The Hasten the Day Trilogy

by Billy Roper

  “Where to, Sir?”, a forlorn looking Army lieutenant asked. His Captain, the highest ranking officer from Fort McNair who had made it out, gave him a dirty look to shut up, but Mark answered him, “Well, we can’t go back to the U.N. Command, they’re out of the picture, for now and maybe for keeps. I don’t think any of us here want to go any further south, we’re not tan enough for that. So that leaves Deseret if any of ya’ll are Mormons, to the V.P. if you’re Texans, or to St. Louis, for the rest of us. For me, at least. But first, we have to get there and clear the place and see what we can get running. Thank God we have those pilots with us, even the Frogs might come in handy. So, let’s do this thing, one step at a time. Are we clear?”

  An hour later they were on the road, and the storm clouds were building. Nice of their local guides to bring them to the Amphora. Too bad they weren’t serving. He’d kill for some gyros. The sign said “Open 24 Hours”. Mark was disappointed.

  And My Spirit Is Crying For Leaving

  The welldressed lawyer sat comfortably in John’s new office. He was leaned back in his chair, keeping an eye on the teenaged girl playing pool with his guards in the lounge. Their discussion of the Scottish and Italian and Spanish balkanizations had been just a preamble to the elephant in the room they were about to acknowledge.

  “So, Jason, let me get this straight, you want me and Carolyn to take on a teenaged orphan or runaway girl who also happens to be a cold-blooded killer and is probably wanted for multiple counts of murder, including of a law enforcement officer?”

  “Well, when you put it that way, it does sound kind of bad. But I can assure you that no charges have been filed…and no charges will be filed. She’s NOT a replacement for your girls, John. Noone ever could be, we know that.” He leaned forward. “But, we would consider this to be a personal favor, Mr. Chairman…John…kind of a bond between your people, and ours.” He leaned back again. “Besides, if you want to legally adopt her, I can handle all the paperwork in no time, it wouldn’t be a problem at all. She’s bright, hard-working, courteous, and easy to get along with. She’s also a very good artist, which is why we’d like to see her placed in the Grand Center Arts Academy they just reopened. You’ll be amazed by her. We vouch for her.”

  “You know your word is gold to me, Jason, but I have to talk to Carolyn first, you understand. She’s what…fourteen, fifteen? You know what it’s like, having two women in the house, even under the best circumstances. But she can stay here until we decide if it will work out fulltime or not, and we won’t just throw her out on the street, no matter what, I promise you that.” The Lt. Col. offered, cautiously.

  “That’s all we can ask. Thank you. And next week, I’d like to bend your ear about moving some Unified Command troops into the Arkansas River Valley, to solidify our gains there south of I-40 and I30.” The Klan lawyer pushed.

  McNabb laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “Okay, Okay, you can buy me lunch.” Jason stood up and walked to the door. “Hope, come here a minute. I want you to meet someone.” John punched two numbers on the phone, and spoke the same words to Carolyn, upstairs.

  The Congressman from Arkansas had a flight to catch, and soon gave Hope a hug goodbye, telling her that he would see her in a week. After spending the afternoon together, the three of them decided that Carolyn would turn the fourth floor lounge into a bedroom for Hope. Moving the couch out through the elevator and a bed and dresser and makeup table and lamp and other feminine things up took the better part of the evening and well into the night. Times like that were when McNabb was glad that he had a security staff to do the heavy lifting, and a woman to do the interior decorating.

  He spent that time flying out to Lambert and discussing the new arrivals they were expecting. Gen. Harrison had been talking with a Marine Colonel who was bringing in a mixed bag of soldiers to join up. They had been stuck at Dulles outside D.C. for several days trying to cobble together enough airworthy planes to get them there. The negotiation of them joining the Unified Command had been the easy part. Having the flight engineers and mechanics tell them how to get those big jets fueled and fired up took days. United had the worst terminal at Dulles, and that was probably what saved the two 787-9s they were able to get running from being vandalized and trashed. They had replaced the tires, flushed the fuel tanks and lines, and used generators to charge the batteries and systems onboard. In the next day or two, they would give it a try.

