The Wrath of God

by Jim Balzotti

  “Canada?”

  “Canada has always had America to protect them, so they crumbled alongside us. The Chinese are quickly populating up there as well, since there are numerous resources such as timber and cattle. I did hear some stories of the Mounted Police not surrendering, waging a guerilla war like we are, but what can come of that?”

  “All the more reason you should stay with us, Lawrence.”

  “My men can do what they please, but for me, I won’t quit as long as I can take a breath.”

  “Revenge should be left in God’s hands. Do you believe in God, Lawrence?”

  “I don’t know, Matt. I thought I did. But seeing what I’ve seen…sometimes when I am praying to God, it’s like I’m praying to an entity I’m not sure I believe in anymore. Strange. Like praying to a stone carving or a passing cloud. Sometimes it’s hard to believe in anything.”

  “God keeps His promises, Lawrence. His judgment is unavoidable, and heaven is open to all that believe in Jesus Christ.”

  “And what of the Chinese? When do they get punished?”

  “God’s punishment of evil is not on our timetable but His own. The Chinese unrepentant rebellion toward God will be destroyed and they will be thrown into the lake of fire, make no mistake. His judgment is final. Listen, you and your men are tired. We cleared out a supply hut and strung up some hammocks. Why don’t you all get some well-deserved rest and we can talk over dinner.”

  “Thanks, Matt. We’ll take you up on that. Is there anything we can do beforehand?”

  “No, just get your butts to bed. Why don’t you strip off those dirty clothes and I’ll have them washed. We have extra clothing in a pile in the hut. I’m sure you can find something that fits. Grab something clean and get some shut-eye. We’ll wake you if you’re still sleeping.”

  Fall 2028

  Washington DC

  Chang sat alone in his office. Something shifted in his brain and a memory came into focus. He was a boy, a small child. His father had not gone into the fields that day, something which in itself was very unusual. He remembered his mother washing him in a small gray dented metal basin outside the door to their home, crying as she did so, having trouble even looking at him. He remembered other baths when his mother would always kiss him and stroke him as he squirmed in the soapy water, but not this time. She had reluctantly dried and dressed him, as if trying to hold on to this precious moment. He ate breakfast with his father at their small wooden table, his mother sitting beside them, crying and pleading with her husband not to go. Finally, the long walk into the village, passing other villagers who were unusually silent, their eyes lowered. The man and the small boy entered a room with a brown cracked desk within, where the local official sat on a chair that creaked when he moved. He could see a braying water buffalo outside the window and wanted to go to it, but he was still in the firm grasp of his father’s hand. A man was standing still along the side wall, dressed in clothes Xi had never seen before. The green jacket was brightly colored with pieces of metal and cloth hanging down from his chest. A large, wide hat with two stern black eyes beneath it looked at him impassively. He was a bigger man than the others in the room; his father looked particularly small compared to him. Then his father walked to the man and, giving his son’s hand to the stranger, turned and left the room with his shoulders heaving. Xi looked out the window, still seeing his father outside, now crying, untying the animal, leading it down the same path that they traveled to come here. His father never turned his head back to say good-bye.

  Strange having that memory pop up like that, interrupting his thoughts. He hadn’t thought of his biological parents in years. He knew some people made comments that they could never give up their children in any circumstance. Of course, these comments were never said aloud in Chang’s presence. The truth was that he admired his father for doing what he needed to do to save the family. In a much broader stroke, wasn’t that what Chang was doing for his Fatherland? The needs and good of the masses must always supersede the needs of the few—unlike the masses in America that wanted more and more without working, without sacrifice, while the weak-kneed politicians caved in to them for fear of being thrown out of their privileged lifestyles in government. No, that form of government has an end date, a time when it just runs out of money and can no longer support itself. Chang knew that sacrifice was the necessary foundation of change. This is why America needed to borrow tens of trillions from his country. He hated the Americans. They were given more than any other nation on the earth, yet it was not enough. A large land mass rich in natural resources, protected by an ocean on both coasts—it should have been the wealthiest nation on the planet, yet they spent money like a drunken sailor. It only took a stiff breeze to blow down the house of cards that America had become.

  A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.

  “What is it?”

  “Sir, that northern militia group has hit one of our border checkpoints again. This one occurred at the northeast tip of Maine.”

  “Survivors?” He expected none. The group always left a pile of dead soldiers behind, taunting him.

  “No, sir, but a break. One of our recovery teams found a map left by the Americans. It may have fallen out and been left behind by mistake.”

  “Give it to me.” Chang looked at the creased, folded topographical map. It showed the northern New England states, and parts of Canada. There were circles around all of his more remote outposts, and red lines through the ones that had been previously attacked. He knew this group operated in the area, but no matter how many traps he set, they always managed to elude him. He even stationed two attack helicopters in the region to respond immediately in the event that a distress signal could be launched. None ever was. He knew it was a small band, no more than five by the boot prints they left, but they were very evasive and deadly. Though they posed no tactical problem for him, he did not need the Americans to have a hero. So he committed more resources than he should have to the capture of these renegades before their legend grew. He even unsuccessfully tortured some former US military men to find out their identities, but to no avail. If he knew who they were, perhaps he could locate their families in the concentration camps to use as leverage; that is, if they were still living. American prisoners were dying off quickly. He desperately wanted to capture these men alive and have a most public death for them.

