Chapter 1

           eiltcfioreaaethliloenmlmlooohlirecwehumaryqrnndluntookedkol



The man exiting the small coffee shop was tall and had the distinguished look of
a successful professional - perhaps a businessman, possibly a doctor or a
lawyer.  Few, if asked, would suggest he was a retired military officer.
Perhaps because military personnel, and especially senior officers, were such a
small part of the population.  At close to four hundred million, the population
of the United States of North America had a rather small military force.  It had
once been larger, with the Air Force alone comprising just over a million men,
with more than eight thousand active combat aircraft.  The Navy was similarly
large, with more than forty aircraft carriers and a suitable complement of
submarines and other vessels, while the Army numbered slightly over three
million men.  

But five million men out of hundreds of millions was a very small part of the
population.  Many people were not acquainted with anyone who was or had been in
military service, and the increasingly indolent and self-absorbed population had
no interest in military affairs.  Or the other looming catastrophes that
awaited.  

So Gordon Williams, Brigadier General, U.S. Army, (Retired) went unnoticed here
as everywhere - just another unknown person in casual dress, getting into an
unremarkable dark blue four-door sedan and driving away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Like many retired military officers, Gordon Williams had become nearly invisible
in that vast sea of people.  Which was exactly what he set out to do.  He had
purchased a small ranch in Arizona, with a small house, a barn, and the various
trappings of a retired gentleman of modest means.  Not that his means were all
that modest - he had a substantial inheritance from his parents which had been
managed well and could provide a decent living.  And his pension as a retired
Brigadier General was rather comfortable on its own.  

Thus, after his retirement - a little earlier than he had planned but seeming
advisable under the circumstances - he was prepared to settle down to a rather
useless life of caring for his horses and playing golf with the other old men at
the local country club.  

He didn't, however.  Three years earlier, after his involvement in an operation
that shocked, and then thoroughly angered him, he began to prepare for his next
life.  Watching a military attack on a civilian commune turn into a massive
disaster and an embarrassment of the first order, he realized something was
wrong.  When the leader of the commune, as he thought of it, gave him a token to
use should he desire to contact them, he began, carefully, to research the
affair.  From his place inside the Army he was able to learn about the abuse of
the civilian population and the events preceding the incident he was involved
in.  Discreet research in the outside world revealed a layer of resistance
coming to a boil, much of it as yet unnoticed by the government.

He had been promoted to Brigadier General not long after the affair, and
assigned to Army Headquarters, working close to the Army Chief of Staff.  He
suspected both the promotion and the transfer were to keep him quiet and put him
in a position in which he could be watched.  

So he became a master of disguise as well, evading any possible attempts to
surveil him.  As himself, he went about the usual off-duty activities - golfing
with fellow officers, dining in the expected restaurants, the occasional drink
or two in local bars, and walking in the parks.

As his other self he drank in other bars and walked in other parks.  Disguised
and careful to leave no fingerprints, DNA, or other traces.  His government-issued 
phone and his own phone left at home or carried by his current girlfriend to her 
home some distance away, he carried a modified phone that spent most of its time 
in a shielded case.  Mostly he listened, but made a few acquaintances with whom 
he would engage in deeper conversation.

Within a year or so he had a good picture of what few people knew, even at high
levels of government.  He often took out the coin he had been given by an old
man at a ranch in South Kansas that was not at all what it seemed.  He knew he
would be going there soon, but there were things to do first.

The annual physical gave him the excuse he needed.  A handful of symptoms common
to aging men, with a few of his own inventions thrown in, made a resignation
plausible.  The retirement papers were submitted, and soon he was on his way to
Arizona to rent a house and look for one to buy.

By the time the sale was finalized and the moving was finished he had met
several of the locals and made a habit of talking freely with them.  He knew
they would advise him if any strangers made inquiries about him.  Before long,
he let a couple of his new acquaintances know he was going back to visit his old
hometown and look up some friends who still lived there.  

And he did, but along the way he stopped in South Kansas and drove to a small
town near the site he had first visited close to two years earlier in an Army
helicopter.   He checked into a hotel and assumed his disguise, then called a
cab on his private phone.  The driver knew where he could rent a car for a
couple of days, expensively but discreetly.  Better than driving his own rental,
he decided.  As long as it was sitting in the hotel parking lot, and provided
he could exit the hotel in disguise to meet the cab, it would take an observer
a while to notice he was gone.

