“If the fools only knew the truth,” mumbled the redhead to herself.
It was at that moment that she noted an article at the bottom of the page circled with red ink. The headline read, Queen to Christen Trident. It went on to give the sketchy details of the English monarch’s visit to Scotland’s Gare Loch the next afternoon to dedicate the U.K.“s first Trident-missile-carrying submarine.
Chills ran up her spine. For she could just picture the headlines two days from now, when news of a tragedy of epic proportions hit the stands for all to see.
Sitting back in the chair, she gloried in the fact that solely because of the IRB’s efforts, an empire that had ruled for centuries would soon crumble as its supreme leader was incinerated in a nuclear firestorm.
Surely this was all that was needed to arouse the oppressed from their slumbers. With the realization that their age-old tyrant was gone for all time, the Celts would unite in a single socialist movement that would replace imperialism with the voice of the worker and strip all senseless borders from their maps.
Though many innocents would die to make this dream come true, that was the price they had to pay for decades of blind servitude. By its very definition revolution meant a radical, sudden change involving the overthrow of one government and the substitution of another by the governed. One had only to look at the chaos that had taken place in America in 1776, in France in 1789, and of course the greatest popular uprising of all, the Russian Revolution of 1917, to know that the blood had to stain the streets red in order for the people to speak.
In a way, the overthrow that the Brotherhood was about to trigger would be antiseptic compared to the past struggles that had divided nations for decades on end. With the detonation of a single blast, a corrupt, decadent way of life would pass, to be replaced by a movement whose bywords would be freedom and equality for all. No bloody battles would accompany this drastic change of social orders, and brother wouldn’t be forced to take up arms against brother to make it come true. All this would be ensured when the fireball rose above Gare Loch and the Royal Family was removed from the face of the earth in one blindingly bright blast.
Conscious that the weapon that would alter the course of history was on its way to Scotland, Marie anxiously sat forward and noticed there was a flier of some sort placed on the desk beside the newspaper.
This poster looked as if it had been ripped off a bulletin board. Ignoring its torn edges, she read the fine print and a wide grin soon painted her freckled face.
For here was an official notice from the United States Navy practically begging the local fishermen for information regarding any unusual aerial phenomena they might have experienced at sea recently. Surely this was a bomb that they were referring to, the very same weapon that would be transported over the sea to change the course of destiny!
Marie broke out in an ironic fit of laughter at this and was forced to gain control of herself when the desk-mounted intercom began ringing. Breathlessly she picked up the handset.
“Hello, this is Marie.”
“Marie, it’s Seamus at the gatehouse. Spread the word, comrade. They’re here!”
Major Colin Stewart ordered the car in which they traveled up from Dundalk to a halt about an eighth of a kilometer away from a gray stone gatehouse. At this point the squad exited the vehicle and opened its trunk. From a concealed locker, they removed their equipment.
With hardly a word spoken, they hurriedly changed into matching green and brown camouflage fatigues.
To hide the exposed skin of their faces and hands, a specially formulated burnt cork compound was utilized.
Only when their lightweight Kevlar bulletproof vests were in place did Stewart hand out the weapons.
All five commandos carried Hechler and Koch 7.62mm assault rifles with twenty-five bullet clips. They also were outfitted with Beretta 9-mm pistols, razor sharp combat knives, and an assortment of gas, stun, and shrapnel grenades. Two of the soldiers carried ropes with grappling hooks.
“We’ll follow the road that leads beyond the gatehouse by way of that copse of pines,” instructed Stewart in a whisper.
“Stay alert, and keep an eye out for mines and booby traps. There’s no telling what we may be walking into here.”
As his men signaled that they understood, the ma273 for ordered Private Robert Campbell to take the point, and off they went into the thick woods. The ground was soggy and littered with broken tree limbs, yet the commandos pushed onward, oblivious to the obstacles.
Colin Stewart was grateful when the pothole-ridden road began a wide turn leading uphill. As they began their ascent, the footing improved and their forward pace quickened.