When in the down position, the three-meter diameter flat-topped steel pop-up turret at the Akins house was almost invisible because it was camouflaged by soil, rocks, and two small cultivated bushes. Rick was uncertain about which weapon he might acquire to mount in the turret, but it was large enough to accommodate a variety of machineguns or light cannon. A custom mantlet would have to be fabricated to protect the 200mm-wide vertical gun slit designed to camouflage and protect Rick’s eventual choice of guns. The turret could be raised and lowered via a hydraulic hoist that was adapted from an automobile garage hoist. The turret could also be traversed 360 degrees, via a large hand wheel.
It was not until the interior of the house was nearly complete that Rick decided to buy a Rheinmetall RMK30 aircraft turret from the Isher Trading Company. Originally designed for mounting in an attack helicopter, this fast-firing cannon fit easily in his Maginot Turret. The gun itself had the advantage of being retractable, which meant that the end of its barrel could be positioned outside the Maginot turret shroud for firing, greatly reducing the muzzle blast and flash experienced inside of the turret.
The RMK30 cannon could be used in a direct fire mode against ground targets and could also be used with limited effect in an anti-aircraft mode, although its muzzle elevation was limited to 38 degrees, making it most effective against planes or helicopters that might approach Solus Christus from the direction of the canyon to the west. As Rick put it, “Any pilot who thinks himself sneaky by approaching the city by coming up the canyon will be in for a rude surprise.”
While Rick was concerned with the Maginot turret and the house’s inward-opening vault door, all furnishing, painting, and decorating the interior of the house was Meital’s domain. The house was windowless, except for the window in an atrium that faced into the canyon (out the cliff face.) This window was protected by large steel shutters that were kept shut for greater security while they were traveling.
To make up for the lack of other windows, Meital had two clever solutions: The first was installing four 74” HD plasma monitors on the north, south, east, and west walls of the downstairs Great Room. These could be configured to display a variety of inputs, but normally during daytime hours they each received inputs from surface-level cameras that were mounted underneath their PV panel array, pointed in the cardinal directions. These four monitors gave the illusion of being picture windows -- as if the house sat aboveground instead of underground. Psychologically these had a profound effect, serving to make the house seem open and spacious instead of subterranean and claustrophobic.
Meital’s second solution for the lack of windows was painting the riser walls and the domed ceiling of the great room sky blue. She airbrushed white billowy clouds onto the ceiling. When complete, the effect of this paint scheme was stunning. Soft lights projected onto the ceiling simulated dawn or dusk.
Furnishing and detail decorating the inside of the dome house was delayed because of Rick and Meital’s busy travel schedule. Occasionally while traveling, Meital would see something and declare, “That would look good in our house.” So she would purchase or order one on the spot and arrange to have it shipped to the Ilemi. These furnishings and artworks would often sit for months piling up in the Isher warehouse, awaiting their sporadic returns to the country. In this way, the Akins house ended up with a quite an eclectic but pleasing mix. This included leather couches from Spain, Mahogany dressers, desks and bookcases from Doucette and Wolfe in New Hampshire, Teak tables from the Philippines, Persian-style hand-loomed rugs from Greece, oak bedsteads from Austria, floor and table lamps from Spain, and stainless steel kitchen appliances and granite kitchen countertops from Italy.
Harry Heston was so impressed with the Akins underground dome house that he had the same company construct one for himself that was very similar, although slightly larger and with a detached underground three-car garage. His Maginot turret held a M134D 7.62mm NATO Dillon Gatling Gun with a pair of 4,000-round continuous feed ammo boxes. Heston’s house was built into a low hill on a ten-hectare parcel that overlooked both his bank and the Isher Trading Company warehouse. He liked to say, “With that Dillon, I’m my own security force, for a worst-case.”
