Out of the Ashes

“People are unemployed, Hilton,” Fran told him. “And just look at all these tacky people coming in from the islands and Europe and Lord only knows where else. Start the draft up. It will give people something to do. And just look at all the ex-soldiers coming in, too. Officers among them. They will be grateful to you for giving them work, and in return, you'll have loyalty from them.”

“Marvelous idea, Hilton,” Dallas Valentine, the secretary of state, said. “And we can get rid of those officers who dislike us so.”

Hilton agreed; then said, “But all these people setting up little kingdoms around the country?”

“Oh, big deal,” Fran told him, a pout on her lips. “Let them have their two-bit little kingdoms—for as long as they last. Look what we control: the oil, the gas, all the ports that are usable, all the shipping, the breadbasket areas. We've got a lot more area than we have people to settle it. So let these people try—you know they're going to fail, ninety-nine percent of them. And when they do, they'll look to you for help, and you'll be a big man to them when you bring them back into the fold. Then, as we grow stronger, we can crush those who didn't fail.”

“Marvelous idea, Hilton,” Dallas said. Logan smiled.

He liked to have yes men around him. Made him feel good. He also liked that term: bring them back into the fold. It was kind of religious-sounding. He'd have to ask Rev. Palmer Falcreek over to the White House for lunch with him ... soon. Tell him about it. Falcreek was such a good man. Already he was setting up a committee to boycott any film that came out of what was called the New Hollywood. Falcreek wanted only good, clean, wholesome entertainment. Dogs and horses and stuff like that. Cowboys with inexhaustible six-shooters. None of that wiggle-jiggle stuff.

“Of course, you're right, dear,” Hilton said. “Why shed blood?”

"Our blood,” she corrected. “You've got Colonel Parr and his men to do all that physical stuff. And Jeb Fargo and his bunch if you have to use them ... for tacky little jobs.”

“Jeb Fargo?” the president questioned. “What has he to do with this? His people are farmers, dear.”

Yeah, Fran thought, with submachine guns and blazing crosses. “Oh, Hilton! I declare, sometimes you're so dense. Fargo is a Klucker from Georgia. They ran him out of Mississippi years ago.” She didn't tell him Fargo was also a Nazi. It had not taken her long to learn what many people had learned years before: her husband was not always with it.

“Klucker?”

“KKK, dear.”

“Oh. Well ... I didn't know that. I know only that he is loyal and a good, decent, churchgoing man. Palmer Falcreek says he has the good of the country at heart.”

Long as he could run around in a bedsheet burning crosses, Fran thought. “Of course, dear.” She smiled at him.

Under the table, Fran slipped off her shoe and ran her little foot up the pants leg of Dallas Valentine, almost causing him to drop part of a fricasseed chicken into his lap. She liked ol’ Dallas—he was hung like that ol’ boy used to fuck her in the barn when she was just a teenager. Had a cock about a foot and half long, just like Dallas. She felt sorry for Dallas. Had a wife that looked like a cross between a prune and a hockey puck. No angles, no curves, no planes. Just one great big round wrinkle.

“I think Fran has the right idea,” Dallas said.

Bet your ass, I do, Fran thought. Just as soon as we can get alone and I can get my hands on that garden hose you call a pecker.

“I'll give it some thought,” Hilton said.

But all knew the decision had been made.

So the president handed down the orders to the mercenaries under Kenny Parr's control: do not interfere with people attempting to set up so-called free states. Move only if people attempt to seize those areas already under U.S. control.

And the president ordered a complete census taken, and a draft order put into law.

Now it became a game of wait-and-see.

Spring

The harsh winter had passed, and the mountains and the valleys and the plains were blooming with the birth of the cycle. The roar of tractors was evident as the plows cut into the earth, preparing the land for planting. Ben was on a tour of the three-state area now, in a Jeep with Maj. Clint Voltan.

“Home at last.” Voltan smiled, topping a hill and stopping. “Never figured I'd see this land again—not as a free man, anyway. Sure is peaceful and pretty here.”

“Why did you think you'd never see it again?” Ben asked.