Jerry and James kept the little community well stocked with fish, fowl, and game, and on this Thanksgiving Day, they were preparing a feast equal to any they had ever enjoyed before.
“Before this, Thanksgiving only really meant two things to me,” Bob said. “Food and football.”
“You got that right,” Deon said.
“But this year I believe it is more meaningful to me than it has ever been in the past. I mean, when you think about it, our Thanksgiving here is not all that different from the first Thanksgiving. We can truly be thankful that we have survived this long and now are at the point where we are not only surviving, we are thriving.”
“Yeah, well, there is the food too,” Willie said. “Those geese smell so good my stomach is really growling.”
“We have a lot to be thankful for,” Jake said. “So if nobody minds, I’m going to say a blessing before we eat.”
“I think that would be a very good idea,” Bob said.
“Jake,” Becky said, “maybe you could add an extra blessing.”
“Sure, I’d be glad to,” he said. “What is it for?”
Becky looked over at Karin. “You can tell them,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it, and praying about it, and I’m all right with it.”
“Are you sure?” Karin asked.
Becky nodded. “I am sure,” she said.
Karin smiled. “Folks, we are going to be getting an addition to our little community. Becky is pregnant.”
“What?” Sarah asked. “Who is the father?”
“I don’t know,” Becky replied.
“You don’t know?”
“Before anyone asks, I already knew about it, and I’m not the father,” Marcus said. He was sitting next to Becky, and he reached out to take her hand in his.
“Do you remember the time when the men came and robbed you, and you found Becky unconscious on the road?” Karin asked. “She was raped. This pregnancy is the result of that.”
“And you are going to have the baby of a rapist?” Sarah asked, incredulously.
“Sarah, you can’t be just a little pregnant,” Becky said. “I’m three months pregnant—it has only one possible conclusion.”
“You can abort,” Sarah said.
“I don’t want an abortion.”
“But the baby’s father is a rapist.”
“And I am its mother,” Becky said. “You cannot hold a child guilty for the sins of its parents. I’ve thought long and hard about this, and I’ve kept it secret all these months. The way I look at it, this child, be it boy or girl, is the first link to my future. I will have this child.”
“And we will be here for you,” Ellen said. She looked at Sarah. “Won’t we?”
Sarah broke into a smile, then went over to give her aunt a hug. “Yes,” she said. “We will be here for you.”
Gaye and Cille brought the two geese out. They were golden brown and aromatic. The table was also set with carrots and peas, mashed potatoes and biscuits, and scuppernong jelly.
“Jake, before you give your blessing, I have something for you,” Karin said.
Jake looked at Karin with an expression of surprise and concern. “You do?”
Karin laughed. “Don’t get nervous, it’s not what you think,” she said, and the others, who by now knew of the depth of commitment between Jake and Karin, laughed as well.
“What is it?”
She went into the little cabin that she shared with Julie, then came out with something wrapped in a sweater. Smiling broadly, she opened up the sweater to show what she was holding.
It was a can of root beer.
“Ahhh!” Jake said. “I haven’t had a root beer in three months! I love you! I could kiss you!”
Karin laughed. “James found it in one of the houses,” Karin said. “So if you are going to kiss anybody, you need to kiss James.”
“Okay, James, I’ll kiss you too,” Jake said. He held up his finger. “But there will be no tongue.”
The others laughed again.
“A handshake will do,” James said.
Jake took the root beer from Karin, kissed her, then carried it over to the table and put it down lovingly by his plate.
“I’m sorry there’s not enough to go around for all of you,” he said.
“That’s all right, Jake. I’ve gotten used to drinking water,” Deon said. “It’s a lot healthier for you anyway.”
Bowing his head, Jake began the blessing.
“Unser himmlischer Vater—Our Heavenly Father, I ask that you bless these wonderful people today for their generous hearts, helping hands, and loving souls. And we thank you for the women who prepared the meal that will sustain us through this day. Segnen Sie dieses Essen zu unserer Verwendung, und wir zu Ihrem Dienst—bless this food to our use, and ourselves to thy service. Amen.”
He had included the German phrases in the blessing because it was an Amish prayer, the same prayer Mr. Yoder had prayed when Jake had gone back home to help build the barn. He wondered for a moment about his parents, and added a silent prayer for them.
