Freedom's Sons

by H. A. Covington

  “Are they that good, or do we really suck?” asked Jenner.

  “A bit of both, sir,” replied Lyons honestly. “I think everyone in government is aware of the weaknesses in the FBI’s performance for the past generation, for reasons we are not allowed by law to discuss.”

  “Because the Bureau is full of incompetent affirmative action hires who are there because they have dark skin or tits,” said Jenner flatly.

  “I didn’t hear that,” said Lyons quickly. “Basically, the FBI is great at fabricating cases against political targets, which is all they were really required to do before the armed insurgency began in the Northwest. With the Edgar Steele case back in 2010, they were able successfully to fabricate audio evidence and get a conviction, aided by a bent judge who refused to allow any forensics or expert witness testimony from the defense. From that point on, most of the Bureau’s work became political, fabricating cases against people the United States government wanted to shut up and disappear. Their technical people could create totally believable video and audio footage that would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you and I conspired together to hire a hit man to murder the Dalai Lama, if it was deemed politically desirable. But given the political nature of their mission and the political criteria for their personnel, the FBI became complete stumblebums when it comes to for-real spy catching, and have been for decades.

  “The Walker family spied for eighteen years and earned over a million dollars from the Russkis, and the only reason John Walker was ever caught was because he was too cheap to pay his ex-wife alimony and she turned him in. Jonathan Pollard failed every psych test and lied on his vetting forms, his behavior was so erratic that even his co-workers at Naval Intelligence thought he was nuts and tried to get his clearance revoked, and the FBI only paid attention when he was actually caught on a security camera stealing and photocopying classified documents. One of the primary, if unspoken, rationales for creating the Department of Homeland security after Nine-eleven was that the FBI was so clearly incapable. The ESMA here in the District is an attempt to counteract our own counter-intelligence incompetence by simply spying on everybody all the time.”

  “And even that doesn’t seem to have worked!” said Jenner bitterly.

  “No, sir,” agreed Lyons.

  “You know that there is—was—a serious policy disagreement over the conduct of the war within the special Cabinet and Joint Chiefs committee that meets in the Situation Room?” asked Jenner.

  “Yes, sir,” said Lyons with a nod. “It’s kind of hard for the staff here not to know, with all the yelling that goes on down there and in the Oval Office and in the corridors. We do have ears, you know. Ms. Herrin and Mr. Schiff wanted to launch a full nuclear strike at the Northwest. So did Secretary Chalupiak, and I assume she still does. Admiral Brava, General Scheisskopf, and yourself are against it. Secretary Modlin agrees with whoever spoke last, Secretary Bagwell turned into a chicken, and no one knows which way the president is going to jump on it. Now, my question, sir, is how did the Northmen know who in the War Cabinet was pushing for the nuclear strike, and how did they know where to find Ms. Herrin and Mr. Schiff tonight?”

  “You think the NAR has somebody inside the White House?” asked Jenner, his blood running cold.

  “I do, sir,” said Lyons. “I will go so far as to say that I think it’s the president’s special friend of the moment, Ms. Halberstam.”

  “Do you have any evidence for that suspicion other than the fact that she was born in Montana?” asked Jenner.

  “None, sir, but I was always against her coming here. Her background check revealed a completely amoral character.”

  Jenner gave him a tired and disgusted smile. “Lee, let’s be completely honest here. Any woman who will put up with what Hunter Wallace does in the bedroom, for any amount of money, is going to be at least half a freak. You’re not going to get Rebecca of Sunnybrook farm doing the afternoon shift in there in the executive lounge.”

  “I am aware of that, sir, and yes, we’ve had some real lady freaks in that slot in the past,” said Lyons. “In this woman’s case, it’s just a feeling. Call it a cop’s gut instinct.”

