William Johnstone - Phoenix Rising

Let’s do give Ohmshidi credit for establishing a degree of equality in the nation. He has not been able to improve the plight of the poor, but he has been quite successful in bringing down the living standards of the rest of us. And I’m not just talking about the wealthy; I’m talking about working Americans. In barely over one month, the value of the dollar has fallen by eighteen percent.

I don’t mind telling you, friends, I don’t see this situation getting any better. In fact, I see it getting worse, much worse. I will do my part. I will ask the bold questions and I will always tell you the truth.

Just over one month after Ohmshidi ordered all overseas military to return to the continental United States, Fort Rucker was filled to capacity with returning soldiers, and in order to accommodate the influx, all training activities were suspended. It would have been difficult to continue training activities anyway, because, in a cost-cutting measure, the Department of the Army was now regulating the total number of hours that could be flown in any week. Once Fort Rucker got their allocation, it would hold the hours in a pool and pilots who needed flight time for pay purposes would have to apply for that time. The problem was there were not enough hours allocated to the fort to enable all the pilots to make their minimums, and as additional rated officers arrived, the situation grew even more critical. General von Cairns had been correct in anticipating difficulty in completing the flight program and his recommendation to Jake to expedite the last cycle barely enabled the twelve students to complete their courses.

At the post hospital, Karin was having her own problems. Reductions in Medicare and Tricare denied civilian health care to military retirees and their families, so they were remanded to military base hospitals. As a result the case load at the hospital was greatly increased. VA facilities all across the country were closed, and those who were eligible for VA benefits were instructed to go to active-duty military hospitals on a space-available basis only.

This increased patient load meant that Karin was working longer, harder hours each day, and was often too tired to visit Jake. But tonight she came by, bringing hamburgers and French fries from a local drive-in.

“Do you have any idea how much two hamburgers and two orders of French fries cost?” she asked. Then, without waiting for a response, she answered her own question. “Eighteen dollars! Can you believe that?”

“Everything has gone up,” Jake said. “In order to have enough to meet all the new projects, the government has begun printing money hand over fist. Gregoire says that the presses are running nonstop. Obviously the more money you have in circulation, the less value it has, so that things that have real value, like food, are seeing drastic increases in price. I bought two twelve-packs of root beer this afternoon on the way home from work. Forty-two dollars.”

“You might want to think about giving up your root beer,” Karin said.

“I’ll give up my root beer when they pry the last can from my cold, dead fingers,” Jake teased.

“Jake,” Karin said, the smile on her face replaced by an expression of concern and even a hint of fear. “Where is all this going? What is going to happen to us?”

“I don’t know, Karin. God help us, I don’t know.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

“What did you want to hear?”

“I wanted to hear you say that everything will be all right.”

Jake was quiet for a moment; then he sighed. “Karin, for us—for you and me—everything will be alright. But there is no way the country is going to get through this without serious, serious consequences.”

“How can you say then, that it will be alright for you and me?”

“Because I will make it alright for you and me,” Jake said. “That is a promise.”

“Get the drinks, let’s eat,” Karin said, wanting to change the subject.

“How about root beer?” Jake suggested as he started toward the refrigerator.

“Root beer? I don’t know, let me think about it. Ummm, yes, I think I would like a root beer.”

Jake brought the drinks into the living room and put the cold cans on coasters on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“Did you fly today?” Karin asked as she handed a hamburger and fries to Jake.

“Nobody flew today,” Jake answered as he unwrapped his burger. “I haven’t flown in two weeks. We are limited to one thousand hours per month, and as of now there are only six hours remaining in this month’s flight-hour pool. You know how many rated aviators we have on this post?”

“A lot,” Karin replied.

“We had almost a thousand before the influx of troops from overseas, and that added at least two hundred more. That means there are twelve hundred pilots who are now in queue for six hours. That breaks down to eighteen seconds of flight time apiece.”

Karin laughed, spewing root beer as she did so. She wiped her mouth with a napkin.

“It’s not funny,” Jake said. “If aviators can’t keep up their minimums, aircraft are going to start falling out of the sky because the pilots aren’t going to be safe.”

“I know it’s not really funny, Jake,” Karin said. She laughed again. “But I’m just picturing someone getting into a helicopter for eighteen seconds.” She hopped up from the couch. “I’m flying,” she said. She plopped back down on the couch. “Oops, time is up.”

“It’s not funny, damn it,” Jake said, but despite himself, he laughed as well.

“I’m going to turn on TV,” Karin said. “Kentucky is playing LSU tonight.”

“What do you care? You’re not running cross-country for Kentucky anymore,” Jake said. “And as far as I know, you are no longer a cheerleader.”

“You think I’m not?” Karin replied. Getting up from the couch and standing flat-footed on the floor, she did a backflip, tucking in her legs at the top of the flip because she went so high that her feet would have hit the ceiling. Landing on her feet, she thrust her pelvis forward and held her arms over her head.

“Now, imagine me in my cheerleader outfit,” she said.

“You’re making me blush. Be nice now,” Jake said.

“Are you sure you want me to be nice?” Karin asked, seductively.

“Maybe not that nice,” Jake answered, pulling her to him for an open-mouthed kiss.

Gulf Shores, Alabama—Thursday, March 1

Bob Varney, chief warrant officer–4, United States Army retired, got a cookie and a cup of coffee from the welcome counter at the bank, then had a seat until he could speak to one of the bank officers.

“Bob?” Joel Dempster called, sticking his head out of his office.

Having finished both his cookie and the coffee, Bob dropped the paper cup into a trash can, then went into Joel’s office.

“I read Summer Kill and Death Town . They were great,” Joel said. “When is your next book coming out?”

“Within a month. It’s Murder in Milwaukee . I’ll be signing at the Page and Canvas in Fairhope when it comes out.”

“Don’t know if I’ll be able to get there, but I’ll for sure buy it.”

“Thanks.”

“I think Hollywood should make a movie of one of your books.”

“From your lips to God’s ear,” Bob said.

“Now, what can I do for you?” Joel asked.

“I was just wondering. I went online to check my account; I didn’t see the deposit for my Army retirement.”

“Yes, I thought that might be why you were here. If it is any consolation to you, it isn’t just you, Bob. There was no deposit for anyone. We got a notice from DFAS that all transactions are being halted while they undergo reorganization.”