Edward Chance, President of Valley View Preparatory had studied economics at the Chicago School where he earned his Ph.D. He was an active member of the Saint James Catholic Church, married with four grown children. He still enjoyed the appearance of an athlete in his six foot frame, thick arms and absence of an overly large gut. He stayed fit by working out in a gym several times each week and eating a diet carefully selected for a balance of proteins, vegetables, starches and grains.
He has taught for thirty-three years so far and never contaminated his lessons with the political correctness of the day. He knew it was supply and demand in a free market that caused more people to rise in their standard of living in the Nation. But only if they were people who had a mind to apply themselves on the job and make a good effort to learn and do well the jobs assigned. It was the responsibility of management to make the effort to train people and it was management’s responsibility to control costs while maximizing profits in their market. This was so that more investment could be made both in the employees and the company.
He saw most government regulations as devices to control the behavior of society and steer people toward some preferred reactions and punish those the government viewed as undesirable. Reward and punishment were running themes in the burdensome tax code too. After teaching at Pepperdine University for twenty years and wanting a change to a quieter life for his remaining years, he was invited to a job to influence a younger set of students at Valley View Preparatory. That would be perfect for him at this stage in life.
He knew a student’s preparation was critical to develop minds that would not accept the latest fad or group type of thinking—that tends to end research, stops a questioning attitude and stifles learning. To follow the crowd on any issue was to retard a person’s growth, a person’s intelligence and ability to earn a living. He found it very sad that so many young minds have been abused in such a way that notions of learning and work were unimportant. His students would be expert in critical thinking and he dedicated himself to that proposition. The leftists who read parts of his articles and books hated him. Valley View was a school where well-rounded thinkers matriculated and went on to cause misery of more than a few of their college professors. He often smiled at the prospect.
He became a target. One reason was because he would be an easy one. Another reason was because his killing would surely instill fear inside anyone else who may be inclined to agree with him. Out of the tens of thousands conservative voices, picking off a small number of them at a time was the order of the day out of the hate filled deep left. As a matter of fact, the demise of a few Americans who knew economics didn’t displease leadership in the Middle East, China and Venezuela. The intelligentsia not given to authoritarianism of any kind had to be dealt with—killed or put away for the people’s revolution to be successful. This was true in historical Marxism and Nazism. Education had to be controlled and only the base doctrine of the ‘Government for the greater good’ could be tolerated and taught.
The Shroud had targeted thirty scholars across the country as a start. Ed Chance was one of them and lived close to the center of operations, being at a school near Seattle. Before the weekend, Shing expected thirty executions—enough to distract the vast majority of the establishment. He laughed while alone. Very quickly the Fascist conservatives will know we’re coming for them! Caesar and Lute may be gone but they had served the movement well. There were others equally qualified, equally enlightened to take their place very quickly.
Edward Chance prepared for work that morning as he did every morning. He folded pressed trousers across a chair and hung a clean, pressed white shirt on the door of the closet. He picked a crimson colored tie to wear for the school’s Friday Honors Assembly. It was an event held twice each school year to recognize academic excellence of students and the induction of new National Honor Society Merit Scholars. It was a formal event where parents were invited and the entire faculty attended as guests. At Valley View, it was common for parents and many grandparents to be in attendance to see the young people honored.
The school was one where involvement was encouraged and expected by the adults surrounding a child. Every year there were more scholarships awarded to graduates of Valley View than any school in the state of Washington. The focus of its curriculum was math and science with a heavy emphasis on English, Economics, and history. There were no faddish courses allowed to waste time and each teacher was interviewed by a panel of genuine academics that held credentials from some of the finest Universities in the country. The background checks included not only the criminal background but social media civil activities—to make certain the teacher applying wanted to teach rather than create mischief as a social justice warrior. The school’s board of directors wanted to avoid lawsuits that are often frivolously filed against institutions and organizations for whatever reason or perceived reason relating from alleged discrimination to slips and falls. It was an issue of ferreting out the priorities of each candidate to Ed Chance and the Board of Directors. Should a perpetually offended person somehow come into their employ by being deceptive, the Board of Directors did not hesitate to fight the EEO charges and lawsuit on appeal after appeal if that is what it took to deny the left their nonsense.
In addition to managing an effective school, Doctor Chance also wrote editorials for two Newspapers regularly. Those series of articles were the items that caused him to make the Shroud’s list very early in the revolution as organization of operations were being planned along several fronts. He specialized in economics and history and so most of his writing dealt with the burden of high taxes, regulatory requirements that often served no real purpose of protection of the environment or people, the inefficiencies of government mandates and spending. He likened government to a gigantic bear devouring initiative and innovation in favor of junk social science. He was not a popular speaker in Seattle nor did he care.