Chapter 13: The Floods
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” -- From the sonnet New Colossus, by Emma Lazarus, penned for a fundraising auction for the pedestal base of the U.S. Statue of Liberty
Solus Christus, The Ilemi Republic -- January, Four Years After Declaration of the Caliphate
Once news of the Declaration of Independence was released, a flood of letters and e-mails arrived offering support, seeking asylum, or asking for clarification on how to apply for citizenship. There were so many letters that Alan Pilcher hastily partitioned 100 square meters of hangar space at the Juba airport in South Sudan and hired three clerks whose job it was to sort through the hard copy letters.
Meanwhile, there was an even larger inrush of e-mails received at the Citizenship Inquiries inbox of the newly-established IlemiGov.ii website. The majority of these were from people begging reduced-cost Citizenship. There were hundreds and then thousands of these e-mails each day. Alan’s solution to this crisis was ingenious: He crafted a reply e-mail for the first 100 e-mails from native English-speaking retirees and part-time self-employed workers who were seeking reduced-cost Citizenship. To these he offered a free Class G Citizenship (passport only) following three years of part-time service as Virtual Correspondence Clerks working at home. These clerks were expected to work 20 hours per week, sorting through the e-mails, categorizing them, doing background checks on applicants, and writing replies.
This system worked remarkably well, and eventually there were more than a hundred Virtual Correspondence Clerks that served at any given time. And simultaneously, the same virtual staffing method was used to find programmers and web designers for the national websites as well as disc jockeys for the Voice of the Ilemi Republic (VOIR), the national Internet streaming/radio station. A similar volunteer system was used later to recruit two-year rotations of groups of three doctors to serve on a virtual Medical Review Board to handle medical deferments, duty classifications/profiles, and waivers from IRDF service.
The large number of non-resident virtual citizens who were either paid or volunteer office staffers led to some confusion, particularly in the first few months of the Republic. In an e-mail exchange with one of his staffers, Alan asked him to “Drop by my office so we can discuss this.” The employee replied, “I’d really like to, but I’m an Australian presently living in Chile. Are you willing to cover the airfare? :-)” It was not until e-mail addresses were changed with a separate domain for virtual residents that the level of confusion was reduced.
Shortly after the IlemiGov.ii website became functional, a parallel unpublicized Deep Web website went live. This site was not visible to normal web browsers and could only be accessed on computers that were configured to run Tor -- The Onion Router. The Deep Web Ilemi site provided password-protected access to Ilemi Citizens and contractors. Supplementing this was the Ilemi Darknet -- a private computer network accessible only by other computers in the network. Knowledge of and access to the Darknet was a closely-held secret. The core of the network started with the Project SWILL members.
At the office in Juba, later moved to Solus Christus, hard-copy correspondence clerks sat in a circle of desks. Each clerk had a document scanner and desktop computer that was connected to the Ilemi Secure Wide Area Network (I-SWAN), which was on the Deep Web -- again, not visible to normal web browsers. A large crosscut paper shredder sat in the middle of the room, and nearly every letter was shredded after being scanned and checked for clarity. Once every two hours, coi
nciding with staff breaks in the next room, the noisy paper shredder was run. Even the envelope exteriors were scanned and then shredded, although the clerks were allowed to clip off the portion of the envelopes with postage stamps if they wished to keep them.
As a frontier country that was quite literally hacked out of the bush, there was great need for expertise in medicine, particularly EMTs and doctors with residencies in tropical medicine, as well as telecommunications technicians, photovoltaic power system installers, plumbers, electricians, and more. Experience and credentials in these fields often qualified applicants for Discounted Citizenship, proportional to the level of need at any given time.
Shortly after his office began processing applications in large numbers, Alan Pilcher was forwarded a passport application packet flagged Special Attention. The packet was submitted by Bjorn Martinsen, a Norwegian Army Telemark Battalion veteran who more recently worked as a car mechanic in Oslo, Norway. His background investigation showed a conviction for a “hate crime against the Muslim community.” This piqued Alan’s interest, so he looked carefully at the packet. By his own admission in his application Martinsen had been convicted of “making a public display that offended immigrants during their prayers,” was assessed a 3,000 NEuro fine, and served 28 days in Oslo Prison. INTERPOL confirmed this, before Pilcher ever saw the packet. His application also included an Unseen video chat address, so he immediately sent Martinsen an Unseen Contact Request.
