A Mighty Fortress

by H. A. Covington

“Whatever. But this is important. If something is in fact moving in the shade at these churches, then now is the time the government will spring it on us.”

  “Are we staying here in this house, sir?” asked Cody.

  Dortmunder shook his head. “No, this place is in the middle of a residential area, and it would be hard to defend if we were attacked, plus there would be a lot of civilian casualties. The NVA is coming out of hiding and we are actually going to set up a proper brigade headquarters, in public. We haven’t decided where yet. Maybe even in the mall you guys captured tonight. By the way, that’s getting a big play on the media. Bells was able to get the radio equipment functioning again and we’ve already got some guy from the Agitprop department of Third Section down there broadcasting official NVA statements and some kind of music, even. Wagner, Hank Williams, and old Skinhead rock CDs, I think. An odd combination of tunes by which to bring a new world into being. Anyway, we’ll be moving our digs to somewhere, so I suppose I should put you guys to packing up all the gear and getting it ready to move. With any luck, this may be the last time we have to do a covert E & E.”

  “Mmm, I suppose I better at least check in with my mom,” said Emily. “She’ll be going crazy wondering where I am and what I’m doing.”

  “Tell her you got kidnapped again,” suggested Cody.

  “I don’t mean to pry, comrade, but I just have to ask. Does your mother honestly have no idea at all what you’re involved in?” inquired Dortmunder curiously. “I mean, how is that possible?”

  “My mom acquired a habit of not asking questions when she lived with my father,” replied Emily carefully. “Look, don’t get me wrong, she’s not a bad person and I love her in my own way, but she’s like a lot of Americans. She’s just kind of opted out. She doesn’t want to know, about anything, because she’s come to understand that knowledge is frightening and it makes demands of her, demands she can’t handle, so she deliberately avoids it. She knows I spend a lot of time away from home. But then so does she, when she checks into a motel for a week and wallows in wine and, well, other stuff. In a way, what she does is just as potentially dangerous as what I do. I’m likely to get shot or arrested and tortured, and she’s likely to crash her Lexus on the freeway while she’s smashed, or get strangled with a belt or a pillowcase by some freak she picks up in a bar or a truck stop. I guess you could say we both name our poison. Then she comes home again and wallows in Jesus down at the Assembly of God for a couple of months, before she does it again. At some point we seem to have worked out an unspoken arrangement. We just don’t ask.”

  “How utterly American,” said Dortmunder, shaking his head.

  “Sir, in the American dysfunctional stakes you know I got that beat,” said Cody grimly. “Is there any white kid born in my generation who does not have some kind of horrible, sick and twisted family history? There’s simply no such thing as normal any more. The Brady Bunch are dead, if they ever were real at all. Did an America like that ever really exist?”

  “And the actor who played Mr. Brady was a faggot who died of AIDS,” Emily reminded him.

  Red Morehouse had come into the kitchen just in time to overhear the latter part of the conversation. “Oh, yes, there was once goodness and health in America,” he assured them. “So long ago that no one remembers, but yes, there was once a world where Tom and Huck played pirates on the river and Penrod and Sam played detective. And yes, it is possible to go back. Human beings can do anything they want to, if the will is strong enough. You two kids grew up in hell, but your children won’t have to. What you’re doing tonight is making sure of that. Make no mistake, guys. This is the good fight we’re fighting here. Joe, I need to talk to you about something. We’re going to be setting up a kind of district command for the Seattle area which will serve as a pilot project for the rest of the Homeland, and…”

  “I’ll call Mom and leave a message,” said Emily to Cody, dialing on her cell phone. “She probably got into the Beaujolais before I left for school this morning, and most likely she’s been drunk all day. She may even have missed the whole thing.”

  Frank Barrow came into the kitchen. “Right,” he said, “Looks like all the renegade FATPOs are now back in their barracks or have been helicoptered out of the city.”

  “Congratulations on the Republic’s first open military victory, General,” said Morehouse with a smile.

