C
HAPTER
F
IVE
Firebase Freedom
Â
Although they still had the helicopter, fuel was now so short that neither Jake nor Bob, the only two pilots, were flying. In the eighteen months they had been here, though, Marcus still kept it in perfect flying condition, helped by both Willy and Deon. In the meantime they continued to make improvements inside the fort, which now had a large and productive garden with tomatoes, beans, peppers, cucumbers, lettuce, potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. Since they first arrived, they had managed to acquire some goats, which provided milk and goat cheese. Having made connections with others on the island, there was, through a system of barter and use of the Moqaddas money, a type of economy established, so that Pleasure Island, if not prospering, was surviving quite well.
It was night, and Jake was sitting on top of the south wall of the fort, looking out over the water. Karin came to join him, and sitting beside him, handed him a glass of lemonade.
“I thought you might like this,” she said.
“Thanks. But you know what I'd really like.”
“I know. You want a root beer.”
“Yeah. I don't know if anyone is even making root beer anymore. It kills me to think that I may never have another one.”
“Ahh, you were too hooked on those things anyway,” Karin said. “It'll do you good to go cold turkey.”
“Whoa, cold turkey? We're not talking about drug withdrawal here.”
“Why not? It's the same principle.”
Jake chuckled, then took a swallow of his lemonade. “Yeah, maybe you're right.” Lifting the glass, he pointed toward lights, out at sea. “I look at all those offshore rigs, and I wonder about them. Are they pumping oil? Oil and gas have started moving up on the mainland now.”
“Yes, but it's not that available, it cost a ton of money, and you have to show an ID card. Do you want to get an ID card, swearing that you have converted?”
“No, but some of the people down here on the island have. I don't blame them, though. If we had no access of any kind, we wouldn't have any sugar, or coffee, or half a dozen other things that we aren't able to do for ourselves.”
“That's true. But can you imagine what the people on the mainland are having to go through, even for the simplest necessities of life? Destroy pictures, and kill their dogs.”
“Ha, Bob wouldn't kill Charley if you pointed a gun at him and demanded it,” Jake said.
“I was talking to Ellen Varney. Did you know this is the second dog they've named Charley? She says that Bob told her that if England could have eight kings named Henry, he could have two dogs names Charley.”
“Bob is an interesting man,” Jake said. “He told me a good story about the Battle of Mobile Bay. Except for four, all the Union ships involved were wooden ships, but they were protected by chain mail hanging over the sides, and the shot and shell from the fort just bounced off of them. One of them, the
Brooklyn
, was struck seventy times, and didn't sink.”
“He knows a lot of history, doesn't he?”
“Ha! It's because he's so damn old that he's lived through it. Do you know he can remember, as a boy, knowing someone who actually fought in the Civil War? And he served in the army with someone who was the last World War I veteran to be on active duty. If we ever get bored, all we have to do is let him tell stories. Don't forget, that's what he did for a living.”
“How is he coming along with the Declaration of Independence he's writing?” Karin asked.
“I don't know, he hasn't let me see it yet. But I expect it'll be just about what we want, and need.”
“Declaration of Independence. That's quite a thing. Do you really think we'll ever actually be an independent country?”
“Yes. How viable we will be as a country, I don't know. But that isn't our primary goal. Our primary goal is to throw Ohmshidi and those towel-headed sons of bitches the hell out of here, and take back America.”
“You actually have confidence that we can do that?”
“I do. I mean, that's the whole point of this, isn't it? To take our country back?”
“How are we ever going to do that, Jake? You know as well as I do that Ohmshidi has access to every nuclear weapon this country had. I mean, if we started making too big of a problem for him, he could take care of us with just one nuke.”
“You think we should just give up because he has nukes?”
“I think we should be realistic about our chances.”
“What if someone had said that to George Washington? I mean, when you think about it, what chance did the Colonies have against England, in 1776?”
“Yeah? Well, England had to send troops 3,500 miles, and they didn't have a nuclear bomb,” Karin said.
