Civil War II

by Eric Gurr

  Tanner was prepared for this. He was certain the news would never run the footage. So he pulled together videos from the men he had planted to film behind him. That was the video that was posted on the internet. Despite a valiant attempt to censor it, Tanner’s interview had been seen by more than four million people the first night alone.

  The next day, the ranks of his army would double to ten thousand. The following day he had more than twenty thousand.

  In the first week of April, just a few days after the interview, the media was acknowledging that the nation was in the early stages of a civil war.

  In Atlanta Georgia, Amber Weigel was putting her two kids to bed. A single mother, Amber had managed to finally get a two bedroom apartment on the edge of the city. It was a safe neighborhood and the schools were good. Her oldest was in the second grade and the little one was in Kindergarten.

  The protests and the rioters had made it impossible for her to go to work for three days. If she didn’t get back to work in the next couple of days she would need to get a job at one of the fast food places in the suburbs or further out.

  She had just told her girls she loved them and went to flip off the light when an explosion rattled her windows.

  The girls jumped out of the bed and ran to Amber. She tried to hold it together. This was the closest one yet. She hugged the girls and let them sleep with her.

  In the morning, she would try to call her father. She had to get out. She would load the car and as much as they could carry and leave Atlanta far behind. There was no other option.

  She had to move back to the country and live once again with her parents. Someday this would end. She knew it in her heart. Someday she would be able to get her life together and raise her daughters on her own. But not now.

  In Memphis Tennessee Jalan and Kiara Green were putting their kids to bed as well. Jalan was sitting in the living room watching the news from St. Louis. He had also seen the Ritchie video. Memphis had exploded over the last few days.

  In the comfortable suburbs, he felt safety and insulation. But he also felt connected to the city. He had grown up in the suburbs. For two years he had been the only black kid in his class. Back in high school, it had been a little better. There were four or five black guys and about as many girls.

  He knew what was happening in St. Louis was also happening in Memphis. A pang of guilt struck him. Kiara, his beautiful wife of fifteen years sat on the couch next to him.

  “Jalan, can’t you turn on something else? I don’t want to see this.”

  He stared at her for a moment not knowing what to say. These were the things they did not talk about. The things they did not acknowledge.

  They were successful blacks, living in what too often seemed like a white world.

  “Baby, this is real. This stuff is getting bad.” He said.

  “That’s why we live here Jalan. That’s why we raised our babies out here. I know this is wrong, but you didn’t grow up like I did. You grew up out here in the safety. You can’t appreciate it the way I can.”

  He nodded and looked back at the television.

  “Please baby, this stuff scares me.” She said.

  He smiled at her and changed the channel. Then two shots rang out, and the front window was shattered.

  He pulled her on to the floor and dove on top of her. It was silent for a moment, and he heard another few shots further away, and then the sound of tires squealing.

  He crawled towards the front door. “Go check on the kids!” He yelled.

  He raised his head just above the sill to peak outside. All was quiet. He could see tail lights leaving at the end of the street in a hurry.

  He cautiously stood up at the corner of the window and looked around. Porch lights were flickering on one by one.

  He ran back and made sure the kids were okay when he heard the doorbell ring. They all froze.

  “It’s okay. I’m going to go see who it is.”

  On the way to the front door, he stopped in the kitchen. From the knife holder on the granite island he pulled a butcher knife out and held it to his side. He crept to the door as the bell rang again.

  “Jamal, It’s Bill Whitacre from next door. Are you guys okay?”

  Jamal opened the door slowly. “Yeah Bill, we’re okay. What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I just heard the shots and the glass breaking.” When I saw the car speed away I came outside and saw that your house had been hit. My God. Are you sure everyone is okay?”

  “Yeah. We’re fine. Just a little shaken up. Come on in.”

  Bill walked in and looked at the glass shattered across the living room. “Oh my, look at that.” He said as he pointed to the ceiling. There was a hole in the ceiling going up towards the kid’s rooms. Jamal instinctively ran upstairs and checked the kids again.

  There was another hole in the floor and then another in the wall just a few feet above his youngest sons bed.

  Jamal sat on the bed and put his head in his hands. He was trying not to cry.

  Whitacre walked over to Jamal’s son Zion and stroked the boys head softly. He was only seven years old and seemed to be in shock more than afraid.

  The doorbell rang again causing them all to jump. Bill stood up. “You stay here, I’ll get it.”

  Through the night several more neighbors came. All were white, but that was to be expected. On his street, Jamal’s was the only black family. An hour later, as five men were sitting in the living room talking about what they could do the doorbell rang again. It was James Willis. The father of the only other black family in the neighborhood.

  “I see they got you too.” He said.

  “You mean they shot at your house as well?” Jamal asked.

  “Yep. And as far as I can tell, you and I are the only houses that got hit. So we know what this was. We need to get the hell out of here.”

  The other white men in the room were silent. “Where the hell we supposed to go?” Kiara asked. “

  We’ll be safer here than in the city. We are black Jamal. It’s not like we can run off to the country.”

