Righteous Sacrifice

by Timothy Van Sickel

  We sit in silence, except for the radio chatter, most of it not related to the crises in Richland. I begin to strap on my newly acquired peg leg. Becca enters the room and looks at me. “You are not going anywhere, mister. You got people who can handle this.”

  I look at her and shake my head. “People have died, I need to be there. I need to make sure that we set things right.”

  “Then you’re a sad ass general, General,” Becca responds. “If you can’t trust the people you have in place to handle these things, then you need to turn in your two week notice.” I pause at her comment. As usual, she is right. Captain Regis and Lt Hasselrig are there. I need to let them handle this. They know our intentions, I need to let it go.

  I sit back in my chair, look at Becca and smile. “Well then, I’ll strap this peg on so that I can go out and play some more football with the kids.”

  She smirks, “That’s a better answer, General. Grace, keep the General posted on this situation. He has some football to play.” I laugh as I head out to the front lawn to resume our game. Ten youngsters are happy to get back to our reprieve from the daily turmoil.

  Later in the day, Grace gives me an update. Lt. Hasselrig is on the scene. Three of our guys did die, two in the initial explosion, one later on from the burns he received. A truce with this new group has been established. The steers and crop trucks helped establish a respectful agreement.

  There is definitively a different control team in Richland and the hilltops. The group in Richland is more militant and regimented. They also have military hardware; M16A2s and associated equipment. These are some of the people who overran the airport. They have a truce with Big Paulie, realizing fighting him would be a never ending battle.

  Our fast reaction team, led by Lt Hasselrig, established communications with this new militant group. Tension were high at first. Both sides lost people in the gas station firefight. But the edge is taken off as common ground is sought. We are all neighbors, our kids played sports together, we worked together. We can work together again, is the common uniting point.

  Lt. Hasselrig has arranged for a meeting the next day in the Walmart Plaza parking lot. He plans on sending twenty men there tonight to secure the area.

  “You did good, Grace,” I state. “Three relay stations is a hard nut to crack. You did good. And you stood your ground today too. You questioned my orders. It’s okay to do that if you think they are wrong. I hope you understood my reasoning.”

  “I get it now, Pap, we can’t fight everyone, especially if it is over a misunderstanding,” He replies. “We need to iron things out, bring unity to the community.”

  “The only reason we sit here in relative safety is because we have brought unity,” I respond. “If we had not banded together, our whole area would be in chaos with those drug addicts running the scene. And your part in this is important. I need clean and honest reports from you if I am going to make good decisions.”

  Grace smiles. “You can count on me, Pap.”

  Chapter 31, Elitism

  Chaffe’s Bunker

  10/14

  Handele sits with Dean Chaffe and Major Jeffers deep in the secure labyrinth of the Chaffe’s estate. “It’s total chaos out there,” Handele states. He spends five minutes describing some of what he has seen and heard about the masses of displaced people seeking food and shelter. He tells them of what he heard about the bazaar in Donegal, of the sick and dying throughout the area and the armed roving bands set on taking what they need to survive.

  “And there is a determined effort to take this place,” he continues. “I reported this to Major Jeffers yesterday, when I brought in the captive. The crowds camped around your grounds know you have food. To them, taking this place is the ultimate mission. Your contractors have leaked out what they did here. We know from the captive that the occupiers have drawings and plans of this estate.” Handele sums up his brief report on what he has learned. He gave the major a full report the day before when he slipped back into the compound with his prisoner.

  The major picks up at this point. “That’s what worries me the most, Dean. If they have plans of this estate and its bunker system, they will figure out the week spots. A lot of the occupiers died in our raids yesterday, and we reestablished control of the grounds around the main house. But more refugees have already gathered here. Some of the new people look and act like trained soldiers, probably Afghan and Iraqi vets. They have already started probing and pushing back. Within two days, they will push to occupy the main house and trap us in the bunker again.

  “Mr. Chaffe, there is no one who will be coming to help us. Unless you know people that can swoop in here that I am not aware of, we are on our own. I know you have a communication system in place with some powerful people. Is there any hope that we can get regular army troops or more operatives like us here? I need to know, sir. The situation is getting dire.”

  “I don’t know any more than you know, Major,” Dean responds forcefully. “We are the people who run this freaking world and some rabble looking for food is not going to occupy my land, my house! Your job, Major, is to protect us. You cannot let a bunch of bloodthirsty villains take down what is left of the ruling class. You cannot let that happen here! Do you hear me?” Dean is red in the face and sweating profusely as he winds up his rant.

  Major Jeffers sits calmly and takes it all in. He knows that if need be, he will survive on his own skills and leave the Chaffe family to its destiny. “Please calm down Mr. Chaffe. There is something you are not telling me. Tell me what you know and I may be able to make better decisions.

  Angrily, Dean Chaffe responds, “You’re the one with the scouts out there! I’m trapped here in this stinking bunker and you are asking me for help, for information! It’s chaos out there Major, that’s what I know, because that’s what you’ve told me. Now get out there and kill these bastards on my farm before they kill me! That’s an order Major Jeffers!”

