Chapter XIV The Match Strike NATIONS

“They have told us we have to leave ladies and gentlemen.  What do you say?” John asked the group of Eagles near the Memorial.

“I say we only leave when they do,” Piper Dave said as he pointed toward a large gathering of leftists waiting and milling about nearby.

“I don’t see any of them moving to leave.  It doesn’t look like they are going anywhere,” citizen and patriot Sue Holtzclaw of Pottstown, Pennsylvania said.

It was twenty minutes before the work to arrest and detain began.

It was twenty minutes before the President would know whether the country would witness a social and moral disaster on his watch.

That summer things had changed.

Everything had changed.

People were about to fight each other because of different ideas about government.  Troops were in town and ready to protect the Government.    

The wait was only a breath.

The body count would be high.  Neither side was moving away.

Each Police officer, every Trooper, and Marine would have to live with what he and she did for the rest of their lives.  The prospect of what that could be was an overwhelming one for most.  Many tears were shed in all the ranks before the first shot was fired.

*

Suddenly the news reported the killing of two assassins responsible for the murder of one senator and perhaps more politicians.  The FBI were able to track the movements of their recognized suspects by attaching GPS monitors on the undercarriage of their vehicles.  The suspects were followed and one of the warrants allowed the government to listen in to their meetings.  Soon the agency heard them plan another sniper killing of a Minnesota Congresswoman.

The agents made their move to arrest them in Fairfax, Virginia near a staging camp that would yield more evidence.  The suspects refused to be taken alive and fought back in futility.  Few Americans would mourn their demise because of the way they chose to fight back against the increasingly autocratic government in D.C. 

*       

“Sir, we do not see them leaving,” the General said to the President.

“I didn’t think it likely.  I was hoping.  God help us, General.”

“Thank you sir…  I assure you that we’ll stand fast until the last possible moment and will not misread anything.  The start shall be slow and methodical and with the help of the Capitol police, Maryland State Troopers and the 82ND, we’ll hold all fire.  The Second Marine Division will move out in V formation for riot control toward the largest mass at exactly eighteen hundred hours.”

“I trust no one will fire on them,” the President said, eyes watering, lips twitching, and sweat beginning to run down his face.  He could see the history note about him in the fog projecting just outside his brain. 

“No, sir… our men have orders to stand fast before discharging any weapon inside the city.  Our officers are all on alert for any firing and will stop it immediately.  We have well-disciplined troops in both the Army and Marine regiments on the front line.  Our reserve regiments of both Divisions should not be needed except as show and clean-up.”

“Of course, I know, General.  Let’s pray this thing will end peacefully,” he said knowing it wasn’t likely with so many people of two serious and different ideologies massed in the place. 

The battle for Washington D.C. was within a heart-beat of starting hot.  Marxists were marching toward the capitol and the White-House   The General’s words were more obligatory than true.  His term was about to make history and would be stained, ended, never to be cleaned, never erased, and the event would forever be associated with his name.  The General knew as each step he took toward his command was a heavy step, weighted with tragedy, he could barely make the walk.  He had to trust his officers and each man in his command; he had no choice.

Members of the Shroud who were designated as the sacrifices by their leadership to begin the violence were each in place and ready to fire on the police and troops.  The few were hidden by many people to their front where they would fire on signal.  Each one gripped his hidden weapon inside their ponchos, waiting, ready.  After it started others would join as a matter out of fear and the necessary means to the promised ends. 

At the Memorial, John had taken over a podium set up between his Eagles and the leftists.  He unfolded a piece of paper he carried in the front pocket of his leather jacket and began to address the Eagles. 

            “Forgive me for reading this—I want to make sure I cover it all,” he said and smiled.  Hundreds of Eagles and a few leftists were drawn to hear him.  “We have come to the point where the normal thing is to call for government to step in and do everything, for new and more laws, and forever to spend more and new money… no matter!  Here’s the list!

            It’s the normal thing to support abortion through taxes!  It’s hard to take anyone seriously who say they’re in favor of late term and even birthed babies to be murdered.  Still we must recognize what has become normal today to many of our fellow citizens.

It’s normal to let our cities drown in crime, including murders at an unknown level of tragedy, heartbreak, and as deep as Hell itself.  The progressive leaders have led the chorus to disrespect police and spit on justice.  They have made the dark shroud of murder and apathy and let it loose ion our cities. 

            It’s normal to regulate industry out of existence, to claim environmental concerns without basis in fact, to support unions in the public sector—through their bought and paid-for politicians—even wanting to strip away the right to a secret ballot as to whether workers want that union to represent them.

            It’s normal to provide bilingual education that isn’t bilingual at all—but a guarantee of common failure in America for those who do not learn to speak English.

            It’s normal to teach hate of the races, Socialism-Marxism and a literal liberal liturgy in public schools.  It’s called critical race theory.  It’s referred to as equity (but without the effort, work and risk to build a stake).

It’s normal to try and teach critical race theory to middle school and high school children, which is vile and racist itself.

It’s normal to avoid enforcing the law on our borders, taking in many people who we have no idea who and what we are as a Nation.  They’ll make them voters in illegitimate elections.  They’ll willingly sacrifice American lives every year for their secular religion and at their altar of illegal immigration.

            It’s normal to promise people anything—and everything—paid for by taking earned money from productive citizens and killing jobs by corporate hate through higher taxes.

            It’s normal to ban speech that is not deemed politically correct by the Masters of politically correct speech—from such lofty perches as so-called Journalists to Professors in Women’s Studies or African American Studies—courses of study in academia that prepares students for a host of career choices rivaled by none other,” he said and laughed with many Eagles.” 

Leftists nearby heard him and screeched out as loudly as they could and tried to shout over him.  A few Eagles walked toward them and stood to block their attacks on free speech.  The shouting stopped. 

            “It’s normal to push for legislation to remove gun possession in citizens’ hands regardless of innocence—which has the effect of making certain criminals are always better armed.

            It’s normal to hate religion—particularly if it’s a fundamental Christian faith.  They mock, vilify, and hate those who believe the bible to be the inspired word of God.

It’s normal for our Justice Department, IRS, CIA, and any agency of the federal government to persecute conservatives in every form and manner. 

            It’s normal to send money to our enemies if you’re code pink.

            It’s normal to shut down pipelines, drilling for oil, and mining for coal.  It’s normal to prevent refineries and power plants from being built.

It’s normal for the left to want to control private property.

It’s normal to be abnormal but call it being normal—and making sure to publicize your abnormality as much as you can!

It’s normal for men to marry men—and women to marry women as in exchanging vows makes a difference.  They present themselves as couples demanding the same respect as centuries of ceremony for purpose that’s sanctioned by God.  What they do is not sanctioned by God nor can it be elevated by man to be a marriage.  It’s all a pretense of arrogance.   

It’s normal to hate conservatives and all things conservative.

It’s normal to not be responsible or take responsibility for one’s own actions and behavior.

It’s normal to eliminate competition in school and youth sports.

It’s normal to revise history and hate this country that has given them so much!

It’s normal to complain and whine about everything going wrong in one’s life while not doing a damn thing about it, doing nothing productive or of value!

It’s normal to use tax dollars to fund doctor’s visits and prescription medications for any and all ailments or perceived ailments anyone and everyone has—with no need to pay or ever think about paying it back.

It’s normal to blame mankind—particularly ‘exploitive’ Americans for causing their hoax called global warming—even if that is ‘no way’ true!  It’s normal to use the issue to raise taxes and costs for the government.

It’s normal to dodge the draft during war—and in one case in 1992—become the President of the United States!

It’s normal for our politicians to accept monies from any source and return special favors and never be held accountable for the payoff, the kick-backs—not even excluding the selling of our national security.  It’s more important to convict a man for forgetting about a conversation with one reporter out of a hundred.  It’s more important to convict border control agents for shooting the butt of a drug dealer!  Just damn!  Damn their ideas that are evil!  Many in our government have no bearings that are true and have veered way off the road of our republic.   

It’s normal for many members of the Senate and Congress to accumulate wealth.   Many have several homes of great value—how do they do that on a government salary?  No one in government has been made to answer. 

            It’s normal to treat faith with disdain and contempt while deference and respect is reserved—even granted special accommodations for training and prayer in our schools—for Islam—the religion of our enemies!  They have done this in the same public schools where a student who wears a cross around her neck gets suspended!

            It’s normal to expect the judiciary to rule the flavor of the day, the politically correct way mandated by the left rather than in constitutional law.

            It’s normal for the vile, hate-filled left—the America-hating, profanity saturated, dwellers in self-induced importance, Socialists, Marxists whose true aim is to take from you and me and give to those who don’t give anything, often  ever, and chooses to avoid work and responsibility.  It’s time for those who worship their ideal of an authoritarian based government dictating every part of life, for the people who kill babies but hate capital punishment for murderers—to be put in the place of all stupid people—away from any serious public debate or discussion.

It would be normal to laugh at them if they weren’t so serious about affecting our country, if they weren’t the ones teaching our children—if they weren’t the ones elected to congress and as the Speaker of the House—it should be normal to retire them at once and send them back to wherever they came from—as long as it’s out of leadership in the country and outside our hearing range!” 

A few boos were heard from the crowd of leftists.  There was a scuffle.  The lone leftist ran away after getting a nose bleed. 

            “To those mindless sheep on the left, it’s normal to see other countries as superior, regardless of their lack of freedoms, their unemployment, inflation, tax rates and lack of population growth as people flee such loony Socialist utopias, escaping oppression, imprisonment, and early death—to our country!  Who wouldn’t like to live in the sub-tropic Eden of Cuba?”

            A larger crowd of leftists came toward the Eagles when they heard this.  The twenty of them were met by six Eagles and quickly decided to turn back and briskly walk to their side of the park. 

            “For many, being misguided to vote for Democrat Socialists, Marxists is easy—what do you want?  They vote who they are told to vote for by their masters—the race baiters, the Socialists both in the open and in hiding  The so-called progressives whose numbers are comprised of God hating, Satan inspired seculars who make a living working by eliminating any semblance of decency in our society—and force all to accept anything.  Some want to eliminate goodness because they are seeking justification for their particular perversions.  How sweet, inclusive and multi-cultural—that is unless you’re a conservative Christian.  Then you count for nothing and are entitled to say nothing!  They’ll eventually come for the churches even more than they did during the Covid pandemic.

