Chapter XII: Keep My Change?

by John Galt

January 13, 2010

I love reading the comments, which I have to since I’m the one that has to approve them and I love the props and reasonable criticism equally. A major THANK YOU to everyone who has jumped on board for our every Wednesday reading session and to all of those that have taken the time and trouble to actually translate some of if not all of this series into twelve different languages! To say that has humbled me a wee bit is an understatement (ok, so I’m humbled a lot but heck, it makes me feel good to know the world enjoys this also). This edition might be a little bit longer as current events as I type this are now tying into this chapter and unfortunately becoming a reality before our very eyes. All I can say at this point in time is read what this piece of FICTION engulfs, enjoy the new characters and pray to God that this never comes true. I might be an optimist with the local view on this subject, I am just not sure at this point in time……

February 25, 2010 8:13 A.M. Eastern Time

“JAMES! HONEY! What the hell is this spray painted on my house?” I yelled again. My wife came out of the front door looking totally perplexed and yelling back “Don’t you yell at me mister. You left us alone all night. Do you have any idea how little sleep we’ve had? You go out on an adventure and we had to deal with all kinds of issues!” I stood at my porch staring at the front door wondering what the the hell the “X” and all the other stuff meant. She came outside, slammed the door and as I pointed towards it she started stammering “Uh, uh, I, uh, I didn’t know what they were doing.” My Irish heritage based temper said “What THEY are you talking about?” She walked up to the door and touched the paint to see if it was still wet and started to speak slowly, “Well honey, about nine fifteen last night two Sarasota City cops showed up with some guy wearing one of those government windbreakers. I wasn’t sure if it said FEMA or what on the back as James swears it said OES and they proceeded to walk around the house trying to get inside. James and I opened the front door and yelled at them asking what they wanted. They came over here, asked if the owners of the home were around and I informed them that I was one of the owners and that my husband was several blocks away helping an elderly friend. The one officer stood by his side and this guy, I guess from the Federal government started asking questions.”

“Honey, sweetheart” I hesitated and started to sweat a bit as I talked to her, “what in the world could he be asking to have my house and Jame’s house spray painted with red x’s and a bunch of gobbledygook?” The woman I love started to tremble, nervous as if questioned by a witness on Perry Mason’s old television show and in a low, soft, almost sorrowful voice she replied, “Oh John, they demanded to know if we had guns in the house, if we were hiding anyone that was not a family member, if anyone in the house was on probation or had a criminal record and then asked how much cash we had. I told them a lie and said we only had about eighty dollars and one shotgun and then they spray painted the door, put an envelope in our mailbox and started to question James.” I looked over at James and asked him how he dealt with it as he looked as if he had just finished a triathlon as soaked as his t-shirt was. “John, I lied through my damned teeth to those clowns. They asked about the shotgun I was holding and told them it was yours and was holding it while they questioned your wife. The local yocals asked that I set it back in the house and of course, I asked your sweetie for permission.” I snickered as she grinned and of course James, a lover of tall tales, continued the story, “Then they asked if I owned any guns, of course I said no, my wife was a Jesuit and then I told them that they needed to check the house out a block over where them illegals live as I thought they had guns and drugs and that perked the Fed jerk right on up. By the way, his jacket said ‘OES’ whatever the hell that is. They really were nosy about you and your wife though.”

I told my wife I would be right back and walked over to the mailbox with James as he walked to his and checked out the rather thick package marked ‘OFFICIAL GOVERNMENT DOCUMENTS ENCLOSED’ and wondered just what in the heck this was about. “Let’s go inside your home and make sure they didn’t break in” James suggested to which I eagerly nodded. “I wonder what those markings mean” I asked him. James replied “We’ll ask the deputy up the street later on if his shift ever ends this evening.” We walked around the house, shotgun in my hands, pistol in his, walking slowly room to room to make sure the house was secured. In the mean time the wife continued to crank the kitchen back up, as the power was on again at least for the moment, starting some coffee and fixing breakfast for both of us before the bacon and eggs spoiled in the refrigerator. “Honey, if you don’t mind, I’m going to cook up everything we have in the fridge and freezer. I fear that the power will be off and on for days to come” she yelled out. As James and I met back in the hallway he said “Good freaking idea! I’m going to run home and tell the wife to hop to it! Without Oprah she should do some work for once.” I looked at him and said firmly “Dude, seriously. She’s a little freaked out right about now. Be gentle and show her some love. We’re all on the razor’s edge over everything that has happened since Sunday.” James nodded, almost ashamed for what he had said, and headed out the door. I walked into the kitchen, hugged my wife and told her, “Let’s see what the mail brought today. I figure we may have won the lottery for once and maybe this envelope is stuffed full of cash.”

As I ripped it open and poured the contents on the table, the smell of fresh coffee brewing, eggs and bacon sizzling away and seeing the exhausted woman I love in the kitchen slaving away over the stove distracted me from the contents. It was almost like a regular Sunday morning except we both realized that the stores would have to open soon and food would be the first necessity to be fulfilled. “Oh my God” I uttered as she brought me a cup of coffee while I picked up the contents from the envelope. “Honey, you have to see this. You will never believe what we have to do now” I yelled out stunned at the stupidity in front of me.

February 25, 2010 11:17 A.M. Eastern Time

Tom and Sandy were sitting at the sofa pouring over the stack of mail they had just cleaned out from the mailman. It was a truly amazing sight. A letter from Citibank N.A. advising them that no payments were necessary for the next ninety days as the national emergency had suspended their card and payments. A note from the mortgage company advising them that all payments were suspended for ninety days. Their bank, Suntrust, advising them that the emergency had frozen their account and that all funds would be available no later than June 1, 2010 but that their ATM card could be used by February 28th. “Mama Lil, can you believe this?” Tom asked her. She looked at him for the first time in their lives together with a stunned look and said “Son, I’ve never seen this before in my life. I didn’t even know they could hold your money like this without giving it back to you when you wanted it. This is like the 1930’s but worse. Did those clowns suspend interest being charged on your bills during this suspension?” Tom started to read the letters again and sure enough “Yup, they basically froze us in time Mom. IF we still have jobs, this could be great if they could figure out a way to pay us.”

Just as Tom was reading the document entitled SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS FOR USE OF YOUR DOLLAR CARD AND TRANSITION ACCOUNT, the doorbell rang causing us all to jump out off of our tails. Lillian put her hand on her shoulder holster and moved slowly to the hallway motioning Tom to answer the door while Sandy went into the dining room. Suddenly she screamed out “There’s someone in our back yard!” and that caused Lillian to head towards the kitchen. Then from the front door a male voice yelled out “Georgia State Patrol! This is Lieutenant McCord, do not do anything rash. We have an officer in the back yard checking your property!” Lillian sighed, sounding somewhat relieved and muttered “Idiots. I could have shot the moron.” Tom patted her on the shoulder then moved into the living room yelling “I’m opening the front door and I am unarmed. Please don’t shoot me.” Sandy put her head into her hands, half relieved, half embarrassed, and totally unsure why he said that.

As Tom slowly opened the front door a young black woman in her twenties wearing a winter jacket with “OES” emblazoned with an eagle symbol holding wheat in one claw and what looked like a copy of the Constitution in the other then she started what sounded like the phoniest spiel that Tom had heard since the Shamwow infomercials broke. “HI! Sandy and Tom Lewis? I’m Karen 17905, your neighborhood representative from the Office of Emergency Services a new branch of the Federal Emergency Management Agency here to insure you have food, water, power and everything you will need until the nation returns to normal. I hope that the mailman has delivered your instruction package with your new dollar cards and all of the instructions on how to use them. President Obama and the unified Congress have empowered me to help you in any way that I can.” Before she could utter another word, Tom put his hand up slowly as to motion her to stop and said “Do you ever breath 17905 or what?” Sandy and Lillian were peering out of the door by that time behind Tom wondering what the commotion was about.

“Oh Mr. Lewis, you’re such a nice man and your wife looks ready to work with us also. If you don’t mind we would love to come inside and spend a few minutes with you. The officer in the back is just making sure that any of the felons from the Great South Atlanta Fire aren’t hiding here and wants to make sure you are safe and secure.” By this time Lillian had heard enough. “What south Atlanta fire young lady? I listened to the radio all night long to WSB and other stations and nothing was uttered about it?” Lillian asked skeptically. Sandy, not watching her mother cut her off and started to talk “Would you please come in. I know you just have to be freezing out there. Would you like some coffee or hot cocoa?” Lillian gave her daughter the dirtiest look imaginable as she huffed off to the kitchen while the door was opened for their guests this morning. “Ma’am, I’d love a cup of coffee, black please the State Patrol officer said, looking as if he had been working for several days straight. “Mom, do you want to get that or should I?” Sandy yelled out. “I got it honey and officer I am carrying but I’ve got a permit, so please don’t taser me” Lillian yelled back.

The lieutenant snickered “No problem Ma’am, I’m too tired to taser anyone this early.” With that Karen felt obligated to start talking with her script stating that “You know that old phrase that I am from the government and I’m here to help you? Well I am and I can because right now, nobody else can. The OES is here to insure that when you go shopping, go to the store or return to work next Monday everything is in place to insure America gets back on its feet right away.”

Lillian looked at Karen as she handed the coffee to the officer and just sighed in her south Georgia drawl, “Excuse me please, I”m going to go take a dump. I’ve heard enough.”

February 25, 2010 07:07 A.M. Central Time, Fergus Falls, MN

“Sir, I’m not trying to be rude, but just staring at each other isn’t getting my job done nor helping you in this matter. I have orders to inventory all firearms and register them on behalf of the Governor’s office as the President ordered for those districts deemed actively engaged at this time” the young Sergeant stated firmly and hinting that more would happen should compliance be an issue. The two privates behind him were freezing as they held their M-16’s obviously not wanting to spend a lot of time outside of their Humvee running at the end of the driveway. “Honey, get my shotgun out of the shoe closet. The military needs to register it” Mike yelled out to his wife. As Mike ushered them into the foyer, she nodded and walked down the hallway to grab the weapon.

Sally, knowing how to handle the gun better than the two privates, promptly walked down the hallway with the twin barrels popped open pointing to the floor with the two twelve gauge shells in one hand, the weapon carefully balanced in her grip in the other. “Here you go sir, do you need anything else?” Sally asked politely. “I think we have it under control now” the Sergeant snapped back. “Mr. Elmendorff, your question is not without merit. But we are the last line right now between anarchy and the Constitution. We will do whatever it takes to enforce the laws of the land. So please, don’t questiong my patriotism and I won’t question yours” the Sergeant snapped off. He handed the shotgun to one of the privates who keyed the serial number into a large device with a printer and a bar code was spit out and stuck on the rifle butt. “Sir, if this weapon is fired for any reason other than hunting or target practice, we will need for you to report it to us. The crime rate is very high just sixty miles west of you in North Dakota and they are under statewide martial law. You are responsible for this weapon and no sales, transfers or improper usage is permitted under any circumstances. The martial law declaration will probably be extended to the Western counties of Minnesota tomorrow due to the lack of stability west of I-94. I hope that I have made myself clear sir” Sergeant Blaine said. He then handed them their mail and spoke softly “You may want to read this. The mail service is running again and soon your landlines will be back up. I know this has been hard but its even tougher on the military sir. You have no idea.”

Mike knew that the Sergeant was not happy with his initial comments. “Son, I know you’re just following orders, hell I did that in the muck of ‘Nam. I hate to ask this of you but I need a favor. That lady on the couch is Mrs. Monckton and she received a phone call about her husband being in a military hospital in Fargo after an ambush west of here at a checkpoint. Can you tell me what is going on please to set her mind at ease?” As Mike said that Sally handed all three of them some small Styrofoam cups filled with black coffee, trying to relax them from what was a tense meeting at first. “Mr. Elmendorff, thank you for your service and understanding,” the Sergeant started speaking slowly, “there has been no ambush. Heck we haven’t even set up the checkpoint yet. The men and equipment are moving out to the crossroads at 1700 local tonight at dusk. We have to clear out a mobile home park nearby where the criminals have been setting up shop first.”

Mrs. Monckton broke out in tears of joy as Sally grabbed her and hugged her. “Sarge, thank you. You’ve made one person happy today even though I am not thrilled with this registration thing” Mike said smiling as he watched his wife hold her tightly. “Sir, I am not too thrilled either, but orders are orders” the Sergeant said. As they said their goodbyes, Mike escorted the men out to their vehicle and decided that now might just be a good time to secure his property. “You guys stay warm, I’m hoping to keep things tight here” he yelled out through his jacket. The Guardsmen hopped into their Humvee and headed over towards the farm a few miles south of him. Mike waved, then shut the gate finally, locking it tightly and then threw another chain and lock around it.

As he walked back into the house he noticed the two women chattering away almost relieved that this day would be better and wondering what the large OES envelope was. Mike did not care. He walked back into his other closet in the spare bedroom and started grabbing magazines and pistols. “Honey, you’ll get to keep the forty-five, I’m carrying the thirty-eight, the nine and my Mini-30. The other shotgun can stay in the bedroom with the other forty-five. I’ll be damned if they’ll ever track all of these down. I bought them from individuals and there’s no record of my purchasing all these” and with that rant over with, he looked at Mrs. Monckton and handed her an old twenty-five caliber pistol he purchased in the 1980’s. “You might need this, I don’t trust anyone now and I don’t’ want you to feel insecure” he told her softly, “Please plan on staying here until we hear from your husband or he comes back.”

Just as the tension in the room started to settle, the phone rang, much to their surprise and as Sally picked it up the following was heard:

“HELLO. THIS IS BOB 13212 AND I AM YOUR OFFICE OF EMERGENCY SERVICES NEIGHBORHOOD ADMINISTRATOR. THIS IS A PRE-RECORDED MESSAGE TO ADVISE YOU THAT WE WILL BE IN YOUR AREA WITHIN THE NEXT SEVENTY-TWO HOURS TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR NEEDS. IF YOU NEED IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE, PRESS ZERO NOW AND HELP WILL BE SENT TO YOUR ADDRESS WE HAVE ON FILE MATCHING THIS PHONE NUMBER. 911 SERVICES HAVE BEEN RE-ACTIVATED FOR YOUR AREA AND NORMAL TELEPHONE SERVICES SHOULD BE RESTORED BY SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 27TH AT 8 A.M. CENTRAL TIME.”

February 25, 2010 11:05 A.M. Central Time, Just outside of DeWitt, AR

The temperature outside was twenty-seven degrees this morning and the barefoot men inside the tent were all whimpering, chattering their teeth and some in tears after over two hours of sitting exposed and handcuffed to the center pole and each other. “For God’s sake man, we’re all freezing to death” one of the prisoners yelled out. The guard opened the tent, yelled out “Who said that?” and then as the man who said it tried to hide behind another prisoner he grabbed the taser and stunned him, causing several other prisoners to fall to the ground into the frozen mud as he collapsed. Two other men walked inside, grabbed the comatose man and unlocked his handcuffs then dragged him outside into a waiting truck. “Lewis, you can go walking or I can drag you. It’s your call” the soldier barked out. “I’ll walk” the Pastor said, “and what the heck is going on, half these men half frostbite by now.” The soldier, an officer of some sort but not wearing insignia he would know grabbed his wrists and unshackled him from the rest of the group without saying a word. “Mr. Lewis, you’re going to Pine Bluff with big mouth out in the truck. We’re going to find out what happened in Little Rock either the nice way or the hard way but everyone in here had best know, we will find those responsible. You can have your lives back or lose them, we really don’t care if you had any part of this” the soldier said.

“Here’s your uniform. Wear it, don’t bitch and don’t speak unless spoken to” a young private said, throwing the Pastor a bright orange jumpsuit with the letter “P” on the back and a pair of flip-flops. “Follow me” he said next and then shoved him into the canvas covered back of an old military truck with five other prisoners, all shackled to the floor. The guard grabbed his hand, handcuffed them then chained him to the floor of the truck uttering these instructions “If you talk to each other we have clearance to stop at the side of the road and shoot the guilty parties. Someone is going to pay for Little Rock.”

The men were terrified when they looked back at the young guard who then shut the flaps and the vehicle pulled out heading out to the Pine Bluff regional command. The good Pastor had no clue as to what was going on and was praying in silence for the people he thought were still locked up inside his church. Before the next prayer could be recited, he was able to peak through the cracks of the canvas and see the remains of Highway 165 behind him. There were burned out cars and trucks just about six miles west of town he figured. There were two bodies being picked clean by what looked like wolves or coyotes. “What the heck happened this fast” he wondered to himself. As the truck veered sharply right he figured that they were turning in Lodges Corner before cutting over towards Pine Bluff. The sharp turn did not distract him as much as the mobile home park on fire he saw in the distance and what he could have sworn were gunshots or firecrackers in the distance. With the next sharp turn he noticed that the Humvee what was in front was now behind them and he had best stop trying to see what was going on or had happened. Pine Bluff was less than an hour away and finally he might just get some answers as to why the military, whatever kind of military it was, treated everyone so harshly like they had left America.

February 25, 2010 2:55 P.M. Mountain Time, Colorado Springs, CO

Wendy Listels was the most excited twenty-two year old in the entire line of people who stood outside of the Safeway Store on North Circle Drive this afternoon. Here it was just three whole days after the banks shut down and her President was able to get money into her hands and open the stores up. “Have you been listening to the Afternoon Drive with Katie Couric and Senator Daschle on America Radio? Now that he’s been reappointed and promised to help our nation, I’m so pumped! My dollar card got a three hundred dollar advance, how much did you get?” she babbled on and on and on to the poor stranger in front of her. “IF YOU HAVE NUMBERS 1-6-5 THROUGH 1-8-5 IT IS YOUR TURN TO ENTER THE STORE, PLEASE BE PREPARED TO PRESENT YOUR DOLLAR CARD AND DRIVERS LICENSE TO THE GUARD AT THE ENTRANCE” the voice bellowed out through the speakers on the side of the store. Wendy was pumped. Normalcy was coming. Life was going to get better she figured now that her empty fridge would see some fresh fish and salad fixings to keep her on her diet.

“Ms. Listels, is this address current?” the OES officer asked. “Yes sir, it is still the correct address, but I do have a new phone number or do you have all that” the talkative, almost teenager like young woman said. “That’s okay miss, you can proceed in. Your card is set to a one hundred dollar limit but you are free to spend whatever cash you have left in United States Federal Reserve Notes also up to one hundred additional dollars” the officer said. “What is a Federal Reserve Note?” she asked innocently. The officer sighed, leaned back in his chair and pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and said “anything that says this on the top” pointing to the words “Federal Reserve Note” emblazoned on the top. “Oh, I’m sorry, I always called them dollars” she said sheepishly.

As she grabbed the cart and started to walk down the first aisle, she noticed the stocking was somewhat different even though this was a better Safeway than others. The fresh vegetable section had signs everywhere “LIMIT TWO PER PERSON” for everything in the area and there was not much there. After grabbing some lettuce, onions, tomatoes which looked old, some cabbage, Arugula and two bundles of carrots, Wendy steered over to the meat department looking for any fish. Pressing the buzzer to get someone’s attention in the butcher shop created quite a stir though as five other shoppers stopped dead in their tracks, stared at her like she was an idiot waiting to see what would happen next. To Wendy’s relief as she blushed a butcher opened the door and stepped out saying “Can I help you miss?” Wendy took a deep gulp then asked softly “What happened to all the seafood? Do you have any fish?” The butcher looked down and said to her “Miss, all we have is in the frozen area and you’re limited to twelve ounces per person per week right now.”

Wendy was shocked but said thanks and moved on. She almost ran to the frozen section when she noticed all of the fish in that area were the same in plain white boxes marked “USDA SPECIAL ALLOCATION RATIONS, 12 OZ. HADDOCK” to which she grabbed one hoping that nobody would beat her to it. After loading that in her cart she went to the diet foods aisle only to see nothing she recognized, just cereals in plain white boxes marked “KELLOGG S 14 OZ. CORN FLAKES OES SPECIAL RATIONS” and others marked “POST CEREAL RICE CRUNCHIES OES SPECIAL RATIONS” which really perplexed her. As she went along the other aisles their appeared to be some normal items and lucky for her the shampoo she loved was still in stock.

After loading the cart up with what she figured was a two week supply of food and beauty products, she got in line to check out which to her surprise moved rather quickly. As the clerk checked her out, weird letters appeared in the display and that caused her to ask the cashier what was up with that. “Miss, we have some items that are ‘A’ level which are not taxed like your fresh and canned foods. Those food items deemed unnecessary for consumption are ‘B’ items and taxed at ten percent. All beauty and cleaning supplies you have are taxed as ‘C’ level items at fifteen percent and any other items like the flowers you have or the candy bars are considered non-necessity and declared ‘D’ taxation items. Today the ‘D’ tax is set at twenty-seven point four percent. The total for your order today is one hundred eighty-seven dollars and forty-four cents. Please swipe your D-Card now.” Wendy felt so smart as she pulled her fresh card out of her wallet and swiped it leaving the balance to be paid in cash. She smiled and handed over four twenties and a ten dollar bill which the cashier placed in the drawer and after shutting it handed her the receipt with a survey about the D-Card on the bottom. “Uh, where’s my change?” she asked the cashier. “Miss, apparently you did not read the instructions or hear the news. Unless you pay exactly, all change is considered a tax donation to the nation to help resolve the national deficit. Our instructions and per the letter of the law are to keep your change and thank you for your help. This money is being re-applied next month as a benefit to your D-Card and towards your daily income taxes. Please refer to page forty-seven of your instruction manual you received with the card. Next customer please.”

“Keep my change?!?” Wendy yelled out and as she did so one of the apparently private guards started to approach her. “Everything okay Miss?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. At least I can go shopping again.”

Pleas post the next chapter when it comes out.

The first 12 parts-

http://johngaltfla.com/blog3/2009/11/18/the-day-the-dollar-died/

http://johngaltfla.com/blog3/2009/11/19/american-hangover-the-day-the-dollar-died-part-ii/

http://johngaltfla.com/blog3/2009/1...ysburg-the-day-the-dollar-died-part-iii/

http://johngaltfla.com/blog3/2009/11/25/arrogance-of-the-gods-the-day-the-dollar-died-part-iv/

http://johngaltfla.com/blog3/2009/1...-for-all-the-day-the-dollar-died-part-v/

http://johngaltfla.com/blog3/2009/1...-please-the-day-the-dollar-died-part-vi/

http://johngaltfla.com/blog3/2009/1...or-all-the-day-the-dollar-died-part-vii/

http://johngaltfla.com/blog3/2009/1...there-the-day-the-dollar-died-part-viii/

http://www.thetreeofliberty.com/vb/showthread.php?p=846955

http://www.thetreeofliberty.com/vb/showthread.php?t=88061

http://johngaltfla.com/blog3/2010/01/06/chapter-xi-dawn-over-amerika-the-day-the-dollar-died-series/

http://johngaltfla.com/blog3/2010/01/13/chapter-xii-keep-my-change-the-day-the-dollar-died-series/

Chapter XIII: Paper, Plastic, Paper, Plastic (The Day the Dollar Died Series)
10:16 by Administrator. Filed under: The Day The Dollar Died Series

by John Galt

January 20, 2010

At least this series has stirred the pot and although people might disagree with some of the finer technical points, I simply say to you “patience grasshopper” as the situation will start to make sense in the coming chapters. If there is a loud enough hew and cry I shall double the number of chapters per week as the end of the series is rapidly approaching and I hope to keep someone who has ignored the possibility of such a collapse into a course of action to protect their families and themselves at least financially if not with the appropriate mindset so they do not end up like poor old Wendy. The following section is of course FICTION and boy, do I have a lot to add to this week’s chapter and next week’s as the whirlwind approaches. I will be on the road Tuesday so odds are this will not be posted until 0500ish on Wednesday morning Eastern time.

February 25, 2010 09:05 A.M. Eastern Time

The crash of the small trinket my wife used to decorate the cocktail table caused her to come rushing into the room screaming, “What did you break in there and why?” Before my heart could take another beat, I showed her the cover letter which I had just read and told her in a firm voice, “They knew. The damned fools knew all along this would happen. They duped all of us with their lies, their fictional financial television shows and lies on the evening news. The evil bastards have been planning this all along!” My wonderful wife of so many years started to cry. Her tears shined on her tired face in the light of the lamp in the living room as she took the broken pieces of her Chinese trinket into the kitchen to dispose of the shattered glass and finish cooking breakfast. I realized that instead of focusing on this pile of government garbage in front of me and the letter from the President that it was time to lower the stress levels and spend a moment with her, to reassure her now more than ever as things appeared to be spiraling out of control.

“James, can you give us a minute please,” I asked my old friend and neighbor who nodded and replied, “Sure, I’ll just go into the bathroom and clean up if you don’t mind.” I walked into the kitchen and put my hands on her shoulders clenching her tightly and whispering to her, “I am sorry sorry sweetheart. I should never have left you alone last night. You are so strong, I just figured you would want to know what was going on in the world.” She leaned her head against my hand to wipe the tears away and said, “I was so scared. There were men in black uniforms with guns. They really peppered me with questions. I’m so sorry I told them we owned a gun. I figured they knew already. It’s my fault our door is all painted up like that. I’m so sorry honey.” This outburst of emotion took me by surprise for a minute and I just wanted to hold her like the old days and make all of this go away. “Baby, I promise to try to keep calm,” I whispered to her, “I figured they knew about the shotgun already. I am just worried about James. He should not have lied to them, they are not playing games.”

Before I could say another word, she started to set up the plates with bacon, eggs and to my surprise some grits she knew that I loved with the cheddar cheese melted into it with real butter. As she finished the last plate I gave her a big hug and kiss and told her, “I love you.” She just hugged me back then, with an devious grin, yelled out “Breakfast is ready toilet rat!” James was walking down the hallway by then in his usual goofy, sarcastic stride and just had to reply to her, “Next time, I won’t spray! Where’s supper? I’m famished after guarding two houses all night!” We all just cracked up laughing as we sat down to enjoy what seemed like a normal meal as I regaled them with stories about ham operators, shortwave radio news and what the rest of the world was saying about this nightmare we were living.

As we finished our meal and poured the last of the coffee the power flickered again and went out, once again. As my wife started to stuff the meat back into the freezer to try to save what little fresh meat we had left, someone started knocking loudly on the door at precisely ten o’clock. “I’ve got it honey,” I yelled as I put my coffee cup down and walked to the peep hole in the front door. As I peered through the whole a man was holding a Sarasota County Sheriff’s office badge up where I could see it and I yelled out, “What can we do for your officer?” The voice on the other side replied “Captain Martin with the Sarasota Sheriff’s office with Captain Oden of the Homeland Guard and Kalyn Louisa Andersen of the Office of Emergency Services. We’ve been sent to interview and review your Emergency Packet left in your mailbox last night that hopefully you have had time to review.”

As each official took their turn flashing credentials into the peephole and stepping back I figured I had best speak up since my front door was splattered with what I guess was confidential personal information inviting thugs to break into my home, “Sirs and Ma’am, before I open this door, I just want you to know that my firearm is secured in the bedroom and not in the room with me when I open the door.” The two officers thanked me and as I opened the door, they snapped the holsters closed on their sidearms and proceeded to thank me for going slow. As they entered into the home, James looked at the three of them and started to open his mouth when Captain Oden spoke up and said, “Sir, please leave the premises. We have questions for you and we will be next door to your home within the hour.” James nodded sheepishly and waved goodbye as he hurried out the door to go home, with two more men in black uniforms holding shotguns watched his every move.

“Who are those two guys on the sidewalk?”, I asked Captain Martin, somewhat bewildered by this show of force. He paused for a second and replied, “Those two? They used to be my men but signed up for the HSA Emergency Officers program in November of last year. Heck, we lost have the force to snappier uniforms, better pay and benefits and fewer restrictions. Sir, if you don’t mind we would like to sit down as Captain Oden and I have a few questions for you before we head next door to your neighbor.” My wife was peering out of the kitchen and started to turn around to finish cleaning the dishes when Captain Oden spoke up and said, “You too Ma’am. We need to speak to the two of you together.” Horrified, she nodded and sat down beside me as I motioned them into the chairs in our living room. Captain Martin started the questions with a stunner: “Sir, did you knowingly violate the curfew restrictions by not staying in your home after the eight o’clock deadline?” I started to reply, parsing my words carefully, “I was not out in public from eight at night until eight in the morning. I was at a friend’s house helping him board his home up and playing some poker as he was going to leave town today.” I knew that was an outright lie, but I was ready for the next question as James did in fact go down the street and board up a home that the owners left practically wide open as they were in Tennessee when all of this started. The Captain continued, “Sir, that was not the question. The law is quite specific about being inside YOUR home by eight p.m. every evening and not allowed to depart your home again until eight in the morning. Do you have the address of the home you stayed at last night please?” I acted cooperative as I gave him the address and then told the officer, “But he said they were leaving early this morning, I guess they just left town a few hours ago.” Captain Martin looked into my eyes and said “That’s no problem, they have to pass through five checkpoints on the interstate and local roads before they are allowed to leave the Western District. If they have already passed through the northern border posts will verify your story.”

Captain Oden sat there quietly and professionally waiting on Captain Martin to finish. Captain Martin was busy keying some information into a computer tablet device then handed me a printout that was spit out of the top of, like some sort of new ticket form. “Sir,” he began, “This is the one and only warning notice you will receive. Because you have returned home and have an understanding that the curfew law is quite specific now, you will understand that any further violations will be met with the full force of the law up to and including imprisonment for said violation. Please place your thumb on the print pad here and press hard.” Nodding, I obeyed like a whipped puppy dog, pressed my thumb on the pad and suddenly a light appeared and my thumbprint was on a LCD screen right in front of me, with the printed copy of the warning. “The thumbprint serves as your signature from this point forward. You will use your index finger for financial transactions, thumbprint for legal proceedings. I’m sure you will get around to reading that in your packet before the day is over,” Captain Martin said, almost biting his lip it would appear. “Yes sir, I understand sir,” was all I could say. At that point in time I felt the need to speak up, “So what is with that horrific X on my door telling everyone in the world, good or bad, that I own a gun?”

Oden stood up, almost to preach and began to explain what it meant, “Sir, that is a marking placed on homes when were not sure if the occupants were there or not or if further investigation was needed. Because your wife was next door at the time we were able to ascertain some, but not all of the information we need. First, do you have the shotgun available for inspection, unloaded of course please.” I motioned to my wife and she went down the hallway to get it out of the bedroom. “Sir, the X is as follows,” he continued, “the top portion is the date, right side if known gun owner or not and if not a question mark would be there, the bottom portion indicates zero casualties but one known resident at this time, and the left side is the HSA unit that carried out the inspection. Any home that was empty last night received a visit like this as they placed the packages into the mailboxes in this region with the help of the postal service.” Captain Oden took the firearm, scanned the bar code on the butt of the weapon, then asked for my thumbprint on the pad of his device. I had to ask, “What is this for?” The Captain did not hesitate, “Registration as per Executive Order 99917.02.19 per the United States Department of Homeland Security. You will now be registered as the only lawful owner of this firearm and your thumbprint will be needed at any range you wish to practice at or to purchase ammunition at any retailer.”

I sat down as he handed the weapon to me. I then passed it to my wife who was shaking by this time, “Please lock this up honey,” I told her in a low, subdued voice. “So what can I do for you, Captain Oden besides the weapon?” I asked now exhausted from the past twenty four hours and deeply concerned about this black uniformed gentleman who seemed to be pleased with himself and his work. The Captain sat back down in the chair, crossing his legs in a very casual manner and asked a very pointed question, “How much do you know about your neighbor James and his family sir?” I was taken aback by this question but recovered quickly trying to take the offensive, “I’ve known him for years, he’s a good family man. Is he in trouble?” Oden leaned back and said firmly, “He could be. I can not prove it but I think he lied to one of my officers last night. We show in our records that he owns two firearms purchased in 1997 and 2004. Yet he tells my officers that he has none. Are you aware if he still has those weapons in his possession?” At this point in time, I was getting agitated with this clown but bit my tongue and told him, “To be honest, I do not track what he does with his belongings, but I think he sold them last year since he has been out of work for eight months now.” Captain Oden nodded as if to believe what I said then shocked me by making one of those offers you only hear about in the movies, “Well, if you find out otherwise or hear of any other neighbors with unregistered firearms the government is offering one thousand domestic dollars to be added to your card along with a lifting of ration restrictions on your purchase allowance for thirty days. If you report more than one, they are even giving away weekends at Disney World at one of their premium resorts, all expenses paid for three nights for your family. The government believes the most dangerous threat to the safety of its citizens at this point are fringe elements who wish to disrupt the transition to a new currency to satisfy the Geneva Treaty.” My shoulders slumped as we had crossed the Rubicon in my mind and I could almost hear my heart breaking. “If I hear anything, I’ll try to let you know Captain. But how do I make a phone call with the power going off and on and the cell network down?”, I asked in a frustrated voice.

