One Year After: A Novel (29 page)
He took a deep breath, held the letter up, and tore it in half. “I refuse to comply.”
And now the room did erupt, some coming to their feet cheering, others cursing him, crying that he was a coward, others that he was damning their families to hardship, others shouting that he was a traitor, and yet others that he was a patriot standing up to a bureaucrat trying to turn the community against itself so that he could sneak in after John was gone and assert control.
Throughout it all, John stood silent, as if waiting for a firing squad to do the deed and end his misery. He kept his eyes fixed on his family, on Makala with tears of pride for him in her eyes, and on Elizabeth, as well, and Jen, who nodded approval, and poor little Ben wailing in fearful distress over the uproar of the adults around him.
Finally, it was Reverend Black stepping forward, holding his hands up and shouting for silence so John could explain his reasons for his decision.
“Thank you, Richard,” John whispered, turning again to face the group. “You have the right to know my reasoning for my decision since it directly affects fifty-seven families in our community.”
“You’re damn straight we have a right to know!” someone shouted, but the rest of the gathering hushed the voice of protest.
John nodded his thanks and cleared his throat. “More than three decades ago, I gladly decided to serve my country and swore my oath to defend the Constitution of the United States. In that time, even when I disagreed with the decisions of my supreme commander, I nevertheless followed all orders, because they were moral orders, fitting within our Constitution and the military code of justice.
“I will admit here publicly for the first time that I hold our so-called federal director in Asheville, Dale Fredericks, in disdain, and from the first time we met, I felt uneasy about his ability to hold such an important position.”
So it was out in public, at last. Makala actually smiled and gave him an encouraging thumbs-up.
“I welcomed the concept that our national government was coming back into power to reunify our nation after the most deadly blow inflicted upon any nation in modern times. When a battalion of our army came to this area a year ago, we greeted them with open arms and found in them so many of the traditions that had once bonded our country together. I had hoped for the same after they shipped out to Texas, and I went to meet the federal administrator who came to Asheville. I hoped his arrival was a clear indicator that our nation was finally coming back together, the first steps in what we all want—national recovery.
“Instead, I have come to disdain and loathe Fredericks. I saw far too many like him in the halls of power before the Day. Nevertheless, at the start, I felt I must accept his authority, which can be a tough decision for any man or woman at times, but the guiding principle was always the code I lived under as an officer and the same code I tried to teach some of you as students on this campus. It comes down to a profound question: Are the orders I receive lawful orders, and beyond even temporal law or the laws of Caesar, as some define that, are the orders given to me moral orders?
“Over the last week, I have reached the conclusion he lacks that moral authority, and sadly, by extension, I must include in that now those who appointed him to his post. They are not lawful orders, and most certainly they are not moral orders.
“The orders that this Mr. Fredericks attempted to impose on me and our community this morning are in violation of the traditions of military law—to turn over prisoners who had not just been captured in the field of action but had actually come to us for compassionate aid for noncombatants, placing themselves under our protection. That order I could not abide with and accept.
“If that were the only issue, I might still have accepted this juggling act of what should be apparent to all as an opening move of outright bribery to remove me as a troublesome thorn in the federal administrator’s side—that if I enlisted, half of you would be exempt from federal service.
“Can you not see the hand moving behind this? Exemption for how long? I did ask that question the first time it was raised, and the answer was vague. A day? A week? A month or a year? Anyone capable of such sleight of hand I do not trust to hold to his word, and I suspect the rest of you would be drafted, anyhow, once I am gone. It is a game as ancient as recorded history. Promote a troublesome thorn up and out of the way if you cannot crush him, and then, once gone, impose whatever was planned in the first place. I refuse to play that game even though it was a decision that my action will result in twice as many of you being called to national service.
“I am not saying this as some sort of justification to cover my own personal decision. But how many of you now honestly believe that Fredericks will keep his word? What will prevent him, a week after I and the first contingent are gone, from sending out draft notices to those who stayed behind—or, for that matter, draft notices for two hundred more—and in so doing strip our community clean not just of our able-bodied defense force but even our ability to provide ourselves with a proper harvest this fall, thus forcing us onto the federal weal in meek submission to its authority?”
There were many nods of agreement now with that argument.
“But that is not my main reason for refusal,” John quickly continued. “I assume most of you know of some means of accessing outside news. In the last few weeks, there have been reports via the BBC but noticeably lacking from Voice of America of a major offensive action to wipe out the gangs, similar to the Posse that controls Chicago. Several days back, the BBC reported that an entire battalion of the ANR was overrun, at least a hundred taken prisoner and later that day executed either by crucifixion or were hurled to their deaths from the top of the Sears Tower, which seems to be a favorite method of death for the madman Samuel who is running that place.
“In a tragic way, it should come as no shock, given what we faced at the Old Fort pass with the Posse who murdered thousands in a single day. But there is one key difference in our time of crisis. We had at least some time to train and prepare for their arrival and fought as a coordinated team as a citizen army. Those of you with prewar military service, or maybe some of you who studied military history, know that the total annihilation of a battalion of eight hundred or more of our troops on the field of battle has not happened in more than fifty years—and even then, it occurred when faced by well-trained and disciplined troops, such as the enemy faced in the Ia Drang Valley in 1965, the Chosin Reservoir in 1950, and the Bulge in 1944.
“I found that report profoundly disturbing. It tells me that this so-called ANR is being thrown into combat without proper training or leadership. I refuse to participate in a system that treats the young survivors of the Day as if they are cannon fodder. If anything, after all we have lost, each and every life of our young men and women should be held in even higher value—and if sent in harm’s way, it should only be done out of most dire necessity and when they are properly trained and equipped to do so.”