            That’s what the left is—a bottomless swamp of bad ideas being forced on all of us.  It’s not “live and let live.”  It’s live and believe.  It is believe as we say, accept what we say to accept, shut up and pay us for our existence, our misery, our immorality.  It’s shut up and do what you’re told to do.  Its screw you, America.  And let’s all hide the flag and call it avoiding one’s appearance of supporting jingoism.  To some leftists, seeing the flag repulses them. 

            It’s time to do the right thing!  You have the right to defend yourself and don’t hesitate ladies and gentlemen for they will not stop until we destroy them!  The government won’t do it!  Form up and stand firm!  I can feel it’s about to happen!  Can you feel it?  Are you ready to defend this country?  Look over there and see those who would take your freedom!  There they stand ready!  We will stop them.  Has it been enough to make us do what we must?”

            In unison, the Eagles loudly shouted agreement as the riders stretched out their line to face the leftists.  Out of the black clad uniforms of Antifa and their hangers-on came knives, guns, chains, small bats and leather batons as the Eagles stood bare-fisted in defiance of the federal order and the naïve, silly notion of peace at this hour.  A number of bruised and bleeding members of Antifa, ANSWER, and ELF returned quickly to their camp.  Not surprisingly there were also angry members of BLM, along with some from the AFT or NEA teachers unions in their numbers who were close by but didn’t engage the Eagles that day.

            Hell comes to them who would strip away freedom.  Most Americans have become accustomed to the idea.  It was clear the breech was severe.  Enough Americans now saw the left, their actions since the sixties and their province of political correctness for what it is.  It is quashing.  It is war against America.  There are enough to fight them. 

*

            I am as ready as I can be.  I’m sad I had to come.  This was about to happen for real—no longer was it a matter of riots or sporadic incidents—and no longer was the fight with words only.  I know what it means.  It’s a tough place to be. 

*

The troops began moving toward the crowds, taking one staggered step after another leading with sheathed bayonets on weapons held at the ready.  It looked like a modest military approach, one step at a time, coming unstoppable, moving like a machine into the people.  Most of the politicians had received the word that this was not what they thought it would be and decided to avoid appearing until they knew more about what was happening.  Some of the leftist politicians remained hidden behind the walls of their offices, guarded by some of the same troops that were moving on their far left supporters. 

Most politicians were hiding out of town, watching the coverage of events on television.  Even though two assassins were found, there could be more of them.  There would be no more speeches and no press conferences until afterwards.  The politicians would need time to frame their remarks carefully in order to get maximum advantage out of the melee. 

Behind the first line of protestors, a few shots were fired in the direction of the military.  The Shroud had begun to use the weapons each one was provided by their benefactors.  Several men in uniform fell and were pulled back by their comrades in arms who then knelt and leveled their empty rifles toward the sounds.  Battalion Logistics personnel began running toward the line bringing ammo boxes and bandoliers.  There was no order to fire through these terrifying minutes.  It would take a painful while before the order was given.

The nation was in its saddest, most tragic throws of chaos and hate.

Bill got the word and sighted the nearest targets, holding until confirmation to fire.  He would either have to view a weapon or some other device to stop the carrier.  In the scope he saw the first one holding a pistol and raising it toward the troops.  He thought, one shot, one kill.  He heard the report of other arms as a few more troops fell.  Still there was no order to let loose.  Division Logistics had just shown up with the plan and began to move equipment and ammunition to the line.

The crowd was so large it began pushing those in front toward the troop line and kept surging to use the human wave to accomplish their takeover.  The order was given to identify and fire on those armed.  The unmistaken sound of a firing line rang out across the few acres of people on all sides.  Bodies began to fall by the dozens very quickly.    

Firing escalated for those dreadful seconds as more weapons belched their deadly ordinance from Marxists of the Shroud who used the first rows of those poorly educated, brainwashed, caring humans as shields as the frightened soldiers of Marx pushed the hapless useful to their front.  Many were killed instantly.  Discipline of the military required not firing on a target that presented no threat but the very real fog of war causes all the horror of what it is, what war does—and that’s nothing good.  Although most troops did not fire on the front lines they saw as unarmed but some did.  Then when some were shot in the ranks, fire discipline quickly failed.  Holding their fire at the first approach more than they used their weapons resulted in needless military casualties.  The troops put terrific thunder and lightning on the field.  The crowd wilted as many fell while most ran away in every direction.    

Quickly the chaos begin to fold into quiet and after dozens of rioting attackers were killed, the battlefield was crimson in many places where the dead and injured lay.  The screams and moans coming from the grounds were heard for a time.  There were a few Troops who surrendered their lives to protect a Capital where deals are made and bad laws created.  The oath of enlistment did not take into account the human weaknesses of those elected and employed in the place. 

There was nowhere for the rioters to run away to and nowhere to hide.  The Capitol city was tightly patrolled by Marines and arrests were being made of anyone carrying anything that could be used as a weapon in their hands.  They were exposed unless they left for a good distance and that’s just what they did.  It was a decisive battle even though its time was short.     

The firing stopped as suddenly as it had begun.  A gray-like, unsettling pall settled over everyone there quickly, right and left, and there was no doubt but that this was most serious and devastating to the normal expectancy of riot control, crowd management, and had become something far more severe.  The same violence they watched in the contact with the military could consume everyone and everything to stop the movement’s evil path in its tracks.  There could be no more contest with the body count reaching one hundred and ninety or more before it was all settled.    

The following morning near the Memorial, John stood with the Eagles as they took the first volley from some of the crowd to his front.  Once the firing from the leftists began the Eagles rushed them in low stride, taking every measure they could to deal with the enemies of freedom, their freedom.  No one was going to take it from them and not expect a fight.  The Eagles delivered quickly and caused many of the protestors to fall where they had been wounded, broken up, killed, or left unconscious in pools of their blood, with added nuances of urine and feces suddenly released.  The Eagles moved through the leftists as much like a wide-bladed dozer on a field mission on farmland and was not to be denied.

It was easy. 

The radical leftists plan wasn’t working.  The military and police held their line strong.  Much like what the scene of the old Bull Run battle of the Civil War might have appeared, it was happening again.  People who didn’t know what war was like were seeing the carnage, smelling the powder, hearing the screams, and dying in its wanton, reckless throws.  The country’s worst nightmare became true that day and a number of takers who had tried to force their ideas of entitlements because of their own greed were dying because of their usefulness.  Only a few small buildings were taken in Washington.  Once they had them, they had nothing left they could do.  There was not going to be a reckoning for the collectivists with the central power.  Something else was needed to enjoy the utopia they were promised; something without suffering the pain of confrontation with people of the government with weapons. 

Sam and I used our fists and sticks.  We had brought arms but didn’t need or want to use them.  Neither of us could believe it might even be necessary in this day and time near 2026.  It shouldn’t be.  As we defended ourselves from the occasional attack being started by one of the leftists’ running back and into our area.  The military discipline of a skirmish line advancing slowly, methodically prepared with deadly effectiveness if required sent some of them in our direction and the few who tried to take a cheap shot at any of our group were dealt with and sent on their way with no more than a bruise or a little blood. 

It would prove to be a definitive prelude and reason to gather for a new, modern Constitutional Convention.  Unknowingly the doers and shakers of the Convention would inadvertently lead to be work as the prelude to the deeply dark El Paso nightmare.  The reason is that while law may provide frameworks of government, it does not affect people’s minds or their wants as much as we all thought it would.  It cannot change the minds, the most deeply held convictions, and hearts of people who believe they’re entitled to everything they need and want from others.  Legislating to please all has been a historical failure as long as there have been human beings on earth.  And in every generation there have been those evil leaders who made their fortunes by selling the worst ideas.         

These people came from every mansion, ghetto, squalor, basement, upper middle class home and other places where many contented themselves on the internet most of the time—and rant their rage against a nation that was not turned completely Socialist-Marxist yet.  Many of them were people who dabbled in drugs, alcohol, and assorted self-destructive practices—and were the same people who desired society to pay for any consequences to their health or pregnancies, or whatever the condition they caused.  But the nation had largely denied them and that denial built up in their minds and was the primary driver as to why they descended on Washington. 

Many would not leave Capitol Washington alive as the body count doubled in the first ten minutes and quadrupled in twenty minutes.  After the first shots were fired and it was clear that what it was before today had turned a kind of short war on American soil.  Battle sights of the military are prepared for one-hundred yards of effectiveness. 

It had begun in earnest once more as it did in 1780 when the loyalists fought against their neighbors and family and then in 1861 when the South fought the North.  It seems hardly a hundred years can pass without Americans turning on one another as enemies.  It was happening again.    

The streets near the Capitol were colored in streaks of red left after emergency vehicles picked up the wounded and deceased during a ceasefire.  The battle then stayed silent as the Troops remained ready for a few days day before survivors finally left D.C. en mass.  One car load of the foolhardy haters fired on police handling the traffic out of the district and were stopped by return fire that ripped through their vehicle by the dozens of streaks of hot lead, quickly ripping the driver and passengers apart. 

The police simply pushed the remains off the side to the shoulder so traffic could move.  Conservative groups and liberal groups left within hours of each other.  Every ambulance and hospital were filled with wounded and dying people from both sides of the conflict.  Sara had been taken to the free clinic on 51st Street where the doctors and nurses treated her along with dozens of others.  Sara’s case was one of the most serious.

She had taken a bullet through her right arm.  It was a shot fired toward a shooter who hid behind her that she did not know was there and did not know what he was doing.  He used her as a shield.  The shooter was killed in a hail of gunfire from troopers of the 82nd but Sara fell with him.  She felt as though she had been kicked in the side as the high velocity round struck her. 

She didn’t know what happened until she saw her blood on the concrete under her arm and side.  Then she lost consciousness and woke up inside a crowded emergency room.  She only knew where she was because of the odor, loud voices, uniforms, and stethoscopes defying gravity as they were rushing all around the room.  The artery inside her mangled arm was clamped off and she was given a heavy dose of propofol.  As she awakened, she knew what was happening all around her.  She didn’t know what happened to put her there.

