by Joe Nobody
“That’s not entirely accurate, General,” chimed in DA Gibson. “Our government is constitutionally elected and completely legitimate. The previous governor’s term expired in November. By rule of law, the state was in violation of our founding document. This administration is entirely within the law.”
Bishop didn’t give the general a chance to respond, “Besides, General, we’re not asking you to swear any allegiance. We’re asking you to surrender and avoid causalities.”
“What! What in God’s name are you talking about, Bishop? Are you mad? Why, just one of my tanks could roll right out that front gate and wipe your forces from the face of the earth. I have over 200 of the most potent war machines on the planet, son. I’ve got 24,000 fighting men to back them up.”
“Yes, that’s correct… you could. We wouldn’t stand a chance against your forces. But how long can you last, General? We know you’re running low on food, fuel… just about everything. If it comes to a fight, you know we’re not going to let any trucks in. There’s no way you can be resupplied from the air – so how long can your current situation last?”
The General’s face turned red, and he threw his hands into the air. “This is ridiculous!” Pointing his finger around the table, he pushed back. “You know what I should do? I should roll right out here and confiscate this food. I should then send men into your towns and liberate both the people and the supplies that are found. That’s what I should do. The Alliance of West Texas - my ass.”
Nick grunted, his voice cool and calm. “We anticipated that might be your reaction, sir. Let me advise against that course of action. We are over 100,000 people strong. Every last man and woman will fight you to the death. We will burn our food and fuel before we let you take it. You can’t win that fight. Our forces will fade into the desert and hide, waiting until your tanks run out of go-juice and ammo. We’ll scorch the earth in front of you and harass your lines of supply. You’ll accomplish nothing but extreme loss of life on both sides.”
“You’re bluffing, and son, I don’t bluff.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, General. We know your men are deserting at a rapid pace. Many of them have already joined us. They tell us of rationing, canceled training exercises due to a fuel shortage and zero supply trucks entering the gate. Morale is already low, General. Ordering your men to kill their fellow Americans isn’t going to improve that fact. On the other side, our people are strong, happy, and moving forward. Our survivors are tough-minded people who see a chance at a better life. We’re organized and prepared to make any invader pay. We’ll make what the Russians experienced in Afghanistan look like a trip to Disney World if you deploy against us.”
Terri stood, her expression demanding the floor. “I don’t like all this talk of fighting and killing. General, I gave my word no harm would come to you, and we’ve said all we have to say. You’ve heard our proposal. Please take a few days and think it over. If you wish to surrender, you can send a message to our HAM radio operators. In the meantime, as a gesture of our sincere appreciation for all you’ve done for Bishop and me, and as a sign of our goodwill, please accept those trailers of food. My driver will return you to the gate.”
Shaking his head, the General stood and looked from face to face one last time. Without another word, he strode to the camper’s door and exited.
As he drove off, Nick exited behind him and issued orders for the semis to be unhooked from the trailers and for everyone to prepare to move out.
A few minutes later, General Westfield exited the golf cart and marched toward the front gate. Two majors and a colonel had joined the waiting crowd, more curious than anything.
“What was that all about, sir?” asked the base commander’s aide.
“Major, when was the last time a general in the United States Army surrendered without firing a shot?”
