“…because she’s a woman….”

Election Day, 2016. America missed the bullet, literally. Had HRC won the presidency we probably would be ducking bullets right now. Why? Because America–as I’ve heard President Trump say twice–“will never become a socialist country.” Would HRC have dumped socialism on us? Maybe not immediately but change would have begun very quickly, and she–and her minions–would have gone after our guns very quickly.
When Election Day, 2020, gets here, remember this story. HRC very likely will NOT be a part of it but right now there are at least 10 HRC-wannabes.
Here is a 10,000-word fictional look at what might have happened.
The entire text follows the cover, or click on the free preview and buy for $0.99.

America Gets Her First Woman President

“…because she’s a woman….”

Copyright 2016 by James W. Nelson

Dedicated to all patriotic Americans who love America

“If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—forever.”

 “Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing.”

― George Orwell, 1984

“One believes things because one has been conditioned to believe them.”

“…most men and women will grow up to love their servitude and will never dream of revolution.”
― Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

America Gets Her First Woman President

****

The phone alarm Ronald hoped he would never hear went off. Like the ancient electric alarm clock, he knew that buzzing would never stop until he stopped it, or, in this case, answered the phone. He rolled to his right, away from his sleeping wife, grabbed the cussed thing, “Yeah? What?”

“They’re kicking doors in, Ronald.”

“What? Who?”

“I don’t know! The men-in-black! The new world order! The government! I don’t fuckin’ know!”

“Alright, Maurice, just try to calm down. Who told you?”

“I am calm—my goddamned contact called me—just like I’m calling you!”

A few profanities were let loose, then, “They’re still in the north part of town…so he said, but I’m gettin’ out right now, and I suggest you do the same.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Good Christ—do what the fuck you want!”

With that the call ended. So, what now? They lived in the center of good ol suburban apple pie America, miles from any kind of hiding place, and what were they to do when they got to a hiding place? How could they live?

The worst, they were told—well, not told, exactly but highly, highly, suggested—NOT to use cell phones in their communications. But they did anyway. Most got a special untraceable cell phone, but were they really untraceable? Damn good question. So now—if they were traceable—whoever was kicking in doors had the digital signal of how many people? When they had their few meetings, when they discussed the possibility of…this, happening, how many took it seriously?

Not many, he suspected.

And how the hell else were they to communicate? Two-way radios? Yeah, maybe. But long distance? He didn’t know. So many things he should have researched—but Goddamn it, nobody thought this shit would ever happen!

He sensed the even breathing from his dear wife, and wondered, is she sleeping? He didn’t really want to burden her with this news. He wished he could just whisk her and their two children away to somewhere they would always be safe from any bad thing ever happening again.

What a joke. Bad things happen constantly…but worse since the liberal feds have been in power. Eight years and the new president just elected would be worse than the last one. How could that have happened? There had to have been mass cheating—and how could she already be writing executive orders? Had to be her. She said what she would do many times, and obviously has done it with full agreement and encouragement from the sitting president.

January 20, Inauguration Day, was still months away.

But if they’re kicking doors in—saying Maurice knows what he’s talking about—follow your own gut, my boy.

He rolled back and reached to his wife’s shoulder, “Honey….”

She rolled over and faced him immediately, “I heard you talking, Ronald. I’ve been worried ever since that witch got elected.”

“Yeah, just two days ago, I guess she’s not going to waste any time.”

His wife was just inches away. He moved those inches and took her into a hug, “I love you, Mars.” He held her close. Married sixteen years and he had never gotten enough of holding this good woman, “I think we have to leave.”

“Now? Right now?”

He didn’t answer. How could he answer?

She returned the hug fully, “I love you too, Ronald…the children and I will do whatever you say.”

For a full minute he held her, and she held him back…but that forsaken clock kept ticking. He listened for the sound of his door being kicked in. Was it true what Maurice’s contact said? Could it possibly be happening? What his patriot friends and he had talked about and talked about, but never took seriously?

He pushed slightly back from the hug, “Get the kids up, Mars, please, but they aren’t going to like it.”

“I’ve spoken with them, Ronald.” She smiled, “I think they will surprise you.”

Even in the mostly darkness of their bedroom he could see her smile, that smile he never got tired of seeing, I’d like to make love with you right now, Mars, God I would love to. He released a breath, then released his woman and pushed completely away, grasped that damn phone and typed in that one number, the one guy he was required to notify.

Ringing. The sound was worse than the factory where he worked assembling tractors for farmers so they could raise food for the masses of people.

And ringing. And ringing—

Finally, “Yeah! What the fuck?!”

His contact sounded angry. He didn’t blame him, getting woke up in the middle of the night, “Georgie, sorry, man, but my contact just informed me they’re kicking in doors—”

“Fuck! Bullshit! In the middle of the night? What the fuck’s wrong with’em?”

That’s their plan, Georgie. We talked about it in our group—”

“I know, goddamn it, I know! Okay, you’ve called me! I’m hanging up.”

“Okay, man, good luck.”

“Thanks, you too, sorry for yelling at you.”

“No prob, I yelled at my contact too—why the fuck wouldn’t we?”

“Right! Okay, hanging up.” The line went silent.

He glanced at his wife. She was already dressed, in jeans, heading out the bedroom door …yeah, probably would be a while until he saw her beauty inside a dress again, “Honey, shall we go to your parents? At least for now?”

She looked back as if that was the stupidest question ever, “Of course.”

What a good woman, both strong and beautiful—and smart. He didn’t know how he could have found such a can-do woman.

Another moment passed as he dressed. When ready he picked up the cell phone that had woke him, looked at it for the last time, threw the covers on their bed up to the pillows, smoothed the bed slightly, then laid the phone in the middle of the bed, and headed for his son’s room.

 

****

 

At his son’s bedroom door he stopped, and spoke quietly, “Kyle…?”

“Yeah, Dad, come on in.”

Even at fifteen his son had a grasp on things. His twin sister did too, but in a slightly different direction…seemed so, anyway, at times. He opened the door and stepped in.

“I’m almost dressed, Dad.”

“Good. Pack one small suitcase and your backpack, what you can carry in one trip. Clothes, books, mementos, whatever you really want.”

“Just one trip?”

“We’ll see. If more time we will…I don’t know. After you make that trip, please go down to our gun locker. Get all guns, ammo, knives…put everything on the floor between the seats, and the camping equipment, and fishing gear—well, you know what to do. Treat this like any other family outing….” He added a little quieter, “Only this is a bit different.”