  The Lt. Col. and his Commander-in-Chief looked over the passenger manifest that the Marine officer’s subordinate had painstakingly read out over the radio. It had taken an hour while a technician on the Lambert end had written them down. Smith was bringing in two-hundred and thirty-five Marines, ninety-four U.S. Army soldiers from 3rd ID at Fort McNair, Companies A and B; ten U.S.A.F. pilots, seven French Air Force pilots, three French AF admin., four U.S.A.F. admin, and seven U.S.A.F. Special Operations Group from JB Anacostia/Bolling base security. They represented all of the armed forces from the U.S. capitol area, and possibly the largest remaining force on the East Coast. Oh, and nine civilian militia members from Northern Virginia, calling themselves ‘The Indomitables’. Whatever.

  “Hey General, since this is our European command, coming home, a re you going to step aside once Ferguson and his division get back?” John joked. Harrison spat a stream of sunflower seed hulls, his new habit now that tobacco was so hard to import, and grinned. “What makes you think the Russians are even gonna let him leave Novosibirk, son? They got 18,000 highly trained and motivated mercenary soldiers under their thumb, now. Putin’ll let the European contingents of the coalition go home, but I’d bet you my left one that ‘Ferocious Ferguson’ ends up marching into Mongolia or Xinjiang, now that the Chinese don’t need it, no more.”

  “Well, Sir, I’ll have to have words with the Russian Consul about that, once he gets set up. Not much we can do about it but complain, but I will, if our boys and girls are serving under duress.” McNabb assured his superior officer.

  “Good luck, soldier!”, the older man replied. “I’ll have to give you another promotion, to full bird, so Smith doesn’t think he outranks you, come to think of it!”

  McNabb’s headache was getting Col. Smith’s command in and debriefed and assigned quarters before the joint flight of Consuls from France, Germany, Russia, the Republic of Quebec, and the United Kingdom all arrived in a bundle from O’Hare in four days. It was going to be tight. They had just aired out and cleaned up eight blocks of classrooms and professor’s offices in the St. Louis Community College. That would provide Consular Office space for each of them, as well as for the Australian Consul, scheduled to arrive separately next week. The final two were held for Consuls from Killeen and Salt Lake City. Discussions of formal diplomatic relations were underway with both Deseret and the Republic of Texas. He hadn’t released that announcement to the media, yet.

  The Community College hadn’t reopened and wasn’t being used for anything, and most of the damage to the buildings on campus was cosmetic, external, and being repaired. As a bonus, they would be right next to Busch Stadium, where the Cardinals had started playing ball again. An exposition game against the West Michigan Whitecaps minor league team, as a test run, was scheduled for this weekend. Everybody in the city was excited about it. Maybe Carolyn and Hope would like to go to that. He wouldn’t tell them that the hot dogs would be fresh, and come straight from the stockyard pastures in Forest Park.

  On the flight back to the warehouse, John thought about other complication. Here he was, supposed to be setting up to have diplomatic relations with Salt Lake City, and the SatComs officer on the Nebraska was reporting that a U.S. Navy specialist he was communicating with on the USS Abraham Lincoln in their communication division under Admiral Woods had gotten it from GitMo that…well, long story short, somebody was sending regularly scheduled, encoded shortwave broadcasts from central Nebraska…which were being responded to, just as regularly, with brief encoded shortwave transmissions originating in P
rovo. Yeah. Prairie espionage. Go figure.

  In hindsight, the 1195th Truck Company of the 734th Transportation Battalion of the Nebraska National Guard stationed in Kearney might not have been the best choice to back up the fourman Blaine County Sheriff’s department, once discrete inquiries had been made about any new arrivals in the sparsely populated area. But they were closest, they had the trucks and the gas and the personnel, and nobody had expected one of the two spies to go out in a blaze of glory, taking three soldiers with her. A woman, of all things. Two of them.

