2041 The Peoples' United States

by T W Powell

  “OK boys. Let’s buckle these two up in the front seats and push this rattletrap over the side.”

  There was a shear drop on the left side of the road. Tom released the emergency brake and shifted the Land Rover into Neutral and began pushing.

  “Don’t just stand there, give me a hand.”

  Together, the Jacksons pushed the Land Rover over the edge and watched it tumble down the embankment. As the vehicle took one final bounce, the CNG tanks burst, then exploded.

  “Tommy, Adam, let’s ride like hell back to Kingston.”

  It was getting close to first light when the Jacksons made it back to Kingston.

  “Doc, can we bunk down here today and rest the horses?”

  “Anything you need Tom”

  “Can you get the word out to all the locals that we will meet at the Church about sundown?”

  “Yes, I can. I’ll get the message out to everyone.”

  “Great, this afternoon we’ll examine those maps and lists and see what we can come up with. You thought I did some pretty horrible things last night, didn’t you?”

  “Yes Thomas, for a minute I thought you were going to shoot that man.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet Pastor, you’d be amazed what one man can do to another.”

  The Warning

  Dr. Ho Pham arrived at the POP Clinic a few minutes before 8 a.m., as was his usual custom. Doc’s status was evidenced by his late model electric car. Of course, the car didn’t belong to Dr. Pham. The Collective provided the car enabling Doc to more efficiently care for his fellow Members.

  Doc Pham saw through all the socialist garbage. Doc’s grandfather, just like Darius’ Pop-Pop, had told him many stories. The Pham family’s escape from Saigon was a frequent subject of these stories. Ho’s grandfather had taught him all about communism and how American Marines had saved the Pham family from the North Vietnamese. When Grandfather Pham arrived in the United States, he tried his best to honor his new country in many ways. He immediately Americanized his name, placing his given name first and surname last, thereby establishing a family tradition.

  Grandfather was a doctor, as was Ho’s father. Healing was a generational vocation for the Pham family. Dr. Ho S. Pham was a Patriot, as were many immigrants who had escaped from the various communist terrors in the late 20th and early 21st centuries.

  As Ho walked into his office, Member Nurse Beth was just arriving.

  As they passed in the hallway, Beth looked Ho straight in the eye, “Member Doctor Pham, there are some very interesting charts that need your immediate attention.”

  “Member Nurse Andrews, please bring those into my office in 15 minutes.”

  The other Clinic staff had no idea that a coded message had just been sent from Beth to Doc Pham. Fifteen minutes later, Beth knocked on Doc Pham’s office door.

  “Come in Member Nurse Andrews.”

  Ho then turned to the Head Nurse, “Member Head Nurse, Member Nurse Andrews and I have some pressing patient issues to discuss. No interruptions, please, until we finish.”

  With that, the Head Nurse placed a “Privacy Please” sign on Doc Pham’s door.

  The preparation for their conversation followed the usual pattern, workstation volume up. Peoples’ Phones next to the workstation, chairs at a small table in the far corner, patient charts pulled at random and spread out on the table.

  Beth had to steady herself to keep her volume low, “Doc, The Collective has a new program, The Freedom of Sexual Expression and Identity Program. Do you know about this?”

  “I don’t think so. How does it concern us?”

  “It doesn’t impact you, or I, but your daughter is one of its’ targets.”

  “My daughter? How so?”

  “Yasmin is a student in Tasha’s class. Tasha told me that over the next few weeks The Collective will implement a new program in K through 12.”

  “So, we have another Sex Ed Program. What’s new?”

  “No, you don’t understand. They are building small cubicles in all the schools with doors that lock and lights that can be switched off. There are beds in those cubicles. Block Coordinators are identifying ‘Volunteers’ of all sexual persuasions who will go into that cubicle with your daughter and ‘assist’ her in finding her sexual identity.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “I wish I were. What can we do?”

  “Beth, how close are you to your roommate, Tasha?”

  “We’ve been best friends since elementary school.”

  “I know you two ‘play act’ for The Collective to counteract your Whiteness.”

