You may never know me, you may not even have heard of me, but then you're reading this, so either they havent disposed of it yet, or you have heard of me.
So who am I? Well I would tell you my real name, but that would be pointless, for one if I fail then this could be evidence and second if i succeed then im probably dead and it makes little
difference. However it would be wise to give you some form of identification, and what better form than the name they gave me. I, i am Maverick, if you're one of those who are with them, then you
will probably be cursing that name, if you are one of the majority, those who see but dont do, then it may be a name you have heard of, but do not know about. However if you are one who knows, one
who isnt with them, then the realisation that it is I who write this may have made you sit bolt upright in your chair.
Maverick, the bane of the dictatorship that is the United Empire, the thorn in the side of the Federal Guard. A beacon of hope, a freedom fighter, a terrorist, Maverick is all of these, and none.
Its been 20 years since they forced their way to power, my parents fought them, your parents may have fought them, if they did then im sorry for your loss, i know your pain. Its been 2 years since
I first came to their attention, the official figures may never be known but it is likely that I am the only person to have evaded them for over a year.
It began when they came to my town, oh they had conquered it years ago, but they came this time simply to make a statement, a statement that would not have escaped anybody. The simple statement was
to be the death of half the people in my town, considerably less than it was before the invasion. As always people said much but did little, except me, everything i cherished had been taken from
me, i had nothing to lose.
I donned the old battle armour of the free forces, a crime in itself, and went into the square, I stood there ignoring the looks of shock and horror, and, or so i like to believe, the odd look of
admiration, of defiance. I stood there as the 3rd infantry of the Empire marched into the square, I stood there as their commander ordered me to surrender, and ordered the townspeople to emerge for
"justice" to be served.
I stood there as his head was sent through the bakery window, to nestle amongst the bloomers, i stood their as I turned the gun on his shellshocked companions. I stood there, there where once the
3rd infantry of the Empire once stood. I suppose its true, they dont make them like they used to.
Since then i have run, never stopping, never lingering, taking what i need in lightning raids.
Since then i have been hunted.
I later learned that my townsfolk fled, some, promised with protection joined to help catch me, for i was hated by some who felt i had endangered their lives. I later learned that small resistance
groups had sprung up, encouraged by my example. But i was alone.
I blew up the Empire's military dockyard in Portsmouth, I killed many. And so i was hunted more.
I escaped the physical huntsmen, those of the Federal Guard, but i couldnt escape those huntsman that are the most ruthless of all. I could not escape the huntsmen of my conscience.
And so as the weeks turned to months i became a shadow of my former self, for i was wrong back then in the square, i had not lost everything, for i still had my sanity, my soul. Now they were in
Im writing this, not by way of explaination, for i do not seek forgiveness, not from others at any rate, no, i am writing this so that others may know what it is to kill, what it is to loathe your
every fibre of being. I killed my country men, i killed those of the Empire, i killed myself, for all that i was i had driven out of me and crushed.
Maverick they fashioned me, gave me a codename, it made it easier for people to fear me. I was independent, truly alone, I had deserted even myself.
So I continued, insane, running from myself, running from my past, my present, and even my future.
They say war is glorious, only because those who have experienced it are unable to convey the truth.
I was not glorious, there is nothing glorious about me, or anything i have done. For the longer i fought, the more i played their tune.
I maverick, I am a coward, I am a pitiful resemblance of a human.
My last dregs of humanity, my last grain of self respect, has led me to this moment.
My final act, for death is meaningless to someone who is aready dead, is to live.
Then they, the demons of my thoughts and dreams will be gone. For time will erode the United Empire, but for my conscious time is of no importance, so i will live, i will rejuvenate where i
destroyed, repair where i broke, and i hope my sanity, my humanity, my self, will be restored.
I, Maverick, fought a war, not against a dictatorial power, but against myself, and I, Maverick, lost.
© Copyright 2016 Francis Berryman. All rights reserved.