The Norwegian responded minutes later, launching a v-chat session. Martinsen was a handsome man with thin features and a dark scar on his forehead above his left eye. They introduced themselves, and Alan asked the man to explain the “offense against Islam” charge.
Martinsen responded, “I will tell you, sir, I both live and work in the Grønland District of Oslo, which has a very heavy majority immigrant population. That whole district is now about 75% Muslim. But my family has lived in Grønland since the early 1500s. I have genealogy records that go all the way back to 1523, when Grønland was all farms. But now the Thirdists control it. Their muezzins drone on endlessly on loudspeakers, day and night, but yet they have the brazenness to complain about the church bells, which are not amplified, as far away as Saint Olav’s Church. They call them an affront to Islam, and say that no church bells should be allowed in Oslo because it has so many Muslims. Starting in June last year, when my trouble began, they started blocking off Hollender Gate to roll out their little rugs and bow toward Mecca.
“My car and lorry shop is on Schweigaards Gate, and I live in a house just a few blocks away, on Sigurds Gate. Their enormous ‘Cultural Center’ mosque takes up an entire block on Toyenbekken, but that was not enough for them. That mosque can hold 5,000 people. The only time it is ever full is at Ramadan. But now they have their street prayer thing, and they even have the Politi block traffic for them, ‘for safety reasons.’ This is all just a big show, because they only pray outside on the street during the summer months, just to show off who is really The Boss in Grønland.”
Alan nodded and said, “Go on.”
“So here is what happened: Last June, I was driving home to lunch in my Volvo Hydro by way of Hollender Gate, the same way I had done five days a week for the past nine years. But that day, for the first time I’d ever seen or heard, a bunch of these guys started putting orange cones across the street, and they started rolling out rugs. So I am thinking, Oh no, they are going to try to do the same thing they’ve been doing in Paris for 30 years. So I pressed my car horn, and I left it on -- I didn’t let go of the button. They started shouting and beating their fists on the hood of my car. I locked my car doors, and pretty quickly they had my car surrounded. A minute later, two Politi cars pull up behind me with their blue lights flashing. The Blålys just sat there watching while these Thirdist guys broke the antenna off of my car, kicked off one of the rear view mirrors, and kicked the back end of my car to shatter the taillights. So then, instead of arresting them, the police came and arrested me, for three things, which I found out later: a Class 2 Hate Crime, disturbing the peace, and starting a riot.”
Martinsen sighed heavily, and then carried on. “While the police were busy putting me in one of their police cars, someone in the crowd got up on the hood of my Volvo and kicked in my windshield. So I asked the one of the Politi, ‘Aren’t you going to stop them? What are you going to do?’ They just said, ‘Ikkje stort.’ That is Norwegian for ‘Nothing much.’ Then, while we were watching, a guy with a big beard reaches in through the smashed windshield with a road flare, to set the inside of my car on fire. Now both policemen keep repeating, ‘Ikkje stort’ and laughing at me. They called the fire department, but by the time that they got there, my car was a total loss. They saw exactly who placed the road flare, but they didn’t even try to arrest him. They said that it would be ‘Too provocative.’”
Alan let out a groan, and then Martinsen went on. “So on the news websites the Thirdists and even the mainstream news media were calling me ‘Martinsen Fanden,’ which is Norwegian for ‘The Devil.’ My trial was a big publicity thing, making me to be the Bad Guy, intolerant, insensitive, hateful, and everything else. I got a big fine and 28 days in prison. When I got out of prison, I had to fight for six months with my car insurance company, because they claimed the car fire was my fault. But they finally sent a payment to my lawyer just one day before my lawsuit against them was supposed to start in court. So I ended up spending 950 NEuro to pay my lawyer, even without it ever going to trial.”
Pilcher shook his head in disbelief, and said, “Amazing. So is that when you decided to emigrate?”