Soldier of Infinity Grayson and Elijah drove the sixty miles just north of Mount Vernon toward the upper middle class settlement nearby where Valley View had been built in the sixties. It was a light constructed near the darkness of an era where many young people were fooled into thinking it was they themselves that were the center of the universe. Valley View provided the opportunity for most young people born in the late seventies, eighties, and to the present to receive an education in truth and responsibility, facts rather than fiction, communication skills rather than faddish political correctness, and applied mathematics and science. Public education began to change in the same time periods with more liberals teaching for a school board and Superintendent who were liberals as well. Edward Chance was proud to be considered old school and happily shared his knowledge of factual history and Friedman economics.
Edward found his wife in bed and kissed her good bye like he did every morning.
“Have a good day, Sweetie,” she mumbled through a sleepy smile.
“You too, dear Joyce… today will be a great day.”
“Am I going to see you at lunch?”
“Not today, Joyce… we’ll be sitting with parents.”
“Of course… I love you, Ed.”
“I love you, Joyce.”
He quietly left his home and drove toward Valley View. Grayson and Elijah were in place waiting for him. Both had taken a hit of crack cocaine after parking nearby. They had his picture and nothing else to identify the man who taught children his infected license. What an ass! Grayson, the ‘Soldier of Infinity,’ thought, knowing the reputation many students from the place had. They think they’re too good for him and the University of California-Berkley. He thought he knew all about those kids coming out of Valley View and that most of their kind were unapproachable when it came to rallying students to protest anything.
He understood why he didn’t like them then, and hated them now. They didn’t see mother earth as being threatened and destroyed by man. They didn’t see the imperialist designs of the United States. They didn’t see the awful racist foundation of the country and how it must be torn down and changed. They didn’t see the futility of war and truly believed the flag was worth defending. They were among the war mongers, the fundies, and all the other retarded people who voted for the monkey Trump.
Now he was doing a good deed by taking out the head honcho. He was doing those students a favor by executing another capitalist pig. He was saving the students of age from being imprisoned by this conservative ass-hat. He smiled as he checked the rifle near some bushes next to the parking area.
“We have to make him quickly, Elijah. I figure we only have seconds to identify him in this parking lot before he makes it inside. And then we have to get the hell out of here! I feel sick being even close to this place,” he said, finishing with a laugh.
“Yeah,” Elijah said.
Sam was brought to the emergency room and stabilized. He had lost a great deal of blood, much of it internally, as he took a bullet through his stomach. The bullet exited between his lower ribs, luckily leaving a fairly clean wound that was treatable with a semi-complex surgery. He was in no pain as the medication the nurses gave him dulled the sensation of his mid-section being ripped in half. It felt as if a knife was still in place until a maximum dose of Percocet interfered in a smooth motion to block the pain signal to his brain.
He had to undergo surgery quickly to stop the internal bleeding and repair the tears in his tissues and stomach lining. A single police officer wanted to talk to him about the shooting but when told of his condition and scheduled surgery, left him for the time. He would return later, well after the surgery when he was told Sam would be brought out to recovery.
During the short periods of lucidity Sam realized while recovering from surgery, he knew he was in trouble. The police may detain him as soon as they could until the event was determined whether charges should be filed by the District Attorney over an apparent shootout—and possibly the illegal guns used.
As soon as Sam could, he had to call Nashville, starting with his daughter Anne, then Gaines, and Harry. He didn’t have a lawyer back home to consult—besides, he thought, a lawyer in Nashville can’t provide very much service being unlicensed in Washington State. Somehow he would have to explain to Anne what was happening to him. Somehow he would have to tell her that he could very likely be held away from her for a longer time than he thought.
There were over one-thousand rioters to leave Atlanta, another one-thousand from Miami, two-thousand from Houston and Nashville, five thousand from Los Angeles and many thousands from nearly every city until the number of people converging on Washington D.C. numbered over near one-half million. They had been mostly organized through the use of the internet and community groups following their local radical groups. They were coming, many armed as complete as they could manage. The word was they were just going to scare the politicians in D.C. The revolution was on!
The FBI were tracking every movement toward the Capitol while a number of states began stopping some of the vehicles to search for weapons and drugs, having been directed by the National Security Agency to take all means necessary to interfere with the caravans. The stops began and several ended with violence as some of the troopers and agents were shot at or gunned down early and quickly. The hot war had begun along the interstates and highways. As many law enforcement officers were taken, there were twice the number of takers killed as the rolling battles continued. It was too late for most of the committed rioters to back out. The caravans rolled on toward D.C.
