Righteous Sacrifice

by Timothy Van Sickel

  David Jones dabs at the cut on his head as he turns to look at me. I say nothing, staring directly into his eyes, trying to maintain a stoic look, trying to suppress my anger at what he has done and the lies he is spreading, trying not to laugh at his pitiful situation. I truly want to help him and his people, but it must be done with integrity.

  He continues to look at me, not glancing away. “I have heard you are a tough man, so this is how you negotiate a peace, by clubbing a man?”

  I stare back at him. After several moment of silence, giving God a chance to calm my soul, I respond. “You have run the farmers off their farms. Your best people can barely figure out how to feed the animals and harvest the crops. Your people will soon destroy the farms, run out of food and need to move on. But my people stand in your way. So you need the farmers to come back, to work the farms to feed your people.

  “This is a negotiation to find a way for the farmers to return to their land. You benefit because your people will be fed. The farmers benefit because their farms will be saved. Everyone benefits because their will not be a battle to take the farms from you. Many lives can be saved if we can work out a truce.

  “Don’t pollute these negotiations with lies and propaganda. We can, and will help you. But only if we can reach an agreement with trust and honesty on both sides.”

  His saucily dressed woman begins to tell him to turn around and leave, that he shouldn’t be treated this way. He glances at one of his sidekicks who escorts the woman back to the fancy Fifty-Seven Chevy

  “I heard you were a Christian, Mark, what happened to love thy neighbor? How do you justify clubbing me if you are a man of God? How can I trust you?”

  He has used my name for the first time, and knows of my religious beliefs. His question is welcomed. ”I do love you, Dave, and your people. To accept your lies would allow you to continue lying. I stopped you from lying, because I love you. And because I demand the truth, you can trust me. I don’t want you and your people to suffer. I’m not here for conquest. I’m here to help you, because we can help you. Accept it or reject it. Life or death for you and your people is now in your hands.”

  “What makes you think I won’t just roll down this road and take the next farm I need? We rolled over the farms we have now. What makes you think you can stop us from rolling over more farms?”

  “Because as we speak, word is being spread among your people that they will be accepted into our community, that we need them and want them. Do you think we had only one missionary, Dave? I got the Lord on my side. What god do you pray to? If you and your people try to move south, even with your improved fire power, you will die. What you have is just a fraction of what you will come up against.”

  “Break it up boys,” Britt interjects. “I got kids to feed and chores to do. This pissing match has to come to an end. Dave, you lose. You need to let the farmers back on to the farms. If you don’t, you won’t make it through the winter. Hell, you might not make it to Christmas. The man you are talking to is tough, but he is a lot more compassionate than I am. I’d chew you up and spit you out before the sun goes down today. So take what he’s offering. It’s the best deal you’re going to get.”

  Brit turns to a woman on the security detail. “Jennifer, I need to get back home. Take me back to Jennerstown, and one of our people will get me home from there.” Jennifer nods and guides Brit to an old Pinto designated as a runner car. “Can you believe these men dickering like that, whose God is bigger? Like adolescent teens in a school yard comparing their manhood.”

  I can’t help but laugh at her last comment as she heads off. She is right, I know it, but most importantly, David Jones knows it. I turn to him and his face is downcast. He knows that every word Brit uttered is true. He is not in a position to barter. I lay out the terms for him.

  The farmers can live in their homes and work their farms. Anyone living on their land will help work the farms. David’s people will provide security for the farmers. The farmers can keep sufficient food for their families, workers and security, the rest will be given to the community. The farmers, and anyone else who returns to their homes, will be allowed to travel freely on Sundays, even beyond the prescribed borders.

  I state deliberately that our people will control Route 219 starting at the McNally Bridge over the Stoneycreek River gorge, and that in return, we will provide him security on his eastern border, which will be Route 219. From Route 219 west, he is responsible for his own security, but he will not be allowed to occupy any more farms south of his current locations. Additionally, the small town of Jerome will be opened as a free area between our two domains.