The car turned out to be an electrician's van, complete with tools and supplies.
The level of paranoia was high indeed, he thought as he drove out to the
commune.  If small town people act this way, out in the middle of nowhere,
things might be worse than he thought.

He had figured out the area of the place, and looked for an entrance far from
any main road.  He soon found one, and stopped at a gap in the fence - the
grassy field beyond gave it the look of a farmer's hayfield.  He waited for a
few minutes, and soon a squad of men in ordinary outdoors clothing approached.
No military look about their attire, and no weapons in sight.  But their manner
and bearing told him he was at the right place.  He lowered the window as one of
them approached, the others remaining in tactically appropriate positions.  

"Can I help you with anything?" asked the young man.

"I'm here to see Sir Walter"  Williams replied.  "Or Myles if Sir Walter is
unavailable."

He held the coin in his hand, face up, near the open window.  The man took it,
turned it over, and examined it closely for a moment, then handed it back.  

"Just follow that vehicle over there, sir."  he said.

Just inside the gate a dusty off-road vehicle sat by the road.   He saw the
brief flash of brake lights as the driver put it in gear and moved onto the
road. 

"Thanks" he said, and followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sir Walter did not seem much older than when Williams had met him three years
earlier, Williams thought.  Myles did show his years, but then he couldn't have
been much past twenty-five then, and the changes were more evident.  He wondered
how old Sir Walter was - suspecting that he was somewhat older than his apparent
age of somewhere in the mid sixties.

"Welcome, General Williams" Sir Walter greeted him, in a manner reminiscent of
perhaps a century ago.  "Congratulations on your promotion, and your freedom."

Myles' greeting was a nod - they were both on the quiet side, he thought, but
Myles more so.  Probably it was to some degree his status as an understudy, but
he seemed to exhibit a caution often lacking in younger men.

After brandy and a cigar in a study that opened into a walled garden, they went
outside and walked around the garden for a while while Sir Walter updated him on
the condition of the world from his perspective.

He briefly explained the League of Freeholds, the enclaves of people dedicated
to preserving, if possible, the republic in its original state and if not,
restoring it.  No mention was made of other objectives, such as the occupation
of a resurgent Atlantis.  They also discussed resistance operations unrelated to
the Freeholds, notably the militias which were believed to be of possible use,
and some very small operations which were already in operation, conducting
sabotage and occasional discreet assassinations.

Agreeing with Sir Walter's suggestion that he should not remain long in case he
was under surveillance, the meeting was over in a couple of hours.  Sir Walter
gave him one of the black phones used by the Freeholds for sensitive
communications, showing him how to disable the self- destruct feature when he
used it.  If the phone fell into enemy hands and they did not know how to
operate it, it would literally self-destruct, triggering an internal device that
would melt the circuitry so that there was no way to recover any data it
contained.  

After discussing his possible part in future operations, Williams drove away in
the rented van.  He noticed that he had an escort on the way back, a couple of
cars behind him at a prudent distance, and at least one in front of him.  He
returned the van and called a cab to return to his hotel.  His room seemed
undisturbed, and the apparently the cleaning person was not even a little
curious - the bag with his phone in it had not been moved or opened, and all the
other telltale signs he had left were undisturbed.

He went down to a small outdoor restaurant and bar and ordered a beer and
watched the people.  He had always been observant of his surroundings and the
behavior of the people in them.  It was a habit he had always had, and a few
years or war refined it.  They all seemed as unaware of impending doom as people
had been all his life.  We truly are one big herd of sheep, he thought.  Still,
his visit to Mike Charlie, as Sir Walter called their freehold, had greatly
improved his outlook.

He noticed a couple of young men at a nearby table, drinking bottled beer as he
was.  Several times he had seen one of the look at him, holding his beer bottle
up to reveal a piece of white paper on the bottom, then setting the bottle down.
He looked at the bottom of his own bottle and saw a similar paper.  As
discreetly as possible, he pulled if off and looked at it.  Printed on it were
the words "No sign of surveillance here.  Have a safe trip.  M.C."