Fuel stops were done the same way invading armies have done in the past and more than five attendants were killed by some of the groups outright. By the time nearly one half-million people were massing in northern Virginia, there had been over twenty-four people and officers seriously injured or killed. Food was taken the same way. The anarchists among the travelers were delirious with the power of their guns. The Nation was gripped by terror.
The President was working in the war-room with his cabinet and staff. He had been advised of the futility of voluntary curfews and law enforcement actions. Reports were made every minute of the movements. He declared martial law and prayed for the country. He knew a siege of the capitol was imminent. He did not know what to do about it other than fly divisions of the Army and Marines into Washington as soon as possible. The 82nd Airborne were already in the air as were Infantry Regiments of the second Marine Division. Thousands of men and women in uniform were fully armed and ready to meet and stop the domestic enemies. The President felt his mind race toward an explosion. He sat down at the head of a long conference room table and rested his head in both hands.
Squads of the Shroud were out across the Nation taking down their targets. It was vital to the operation to systematically eliminate the most dangerous citizens to their cause. Leaders, scientists, activists and educators were being killed across the nation. After doing their duty, they would turn toward Washington D.C. to clean up what was left after the assault.
Edward Chance arrived at the school for the honors ceremony, happy about the day’s meaning. He smiled when he turned into the parking area, passing the strange little car parked nearby. He glanced inside and noticed two men who looked to be out of place. He felt uneasy. Alarms were sounding inside his mind prompting him to carefully watch the two. His smile turned downward as soon as he saw them. Instinctively he pulled the .357 magnum pistol he had hidden inside his car and tucked the loaded piece inside his dark blue dress coat. He took the threats he received on-line seriously and had prepared to defend his liberty.
The pistol was something he kept near and hoped he never used. He never thought he would actually ever have to even show it as has been the case for the three years since he purchased it and tucked in the floor of his car where it gathered dust. It was following the violent riot at G-8 in Seattle that he thought he would be safer to have one than not.
News that day was slow to come. Chance had heard about some of the violence that riddled many Interstates, the exodus of so many people toward the seat of power, nor the fear that had quickly gripped D.C. He then heard a short radio report of a Washington D.C. lock-down and evacuation of every government building and most downtown businesses but didn’t know the reason yet although he suspected an Antifa- Marxist attack could be the cause. It’s where his mind went based on his experience with the group.
Local reporters showing up on the scenes were seeing blood and death and the few who arrived before the takers left were also assaulted and injured by some members of different groups. It was part of the order of the day given to them by their version of a People’s Congress. Some of the news did get out and was picked up by the networks. Doctor Chance suspected the Nation and he had a war beginning again within itself. It was early.
He looked into the rearview mirror and saw some movement of the two. He noticed in a flash one of them holding a rifle. He pulled out his pistol, ducked inside the car and opened the door to jump out. Students and parents were arriving and the situation suddenly looked very dangerous for them and the school. He rolled on the pavement and started toward Soldier of Infinity and Elijah, holding his weapon straight out in front of him, aiming for one than the other.
“Drop that!” he shouted at Grayson. “Drop it now or I’ll shoot! I swear I will!”
Grayson was surprised by the man. He made a quick decision. Since failure was not an option he began to bring the rifle up to a firing position toward this Ph.D. son-of-a-bitch who got the drop on him. He doesn’t have the guts to shoot that thing,he thought just before he was knocked backward by a powerful kick out of nowhere.
Elijah reached for the rifle and was shot in the neck, wheeling him around and away. He fell while clutching his neck with both hands. He knew he’d been hit badly and it was burning, the heat hurting like nothing he had ever felt before in his life. Then he had a lot of trouble breathing normally and that scared him into shock and unconsciousness.
Screams and shouts overtook the educator’s thoughts. Edward tried to brush himself off—something he could do that was normal. His hands began to quiver as he put the pistol away. Then his knees buckled and he fell to the pavement to sit and catch his breath. He was heaving and having trouble breathing too. He recovered enough to watch the spot where the two had stood. He watched for any more movement. God, I hope they don’t shoot in this direction. Students could be hurt or killed. God, no—please don’t let that happen! Maybe I killed them… God forgive me!
The Administrative Assistant, Shirley Henning, heard the shots, looked out the ornately framed window to the front courtyard and called the police.
“There have been shots fired. Please come quickly,” she told the 9-11 dispatcher as the Vice Principal was simultaneously locking down the school.
Edward Chance was crouching and moving slowly toward the small car. He took it upon himself to make certain the men who came there with a weapon would not harm anyone. Slowly, he inched toward the area where both of them fell. Why in the hell would they do this?