  One of the men, a former Marine captain spoke up. “You’ll be safer here. She’s right. And we’re going to help. All of us need to get together in the morning and form a neighborhood watch. We’ll take turns. Every night we patrol the neighborhood with guns. We’re all in this and we’ll fight together.” He said.

  “Who are we fighting for?” The other black man asked.

  “Ourselves.” Jamal answered.

  It was like this in cities all over the country. Black and white fighting against each other, but sometimes with each other. White and white fighting against each other, and sometimes with each other. Left and right fighting against each other.

  Only the people in the rural areas escaped the violence. For some, weeks would pass with life going on as normal as possible. And then for a few days, all hell would break loose.

  For others, near big cities, the violence was nearly constant. When it was quiet for a few days and people would relax, it would flare up again and even worse.

  Still, in other areas, it was as if nothing was happening at all. In small cities and towns in the Midwest and south, cattle and crops would be raised and processed. Trucks would come and try to make deliveries. Even in big cities some neighborhoods remained peaceful.

  Boston, New York, and Philadelphia had protests, but they were largely peaceful.

  A civil war had started, but no one could say who was winning.

  In Indianapolis it looked like the right, or center-right would hold. In California, and most of the west coast the left were firmly in control.

  On the East coast, it was the establishment. The tense but workable coalition of Democrats and Republicans, each afraid to cross certain lines, that held things together. In the south, outside the cities, life went on as always.

  Young men would occasionally leave and join Tanner Ritchie, or some less radical side in the cities of the Midwest. In Texas, t
here were occasionally problems in Houston and Austin. But peace was holding and the protests that turned violent were quickly put down.

  Back in Indiana, John Hartwick was home. In the three days since they had taken Indianapolis things were returning to normal.

  But today would be his last normal day for a very long time. Two visitors were to change the course of his life forever.

  The first was Scotch Anderson. He nervously rang Hardwick’s doorbell. At least ten armed men guarded the house. He had brought only a bodyguard with him. He’d explained to the men guarding Hardwick’s home that he was just here to help.

  When Hartwick opened the door he thought Anderson looked vaguely familiar.

  “Hello Mr. Hartwick. My name is Scotch Anderson. I’m the owner of one of the largest social media companies in the world. I’ve made some mistakes, and I’m here to try and correct them. May we talk for a moment?”

  “What’s in the bags?” Hartwick asked.

  “We already checked them.” One of the guards answered. It’s just money. He’s clean. He knows if he tries anything he won’t get out alive. We checked them both.”

  Anderson motioned for his bodyguard to stay outside as he walked into John’s house.

  “How can I help you Mr. Anderson?”

  “I’ve made a huge mistake Mr. Hartwick. And I’m not alone in that mistake. A group of fellow business owners has been helping Colby Ohlbinger out in California. He now has the entire state in a vise. We’ve given him money and he has bought guns, bulletproof vests and God knows what else. We thought we could control him. We were wrong. He’s gathered the leftists, the immigrants and every other group you can imagine. He has a very loyal core of thousands who will fight to the death. It’s gotten out of control.

  We started this war. The billionaires and the millionaires who wanted cheap labor. The politicians who divide you for power. The Hollywood people who were so easily duped into believing in our cause. We did this. We never thought it would come to this, but it has.”

  “Well, I don’t see how I can help with this. Our battle was here in Indianapolis. We won and we just want our lives back to normal.” Hartwick responded.

  “There is nothing you can do for me.” Anderson said. “I have dug this hole and I can never get out of it. But you can help save the rest of the nation. I’ve learned my lesson. I know I can’t convince you of anything. All I can suggest is that you don’t join up with that Tanner Ritchie in St. Louis.

  I hope you don’t, but I know I have no credibility left. From the few interviews I was able to see, I think you are a good man. A better man than I am.

  There are several million dollars in these bags. I am giving them to you to try to even the playing field and to give you a fighting chance. I can’t control what you do with it.

  There are no strings. I’m just hoping. Hoping that I can salvage a little bit of myself, and that you can save this country.

  There are more bags in the trunk of that car. You can have your men bring them in. Buy guns Mr. Hartwick. You’ll need them. When I leave here I’m going back to California. I have to. I am stuck trying to fix the mess I helped create. I will never tell anyone I gave you this money. If you tell anyone, I will be killed. It is your right to do that. I’m not even asking that you don’t. I just want everything in my life to be honest. So you know it will lead to me being killed.

  You should have no sympathy for me and you should probably shoot me right now.”

  Hartwick laughed and put his hands up, palms out towards Anderson. “Look, I’m not going to tell anyone and I don’t want to shoot anyone.”

  “You say that today because you are fresh off of a victory. Trust me Mr. Hartwick, in the coming weeks and months, you will wish you had shot me. I have spent the last ten years trying to become the richest man in the world. I wanted to change the world. That was to be my legacy.