  He studied the map, his anger rising at the number of his outposts that were terminated, and noticed a small pencil mark on the map in the north central part of the state. He pulled out another map in his desk and, comparing the two, noticed that the pencil mark was a few hundred miles, more or less, from a small town that his men had ambushed, killing some but not all of the inhabitants years ago. The troops had waited until Sunday and caught them together in church. The reports given to him were sketchy but indicated that some of them managed to escape into the woods. The same woods the pencil mark indicated. Could this perhaps be the base from which the rebels operated? Maybe or maybe not; but this was the first possible break he had, and he wasn’t going to lose this opportunity.

  He dismissed the man and called for General Lao Pengyou, an old friend and the head of his military division in the United States. His office was located downstairs in the old White House. When he arrived ten minutes later, Xi spread out the maps and showed the general what his analysis may have revealed.

  “I want you to personally man a search-and-destroy mission in this area. I believe this is our best chance to eliminate these rebels, and if possible, I want as many captured alive as you can.” Pointing to the map he continued, “I want you to block these small dirt roads, and the waterways here and here. You will have to use our WZ-10 helicopters, as the area is too remote for planes. You will have to drop in and approach by foot. Set your men in a large circle and tighten the noose until you have them. Commit as many resources as you need, but don’t lose them. You will most likely find them along with some stragglers that got away from one of our p
revious attacks. Civilians are to be terminated on the spot. Everyone. No survivors this time. Remember, I want the militia unit taken alive and brought back to me. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir. I will personally handle the assault. If they are in the area, I will get them. I can’t promise they will be alive, but I will tell my men that anyone who shoots to kill will themselves be shot.”

  “Very good. I want no communications getting out as a warning. This group has proven itself to be extremely resourceful and elusive. Select the best men you have, but run this as a silent op.”

  “I’ll start on it immediately, sir.”

  “Excellent. No excuses.”

  With that, General Pengyou left the room and headed back to his office with both maps. It was a large area in which to run an assault, so uninhabited and wild he would need two battalions of men to ensure no one could sneak through the cordon. He would need no fewer than ten WZ-10 helicopters, fully armed and with a full complement of men. He made marks on the map at the best points to deploy his troops to quickly seal off the area. The waterways shouldn’t be a problem, but he couldn’t take a chance. Xi was implicitly clear about the importance of this mission, and he knew what would happen to him if he failed, no matter how many stars he carried on his shoulders.

  He would not fail. The Americans were already dead. They just didn’t know it yet.

  The Camp

  Northern Maine

  Lawrence’s men may have been dog-tired, but the smell of fresh rabbit stew and the hind quarter of a deer being roasted on a spit over an open flame outside their cabin dragged them from their deep slumber. Lawrence wasn’t there with them. They knew him well enough to know he would be sleeping somewhere in the forest away from everyone else. You would think he would want the human interaction as much as they did, after the intense loneliness of being on a mission for so many years, but that just was not his nature.

  The men swung their legs over the side of the hammocks, stopping to listening to the alien sounds of human conversation and laughter. Some children were outside peering in to watch these strange men who had slept fully clothed, their boots and rifles within their reach. It was heavy on each of the soldier’s minds that it would be difficult to leave this peaceful place. They had endured hardships and deprivations that most could not know. They sat on the edge of their bunks, listening to a group of women within earshot sharing the cooking chores and talking about all the things they missed the most.

  “Me? Give me a hot water tank so I could take a long hot shower.”

  “No, give me a nice steaming hot bubble bath.”

  “A hair dryer! Never in all my days did I think I would ever miss that silly little thing.”

  “Chocolate. Oh, God, what I’d give for a Hershey’s chocolate bar.”

  “A nice glass of Chablis. Okay, maybe two—three glasses!”

  “Hand lotion,” said another, looking down at her chafed and cracked hands.

  “Maybe a nice sexy dress,” said another woman, glancing over at the soldiers.

  “Yeah, right. To wear dancing?”

  “Oh, honey, you don’t need a fancy dress to catch their attention. Those poor boys look like they have been in the woods too long. A bear might start looking pretty good to them right about now.”

  With that, the women all laughed.

  Lawrence appeared as an apparition out of the woods, rifle slung over his shoulder, the steely hard look in his eyes not diminished in the least by making it safely to the camp. If anything, he looked less at ease being in such an open place. He walked through the camp, nodding at whomever greeted him, eyes down, not wishing to join in conversation. He was not tempted nor longed for either the food or the women. For him, this was a temporary way station, a chance to let his men rest up before they continued on their path. He asked where he might find Matt and was taken by a young boy proudly toting a stick pretending it was a rifle. Looking at him, he felt momentarily sad as this child wouldn’t be joining his local football or baseball team as he did at that age. Life was taken away from him by both the American politicians’ weakness and the Chinese’s lust for world domination.