“911 works fine, if you had paid attention to the Public Service Announcements you would have heard that,” the Captain replied in a snotty voice. I nodded, not pleased, but feeling a need to reply, “Well, if you had left the internet up and functioning for all of us along with the utilities on a regular basis, we might have caught that PSA. We’ve been lucky to have anything beyond spotty reception on our television and radios with stations going off and on the air and the cable plus internet being out on a regular basis.” He shrugged his shoulders and before we could start trading barbs with each other the thirty something professionally dressed woman dressed like a Saturday real estate huckster decided to speak up, “John, I believe that’s what your name is, my name is Kalyn Louisa Andersen with the Office of Emergency Services Regional Transition team and I would like a chance to spend some time with you and your wife reviewing the emergency packet I see you have opened up and placed on your table here. Isn’t that letter from President Obama just wonderful? The news about this winding down soon is so good and we can all be thankful that the prior administration had the foresight to prepare for this contingency over a year ago.” I had heard enough and decided to interrupt to offer my guests the door when Captain Martin defused the situation by saying, “Oden and I will be leaving now to go next door. Ms. Andersen if you need us we’ll be next door and the escorts are on the sidewalk.”

Kalyn replied, “I doubt that I will need them, these are just ordinary folks like me who need some guidance.” My wife glared with that look that only a wife could give and if she could have sliced the bureaucrat in half with lasers from her eye sockets, well, that discussion would be over before it started. My wife then fired off, “What makes you think we need help? Do we look like retards or something?” Kalyn looked somewhat uncomfortable at that point in time as the two law enforcement officers shut the door behind themselves and my honey was glaring at her with the pissed off wife look I know oh so well. “Ma’am, I was not inferring that, not in the least,” she started, “I am here to activate your D-Cards so you can use your bank accounts, access your retirement accounts and start shopping to get America moving again.”

“Honey,” I asked her, almost begging as she walked back into the kitchen, “where are you going?” The angry wife syndrome took over the conversation now as she yelled back, “I’m putting the rest of the dishes into the sink. Do not say, start or sign anything without me being in there!” I glanced over at Kalyn who looked like a frustrated office worker shoved into the field making sales calls for the first time in her life when I heard her sigh and start putting a lap top and another device similar to the HSA’s reader. “What’s that device Ms. Andersen?”, I asked. Kalyn spoke up, “You can call me Kalyn please and that is our D-Card activator and reader where we will get the two of you logged into the system and ready to return to work.” I looked at her with this stunned look and broke the news to her, “I’m unemployed now. My boss burned his building to the ground and killed himself. My wife has not returned to work because we have no idea if it is safe or not for her to be on the streets, much less if there is any work to do when she gets back there.” Kalyn nodded and said with great enthusiasm, “Oh goody! Here you go Ma’am!” She reached into her portfolio and handed her a sticker with a flag that said “I WENT BACK TO WORK FOR AMERICA” on it and then she started her sales pitch, “If anyone spots you wearing this sticker and dials 611, then you get ten extra dollars into your account as a bonus for encouraging people to start America working again. Monday is National Return to Work day and every business with five or more employees that show up for work gets a bonus for each employee. This crisis is subsiding with each person we get set up with their D-Card and each storefront that opens up. If you look inside your packet, you will see the current ration system for this district and which stores you are permitted to shop in. If you receive enough bonus points, the rations list can be expanded for other purchases, especially if you help notify the local police or Homeland Guard about the criminal element like cash hoarders, tax cheats and people who hide or possess unregistered firearms.”

I thought I was going to vomit. “Ms. Andersen”, I began, “I don’t have a job. There will be very little work with all of the banks closed. As a civil engineer without a company to return to and the legal ability to travel I presume, just how in the world do you expect us to make ends meet?” That bubbly stupid look that only a government employee can give you filled up her face and she started to rant again, “Oh John, you don’t mind me calling you that I hope? You see once you have your D-Card on file I can process your resume, your unemployment benefits request, and automatically process a loan from the Federal Emergency Benefits Department which will insure that you can survive and that your creditors will leave you alone while you get back on your feet. Knowing that your are a civil engineer helps a lot as the USRA needs engineers desperately everywhere in the country and the projects will be no more than two hundred miles from your home. “Uh, just what is the USRA?”, I asked like an idiot knowing I would get an absurd answer which would cause my head to explode. “Why that is the United States Reconstruction Agency,” Kalyn replied, “President Obama created this agency about a month ago just in case we needed to bypass the Congress and get the emergency infrastructure repairs our nation desperately needs.”

My mouth must have been catching flies and other flying insects by now as my jaw felt like it was hanging around my knees. I started to speak but before I could say one word, she interrupted me, “I know a lot of what is going on is a huge shock, but now that communications have been standardized nationwide, you can tune your television to via antenna or cable channels 2, 3, 15, 16, 17 or 30 for continuing updates and information from Radio and Television America and the internet should return to normal by Saturday with www.recovery.gov becoming the primary web portal for all residents of the United States. There will be plenty of locations there that can answer all of your questions and quite probably find you a job fairly quickly!” That perky look really needed to be smacked of her face but with two goons in black uniforms carrying twelve gauge shotguns my wife and I knew better.

Kalyn then started the sales pitch again, “So you don’t have to wait in line on Sunday at the fairgrounds, which I think will have over five thousand people in line if you ask me, please open the blue envelopes with your names on them in the packet on your table and each of you please get your D-Cards out so we can begin the process.” I opened the envelope and saw this snazzy card with no numbers on it, a signature box, two magnetic strips, and a large green eagle with a weird green shield marked “OEC” in red. I handed the card to Kalyn and she swiped the bottom strip then said, if you would please, lean back and I’m going to take a picture for the database and then get your fingerprint.” I did not smile as the picture was taken nor did my wife and like good little sheep we pressed our fingers on the fingerprint pad and as we finished she swiped the cards again afterward this time using the other magnetic strip. “There, all done, no big deal,” she smiled and then said, “Sir, if you would please look at this and confirm that this is your bank account number and the last reported balance we can open your account access up again starting on Sunday, February twenty-eighth at six in the morning. The banks will be open for computerized transactions using the D-Card but it will be at least another sixty days before they open for normal business processes.” I nodded at the account information on the screen as did my wife and then pressed my index finger on the pad as a confirmation signature. “Your account has now been transferred from the bank formerly known as Regions over to the new unified Bank of America of Southwest Florida which covers every county from Manatee to Monroe and will allow you fee free service in those areas,” she said now with a very businesslike tone,”and you can read further instructions within the packet on page one seventy two. I hope everything works out for the two of you as we are now beyond the initial crisis phase and should soon be recovering and starting the nation back to work by Monday. Do either of you have any questions?”

I glanced over at my wife who concerned me that she was torn between using mace or a taser on this obnoxious woman, so I decided to speak up and asked, “Kalyn, when can we go to the grocery store in our area?” She glanced down at her laptop and keyed in our address and zip code then replied, “Your shopping days are Sunday, Tuesday and Friday. You are so lucky as fresh meat is delivered only on Tuesdays now so that means you’ll get first choice if you are there when the stores open at nine in the morning.” I thanked her, told her that pretty much was it and she packed her equipment back into her bag. “Oh, and if you go to page one ninety-six, the web page and instructions for getting a USB D-Card reader for your PC are included. That will allow you to conduct online banking and purchase goods online without a pesky third party,” she paused then looked down at her tablet like device to add, “and in your case transfer unemployment account funds to your bank account up to seventy two hours before the normal payment date for a very small fee plus your daily income tax charge.” That was the straw that broke my wife’s back and she piped up, “DAILY INCOME TAX? Are you people insane?” Kalyn zipped her bag shut and said, “Oh, it’s no big deal. We just take your annual return from last year, compute a projected daily earnings average, and deduct it from your account with each transaction using a formula created by our experts in the Treasury Department so this way your employer doesn’t have to worry about a payroll tax. The taxes are a little higher now but that’s because we had to increase them by seven percent across the board per the Geneva agreement. I hope you have a nice day and here’s my card if you need to call the office or have any further questions. Bye now!”

She headed for the door and my wife was oh so happy to glare at her as she walked out. Slamming the front door violently, my wife looked at me and started to yell, “These people are idiots! Just how in the hell are we going to make ends meet? We get these stupid plastic cards and something like three hundred pieces of paper to sort through to make sure we comply with laws we didn’t even get a vote or voice in creating! Who the hell do these people think they are?” I looked her in the eyes and was feeling my blood pressure start to pick up as I told her, “They think they are our masters. I fear that many people are going to have a different method of voting against this new program. And the goons they brought over today are just a sample of how I think they plan to do it. I’m going to start reading all of this honey, I’ll put the parts that I have read into a different stack so you can read it later. Why don’t you go grab some sleep?”

My exhausted wife, emotionally spent, madder than a wet hen and chomping at the bit replied, “Sleep like hell. I’m going to try to get online or listen to them on the radio to find out what these creeps are up to. I don’t think I’m looking forward to returning to work and I wonder just how the heck we are going to deal with these idiots when they can’t run a nation and now they are running our banks and our lives. This is not going to end well, not well at all.”

Chapter XIV: Wendy’s Shining Moment (The Day the Dollar Died Series)


by John Galt

January 25, 2010

February 25, 2010 1:05 P.M. Eastern Time

“This is obscene! Honey, come here and read this!”, I yelled out loud to her. I continued my rant, “This is the biggest pile I have ever seen, come here and read just the first two paragraphs of page 246! These people are trying to trap everyone but the super rich inside the borders!” My wife looked at me, exhausted and instead of just taking my word for it, grabbed the documents out of my hands. She glanced and the page and said, “Honey, quit getting upset over this crap. These people are trying to take control of our lives and just make sure when you are through reading this that we do not miss anything that can get us in trouble with the new brown shirts. It’s obvious what they are trying to do and right now, they will succeed barring a miracle.”

I thought about what she said. She was right. For the time being, the government had the guns, the goons and the bureaucrats backing them. What made matters worse for everyone concerned was the lack of supplies that most people had in their homes and the lack of cash which apparently was going to be taxed at an absurd daily rate. When I reflect back on the news before it became government television twenty-four hours a day, seven days per week, I realized that this plan was something dug out of a filing drawer and implemented when it fit someone’s schedule, be it for domestic or international political purposes. I looked back at my wife in the bedroom, booting the personal computer back up now that the power was on again and told her, “Well, tomorrow is shopping day, let’s get a long list together so we can insure we can stay in one place for a long period of time. It would appear that our ability to drive around and even do the simple things in life are about to get somewhat complicated.”

February 25, 2010 4:09 P.M. Mountain Time

Wendy was enjoying the music blaring from her MP3 player through her car stereo as she headed home when she noticed that the liquor store several blocks from her home was open and apparently doing a brisk business. She pulled her car into the parking lot and after driving around it twice, an elderly man pulled out which opened a parking space for her. She went inside and grabbed a basked when she noticed that the check out line had a private security guard with a shotgun near the entrance and another one near the rear. She paused for a moment and in that innocent voice of hers, she asked the guard, “Is it safe in here?” The guard, obviously tired after man hours at work looked down at her and started to snicker when he replied, “Oh sure, as far as liquor stores during Armageddon goes, it’s safer than the Academy up the road from here!”

She was not amused and uttered a brief, “harrumph” as she rolled her eyes and walked away from the guard. Wendy made a bee line over to the wine department which was still relatively well stocked when an older man and his wife bumped into her from behind with their shopping cart full of various bottles of rum, tequila, bourbon and vodka. “Excuse us miss,” the two spoke softly and politely, “we didn’t hurt you did we?” Wendy shook her head no, then her curious nature got to her and asked the couple, “So where’s the party at? I mean, it’s nothing personal, I just can’t see what you would need with all of that liquor?” The old man grinned and crept creepily close to her head and whispered into her ear, “Miss, we’re going to survive this thing. And we know how to horse trade like the old days. We’re heading back out to the ranch as soon as we are done here.” Wendy just replied softly, “Okay, but I guess that’s a good reason to whisper.” She was more puzzled than ever but events at the cash register would leave her angry and frustrated.

After thinking about what the old man said, she grabbed six of her favorite bottles of wine and put them in her basket and then grabbed her favorite cherry flavored vodka and headed to the check out line where she sighed when she noticed that only one register was open and the elderly couple with at least fifty bottles of various sizes and flavors to be checked out. The old man started stacking all of the bottles on the counter and the cashier nodded in an odd manner and started to put the bottles in empty liquor bottle boxes filling box after box up until four full boxes were stacked up in the cart of the couple. The old man then reached into his coat pocket, handed what looked like a fist sized roll over to the man who broke it open and counted the large silver looking coins. “See ya next week, roads and weather permitting Tom,” the old man said as he walked away. Wendy quickly deduced that Tom was the owner and that there was some sort of arrangement for the purchase and with all the weird things going on, it was none of her business to ask questions.

She carefully placed all six wine bottles by the scanner and the bottle of vodka. The owner looked at Wendy and said quite firmly, “Driver’s license and D-Card please.” Wendy opened her purse and handed it over to the man and he proceeded to scan both of the cards. The owner then handed the cards back to her and spoke again, “Miss, your rations do not permit more than two bottles of alcohol to be purchased per week. You can buy any combination of two items, but that would be it per the OEC directive on rationing.” Wendy shoved her license and Dollar Card back into her purse and then glared at the owner and asked the question he knew was coming, “So how come the old guy in front of me was allowed to buy as much as he wanted? Where is his restriction? Why don’t I get treated equally and fair like he does? Who do you think you are making rules for some people and not other?”

Tom, the owner of this private liquor store had heard enough. His six foot five frame contained with fifty-five years of everything this town could throw at him leaned over, with the grizzled beard less than two inches from Wendy’s face with a reddened face and narrowed eyes he said to her, “Because he pays me with real money Miss. If you have some, you can buy whatever you want. But if you insist on using this dog-crap card to do your part for the country, then you will take what you are allowed to buy and be happy with it. If you have a problem with it, you could call the OEC but just remember now, I have your home address and those ain’t government guards standing by the doors sweetheart. Now for your booze, choose which ones you want and do you want a paper or plastic bag?” Wendy was taken totally aback by his comments, not to mention the little bit of chewing tobacco dribble coming out of one side of his mouth. She was so embarrassed by this event and the guy behind her banged her slightly with his shopping cart and said to her, “Come on whiny, don’t start crying! Pick your booze and let’s go. Some of us want to get home before curfew lady!” Wendy pointed at the vodka and a bottle of wine, then pressed her thumb on the fingerprint scanner. Tom printed out a receipt, threw it in the bag and told Wendy “I would prefer you shop elsewhere in the future Miss.”

Wendy was trying to hold back the tears but her eyes had welled up and she nodded, put her sunglasses on and grabbed the bag with the two bottles. She hurried out to her car with one of the guards walking behind her, watching her every move and as she started the car she swore he was writing down her tag number. The roar of a jet plane overhead from the Air Force Academy startled her, but she recovered and slowly backed out of the parking space, put the car in drive and proceeded to pull out on to the highway to head home. “This is just not fair,” she thought to herself as tears streamed down her face, “and I have to tell someone to do something about this.”

When she calmed down after enjoying a glass of her wine, she grabbed the packet from the OEC that she ignored which contained her D-Card that proudly proclaimed at the top of each page, “Office of Economic Security, Mid-Mountain Region, Denver, CO” and she immediately looked for an index. After fumbling through dozens of pages she found the index but it was of little help as it was too confusing for her but after flipping through the front of the book, she found the quick reference page within the table of contents. She found the telephone number for the OEC Hot line at 1-800-OEC-HELP and started dialing on her home phone that had no dial tone. Frustrated she slammed the phone down and grabbed her cell phone which displayed a solid five bars. The automated answering system prompted her to press four for reports of retail or vendor fraud and thus began a deathly long hold time where the prompt advised her that her hold time would be “approximately one hundred and seventeen minutes.”

After almost two hours on hold, a voice finally popped up on the line and started to speak, “Ms. Wendy Listels, D-Card Number nine, one, one, seven, three, six, six, six, four, eight, seven two, two, two, five, one?” Wendy paused for a moment, reached for her purse and grabbed the card out of her wallet to reply, “Yes, that is my number.” The voice, a gruff sounding female voice in what sounded like a boiler room full of operators in the background started again, “Are you still located at 9967 Mountain Valley Lane, Colorado Springs, CO, eight, zero, nine, zero, eight? Your physical description is listed as five foot four, one hundred thirty-six pounds, auburn hair, brown eyes and wears corrective lens for driving. Is this information correct?”

Wendy was somewhat stunned as she was reporting someone else and they wanted to know or validate information about her. Instead of arguing after this upsetting afternoon she answered, “Yes that information is still current and correct, may I ask you why you need that?” The operator then identified herself, “I am operator one two nine seven nine. You may retain this information for future use. I am setting up a report for our field office in Colorado Springs so an investigator can visit you and the place of business involved. The purchase report for today will be forwarded to the investigator from the Office of Economic Continuity Enforcement Division, the OECED, which will interview you and the vendor involved separately. Was this vendor involved a garage sale, flea market, road side stand, or one of the three charges placed on your D-Card this afternoon?” Wendy gasped at the list just read and erroneously said out loud inquisitively, “Garage sale? Uh, why is that on the list?” The operator replied, “So you tried to use your card at a garage sale that fails to collect taxes or were you using Federal Reserve Notes, uh, physical cash, for a purchase?” Wendy quickly gathered herself and answered back quickly, “Oh, no you misunderstood. I was just shocked that you said anything about a garage sale. I haven’t been to one of those in ages, it has been too cold. The incident happened at Tom Albert’s Liquors about three hours ago. I saw a man make an illegal purchase without using his card or cash.” The operator sighed, “Miss Listels, how can you be sure this was illegal? Are you sure it was not a bar owner or other buyer with legal papers allowing him to make such a purchase. And just how in the world did the buyer purchase anything without using his card or cash, that is strictly forbidden now.” The operator sounded like she had suspended belief in the call and was almost mocking Wendy’s statement. She gathered herself and spoke firmly to the operator, “Miss One Two Nine Seven Nine, I saw the person pay the owner of the store with some sort of silver coins. I could not see the coins but I watched him count them out on the counter. He yelled at me and told me it was real money, whatever that is. I thought my dollar bills were real money?” At that point in the discussion the operator replied somewhat firmly and in a more business like manner, “One moment Miss Listels, I am going to have my supervisor join us on this call.”

The supervisor clicked into the call with the operator and she began to speak, “Miss Listels, my supervisor is on the line to validate the information and confirm that your report has some basis in fact. The OECED does not take matters like this lightly and will send an investigator out immediately to your home and the business in question as soon as curfew is terminated in the morning. If you would, please repeat what you said for the record one more time so we can begin processing the report for our investigator.” Wendy sighed, recounted everything that happened at the liquor store and was thanked by the OEC officers who then hung up. “There, I showed that jerk at the liquor store,” she thought to herself as she eagerly awaited to meet the agents in the morning so she could get her pound of flesh. The wine started to flow freely as she felt vindicated, watching the start or the nine o’clock news called America Tonight via the cable channel provided by Radio and Television America as she drifted into the night eating chips and dip and consuming her bottle of Merlot.

February 25, 2010 3:30 P.M. Central Time, Pine Bluff, Arkansas

“Prisoners, please stand up,” the voice bellowed like a military man, “and face forward, you may stop looking at the floor now. I know you are not in the military nor familiar with those procedures but if you listen to me, you will survive the processing and hopefully return to a normal life in your society. My name is Staff Sergeant Ellis Lee Franklin of the National Home Guard. Those of you who are not familiar with our units are to learn what I say this one time and one time only. We have full military regulatory authority in the streets and homes of the United States to protect the citizens and our economy from enemies foreign and domestic. We do not report to the United States military, the National Guard or Governor of this state. The Home Guard has full law enforcement authority which supersedes all local, county and state laws and regulations while a State of Emergency is in effect for your region. Due to the nature of the recent attack on the National Guard Armory in Little Rock, this state of Emergency has been extended to an unlimited period until all responsible parties are arrested and prosecuted to the fullest extent. You gentlemen are here because you are suspects in this attack from Tuesday night or suspected of providing logistical support to the terrorists we seek. You have not been charged with any crimes at this time. You will be interrogated and we can do this the hard way or the easy way. Each of you will be fed, given a medical exam and fresh clothes upon departure to either the detention facility in Helena or back to your local communities. No questions will be taken and you will speak only when spoken to. Sit down, shut up and wait until your name is called. That is all.”

The men all sat down and immediately stared at the floor, some even breaking down in tears. Pastor Lewis knew that he could not speak, preach nor attempt to comfort the men he was with at this time. With the frustration and horror of what has happened to him in just one day, he knew what to do and began to pray in silence hoping the Good Lord would comfort him in his time of stress. “Lewis, front and center!” the voice from the tent flap yelled out. He stood up, nodded, and moved towards the door. The guard put a set of leg and wrist shackles on him and said, “Sorry Padre, this is procedure. Let me know if they are too tight.” The guard then led him into another tent where a dog sniffed him down then the guard walked him into one of the airport type scanners where the other guard waved him through.

After passing through the tent where he was screened another guard wearing a solid black uniform with a weird patch that only said “HG” prodded Lewis into a building then into a room that was plain with only two wooden chairs and a desk all painted white and some very bright fluorescent lighting illuminating the room. The guard then said to the Pastor “Wait here, do not sit until instructed, your researcher will be in shortly.” At this point in time, he couldn’t hold it any longer and spoke, “Uh, sir, guard, I really have to go to the bathroom, please, I’ve been holding it for hours. I really need to go bad now sir.” The guard stopped in his tracks, paused and grabbed the Pastor by the neck of his shirt and pulled him down the hallway to a bathroom where he unlocked the leg shackles and looked him in the eyes with a sneer and said “Two minutes.” The Pastor knew what this meant and hurried with his business, returned to the door, and was promptly re-shackled and escorted back to his white room.

“Mr. Lewis, I presume,” the voice said as the door opened and a tall gentleman dressed in a solid black uniform with that weird patch on his shoulders, this time with Captain’s bars. “Yes sir, that would be me sir, or you can call me Father, Reverend, whatever you would like sir,” the somewhat terrified church leader said. “Sit down Mr. Lewis, and please listen to everything I have to say carefully. Your future freedom and perhaps survival could depend on this interview. On February twenty-third at thirty-four minutes after one in the morning, twenty men attacked and illegally entered into the National Guard Armory in North Little Rock, killing four guards and stealing two trailer loads of weapons and ammunition. This entire state will remain a Federalized Military district until the parties responsible are apprehended or killed. The reason you are here is that you have admitted to providing shelter to residents who were in violation of the declared curfews and then yourself committed the same act. Are you aware that you knowingly violated the provisions of the Emergency Safety and Security Act which was activated forty-eight hours ago?”

Pastor Lewis was stunned and started to respond, “Uh, sir, I don” know anyone….” The Captain was not impressed and cut him off stating, “Yes or no answers only.”

Stammering, scared, and somewhat intimidated, the good father simply replied, “yes” and waited for the next question.

Captain: “Did you openly declare you would take refugees without prior authorization from the Department of Homeland Security?”

Pastor: “Yes.”

Captain: “Did you check the identification of the persons in your church early this morning?”

Pastor: “No.”

Captain: “Do you own a firearm?”

Pastor: “No.”

Captain: “This concludes our interview. Your statements to the other officers have been noted. Apparently your ignorance of the law does not constitute a threat to the Republic. I have had your face scanned into our database and your statistics do not match those of any of the suspects in the Little Rock attack. Your illegal refugees have also been cleared and the migrants will be processed and shipped to a camp in Oklahoma for work assignments. Mr. Lewellyn’s daughter was found alive in the woods this morning and his family has been cleared. You however sir will be required to donate twelve hours per week to the Homeland Guard Camp Delta as punishment for disobedience of the curfew and refugee regulations that were posted on February 23, 2010 at eighteen hundred hours Central Time, per the President of the United States. To be honest, we need a spiritual adviser who can help counsel some of the souls we are arresting for violations of the numerous new regulations. When I leave this room another officer will escort you to a clean room, give you some fresh clothes and escort you to final processing. You have been hereby adjudicated and found guilty of misdemeanor violations of Regulations 0124.9973.102 and 0124.9973.296. You will be provided with a choice of cooperating with the Division of Corrections within the Homeland Guard or accept assignment to make restitution for your actions. Do you understand the scope and details of the sentence passed down upon you?”

Pastor: “No sir. I do not. This is America, don’t I get a trial? What happened to my Miranda rights? I don’t understand what I did wrong? My church is a refuge and the rights conveyed upon my church by God are not to be violated by the laws of man. What happened to our nation where these laws no longer hold true?”

Captain: “Off the record so please stop recording now.” After a pause he leaned over the table and spoke firmly but quietly, “Look Padre, I don’t like this either, but we have a new series of regulations we must follow. You now live in a state under martial law and the Constitution has been suspended. We have terrorist acts breaking out all over this region including unlawful assembly for anti-government purposes, threatening of and attempted assassination of government officials, and attacks on law enforcement and retail facilities all over this region. Just take the deal, don’t make trouble and in sixty days, you will be released from your duties. I convinced the Colonel to give you a pass and insure you would perform non-denominational spiritual duties to help calm and re-educate the prisoners we are holding now.” He leaned back in his chair, straightened up his back, and said, “Recording on. Father, one more time. I am not in a position to enter into Constitutional nor other debates as the rule of law was established by the actions of the President in response to the terrorist acts. Do you accept this sentence and agree to cooperate with the Homeland Guard as instructed?”

Pastor: “Yes sir. I’m sorry but I am tired and upset.”

Captain: “We understand. You will be guided through processing and your sentencing documentation will be available for you to sign at the exit processing interview. Please obtain a copy of the Emergency Declaration at the exit interview so you can remain within the law. Hopefully this will be lifted in the next one hundred days. Good day sir.”

Chapter XV: Truckin’ for God and Country (The Day the Dollar Died Series)
22:44 by Administrator. Filed under: The Day The Dollar Died Series

by John Galt

January 27, 2010

February 25, 2010 5:50 P.M. Central Time, Fergus Falls, MN

After a long day of checking his truck and trailer out, insuring the fence around the property was secured and laying a little bit of Red Brand barbed wire behind a snow drift just beyond his back porch to slow down any troublemakers or snoopers, Mike was ready to sit down, enjoy some coffee with his wife and his best friend’s better half. The work was hard in sub zero temperatures and worse, the strange lights that started towards town that started to flash as the sun set made him think of the bad old days in the jungle. The smell of dinner made Mike realize once again what it meant to be home and to be with the woman he loved.

The process of removing all of the layers of clothing took a minute or two, but after he finished in the foyer, he put the three two by fours across the door, turned on the outdoors motion activated lighting and headed into the living room to Mrs. Monckton sitting on the couch with a huge cup of coffee. “Mike, how are you doing? We could have helped you out there, ya know,” she said with that polite Minnesotan accent. Mike blushed and said, “Awww, Ma’am, that’s okay. I’ve been out in this winter for years now. It’s no big deal. Besides, I need to warn you and Sally that I’ve set up some barbed wire just beyond the porch behind the snow drift that’s about three feet high. I figure if we see any trouble, it’s going to come from the back part of the property.” Mike walked into the kitchen to see what was cooking and as he put his hands on Sally’s shoulders she said to him, “No you can not have any ham before it’s ready and I heard you about the wire. Don’t worry, I won’t chase anyone into it unless they need to be sliced and diced like dinner tonight.” Mike snickered and spoke up after that whispering to her, “I’m the hottest ham in the house honey!” She giggled and went back to finishing up dinner as Mike grabbed a cup of coffee to settle down in the living room.

No sooner than the recliner kicked out and he was able to rest his weary feet on it, Mike’s company cell phone rang which startled everyone because there was supposedly little if any cell service yet. “Let it go, it’s probably a crank,” Mike yelled out to his wife. The phone stopped ringing and the familiar tones of the voice mail rang out. As Sally was finishing up dinner some twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. Mike yelled out the same thing insisting that whoever it was would have to wait until dinner was over and he turned the ringer to silent mode. Sally began to carve the ham and served up a fantastic meal with some of the bounty of their spring, serving up the home canned squash, tomatoes and okra, and his favorite, creamed corn. To top things off Mrs. Monckton made her famous biscuits for dipping in the ham gravy which everyone in the county agreed should be made a staple at every meal. The hour taken to enjoy the dinner and relax after the stress of the past four days seemed to fly by, but Mike and Sally knew deep in their heart that someone with the company just had to be trying to reach Mike desperately about that stupid load of meat.

Mike tried to dial the number back that he missed but all he heard was a recording with the annoying digital beeps stating:

“THIS IS THE FEDERAL COMMUNICATIONS DIVISION OF THE DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY. YOU ARE NOT AUTHORIZED TO MAKE OUTBOUND NON-EMERGENCY CALLS AT THIS TIME. OPERATOR 10969 MIDWEST 3.”

It would repeat then hang up on him. “Guess they’ll call me back if it is that important,” he muttered allowed. While Sally and Mrs. Monckton cleaned the dishes, Mike decided to head out to his truck to see if his Qualcomm unit could get a signal. “Honey, I’m going to fire up the rig and see if I can get any kind of signal, there must be somebody in the office trying to reach me,” he yelled out to Sally. After throwing some winter gear on, Mike put his shoulder holster on and placed his .357 in it before putting his winter parka on. As he crawled up into the cab and cranked up the truck, he noticed some bright lights, almost like spotlights, out to the west of his ranch about twenty miles away. He sighed, then as the heat finally started to take hold inside the cab, he cranked up the Qualcomm unit to see if the boot up sequence would even work considering he has not been in touch with anyone for days now, at least anyone he trusted.









“What the heck was that all about? Why did it reboot itself after a simple firmware upgrade?,” Mike wondered out loud. After the boot process was complete the new message light at the top began to blink which meant that someone, somewhere, realized that he was still alive and that there must be some work out there somewhere. As Mike watched the scroll complete, he bent over and put his reading glasses on to make sure he was reading this information correctly:

<02.25.10 17:35 EST>





















<-FRANK->

After all of this scrolling Mike was incredulous. He was assigned to work for the government even though he had no idea who the OEC was nor how they had authority to force him, as an owner operator, to work for anyone but himself. The blood pressure was building so he responded pounding out on the keyboard the following message:









After pounding on the send key and getting the confirmation that the message was sent, Mike was at least reassured that the Atlanta office was not swallowed up by a black hole and there were people still working somewhere in this nation. With that brief exchange, he cranked the truck down, locked it up and walked around it to make sure the wheel locks were in place and that the equipment could not be moved without triggering enough noise to wake the dead. As he headed into the house the fourteen below temperature did not even phase him as his temper kept him warm all the way into the foyer where after stripping off his winter gear he yelled out to Sally, “You aren’t going to believe this bull these clowns in Atlanta have ordered me to do!” Sally was always pragmatic, always the typical calm, Midwest wife, and ready for this outburst catching him off guard by speaking first, “Honey, they just called you and will call back in five minutes. I told them you were securing your truck and would be back in shortly.”

Mike grunted, walked into the kitchen and made another cup of coffee and sat at the table with a legal pad, a pen and the cell phone sitting on the table.

Mike’s mind drifted off into the idea of starting to smoke again just to bide the time like he did in ‘Nam, but a promise to his wife is a promise and he decided that it would be better to just boil internally than start trouble at home. It seemed like an hour had gone by when the phone finally started to ring, but alas it was only ten minutes after his wife told him they would call back. “Hello,” a firm but hesitant truck driver said into the phone, “is this my central dispatch or the OEC, whatever that is?” The voice on the other end of the line was the Operations Manager for the company and Frank couldn’t help but laugh a little bit before responding, “Mike, I hope this is a good time to talk. Before you get all upset and demand answers, let me try to explain then you can fire away. As you could guess, this is Frank Liekiwicz from the Atlanta central dispatch office. We have had it a little rough down here with the huge riot and fires in the College Park area of town and the deployment of the Homeland and National Guards around most of the city so our situation is far different than yours and that is why the owner of the company volunteered to help the nation out in its time of need. The OEC or Office of Economic Continuity has been marshaling resources to start moving the tons of emergency food packages that have been stored throughout the country since 2003. The problem is that the entire just in time transport system is down and the railroads have been extremely unreliable due to sabotage and attacks by renegade gangs in parts of the nation. You will be paid your normal salary which will be loaded up on to your D-Card each week so Sally can go shopping and pay the bills. The owner is having me call every truck that is contracted to work for him and remind them that you need to do this for your country and to help feed the children in some of the large cities who are getting into desperate need now. We will try to get you home every two weeks and your expenses will be covered using a company D-Card for the purchase of all food and fuel as per the new government per Diem regulations. Does this make sense to you?”