Jake took another swallow of his lemonade. “Uh-huh, and the Colonies didn't have me to lead them,” he teased.
Karin laughed, and punched him playfully on the shoulder. “You know what you remind me of? You remind me of a mouse, floating down the river on his back, with an erection, shouting âRaise the draw bridge!'”
“Whoa now, that really hurts. Are you saying my pecker's the same size as a mouse's pecker?”
“Well, no, I do know better than that,” Karin said, and she leaned over to kiss him.
“Want to play around?” Jake asked after the kiss.
“Up here, on top of the wall?”
“No. But we could walk up the beach for a way, nobody would see us in the dark. It might be fun.”
“What would be fun about getting sand in the crack of your ass?”
“Wouldn't be my crack that got sand.”
“Yeah, it would. If you really want to do this, we're goin' to roll through the sand like tumbleweed. It's both of us, or no go.”
Jake chuckled, then stood up and reached down for her. “All right then, let's go. What's a little sand in your ass anyway?”
There was no moon, so it was quite dark on the beach, so dark that when then they were no more than a hundred yards away from the fort, it could no longer be seen. Jake stopped her, and they kissed again.
“This is far enough.”
“How do you know?”
“Look behind us. If we can't see the fort, nobody there can see us.”
“What if someone comes out for a moonlight stroll?”
“Haven't you noticed? There is no moon tonight. They would have to stumble over us to see us.”
Jake sat down on the sand and pulled Karin down with him.
“It's time to get some sand in our ass,” he said.
Karin laughed again. “I swear, Jake, you say the most romantic things.”
They stretched out on the sand as the waves crashed ashore.
C
HAPTER
S
IX
Dallas
Â
Sam Gelbman stood at the window in his office, looking out onto the terminal lot at the two eighteen-wheelers that were parked there.
The two eighteen-wheelers were all that remained of what had once been a fleet of as many as fifty trucks. Mid-American Trucking, the company Sam owned, once hauled freight between Dallas and cities all over the country, from Spokane, Washington, to Miami, Florida, and from Portland, Maine, to San Diego, California, and from Canada to Mexico. That all ended shortly after Ohmshidi took office and decreed that fossil fuels could no longer be used. Mid-American, like every other freight and passenger line, went bankrupt.
Sam did manage to hang on to two trucks in the hope and belief that at some point Ohmshidi would see the error of his policies, and fossil fuels would once again be allowed. That did happen, but it was almost too late, and now businesses all over the country were struggling hard to make a comeback.
Because Sam had managed to hang on to the two trucks, he was slowly beginning to rebuild a successful business. He remembered reading something once which stated that, “if all the money in America were to be confiscated and redistributed evenly, within a year those who had been rich would again be rich and those who had been poor would again be poor.”
Sam felt a sense of satisfaction in the belief that he was living proof of that declaration.
Recovery had not been easy, and it was still difficult. No matter how much money one had, the purchase of goods and services had to be accompanied by showing an ID card, proving that the customer had converted to Islam. But Sam and his wife were Jewish, and by decree of the government of the American Islamic Republic of Enlightenment, Jews were not allowed to convert to Islam. Instead, they were issued Jewish Infidel cards, which they had to show in order to buy anything. Once identified as such, they were charged a “Jewish Excise Tax” of one hundred percent, and that meant everything they bought cost twice as much for them as it did for other people.
That was not just for personal items, like food, clothing, and household appliances. It extended to his business as well, and Sam had to deal with crippling regulations and requirements.
He needed a Special Infidel Business License to do business. This cost three times as much as a business license did for non-Jews.
In addition to paying a one-hundred-percent Jewish Excise Tax on fuel for his personal vehicles, there was an additional hundred-percent tax on the fuel for his truck.
He was charged a commerce tax on everything that came through the store.
Despite all that, Sam's business was picking up, and he was thinking about adding another truck and another couple of employees. One of the drivers came into the office.
“Boss, we're pulling out now,” the driver said. “I'm headed for Kansas City, Buck is goin' to Memphis.”
“All right,” Sam said. “You two drive safely.”