*

Detonation of the three devices was successfully completed at midnight in Washington D.C., Los Angeles, and New York.  Shing and Rasim had made certain the job was done.  Now they expected to enjoy their status as heroes of the revolution and take their place in the new hierarchy.  They waited to watch the coverage on CNN to revel over the reported body count.  These Americans will beg us for peace and do anything we tell them to do! 

*

Sam was fearful for Sara’s safety when the awful sound of weapons firing suddenly began in the distance.  He could see the smoke and hear the sounds of war from several angles and knew she was out there somewhere.  Neither he nor I had a cell phone that could transmit here or any means to contact her.  I knew it was unlikely anyone would answer anyway if I was able to establish contact around the city.  He told me he wanted to try to find her.  I didn’t answer him.  There was no way I would reject the idea no matter how much I wanted to—it was futile to wade into the middle of a battle everywhere we would have to explore.  And it was likely to get us killed by one side or the other.  Still I knew that I would go with him.  He’s my friend.

I think of Susan and being lost to her friendship because of this insanity that probably will take my life—I hope I’m the first and last and that all my friends live on.

“I’ll go too, Sam,” I said.

“Thank you, man.”

In the dark after midnight we set off away from the Memorial where John and the Eagles had done a job on the protestors.  We heard about the blasts in New York and Los Angeles.  Now the level of violence could not be attributed to merely rumor or that the protests were mostly peaceful.  It was true and we were being attacked once more in the most horrific, cowardly method designed by human beings who hate.  It wasn’t supposed to happen again after the horror of Boston. 

Surely the cities haven’t been bombed causing the murder of many people and destroying several blocks of their downtowns.  That just couldn’t be.  It couldn’t.  We were both hopeful the damage was contained, blocked by old, aged concrete, and maybe there would at least be fewer innocent men, women, and children killed.  Our own government has done some of the same kind of killing for less than hate but for power and greed as recently as August, 2021 in Afghanistan.  But now their lives were taken for the cause of someone’s hate.  We tried to be confident with an idea of a small scope but in reality, we knew the blasts were probably catastrophic.  What if it was truly catastrophic again?  No time to think about that now—we had to watch our step and get out there to find his friend.

Then the ground moved beneath them and the horrible sound deafened them both.  D.C. had also been hit hard.  The third terrible explosion threw smoke into the dusk sky and darkened the sky over the mall.  There were people killed at once who left the world in its flash and smoke.  The people who were suddenly taken out of the world, regardless of their politics, in no way deserved to be murdered in the United States.  That’s not truly who we aspire to be and are in the heartland or what we do as regular Americans, despite the Biden Afghanistan murders by drone in August of 2021.  The Eagles were out of range of the blast but many bikes fell to the ground as many of the Eagles were shaken off their feet.

It was a disaster on top of a disaster.  Who rode the protests and riots to kill more Americans?  I thought in a panic.  This isn’t going to stop!  I choked back the urge to scream out or cry as I wasn’t sure where my emotions were taking me.  I certainly had the urge to kill those bombers if I could ever find them and I knew that wasn’t happening.  Such terrible people are as elusive as a puff of smoke.       

After the shootings, many of the radical leftists had decided to still stay for a few days and remained off the beltway and Interstates in safer areas.  They wanted to hold on to their last thread of hope of taking the country.  Large groups stayed at a distance from the military and police.  It seemed their best possible means now was through the advocate media.  Leaders encouraged their numbers to remain while news stories could be developed that would show them as steadfast people who demanded and deserved changes in the government.  They were dedicated to get those changes, even more certain than what had been accomplished during the Viet-Nam era when America withdrew in 1975.

  “Smile people for your rights!  The cause is not lost!  Because the Fascists have shot the innocent, they are doomed now!  Do you hear me?  They have set off a bomb but will not escape!”  Someone in the small gathering of Antifa black clad uniformed people said through a black megaphone.  We both heard his screeching voice, accented by an effeminate delivery.   

Sam and I took off our leather jackets and walked into the grass near the Washington monument as the smoke was settling from the explosion a number of blocks away.  The emergency vehicles had already began running hard with their sirens blasting away in the distance but coming closer to where we were momentarily frozen on our feet.  We heard another speaker trying to use a megaphone, but his voice sounded like it was filled with liquid; he could hardly form any words.  We tried to quietly act like we were part of them to find Sara.  We walked and avoided eye contact, few appeared interested in us. 

There must have been thousands still in place.  It seemed that a thousand people were standing in some kind of stunned silence and looking toward the blast site that was blocks away.  Many had been arrested but the jails and every holding facility was full.  Those who were left, though still significant, did not appear to be in the mood or in such numbers as to threaten the government anymore.  Those closest to the blast appeared to be almost knocked out and submissive.  There was a rain of dust and other particles from high above that began to cover our heads, arms, and was doing the same to all we could see through the shower who were near us.

I noticed a number of huddles where the protestors were holding each other and trying to comfort one another.  The trauma of explosions stunned everyone and many were reeling with concussion and fear.  There was plenty of trash, blood, clothing and crying among them.  Sam stopped at every group and asked about Sara Cummings of ANSWER.

“Do you know her?  She was here or still is and I must find her,” Sam asked.

He just started at us.  I knew Sam was trying to stifle his emotions so I stepped toward the young man and spoke up for my friend.  “I’m sorry, man.  I don’t know where ANSWER is any more.  I’m here with the Students for Democratic Action,” I lied, drawing from my past knowledge of such an organization.  I hope I haven’t screwed up with that stupid answer, I thought.  “I heard that most of their group was near the White House.  They might have been killed with what just happened.  I don’t know,” I said.

The young man looked down and sighed.

“Yeah, they’re on up that way,” he said and pointed in the same direction we were walking.

“Thank you, man.  That helps me a lot,” Sam said.  “Be careful here.  You know they’ll use anything to stop you, right?  They’ve proven that they’ll kill.  Be careful, man.”

“I know… thank you, man.  You be careful too.  I can’t believe what happened here today.  What did happen?  Why?” he said.  He looked to be in soft agony over the loss of life.  Sam knew something about what he was going through.  I did too.

“The world is a dangerous place and what happened here was bound to happen between people who hate each other,” I said.

“I don’t hate anyone, mister.  I don’t hate you.”

The young man likely sensed we were of the right but couldn’t be certain.

“I don’t hate you either, young man.  Leave this place and go back to school.”

The student looked up at Sam and me.  His eyes were set steadily, tearfully in the moon glow.  He must have the heart and intelligence to understand conflict and now he witnessed horrors that before were only the province of the young soldier in battle.  Sam’s jacket fell out of his hands and displayed the flag and other patches.  It was a shame the young man was brought to this by someone selling bad ideas to him.  Sam reached his hand out and the young man took it.  Both knew which side the other was on.

“Do you want me to die?” he asked both of us.

“No, we don’t,” I said.  “We do not kill people.  But there are plenty around here and in this God forsaken city who do.  I hope you’re safe.”         

The young man who answered Sam was a student from Columbia.  Sam was able to read him as being sincere and honest.  He didn’t know for sure that Sam and I had fought earlier in the day against some of the same people he identified with—radical leftists, Marxists, takers, dreamers, the drugged out personalities, and the misguided minds in terms of which side is truly interested in freedom for human beings.  He appeared to be a misguided one.  We were on foot and had blocks to cover in semi-darkness, through more noisy crowds and smoke.  Neither one of use knew what we would see as we walked toward the White House.  There had been a great deal of violence—gunfire, explosions, and thin smoke, boundless, uneven seamless black, gray, and white smoke that interfered with every line of sight for hours.

*

In Nashville, Gaines, Tom, and Harry joined the police and a thousand other men and women from the suburbs to Gallatin in order to take back the city buildings from the few leftists who remained.  The change was done with no more violence than a few fist-fights.  Those who remained knew they would be forced to leave soon.  The police were gathering to clear the Courthouse area.  It was only a matter of time when the police would arrest those who remained and then restore the bureaucratic order once more so that the city could function as it always had.

*

As we walked in the direction of the Whitehouse, there were bloody imprints on the grass of those who fell still on the grass, spots on sidewalks and pieces of bloody clothing left on the roads.  Each one looked like a small huddle, a pile of lonely nothing but dead skin and bones the insects would begin to crawl in and over.  Then we came near enough to see pieces of body parts that were nearly unrecognizable, blackened by the heat and fire. 

The stuff of human beings were laying where the blast threw them.  It no longer mattered to anyone but their families who would not know for a while what happened to their sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers.  All they were now either being treated in hospitals or laying cold in morgues, finished with everything of this world.  They left random clothing articles and other small things along the dark pathways of war.  Voices were silenced.

Sam knew the way and I followed him.  The Whitehouse was in sight even though the normal floodlights were off.  There were emergency lights illuminating the grounds for the forces on guard to see all movement toward the property.  Their positions were well hidden behind dark stacks of sandbags. 

Although there had been attacks earlier, each wave was repulsed by the troopers and Marines on post.  It would take something far more effective than small arms and masses of people to overtake the Whitehouse.  Bodies of the military had already been removed under guard, stacked and covered with dark green tarpaulins.  At the far corner of the rose garden was a roughly twenty-foot long laydown of Troopers killed by the bomb, neatly draped with solid drab green material and military ponchos, reminders of Island fighting in World War II.

Within a half mile of the grounds Sam and I walked into the crowd that was left after the day of fighting.  Some of the men and women were sitting and holding each other in what seemed to be both physical and emotional pain.  Some were lying down exhausted and fighting sleep.  Some were drinking what they had while others were sitting around campfires, silently.  The bomb near the Capital killed many, but there was no way to report the number at this time.  CNN was holding up safely outside the city, ready to blame the wrong side of the political spectrum again for all the troubles. 

It was mostly the remainders of black clad Antifa people who got some of what they came to Washington to get.  They were a subdued crowd now.  Most had no idea the extent to which the government they hate would go to defend itself and must have been surprised.  The group assumed that they had allies in the Whitehouse—as they were told they had.  They had no chance acting out a fool’s dream.  It wasn’t easy to take over and occupy government space of any kind when facing defenders with actual weapons of war. 

