New World Order: 666 - The Mark of the Beast (Vol. 1)

by W. R. Benton

  James said, “Speaking of here, tomorrow we'll start making log cabins for all of us. Now, each family will not have a cabin, because we don't have that much time until cold weather hits. There are 13 of us and I think four cabins will work, for this winter. Starting today, we'll have a guard, 24/7 and unless you're sick or injured, you will pull your shift. We not only have to watch for intruders but also helicopters, drones, or other aircraft.”

  “Do you think black folks and Muslims will rise up against the rest of America?” Jerry asked as he gazed into the eyes of Joan, his wife.

  Frank laughed and said, “Some Muslims and some blacks would love to do just that, but together they're maybe, what, 15% of the population? I don't think that would be very smart on their part, do you?”

  “I can understand the anger of black folks, too. A few years back our President had racial tensions the highest I've ever seen it since the 1968 riots. I feel he intentionally wanted folks at each others throats, but why?” James asked.

  “He was, as the present one is, part of the New World Order, or bought by them. I think most politicians are on their payroll. Look how many people enter politics with less than a million bucks in the bank. Follow their long careers and see how much money they have when they leave politics. All are worth millions, and notice I didn't say, worth a million.” Jerry said, and then shook his head.

  “It's impossible to make that legally on government pay.” Blake said.

  Ben gave a sad smile and said, “Look, I know how the NWO works and I'm positive most, if not all, politicians are on their payroll and in most cases the man or woman doesn't even know who is paying them. They are paid to vote this or that way and their vote helps the NWO in some way. Most of the citizens of the United States have never heard of the New World Order. Those that have think it is some insane conspiracy by the far right and will never happen.”

  “Most citizens don't care about much except their weekly football or baseball game, keeping up with the Jones', and having enough beer to last the weekend. I'm talking about those who are the professional baby machines and only care about their assistance payments from the government and food stamps. They sell the food stamps and it buys the beer, while the live-in old man buys and sells drugs. Those with real medical problems are paid a pittance of what they need to survive and live from payday to payday. I have an aunt living on $409 dollars a month, which is impossible, almost, but she had help from family.”

  “Some of those women on welfare make good money, because they're paid by the child, with each head being so many bucks.” Frank said, and then poured himself a cup of coffee.

  Donna said, “While working with the Houston police, oh, maybe five years back, they busted a food-stamp counterfeit operation. They were printing the food coupons and then selling $1,000 worth of stamps for $500. They made a mint too, and I think the cops found over $250,000 in cash in the house.”

  “How'd they discover it?” Ben asked, grinning because he found it funny what people would do for easy cash.

  “Most of the stamps had the backs reversed of what they really were.”

  “Reversed?” Ben asked.

  “Upside down. A sharp cashier caught it and had the man arrested. Once in jail, he squealed on the rest and didn't get charged. Later he was found floating around in one of the four bayous in Houston.”

  A few minutes of silence filled the camp and then Joan asked, “How long is my country going to be messed up? I miss the old days, where we could sleep at night with the window open, we could take a stroll in town late at night and window shop, without carrying a gun. Folks were mostly honest and the kids were innocent.”

  James said, “I think those days are over, and forever. Now a war will start, there will be many dead on both sides, and before the blood even dries, we'll be rebuilding this nation. Americans are tougher than they realize and only us who'd served in the military understand this. See, the military should be mandatory for everyone right out of high school, or the Peace Corps. Most men who do not serve lack self confidence, self motivation, and they're lazy. The service takes a man or woman as far as they want to go. But the best part is, the service turns boys and girls into men and women, who become productive members of our society.”

  “I hear ya, brother.” Blake said.

  Two months later, the cabins completed and things squared away, James, Donna, and Blake went to the super department store to get a few things. They wanted candles, hurricane lamps and fuel, and a few other items. They loaded up the carts, moved to the cashier and began checking out.

  When the total was shown the woman said, “Run your hand over the scanner and your banks will show on the screen. Then, okay the amount, push the bank you want to pay with, and enter your pin.”

  “You must be using the implant chip, but we don't have them.” Donna said.

  “Keep your voices down, but I can't check you out if you don't have a chip.”

  “What's the total owed?” James asked.

  “Fifty three dollars and 17 cents.” she replied.

  He handed her a hundred and said, “Keep the change.”

  “Uh, we don't take cash, either. I'm afraid I need to contact security.”

  “Contact who in the hell you want, lady, but I've paid you and this stuff is mine. Let's go.” James said as he pushed the cart toward the door.

  Once outside, a security guard ran toward them, pistol in hand, “Stop, and I mean now.”

  They stopped and when the guard neared, James asked, “What's the problem, we paid for this stuff.”

  “You can't buy anything in this country now without a chip. You three will come with me.”

  The guard was a big man, but in weight only. He was about five feet four inches tall, maybe 300 pounds, and his face was flushed from running a hundred feet.

  “What if we don't want to come with you?” Blake asked.

  “Then I'll make you.”

  “You look like a good ole boy, Bubba, so don't piss us off or you'll get hurt. However, with that said, we are not giving this stuff back, we're not coming with you, and if you continue to push the issue, we'll kill you.”