“Hell, that's no problem,” the driver said.
“There ain't one tenth of the traffic on the road now that there used to be.”
Sam stood in the window and watched as the two drivers climbed into the cabs and started the engines. The rumbling roar of the big diesel engines had a reassuring sound, a sound that connected him with the “before time.” The trucks pulled out of the parking area, but almost immediately after they left, a car drove onto the lot. The car belonged not to the police, but to the SPS, and Sam felt a moment of apprehension.
His apprehension grew when the two men in the car got out and started toward the office. These weren't just SPS men, they were Janissaries, and Sam knew that the Janissaries were particularly hostile to Jews. He watched them approach, wondering if he should try and leave through the back door so as to avoid them. He knew, though, that he couldn't avoid them forever, so he waited, nervously, until they came inside. Though they were wearing identical uniforms, the insignias on their epaulets were different, and Sam could only assume that meant that one was higher in rank than the otherâthough as he had purposely avoided any study of the SPS or the Janissaries, he had no idea what the ranks were.
The two men made fists of their right hands, and folded their arms across their chests, putting their fists over their hearts.
“Obey Ohmshidi,” one of them said.
Awkwardly, self-consciously, Sam repeated the gesture. “Obey Ohmshidi,” he said. “May I help you gentlemen?”
“We're looking for the Jew that owns this business,” the taller of the two men said. He also seemed to have more hardware on his epaulets, so Sam decided he must be the higher rank.
“I'm Sam Gelbman.”
“Gelbman, this is for you.” The tall man handed him an envelope.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“Read it, and comply.” The two men left without a further word, and Sam pulled out the document to read. The first line he read caused him to get an empty sensation in the pit of his stomach, and he walked back over to his desk to sit down and read it more slowly.
Decree on the Registration of the Property of Jews
Effective immediately, all Jews are required to value their assets (foreign and domestic) and register them if their value is in excess of 500 Moqaddas. All real estate, to include houses, business buildings, and unimproved land holdings, will be confiscated without compensation. Effective this date, no Jew may enter into a sales contract for any property, as a means of avoiding the requirements of this document. The regulations adopted pursuant to this order shall prohibit all further economic activity of Jews except for such activity as is required to purchase food, those purchases to be made at
Moqaddas Sirataâ
compliant stores only.
In addition, all Jewish businesses shall be put under government control with the goal of sale to Muslims with a substantial portion of the sale price going to the government.
Jews may be retained to work in their former businesses, but at a fixed salary, with no profit incentive.
If he were to be honest with himself, Sam would have to say that this decree didn't come as a great surprise. The sign in his yard, the graffiti scratched into the side of his car, and the fact that longtime friends, though they didn't join in with the harassment, were beginning to avoid him, told him all he needed to know about where things were going.
Sam's grandfather had been a survivor of the Nazi concentration camps, and Sam remembered, vividly, the ID number stenciled on his uncle's arm. The Nazis had turned an unreasonable hatred of Jews into their core principle. But Americans, he knew, had never had an official policy of anti-Semitism, and though there was a history of animosity between Muslims and Jews, he couldn't see that spreading into a national policy.
Neither one of Sam's drivers was Jewish, but he knew that they liked and respected him, and would do anything for him. And as long as there were men and women like that, he wasn't going to let this flare-up of anti-Jewish activity bother him. He was sure that goodness would prevail, and this would pass.
He looked again at the decree that had been given him.
But until it did pass, he knew that he, and all the other Jews in the country, were going to be in for a rough time.
Â
Boston, Massachusetts
Â
A sign in front of the building announced, proudly, that this was one of the oldest Christian churches in America. It was a Sunday morning, and several determined souls were walking to the morning worship service, walking instead of driving, for not one of them had made the conversion necessary to allow them the privilege of buying fuel. The reverend Al Stokes stood in front of the church, welcoming his parishioners as they arrived.
“Brother David, Sister Elizabeth, welcome,” Stokes said.
“Good morning, Pastor. Beautiful morning, isn't it?”