  “Yes, we have done that since High School, but Tasha is really into advancing her Social Quotient, while I’m tired of living this lie. I’ve just about had it with all this Collective crap.”

  “Are you ready to risk everything to change things?”

  “Just what do you mean?”

  “Are you ready to turn your back on your friend and even lay down your life for America?”

  “Doc, I’m beginning to think the time is coming when I will have no choice.”

  “I realized that a couple of years ago. My Grandfather’s spirit visited me in my dreams and tormented me for turning my back on my country and my God.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am Resistance. Probably one of the more highly placed Resistance operatives in The Collective. You can now denounce me and send your Social Quotient soaring, or you can join us and send your heart soaring. I think you must make a choice.”

  “Doc. I’m afraid, I don’t want to disappear.”

  “By telling me all this I think you have made your choice. We are all afraid of The Collective, but I am more afraid of not confronting their evil.”

  Lexington

  Junior and Bobby Ray finished off the summer sausage and crackers for breakfast and got on the road at first light. They continued heading west on I-64 sticking to the trees just outside the fence line.

  “Bobby Ray, if we keep up a steady pace, we can reach the Kentucky River by this afternoon. I don’t want to cross that long bridge in daylight, so we’ll camp there for the night, maybe right under the bridge.”

  Just then, Junior saw a big cottontail munching new Spring clover in a field.

  “Man, he would taste pretty good come supper time, but we can’t catch him.”

  “Hold on a minute Junior.” Bobby Ray stopped, opened his pack, and pulled out a slingshot and a Ziplock bag.

  This wasn’t a kid’s slingshot. This was a sportsman’s slingshot. Bobby Ray pulled a small steel ball bearing from the plastic bag and, within a couple of seconds, let it fly.

  “My, oh my, Bobby Ray. That was some fine shooting. That shot was about 50 ft. He will do for this evening, but we are going to be hungry. Could you do that again?”

  “I’ll keep it in my coat pocket, just stop and point if you see another one.”

  Sure enough, about another mile down the road, Junior stopped and pointed into another pasture. Bobby Ray crept forward, then struck again.

  “You are deadly with that thing. What could it do to a person?”

  Bobby Ray pulled out a 9 mm ball bearing, “If I use one of these bigger ones and get a head shot, call the undertaker. But a body shot, not so much, especially if they’re wearing heavy clothing. Just doesn’t have the velocity.”

  Junior continued as they walked over to retrieve the second rabbit, “How often can you hit a headshot?”

  “Every time with a clear shot 50 ft. or under.”

  “Bobby Ray, can you teach me to use that thing?”

  “I’ll teach you, if you teach me.” Bobby Ray was pointing at Junior’s survival knife.

  Throughout the rest of the day, as they walked, Bobby Ray taught Junior and Junior taught Bobby Ray. By late afternoon the I-64 traffic was picking up.

  “The US 60/Frankfort exit is just ahead, Bobby Ray. School’s dismissed until this evening. We have to watch ourselves. The
Kentucky River is just a couple of miles past the US 60 overpass.”

  Frankfort had been the state capital pre-Revolution, but it was a small city. Under The Collective, the state bureaucracy was divided up between Frankfort, Louisville, and Lexington. This was still dangerous territory as many devoted Collective apparatchiks still lived and worked in Frankfort.

  “I’m going to put on my bandana and cut me a walking stick.”

  Junior tied a green bandana over his nose and mouth. Throughout the PUS, face coverings came into vogue during the Covid Pandemic of ’20 and many folks just continued the practice. This was indeed fortunate for Junior as the bandana covered the telltale scar on his cheek. Junior spotted a perfect sassafras tree in the fence row and cut a nice walking stick about six-feet-long and a couple of inches in diameter. Now Junior pulled his hood up over his head and started limping along.

  When he saw Junior, Bobby Ray broke up laughing. “Where you headed old fella?”

  “You mind your place White boy. Now get up there and lead the way for a crippled, half-blind ol’ Black gentleman.” By now Junior was laughing along with Bobby Ray.