  The two women were working in the Sand Hills High School cafeteria, posing as Mormon Sister Missionaries. Exposing them as spies would queer the diplomatic negotiations he was trying to establish with Deseret. That would be embarrassing for both sides, or even cause another war that neither side needed. Especially not him. There had to be a more subtle way of making his point to Salt Lake…’that’s it!’, he remembered having thought, as he had ordered the arrests. ‘In order to not queer the negotiations, label the women as lesbians.’ He had really had the idea as soon as the suspects had been identified. Well, they were two nonrelated women, living together, and it was a felony in the state now. The County Sheriff didn’t have enough people to effect a multiple felony arrest, so they asked for help. Nothing to see here, folks. Just a couple of lesbians getting what they deserved. But then the hotheaded one, that turned out to be an Air Force deserter who had switched to the Deseret side, had opened up as soon as the no-knock warrant was served, and she and three Guardsmen truck drivers were dead. Well, they had found the shortwave transmitter and plenty of other evidence. The best way to bury the thing would be to just shoot the other one, too. But the Lt. Col. was curious. He wanted to know what Salt Lake was planning. As his Iroquois touched down, he made the decision to rescind his ‘martial law expedient trial’ order, and have the surviving spy brought to St. Louis. He wanted to look her in the eye, and question her himself. That was the only way to be sure of what was going on, out west.

  Epilogue

  It's Been A Long Time Since I Rock And Rolled

  John’s eyes scanned the Post Dispatch headlines for the day through his new glasses, made by an optometrist just back in business. The first stories “Back On The Road!” about the first New American automobiles rolling off of the re-staffed assembly lines in Detroit, and “Don’t Count Us Out!” about the new census efforts planned for next year, he skipped over. He knew what they said, because he had written them, himself, or rather, Carolyn had, for him. The below the fold stories were actually news for him:

  “Malthus Was Right”: “The continental population of Africa has declined over the last twelve months precipitously, from its height at over a billion persons a decade ago, to back near the 1950 level of 220 million, according to a Red Cross International report issued from Paris. The study, based on weeks of field research, concluded that the unchecked tribal warfare, starvation, and disease epidemics have left many former urban areas of the continent empty of human life, especially south of the Sahara desert. The extinction of some seven hundred million persons has unfolded while the rest of the world either watched helplessly, or has been distracted by their own problems…”

  “Next In Line”: “In Mexico City, the loss of jobs and remittances have finally taken their toll on the national economy, forcing the national government to lease the nation's oil reserves to Brazil in exchange for Brasilia's pledge to support the interests of the Mexican people both above and below the Rio Grande…”

  “Below The Belt”: “More turmoil looms in South America as Venezuelan attempts to pacify Bogata led to reprisals from the Fuerza de Liberation Columbiano cartel administration in Cali. Peruvian Air Force strikes against FLC laboratories and warehouses have weakened the cartel's hold on the former Columbian capitol, but Venezuelan troops are still seen as invaders, rather than liberators, by most citizens there. Ecuador has vowed to maintain their neutrality…”

  “Jumping Ship”: “French television reports that refugees from inland areas of New Africa crowded the docks in Mobile over the weekend, attempting to force their way onto a Senegalese freighter which had docked there a week earlier and advertised their intention to provide any person with medical training or military experience passage and repatriation in exchange for terms of indenture. After boarding as many of those who could provide proof of their experience or education as possible, the ship disembarked, leaving the remaining mob to loot the shipyards before turning on one another…”

  Folding the paper and placing it over the finished lunch plate, the Colonel rubbed his eyes and stretched. He needed to get ready to leave soon, if he was going to avoid having to debate the relative qualities of Budweiser and Busch with Gerta. The new German Consul was coming over to give Hope her German language lesson, as she did every afternoon when the teen got home from school.

