like it had been when he was a boy.
He remembered growing up in Alabama, and how his chest used to burst with pride when his parents acquired some new toy, be it a brand new Cadillac, boat, or camper van, flaunting their wealth and living the American dream. He and his elder brother, who he utterly adore d, wanted for nothing. They regularly had new clothes, no hand-me-downs for Jack or his brother. They were always turned out smartly, kept their hair short and tidy, and had the latest must-have toys. Same with the other kids in the neighborhood, they had played in little league baseball and any sport they could discover.
Then desegregation was pushed through by the numb-nuts in Washington, where the lily-livered liberals forced their Northern standards upon them, what did they know? The South had gotten along for several centuries doing things their own way. They had stood up to them, until they sent in the National Guard to safeguard passage for the black kids to attend his school. He could remember even as an infant in the 1960s as the first black faces entered the school. Then as predicted, not so long after that they moved into the neighborhood and then the rot set in, first the graffiti, then stolen cars, and then burglaries.
Fifty plus years later and he still felt the slow toxic drip of the mixing o f the races, which he thought patently obvious, would not work. It would weaken American blood and the American race. He’d noticed over the years that each new in-take of raw recruits were inferior to the last, as the American gene pool mixed and diluted.
Since then, there had been feminism and worse, far worse, as part of some mad, touchy-feely population experiment, they had even had a black President. Jesus H. Christ. A black President! Truly, the pinnacle of everything that was wrong with the once great country.
His pappy had never been the same since his elder brother died in Vietnam, one of the last, while they were evacuating from the American embassy. His father had collapsed and never fully recovered, falling into a gradual and irreversible decline. Young Jack had been mortified to hear of his brother’s death in Vietnam, the very day he was due back home. To die was bad enough, but for his brother to die on the last day of the conflict, was too cruel for them to suffer as a family.
Jack had signed up to join the same regiment as soon as he was able and had taken to the military life like a duck to water. He loved the discipline, the smartness, the order of life. He needed the rules and regulations to live by and rocketed up through the ranks to his current position, a four star general. He used every ounce of his forceful nature to make the Joint Chiefs of Staff quake in their boots and as he prowled around the enormous mahogany conference table in the war room, he had the floor and he had their attention.
Most were riveted, listening to his innovative plans and applauded his no nonsense approach to the impending disaster, his declaring of martial law and more importantly passing a law that plague carriers and objectors disobeying the military’s commands would be shot. No argument, no discussions, they would be shot dead and that’s the end of it. The Vice President had given him complete freedom to solve the Florida problem.
General Malloy couldn’t bring himself to utter the words, the Black Death, or Bubonic Plague. It was too archaic , to have the power to bring Florida to its knees. It had to be a hi-tech virus, man-made in a laboratory, just as he knew there would be an enemy foreign power behind the attack, and he was going to make them pay for that. He smiled to himself; he had recently received information that they had a lead in that direction.
“Finally,” he said to the expectant crowd of military men and women. “We have information about the suspected terrorists. They were seen escaping the island on a Jet Ski. These terrorists obviously have an antidote as they walked freely
He remembered growing up in Alabama, and how his chest used to burst with pride when his parents acquired some new toy, be it a brand new Cadillac, boat, or camper van, flaunting their wealth and living the American dream. He and his elder brother, who he utterly adore d, wanted for nothing. They regularly had new clothes, no hand-me-downs for Jack or his brother. They were always turned out smartly, kept their hair short and tidy, and had the latest must-have toys. Same with the other kids in the neighborhood, they had played in little league baseball and any sport they could discover.
Then desegregation was pushed through by the numb-nuts in Washington, where the lily-livered liberals forced their Northern standards upon them, what did they know? The South had gotten along for several centuries doing things their own way. They had stood up to them, until they sent in the National Guard to safeguard passage for the black kids to attend his school. He could remember even as an infant in the 1960s as the first black faces entered the school. Then as predicted, not so long after that they moved into the neighborhood and then the rot set in, first the graffiti, then stolen cars, and then burglaries.
Fifty plus years later and he still felt the slow toxic drip of the mixing o f the races, which he thought patently obvious, would not work. It would weaken American blood and the American race. He’d noticed over the years that each new in-take of raw recruits were inferior to the last, as the American gene pool mixed and diluted.
Since then, there had been feminism and worse, far worse, as part of some mad, touchy-feely population experiment, they had even had a black President. Jesus H. Christ. A black President! Truly, the pinnacle of everything that was wrong with the once great country.
His pappy had never been the same since his elder brother died in Vietnam, one of the last, while they were evacuating from the American embassy. His father had collapsed and never fully recovered, falling into a gradual and irreversible decline. Young Jack had been mortified to hear of his brother’s death in Vietnam, the very day he was due back home. To die was bad enough, but for his brother to die on the last day of the conflict, was too cruel for them to suffer as a family.
Jack had signed up to join the same regiment as soon as he was able and had taken to the military life like a duck to water. He loved the discipline, the smartness, the order of life. He needed the rules and regulations to live by and rocketed up through the ranks to his current position, a four star general. He used every ounce of his forceful nature to make the Joint Chiefs of Staff quake in their boots and as he prowled around the enormous mahogany conference table in the war room, he had the floor and he had their attention.
Most were riveted, listening to his innovative plans and applauded his no nonsense approach to the impending disaster, his declaring of martial law and more importantly passing a law that plague carriers and objectors disobeying the military’s commands would be shot. No argument, no discussions, they would be shot dead and that’s the end of it. The Vice President had given him complete freedom to solve the Florida problem.
General Malloy couldn’t bring himself to utter the words, the Black Death, or Bubonic Plague. It was too archaic , to have the power to bring Florida to its knees. It had to be a hi-tech virus, man-made in a laboratory, just as he knew there would be an enemy foreign power behind the attack, and he was going to make them pay for that. He smiled to himself; he had recently received information that they had a lead in that direction.
“Finally,” he said to the expectant crowd of military men and women. “We have information about the suspected terrorists. They were seen escaping the island on a Jet Ski. These terrorists obviously have an antidote as they walked freely
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