“I’ll store the camping equipment on the rear seat and under it.”

“Right, Son, you know what to do. And gas cans. I purchased four one-gallon ones just last week…they’re empty, though.”

“That’s good, Dad, you were thinking ahead.” Kyle sent a smile, “Will you have your gun in the car seat holster?”

“Yes, as you know, that’s considered concealed and I have the license.

“Okay, Dad.”

“Thanks, Son, and please check on your sister. She can help you, and make sure she gets her stuff out to the crossover too, thank God we decided to trade up to a crossover.

He stopped at the door and gazed at his son making preparations. What a great kid. Wow, a beautiful wife and two great kids…of which he better check on the other one.

 

****

 

At her door he stopped, “Esther…?”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m getting ready.”

“Okay, Sweetheart, one small suitcase and your backpack, clothes, books, mementos, whatever you really want, what you can carry in one trip…your brother will help you and you please help him.”

“Just one trip?”

“For now, Sweetie.”

“Okay, Dad.”

He gave a light knock, “Okay.” And time to check on his wife. What she was doing—food, dishes, cookers, silverware, storage bags, cooler, my god, there’s no end to it—would take more than one trip…but first a trip to the garage workshop.

 

****

 

First thing in the garage Ronald opened the back door of their crossover. Not much room there, but it would help, a little. Then he began looking over his tools and the endless other stuff collected over sixteen years of marriage. Sixteen years? My god. His shoulders fell—how the fuck can this be happening?

Both his son and daughter appeared with their suitcases and backpacks.

“Just set them down, kids, and go after the guns, both of you.” He didn’t know why he had cut them short. They had time, didn’t they? Maybe not. He slid the suitcases in, then went after the gas cans. Empty, but at least they had them. Luckily there was room for everything. The suitcases would have to go on top of the cans, though. Maybe a sheet of plastic between them would help—the kids could figure things out once they got going. He did what he could, then went to the kitchen where his darling wife was preparing a hot meal, “Mars, I don’t know if we have time for that.”

“We need nourishment, Ronald, I’ll pack it to go.”

“Of course you will. Didn’t think.”

“Ron….” She pointed to several packed boxes, “Those can all go. We need it all.”

He made three trips, and noticed their guns and ammo were on the floor between the back seats. God, those good kids….

For a few seconds his mind went back and back to the many good things over those years, the good times spent with his wife and children in this wonderful country before the election of 2008. Over half the country saw the election of the first black man to the presidency as a historic milestone. He didn’t—and not because of the man’s skin color—he just didn’t like or trust him. He would never forget the comment by a trusted neighbor, “He’s a Muslim!”

He also would never forget his own thoughts, ‘Good Lord, how can that be?’ He also didn’t believe the man would ever be elected, but he was, then—even more unbelievable—again in 2012—

CRASH!

Lord, it sounded almost like next door. He hurried to the walk-in door and peeked out at darkness except for streetlights. Then he shut off the light and stepped out. A large dark van sat three houses down…and activity….

He hurried inside, “Mars, kids, we have no more time—they’re here!”

Mars nearly instantly appeared with their hot packed meal.

He stepped aside and gestured, “Just get in the crossover, Mars, the kids and I will be right there.” Thirty seconds later he met his children carrying sleeping bags and other camping gear at the head of the stairs.

“Dad, we couldn’t get it all—more ammo on the floor!”

“I’ll get it, Son, you two get in the crossover, and open the driver-side door for me.”

He hurried to the basement. Sitting on the floor, two metal boxes of ammo and three loaded bandoleers of AK magazines. He slipped the bandoleers over his head to his left shoulder, grabbed the two boxes and hurried to the stairs.

“Hurry, Dad, there’s more noise!”

Not sure what that meant but at 3 a.m. it couldn’t be good. His feet carried him amazingly quickly up the stairs. He got to the crossover, looked at the sober faces of his children, shoved the ammo at them and headed for the overhead door, thanking God he had listened at one of the meetings and took the advice of installing a hand-powered lift. Didn’t need any unexplained noise that an automatic door-opener would make, not right then.

Door open he grabbed a quick look down the street. Mostly quiet but the van was still there, and the house entrance light was now on. He got aboard, started the engine and backed slowly out, then quickly lowered the door. No use advertising that they weren’t home. Three seconds later he was behind the steering wheel and backing toward the street.

“No lights!” Mars exclaimed, “Try not to use your brakes!”

Right!

“They’re dragging our neighbors out of their house, Dad,” Kyle said.

Ronald used every bit of mental power he had not to touch the brakes, and threw the crossover into neutral, and let its momentum roll them to the opposite curb, which stopped them. He then threw it in gear, managed to keep it slow and finally turned left onto the next street, and headed for the first block to make a right.

Thank God. They were on their way.

“Aren’t we going to help them?” Esther asked.

Good god, Mars, you please field that question! It was hard for him not to say those words out loud but he managed. He had also remembered not to put on the blinkers for the left-hand turn, but it was harder to keep his foot off the brake—no fucking red lights! Holy shit! How the fuck could this happen?! They were warned! They knew it was coming…that it could come, and it had.

They made their right turn. He kept remembering not to use the blinkers or brakes, but at last was able to step on it.

Mars finally answered their daughter, “Those were bad men with guns, Esther. We would not have been able to help them—and we didn’t even really know them.”

“But I know their daughter,” Esther cried, “She’s one of my best friends in school—we both got elected to be cheerleaders.”

“Honey, we’ve talked about this,” Mars came back, “We aren’t even sure what’s happening, but I’m sure what’s happening to our neighbors is not good, and our house would have been next. I’m just hoping they didn’t notice us leaving.”

“Kids,” Ronald interrupted, “Get things organized back there so you’re comfortable, and plan to sleep again if you want. You each have a seat to try stretching out on—shit! Did you bring the sleeping bags?”

“Yeah, Dad, Esther and I were carrying them when we met you just now.”

Right, forgot. “Great! You kids are the best!”

Mars reached across the chasm and squeezed his arm, and sent a smile.

How he loved that woman.

“I made oatmeal for us, kids, and toast, and I brought a half gallon jug of juice, but maybe we should wait a while….” She glanced toward, “Ronald…?”

“Yeah, let’s wait a while—Christ! What if it’s not even happening? What if Maurice was just having a bad dream? What if that big black van three houses down wasn’t even there?”

“It was there, Dad,” Kyle said, “I saw it too, and it had big letters on the side, SSA. What do you suppose that stands for?”