He looked over at the men and saw them looking at him, then nodded.  They
remained a few minutes and then left.  So they've been looking our for  me, for
who knows how long, he thought.  These guys are pretty good.  He finished his
beer and went up to his room.  He had a long drive ahead, so he took a shower,
brushed his teeth, and went to bed.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Late the next day Williams drove into Covington, Missouri.  The population had
not changed much, he noted, from the day he left for Fort Madison.  He still
remembered, after all these years, the signs at the city limits proclaiming that
the population was 7,176.  He had visited a few times, whenever he was back in
the country.  His parents had moved away to retire in Arizona and his sister had
moved away with her husband shortly after he entered the Academy.

Now the number on the sign was 10,842.  Not so bad, he thought.  Many smaller
cities and towns were smaller as the young people moved to the larger cities and
the older inhabitants died or moved to other states to retire, as his own
parents had done.  

He soon noticed something something strange, however.  It had been in his near-
consciousness, as he called it.  Not truly sub-conscious, but always lurking
just below the surface of his thoughts.  It seemed that everywhere he had been
since he retired, the municipal police forces were much larger than he
remembered from his youth.  Here in Covington, he thought, we had seven thousand
people and maybe a dozen police cars, probably thirty or so cops.  He had seen a
police car sitting by the road as he passed the city limits sign, whether
observing the traffic or running a speed trap he had no idea.  By the time he
reached his hotel he had seen three more, either parked alongside the road or
driving slowly.

Sir Walter had advised him of a increasing friction between police forces and
the citizens, even in small communities.  He suggested it was caused by a
variety of factors - increasingly intrusive government, low quality of personnel
(a perennial problem, he noted), and a general bad attitude of police towards
citizens - but believed that there was increasing surveillance, from the federal
level all the way down to the smallest communities.

The best policy, he had said, was to carefully avoid any interaction at all with
law enforcement.  The most trivial incident could quickly escalate to an arrest
at best, with a distinct possibility of being killed at worst.  There had never
been much accountability for misconduct or incompetence in law enforcement, and
the situation had deteriorated considerably in recent years.

He arrived at his hotel without incident, however, and checked in.  Tired from
the long drive, he soon gave in to fatigue and went to bed.

The next morning, after breakfast in the hotel restaurant, he called an old
friend, one of the few from his hometown who still lived here, and told him he
was in town.  Since the purpose of his visit was to cover his contact with Sir
Walter, visiting an acquaintance and doing some sight-seeing should satisfy any
watchers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harold Edmondson should have been having a most enjoyable life, but it wasn't
working out that way.  At forty-eight, a man with who had built a successful
business generating a mid-six-figure income, and all the things that can be
bought given a sufficient supply of money.  But even as he had reached the
perfect place in life, everything around him began to fall apart.

He had skipped college to work with his older brother in an appliance repair
service.  Thirty years later they had twenty-one stores and had expanded into
other businesses, and his brother had taken an early retirement, leaving Harry,
as his friends called him, with the whole operation.  He had been thinking about
selling out and retiring, but now wondered if he might have waited too long.  
The increasing taxes and bureaucratic regulations were cutting into his profits, 
and his businesses were constantly being inspected and audited, to the point 
that he suspected his lawyers and accounts were earning as much as he was.

At least, he thought, he had exercised some good judgment in converting a large
amount of his excess cash into gold and silver, and acquiring a few modest
properties away from the populated areas.  It just might be possible to weather
the coming times by lowering his visibility.  But he could not escape a gnawing
fear that he was not prepared for whatever was coming, and he had no idea what
to do.  The got a call from Gord.  

Harry and Gordy, some of their friends called them back then.  Even as children
Gordon didn't like being called Gordy, preferring Gord from his friends and
Gordon from all others.  But Gord was never bothered by such trivial matters.
He avoided or ignored people he didn't like, and was loyal to the ones he did.
Harry had seen him a few times, when he came home from the Academy for just a
while in the summer, and a couple of times while on active duty.  But gradually
their lives diverged more and more, and he had not seen Gord in years.  Maybe a
recently retired military man would provide some clues about the situation.  So
he was interested in what Gord would have to say.  He found it a little strange
that Gord suggested having lunch together instead of visiting him at home, put
perhaps that was best.  