He thought the school was pretty well insulated from the kind of violence that had come to so many of different levels. They had after all, been an institution of challenging academics where the best students came to learn. Valley View was never the place of generating enemies, racial, or social engineering and still maintained high standards of admission for students of all races and backgrounds. That usually meant the children came for homes where high standards were part of life, whether the family was wealthy or not. It was unlikely anyone had a grievance or a grudge and would be of a mind to do something like shooting in the school. It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t think of any former student who would act this way. Who are these people?
Shirley made sure the students were safe before she peered out the window again and decided to check on Edward. She knew he had already parked his car and must be close. She had to find him and make sure he was not hurt. Coming from a work record marred by a major incident of embezzlement and one year of confinement, she owed him a great deal. She was given a second chance on account of Edward.
“Edward? Doctor Chance? Are you all right?” she pleaded in a shaking, low voice. Edward couldn’t hear her as he made his way to the small car and toward the two men who had come to school property willing to fire a gun. He still didn’t comprehend that he was the target. She repeated the words as she stepped carefully outside and closer to the Principal’s car.
He dropped on his knees and elbows and inched his way closer. The pistol was locked rigidly aimed toward the scene as he began to bleed through his trousers. He didn’t feel the bruises and scrapes caused by a few stray pebbles and the rough concrete surface. Where are you, you son… he thought. Where the hell are you? He heard a voice faintly calling to him in the background and stopped to hear.
It was Shirley! My God, what is she doing? “Shirley!” he shouted out knowing he was giving away his position. “Stay back! Don’t come out!”
“Doctor Chance? Please… are you all right?”
“I’m all right, Shirley. Now please run back inside the building and make certain the students are locked down away from windows and doors, and make certain the police are called right away!”
“They’ve been called and are on their way, Doctor Chance. What happened?”
“There’s no time to talk right now. There are two men here with a gun and I shot at them.”
“Oh, God!” she screamed. She turned and began to run before she thought. Suddenly she wheeled around and asked Edward if he could come inside with her. “Please, Doctor Chance, come inside. We’ll lock them out. All the children are safe. There’s no reason for you to be out here. Please… “
“You go on, Shirley. I’ll be fine. I’ll be right there very soon. Please hurry back!”
He turned back to their direction and crawled on his knees toward the strangers. Strangely or perhaps not so strange, there was no movement or sounds coming from where they had been standing, at first. He inched forward. He felt his breathing. He heard his breathing. He felt his pulse. He heard his pulse. It seemed his head wanted to nearly explode. Suddenly nothing had made sense that morning. Why did they come here? What did they want to do? Kill some kids? Kill me? As often as such horror visited schools across the country he never thought it would come to Valley View.
He sighted a pair of legs and watched them for any sign of movement. A nudge, the slightest change in even the fabric of his trousers would tell him that one of the attackers could be waiting on the other side of the vehicle with an aimed rifle. He stayed in place and watched. Thankfully in the distance the Principal of the school heard sirens and knew help was on the way. Now, if they could only make it in time!
Chance thought he noticed one of the legs move. He carefully aimed the pistol under the frame of his car and sighted in the length. It would be easy for the round to strike the undercarriage of one of the vehicles, deflect the round away from the target and warn the attackers that he was coming toward them. The shot would have to be a perfect one in a space of only or something less than twelve inches that looked like a great deal less. There was no margin of error.
He confirmed that the attacker did move his leg—at least one of them—and pushed out all his breath to squeeze the trigger. Maybe taking another round in his leg would prevent him from coming closer to the children, he thought. He aimed true and let a shot loose. Under the frame of the cars he couldn’t see where he shot. He held fast and didn’t fire again. He couldn’t take another aim until he made a target.
Grayson felt his right leg explode and began to panic. He tried to crawl further away from the parking lot—the bottom half of his body felt heavy and his legs were unable to help him push away. He pulled his body by using his arms, breaking the skin on his elbows in a frantic attempt to escape. He heard the sirens too and they were closer. He had little time to get away with a body that was not helping him. Searing pain stopped him. Soldier of Infinity thought for a second it would be better to end it all. Instead he hoped for police intervention to get him medical help quickly. He reached for his stomach where wetness seemed to originate. He brought his hand up to see what was there and it was covered with his blood. He realized he had taken one near his stomach but there was little pain. His leg felt awful though, like it had been torn apart. He hoped Chance would hold his fire long enough for the police to arrive.