Ronald chuckled and shook his head, “Social Security Administration. Lord, they told us! Nearly every bureau has been weaponized! Millions of rounds of ammo! I guess they were right.” He tightened his hand on the steering wheel, then hit it lightly and slumped for a second.

Mars’ hand again crossed the chasm and touched his upper arm, and squeezed lightly. What a calming influence that woman had on him. He reached and grasped her hand, then brought it to his face and kissed the palm, then released, “Esther, how you doing back there, Honey?”

“I’m okay, Daddy.”

“That’s good.” For a few seconds he couldn’t think what to say, but he wanted to say something to his beautiful young daughter, “I’m sorry to be taking you out of school…for this, Sweetie, I know you’ve been working hard and looking forward to cheerleading.”

“It’s okay, Daddy, this is more important.”

Wow, those two kids—and my wife—are the best. With all the divorce and unhappiness in the country, he didn’t know how he could have gotten so lucky.

“And…,” Esther added, “We’ll be coming back someday…won’t we…?”

Kyle answered, “Shut up, Esther.”

But Dad couldn’t let that stand, “Esther, Sweetie…the truth is…I don’t know.”

Time for Mars to step in again.

She did, “Kyle and Esther, we’ll talk about this later.” She turned to Ronald, “Do you think we can eat yet?”

“Yes—please, let’s eat.”

Mars first filled two coffees and placed them in the cup-holders between her and Ronald, then dished up three bowls of oatmeal for her and the kids, then handed a slice of toast to, “Ronald, here, this will make you feel better.”

He took the toast and glanced at her, I hope so, Mars—”

“Oh, Lord.”

“What?” He jerked forward. The whole next block was on fire, several cars and at least one house, and people rioting, maybe hundreds. Halfway across the intersection he jammed on the brakes and started turning—

Crash!

A rock, brick, something had hit the crossover—an explosion, just a half block away. They kept turning—but even more people were ahead. He made the full U-turn and stepped on it—and felt a huge bump! A body, a person, pretty sure he had hit somebody but he didn’t stop, no way he would stop, just floored it back down the same street and kept going two more blocks then turned again.

Three minutes passed as he drove as fast as he dared down the still-quiet street.

The freeway was close, he knew that, but now they were in a strange neighborhood, and something came from his little girl that he didn’t need to hear right then…

“Did we run over somebody back there—”

“Shut up, Esther!” His good son to his rescue.

“We maybe did, Esther,” Mars came in.

“Shouldn’t we have stopped?”

“We couldn’t, Honey, not with all those rioters.”

“But, Mom—”

“No, Esther, we couldn’t stop. That many people would have overwhelmed us. They might even have tipped us over.”

“What’s happening, Mom?”

“Sweetheart.” Ronald reached back, “Give me your hand.”

She did. She grasped her dad’s hand with both of hers.”

“Something bad happened tonight, Sweetheart. I don’t know exactly what yet, but it was bad enough we had to get out of the city—thank God, here’s the freeway.” He entered the entrance ramp and pushed up to fifty mph and held onto his daughter’s hand while merging into very light traffic, then he squeezed her hand, “We’ll talk more when we get to Grandpa and Grandma’s house. Alright, Sweetie?”

“Alright, Daddy.” She released him.

“Kyle, you two begin checking things back there, our guns—we want at least three loaded magazines for each—our camping gear—whatever, and then you can lay the seat down and open the sleeping bags. We should get to Grandpa and Grandma’s by nine this morning—God, I wish we would have gotten a full-size.”

“We’ll be fine in this one, dear,” Mars said.

He glanced at her and again wished they could make love right then, right in front of the kids.

She sent him a knowing smile.

Yes, she knew exactly what had just crossed his mind.

“What happened to my slice of toast?”

“You dropped it during our turn, dear.” She handed it over, “Here, it’s not hurt.”

He took it and made a large bite,” Uhmmm—oh my god that’s good! Thank you, my darling.”

She sent the smile he adored, then, “I’m going to try catch some sleep, Ronald, and when I wake up—about six—I’ll take over driving.” She pushed the seat back and lowered herself as much as she could, then sent her smile again.

He grasped her hand, squeezed it, then faced front. The freeway was nearly empty. Either nobody—or very few—knew, or everybody was already arrested and headed for a FEMA prison camp.

Every conspiracy theory he had ever forced himself to read passed through his head and all at once, because those theories were quickly becoming fact.

Three hours went by.

Amazing. Mars awoke at six a.m. exactly.

A minute later they had changed positions. He made himself comfortable in the passenger seat, wolfed the now-cold oatmeal, glanced briefly and smiled at his wife, then was asleep almost immediately. The last thing he saw was Mars’ return smile, the last thing he thought was soon having to face his dear daughter and trying to explain what the hell was happening to their America.

 

****

 

Ronald awoke as they pulled into Mars’ parents’ rural driveway just a little after nine that morning, “Mars, you and Kyle can head in. We’ll unload later.” He glanced back at Esther, “I’d like a few private moments with my dear daughter, who I love very much.”

“She knows you do, dear,” Mars said, just before she closed the passenger-side door.

“But, Dad,” Esther said, beginning their discussion, “She’s the first woman president—that should be a really, really, big deal!”

“And it is, Honey, and I’m all for a woman president—just not this one—and she’s writing executive orders two months before her inauguration. She simply can’t do that.”

“How do you know she did it?”

“Of course I don’t know who did what.” Ronald knew he had to tread carefully. In the next minutes he could gain full trust from his daughter, or…he might even lose her, “And she cheated, she caused the rigging of many, many, polling places—”

“How do you know that?”

Right, proving anything was going to be impossible, “Smarter people than me, Sweetie, have figured it out. A congressman in Illinois tried to place a vote for himself and the electronic machine registered the name from the other party. He could have just accepted it and walked away, but he didn’t. He got the state to look into it—a bit late, right on election day, but many machines were then checked and several showed the same problem.”

“Just several?”

She was going to be difficult. “She did other things too, Honey, and she wants to end the Second Amendment.”

“She just wants good laws, Dad.”

“America has good gun laws, Honey, but many are not enforced thanks to the liberal mindset—they just keep wanting more and more.”

Esther just looked at him.

He had better think fast, “Her foundation too, the one she and her husband created and their daughter worked for and got a huge salary—”

“What about it?” Esther interrupted, “They were trying to help people.”

“Very few, Honey. Mainly they used it for money-laundering and giving favors to questionable contractors and received millions of dollars in contributions from foreign—mostly Islamic, countries—”

“There! You see?!”

