William Johnstone - Phoenix Rising

Supreme Leader Ohmshidi announced today that he is asking the other nations of the world to come to our aid in this time of national crisis. He reminded the leaders of the other nations that we have always been quick to supply food, medicine, and humanitarian aid to other nations when they were in need. Now, according to Ohmshidi, the total mismanagement of the previous administration has made it difficult to implement his policies, resulting in a nationwide food shortage. The nation of Yazikistan, once our enemy, has announced that it will send three shiploads of food—proof, Ohmshidi says, that his policy of negotiation with the Muslim nations is paying dividends.

“Jesus,” Bob said in disgust. “We are begging now. Can you believe that, Ellen? Our country has been reduced to the point of begging. I never thought I would live to see this day.”

“You shouldn’t watch the news,” Ellen said. “It gets you so upset that I’m afraid you might have a stroke.”

“There is no baseball to watch anymore and the only thing else on the satellite channels—that is, the ones that are still broadcasting—are reruns. And there are virtually no commercials because there are so many companies out of business. Who would have ever thought that I would long for the time when there were commercials?”

In Mobile today—

The television suddenly went black.

“Bob, the power just went off,” Ellen said from the kitchen.

“It will probably be back on in a minute or so,” Bob replied. “There’s no storm or anything, no reason why it went off.”

“Why don’t you start the generator, at least long enough for me to finish cooking supper?”

“I hate to waste the gas,” Bob said. “Hurricane season is here. You know how it was with Ivan and Katrina. We were without power for two weeks.”

“Yes, but I also know how hard it is to get food now,” Ellen replied. “If I don’t keep cooking this now, it won’t be any good.”

“All right, I’ll start the generator.”

The generator was all the way downstairs, run by a large tank of propane gas. Bob started it, then came back upstairs.

“Stove going again?” he asked.

“Yes, thanks.”

“Maybe I can watch the rest of the news now.” He turned the TV back on, but the local television channel was black.

“Damn, they must be out of power in Mobile too. That’s funny; we don’t normally get power outages that go that far.”

Bob swept through the channels but got nothing from any of them.

“I wonder if something happened to our satellite dish?”

“Try the radio,” Ellen suggested.

Bob turned on the radio and got nothing on either the AM or the FM band.

“Damn, there’s nothing on the radio either, not a thing. I’m going to try satellite radio.”

Bob had a satellite radio upstairs in his office. It was there for two reasons: one, because it was the best place for his antenna, and the second, because he liked to listen to classical music as he was writing. As he started upstairs, Charley ran up the stairs ahead of him, then got into his position under the desk.

“I know, I know, I haven’t written in a couple of weeks have I, Charley?” Bob said. “But I’m going to get back to it, I promise. Now I’m just going to see what I can find on the radio.”

He found nothing.

“Something has happened,” he said to Ellen as he came back into the kitchen. “It’s not normal that every radio and television station be off the air.”

“It’s not normal?” Ellen asked. “Tell me anything that has been normal since Ohmshidi took office.”

Charley reared up to put his two front paws on Bob’s leg. Bob picked him up and Charley began kissing him.

“Charley,” Bob said. “Charley is normal.”

“Supper is ready,” Ellen said, putting the plates on the table.

“Fried chicken. Looks good,” Bob said.

“That’s the end of our chicken,” Ellen said. “And I don’t know if there will be any more. As you recall, when we were in the store it was practically empty. I got as much as I could because I think it’s only going to get worse.”

“I think so too,” Bob said. He picked up a drumstick. “But I intend to enjoy it while we have it.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Fort Rucker—Wednesday, July 18

In the Post Headquarters, General von Cairns sat in his swivel chair staring out through the window at the open parade ground and empty flagpole. He took another pull from his bottle of whiskey.

“You drink too much,” his wife had told him. “Ever since you came back from the war, you drink too much.”

“It helps me forget.”

“Forget what?”

“What I want to forget.”

Those discussions about drinking were the beginning of the problems that only got worse in his marriage. Then, two years ago, Kitty left him. But because their daughter was already married and gone, the breakup wasn’t that traumatic.

Von Cairns looked over at his bookshelf, filled with various artifacts that cataloged his time in the Army. There was a photo of him in his football uniform at West Point. Their record with Navy for the time von Cairns was a cadet was three losses and one tie, that game having been played before the NCAA had put in the tie-breaker system. Von Cairns had helped preserve the tie by intercepting a midshipman’s pass in the end zone. Among the other items were a bent tail rotor from a helicopter crash he had survived, a captured Iraqi flag, silver cups from half a dozen stateside assignments, and a black, polished, knobbed shillelagh called a “Garryowen stick.”

His first assignment out of West Point had been to the Seventh Cavalry, now at Fort Stewart, Georgia, but then he was stationed at Conn and Ledward Casernes in Schweinfurt, Germany. The Seventh Cavalry, “Custer’s Own,” had the nickname “Garryowen” and all the officers carried a swagger stick, the Garryowen stick.

There was something wonderful about being alive then, the tradition of being a part of such a storied unit, the pure joy of being a young single officer on flight status—they were still flying Hueys then—and being in Germany itself, the beer houses, the restaurants, and the outdoor markets, especially the flower markets. Germany was where he met Kitty, who had been, at the time, a schoolteacher in the American dependent children’s school.

He remembered the first time he ever saw her. It was in the officers’ club and she was sitting at a table with one of the other teachers. She had long dark brown hair and a wave of it kept falling across one eye, causing her to have to push it back. He thought she was absolutely beautiful, and he went over to introduce himself to her.

“I am Lieutenant Clifton von Cairns, and after I take you out to dinner tonight, you are going to write to your mother and tell her all about me.”

Kitty laughed at him, but she did go to dinner with him that night, and several nights thereafter until the other teachers and other officers would always include the two of them for any planned event.

They were so in love then. They went to Paris together, to London, and to Rome. They were married in Germany, first a German civil marriage, because the U.S. has no reciprocal marriage agreements with foreign countries, then in the post chapel, exiting under arched sabers. They swore to each that their love would last forever. But that—like everything else—was gone.

“Where are you now, Kitty?” von Cairns asked, speaking aloud, but quietly. “What are you doing this minute? Are you recalling our days together in Germany? Do you have any memories of that time? Are all your memories bad ones?” he continued, speaking softly. “I still love you, you know. I can’t tell you that. This is not the time for that. But I do hope that you have found happiness.”