The Hasten the Day Trilogy

by Billy Roper

  Everything in his room was just as he had left it. After all he had done, and gone through, it looked like the room of a stranger, of a kid, he thought to himself, in amusement. A guard had left his issue duffel bag at the foot of the bed, but he decided to not change out of his uniform, just yet. The bath would wait.

  Leaving his room untouched, the heir headed down the short third floor hall to the armory. Racks of rifles, shotguns, and handguns lined three walls, and cases of ammunition were stacked on the floor. Bladed and specialty weapons were cased along the fourth wall. Although it wasn’t exactly regulation, Jack exchanged his standard sidearm for his dad’s matching Glock 21 .45s, with extended magazines, tritium sites, and balanced opposing shoulder holsters. He slipped the rig on, mounting the pistols buttforward under each arm. Two spare magazines fit in pouches below each pistol. He tested the weight, relishing it. Jack kept his dad’s fighting knife that he had carried in and out of the Bahamas, and added a boot knife for each inner calf. Finally, a third .45, a more compact version, went in an inside the waistband holster at the small of his back. Hope had said that everything in this room was his. He would get some good use out of it.

  All of his parents’ personal effects from their bedroom had been boxed up and put into storage, as Hope and Kip had moved into the master suite. He would go through that stuff some other time. For now, he spent a few minutes in the private library, walking out with his mother’s Bible and a family photo album, both of which he stashed in his duffel bag. That left him less time in the tub, but the hot water opened his pores and cleared his head like a pot of coffee.

  The driver had been hanging out with the staff in the kitchen, so he was easy to find. Telling Hope that he would be back to spend the night, Jack directed the middle-aged veteran to take him to the base hospital. He had intended to visit a few of the guys he had served with who were still recovering from their wounds, and sneak them in some chocolate that the Argentinians had sent to the Warehouse with a veritable forest of flowers in expressions of condolence. Hope had hid the chocolates from her kids so that Jack could see them, and endorsed his idea to give them to the troops, instead of making cavities.

  Three of the guys who had waded ashore at Freeport with him were still there, and glad to see him, especially when he started passing out the treats. Two had minor wounds and should be released soon, but the third had lost a leg from the knee down and was undergoing therapy so that he would be ready for a prosthetic when the amputated limb healed enough. A couple more he asked about hadn’t made it, they confirmed somberly.

  Mary turned the corner to see him sitting on the edge of one of the men’s beds, telling war stories, and nearly dropped the tray of medicine she was carrying. She recognized him as a celebrity a step higher in nobility than herself, more than as an uncle through adoption. The shriek she let out startled all four of the men, and then she was jumping up and down and hugging Jack, as the other three watched jealously. The vibrant redhead had been the object of the wounded men’s admiration for days and weeks. They were embarrassed when the Lieutenant introduced her to them as his niece.

  After he left the three wounded soldiers after making them promise to stay in touch after they were released, Mary took him on a personal tour of the rest of the hospital. They had a few moments to act like two normal teenagers, then they met the doctors and had to behave formally again. Many of the other patients also recognized Jack, and he shook every hand in the ward. Although he was almost two years older than her, in this place Mary was the host and he was the guest, so Jack allowed her to take the lead, which she enjoyed.

  He spent the remainder of the afternoon at the hospital, visiting wounded troops. When her shift ended, they called the driver and took a drive to the Academy together. Normally unregistered visitors weren’t allowed, but in his case the post guards made an exception. Jack and Mary spent the evening visiting with Hess, which greatly improved the boys’ stature in the eyes of his classmates. They ate dinner in the faculty lounge with Professor Ness, Pastor Reed, and the other staff, though, so as to cause a minimum of disruption among the students.

  On the long drive home to the Warehouse, things had gotten a bit awkward when it became apparent that Mary had a star-struck crush on him, but Jack had pretended not to notice. After they arrived, he tipped the driver generously with two New American gold twenty dollar pieces and slipped off to bed after talking to Kip and Hope about their day, and how well Hess was doing. That night he lay in his old room, listening to his C.D.’s and munching on midnight snacks from the kitchen, until he passed out, like a normal teenager.