“That was the money-laundering part, Honey, and those Islamic countries all got…something… for their money.”

“What did they get?”

“I don’t know, Esther. Maybe, as Secretary of State—which she was at the time—those Islamic countries got favors, like the rapid immigration of their people.”

“Well, Dad, Muslims need a chance too.”

For a few seconds his mind went blank. He wanted to quickly move out of the touchy area about the Muslim people. He, too, considered that way over a billion people were being kept ideologically enslaved by what he considered a false religion.

Finally he thought of a new subject, “Esther, do you know what a liberal is?”

“I dunno—the opposite of you?”

His daughter just used slang language, and maybe even a bit sarcastically. He had never heard her use anything but basically nearly perfect English. Was she signaling that she didn’t exactly like where their conversation was going? He didn’t know, could only hope, “Yes, that’s about right. Me, your mother, and your brother…so why not you? You like shooting.”

“What? Are you calling me a liberal?”

“Well…are you?”

“Come on, Dad, you know better than that.”

“I always thought I did, Sweetie, but, if you feel fondly toward our new lady president—”

“I don’t!”

“Okay, honey, and I’m glad you don’t.”

“Hey, breakfast, you two.” Mars wrapped on the window, “What we had on the way here last night was just a teaser.”

Thank, God, Mars, I’m glad you showed up right now. “What do you say, Honey, I’d like some of your grandma’s great cooking.”

“Okay, Dad.”

Just don’t say we’ll talk more after breakfast, please!

She didn’t; she just smiled and led the way to the kitchen.

Where a great feast awaited.

“C’mon in and sit, Ronald, and eat,” Clellan, his father-in-law, said, “And then we need to talk. If you kids hadn’t showed up this morning I was gettin’ ready to come after you.”

Ronald started to respond but Clellan raised his hand, “We’ll eat first, then we’ll talk, and I’m plannin’ to include my grandchildren. They need to know what the hell is goin’ on.”

Thank God for the level head of Clellan McGrader. He hadn’t planned to get into a Scottish family but felt thankful that he did.

The breakfast of eggs, biscuits and gravy, hash browns, crispy bacon, whole wheat toast, orange juice, and hearty Midwestern conversation lasted a full forty-five minutes.

Clellan grasping a toothpick and pushing slightly away from the table seemed like a signal that breakfast was finished.

 

****

 

Because everybody helped clear the table and wash the dishes, only twenty minutes passed before they moved to the spacious open area between the kitchen and the living room and sat down in a circle of chairs. A good way to have everybody’s attention, Clellan said, “Yep, it took that woman only one day to write the executive order to hit every gun dealer for what lists they had of gun ownership—and are they even supposed to keep lists? One never knows what those liberals are trying to pull next, and the guy supposedly still in charge was in full compliance with her.”

“A lot of people have been suggesting that, Clel, that the people in charge had no plan for ever leaving the presidency.”

“Oh, he’ll stay in charge alright, Ronald, or she’ll put him in charge of Homeland Security—which is one of the stupidest bureaus ever created! Or maybe place him on the Supreme Court, which absolutely would be the end of America. And it’s just a matter of days before they—the two of’em!—declare martial law, maybe just hours. But, thank God, those people had no idea of the American patriotism out here. Right now patriots all over the country are loading up buses with armed men and women—and kids—with the plan of converging on Washington.”

“A coup?”

“If it comes to that. We have a list of senators and representatives who will have the choice to step down, both sides of the aisle, another list that will just be arrested no matter what, plus ninety percent of the administration appointees, and the Department of Homeland Security is to be disbanded completely.”

“What about the phone call I got this morning? Maurice said they were kicking down doors.”

“Oh they were, and a few patriots did get caught with their pants down, but the government’s plan was leaked—those fools! They really thought that every government official was on their side, that they could do anything they wanted and not get caught—that nobody would tell?!!!

“But we on this side are getting better with our intelligence. It used to take years to catch those cheatin’ lyin’ criminals but we’re getting to the point where we can almost catch them in the act.”

“What about this gun confiscation thing?”

“I admit, we were a little slow on that one, but not much—I should say our link in Washington was slow, but she got the word to us as soon as she could.”

“Clel, what the hell have you been up to? You sound like you’re the leader of a militia.”

“I admit, Ronald, I’ve been quiet.” He glanced toward his wife, “I even kept Ethel there out of the loop, because I reeeeally wasn’t always sure of her politics. Finally she just told me one day, “Clel, I know what the hell you’ve been doing.”

“And then I said,” Ethel added, “That I can help.”

“Yeah, it’s tough to keep secrets from your wife forever.” Ronald glanced at Mars and received a grin.

“But my friends say—”

“Shut up, Esther.”

“Let my granddaughter, speak, Kyle, and you will get your chance too. Go ahead, Sweetie.”

“Well,” Esther began, then looked around at her audience, and stopped at her dad.

“Go ahead and say what you want, Honey,” Ronald said, “We’re listening.”

“My friends say she’s in favor of women’s rights all over the world, and she doesn’t want to take our guns.”

“But she’s doing it, Esther, or trying to.”

“What about her foundation that’s helping people?”

“It’s helping very few, Sweetheart,” Clellan said, “Mostly she and her husband made lots and lots of money from crooked and cooked deals.”

“Yeah, that’s what dad said.” She glanced at Ronald, “But ‘Cooked’ deals?”

“By making sure certain slippery companies got the job for disaster construction or mining, or a whole bunch of other shifty practices, but that’s not why we’re here, Esther, and not why your parents woke you in the middle of the night to go rushin’ off in your car.”

“We have a crossover, Grandpa.”

Clellan broke into a huge smile, then stood, limped slightly, and walked five feet to Esther and gave her a good hug, “You, little girl, are one sweet and smart kid.”

She hugged him back, “Thanks, Grandpa.”

Clellan returned to his chair and addressed, “So, Ronald, did you get out with provisions?”

“Guns, ammo, some food, and camping gear. We didn’t have a lot of time. There was a van parked right down the street, and they were kicking in a neighbor’s door, and we almost ran into a pack of rioters—in fact there was an explosion right as we made our U-turn.”

“Did the van have insignia?”

“Social Security for Christ’s sake—Kyle saw it—what the hell is that?”

“There are now more armed men in the bureaus than we have in the Marine Corps.” Clellan gave a light chuckle, “They have seven bullets for each American, and a lot of their ammo is hollow-point.”

“So what now, Dad?” Mars asked.

“We have a bus loading right over in Doctrine, tomorrow morning, early.”