  The major does not move. Quietly, he begins to speak, almost as if to himself, but loud enough for the angry and bewildered Dean Chaffe to hear. “If I were a member of the elite, the power brokers that manipulated world currencies, influenced presidential elections and controlled the world’s media, I think I would have a backup plan if it all went to hell. Like this estate and its bunkers, or the missile silos that were converted to bugout shelters or the massive underground complexes that have been built around the world for the elite.

  “And being pretty smart, since I was a member of the elite, I would have established a communications system so that I could talk with my other high powered friends while the world chaos raged around us. Weather it was a nuclear war or a civil uprising, I would want to be able to talk with my elite friends hunkered down in their elite bunkers, just to know what was going on. How would you be able to continue on, if you didn’t know what was going on?

  “So I would have set up a secure communications system so that I could talk to my elite friends hunkered down in their bunkers and bugout locations. It would probably consist of maybe a dozen satellites, hardened against a nuclear attack, including an EMP or solar flare. And each of my elite friends would have a hardened radio system to reach those satellites and thereby all my elite friends.

  Major Jeffers turns and looks directly at Dean Chafe. “That is what I would have done. And being the power brokers of the world, it would not have been hard to do.”

  Dean is white faced. “I have no idea of what you are talking about. I have been a champion of freedom and liberty. These elites you speak of, that is not me. They shun me because I promote Capitalism over Marxism. I don’t know any more than you do about what is going on out there. I have no knowledge of some secret communications system for the rich and powerful.”

  “Dean,” the major responds, “You know we have a pretty sophisticated electronics system that was all hardened and still works, right? It can monitor all transmissions in the area. There are regular transmissions, highly encoded, that come and go from thi
s bunker. We don’t know who you are talking to or what you are saying, but we know you are talking to people, a lot of people. Don’t give me any bullshit, or me and my people walk.”

  “You can’t do that!” Dean shouts. “You were hired to protect us!”

  “And we will do that, protect you to the best of or capabilities. But you need to come clean on these communications and what you know,” Major Jeffers responds. “Your survival depends on it. Do you have connections through this network that can get us more manpower in the next forty-eight hours? If not, we need to make plans to get out. This bunker, as good as it is, won’t last longer than that; considering the number of refugees willing to take it and the fact that they have the drawings on how it was built.”

  “I ordered you to make my estate safe!” Dean shouts, trying to reestablish his authority. “I know nothing about some clandestine communications system you are talking about. Your electronic monitoring systems are wrong, or maybe one of your own people are reporting out to the marauders that are trying to kill us. This one right here,” Dean states, pointing at Handele. “This Indian guy, why don’t you think it is him sending the communications? Maybe he is involved in starting this whole chaotic event!”

  “Mr. Chaffe, this event was started by the Iranians and the North Koreans. We know that, you know that. And some transmissions occurred last night, while Handele wasn’t even in the compound. Come clean with me, or me and my men will be leaving. You can come with us, or stay here and fight the growing number of looters set on taking this estate.”

  “Handele, let the others know we will be leaving within twenty-four. Use the Brutus protocol with our destination set as we determined yesterday.” Turning to Dean Chaffe, the major states sternly. “Black Boot Security rescinds its contract with you due to failure to cooperate in a time of extreme emergency; paragraph five, line four, not that there is any court system out there to dispute that.”

  “If anyone of your people wish to evacuate with us. Have their names to me within four hours and we will help coordinate what they can bring with them and how we will be moving. We will be taking with us any equipment we deem necessary as per paragraph five line six.” Without waiting for a response, Major Jeffers promptly turns and leaves the crest fallen titan of banking to ponder his fate in his ornate oak clad office.

  Chapter 32 New Deal

  Richland

  10/14

  What remains of my convoy pulls up to the front of the college’s main administration building. As usual, we are travelling heavily armed and have left two rally points with sufficient arms and men to handle almost any hostile situation. The remaining convoy with me consists of one old hummer, two farm trucks outfitted for patrol duty, an old van, transporting support people, and two vintage cars,. The large, but not too ornate building, sits in the middle of a sprawling campus of over one hundred acres that hosted over five thousand college students just a month ago.

  Today it looks more like a military post than a bastion of education. Several buildings have been burned out and are empty shells. Two buildings are cordoned off, with people keeping those housed in the buildings from leaving rather than keeping people out. They house the infectious sick, I am told. This place has a quarantine, not unlike our own quarantine areas we have set up, but they are filled with the stench of death. The campus, while free of chaos, is still filthy and cluttered. All the people we see are famished, starving, even their armed guards.

  My contingent, including Colonel Brit, the mayor of Central City, my brother, Paul, Dr. Dugan from our refugee center, and Reverend Wysinger, are led into a clean and well-appointed conference room. We are met by a short bespectacled man with long gray hair, along with several other men and woman, one being the police chief of Richland, another dressed in battle fatigues with captain’s insignia on the lapel.