He paused.
“I was suspicious from the start that an entity other than our branch of arms with centuries of tradition behind it was being formed. It reminds me too much of some other paramilitary organizations from the past, and the type of results witnessed here and reported by the BBC prove it.
“Second, it was also announced that the secretary of National Reorganization has received an executive order from the president releasing the use of nuclear weapons, so-called neutron bombs, for use on our own soil. The diplomatic threat is clear to our neighbors in Mexico and to the Chinese occupying our West Coast. Whether we buy their line that their presence is strictly humanitarian or not, the threat is clear—and with it the threat of an escalation to a second use of nuclear weapons in the wake of the bitter retaliations and counterretaliations after the first EMP attack.
“I cannot condone the use of nuclear weapons by our government on our own soil unless some other entity uses such weapons against us first. That convention on our part has existed for over half a century, the same way we have never used gas since the end of the First World War. With those factors in mind, I shall inform the administrator in Asheville that I will not accept my draft notice and refuse to report.”
He forced a smile. “Since, in the eyes of this so-called federal government,” he said, and there was a stirring in the room as to his choice of describing the government in Bluemont as
so-called
, “I am now, by their definition, an outlaw, the same as Forrest Burnett. Therefore, as of this moment, I am resigning as a member of the town council, resigning as military head of our self-defense force. I am retiring to private life and there shall await the results of my decision. It has been an honor to serve my community these last two years. I have tried my best for all of you.”
He lowered his voice, struggling for control. “I ask forgiveness for any of the mistakes I made and for your prayers for guidance in the days to come. I thank you for all that you have done, the way you rallied together in the time of darkness, and I pray, as a hero of mine, Winston Churchill, once promised in the darkest days of his time, that ‘broad sunlit uplands’ are ahead for all of you. God bless you all.”
He stepped away from the podium and walked off the stage to where his family waited in the front pew, the three most important women in his life up on their feet to embrace him, and together, with Elizabeth carrying a now sleeping Ben, they walked down the main aisle.
And together with his family, he walked out of the church. In silence, all got into the car for the short drive back to their home in the valley of Montreat.
He helped Elizabeth tuck Ben into bed while Makala helped Jen, the two of them whispering behind a closed door. John went out to his usual place to sit, pray, and meditate, picking up Rabs on the way out. He gazed down at Jennifer’s grave. “I hope I did the right thing, pumpkin. I hope you approve.”
DAY 747
This is BBC News. It is 3:00 a.m., Greenwich War Time.
It was announced today by the American federal government based in Bluemont, Virginia, that a single neutron bomb was detonated over Chicago. The extent of physical damage to that already largely destroyed city is unknown, and there are no reports of casualties. The administration spokesperson stated that after the murder of several hundred prisoners taken from an ANR battalion sent there to suppress lawlessness and other depravations by the alleged leader of the city, who calls himself Samuel the Great, there was no choice left to the government other than to employ a tactical nuclear weapon.
There has been global condemnation. A spokesperson for the People’s Republic of China forcefully declared that the Chinese presence on the West Coast of the United States is for humanitarian reasons only, and it sees the use of a neutron bomb against one’s own people as a direct threat to China. The spokesperson in Beijing further declared that any use of such weapons in proximity to Chinese personnel within the continental United States will be construed as an attack upon all of China and result in a full retaliation. The Mexican government appealed to the Chinese government for support if such a weapon is used anywhere within, and I quote, “the former states of Texas, Arizona, and New Mexico,” end quote.
A message now for our friends in Ottawa and Montreal: “By the waters of Babylon.” I repeat, “By the waters of Babylon.”
* * *
A
general town meeting had been called for down in the park the day after the meeting at the chapel, a meeting that John had not attended. It was one aspect of his former duties of which he was definitely glad to be relieved. No more meetings!
He had come to dread them even as a junior officer, and though he truly loved his job as a professor, he dreaded just as much the interminably long faculty meetings and other committee meetings. An old mentor of his had wisely told him long ago that the more trivial the issue, the more it would be fought out in a meeting.
Makala, still part of the town council, had attended, along with Elizabeth, while John actually luxuriated in pulling down a copy of William Manchester’s masterful biography of Winston Churchill,
The Wilderness Years
. The choice was a comforting one for guidance, and he had enjoyed the nearly four hours of solitude. For the first time since the beginning of spring planting, he had been able to relax. Jen had tiptoed out quietly several times, asking if he wanted some tea or a salad from the first greens of spring, though the salad was heavy with the pungent scent of ramps, and for the sake of politeness, he had accepted, picking at the salad while Jen settled into a chair to catch the early evening warmth and dozed off.
He looked at her lovingly. Makala was not her daughter; Mary, his first wife, had been her only child. In a way, Ben and Elizabeth were her only real blood kin in this world now, but even as Makala had come into the family, she had embraced the “intruder” with a warm, loving heart, the same way she had once embraced an uncouth New Jersey Yankee as her son-in-law.
John could sense that she did not have much longer with them.
She had always lived as a graceful, elegant Southern woman from something of a different age of genteel society. She was a bit of a paradox in that she had run the family business, the local Ford agency, with a hard-nosed, brilliant edge, and as for the culture she’d lived in long ago, she was proud to say that as a young woman, she and her husband had helped finance a bus from Asheville to participate in the famed March on Washington back in 1963. Their business had been boycotted, falling nearly to half of what it had been the year before, and when recounting it to John years later, she laughed that those who had boycotted her then were the loudest to proclaim they had supported her all along not long afterward.
So she was drifting away, dozing in the sunlight, radiating such a sense of calmness that John finally set the book down on the floor by his side and drifted off into dreamless sleep, as well.