  He noticed Matt’s hut was set fairly far away from everyone else’s, something he would have done himself, had he lived here. The boy stopped fifty feet from Matt’s hut and pointed. Lawrence ruffled his hair, and the boy, shouldering his stick rifle, turned around and went back the way he had come.

  Matt was sitting outside on a stump of a pine tree that he had dragged up on his porch to be used as a stool. He was running a file over the head of an ax, sharpening it to a point where Lawrence could see the edge of the blade glisten in the waning sunlight.

  “You would have made a good soldier, Matt.”

  Matt smiled wearily. “I was a soldier. CO. Four years. Spent time in the sandbox overseas.”

  “I had no idea. So you were a commanding officer. What division?”

  “Conscientious objector. I refused to carry a gun. Got me six months in the brig, but I guess when they knew I was serious about ‘thou shall not kill’ they let me out to be a medic. They believed it was bad enough I wouldn’t fight, then I ticked off some of the brass because I’d give medical aid to any soldier, ours or foe. I got by. Witnessed so many terrible things, makes you wonder how we can inflict such terror. There has to be a better way to solve differences than killing each other, maybe a nice game of poker.”

  “Good idea. If only it was that simple, huh? Well, the world as we know it is over. From what I hear the Chinese have a stranglehold on the planet.”

  “That Chinese greed…”

  “Whoa there, fella. Chinese greed? What about the American greed? That’s what got you here. You must know that. The Chinese just came in and picked up the broken pieces.”

  “No offense, Lawrence, but you’re not from here. New Zealand is a long way away—besides, it’s just a tiny island.”

  “Exactly. That’s my point. I’m not from here, but let me tell you, growing up in New Zealand, America was the shining country to the rest of the world. It used to be held as an inspiration, the highest moral edifice for the rest of the nations to follow, but that all changed. Your politicians no longer served your country or its people, but themselves. As soon as they got elected into office, their only real concern was to get reelected and advance their own career. They had to ‘get in line’ with their own party, right or wrong. Their unbridled egos put themselves and their own political aspirations before service to their country. Integrity and honesty? That doesn’t get you elected. Money does. They lined their pockets with hard working Americans’ money. They answered to no one. They wrote the rules. Do you remember back some years when your two parties couldn’t agree on a national budget, forcing the government to shut down for months? Did you know that Congress still got a paycheck while the men and women fighting for your country didn’t? Listen, don’t get me wrong. America was a great country. If it wasn’t for America, most of Europe would be part of Germany right now. I’m just saying it was years of deficit spending, spending money you didn’t have on social programs that hurt the American people by enabling them. The old adage…Give a man a fish and you feed him for the day, but teach him how to fish and you feed him for life.”

  “All true. But it wasn’t just the politicians, Lawrence; it was a move away from God. Do you know America was founded as a Christian nation? We allowed religious freedom to all, but some liberal groups hijacked that freedom, pushing our own Christian beliefs to the side. The Christians became a minority in their own country. I remember when Sundays were always treated as a holy day. Mass followed by a home-cooked family dinner. We had blue laws preventing businesses from being open on the Sabbath, keeping His day holy, as it’s said to do in the Bible. But businesses sued to open on Sundays—like you couldn’t get your shopping done in six days? You don’t think the owners of the stores worked on Sundays, do you? No. They made their employees do it, with the subtle threat of a loss of hours o
r even their jobs if they didn’t. Then somehow we let school games take over, and that’s all they were, games. Soccer games, football games, baseball games. Extra practices. Soon having a leisurely Sunday family dinner turned into grabbing a bite at the kitchen counter and running out the door. This is how we pay thanks to God? The one day, one day we were to dedicate to God, and we couldn’t even do that. No, Lawrence. We turned our back on God, and He turned His back on us.”

  “I remember Amy telling me when she was growing up her parents refused to open their pizzeria on Sundays. They knew they were losing money, and everyone called them crazy, but they always said there were more important things.” Looking around he continued, “So is this God’s judgment? Is this how He repays His faithful? Seems like the Chinese are doing better than you guys.”

  “Do not speak lightly of God’s judgment. I believe someday there will be a terrible reckoning. God gives us hope and inspiration at every turn in nature, Lawrence. If you listen carefully, you can hear the voice of God in a thousand different melodies that are sung to us every day in these woods surrounding us. Stay with us. Give up your fight and live out your days in peace.”

  “Peace? Waiting for the Chinese to come and enslave us? I’d rather die standing up than live my days on my knees. Besides, I’m not sure God wants me anymore. I’ve done terrible things…”

  “We have all sinned in our lives, each one of us, many times. God forgives us; He only asks that we repent. Think about it. Now why don’t we get our butts down to supper before your men eat all the food?”

  The two men walked in silence through the woods, the smell of roasted venison guiding them. Could I really be happy here? Lawrence pondered. Do I even know what God asks of me? I thought it was to wreak vengeance on those who would harm innocents. Now, it’s all become one big blur. Could I really put down my rifle and lead a peaceful life? What about the Chinese? Surely they aren’t going to forget about me. Deep inside, he knew the inevitable consequence of his actions.