Grayson Melon thought quickly about the story he would use to escape jail. Since the rifle was nowhere near him, he would tell them first that he was only a passenger and he didn’t know why the madman shot him. Elijah wasn’t talking and he thought that he was nothing but dead meat. A dead Elijah couldn’t be used by police tricks to dispute anything he would conjure and say about him or why they were at the school. He heard the police turn into the school grounds and felt relived, safe—he may even work a lawsuit out of this disaster. He managed a smile over that possibility. A good lawsuit would bring him money and he’d be able to take some time off work and enjoy his life. He began to imagine life with plenty of money to do what he wanted to do and not worry about anything else in his life. Maybe I can get enough to retire! Retire in my twenties? How sweet that would be!
Several police vehicles pulled into the parking lot quickly, stopping abruptly from over thirty miles per hour—the speed they entered the lot to nothing. Several SWAT uniforms jumped out of the van that followed them and established a perimeter within a few seconds.
“Put the gun down!” one of the black uniforms commanded Edward Chance while two of them immediately surrounded his prone body, picked up the pistol and secured his hands before letting him stand up.
“Do not move!” another deep voice shouted.
A squad of six officers moved toward the small sedan with rifles at the ready pointing toward the two suspects lying nearby. The officers confiscated the rifle found between them. Edward heard shots fired beyond the cars and noticed all of the police suddenly stand fully erect. They had the look of being relaxed.
“Call the coroner, Bill,” one of them said. Edward couldn’t see their faces covered with black knit. They all looked the same. They all appeared to be a dangerous answer to anyone who would break the law—especially by using weapons. One of the officers walked toward the prone figure laying on the asphalt.
“Mr. Chance is it?”
“Yes, sir, I’m Edward Chance. Thank you for coming.”
“I need your statement, Mr. Chance. First you need medical. We’ll see you later. Come with us,” the Captain said just before he told another officer to find the woman who called emergency. “Tell her that we have to get her statement—everything she saw or heard.”
“Yes, sir,” a junior officer answered.
On the gurney being pushed toward open back doors of an ambulance, Edward heard the Captain say, “We’ll wrap it up. Mr. Chance, do you know if there are any more shooters nearby?”
“No—I think there were only the two of them over there,” he said softly, under the effects of trauma. He felt his body begin to shake. His lips were hard to move.
“They were here to kill as far as we’re concerned. Do you know them?”
“No, sir, I have never seen them in my life,” he managed to say. His voice was trembling.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Chance. I think that is the end of it today.”
“I understand, Officer… I’m sorry, Captain. What of the two who came here today?”
“They’re no longer with us,” he said and smiled through the mask. Chance was able to tell he was delighted with their accomplishment—whatever actions made up their sense of victory. He knew the sounds he heard were not normal police procedure but what had just happened in less than seconds of time was an execution. Something terrible had been done near him and he did not stop it. There had been no time to intervene. Law enforcement in this case had instantly taken on a different kind smell. It smelled very bad to him. He prayed what he feared one of them did, was actually necessary.
“We’re not going to hold you, Mr. Adams. You have to keep us informed of your whereabouts, location—and anytime you leave Seattle. We must know where you are at all times. This case will be adjudicated by the circuit judge as soon as she can get to it on the docket. Failure to do so will result in your arrest and immediate incarceration. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand, your honor,” he said to the district judge. The D.A. was not connecting him to the shootout with Caesar yet, but the investigation would continue.
There was no opportunity and little point to claiming self-defense at this time. He was on the hook for the slaying and arson where the badly burnt body of a male was found and confirmed to be Luther Giovanni. He would have to proceed through his attorney in order to obtain some possible relief. Sam knew if he brought Caesar up, the chances of his plea being accepted for the death was nil. He feared a grand jury indictment and a no-bail incarceration would cost him everything and a trial would be certain. He kept his secret for the time to return home.
“I’m returning to Nashville today your honor. I’ll leave my address here.”
“Take it to the bailiff. He’ll post it for the record. Do not play us, Mr. Adams. It will be a mistake for which you’ll regret. I’m doing this with serious reservations. You’re lucky we don’t have any room, even in the hallways.”
Sam returned to his Kia Sportage still parked at the church and left Seattle. He hoped he would never see the city again. He felt the soreness in his stomach and made sure he wasn’t bleeding through the sutures. He didn’t know with any certainty that he avenged Cheryl but it was no longer important. He lost her forever and nothing he could do would change that.
He knew that he didn’t have the wherewithal or motivation to do more. He knew his priority now had to be the care and nurturing of Anne. It was easy for him to realize how selfish he had been and how he left Anne with few answers and alone in the world. She must be going through something I can only imagine—whatever I felt is nothing compared to what she has had to live with since that day, that worse day in our lives.