“So soon?”

“The buses out west have been loading for twenty-four hours already. I guess those folks saw it coming sooner, or maybe somebody leaked info earlier, or maybe the cowboys out west are just smarter—”

The phone cut in.

“Answer that, please, will you, Ethel? My arthritis is really cuttin in this morning.”

Ethel barely said, “Hello,” before turning and pointing, “Kyle, turn the TV on.”

Kyle hurried to the television and flipped it on…to news that surprised no one.

“…The army is already patrolling the streets of Washington and several other larger eastern cities, plus Denver and Albuquerque…”

“Both blue cities,” Clellan said, “Strange.”

“and for some unknown reason there yet is no activity in the three western states…”

“Yeah,” Clellan said, “those three states—for the most part—will likely go along with the president—presidents—no matter what.” Then he added, more quietly, “I hope it doesn’t lead to civil war.”

“…some of the army leadership is saying their men will not fire on Americans…”

“But their private army will,” Clellan said, “That bus will likely load a lot earlier than morning, so, Ronald, do you plan to be on it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You taking Kyle with?”

“And me!” Esther said.

Both Mars’ hands went to her mouth, but she didn’t say anything.

“What have you fired, Sweetie?” Clellan asked.

“Everything, but my favorite is the AR.”

“Ronald,” Mars said, “I don’t want Esther to go.”

“She’ll be okay, daughter,” Clellan said, “Not likely they’ll fire on school buses—well, with those two minions of Satan running the country maybe they will. The thing is, Mars, we need young people to join in this protest, to let the country know it isn’t just us old-timers.”

“And I want to go, Mom!”

“I know, Sweetie, and I understand…maybe I should go too…in fact, yes, I’m going too.” Mars then looked toward her husband.

Ronald locked eyes with her. He had not expected that and it slightly upset him. Strange, he had no problem with little Esther going into harm’s way, but his dear wife—PROBLEM! But no way would he try to stop her.

Somewhere he had read that a man would want to save his wife over his children. At the time he had not thought much about it—if anything kind of just dismissed it as a non issue he would never have to even think about, and suddenly there it was…and he automatically chose his wife.

The phone rang again.

“Ethel.” Clellan pointed, “Please.”

Ethel answered, listened for maybe thirty seconds, then turned with sad eyes, “They’re loading the bus already today. They want everybody who’s going to be there at two o’clock…I’ll get an early dinner prepared.” She dropped the old rotary phone onto its holder, and said quietly, “I don’t want you going off without eating.”

“Sandwiches too,” Clellan said, “And I can handle that.”

“And chips,” Esther said.

“And pop.” Kyle added.

Clellan grinned toward his grandchildren, “You bet, kids, one pop and two bottles each of water—everybody have a backpack?”

“We chose vests, Clel,” Ronald said, “More accessible.” Right, for food, water…and extra magazines…good Lord, what the hell is happening?

Clellan waved, “Good decision. Well, you folks start getting outfitted and I’ll get your lunches ready.” Then he hobbled off toward the kitchen.

Ronald and his family remained sitting. Kyle and Esther exchanged a quick but seemingly expectant grin, something twins evidently had in their psychological makeup. One always knew what the other was thinking and doing, or about to. Mars kind of just stared straight ahead, and Ronald, he gazed quietly at his family, one at a time, knowing their future very suddenly was quite different from how it had been eight years earlier. But he knew change had been happening long before that. Looking back it now seemed clear that each president—both parties—had made little changes, often with those handy executive orders.

They were promised change from the new president eight years ago, and change they got.

To break the spell of each probably thinking of the future—or maybe not thinking at all—he stood, “Well, guys….”

Three sets of eyes focused on him.

“I guess we better do it.”

 

****

 

Two hours later everybody but Clellan had gathered silently at the end of the sidewalk just outside the dooryard gate. The sound of the garage overhead door rising took their attention, but nobody commented. Clellan, who would drive them into Doctrine, backed the minivan out, parked, and shut off the engine.

The family’s car and the crossover would stay at the farm.

Next a round of hugs happened with few words until Ethel got to little Esther, then the tears came, but only from Ethel.

“Grandma, I’ll be okay.” Esther sounded like a grownup, her voice strong as she patted her grandma’s back, “We’ll get to Washington, get this dumb stuff figured out, and we’ll be back before you know it.”

His little girl sounded quite confident, and brave. Ronald wished he felt the same, but he didn’t. He glanced at his wife. Mars returned the glance but did not look happy.

“Everybody ready then?” Clellan, standing by the driver-side door, asked, “It’s about a half hour drive, but we should get there in plenty of time.”

Time? Ronald hadn’t considered that time could make a difference, but maybe it would, “Yes, let’s get loaded. Mars, you please ride in front with your dad.”

Mars gave him a look that he couldn’t quite fathom. He wished…he didn’t know what he wished, just watched his little daughter weighted down with her lunch, water, and armament, labor to climb into the middle of the back seat—what the fuck am I doing? Taking my whole family into harm’s way, and for what?!!!

 

****

 

The trip to Doctrine passed mostly in silence…except for Esther mentioning she had forgotten her camera. Arriving at the high school still about a half block away, they could see two orange buses loading.

“Man!” Clellan exclaimed, “I heard just one bus. There’s more interest in this deal than I thought.”

Nobody commented.

“And they’re loading fast,” Clellan added.

What went though Ronald’s mind, they had to all stay together. But when they got to the closest bus the driver said, “Just three more, please. Sorry, but somebody has to go to the other bus.”

So, hoping to stay together, they all went to the other bus, “I can take just one.” the driver said.

“I’ll go, Daddy,” Esther said, and quickly began to step up.

Mars stopped her, “No,” but didn’t say more.

“It’s okay, Mom. When we get there, and get unloaded, and then get loaded again, we’ll all get back together.”

That’s my girl, was Ronald’s instinctive, instant, thought, but two seconds later he wasn’t so sure.

“Ronnie,” Mars said, “Do something!”

“Mom! It’s okay!” Esther pulled away from her mother and finished climbing into the bus. At the same time came a honk from the other bus.

“We gotta go, folks. Sorry you didn’t all get together, but it’s not like we’re heading into a war zone.”

Ronald hoped that was true. The three returned to the first bus, got loaded, and got to at least sit together. Ronald and Mars in one seat, and Kyle right ahead of them, with a young girl who appeared to be about his age. Kyle looked back and grinned, then the two greeted each other and immediately began chattering, just like regular teenagers.

