The Enemy Within

Halovic nodded firmly. “I understand.”

“So let her rip.”

“As you wish.” With the ease born of long practice, the Bosnian flipped the safety off and began shredding a series of targets, walking his fire from right to left as he pumped short bursts into each. In seconds, he’d emptied the thirty-round magazine. He turned to the other men with a broad grin on his face, slapped the AK’s stock with one hand, and exclaimed: “Ausge-zeichnet! Very good! A beautiful weapon!”

Burke, McGowan, and Keller were staring openmouthed down the range.

Finally the older man spoke for them all. “Goddamn, Karl! That was some beautiful shooting.” He looked at the row of mangled barrels and torn-up refrigerators again and shook his head in admiration. “Now, that calls for a drink! And for something to eat, by God.”

Galvanized by their leader’s decision, McGowan and Keller hurried to the Blazer and brought back a cooler containing a couple of six-packs, a loaf of bread, condiments, and an assortment of lunch meats. The four of them found shade under a nearby tree and sat back at ease, swapping sandwich fixings and cans of ice-cold beer.

Burke broke the companionable silence first. The burly man brushed the crumbs off his lap, drained his beer can, crumpled it, and tossed it casually aside. “Tony tells me you’ve got some pretty strong views on race problems, Karl. Is that a fact?”

Ah. Now it begins, Halovic thought. He nodded firmly. “That is a fact, Jim.” Then he shrugged. “I know these views are not popular in America, but truth is the truth. The white races all over the world are being buried by a sea of inferiors of blacks, of Jews, of Arabs…”

He was heartened by the other men’s reactions as he continued his often-rehearsed tirade. Burke and McGowan both smiled and nodded as he made his points, dearly pleased by what they were hearing. Even Keller seemed to relax slightly.

Burke nodded sharply again when the Bosnian wound up his peroration with the assertion that “time is short. We must act soon and in force before we are drowned and our race with us.”

The older man pursed his lips. “You’ve sure got that right, Karl.” He scowled. “God only knows the riggers and the rest are getting uppity as hell in this country.”

That brought rumbles of assent from both Keller and McGowan.

Burke took another beer out of the cooler, drank deeply, and began outlining his own extremist views. Not surprisingly, they paralleled those Halovic had just laid out in every significant detail. He seemed delighted to find a kindred spirit from overseas especially from Germany. His two followers chimed in occasionally, but they always deferred to the older man.

They are sheep, Halovic thought with contempt, all the while smiling and nodding himself. They go wherever they are led.

“Are there many others like you over there in Germany, Karl? Men who’re willing to stand up for the white race?” Burke asked at last.

“Yes. Many.” Halovic paused significantly to make sure he had their full attention. “And not just in Germany. There are others like us all over Europe.”

He stabbed at the grass with his finger as he continued. “We are organising. Mobilizing. Arming! We are strong and growing stronger. The moment of truth is drawing near. Soon we shall strike. First in my homeland. And then in the other nations of Europe.”

“Outstanding!” Burke’s enthusiasm, unlike Halovic’s, was wholly unfeigned. He turned to McGowan and Keller. “What’d I tell you boys? We’re not alone in this fight. See, all we’ve got to do is provide some god damned leadership and the pure whites will rise up to join us!”

Halovic took a deep breath. “So you have organisations such as mine here in America?” he asked carefully.

“Hell, yes, Karl!” Burke grinned proudly. “You’re looking at the leader of one of the biggest!”

The Bosnian listened with hidden disdain and open admiration as the older man outlined his plans to “retake” America from its racial and genetic enemies. His wild-eyed schemes a linked series of attacks and assassinations were intended to spark a nationwide rising of the white race. To fire a revolt that Burke believed would be spearheaded by his own fanatical group the “Aryan Sword.”

Madness, Halovic thought coldly. But perhaps he could make it a madness tinged with a tiny grain of truth.

“We don’t have the numbers I’d like. Not yet,” the older American admitted. “But we’re recruiting pretty fast. People around here are waking up to what’s going on.”

“That’s true!” McGowan asserted loyally, backing up his leader. “With the Ramseys, we’ve got fifty-two members counting the kids who’re old enough to carry a gun.”

Halovic tried hard to look impressed. In truth, those numbers were somewhat larger than he’d expected. Under all his drunken bluster, this man Burke must have the charisma needed to draw ignorant and gullible people together under a banner of hate.