As he drove east to his daughter, he couldn’t stop thinking about it all. He would rather not face what was happening to the country but it was inescapable. There was even a chance he would run into trouble because of what he looked like or because of what he was driving and he was now unarmed—a state he didn’t mind. He was tired of guns. One experience with them—the close call and the death they brought failed to bring him anything good. At the same time he knew using a gun in self-defense was a way to better his chances of survival. What do I do if confronted and there is no way out? His pistol is now deep in Lake Washington.
He had the best chance on the interstates. No one would bother him on the roads. The thousands of miles of concrete and asphalt were not easy places to stop people. They were not easy places to find an enemy. He felt he would be safe on the road and headed toward the exchange as fast as he could. He still had over a half a tank of gasoline since his last fill-up outside the city limits and that should be enough to put him in Idaho.
Idaho had seen little trouble. Nothing alarming had been broadcast on the radio or television from the state. It was still untouched by the war. He couldn’t be sure about Boise but felt as if it was one oasis of peace and there were most probably more than one such a place.
Caravans were moving toward D.C. The 82nd Airborne were landing in Bolling Air Force Base. The Second Marine division moved both overland and by air and arrived at different times within twenty-four hours. Their orders were still being worked inside the Pentagon. Several offices were involved with the overall approval coming from the Secretary of Defense. He had given each section two hours to make their proposals. He had to quickly get the plan to the President for final authority on the rules of engagement and the kind of event that would cause the point which would bring about arming of the troops.
The defense of Washington D.C. promised to be the most dangerous exercise in domestic military movement ever known. The idea that civilians could be killed by their own military was an outrageous possibility and something not one in the government could fathom as likely. But it was likely. Should the organized left actually try to take the government there would be little choice to take a different action. The Army and Marines may have to do what an Army does best—what they train for and what they’re equipped for to complete their primary mission.
Sam tuned in to different radio stations still operating as he made his way mile after mile toward Tennessee. He heard the reports of a large contingent of armed forces arriving in D.C. to control the mobs promised to show. These people, these takers, are going to get themselves killed—maybe a good thing. Instead of murders across the country maybe they’re congregating in one place—but there are an awful lot of them. My God! What am I thinking? They are our brothers and sisters—they could be our mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters—and they are going to do what? Why in the hell are they doing this?
“Lay it out for me, gentlemen and ladies. What are we dealing with?” the President asked his cabinet. He looked down and added, “It’s a sad day, a terribly sad day for the Republic. God help us.”
“You report first to the President, Colonel Dickenson,” Secretary Harrison spoke up as he looked at every sternly set face in the room.
“The defense forces are mustering and will be in place a full eight hours before the first wave will arrive. We’ve been tracking them and know where the bulk of them are at this moment. A defensive perimeter will be established outside the blocks of government buildings and three-hundred yards around the Pentagon, sir.”
“The Joint Chiefs have issued a no-fire order, sir. Only extreme circumstances will warrant the use of deadly force,” Harrison said.
“That’s good, Secretary Harrison. How well prepared are we to protect the city?”
“The Capitol police and Guard are in position. We are facing an unknown and will have to adapt to whatever the opposition throws at us. Their internet traffic has begun to give us little more than broad rhetoric and broad pronouncements of a ‘happening’ in Washington… not much more than that and nothing we know as a certainty.”
“There’s also a matter of this group—they call themselves Eagles, sir. They are coming too and their numbers are made up of a number of different types than they had before,” Harrison added. He was seated next to Paulson who wrung his hands.
“What are the estimates from the field, Colonel?”
“We have the reports, sir. There are an estimated twenty-thousand thus far from the south, and estimates are that over another fifty-thousand heading east from the west—and it’s growing—and nearly eighty-thousand from the north. It’s reported and believed that some of these groups are responsible for attacks on law enforcement and some civilians along the way—injured and killed, sir.”
“Oh my God… We’re under siege. It would be a perfect time for our enemies to move.”
“Yes, sir—we’re doubling our presence and surveillance at every airport, subway and train station. We have also put every port authority on alert. The first large groups will be arriving tomorrow night.”
“When these groups meet there could be a fight on a scale no one had ever witnessed. It’ll be a dreaded reoccurrence of the brawls in Atlanta, Richmond and Boulder, only much larger and far more dangerous,” Hennessey said. “It’ll likely cost the DNC the next elections, sir. Sorry.”
“Like ’68 cost us… those riots in Chicago,” a present Ms. Hennessey reminisced aloud. “We lose no matter what we do,” she added, with a tone of deep sadness.
“Only this promises to be far worse. It has all the elements of a disaster, sir. If a number of them show up with firearms and use them, we’ll be dealing with a body count not a simple cleanup,” Harrison said.