  The gray haired man stands, walks over to me and shakes my hand with a broad smile. “I assume you are the infamous General Mays, the one legged demon dictator. I am professor Dombrosky. Pleased to meet you, General. Thank you for the food you sent us yesterday. My people are starving and it has gone a great distance in mending any ill will our people have for the altercation at the Funky Bear.”

  A bit bewildered, I thank him for the warm welcome, then continue. “We thought we were taking gas we traded for, unfortunately, Big Paulie duped us. We lost three people yesterday, and I am sure that you lost people too.”

  “We have lost too many people, Mark, is it okay for me to call you Mark?” He asks. I nod and he goes on. “The beef, potatoes and cabbage you sent as a peace offering more than offsets the loss of life. We have no food. We are losing people every day to starvation and disease. What you sent gave us hope and has filled the bellies of over a thousand people. Today is the happiest day on this campus since this started. People have been fed and now have hope.”

  I am astounded. Instead of being berated for his people who died, we are being congratulated for the people we saved. I guess, after seeing so many die, a glimmer of hope that they may live, is just cause for this man and his people to be forgiving.

  “I am glad we were able to help you all with the food we sent you. We would be glad to set up a barter system with you to provide more food. But I want to address one thing that puzzles me. You called me the demon dictator, why is that?” I ask.

  “Oh, general you should be honored to be called the demon dictator. It has become well known that your area is safe and secure, and that your people are benevolent and caring. So you must be demonized. You must be called the exact opposite of what you are. The punk leaders in this area cannot let their followers have hope. Therefore, you are a demon dictator and you will enslave or kill anyone who comes to your borders. But don’t be alarmed my new friend, the people know better. My people know where this food came from; Paulie’s people know where the food comes from. Which is why it is unfortunate that the confrontation happened yesterday. We have been desiring to contact you, but not in this fashion.”

  I laugh at his explanation. “Mirroring, charge that the opposition is doing exactly what you are doing, in the hope that the people don’t see the truth. It usually collapses under too many lies.

  “So you are a professor of economics. Do you espouse free trade or are you a believer in socialism, ‘From each according to their means, to each according to their needs.’ If I recall correctly, that is the core belief.”

  “I taught the greater good of socialism for many years, Mark. In four weeks of desperation, I have learned that it truly does not work. The only thing that has kept our people from starving to death is the limited bartering we have been able to do. I am open to your suggestions on a barter. We need food. What are you looking for that we can offer in trade?”

  “You have turned a new leaf, professor, because if you had demanded food for your people, just because we had it, we would have walked away,” I state. “I am a Christian first and foremost so I try to be generous and compassionate, but even in the New Testament, idlers are to be left to their own means if they are unwilling to take care of themselves. So I am glad to see you understand the need for tree trade.

  “First off, the captain here with his loaded M16A2 lets me know you hooked up with a well-armed and well supplied contingent that got out of the airport before it collapsed, or maybe afterward. An alliance will get you food for him and his men.”

  “Second, you have to have engineering and science professors. They can join up with my brother Paul, here, to help figure out solutions to problems we face.”

  “Third, if your people occupy Richland, you have a ton of stuff we want. Everything from the reams of paper that is in the Staples store, to machining equipment that is in some of the fabricating shops around town. I would be glad to barter with you, my new free trade friend.”

  We stay on the campus for another two hours. Dr. Dugan and some of our medical people meet with their medical people and ideas are exchanged for improving their situation. Paul is introduced to a f
ew of their better tech people and he helps them put a few practical solutions in place for clean water and heat. I meet with the captain of their guard and establish a good rapport. And so it goes as the beginnings of a new alliance is born. Before we leave, another food relief mission is heading towards the campus, and a contingent of their people are heading back to learn of our systems and our needs; to help set good barter system in place.

  As our convoy is about to leave, Paul jumps into the back seat of the big Galaxy 500 I am travelling in. Badzy follows him in and tries to fit in between me and my brother. Paul is beaming from ear to ear.

  “You got to see this, Mark! Have your people make the first left and the second right. This is a prayer answered little brother, this is a prayer answered.”

  Seeing the excitement in Paul’s eyes, I direct my driver to have the convoy follow Paul’s directions. “What’s up Paul?” I ask as the convoy begins the zigzag course Paul dictated.

  “They’re building a new wing on their engineering hall; a six story tall building. Your eyes are going to bug out at what is there,” Paul responds.

  I envision stacks of building materials, lumber, concrete blocks, steel, insulation and other items needed throughout our community. But as we turn the corner and the construction site comes into view I see why Paul is so happy.

  The convoy stops in the parking lot next to the engineering hall. A pair of young, haggard looking guards come over and ask us a few questions. Recognizing Paul, they are satisfied that we are not looters, they let us in to roam the site freely. There are pallets of lumber, stacks of steel beams, bales of insulation and all types of building supplies needed for such a large project. Some stored in the open, some under tarps or in large trailers.

  And, hanging seventy feet in the air is a large steel I beam. It moves ever so slowly in the gentle breeze blowing across the mountaintop. The beam hangs there securely strapped in by the union iron workers who handled it a month ago before it was hoisted into the air by the massive crane assigned to this job.