“Where are the women?” one of the other passengers asked. “We were separated back in Dallas.”
“All of your questions will be dealt with during the in-processing,” the Janissary officer said.
“What about our luggage?” another asked. “I didn’t see it loaded onto this bus.”
“You won’t be needing your luggage.”
“How is it that we don’t need our luggage?”
“You’ll be issued clothes.”
“What do you mean, issued clothes? I have my own clothes. I didn’t come here to have you take care of me—I came here to take care of myself. Now, where are my clothes?”
“Let’s go, everyone off the bus,” the guard said, without answering the man’s question.
As Sam stepped down from the bus he was able to look around, and what he saw caused his knees to grow weak. This wasn’t merely a place where they would be in-processed. This was a prison camp. There was no other way to describe it. And, of the ten buses that left Dallas, this was the only one that came to this particular camp. The only people he saw were the Janissary guards, dressed in their black uniforms, and other men, dressed in nondescript gray shirts and trousers. He saw no women anywhere and he had no idea where Sarah was.
The in-processing took place in a building that was set apart from the other buildings, which were long, low, barracks-type buildings. The in-processing building was set up like a classroom, with several rows of chairs facing the front. On the front wall was the red, beige, and blue portrait of Ohmshidi over the words “Obey Ohmshidi.”
Below the portrait was a banner.
EARN YOUR FREEDOM BY WORKING
OBEY OHMSHIDI
“Freedom?” one of the men asked when he read the sign. “What do you mean, earn our freedom? I’m already a free man. I came here of my own free will, remember.”
“Sit down, Jew!” one of the guards said to the man who asked the question. “Sit down, and keep your mouth shut.”
A moment later, one of the Janissaries stepped to the front of the room to address them.
“I am Sarhag Kareem Ali. Sarhag means colonel, so when you speak to me, you will address me in this fashion: ‘Sir, Jew,’ then give your name, ‘Sarhag Ali, I beg permission to speak.’ If I, or any other official whom you may address sees fit to grant you permission to speak, we will tell you so. You will then proceed by saying, ‘Sir, Jew,’ then give your name, and then say whatever unimportant thing it is you have to say. Do you understand?”
Nobody responded, so he pointed to someone in the back row. “You, back there, do you understand?”
“Don’t we say ‘Obey Ohmshidi’ before we talk to you?”
Suddenly one of the uniformed guards at the back of the room hit the man on the side of his head.
“Evidently, you did not understand how to address me,” Ali said.
“I do, I do!”
The man was hit again.
“Do you understand, now?” Ali repeated.
Now the hapless man understood. “Sir, Jew Friedman, Sarhag Ali, I do understand, sir.”
Ali smiled.
“Well, Jew Friedman, I congratulate you. You learned quickly. And now, to answer your question, you do not salute and say, ‘Obey Ohmshidi’ when you speak to us. The salute and greeting is an honorable exchange between citizens of the American Islamic Republic of Enlightenment. You are Jews, you are not citizens, therefore you are not accorded the privilege of an honorable exchange.”
“What does that . . .” one of the men started, then remembering, he started over. “Sir, Jew Bernstein. Sarhag Ali, I beg permission to speak.”
“You may speak,” Ali said.
“What does that sign mean?” Bernstein asked, pointing to the “Earn your freedom by working” sign.
“It means exactly what it says,” Ali said. “What about the sign do you not understand?”
“I don’t understand . . .” Bernstein started, but his response was interrupted by a blow to the side of the head from one of the guards.
“Sir, Jew Bernstein. I don’t understand any of it. We came here of our own volition. We applied to come here. But this is nothing like I expected. Where are our wives?”
“Your wives are in another camp, undergoing orientation,” Ali said.
“Sir, Jew Bernstein. We were never told we were going to be separated. I came here by choice, therefore I expect to be able to leave anytime I want, regardless of what that sign says.”
“The situation has changed,” Ali said. “You are Jews.”
“Sir, Jew Bernstein. Yes, we are Jews. We were Jews when we applied for the letter of acceptance, we were Jews when we got on the bus, and we were Jews when we were born. So how can you say that the situation has changed?”
“There has been a public outcry all across the land about the Jewish situation,” Ali said. “The people have demanded that we do something about it.”
“My God!” one of the others said. “So you have set up concentration camps?”
One of the guards started toward the last man to speak, but Ali held up his hand in a benevolent gesture, preventing the guard from hitting him.
“These camps are for your own safety,” Ali said. “I think you do not understand how much hatred the people have for you. If we were to allow you to continue to live among decent Muslims, they may rise in righteous indignation, and we can’t be responsible for what would happen.”
“What do you mean you can’t be responsible?” Sam asked. “It is your policies, the policies of this new order, that have created this atmosphere of hatred. I never felt hated before.”
“Believe me, you were. All Jews were hated, but because Jews controlled the press and the entertainment industry, the nation was inundated with Zionist propaganda. Lies were told about the so-called holocaust when everyone knows there was no such thing.”
“My God, you are insane,” Friedman said.