  The next morning after breakfast Kip dropped him back off at Lambert, where he was set to reactivate. Instead of getting on another plane, though, new orders had come in for the joint exercise. They were trucked over to the railyard, put on a train, and spent the next six days rumbling across Missouri, Kansas, and Colorado. He had never seen so much corn. Then, just when he got tired of the corn, there was nothing but wheat. Then it became too dry for even the wheat, and he saw a lot of desert. That still hadn’t run out. Having one cramped airplane-sized bathroom for every hundred soldiers had given them something to do, any way: wait in line for a claustrophobic self-administered sponge bath once a day, and when nature called.

  By the time he had methodically went through his memory file in counterchronological order step by step back to the present, the latest impulse had passed, and the Colonel was asking if there were any questions. He had missed the last half of the briefing. All he knew was that they were supposed to run East along the border, parallel to the Texicans on their side. Oh well, he would just wing it, like he always did. That’s what he had Sgt. Chittum for.

  The noncom was no more pleased than Jack was to be bouncing along a dry and dusty road in a Ford semi-armored SUV, following an identical vehicle spaced twenty yards ahead of them. The Texicans had shown up in gleaming new British Land Rovers, courtesy of their trade deal with England. The Fords were more functional and utilitarian, but less comfortable than the Texican’s rides. Mounted Infantry sure had changed a lot, over the years.

  As the unsophisticated shocks kicked them with every pothole and bump, Sgt. Chittum commented dryly that at least the Texicans hadn’t shown up in new Mercedes troop carriers, as they were rumored to be receiving from the Germans, soon. That would have stung even more. The third SUV in their group, driven by Corporal Hudson, eased a little too close for comfort, so Jack radioed him to back it off a bit. Ideally, the twelve men were supposed to be scanning the terrain for insurgents of unknown origin. The only insurgents were low rocky hills, sand, and maybe some snakes and scorpions. As Private Snider had opined, the real idea was for them and the Texicans to convince one another that they could drive side by side without it breaking off into a shootout.

  It seemed like a long way to come and a lot of trouble just to prove they could play nice. He had asked the Sergeant why they hadn’t just used some of the local troops for the exercise, instead of bringing them in. Chittum counted off the reasons, on his fingers. One, to see how long it would take them to deploy troops from the capitol to the border without overwhelming air superiority. Two, to send a message to everyone not involved in the maneuver. And Three, to not pull the local units away from their normal patrols and duties. In other words, this trip wasn’t about the Republic of Texas at all. It was about rattling sabers at Deseret.

  They had just passed the halfway point in their little scenic drive, without a single screaming New African pirate or bomb-throwing Javanese Muslim in sight. As they turned off of 285, a dust cloud coming up from both sides appeared, quickly obscuring the road as they drove towards it. Jack gave the order to slow down. He could see another platoon, not fortunate enough to have been assigned to the road, zoom past them a half mile to the south. He had thought that he was the lucky one. Now, he wasn’t so sure. A rumbling soon resolved itself into the sound of many hooves, and then the cattle were right among them. He ordered a full stop to a
ll three SUVs. Cows were in front of and all around and nearly on top of them, pushing each other and mooing piteously. Jack thought it must be a stampede.

  Out of the dust rode a woman, a girl, really, on horseback. Long brown hair shone in the sun behind her as it escaped from the cowgirl hat she swept off her head to beat her wild-eyed mount closer to them.

  “What in the name of the lost tablets do you gentiles think you’re doing spookin’ my cows like that? You just drive in here like you own the place, turning the whole herd to ninnies…” The hardened soldiers watched her, their mouths hanging open, as she continued her invectives. She stopped short as the passenger side door of the second S.U.V. opened, and Jack stepped out, his hands up.