“Now, let’s eat,” he said, popping open the can of root beer.
After a very satisfying meal, Bob went back into his and Ellen’s quarters. As he did every day, he turned on the TV, then hit search.
Suddenly the search stopped and a picture filled the screen.
“Hey!” he shouted. He ran to the door and stuck his head out. “Hey! We’ve got TV!”
“What?”
“We’ve got TV!” Bob shouted again.
The others came running down to Bob’s apartment ; then all of them crowded in, finding seats anywhere they could.
At the moment the screen was blue, with the words STAND BY.
The standby card went away to be replaced by a picture. The man in the picture, short blond hair, cherubic face, slightly pudgy, was familiar to them all.
“It’s George Gregoire!” Jake said.
Hello, America.
This is a simulcast over shortwave radio, satellite radio, and satellite TV. That’s right, I’m back on TV, though the size of my TV audience is probably less than a cable access show of the joys of scrap-booking. Nevertheless, I am extremely proud of our little group of technicians who have managed to put our show up on the bird so that those with electricity and a TV can see us.
First, I will bring you up to date on the latest news we have been able to gather.
It appears that the so-called Islamic Republic of Enlightenment holds only Washington, D. C., and Detroit. The fact that they hold our capital city has given them a great deal of cachet in the rest of the world, but we, here in America, know that they are unable to expand beyond that. Already there have been isolated and uncoordinated raids against the Enlightened ones, none of which, at this point, have been much more than a nuisance. In the meantime the Enlighteneds’ atrocities against our people, especially the women and children, continue.
Ohmshidi is alive and well, somewhere, we know not where. From time to time he will make a radio broadcast to rally his base.
Really? Rally his base?
Tell me, friends, does he even have a base any longer? I think not. I think that once we reestablish control, put decent Americans back to work, and reconstitute our government, we will then have time to find Ohmshidi and bring him to justice for all the crimes he has committed.
That means we have much to do, America, and since last I spoke to you much has been done. I have been contacted on 5110LSB by several groups of brave Americans who have banned together to fight this evil that has come into our midst. I will not disclose at this time how many groups I have been in contact with, where they are, or what their strength is. I will only say that for the first time since Ohmshidi was elected president, I am feeling optimistic.
It is my sincere belief that there are many, many more groups than have yet made contact with me, so I feel that, even though Americans made the colossal mistake of sending an arrogant, incompetent fool to the White
House, those same Americans are now prepared to rectify that mistake.
During those days when we existed as a democratic republic, we often heard one party or another—whichever party was out of office—adopt the political slogan, “Take back America.”
Well, my friends, this is no longer empty political rhetoric. This is a real, and vital, battle cry. And I urge you, with all that is in my being, to hold yourselves in readiness until we can coalesce as a mighty revolutionary army to do that very thing.
Now you may well ask the question, from whom are we to take back our country? Is it from Ohmshidi and his State Protective Service? Or is it from the roving bands of brigands and thugs, people from among us who prey upon the weak and helpless, Americans by birth, but not by any moral code that we all hold dear?
The answer, my friends, is we must be prepared to do battle with all of them. I urge those of you who are watching this program, and those of you who are within sound of my voice, to establish contact with the Brotherhood of Liberty, join forces in this new revolution.
“What do you think, Jake?” Deon asked. “Should we contact them?”
“How would we do that?” Jake asked.
“He said he could be contacted on fifty-one ten LSB,” Willie said. “I think we could get through. We’ve got a pretty good antenna system here now. I have it attached to the top of the lighthouse tower.
“Alright, give it a try.”
“This is Phoenix, calling on fifty-one ten LSB. Does anyone read me? Over.”
Willie released the switch and listened, but got no response, so he tried again.
“This is Phoenix, calling on fifty-one ten LSB. Does anyone read? Over.”
“Phoenix, this is Firebase Freedom. Over.”
“Hey, we got someone!” Willie said.
Everyone gathered around the radio then to listen.
“Phoenix, this is Firebase Freedom. Go ahead.”
“Tell him we are trying to make contact with the Brotherhood of Liberty,” Jake said.