  “The president is very fond of this young lady and he is going to be, well, distraught when we tell him what happened to his press secretary and his chief of staff tonight,” said Jenner. “I don’t think it would be wise to compound the shock of tonight’s news by flat-out accusing his favorite mistress of the past few years of being a Nazi spy. Plus I happen to be one of these old dinosaurs who doesn’t believe in charging someone with a capital crime without some kind of proof and then torturing a confession out of them. What can I tell you? I’m an old fuddy-duddy that way.”

  “So what should we… ?” Lyons suddenly remembered that Jenner was not empowered to issue orders to the Secret Service. “Ah, what would you recommend, Mr. Vice President?”

  “I would recommend putting a special security watch on her down in the control room, including activating the secret cameras in the bathrooms which we all know you have already installed,” said Jenner. “Watch every move she makes. Go over all her phone calls, which I know you intercept and at least archive. Check them out for anything that seems suspicious. Then we should…”

  The door to the Oval Office opened and a uniformed Army major appeared at Jenner’s side. “Mr. Vice President, you’re needed in the situation room,” he said. His face was almost green.

  “I’m not the commander-in-chief, Major,” said Jenner irritably.

  “No, sir,” said the officer with a gulp. Tears formed in his eyes. “But we think you need to be the one to wake the president and tell him what’s happened. It’s bad news.”

  “Spit it out, man!” snapped Jenner.

  “Combined Military Group South is gone, sir,” said the major, openly weeping now. “It no longer exists. We received General Logan’s last transmission from Bowman Field in Anaconda as the goddamned SS was overrunning his position, and the town is gone as well. Re-taken by the NDF. They wouldn’t allow any of our people to even surrender. It looks like they killed them all. Two hundred and twenty-five thousand soldiers and U.S. Marines who left Billings two weeks ago on a Baghdad Boogie, now they’re wiped out. It’s the worst military disaster in this nation’s history. And the relief column, sir…”

  “Go on,” ordered Jenner, dazed and in shock.

  “They’ve broken up.”

  “What the devil do you mean?” demanded the Vice President.

  “The enemy army moving north from Wyoming beat them to Billings, occupied the city, and then hit our column in the darkness just outside town, at a place called Huntley,” said the major. “They’ve broken up. They’re running, sir. They’re just throwing down their weapons and running for their lives through the night, every man for himself.”

  “Dear God!” whispered Jenner, appalled.

  “We have to wake the president,” said Lee Lyons in a dull voice.

  “Not yet,” said Jenner. “Major, have Admiral Brava and General Scheisskopf been informed of this catastrophe yet?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the officer. “They’re at the Pentagon war room now monitoring what fragmentary radio and other communications are coming in. They figure Group Center at Fairfield and Group North at Ponderay are next in line.”

  “Get them over here,” said Jenner. “Not Chalupiak or Modlin. We will wake the president together. We have to end this.”

  * * *

  Casualty summary as of 0600 hours EDT, July 4th

  NDF military casualties—9,389 dead and 14,039 wounded

  NAR civilian casualties—3,908 dead and 5,873 wounded

  United States military casualties—312,290 dead and 100,657 wounded

  United States civilian casualties—145,765 dead and 402,938 wounded, gassed, or sickened from biowar agents, casualties overwhelmingly non-white

  Aztlan military casualties—Est. approx. 195,000 dead, 168,000 wounded including those killed in Aztlan civil c
onflict beginning around June 30.

  Aztlan civilian casualties—Unknown number wounded, gassed, or sickened from biowar agents or killed in civil unrest during the collapse of Aztlan.

  XIX

  THE PRICE

  (July Fourth)

  Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.

  —Amelia Earhart

  At five o’clock on the morning of July the Fourth, a grim group of men walked down the upstairs hall of the East Wing of the White House and knocked on the door of the presidential bedroom. They were Vice President Hugh Jenner, Admiral Hector Brava, General Albert Scheisskopf, and Special Agent in charge Lee Lyons, who was acting as escort to the Vice President on this occasion. Jenner knocked long and loud and called out, “Mr. President! This is Hugh Jenner. We need to speak with you. The matter is urgent.”

  Hunter Wallace finally opened the door, wearing pajamas and belting a bathrobe around his waist. “What the hell, Hugh?” he demanded.