  Bobby Ray had not yet noticed that one end of Junior’s staff was sharpened, and Junior had not yet demonstrated that his staff could be as lethal as his survival knife, or Bobby Ray’s slingshot.

  In another hour, they arrived at the I-64/Kentucky River bridge. The bridge was a couple of football fields long and over a hundred feet above the river. The river was at flood stage, which was not unusual for that time of year. Junior and Bobby Ray slid down the embankment and found a good spot under the westbound lanes of the bridge.

  “Good thing you got those rabbits today, the river is running wild and muddy as hell. See if you can find some dry wood, enough to last the night. Meanwhile, I’ll skin these cottontails.”

  “Junior, looks like someone had a fire over here.” Bobby Ray had found a fire ring made from a cutoff 55 gallon steel drum.

  As soon as the fire was going, Junior cut two long wood spits and began roasting the rabbits.

  “We are doing OK, Bobby Ray.”

  “I sure am hungry.”

  Junior pulled his knife and cut Bobby Ray a hind leg quarter, “Here you go, bon appetite.”

  Junior and Bobby Ray made quick work of both rabbits.

  “Bobby Ray, just lay that big driftwood stump on the coals and it should smolder most of the night.”

  As they made themselves comfortable near the fire, Bobby Ray reminded Junior that he hadn’t finished his account of the Pacific War of 2025.

  “Let me see, where was I? Oh yeah, 2020, coronavirus and riots. So, 2020 was really the start of the whole thing. The North Korean leader, a short, fat son-of-a-bitch, Kim Jong-un, also known as “Lil’ Rocket Man”, was terminally ill.”

  “The hell you say! He was really called Lil’ Rocket Man?”

  “Yes sir, as God as my witness, the President of the United States

  gave him that nickname.”

  “That guy must have had some balls and a sense of humor.”

  “Yes, he did, but that’s another story. Lil’ Rocket Man was not in the best of health, so he had been grooming his younger sister, Kim Yo-jong, to succeed him. Ultimately, this would not go unchallenged by the old men in the North Korean military.

  “Meanwhile, China had been shitting all over the people of the United States for years. They bribed many politicians, and outsmarted some more, and those politicians made horrible trade deals that deindustrialized the United States. Millions of Chinese ‘exchange students’ flooded the Universities. Most of those students were STEM majors: Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics.

  “While our public schools were sending uneducated prima donnas to college to major in Urban Studies and Communications, the Chinese students filtered into cutting edge research. A few of those students were Chinese agents. After college, most of those highly trained Chinese nationals returned home to advance the Chinese tech sector but a good many took tech positions in the United States. There was a ‘giant sucking sound’ as the Red Chinese stole US proprietary technology. Sure, there was trade. We sent food and raw materials to China, but our manufactured goods were kept out by currency manipulation and arcane regulations. Bobby Ray, are you asleep?”

  “No, no Junior I’m awake, keep going.”

  “The key for the Communist Chinese was to deny the US Navy access to the South China Sea. China could then invade Taiwan, threaten US bases on Okinawa and Guam, and pressure Australia, Japan, Singapore, and basically control all Southeast Asia. China need not defeat the United States, they just needed to keep the US Navy at arm’s length.

  “Their strategy was based upon establishing a defensive perimeter along the ‘First Island Chain’. The south end of this line was anchored on Malaysia and Vietnam, then it ran northward through the South China Sea.

  “Artificial islands were built among the Spratly Islands, between the Philippines and Viet Nam. China claimed these islands as sovereign territory, although The World Court had ruled against China on this issue in 2016. China built airbases on these artificial islands and also deployed long range anti-aircraft and ant-ship missiles.

  “Taiwan lies to the north of the Spratlys and had been a thorn in China’s side since the Nationalist Chinese retreat to Taiwan after the Communist takeover of the mainland in 1949. Red China considered Taiwan a Chinese province ruled by Nationalist bandits.

  “Moving northward, the next significant island in the First Island Chain was the Japanese island of Okinawa. The United States maintained a large military presence in Okinawa and those forces worked in unison with growing Japanese military strength. The north end of the line was anchored on Korea.”

