Freedom's Sons

by H. A. Covington

  “Mmm hmm,” said Big Bob. “In a weird kind of way, the Seven Weeks War was actually the best thing that ever happened to rural and small-town America for generations. Massive military defeat and the collapse of the federal government finally got the bureaucrats and their political correctness off people’s backs in rural Kansas and Kentucky and Wisconsin and so on, and folks in what they used to call Flyover Country were able to rebuild their lives to some degree. The niggers and the spics gravitated to the cities and stayed there, because that was where the welfare and the rum ration was. Not that some of the state and local governments weren’t just as bad.”

  “What you have to bear in mind, Bobby, was that just as it always has been on this continent since 1492, race was the primary issue,” said Tom. “The essential question of whose land this is was never settled, or even honestly discussed, by the old order. Under ONI most American cities became almost totally non-white and completely custodial. There is no industry, no commerce except the local Korean market, and nothing in the cities except feral niggers and beaners and wogs hanging around waiting to be fed, clothed, housed, and entertained by the white man. For generations now, the black and brown inhabitants of the cities have been given tax money to keep them doped up, stop them from rioting, and get them to keep their violence and their squalor away from the remaining white communities. The yellows and the turbans were given the franchise to profit by relieving the blacks and browns in the cities of all that government money, in their capacity as ghetto merchants. That had already been the case for almost a century under the old liberal democracy, starting with the non-white neighborhoods in the cities, but by the time of the war the white population had all fled to the few remaining secure cities with Green Zones, like Washington, D.C., or else they fled out into the countryside and the gated liberal latté towns like Ann Arbor, Charlottesville, Chapel Hill, Burlington, and so on.”

  “Gated being a polite circumlocution for fortified to keep the niggers and beaners away from the pale quivering asses of the Jews and liberals who created the problem in the first place,” growled Big Bob.

  “You got it,” Tom continued with a nod. “The increasing sums of money needed to bribe the non-whites into quiescence were created by the Jews at the Federal Reserve, who simply fired up the printing presses. I’m sure Bob here recalls the incredible hyper-inflation from that one time he went Out There just before the war started?”

  “You guys remember my cover was operating as a buttlegger and a beeflegger?” Bob asked them. “I used to get paid for a few cartons of smokes or a couple of pounds of pork chops with ten-thousand-dollar bills, and they were about to bring out a fifty-grand bill before the war broke out.”

  “The system was wobbly, but it worked and it maintained the pretense that something called the United States of America still existed, even if it was a truncated version, minus the Northwest and the Southwest,” said Tom. “Then came the military disaster of the Seven Weeks, and for almost a generation after that, what was left of the old Judæo-liberal system fought like a trapped crocodile to stay alive. They’ve managed to do so, just barely. Six years ago they finally managed to get rid of the dozen or so regional money zones and re-establish a single currency again, the New American Dollar, throughout most of the remaining forty-one states, or bits and pieces of states like East Montana and American Texas. But the problem of the quarantined cities, with their seething millions of hungry and angry non-whites, is still their overwhelming major issue. It may yet destroy them if they can’t keep the lid on.”

  “They’re having a hard time these days keeping up the pretense that it’s not racial,” said Big Bob. “The mercenaries the Burlington régime has to hire for the New Model Army are almost all white or Asian, including a lot of really nasty Pakistanis. Now they’re looking for an excuse to bring them right up here to our border. The question is why?”

  “All very interesting, but what does that have to do with a negress descending from Olympus-by-Lake-Champlain and showering the palefaces in Boulder with jobs and money and goodies?” asked Bobby Three.

  “Mmm, this is a little more speculative. Bearing in mind the reality of the American situation we’ve just discussed, and to a somewhat lesser extent the East Canadian sitch, put yourself in their place. If you were their old order, and you wanted to hold onto power and not have the whole show blotted out by a massive eruption of mud-colored savages from multiple reservations around the country, what would you do?” asked Tom.

  “Carpet-bomb the cities,” said Bobby immediately. “It’s absolutely essential from their régime’s point of view—hell, from our point of view as well—that at long last something be done to redress the population imbalance between those who produce and those who do nothing but consume. Their system just can’t take it any more. Non-whites have been flowing into North America and breeding like rabbits for over a century now. They consume every available resource like locusts, faster than the white man can replace what they consume. Somehow or other, the white race in one final dying paroxysm has to make some kind of effort to get them the hell out of here!”

  “The people running what’s left of the United States and Canada know that,” said Tom. “The Circus has most of their homes and offices and recreational areas bugged, and they occasionally send us interesting transcripts of what American and Canadian politicians say to one another behind closed doors. There are two problems with that solution, one logistic, and one political and spiritual from their point of view. First off, they no longer have the military power to simply go in and slaughter four hundred million non-whites. Not enough troops, not enough planes, not enough bombs, and not enough poison gas or bioweapons, which in most cases they’ve forgotten how to make anyway. They can’t use their nuclear arsenal, if for no other reason than most of it seems to be non-functional now. The missiles have corroded away in their silos, half of them are unmanned, and no one seems to know if any of them would even lift off, never mind hit their targets.”