  “Hey, don’t congratulate me,” said Barrow admiringly. “Bells and his boys gave a bravura performance at Eastgate mall, no question, but Carter Wingfield and the new Special Service were the ones who really shone tonight. They not only drove the Fatties off the streets, but the Redmond police station is now in our hands as well as the FATPO barracks in Renton. We have captured a mammoth shitload of weapons and ammunition at both places, and also freed over a hundred white prisoners, most of whom were arrested and dragged in just tonight. Some of them had already been subjected to various kinds of abuse. All of it legally impeccable under the Patriot Act, of course.” Barrow’s face assumed a scowl. “The SS also found their interrogation room in Renton, and we’ve got a nice little selection of instruments of torture we can display for the media. Electric prods, dentists’ drills, special pliers for ripping off fingernails and toenails, slow strangulation collars, and a steel chair with a thing like a vise-grip built recessed into the seat, and a crank on the back of the chair that tightens it. They call it the ball-crusher. ‘Nuff said. I might add that all of these charming artefacts still have their Israeli manufacturer’s marks stamp into them.”

  “Hey, when it comes to torture and human degradation, you can’t beat Israeli expertise,” said Morehouse dryly. “That’s another thing we need to do, draw up a list of those media personnel who seem to be the least biased against us and start building a relationship with them by giving them the juiciest stories. This one would be a good start.”

  “Uh, sure, Mom,” said Emily over in her corner. “Uh, yeah, he’s here with me. No, Mom, we’re not committing carnal sin! It’s just that Cody was scared I might get hurt on the streets if he let me come home, and so we’re over here at this other guy’s house. What’s his name? Simpson. Bart Simpson. You remember, he’s this kid from school we know. I told you about him.”

  “She drunk?” asked Cody sympathetically, suppressing the urge to laugh. “And we go to school with Bart Simpson now?”

  “She’s so worried that we might be screwing that it never occurred to her that we might be killing people,” Emily replied in a whisper, her hand over the phone. Then she turned back to it. “Huh? Who wants to…? Uh, uh, okay.” She put her hand over the receiver again, then said quickly and urgently to Morehouse, “Sir! That army Captain Regenthal, from the church, the one we’re supposed to be watching! He’s been looking for Cody! He called my house trying to find him.”

  VI.

  “Everyone in the new Republic is free to worship as they please.

  They are not free to commit treason and then hide behind religion

  to escape the consequences.” – Gen. Frank Barrow

  Morehouse held up his hand for silence in the room. “Quiet, everyone! Did Regenthal say why?” he demanded.

  “Uh, Mom, did Jesse say why he wanted Cody?” asked Nightshade into the phone. “Uh, okay.” She grabbed up a felt-tipped pen from the table and wrote a number on her hand. “Okay, I’ll get him to call. Right now? Mom, it’s three o’clock in the morning! Oh, okay. Yeah, I’ll have Cody call him. Yeah, I know, there’s no summer school tomorrow, I heard on TV. Cody will bring me home once it’s daylight out and the TV says it’s safe and there’s no more crazy Nazis shooting up the streets. Yes, Mom, I know. Don’t worry, we’ll be praying for peace too, and we won’t be doing any sins of the flesh, I promise. Okay, see you soon. Praise the Lord.” She hung up.

  “Did Regenthal give any indication of what’s going on?” repeated Morehouse.

  “No, but he left a cell number and he says it’s urgent that Cody call him right away, no matter w
hat time it is,” said Nightshade. She handed him the phone. “Here, Cody, use mine in case he’s got some kind of caller ID. He’ll be expecting you to call from my number.”

  “Everybody keep it down in here,” ordered Morehouse. “Go ahead, Volunteer Brock.” Emily held up her hand and Cody dialed the number on it. Morehouse and Nightshade both leaned over close to listen. Regenthal’s voice answered, deep and hearty. “Praise Jesus!” he boomed. “Is this Miss Pastras?”

  “So he is using caller ID,” muttered Dortmunder.

  “Uh, hello, Brother Jesse,” said Cody, going into Beaver Cleaver mode, modulating his voice to seem a bit younger than he was as best he could do so. “It’s me, Cody Brock from Sunday school. Emily’s mother told her you wanted me to call you.”

  “Sure did, young man! We’re worried about you and Emily down at the church, Cody,” said Regenthal. “You know there’s been a lot of trouble going on tonight, and she wasn’t sure where her daughter was, or you.”