Hmmm…, a new girlfriend right off the bat. Ronald felt glad for that small amount of normalcy.

“Ronnie, I really didn’t like getting separated from our daughter.”

“Neither did I, Honey.” But absolutely nothing they could do about it, so he didn’t comment further.

Bus #1 began moving. They settled into their seats.

Mars sent a glance toward Ronald, then looked behind them, quite likely hoping to see their daughter, which of course would be impossible, but Mars was a mother. Mothers never gave up on their children.

If anything happened to Esther he doubted Mars would ever forgive him—but what the hell could happen? As the other driver said, they weren’t “…heading into a war zone.”

He hoped not.

 

****

 

They soon reached the interstate and saw three other buses headed east.

“Man,” somebody exclaimed, “The shit is really hitting the fan.”

“About time,” another added, “For nearly eight years we’ve been putting up with all the bullshit that guy could throw at us and we’ve been too scared to be accused of racism to fight back…,” then added, more quietly, “But no longer.”

Two hours went by, mostly in silence. Buses 1 and 2—carrying Ronald and family—followed the other three off the interstate to stop at a service station.

“We’re joining those three other buses and topping off with fuel,” their driver said on the intercom, “Whoever needs a bathroom break, this is your chance. We won’t be stopping again until the lead bus stops. The leaders of this shindig said we should join other buses and travel in caravans—oh, and please return to this bus and give the driver your name again. Make sure he checks you off on the clipboard. We need to keep track of everybody.”

“That means we can’t get back with Esther,” Mars said, “I want you to talk to those guys and tell them we want our daughter back—I don’t know how we allowed our children to even go along!”

“Mom!” Kyle turned and sat partway up, “Esther is okay! If you want I’ll go change places with her.”

“Oh, great, and then we won’t have you with us.”

“Honey, I don’t think these guys will change the rules for us.”

Mars gave him a look, then faced ahead and crossed her arms. Ronald had never seen his wife act quite like this, but then, as a family who did every family thing together, they never had done anything like this.

To change the subject he began trying to hear some of the quiet conversations happening around them….

From a well-armed boy about Kyle’s age, “Do you think anybody will shoot at us, Dad?”

“No, Son, this is still America, where we are allowed the freedom to protest.”

From the well-armed man directly ahead of that dad, “Was freedom, sir. Those two in power right now are capable of anything, and I trust the woman less than the man.”

Kyle turned partway and grinned. Ronald returned a partial. Through side-vision he noticed that Mars did not change, Oh, God, I don’t want to lose my beautiful wife over this.

The man in front of Kyle said, “Hey, did anybody else see that Facebook post where a guy carrying a rifle—actually maybe a sniper rifle—dressed in camo, and the words were something like, “The day that witch gets elected 83 million gun-owners are gonna walk out of their house dressed like this.”

“Wow!” the young boy who had started the series of comments said, “83 million?”

“Yeah, there are at least 83 million gun owners.”

“But not that many are joining us,” another said.

“True, but we’ve been on the road, what, three hours, and already we’ve picked up six more buses.”

From a very large-looking man several seats up, “I’ve heard they plan to use the secret army they’ve been building over the years.”

“Secret army?” the young boy asked.

“Bureaucrats. They now have more armed men in the different bureaus than we have of Marines—plus they’ve got probably thousands of new Muslims, and plus they have seven bullets for each of us.” The man chuckled, then added, “But I’m big. It would probably take seven.”

“Not with hollow points, my friend,” another offered.

Mars grasped Ronald’s arm, “Hollow points? We have never used them, have we, Ronald?”

“No, dear, we have only target-shot. Hollow points are for killing.” He glanced at her, “Hollow points kind of explode and spread out inside you, to pretty much ensure killing you.”

“But I heard their hollow points are only in .22 caliber ammo,” another said.

The large man chuckled again, “If they’re shooting people in the back of the head, .22 caliber is all they need.”

Ronald didn’t look at his wife. He could feel her, and was so sorry this bullshit just had to happen. He slid partway down in his seat, “Honey, I’m going to try getting a little shuteye, okay?”

“Yes, Dear, I’ll wake you…if—when—we get there.”

He didn’t miss the irony—or was it pure sarcasm? He closed his eyes anyway and tried to ignore the world and its tribulations, at least for a little while longer.

 

****

 

Hours went by. Ronald actually slept one of them. The first thing he saw when he woke was his dear wife looking back at the bus following, looking for a sign of their dear daughter.

Impossible, of course, to see her, but Mars would make the attempt. What the hell? Maybe Esther would for a second or two get close to the bus’s front window, and right when Mars was looking…but the following bus was too far back. No way could she see her.

The next thing he saw was the sign ‘Welcome to Pennsylvania.’

Getting closer—

The sound of an explosion behind them seared into his brain, at the same instant the sight of his wife spinning in her seat to look back…so he looked back too…and saw the bus their daughter was riding in still exploding in flames and careening off the highway.

The next sound was his wife screaming, making a sound he had never heard before and finally the one word, “Stoppppppp!!!!”

But they didn’t stop. They couldn’t stop. Two more explosions were heard, far behind and far ahead.

He reached to his wife and pulled her into his arms—but her fists began pounding him and she continued emitting that sound he had never heard before, “Honey….” But her screaming drowned out his voice. He tried to just hold her, to try to keep her from losing her mind.

Seconds later they passed another orange bus in the ditch in full flame.

 

****

 

More hours passed. They had dipped down in Pennsylvania and were getting close to Maryland. During fuel and rest stops they had seen hundreds of the orange school buses passing on the interstate.

Mars had sat silently through it all. At a rest stop Ronald had walked with Mars to the women’s restroom and then asked another woman to stay with her inside. His heart ached for his darling wife, but time just had to pass, and she had to remember she still had her son…and her husband.

After the Maryland state line they reached a glut of buses where they often had to crawl along, and sometimes had to stop. During the slow parts nearly everybody in the bus came back and offered their condolences for the loss of their daughter. Everybody knew. The more understanding women—mothers—usually managed to say something. The men would sometimes reach and touch Mars’ shoulder, and sometimes managed a very soft “I’m sorry,” sometimes only the word ‘sorry’.

Ronald acknowledged them all.

Finally he felt it coming, or sensed it, just a gentle body-jerking to start, just enough to make him turn toward her and extend his arms…and she came, and the tears began, and she clung to him, and between sobs, “Oh, Ronnie, what will we do without her?”

She hadn’t called him ‘Ronnie’ for ages. He didn’t know why and never asked her to explain, but he was glad to hear it right then, “I know, Mars, but she will always be with us in our memory.”

