Righteous Sacrifice

by Timothy Van Sickel

  The city had turned to chaos, anarchy. Death and mayhem were everywhere. Fights over food, supplies, shelter, even clean water, resulted in gun battles. The aroma of cooking food would start a riot. The elderly and sick were the worst off, susceptible to disease, their vital medications running out.

  David, teased as a child, a loner as an adult, sits surveying his new kingdom. The fields are full of corn and hay. The beef cattle are fat. The dairy cattle are full. There are many farms around that can provide food to eat. And people are following him, looking up to him. He feels a sense of purpose he has never felt.

  But, he must tend to his flock. They need him. They cannot survive without him. His paradise has already been threatened. A group of mercenaries showed up, with serious firepower, and dealt a devastating blow to his manpower. He needs an army, so he will build one. And according to his men scouting Route 219, the army he needs is coming to him.

  Along with the weak and hungry coming from Johnstown and Richland, are armed men and women. Some are heavily armed with military weapons stolen from the armories around the airport. He has his people let these groups know he has food and shelter for them. Safety and food, after two weeks of mayhem are enough to attract many of these armed groups into his fold. His keen sense picks out the leaders who can be bought with favors. Within twenty-four hours the beginnings of his army is taking place.

  The chaos that he caused by dislocating the farmers is not a problem to David. The chaos outside of his immediate control goes unnoticed. He has no care for those people. Here and now is his concern. Can he keep his flock following him? So long as he can provide them with food and water, he will be a king. He issues orders to find butchers and chefs, and to have plenty of food to feed the armed bands coming from the city. He can recruit an army just by the food he can provide. Owning the food sources is his greatest asset.

  But he knows his plan is flawed. He is from the city and so are the people following him. Along with his search for butchers and chefs, is a search for people who know farming, animal care. The best he has found is a veterinarian and a few garden hobbyists. They have been put to work to come up with a plan to maintain the farms' production. Getting the herds fed and milked is failing. Right now, he has the corn being harvested by hand, which barely keeps up with the animals' daily demands, let alone harvesting enough to store in the silos for winter.

  He sends out another request, for people who can solve this problem. He offers extra rations to those who help, which results in unqualified people embellishing their skills. But he is determined to push forward. There is fertile farmland as far as he can see, with crops, cows, pigs and chickens at every turn. This is his land now, and he will reap it's bounty for his followers. Word of this new leader and his group makes its way to Central City.

  * * *

  Scattered around the countryside are the people that Dave Jones and his horde have displaced. The area has a large population of Mennonites and other pacifists of the Anabaptist movement. The farmers and their families along with the local tradesmen, merchants and skilled professionals fled the throng of people that have taken their land and their homes. Some fled to the small towns of Benson, Jerome, and Boswell, which have defended themselves against the incoming hordes. These small towns are loosely protected by the newly formed Laurel Highlands Militia. Others have gathered at remote farms not yet overrun.

  For the most part, they are good Christians and God fearing people. Many are upset that they offered a helping hand but where treated with violence. Many farmers worry most about their livestock and their crops. It is prime harvest time. If the harvest is not taken in and properly stored, their livestock will not survive the winter.

  Rumors of what happened run rampant throughout the mountain hamlets. ‘The Russians attacked, and have already invaded the east coast.’ ‘Every major city was nuked and a nuclear winter is coming along with radiation fall out.’ ‘The federal government caused the power outage so they could implement martial law.’ ‘Armageddon is coming, repent and be saved.’

  Some know enough to try and calm the fears, squash the rumors. But the panic and fear of losing all power, and then being overrun by the starving masses is enough to make end times predictions spread like wildfire. Another message is spreading too. Other local communities have come together, and are willing to help. They too, must come together and put their reliance in God, themselves and their neighbors. Then they can overcome the troubles before them. Reverend Wysinger and Pastor Yoder are two of the people delivering this message.

  By noon, a gathering of committed Mennonites meets at a farmstead tucked into a secluded vale. The two dozen men and women gathered there make a commitment to God that they will spread a message of goodwill and God's love to the people occupying their homes and farms. They do this fully knowing that they may be risking their lives. But they go forward armed only with the word of God and their compassionate love. Reverend Wysinger and Pastor Yoder pray with them before they head out. The messengers of love follow the old logging trails and horse paths to spread the good news.

  Chapter 6, Meeting Neighbors

  Jennerstown

  09/25

  One o'clock at the Old Coal Miners' Cafe is usually a pretty busy time for this well-established restaurant. Dedicated to the 'Nine for Nine' mine rescue and all the other hardworking men of the coal fields, the establishment is well known for large portions at a fair price. And today is no exception, but the menu options are limited and the barter has to be approved before the food is served.

  The eatery is located at the corner of Route 30 and Route 985 in the heart of Jennerstown, a one light town. They have stayed open through two weeks of mayhem, even surviving a ransacking by a biker convoy early in the chaos. The establishment is now well defended by family and locals. Today's offering is pulled pork, or beef stew with a cornbread side and vinegar coleslaw. Five hundred rounds of 5.56 ammunition is traded to feed our large group.

