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Authors: Phoenix Rising

BOOK: William W. Johnstone
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“What is it? What did I say?” Karin asked.
“Think about it,” Jake said.
Karin thought for a moment; then she shook her head. “Oh, wow,” she said. “Am I really that dumb? If there is a total breakdown, none of that will matter, will it?”
“My skill is the way I spent my youth,” Jake said. “I never rode in an automobile until I was eighteen years old. You went to Lancaster with me, you know what my life was like. I was raised without electricity, without running water, without telephone, radio, or television. We farmed with mules, and what the mules couldn't do, we did with our bare hands and muscle. The first time I ever sat in an aircraft was when I went to flight school. I know how to live in a world that never even entered the twentieth century, let alone the twenty-first century.”
“When we went to Pennsylvania for you to visit your family, I confess that I felt a little sorry for those people, dressed in plain clothes and riding around in a horse and buggy,” Karin said. “I thought of how deprived they are. But now it holds a strange attraction for me. I could almost see myself living that life.”
“Under circumstances like we are facing today, yes, the Life is very seductive,” Jake said.
Karin smiled. “Seductive,” she said. “Yes, you were very masculine, very seductive in your plain clothes.”
“Who seduced who?” Jake asked, returning her smile.
“That isn't fair. You can't blame me. I was disoriented, not thinking straight, discombobulated.”
“Really? You mean you just tolerated me in bed?”
“I had to. You outrank me,” Karin teased.
“So, you will do anything I order you to do?”
Karin leaned into him, shut her eyes, and raised her lips to his, but stopping just short of a kiss.
“Captain Dawes, reporting for duty, sir,” she mumbled.
Jake did not close the distance between their lips. Puzzled, Karin opened her eyes and looked at him.
“Haven't you heard? We are an all-volunteer army now,” Jake said. “If we go any further, you are going to have to volunteer.”
“Shut up and kiss me—sir,” Karin said, pressing her lips against his.
“I need you, Karin,” Jake said. “I don't think I've ever needed you more than I need you at this moment.”
Karin stood, then started toward the bedroom. “Give me a moment.”
“Make it a quick moment,” Jake replied, his voice husky with desire.
C
HAPTER
T
EN
Base hospital, Fort Rucker—Monday, June 18
“Captain Dawes?”
Looking up from her computer, on which she was filing a report, Karin saw Sergeant Julie Norton. Julie was a clerk in the office of the hospital commander.
“Yes, Sergeant Norton,” Karin said, smiling at the young black woman. Julie was twenty-two years old and two years earlier, had been first runner-up in the Miss Georgia beauty contest.
“I thought you might like to know that Colonel Chambers just died,” Julie said in a sad voice.
“I was afraid of that,” Karin said. “He beat the infection, but then pneumonia set in, and he couldn't beat that. Pneumonia is hard to fight when you are young and strong. His body was weak; I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did.”
“Yes, ma'am. The doctor said the only reason he lasted as long as he did was because of the way you took care of him,” Julie said.
“It's a shame,” Karin said. “He was such a fascinating old man. And so pleasant.”
“Did you know he listed you as his next of kin?” Julie asked.
“What? No, I had no idea. Why would he do something like that?”
“I don't know, either. Maybe it's because he doesn't have anyone else. I pulled his records after the doctor told me he had died, just like I do for everyone when they are being released, either discharged, or by dying. His wife died last year and their only son was killed in Vietnam.”
“Oh, what a lonely man he must have been,” Karin said.
“He left this letter for you.”
Julie handed a sealed envelope to Karin. Opening it, she removed the letter. Despite the colonel's age, the penmanship was bold and very legible.
Dear Captain Dawes,
I want to thank you for the loving care you gave me during my time here in the hospital. The sad thing is, I know I will not survive this stay. It is not sad for me. I have lived more than my prescribed years, and I am ready to shuffle off this mortal coil. But it may be sad for you, because you invested so much of your time and effort in tending to an old man.
As you may already know from a perusal of my records, I was at Bastogne in December of 1944. I was a company commander for one of the forward units. The German commander sent a note to General McAuliffe demanding the surrender of the Americans. The general sent back a note that angered the German commander, and the German commander threw that note away.
I found that note and have kept it ever since. I am leaving that note to you.