  “Mr. President, we have some bad news,” said Jenner formally. “Could you please close the door and step into the hall? This information is significantly above Ms. Halberstam’s security clearance level, and I would prefer that she didn’t overhear.”

  Once the door was closed and Wallace stood with them in the hallway, Jenner remorselessly laid it all out. “We have news from Montana, and it couldn’t be worse. Combined Military Group South has ceased to exist. It has been almost completely wiped out by the enemy in a night attack, in a matter of hours.”

  “Almost?” asked Wallace woodenly.

  Scheisskopf spoke up. “We are getting some scattered radio chatter which indicates that a few isolated companies and smaller units down to squad level, even individual soldiers, may have broken out of the encirclement and are attempting to fight their way eastward, back onto United States soil.”

  “May I remind you that the entire state of Montana is United States soil, General,” said Wallace in a wooden voice.

  “Of course, Mr. President,” replied Scheisskopf soothingly.

  Not good, thought Hugh Jenner. Only a nodding acquaintance with reality, and that may be receding in his rear view mirror fast. Not good. He went on, “It gets worse. The relief column headed toward Anaconda was defeated and dispersed outside Billings last night by the Nazi Seventh Army, who are now entering the city.”

  “Dispersed? What do you mean dispersed?” demanded Wallace.

  “I mean they were reduced to a panic-stricken rout, and they are now running from the enemy in complete disorder. It’s been a very bad twenty-four hours. What you have to understand, Mr. President, is that the United States has lost the war. In point of fact, the war was lost within the first twenty-four hours, because without massive and overwhelming air power and high-technology surveillance, the United States military is a second-rate fighting force at best due to the poor mental and moral quality of the people who comprise it. But that’s spilled milk. We have to deal with the reality on the ground. Group Center and Group North are now in extreme danger. They are isolated and surrounded by vastly superior forces, and the best we can hope for is to extricate those men with their lives intact, so that the United States of America still has at least a few soldiers left. I have a sneaking suspicion that once the magnitude of this total cluster-fuck can no longer be concealed from the American people, and the whole world understands what has happened in the past two weeks, we are going to need all the armed men we can to keep order and maintain our own positions. You have to make the call, Mr. President.”

  “Make what call?” asked Wallace.

  “Send the e-mail, make the TV or internet transmission, however it is to be done, and I admit that even I’m not sure how we get in touch with them,” admitted Jenner. “But in some way, you have to make the call to the commander-in-chief of the enemy armed forces, President Henry Morehouse of the Northwest American Republic. The nation we are at war with, and which will now remain a nation, because we have failed. You have to negotiate the withdrawal of our remaining forces alive from their present state of encirclement and siege, and you have to try and broker a peace that will at least keep them from grabbing any more of the United States or Canada and getting more non-white and Jewish people to exterminate. We’ve lost, sir. You have to pick up the pieces now.”

  The president ignored him as if he had not spoken. “I’m sorry to hear about the loss of so many fine American fighting men and women,” said Wallace. Jenner noticed the president’s hands beginning to tremble and his eyes beginning to twitch and roll a bit. Definitely not a good sign, thought the Vice President to himself. Jenner had always been of the private opinion that Hunter Wallace was not completely stable in his mind, and that any major setback or a serious crisis that threatened his massive ego might produce unfortunate results. “Obviously we need to convene an emergency meeting of the War Cabinet to consider what measures to take. I think we all know what advice Angela and Mr. Schiff and Secretary Chalupiak will proffer, and in light of these developments, perhaps I need to reconsider…”

  “Angela Herrin and Ronald Schiff won’t be proffering you any advice ever again, Mr. President,” said Jenner brutally. “They’re both dead. They were assassinated last night, just before midnight, at almost the same time but in different locations in the District of Columbia. They were shot and bombed by unknown assailants, although I don’t think we need to offer any prizes for guessing who those assailants were.”