Even though he hadn't seen him in years, Harry had no difficulty identifying him 
as he came across the parking lot toward the restaurant entrance.  At a couple of
inches over six feet, he was slim and athletic.  Wearing tan slacks, a sky-blue 
windbreaker and aviator sunglasses, he looked the part of a man who knew what he 
was about.  Moving with a confident manner, his regular scans of his surroundings 
apparent only to one who knew what to look for.  Gord had always been like that, 
Harry thought, even before his military career.

Gordon recognized Harry as well, taking his sunglasses as he entered the shadow
of the awning above the entrance.   

"Good to see you, Harry" he said.   

"You too, Gord.  You're looking good - retirement agreeing with you?"

"Enjoying it so far" said Gordon.  "You're looking good yourself.  The Army
didn't give me a choice."

Harry grinned - he didn't get in as much outdoor time as he once did, and had to
spend time at the gym several times a week to stay in reasonably good shape.  "I
do have to make myself do it" he said.  "Sometimes I could use the motivation."

The conversation over lunch was mostly innocuous talk about family and
acquaintances.  Harry did not want to risk being overheard saying anything that
might attract attention from whatever authorities might have ears and eyes
nearby.  That could wait until later.  He did give Gordon an opening for his own
agenda, by asking about his decision to retire.

"There's always a temptation to stay a little longer" he said.  "But there is
too much politics in the officer corps, and it gets worse at the higher levels.
You start to get high blood pressure, ulcers, and sometimes just tired.  I got
lucky and got a star, the pension is decent, so I decided to call it a career
and have a little quiet time for myself while I still can."

After lunch Harry offered to give Gordon a tour of the area.  Harry drove
around, visiting the neighborhood where they had grown up, where their school
had been, and other locations of interest.  It didn't take long for him to get
to the point.

"Gord, do you really think you're going to enjoy a quiet retirement, the way
things are now?" he asked.  "From out here it doesn't look too good, you must
have seen and heard things I haven't."

Gordon briefly looked over at him.  During lunch he had seen some of the signs
of a worried man, a man whose position in life would be envied by many.  He
seemed tense now, whether because of the conversation or other things he could
not say - probably some of both.

"It doesn't look good." Gordon admitted.  "Our society is in bad shape, has been
for quite a while.  That has allowed the government to become more oppressive,
and that doesn't get better without some help."

"What kind of help?" Harry asked.

"I suppose we could get lucky, people get smart, acquire some morals, elect
better leaders."

"You really think that could happen?"

Gordon smiled faintly as Harry looked over at him.  "You know me better than
that" he said.

"What then?"

Gordon was silent for a moment.  "If I knew that answer to that I'd consider
myself a wise man.  These things don't fix themselves."

"Are we looking at civil war, dictatorship, or worse?"

"I suppose that depends.  People just can't govern themselves responsibly over
long periods of time.  And in large populations, that time for which they can do
so is shorter than usual.  When things like this happen, you have to decide how
you want to survive.  Look for places to hide out if necessary, have supplies
for times when things aren't available.  Have some black market currency."

"What kind of currency?" asked Harry.

"Gold and silver, mostly." replied Gordon.  "And lead."

"Lead?  What's the price of lead now?"

Gordon held up his hand in the gun sign.

"I see." said Harry.  "I've still got my guns from when we were younger - a
couple of .25s, my deer rifle, shotguns.  Haven't used them in years"

"You need to have plenty of ammunition - if things go really wrong it will be
one of the first things to go.  First there will be shortages in anticipation of
the eventually complete unavailability.  Then guns are banned entirely.  Do you
have a handgun?"

"I have a little .36 revolver, short barrel, easy to carry in a pocket.  And my
.45 auto."

"The .45 is pretty good, get a few extra magazines if you don't have enough.
And the .36 is a good last-ditch weapon.  And, get some knives."

"What kind? Fighting knives."

"Yes.  But also some utility knives, both fixed and folding.  A pocket knife can
be a decent weapon, and if you have to butcher animals you need good knives.
You do still know your way around an animal carcass, don't you?"

Harry didn't like the way this was going.  He and Gordon had hunted and fished
together when they were younger, and he could clean fish and small game.  He
wasn't sure he wanted to have to do it to stay alive.

"Sure" he said.  "You think it can get that bad?"