Sincerely,
Garrison J. Chambers
Col U.S. Army (ret)
Karin looked back into the envelope and saw another piece of paper, folded into a square, the paper browning.
“Oh, my God, this can't be real,” Karin said.
Karin removed the brown piece of paper, then opened it up. There were only nine words written on the paper, only one of which was the body of the note. But that one word had come down through American history as a symbol of duty, honor, and country.
To the German Commander
 
NUTS!
 
From the American Commander
The Dunes, Fort Morgan, Alabama—Monday, June 18
Bob Varney was standing on the beach looking out at the now deserted offshore gas drilling rigs. Until Ohmshidi halted all domestic drilling, the rigs were ablaze with lights each night as for twenty-four hours a day, every day; they pumped gas from the rich deposits just off the Alabama Gulf Coast. Now the rigs were dark and deserted.
Charley was busily digging up sand crabs. When he found one he would jerk it up out of the hole, then throw it. More often than not he would watch the crab scurry away quickly, then go to another hole to start the process all over again.
“Nothing has changed for you, has it, Charley Dog? As far as you are concerned, your world is still Ellen, me, this beach, and the sand crabs. You're not worried that I'm not writing anymore, or that my Army retirement and Social Security checks have stopped.”
Charley came over to Bob and reared up, putting his front two feet on Bob's legs. Bob reached down and rubbed him behind the ears for a moment.
“Go find another crab,” he said, and Charley took off on his mission.
Although normally at this time of the year the beach would be crowded with summer people, it was empty now. Bob wasn't surprised. Vacations cost money and with the cost of gasoline today—that is, when you could even find gasoline—it would be prohibitive for any family to make the long drive.
There were twenty-two houses in The Dunes compound. The houses that sat right on the beach were all huge, multimillion-dollar homes. Normally rented in the summer time, they were all empty now, as was every other house in The Dunes, except for the three houses that were occupied by permanent residents. Bob was a permanent resident and his house was on the third row, approximately three hundred yards from the beach.
In addition to the houses, there were two seven-story condominiums, The Dunes and The Indies. Not one unit in either of the two large condominiums was occupied. One mile farther down was Fort Morgan, an historic old fort that was built just after the War of 1812.
Bob turned toward the surf and shouted at the top of his voice. “It is I, Robinson Crusoe. Where is everyone?”
Charley came running back to him and looked up with a quizzical expression on his face.
“You think I'm losing my mind, do you, Charley Dog?” Bob asked. He shook his head. “No, I'm not losing my mind. I'm just losing my will.
“My will to what? Survive? No, I'll not lose my will to survive. I survived three combat tours as a helicopter pilot in Vietnam. If I could deal with long strings of green tracer rounds coming toward me, to say nothing of air-bursting flak, then I can damn well deal with what we are facing now.
“I think.
“Come on, Charley, I'm tired of walking. Be a good dog and lay a couple of turds for me so we can head back to the house.”
Almost as if responding to Bob's request, Charley hunkered down to do his business. Once completed, he looked at his deposit as if proud of it, then came over to Bob to await the treat that was his reward for performance. Bob gave him a treat, then dug a hole in the sand and pushed Charley's effort into it. He used to pick it up in a plastic bag, then drop the bag in the trash can, but that was when Baldwin County was still picking up trash.
Due to fuel concerns
, the letter from Baldwin County waste disposal said,
we will no longer be making our regular trash pickup. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.
“You apologize,” Bob said when he got the notice. “Well, as long as you apologize, I'm sure it will be all right.”
They walked back on the boardwalk between the USA and Dreamweaver houses to the golf cart that was parked on the road. Charley ran to the cart, then jumped up on the seat.
Seeing Charley do this, exactly as he had done for the last ten years, Bob felt a lump in his throat. How he envied Charley's ignorance of the fact that everything was coming down around them.
He glanced at his watch. If he was going to get back home in time to watch George Gregoire, he was going to have to hurry.
Hello, America.
Last Friday we heard Mehdi Ohmshidi take the unprecedented act of declaring himself dictator of this nation. He did this with something called “the Enabling Act.” Let me give you a history lesson. On March 23, 1933, the German Reichstag met in Berlin to consider passing a law that would end democracy in Germany, and establish the legal dictatorship of Adolph Hitler. This act was called the Enabling Act. It did pass, Hitler became dictator of Germany, and we all know what happened.