“You are so strong, Ronnie, and Kyle is, and Esther—” The tears came harder.

“And you, Mars, you’re the strongest woman I know—the strongest I’ve ever known.”

The tears soon stopped. He felt her arms stay strong but the rest of her relaxed, and he felt her breathing change, and he knew she was asleep.

Kyle once looked back at his mother, then smiled at his dad, and Kyle’s new proxy girlfriend did.

Thank God. Life goes on.

As he held her securely he began to listen again to what discussion there was, just the voices; he didn’t attempt to see who said what.

“I’ve had no internet or phone service for an hour. Everything is just dead.”

“Do you suppose there’s a coup going on besides what we are doing?”

“This isn’t exactly a coup, is it?”

“Don’t know what else you’d call it.”

“What hit us anyway? Anybody know?”

“According to my CB it was a drone attack.” More quietly, “The word is they knocked out at least fourteen buses.”

“Wonder why they stopped.”

“Well, if all they had for operators were Americans, they probably just refused, just like the army and Marine Corps are refusing…other than patrolling the streets in certain cities. About the only American military really on the move is the National Guard protecting state capitals. They have plenty of buses showing up at them too, but nobody’s shooting, not yet anyway.”

“I wouldn’t blame’em if they ran over the California statehouse. The SOB running that state is worse even then our outgoing president.”

Ronald agreed with that.

“How did that Muslim get elected president, anyway?”

“Because everybody fell in love with him because everybody wanted to vote for the first black man—to prove they weren’t racist!”

“I didn’t—and the libs loved how he could spew and blather bullshit!”

“And everybody fell in love with the first woman to run for president.”

“Yeah! She got elected because she’s a woman!”

“Right, to prove we aren’t sexist.”

“Plus her outfit rigged tons of voting machines!”

Ronald kept holding his sleeping wife and tried to shut out the angry chatter. He agreed with all of it, but…it had all been said hundreds of times, He just wanted America to get back to being the America he was raised in.

They finally reached the exit for Washington DC, and were able to get off, but traffic—mostly  buses, a car here and there, and one semi truck—was soon all but stopped.

Maybe a good thing, for the closer they might get to the Capitol the more likely shooting maybe would happen. He had already lost a child; he didn’t want to lose his son too, or his wife.

Suddenly a radio came on to a disc jockey clowning, “Hey, I got my satellite radio back!”

The disc jockey didn’t last long before a voice came on with a Middle Eastern accent:

“You people on the buses, you are illegal. You are ordered to return to where you came from or you will be fired upon…”

“Good Lord! Have the Muslims taken over?”

“Shit! That’s been the plan all along.”

“This is bullshit. There’s gotta be a thousand buses in town, maybe two or three thousand, and they think we will just turn around and give up?”

“Yeah, and even if we could turn around we sure as hell aren’t going to!”

Mars came awake with a start, “Ronald, what’s happening?”

His pet name was gone again; he felt sad about that, “We’ve been warned to turn around and go home—”

“Well, we aren’t going to,” she said strongly, “Those mutherfuckers murdered my baby—we are not going home until we get what we came for, which is those people all arrested and put in jail, and then Guantanamo!”

Both Kyle and his new girlfriend turned around, grinning, “Way to go, Mom!”

Yes, that’s what they wanted, what all red-blooded American patriots wanted….

The bus began moving. Cheers erupted. And Mars took her husband into a powerful hug and gave him a kiss to end all kisses. Ronald wanted to say something but was just glad to have his darling wife back.

 

****

 

Chances were most of Ronald’s fellow Indianans had not been to Washington before so were taking in the sights, what there was. The traffic didn’t thin much but did keep moving.

Finally they saw the Capitol dome in the distance.

“There it is,” Kyle said.

It was then too that men with guns began appearing on the sidewalks, many of them, and not in uniform, just…men with guns, and not just guns but what looked like the best of military weapons.

“Bureaucrats,” somebody said.

“Muslims too,” another said, “That bunch on the corner look for certain to be Middle Eastern.”

“Boy,” came still another, “What I wouldn’t give to see the 101^st dropping in about now.”

The next two blocks continued the show-of-force from the present administration, but as they got closer to the Capitol they began thinning out and armed men and women in American military uniforms began appearing, and a jeep from off a side street appeared and turned onto the sidewalk toward the Capitol.

“Jesus-God,” somebody exclaimed, “Those two were five-star generals!”

“Yeah! Both the Army and Marine Corps—They’re finally stepping up!”

The man with the radio turned it up, “Listen up, guys, there’s a different speaker, and he’s definitely American!”

“…continuing our list of demands, we want a return of respect for our military and police, we want an end to foreign aid to countries who hate America, we want the Department of Education dissolved and education returned to state control, we want the Department of Homeland Security dissolved and the Muslim secretary of same arrested and tried for treason, and at the end, the most important—no more immigration for Muslims. They come to our country of freedom, do not assimilate, bring their own culture and demands with them. All 100 Muslim organizations—including CAIR and the Muslim Brotherhood are to be dissolved and the officials deported—Every Muslim already here is to be interviewed. If they hate our Constitution and love and want sharia law they should be deported…”

The radio continued but Ronald quit listening. Somehow they had gotten close enough to the Capitol grounds that they could see what was happening, and the comments began flying.

“Holy Balls, they’ve got’em both in handcuffs! The woman is actually limping—I knew her health was bad.”

“Yeah, and she wanted to take America down with her!”

“With Marine security—wow! Wow! And WOW!”

“Yeah, but their hands are cuffed in front of’em—I hope they got thrown to the ground first!”

“And here comes both vice presidents—they’re cuffed too!—And their Muslim handlers!”

“Shit! Look at’em come! Must be half the Congress! And they’re surrounded by military police!”

“Well? Half of’em deserve to be arrested.”

“So who will be taking charge?”

“The Speaker is next in line.”

“Nope, there he is too—in cuffs! Fucking dirtbag!”

“So who, then?”

“We will probably see some general, or admiral, take charge, for a while at least.”

“Yeah! Should be a long while—till we get our America back on her feet!”

The comments continued to fly. Ronald turned to his beautiful wife, “We did it, Mars.”

“Yes, we did, Ronnie, but at what cost?”

“We, and others, paid dearly, but Esther was willing. There’s something I haven’t told you, dear, because it had never became an issue.”

“What’s that?” Mars’ eyes showed she was interested.

“Just one time Esther and I talked—at least a whole half hour.”

“What about?”