All Antifa had was an internet based idea the plan could work here as it had in a number of poorly prepared cities across the nation in one year after another.  Except for the possible impact of some media stories that would justify them, they accomplished nothing but lost many and much on this day.  A few smiled over the prospect of the large number lawsuits against the district when it was mentioned by a more callous one.  We were able to freely walk a block further and saw where ANSWER had grouped its survivors.    

ANSWER was more accustomed to accomplishing little in the long struggle for a Communist state where the grand notion of the Russian revolution and the subsequent mishandling of their power could be revisited.  If only the enlightened were in charge, all would be well and all would be truly accorded his needs—“from each, according to his ability, to each according to his work.”  Their mantra was seen in crumpled posters and flags amongst the huddled groups surrounding the Whitehouse.  It was not to be their day.

“I’m looking for Sara Cummings.  Can you help me?” Sam asked the first person he came across who was sitting in the shadows with several others.  The figure didn’t answer but a familiar voice did.

“Hello… Sara was hurt and taken away,” he said.  “I know your voice.”

“Who are you?” Sam asked friendly in tone.

“I’m Gale Bryson of Nashville.  I believe we’ve talked before.”

“Are you Gale who attends the Vanderbilt School of Law?”

“Yes, that would be me.”

“I’m Sam Adams.  Nice to see you, Gale… where did they take Sara?  God, I hope she’s not hurt bad.”

“I don’t know about that but I heard she was taken to a free clinic near somewhere on 23rd Street, I think.”

“Thank you, Gale.  I hope you’re all right.”

“I’m fine—just tired.”

“Stay safe, Gale.  Why don’t you go on home?”

“There’s much to do, Sam,” the young student said as he looked around the twilight and up to the sky.  “Stars are out tonight.”

“Yeah, I hope it’ll be a beautiful night.  Good luck to you…  We have to go on to the Hospital to find Sara, Gale.  See you around.”

“Yeah, see you around.”

It took us another hour to find the street and then to learn where the free clinic was in the well-lit sector of 23rd Street.  The usual kind of injuries and illnesses ranged from pneumonia to minor strains, heat exhaustion and drug overdoses.  It wasn’t well equipped to handle bullet and shrapnel wounds, deep lacerations and bone loss.  Concussions from a bomb blast was one of the uncommon injuries they received that night among many.

Still the doctors and nurses had a major workload and did the best they could with the limited time they had.  Sam went to a busy nurse and asked her about Sara.

“I’m sorry sir but I do not know any of their names.  Check with the desk and see if she’s listed,” she said quickly as she moved on her way carrying towels toward one of the back rooms.

The older lady who sat behind a messy desk saw us approach.  She didn’t smile or say a word.

“Excuse me, but I’m looking for Sara Cummings.  Do you have her listed here?” Sam said.  He was nervous.  His lips quivered as he spoke.  He watched her leaf through a pile of paper, flicking each page with a wetted finger.  She was annoyed but at least she was taking the inquiry seriously.  She didn’t want any trouble from this stranger who appeared to have been part of the violence that took over the city that day.

“Yes, sir, there’s a Sara Cummings here.  She’s in the triage room—that’s the hallway to it over there, and it has a desk,” she said pointing to one of the four doors that led to the back part of the building space.  “I can’t tell you whether you can see her, sir.”  She added.

Sam left right away and I followed him.  I hope and pray she’s going to be all right.  For Sam’s sake and hers I hope she will be fine.  He’s been through so much.  It is not possible for him to take another blow in this life regardless of all that is happening outside of his world.  Already he is in trouble.  I can see it.  He needs help.

The small waiting room was full and must have exceeded capacity on any day for any reason.

The desk nurse allowed Sam to see her.  Sam quickly recognized her from the curtained door.  Her hair was visible from under a white sheet on the side and just below her ashen face.  The slope of her forehead and neckline was her.  He ran to her side where she laid on a single medical bed and was not moving.  I took a clean cloth from a table we passed and a bottle of water.

“Sara… Sara?  My God, what happened?  Can you hear me?” he cried to the still figure.  We waited and I prayed.  Finally we both could see the faintest movement under the sheet.  She was moving one arm slightly while the other was immobilized from the hastily applied clamps and splints to protect the wound and start the process of controlling the compound fracture she suffered because the projectile tore through her without stopping for bone, tissue or anything.  She had an IV hanging close to her.  Sam reached through them for her forehead and gently touched her skin.  She was warm. 

“She’s very pale, Sam,” I said.

“She’s very warm too.  I know she has to have a fever.  Please ask the nurse for something to get it down.”

“I’m on the way, Sam.”

He brought his face close to her face.

“Sara… I hope you can hear me.  I’m Sam, Sam Adams.”

“Sam?” she whispered.  It was an obviously a struggle for her to get any words out and she was groggy from the loss of blood and drugs they put into her system.  Sam checked the IV suspended above her to make sure it was flowing and waited.

“Yes, Sara, it’s Sam from Nashville.”  He opened the bottled water and splashed its contents on the washrag.

He saw her smile as he wiped her forehead to cool her and clean some of the ash away with the damp cloth.

“You don’t have to talk to me, Sara but I hope you’ll be okay soon.”

“What are you doing here, Sam?” she managed to say with air barely escaping her lips.  She was exhausted and put on pain medication.

“I’m here to help any way I can—or to get you whatever you need, Sara.  Please do not force yourself to say anything.  It’s okay.”

“No, Sam, I can speak some,” she said and smiled.  “It’s just that I have to be careful right now.  My head isn’t right.  I fear something’s wrong.”

“I know, I know.  How are you doing?  Are they taking good care of you?”

“I feel real tired and everything’s hazy.  My gut and arm hurts,” she said with a slur.

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is but don’t move it.  I’ll ask the doctor.  Can I get you anything at all, Sara?” he asked in a pleading tone.  He wanted to make her well and take all her pain away but he couldn’t.  All he could do was try to make her comfortable and pray for her.  Maybe once I know what is involved I can get her to the best doctor in town before she returns to Nashville. 

“Thank you for coming, Sam.  You’re amazing.”

“No, Sara I’m not amazing… I want you well and back on your feet to argue with me… you’re a good friend.”

“I can’t get up, Sam.  I wish I could hug you!”  Her eyes were more fully open now and he could see a streak of joy in the blue and her sparkle.  She had human beauty like most human beings have both inside and out.  He was attracted to her and shared with me that he would like to date her, walk by the lake with her, and watch the birds, enjoy the sunshine, and rest in her company.  It was for him to admit to himself despite their differences—which were huge in terms of what life is, what it really means, and the best way to live every part of it.  She wasn’t an enemy and never has been but he knew all they could be were friends unless one of them had a sincere change of mind about things, especially faith in God.  He ran to find the doctor to learn about Sara’s injuries and what should be done as soon as possible. 

*

The cabinet had not left the conference room in days.  With the President each official provided the information he requested.  Body counts and aid figured most important along with the recovery plan and efforts underway.  FEMA was mobilized as was every military unit stationed stateside.  The reports from New York and Los Angeles were devastating.  No exact information had been produced on the disasters that overtook the horror in Washington.

What was known was that the cities had been seriously damaged by several coordinated bombings.  It was known they were dirty nuclear and leveled several blocks of each downtown area and killed thousands.  A number of steel skeletons stood as dark witnesses to man’s worst actions against people.  The mobilization of every available unit and all the recourses required had to be completed regardless of whether there was a threat of additional bombs.  The cabinet was quiet.  The President was quiet.  They listened for him to speak beyond his initial order to get the people all the help that could possibly be mustered.  After that executive order he had nothing to say.  All knew there would be demands by those responsible for murder on a scale never before seen in this nation.

  Hope and prayer to one end, that there would be no other bombs of this nature or any used to kill Americans.  No one knew for sure.  No one in the cabinet knew the source.  No CIA information, FBI, or military intelligence defined the enemy thus far, who they were, where they came from, or how this happened.  Free borders were free borders and an open door may have welcomed the murderers into the States.  Coming into the country had not been obstructed for years and many pathways to do Satan’s work was open to those particular kind of people who live to kill their perceived enemies.  To them, it mattered not what Americans were killed—men, women and children.  In their minds it was retribution for the murderous mistakes made by American power.  And from below where the darkest minds work, where the soulless reside, their plans were hatched and carried out.  Perhaps soon well hear their demands.  What choice do we have but to listen?

*

Herman Gonzales was in the precinct when it exploded.  He and everyone there and nearby were no more, never knew what hit them.  The vaporization of every living person, animal and plant had flashed in an instant.  He was there to meet his commitment to Father Templeton who was also taken to heaven in that second of time.  Anna and Maria were safe in Maricopa.  The small city was outside the zone but they heard the news and knew they would never see him again.  His father walked deep into the yard and cried.

Maybe it’s what we get for where we have gone…  It’s never deserved but it happens when human beings come to think they have all the answers and must have it all given to them by other human beings who do not want to do that, the senior Gonzales thought.  We fail miserably in this world.

*

The war room of the President’s administration, deep in the center of reinforced steel and concrete bunkers, was quiet.  Electronic signals and muted voice-overs continuously ran on screens by taking direct signals from dedicated satellites and were the backdrop of a room full of minds beyond stress, past rest, into a realm where no thoughts were constructed in a clear way.  Everything was muddled and confused.  Neither joy nor sadness, neither anger nor love and neither concrete ideas nor fuzzy notions were working.  They sat there numb, waiting for the end of the domestic battle brought to several cities and D.C.

Their administration was over.  In the matter of time where campaigns heat up and party conventions select nominees, they were finished and would bow out of the contest.  Americans were wasted by their defense of the capitol and the bombings by unknown operatives.  It could be worse but it was terrible enough to doom the administration’s ability to recover public support.

The legislators across the country now had more than the thirty-four states needed to convene and make amendments to the Constitution and that would seal the fate of every person in the war room.  They knew some of what were the articles the states agreed to revise and those revision would shock the career politicians and entrenched bureaucracy.  Term limits, two Nation-States, and an arching military dedicated only to defending the homeland were going to shatter the status quo and install accountability for every action taken by government agencies.  No longer would any agency be able to make rules and regulations that had the effect of establishing law rather than guidelines.  It was going to be swimming in unknown waters for both red and blue states.                          