Mike paused then asked, “Yes it makes perfect sense, but can I carry a sidearm. I was hijacked you know, by a fake Blackwater type group.” Frank answered back, “You’ll have to ask the OEC personnel in the morning. They will be there with a company D-Card, all roads pass and transponder, plus dispatch instruction sheets and OEC Qualcomm tracking device to plug into your communications unit and trailer.” That did not set well with Mike and his anger started to seep through in his voice, “Why the hell does the government need to track me? You know the wireless automated hours of service garbage already has me ready to quit this business.” Frank paused, then took a deep breath that Mike heard quite clearly before he started to speak slowly and carefully, “Mike, the world is upside down now. The company did not have a choice because we had a Federal license and permit to operate and they were going to place us under emergency regs anyways thus we were going to help one way or another. The only positive is that we get free fuel as a result of this fiasco to operate and can pay some of our drivers. We’re just going to truck for God and country now and pray that private industry is allowed to start operating again soon.” Mike, still flustered after the terms presented to him snapped back, “I’ll listen to what they have to say. But if I get into some bad areas and there’s no answer on my Qualcomm or the telephone, this truck will return to my garage so fast your head will spin. I am very upset about leaving my wife alone while we have guard units all around us and the threats like your Park riots or whatever it was possibly spreading out here. If these government clowns can’t offer me guarantees of safety for my wife, we’re going to have issues.” Frank apparently had heard this all before and simply replied, “Trust me Mike, I’m at the mercy of the same people that you are. Please just hear them out. Good night sir.” With that he hung up and Mike stared at the phone showing full antenna readings but showing “NO SERVICE” in the display. He leaned back in the chair, finished up the cup of coffee and looked over at Mrs. Monckton and his wife to tell them, “Ladies, it would appear we will have guests around five in the morning. I’m heading off to bed. Please don’t shoot them without giving me a chance to hear them out first.”

February 25, 2010 6:19 P.M. Eastern Time

Tom was picking at his dinner as Sandy and her mother chattered away. He could not stand the lack of information and with the weather getting cold again, he knew that the supplies they had on hand would last a few weeks but after that, without work, without access to his safety deposit box where he stuffed it with his silver coins and his wife’s expensive jewelry, the money would not last long even with the government D-Card nonsense they endured all afternoon. “Mom, honey, don’t mind me please,” he said softly, “I’m going to take my dinner into the living room and try to stomach watching the American News Update from the government as I just have to know what we are supposed to do now. I hate being in the dark.” The two ladies paused their conversation, nodded, and immediately went back to the hen pecking as Tom called it, while he set up the television tray in the living room. The electricity was on for now and he hoped to get at least two hours of television time in tonight just to see what was happening in the rest of the world outside of the United States and how bad the fire was out by the airport.

“ANU News Summary, ” the robotic female voice bellowed from the television, “today President Obama signed two new Executive Orders making it illegal to prosecute any government aid workers operating as a part of the Getting America Back to Work Program which kicked off this morning. The other order was to raise the pay rations for all military and Homeland Guard personnel serving in the Restoring America security and protection programs plus increasing food rations for their families while they serve throughout the country helping local authorities maintain order and protecting the infrastructure. In Rogers Arkansas a group of terrorists attacked the Tyson Food distribution center killing twelve guards and stealing three truckloads of processed chicken. The equipment was recovered six hours later but only one terrorist was captured who was believed to be involved in the Little Rock incident several nights before. Lastly the large fire in Atlanta, Georgia has been extinguished which was the result of a seven forty-seven cargo plane missing the runway in bad weather, crashing into several buildings of of Main Street in the College Park section of town. Only the pilots were killed in the unfortunate incident according to Major General Alvern of the Homeland Guard North Georgia security detail.”

After that news summary Tom realized he had been chewing the same piece of meatloaf the entire time and had forgotten to swallow. He leaned over to yell out at his wife and mother-in-law but it was not necessary. Both of them were standing in the arch from the dining room, their eyes glued to the television as Tom’s were, stunned at what they were hearing. “I was going to let you know but I sort of figured you might want to hear that,” Tom continued, “this is really getting spooky. Since when and what is the Homeland Guard? Mom, have you caught anything on that radio of yours?” Lillian looked over at him and said in a very firm voice, “Not yet, but I can guarantee you that tonight when I take the guard duty at two in the morning, my ears will be glued to it. You had best not fall asleep tonight son.” Tom shook his head and in the most serious look he could muster promised her, “Ma’am, there is no way I’ll fall asleep tonight, if ever again after hearing all that.”

February 25, 2010 6:30 P.M. Central Time, Pine Bluff, Arkansas

“Padre, come with me please,” the tall kid said with an Arkansas twang, “we’re going to process you and ship you to some quarters for the night where you will be more comfortable. The Guard does not feel it would safe to ship you back to DeWitt tonight.” Pastor Lewis was stunned. He stammered out to the young man, “Son, thank you. What happened to make that road so unsafe that we can not return to my home? Are we safe here?” The man in the black uniform looked him in the eyes and said it point blank, “Now that you’ve confessed, we can tell you the truth. The entire state south of interstate forty has been declared a F.M.D. or Federalized Military District. We have men shooting people violating curfew now due to the ambushes that have been happening here and in northeastern Louisiana. I do not want to risk you being hurt or hung as a sympathizer.”

“Thank you, I think,” the Pastor replied, “I guess I should just pray and say thanks that tonight should be peaceful as I have not slept in over twenty four hours.” The young soldier led him to a small room in a building near the edge of the camp. He pointed out the bed, the showers and bathroom areas then gave him a warning, “Do not attempt to open those windows or let any light out. You never know when a sniper is out there in the woods looking for easy prey.” This really shook up the God fearing man and he dropped immediately to his knees in prayer asking the Lord to give him strength. The young man started to walk out the door when he turned around after looking down the hallway and then shut and knelt beside the Pastor saying, “Padre, do you mind if I pray with you. I need some guidance to know if I’m doing things right by the Lord.” Lewis was stunned to hear this admission and of course told him to join him. “We both need the strength now my son, even if we do not know the path before us.”

February 26, 2010, 5:01 A.M. Mountain Time, Colorado Springs, CO

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The door rattled as if someone was hitting it with a sledge hammer and Wendy was terrified as she was used to sleeping in until eight because her job did not need her there until ten usually. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she yelled out. She was so tired, she got careless and instead of looking out the peephole she just opened the door, assuming it would be safe thanks to the curfew regulations put in place to protect the citizens. “Miss Wendy Listels I presume?” the man in the Homeland Guard uniform asked. “Uh, yes, that’s me, uh, sir. What time is it? Is there an emergency? Is my mother okay?” Wendy was getting frantic and asked again plus inquired, “and why are you here so early?” The man behind the Homeland Guard agent shined a flashlight in her face and replied, “Ma’am, my name is Sergeant Anthony Tennebaum with the Colorado Springs Police Department Adjunct Team working to prevent theft and fraud. You filed a report with the OEC last night and we are here to get your side and clear this matter now.”

“Oh, please, come in,” her face lit up as she invited them into the house, “I hope to help you fine people stop this fraud. I don’t know what the rules are but that lady on the phone last night said that liquor store owner was just plain wrong for what he did.” As the two men entered into the house, shining flashlights into all corners while keeping their hands on their sidearms, an African-American woman in her early fifties walked in behind them, holding the familiar scanner or tablet device she saw when she first got her D-Card. Wendy, being a bit of a klutz in social situations stuck her hand out to the woman and said “Hi Miss, my name is Wendy Listels, and you are?” The woman grabbed Wendy’s arm, held the laser scanner over her forearm then looked up at the Homeland Guard soldier and said to him, “Nope, she’s not one of them. This is just a civi.” She then whipped around to Wendy after putting her arm down and said to her, “I’m Angelika Franklin Jones of the OEC Enforcement division,” and as she spoke, she flipped out a badge from her purse, “and I’m here to resolve this matter with the liquor store fraud. May I have your D-Card please.”

Wendy got excited then while the two men continued to walk around the house with their flashlights but that did not matter to her. She ran to her bedroom, grabbed her purse and started to reach into when the Sergeant said in a strong voice, “Slowly Miss. We don’t know you and we don’t want to have an incident.” She noticed that he had unsnapped his holster and had his hand on the grip, ready to draw so she replied, “Yes sir, I will take my D-Card out slowly.” She handed the card over to Ms. Jones and sat down on the couch beside her, drawing a puzzled and disgusted look from the bureaucrat. The OEC official scanned the card and in the screen a list of all transactions appeared for her to review. “Miss Listels, it says here you attempted to purchase six bottles of wine and liquor while at the store, is that correct?” Wendy looked totally confused but replied honestly, “Yes I did but….” and before she could finish a receipt of some sort printed out from the machine. “Miss Listels, with that verification, please put your thumb on the scanner’s reader,” Angelika said. Wendy did so obediently and then the ticket was torn off and handed to her. “FIVE DOLLAR FINE FOR ATTEMPTED HOARDING? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME?!?!”, Wendy screamed out. The Colorado Springs officer then switched his other hand to the Taser and said to her, “Young lady you had best calm down.”

Wendy took a deep breath, tears welling up in her eyes and asked the bureaucrat, “But what did I do wrong? I just went shopping, that’s all?” Angelika did not even hesitate in her response, “Miss Listels, if you had bothered to open up and read your instruction book, you would have seen on page 172, subsection 1801.191933, that it is illegal to create additional labor for vendors or retailers by attempting to purchase goods that are not authorized beyond the ration limits outlined by the manual and available online at the recovery website. This is your fault and we came here to just verify that you were the one that reported it and fine you for your crime which has been automatically deducted from your new Citizen’s D-Card Federal Reserve Bank Account. There’s no point in arguing because the new Administrative Judiciary will not start operations for hearings and appeals until March first.”

Wendy was very upset now and looked at this group and said, “But what about my justice. What about the illegal activities of the store owner?” Angelika looked over at the Colorado Springs Policeman and he answered her, “Miss, he was adjudicated and found guilty of not maintaining current inventory reports as required for all open vendors. He was fined as per the emergency act. There was no evidence of the owner accepting contraband coinage as you described and thus we could not proceed any further beyond the fines imposed by us against him.”

“I could just cry, wasn’t there a camera or anything?”, Wendy asked innocently. “Miss Listels, just drop the issue. He’s in enough trouble and you are also because the next time you attempt to avoid the ration requirements the fine accelerates to ten dollars per incident. The camera at his business was replaced with a new OEC Enforcement web cam so there will be no more repeats of mystery customers at his business, that is a certainty.” Wendy sighed, leaned back on her sofa and nodded like a whipped puppy dog. The agents finished their work, and left as she read the deduction from her account on the receipt for the violation. As the threesome piled into the squad car, she watched them back out and they went about two blocks down the street before turning their lights on and pulling into someone’s driveway.

Angelika and Sergeant Tennebaum grinned as they pulled into the driveway of their next subjects of investigation. The rattling of the three cases of rum in the trunk was noisy but the “arrangement” they made with the liquor store owners before the rationing began insured that they would never have to worry about their little government off the books side business with the black marketeers in Denver. At one silver dollar per bottle they knew they would all be set to weather the economic storm as long as it was impacting the country. It was also very good for business as there were plenty of dupes like Wendy around, and they would always make their enforcement quota plus find new leads for suppliers to keep their side distribution enterprise flush with inventory for years to come.

Chapter XVI: Where Shopping is a Pleasure (The Day the Dollar Died Series)
22:30 by Administrator. Filed under: The Day The Dollar Died Series

by John Galt

February 8, 2010

A quick note to my fans: Gang, my family experienced a death in the family and thus I have been involved with everything from a wild trip to Miami (the highlight of the past week) to the passing of one of my wife’s grandmothers and the sadness there which is a low point that most of us have experienced. To make matters worse, I managed to catch or at least think I have, that stupid flu the northerners brought down with their migration and I’m just now getting back online tonight. I know that a lot of people tune in for the series and other commentary but PLEASE keep things in perspective. Family will always come first in my life then the end of our civilization, well, I shall take it as it comes along.

-John

The title is a saying from a long time Florida grocery chain, Publix, and this story is in no way a reflection on the wonderful people who work there or the shopping experience inside of their stores. If there’s one business that I could heartily endorse, without a doubt it is this grocery chaing. The following story, is and shall continue to be FICTION….hopefully….

February 26, 2010 07:00 A.M. Eastern Time

The mailman pulled up unusually early, with his Home Guard escort riding shotgun literally and my discomfort for what appeared to be an ex-convict type acting as a new domestic security force quite apparent to both of them. The doorbell rang and as I opened to door to Ed, an elderly gentleman who was near retirement and worked our neighborhood for seven years now and with him was another man in a black outfit carrying a twelve gauge shotgun and looking like a reject from Survivor or some other reality television show. As I opened the door slowly I greeted the old man with some major apprehension, “Hi Ed, do I dare ask what’s new with you this morning?” Ed put a half smile on his face and spoke in his official United States Postal Service voice, “John Galt, this is to inform you that I have two pieces of mail that you are required to sign for and acknowledge receipt of. The items are from the United States Department of Labor, Office of Economic Continuity Employment Services Division and from the United States Department of Homeland Security. Please sign here and here to acknowledge receipt and then press your thumb here on the identification pad.”

To say I was stunned was an understatement. To see this elderly gentleman handing two packages over to me, each looking like small books in yellow manila envelopes, gave me pause but the tone of his voice alarmed me somewhat. “Uh, Ed, what is it that I am signing for, ” I started in my reply, “because if this makes me legally liable for something I want to have my Miranda rights read to me.” At this point in time, the Home Guard clown with the tag of “Chuck C” on his badge felt obligated to speak up and said in an aggravated voice, “Just sign for it and shut up. We have hundreds of these to deliver and you’re already on one list and if you don’t do as you’re told and shut your pie hole, I put you on two more and really give you things to sweat about.” In the background I could hear my wife yelling out, “Tell him to go to hell!” I knew that would not work so I moved out on to the porch, looked at my old postal friend who was now shaking and sweating and did as I was instructed. I felt that I had to respond to this clown so I dared to speak, “Chuck, what is your issue, or is that your real name? I know you guys all have fake names so people do not get mad at you but why do you have to treat people like crap. Ed and I go way back so why you are riding around terrifying the elderly with your shotgun and attitude?”

That was a mistake. Chuck C. stepped up to me and went nose to nose trying to intimidate me even though we were both about six foot four and opened his mouth with a response that stuck with me forever, “Because I can and I get paid for it. Good day sir.” Ed looked over at me sympathetically and nodded, heading next door to James’ house where I feared the worst when those two met. I could not wait to hear the outcome as I now have signed and thumb printed my life over to another bureaucrat and had the joy of meeting the President’s new pride and joy, a circumvention unit designed to accelerate the changes the new oligarchy saw fit to protect their changes to be made to the Constitution.

After getting my wife to calm down and stop hyperventilating I sat down on the sofa and opened the first package from the Department of Homeland Security first. At the top of the letterhead was a bolded portion that caught my attention:

FIREARMS AND AMMUNITION RESTRICTION ACT OF 2010

EFFECTIVE DATE: FEBRUARY 20, 2010

READ AND OBEY ALL SECTIONS WITHOUT EXCEPTION. FAILURE TO ABIDE BY THE REGULATIONS WITHIN THIS DOCUMENT WILL RESULT IN FINES AND/OR INCARCERATION FOR PERIODS OF NOT LESS THAN 1 YEAR WITH A MAXIMUM OF 5 YEARS

“Hmmmmm, this is not going to go well,” I thought to myself. As I scanned through the list some of the summary portions which gave you a breakdown of illegal activities were stunning:

ILLEGAL POSSESSION OF AN UNREGISTERED FIREARM…..$1000 FINE….1 YEAR PER VIOLATION MINIMUM SENTENCE

ILLEGAL POSSESSION OF AMMUNITION NOT REGISTERED AND AUTHORIZED FOR USER…..$1000 FINE….1 YEAR PER VIOLATION MINIMUM SENTENCE

UNAUTHORIZED DISCHARGE OR SHARING OF FIREARM WITH UNLICENSED USER…$5000 FINE….5 YEARS PER VIOLATION MINIMUM SENTENCE

“My God, honey you have to come here and read this,” I yelled out to my wife. She was busy getting dressed and reminded me of something more important, “You had best get dressed and ready to go. Our shopping window is only from eight in the morning until eleven and we need to get some things if we are hunkering down.” I glanced at my watch and noticed it was already seven-thirty so for once the wife was right and I had to get it in gear. I hurried back to the bedroom somewhat exasperated by what little I had read thus far and told her, “They do not want anyone to own guns. I can not imagine anyone taking a chance with these type of stupid regulations they have published. They must be giving this to every gun owner in the area, that’s all I can figure.” She seemed disinterested trying to stay focused on the major issue of the moment, namely food, and started to give her authoritative checklist to me as she finished putting her war paint on, “Make you sure you have your D-Card and do not forget what little cash we have left. We need to get rid of it as soon as we can, they are going to phase all physical currency out over the next ninety days. And don’t you dare bring that gun with us, if we bring a firearm to a public location they will arrest you and you will be in the Arcadia detention center.”

As she rattled all of that off I provided the standard reply of “yes dear” or “yes honey” until she blurted out the last part about Arcadia. “Um, what Arcadia detention center,” I asked innocently enough, “you mean the prison east of town out there off Highway Seventy, right?” She looked up at me with those saddened exhausted eyes that I had become accustomed to and told me what James’ wife told her, “Our neighbors spoke with someone down the street who’s husband was taken away. She was allowed to visit him yesterday after two days with no visitors. Apparently this guy was active in the Tea Party movement and some of those right wing websites like Beck’s and Free Republic so they seized his computer, all of his guns, his two German Shepherds and his Jeep Cherokee. She told James that this place was huge and covered the entire parking lot out by the Sweetbay and Tractor Supply where they had hundreds of folks rounded up behind barbed wire and in large tents surrounded by guard dogs and and Home Guard troops.” I looked at her with a blank stare and she snapped her fingers and blurted out, “Hey! Are you paying attention? This is serious, no time to be screwing around.” I nodded, grabbed my shotgun and locked it up in the gun safe and grabbed the grocery list and all of the cash and coins we had left. Little did I know, shopping at the Publix grocery store we were “assigned” to would be a very unique experience.

February 26, 2010 08:01 A.M. Eastern Time

As we finally found a parking place the shock of what I was witnessing sunk in. It was bad enough having to print up the “authorized” list of items we could buy which were color coded by day of the week and quantity allowed, but there was a line in front of the store with well over one hundred and fifty people plus an assortment of guards, more of the OEC clowns with badges and tables on the sidewalk and two paddy-wagons from the local police off to the side of the store with two people already inside and two officers standing outside the truck expecting more business. The line was typical of most government operations with what appeared to be a renew your driver’s license mentality of all involved wearing a tag or a gun.

While we waited in line, the long time of standing on the sidewalk had given me a chance to read each OEC sign on the closed shops be it the fabric store, swimsuit store, or Gecko’s Bar and Grill. Some of the signs had the phrase “NONESSENTIAL” stamped on them which I presumed meant the businesses were permanently closed as there was no reopening date printed out. On other businesses the signs had a date, time and the ration color code along with the insipid “PUTTING AMERICANS BACK TO WORK” sticker on the doors. I wondered if PetSmart would re-open but I did not have time to go and check it out nor would I dare leave my wife alone in the long line considering the atmosphere of tension permeating our little shopping center.

After an hour and a half in line, we walked up to somewhat portly gentleman who I recognized some twenty years later as a former classmate from Riverview High School. I decided to lighten the situation up a bit I handed my identification and D-Card to him and before he glanced at the cards said, “What’s up Porky?” A sneer of disgust swept his face and I realized that I had hit a nerve. He looked up at me and started his government routine, “Well John, it has been a long time. If you would like to shop here without having issues, you can address me as Officer 13991, Mr. Poltrain, or sir in the future. All government agents here have been through rigorous training to insure the public can enjoy their shopping trip and obtain the goods they need. Any signs of disrespect could, in the future, put you at the end of that line and that would be about the time your shopping window expires. I hope you understand where I am coming from JOHN.” His emphasis and snotty attitude said it all. Now I did not regret gluing his notebook shut before class in the eleventh grade and wish I had participated in the great senior panting of the slob. Now here was the dirtbag who thought there would be demand for his “great looks in Hollywood” sitting here earning God knows what getting revenge on everyone he felt wronged him. I nodded and said “Yes sir” and he handed my card back to me as the shock of what people like him with this kind of power will get away with began to cause my heart to shudder.

The store was packed and there were only four carts left when we got inside. The store looked completely different and there was a large wipe board with notes about items out of stock or daily ration variations. “Look at that honey,” I said to my wife, “the clowns are already running low on toilet paper. The sign says two rolls per shopping trip per week.” My wife nudged me after I said that as a Home Guard officer wearing two Tasers and a night stick just glared at me. We unfolded our list and noticed that you could only follow the arrows and select the color coded items and that zig-zagging and backtracking in the store was not permitted. As we approached the first aisle it was just paper goods or what was left of the paper goods and she nudged me again demanding to know what the list said. “Well super shopper, according to this we can get two rolls of toilet paper, one roll of paper towels, and one box of facial tissues per person this week,” I paused not realizing what she had printed out, “and just where did you get this honey?” She looked at me and told me how our log in directed us to everything we would need to know about the new shopping restrictions and why we had to follow the list. “They’ll fine us and dock our bank account if we do not follow the rules,” she said worried and concerned as we walked into the next aisle and I shoved the goods into the nose of the cart thinking we would fill it up.

The second aisle consisted of cleaning materials but I noticed immediately the sign at the approach which proudly proclaimed:

ALL ITEMS SOLD FOR HOUSEHOLD CLEANING ARE NON-HAZARDOUS AND ENVIRONMENTALLY SAFE PER OEC REGULATION 1.1113299.9900.5A

It was sort of eerie to both of us and I figured out what was up almost immediately. My wife looked at me to get an explanation and I replied to her, “Later, let’s not talk here.” We grabbed some dish-washing liquid and bar soap right off the first two sections but noticed that the name brands were gone and there was nothing but goods in plain white wrappers with the Proctor and Gamble label and the words “Bar Soap Adult 3.5 Oz.” and no ingredients or anything on it. After passing an empty section which used to have all of the laundry detergent, it began to hit home. “Honey, they are having trouble with deliveries. The just in time system has broken down. I knew this would not work,” I told her almost bragging but trying not to draw the attention of the group in front of us or behind us. The shopping in this section was completed but we needed food more than anything and as we made the turn to the next aisle, we witnessed a scene developing at one of the registers.

“We want candy bars and ice cream and we do not give a damn about your lists nor your rules. We have been shopping here for ten years and never had to put up with this crap. If you want to stop me from buying this, you try lady, you just try!” The rather large lady and her two somewhat ashamed children were staring down the assistant store manager, an OEC compliance officer and the poor cashier who was just trying to do her job. “Ma’am, we have to follow the rules and you must also,” the assistant manager stated. The lady had heard enough, threw a twenty dollar bill down, grabbed the junk food and threw them into a bag and started to walk away yelling “Keep the Change!” Before she made it to the door, an officer walked in and she pushed him out of the way screeching all the way about how this wasn’t legal and she wanted to see a supervisor. The sunshine was let in as the door opened and just as she thought she had made her break, the officer who was pushed down by this flower grabbed his taser and dropped her right there with two horrified children screaming and crying as one of them scurried over by her mother trying to eat one of the Snickers bars that had fallen out of the bag. The kid unwrapped it and shoved most of it in her ten year old mouth, leaving a chocolate mess on her face while the young boy, maybe age seven was screaming “Mommy” over and over at the top of his lungs. Two other officers walked over, handed the bag to the OEC assistant, and drug the woman outside so the door could close and put the plastic cuffs on her and the children, escorting them off to the side where the paddy-wagon was parked.

“Don’t you dare squeeze the Charmin,” my wife quipped which made me and the couple behind us bust out laughing but everyone else in the store was completely freaked out and now instead of a bustling, noisy grocery store, it sounded more like a library. The third aisle was just as spooky as an old library as there were five and ten pound plain white bags labeled “USDA Flour” and “USDA Sugar” mixed in with the various corporate brands. I grabbed one of each as that was our weekly allotment and whispered to the wife, “Let’s get everything in our allotment. We may need it.” Aisle after aisle was like this with some areas completely out of inventory like coffee, microwave meals, Spam, and frozen dinners with pizza apparently being the number one choice for all of Sarasota today. As we turned out of the frozen aisle only getting a little of the goods we were looking for, we noticed two Publix employees emptying out the ice cream section and putting frozen meat in the cases to replace the desert section. “So much for that late night ice cream snack” I whispered to the wife.

The fresh meat aisle was a fiasco, the only words that hit us both. Instead of a solid row of neatly wrapped meats of various weights and sizes there was a shortage of almost everything. The butcher leaned over and said, “Can I help you?” It was the usual polite voice we had come to expect at our local grocery store and the professionalism of the chain still shined through in this bizarre setting. I replied to him, “Can you do specific cuts or sizes for us?” He nodded his head no and sadly looked at us and started to read from a laminated card, “My job is to help guide you to the healthiest choices within your ration limits. I can no longer do custom cuts for you but I can offer you meal suggestions and caloric intake guidelines to keep you from ingesting too much fat and wasting your ration allowance.” I noticed he seemed almost hostile, as if he were biting his lips when he read it. “No thank you” I replied, “we’ll just select from what is left out here.” My wife grabbed the two pounds of chicken, two pounds of ground beef and one pound of pork chops we were allotted this week. “Did you notice honey,” I whispered as I pointed around the former seafood area, “there’s no fish, fresh or frozen. Plus they have closed their deli. Let’s get some soft drinks and bottled water and get out of here.”

The recycling goons had finally received their wildest fantasy as I noticed the sign by the gallons of drinking water just below where it said “LIMIT 4 PER CUSTOMER” and it blew both of us away. The government has actually added a one dollar per gallon jug deposit on every jug of water thus raising the price from the recent high before the crash of a buck seventy per gallon to now well over three dollars per gallon with the other fees attached to them. “What does our list say about this deposit honey? Is it refundable?” I asked like an idiot. She looked up and down and finally found it where her face turned red and she said way too loud for comfort, “No refund and if we do not return the empty jugs within seven days we will get a one dollar per jug per day fine. This is bull….” I cut her off before she invited the taser happy fellow at the front and we plodded to the register to check out.

I scanned my D-Card and handed it to the clerk. Old Porky must have tipped off his friends as one guard was standing there watching every move I made to insure I did not create a scene inside the store. The elderly clerk smiled and looked at my wife and I knowing that we had been coming to this store for years. The idle chit chat moved from the weather to the traffic for some reason and into a more serious issue when a code “8888″ flashed up on the register when the water was scanned. “Sir, I’m sorry to tell you this but you are not authorized to purchase bottled water,” the cashier said politely. My wife whipped the list out and said firmly, “Ma’am I beg to differ. I printed this list from our account last night and right here it says we can buy the maximum of four gallons per week.” The cashier pressed a switch and the light blinked at the top of her register and the assistant manager and OEC compliance officer walked over. “What seems to be the issue?” the assistant manager asked. “I have a list which says I can buy water, your cashier says I can not. Who’s right the Federal government or your cash register?” my wife snapped out in an aggravated voice. The OEC officer looked at the list, nodded to the assistant manager and he punched a code in so the approval would go through. “Thank you,” my wife snapped out, “I know you guys are stretched thin.”

The assistant manager looked back at us after the OEC flunky walked away. “It won’t matter by one o’clock,” he said, “we will be out of inventory if the two trucks do not arrive soon and we’ll be closed. Good luck to you folks, as it is only us and WalMart in this county that will be stocked and that appears to be a hit or miss proposition.” The cashier finished ringing us up as he walked away, my wife’s face turning a little pale. “Please place your thumbprint on the scanner sir,” the cashier cheerfully said, “and thank you for shopping at Publix.” What I failed to notice while all this was going on is that the elderly man who normally would bag our groceries was simply placing them back into the cart. I looked at him and said, “Plastic please sir, but paper is fine if you’re out of the plastic bags.” The elderly gentleman looked up at me and said in a low tone of voice, “Sir, we can only bag reusable bags. Grocery bags have been banned as of this past Monday. You have to bring a canvas bag for shopping or carry the items up one at time by yourself.” The fat slob I went to high school with was laughing as we loaded the groceries on to the back seat of our car and he decided to add to the irritation of the day.

Porky started up, “John, I’ve decided to help you out. No hard feelings. Here is your Publix parking permit, space number two thirty-nine, valid from eight in the morning until eleven thirty on your scheduled days.” I looked at him and asked the obvious, “Uh, where is this space at, uh, I didn’t know our grocery stores had assigned parking?” “This is a prime spot,”as he pointed to the lot across seven lanes of traffic off U.S. 41, “you’re located in the northeast corner about five hundred yards from here. Have a nice day and God Bless America.” As I turned flaming red in the face my wife grabbed my wrist and she calmed me down. I could hear the fat slob laughing as he and his guard buddies yucked it up at my expense. “This will not end well honey,” I told my wife, “someone is going to shoot back sooner than they think and these kind of people will find out you can not keep the people pinned down and treated like caged animals for long.”

Chapter XVII: Black Ice (The Day the Dollar Died Series)


by John Galt

February 11, 2010

February 26, 2010 05:01 A.M. Central Time (Fergus Falls, MN)

The doorbell rang but Tom was already standing there waiting anxiously, having watched the Home Guard escort and OEC assistant walk up the driveway after parking their Humvee at the street. “You do not have a clue as to how close you came to being shot gentlemen,” Mike spoke slowly so they would not doubt his intentions, “people who normally hop my gate get dropped right there in these times. Have you gentlemen lost your mind?” The Home Guard officer was all business and completely professional, first apologizing for the incursion then sticking his hand out, “Mike, my name is Lieutenant Frank Smith, Minnesota Home Guard Western Region Transport Escort Officer. My job is to protect the truckers and rails and to insure you get form the origin to destination unscathed and home again to your wife. We have had issues as you are well aware but the new convoy system is almost foolproof and you we feel much safer as we get America back to work and resupplied.”

Mike was impressed by someone who at least sounded like they had a clue, then again he had greenhorns in ‘Nam that graduated from ROTC talking crap also thus he was polite, yet firm in his reply. “Sir, just why am I being ‘volunteered’ back to work? I have a farm, a wife and a lot to lose here if something happens to me on the road,” Mike asked using his thousand yard stare to see what this man was made of. The Lieutenant was ready for it and politely and professionally replied, “Sir, I do not know how much information you have at hand. But our nation is teetering on the edge of disaster and that is why every able-bodied man, woman and child will be asked to sacrifice and help the cause. This is no longer about politics, political parties or some high minded ideals that people used to debate on those stupid talk radio shows. This is about saving Mother America and preserving what is left or our society for a chance to rebuild the future. In less than just seven days we have the entire transportation network in total disarray, the supply chain destroyed and major cities within seventy-two hours of running out of food and essentials. I am here to insure you make it to the Hormel plant in Austin which has been cranking out a special government order of canned hams for Memphis, TN which is practically shut down due to terrorist attacks and rioting. We have to get food down there and my job is to help get this one hundred and twenty truck convoy down there in one piece.”

That explanation was good enough for Mike who felt a little touched, but still distrustful of the real motives. “I’ll go warm the truck up, but I need something from you,” he started to tell the young officer, “I need some method to stay in contact with my wife while I am on the road. I’ll be damned if we’re not going to stay in touch with each other.” The Home Guard officer reached into his coat pocket and grabbed a laminated white card and handed to Mike and his wife. “Enter the code into your phone and press send,” Lieutenant Smith told them, “and do not lose these cards because if this code is used by more than twenty different numbers then it is deactivated.” Mike put the card in his wallet and then it hit him when he glanced up, “You mean the phone system is still working? All of these people out here in the middle of nowhere are out of touch with their friends and family because of some government control system?” The officer just nodded and replied, “Let’s get going, we have a lot of miles to cover by Sunday morning.”