“Yes, it is a manifestation of the glory of God.”
“Have Elmer and Ann arrived yet?” David asked.
“Indeed they have, they are already inside.”
“Good. They promised to sing in the choir today and I just wanted to make certain that Elmer didn't back out.”
Stokes chuckled. “You be sure and hang on to them. We need all the singers we can get.”
At that moment the friendly conversation between the pastor, David, and Elizabeth was interrupted as three vans drove up, screeching to a stop in front of the church. The other arriving parishioners were startled by the intrusion of the vans and they looked toward them in surprise and apprehension. The doors opened and a dozen armed men, wearing the uniforms of the State Protective Service, poured out.
“Here, what is this? What are you men . . .” one of the worshipers called out to the SPS but he was unable to finish the question because he was shot down.
There were screams after the first shot, and the screams and shouts grew louder as the men in uniform continued shooting indiscriminately, their weapons on full automatic, into the crowd of churchgoers. Several went down with bleeding wounds, including women and children.
“Here!” the pastor shouted, not running from the armed men, but toward them. “What are you doing? This is a house of God!”
“This is a house of heresy,” the leader of the attack squad shouted back.
“How dare you?” the pastor said, angrily.
“Grab him,” the chief of the SPS group shouted, and two men grabbed the minister.
Other SPS officers approached the church then, and, directing flame throwers toward the building, quickly had it enveloped in flames.
“No!” the pastor called. “There are people in there!”
A television crew had arrived with the SPS squad, and they were filming the church as it was consumed by flames. From inside the church people could be heard screaming in terror. As the people in the church ran outside to escape the flames, they were shot down by the SPS troopers. A crowd of citizens had also gathered to watch, and they were almost evenly divided between those who shouted for the destruction of the church, and those who were lamenting the deed.
As the flames leaped higher into the air, the leader of the SPS group signaled to have the pastor brought to him.
“Put him on his knees,” the leader ordered, and the two men who were holding him forced him down.
“Renounce your heretical religion and pay homage to Allah,” the leader demanded.
“Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior,” Stokes said.
The leader took a long bladed knife from his belt, then proceeded to cut off the preacher's head. It wasn't a clean, brisk stroke, but a series of sawing actions which spewed blood, and elicited shouts of horror from the onlookers. Finally the head was severed from the body and, smiling, the SPS leader held it up by the hair. Bone and gristle protruded down from the neck, dripping blood in an almost solid stream.
“Death to all who would violate the new order!” the SPS leader shouted.
Â
Â
Much later that same day, on TV receivers all across the country, the evening news started. The program began with a full-screen shot of the new national flag, White, with a wide red bar running from the top of the banner to the bottom. There was a white circle in the middle of the red bar, and in the middle of that white circle, a green letter “O” enclosing wavy blue lines which represented clean water, over which was imposed a stylized green plant.
The words A
MERICAN
E
NLIGHTENED
T
RUTH
T
ELEVISION
were keyed onto the screen, replaced by the words O
BEY
O
HMSHIDI,
then a reverent voiceover intoned the opening lines.
“All praise be to Allah, the merciful. Whomsoever Allah guides there is none to misguide, and whomsoever Allah misguides there is none to guide. You must live your life in accordance with the Moqaddas Sirata, the Holy Path. Those who do will be blessed. Those who do not will be damned.
“You are watching the American Enlightened Truth Television network. And now, our National Anthem.”
As the music played, the national flag of the AIRE fluttered in the background, but superimposed over the letter “O” was Ohmshidi's face. It remained prominent as the music began to play, the words sung by an all-male chorus.
American Islamic Republic of Enlightenment
Our people loyal and true
To Ohmshidi our leader
We give all honor to you.
Glory to our great leader
May he remain right and strong
The party of the faithful
Ohmshidi to lead us on!
In Moqaddas Sirata
We see the future of our dear land
And to the Ohmshidi banner,
In obedience shall we stand!
Glory to our great leader
May he remain right and strong
The party of the faithful
Ohmshidi to lead us on