*

Sam was able to ask one of the doctors in the clinic about Sara.  The older doctor didn’t have time to talk to the man at length and told him about her arm and the chances of her bleeding to death if she didn’t undergo surgery soon.  The doctor left him to attend to other patients before Sam was able to ask him if he could have an ambulance transport his friend or if he could take her to the hospital—and how best to get her there safely.  I heard what he said.  She must have surgery.  She cannot get it here.

“We’ve got to get her moved.  She must have surgery soon or she will die.”

“Yes, Sam, I heard.”

“I have to find a hospital that can get her into surgery and get her to the place now,” he said and looked down.  I saw the determination, the fierceness in his face again.  It was the same expression he appeared after learning of what happened to Cheryl and Anne that day in Nashville.  I knew he would do something about the problem.  I would help him in every way possible.

“Should we try to get to the car?  It’ll be difficult but we can make it back here, Sam.  Do you want me to go?”

“I should go with you… need to call first and see if anyone can do the work.”

“Why don’t you start on it while I get to the car?”

“Thank you, man… okay let’s get started!”  He said as he threw me his keys.

“You got it.”

I took off on a run and covered several miles back across the crowds and bodies, police and troops, smoke and damage and was left to make my way without being stopped.  There were firearms inside the vehicle and I knew I had to make my way back to 51st Street without being stopped in it either or be arrested—I wasn’t sure what the law was around D.C.  I had to remember to at least unload all of them and tuck them away out of sight.  That would give us the best chance, I thought.

I hope Sam knows how to get to the place he finds for her.  Surely he will find a doctor able to save her life around here.   There was no time to waste, no time to rest.  I ran on and was within a single mile of where we left the vehicle near the Memorial when I saw a mass movement of people blocking my way.  They were marching again.

I cut through the ten deep snake of protestors and was not stopped.  As I passed through I must have bumped some of them although I don’t remember doing so.  But no one stopped me.  No one could stop me.

I got into the Kia and sped out of the space.  It was in good condition although pocked with small dents and some splatter of a liquid where it had been targeted by leftists as they hurled anything they could find to throw during one of their surges toward the Eagles.  Along the way back to the free clinic I turned and dodged disabled vehicles and piles of refuse, only a few bodies left in the roadway and one fire.  I had been lucky, very lucky and could see the street just ahead.  I was nearly there and if Sam had the information, we would be able to get Sara taken care of.  I knew she must be in awful pain with such a wound and hopefully it would not be long for her before being treated correctly.  Who would shoot her?  Why? She posed no threat—it wasn’t her style.  She abhorred violence according to Sam and I was sure he was right.  She couldn’t have been doing anything that would cause one to shoot her down like that.

I was able to pull the Kia directly in front of the plain double set of doors and rushed back inside to get them.  I saw Sam next to a gurney of sorts and Sara laying on it with the IV still in her arm.  He grabbed the back and I took the front of it.  Luckily a nurse took the time to trail us with the IV as we loaded her into the back.  I could see that Sara was groggy but conscious.  She knew what was happening as we pulled out and sped as fast as we could toward Walter Reed, the only facility who committed to Sam. 

The veteran’s hospital like every other hospital went to emergency mode as the crowds had geared up yesterday morning.  They were taking civilian casualties for emergency treatment and were overworked as every hospital was during this horror.  I drove as Sam held her hand and delivered her to the front of the emergency entrance.

A Captain Nurse met us inside the automatic doors.  I noticed the double silver bars on her collar.  She took a look at Sara and directed staff members nearby to prep her for surgery.  Strangely she smiled at us—an unlikely trio who was there for help.  I took it as a reassurance that everything would be done for the poor woman possible and as soon as possible.  Orderlies and Nursing assistants moved her off the narrow gurney and onto a rolling bed that would be her place during surgery.

Sam and I would have to wait.  We heard the story of New York and Los Angles was true while sitting in one of the waiting areas.  It was all everyone talked about when they did speak.  One older gentleman said it was world war III now and we had better get ourselves ready.  There wasn’t much I wanted to think about after learning about the great cities and all those people.  Even prayer seemed too little, too late.

“Thank you for helping us.”

“I wouldn’t think of doing anything else.  I hope she will be all right, Sam.”

“Well, she has a chance now.”

“Yes she does.  We’re a long way from home.  I want to go home, Sam.  As soon as we can let’s take Sara and leave this place.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

It would be several hours before we learned how Sara did and whether her prognosis was positive.  The news repeated itself.  New York and Los Angeles were practically destroyed.  The losses were estimated in the hundreds of thousands and varied between news services from three hundred to nearly one million people killed, another several hundred thousand injured, many in that number that would succumb later from radiation burns. 

Sam and I waited in silence.  The third hour must have passed as I had closed my eyes.  The noise in the waiting room became a muffled background of voice sounds without words.

The doctor who took the job finally came out to find the men who brought Sara.  “Good news, gentlemen,” he said.  “Ms. Cummings is doing fine.  We were able to repair the deep laceration and patch her up.”

“That’s great Doc!” Sam said.  “Thank you so much for taking her case.  What’s next for her?”

“I’m very happy you got her here when you did.  She’ll be in recovery for a few hours.  The anesthesia will wear off and we’ll monitor her vitals.  It’s also important that she gets plenty of rest for several days.  We must make certain there is no bleeding.”

            Sam looked toward me as if he was asking a question.

“We’ll stay, Sam,” I reassured him.  “Even if it takes days, we’ll stay and get her home.”    

Sam and I slept in the crowded waiting room outside of the ICU.  I wasn’t shy about using a portion of the floor in the corner as out of the way as I could get and was able to get some sleep.  Sam slept some but less than me.  He kept his seat and slumped over to his knees.  It was twenty-four hours post-surgery and Sara’s condition would be known very soon, I thought.  I chose to hold my ideas to myself and wait for the doctor to appear again after making his rounds.

We wouldn’t see the doctor for another day and the nurses would only repeat the same thing—that Sara was stable but in guarded condition.  Sam began to make himself more of a pest and left the charge desk only to relieve his bladder.  He became a fixture leaning across the far end of the counter.  We appeared to have walked in from a fight and not taken the time to clean off even large patches of dirt and grime—which in fact we had days before.

There was nothing to do most of the time we waited.  The news was on the waiting room television most hours.  We watched the coverage as the protest finally ended and the cleanup began.  There were hours spent on the deaths and whether they were justified.  Some of the guests ventured the administration was subject to a serious criminal investigation and impeachment was a matter of course and would be the first order of business following a certain, hasty reconvening of congress. 

Countless speakers across the screen depressed many viewers with their assessment of the body count, the cost and extent of the probes being commissioned by every committee and sub-committee throughout both chambers.  Nearly every politician of both parties was clamoring to become part of the opposition now and appear forceful to their constituents.  It all promised to be a massive and free platform broadcast across the nation.  The politicians who capitalized most from the tragedy of this war would certainly achieve national prominence—and go about enriching themselves along with their defense contractor friends.

The first press conferences by politicians were held even before the last trucks loaded the bloody remains of city civilians across the country, protestors in D.C. and the troops sent to protect them.  Respirators and white Tyvek suits could be seen everywhere across the capitol city.  Remains were to be moved to their respective places where the bodies were prepared while others attended to burial preparation. 

The troops would be honored near Walter Reed and interned at Arlington unless the families requested transportation to a place in their home towns.  The protestors would be transported to their city of origin if one was known, received by coroners.  The rest would be held for at least one week in temporary morgues set up and chilled with portable generators and refrigerant units.  An identification effort would be made before interning the bodies in the pauper’s site located in Maryland.       

“You may see her now,” the third shift nurse finally announced.  Although the time was well outside normal visiting hours, the two of us had been one of several constant presences.

We went to her room, now a small room near ICU where four other victims were placed.  Every space, every room was beyond capacity.  The hospital was barely able to avoid using its halls but so far managed to squeeze patients into tiled areas with a door.

Sam went to her side and spoke to her in a whisper.  I stood by and waited.

“Hello, Sam… you’re here with me,” she said.  The weakness in her voice was more pronounced than it was when we brought her from the clinic.  She sounded different, softer—perhaps it was fear.  She may know how close she came to dying now.

“Hi, Sara…  Please do not force yourself to speak.  We’re both here to take care of you.  Everything will be fine,” Sam said.  “This is my friend, Tim.”

“Hello, Tim.  I’m so surprised to see you!  But I’m so glad!  How long have I been out?”  She said and managed a smile toward both us.  I stood well back from Sam in the dim room.

“Not long, ma’am… only a day or two.  Can you tell me how you’re doing?  Are you feeling better?  Sorry that’s a dumb question,” Sam said and looked downward, embarrassed.  She saw him blush.

“Oh, Sam, yes I am better,” she said and smiled.  “It’s not a dumb question.  I’m so glad you’re here.  I can’t believe it!”

“As soon as you can go, we will take you home, Sara.”

“I would like that…  Why are you going to so much trouble?” she managed to say.

“You’re a friend and friends stick together.”           

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Of course, Sara,” he said.  He liked saying her name.  In his exhaustion he found that saying her name gave him energy.  “I’ll ask about when you can be moved.”

“Please do, Sam.  They haven’t told me anything much—and I think they’ve been pumping a lot of drugs into me.  I do hope I don’t say anything crazy.”

“No, Sara, you’re not talking like that.  I’ll find out what’s going on.  I’ll leave you for a little while but I’ll be right back.  Is there anything you need at all?”

“I don’t think so, Sam.  I’m glad you came to Washington.  I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t.”

“That’s all right.  I had to find you, Sara and I knew you would be here.”  He avoided expanding on his reasons for being there.

“Yeah, it was kind of a stupid thing to do, wasn’t it?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t think so.  You did what you had to do for your beliefs.  We all do that in one form or another.”

I left her room with him to find the charge nurse and learn whether she could tell us anything about taking Sara.  In her room were two soldiers who suffered injuries from shot, broken glass and rocks.  Another protestor who had taken a shot into his chest was on the other—the far side of them.  Both sides of the conflict were represented in the small space and it was peaceful now.  The patients did not exchange words beyond expressing their quiet, sincere hope for each other.  I noticed that there had been no talk of politics.  That made me feel happier.        