  A dozen local officials and militia leaders have gathered to meet with me for the first time. Captain Hutchins, Sergeant Burns, Sergeant Hostettler, Larson and two guards are with me. The rest of our crew from the Somerset uprising has been sent on to Central City or other duties. Outside, members of the Laurel Highlands Militia are already helping the locals reinforce their roadblocks.

  I rise from my seat with Larson's help. He hands me my crutches so that I can proceed to address the local leaders. There are a few audible gasps at the bandaged remains of my leg as I move to a small lectern in front of the room. I am here for one purpose, to expand God's kingdom. My path to do that is with the Laurel Highlands Militia and our plan to reclaim stability.

  "Thank you all for coming here," I start. "I would like to open with a prayer." I bow my head, as do most in the room. The hubbub dies down and I begin. "Dear God, bless this gathering. Let us turn to you for wisdom, love and patience. Let us allow you to guide us. Have your hand upon us as we look for a way forward. May we all use the talents you have blessed us with to be good ambassadors of your Son, our Savior, Jesus Christ, in whose name I do pray, Amen." A spattering of Amens are repeated around the room. A few of the staff stop to listen.

  "I am Mark Mays," I begin. "I have been elected General of the Laurel Highlands Militia. The local civilian leadership of Central City has deemed that the federal government is no longer in a position to govern the country due to the attacks on our nation. Until such time as the federal government can reliably protect the local citizens, I have been commissioned to establish a militia to assist in maintaining security for our citizens."

  My opening statement is met by a few nods, but also by some very stoic faces.

  I continue. "This militia reports to, confers with, and acts on the consent of our civilian government. As this militia grows, we try to bring in more civilian governance to our expanding area of operations, which is part of the reason I am here. Our operations have already expanded into your towns, so we need you represented in our council or your
approval to continue our patrols. Right now, my men are reinforcing your roadblocks and making plans to reclaim the overrun farms between here and Davidsville.

  "Our council has determined that the farms between Davidsville and Somerset must be liberated in order to ensure that food supplies will be available to survive this crisis. We have already allied with the council from Somerset and wish to extend that alliance to you all."

  A man from the back speaks up. "Somerset is under martial law, you’re full of shit 'General'." This causes quite a stir in the crowd. I nod towards Sergeant Hostettler.

  She stands. "I'm Sergeant Hostettler of the Somerset National Guard detachment. You got to get with the times sir. Somerset rose against the martial law this morning. I was there. The General here, he didn't start it, but he supported it and he made sure it succeeded."

  A guard from the back of the room speaks up. "Sergeant Hostettler is right, I was there. Captain Albright pledged allegiance to this new militia, and the council was set free. I vouch for the man."

  Before I can say another word, Sergeant Burns stands. "I am Sergeant Burns of the 556th Engineers battalion out of Johnstown. You don't want to know what I've seen. Unthinkable things are happening out there. This man is the reason we stand here, safe. If not for him, the drug lords would still be running rampage over your farms.

  "He won’t say it, but that fresh stump leg you see, he got that while taking out the drug lord. And do you want to know what his response to losing his leg was? 'If God wanted all of me he would have taken all of me.'

  "You are being asked to join the civilian government so that the Militia can help you. We are your neighbors and friends, but we need your help as much as you need our help. This man deserves your respect. Hear him out, he is a man of courage." Sergeant Burns stands down, having said all she needed to say.

  The room is quiet once again as all eyes turn back to me. "Right now, as we speak, parishioners of your local churches are fanning out to the farms that have been overrun and to the pockets of resistance where displaced locals have gathered. That mission set out this morning, before we found out about the martial law uprising in Somerset. They are spreading a message of forgiveness, love and hope. Our goal is to win these people over, both the locals and the invaders or refugees, from Johnstown. You will probably see people showing up at your roadblocks wishing to join your ranks, offering to help you in any way they can.

  “We have also brought in civilians who know how to help bring these people in, feed them and help them get cleaned up. But we need you all on board to accept them into your community, feed them and find ways for them to help you and your farmers.

  "We also hope to gather information about the people who have occupied Davidsville and the surrounding farms. Do they have leadership? Are they organized? How well armed are they? What are their long-term plans?

  "We do not plan on doing anything for the next few days other than stopping everything at the Route 30 line. Central City, Hooversville, Benson and Stoystown are all under the militia's protection. Much of the countryside is safe due to our patrols. But roving bands are still out there and more people are coming south from Johnstown. Davidsville is overrun, Jerome is barely hanging on, Boswell has been attacked. You all are from here, you know this.

  "We have no dreams of conquest. We only hope to survive. But your survival is imperative for our survival. There are thousands of people coming out of the city. If we act alone they will overrun us and destroy us. If we join together, we can stop the anarchy and create an area of stability. If we do that, we can help these people."