  Charles, the grocery delivery truck driver originally from Texas, was backing his van up to the rear loading dock, with the new guy Jeff and Glenn both directing. McNabb’s noting of the routine activity on the security camera monitor up near the lounge ceiling was interrupted by the phone ringing out front. Damn! That would probably wake Carolyn, upstairs. She needed her rest before her daily Chairman’s briefing to the growing press corps at the Old Courthouse. Oh well, his secretary would get it. Kip’s clipped voice came over his radio a minute later, telling him that he had a call from Randall, the Militiaman turned Congressional candidate from Michigan. The one he’d met in the line of admirers at the ball game, Kip reminded him. The rockabilly singer who had belted out the juicedup version of the new national anthem “America the Beautiful”, before John had thrown out the first pitch. With the teenaged son who’d kept making eyes at Hope. Oh, he had promised to help him find a three bedroom close to downtown, hadn’t he? Promises, promises…

  The Colonel gave the former Wolverine the number of a Unified Command resettlement coordinator who was converting duplexes to single family units next to DeSoto Park. After telling Randall to use his name to get a closing, he handed the phone back to his secretary, a woman whose family had made the harrowing cross-country migration from Reno, across the northern Great Plains, just to be a part of New America. “Thank you, Brenda.”

  “No problem, sir. Will you be visiting t he Workhouse to interview the Johansen prisoner today? I can call ahead and have her pulled off City Janitorial Detail, to save you time, if you are.” the former Californian asked, helpfully.

  “Good idea. Kelly’s been writing down everything she rememb ers about their command structure and units. Most important of all, she’s helping us understand what Prophet Rammell and the Council of Fifty really want. She’ll probably win a pardon soon.” John grinned at the thought. “Tell them I’ll be there in an hour. No, two hours, I’m supposed to review Col. Smith’s plan to establish a DMZ with Bellefont along the Red River before he takes off for Texarkana. I’ll need Congressman Roberts from Arkansas’ input on that, since the Marines will be moving through his Klan’s area of control. Would you call Jason for me in, say, ten minutes, and patch him through?”

  “Yes, Sir. And remember, you told Carolyn that you were going to take her and Hope up in the Iroquois to visit your folks in Indiana for the weekend.” Brenda reminded him.

  “Yeah, I’m tingling with anticipation to see how Hope will act on her first helicopter ride, but it’s high time that the old family meets the new family.” He hadn’t decided yet whether he would visit the graveyard in South Bend, or how his girls would feel about that. Either set of them.

  McNabb stopped short, walked back over to the table, and picked up the newspaper. He opened it, spread it out, and looked at the date on the masthead. ‘Well, I’ll be…’, he thought out loud. It was Cinco de Mayo, again. The day had sure come fast.

  Waiting For The Sun: Hasten The Day, Part II

  The Fifth Year After the Breakup of the United States By Billy Roper

  First published: November, 2014

  Any res
emblance in this book to any persons, living or dead, or to any institutions, organizations, or entities, is entirely coincidental. This is a work of fiction.

  Dedicated to the memory of two lawyers; my friends Ed Steele and Victor Gerhard. A bit more than a decade ago, when I first reviewed his book ‘Defensive Racism’ for him, I remarked to Mr. Steele that we had enough books already. Well, Ed, to quote Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday in ‘Tombstone’, “It appears my hypocrisy knows no bounds”. Rest easy, brother. And to Vic, as my legal counsel and ViceChairman and friend, I’m sorry that you slipped away without me noticing. Thanks for always being there.

  ‘Waiting For The Sun’ is a sequel to ‘Hasten The Day’, also by the same author… Foreword: Hyperinflation and unemployment, accompanied by another round of bank bailouts and failures, lead to the devaluation of the U.S. dollar and the collapse of the stock market and the U.S. economy. Executive Order amnesty for illegal immigrants leads to unprecedented numbers of Hispanics flooding in and taking de facto possession of the border states. Protests and looting become race riots, then ethnic cleansing. Hispanics claim the southwestern quarter of the country as ‘La Republica del Norte’. Blacks claim the southeastern quarter as ‘New Africa’. The Republic of Texas is reborn in the northern half of the state. Canada fragments, as Quebec declares its independence. Chinese peacekeeping forces occupy the Bay Area of California in order to insure the safety of Chinese citizens and their property. United Nations peacekeepers occupy the East Coast. A Mormon state called ‘Deseret’ rises again, centered on Utah. Then, things go nuclear. And in the Heartland of America, a renewed people stand up, dust themselves off, and begin forming a ‘New America’…

  Chapter One

  “Everyone who has ever built anywhere a new heaven first found the power thereto in his own hell.”

  ― Friedrich Nietzsche