This insanity must stop!  This crazy divide must be bridged.  My God, people have died here in this country for nothing but ideas!  My God… please help our Nation.

During the following few months, there would be an agreement between the states to organize for a Constitutional States Convention.  The last one was held in 1787.  It was a desperate thing for the nation and held promise for both sides.  It was done and the nations went for a couple of years before the seams of changes made began to come apart.

The most significant change was dividing the country into two nations.  It would peacefully last for only two years. 

Chapter XV

El Paso

Only a couple of years out did the worst unfold which could have been predicted but wasn’t for the want of success and peace in the land.

Following the new found freedom of the red states and the inevitable need for rigid control of the economics and the people in blue states, both sides set about to make their power do the right thing.  I remember the events.  They’re with me every night to awaken me.  It was surely history in the making.  A chance for peace for the Nations.  It was a chance to develop what Americans wanted in life.    

Too soon though, there would be a deadly event beginning near El Paso.  The people of the Nations were about to explode in an orgy of violence—an inevitable clash of ideas, greed, and authoritarianism.  Too soon there would be a North Carolina in the East.  The number of armed people on each side began to appear as if it were a repeat of something as confusing, violent, loud, and costly  as many battles in history when people draw violence as an answer.  It seems man can’t avoid killing each other and this gravest of sins will be with us until the very end of man.  It will be the cause of the end.        

Sam, and I heard the call to arms through the state’s militias and governments.  Antifa were moving toward Texas at their closest point of entry from California and were advancing toward the red state in an undisciplined line to take power through violence.  We left our homes to go to Texas.  The range of fire varied from 500 yards to 200 yards.  He sighted his rifle at 200 yards, adjusting the windage and elevation ever so carefully, precisely, deadly.   He held his breath as he listened for the order.  I sighted mine at 100 hundred yards and knew the elevation I would have to change on the rifle if the shot I had to take was further out.  We all waited.  On the line were man and women of every race and creed but who all were free and protected by the Constitution.  

It was made clear throughout the citizen militia that the red citizens would not be the first to fire and the response from Texas must be completely self-defense.  The sands in front of them became darker as now the declared enemy of the Red Nation bore down toward their line.  Something had not worked in the blue states utopia and the people turned quickly to hate the states they were told was their problem.  To stop the mass of Marxists now was the bane and the sorrow of the men and women who were of truth, of Texas.  The reports were heard as Antifa were firing random shots toward the positions of the Texans.  There were reports of the slaughter of a ranching family and their employees on the outskirts of the county.

I thought I missed my target with my first shot and quickly adjusted slightly to find the target.  The next shot I saw brought down a figure at about two-hundred yards as his form could no longer be seen.  My eyes watered up and I had to look away to clear them, pretending to be checking the action on my rifle.  I heard bullets flying overhead and saw where some of the shots struck sands in front of the line.  I heard the deafening report of the line of people now fully engaged and saw many attackers fall in front of them.  Undoubtedly many were killed instantly while others were suffering wounds.  The line maintained a rate of fire that Antifa couldn’t match as they fell and many ran back for cover; the thickest part of their line reeled back as a snake’s back and tail does.  We patriots from all the red states in the east that gathered at the Texas border could barely see the effect they had but most people on the line could make out a retreat of sorts along a curved line of human beings who were bringing their vacant politics to Texas.    

The Texas commanders were able to establish communication with some in Antifa even though it was impossible to know whether they had a command structure and whoever they could talk to would have any ability to remove their wounded safely—the first offer Texas made to the domestic enemy.  The line was ordered to hold fire, safe their weapons, and maintain discipline cover and concealment.  A majority of patriots were veterans with training and some experience while the majority of Antifa never served.   

The landscape to the west had become a blood stained picture of humanity lost, chances to learn better gone, running into the dirt and sands beneath their torn bodies.  When a militia is serous, high caliber and accurate weapons are used by most members, a factor obviously unforeseen by Antifa.  There were heads, arms, and some legs blown away from their hosts in the grisly result of want and envy, entitlement and Godlessness.  In less than a fraction of a second in time, many enemies knew no more of the earth and were gone forever.    

The terrible result from the States Convention had not been foreseen by the senate and now was laid bare in front of the Texans.  Their one time brother and sister citizens had crossed that dangerous line, had fired upon them in hate, and made their murderous intentions clear.  We had to defend our people and our homelands.  It was presented in some of their publications that to kill was a necessary action to take for the Workers Party, for their share and entitlements that were necessary because they were born.  The Blue Nation became what was expected and could not support its people.  

            Still the trains of the new American migration were started up and on their way to respective states, respective systems of economics and more or fewer liberties.  The battle was quickly brought up by media sources and shown for all to see on the internet and described in the fashion respective owners expected of their on-air talent.  The blue states reported it as a victory for the western states.  The red states reported the truth.  Blue reported that Antifa soldiers were still attacking those that were called racist Texans (even though every race made up the ranks and the Red society) and the red media reported the sad developments of war and what appeared to be a large body count of groups from California.

They reported it was not known yet whether Antifa will continue their aggression.  It was a solemn time for both sides.  It was tragic, terrible, sad beyond all emotions, and grievous for real.  It had only been a few months.  

I waited and thought how wasteful but how predictable.  The dust filled my nostrils, making breathing slow and burning.  We’re in a civil war and there’s no escaping the fact.  Things weren’t working so well in socialist blue and many want to reimagine the Nation.  The blues want what the red has but not at the cost of capitalism and liberty.  They still think and are convinced to death that they can make collectivism work in their own, new way. 

The last thing most human beings want to do is kill another human being.  It was a terrible end.  It would never leave most of our hearts and souls.  The fact was that we ended the life of other people in a flash, a grave thing to do and a nearly impossible thing to live with.  Being forced to stop other human beings from killing us and ours was nonetheless on us to do.  Many men and women cried that day and would cry again whenever their minds took us to that place tomorrow.  We didn’t ask for this and didn’t want it.      

“Oh my dear God, save us, help us.”  I prayed silently as I saw that the Antifa people were not leaving.  We learned the group had simply retreated a few miles west and may be forming up for a new advance on our positions.  Reconnaissance was easy for veterans to make on them.  We knew how man there were, where they were, and where they were going on a constant basis. 

I knew from experience through the seventies, eighties and nineties that the hard core leftists are never satisfied and can never be happy with their lot.  One begins to learn it is all an act on their part or a common psychological problem shared in a massive way with most of the hateful radical leftists.  There are some people who cannot find it in their heart to be happy with their world, their country and so join other in the lashing out for changes.  Every concession made, every allowance for such items as their language changes, their gender pronouncements, their labeling people, and their many taxes levied had been insufficient for them.  Nothing was ever done that went far enough to satisfy them—for whoever desired all the things the central core of Marxist thought is entrenched, it is always impossible.  God help us, I thought, prayed.

Do we have a right to live?  Do we have a right to work and enjoy the fruits of our labor?  Do we have freedom of speech?  Can we offend others?  (Yes, but it would be immature to do so except in those few circumstances where you must leave them in your dust after explain in adult language why you’re stepping away).  Do we have a right to reject man-made ideas we find wrong?  Yes.  Do we have the right to refuse to cater to others?  Yes.  Do we—does anyone—have the right to force someone to believe as we do?  No.  Do we have the right to defend ourselves?  Yes, and here we are in this age.  We have to defend ourselves whether that’s through civic action or as is also true, the fist, and the gun if required.         

            I suddenly felt the pain of regret twist my torso in a muscle spasm that was very strong.  It brought tears to my eyes as I twisted and turned to make it go away.  But it would not go away easily for I was guilty as were millions of other Americans who hadn’t stopped the evil doctrine from being taught, taken on as required Marxist dogma and enforced throughout the land on children and set upon our young adults in colleges across the former United States.  The Blue Nation had lost or tossed its faith and the toll was being paid in front of my eyes.

            It all was set, not in a coffee shop, but on a field of terror and putrid ugliness that impressed itself on all the senses of those who were there.  Susan would make a difference if she were here, I thought to break my mind away from what I was seeing.  I could see her eyes, quietly encouraging him to be at peace.  I could see spending time with her again to breathe in peace.

Susan would be a comfort to me with her quiet voice and smile.  It was a gift she had and part of her, nothing artificial or that she had to make an effort to pretend’ it was simply her.  I was happy that she wasn’t here but wished I were with her now away from this place.   The hour of my regret was on me as it comes to most men.  It was on me and had me in a vice grip that only being somewhere else, anywhere else that was peaceful and quiet could possibly solve and end the nightmare facing me and all the people on the line outside El Paso, Texas.  I prayed and asked God to forgive me.

I squinted my eyes toward the western horizon and didn’t see any imminent threat.  There were the shadows of many Antifa still gathered but they were not coming toward us.  I thought of Susan and the quiet time we had in the coffee shop.  I’d rather be there than in this place doing what we had to be doing in this place.  I’d rather smell that aroma than all of that beginning to come in on the wind.  At first it was a timid sampling that got his attention.  I knew it would be worse.  The rot had just started from their war.  My guilt began to tear open the veil of self-assurance that protected me. 

They were coming to Texas after the successful siege and takeover of Portland–again.  The idea that anyone could want a different political way than their autocracy reeled their minds and spurred the need for people like the Texas line to violently confront such bricks of minds and hearts and change them or kill them all.  It was a damn shame.    

Patriots organized into groups of one-hundred armed defenders and formed up near I-10 at El Paso.  Word of the Antifa force came from many sources of our forward reconnaissance and even from the media through messages on line so that it was easy to know where there was movement of these blue state anarchists in seemingly countless numbers.  The Texans and other volunteers from several states had to stop them as in the new confederation formed by the Constitutional Convention, it was a state that had a large degree of autonomy from D.C. and the rest of blue states.

John Pickering was an oil field worker who knew of the impending attack from an on line source in his home.  He knew what he had to do for the sake of his family, his state, and his church.  He gathered up his firearms and the ammunition he could carry after arriving at El Paso.  Hundreds of others were already gathered in pitiful resoluteness against invaders, former countrymen, who were bent on their destruction.  There were no smiles.  There were many prayers in solemn earnest to God for an ounce of His strength and courage.