Ali lifted his hand toward two SPS officers who were standing in the back of the room. They moved quickly to Friedman, grabbed him, then started toward the door with him.
“What is this? What are you doing?” Friedman shouted in fear.
“Jew Friedman, you are about to provide an object lesson for the others. We will not tolerate insolence or insubordination in this facility.”
“Sir, Jew Bernstein, what are you going to do to him?”
“What we do to him is none of your concern,” Ali said. “But take a lesson from this.” Ali pointed to the portrait of Ohmshidi. “Obey Ohmshidi,” he said.
After the orientation, the newcomers were taken to a building where they were told they would take a shower.
“No! My God, no!” one of the men shouted.
One of the Janissaries in charge laughed. “This is not a gas chamber,” he said. “This is a shower. We will remain in the same building with you as you shower. We wouldn’t be here if we were to use gas, now, would we?”
The guards did remain in the same building with them as they showered, and all during the shower the guards laughed and pointed to the naked men, singling out ones who were less endowed than the others, and making fun of him.
“Hey, Jew, what happened to your pecker? Did the mohel cut too much off when you were circumcised?”
The other guards laughed, and the rest of the naked men looked away in shame, not wanting to add to the humiliation of the one who was being singled out.
“Jew, you have a new name,” the guard said. “From now on when you speak, you will say, ‘Sir, Jew Tiny Pecker,’ then say whatever it is you have to say. Have you got that?”
The man said nothing, and suddenly a whip lashed out to strike him across his bare back and buttocks.
“I asked if you’ve got that.”
“Yes,” the man replied quietly.
Again the whip lashed out. “Have you got that?”
“Sir, Jew Tiny Pecker. Yes, sir.”
“Ha!” the guard with the whip said. He looked at the others. “
I do believe Jew Tiny Pecker has learned his new name.”
Again, the other guards laughed.
The guards handed out new names to some of the others, Jew Fat Ass, Jew Fag, and Jew Dick Face.
After the shower the men returned to recover their clothes, only to discover that they were gone. In their place were gray trousers and shirts, all the same size. For the smaller men the uniforms hung from them, while the larger men could barely get them on. Fortunately, Sam was of average size, and his clothes fit.
That night, after a full day of orientation, if the constant barrage of insults could actually be called that, the men went to bed. This would be the first night since their marriage that Sam had not gone to bed with Sarah.
Not long after they were in bed, the door to the barracks opened, and the guards shouted at them.
“Let this be a lesson to you, Jew bastards!” One of them called, then they heard a loud bump on the floor.
“Oh my God, it’s Friedman,” one of the men said.
“Is he hurt?” another asked.
“He’s dead.”
Jewish Ultimate Resolution Camp 49
The women had also been given new clothes, but in their case the clothes were black burqas. At first Sarah resented it, but then she decided there was some advantage in being able to hide herself from the camp guards, nearly all of whom were women, dressed, not in Burqas, but the black uniforms of the Janissary Auxiliary.
As she lay in bed that first night, she wondered about Sam. Where was he? What were they doing to the men?
“Sam,” she said quietly. “Sam, know that I am thinking of you. Know that I love you.”
Jewish Ultimate Resolution Camp 26
When Sam and the others awakened the next morning, they were shocked to see, hanging from the rafters, the man the guards had called Jew Tiny Pecker. It was obvious he had hung himself, because he had tied his shirt and trousers together to use as a rope.
The others cut him down, put his clothes back on him, then laid him, gently, alongside the body of Rob Friedman.
Sam learned that day what the sign “Earn your freedom by working,” meant, because he, and all the other prisoners with him, were taken out, under guard, to work a farm. For the first time in his life, he learned what it meant to chop cotton.
He and the others had been working for two weeks, and Sam had blisters on his blisters. His back hurt so much that he could barely walk, but he knew better than to let any of the guards know this, because he knew what that would mean. If a person was nonproductive, he was eliminated.
“Hey, Sam,” Ben Bernstein said one day, as they were in the field, chopping. He spoke so quietly that only Sam could hear him.
“I know where our wives are.”
“What? Where?” Sam said, speaking louder than he intended.
“Shh!” Ben warned, and both looked around to see if any of the guards heard him.
It appeared that the guards had not heard.
“Where are our wives?” Sam asked again, this time speaking as quietly as Ben had.
“They are in Sanderson.”
“Sanderson? I know Sanderson, it’s twenty miles west of here.”
“How do you know Sanderson?”
“I was in the trucking business, remember? On 90, we came through Dryden and Sanderson between Del Rio and Alpine. Sanderson and Dryden are the only two towns in Terrell county. What are the women doing there? Are they working in the fields?”
“No, they’re making uniforms for the SPS.”
“Where is the camp?”
“It’s at the end of Carlisle Road. Do you know where that is?”
“I know exactly where it is. And it makes sense to put the camp there, because it would be out of the way from the rest of the town. But there are good people who live in Sanderson. I can’t see them going along with having a concentration camp there.”
“There’s nobody left in Sanderson now but the Janissaries and plant managers, and the women they have working there. They’ve moved all the natives out of town, just like they have here, in Dryden.”