“No, no. It got worse! Then the Thirdists started to hold protests by my car repair shop, and they published my home address and the name of the school where my nine-year-old daughter attends her classes. The final stroke was last month when they firebombed the office part of my car repair shop. I saved nearly all of my tools, but all of my records were destroyed. To sum it up, Muslims in Norway are really a bunch of vindictive thugs with long memories.”
“All that, just for tooting your car horn? Amazing. And now you want to move here to the Ilemi Republic...”
“That’s right. My wife asked me to move up to Vinstra where she has a cousin. That is a small town with just 3,000 people, up in Oppland where there are hardly any Muslims. But I want to get out of Norway, totally and permanently. The national government has caved in to the Thirdists. Norway is now a lost cause. The Muslims have won it, and without a whimper.”
“In your application you mention that you want to start a car and truck repair garage in our new capital. Hmmm. You are not a criminal, or even ill-mannered, in my estimation. Leaning on that horn was just expressing your righteous indignation, because force had been initiated against your long-existing right of way. You are welcome here, Mr. Martinsen. I must warn you, though: We are just getting situated here, but at least you will have the only mechanic shop in town. And we anticipate that within five years there will be at least 8,000 people living in the capital. So, did your wife agree to move to the Ilemi?”
“After a while, yes, I convinced here. And besides, my wife and daughters are both sunshine girls -- They both really like hot weather. Almost every summer we go to Greece for our holiday!”
Bjorn Martinsen and his family arrived one week after a pair of 20-foot CONEXes filled with his tools and his household goods arrived at the lot he purchased, sight unseen. Bjorn flew into Juba, bought a four- year-old RetroRover, and then drove his family to the Ilemi Republic.
Since there were still less than 200 people living in Solus Christus, there would have not been enough car work except for the fact that clearing trees to clear road and house pads resulted in many tire punctures from acacia thorns -- mostly in tire sidewalls. Martinsen brought with him both an air-compressor-powered tire dismounting/remounting press and an AC-powered tire spin-balancer. Repairing and replacing flat tires provided him enough income for the first year. Suspension repairs, too, were also quite fr
equent: Bjorn benefitted from the generally horrible condition of the existing roads in the Republic, and the South African immigrants, in particular, were notorious for driving too fast for the road conditions. But gradually repairs to heavy equipment, SUVs, and pickups became frequent enough that Martinsen was able to transition the bulk of his business to engine and transmission repair.
Bjorn launched his business modestly, working at first under a tarp strung up in front of his tool CONEX. For his first two years in the country, he and his family lived in a 26-foot camping trailer just a few steps away.
Chapter 14: The Letter
“We live in the age of the refugee, the age of the exile.” -- Ariel Dorfman
Solus Christus, The Ilemi Republic -- Mid-January, Four Years After Declaration of the Caliphate
The envelope was scuffed and stained. It bore no postmark, and it was addressed:
Please HAND DELIVER to:
Dr. Mark Mtume
Chairman, GCC Charities
P.O. Box 314
Lusaka, ZAMBIA
The letter, written in small print in a delicate hand read:
Dear Pastor Mtume:
My name is Grace Wattanapanit. I represent a group of 27 Christians who are stranded in Kazakhstan. I teach Latin, French, and English to grade school and high school students. There are 16 adults and 11 children, all living at the French Embassy in the capital city of Astana. As you may know, the French had the last western embassy in Kazakhstan. Since the entire French contingent departed their legation last year, our situation has become increasingly difficult.
In essence, we are the discarded houseboys, drivers, teachers, nannies, and cooks from three different departed embassies and consulates. Because we didn’t have French ancestry, our former employers didn’t deem it necessary to issue us sufficient travel documents to escape the country. Our passport situations are therefore complicated, and that, along with a severe shortage of funds, leaves us trapped in the country. The status of the French legation buildings is tenuous. The French have employed many of us for more than 20 years, and a few for 30 years. The oldest of our group is 68 years old.
Land of Promise Page 14