  Lee Lyons spoke up. “Mr. President, since this seems to have become a war of assassination now, I have ordered special security units to the homes of Secretary Chalupiak, Secretary Modlin, and all the rest of the Cabinet, and emergency protocols will be in force for the duration…”

  “Angela and Ron?” said Wallace, gaping at them. “Both of them dead?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jenner.

  “You idiot!” shouted Wallace. “Jesus Christ, what have you done?”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” asked the Vice President, nonplussed.

  “You don’t think I know you did it?” raved Wallace. “Unknown assailants my ass! It was you who had them killed, wasn’t it? Of course it was. I always knew that you hated my Jewish advisors, and you were jealous of them because of their special relationship with God and their special relationship with me, but are you really so anxious to save your house or your lot or whatever in Portland that you had them both murdered?”

  “What?” said Jenner, dumbfounded.

  “It’s not just unconscionable, it’s fucking stupid!” shouted Wallace. “Do you have any idea who you’ve pissed off now? A world political and financial power so great that they could even survive the total loss of their entire ancestral nation and shrug it off like it was a mere hiccup! Who in God’s name do you think has initiated and decided every major world event for the past century? Does the name Bilderberg mean anything to you? Ever heard of the Trilateral Commission, the Council on Foreign Relations, the ADL, the Aron Habrit? You’re a Freemason, for Christ’s sake, so you ought to know who really runs the world!”

  “Yes, I do know, which is why I would never do anything like that!” cried Jenner in denial. “Jesus, Hunter, do you think I’m stupid enough to bring the Aron Habrit and the Mossad down on my ass?”

  “You better hope and pray you can prove you had nothing to do with it, Hugh,” warned Wallace. “Angela Herrin and Ronald Schiff were considered by their own kind to be tzaddikim, living saints whose very existence sanctified the Jewish people in the eyes of God. Now you or somebody has killed them, and I find it mysteriously convenient that their deaths come at a time when the Apocalypse Option is on the table.”

  “It is not on the table, sir,” said Jenner flatly. “It cannot be on the table. Going Apocalyptic would damn the United States in the eyes of all mankind for the rest of recorded history, no matter what the cause.”

  “And this is your decision to make since when?” demanded Wallace. “Maybe that’s why Angela and Ron died? They were practice runs
so I could be murdered by traitors in my own party and my own White House, in order to save a gang of racist murderers and your stupid house in Portland? Were you in on it?” Wallace demanded of Lyons. “Hughie here doesn’t have his own assets for wet work, so he would have to get some trigger men from somewhere. One of your covert ops squads, Lee? Figure to change horses in midstream, get in good with the next guy in the Oval Office, maybe help put him there, eh?”

  “No, sir, you’re wrong!” said Lyons, stunned. “I find your insinuation insulting and offensive!”

  “Blackwater, then?” mumbled Wallace, his eyes rolling. “Yeah, Blackwater sounds likely. Those goons will kill for anyone who pays them enough.” He turned and looked at Admiral Brava and General Scheisskopf. “How about you two? Were you in on it?” He cut their protests short. “Never mind. I don’t know whether to believe you, but it doesn’t matter. Suddenly it’s all clear now. I know what I have to do.” He turned and opened the bedroom door, stalked inside, and they could hear the click as he locked it.

  “My God, the President of the United States has lost his mind!” breathed Brava.

  “And locked himself in with a Nazi spy,” muttered Lyons.

  “What?” exclaimed Brava.

  “Well, maybe,” said Lyons with a shrug. “I’m pretty sure the WPB or the CMI or whatever leprechauns pulled these killings off last night have an agent or a source of information in the White House, and I think it may be the president’s current bedmate, but I can’t prove it. Yet.”

  “Maybe if it is her she’s drugging him, and that’s why he’s acting so loony?” suggested Jenner. “They seem to have some kind of capability like that. I can’t get the pictures of Kanesha Knight being chased through the parking lot by men in white coats and Marlon Bagwell running down the halls of the White House flapping his arms and clucking like a chicken out of my head.”