  I go on to explain that the people are basically hungry and desperate. If we can help them, they will join us, rather than fight us. I then explain our system of bringing in refugees and having them work to help restore order. That by feeding a starving doctor and his family the community gains an asset. Same with a carpenter, teacher or engineer. Even the least skilled person can help a farmer or assist to clean up.

  "And we can help them, we can feed them," I continue. I go on to explain of our abundance of food. That by establishing barter systems and markets, an equitable distribution of food can take place, needs to take place. If the farmers organize, and work together with the community, their production will keep up with demand.

  My speech carries on for thirty minutes and I know I need to wrap things up. "So let me finish by saying we want to help you. We have stability, we have systems that work, we have the manpower and arms to help stop the anarchy. We need your help and your permission to spread what we have started. Will you join us?"

  A pin drop could be heard in the large room. I wait patiently. The owner of the establishment speaks up first. "Best plan I heard yet, I'm all in. My guards have already started trading with your people outside. They are good people, gave us some good pointers on our roadblocks."

  A tall cleanly dressed man stands up. "You a preacher man General? You started with a prayer and talked a lot of God stuff. You trying to start a religious sect? I don't believe in that shit."

  "I believe in God and I am a Christian,” I respond. “I believe that God has a path for all of us to follow. Your path and my path are not the same. I will speak of God and salvation freely and boldly, but I will not deny you your right to believe as you wish. The head of security at my farmstead is a Muslim. He believes as he believes, I believe as I believe, and we respect each other."

  "So we just let these people in, put them to work, and feed them as we can. That sounds a little simplistic," another man states.

  "No different than Ellis Island," I state. "We will have people come out here and help you implement a system to handle the refugees, mini Ellis Islands. Who are you? Why are you coming? What are your skills? The hard part is dealing with the sick. They must be quarantined. That causes issues. Most of our ancestors went through the same thing. Open borders is a recent notion, and only America practiced it. Every nation in the world has controls on who it lets in. We will control who we let into our safe area.”

  "You make it sound like we are setting up our own nation," the man responds. "What about America?"

  "What about America? Where is FEMA? They instituted martial law in Somerset. That didn’t go too well. They tried to control the Murtha Airport, for what reason? Many people died because someone told our Reserves to defend a big slab of concrete. There is no federal government right now. You show me a federal government agent that is truly acting on behalf of the people and I will step aside.

  "If and when the United States of America can step in and help us, I will gladly let them. I said that in my opening remarks. Washington D.C. has been nuked. The government as we knew it is gone. I do not propose our own nation. I propose we take care of ourselves, using common sense, American principles and righteous judgment."

  Another gentleman stands up, he looks to be mid-fifties, with a life lived outdoors, a farmer or contractor. "We are pissing in the wind. This guy shows up with men, ammunition, allies and solutions. There are over two-hundred people camped out at the Route 30 and Route 219 interchange right now. Some have already run our roadblock and are pillaging farms, our neighbors. And the freaking guy and his people took out the Wagerly clan. George," the man says, looking at the atheist. "Those are the bikers that killed your niece and nephew. This man took him down.

  "Me and my boys have been out and about. We have been to Benson and Hooversville, we scouted Davidsville. Chaos surrounds us. I vote we join in with the Laurel Highlands Militia. Will anyone second that?"

  Several ayes are heard. The weathered man, obviously a man respected in this group continues. "All in favor of joining the Laurel Highlands Militia alliance say aye." Most of the group says aye. "Those opposed say nay." A few nays are heard.

  "This council of area leaders approves joining the Laurel Highlands Militia alliance and will elect three leaders to represent our views on their civilian council."

  "Wait a minute," says a younger man from the front of the crowd. "We are
not an elected council and what did we just vote to do? There is no written record here."

  An older woman speaks up. "Willis, we aren't deciding on building a pavilion at the park, we are deciding on our survival. If we don't agree to this alliance, in two days our homes will be overrun. You write down what just happened. We'll sign it. You got fifteen minutes, let's get a formal document of alliance."

  Several men and women come up to me as buzz fills the room. For the most part it is smiles and handshakes. I am introduced to many people. I have Captain Hutchins and the Somerset people join me as acquaintances are made. These are the people who will get the work done on the ground. Sergeant Burns agrees to stay with them to help them get organized. I recommend a command structure and that they elect or appoint an officer and NCO's. Just like in Central City, there are a lot of vets in the area and a loose organization has already been set up. That organization is formalized.

  As our crew is getting ready to head east, back to Central City and the Farmstead, I am introduced to Captain Arnold Regis. He is five foot four inches tall and no more than one hundred and forty pounds. He has long red hair and piercing green eyes. His long thin fingers grasp my hand firmly.

  "So you'se the General," he says. "Pleased to be at your service, sir. Captain Regis, 28th division, 110th mechanized infantry. Iran for 12 months in 2006. Another tour in 2008 attached to the 1st division. Got out four years ago. Nasty wound General. Recent I see."

  "We're comrades Captain Regis. 112th for six years, recon platoon leader, then 110th as a detachment commander, but that was years ago. This here leg was full and intact nine days ago. The other guy is rotting in a pile with his friends at the back end of my property.