  “Yeah, well, things got kind of hairy last night, sir,” said Cody. “I was going to take Emily roller-skating, but then the President came on TV. We watched her in the snack bar at the roller rink, and that kind of messed up the evening. Then I got a call from the hospital and they told me my dad got shot at work by some of those damned, oh, sorry for cussing, Lord, I mean, by some of those blasted Nazis. A nurse patched my Dad up in the emergency room, but there were all kinds of guys with guns running around, right in the ER and out on the street, and we ended up taking him over to Mr. Simpson’s house, because it was closer. He’s gonna be all right, but I didn’t want to take Emily home until it got daylight and the police were able to chase the Nazis away. I just don’t know what’s happening, captain sir, it sounded like the President is going to give the state of Washington away to the Nazis and we’ll all have to start goose-stepping or something.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m calling you about,” said Regenthal. “Cody, sounds to me like you understand that our country is now in the greatest danger it’s ever been in. For some reason which surpasses rational belief, the President of the United States is apparently considering actually going into negotiations with those Natsie bastards, and I’m not going to apologize to the Lord for swearing because that’s just what they are. Now, there are a lot of red-blooded Amurricans who just ain’t gone put up with that kind of betrayal, President or not, and I’m one of ‘em. Give part of this fair land of liberty to those evil Satan-worshipping Natsies, them as have laid their bloody hands on the Apple of God’s Eye? No, sir! As much as I hate to say it, it looks like we decent Christian men are going to have to take matters into our own hands.”

  “Uh, what do you mean, take things into our own hands, captain sir?” asked Cody.

  “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about, son,” said Regenthal. “But for reasons which will become obvious, I can’t do it on the phone. You never know who’s listening, and since we’ve been betrayed by our own President, good men and true no longer know whom we can trust. Can you come over to the church at nine o’clock this morning? There will be some of us getting together here and I’ll fill all of you in then.”

  “Sure, Brother Jesse,” said Cody. Meanwhile, Nightshade was making frantic gestures, pointing to herself and silently mouthing “Me! Me!” Cody shook his head, until Morehouse tapped his shoulder, pointed to Nightshade, and gave a firm and definitive nod. “Uh, Brother Jesse, I think I got an idea what you may be talking about, and if I’m right, then I’m your man for sure. But can Emily come, too? I know that she hates those Nazis ever since they kidnapped her and did, well, what they did to her. Whatever you’ve got in mind, I know she’ll want to be in on it.”

  “Are you sure about that?” asked Regenthal. “She’s a girl, after all.”

  “So was Judith, and yet she slew Israel’s great enemy the Assyrian king in his tent,” argued Cody. “And the woman Rahab prepared the way for the hosts of the Children of Israel into the promised land, when she received Joshua’s spies into her house. Women can serve Christ and America today as well. Emily is really strong in the Spirit.”

  “I don’t suppose I can argue with Scripture,” said Regenthal with a chuckle. “And we made need a feminine touch on some things before we’re through. Do you seriously think she’d make a good undercover operative?”

  “Well, I don’t know if she’d be any good as a spy, captain sir,” said Cody judiciously. “Emily’s such a very shy and gentle person. But she can always bake cookies or something.” Nightshade extended her middle finger and held it up in front of his face.

  “Well, I’ll talk to her when you get here,” said Regenthal.

  “We’ll be there at nine, sir.”

  “Praise His Name!” said Regenthal, and hung up.

  “Well, whatever they’re up to, I guess we’ll find out today,” said Morehouse.

  “I presume you want us to infiltrate up as high as we can get into this Christian militia or whatever they’re planning, sir?” asked Nightshade crisply. “This meeting this morning will be just one of the many tips of the iceberg. I imagine you’ll find little groups like this getting together surreptitiously in fundamentalist churches all across the Northwest today. Whatever the master plan is, looks like they’re putting it into action, and I doubt if that redneck fool Regenthal is the big cheese behind it all. With the peace negotiations about to begin, I’d say it’s almost as important for us to find out who’s pulling these people’s strings from D. C. as it is for us to assess the situation on a military threat basis.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” said Morehouse, drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter. “A very perceptive analysis, comrade. I’m glad the NVA has found employment for your talents other than baking cookies.” Cody had the good grace to look sheepish.