After the truck was warmed up, they pulled out and back on to the interstate Mike performed a radio check with the lead Humvee which was part of their escort. The voice replied back to him to stay tuned to channel 34 and have his cell phone nearby in case further instructions needed to be relayed. Their first stop was at the small town of Avon where ten more trucks were to meet them and join the convoy heading to the plant. After the meeting at six-thirty in the small town the drive past Minneapolis was almost surreal. The entire left lane on Interstate 94 and 494 was cleared with the military checkpoints very visible at the exits. “So that’s how they are doing it,” Mike said to himself, “they’ve closed almost exit ramp and left only one or two open with hardened checkpoints.” The barbed wire along the interior walls and wooded areas along the interstate glistened with the icicles already hanging from them but as they crossed the I-394 cloverleaf interchange, Mike felt almost ill to his stomach. There were burned out cars everywhere, at least fifteen or twenty, some shot up, others it appeared were just maliciously set on fire to block the road. “I wonder who won the firefight,” he thought to himself.

The Austin, Minnesota Hormel plant was a legendary place for any trucker who worked out this state but Mike’s experiences there were shaken when the Lieutenant keyed up the radio and announced that they would go in through the main entrance at Hormel Drive and to have their D-Cards and CDL’s ready to present to the Home Guard security team. One of the other drivers apparently did not grasp the importance of speaking only when spoken to and was warned immediately when he tried to communicate with the old gate Citizen’s Band channel asking what dock he was supposed to go to. Mike had been to this plant hundreds of times but the appearance of Bradley armored vehicles around the perimeter and the M-60 tank at the main gate made him realize just how much the nation had changed in less than a week. The check in procedure took about five minutes which shocked the old hand at this but Mike realized that time was crucial and once he was assigned a door he backed in and chocked the wheels waiting on instructions. Lieutenant Smith walked up to his door and introduced Mike to Sergeant Al Wilsheski and handed what appeared to be a bill and instruction packet to him.

Smith began to speak, “Mike, meet Al, your shotgun escort for this trip. I hope you don’t mind the rider but we are putting a Home Guard escort on every vehicle. He will handle all of your communications, navigation and insure you arrive in one piece at the destination. There are no hours of service regulations nor weight restrictions so I hope your truck can handle fifty-four thousand pounds of canned hams. The only reason this convoy will stop will be to refuel, refresh, hit the restroom or in case of protective necessity.” As Al shook Mike’s hand the old salt could not resist, “You mean ambush, not protective nonsense don’t you sir?” The Lieutenant just shook his head and before he walked away reminded Mike that the muster point was on Eighth Avenue and when the convoy was complete they would hit I-90 eastbound towards Wisconsin then south. “Al, maybe you can explain this map to me,” Mike said as he unpacked the pile of paperwork, “Why are the cities of Chicago, St. Louis, Springfield and Memphis highlighted in dark red hashes with the word warning in the markings?” The Sergeant, apparently a vet from somewhere recently began his reply guardedly, “Sir, all I can tell you is that those areas are Federalized Military Districts and they are to be avoided unless you are provided with proper escort. Our route will evade the threats and insure that we arrive at the final destination at Camp Delta Charlie Memphis Nine within sixteen hours. If anything happens along the way, you will be protected by myself and one of the dozen escort vehicles.” Mike thanked the Sergeant and leaned back in his seat. He couldn’t wait to tell his loving wife about what he had seen in Minneapolis and the weird behavior of the plant workers at Hormel.

“Attention, attention, all units in convoy designated one-three-three, a weather update has been received, ” the voice crackled over the C.B. radio, “light snow through Rockford, Illinois but the threat of black ice persists between Peoria and Champaign so we may have to run the St. Louis route. We will stop in Peoria and update all units at that break point in the route.” Mike looked over at the Sergeant and said, “Do you mind if I just call you Al? Because saying Sarge every time I open my mouth reminds me of the aggravation I had when they called me that in ‘Nam.” Sergeant Wilsheski looked over at Mike and politely replied, “That’s no problem sir. I hope you do not mind if I keep some answers to myself or refuse to answer some questions. We are under strict orders from Greenbrier and have to insure security remains air tight at all times. Mike just nodded and muttered, “Black ice, just freaking great. Ambushes and ice, just what every American truck driver dreams of.”

February 26, 2010 09:40 A.M. Eastern Time

Sandy was relieved to see her mom at the supper table sipping on some coffee but not thrilled to see the demeanor on her face. “Mom, what’s wrong,” she asked innocently, “Why the scowl?” Lillian was never one to keep a secret nor her mouth shut, “Sandy, you need to get Tom up and in here to listen to this. The situation around here has changed drastically and we need to get out of here quickly.” Sandy went into the bedroom and woke up a rather grumpy husband, dragging him to the kitchen table to hear what her mother had to say. “Children, you’re the love of my life,” she started, “but we are either getting the hell out of here together or I’m leaving without you. I managed to find some real news and discussions from amateur radio operators last night and there was no danged plane crash in College Park last night, the night before or ever. These two hams were talking and it turns out that that was the Southlake Mall burning to the ground as it was some sort of temporary jail and the prisoners rioted. There were over forty prisoners killed, hundreds wounded during the riot and escape attempt and at least ten or fifteen guards are known dead. The situation here is spiraling out of control. After some of the prisoners escaped some sort of organized unit his the propane tanks a few miles away and set several warehouses full of chemicals like pool chemicals and stuff on fire after looting whatever was worth taking. This is not some random act of just gang violence as some of the gang members fought with the outside group calling them racists and worse. Apparently this is far from being resolved and there are over four thousand soldiers being deployed around here right this minute. We need to go to my cousin’s place in south Georgia and fast.”

Tom was wide awake on that last comment. “Mom,” he began, “even if we drain all of the gas out of all the vehicles, lawn mower, weed whacker and cans we may only make it two hundred miles. And what happens if we get stopped by the military or whatever is out there? We have your pistol and that is it to defend ourselves.” Lillian looked down at the holster on the table and folded her hands. “Son, you have to do something right this minute, just for me,” she paused and took a sip of coffee then continued, “grow a damned pair boy and right this minute. Or would you rather find out what happens when a gang-banger takes your wife and I out into the woods while they play target practice on your cowardly butt?” This caused Sandy to grab her husband’s wrist as his face turned bright red and he started to vent his frustration, “Now listen here old lady, I’ve been keeping this family alive and well for years now. And if you think you’re going to order me around in my house then you have another thing coming. We could just as easily run into a gang out on the highway and then what? If you have a plan, let’s see it, otherwise, let’s hunker down in the house!”

Lillian took her glasses off and started to grin. “Sport, let’s plan this together. The ham operators were real, one was in Kennesaw reporting on a stream of trucks and soldiers heading into Atlanta and the other was out in Douglasville talking about the burning of a local grocery store with the owner still in it. There are riots breaking out around Atlanta and once they are through attacking the stores that are close by they are heading out this way, heck, you know it, I know it. If we do this right we can get to her farm just south of McRae by four or five and have food, water, shelter and protection from the hordes. It’s your call, I’ll find a way out with or without you. But the gun goes wherever I go.” Tom leaned back in his seat, his wife still clutching his wrist and sliding down to his hand. She appeared to be very close to tears and Tom wanted to do what was smart but with no information other than what he used to call his ‘crazy mother-in-l;aw’ providing in detail, Sandy knew he was hesitant to act. Sandy started to speak, “Uh, I would like to put my two cents into this discussion, please….” Before she could finish the sentence and the thought Tom piped up, “Honey, your mom is right. If we don’t bug out now while confusion reigns, we may not have another chance. I’ll be in the garage draining everything into the gas cans. Don’t pack more than five days worth of clothing and only the ultimate valuables in packages we can hide inside the truck. Mom, get some maps, please, and get back on that radio of yours. I’ll grab another pack of batteries for you. And one of y’all get some water and food ready for a three day trip, just in case.”

Lillian smiled from ear to ear and set about to do her fair share of the chores for this trip. She dug out an Atlas from Tom’s desk which was well over ten years old so she tossed it aside hoping he had one map made in this decade at least. As she dug through the desk she found one that was made in 2005 which was good enough for her to mark up. From listening to the hams the last two nights she knew which roads were supposedly safe as she wanted to get down south as quick as she could to be with the members of the family she knew could hold out with plenty of food and water for years if need be. As she grabbed a highlight pen and started marking the back road route through little towns like Johnstonville, Box Ankle, Dudley, and Chauncey, Lillian began to realize that this could easily turn into a seven hour trip if they ran into check points or trouble. She dug around in the desk and found a fresh set of batteries and put them into her good shortwave radio that she never told Tom that she had brought with her. The Grundig was about three years old now but took care of business and she put it in the kitchen with the whip extended scanning the ham bands for locals who might be trying to get the word out.

The freezer was full of ice as Tom figured early on that electricity might be a challenge after his adventure at WalMart earlier in the week. “Good boy,” Lillian muttered to herself. She started to sort out how much ice she would need by putting chunks of ice into Ziploc bags and setting them inside a large ice chest. She grabbed the leftover ham from last night’s dinner, some unopened lunch meat, two packages of hot dogs in the freezer, and all the bread that was left and eggs packed gently on top of the chest to keep them from getting crushed. The four bottles of water in the refrigerator were set inside a plastic grocery bag separate from the food as she did not care about keeping the water cool, she just wanted jugs or other things to load up more water. She found a half gallon jug of iced tea and promptly dumped it into the sink to fill it with water. Lillian then grabbed some of the cans of dry food Tom brought home the other night plus the only can of corned beef in the house, threw them into a burlap bag and carried all of this stuff out to the garage. “Tom, I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Lillian began peering at him over the hood of the SUV, “I am just scared for what is left of my family and wanted to get you stirred up into a course of action.” Tom finished dumping the gasoline from the Weedeater into his second gas can and looked back at his mother-in-law grinning a little bit then replying, “Mom, you’re all right. I know what you were doing and I was a total horse’s ass when this started. I should have seen it coming but my laziness and pigheadedness kept me from seeing the big world. I love you too Mom. Now get me some more jugs of water!” Lillian burst out laughing as she walked into the house and told him “Okay, okay, I’m back at it boss!”

Sandy had finished packing everything she could or thought was crucial for the months ahead when she stepped out into the kitchen to see her mom slaving away and pausing on occasion as the radio stopped during some Morse code or conversation in the ham bands. The activity was sparse which surprised Sandy but what shocked her more was the radio she never knew about so she had to ask, “Mom, what is a Satellit 800? And when did you get the money to buy this radio?” Lillian turned around and said in a hurry, “On eBay two years ago honey, now do you have any more plastic milk or water jugs laying around? We only have four gallons of water so far and I would like to have more.” Sandy stared at her blankly for a second trying to figure out which subject to address first then softly said, “Uh, no Momma. I don’t think we have any more. But we can take the two three liter bottles of pop I have in the pantry and drink that instead.” Lillian whipped around and grabbed the first store brand bottle and opened it dumping the contents into the sink. While it was draining she grabbed the second one and as she popped it open her daughter gasped out “Mom! What are you doing?” Lillian ignored the pleas and dumped the second bottle yelling back, “Making water jugs. Got more pop?”

After everything was packed, the gun securely placed in Lillian’s purse and the radio hidden inside the tire compartment in the back of the SUV so it would not be a tempting target for thieves or those Home Guard goons she had heard so many horrible things about on the radio. “Mom, are you ready to go? I’m going to lock up every part of this house and board the front door up from the inside, maybe, hopefully, ah, who am I kidding,” Tom said to his elder. Lillian laughed and told him, “You ought to set the alarm system. So if they break in maybe they’ll get shot by one of the new goon squads.” Tom laughed and agreed as they finished loading everything into the truck. It was time to leave and get out of their home for so many years and pray they could make this trip in less than six hours. Sandy sat in the back seat, tears streaming down her face as they backed out of the garage, “Tom, please stop for a second. I want to pray for all of us.” Tom put the truck into park and turned around the best he could in his seat and said to his lovely wife, “Please don’t stop praying honey, they may ration that also the way things are going. We’re going to need it for this trip.”

February 26, 2010 11:45 A.M. Central Time, Pine Bluff, AR

“Padre, it’s time.” The guard called him out as he unlocked the holding cell the Pastor was shoved into with twenty other men to be released. It had started to get a bit ripe and this Home Guard escort seemed a lot less talkative and all business. Pastor Lewis spoke to him as they walked down the hallway, “Son, may I ask you a question?” The guard nodded his head “no” and stopped in front of a large steel door where he punched a code in and it opened where there was a restroom with a shower and a jump suit with”IP” stenciled on the back of it. “Sir, you are to shave, shower and do whatever else you need to within the next ten minutes. I will return to escort you to exit processing and transport from here in exactly ten minutes,” the guard said and he turned and walked back to the holding cell. The cold water was better than none and Pastor Lewis hurried through his shave and shower, desperate to warm up and get home. As he finished dressing and putting the white slip on Keds tennis shoes on, the guard banged on the door and before he could say a word the Pastor yelled out “Ready!” and opened the door.

The guard pointed him to the door and said to him, “Put this badge on and do not remove it unless instructed to.Go to tent nine on the left. Stay on the white line painted on the ground and follow the signs. Check in with the duty officer and give him this badge and they will finish processing you.” The Pastor nodded in acknowledgment, then stopped for a second and said to the guard, “I’ll be praying for you son.” He then opened the door to the blinding light of day and looked for a sign to tent number nine so he could get out of this place.

“Ah, tent nine,” the Pastor sighed. He opened the flap and was promptly admonished for not knocking first so he stepped back outside, shut the flap and knocked on a piece of wood where the words “KNOCK HERE FOR SERVICE” was hastily painted. “Come in now please,” the voice inside said as the Pastor entered the tent, “and sit down right over there.” The Pastor followed the instructions and looked at the young man with the buzz cut and the wire frame glasses. He did not think this man could possibly have been a military man, at least not a career man as he was barely five foot five and weighed less than some dogs he’s owned, or so he figured. “Pastor Lewis, front and center,” the little man yelled out. Pastor Lewis stood up, walked to the table and stood in front of the little man and then started to speak, “Sir, should I sit or…” The little man sneered and snapped back, “First, you’re not going to sit unless you say please. Second, you’re not going to be allowed to ask to sit unless you get behind the white line and stand inside that circle in front of the table. Lastly, if you even attempt to preach, say you’re blessing me or try to convince me that you’re just doing God’s work, I’ll send you back to the stockade where you can freeze with the other scum.” The Pastor was stunned by the bitterness from this man and felt compelled to speak as he stepped back into the circle, “You do not have to be hostile sir, I’ve been charged with no crime. What is your badge number, I feel you may need to be reported to your superiors for your horrible attitude towards your fellow Americans.”

That tripped the clerk’s trigger immediately and he started to turn red in the face and scream, “Look you zealot my name is 133974 and that’s all the crap you need to know. I know your type and you’re the reason this nation is a mess. You take your preaching ways and shut them up now or you’ll find trouble. I may not be an officer but I have the final say in the exit interview and I can make you believe in hell on earth.” The Pastor was biting his lip but now he felt compelled to speak, “Then send me back to the stockade. I would rather preach and pray with my fellow man as we freeze to death than live in your Godless world of sin and shame. God is on my side my little number man.”

The little clerk had heard enough,”GUARD! ESCORT THIS MAN BACK TO THE STOCKADE! The charge will be religious zealotry and attempting to proselytize to a government official. I will file the paperwork tomorrow or the next day if this animal is still alive.” The Pastor could not resist tweaking this enraged bureaucrat a little bit more as the guard grabbed his arm to pull him out of the tent, “I shall pray for you the entire time I am back there. If you’d like we can sing a hymn together if you visit me.”

Friday February 26, 2010 8:05 A.M. Mountain Time

Wendy settled in at her desk as a county clerk trying to figure out how the new rules would apply processing requests for building permits in the community. Now that she had to submit everything with five copies, one to her supervisor, one to the In-Process file, one to the Environmental Impact Division, one to the Federal District Office in Denver and one to the Home Guard Revenue Accounting Office (HGRAO), the job had become long, drawn out and worse time consuming. She sighed as she remembers just two weeks ago processing up to five permit requests per day but now because of the HGRAO she could submit the same application three or four times before it was accepted and the applicant would have no clue as to why so much information was needed.

The phone rang and it was the Human Resources Officer, Candy Steinburg according to the caller ID. Her calling puzzled Wendy as to why there would be any need to talk to her unless her husband needed help with a permit. “Wendy, can you come to my office,” Candy said in her cheerful voice, “and bring the Luttel file please. Wendy said of course and then proceeded to dig out the permit request which was in the pending file. This really bothered her as all this was concerning was a utility shed to be built three hundred yards from their home on their twenty acre farm just southeast of Colorado Springs.

“Hi Candy, you wanted to see the Luttel file?” Wendy said as she walked into the office. “Please sit down Wendy, we need to have a discussion about this application and a major issue which has arisen,” Candy said in a very firm tone of voice. As Wendy sat down a gentleman in a suit shut the door and locked it then drew the blinds to the office so there was complete privacy. “Ms. Listels, my name is Frank Luttel and you are in a world of trouble young lady. I am with the Department of Homeland Security, Economic Enforcement Division.” The man was tall and firm, intimidating poor Wendy with the fluorescent light shining off his balding head and gold wire frame glasses, huge furry eyebrows and crooked mouth, the almost perfect illustration of how to find a lawyer or accountant to intimidate the unprepared in her mind. “Sir, what in the world are you talking about and just what division is that? I’ve already spoken with agents from the OES and they handled my problem for me,” Wendy replied. Frank sat down on Candy’s desk, one leg dangling so as to give Wendy the impression this was an interrogation, “Yes, we are aware of that as is your boss and it is Candy who oversees these matters for government officials now. What if all of us behaved as you did Ms. Listels, what kind of example would that set?” Wendy turned pale and started to feel her eyes well up with tears but before she could say another word, Candy interrupted, “Wendy, stay calm, we’re going to solve this problem for you today once and for all.”

“Sir,” Wendy began, “I know this has to be your permit, but I’m not holding it up, I swear!” Frank bent over and grinned, “But you can speed it up. Here’s how it works. You contact HGRAO and tell them that this is now a second level priority permit for another HSA official. They will release it back to you with an approval within seven days. The same for the Environmental department and you should be good to go. The Federal Division is for record keeping only and that means I can start building in ten to twenty days, weather permitting.” Wendy leaned back in her chair stuttering, “But, but, I don’t have that kind of power. Do I? I am only a permit clerk.” Mr. Luttel stood up and spoke softly, “Government has always worked this way. You make the calls, you get it done. If I have a permit in seven days, your criminal record is expunged as it never happened. I can’t refund the money but if you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. And Candy here has agreed to hold the entry into your permanent record for seven days if you pull this off.” Wendy was exasperated at the sudden stroke of good fortune and then realized what he said and turned angry almost immediately raising her voice and staring at Candy, “What criminal record? I didn’t commit a crime!” Frank pulled a folder off of Candy’s desk holding his hand as if to silence the H.R. director and putting his stern tone back into play, “Ms. Listels you were charged and convicted of Merchant Harassment and Filing a False Violations Report. When you agreed to pay the fines, that was an admission of guilt. You can do this my way or Candy’s way which will involve disciplinary action and retraining.” Wendy turned pale again and looked at Candy and Frank and sighed, “Your way does sound better. I’ll get right to work on it.”

Chapter XVIII: The Boxankle Adventure (The Day the Dollar Died Series)

by John Galt


February 26, 2010 12:07 P.M. Eastern Time

The hazards of the roads in this portion of Georgia were well known to Tom but when you add spotty ice and check points with trigger happy deputies or terrified residents, the adventure was something to behold. As Tom made the left turn off of Barnesville Road and on to Van Buren he knew that he was not in Kansas any more. “Honey, please keep an eye to the rear for any trouble,” Tom said firmly to his wife, “I don’t want to be surprised by some yahoo coming out of his driveway firing away at us.” Sandy did not know how to take his comments so she started to shake in the back seat, which grabbed the attention of Lillian, “Child, get it together!” she yelled at her daughter. Sandy was startled and yelled back, “But Momma, this is insane, this is America, not some third world country where you can’t move around!” Lillian shook her head and glanced at Tom who was driving slowly on the curvy Johnstonville Road now, trying to insure that nothing would attract attention as they approached the I-75 overpass. “Tom, maybe I should move to the back seat,” Lillian said in a subdue voice, “I think that you can handle the front view and it might be better if she sat beside you.” Tom nodded and replied, “Let’s get past the I-75 interchange first. That’s the only spot in this trip that I worry about as who knows what kind of checkpoints they have set up or if the government is even functioning down here.” The shock of what Tom and everyone in the vehicle saw stunned them for the rest of the day. The interchange was basically closed off as they drove by, with pancaked cars, probably from the cash for clunkers idiocy Tom figured, piled up at the top of each exit ramp with barbed wire just thrown around the cars to slow down meddlers.

The pause just east of English Road gave Tom a chance to take care of business while the girls rotated positions and then hear his wife yell out while he was behind the tree, “What if I have to go?” Tom banged his head against the pine tree and then finished up, walking back towards the vehicle shaking his head and yelling back, “Honey, we have no shortage of trees between here and your Mom’s choice of destination. If you think I’m stopping somewhere that has heated bathrooms and attendants you chose the wrong airline sweetie!” Sandy turned red in the face at this response and yelled at both Tom and her mother who was grinning like a Cheshire cat at Tom’s comments, “Y’all might think that’s funny but I don’t.” Tom got very business like after she vented and looked her in the eye as he approached her, “Sweetie, you had best go now or shut up. It is too dangerous to stop too many times and to be honest I will feel better when we get to our final destination.” Sandy winced, grabbed a napkin out of the center console and ran like a doe to a tree fifty feet away from the road. It was a strange feeling to her, being pampered all of her life in the comforts of home and her mom felt sorry for her. Lillian grabbed a wad of napkins from the same console and looked at Tom as she said, “Well, I guess I had best teach her some damned reality about the woods, the country and nature.” With that Lillian waddled up into the woods to console her somewhat terrified daughter who had never really had a rough day in her life.

As everyone piled into the rear of the SUV, Tom asked in a very firm tone of voice, “Did either of you see any movement around us? I think it is all clear, but I want to make sure.” Lillian piped right up, “All clear son, don’t slow down now and for God’s sake do not turn the engine off ever again. What if it doesn’t start up?” Tom turned red with shame, “Mom, you’re right. In fact I’ll stay with the truck and we’ll keep the gun in here in case we have to stop again, that way we have a place to move back to, sort of a Fort Apache should we get in trouble.” Lillian laughed out loud, “Okay Chuck Bronson, you kick butt and lead the way.” With that bit of levity Tom hit the gas and they sped towards the intersection west of Juliette, their next concern on this twisted road to a new start, or so they thought.

The trip proceeded normally without a soul in sight until they approached the intersection of Boxankle Road and Johnstonville Road where Lillian started screaming at Tom from the back seat, “For God’s sake do not stop and do not act stupid!” Tom noticed two vehicles about four hundred yards north of the intersection with men guarding the road armed and pointing guns down the highway at him. On the south side of the road, Lillian saw three burned out cars blocking the road with a sign that said “Nobody Thru” hastily spray painted on a piece of plywood leaning against what appeared to be a burned out Georgia State Patrol car. Tom did not hesitate. “Screw the speed limit, hang on!” he helled to his wife and mother-in-law and he gunned it up to sixty miles per hour to get through that area so as to let the locals know he respected their warnings and to insure that it would be hard to get a good shot at his SUV.

The road continued to wind until Tom noticed a new problem, way ahead and he slowed down, grabbing the map from his petrified wife and looking for options. “What’s wrong now honey?” Sandy asked shaking from the front seat. Lillian looked to her rear as they slowed down and tapped Tom on the shoulder, “Do it,” was all she said and Tom did not hesitate. With no warning he swerved to the right down Cochran Road, an old dirt shortcut the locals took and barreled down towards US 23. “Why did you do that? You’re freaking me out!” Sandy yelled. Tom replied, “That’s a major intersection up ahead and my bet is that we would get shut down by the National or Home Guard goons. I don’t want to gamble now, not this close to getting to safety. We only have one more interstate junction to deal with and from there we should make it to your Momma’s relatives in one piece.”

As they turned hard on to US Highway 23 south, Tom noted a lack of activity around the intersection in his rear view mirror. “Mom, keep an eye out for local crazies pulling out behind us. I’m really worried about the lack of check points on these country roads,” Tom said. After another hour and twenty minutes of weaving in and out of country roads and avoiding small towns, Tom, who was pretty much silent just listening to Radio America via WSB and focusing on the highway finally piped up, “Mom, it’s decision time. Do we go through the Dudley intersection or Haskins Crossing?” Lillian looked at a map and decided to throw caution into the wind, “Tom, Dudley looks like the perfect place to build a road block or seize folks on the road who do not know what is going on. Let’s cut under I-16 via Haskins, but don’t slow down and let’s pray it is like the roads up north. It is going to get dark soon.” Tom hammered on the side road, cutting over to the path that would take them under I-16 and much to his relief and his mother-in-law’s the exit ramps were blocked off with old cars and barbed wire again. “We’re living well Mom,” Tom yelled from the front seat, “let’s pray our luck continues.”

The rocky road finally put them on the final approach to McRae without any more events. With just over half a tank of gas left, they motored south on US 441 and 319 in Laurens county without incident until they hit a small intersection at Fountain Road and there it was, the first check point of the day. As they slowed down the Humvee they saw with the flashing blue light on top had a very unfamiliar insignia to them, a black shield with the “Home Guard” insignia which made them very paranoid. A voice suddenly bellowed out, “DRIVER, SLOW DOWN AND COME TO A COMPLETE STOP TEN YARDS FROM THIS POINT. NO FUNNY BUSINESS. HANDS FOR ALL PERSONNEL IN THE VEHICLE WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!” Tom complied and told his mother-in-law to put the gun and its holster under the seat. “They’ll find it you know,” Lillian replied. Tom took a deep breath and said, “Yes, but at least they just can’t shoot us for carrying your gun now can they?”

The SUV crept to a stop with Tom, Sandy and Lillian all putting their hands in plain sight where the Home Guard troopers could see them. Tom had already rolled the window down when the guardsman approached and yelled out, “Good afternoon sir. What can we do for you?” The trooper was a portly fellow but looked as if he had been in the military at some point because he was all business. “Sir, I need your D-Card, driver’s license and transportation pass.” Tom looked at Lilian somewhat puzzled and shrugged his soldiers as if to play along and handed his D-Card and license over with a polite, “Here ya go sir.” The trooper was not amused and snapped back, “Where’s your transport pass sir? I know you heard me clearly.” Tom looked over at Lillian who glanced down as if to indicate she wanted to reach under the seat and grab the gun but Tom nodded as if to say no. “Sir, I’m not going to repeat myself, either produce that transport pass or step out of the vehicle,” the Home Guard Sergeant said. Tom looked at his wife and mother-in-law, shrugged and said to the trooper, “Well, I guess I’m stepping out. America used to let you drive to a family member’s house without a freaking pass but I guess you guys created another bogus law while all hell was breaking loose. I’m stepping out of the car now, please don’t shoot me.”

The Sergeant was not amused. He grabbed his mike to his radio and said, “Bill, we’ve got another wise ***. Get up here to help cover the occupants.” Another trooper emerged from the woods with an M-16 and an attitude also yelling out, “Everyone in the vehicle stand pat, stand down, or else!” Lillian looked at her daughter and sighed, “Army rejects.” Tom was about to say something as the other trooper came down when a Laurens County Sheriff’s car pulled up to the scene and a tall gentleman who appeared to be the county sheriff stepped out. “I’m Sheriff Will Atkins, what have these people done soldier?” he yelled out as he stepped out of the vehicle. The Sergeant did not even hesitate, “Driver, put your hands on the hood of the vehicle and spread him. Private if he moves, shoot him, I’m going to square this off with the local law. We have jurisdiction here Sheriff, you need to move on.”

Will Atkins was not one of those Atlanta law enforcement types who would surrender his legal authority to a bunch of Washington outsiders and today was no different. “Son, you had best pull it back a notch, we dang sure do not put up with this attitude down here,” Atkins said to the Sergeant. The Sergeant would have none of it and turned red in the face, “Don’t you even think about giving me any of this jurisdiction crap you rednecks talk about down here. We are in charge of all security and these people do not have a pass to be here. Hell, they do not even live here. They are snooping for trouble or are runners. Now you need to bug out and go eat some donuts or chase a chicken or something.” Sheriff Atkins had had enough after two days of the Federals trampling over his authority. He told his deputy to cover the car with Tom and his family while he asked the two Home Guard soldiers to calm down and step behind their Humvee so they could discuss this like professionals. “Don’t worry, Deputy Arnold will cover them. They ain’t going anywhere,” Atkins said as the three men walked behind the Humvee.

Tom was still pasted to the hood of his SUV, terrified as to what was coming up with all of the adrenaline flowing and the guns pulled everywhere but in his hands to defend his family. Lillian was glaring at him from the back seat of his vehicle and she looked scared for the first time since he had known her. Sandy had both hands on the dash of their truck and tears were streaming down her face as she felt that her husband was at great risk. The deputy was a true professional and as the men ducked behind him to talk behind the Home Guard SUV, he spoke, “Everyone stay calm, this isn’t unusual. We have new procedures and we’re all working our way through it.”

The silence seemed to last forever to Tom. He heard the voices behind the Humvee talking but could not hear what they were saying. “What if they are going to kill us all?” he thought to himself. Suddenly, without warning, four shots rang out.

Sheriff Atkins walked out from behind the Humvee and yelled out at his Deputy, “Give me hand putting these clowns in the front seat. Take their ammo and radios and we’ll push this off the road and burn it. I’m not putting up with any more crap from these clowns any longer. Laurens County will not submit.” The Deputy yelled back, “Hell yes!” He then looked over a Tom who was sweating profusely now in the forty degree weather and said, “Go get in your truck. As soon as we push this off, you git and I mean fast.” Sheriff Atkins chimed in, “We’re sorry folks that you had to see this. These guys have been bullying the locals for three days now and I’ve had enough. We’re going to take a stand. Just get out of here and fast as I’m rounding up volunteers. And watch out if you’re heading to McRae, there’s a large group of them just north of town.” Tom took his hands off the hood and started to cry a bit as he yelled out, “God Bless you sir and thank you sir for your bravery. I had never seen it so bad the last three days either. Atlanta is a hell hole and we just wanted to escape to safety.” Sheriff Atkins looked back at him and said, “Son, you don’t know the half of it. A world of hurt is coming to our nation, I just pray we survive the next thirty days.”

Tom put a pair of gloves on and helped the Sheriff and his deputy push the truck off into the drainage ditch off the side of the road. As he started to hop into his truck the deputy handed Tom a 9 mm Beretta off of the body of the dead Sergeant and two magazines. “Don’t load it until we can’t see you or the Sheriff will shoot you,” he said, “this is to give you a fighting chance to make it down to your relative’s house.” Tom nodded, thanked the deputy and handed the weapon and magazines over to Lillian, “She’s my gunfighter,” Tom said with a smile. “She’s a tough lookin’ hombre,” the deputy said smiling back, “now y’all take care and get out of here while we finish up here.” Tom cranked the SUV up and hit the gas peeling out of the area as fast as he could. In the rear view mirror he saw what Lillian was staring at, a Humvee burning on the side of the road.

“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” Lillian said. Tom replied, “Yup, and this aint’ no country for old women or men. We’re in it now, neck deep. Thank God we’re less than half an hour away. Let’s take back roads until we get there.”

Chapter XIX: No Sharing Allowed (The Day The Dollar Died Series)


by John Galt


February 26, 2010 4:54 P.M. Mountain Time

Wendy was exasperated. After six hours of being put on hold on the telephone, when it worked, and yelling at clerks like herself at various levels of the bureaucratic tree, she thinks that all of the proper approvals have finally been received and was going to try to get some peace so she could sleep well tonight. She pressed the number on her phones and as soon as the ever friendly voice spoke on the other end of the phone Wendy piped up, “Ms. Steinburg, can I see you before I go? I have an update from the meeting we had this morning.” Candy sounded pleased on the phone and in her ever cheerful voice replied, “Of course Wendy, but let’s make it quick. I have a one hour drive and curfew time is approaching!” Wendy grabbed the file, all of her notes and swallowed the last of her warm Diet Pepsi and ran down the hallway, pausing for no chit-chat and knowing her mission was to clean her record up so she could go shopping without being harassed ever again. She knocked on the door and was pleased to see Candy open it for her saying, “Please Wendy, sit down and calm down. I know you’ve had a full day,” and with that she shut the door and locked it.