“The military. She asked me all about my own service. I didn’t say anything to encourage her, but I never would have discouraged her….” Then he waited, hoping for a positive response.

After a bit, “I wouldn’t have either, Ronnie. I guess I even think our beautiful daughter would have been okay with giving her life to help save our wonderful country.” A couple quick breaths happened then and her eyes filled with tears as she leaned into her husband’s arms.

Ronald held her closely, “I like it when you call me ‘Ronnie’, dear, you used to always.”

“Did I?” She leaned back and wiped her tears.

“Yes. You did, and you called me ‘Ronnie’ just a little while ago, a few seconds ago, and yesterday too.”

She just looked at him, not smiling but not bad either…maybe somewhat dumbfounded.

“I guess you call me ‘Ronnie’ during emotional moments.”

That caused a smile, “I guess,” and brought them together for yet another hug.

They both relaxed then and continued watching the parade of arrested Washington no-longer-power-brokers.

“It happened so fast,” Mars said.

“I think the military has been ready for a long time,” Ronald said, “And they knew they had to act fast, or there soon would have been an unstoppable shooting civil war.”

–0–

“There is a sacredness in tears….They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition and of unspeakable love.” ― Washington Irving

****

The Characters

Ronald, POV Husband (mid-forties)
Mars, wife (early-forties)
Kyle and Esther, twins (15)
Clellan and Ethel McGrader (parents of Mars)
Maurice (Ronald’s caller)
Georgie (Ronald’s contact)
Doctrine, Indiana (Mars’ parents’ home)

Other books by James W. Nelson

New World Order Rising Book 1 (52,200 words) (The Abduction) Carter Banks, 47, recruits his childhood friend (ex-army special ops) to help track the abductors of his daughter, Chantal, 24, and granddaughter, Dodie, 6, and gets a hair-raising short course on the true goals of the Illuminati, composed of elite politicians, CEOs, and generals, in their quest to eliminate 85% of the world’s population and create a one-world government: The New World Order.

 New World Order Rising Book 2 (56,000 words) (The New Civil War) Carter and his load of young girls rescued from the Satanist Illuminati (while avoiding the black-uniformed police) takes two weeks getting home from Kansas, to his sister’s farm, discovers she is militia leader of southeastern North Dakota, and learns North Dakota is the front line of resistance, among a group of states west of Interstate 29. Seven-year-old Jocelyn by proxy takes the place of the missing six-year-old Dodie, and brings new life to the heartbroken Carter and Chantal.

 New World Order Rising Book 3 (66, 500 words) (The Next Generation Fights on)
Ten years pass. Seventeen-year-old Jocelyn is now staunch at Carter’s side as his aid and lieutenant. Sixteen-year-old Dodie escapes her abductors, fights her way across the Mediterranean, the Atlantic, occupied eastern America, returns to North Dakota to reclaim her birthright, joins in the fight, and is not too pleased about Jocelyn’s position with her mom and grandpa.

New World Order Rising Book 4 (47,000 words) (United Nations Arriving) (Islam Joins the Fight)
Seventeen-year-old Jocelyn has become leader of the North Dakota Militia. Her dear adopted Grandpa Carter was killed in the last battle. Chantal, her adopted mother, is very pregnant, and gives the job of leadership to Jocelyn.
Sixteen-year-old Dodie is staunch at her new adopted sister’s side, helps in the rescue of Muslim sex slaves and ends up the adopted mother of Bessie, 7, and Delight, 9.
The questionably-efficient UN Blue Helmets and crack brigades of Arabic Muslims have joined the battle.

New World Order Rising Book 5 (40,000 words) (“…to save the world…”) (BOOK 6 “WILL” END THE SERIES.) The war does not end. The battles rage on with no end in sight, but, hopefully, Book 6 will suggest there is hope. In that vein, please read this story with the realization that this—in all its darkness—could happen.

New World Order Rising Book 6 (59,000 words) (SERIES END)
“The Second Amendment alive and well…in the 5-state coalition of Free America”
Dodie’s leadership is just hours old when students from the University of North Dakota arrive looking for a safe place. Commander Giles Pershing and his SEAL team arrive ready to join the militia and take the fight to Fargo, which has been a launch pad for the Illuminati’s super soldiers, the UN’s Blue Helmets, and most dangerous of all, Arabic Muslims.
What’s left of America’s trustworthy leadership has watched the militias hold the line. Hence they sent the SEAL team to help. The National Guard of the five states will now have their stand-down orders reversed and Free America will have its own army patrolling their porous borders.
So, the series ends. Does that mean the war is soon over?
Sorry, no, but change has begun.

Biography 

James W. Nelson was born in a little farmhouse on the prairie in eastern North Dakota in 1944. Some doctors made house calls back in those days. He remembers kerosene lamps, bathing in a large galvanized tub, and their phone number was a long ring followed by four short ones, and everybody in the neighborhood could rubberneck. (Imagine that today!)
James has been telling stories most of his life. Some of his first memories happened during recess in a one-room country schoolhouse near Walcott, ND. His little friends, eyes wide, would gather round and listen to his every hastily-imagined word.  It was a beginning.  Fascinated by the world beginning to open, he remembers listening to the teacher read to all twelve kids in the eight grades.
He was living in that same house on the land originally homesteaded by his great grandfather, when a savage tornado hit in 1955 and destroyed everything. They rebuilt and his family remained until the early nineteen-seventies when diversified farming began changing to industrial agribusiness (not necessarily a good thing.) He spent four years in the US Navy during the Vietnam War (USS Carbonero and USS Archerfish, both submarines.)
After the navy he worked many jobs and finally has settled on a few acres exactly two and one half miles straight west of  the original farmstead, ironically likely the very spot where the 1955 tornado first struck, which sometimes gives him a spooky feeling.

A little more Biography:

He lives among goldfinches, chickadees, nuthatches, blue jays, crows, cottontails, squirrels, deer, mink, badgers, coyotes, wallflowers, spiderworts, sunflowers, goldenrod, big and little bluestem, switchgrass, needle & thread grass, June berries, chokecherries, oaks, willows, boxelders and cottonwoods, in the outback of eastern North Dakota.

Thanks for reading

Author’s notes

In my fiction I do not try to create super-heroes, but rather bring alive common and regular people who try to find love, survive, and react to circumstances as best they can, and, usually, try to do the right thing. The books are more than one genre, from war to sex and violence to romance to humor to horror to fantasy to science fiction to adventure, I write in third-person with viewpoints by men, women, and children.

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