"It's entirely possible" said Gordon.  "You might want to add a high-quality
airgun, and a bow and arrows.  It takes some time to learn if you're new at it,
but silent kills of both man and beast might become necessary."

"So that's what you're doing?" Harry asked.

"My ranch backs up to a small mountain range, with thousands of acres of wooded
foothills.  Lots of deer, small game, and fish in the creeks.  With the right
equipment and skills, a man can survive for a long time without much
civilization."

"I feel pretty awful about even thinking this" said Harry, "but it's probably
better that Julie didn't have to see this.  And that we didn't have any kids."
Julie, his wife, had miscarried a couple of children and before they reached any
kind of decision on whether to try again or adopt children, she was diagnosed
with a particularly aggressive cancer that killed her in a matter of months,
just a few weeks short of her twenty-seventh birthday.  Harry had retreated into
his work, building his business, never again allowing a woman to become too
close.

"Times like this can be really hard for families."  Gordon agreed.  "None of
this is pleasant, but people are designed for survival.  Our refusal to accept
death, even when inevitable, has helped us survive as a species, but also allows
people in even the worst circumstances to overcome them - not individually, of
course, but as a society."

"There's been talk of martial law before long" said Harry.  "You must have heard
something, being in the army.  Is it really possible?"

"Not on a large scale" replied Gordon.  "The army, including all reserves, isn't
enough to enforce it on the entire country.  They could handle most of the big
cities, but not much beyond that.  But if they decide to do that, they will use
the state and local police forces, put them under military control with just a
few army personnel to manage the locals.  Done that way, they might manage it
but it would be messy in places.  If you can be out in the country they probably
wouldn't bother you."

Harry was silent for a few moments.  "I wonder of that's why they've been hiring
new cops lately." he said.  "There were some argument at city council meetings, 
with budget problems already and we don't really have any crime problems.  But 
they pushed it through, over a dozen new cops in the past year or so.  A lot of 
them didn't live here before - they were recruited from larger cities from what 
I hear.  More cars, and military vehicles.  They claim they're surplus or obsolete
military equipment given to the city, but they look fairly new.

"The county sheriff said they didn't need them, but they were delivered anyway
and apparently someone took the sheriff aside for a private talk that changed
his mind."

"Have any cops resigned?" asked Gordon.

"Two or three, I guess." replied Harry.  They didn't give reasons, but it's not
hard to make the connection.   The sheriff's department, I haven't heard.  They
have a lot of rural area to deal with, and most of us in town don't know any of
the deputies."

Gordon didn't like keeping Harry in the dark.  They had been friends for a long
time, even if they hadn't seen each other for quite a while.  He knew Harry was
a decent man, honest and loyal.  The only kind of friends he wanted.

"The best thing to do at this point" he said, "Is to be vigilant.  Get the
stuff I told you about, convert unneeded cash into survival supplies.  Do you
have something to write on?"

"How big?" asked Harry.

"A business card will do" said Gordon.

Harry fished one of of his pocket and handed it to him, then gave him a pen.
Gordon wrote something on the back.

"Find a place to stop, where we can talk outside of the car." he said.

They were on a road near the city limits, with open farmland on one side.

"This OK?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, just turn into one of the places where there's access to the field."

Harry soon found one and stopped, and Gordon got out.  He was fairly certain
now of Harry, and if he was wrong he had already gone too far anyway.  Harry
followed him as they walked along the dirt road into a field which had been
recently plowed, probably after a winter wheat harvest, given the time of year.
Gordon handed him the card.

"You car probably isn't bugged yet" he said,  "But you can't be too careful.
After I get home I'll have someone contact you, with some things you need.
He'll use the password on that card, so you know it's safe."

"If it isn't it probably will be soon" Gordon replied.  "If you share any of
what I've told you, be careful.  People under stress are unpredictable - the
one thing that is to be expected is that a lot of them will submit with
relatively little pressure.  They become informers, and dangerous to those who
won't give in."

Harry was quite as they walked back to the car.  Before they got in Gordon said
"Don't be driven by fear.  Knowing the danger is the biggest part of avoiding
it."

"I guess we didn't spend much of our time sightseeing" said Gordon as they
drove away.  "It's about time I should start back home.  Don't worry about
things too much - just watch and be careful.  Strange as it may seem, paranoia
may be the best policy - just don't let it make you crazy.