Wendy took a deep breath, sat down in the same chair she sat in hours earlier and exhaled. “Ma’am, I’ think I have this resolved,” Wendy spoke slowly so as to be quite clear in this conversation, “the Denver office of FEMA and HSA assures me that I will have an approval on my fax machine or email in the morning. The Colorado state department head said that they would put a security over ride on the request and approve the permit without question and a courier would shuttle it down in the morning with our daily mail. I do not know what else I can do and I hope this does not get me in trouble with my department heads. I’m scared.” Candy stepped out from behind her desk and sat down on the edge, less than a few feet from Wendy and tried to reassure her, “Ms. Listels, let me warn you and make you feel better at the same time. This morning I was about to issue a written warning to you for your actions if you did not cooperate with Frank. He’s an important man in the bureaucratic chain of command and our boss said that we have to cooperate with him at all cost to insure that we continue to receive proper funding or are not superseded by a Federal agency to replace us. You have done your state and your nation a great service. But I must warn you, you will be watched for weeks to come so do everything by the letter of the law and if you are not sure, please, don’t act, ask.”

As Candy put her hand on Wendy’s wrist and squeezed it so as to convey the seriousness of the situation, she winced and fell back into the chair to take in what has Candy just said. “Ms. Steinburg, if you don’t mind, I need to find out something,” Wendy began, “if it is a problem, I’ll go away. I just need to know why my Safeway where I guess I got into so much trouble was so well stocked. I talked to another employee here who lives in Fountain and they said their store shelves are stripped bare. I don’t get it?” Candy stood up, grabbed some gum and started chomping away as she settled into her chair, knowing full well the answer would disturb Wendy if she gave her the spin or the truth. “Ms. Listels,” Candy began, “for the record, the food and groceries are being distributed on what is known as a priority schedule or as-needed basis. Those communities which are deemed as unsafe for resupply or outside the safety zones are getting materials as escorts permit. Now off the record, and I swear you’ll never know what hit you if you repeat this, off the record, materials are being assigned based on population and location next to military depots. Thankfully for you the United States Air Force Academy is just outside of town plus a major university. Otherwise you would be like those rednecks in Pueblo who are getting ration limits only and MRE’s as we can get them there via truck. As far as we are concerned in this community we can not share our resources because the government says so. And with only one week into what appears to be a six month crisis according to the bureaucracy in Washington.”

Wendy was stunned. “You mean to tell me, that we have it better because of the soldiers and no other reason?” she asked in amazement. “Yes, Ms. Listels, that is the truth,” Candy began, ” and you have to know that they will keep the soldiers and bureaucrats happy first so to keep things running and secure. If you say a word about this outside this office I’ll pick up the phone though and you’ll be smashing rocks with the other malcontents. Just go along, get along and keep doing your job and you’ll get ahead young lady. The minute you cross a superior though, God help you. You won’t know what hit you.” Wendy’s eyes started to redden as she wanted to scream, yell, and vent but then her common sense, what little she had, grabbed a hold of her and she politely answered back, “Thank you Ms. Steinburg, you’ve solved the riddle for me.”

February 26, 2010 11:09 P.M. Central Time, in Southern Illinois

The darkness was getting to everyone but the road was slow going due to the horrid conditions in Wisconsin and around Rockford and that created a major delay in the convoy which was crawling sough on I-57. “Convoy exit at Marion in fifteen to thirty minutes. All units check in on channel thirty-one with convoy dispatch. This is security leader Bravo Victor One, over,” the C.B. blared out on channel thirty-four. As Mike tuned his radio down three notches to confirm receipt of the instructions he could not help but notice that he was passing through one of the interchanges of an old shortcut through the country in West Frankfort, IL. The town did not look the same though as the exit ramps was marked with plywood signs saying “FEDERALS NOT WELCOME” and “KILL ALL THE BANKERS” nailed over the green signs which marked the exits. He also noticed big rigs with flat tires blocking the exit ramp southbound and a sign spray painted on the back that said “NO EXIT HERE” which really bothered him as there were some good chow places in that small town.

“Unit one-zero-four confirming receipt of last message,” Mike uttered into the mike then immediately he switched channels to a local channel, twenty-seven, to see if anyone was talking about what was happening. “Did you see the size of that convoy?” the voice uttered out on the lower sideband channel twenty-seven, “there has to be over one hundred trucks and at least five Strykers and dozens of Humvees!” The excited voice on the radio either did not care they would be heard by the authorities or wanted them to be known that they were being watched. Mike gambled because he knew these types were not ready for any deviation from the rules, “Break locals, break, info needed,” Mike uttered on to the local channel. There was dead silence for what seemed like an hour as Mike and the convoy crawled south of town at forty miles per hour when a voice came back, “Convoy or is this another nut?” Mike knew he only had time for one question before the radio went nuts so he worded it carefully, “Do you folks have enough food or are you being rationed?” The radio went silent again and mike tuned up quickly to the convoy channel to see if any chatter had begun about the unauthorized contact but it was just business as usual with the Stryker team talking to the lead vehicles. As Mike tuned it back down to the local channel a voice came on the air yelling, “You bastards! We haven’t seen a truck in seven days and the governor is trying to starve us out. Who the heck cares? Is that one of you goons in the armor taking time to taunt us as the food passes us by again?”

Mike knew better than to respond. But he was considering what to do next. It would appear that the plans his local friend, Deputy Monckton, had warned him about years ago might just be coming true. Where food was routed to the major cities and the rural folks left to fend for themselves. The thought of forcing people out of the small towns to comply with the D.C. planners angered Mike and he reached into his center console to make sure the pistol was still there, ready to. As he closed the console he noticed he had the radio on the wrong channel and switched it back quickly. “Unit one-oh-four are you there? What the heck are you doing in there?” the voice blared out. Mike grabbed the handset and started to key down when a spotlight shined in his face from the passenger side of his vehicle. One of the Strykers had sped up and a spot light was beaming on Mike as he tried to reply, “Dangit, turn the spot light off, I’m here, I had the squelch up. I was waiting to see if that noise I had heard north of town was my wife calling on the cell phone. You boys need to calm down or cut back on the greenies.” The voice squawked back to him, “You need to keep that squelch down sir. We needed to advise you that our exit is up ahead. We will fuel, grab some grub and whatever else we need to press on for delivery in the morning. This is Unit one-one, out!”

The blare of Radio America on WOWO was getting old for Mike but at least the exit they were approaching would give him a chance to stretch out, fuel up and get ready for the wild day ahead. “This is WOWO with an announcement just released by the Governor of Iowa that the state of emergency for the state and citizens of Iowa would be discontinued effective at midnight Monday, March 1, 2010 with the approval of and assistance of the Federal Governor, Senator Tom Harkin appointed to help our great state with the transition. More news in the morning as it becomes available and we will update all of our Des Moines’ residents as more information becomes available. The President will also be making another historic announcement on Sunday night, February 28 at eight p.m. Eastern Time to address the nation’s concerns as there has been a lot of misinformation about the state of emergency and alleged problems some citizens have claimed to report. Now more of Radio America and the news you need for all the truckers and listeners in the upper Mid West! Congrats to all of the citizens of Iowa for being cooperative and not allowing the rabble to ruin our patriotic history!”

Mike wanted to shoot his radio or vomit but he was torn. In just over six hours he was supposed to deliver to a mystery distribution center in western Tennessee and there was no guarantee that a new convoy to get him home would be established. His Qualcomm unit had become an information only source with no outbound communications possible and the goons with the fifty calibers had insured that talking to locals would be a dangerous proposition. As the trucks slowed down and the brake lights lined up as far as the eye could see, Mike knew that he would be confronted by the operational leader from the Home Guard unit assigned to the convoy about his lax concerns on radio communications. The question was though, would he have the chutzpa to confront him face to face alone or would he bring lots of guys with guns to intimidate him or try to force him off of his truck? Mike thought about this for a second and decided to not take a chance and took the pistol out of his center console and slid it into the upper inside pocket of his coat. “Screw them,” he thought to himself, “if they make a play they are not taking my truck so I can not get home.”

As Mike waited for the rookie in front of him to learn how to back into a tight space, he just lost it and hit the air horn and grabbed the microphone and yelled into the radio, “Rookie, go back to driving for the circus or park the damned thing. Holy smokes I could have put five rigs into the hole by now. Get it in gear son!” The rookie replied back with a stream of obscenities and reminded Mike that this was for official convoy business only to which Mike replied, “Yeah, but at your pace even the Spam will spoil. Get a grip ROOK!” As the rookie finally parked his rig, Mike began to back in when the horrific and unmistakable sound of metal hitting metal was heard near the interstate. Mike turned the C.B. up and listened as he parked his truck, “Send Medivac to Marion, IL immediately. Stryker has lost control and rolled over on a Humvee due to the ice. Send medics here immediately. Exit 548, I-57, do not delay, multiple injuries. One dead. Over.” Mike shrugged his shoulder and thought to himself, “Hmmm, might be able to sneak a shower in while everyone watches the circus.”

With that bit of information Mike casually walked against the flow of curious onlookers into the truck stop and went straight to the front desk where an exhausted young lady cut him off before he said one word, “Convoy, right? What do you need? Fuel ticket, here. Shower ticket, here. Food ticket, here.” The young lady handed three red cards with the “HG CONVOY” lettering at the top and Mike proceeded to the lockers where only two other souls had ventured. “Ugh, you thought the same thing I did,” the voice on the other side of the room said. Mike replied, “Yup, I’ve seen wrecks before so why miss an opportunity to clean up since we may not get to for another week the way things are going. Did you hear WOWO tonight?” The other driver said he didn’t and Mike filled him in on the news. “Well, that doesn’t do me any good. I haven’t been home in a month and after we unload in Memphis I am tempted to run the Home Guard roadblocks and head for the Southern Zone.” Mike looked puzzled and just had to ask, “What the heck is this zone you are talking about? I’m from upper Minnesota and the news is pretty sparse up there as you could imagine.” The driver started spinning wild tales about thousands of locals rising up and attacking Federal installations in southern Arkansas, northern Louisiana, and western Mississippi. Mike grabbed his towel, slid into his shower shoes and his kit as he put the padlock on the locker door before he replied. “Son, I’ve been around this nation a dozen times plus, and for some reason I just can not believe that anyone is fighting against this idiocy. Either you’re a Fed trying to find someone to bust or a troublemaker but if you are telling the truth,” Mike paused, took a swig of bottled water then continued,” I pray you make it home okay. You have no idea what this situation entails and if your own people will view you as a friendly or the enemy now either way. So you had best have more than one plan other than pulling into your driveway and patting the hound dog on the head.” Mike cleaned up, got dressed and headed over to the diner where there were plenty of seats but little service. He wondered if the wreck on the interstate had everyone’s attention or if more stupidity was in store for the early morning as the fiasco that this convoy was turning into would begin to filter into every stop, every radio communications and every waking moment until this stupid load of canned meat was off of his truck.

Just when Mike thought everything would be resuming some sense of normalcy a waitress approached with a tray and set it down in front of him. “Here’s your coffee, two NutraSweet, one fruit bowl, one quarter cup of Eggbeater scramble, one piece of wheat toast, one strip of turkey bacon and one turkey sausage link, and one half cup of oatmeal. I hope you enjoy your meal sir,” she paused and grabbed the ticket off of the table, “And is there anything else we can get for you?” Mike looked at the table, the stunned driver across from him and back up at the waitress, “Uh, yes Ma’am, I didn’t order this crap. What kind of food is this?” She shook here head, “Old man, I knew you’d say that. It’s what your commander ordered for everyone. You can take it or go hungry, we don’t care because we don’t get tips from these government convoys anyways, just harassed.” Mike stared her down and said sternly, “Yup, I’m an old man. But I didn’t feed my chickens bullcrap before I lopped their heads off. Did the commander put you up to this or what?” Before Mike could get a reply the second in command walked in and started his routine after hearing the exchange, “Mr. Elmendorff, you can shut your yap now please and that goes for any other drivers. We will not have the morale of this convoy run down by malcontents! We have determined that due to rationing the government experts on nutrition formulas for daily caloric intake will be sufficient based on what we feed you. So you men can all accept the crappy situation we are in, thank the waitresses and enjoy your meals or starve and we’ll find a replacement driver and leave you behind when you are too weak to carry on.” Mike just started eating and then spoke up, “Pass the hot sauce please.” With a major dousing of Crystal sauce and black pepper the meal was edible. Yet Mike knew this feud with him and the commanders was not over. He wondered if something back home had caught their attention or if his service record made them nervous. Either way he knew he could never leave his gun behind because the soldiers of this new Home Guard were not the type he felt he could trust, and he sensed and heard the same from many other veterans in the convoy.

As they finished their meals, Mike and several other drivers went to the break area to watch some television and check the news according to the government this early morning, the second in command called out, “Mike Elmendorff, can I see you for a second please sir.” Mike looked at the other drivers, shrugged his shoulder and snapped out, “I guess I’m in trouble. Off to the Principal’s office I go.” The other drivers cracked up but Mike was not smiling and could feel the anger building inside of that short tempered brain of his. The second escorted Mike around the corner and said, “Sir, due to your military experience we are moving you up to second in the convoy behind the commander’s Humvee and the decoy truck. PFC Andrew will ride shotgun with you and help to protect your vehicle and your life. Just do everything he says and you will be fine.” Mike glanced at the twenty-two year old black man and almost rolled his eyes when he decided to ask, “So how much combat experience do you have son?” PFC Andrews replied, “None sir, and I hope to not get any.” Mike shook his head and asked another one, “Well, how much military experience do you have? Training or field time?” The PFC looked down at the floor, “I have ninety days Home Guard training in basic and two weeks training in urban warfare. This is my thirty-ninth day in the field. If you don’t mind my asking, how much experience do you have Mike?” Mike was taken aback by the casual attitude and sudden use of his first name by a complete stranger by someone in uniform, something he was never allowed to do when he was in the service. “Son,” Mike started to talk in a very slow, deliberate, almost controlled anger manner, “I was killing gooks in the Iron Triangle when your daddy was a wet dream. And I was knee deep in blood in Cambodia during the Mayaguez incident. So trust me, I’ve killed more folks and had more rounds fired at me than you’ve could ever practice with. The PFC was not impressed and simply replied, “Never heard of any of those places. I guess that was one of those police actions that didn’t matter that much to our teachers.”

Mike wanted to shove the PFC’s shotgun someplace where he thought it would do more good but he thought better of it and simply said, “Let’s go. It’s time to saddle up and this is going to be the longest four hour plus drive of my life, so let’s get it over with.”

Chapter XX: Help Wanted or Else (The Day the Dollar Died Series)


By John Galt

February 17, 2010

For those new readers, not paying attention to dates or times, the following below is FICTION…….

February 27, 2010 03:26 A.M. Central Time

The radio on the PFC’s vest blared out “Blytheville is a no go. Blytheville is a no go. All units take I-155 to Dyersburg. Follow command vehicle.” Mike looked over at the PFC and turned the radio blaring country music from WSM down and asked, okay PFC, what is this all about? This route could add another two hours to the trip that should already be over and we took four hours to go just over a hundred miles already. Is there something I should know about up ahead.” PFC Andrews was wide eyed and nervous and put the shotgun up on the dash of the big rig and replied, “Nothing you have to worry about sir, just follow the vehicle in front of you it is all under control.” Before Mike could say a word in response, a Stryker went roaring by, guns level towards the road ahead and Mike knew that action was probably pending. “Uh, son, that Stryker didn’t pass us to buy ice cream up ahead,” Mike started to say, “and if you don’t take that shotgun off of my dash and hold it properly at your side with the safety ON, I will make you eat it.” The PFC looked even more horrified and looked at Mike and slowly grabbed the weapon, replying with a soft “Yessir” so as to acknowledge Mike’s authority on this issue. “Now you can tell me what is going on or I’ll find out when we turn up ahead as someone is going to leak the information at some point,” Mike said, as he started shifting up as the convoy sped up finally. “Sir, don’t repeat a word of this. The terrorists have been blowing bridges in Arkansas and setting vehicles on fire to block the roads,” the scared PFC said,”and the ambushes have been brutal in Arkansas and Louisiana. The word among the Home Guard is that they don’t take prisoners.”

Mike knew what that meant but didn’t want to upset this kid any more than he was already, especially since he obviously did not know how to handle a gun in a real combat situation. “Son, if we get into trouble, just give me the shotgun, I’ll know what to do.” The PFC’s eyes wheeled back at Mike in horror and he just nodded. As they approached the exit to I-155 there were Strykers and Bradleys blocking the road southbound and up on the overpasses around I-55 which gave Mike the impression he had been suspecting all along, that there would be no cake walk for this kind of government manifesto to take over every square mile of this nation. The slow lumbering convoy took the turn to the east and headed now towards Dyersburg, Tennessee and where Mike knew the opportunity for further ambushes would be everywhere on a U.S. Highway and that made him worry that this detour was too well planned by whoever wanted the contents of this convoy or to just disrupt the government plans.

The turn through Dyersburg was uneventful as U.S. Highway 51 was relatively peaceful as the long convoy transitioned southbound. The entire turn took two hours but for the life of him, Mike could not figure out why someone did not take advantage of an ambush along this road, especially near town. Then the whirring sounds and thudding vibrations generated by helicopter blades hit the truck as a Blackhawk zoomed over his truck going north over the entire line of trucks. Mike looked over a the kid and said, “Chill, we have air cover.” The PFC was nervous and did not know what to say other than, “What’s air cover do for us? I don’t get it.” The laughter that burst out of Mike’s mouth intimidated and angered his passenger but he had to calm down and explain, “Son, it means that there is no way anybody would be stupid enough to attack us now. If they are flying with us all the way to Memphis, we’re in the clear and you can take a nap or play Nintendo or whatever the heck you do when you’re not needed.” The PFC’s shoulders slumped and he sighed as he said, “I’m always needed. The President said the Guard will be needed for years to come.”

The road into Memphis was uneventful now. The patrols were overly sufficient, as the sun rose in the east, the convoy dragged into an area of Memphis Mike was not familiar with on the north side of town. The citizen’s band radio started to come alive as the signs for I-269 approached, “Perishible units two-oh-one through three-seven-five, take the I-269 exit with your escorts. Non-perishable units follow the lead unit to the Memphis Motorsports Park off Victory Lane. Repeat, perishable units two-oh-one through three-seven-five, take the I-269 exit with your escorts. Non-perishable units follow the lead unit to the Memphis Motorsports Park off Victory Lane.” Mike did not understand the instructions as there were no perishable shipments out of Austin thus he concluded that another convoy was hooked up with fresh meat to insure that the city received adequate provisions. The thing that bothered him more than anything though was that he had a reefer unit and they did not ask him to head to one of the meat houses and load up, thus wasting some weight and fuel that could have been used to haul more weight from Austin on a dry van. Mike buried his suspicions as he slowed to a stop at the makeshift guard post at the entrance to Victory Lane and the airport.

“Sir, I will need to see your D-Card, CDL, and manifest. PFC, please note the time and hand your pass over, you are relieved of guard duties and ordered to the duty shack at the north west corner of the race track.” The guard was firm, business like and obviously someone who had actually served in the services unlike PFC Fluff N’Stuff, which impressed Mike enough to give him a “Yessir” as he handed his documents over. The guard then issued instructions, “Sir, please follow the ATV in front of this location to your drop location. From there you can report to the duty shack also for further instructions.” Mike took his personal identification back, leaving the bill of lading with the guard and followed the ATV to an area on the infield where dozens of trailers were already parked, some with reefer units running, others just sitting there like a typical warehouse arrangement. The ATV zoomed out and upon reaching a vacant space, signaled Mike to back it in and drop it, and requested that he head over to the duty shack. Mike acknowledged, then pulled into the vast parking area in what appeared to be a recently cleared field with fresh gravel spread everywhere and Humvees with the black Home Guard insignia emblazoned on all of the doors and pennants around the small building. PFC Andrews hopped out of the truck and there in front of the duty shack was Sergeant Al Wilsheski smiling away who yelled out at Mike, “I told you back in Minnesota old salt, don’t push the Home Guard.” Mike was getting angry by this time but felt compelled to reply, “Yeah, but I didn’t hear you nor did I mess with you. Your commander is just a piece of crap and so are you.” The PFC slammed the door, flipped Mike off and walked into the duty shack and Mike responded by dumping the air out of his truck’s system to add a little dust into the air so as to remind these clowns that he still held the wheel. His anger was obvious as he pulled into a parking space and he was itching for a fight after over twenty-four hours on the road without rest and being bossed around by a bunch of amateurs in his mind.

After parking his truck and shutting it down, Mike locked it up and hid his pistol up under the dash, not wanting to create a scene inside the area where apparently a new thug force was headquartered. As Mike brushed off the guard at the door who tried to slow him down, he pushed the door in and uttered an obscenity then yelled, “Who’s in charge of this circus?” Mike was stunned to see the Lieutenant from Minnesota show his sorry face and announce, “I am still in charge CIVLIAN. What do you need?” Lieutenant Smith meant all business as he had an armed escort as his side and despite being in “his” headquarters for the moment, was still wearing his Kevlar vest and sidearm. “Mr. Elmendorff, we can have a civil discussion,” the Lieutenant started, “or we can have it from the stockade. You have been under suspicion since we left so let’s be frank and up front with each other. From my perspective, you’re on thin ice, very thin black ice to be exact as have many of your cohorts on this run. What do you need and let’s conclude business now.” Mike was taken aback and glared at the guard to his side and the cadre of others who were starting to encroach on his location, “Mr. Smith, you have my trailer dropped out here in a field of an old race track. I simply want to know when it will be empty and when I can have it back so I can head home to my wife and take care of her and when and what I will be paid with as soon as possible.” The Lieutenant grabbed his Blackberry out of his holster and requested the clipboard from one of his subordinates. As he keyed something into his phone he scrolled, sighed and looked up with a reply, “Right now, your trailer is scheduled to be unloaded on March eleventh at four in the afternoon. You are welcome to work locally for the government delivering other trailers until that time and you will be compensated fairly.” As he finished the sentence he motioned one of the Home Guard soldiers to move behind Mike, which of course, did not escape his attention. “And if I elect to not work for you,” Mike began,” just what do I do for two weeks waiting on MY equipment to be offloaded?” The Lieutenant chuckled, “It is not your equipment until it is empty. Right now, you and the trailer are government property. If you elect to leave our supervision you are on your own. You can proceed home, and good luck with that, or you can work for us and come back on the scheduled date and your trailer will be empty within four hours of that scheduled time.”

Mike glared deeply at the officer and the PFC rider he had who was hiding behind him now, shotgun in hand. “I’ll be heading to the truck stop in West Memphis. You have my number. Call me when it is empty,” Mike began, “and if I don’t get a call on March eleventh, I’ll be back here madder than I am now.” The Lieutenant acknowledged the conversation, gave Mike a fuel and shower voucher and said, “Good luck, I know you’ll be back to work as everyone needs the money.” Mike walked back to his truck, unlocked it and took a deep breath. He knew the decision he made might well be the last of his life of any major consequence and gently banged his head against the side door of his truck as the sun warmed the Memphis air. The steps up into the cab seemed heavier than ever but Mike knew he was left without any choices but to do what was best for his wife, even if she had no clue what it meant for their future. As he headed south on U.S. Highway 51, his heart felt heavier and heavier. The Petro truck stop in West Memphis never looked better than ever, as a beacon to the last outpost of freedom in his mind. He topped the fuel tanks off and parked his rig, completely exhausted from the caffeine and adrenaline rush of the past day. “Mike, is that you?” a voice in the parking lot rang out. Mike glanced over and only knew the driver by his first name and handle, or so he thought, “Boghound? Bill, is that you?” Mike asked in amazement. “Yeah, it’s me,” Bill replied, “they snookered you into this nonsense too I see.” Mike look stunned at his comment, “How did you know that?” Bill laughed hard and pointed to the right side bumper of Mike’s truck. “You were tagged many moons ago my friend,” Bill said, “you’ve been on their radar literally for a while and still live on their screens. That’s a transponder for tolls, and more you old dog. I guess you forgot to do your pre-trip!”

Mike was not amused. He walked over and sure enough there was a transponder with the black Home Guard insignia on it clamped on to his bumper with some 3M tape. Mike yanked it off and put it in his pocket commenting to Bill, “First dump truck becomes my pet and their whore.” Bill laughed and said, “Let’s clean up and get some coffee. I’m sick of all this drama.”

February 26, 2010 1:17 P.M. Eastern Time Sarasota, FL

My wife was not pleased with me. I was slinging my keys, the groceries, my phone, everything on to the floor of the house. “Honey, calm down,” she begged, “you can not go back to Publix in front of hundreds of people and shoot that fat slob Porky with a twelve gauge shotgun. “Dammit honey, I know that,” I yelled back, “but I’m also not going to live like that. The idiocy where I, a person with a degree, more brains, more skill, more ability, and an advocate of freedom will have to submit to a fat drugged out loser like that is not a situation I am going to tolerate when it comes to buying food every week. Does that instruction sheet the Nazis gave us have anything about alternate stores?” She looked horrified at my words, grabbed the information packet and started flipping through page after page. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, she glanced up and said, “We can go to the WalMart on Highway Seventy in Bradenton every other week but our ration coupons for the week before do not carry over.” I took a moment to gather my thoughts and replied, “Then you can go shopping at Publix. I am not tolerating that jerk. Bad things will happen.”

After the big scene I had just made I settled down on the sofa and gathered my keys, the cell phone off of the floor that I had thrown and noticed that on the table was another manila envelope that I had forgotten to open. As I tore it open and noticed the usual headings from our newly beloved OES office in Tampa, the heading was nothing compared to the shocker in the cover letter:

YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO REPORT TO THE FLORIDA OFFICE OF EMPLOYMENT SERVICES TEMPORARY FACILITY AT THE SAM’S CLUB ON FRUITVILLE ROAD AT 10:00 A.M. SATURDAY FEBRUARY 27, 2010. YOU WILL BE GIVEN YOUR NEW EMPLOYMENT ASSIGNMENT BY THE GOVERNMENT COMMISERATE WITH THE INFORMATION WE HAVE ON FILE ABOUT YOUR WORK HISTORY AND THE TESTING TO BE COMPLETED DURING YOUR APPOINTMENT. REFUSAL TO APPEAR WILL BE CONSTRUED AS A REFUSAL TO INTERVIEW FOR UNEMPLOYMENT BENEFITS AND ALL GOVERNMENT ASSISTANCE WILL CEASE AND DESIST TO YOUR HOUSEHOLD WITHIN FORTY-EIGHT HOURS OF THE APPOINTMENT TIME IN ADDITION TO OTHER CIVIL PENALTIES WHICH MAY BE LEVIED AT YOUR REGIONAL ADMINISTRATOR’S DISCRETION.

“Baby, you are not going to believe this,” I yelled out at her, “I have to report to their work camp tomorrow morning now!” She came running into the room almost in tears, “What the hell are you talking about?” I handed her the cover letter to which she scanned, took a deep sigh and said angrily, “This is not an order to a work camp. You just need a job and they are providing it.” I threw the pile of papers which were the test that I was to fill out before my appointment and screamed back at her, “And if they assign me to work in Miami, Atlanta, or freaking Anchorage then what? Are you going to shoot the first SOB that pries off the plywood? Are you going to fend that fat freak Porky off? This is bull. I am not going to submit to this. I’ll go to the appointment just to pacify you but if they make up some nonsense about working for the man or whatever for minimum wage cleaning toilets or acting like that fat piece of human debris we met today, I am taking a stand.”

With that our conversation was over. She walked back into the kitchen and began putting the groceries up again without talking to me the rest of the afternoon. That is, until the screams from our neighbor’s house were heard and the police and Home Guard were kicking his doors in and knocking on ours.

February 26, 2010 5:51 P.M. Eastern Time, just outside of McRae, Georgia

After passing through the local checkpoint for the Telfair County Sheriff’s office on U.S. Highway Twenty-three, everything seemed to be somewhat normal down in the little South Georgia town of McRae except for the fact that almost every citizen on the streets was openly carrying some sort of firearm and the local stores down town had armed guards in front of them, none of them from the National Guard or new Home Guard, Tom noted. They obeyed every traffic law, crept through town and as they eased down south of the city, they noticed what the other sheriff was warning about. There were two burned out National Guard trucks, what appeared to be two Humvees that were torched and a big sign with a circle and slash through the words “NO FEDS” which made Tom smile and Lillian yell out “Lookie, lookie, these folks took a stand. Ah, God Bless them, they ain’t puttin’ up with this nonsense!” Tom was not as amused as his instincts from the city of Atlanta and driving around there told him that this could have just as easily been an ambush to steal their vehicle and supplies, so he sped the vehicle up just a bit to get away from this area as soon as possible.

The country roads looked as if nobody had been out in days but as they slowed down in front of the farm Tom noticed immediately that things were amiss, “Mom, hang on, someone is watching us from that front window. Let’s park here as they have no idea we are coming. Honey, you hold the gun and if something happens, just aim towards the house and start shooting.” Lillian looked at Tom and took a deep breath, realizing what he was saying. “Tom, you stand by the front of your truck,” she started,”don’t make any false moves, they might be family but they had no idea that we were coming.” Tom nodded and got out of the SUV, taking the gun from Lillian and handing it to his wife where the occupants of the farm house could not see it.

Lillian walked slowly up the dirt driveway, opening the gate to the farm and holding her hands up yelling out, “Sally, it’s me, please don’t shoot me our you won’t get any of my biscuits!” Tom started laughing but then gathered his senses as she turned around and winked at him. Lillian took what seemed like half a day to walk up the dusty quarter mile stretch of red clay, dirt and scattered gravel, yelling out the entire time that it was safe and not to worry that it was family. Tom was beginning to panic as she got closer to the house and nothing happened to indicate that they were welcome there. Without warning a gunshot was heard in the distance and Tom whirled around waving his hands down to tell Sandy to duck and do nothing, thankfully she complied, ducking behind the dashboard while Lillian just stood there in the driveway as nothing had happened then yelled out, “Sweetie, I know that wasn’t y’all. That had to be a hunter, it was too far away. Are y’all going to welcome us in or do we have to go build a tent at the end of the drive and act like squatters?”

Without warning four little children poured out of the home, screaming “Aunt Lil” at the top of their lungs. Tom’s shoulders slumped down and a tear welled up in his eyes as he realized that finally, maybe for a while, they could relax away from the big city and the circus they left behind in Boxankle and the other small towns which by now were inflamed with passions on both sides of this battle for liberty. Lillian yelled out, “Tom, bring everything on down, the family is waiting on us.” Tom hopped back into the driver’s seat and with a smile on his face, slowly took the pistol out of his weeping wife’s hand. “We’re safe now sweetie, your Momma knew best, but I would not have bet on it two days ago. At least from here we have bought some time, if not some freedom. Let’s get inside and help the family out and pray that our nation is sane after the President speaks Sunday night.” Sandy just wept and put her arm around Tom as she said, “I can’t take much more of this, but I promise to be strong like Momma. I think we are going to be here for quite a while.”

Chapter XXII: Your Application Needs Revision (The Day the Dollar Died Series)


by John Galt

February 20, 2010

Just a reminder….the following is FICTION…..

February 26, 2010 2:09 P.M. Eastern Time, Sarasota, FL

The commotion my wife screamed about was one thing, the noise coming from my neighbor’s house another. As I grabbed my shotgun and ran towards the front window, I noticed the now familiar black Humvees of the Home Guard along with a SWAT armored car from the Manatee County Sheriff’s office and twelve officers covering my house and James’ home, my neighbor for many years now. With a guard approaching our front door, I handed the shotgun over to my wife and told her to put it in the hall closet as we were about to have heavily armed company. The banging on the door was not the polite, “We’re hear to help you” knock of the bureaucrat witch from earlier but instead the hard, firm pounding one expects from an angry neighbor or law enforcement official. “Open the door immediately and slowly, we know you are in there,” the voice bellowed from the other side. “Sir, I am opening the door slowly and we are not armed,” I yelled back, unlocking all of the locks. As I slowly popped the door open, showing my one free hand then putting the other one up as I used my foot to slide it open slowly, I noticed our neighbor’s wife screaming as those plastic cable tie handcuffs were being put on her motionless husband and screaming kids in the front yard. Then without warning the officer in front of me pushed me aside as she screeched from being tasered and collapsed as the feet of her sons who were hysterically bawling away.