“Firebase Freedom, we are trying to make contact with the Brotherhood of Liberty. Over.”
“For what purpose, Phoenix? Over.”
Jake reached for the microphone, and Willie handed to him. “Firebase Freedom, we want to discuss mutual goals,” he said. “Over.”
“This is a different voice, over. Identify yourself.”
“This is Phoenix.” Jake paused for a moment, then looked at the others. “Six,” he added. “Do you copy? I am Phoenix Six.”
“All right,” Deon said. “The six is back.” He, Marcus, John, and Willie gave each other high fives.
“What is six?” Cille asked.
“It means the commanding officer,” Bob said with a broad grin. “I’m glad to see that some things haven’t changed since I retired.”
“Roger, Phoenix Six,” Firebase Freedom responded. “If you don’t mind, I would like to authenticate.”
“How are we going to do that without an SOI?”
“I authenticate silent seven.”
Jake released the mic button and looked at the others. “Does anyone know what the hell he is talking about?”
“Respond, faithful five,” Bob said.
“What?”
“Respond with ‘faithful five,’” Bob repeated.
Jake keyed the mic again. “Faithful five. I say again, faithful five.”
“Welcome home, brother,” Firebase Freedom said.
“Tell him welcome home,” Bob said.
“Welcome home,” Jake said.
“Maintain contact, Phoenix. As things develop, we will keep you apprised. Over.”
“Will do. Out,” Jake said.
Jake looked at Bob. “Okay, so tell me what the hell I was talking about.”
“He was talking about the eleven general orders for sentry duty,” Bob said. “Silent seven is the seventh general order—I will speak to no one except in the line of duty. Faithful five is the fifth general order—I will quit my post only when properly relieved. Of the eleven general orders, they are the only two that have nicknames.”
“Eleven general orders? What are you talking about?” Deon asked. “There are only three.”
Bob chuckled. “Maybe there are only three now,” he said. “But there were eleven when I was in the Army, and evidently when Firebase Freedom was, as well, since he is a Vietnam vet.”
“How do you know he is a Vietnam vet?”
“Welcome home,” Bob said. “We never got a welcome home, so that is sort of a code we use with each other.”
“How come you never got a welcome home?” Willie asked.
“It was the way the war was fought, and the way we deployed,” Bob said. “We went to Vietnam as individuals, we came back as individuals. Oh, there would be one hundred fifty to two hundred others on the plane with you, but you didn’t know any of them. When you arrived at Oakland, you would be greeted with jeers and curses and thrown objects by the war protestors, so you just sort of kept your head down and kept walking.
“You would be pulled out of the jungle on Saturday, and on Monday you would go down to the local burger joint in your hometown. You would look around at the others and know that, physically, you were here, but in your mind, and in your soul, you were still back in Vietnam.
“Only about thirty percent of those who served in Vietnam are still alive, and today we are all brothers, and we greet each other with the welcome home that we never received.”
Deon got up from where he was sitting, and walked over to Bob. He stuck out his hand. “Welcome home, brother,” he said. “And I don’t mean brother because I was in Vietnam—I mean brother, because I consider us all here to be brothers, and sisters.”
Following Deon’s comment, Marcus turned to Becky. “Damn, I hadn’t really been thinking of you as a sister.”
Others in the group, well aware of the growing relationship between Marcus and Becky, laughed.
“I think Deon meant it figuratively,” Bob said.
“I wonder what the future holds for us,” Karen mused.
“What future?” Julie asked. “We don’t have a future.”
Jake looked over at Becky, who was sitting in a chair Willie had pulled up for her.
“Sure we do,” he said. “The child Becky is carrying is part of our future. And when you think about it, Adam and Eve started with a lot less than we have.”
“Whoa! I hope you aren’t planning on any of us adding anything to the population,” Jerry said, taking in himself and the other two older couples with a wave of his hand.
Jake laughed. “Well, we aren’t exactly alone,” he said. “We’ve already established radio contact with some others just like us. I’ve no doubt that we will join them soon.”
“Then what?” Willie asked.
“Then?” Jake replied. He raised his arm over his head and made a fist. “We take back America.”
The others, as one, repeated his words.
“Take back America!”
PINNACLE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2011 William W. Johnstone
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped
book.”
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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