  Tom sighed and continued. “The second reason the Americans and Canadians will never use force against the boiling cauldrons of mud that now constitute their urban areas is that it is morally unthinkable to them. To finally be forced to deal with the perennial American problem of race through force majeure would constitute a complete and irrevocable admission on their part that Judæo-liberal democracy, secular humanism, and multiculturalism are wrong, that they are failed belief systems, and that everything that has happened on this continent since 1933 has been a horrific and appalling mistake that has come close to destroying the world. They will never, ever do that. Racial equality, multiculturalism, philo-semitism and the Holocaust, the moral superiority of genteel liberal and Jewish élitists to everyone else on earth—Bobby, these things now constitute a full-blown religion to the dwindling number of wealthy and privileged people who run what used to be the Western world. That is one reason why they hate the Northwest Republic unto death and are still trying to destroy us even as they themselves sink out of sight into the muck of their own crapulence. The last of the old liberal power élite would die rather than admit that they have been wrong for two and a half centuries, ever since the first Boston Yankee abolitionist cranked out his first pamphlet back in the days of crinolines and laudanum. They may very well die, along with untold millions of others, when they keep on trying to solve the problem by applying a band-aid to the Black Death. Once more, put yourself in their place, Bobby. You’re the ruling élite of a nation and a society that after over a century and a half of unspeakable abuse, is at long last about to come to an end in blood and madness. How do you put Humpty Dumpty together again one more time, even if only for a few years so it will last your own lifetime without you ever having to pay the bill which history will present? Which is all you care about. How do you accomplish that?”

  “Hmm,” ruminated Bobby, knocking back the last of his iced tea. “Well, I’d have to find some way to keep conditions in the cities stabilized. At least stop them fro
m breeding like maggots on a piece of rotten meat. Maybe I’d sneakily dose their food and beverage rations with contraceptives and abortifacients, to try and at least cut down on the endless rabbit-like multiplication.”

  “The United States government has actually been doing just that for some years now,” Tom told him. “That and the normal fifty percent urban infant mortality rate has managed to keep the dam from bursting completely in most cities. But it’s not enough. Not only do wog and nigger babies die young, few of them make it past their late forties, so what we’re looking at is huge concentrations of angry, uneducated, overmedicated and bird-brained stupid shitskins in their teens, twenties, and thirties. They are at the height of their physical strength and capacity for violence, and there are four hundred million of them, give or take.”

  “Damn!” muttered Bobby. “Obviously, from the Americans’ point of view, all these niggers and beaners and wogs have to be kept sedated, or at least sedate. That means an endless stream of money, drugs, booze, and electronic and mechanical toys, which is a real drain on the shattered remains of the American economy, because when you give niggers money they just piss it up against a wall, and when you give them toys they just break them and cry for more. How long can any society keep on paying out that kind of extortion to a population group that produces nothing in return? But you say they’ve become too weak to fight, and I believe it. So our old American order needs to step up their game economically to make sure they can keep the goodies flowing and keep all the shitskins comatose and content.”

  “Exactly,” said Tom.

  “Okay, I begin to see the reason for these Community Prosperity Zone thingummies. The American régime is harnessing the last literate and productive people on the continent with any kind of work ethic and intelligence, i.e. America’s last remaining white techies and administrators and producers. They’re being brought together and their resources pooled so they can start turning out enough nice shiny toys and goods with which to bribe niggers not to riot. Boy, if that ain’t a blast from the past!” concluded Bobby with a chuckle.

  “Yes, that’s true, as far as it goes,” said Tom, his voice serious. “But there’s a bigger picture. What do you think will happen if there is ever a major mud-spill from the cities, and millions of non-whites suddenly go marauding through the countryside in a tidal wave like fire ants, devouring and devastating everything in their path? Suppose these Community Prosperity Zones were near enough to Milwaukee or Philadelphia or New York City or Atlanta or Chicago to be in their path, again bearing in mind that once such a breakout occurred, then neither the United States nor Canada has either sufficient military might or the political will to stop them by force?”

  “Bye-bye Community Prosperity,” said Bobby with a grim chuckle. “Bye-bye community, period.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Tom in a grim tone. “And bye-bye God knows how much of the world’s rapidly dwindling white gene pool when the black and brown mobs break through the yuppies’ and techies’ security fences, batter down their doors, and set fire to their homes with the wretched white victims inside. WPB analysts project that given the sheer overwhelming number of blacks involved, and the shortage along their line of march of the vast quantities of processed or raw foodstuffs necessary to feed millions of them, cannibalism will become part of each horde’s internal subculture and will be quite a regular thing.”

  “Which is why they’re trying to get these last islands of economic life and production out of the way of the mudflow,” said Bobby Three slowly.

  “Ah, comes the dawn!” chuckled his father.

  “They’re not going to put all of their eggs in one basket on our border are they?” asked Bobby in surprise.

  “Not all, no,” Horakova told him. “Our information is that they presently plan to conduct a significant demographic and economic re-concentration of the means of production and assets out of areas which may be threatened by what they euphemistically call urban disorder.”