“I apologize for you having to see that sir. But that is what happens to neighbors who disobey the law and fail to register firearms or report suspicious activity. Unfortunately sir, that is why we are here, but we are not accusing you of anything at this time,” the Home Guard officer stated as if reading off of a cue card. “Then if you’re not here to taser me and beat me senseless like James, then why are you here?”, I replied snidely, witnessing the guards kicking him while he was laying on the lawn, throwing ammunition from his stores at his feet. The guard officer shut my front door and sat down, uninvited on my sofa, putting one foot up on my wife’s favorite glass cocktail table resting it like it was his own then starting to chatter, “Sir, we have reports that you and your neighbor were planning an unauthorized neighborhood watch. That both of you were friends with an amateur radio operator who has opened up a pirate station and gone rogue. And that you are hiding unregistered firearms in your home.” The look on my face terrified my wife, but apparently impressed the guardsman. “Sir,” I began leaning back in my chair, almost snickering, “your information must be coming from the southbound end of a northbound mule. Honey, take this gentleman or his lackey here down the hallway, show them our only firearm, the unloaded twelve gauge and the five boxes of ammunition we own. These clowns think we are some sort of Waco type gun nuts and we need to demonstrate every courtesy and prove to them that apparently their intelligence operations are full of it.” The Home Guard officer got a little nasty then and directed the other soldier to walk down the hallway with my wife. “Sir, if you have other weapons, admit it now or we will rip this house apart. And if you’re lying to me, I can shoot you on sight. You are lucky that I didn’t waste your neighbor because the Major is outside watching us.”

The private returned from the hall closet with the shotgun and the ammunition with the UPC bar codes all intact. The private then scanned all of them and reported to the officer, “All accounted for sir and this weapon has not been fired since registered.” The officer looked at me and my wife and sneered, well, since I’m not sure if they lied about their neighbor, give them a receipt and we’ll just hold this weapon for ninety-six hours.” My wife spoke up and let her anger fly, “What happened to due process goon? We did not do one damned thing illegal and you are taking our possessions, our protection away from us?” The officer grinned and stared her down, his hand on his taser as if it were a play toy, “Lady, your neighbor down the street got double rations and a one thousand dollar domestic bonus five minutes ago for telling us about the laws that your so-called friend James and his family were hiding from the state putting everyone in this area at risk. You should be darned glad we don’t have the time to haul you two downtown for questioning and such.” I grabbed my wife’s wrist and she sat down on the arm of the chair beside me, attempting to keep her from doing something rash. “You mean to tell me you guys have a program where neighbors spy on neighbors and we could get money for it?”, I asked acting as if I were shocked. The guardsman snickered and the officer smiled, “You did not know? Here’s the paperwork and since you know that dirtbag Lewis so well, any information could lead to some big credits on your D-Card. The government would rather pay for good information to lock up criminals than spend millions investigating every crazy lead we get, so if you can help, you can get paid.” I acted surprised and smiled, “Well heck, James would have been my reward had I known that, the Home Guard guys here earlier this week were not clear enough about the program. Thank you sir!”

Then, as if on cue, they caused my wife and I to just about lose it. “Then you will not mind sir,” the officer began as he stood up, “if we secure this weapon and ammunition for ninety-six hours.” I bit my lip and replied, “Of course not sir. Just give me a receipt please and we will pick them up after work one night next week.” The private scribbled some illegible nonsense on a form with our UPC number and handed it to me almost mockingly. “Have a nice day sir and remember,” the officer said, “we are always here to watch and help.” I nodded and locked the door behind him, ready to take action if I had a weapon at my fingertips as I watched through the crack of the door my neighbor, his wife, and kids being dragged to the curb by their feet and James’ arsenal being piled into the back of a Suburban SUV. “Honey, I wish I knew who the rat was,” I said. She looked at me and with tears streaming down her cheek said, “I know who it is, and it is all my fault. Please forgive me honey, I had no idea this was going on.” I looked her in the eye, asked her who she talked to and nodded, “Pay back is coming sweetheart. That household has no idea what is about to hit them.”

February 26, 2010 9:37 P.M. Mountain Time

Wendy was tired of being cooped up in her apartment but knew after her experiences with law enforcement that she did not dare venture out. This prompted her to open the very expensive bottles of alcohol that had almost cost her a job and a bank account and to start drinking heavily as the repeat of American Idol on VOA-TV was finishing up and the hourly news update was to begin at the top of the hour. Her conversation with Ms. Steinburg was still fresh in her mind and that issue would not escape her thoughts, no matter how many glasses of wine she consumed nor the amount of other distillates she mixed into her system. The problem was that her position in government made her both a victim, in her mind, and a manager of many people’s future, but how could she profit from it? Wendy began to consider the greater issues around her such as what she could do for family and friends should the government beg her for help. “Am I expendable?”, she wondered to herself.

Instead of fretting she decided to go online while watching the news and attempting to discover a solution via the very government websites she was authorized to view from her office and beyond. The surfing was very, very slow almost as if every she typed went through a major security scanning program to which she realized it did as the government servers were under severe attack domestically and overseas at this time. “I wonder if the internet will ever be free again,” she wondered out loud. The usual waiting time of seconds turned to minutes as she dared to go to the Drudge report just to get the take of the extreme right wing on the events of the week and as she walked away from the screen to pour some more wine in the kitchen her home phone suddenly rang.

“Ms. Listels I presume?”, the voice on the phone said. “Yes, this is me,” Wendy replied in a very nervous voice, unsure who this was since the caller ID said “unidentified” in the display. “Why are you attempting to access an unauthorized website like Drudge via a government server?”, the man said on the other end of the line. Wendy was astonished so much she dropped her glass of wine, pouring a deep red burgundy into her deep pile carpeting as she screamed into the phone, “Who the hell is this? There’s nothing illegal about what I am doing? What kind of people are you watching me?” The voice on the other end of the phone replied calmly, “Ma’am, do you require a community counselor? We can have one there int he morning. There is no reason to access sites like this, they serve no function to benefit the employees of our great nation or the greater public good. Matt Drudge is a wanted man among many on the run, and when apprehended will be given full adjudication in one of our tribunals. Sites like that are simply propaganda for the people wishing to bring America to its knees and spread lies about the help the world is giving us.” Wendy gasped in horror and then she decided to go ahead and chat with the mysterious voice, “You mean by visiting or reading sites like this, I am contributing to the rumored problems our government and banks are having?” The voice chuckled a bit and kept the pressure on by saying, “Ms. Listels, anyone who visits those sites or message boards that contributes to the instability in some communities is a traitor. We will have to deal with them harshly or our nation will fall. Please, if you know anyone else trying to find these individuals, their websites, or information detrimental to the Republic, dial 911 and give the information to your local operator immediately who will forward it to us.” Wendy was almost in tears by now and gave a sheepish reply, “Yes sir, I swear upon my job and my oath to the nation I will do what I must to save us. I will be at work in the morning sending an email about what else I find tonight. God Bless America sir and the fine work you are doing!”

February 27, 2010 12:46 A.M. Eastern Time, Sarasota, FL

I knew what I had to do. The wife had no clue I was sneaking about after curfew tonight but this was a unique point in our marriage where a little dishonesty could save our lives, or, at a minimum, our freedom. I hopped the fence to James’ home, ashamed as I walked behind his tool shed thinking about how his friends and myself failed to come to his aid, but knowing deep down there was little we could do without destroying every household in the area. “Damn. But what if that doesn’t matter now?”, I thought to myself. I grabbed the shovel I had thrown over the fence and began digging two paces behind the shed between the two pines as James had told me. I kept tossing dirt to the left, to the right, hitting roots but nothing. It was only fifty-six degrees outside but I was sweating like it was over one hundred, worried about attracting attention of the neighborhood snitch or worse an over zealous deputy or patrolman looking for that financial incentive to shoot a curfew violator. Just as I was ready to give up due to anxiety, panic and worry, the clunking sound was hard to miss as the shovel struck pay dirt, literally.

I yanked the piece of plywood off out of the ground and sure enough, there it was a small pine box with two rifles, a shotgun, two pistols and boatloads of ammunition for all of the weapons. I started grabbing all of it and tossing it over the fence quietly to get back to my house as soon as I possibly could. James was always a bit eccentric and thank God for that. As I finished cleaning up the evidence I looked skyward and asked in a whisper, “God, if I can save my neighbor, please give me strength, he may have just saved the neighborhood.” I took the shovel and tossed it into the hold then grabbed a hoe from his tool shed and drug it over my footprints, trying to make it look like I had come from another direction, but after tonight I really did not care. The sirens in the distance, the cracking sound which could or could not have been gunfire in the distance made me realize that if this job interview did not work in several hours, a new course of action would have to be planned.

But was I ready to join the suicidal in an insurrection?

February 27, 2010 09:47 A.M. Sam’s Club, Fruitville Road, Sarasota, FL

The line at the parking lot was horrific. I ended up parking in the grass four blocks north of the store and walking, wearing a suit, sweating in panic and anticipating seeing a “Porky” type or two along the way. The people who were here on a Saturday morning in this overcast, brisk, and generally nasty un-Florida like atmosphere were a weird mix. Some of the people I met in line were happy and very pro-administration expressing happiness that they had a new start or opportunity to keep their lives moving forward. Rumors were sweeping the line about relocation programs, paid for by the Federal government where if you accepted assignment elsewhere they would buy your home from you at cost if you signed a five year labor contract. Other crazy rumors started about insurrections in the West, hit squads and house to house weapons searches to which I just replied with a dumbfounded “no way” look so as to keep the heat off of my stressed out wife and neighbors.

After three hours in line, I finally made it to the first line of bureaucrats and handed them the packet, my resume, application form and D-Card explaining that I had been in line for three hours and apologizing for not making my original appointment time. The young black lady was very professional and snapped back at me, “Well it is no wonder you are unemployed, you arrived late because you were lazy, expecting us to hold your place in line, your application is incomplete and your checking of box 137a that you would refuse relocation makes you the most unqualified applicant today. Your application needs revision and I am afraid there is now way that I would let you pass beyond this initial screening sir. Here is a new card and you can return tomorrow at six fifty-five in the morning to appear for a mandatory appointment at nine o’clock. This pass will let you travel before curfew hours but if you fail to display it, well, you’ll get a job pounding rocks and digging drainage ditches as a reminder for not obeying. Please run along sir so serious applicants can find work in the new America and we will try again tomorrow.”

I held this blue card in my hand wondering what the penalty was for putting it in a place where the sun doesn’t shine in this broad’s physique, but elected to put my head down and act dejected and walked back towards my car. There were a few of the extremist liberal types laughing at me as I walked away yelling “there goes one” and other such nonsense, but I smirked knowing that a new plan had to evolve. And that plan was going to be executed now.

Thank you Mr. Bureaucracy, you have finally set me free.

February 27, 2010 10:36 A.M. McRae, GA

“Tom, Momma, come quick! We got trouble and we need everyone in the family to help out quick,” Sandy was quite excited as she ran into the house yelling at everyone trying to get them up and moving. “Baby, calm down, take a deep breath, what is it?”, Tom said calmly trying to get her to relax. Lillian grabbed her hand, held it, and handed her a cold glass of water, “Sandy, calm down, you’re home now. What happened or is happening?” Sandy took a deep gulp of water and stopped panting finally, long enough to tell the room full of people what she had heard, “There’s soldiers in Macon and Tifton now from what the locals said and that nice sheriff we met, he’s been arrested. But that’s not the big news. Everyone in town needs to grab a pick up truck and head up to the Mike Lee Jones dairy farm right up the road, I just left there. He committed suicide this morning with his wife.”

Lillian looked more puzzled than anyone else in the room including the farm hands who came tearing in. “So why, sweetie, do we need to get excited about this?”, Lillian began, “it is sad but, where’s the need to run out there? I am sure his family will bury him and his wife.” Sandy finished her water, put her right arm around Tom’s neck in tears and after gasping again, started to talk, “He shot all those poor cows Momma. They are all dying. If we’re going to save and get milk and meat for the town we have to get going now. This here farmer went insane just like those stories on the news. Why would anyone shoot a poor cow? I don’t understand Momma. Tom? Why? Why?” She burst into tears again.

Tom hugged his wife and looked at Lillian and her sister. They understood what was happening. “Grab the big truck boy, and I’ll meet you up front,” Andy, the owner of the farm told the hands. Tom told Sandy to stay put and Lillian to stay with her. “I’m off to help the crew. We’ll load them one or two into the back of the SUV and I’ll put plastic sheeting down to keep the smell down,” he told Lillian. Sandy was puzzled. “You mean we can’t save any of them Momma? They looked so sad, those big eyes, I could not believe what I saw,” Tom patted her on the head and kissed her forehead and then started to speak, “I have to run, you fill Mom in on the stories about the soldiers. We could be busy beyond butchering cattle tonight if you have more information honey. Everyone needs to know what is going on now.”

Chapter XXI: Burning Fields of Cotton (The Day the Dollar Died Series)


by John Galt

February 19, 2010

One more time, for the newbies and forgetful (wink)…the following is FICTION……..

February 27, 2010 07:01 A.M. Central Time, West Memphis, AR

Bill was still stirring his sugar into his coffee, staring at Mike and wondering what was on his mind. “Mike,” he began, “are you okay? You have been sitting there stewing around and staring into space for ten minutes now. Do I need to get you a doctor? I know it was a long trip, hell, none of us got any sleep the last twenty-four hours, especially when we pulled out of the Davenport pig plant.” Mike looked surprised and snapped the creamer out of the bowl on the table and started pouring it into his cup as he spoke in a low tone of voice, “Pork plant, huh, so why did us Minnesota boys get stuck with dry loads and have to leave our personal reefer equipment here for two weeks? Are you unloaded already Bill?” Bill was not sure what was going on so he bent over and spoke in a whisper to Mike, “Are you on the list Mike? We were told that some drivers were suspected of helping the terrorists. They attempted to round up as many as they could and move them to one location.” Mike finished stirring his coffee, took a long deep sip of the hot java and looked up at his old pal, “Bill, if I’m on a list, it’s because I was in the services. I have done nothing to this government. So are you thinking that is why they are not unloading my trailer for two weeks? To hold me hostage or supervise me?”

Bill leaned back in his seat, looked over both of his shoulders then leaned across, whispering to his old pal, “Mike, if I were you I would watch my tongue. Three members of the convoy did not make it. They removed them from the line back near Rockford and told everyone it was a mechanical issue. They have not been seen since the Home Guard forced them off towards Chicago.” Mike let out a belly laugh stunning his friend and began to almost berate him, “Bill, you old fool! They sold the loads! Those drivers are probably more than happy to just get out of their alive, if they did. You have a bunch of thugs in Strykers and Humvees threatening to play some bad music with their toys on your butt and telling you what to do, what do you think they did? The Guard got a higher bid. Heck, I was waiting to be ordered off into East Saint Louis to be honest with you but they put a junior goon patrol on my truck to make sure I quit jabbering on the radio.” Bill look horrified as to what he was hearing. “You mean to tell me,” Bill began when Mike interrupted. “Yes, this is a private army of the government, not the one you and I participated in my friend. This is a group of entreprefreakingneurs! They know that this charade could end at any moment,” Mike paused as a guard walked by and sipped some coffee then continued in a low tone of voice, “they know this gig is up soon. Either the American people rise up or fold up. We’ll know by the end of next week, watch and see.” Bill looked around, nodded his head and then gave Mike the information he was looking for. “Mike, you need to accept the new reality. Everyone is for sale or fighting some how, some way. What you saw up by your house with the attempted hijacking could have just as easily been Home Guard troops parading as contractors for the government doing some side business while the confusion reigned. You can’t trust anyone but your dear friends and I would be disappointed in you if you trusted me right now, unless of course you had a gun pointed at me and then I would say it is business as usual.”

Mike’s face turned a little pale. He now knew that if his friend Bill was compromised that he would use his last dying breath to pay him back. On the off chance that happened, he knew he would never see his beloved wife ever again, nor be able to explain to her that the horrors he has witnessed of war overseas were minor compared to what he has endured during the past week here, in his own country, because the people in charge assured the common folks that this could or would never happen here, ever. Mike sipped some more coffee and the color returned to his face as he put the cup down and began to speak, “Bill, we have known each other since Thailand. At the bars in Manila and that incident in San Diego. If you have an honorable path we can take, I want to know about it and right now. No bull, no games, no riddles. I want answers or our friendship could end before you hit the floor.” Bill smiled and then he let out a gregarious laugh, banged the table and laughed some more, “You remember that chick in Diego! Hilarious, I can’t believe you remember it!” As he laughed some more he slid a napkin over to Mike while everyone turned and looked then smiled at them both figuring they were drunk or coming off of a speedball high from the overnight drive. Mike acted as if he wiped the napkin on his mouth, faked blowing his nose into it and then threw a napkin on his lap crumpled up on to the floor, sticking Bill’s into his pocket. “Let’s go clown. We ain’t finding no trouble here tonight,” Mike said as they chugged the last of the coffee, “I’ll be the guards grabbed all the good lizards for themselves.” As he finished that sentence he winked at his shotgun rider who was nervously looking around the room and puzzled at the comment. As Mike and Bill went out to their trucks to grab a nap, the young PFC ran to their table and opened up the napkin, only to be grossed out by the nasty coffee laden leftovers Mike had wiped off of his mouth. “This spying stuff is stupid,” PFC Andrews muttered in disgust, throwing the napkin back on to the floor. He then looked over at his Sergeant across the room nodding his head in a negative fashion so as to indicate it was nothing. Little did they know that a napkin just might change history, or so the two truck drivers thought.

As if the world had begun to shake again, a loud mouthed nobody was knocking on the door of Mike’s sleeper trying to either anger him further due to a lack of sleep or ready to start something new and unanticipated. Mike stumbled up into the driver’s seat to see a new Home Guard officer, some clown he had never seen before tapping his pistol on Mike’s door yelling, “Sir, we know you’re in there please wake up.” Mike rolled the window down and yelled out, “If you scratched the paint your sorry tail will be out here fixing that before I leave whoever the hell you are.” The soldier took a step back, took a deep breath and started his assigned speech, “Sir, we have noticed that you have signed up for the voluntary distribution delivery runs. The first run is in one hour. Have you had sufficient rest to begin helping us sir? I also apologize for using the butt of my pistol on your door sir, please accept my apologies.” Mike wiped the sleep from his eyes, looked down and said, “What time is it son?” The soldier snapped his watch up and replied, “1400 Central Time sir, Saturday February Twenty-Seventh, Two Thousand and Ten, Sir.” Mike was impressed. This was not a clown like Andrews and no jerk like the officer. “Son, I’m going to shower up and get some coffee, six hours of sleep will be enough to get me through eight hours of local deliveries or does the curfew apply to drivers too?” The soldier looked impressed, realizing that Mike knew the restrictions under martial law. “Sir,” he began after snapping to attention, “drivers with the special banner on their trailers and tractors are excused from curfew. Tonight’s colors will be issued with the trailer and delivery assignment. We would like everyone back at the truck stop by twenty-three hundred though sir.” Mike nodded and offered an honest salute to the kid then reached into his sleeper to gather his kit and go clean up.

The hot water was s surprise to Mike as he showered and after cleaning up and getting ready he walked over to the make shift duty assignment area set up in the old load assignment and phone room of the truck stop. “Mr. Elmendorff, we appreciate your help. We have an old forty-five foot trailer loaded with baked goods to head towards Collierville, Germantown and a few more points east. You should be done and back by twenty-one hundred we figure and assistance will be waiting on you there.” Mike signed out for the load, grabbed the manifest, delivery information and as he was studying the map packets provided to him with delivery instructions his old pal showed up. “So they finally woke you up eh dead man? What took you so long to shave, your legs needed a bladed too?”, Bill was cutting it up too much and Mike felt obligated to answer. “Son, you could lop that head off with a machete and only your wife would notice the improvement. I’ll meet you outside at pre-trip after I hook up to the trailer and put my colors on.”

Mike hung the orange and blue banners on his air dam, bumper, plus the rear of the trailer. The Home Guard was busy putting it on the roof with precision so it would not blow off and insure that any helicopters would know this was a local run for the area. “Thank you fellas,” Mike yelled out to the two privates who nodded and went over to Bill’s trailer to do the same. Mike noticed this trailer looked like hell, an old Winn-Dixie trailer apparently procured via government edict which needed tire work desperately but at this point in time, it did not matter. Bill yelled out to Mike over the din of the engines of the truck, “So which run did you get?” Mike yelled back, “East side, I get to go tot he high rent district.” Bill yelled back to him, “Meet you in Collierville for dinner if our guards will give us twenty minutes. I know a great place there.”

As Mike started hitting the various Home Guard resupply points in schools and hospitals he noticed a pattern. Many grocery stores were boarded up, until he started pulling into the stops in the wealthier districts. “I thought this was Armageddon,” he thought to himself, “how is everything so normal here but hell in the big cities?” As he saw Bill pulling into the parking lot of the empty WalMart Supercenter off Poplar, apparently closing at five at night so the truckers could unload, he hopped out to talk to his friend. “After this stop old buddy?”, he asked innocently enough. “Supper is definitely south of hear you old coot,” Bill replied. The guards who watched them back in and unload their trucks did not pay any attention to all of the driver’s chit chat that was underway, but the drivers realized that speaking nonsense was the only way to go. After they dropped off their goods there, Mike pulled out slammed the doors on the old trailer shut and locked it. Bill knew he was upset. Bill also knew what to do next and just nodded at Mike as if to acknowledge that the big lie could not continue. As they pulled out of the guard center, Mike looked at his manifest, then folded it up and put it on the passenger seat. Mike and Bill headed east as normal then turned right on Mt. Pleasant and headed south to U.S. Highway Seventy-Two. It was their turn to stick it to the man.

Before they went much further, they noticed two Federal Express drivers sitting off on the side of the road just off US Highway Seventy-Two and Russell Road. They stopped the trucks, and Bill went over to stir up a conversation while Mike went to the front of both rigs, out of sight and tore the magnetic transponders off of the rigs. While Bill was talking away spinning tales of their adventures and yucking it up with the two local drivers, Mike stuck the transponders under the rear of both of their trucks, knowing full well that would only buy them hours, not the days they needed to run. As Bill continued his tales, Mike yanked the wires out of both truck’s Qualcomm antennas under the air dams and then walked towards the Fed Ex trucks as the sun was just beginning to set. “Yo, Bill, you old coot, quit spinning lies to these locals,” Mike yelled out acting as if he was buckling his belt and zipping up his pants, “we have ten more deliveries by ten you clown.” Bill said his good-byes to the local drivers then nodded at Mike as he said, “Let’s hit it.”

They both pulled onto the old U.S. Highway and sped up to the maximum legal speed to get to Mississippi while it was still light enough for the panels to be obvious. The one Home Guard outpost had a soldier outside but when he spotted the panels, he waved them through and both drivers waved back in a friendly enough manner. The road to Mississippi was easy, the next drive would be the road to the end of the new system for both of them. Mike yelled out on the C.B. per their pre-arranged discussion, “Follow me.” That was all that need to be said, Bill flashed his lights and they diverted East, out to Highway Four. They stopped in the middle of the small town of Jumpertown, Mississippi and started to crank down the banners off of Bill’s trailer. Bill removed the lock and Mike grabbed the orange spray paint can and plastered on the rear doors and one side of the rig, “FREE FOOD FOR THE POOR” which created a stir inside the church they selected. An elderly black reverend came out yelling away, “No trouble sir, no trouble, Oh God sir, please, no trouble.” Bill looked at him and sneered, “Your town can starve for a few days or eat. But this trailer is here for the duration.” With that statement Bill took a large hunting knife out from under his coat and punctured the outside tires on the trailer causing it to sink. “Now feed these people reverend and just let us do what we need to do.” Mike folded the banners up in his side box after removing them from his rig also. Bill said to him, “You do have a plan, right?” Mike nodded and they hopped back into their rigs, this time speeding up to seventy miles per hour plus to get as far away from the Memphis circus as they could. The sharp turn on to U.S. Highway Forty-Five southbound made Bill smile. He grabbed the C.B. mike and yelled out, “Cotton time baby, I love what you are thinking!” Bill gave him a quick 10-4 on the radio and then yelled on the air, “Shut up until we stop.”

Mike wheeled his rig into the small town of Baldwyn, Mississippi, knowing full well the banners being gone might have just saved them from being attacked or hijacked on these dark country roads. Having had a friend from this little poor town gave him the confidence to know that his choice of a church would insure the food would get distributed quickly and to those who needed it. The First Baptist Church parking lot was empty and that worried Mike as he thought there would be tents or homeless shelters set up by now, then again, he did not have time to worry about that now. Bill went about puncturing the tires as Mike spray painted the “Free Food for the Poor” signs on the sides and back until the spray can was empty. Bill reached into his truck and hung an American flag upside down on the front of the reefer unit and then said, “Let’s run like hell now.” A world of hurt is heading for our families and we had best warn them. You still got that phone code?” Mike nodded yes and then said, “Let me call Sally first.” As Mike punched the long code into the phone the ringing sound reassured him greatly. Sally screamed into the phone, “YOU’RE SAFE! MIKE THIS IS YOU ISN’T IT?” Mike smiled at Bill then replied, “Yes it’s me honey. Do as I say. Get everything and head to Jack’s house in the morning. Some very pissed off people will be heading to the farm soon. Next, burn your D-Card. You can’t be tracked. I’m heading out to help Sherman burn Atlanta again.” Sally was on the other end, knowing full well what that was code for. “God, I love you you old coot. Come home safely, please.” Mike wiped a tear out of his eye, “I’ll try sweetie, I love you to. See you on the flip side.” Mike immediately turned the phone off, removed the battery, then waited a second before handing it over to Bill. “Here’s the code,” Mike said, “it won’t be any good after tonight and don’t tell your wife too much other than to run.” Bill looked at him concerned about that statement, “You think they’ll retaliate against the families?” Mike nodded and shook his head, almost ashamed while he clinched his fist, “I guarantee it.” Bill then put the battery in the phone and made the call finishing the sentence with his wife by saying, “The kids will love the cabin life. Just get plenty of food and water first. I love you all.”

Mike and Bill then put the hammer down, blowing through town after town, avoiding major intersections and noticing a haunting lack of people in many of the small towns they went through. Bill grabbed the radio just north of Greenwood to ask the big question, “Are we heading to the big CITY old buddy?” Mike grabbed his mike and replied, move four up, then up again.” Bill re-tuned his C.B. from channel thirty-four on the A.M. band to channel thirty-eight upper sideband, “Big Duck, you here?” Mike answered back, “We are going to the big city, but one of these rigs is going to have a fire problem, ten four?” Bill knew what that meant and acknowledged what he said. They pulled into Yazoo City just after five in the morning and headed out northwest to see their old friends. There is when the lack of notification became an issue.

The passenger side window on Mike’s truck exploded with violence as the bullet penetrated the rig and exited out through the sleeper. Mike knew that this turn on to Lake City Road then off on to a dirt road where his friend from the rice paddy days lived would be dangerous. But this was not the greeting he, nor Bill, ever expected. He slammed the brakes on to his rig, sliding slightly off kilter then turned the blinkers on and killed the headlights. He started to scan the C.B. for any communications but nothing was heard until a tap on this door where Mike was staring down the barrel of an AR-15. Mike put his hands up in the air and turned the inside light on so as to indicate he was not a threat. The gunman opened the door and yelled out, “Step out slowly, where we can see the hands.” Mike complied and as he had both hands on the door and the rail on the side, he said slowly and clearly, “I know Tim trained you now. That dog would never miss a trick.” The gunman did not relax though. “Tim is dead, we’re in charge now. We own this territory and you and no Home Guard jerks are going to steal anything from us.” Mike was horrified and was worried that if Bill heard that news he would do something stupid, but as they were escorted at gunpoint up the muddy dirt road towards an old farm house they realized that something just was not right. When they reached the farm house, they would soon find out just how insane the world had become.

“So we have two more clowns bringing the government to our doorstep,” the voice in the dark began, “and you think we couldn’t see you coming as you headed out from town? You’re lucky we didn’t blow the hell out of you!” Then a flashlight lantern was turned on and another voice began, “Mike, if you brought the Guard out here, I’ll shoot you myself. We have enough problems without more yahoos coming in here thinking they are better cowboys than us.” Mike stunned the guards when he replied defiantly, “Well you still post your crappiest boys as sentries and I could have parked this rig up your rear if I wanted to. Who the heck could possibly miss a big fat nasty jerk like me, even in the dark? And you owe me a windshield you slime ball.” Tim stepped out into the light, “I should shoot you myself. But then what the hell would I do without my A-Team coming home. What brings you down here?” Tim walked up, hugged Mike and then noticed Bill a few feet behind him and then said, “And why would you bring the guy who burns up barrels with you?” Bill busted out laughing while the soldiers around them were looking around bewildered, “You dog, I thought you learned your lesson in Cambodia. You still put the crappiest piles up front and leave the hard work to us old farts.” Tim ordered his men to stand down and then listened to Mike and Bill’s story, learning what they did and why they came here. “You did well to leave those poor FedEx bastards with the transponders. They will be interrogated for days now. So which rig do we drive up the road and burn? I say yours Mike since we shot it up already. We can make it look like an ambush and leave them wandering around for a day or two.” Mike nodded in agreement and told Bill, “You know we’re repainting your rig sissy yellow now, right?” Bill looked upset at the thought but then Tim, the apparent commander here told it like it is, “Actually it will be green, like the Home Guard colors with the emblem and all. Meet Colonel Al Fullbright of the Mississippi National Guard. He’s taking care of logistics and intelligence. Bill, we’ll need you and your truck to take care of the bridge at Vicksburg and don’t worry, it is not a suicide mission.” Bill nodded and looked at Mike to say, “Well, back to being foot soldiers after all these years as truckers.”

Mike went back outside with Tim and reminded him that sunrise was soon. “Don’t worry Mike,” Tim began, I have a great idea.” Tim hopped into the an old CJ-5 with two of his troopers, and told Mike to follow him. They took his truck up the highway to the intersection of 49W and 14 just north of Louise. Mike took all of the belongings out of the truck and then Tim instructed the soldiers under his command to siphon out all of the diesel from the tanks that they could. After filling up six Jerry cans and getting Mike’s radio out and remaining gear, they proceeded to shoot the vehicle up concentrating on the driver’s door. One of the soldiers then opened the driver’s side door, grabbed a rabbit out of a bat and shot it, squirting blood all over the dash, seat and door. He then put the rabbit back into a Ziploc bag to clean it for eating later commenting, “Well, let’s hope these clowns don’t taste the blood, otherwise this was for nothing.” Tim ordered the men into the CJ-5 and they sped into a cotton field doing donuts to create a huge mess of tracks to confuse anyone who followed. As they pulled the old Jeep on to the highway again, the soldiers piled out with Mike and following Tim’s lead, spread the diesel from five of the cans on to the cotton field. They finished dumping it everywhere they could, spreading it wide then setting it on fire. “That should give them something to follow, play with and scratch their heads,” Tim said, “let’s plant three and let them flounder for a day out here while we set up the next battle. Set three and hit the Jeep boys.” The three soldiers grabbed some old mines out of their bags, ran to key positions fifty to one hundred yards from the shot up big rig and set the mines far enough away from the fires to insure they would not be noticed. “Mike, we’ve gotten good at these long distance ambushes. I figure they will retaliate with the big stuff soon though,” Tim said. Mike shook his exhausted head and replied, “Yeah, but burning fields of cotton and blowing up traitors is where we are at as a nation. The question is old buddy, will we see more help, or just perish under their boots?”

The men finished their work and ran back to the Jeep giving the wind up sign. The men piled in, and the old CJ-5 strained under the load but got them back to Lake City without a problem. The battle plans were already being laid out by the National Guard Colonel and Tim before Mike and Bill arrived. Their rigs gave them the edge they needed though to hopefully tip the rest of the Southeast into the camp of rebellion against a government acting illegally. The next twenty-four to thirty-six hours though would settle the destiny of the United States, at least south of Kentucky, forever.

Chapter XXIII: Birdsong (The Day the Dollar Died Series)

by John Galt

February 21, 2010

Just a reminder….the following is FICTION…..

February 27, 2010 2:45 P.M. Central Time, Vicksburg, MS

The weather this winter afternoon on the Mississippi River was miserable. It appeared to the boys on the river banks that more rain was moving in and the cold weather that was behind it might freeze up the roads again, a mixed blessing because if they could blow this bridge it would cut off the Mississippi for the Feds and force them to send their home guard contingent down from Memphis and finally determine how this region would finally be settled. At least that was the thinking of Lieutenant General Timothy Albright, a decorated veteran of Vietnam, Cambodia, Grenada, Panama, Iraq and now after retiring, the Battle of Greenwood, Mississippi.