  “Don't make me shoot.” the guard said, and his pistol was shaking as the two men slowly moved apart.

  “Holster the gun, son, or start shooting. I have to warn you though, I was killing men in a small country called Vietnam before you were hatched. When I shoot you, I'll place three bullets in the middle of your chest.”

  “Not me,” Blake said, “I want to hit his belly. I'll bet he pops like a balloon.”

  “Shut up,” the guard said and keyed his mic, “Guard 6, I have three people detained —”

  Blake and James both pulled pistols.

  “Don't shoot me, man. I have a wife and three little kids.” he pleaded.

  “Load the Jeep, baby.” James said to Donna.

  “Drop the gun, the belt, and your pants, or we'll shoot.” Blake said.

  The gun fell and then the belt, which went in the Jeep with the other items from the store. When his pants came off, Blake tossed them in the vehicle. Pulling two plastic ties from his pocket, Blake secured the guards hands behind his back.

  All went well until a golf cart with three other guards neared and pulled guns. Blake and James were in the Jeep and as they backed up, the guards began shooting. Blake screamed in pain as blood splattered on James, so he took the guards out, 1, 2, 3, and they fell screaming. The guards had reacted as if they'd never been in a hostile environment before, while James had survived many in Vietnam and Iraq. As Donna floored the vehicle and ran a red light at the top of a hill, James looked Blake over.

  “He's still alive, but he'll not live. About half of his head is missing and I see parts of it on the inside of the jeep. I don't think he'll regain consciousness.”

  “Let's get him back to camp and doctor him up.” Donna said, and then started crying.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Air Force One, this is the tower and we have a KC-
135 due to meet you in ten minutes. He'll refuel you and check you visually for damage.”

  “Copy, tower.”

  The pilot glanced at the fire light, shook his head, and then pushed 'Agent Discharge', which instantly filled the engine with foam, hopefully putting out the fire. The fire light flickered on and off a few times and then, as the pilot shut the engine down, the light went out and stayed that way.

  “Uh, tower, Air Force One.”

  “Go, Air Force One.”

  “Be advised I have the President and First Lady on board and I'm declaring an in-flight emergency. I have shut down my number three engine due to fire and most of my console lights are on. Tell the tanker if he's not here in ten minutes, we'll not need him.”

  “Roger, copy. Right now we have you on radar, and your best bet is to try and reach Saint Louis. Do you think you have twenty minutes of safe flight time remaining?”

  “Affirmative, as far as my mechanical problems. If not for my passengers, I'd not be very concerned, but have the tanker on time. Fuel is my biggest worry.”

  “Roger on the tanker. Saint Louis has the long runway you need to land and take off again, once the repairs have been made.”

  “Roger, I hear you. This is Air Force One, out.”

  The tanker was soon spotted, and Air Force One slipped in lower and behind the KC-135. In most cases, a pilot would want to have as little fuel as possible before landing in an emergency to avoid fire, but in this case, he didn't have enough to reach the airport. He needed fuel now, or soon he'd have to put the aircraft on the ground.

  “Uh, Air Force One, this is your local gas station, and before we moved into position, we looked y'all over. You have part of your leading edge missing from your right wing, and smoke coming from your number three engine. There is a black spot, about six feet in diameter on top of the same engine. I see where small arms fire struck you, but it didn't seem to pierce the skin.”

  The Air Force One pilot said, “Roger that, uh, can I get some gas now? We can talk later, Sam, at the O'club.”

  “I hear ya, Bill. Uh, boom operator, the President is all yours now.”

  “Roger, sir.” the young boom operator said.

  From behind the KC-135 a boom extended and a hose seemed to float in the air to the President's aircraft. His Engineer and all watched the fuel gauges as fuel began to flow. As the fuel in their aircraft began to register on the gauges, there came a sigh of relief from the co-pilot.

  “I always did like Saint Louis.” the co-pilot said with a chuckle. He was holding up the latest popular nudie magazine and letting the boom operator get a nice view.

  Many nervous minutes later, the nozzle disengaged, sending a little fuel into the slip stream.

  Joking with the boom operator on the KC-135, the pilot said, “Great job you have, just lay on your stomach and pass gas all the time. Can you check my oil and clean the windshield, too?”

  “Uh, Air Force One, read my mind, sir.”

  Laughing, the pilot said, “As usual, a professional job by a crew that works well together. You guys kept me from walking home. Thanks, and when I see you at the club, drinks on me.”

  The KC-135 rocked his wings, turned gently to the left and was gone in a few blinks of the eye.

  “The hydraulic system is still showing the we're losing fluid and while we have a backup manual system, stopping this beast on the runway will not be easy.” the pilot said.

  “I understand, and both of us will stand on the brakes if that's what it takes. Navigator, what's our ETA Saint Louis?”

  “Uh, our ETA to Lambert-St. Louis International Airport is fifteen minutes, on our current heading. You are lined up for a straight in approach.”