“I know, ladies and gentlemen. I know. Is there any way to stop it before it starts? What can be done to prevent the violence?”
“Our forces will have to keep them separated and quarantined away. It’s our only hope. Given time, this thing should end and they’ll go home.”
“Yes, General, your strategy is our only hope to avoid massive deaths in our streets… have Admiral Giambastiani report to me before we’re done here, please. We have a great deal of work to do,” the President said. “Let’s get to it, ladies and gentlemen… and pray.”
Shing monitored the delivery from ship to shore by radio while Rasim coordinated the arrival of the technicians by air from Great Britain. The ports in Charleston and San Francisco were being used for docking and unloading of the containers. The chances of being discovered were practically nothing as sealed containers labeled electronics and fragile should escape close scrutiny being late evening arrivals. Each set of packages were made up of different components to make explosives that even an inspection would be difficult to discern what the goods were except by the most skilled eyes—not a likely presence in any port. Shing knew once they were off-loaded, his mission would be nearly accomplished. From there it would be easy. This greedy people cannot protect their borders, he smiled. Rasim thought, the great Satan can’t stop us! It must be a sign from, praise be his name, Allah himself that they cannot agree!
The two ships were coordinated easily to dock after five in the afternoon when most of the pesky port inspectors were off shift and home. The goods had been prepared and transported in a circuitous route overland from Pakistan through Saudi Arabia, Yemen and then on to the United Arab Emirates where the manifests had been prepared and attached. It all had the look of legitimate exports bound for New York and Los Angeles.
The disaster waiting the American pigs will be coordinated for at our time chosen after the battle in Washington. He would have to wait. After a million people had marched for social and economic changes—they call it justice—an operation would be set in motion to bring the great Satan to her knees, begging for relief. He hoped there would be violence on a scale to put America in the shadows of shame afraid to peer out of her newly formed walls of humility and fear. That would be the time to deliver the fatal blow to capitalist imperialism. He smiled over the idea of winning against an almost impossible opponent. Not since his childhood when he trounced a local bully did he feel as accomplished and righteous.
Rasim prayed silently, Praise Allah for the day! Praise the great people who follow Mohammed across the world, our beautiful and inspired leaders from the mountains in Afghanistan to the jungles in Indonesia and points all across Europe! Their patience will pay off immeasurably very soon! Forgive me, Allah for this short prayer and leaving out all who should have credit! Praise Allah through his most holy prophet Mohamed! The days of our religion being humiliated and blasphemed are over soon.
The shroud was executing their objectives systematically across California, the midlands, the large state of New York and from New Hampshire to South Carolina. Their hour had come and every one of the selected was moving toward his or her targets. It was an effective diversion in such numbers that made for perfect timing. All that Shing and Rasim needed was the final message, the final few words where and when to use their three special packages for three evil cities. The great fall of the mighty was their gift to the world.
Bill Rousch remained home in Philadelphia where he lived in a town-home alone. His brother John talked to him every day about the encounters the Eagles enjoyed. John told him that he was meeting other members of the Eagles—and there were more of them with time since most were now out of work—to travel to Washington D.C. John led the four thousand bikers and others out of the east coast and across part of Illinois, Michigan and Indiana. The Eagles had groups from the south that were even larger and coming that way too.
“Bill, there are hundreds of vans, cars and thousands of bikes coming to do battle with those commies. There’s even a lot of jeeps already on the road headed this way,” he said and laughed. “I wish you could come with us.”
“I do too, John. They’re watching me though and all I would do is get in the way of what has to be done over there,” he said and stared at his brother. “It’s going to be dangerous, John. There’s a lot of them coming in you know—and if they do what they’ve done in our cities, they’re playing for keeps. Be careful. They won’t stop with a little fire and throwing a few rocks.”
“I know. But we have one great advantage—you know what that is. Most of them will be using weapons they’re not used to using while we come with our experience I guess. But damn! How did we come to this place in our Nation?”
“Marxism on the march toward a utopia again,” he said with a nervous laugh. “Watch out for them.”
“There you go, Bill. Most of them would be bringing a knife or a brick to a gun fight, wouldn’t they? I mean, you don’t suppose that many of them are hypocrites and are packing arms, do you?” he said and knowingly smiled. “Of course they are, I know.”
“Be ready and careful, John. You all will have to approach the entire City differently than how you did before because they will be ready for troops, the police—and you—this time. You know it and I feel it.”
“Americans will have to decide if the Nation is worth standing up for or leaving it to rot. The time is near and what choice is there? I think we’ll both be surprised about how many on our side come.”