The National Guard units defected shortly after the nonsense began several days ago, taking their weapons with them and the first conflicts against the Home Guard amateurs were somewhat pathetic from the reports the regulars gave Mike and Bill. Bill decided to open his mouth first to one of the other officers, “So why did the Home Guard attempt to take experienced, especially recently experienced Iraqi vets, on mano eh mano? Are they nuts, stupid or what?”, Bill asked innocently enough. The Captain told us that they were cocky thinking that air support and the threat of regular army soldiers backing them up would cause their units to crack. “Bill, if you don’t mind my calling you that sir, most of their boys hadn’t seen a weapon fired in anger,” the Captain said then continued, “they got their experience rousting grandma out of bed at two in the morning and shooting people’s pets. They have never been in combat before just like old Sadam’s boys. They talk big, but most have only learned in the classroom. My troopers learned in the sandbox so they know what to do, be it here or in the swamps to the south, or mountains anywhere. We are hard. We are ready.”

Bill and Mike were greatly impressed. “Sir, if I had a beer, cigar or something good to thank you with, I would hand it to you now,” Bill said proudly. The Captain replied, “I would take a beer or smoke but to be honest, I would just like to know that my family is safe. Everyone here is worried. We’ve heard stories, you know.” Mike looked him in the eye and told him, “I’ve seen the stories sir. We’ll pray for everyone here. It is ugly from sea to shining sea.”

Bill excused himself and decided to check his truck out, still wet with a horrid spray painted greenish gook all over it. There was still about seventy gallons of diesel left he figured, the engine and batteries looked good so now came the big question for him, “what was the plan” he wondered. When Bill and Mike ran up on their old friend the question stood out, “Sir, what do we do next? We are ready to go,” Mike said to Tim. The General shook his head, “Between the two of you, best I can figure, you’ve had seven hours sleep in the last forty-eight. I need you rested. Sunday is a big day. You are hereby ordered to rest for the next sixteen hours plus until I call for you. You ain’t kids either and I know you are dragging. A world of hurt is coming with the President speaking tomorrow, live this time, and with the 101 siding with the government openly. The 82nd isn’t far behind nor are the units in Texas unless things change rapidly. Get some grub, a shower and some sleep. We will meet at 0800 on Sunday morning, barring shocking developments today.”

February 27, 2010 6:55 P.M. Sarasota, FL

I spent the entire afternoon putting up traps around the back yard, figuring that the neighborhood rat was going to zing me next for some imaginary reason. As I appeared to do gardening work, the neighbors around my back side of the yard appeared interested and suspicious, causing me to lash out at them, yelling, “What the hell do you want? You want to send me to a camp you dirtbag?” After a few hours of working out there and people exchanging nasty looks, the one guy who was old, nasty and bitter finally walked up to the fence for an honest exchange. “John, I know we’ve had our differences,” he began, “but, but, but that scum in the Robinson household has to go. They outed me for using plastic grocery bags to clean up my dog’s poop claiming I was illegally dumping hazardous materials. Rumor has it they nailed James too. He may have been a redneck but he was a good guy!”

I was taken aback by his words. “Was,” I said softly, “you’re acting as if he is dead or something.” The neighbor looked at me like I was a child and said, “Well, what do you think those labor camps are? They separate the children for re-education and training and put the parents to work. I doubt we will ever see them again.” I looked at him again like he had been listening to some sort of science fiction theater, then again the past five days have been something out of a “B” movie. I decided to press him, “Okay Mr. Expert, how do you know all about this? I might be stupid or ignorant on the subject, but in just five days the government has camps set up like Russia or Albania used to have? Get for real.” The neighbor looked around like he was being watched. He then hiked his right leg up on to the chain link fence and pulled the pants leg back. “Yeah, I’m a paranoid freak. Call me a nutcase but I have to call to get permission to go to the store and take a shower,” he angrily stated pointing at the device above his ankle, “and if you think this is bad, you see the ones on my kids. This country is losing it. And our little peaceful neighborhood is riddled with rat finks and government stooges.”

I knew what I had to do so I dared to ask the question, “So who in this area is with us?” He leaned over the fence as he rolled his pant leg down, and gave me the names of everyone he knew that was upset with what happened to him and James. I looked him in the eyes and promised him, “When I leave Sunday night, I’ll cut that off of you if you want to run and resist.” He looked back at me, his eyes starting to tear up, “I can’t, my wife might be with the rats. She may turn me in to protect the kids or rat on you to get that bracelet off of her ankle. Just go get me some sugar if you can so I can say I was borrowing something we needed and you do what you have to. You will be in my prayers John, because I do not know how long I can live like this.”

I walked over to the neighbors who were with me, carrying today’s latest version of propaganda in the local paper and USA Today which were now combined works published by the United States Information Agency (USIA). The headline in this morning’s paper was an obscene gesture designed to play on the fears of the masses, starting with the huge banner headline at the top:

PRESIDENT OBAMA TO OUTLINE AMERICA’S FUTURE

The arrogance of this headline was only surpassed by the box entitled “Breaking Local News” which highlighted the gun registration program and how many terrorist incidents were prevented thanks to the “Know Thy Neighbor” informant system put into place thanks to some enterprising high school children thanks to some teachers who had foresight weeks ago. “I know who to zap now,” I thought to myself. The neighbors and I acted like we were discussing the article in the paper about setting up a Home Guard approved neighborhood watch and I even went to the rat fink’s home to elicit their support. The mother of the family who had just moved in from Maryland about six months ago was glowing and happy to see that I was coming around to their ideals and way of thinking. “You lost your gun or turned it in?”, a skeptical father asked me as the discussion got a little heated on the protection subject. “I was asked to turn it in for four days while the situation with my neighbor cooled off. They promised to return it to me by next Friday which is no big deal as I figured it would be better protection for all if we set up a Neighborhood Watch as per the ideas in the paper.” The family was obviously a group of Northeastern elites who had no idea what to expect from the locals and really did not care if they fit decided to buy my story, hook line and sinker. “We would love to help, we have already done all we can to clean up the dangerous people in the area and make sure they did not hurt our children or the nation,” the father said. “Thank you for your help,” I replied. The father then continued, “It is nice to see some anti-hick sentiment in this nice neighborhood. The ignorance of those opposed to the goals of our wonderful President and the new Federal Governor appointed to lead Florida out of the doldrums is a sad statement as to the pollution that hate radio and those corporate whores on Fox News were spreading.” I was going to say something sarcastic but decided to reply like a sheep, “I never watched Fox News, I was too busy trying to make a living for my household and enjoying my free time with my wife. Information was always available via the local paper when I needed it.” The father and mother both nodded in approval and we said our goodbyes.

Little did they know that the Neighborhood Watch was in place and that they were going to be the subject of this meeting late tonight, where payback was the order of the day, rather than preserving their sick version of law and order. As I walked back to my house a few blocks away, I noticed the chirping of the green parrots echoing out into the darkened night. “Great, just great, the squawking birdsong of noisy creatures, just like the annoying screeching of the finksters,” I muttered to myself. As I opened the door to my home, my wife was finishing up cleaning the shotgun and other firearms. “I did the best I could,” she said, “and they appear to be in good shape as if he knew what was happening.” I looked her in the eyes and said, “James knew what was going on, but decided to not endanger his wife and kids by fighting the overwhelming odds because he was not sure if the neighbors would join in. For us to start fighting now might be construed as too little, too late. We’ll find out in the next two nights.”

February 28, 2010 1:42 A.M. Sarasota, FL

“Payback is here,” said one of the neighbors in a whisper. “Shhhh,” several of us said. I told three of them to set up watch at entrance to the subdivision and to fire one warning shot in the air if any law enforcement pulled into the area. The rest of us finished making our Molotov cocktails and when the question was asked, “Do we shoot them when they flee the house?”, I responded, “I don’t’ care what you do. They destroyed several families in this area, it is up to each of you. I’m just going to destroy all of their possessions and leave them on the streets. You do what you want and live with your decision.” The ten of us that were left had about twenty bottles loaded with gasoline plus two more one gallon cans of gas. I snuck around to the front of their house and started pouring the two cans on the cars parked in their driveway and on the garage door. As I finished my work, I ran back behind the hedges and started to light the two Molotov’s I had as did everyone else. I started by throwing one against the garage door which caught fire in spectacular fashion while another neighbor set the front door alight and threw one into the picture window.

Flames erupted rapidly as you could hear the crashing bottles against doors and into windows then the scream of the woman inside. I tossed the last bottle on their Land Rover and yelled, run everyone now then fired two shots from the pistol I had into the air so our cover group could get away from the entrance of the subdivision before the Home Guard arrived. I ran as fast as I could with several other neighbors back to our homes but apparently some decided to stay and prevent the family from exiting their home by firing at the doors and windows. It was going to be a brutal scene and we knew the local goons would launch retribution against everyone in the area. I stopped running with everyone and uttered one key sentence, “Red Bug Slough, seven a.m., be there or you’re on your own. I’m getting my gear and heading their now. Blink your flashlights three times to identify yourself or I’ll shoot you.”

The fire was smelling up the entire area and the sirens were unmistakable. Two of the men stayed at the entrance and allowed the fire department to pass but ambushed a local sheriff’s patrol car and the familiar black Humvee from the Home Guard that had been harassing everyone in the area. I decided to turn back and help them out. “Tell my wife to get the go bags ready. Tell her I’ll be home after we’ve secured the entrance to the subdivision and prevented the goons from starting their counter attack.” I ran with my rifle in hand and one of the other men handed me a Molotov he did not throw saying, “I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry.” I looked at him and told him as I took the bottle and stated firmly, “You’re burning now, one way or another. They will round everyone up for this. Take a stand or else.” He nodded and ran towards his home, unsure of what I meant apparently but he would learn the hard way as so many others will this morning.

I was pleasantly stunned to see the Humvee on fire and our men grabbing the weapons off of the guardsmen laying on the ground. The deputies in the sheriff’s department car turned out to be wearing Home Guard gear also as the local officers were no longer trusted or so we thought. The running had tired my middle aged legs out but not so much where I could not smile as a voice was saying, “John, John, help me please.” There was old Porky, laying on the sidewalk bleeding from two wounds in his legs and dragging himself away from the burning vehicles. I walked up to him with a sick smile of satisfaction replying to him, “I see you have been promoted, or was harassing little old ladies at the grocery store just your day job?” He was holding his leg, begging, “John, John, I’m sorry, I’ll set you up better. I was just doing my job keeping the people in their place.” He coughed, in great pain obviously from the one wound to his kneecap and looked down on him, not in pity but with vengeance in my heart. “It’s people like you that destroyed this nation, that blindly followed goons and liars and sold their souls. I tell you what, I have a better idea Porky. Here’s your return favor for the job you’ve been doing this week.” I lowered my rifle to his forehead and his horrified look will forever be embedded in my mind.

The single .308 round splattered his brains all over the pavement as his lifeless body finished twitching seconds later. There was no turning back now. I had crossed the final line. My neighbors looked on in stunned silence. One of them said to me, “He didn’t deserve that. He’s a goon but he’s an American. You just murdered him.” I was reminded of a favorite line of mine from a Clint Eastwood movie and looked at him in disgust, “Deservin’ ain’t got nothing to do with it.” The confusion of the night had created both hope, opportunity and danger. “Let’s get out of here and move our families. They will be doing sweeps within the hour.” Everyone nodded and took off running. I had become a murderer in their eyes and as such a leader or another nut. Either way, I was not turning back now. The birdsong of the squawking parrots from earlier this evening was now forever stuck in my mind. “Were they warning of predators,” I thought to myself, “or telling the other birds to fly away to safety and freedom?” I knew what it meant to me and I intended to get free as soon as I could. We had become the hunted and those that did not realize it were doomed to a life of agony and servitude. There was no more civil debate, the stand was taken whether you pulled the trigger, threw a bottle or just watched in horror. There was no more middle ground in this neighborhood or our nation, in our minds.

Chapter XXIV: Sunday Service (The Day the Dollar Died Series)

by John Galt

February 21, 2010

Just a reminder….the following is FICTION…..

February 28, 2010 10:00 A.M. Colorado Springs, CO

Wendy was not what you would call a very religious person, but her President had asked every American to take time out today to attend Sunday service and pray for the Republic. Wendy noticed a relative return to normalcy in her area with businesses starting to open back up but that pesky curfew keeping the nightlife she used to enjoy to a minimum. “Sigh, now I know what it was like during prohibition,” she muttered to herself.

The new government appointed attaché began to preach his sermon:

“Welcome one, welcome all to the Universalist Church of Colorado Springs, my name is Joseph Arientes, a Shepard the government has asked to come out of retirement to help bring peace to this little corner of our world during this time of great turmoil.. I know this is not your normal Catholic, Baptist, Islamic, Jewish or Episcopal service, but due to the diversity of this community, we will be praying for all in many forms and languages, and begging the Lord for forgiveness for our sins as a nation, and to the people of our community and country I beseech thee to help our neighbors and friends in their time of need. We of all faiths here in the state of Colorado are blessed by the fruits of the earth and the inner peace for which we have united behind our President, our Congress and our nation in need. God has given us all a chance for redemption and by growing together, as one nation united, not divided, driving forward into a new brighter future under the leadership of men who fear not a benevolent Lord, but fear a nation in collapse because religion and freedom are words used to guide the innocent into actions which harm the greater good.

Our lives, our unity, our society depends on protecting the weak, praying for the powerful, and helping the citizens in our little community assist those brave men fighting overseas or training to do so at the Academy up the road from us. Today has been declared by President Obama a Day of National Prayer. Join me please in this universal prayer for our Republic, being recited now from coast to coast, on military vessels and at bases everywhere, in the Lord’s name, we pray. Please bow your heads.

Dear God, please forgive our nation for the transgressions of the past,

Please help our citizens unite to save the poor, feed and clothe the needy, and aid the sick.

Dear God, please bring tolerance and understanding to our shores, teaching those who need to be taught the new way, so our people can provide for each other, in your name.

Dear God, please help our President spread the good word, to act as your servant on earth to save the Republic and lift all souls to new glories in thy name.

Dear God, please protect our protectors and open your doors to their untimely deaths, providing us all with hope, with glory and freedom at your hands. In your name, we act as your servant on this planet, to protect it, to save it, and to help each other without question or doubt, with you name leading us forth out of the darkness.

Amen.

Wendy began to weep. The gentleman next to her was wearing the uniform of a pilot in the United States Air Force and reached into his wife’s purse to hand Wendy a tissue. “Here you go young lady,” he began, “I hope that prayer resonates across the land before we fall too far, too fast.” Wendy dabbed the tears away from her face and looked up at him only to say, “Thank you sir, I pray you are never in danger. We need men like our President and yourself.”

February 28, 2010 6:45 A.M. just outside of Yazoo City, MS

A young pale man stood up in front of the gathered men, all on one knee in prayer and began to speak:

“My name is Pastor Lewis and today was declared a National Day of Prayer by the President of the United States. For his words, his actions, I shall offer a prayer, but not his prayer, not the words we are all being instructed to offer, but the Lord’s Prayer, the words from the Bible, not a government handbook. This service is not about a nation or a man, it is about forgiveness.

For the words of our leaders now ring hollow, for that I pray to God that they seek and receive forgiveness. For the words of the false prophets and leaders ring blasphemous, I pray for them and offer them my forgiveness. For those men who tortured and starved families and good men who I bore witness to, I forgive them and pray the Lord will also.

For the good men who came to our rescue in Arkansas and brought us to this last bastion of freedom, I thank thee. God works in mysterious ways my friends. A week and a half ago a friend of mine who opened a small Baptist church in Arkansas asked me to watch his flock and protect the property of the church while he attended a family funeral over a thousand miles away. Little did I know that all property in our nation was declared community property and that the country I love would abandon the Constitution, God’s gift to man on earth, a beacon of Freedom and Liberty that allowed us to pray and worship as we all saw fit.

This gathering before me is of men of violence, for which I can not condone nor bless the actions you are about to undertake, not without piercing my soul and violating my oath of non-violent action to save souls and protect those who seek my counsel. There are no atheists in foxholes nor are there non-believers who fight for a cause that is not just and proper. I pray for all of you. I pray for your families. I pray you can find another way but that the Lord finds a path for you and forgives all of you for the transgressions you have and are about to commit as you seek and ask guidance in the future in a nation divided. May you go in peace my brothers and thank you for believing in the word of our Lord. God Bless you all. Let us bow our heads together and recite the Lord’s Prayer.”

Mike actually was choked up after the service and decided to seek a moment with the Father as he knew this man, this frail almost ghost like figure, may be his last chance to get a message out to his wife and family should the worst occur in the next twenty-four hours. “Father Lewis, I believe you said your name was,” Mike asked innocently enough, “can I have a moment of your time?” The Father had those gaunt haunting eyes only seen in the documentaries about the concentration camps in the old World War shows and looked at Mike almost in shame as he said, “Of course my son. Of course you are old enough to be my father also. Perhaps we can counsel each other. Are you Catholic my son?” Mike nodded no and replied, “Lutheran sir, and yeah, I probably am old enough although I have done so much in my lifetime that you could hold a confessional for a week. So let’s just call it a draw and talk about the now and if you need to talk to me, please feel free to.”

Mike decided to keep it simple, short and to the point. “Father,” he started to say as he handed a piece of paper over to him, “here is the address and phone number where my wife is in hiding. By this time today my farm will be seized, my farm animals stolen, my property looted. I fear that she will be the target of retribution for my actions of the last twenty-four hours for abandoning the government and stealing food to give to some poor communities in Mississippi that were being ignored. I know I have done wrong in my past and I hope you understand. Now tell me Father, how did you get here and what counsel can I share with you?”

Pastor Lewis was stunned and had to put his feeble, now marked hand on Mike’s shoulder, “My son, I shall pray for you and do what I can to get word to your wife. Now, if I may, can I tell you about some men I want you to help, if you can?” Mike looked puzzled and said in calm manner, “Of course Father, who would need my help? I’m just the man who finds and ends trouble all of his life, one way or another.” The Pastor began to tell the tale of the people coming to the church, the seizure of his property by the Home Guard and the horrific tale of the tents, even though he was only there for a few nights. “Mike, if I may,” the Pastor continued, “when they took me back to the tents, they beat me, they kicked me, they taught me the horrors of our fellow man. During the two nights I was there when the temperature was below thirty degrees, they would turn hoses on to the ground under our feet, freezing the dirt so we woke up to an ice cold shelter in the morning. I am still recovering from pneumonia and bore witness to two men dying from frostbite as they would not provide any heat. These men hated us, yet we did not know them. They treated us like animals, yet none of these men had lifted a weapon in anger, nor attacked any of them. We did not understand. Then came the two companies from the Arkansas National Guard that switched side, and the horror worsened. The Home Guard was slaughtered and to our horror, the National Guard took no prisoners. They lined the bodies up on the ground and sprayed water on them, freezing them to the dirt for the powers in charge to see. They then rescued as many families as they could and headed across the border to where we are now, the last bastion as it is being called across America. We are now surrounded they said and only have the little corner of Southeast Arkansas, the central part of Mississippi and parts of Louisiana across the river.”

Mike was shocked at this bit of news. “How did you learn of all this Padre,” he asked incredulously, “and why are you telling me all this now?” The man of the cloth took a deep breath, then coughed violently, spitting up a little blood in the process. “Are you going to be okay Father?”, Mike asked. “I’ll be fine my son,” Pastor Lewis replied while wiping his mouth, “I’m going home anyways in all probability if we don’t get some anti-biotics here soon. The reason I know is that I was there, I was warned, I was told they were going to get all of us for daring to oppose the changes. I did not even have a card that they issued, I was so out of the loop. And for that act they got even more crude and violent towards me. They will not stop and now, please Mike, I beg you, I need your help.” Mike said it point blank to the Father, “If the commander lets me, I will help you.”

Father Lewis was a good man and instead of running to the commander he laid out to Mike the dilemma he was facing. Mike looked at the Pastor, then skyward and lit up a cigarette donated by one of the volunteers who appreciated the food they had left for the poor black families in the north of the state. “I’ll go talk to Tim, if he says I can go, I’ll do it,” Mike replied and finished by saying as he tossed the butt of the smoke on to the ground, “and I will be praying for you also Padre.”

February 28, 2010 10:55 A.M. McRae, GA

After a long night of slaughtering dairy cows and cutting the meat up for distribution to the people throughout the town, Lillian and her family welcomed the Sunday services in this small town where America still seemed to be full of life, and the concerns of the world seemed millions of miles away. “Amen!”, the reverend yelled from the pulpit and then instead of dismissing the crowded church or following the dictates from the Department of Information and the prayer they supplied, he spun around to the American flag to the left side of the stage and there a Boy Scout lifted it up straight, above every other flag but below the Cross so as to illuminate it in a golden shower of light. The reverend began:

“I pledge allegiance, to the flag,

Of the United States of America,

And to the Republic, for which it stands,

One nation under God,

Indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for ALL!”

Tears were streaming down the faces of almost everyone in the church. The reverend removed his hand from over his heart, grabbed the Bible off of the pulpit and held it against the flag and over the din of people sobbing and talking yelled out, “I shall not let anything come between God and Country. When these are separated by force, our freedoms have died. Stand strong my friends for we must be united as one. God Bless everyone.”

Tom felt like he had been punched in the head as he looked at Lillian and asked, “Was our government just dictating religion now? Are we going to have a new system of laws for speech and religion?” Lillian shrugged, grabbed his hands and said simply, “Yup. Buckle up my son.” Sandy was glowing with hope and her mother did not want to break the spirit so she looked at her, put her arm around her and whispered to her, “I know you needed that.” Sandy kissed her Mom on the cheek and simply said to her Momma, “I love you Momma. I needed it more than you could ever know. I was losing hope. They have just beaten us down so much in just one week.”

The reverend called Tom over to his pickup truck and he met with three other gentlemen and a deputy from the county. They had a long conversation and Lillian was getting worried as she sat in the SUV which still had a bit of that dead cow smell in the back, so she pinched some chew into her gums that she received from one of the men in the church to clear the smell from her nose. “Momma, you’re not dipping are you? That stuff will kill you!”, Sandy said emphatically. “Honey, we’re all going to die now, I don’t want the last smell in my nose to be that of a dead dairy cow. You want some? I’ve got about two pinches left,” Lillian said to her daughter laughing a little with that nasty brown-green smile. “Ugh, no thanks,” Sandy said as she watched Tom come back from the meeting and hop into the truck.

“What is the news Tom? Should we get ready for more fun and games?”, Lillian asked. “Something like that. The President is speaking live tonight as per the newspaper. He is laying out the plan and which states are free states now and how the troublemakers will be dealt with. The county sheriff feels that we could have some unwanted guests from that Home Guard group as they have stabilized the Atlanta area by using brute force where they needed to,” Toms paused the lit up a cigarette to the horror of his wife, “and now he fears that they are on their way to South Georgia to lock up any opposition or runners.” Lillian spit out the window, leaned back in her seat and said to Tom, “So you volunteered to help the deputies, I hope.” Tom nodded in the affirmative and Sandy started to sob as she said, “First you start smoking and now you’re going to take a stand and I’ll be an old widow in the middle of nowhere. Why are you doing this Tom? We can just hunker down at the farm house.” Tom started the SUV, turned around and looked his wife in the eyes as her mascara started to run, “Sweetie, how long until you think they get out there and steal everything and lock everyone up? A day? Two days? We have to draw the line but let’s hear what the President says tonight. That will be the deciding factor the deputy said and we’ll be meeting at nine tonight in the town square to figure out what to do.”

February 28, 2010 9:42 A.M. Sarasota, FL The Slough

Somehow, some way, the Good Lord took the President’s idea and blessed the newly labeled “terrorists” in Sarasota by laying down a thick heavy layer of fog. My strategy of abandoning the trucks at the shopping mall and stealing a County Parks and Recreations vehicle was brilliant as it looked like it was supposed to be in this closed park and nobody would want to search in here while the fog was so thick. We heard the gunshots ringing out occasionally in the distance but the seven of us who left the area figured we were the group that was going to take the fall since we fled.

“John, what’s the plan?” I heard the voice then sighed as I only had a fleeting idea and thus I began. “We have to wait until dark, hold out here, clean your weapons, get some food but no fires, no cooking. Let’s all kneel, pray for forgiveness and rest. We will rotate guard posts every four hours. At the start of curfew we head southeast. If we play our cards correctly, we will make it to the Everglades next weekend, faster if we can find one of those patriot groups and can get a ride down there.” They all looked at me in horror but before they could say a word, I started to recite the Lord’s Prayer and bowed my head. It was eerily quiet in the fog and as I said “Amen” the church bells rang out at ten o’clock on the money, just as the President had requested.

One of the wives of the neighbors who actually understood what I was advising began to talk, “Should we listen to the President before acting or just get out of Dodge?” I looked at her and my wife who was very concerned by now and told her, “We are wanted men in perfect times, the walking dead according to this leadership. We listen and run but we do so quietly. Most of the nation will be fixated on the speech so we could get out of the city limits and free while they are listening to him pontificate. This could work to our advantage plus we could hit a few small stores on the way out of town and grab more food and water.” Everyone nodded in agreement and set up their bedrolls to grab some sleep. I put an earpiece into my ear to listen to the talk radio programs from the government talking heads discuss a speech that has not even begun. As I scanned the horizon, every now and then the flashing blue lights would zoom by in the fog. This was a time for eternal vigilance and not a time for compromise. I was finally alive, free to defend what I believed in. After tonight the question I was waiting to hear an answer for would be solved:

“What would be the cost?”

Chapter XXV: Extinction (The Day the Dollar Died Series)

by John Galt

February 21, 2010 23:59 UTC

Just a reminder….the following is FICTION…..AND the final Chapter….

February 28, 2010 7:30 P.M. Eastern Time, Sarasota, FL-The Slough and the Swamp

Darkness finally fell and it appeared that the traffic situation returned to normal for a Sunday night. “Okay everyone, pile into that County Parks SUV right away. Stash your gear in the back but leave room for one person to cover our rear with a rifle if we get any pursuit. You’ll have to shoot to kill,” I said stating the obvious, “and remember they will shoot back. We have to get as far away from town as we can as fast as we can. I’ll run down into Charlotte County if we can make it and when we run out of gas we’ll plan from there.” Nobody argued, talked, whined or mumbled one solitary word. They knew we were up against the wall and time was not an ally, but an enemy. If we could use the interstate it would be a Godsend but I was going to gamble by having everyone wearing baseball caps and looking like a crew heading out to the Myakka River State Park. If the guards ignored us by the interstate I felt confident I could get to Charlotte County and into the Babcock Refuge and buy us another day of life.

The interstate off Clark Road was closed of course with barricades blocking the path but the route to State Highway 72 was wide open. No guards. No checkpoint, nothing. “I wonder if they are all in town looking for us around the mall?”, one of the wives said. My wife looked at me and turned around to her, “I guarantee it. I’m listening to the radio and they have rounded up half our neighbors for questioning. I am sure by now they have ratted us out and that is why we don’t see any traffic. I’m glad we lied to them about where we were going. They were going to rat us out to save their sorry hides, you watch and see.” I looked over at her and said, “Turn that up and I will hold off listening to our fearless leader until the top of the hour. I can not believe we have a shot at making it through to Charlotte County. Everyone is so pre-occupied with the President it is as if the world is shutting down for one more night to see what he says.” My wife turned the UHF radio up and sure enough there was another report of an attack on a Home Guard outpost, this time in Manatee County causing them to put choppers up into the air to help hunt down the perpetrators.

“John, I just thought of something,” one of the men in the back said, “didn’t the county put GPS into all of these trucks?” The screeching sound of brakes caught everyone off guard as I slammed the vehicle to a stop and yelled, “You’re right, everyone out! Start to find the antenna for this vehicle ASAP, I’ll head under the hood, two of you look on the roof!” The engine was off now but barely cooled down as I had been running it hard. I grabbed the flashlight and started looking then one of the wives yelled out, “Got it! It’s up here on the roof!” I slammed the hood down and one of the other neighbors who used to work in a car dealership’s shop said, “No big deal. I can cut it out.” He whipped out a large hunting knife, pried up the cover and started slicing wires, tossing the antenna assembly into the swamp. “Too bad we couldn’t keep the unit active,” he grinned, “I would love to see them tracking a gator.” I looked around at everyone and realized what he just said and then reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone and turned it on. “Everyone, grab your cell phones, turn them on and throw them into the muck!”, I yelled, “I forgot they can track these also!” Everyone reached into back packs, pockets and purses and started turning on their various devices and throwing them into the muck. “That was close, if they had wanted to, they could have nailed us,” I started to say, “but we are not out of the woods yet.” My wife sneered at me and said, “There you go again, stupid pun man.” That broke the mood and everyone laughed, piled back into the SUV and we started heading east again. The President would be on in ten minutes and I wanted to get some real estate behind me while he was chattering away.

February 28, 2010 7:46 P.M. McRae, GA – The Town Square

The gathering of folks was getting larger as almost every male in town had arrived via their pickup trucks or walked down the street. It was a diverse crowd, black, white, Latino, yet that did not matter. Almost everyone in town was suspicious to find out if there were any Home Guard types around after the stories from the other communities started to circulate. The abuses would not be tolerated here and Tom was thankful for this. “When the President begins to speak, everyone assigned a guard post, head there now. I want those roadblocks in place no matter what,” the voice of the County Sheriff echoed out on a megaphone. Everyone got quiet and dozens of men who were pre-screened took their rifles and radios to move into position. This was truly the time that tried men’s souls.

“Seven minutes, seven minutes” the voice bellowed out, “everyone get into position immediately.” I noticed two snipers moving up on top of city hall, one man with a spotting scope scanning the horizon and some people putting sand bags up around a small doorway near the entrance to the sheriff’s office. “Are we looking for a war or just what?”, I asked out loud. The guy next to me, a seventy-something year old black man grabbed my wrist and looked me in the eyes, “They are looking for it. We just want to live like we always have. This isn’t my America and I want you to know if I die tonight, I’m sorry I voted for the man. They sold me out.” I patted the old guy on the back and a deputy came over to us, “Follow me, we have a position we need you two to guard.”

February 28, 2010 6:55 P.M. Just East of Threadville, MS

Mike was a very unhappy camper. The group was heading West to put his friend’s semi into position with a truckload of explosives to take out the I-20 bridge over the Mississippi if need be. The rest of the men were heading into a meat grinder, to hold the town of Monroe against an armored battalion coming up from Fort Hood with two more battalions of Mexican Army regulars reinforcing them. It was a hopeless battle but it was what Mike wanted to do, die for his nation, not run. Tim knew that that it would not end well and told Mike in their meeting, “I need the children saved and you are truly the only man I would trust.”

Mike turned the radio up as he crossed the border via the back roads into Alabama heading slowly into the town of Okatuppa near the crossroads where his escort was due to meet him. “Children, stay quiet. This bus is hard enough to drive and President Meathead is getting ready to speak and we WILL all listen to it together,” Mike yelled out. The kids all calmed down and settled into their seats, waiting anxiously to hear what was said and to watch the reaction of Mike who was the most stressed adult they had ever seen. The children had been through a lot, watching their parents arrested, some heading into combat, others coming back wounded. It was what Mike called the Stress-Escape Bus Ride and the children needed to escape but Mike could not. He checked is shotgun and his pistol to insure the safeties were on and then turned the bus off of the road onto a side road, leaving it idling in the darkness, waiting on his contact. He turned the radio up and just sat and listened to what would be announced about his future and the nation’s.

February 28, 2010 05:51 P.M. Mountain Time, Colorado Springs, CO

Wendy was as excited as she ever could be. Here she was at her boss’s exclusive viewing party where suddenly there was no rationing, no shortages, nothing but excess. “Ah, Ms. Listels, we are so pleased to see you could make it, “Candy said in a slightly tipsy voice, “I am so happy that you could enjoy the nice life. You did such a good job on those applications, you probably will get a promotion. You have no idea how please the Home Guard officers are with you, they just adore you and your work!” Wendy blushed and replied to Candy, “How did you find that out? I just finished the work this morning in secret so the official stamps could be applied in the morning.” Candy laughed, “I’m in charge of everything now, I am the new boss. The old one was linked to one of those groups founded illegally to usurp the government, the Tea Partiers or 911 groups or whatever the hell they were called. That is so,” she stumbled a bit in her high heels spilling her drink everywhere then continued, “so, so, so yesteryear. We are now a world member and that is all that counts. You might just get a promotion out of this sweetie. See me in the morning. Maybe I can set you up to process reports for me and get us more money so I can have bigger parties!”