  Now I will be considered one of the people who destroyed the greatest country that ever existed if you don’t win.”

  Anderson got up and walked towards the door. He stopped and turned to Hartwick. “I wish you luck. I really do. But you will never see me again. I have to go back and pay for my mistakes.”

  He started to turn again but Hartwick stopped him.

  “Anderson!” Anderson lowered his head. “Yes Mr. Hartwick?” He asked softly.

  “Do you have kids?” Hartwick asked.

  Anderson was confused and felt a threat. “Yes, but I have moved my children and my wife and extended family out of the country.”

  “Those kids are your legacy. Those kids and your character. You can’t buy a legacy. No one has ever been able to do that. Think about the great men of history. Washington, Jefferson, Churchill, James Madison. Those men are remembered for their character.

  You know those second-generation Hollywood kids that are always in trouble? You know the rich kids, who are always acting like fools and in trouble? What’s the first thing you think of when you think of those idiots?”

  Anderson thought for a moment then smiled. “They must have had some bad parents.” He said.

  Hartwick just smiled. “Thank you Mr. Hartwick.”

  The second visitor that would change his life was Matt Davis.

  “John I’ve been talking to some friends in Cincinnati. They are struggling. That city should have been an easy hold for us. But they are being driven out. Dayton is already lost and no one is even trying in Columbus. They want your help.”

  Hartwick left his wife and kids again. It was getting harder to do. But Scotch Anderson’s talk had convinced him that this was a battle he had to join. He took two-thousand men with him to Cincinnati.

  They did the same thing they had done in Indianapolis. They surrounded the city and waited them out. It only took two weeks this time.

  Then he moved north, taking Dayton and Columbus the same way. Each time they put local men and women who had fought with them in charge.

  Cleveland and Detroit would be skipped. They weren’t sure the sacrifice would be worth the victory. They moved east and south taking cities one by one.

  Many times the victory would be on before they even arrived. The victors were always glad to see Hartwick. It was his plan, surround and contain, that was working everywhere.

  There were deaths on both sides. Sometimes dozens would be killed. Hartwick’s New Rebel Army would get anxious and try to attack too soon.

  Other times Tanner Ritchie’s supporters would engage the battle and slow them down. Hartwick tried to avoid fighting on two fronts and was usually successful.

  If they weren’t, they backed out and regrouped. Patience was the key to victory.

  But the results didn’t change and the strategy didn’t change.

  In Kansas City, Charlotte North Carolina, Pittsburgh, Des Moines and other cities all over the Midwest and even in the south. The same tactic worked.

  They would surround the city at a beltway or stop the traffic from the interstates. At night, they would infiltrate and cut the power lines. On the edges they would cut off the cell phone service by cutting the communications lines to the towers or knock down the towers themselves.

  Once the food and power were cut off they simply waited. If a city tried to counter-attack they would simply pull back or move around.

  After the attempted counter-attack they would infiltrate again.

  Often just two or three men would slip inside the city in the middle of the night and create chaos. Overpasses in the city would be blown up or knocked down. Transformers and sub-stations would be riddled with bullets.

  After a few weeks, some of the smaller cities would simply surrender when Hartwick’s men showed up.

  But Tanner Ritchie and the White army held in St. Louis. The battles were constant and spreading. The White army was growing stronger.

  Marvis Jackson’s black opposition army was also growing. Something would have to be done but no one could come up with a plan.

  Hartwick would never join with Ritch
ie.

  He also didn’t want to lose to the resistance. A socialist paradise was a pipe dream. The division that had been fostered couldn’t be solved by free health care or a twenty dollar minimum wage.

  The seeds of hatred that had been sown weren’t going to be fixed by more government spending. He was becoming more ideological by the day.

  There was no escape. This was a war. He had chosen a side and he would do the best he could.

  Chapter 8

  May: The Peace Plan

  The negotiations in Washington D.C. had started in early April. Both sides felt that progress was being made. But the events in St. Louis, California and other areas had brought a fresh sense of urgency.

  Both sides were committed to ending the violence. The words “civil war” were not spoken. But all knew it was here and had to be stopped quickly.

  The President had decided to forego the tradition of meeting in the White House for high-level meetings. He went instead to the Capitol building.

  He began with a summary of the issues.

  “These are the areas we must resolve today. I think on most of these we are very close. So let’s finish this up today if possible and then start the media push.

  Number 1: Immigration. The Democrats agree to close the border with Mexico. The legal H1b and other immigration programs will be stopped entirely for two years. Then they will resume but only at 5% of current levels.

  Number 2: Existing immigrants. Anyone who has come in the last ten years is to be deported.

  Number 3: Health care. We will expand Medicare and open it to anyone who wants. But, taxpayers will have to pay 6% of their salary directly to the program. Those who wish can maintain private health insurance and avoid the tax.

  Number 4: Abortions will be outlawed after the first trimester.”

  A Republican member spoke up. “I thought that was going to be up to the states. The states with heartbeat bills could keep that.”

  A Democrat responded: