by Glen Tate
Hammond went on, “Ashur and his family are taking extreme risks by helping us this way. Let me be candid. There are some Muslim terrorists out there. Ashur, please explain to everyone why we can trust you.”
Ashur said in a thick Arabic accent, “First of all, we are Christians, not Muslim. My people have been Christians for about two thousand years. The Muslim terrorists want to kill Christians like us and already have destroyed several of our cities and villages back home.”
Ashur continued, “We came to America several years ago when things were going badly in…”
Hammond held his hand up, “Sorry, Ashur, please don’t describe the country or the language. We’ll keep that a secret. Sorry to interrupt you, sir,” Hammond said. It was apparent that Hammond genuinely respected Ashur.
“Things were going badly in my home country,” Ashur said, “and we came to the ‘land of the free.’ But guess what? It wasn’t free. It was when we got here, but it changed. Now America is like my home country. Bribes, corruption, no freedom. The authorities in Seattle targeted my business because I had a cross up in my store that was ‘offending’ to people.”
Ashur continued, “People were robbing my store—pointing guns at my sons—all the time and the police wouldn’t do anything about it. Then my son was jailed after shooting a robber. The police knew my son was innocent, but no one cared and he went to jail. The police wanted bribes to let him out. I decided that we needed to leave Seattle. The authorities made me give up the store to them, along with all of our inventory, in order to leave. One of my sons knew one of your ‘Oath Keepers’ and here we are.”
Ashur got a very angry look on his face and he started talking louder. “We know what oppression is. We lived in it back in our home country. I promised my father when I left there that his family would live somewhere free. My family has taken a…the closest English word is ‘vow.’ This vow is a very serious promise in my culture. To dishonor this vow would bring shame to my family. Our vow is to fight for the Patriots to bring back freedom. I am risking my family’s lives to help you to get our freedom back.”
The room was silent. Grant was moved to hear someone who had come from a corrupt third-world country and eventually found the same thing in America.
Hammond said, “Ashur’s family, the women and children, are staying with Patriot families. Ashur’s vow is that if he or his men dishonor the Patriots or are spies that we have permission to kill his family.” Exchanging voluntary hostages as a way to seal an alliance was common in Ashur’s culture.
That stunned the audience.
“And you will do it,” Ashur said to Hammond.
“We try not to kill women and children, sir,” Hammond said to Ashur. “But if your men get my people killed…I cannot promise that I can protect your family from my men.” Hammond was serious.
Hammond knew that he needed to convince the unit commanders that these Arabs were trustworthy. The Patriot’s ability to kill the code talkers’ families was pretty reassuring in a grisly and sickening way, but it was reassuring nonetheless. Hammond wanted to give the irregular commanders another reason to trust the Arabs.
“Ashur’s family has already run some missions with us,” Hammond said. “They have performed outstandingly. They are brave and competent.”
Ashur’s chest puffed out in pride. He was so proud of his family and their bravery. He was fulfilling his vow to his father. That meant everything.
“So,” Hammond said, “I have no trouble whatsoever trusting one of Ashur’s family members with the lives of each and every one of my soldiers.”
Grant was convinced. Besides, by having the Arabs at Boston Harbor who could tell the Limas about the place, Hammond was trusting his own life to the Arabs.
But, there was a bigger lesson here than just whether a particular family could be trusted, Grant thought. This is what happens when a government mistreats people. It causes them to fight for the other side. Ashur and his family were perfect examples of it.
Grant remembered George Washington’s and Mao’s writings on popular support. They were right. Now, because the government mistreated Ashur’s family, each irregular unit had an unbreakable code. They could quickly talk on the radio while the Limas would have to spend time and resources with encryption. Having code talkers was a huge advantage. That was a high price the Limas were paying for treating Ashur’s family so poorly.
This was happening all over the country, Grant thought. People were standing up to the government because of how it had treated them. Grant was now more convinced than ever that his side was going to win. For exactly the reasons Ashur was working for the Patriots.
The captain said to Ashur, “Could your men count off, sir?”
Ashur nodded and said something in his language. One by one, the men counted off in their language. They stood up as they did. The Arab men ranged in age from late teens to about forty. Grant was trying to count with them (in English) to see which one was “seventeen” and would be joining his unit. He couldn’t keep up. They counted so fast.
Ashur said to the captain, “Counted off.”
The captain said, “Please have each man join his new unit.” Ashur said something in his language. The Arab men started to walk up to the commander of their new unit.
A twenty-something college-looking kid came up to Grant. Grant expected the man to speak broken English.
“Hi, I’m Jim,” the Arab man said in perfect English. Grant was stunned.
“Oh. Jim, glad to meet you,” Grant said, extending his hand and wondering if the Arab knew about shaking hands. Grant thought maybe they did that hug and fake kiss thing like they did in the Middle East.
Jim shook Grant’s hand like he’d been doing it his whole life. Because, duh, Jim had been doing this his whole life. Jim had grown up in America, spoke perfect English, and was an American in every way. It was just that he spoke a very rare—and valuable—language at home. Grant felt stupid.
“My real name is Khnanya Al-Halbi, but I go by ‘Jim’ for obvious reasons,” Jim said.
“I’m Grant Matson,” Grant said. “I go by ‘Grant’,” he said with a laugh.
Jim laughed, too. That was a good sign.
“So, is it Grant or Lieutenant Matson?” Jim asked.
“Grant,” he said. This kid was pretty sharp. “Except when we’re around other members of the unit. Then, unfortunately it’s ‘Lieutenant Matson.’” Jim nodded.
By now, all the code talkers had been introduced to their new units. The captain got everyone’s attention.
“Sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” the captain said, “we need to move this meeting along. Your code talker will be going back with you to your units so you can get to know each other at that time.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Hammond said. “Yes, we need to move it along.” Hammond looked at his notes.
“Oh, one thing,” Hammond said. “We obviously can’t refer to these gentlemen as ‘code talkers.’ That would tip off the Limas—although good luck figuring out what language it is, let alone finding anyone around here to speak it. We have every single male speaker of this language who is known to exist in Washington State, but we don’t want them to now we’re using code talkers. The units in various states are similarly using code talkers of languages from all over the world.”
“So,” Hammond said, raising his right finger for emphasis, “we will call our code talkers a ‘Quadra.’ Think of ‘Quad’ as in Latin for ‘four’ with a ‘rah’ added at the end. ‘Quad-rah’. Say it with me, ‘Quah-rah’.”
The room said “Quadra.”
Ashur grinned. He was very proud. “That is our word for ‘honor,’” Ashur said. He could feel his father smiling from far away.
Grant always made up nicknames for people. It was a way to bond with them. He whispered to Jim, “Dude, your new nickname is ‘Jim Q’.”
Jim smiled. He was fine with that.
Grant realized a minute later that he, a lieutenant, probably shou
ldn’t refer to his troops as “dude.” He was learning, though. Old habits are hard to break.
Hammond motioned to the captain, and then the captain said, “Please be seated.” The new lieutenants and their Quadras sat down back in the chairs for the audience.
Grant went out of his way to signal Jim Q. to sit down with him instead of sitting with his family. He wanted to emphasize to Jim Q. that the 17th was his new home.
Hammond noticed that Grant and a few other new lieutenants sat with their Quadras. That was a sign of leadership and fostering unit morale. Hammond was even more impressed with Grant than in their meeting a few minutes ago.
Hammond collected his thoughts. What he was about to say next was important. It could have a big impact on how things turned out.
Chapter 202
“Take it back! Take it back!”
(July 22)
“Why are you doing this?” Hammond asked the audience. Everyone was silent.
“Why?” He let that question sink in for a few seconds.
“Why not just sit back and let the government take care of you?” he asked without any sarcasm. It was a sincere question.
“Seriously,” he said. “Each of you is smarter than average. You all have very valuable skills. Quite a few of you are military and could be in command of some hollowed-out FUSA unit and livin’ large on some base where you have plenty of everything you want. People calling you ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ all day long and kissing your ass,” he said.
“Why are you here, starting the mission that you’re starting?” Hammond asked. “I want every one of you to think about that question. Why are you here?”
It was silent.
“What did you come up with?” Hammond asked the audience. “I bet I know.”
Hammond started to get animated. He had been like a very controlled CEO running a meeting up until this point. Now it was time to get fired up.
“You’re doing this to make things right,” Hammond said emphatically. “You’re doing this to protect the innocent. To save your families from what’s ahead, if these bastards keep screwing things up.”
Hammond looked into the audience. He seemed to make eye contact with every single person in the room. “You know you’re supposed to do this. You know it. You are supposed to do this. Consider me standing here saying this to be your official sign. You are supposed to do this.”
Grant wondered if his statement to Hammond a few minutes earlier about how they were both supposed to do this had made its way into Hammond’s speech.
“You have skills,” Hammond said. “Every single one of you,” he said holding up a file. “Each and every one of you has some skill that got our attention. We looked into each one of you. We chose you…you,” he said looking at the whole audience. It felt like Hammond was speaking to each person personally. Grant certainly felt like Hammond was speaking directly to him.
“But, us choosing you is only half of it,” Hammond said. “The other half is that you chose us. You agreed to do this. Again, I ask: why?”
Hammond looked at Ashur. “You want to restore the ‘land of the free.’ You want to avenge an injustice to your family that never should have happened.”
Hammond looked at one of the new lieutenants in the front row. “Or, like Tadman here, those bastards killed your family. Trying to get you. But they settled for your family.”
“They are animals wasting our oxygen!” Hammond yelled out of the blue. For the first time, he was showing his real emotions.
“Animals,” Hammond thundered. “Animals that need to be put down. Animals that need to no longer hurt us. Animals that need to be dealt with, so they’re just a memory. So you can tell your kids and grandkids about how, way back when, there were some animals that hurt people, but you and a group of very decent people made the animals go away. Now they’re gone and everyone can live their lives. In peace.”
“Peace,” Hammond said nodding his head. “Peace is what a soldier wants. Trust me, with what I’ve seen and done, and what many of you have seen and done, too, no one wants peace more than us.”
“You know what I want?” Hammond asked in a very conversational, not military commander, tone. “I want to retire. I want to get an RV and travel around with my wife and kids. I barely know my kids.” Saying that hurt Hammond. He had sacrificed a lot to do all those deployments.
“And my lovely wife,” Hammond said. “Who I really haven’t seen for several years. Who I wonder sometimes if she really still is my wife. I mean, is someone your wife when you’ve seen them two weeks in two years? I want my wife back. I want to get her and the kids in that RV and go sit under the stars talking about nothing in particular. I want that.” Hammond was bearing his soul.
“But guess what?” Hammond said, back in his military commander tone. “Life ain’t sunshine and lollipops. I am supposed to be here, doing this. I know I am supposed to be doing this—just like each of you know you’re supposed to be doing this. Each of you has made similar sacrifices, and,” he said looking at Tadman, “some of you have made bigger ones. Much bigger than the RV.”
Hammond let that sink in. Tadman looked eerily forward without any emotion.
“So,” Hammond said, “I asked why you’re doing this and you probably said to yourself that you’re supposed to do this. That’s a good enough reason, but…,” he paused for effect. “I have one more reason for you.”
“Because we’ll win!” Hammond yelled.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Hammond said emphatically, “we’re all brave, but this isn’t some suicide club. Remember: I want some RV time. I got somethin’ to live for.”
Hammond motioned to the whole crowd, “Most of us will be back together for a hell of a party when we beat these bastards. They’re running on fumes. You know it. You’ve seen it. They’re running out of other people’s money to steal and hand out to their buddies. The people are figuring this out. Their military units are a joke. Hollowed out paper tigers, manned by the paper-pusher boot lickers who want to boss people around and still think they’re getting some fat military retirement. The real warriors got out and joined up with us. We have the real warriors. We have you.”
“Name one thing they’re doing right that will lead to long-term success for them?” Hammond asked the crowd. “Name one. Is it treating the population fairly and getting their support? Ask Lt. Tadman about that. Ask Ashur that.”
Hammond started walking from the podium to the first row as if he were quizzing each one of them. “Are they feeding the people?” he asked the first person, who shook his head.
“Well, kind of,” Hammond said to the next person. “But not for long. Those FCards—which are easily counterfeited by us, I might add—are drawn on seized bank accounts. Those accounts are running dry, friends. The foreign countries those funds are going to are about to cut us off. Besides, they want their investments back. You know, the trillions of dollars we borrowed from them to pay for all the pre-Collapse crap we voted for ourselves. The Chinese are just softening the blow of a total collapse. They want their collateral, which is what America is to them, to stay as intact as possible, so it will be more valuable when they repo it.”
Hammond went back up to the podium and shook his head, “Ain’t gonna happen.” He looked out at the audience again and said, “Repo America? Are you kidding me? They ain’t getting’ in boats and comin’ here. So what does that mean? It means the FCards will start to go dry soon, just like the EBT cards went dry.”
“No more FCards,” Hammond said. “Soon. About six months, tops, according to our intel analysts. And, believe me, we have some highly placed sources on that.”
“What happens then?” Hammond asked the audience. “You know. You know exactly what happens then. You’ve seen what happens when the shelves go bare. You saw it on May Day, but this time there won’t be any FCards and commandeered semis to roll in and save the day.”
Hammond put up his hands for emphasis and said, “You think the May Day riots
were bad? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. You know, we’ve had semi-functioning government services up until now. And, to be very honest, this is not how the collapse scenario was expected to play out.”
“Everyone,” Hammond said, pointing to himself, “including me, assumed the ‘Mad Max’ scenario of total anarchy and chaos. Like in the book ‘Patriots.’ Well, it was a slower descent than we thought. A car wreck in slow motion, not at full speed, but a car wreck just the same. It took a matter of months, not days, but the ultimate result is the same. When the FCards dry up, everything that resembles order goes away.” Hammond snapped his fingers for emphasis. The snapping was loud enough for everyone in the whole hall to hear it.
“The utilities, which are still on, to my surprise, can’t stay on when there’s nothing to feed the utility workers,” Hammond continued. “What’s going to happen when the electricity goes off for good? How will people react when there is no water coming out of the faucet?”
Once again, Hammond let all of this sink in. “So, no food and no utilities. How many people are in this country? Three hundred million, right? Most of them will die. Two hundred million dead, and then some. I’ll say that again: 200 million dead. Rotting corpses will be everywhere. I’ve seen it elsewhere in the world. I’m going to see it here, too.”
The audience was horrified.
Hammond paused and raised his hand with his index finger pointed up, and said, “Unless.”
“Unless,” Hammond repeated. “Unless they’re stopped. Unless we push them aside and start getting this place back on its feet. You see, we know how to get people fed, how to let them grow their own food and trade. Without gangs and the government stealing from them. Unleash the private sector, actual free enterprise, not what we have now, and people will feed themselves, like they’ve done for thousands of years in places much less hospitable to growing food than here. This country has the best agricultural land and other natural resources in the history of mankind. We fed ourselves—and a big chunk of the rest of the world—up until just a few years ago. Are you telling me we can’t do that again? What the hell else are they going to do back in Iowa? Grow daisies?”
