'crown'
myself as president of the United States—when I'm not even sure there still is a United States. According to Captain Reed's contact through army channels before the army ceased to function as a unified command, Soviet landings were anticipated in Chicago and several other major U.S. cities that were neutron-bombed. We could and probably do have thousands of Soviet troops already in the country and thousands more on the way. The worse the damage our forces did to them, the more desperate they'll be to utilize our surviving factories and natural resources to get their own country back on its feet. And what about the radiation fallout, the famine, the economic collapse we are facing now? Is there actually a country—even a world—that's going to be able to go on, even if it wants to? Answer me that colonel!" Chambers con-cluded.
Captain Reed leaned forward in his chair, a Sherlockian pipe—unlit—clamped in the left corner of his thin-lipped mouth. He snatched at the pipe with his left hand, pointed with the stem and said, "I've been listening to this sir, and I've reached one conclusion, and I think it should be obvious to every-one here by now. We're talking about a situation of mass confusion out there. The former president did what he had to do. Had he stayed alive, essentially trapped in his retreat, the Soviets could have used him for whatever they wanted to—with or without his cooperation. But you're different, sir." Reed leaned back, glanced briefly around the room and went on. "Your sentiments against Communism on a philosophical basis are widely known, so putting words in your mouth would be useless. They don't have you trapped in one spot—they don't know where you are. Now we can see that apparently there are people still alive, there are armed citizens out there willing to fight someone—but someone has to point them in the right direction, to channel what they're doing. Maybe that's the word. We need someone to channel the energies of the country. We need a leader and we don't have that now. And there's no one else but you, sir."
Reed sat back, glancing around the room again, then looking down to the floor as if studying the toes of his combat boots.
Colonel Darlington, after a long silence, said softly, "The captain is right—he put it better than any of us," then staring intently at Chambers, said, "Mr. President."
Chambers looked at Darlington, then at Reed and then at the others there in the room—Randan Soames, commander of the Texas Militia, volunteer paramilitary group; Federal Judge Arthur Bennington; his own aide, George Cripp.
Chambers lit a cigarette, saying through the cloud of smoke as he stared down in front of him, "Perhaps Judge Bennington could find a Bible so that he can administer the Oath. After that, gentlemen, I'll anticipate we'll be proceeding with this organiza-tional conference well into tomorrow morning." Chambers looked up, catching the judge's eye, saying, "Arthur—whenever you're ready."
Moments later, Chambers stood in the garden, swore to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, so help him God. His aide, George Cripp, was the first to address him afterward as "Mr. President."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Natalie had kept the four-barreled COP derringer-type pistol, giving the other guns Rourke had salvaged from the jeep and the brigands she had killed to the most likely-looking of the refugee group. Rourke, Rubenstein—by now understanding firearms reasonably well—and Natalie showed the new gun owners how to employ them. Sharing the water and food left Rourke and Rubenstein and the girl with enough to reach Van Horn and nothing more. Before parting company with the refugee party early the next morning, Rourke sent Rubenstein back down the road in the direction in which the refugee party would be traveling, to scout twenty miles ahead, then come back. The younger man, dark hair whipping across his high forehead, eyes squinted both
myself as president of the United States—when I'm not even sure there still is a United States. According to Captain Reed's contact through army channels before the army ceased to function as a unified command, Soviet landings were anticipated in Chicago and several other major U.S. cities that were neutron-bombed. We could and probably do have thousands of Soviet troops already in the country and thousands more on the way. The worse the damage our forces did to them, the more desperate they'll be to utilize our surviving factories and natural resources to get their own country back on its feet. And what about the radiation fallout, the famine, the economic collapse we are facing now? Is there actually a country—even a world—that's going to be able to go on, even if it wants to? Answer me that colonel!" Chambers con-cluded.
Captain Reed leaned forward in his chair, a Sherlockian pipe—unlit—clamped in the left corner of his thin-lipped mouth. He snatched at the pipe with his left hand, pointed with the stem and said, "I've been listening to this sir, and I've reached one conclusion, and I think it should be obvious to every-one here by now. We're talking about a situation of mass confusion out there. The former president did what he had to do. Had he stayed alive, essentially trapped in his retreat, the Soviets could have used him for whatever they wanted to—with or without his cooperation. But you're different, sir." Reed leaned back, glanced briefly around the room and went on. "Your sentiments against Communism on a philosophical basis are widely known, so putting words in your mouth would be useless. They don't have you trapped in one spot—they don't know where you are. Now we can see that apparently there are people still alive, there are armed citizens out there willing to fight someone—but someone has to point them in the right direction, to channel what they're doing. Maybe that's the word. We need someone to channel the energies of the country. We need a leader and we don't have that now. And there's no one else but you, sir."
Reed sat back, glancing around the room again, then looking down to the floor as if studying the toes of his combat boots.
Colonel Darlington, after a long silence, said softly, "The captain is right—he put it better than any of us," then staring intently at Chambers, said, "Mr. President."
Chambers looked at Darlington, then at Reed and then at the others there in the room—Randan Soames, commander of the Texas Militia, volunteer paramilitary group; Federal Judge Arthur Bennington; his own aide, George Cripp.
Chambers lit a cigarette, saying through the cloud of smoke as he stared down in front of him, "Perhaps Judge Bennington could find a Bible so that he can administer the Oath. After that, gentlemen, I'll anticipate we'll be proceeding with this organiza-tional conference well into tomorrow morning." Chambers looked up, catching the judge's eye, saying, "Arthur—whenever you're ready."
Moments later, Chambers stood in the garden, swore to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, so help him God. His aide, George Cripp, was the first to address him afterward as "Mr. President."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Natalie had kept the four-barreled COP derringer-type pistol, giving the other guns Rourke had salvaged from the jeep and the brigands she had killed to the most likely-looking of the refugee group. Rourke, Rubenstein—by now understanding firearms reasonably well—and Natalie showed the new gun owners how to employ them. Sharing the water and food left Rourke and Rubenstein and the girl with enough to reach Van Horn and nothing more. Before parting company with the refugee party early the next morning, Rourke sent Rubenstein back down the road in the direction in which the refugee party would be traveling, to scout twenty miles ahead, then come back. The younger man, dark hair whipping across his high forehead, eyes squinted both
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