  “How many farmers will return to help us?” David asks.

  This question truly reveals how right Brit was. “I can’t answer that. But I will encourage people to return home under this truce, not just farmers, but other home owners as well.”

  “Dave,” I say, drawing closer to him, “this shit is just starting. What is happening here is much worse in the bigger cities. I would rather have you as an ally than as an enemy. We are all going to need a lot of allies. Don’t screw this up. Treat your people well. If you do, we can be friends. If you don’t…. what Brit said” Dave Jones nods his acknowledgement.

  Before the meeting breaks up, I agree to allow our medical people to move into the “free town” of Jerome to help his people and the people there in need of medical help.

  * * *

  Colonel Fisher and I share a ride back to the Old Coal Miners Café. He maintains a stoic composure as we pull away from the negotiations compound. As we crest the first hill, he breaks out in a full belly laugh.

  “You just rewrote the guidelines for negotiations with belligerent forces. First, club them upside the head, then call them out on their lies, finally have a pissed off woman tell them they lost.” He begins to laugh again, tears starting to form in his eyes. “My God’s bigger than your god! I have to remember that one. Seriously, there is no come back to that.” He laughs even more, “What are you going to say, ‘My no god beats your one God? That was priceless. I would pay to see that again.

  “And you know what makes it all so sweet? Every freaking word of it was true! Mark, I never once was worried. I thought bullets might fly when you clubbed him, but I wasn’t worried. Because our God is bigger than their no god!”

  I say nothing, but I feel a welling in my heart. My friend truly understands the power of knowing redemption. Nothing on this earth needs to be feared when you know Christ as your savior. But that knowledge must be tempered. Many people could have died when I clubbed the man. Was that the right thing to do? It worked out, but in some ways I feel remorse, and I silently ask for forgiveness.

  At the restaurant, a heavy beef stew is the offering for the noontime meal. We have over forty of our militia eating happily and I offer another trade for the meal.

  “No need my friend. This is meat from a cow killed by the renegades that you sent packing. This meat would have rotted, but you and your men set things straight. Meals are on the house. And there is some good Appalachian clear making the rounds,” the owner says cheerfully, obviously having sipped some of the clear herself. She knows her business will grow now that a bit of stability has been established.

  “No thanks on the clear, but two fingers of bourbon would be good. Again, I’d gladly pay,” I respond.

  “I still have some Jack, will that do? On the house for you General. I don’t want to get a club upside the head!” She puts a hand over her mouth as she tries to suppress a laugh. Then hugs me a little too tightly. “I’ll get you your Jack, General,” she says with a wink. The buxom woman walks off with a distinct sway to her hips. Not a chance in the world, I think to myself, I would never trade the diamond I have at home for all the gold in the world.

  As we are finishing our meal, a runner comes to our table. He has a message from Captain Hutchins. He is bringing in a man he wants me to meet. They will be here within an hour. The runner expresses that it is importan
t that I meet this man and his people. It is also expressed that Captain Albright, from Somerset and Captain Regis, leader of the local militia be present if possible.

  “Well, Regis is right over there with a group of his men,” Colonel Fisher states. Turning to one of our trusted aids, he continues. “Send a runner on a fast bike to collect Captain Albright. I’m not sure where he’s at. See if you can find him on the CB before we send someone off on a wild goose chase”

  The crowd thins out as people get their fill and need to move on to their duties, or go home to take care of chores and family. Forty-five minutes later the crowd swells again as over a dozen men and women enter the main dining room of the eatery.

  These people are hard looking. It is a mixed race group, but mainly black. They are a bit gaunt but not sickly. Their clothes are dirty and torn. Their hair greasy and matted. Their hands, arms and faces are grimy from days without a shower or proper bath. Several have bloody bandages badly in need of care. Most carry side arms and some type of knife, their long guns would have been stored at the entrance per the owner’s policy. Captain Hutchins is with them, and quickly makes his way to our table, a broad grin on his face as he sees our group.