Mark Smith was also from Dallas and a retired teacher who taught civics and government classes to his High School classes for decades.  He never anticipated there would be a rainbow split of the Nation even though it was not quite one-hundred percent, it was significant and had to be worked out through legislation, a parallel of governing principles at one glance, but with very different philosophies.   

“I thought the problem had been solved with the Convention,” John said to Mark, another patriot resting in the moment with the line of men and women, serious about protecting Texas.

“I know.  Me too,” Mark answered.

“There’s never enough for the left,” a quiet man who walked in a shadow with his long rifle hidden by an oversized dark colored garment that covered him from his head to his ankles.  It was tattered and foreboding.  He appeared as a death itself, a master in his craft, a warrior covered by quiet secrecy and very lethal.  I could see he was dark and wore a streaked partial grey streaked black beard that covered half his face.

“It seems impossible that they want to fight us for ‘stuff’ I guess… and so soon.”  I said.

“Not really,” Carl spoke up.  “Remember they were raised with getting anything they wanted.  Them from the ghettos were taught in the streets that they could just get anything and everything,” he finished.

John and Mark turned toward him and didn’t voice anything but agreed with the comment by what could have been noticed by any observer nearby as practically coordinated head nods, quiet, plainly worried and angry at the same time about why they were in this place away from home.

“Nice to meet you,” John spoke first.  The man acknowledged him but didn’t say anything more.  John watched as he looked out to the front and scanned the horizon of pasture land and large old trees making up patches across the blanket of grass and sand.  Visibility was good and the killing ground awaited those who wanted more.

Clouds appeared slowly to the north of the horizon and were moving in the direction of the line the patriots formed that crossed the Interstate exit, their stand against a moving army of Marxists.  The wind suddenly picked up and most of the men and women knew that meant they were in the path of a fast moving storm. 

“What’s your name,” John asked the covered man as he extended a hand out toward him.  “I’m John Pickering, an oil field hand from down Beaumont way.”  We watched a black man walk toward our small group.

“I’m Carl Smith.  Ya’ll know why we’re here, right?”  He said in a low tone.

“Yeah,” John said in desperate knowledge of what was ahead of them.  “Mighty glad you’re here, Bud.  This is Tim, Sam, Mark, and Jasper,” he said as he pointed each of us out.   

We all knew why he came to the Texas border.  Stopping those who would kill and destroy liberty was justified but deeply regrettable.  So many had been influenced by false teachers in a world-sized secularist Marxist movement and knew little about the truth of freedom.  The bad ideas had spread throughout our institutions and government and now had taken many minds with it.  Carl knew history as well as any of us.

“Nice to meet you, Carl.  Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked him.  Carl was taller than me and his rifle was a 30.06 hunting rifle with scope.  He nodded for the drink and so I brought him a cold Gatorade out of the cooler we had.      

“We know,” Mark joined, casting his eyes toward the expected direction the army of darkness would use to come at them.  “It’s going to be us who have to stop them.”

“True words, John.  We’re here to stop those who are coming to kill us all,”  Carl said as rain started falling on them from a northerly angle, wetting faces and many of their and our weapons.

*

It was 7:00 AM on the east coast when the first observation was made and passed about another Antifa group forming up with weapons in Virginia, a state that long ago went for one party rule.  The communication was made to Patriot guard members in North Carolina to be on the alert.  It was too early to gauge if their intentions were the same as El Paso but soon the North Carolina militias would know.  They had scouts out to work reconnaissance covering many miles wide along the border with Virginia and Maryland.  There would be real time reliable intelligence from the many sources who kept informed of every action and move the northeast tier were working.

*

The few men and women in the Texas bunkhouse who were initially called prayed together that North Carolina wouldn’t be an attack like what was tried in Texas.  Surely they know what happened, I thought.  That would mean a Civil War… again.  Surely to God, we’re not doing this, I thought.  I saw Jasper Higgins in tears, pondering in silence.  He had been in war and knew it was the worst possible thing he has ever engaged in and he hated it.  Normal people hate it.  The most evil, wasteful, horrible thing one can imagine and the losses are never recovered.  He painfully looked over to his warrior wife, Darla.  “It’s only been a couple of years, Darla, and yet here we are,” he said.

“Ours went quicker because they were used to a life much different and thought it would just be the same—only more and better,” Jasper said and took a long breath.  “And now, they’re coming for it all and ours will sadly be to give them their final need.”

“I’m so scared, Jasper.  I don’t want to shoot toward anyone,” she said as she cried.

“I know.  I don’t either.  They’ll be firing at us, Darla.  I wish you’d go home until this mess is over.  You don’t need to be here, darling.  I hope it’ll be short and done.  Maybe they’ll turn back.  There’s a chance they will once they see that we’re here and aren’t backing down.”

“I don’t understand how we got to this place, Jasper.  I’m going home and I’ll have a good dinner ready for when you can come home too.  I don’t think it’ll take ya’ll long.”

I heard the voices in a distance running toward him and getting louder.

           “They’re forming up again!” came the excited deep shouts with they’re singular meaning, they’re deadly consequence. 

I went numb and wasn’t thinking as I checked my weapon and made sure I had a round locked in the breech and ready to use to stop the needless aggression.  I saw the faint look of their lines and heard the bumble bees swirling over my head again and as some of the patriots began to fall to the ground near me, I got down into a prone position to keep from getting hit.  I brought my rifle up to aim and fire.  I squeezed the trigger slowly and brought down an attacker at two-hundred yards. 

From the distance the attacker’s chest area appeared to explode in a pop and he fell like a large sack would off a loading dock.  He would never know any more on this earth.  His joining the quest to conquer and subjugate had come to an abrupt end the instant the 30.06 projectile tore into his thin protection.  I felt water in my eyes again and quickly wiped them on my shirt sleeve.  “Damn,” I thought.  “Just damn.”   

Sam was in a mode of killing and his mind seemed to block any concern or regret.  He did his job and the second man or woman was brought down one-hundred yards to his front.  Other men and women on the firing line had their opening to kill as well for about three minutes.  The three minutes that seemed longer than they were.  The three minutes taken by the red state patriots stopped the second assault almost as soon as it had begun.  The pink mist was seen in the fraction of a second it shows and then leaves all across the Antifa line. 

Antifa had to retreat into the long journey back to California, Washington State, and Oregon.  What was left of them had to return for medical treatment, rest, and peace.  They would have to develop a different plan because force wasn’t going to work for them and their allies.  Their losses were grievous because of an action a small central committee thought would work and it would take more years than they thought they had to recruit new blood. 

They left the field and left their dead and seriously wounded to lie in the sun and cold nights.  Antifa knew that most of the red state people complicated their lives with old-fashioned sense of compassion and hearts of the unnecessary element referred to as love for their fellow man.  Most of them still adhered to the notion that it was all for the love of the state and for the greater good with every collective action.  The burden of rescuing those who were wounded fell to the red staters if they were to be rescued.

The people nearest to my firing position on the line of Texans included Sam, John, Mark, and Carl.  I heard myself shout out that I was going to check on the people who were calling out as they cried for help. 

“It’s what we must do,” Carl surprised us all as he was the first to stand up and shout then walked quickly out in front of our lines.  We stood up, shouldered our weapon, and grabbed a first aid kit to go out fast and begin to render aid. 

“They’re gearing up to go out, ya’ll,” Mark said as he pointed to their left where a large group of men and women were running toward each other at a center point. 

“Let’s go to them, I’m with you, Carl!” Sam quickly said.

“I’ll join you guys,” Mark quickly said.

“I’m coming too,” John quickly said.

 The militia commanders were sending out ambulances and Humvees full of Doctors, Medics and supplies to mop up what was left of the attackers.  I and those who were with me ran to the vehicles and command post to offer our help in searching for those who were wounded.  The red staters who were killed and wounded by Antifa were already in the clinics set up behind the lines and were being treated by red state doctors and nurses. 

We arrived quickly at the first survivor from Antifa.  Sam saw him bleeding from his thigh and began to press the wound with a large sterile first aid pad.  He looked into his eyes while he stopped the bleeding as best as he could.  He was silently begging for help.  The man’s femur was most likely fractured in a serious wound as his femoral artery was cut or deeply nicked.  Sam knew he had to get a doctor to attend the young man quickly. 

“Carl, can you get a doc for this one while I keep pressure on the shot?”

“Will do.  Be back in a hurry,” Carl said as he turned and ran toward the Humvees nearest them.  

Sam turned back to the man who was wounded.  “Try to stay still, man.  We’re getting a doctor over as quick as we can.  Don’t worry.  You’ll be all right.”

The young man stared at his rescuers; his eyes were wide open.  These were the people he was shooting at just minutes before his comrades deserted him in a patchy, hot sand desert-like field.  They didn’t even try to help him and it confused him.  They claim that their cause was just but they’re willing to leave him on the field to die alone.  It was supposed to be equal treatment for all.  It was to be justice tempered by race and life opportunity.  It was to be collectivism in its purest form, administered by a caring government.  None of it works.  All of it was a lie.  He felt that he had a migraine grip his head on top of his serious leg wound.

The pitiful sight on the land to our front was a damning act by man, again.  I took some counsel from Carl and John as we returned to our line.  Proud to be with them, I marched as I’ve done long ago in my youth, with others who were of the same mind for the time it took to turn danger away from our homes.  Never did I ever think this would be the culmination of our Republic, the result of our States Convention, and the failure of a system many knew would fail.

The wonderful quiet and sudden peace left for those who gathered in Texas as the enemy retreat back west replaced the noise, blood, the most terrible of human drives, the carnage that results from its full expression was more beautiful than the sunset of red and yellow on the horizon.      

*

    The next day I traveled with Carl and Mark into Dallas where we attended church services together in with a congregation of Missouri synod Lutherans gathered to receive the sacraments of forgiveness and communion.  Being there gave me a feeling of well-being and peace throughout my body.  It was a wonderful morning for the three of us as we returned to the truck we used for the trip.  There was some news being broadcast about the horror of the fight, and there quickly another news item.