  “Oh! Hey. It’s you. I mean, you’re…Hi.” The cowgirl stammered, jerking her horse’s head around and turning the same color red as her dusty kerchief. Jack was beginning to get used to that reaction from folks.

  Her name was Julia Walker, she told them, after she had climbed down and shook hands with him self-consciously. A younger girl rode up and was quickly sent off to round up the frightened cows and bring them back.

  “That’s my sister Abby,” Julia explained. “She’s still young, you know, but she’s learning. We were just in a hurry trying to get the herd into town before dark. We weren’t supposed to come out this far by ourselves, but I wanted to show everyone that we could do it.” She added proudly. “Sorry if they scared you, your…uh, I mean, Sir.”

  “Just call me Jack, Julia.” he replied, reassuringly. “All of my friends do. I guess we scared them as much as they scared us.” He squinted and smiled his best smile at her, testing its’ effect. “If you recognize me, all the way out here, you must have heard about the joint exercise we’re doing?”

  Julia blushed even deeper, then straightened to her full h eight. “My dad said something about it, but I calculated you’d be way further South of here, you know, close to the actual border?”

  Jack laughed out loud at her brass, making her blink. “You’re right, me, too. Most of us are. I think they gave us the northernmost route just to make it soft duty for me. On the road and all. It frustrates me, sometimes, but then again, I’m not complaining.”

  It was her turn to laugh, a low chuckle that caused something to tighten up in his chest. Her light hazel eyes flashed in amusement. “but anyway, I already knew who you were. Who you are. My mom talks about your dad all the time.”

  “Nothing bad, I hope,” he joked, but something in her face made him hurry on talking, to smooth that over, whatever it was. “Being from around here, I guess you’re some of the new Mormons?”

  “Yes!” she declared, defensively, ready to fight over it, if she needed to. This one was fiery, he thought, and had more layers than he could see. Wait a minute…

  “Did you say your name was Julia Walker? Walker, as in…” he let the question dangle.

  She looked down at the dusty asphalt for a split second, deciding something, then met his eyes again. “Yes. She’s my mom.” Julia’s eyes searched his.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Jack said quietly, with a smile. “I guess you and me have a lot in common, kind of, then, don’t we?” Julia nodded, turning from blush to pale again.

  Sgt. Chittum cleared his throat from the S.U.V.. “Sir, it looks like the obstacles have cleared themselves from the roadway.”

  Jack had another of those impulse moments, of pulling one of his Glocks and shooting out a tire as an excuse to stay here with this fascinating girl longer, or shooting Chittum for interrupting. Instead, he offered Julia his hand again.

  “Miss Julia, once again, our apologies for spooking your herd. I hope you make it safely home before dark. Please pass along my compliments to your mother and father, and assure them that if I may ever be of service to them, they need only remind me of your name.” Before she could think of what to say in response, the Lieutenant turned on his heel and climbed back into the Ford Frontier, waving his driver, and the other two, to proceed.

  The young lady stood in the road for several minutes before she remembered to catch her horse and find her sister. They did get the cattle into the communal corral, just before dusk. Her dad said he had been worried, but was proud of them. Her mom was more angry, than happy, but at least they were back in one piece, she said. That night over dinner, Abby told the story, as much of it as she had seen and heard, to their parents, before Julia could even decide not to. Karen froze stock still, then turned and quickly left the room. Josh and Kelly exchanged a glance heavy with meaning. She tried to listen to their conversation that night after the girls went to bed, but her heart was still thumping so hard that she couldn’t make out a single word.

  Jack thought about the brown-haired girl whose mom, rumor had it, had once been held prisoner by his dad, and become his programmed assassin. If the rumors were true, or even if they weren’t, it might be kind of dangerous for them to be living so close to the Republic of Texas border. If she had killed their President, that was. After all, that was one of the reasons he had been assigned the northernmost route during the exercise, in case any of the Texicans blamed him for his dad’s alleged involvement in Bellefont’s assassination.