“I hope you’re right, John, but as it always is and may be this time, people who are like us are home working, tending to their families, and such. Most of them still cannot or do not throw down everything like the left does and come to any event, even this one. Do you have a plan?”
“We have a plan—the only plan we need, brother.”
The protest is attracting politicians who are busy themselves preparing how they can best use the event for camera time. A large number of elected representatives plan to make an appearance to support the marchers. Several Senators have prepared speeches and plan to participate with men and women from their party from Congress. The chance to reach so many millions through the media was too great an opportunity to pass. They planned to be there to take advantage of the fact that every network and cable network was in place to broadcast the event and each speech. It promised to be a fund-raising boom.
The politicians expect a peaceful assembly although the very large turnout promised to strain the entire metropolitan area and every service, every transportation facility, medical and utility system. The progressive caucus would share the people’s real or made-up frustrations that day, that single day of showing the rest of the nation that it was time to realign the priorities of government. It was time and they would finally have the power to do. Each had a chance to deliver their own impassioned eulogies of Senators killed, and whose deaths could be used to show the nation how dangerous the right is to freedom and life across the land. Their demise promised great theater to rally the population to seek their leadership and changes in Washington. It was a grand opportunity to have power handed over to them.
Ground level thunder was heard everywhere nearby as large and small Harley Davidson’s came together. John was in front most of the three hours to D.C. He smiled the whole way. Being with these men and women, doing this with them was one thing that put him and every individual riding on top, free. He was not someone’s statistic, someone’s constituency, nor was he someone’s political enemy to be constantly put down, harassed, and dismissed as one of those who have no good ideas. It let the man inside of him loose. All the pressure and the constant barrage of putting his man away though he never did as many. There was no hiding it from what had come to be the civilized world of the country where feminization ruled the day throughout the media and the country’s institutions.
John observed that honest and plain human interactions were coming back in form by a wide swath of Americans, including many not wed to liberal group-think that didn’t put men in second place. No one was in second place. Women could be the women they want to be or not and men could be men again—unashamed of being masculine—instead of being fodder for a media with an anti-male agenda. Forget the softy metros and their politically correct nonsense that calls for therapy when one dares use words no longer tolerated by a Fascist left.
The insane left sometimes calls for a therapy that is reeducation for anyone it directs in need. All must learn how to talk and cover true feelings without leftists. We’re not allowed to offend anyone even if the same offense is the prerogative of the idiots who pretend to make the rules. They can offend at will it seems, because they do. They offend me all the time but I get no relief! He laughed.
John felt powerful. He was alive. He was one among millions to be dealt with and understood one way or the other—listened to. The reaction would be up to the politically correct Marxist Leftists who saw him coming toward them with power, force and strength. He had the pleasure of watching many run away, others urinate themselves as they stepped to the curbs and a few who must have been stoned—but that one time when they tried to stop the Eagles the leftist foot soldiers knew quickly one kind of consequence for their decisions. He smiled as the hundreds met thousands more along the roadway that had joined the convoy of chrome, blue steel and smoke. There were plenty of flags being shown upright, forced out straight and correctly throughout the procession of men and women who had enough. Pity the Communists who try to take and burn any of them. Survival would be the question for anyone who dared stop the Eagles, not just a bruised and bleeding face.
John knew of some leftists who thought they could carry forward the idea that older men and women and the many military veterans within their ranks were to be dismissed as ignorant irritants. They would likely plan to stand in their way for their ideas. They’re likely to be beaten into unconsciousness too. Antifa never thinks they could be wrong or would be seriously threatened by the right. The flag wavers are a joke to them. The joke was finished the old fashioned way when legs and arms were broken by one-thousand pounds of motorcycle running over their bodies when they tried to block their use of the street.
The joke will be finished when John had the pleasure of feeling the target of his fist collapse from the power of the blow. The joke will be finished when the leftists saw Americans reclaim their country from people who hated her, one courthouse at a time—despite the guarded governmental reaction because the role of government had been so diminished by lawsuits and politically correct Mayors and councils. The police cheered them on in Boulder and elsewhere as they were forced to only watched the melee. Only the top echelons in the Guard Units and police eschewed their presence because most were Democrats.
The rank and file of every police force smiled when the Eagles arrived. The police had endured hate for years from every media outlet and every protestor. Many of the officers rode with them when they could. A few even left the police force to take up the ride for freedom full time during this time of critical mass decisions—this point of no return as most people saw it—the terror of conflict that was now on the nation. John would be in the mix fighting as his brother fought his own way. Warriors for a cause they were and brothers living in the saddest times for a nation so divided.