Is it just ironic coincidence that Ohmshidi chose the same name?
But, not to worry. The Enabling Act is clearly a violation of the United States Constitution, so the Supreme Court will overturn it. Right?
Not so fast. We now know that within moments after Ohmshidi made his announcement Friday night, the Supreme Court did meet in emergency session to consider the constitutionality of this new law.
What did they decide?
They decided nothing. They couldn't decide because before they even convened, federal agents descended upon the Supreme Court and took every justice of the Supreme Court into what is being called protective custody.
Who did this ?
Not the FBI, not the CIA, not the Homeland Security. By dictatorial fiat, those agencies no longer exist. No, the arresting officers, we are told, belong to the newly organized agency, the State Protective Service.
A spokesman for the SPS has stated that the justices are not under arrest, but have been moved to an undisclosed site for their own safety. While there, the spokesman added, the justices will participate in a conference during which the details of the Enabling Act will be discussed.
America, we are seeing, before our very eyes, the total destruction of our republic. Misguided voters, thinking it would be cool to vote a naturalized American into office, flocked to the polls to show the rest of the world what an unbiased and open-minded nation we are. They voted for this man without really knowing anything about him.
And now, we are about to pay the piper.
The telephone rang and Ellen answered it.
“Hello? Oh, Tim, hi, sweetheart. Yes, he's here. Okay, just a minute.”
Ellen brought the phone over to Bob. “Tim wants to talk to you,” she said.
“Hello, Tim, what's up?” Bob asked.
“You were right, Dad,” Tim said. His voice was low and obviously strained.
“Right about what?”
“About everything,” Tim said. “How could I have ever been such a fool to vote for this man?”
“If it is any consolation to you, you aren't the only one. He is president because more people voted for him than against him. That's the way democracy works. Or at least, that is the way it used to work. After his Enabling Act, and some of the other things he's done, I don't know.”
“Dad, I've pulled all your money out of the market,” Tim said. “Mine too.”
“Why?”
“I've been in this business for ten years,” Tim said. “I can read the signs. The way things are going, the stock market isn't going to last another year. I'm not sure it's going to last another month.”
“But the market keeps going up,” Bob said.
“Yes, it keeps going up, but the real value is plummeting. I'm going to do an electronic transfer of the money to your bank.”
“How much is it?”
Tim chuckled. “It's a little over one and a half million,” he said.
“Whoa, that's pretty good, isn't it? Last time I checked it was a little under three hundred thousand.”
“I wish I could say that it was good, but the only thing it means is that money is losing its value faster than we can keep track.”
“Tim, wait, don't do an electronic transfer,” Bob said. “I won't be able to get it out of the bank. I can't draw out any more than ten thousand dollars at a time.”
Tim laughed. “You haven't been keeping up, have you?”
“What do you mean?”
“The banks are no longer observing that limit. The value of the dollar has decreased so far that the FDIC insurance is virtually worthless now. That means that, though the Fed still has authority over the banks, they no longer have any leverage. The banks can do whatever they want and it doesn't matter.”
“Tim, you know how far we are from town. Tell me truthfully, is the money even worth going into town for?”
“I don't know, Dad. I wish I could answer that. But if I were you, I would go into town and take it out, then buy as much as you can with it. The more you have in real property, such as food, bottled water, fuel, anything you can think of that you might need—and that you can actually find on the market—the better off you will be. The problem now is there are less and less goods and services still available.”
“How are you doing?” Bob asked. “I mean, you are a broker, if the stock market really is going to go belly up, where does that leave you?”
Tim laughed, but it was a harsh, humorless laugh. “Dad, it leaves me in the same boat as everyone else in the country—up shit creek without a paddle.”
“Are you, Pam, and Jack going to be all right?”
“You remember that place we bought on Lake of the Ozarks?”
“Yes.”
“I've filled the SUV with survival gear. There's fresh water and game there. We're heading there tomorrow.”
“Keep in touch with us,” Bob said.
“I will for as long as I can,” Tim said.
“You better talk to your mom now,” Bob said. “You don't have to repeat all this. I'll fill her in on it later.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Bob handed the phone over to Ellen. “He wants to talk to you,” he said.
Because Ellen had been listening to one side of the conversation, she knew that whatever it was wasn't pleasant, and her voice broke when she took the phone. “Hello?”

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