  “I thought I could get a runner here before you left, General. You need to meet these people. I think we can work with them. This is the group Captain Regis found yesterday on the Hollsinger farm. This is Jerimiah Hasselrig, Jerry. And this is Jim Cashaw.”

  At that name I turn and look. He has a bandage around his head and is thinner than I remember. But it is Jim Cashaw, my brother-in-law’s brother.

  “Oh my God! Jim! Wow!” I quickly try to stand in the excitement of seeing an old friend, but stumble, barely catching myself on the sturdy table. As I regain my balance, he recognizes me and we embrace deeply.

  “Mark, Mark, Mark, so good to see you,” Jim says, sobbing as we embrace.

  “You’re with good people here Jim. You’re with good people,” I reassure him. As we step back. I ask fearfully, “What do you know of Alex and Frank?” Alex is my wife’s sister. Frank is her husband.

  “Alex is with us, brother!” he states with joy, but his face quickly turns sour. ”Frank didn’t make it. He organized us to get out of the city. But we ran into a group of thugs. He got killed.” He shakes his head; as if trying to erase a bad memory. “A week ago there was a couple hundred of us, half didn’t make it to the farm we’re at now.” Then his eyes brighten again. “We’re okay now, where we’re at. And we agreed to let the farmer back on his farm. Shit, dude, is this you? Did you make this happen? Is this your operation? I heard them call you general.”

  Tears running down my cheeks, I respond. “I didn’t make this happen, God did. Alex is alive! Becca will be so happy. Damn, Frank didn’t make it; that is hard news. He was a good man. A very good man.”

  “He saved us, brother. If not for him, we woulda never have organized an’ got out of town.” Jim states.

  “Colonel,” I start, turning to Colonel Fisher, “Get medical people to attend to these people an’ get a medical team, under guard, out to the Hollsinger farm. This establishment has rooms with showers, let’s get these good folks cleaned up. Scrounge around for some clean clothes too.” I eye up Jerry and a few of the other men and women with him. “Send out a request for extra-large on the clothing.”

  By this time, the concerned look on Jerry’s face has turned into a wide grin as he sees the welcoming reception his group has been given. I turn to greet him. “You’re the uncle of the guy who played pro ball for the Steelers, right?”

  “He was my cousin,” the large man states shaking my hand, grinning broadly. His grin turns downward. “He was with us too. He got gunned down in the same fight that we lost your brother-in-law.” His eyes go a little glassy. “He had a troubled life, the pinnacle of success to the depth of drug addiction. He stood strong in the end though. His actions helped us move on. I don’t want to recall that day anymore,” the large, well-built man states, wiping a tear from his eye. “We’ve seen too much death, too many good people lost.’

  “Let’s sit down, Jerry, Jim. This stump leg gets to throbbin’ when I stand too long.” I say.

  They both look at my amputated leg, then take a seat. Captain Hutchins joins us. “These men can be a great asset to us general,” Captain Hutchins states. “Their last conflict was with some boys from Richland who apparently were part of the crew that overran the airport. They been tight lipped, but they are well armed.”

  Both men look a bit nervous at Captain Hutchins’ statement. “We can take care of ourselves, Mark. We don’t need anyone’s help,” Jim states.

  “I don’t doubt that statement, gentlemen. But we may need your help,” I reply warmly. For the next fifteen minutes I tell them of our situation, the country’s situation, and how I think protecting the farms will be the only way that anyone will survive. Colonel Fisher, Captain Regis, and Captain Hutchins sit in as I explain where our group stands. I wrap up the explanation by talking about our local civilian council and their oversight. By the questions they ask, I can tell they are leaning towards joining us.

  “Will one of us have a leadership position in this army you are building?” Jerry asks. “And we would want someone on this council too, maybe Miss Cashaw.”