“Thanks, Ben,” Sam said.
That night, for the first time since Sam and Sarah had been separated, Sam felt a sense of calmness. He wasn’t lost anymore. He knew where he was, and he knew where Sarah was.
And he began working on a plan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Mobile
There was a limited amount of jet fuel at the Mobile airport, but none left at what had been, at one time, the Mobile Coast Guard base. Jake and Bob flew the Huey from Fort Morgan to the Mobile airport, where they took on enough fuel to bring the fuel on board to 240 gallons. That was the first time the helicopter had been topped off in well over a year.
With the helicopter at full fuel load, Jake and Bob decided to make a scouting flight around their newly acquired territory. Jake was in the right seat, the command seat on the Huey, and Bob was in the left. As they flew, Bob was doing a search of all the radio frequencies. Most of the frequencies were quiet, then he picked up a broadcast that came in quite clear.
“When we get to Mobile, what’s our target?”
“The National Leader has declared Mobile a free fire zone.”
“So, we just set up the pieces and start firing?”
“Yes. Remember, our only mission at this point is to spread around a little terror.”
“Ha! I’m gonna enjoy this.”
“Put that on the ADF,” Jake said, and Bob tuned in the automatic direction finder. The needle swung to the azimuth from which the radio signals were coming, and Jake turned to fly in that direction. They flew for another half hour, then, near the town of Greenville, Bob saw them.
“Down there,” Bob said. “I see ten trucks headed south. Four of them are pulling artillery pieces . . . looks like 105s.”
“Yeah, I see ’em, M777A1 Howitzers,” Jake said. “What do you say we go back and set up a little surprise for them?”
They started back to Fort Morgan at VNE speed, and Jake called Willie on the way.
“Willie, put Deon on.”
“Roger,” Willie said.
A moment later, Deon’s voice came up. “Six, this is Three, over.”
“Three, get an assault team ready. And we’ll need some heavy armament. This is for an immediate operation.”
“Will do, Six.”
When Jake landed at Fort Morgan twenty minutes later, Tom Jack, Deon Pratt, Marcus Warner, Willie Stark, Mike Moran, and Jerry Cornett were waiting for them. All were armed with M-240 machine guns, and in addition the attack team was equipped with two FGM-148 Javelin antivehicle missile launchers.
Jake landed, then shut the engine down just long enough to brief them.
“There are ten trucks,” Jake said. “Now, let’s say that each truck is eighteen feet long. Four are pulling M triple seven Howitzers that are thirty-five feet long. Allow a hundred feet between each vehicle, that means the column will be right at four hundred yards long, depending on the distance between. So the first thing we’ll do when we get there, is set up two roadblocks, four hundred yards apart. That will give us a contained kill zone. Do we have any C-4 left?”
“Yeah, we got a lot of it from the SPS armory in Mobile,” Tom said.
“Good, we’ll use it.”
“Damn,” Deon said.
“What?”
“This is the American army we are about to attack. These are guys I served with, and fought with. I never imagined myself setting up an ambush. Hell, that’s what we had to deal with in Iraq and Afghanistan.”
“First of all, Deon, I would be willing to bet that you never served with a single one of these men,” Tom said. “The army, like the navy, was totally destroyed by Ohmshidi. There is no army anymore. These are SPS goons.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“Let’s get mounted,” he said.
“Damn!” Bob said with a broad grin.
“What is it?”
“This will be
the first combat insertion I’ve done since Vietnam.”
“Yeah?” Jake pulled the starter trigger and the blades started to turn. “Well, if you’ve done one insertion, you’ve done them all.” Using the beeper switch, he beeped the RPM up into the green, then lifted off.
Bob knew the area better than Jake, and he recommended that they set down at an abandoned service station at exit 34. Jake landed just east of the abandoned building so the helicopter could not be seen from the road. Then, he deployed the team.
“Not you, Bob,” he said.
“What do you mean, not me? Are you an age bigot?”
Jake chuckled. “You’re our reserve. If I get hit, you’ll have to fly us back.”
“Yeah, all right, I can see that. But don’t get hit.”
They found a Chrysler that, though it could no longer be driven, could be pushed, and they filled it with C-4 plastic explosive. They pushed it out onto the road, then moved back four hundred yards behind where they found a Chevrolet, and filled it with C-4.
“I love it,” Tom said. “These cars are from the auto companies that Ohmshidi stole from the stockholders.”
The C-4 in both cars were set to be exploded by two-way radio, broadcasting on a certain frequency. He left Willie and Marcus on the Chevy.
“There are ten trucks,” Jake said. “Count them, when the tenth one goes by, push this car on the road, then back out of the way.”
“Right,” Marcus said.
Jake spread the rest of them out along the side of the road, then waited. There was very little traffic on what had once been a very heavily traveled artery that stretched from Mobile all the up to Chicago.
A 2010 Ford came by.
It was ten minutes before another vehicle passed them, this one a 2003 Dodge. Both cars merely steered around the Chrysler, which looked no different from all the other abandoned cars along the interstate. It wasn’t even the only car in the middle of the highway
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