  “Re-concentration to where?” asked Bobby. “Jefferson County, Montana?”

  “Actually, only about twenty percent of the CPZ investment will be taking place along the border, here or in Canada,” said Tom. “Eighty percent of these resources—pretty much the last resources America has—will be invested within the New England Union and up into the Green Zones in the Canadian Maritimes, which are still mostly white. They’re highly Jewish as well, given all the Israelis who fled to Canada after the Light Unto The Nations deflated like a whoopee cushion, but the Green Zones in Hamilton, St. Johns, Moncton, Halifax and Prince Edward Island are still livable, viable, and have the necessary plant and infrastructure for manufacturing.”

  “But the NAR border gets twenty percent of all these goodies Burlington is passing around?” queried Bobby.

  “Correct,” affirmed Tom. “From northern Colorado on up into Alberta. If all goes as projected, within ten years’ time, the American and Canadian demilitarized zone will be home to a population of almost thirty million people. Assuming that population to be eighty-five percent Caucasian, which appears to be the plan, that would mean that a little under half of the white population of the North American continent outside the Republic will live within a hundred miles of the border.”

  “I’m sorry, that still doesn’t make sense to me,” said Bobby.

  “Think about it,” said his father with a wry smile. “It’s actually damned brilliant. What happens when there is a major mud-spill from the cities—that’s when, not if—and the muds realize there is food and liquor and electricity and white women in the demilitarized zone, and they start moving westward in a massive swarm toward East Montana? Or toward western South Dakota, or Nebraska, or northern Colorado along the Wyoming border? Or western Saskatchewan?”

  “We would have to intervene,” said Bobby without hesitation. “We obviously can’t have millions of niggers and cholos slumping towards our country with mayhem in mind. We would have to stop them, and stop them before they even arrived on the border…” Bobby’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension.

  “By George, I think he’s got it!” shouted Tom in his best Henry Higgins imitation, flipping the top off another bottle of Red Hook.

  “Those sons-of-bitches!” gasped Bobby, laughing out loud at the sheer effrontery of it. “They’ve moving their good stuff and people here to shelter under the guns of the Northmen! They know they don’t have the means or the balls to mow down wave after wave of marching monkoids, but we do! Those liberal turds plan on conning us into doing their dirty work for them, and then they can scream and sob and wail about wicked evil racists hurting and oppressing the poor little dark people, like they always do! Hell, they may even work it up into another so-called Holocaust!”

  “They do seem to be finally getting to know us,” said Big Bob with a chuckle. “In any case, if there is a really big and bloody mud-spill, we would have to do something about the widespread devastation such an event would cause to the white Americans in their path, liberal or neo-conservative dumb-asses though they be. The whole purpose of the Northwest American Republic is to secure the existence of our people and a future for white children. Most people think that we serve that function simply by existing as a Homeland for our people, and of course that’s the primary way we fulfill the Fourteen Words, but whenever and wherever white people are in physical danger, then we have to act as their protector if there is any way possible we can do so. That’s why we spent all those years getting the last whites out of France and South Africa.”

  “Yeah, I saw Mooney’s List,” said Tom with a smile. “Great flick. But wait, there is more! Let’s pick an example. Say this new warlord Kamal Mohammed in Minneapolis decides to chimp out, and he and his jihadis go charging through the north woods murdering and raping and desecrating churches in the name of Allah and so forth. There would presumably be some resistance—even those insipid Minnesota Swedes aren’t that far gone—but it’s not enough. Local forces aren’t strong enough to fight the niggers
off, and the United States government simply stands by wringing its hands, as they have always done when white Americans have been butchered and victimized by blacks. So the NDF rolls in and whips Kamal and his fuzzy-wuzzies down to a greasy spot. What’s to prevent us nasty Northmen from sticking around and annexing the Dakotas and Minnesota?”

  “Okay. What would stop us from doing that?” asked Bobby slowly. “And if the opportunity offers, shouldn’t we take that chance?”

  “The Political Bureau has been debating that topic for years and will probably keep on debating it for years more,” replied Tom. “It’s become much more of a front-burner type discussion since this CPZ thing came up, and there’s now a risk of escalating tensions on our American and Canadian borders which might someday provide that very kind of opportunity. You an Expansionist or a Pragmatist, young Robert?”

  “I never thought about politics in that way,” said Bobby.

  “You’re a Party member and a first class citizen,” his father reminded him. “It’s your duty to think about politics.”

  “Look, thanks for being too polite to mention the fact, but we all know I’m only a first class because of Ally,” replied Bobby ruefully. “Can’t have the Daughter of the Nation’s hubby a mere second, or even a grubby third like some kid just out of his national service, can we?”

  “Oh, rubbish,” said his father. “Even if you weren’t married to Allura you would have gotten your second by now, and your first if you’d really cracked in on it. You’re what, now, thirty-three? Anybody can apply or be recommended for first class citizenship after age thirty.”

  Bobby shrugged. “Anyway, to answer your question, I know there’s only one Party and we can’t allow factions and disunity and so on…”

  “Fine, we’ll take all that as read,” said Tom with a smile.