In the quiet following the horrendous storm in El Paso, nothing was developing further in Virginia.  Leadership of Antifa saw and learned.  They would not challenge North Carolina and South Carolina, Tennessee or Florida the states where most of the militia would respond to their armed march toward their Republic.  It was quiet but there were rumblings as the left never stop, never can be satisfied, and have shifted back to their original methods to make the public tired and weary of them to the extent they would be willing to give in to their demands. 

So it is.  So it will be.  Freedom lovers have to be just as steadfast in their belief in God almighty and His word and that it is He who granted us rights as human beings, not government.  We must be vigilant to defend our knowledge of our rights because the onslaught of greed and envy will be forever present in the world.    

*

On the way back to El Paso for the final cleanup, we heard about a planned march up in my home town of Nashville and didn’t think much of it.  These activities were harmless enough and amounted to little more most of the time than publicity for the people leading them.  There had been a killing downtown.  A Hispanic police officer was involved and a black teenager was grievously injured as he resisted arrest and drew what the officer thought was a gun.  The young man later died following the exchange. 

I don’t know any more of the details since the media reported little information other than it was a drug related incident and the teenage perpetrator who died was armed.  I assume the authorities will get to the bottom of the case and handle it appropriately.  I also assumed a protest march being organized this early was to serve the anti-police movement interest more than the teenager or his family.  I know the lawsuit is bound to come and every taxpayer would pay for the officer’s actions in most cases whether or not it was justified.  I’m one of those taxpayers.

            If the officer screwed up and killed a person for no reason, then we are liable and should pay—though any amount of money is hardly compensation for such a tragedy.  He should lose his job.  He may also be charged for murder or manslaughter, depending on the true facts of the incident.  We should be more careful about who we hire and the nature of training done to prepare police officers.  If the officer was justified, there should be a judgment in favor of the city and the officer involved—the case dropped as a lesson to any person who threatens the life of an officer.  But that is not what happens.  A family shouldn’t be enriched for the crime of one of its members.  It’s a matter of common sense to many of us across the nation.

            I watch the game being played in real time and my mind goes to other—and most common—cases—the roughly two-hundred police officers killed each year while doing their job.  What if the officer had been killed?  We wouldn’t have a protest march proceeding from one street near the park all the way to the courthouse downtown.  We would have a memorial service and a funeral attended by dozens of officers in full dress uniform to pay respects to one of theirs who fell doing his duty.  There would be a short article in the newspaper and the local television stations would mention it as a human interest story in a thirty second sound clip.

Many in the community would grieve for the family left behind and most would pray for them.  Then it would be forgotten by everyone except the police force involved in the search for the killer.  Rarely is there such a public howl over the loss of a police officer—something I don’t understand.  The timing of events in relatively small Nashville would merge two groups with more grievances than either one has singly.   

            On the internet, articles are posted calling for mass protests of the war but there is more.  The organization of the protest is being done by an Antifa group, the same far left group of people who wanted to change the American government to a socialist government and who we just repulsed the hard way near El Paso.  ANSWER to them stands for “Act Now to Stop War and End Racism.”  La Raza, a radical leftist Hispanic interest group who have lobbied government officials for years to protect people who crossed the border without visas were also involved. 

Most of us had referred to those people invading our southern border as illegal aliens and line jumpers, even while we think there very true asylum seekers who would come to port of entries rather than sneak across a river or fence or walk across property they don’t own.  Since most have no respect for our laws and other people who were coming into the country the right way, we can’t just look away from the problem.  

There was also a growing Antifa group of black-clad people who were not at El Paso but still advertise as being anti-Nazis but are in fact themselves very violent and authoritarian in their actions and demands.  La Raza could turn out hundreds of people to protest.  Antifa can easily show up in the hundreds to block traffic and riot under the darkness of night.  Everyone involved would most likely not want war as they have seen what happened to their comrades.   Every group involved in the organized protests wants to exert power over others. 

It seems that only a relatively pitiful few believe racism can be found within every race—hatred, bigotry and worse, violence—actual racist hatred is found in all races despite faux society experts claiming that it’s impossible—another leftist lie.  Later there would be Antifa formed with many people who had been part of ANSWER, La Raza, ELF, along with university students and other disaffected young people who were convinced their Marxist education was real and now were reaching for anarchy until a new form of government is installed more to their liking and taking.  Since getting what they wanted in the blue states didn’t work well, and the violent clashes with the red state militias was a terrible waste, they still wanted the entire country.  

Their platform conveniently uses the false claim of racism to bring attention to their cause.  What they were and are actually doing is dividing the American public.  They accuse our government of having waged a racist war for land throughout history and so it is illegitimate now.  It seems to be more of a façade than anything of substance, but they’re always loud. 

I believe their goal is to use every available resource to spread the wealth of the Nation.  People who have accumulated wealth for their families must be an anathema to them, a particular set and kind of enemy—the object of old fashioned envy, of that there’s no doubt.  And it seems that many in their movement cannot tolerate the idea of some having more than others—with exceptions given over to their high leaders.  Issues of effort and ability do not ever enter their preachy propaganda as part of their analysis.

            So it is that the next attempt by Antifa will be to again attract as much media attention as possible in and around a number of courthouses in larger cities.  Infiltrating red states would not be a problem at all.  The leaders have mobilized the masses and the sunny warm spring day holds promise for a large turnout to their targeted city. 

It promises to produce an untended mess if they manage to get a turnout of the disaffected, disenfranchised—or those who think they are disaffected, disenfranchised.  But it should not prove to be much more than an inconvenience for most people.  It will cost the cities more in overtime pay for police officers and maintenance to clean up after they leave.  But little else would be involved.  We’ve seen them marching and speaking before.  I pay them little attention since they are still nothing more than a vocal minority.

The new fashion seems to be anything goes.  The leftists want everyone to use pronouns they invent for whatever their brand of silliness, perversion, and designation of personal sex habits as if what their sex habits are of any interest to us whatsoever.  The new way of thinking is to feel proud of whatever you are, however you live.  That’s a lie.  We should be ashamed about some of our failings, our miscues, our sins as human beings—everyone has them.  It seems we are taught to hold everyone up in high regard regardless of whether we think their lifestyle is bad.  The onus has shifted to our heads to respect people who show no respect to us.  That’s not something I will do.  Oh, I won’t curse them nor will I hurt them or intentionally hurt their feelings—but I don’t have a high level of respect for anyone who demands I use speech they decide I am required to use.  That would be silly.

When others show us no respect and vilify our beliefs and ideals in their speech and actions, it’s ludicrous to expect we show them some overarching kind of respect and honor for theirs.  No, I don’t think so.  It would be the same thing as giving them our home for nothing in return.  That’s fundamentally unfair isn’t it?  Yes it is unfair and won’t happen from my corner. 

I’m watching.  I read and hear voices from all sides, take their arguments and mix them up in a concept of freedom.  I wonder.  It seems there are too many laws—some silly, some good—more being pushed by people who obviously think the government can fix anything.  One of the latest is a bill in California to outlaw spanking a child.  There’s a difference between abuse and discipline and it seems that anyone willing to use their mind can see the difference.  It failed.

That intrusion that began after El Paso has begun as a comparatively mild swarming.  It was still an intrusion in the peace of communities that could mean an end to our Republic if it were to be left to slowly work its degradation to its final ends across the nation.  The Marxists have now been underway with the softer strategy and it has an effect of disruption that cause people to want to give in to an extent that it will stop and so it slowly devours society everywhere it’s infecting and it will not stop. 

Takers, people who believe in either forcibly or legally taking from some to spread to others are on the march.  They’re spending less time on the net, in classrooms, in community meetings and rising out of their homes, hostels, basements, out of their academic posts, their student dorms, their ghettos, and out of their unions to come take all they think their entitled to receive.  Many think they’ve been shortchanged in life, have banded to end the war and receive material and wealth from the Nation’s producers.   

The people marching on the courthouses across America who have far more radical ideas about the role of government than most people.  For peace, healthcare and income, it seems they wish to forcibly usher in government and become nothing but wards of bureaucracies.  There was some trouble, a shot or two into the air and teargas being used sporadically is shown on the news, but nothing nearly as terrible as what happened in D.C. and El Paso.  It appears likely there is some more trouble brewing in some cities.  Some within the ranks of the protestors fashion themselves as anarchists and may be doing more than exercising their freedoms of speech and assembly.  It’s difficult to think what it could lead to in our unknown and shaky future.    

Many people have come to a place where no judgment is considered their prerogative.  I believe that’s silly.  We all should judge what is good and what is bad.  But many people choose to avoid the responsibility of calling anything bad—unless it is something conservative.  I watch them make fools of themselves and laugh.

In some locations it appears the danger of both the protestors and others are no laughing matter.

I’ve seen pictures of people burning our flag, defecating on the flag—as if it means nothing.  In the past I’ve seen large banners against our military that some have made and carried that say “we support our troops when they shoot their officers.”  It’s a hell of thing for other Americans to do, I think.   I’ve heard different people suggest America is a sorry Nation—an evil country and place—and that we should abandon the constitution and foundations of our Republic.  I’ve read people who suggest we are destroyers of earth, exploiters of labor, devils involved in empire building and the worse kind of human beings.  I’ve heard some people say our government knew about September 11, 2001 before the tragedy.  I’ve heard and read of people calling the troops of the United States the terrorists.  I’ve read some opinions that have even called for banning religion and jailing Republicans.  I would never suppose that believing in freedom and independence is a crime.  But in some circles such notions are make-believe crimes.

I think about stopping entering debates on the internet since seems useless to share anything with closed minds.  So many have demonstrated their minds and hearts are like rocks.  Theres little reason to ever go there again.  I know that I won’t change anyone’s mind.  The leftists are entrenched and moving to do more than rant on pages and pages of electronic postings that have done little but attract like-minded people to agree with nonsense and disagree with sense when one of them or anyone posts truth and common sense.  Still I listen and hope some will listen to me.  The key to influence and rational living is education and so our efforts must be to actually improve the education of our youth.  We must work in the administrations and in the classrooms across America to counter the bad teaching that led to El Paso and now the continuing disruptions and destruction by protestors who are easily led to riot.  

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