  Junior then heard Bobby Ray’s unmistakable snoring and began chuckling to himself, “I really gotta talk to that boy about that snoring.”

  Town Hall

  Thomas Jackson was wide awake by 10 a.m. He and Pastor Williams sat at the kitchen table and examined the maps and lists taken from the Land Rover. Tom was lost in thought as he carefully examined this intelligence. Then the whole double-wide shook with vibration from above. An aging Apache helo bearing the PUS flag was slowly surveying the town of Kingston. Tommy and Adam jumped up and ran into the kitchen, still in their skivvies.

  Tom put his finger to his lips, then whispered. “No noise, stay away from windows, move over as close as possible to the cookstove.”

  Tom also moved over next to the cookstove, then whispered, “They may have infrared. If so, they know someone had a fire in this stove, but they won’t see our individual heat signatures.”

  After a few seconds, the chopper left Kingston heading north.

  “Boys, this ain’t Christmas morning and that wasn’t Santa, so go get your clothes on, muy pronto.”

  A few minutes later, Pastor Williams ran in the back door, breathless, “What in Sam Hill was that helicopter doing?”

  “He was probably doing the same thing last night’s visitors were doing, scoping out this town.”

  “For what?” Williams was scratching his head.

  “Boys, keep your pistols ready and keep a lookout through those windows.”

  “OK Dad.”

  “Doc, I’ve been looking over these documents from the Land Rover. Looks to me like The Collective figures that they can consolidate the ranches around here into a single collective ranch. The southern end of the Valley is controlled by the Racial Reparations Mining Camp at Round Mountain and, from there, they have a checkpoint just a few miles north on NV 376 at Carver’s. If they establish a collective ranch here and it only breaks even, it will still give The Collective a checkpoint on the north end of the Valley. After that, they’ll come after us few hard-headed sons-of-bitches in between. How did it go this morning?”

  “Everyone’s been contacted. They’ll meet us in the pole barn just before dark. I figured the Church was too risky.”

  “Good work Doc. This evening, immediately after
everyone shows up, go to the Church, turn on the lights, open the front doors. and get some gospel music playing real loud. Then move everyone as quickly as possible over to the Saloon. Don’t forget the animals. Get them out of there. Let me know if any family doesn’t show up.”

  “Why all the skullduggery Tom?”

  “Don’t assume all your neighbors are your friends. Let’s move anything that is of practical or sentimental value out of the Church, this here parsonage, and the pole building, just in case. Let’s see what you have in the way of guns and ammo and I want to walk you through handling this BAR.”

  Doc Williams and the Jacksons had plenty to do until dark.

  Just before dark, Tom was at the pole barn, “Has everybody showed up Pastor?”

  “All present, Tom.”

  “Great, let’s haul ass over to the Saloon and get everybody inside, and hide the livestock under the cottonwoods.”

  A few minutes after everyone relocated from the Pole Barn to the Saloon, the Saloon shook with the same vibration as earlier in the day. The Apache came in very fast and low and strafed the Church, Parsonage, and Pole Barn with its’ 30 mm chain gun. The chain gun was firing a mixture of High Explosive Dual Purpose Shells and High Explosive Incendiary Shells at a rate of over 600 rounds per minute. In a matter of seconds, all three buildings were left shredded and burning. The helo then vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

  Pastor Williams then spoke up, “Folks, calm down and listen. We would all be dead right now if not for this fella.”

  Pastor walked over and gave Tom a big bear hug, then continued speaking. “Most of you know Tom Jackson, maybe some more of you have just heard tell of him but have never actually met him. Tom is as fine an American as I know. He’s a Marine and fought those Chinese bastards in ’25. His family has worked Stonewall Ranch for several generations. Hear him out and then we’ll decide what we will do together.”

  With that intro, Pastor Williams yielded the floor to Corporal Jackson.

  “I guess we’re all in a state of shock, but we aren’t really surprised. We all knew that eventually The Collective would come for us. Most everyone here is a White landowner, but I do see my amigo, Juan Hernandez, is here. Juan, you’re the third generation of Hernandez working your ranch, am I right?”