  “If you were able to move over a hundred people, including women and children, through this chaos, and be in the position you’re in, then you’ve got good leadership and good skills. Most definitely you’ll have leadership positions. You’ll be operating in an area that Captain Regis here commands,” I reply, nodding to the wiry, wild eyed man that they met the day before. “Don’t mind his looks or his smell,” I say semi-jokingly. “Seriously Regis, get a bath!” I state, turning to him.

  “I ain’t got no soap, boss! Get me some soap and I’ll get cleaned up. Wasn’t expectin’ evr’y thing to shut down. So I ran out of soap, and I sweat a lot. Can I get a break here?” the captain exclaims a bit too defensively.

  The group laughs at his protest and some mild ribbing continues for a few minutes. Then a pert young waitress walks over and hands Captain Regis a small basket with soap, shampoo, lotion and conditioner. “If you don’t remember how to use the soap and shampoo, I’d be glad to give you a refresher course, captain.” She smiles at him and winks as she turns to take care of her duties.

  Guffaws and laughs are shared around the table and Captain Regis gets quite embarrassed. But I note that he keeps an eye on the pretty young lady. Go forth and multiply runs through my mind.

  “Let’s get back to business here,” Colonel Fisher states, bringing us back to our task. “Regis, I know you have two men under you as Lieutenants. Jerry can be a third. Jerry, do you have any military experience?”

  “Four years active duty, artillery, four years in the reserves. Highest rank was E5, gunnery crew leader. But I am your man to lead our people. We all have learned a lot over the past two weeks. We have four vets with us and twenty two men and women who know how to fight.”

  Jim chimes in, “We have our own weapons and ammunition. And we are going to stay on the farm with the Hopplingers for now, we are tired of moving, we need to rest.”

  “It’s the Hollsingers, and that is fine with us,” Colonel Fisher replies.

  “Captain Regis, are you good with bringing Jerry and his crew under your command?” I ask.

  His eyes have wandered to the cute waitress again, but he turns back to me. “Twenty seasoned men with arms, I’m good.”

  Jerry’s people move off to continue getting cleaned up and fed. We spend another twenty minutes wrapping up what needs done over the next few days, concentrating on the new truce with Dave Jones and his socialist enclave. I tell Captain Regis that he needs to start moving people towards the Laurel Mountain ridge to the west; the ridge that separates us from the people that will be moving out of Pittsburgh. He agrees and even recommends that a scouting party should be sent to Ligonier and maybe even Latrobe and Greensburg. I tell him to get it plan
ned and organized, but not to send it out till we have talked more.

  * * *

  The sun has set by the time our five truck convoy heads east towards Central City. Dim lights twinkle in many of the homes we pass and a few travelers are still on the road. People are starting to feel more secure, but I worry. Even though we have established a secure area, there are still lots of desperate people around. People still need to adjust to this new world of chaos. Bad times have just begun.

  It is fully dark as one of my security shadows helps me up the few steps to the large open front porch of my home. Rebecca sits there with Eve and Paul. I have been gone well over twelve hours. I know Becca is not happy. I should be resting and letting my leg heal. But what was accomplished today was huge. Many lives would have been lost if the truce with David Jones had not been made. And bringing in the militant refugees from Johnstown was another major step towards strengthening our enclave. My ace in the whole is that her sister is alive and with us.

  Brit and Ken come out the front door as I wearily take a seat. “Hey, General Club Em, wrap up all your meetings?” She asks snidely. “Seriously, did you need to club the guy? I thought we all were gonna die. You need some serious lessons in diplomacy.”

  “Hey, it all worked out,” I respond.

  “It did, and it was funnier than hell, but it scared the shit outta me. I’ll give you this, Mark, God does have your back, or you’d be dead. We all would be dead.”

  “I told you before, he only took my leg, he didn’t take all of me, so I got work ta do. Today’s work was to smack down a lyin’ connivin’ thug. I think I did my job pretty well.” Paul and Eve snicker as they both take a sip of wine, trying to hide their amusement