  He felt a momentary surge of protective instinct over Julia for that, even though he knew it was silly. Then Jack wondered how much hatred Kelly Walker must have for anyone with his last name, after the way things had turned out for her. The adolescent romantic aspect of his personality thought of comparisons between himself and Julia and Romeo and Juliet. He talked about the cowgirl and their complicated familial associations so much to Sgt. Chittum on the train ride back East that the noncom got a bottle during their brief stop in Pueblo before they began their wide swing around the still radioactive ruins of Colorado Springs, and was drunk the whole next day.

  When they arrived back in St. Louis, Jack told Hope about the encounter over a family dinner, to see what she thought about it. Halfway through the story, Mary got up without excusing herself, spilling her glass of fresh milk, and ran out of the room, stifling a sob. Kip lowered his eyes and shook his head at his brother-in-law, insinuating that it was some inscrutable feminine issue. The younger kids giggled nervously. Jack was flustered, but continued, despite the bizarre behavior of his niece.

  Kip’s opinion was that Kelly probably did harbor a lot of resentment towards the family, whether she was guilty of the assassination or not, and whether anyone had ‘programmed’ her to do it, or not. People tended to believe what they wanted to believe, whether there was any evidence or logic to it, or not, too. Sometimes, they could even fool themselves into believing something they knew wasn’t true, he explained. Jack knew what he meant, he had seen the same thing, in the army.

  Hope’s response was less philosophical. She just said that it was a long way to Colorado, and there was no foreseeable reason why he would be out that way again, so he probably wouldn’t ever have to worry about seeing her, ever. Somehow, that didn’t make Jack feel any better.

  The next day after reporting in, the Lieutenant was told that he had new orders. The Unified Command wanted to have him go through courses in diplomacy and civics at the Soldiers Of The Cross Training Center, to polish him in preparation for his scheduled promotion to Captain just after his seventeenth birthday, coming up. It looked like he would be leaving his unit behind for a semester and going south into the Ozarks.

  Chapter Eight

  “The storm is brewing. The pressure is building. The Jews and the politicians may believe that they can keep the lid on. They may believe that by getting laws in the United States like they already have in Canada and Britain and many other countries, making it illegal to write or say anything which is Politically Incorrect—that is, anything which they can label as “hate speech”—they can delay the storm until it is too late for us to save ourselves. They may be right, but I don’t think so. I think that storm will come soon enough to allow our people to redeem ourselves. I also think that when it comes it will be violent enoug
h to blow every last member of their tribe to hell—and also everyone who has collaborated with them. At least, I hope so.”

  -Dr. William Pierce

  “Well, I've been afraid of changing 'Cause I've built my life around you But time makes you bolder

  Even children get older

  And I'm getting older too…”

  Each election year the same old interest groups lobbied for favors. Campaign donations in exchange for a little looking the other way when contraband wheat shipments left Thunder Bay for Montreal instead of Milwaukee. Kickbacks and bribes. Hiring relatives. Bumping the Speaker’s endorsement up in the Post Dispatch evening news broadcast before the story on the Alaskan pipeline expansion in exchange for an exclusive interview on election night. That was a dicey one.

  For half a generation, the environmental pollution from the blasts at Omaha, Colorado Springs, Hainan, and a half dozen sites on the East Coast had dipped temperatures by an average of ten degrees in the northern hemisphere. That had done more than just give central Canada the poorest wheat crops they had experienced since the Balk put them back to nineteenth century planting and harvesting methods. A quarter of the cattle in Alberta had either died or been driven South to Montana and Wyoming that first winter after the Chinese got nuked. It had been cold enough to force the Dakota shale sites and the Alaskan fields to limit production, despite the increasing demand caused by the economic recovery in the lower thirty-eight. Now, just when Texas oil exports were limited by treaty to Central and South America, Alaska was having another petroleum boom. He adjusted his waistband, wishing he had time for more exercise, or a social life. But the papers would have a field day with that.