  “So what do we do, sir?” asked Dortmunder. “Just send them into the church? I have a bad feeling about that. Pandora Clinton opened the box last night, and the demons have escaped. There’s no longer any telling what’s going to happen out there from day to day. Why did Regenthal come looking for Cody specifically? That bothers me. This may be some kind of trap. And if these people even suspect the kids are Volunteers, they’ll probably kill them right on the spot. What if somebody from this holy roller church recognized them out at Eastgate mall last night? I know this has to be done, but I want these kids covered somehow.”

  “Commandant, suppose you send Nightshade and me in strapped?” asked Cody. “We can tell Regenthal that we figured out what he wanted to talk to us about, that we knew we were going to be called upon to fight for God’s Chosen People and so we came prepared. Give us some civilian style pieces, like an old .357 Magnum police service revolver or a deer rifle for me and maybe a .38 snub or something like that for Nightshade, the kind of thing most people still have lying around their houses. At least that way we can try shooting our way out if it breaks bad.”

  “That’s one possibility, but I’m a little more concerned with the big picture,” said Morehouse. “Comrade Nightshade was right. We have to look at this in the context of the upcoming conference at Longview. That’s the sun our universe will be revolving around for the next few months until it ends, one way or another. This whole idea of using evangelicals as a kind of fifth column against the Party and the Republic smacks of long-term planning, the kind of thing some neo-con think tank came up with. They love playing out scenarios like this. Someone in the power structure anticipated that at some point things would reach the negotiation stage. What would be the purpose of such a formation from their point of view?”

  “Obviously, to cause disruption and harass and hinder the new Republic and its government in every conceivable way, sir,” replied Dortmunder. “A counterrevolutionary force. Frankly, if these fanatics decide to organize some sort of underground strike force, there is little we could do to stop them and there won’t be for some time. We’re not even in partial control on the ground yet. Hell, these people established the most powerful tyrann
y in human history, and even after a century in power they couldn’t stop us from organizing against them, once the white man recovered his testicular follication. I think Comrade Nightshade is right. We need to find out how high this goes and that means they’re going to have to work their way up through the chain of command, from Regenthal to his handler, so forth and so on.”

  “Dammit, we don’t have time for that, Joe!” insisted Barrow. “In a couple of weeks I’m going to have to go down there to Longview, and I’m going to have to find some way to bluff and browbeat and sweet-talk these monsters into giving us back some little portion of what’s ours. I have to go in there to that table holding as strong a hand as possible. That means that their hand has to be correspondingly weaker, and I don’t want them to have some kind of Christian death-squad card as a hold-out they can suddenly deploy to change the situation on the ground if things start going against them at the talks. That’s one option we need to strike off their menu. We need to roll this crap up now, nip it in the bud before it even begins.”

  “I agree,” said Morehouse. “Back a few months ago when we were still underground, or a few months from now once we’re established as a government, I would say we go ahead and take our time and do this right, get you two on the inside with these yay-hoos, work your way up and see where the drain flows into the sewer. But this is a crucial cusp time, and we can’t afford to make any mistakes, nor can we afford to go in ignorance of a possible budding threat to our independence. It’s possible that this evangelical insurgency thing may be the foundation, the linch-pin of the United States government’s whole plan for these peace talks. They finally sit down at the table with us, and then all of a sudden there’s this big patriotic uprising in red, white, and blue as the great silent majority of true-blue Amurricans of the Northwest step up for Mom and God and apple pie, and brave little Israel, and the Great Jumping JEEEE-ZUS. That kind of horse shit. No, comrades. Oh no, no, no, no, no. Not happening. We’re going to stomp on this nonsense. Now. Today. We’ll send you two into that church, strapped and wired for sound if we can, and once you can get as much info as possible out of these ignorant bastards, preferably on tape, we’re going to move in and smush them. The one sticky point is that this redneck moron Regenthal has to be taken alive. He has the information we want and we’ll get it from him. Frank, you’re a former cop, you’ve worked with wired informants before, right?”