Wendy thanked her and was stunned. She walked over to the bartender and handed her D-Card to him and said, “Can I have a Cosmo please, make it a double.” The bartender scanned her card and laughed, “You still use this thing? Get yourself a DA baby, you won’t have to wait then and I can scan you from across the room. It’s much more secure.” As the bartender started mixing her drink she noticed other people waving their wrists over a metal obtrusion attached to the register and ringing up their drinks automatically. It spooked her at first then she realized they had that some sort of implant that she had only heard about in science fiction and some interdepartmental memos for those employees who had to go to the Academy for assignments. Just as her drink was handed over to her, Candy took to the front of the room and yelled out, “Everyone, hush! Be quiet and I mean that, right this minute! The President is about to speak so the bar is closed until he finishes.” She pointed to the bartenders who covered their registers and their scanners and then pointed to the screen were CNN-VOA Domestic Services had their logo emblazoned with a counter that said ten seconds were remaining.

Sunday February 28, 2010 8 P.M. Eastern Time, The Speech


Radio and television sets worldwide heard the following, “Ladies and Gentleman, the President of the United States of North America.”

President Obama approaches the podium in the White House and begins to speak:

“My fellow citizens of the world, a lot has happened in the seven days since the old currency collapsed due to an attack by financial thugs who attempted to destroy our nation. Well, as your President, I am happy to report that their efforts have failed and soon the United Nations of this world, those who believe in freedom and have discarded the dying ideals of a failed society will emerge stronger than ever, lifting all boats, including those world citizens who now reside in what is left of the former United States.

The reason I submit to all of you that the problems we have witnessed this past week are those of the past does not matter. I am looking forward to the future. My predecessor, President Bush, foresaw the need for preparations and put into place a frame work for the establishment of the new currency regime, the changing economic situation we were facing, and the need for stronger domestic security resources to insure national stability. For these acts I must thank the Bush and Cheney administration profusely for their foresight, which indeed gave me the tools necessary to deal with a crisis which was unexpected, yet manageable thanks to the prompt action of our Treasury Department under Secretary Geithner and the brilliant planning and execution of Ben Bernanke at the United States Federal Reserve. Thank you again for a job well done and even though it is not complete, the new World Reserve Bank is well under way to becoming operational and with your participation, economic stability can not and will not be far behind.

The National State of Emergency Declaration remains in place until further notice. As I have said before, it is my hope to suspend the SOE within ninety days but some of the more onerous oversight requirements on some of the states can and will be suspended effective at Midnight tonight for the states given full clearance to resume normal, independent operations. Each state will have a Federal and State elected governor, working together side by side as the Constitutional Convention will codify the changes that have been implemented officially on April 3, 2010. These changes were part of the deal that was constructed by our diplomatic team under the able leadership of Secretary of State Clinton working with our economic team under the guidance of Ben Bernanke. The NAFTA treaty has now been dissolved and replaced with the Unification Treaty of 2010, which was officially adopted at the last meeting of the G-7 in Northern Canada several weeks ago. This treaty satisfied the obligations of the G-20 accords in 2008 and created a satisfactory currency regime which allowed President Bush and myself to stabilize the financial system and insure the United States would continue to function as a practical entity in the world economy.

I wish also to thank Ben Bernanke for abolishing the FHLB and absorbing the regional units and their assets into the new Federal Reserve Banking system for each state, whereas the assets and oversight will be moved from a smaller control basis over to the individual state banks which now have voting powers within the Federal Reserve system. I have instructed the Congress via Speaker Pelosi to begin drafting regulations which allow each state to hold special elections to insure that the citizens are allowed to vote for Federal Reserve members from their states as well as the appointment of individual Chairpersons which will be accomplished by the governors and Federal Reserve member banks on a six year rotating basis. This should guarantee the independence of our banking system and stabilize the electronic run on our financial system that began last Sunday night. This action is how we have been able to create and implement the conversion from an antiquated paper currency system and to a modern, digital electronic monetary regime. Some enterprising souls have even developed further advances which were already approved by the Federal Reserve and tested in Europe which just goes to show you that innovation is still part and parcel with the American spirit.

Unfortunately, with each major change in world events, the specter of evil raises its ugly, vile head to try to take advantage of the confusion. The thieves, profiteers, and hooligans who think they can steal from our citizens or corporations are being dealt with by the Department of Homeland Security Home Guard units in the harshest manners imaginable and as a result, we will have a major jobs program opening up to expand our prisons ten fold in the weeks to come. I will not tolerate theft from little old ladies like Marjorie Pipkins in Providence, Rhode Island. The DHS Secretary informed of this story and I ordered immediate courses of action to prevent the elderly from being scammed like poor Mrs. Pipkins was when a phony home grocery delivery service decided to try to steal her food and her identity from the D-Card she was so proud to have obtained. These three gentlemen were given twenty years of hard labor and hopefully that will cure and deter others from considering a life of criminal mischief and stealing. I bring this story forward because it is no secret that terrorists have been exploiting the recent confusion also.

When I won the election in 2008, President Bush was more than gracious enough to welcome me into the National Security discussions which included the specter of domestic terrorist activities. Little did I know at that time the severity and gravity of the warnings his team gave mine and the information which was presented. When our economic stability was endangered, it was discovered that not only were groups within our own borders exploiting the situation with wild tales about the end of the United States Constitution or a new world dictatorship beginning, we found out via the hard work of the FBI and Department of Homeland Security under Secretary Napolitano, that indeed elements from Al Queda were supporting, financing and structuring groups to cause disruptions on the ground and forcing the average American citizen to believe that their lives were endangered or at risk needlessly. The threat was so serious, so real and so entrenched in the fabric of our nation that our intelligence sources believe that some of these elements penetrated our National Guard and local Sheriff’s offices at the state level, simply to foment insane ideas about the administration and spread false propaganda about the Home Guard. As a result, we have had to quarantine numerous portions of several states and this map will be made available on the internet via the Department of Homeland Security website, DHS.gov and all major newspaper publications and communications outlets.


The networks have been instructed to flash the maps up on your television screens tonight and as you can see, the areas shaded in red are the regions designated unsafe due to Al Queda and domestic terrorist activity. Those regions will remain under the dictates of martial law until further notice. However the state of Alaska which seems somewhat disproportionate may only be experiencing communications issues due to the harsh winter brought on by the climate change all of us have been experiencing and I expect their state of emergency to be suspended in a matter of days as the weather abates.

I remind everyone, I urge all patriots, I beseech upon all of the people, if you know or suspect a neighbor, a friend, a soldier or law enforcement officer of aiding or abetting the activities of or terrorist plans which have been disrupting the rebuilding of our economic system or interfering with the activities of the Home Guard and National Guard to re-establish order, dial 911 or 999 on any telephone and the response will be immediate. You can also contact the national DHS tip line which is displayed at the bottom of your screens and could lead to rewards for information which breaks up these evil groups attempting to destroy your freedoms and usurp our authority as a Constitutional government.

For those states where you have no issues, no red regions, and a notification that the state of emergency is being lifted, your banks will open tomorrow, your businesses returning to normal and a celebration, a new holiday will be created. Tomorrow is “National Return to Work Day” and I will be wearing the new flag with the red and white stripes and three large stars to signify our new continental unity. Canadian soldiers will be assisting with Mexican soldiers inside of the former borders of the United States to restore order in those trouble regions and if you get a phone call from your boss telling you it is safe, we expect each and every American to get back to work, help us feed, cloth and restart the nation back on to the path of a new prosperity. Your retirements have been protected, your bank accounts guaranteed safe and now you must do what is best for your nation, your freedoms and for the world. It is time to get back to work and as such, I shall do now myself as I meet with Mr. Bernanke and Mr. Geithner to discuss the beginning of the new banking system and the opportunities it presents for all of the citizens in North America.

Good night, God Bless all of you, and long live freedom in the greatest Union on Earth.”

February 28, 2010 8:29 P.M. Middle of Nowhere, Alabama

Two children began to cry in the back of the short bus Mike was driving. “Silence you brats, this is important!”, he yelled back and thus the children sat still and silent fearing this huge old man who was now stressing over what he had just heard. The radio then blared out over a Birmingham station no less, “This is Rick Sanchez with CNN-VOA Radio News and the speech is over, let the debate begin. With us tonight are three experts from the Federal Reserve and two members of the IMF who helped design and draft this new banking consortium which under President Obama’s leadership appears to have saved Western Civilization inside the borders of the old United States…..” Mike turned it over to WSM 650 and found the same tripe. He turned the radio down and saw a signal from an old beat up Jeep Cherokee twenty feet ahead. It was the escort he had been waiting for. “Okay kids,” Mike began as he put the bus into gear, “we’re going camping and meeting some really cool people. If you’re nice, maybe we can meet Yogi Bear or something.” The kids did not sound impressed and one of the older kids just groaned. “Ah well, you’ll be excited when you see this place, it is a lot of fun and you’ll have an adventure every day in school,” Mike yelled out.

As the bus creaked and rambled slowly, Mike realized that the route being taken was still a back road nightmare, avoiding intersections and any possibility of running into the Home Guard clowns or anyone supporting the President’s agenda. After another hour of potholes and massive exercises in shifting up and down, the bus finally turned on Sea Warriors Road near Blandon Springs where the church had set up a nice place for the children to live in the cabins and encampments there. “Sir, I don’t know which warrior you are, but God Bless you,” the reverend said as Mike stepped off the bus and counted the children to make sure he did not forget any. “They are good kids,” Mike said,” but between you and I sir, most are losing their parents tonight and tomorrow. It is not going well out West. Do you have any type of transport available?” The reverend looked over at an old beat up 1978 GMC pickup and said “That’s Billy White Eldrin’s but you’ll have to ask him if you can have it.”

Billy White Eldrin was a forty-seven year old black grandson of a former sharecropper who had just lost everything due to the games the banks played and in his mind, conning him out of his land and his family homestead that had been their since the turn of the 1900’s. He was also quite bitter that the President and nobody seemed to care so when this hulking old white man approached him, he grabbed his twelve gauge clinching it tightly so as to put the fear of God into Mike. Mike looked at him and said, “You ain’t scarin’ me son. I’ve been shot at, shot, lost, stolen from and generally abused for forty plus years now. So if you’re trying to scare me with that shotgun, it ain’t working.” Billy White looked up at Mike and smiled, “So I hears you need a ride. Where ya heading old man?” Mike smiled back and grabbed a smoke out of his coat pocket, “A place where great harm will probably finally finish me, why, you out of options also?” Mr. Eldrin stood up and flicked an old Ronson lighter up to light Mike’s coal, “Sir, it sounds to me like you want to defend what is left. Hop in and tell me where to go, I’ll drive you there and cover your back.” With a shake of their hands and tip of the hat to the reverend, they left this secret encampment knowing full well they would never return. “Head West,” Mike told Billy, “and don’t stop until you see the Mississippi River or a fight we need to get involved in.”

February 28, 2010 9:13 P.M. North Charlotte County, FL near the Babcock Preserve

“I want everyone setting up camp deep on the dry land fifty yards southeast of here. You and you, come with me, we are setting up an ambush. If we want to get into the swamp, we had best be ready to take down the first sucker that sees our truck and get his fuel and ammo plus radios.” Here I was in the middle of nowhere as the fog was rolling in and what’s the first thing I heard back in response from my wife and two of the other women folk? “Honey, are there snakes out here?” I sighed while the men grabbed some brush to cover the truck up and settle in for the night. “Sweetheart, there are plenty of snakes, gators, armadillos, poisonous spiders and God knows what else out here. That’s why we are here,” I said to here trying to control my tone of voice, “THEY don’t want to explore out here either.” The three women ran back to the truck and said they would sleep in there and that ruined the ambush plans for the night.

“Just dang,” one of the husbands said, “now what?” I rolled my eyes and said it plainly, “Time to hike. Grab just enough gear, two of the reflective triangles and one bottle. Fill it up with gas and we’ll used it as a Molotov if we have to. We’re heading to the main road.” Both men nodded and said “Okay John!” The last man looked at me scared as can be and said, “What do you want me to do?” I told him to stay put and guard the women and haul out of there as fast as he could in the morning if we did not return. “Oh, and one more thing,” I said as I started to walk away, “pray for fog.”

The other two men set up twenty yards away from me at a thirty degree angle so as to make it appear that a truck had broken down and left the triangles behind just off of the side of the road. It was a cool night and a long wait was ahead as this was a lightly traveled road in the state. At least that is what we thought until tonight.

No sooner than had I spent an hour in the Palmetto bush I decided to go take a bathroom break. I turned my flashlight on and found a relatively dry spot behind a fallen oak and took care of business but when I returned to the site, I hit the ground hard. There were four Humvees, two with active searchlights looking everywhere for any sign of movement. As I stared down the road, there were my friends, laid out neatly with tarps covering the bodies. “Crap how could I not hear anything?”, I thought to myself. As I started to move a sharp pain hit me in the side and I realized that I had been shot. This wasn’t a Home Guard unit, it was 82nd and they were not playing games. As I dragged myself to the road, I heard one of the men giving a high five to the sniper and yelling, “Well, do we take him in or put him out of his misery?” The officer that I was trying to draw a bead on did not hesitate, “Put him out, he’ll just cause trouble at a later date.” The last thing I remember was my gun being kicked away from my hand and the soldier standing over me as I stared up into what should have been a foggy night. “Head or heart?”, he asked in a matter of fact manner. “Head please, quick, I’m bleeding bad.”

Boom.

February 28, 2010 10:17 P.M. McRae, GA

“Mom, I’m home, tell everyone to stand down,” Tom yelled out as he walked into the front door. Lillian was shocked. “Tom, what happened?”, she asked almost panic stricken. “The Sheriff sent everyone home. He just gave up. He was out gunned and did not want a slaughter,” Tom started to say, “he was sorry that this had to pass but there was no way he was going to lead his town into a suicide mission. The last thing we saw was him heading into his tent with a bottle of whiskey then a single gunshot. Deputy Billings is in charge now and he told us all to go home and get ready for door to door searches tomorrow.”

Lillian began to weep which upset her daughter far more than anyone could have ever imagined. “Honey, calm down,” Tom said, “we’ll figure something out.” She screamed “Where? In a brothel? In a labor camp? I want to kill myself, Momma give me a gun!” Lillian stood up, tears streaming down her face and slapped Sandy as hard as she could. Then she pushed her on the floor and yelled, “I’m not going to watch my family fall apart. Tom, you get sandbags and reinforcements for the front. We’ll go down fighting if we have to. And you young lady, the only way you’ll get a gun from me is if you pry it from my cold dead hands. So get in the kitchen and start tearing liniments and making bandages. Our family is not the only one that will take a stand. Hell, they might not even get out here for two months, or years. So shut up and get yourself together!” Sandy understood it from her Momma if she did not grasp what I was saying. And that put her into a course of action.

“Lillian,” Tom started to say, “if you don’t mind I’m going to go help the rest of your family dig some ditches at the main gate to stop any trucks from getting through. We’ll be setting up booby traps also so please, let us get finished. Can you and Sandy fix some of that good tea and coffee for us? If I’m going to die, I want to taste the good things in life one more time.” Sandy looked at Tom in horror as Lillian gave him a reassuring hug and said, “Certainly my son, I love you, ya know. You’re more of a man than I thought ten years ago, she deserves a fine man like you.” Sandy came over and started to say “Why” but Tom put his fingers on her lips and said, “Not yet. Not until I’m dying. You get to work and I’ll be back here in few hours.”

February 28, 2010, 10:05 P.M. Mountain Time, Colorado Springs, CO

Wendy was so drunk she was in shock when one of the Congressmen walked into the room with more champagne. “Everyone celebrate, tonight we are free, tomorrow,” the drunken slob started to slur, “we get to declare liberty for all who believe, woohoo!” Candy was still sloshed after the speech and found out that she got a promotion the hard way, with the arrest of her boss for conspiracy to commit wire fraud which in reality was making a loud boisterous boast that the current administration was more corrupt than Rome and his day was coming. The Home Guard never really smiled on events like that, especially live on the local news so Candy now became the General Manager for the Department of Economic Planning and Human Resources for the state of Colorado under the OES.

Wendy walked over to congratulate and toast her but before she could say a word, Candy hugged her and yelled out to the room, “Silencio you drunken bureaucrats! I have an announcement. With my recent promotion I need someone who works hard works like a slave and gets the job done without whining. That means Mike, you’re fired. Wendy, you’re my new Regional Director for Permits and Regulatory Processing for District Seven. Congrats to the youngest and best worker in Colorado gang!”

Wendy was stunned, blushing and now a little buzzed. A little hard work and playing by the rules within the system, or at least learning it has paid off. “God Bless North America!”, Wendy yelled out and everyone screamed the same phrase back as they tipped their drinks into the air.

For now, the government held all the cards, all the freedoms and rationed all of the hope. Wendy was pleased as punch that she learned just enough to pick the right side in her mind in the conflict that had just occurred over the last week. The dollar may indeed have died but a new world was discovered. And that world would guarantee success for those who played by the rules, even if they had no clue what they were. “Ms. Listels, thank you,” the Home Guard rep said, “You’re the greatest!” As she raised her glass up to acknowledge the accolades, Candy smiled and said, “You’ll go far kid, stick with me. We have the nation in the palm of our hands now.”
__________________

Wow. That ranks with 1984 and Animal Farm as one of the most depressing things I have ever read in my life. What did everyone else think of it?

Strangly sounds like something that could happen in the near future. It's prophetic strangly.

The reason it's "depressing" is because it's a very possible scenario for the near future. The author did a lot of research on the current financial system and the COG plans before writing story.

The Part about the Financial System is something that just might happen and probably will. But the part about having to run away and being murdered by the 82nd is not very realistic and there is a low probability of it actually happening.

If only 3% or even 2% of Americans fight for their rights and this includes 2% or 3% of the Ninety Million Gun Owners the Government will be screwed and we will WIN.

I found that part to be the most depressing. Has John Galt written any more after that? Possibly what happens to them after the entire military sides with the government and most of the resistance is butchered methodically?

I'm telling you guys, when I finished reading this story, I actually had a very lousy rest of the day, while I slowly re-contemplated everything in it.

Read John's Prepatorial series on pages 4 and 5 of this forum. Each one is a possible, fictional scenario with suggestions on how to deal with it.

What is it that makes most of us cringe and cower in fear at the mere thought of having to fight against the Military.

The Military is nothing for us to fear, and they will not be able to defeat the People as long as the People do not surrender at the sound of the first shots or worse yet at only the thought of having to fight against the Military.

What I keep seeing is defeatism being posted on this board. We seem to be willing to give up without even firing a single shot in the war for Freedom.

Sometimes I wonder if we are actually going to fight or if we will just hide like cowards and let our Nation be destroyed because of our fear of the Mighty and Invincible United States Military.

The Real Patriots who fought and gave their lives for what they believed in, which created this Nation, must be getting sick of what the current crop of “Patriots” are permitting to happen to the Great Republic that they gave to us.

Edited to add this PS

Red River Ranger By the way this is not directed at you personally, it is just that I am getting tired of the way a lot of people act like the US Military is invincible and if we have to fight against them we have zero chance of winning the War.

I was talking in reference to the story. I am well aware that the military is not infallible, having served in a combat arms unit myself. In terms of the story, it was very depressing. I am not a defeatist and I resent being labelled as such. Absolutely NOWHERE in my post did I mention that I was going to go slash my wrists in defeat, or go "hide like a coward and let our Nation be destroyed because of our fear of the Mighty and Invincible United States Military."

Potentially having to shoot multiple members of my extended family, arguably some of the finest men this nation has ever had, who feel just as strongly as we do about service and sacrifice, is a very depressing thing to me. And if I end up serving with the 82nd Airborne some day, then it's going to be ME that would have to end up shooting at people like me.

One would have to be a very cold person to not contemplate such things and feel such feelings after doing so.

Will you please carefully read this entire post before posting any response to it, Thanks.

I am getting very tired of the members of this board and how they can't seem to understand the written word, or they just skim through a post and then make a illogical comment based on the little that they did read.

Did you bother to read all of what I posted, especially including this PS:
Anyone reading that should be able to fully understand that my comments of defeatism and hide like cowards was not meant nor directed at them or for them.

I DID NOT CALL YOU A COWARD OR DEFEATIST NOR DID I MEAN FOR IT TO SEEM LIKE I DID.

Which is why I edited my post and added that PS.

When I read my own post for a second time I realized I laid it on a little thick and you might take it personally so I edited my darn post, and instead of just editing something out I just added that PS, which should have solved the problem, and what did I get for my trouble, you still took it personally and took offense to it.

I am really, really, really ticked off at members who are willing to fight with Brother Patriots at the drop of a hat.

Please do everyone a favor including yourself and fully read a post before making any comments or posts in reply.

I have read enough of your posts to know you are not stupid and I believe you do know how to read and fully understand what you read, so why are you having trouble understanding what I posted.

Fellas, I for one wont fight with my patriot brethren. That said. I was recently reminded about the Knights of Saint John. Better known as the knights of Malta. Not only were they men of conviction, but they were Monks, medics, and compassionate knights. That last part, I have problems with. Another area I'm working on in my Christian faith.

Point Im getting at is, these men of faith were total bad asses!!! They refused to give up one single acre of ground to the infidel ( enemy ). Out numbered is an under statement. Don't take my word for it, check it out for yourselves. I passed a book around amongst my team to be read. Notice I didn't use the word group. If it is Gods will, we will succeed. No matter our numbers. The greater our enemy is, the more glory belongs to God when we receive our VICTORY! I have prayed continuously, that with every single VICTORY. I will give all the GLORY to God. I don't care if I'm by myself. Right is right and evil is still wrong. No matter what the numbers are!!! A house divided cannot stand. This we know.

I read your entire post, including your disclaimer, and the fact that I was the sole person mentioned or referenced sounded especially personal to me. I'm not picking a fight with you, I am merely stating how I felt about it. I won't argue about it any further, as that would be counter-productive to this topic. You certainly cleared it up with the last post.

That said, I do believe that fighting the military toe-to-toe in the fashion the characters in the book did would be an invitation for death. That's why I'd like to see more on the story written, such as what the rest of the characters do, or what new characters do, after the initial resistance has been mopped up. I think this would be even more relevant to our situation, as I think a lot of us may find ourselves alone, far away from friendlies. What would the remaining characters do in their situation?

If that book was reality then yes we would not only be in deep S**t we would be history, but that book is not reality it is a work of Fiction.

Since you are not in the United States I don't know how much you do know about the actually Combat Strength of the United States Military.

Anyone knowing what the actual Facts and Truth is, would not lose any sleep over that book anymore then losing sleep over the Movie 2012.

I will be posting a topic on the issue of how great a threat the United States Military may be to the People who are fighting for freedom, but for now I will just post a couple of facts and truths.

If only 3% of the American Gun Owners actually fight that will equal, 2.7 Million armed Freedom Fighters.

The Combined Fighting Force meaning trigger pullers of the Army and Marine Corp, including the Reserves and National Guard equals, 134,909 Armed Troops.

If that number is divided up equally between the States it will equal, only 2,698 Combat Personal per State.

And then there is the issue of how many Soldiers and Marines will Fight on the Side of the Government and how many will join the Freedom Fighters

It is a simple fact that we meaning Freedom Fighters will outnumber the Army and Marines 20 to 1, and that is if only 3% of the Gun Owners Fight. I personally believe that there will be from 10% to over 20% who will Fight.

So as I see it the Big Bad United States Army and Marine Corp will be nothing for us to lose very much sleep over.

Now I am not saying that the Military will be totally useless nor that they will not be any concern at all, but just that they are not as big a problem as a lot of people seem to think they will be.

I am glad you understand that I was not insulting you by what I had posted, I just get a little uptight at times. Sorry about the misunderstanding.

We are after all Brother Freedom Fighters.

Sniper, Your figures seem about right. 3% of the American people take a stand, and about 135,000 active duty troops, plus there is then the reserves and the guard. Who knows how many loyalist there will be.

Just so you know. This book in question is based on actual historical events. Not once, not twice, but three times this guys stood their ground against Hundreds of thousands. If you don't wanna believe me. Fine. Like is said earlier today. Check it out for yourself. Nuff said. All this infighting and bickering is totally unproductive. Remember this. The military will have other friends to come to their aide. Foreign mercs and UN troops to name a couple. I like the UN part myself. Just love those target indicator helmets

John Galt, besides being a financial annalist, took some time to study the Continuity Of Government plans currently in place. He is also a student of past takeovers by tyrannical governments.


Go back and re read the story. Note what 99% of the people did when faced with a reality check. When they could not access their bank accounts, their cash became worthless and they lost their jobs, they panicked. Very, very few were prepared to deal with a situation where there was no electricity, no food, no fuel etc.

What did they do??? What people always do...they kissed the governments ass and did what they were told. They went along just to get along; many turning into snitchs just to obtain a few brownie points with big brother or to obtain a few extra food stamps.

Sure there will be some small pockets of resistance; but if you think the US military will not do all in it's power to eliminate them...just ask an Indian, a Southerner, Randy Weaver or a survivor of Waco.

"The Combined Fighting Force meaning trigger pullers of the Army and Marine Corp, including the Reserves and National Guard equals, 134,909 Armed Troops. "

That's why they are more heavily armed. Civilians do not have gunships, tanks, etc. I am not saying to just lay down and play dead, I am saying we need to take these facts into consideration. It won't be easy and it will be messy, but it can happen if we all persevere and not loose sight.

ETA: To keep this post on the subject...
I thought as I was reading the 'blovel' Wow, that stuff could actually happen here. There has to be contingency plans already in the works for complete collapse. In the story, people were getting packets in the mail with hundreds of pages worth of .gov crap and ID cards, etc within a couple of days of the collapse. These went out to everyone I presume. Imagine the time and cost of printing alone for all of that. No wonder the economy went under.
Then there is the "Home Guard" that obama actually wants to start up.
All in all it was a well researched short story of things that might be coming down the pike.

By the way, who is bickering, that little misunderstanding has been corrected and is over.

Now back to the topic of the American Military.

Actually that figure of 134,909 includes the Army National Guard, The Army Reserve and the Marine Reserve.

If I factor in the Navy and the Air Force that number increases according to my calculations to a total of, 179,709.

Now as to Foreign Mercs and UN Troops, the way I look at it is if the Government is stupid enough to bring in Foreign Troops that will be one of the Government's biggest mistakes. I can't really think of anything that will get a larger percentage of the Gun Owning Fence Sitters off their butts and and turn them into active Freedom Fighters then Foreign Troops within the United States actively fighting against the people, unless it is when these Foreign Troops start Raping American Women and little girls and committing other Atrocities against American Citizens.

I know one thing for a fact. I will not like firing on American Soldiers and Marines but I will have ZERO problems firing on any Foreign Troop and I will not in the least way be merciful to them. I will slaughter them like the vermin they are and I will do my best to make them wish they had never set one foot on American Soil or had never been born.

Now as to that book.

You stated that it is based on Actual Historical Events, and three times these guys stood their ground against Hundreds of Thousands.

From what I have read I have not read anything that implies that this is anything other then a work of fiction. Now I have not read the entire thing but the first paragraph stated that the story is a potential fictional time line.

And if this has any basis on actual History, when and where like in what Country did this occur.

I think if this happened in the United States I would be aware of hundreds of thousands of people fighting not once not twice but three times.

So as far as I am concerned, unless I see some evidence of it being based on History, I will consider this pure fiction and even if it has some basis on something that did happen in some Foreign Country it has no bearing on what will happen in the future of the United States.

The only Rebellions or Insurrections I am aware of was the Whiskey Rebellion and Shays Rebellion which although it was a large rebellion neither Shays Rebellion nor the Whisky Rebellion, had any relation to the content of this current work by John Galt.

So John Galt is a student of past takeovers by Tyrannical Governments. In that case what I want to know is which Tyrannical Governments did he study? And in what year did the events he studied happen?

Also did any of the incidents he studied happen in a country where 30% of the people not only owned a Firearm but who owned enough Firearms to supply 83% of the Citizens with them. And where a large percentage of those Gun Owners owned Military Type Firearms, which were in most every way as good as the Firearms that were owned by the Government.

Just because Citizens of a Foreign Country at some time in the past Kissed Government Ass just to get some food etc, does not mean that American Citizens living in the beginning of the Second Decade of the 21st Century will do the same.

I believe that instead of kissing ass Americans will instead Fight and if necessary will take what they need by force.

If this John Galt is using what some unarmed Citizens of some Governments in the past did when they were faced with an Economic Meltdown, to suggest and as evidence that Americans who are the most Heavily Armed Citizens of any Country, will do the same, then he is a fool.

Now you stated “Note what 99% of the people did when faced with a reality check.”

Just for the purpose of this discussion lets take that 99% as the truth and a fact.

If 99% of the people did kiss the Government's ass, that would leave 1% who did not and who would most likely be the Resistance to the Government's plans.

1% of 300 Million is 3 Million and if the percentage of the Gun Owners who will resist is also 1% that will mean among the 3 Million totally ticked off Citizens will be 900 Thousand totally ticked off heavily armed Gun Owners.

Now regardless of the Military doing all that is in it's power to crush the Resistance there is no escaping the Fact that 900 Thousand Freedom Fighters is a lot more fighting Men then 180,000 United States Military Combat Troops.

And this is the Truth: 900,000 Freedom Fighters who are not stupid and are willing to do whatever is necessary in order to win, can make one hell of a mess and I believe they will be able to Win. And even if they don't eventually win they can effectively totally destroy what is left of this Country so that even Obama will not want what is left.

Like what once was said, Better Dead Then Red. Some Patriots will say It Is Better To Destroy Everything Then To Let The Enemy Have The Smallest Part Of It.

This is all I have to post on this subject in this topic.

I will be posting a Topic on the Issue of Freedom Fighters Vs the Forces of the Government, both Military and Civilian Law Enforcement Officers in the near future.

I guess never say never or say last post. Hopefully this will be the last.

Gunships, Tanks etc will not be as much of a problem to Freedom Fighters as you believe they will be.

Tanks are of limited use where they can not Traverse their Main Gun and the Abrams has all of its Weapons on the Main Turret, it doesn't have the Cupola of the M60 and if the Turret can not be rotated like in case it is in a narrow alley or there are large trees preventing it the tank can not fire upon us unless we are in front of it and it is defenseless to attack from the sides and rear except for it's substantial Armor, and I am not about to get into how to take out a Tank since I believe it is better to just avoid being in front of that Gun or in front of the Tank itself, being under the tracks would be no fun at all.

Gunships are also best avoided. Another thing is that there are not enough Gunships or Tanks considering how many Freedom Fighters 900,000 really is, as long as we are not stupid and make it easy for them.

Sniper you place way to much faith in your fellow amerikan man.

I place exactly NONE, NADA, ZERO.

If we actually have 1% of amerikans who "will stand and fight to fix it"...

Where the hell have they been while the past several administrations have been raping their unalienable rights and their ability to make a living and their children's future???

I'll tell you; they were doing not a damn thing except maybe bitching to their drinking buddies.

ConSigCor
I agree with you but for a different reason. Since the 60's the Federal Government has been telling the people that the people pay taxes so the Government can do what ever for them. It has gotten so bad that now the people won't do anything because they already paid to have it done.
The concept of actually having to do something for themselves is not even considered an option.
However many are now spreading the word that if they don't get started they will lose their way of life. In some cases it is waking them up. In others it makes them watch more TV so they won't have to.
Those who are waking up will be the new militia. The rest slept through Concord and will sleep on.

One big problem is that people can fing see that when something happens that doesn't affect them, can't see that it will! It's these ignorant, stupid, little liberal-progressive bastards that go "Oh, it's not me so who the hell cares" and then BOOM! they lose their precious little job and three story mansion and so "Why me? Why is it me?" and go complain to the damn government to help them out and make the deficit even bigger. It's like that poem about WW2 "First they came for the Communists". This country is ruined, and safetalker, no not all the awake people are going to be ANY militia. Like we see on this board, people go all "We can't fight the .gov, military, whatever, they're too strong!" in the way the propaganda tells them too. It'll be the mentaly strongest who'll fight.

You do have a way with words and this post is one of your best.

My feelings exactly on the subject of liberals and on the type of people who will not fight and on the type of MEN who will.

That was one good fictional possible senerio. I enjoyed the read. There were times during the reading where all i could think to say out load was "Damn" excellent post CSC.


I have to agree with you on this one Sir. Only about 1% will fight. You can see it every time some one post about taking back the country or stopping the madness. always more patriots saying how we can't win rather then coming up with ideas on how to suceed. Too many whinning about their little part of the world, They should remember one man can't stand alone. Freedom isn't free goes the old saying. Too many would rather someone else pay for their freedom.

Greywolf