  “Mister President and First Lady, this is your captain speaking. We're experiencing problems with the aircraft and have been diverted to Lambert-St. Louis International Airport and will be landing in about ten minutes. I've had to shut down the number three engine and declare an in-flight emergency but we are currently in no serious danger. The emergency was declared because our President and his lovely wife are on our aircraft. Crew, prepare the cabin for landing.”

  “Air Force One, you are cleared for a straight in approach on runway 12 left.”

  “Copy, tower.”

  “Lower landing gear.” the pilot said as they went through the prior-to-landing check list.

  “Uh, the nose gear is down but not locked. The light is still in the red.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The light is in the green for all but the nose gear.”

  “Uh, tower, my lights indicate my nose gear is down but not locked into position.”

  “How do you want to handle this, Air Force One?”

  “Since I'm leaking fuel and hydraulics I don't have the option of trying to get it unlocked by other means. Please notify the emergency crews I expect my nose wheel to collapse when I land.”

  “Copy, and all emergency vehicles are in place.”

  “I'll try to keep the nose level and once my speed is down, I'll let the nose come down slowly.”

  “Roger, and good luck.”

  “Cabin Crew, this is the Captain. Our nose wheel will not lock in the down position, so prepare all passengers for an emergency landing. We've been cleared for an emergency landing and we're going straight in. You can expect a lot of noise, bumps, smoke, and perhaps some fire, but the emergency crews are standing by. The first people off the aircraft will be the President and First Lady.”

  The cabin filled with silence as each person dealt with the emergency in their own way. Few were Christians, but a prayer was heard and when folks looked around, it was the First Lady.

  Ten minutes later, the Captain said, “Crew, to your stations and prepare for an emergency landing. We're going in now.”

  Just before touchdown wind shear struck the aircraft and the wings wobbled as the pilot maintained control, but some of the passengers screamed in fear. The First Lady's prayer became louder and then the aircraft was felt to land with a loud thud; there came a screech of tires, and the aircraft continued down the long runway. The flaps were up, people were bent over with their hands on their heads, and the co-pilot silently prayed.

  The pilot played with his throttle, keeping his speed up just enough to keep the nose in the air a little. He slowly reduced his speed and let the nose wheel touch down. He was surprised when the aircraft did not drop on its nose, but now he had to stop this big heavy beast. His hydraulics were all but gone and only with him and the co-pilot on the brakes did they come to a slow stop, with about 100 feet of runway left. Smoke filled the air and the scent of burning metal from the brakes filled the cabin and cockpit.

  “Crew, evacuate the President and First Lady, then the rest of the staff and passengers.”

  Doors flew open, but since most of the passengers were military, there was no mad scramble to get off and it flowed smoothly. The last man off the aircraft was the pilot and when he stood in the door, the passengers, including the President and First Lady, safely on the ground, clapped loudly for him. He waved, smiled, and then slid down the emergency chute.

  The pilot stood, moved to the Fire Chief, and said, “Notify the Vice-President that the President and First Lady are alive and well. Also, ask for another aircraft to be delivered here. This one will be grounded a while as they fix the problems.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Part of our problem, I think, was whatever blew up removed part of the leading wing edge. I suspect part of it was ingested by our number three engine.” the pilot said to his co-pilot.

  “Yep, the engine needs changing for sure, and the landing gear needs checked closely too. Let's see if we can find a room here at a reasonable price.”

  Early the next morning, as a new sun rose, a new Air Force One was on the flight line, guarded by military police. The President was driven onto the flight line by a black SUV, and straight to the aircraft. The crew was busy pre-flighting the aircraft and the cabin crew was i
nsuring all was clean, neat, and ready for the President.

  As the Sergeant saluted him the President returned the salute and said, “Morning, son. Come with me, we have rain coming in a few minutes.”

  Passengers and crew entered the aircraft and took their seats. As the engines started and crew was storing luggage and briefcases, from the cockpit the Captain said, “Good morning, Mister President and First Lady, we'll be taxiing in a few minutes and we're cleared for takeoff. On the behalf of the Air Force One crew, I want to welcome any new passengers we have, and assure you we will do all within our power to make your flight a good one. Crew, to your stations, please.”

  The trip to Atlanta was quiet and uneventful, but the President started his drinking earlier than most days. By the time the aircraft touched down on the runway, he was intoxicated. He was fully in control, and no one who didn't know him would not have suspected he'd had a drop. He was getting better and better at functioning under the influence of alcohol.

  They moved to the President's limo, which had been brought in by C-5, and left the airport. They drove to the President's suite at a local hotel, with an escort of four motorcycle riders in front of them and two black SUVs with secret service agents behind them.

  About half way to the hotel there came a loud explosion, and demonstrators moved to block the road. The noise had caused no damage and nothing had been seen, so the agents were a bit shocked. They'd later determine it was a hand grenade.

  The protesters held signs that read, “No to the Mark of the Beast! God for me and no to 666!”

  “Who is behind all of this?” the President asked. “I'm getting tired of this bullshit.”

  “Intelligence said it's the New World Order funding these mobs.” an agent said.

  The protesters were rocking the car, striking the windows, and one man was hitting with an ax.

  Damn, they're funding me, too. How can this be? Are they wanting violence? he thought as he poured a double whiskey.