Firebase Freedom (26 page)

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Authors: William W. Johnstone

“I was elected, because the people of America were ready for a change,” Ohmshidi said. “They had stood by helplessly to watch as America waged war on Islam. They had watched the American Jews take over the financial industry, the media, the entertainment industry.”
“The media? The mainstream media, and their shameless fawning over you, is what got you elected, and now you are attacking them?”
Ohmshidi smiled. “Well, there, you see, you wondered how I got elected. It just came from your own mouth. The media elected me. That is, all the media except that extreme right wing cable news service that billed itself as, what was it? Fair and Objective? Well, you see what happened to them. The people overwhelmingly supported my Fairness Doctrine, which got them, and you, knocked off the air.”
“How do you know the people supported it? Neither they, nor their elected representatives, ever got the opportunity to vote on it. It was one of your executive orders.”
“Yes, but in your case, it didn't work, did it? Somehow, you managed to get back onto TV, to do your damage. Well, you will do no more damage. I am going to make an example of you, Mr. Gregoire. I am going to hold your trial on national television, then, after you are found guilty, you will be publicly executed.”
“Have you ever heard of Nathan Hale?” Gregoire asked.
“No, who is he? Is he another right wing bigot?”
Gregoire smiled. “I didn't think you would have heard of him.”
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-NINE
Jewish Ultimate Resolution Camp 26
 
While chopping cotton, Sam managed to break off a piece of the hoe handle, about as long as a policeman's nightstick. He was able to get it back into the barracks without its being discovered. At a little after one a.m. the next morning, he got up and sneaked out of the barracks.
Sam had killed when he was in Afghanistan, so the concept of killing, if it was an enemy soldier, was not foreign to him. His plan called for him to kill one of the roving guards, and that's what he intended to do, unless the guard killed him.
Sam stayed in the shadow of the barracks, waiting for the guard to come by. The first time he came by, he was too far away. If Sam committed himself, he would be seen before he could get close enough to the guard. The guard's second pass was the same as the first—he was still too far away.
Sam knew that he was going to have to do something to attract the guard over to him, so on the third pass, he began raking the billy club against the side of the barracks building. The guard heard it, stopped, and looked over toward the building.
Sam had already checked out the visual, and he knew that under the current conditions, he couldn't be seen by the guard. He raked the club across the side of the building again, and this time, as Sam hoped he would, the guard came over to investigate. Sam waited until the guard was practically on top of him, then he brought the club down, hard, over the guard's head.
The guard went down and Sam knelt beside him, hitting him again and again until he was sure he was dead. After that, he stripped the guard and donned the black uniform, dressing the guard's body in his own clothes.
Now, dressed in the black uniform of the Janissary, Sam picked up the guard's rifle and began walking guard. He knew, from observation, that this relief would be over at two o'clock, which was less than an hour from now. He knew, also, that the gate would be open about five minutes before two, to allow the new relief in. It was Sam's plan to measure his circuit so that he would be even with the gate when it opened.
Steadily, and with a measured gait, Sam continued “walking guard” to complete the duty of the man he had just killed. He was at one corner on the side of the compound where the main gate was, when it was opened and the new relief came inside. As he knew they would, they gathered in formation for a moment before they were released to relieve the guard.
Sam slowed his gait until the new relief began to scatter through the compound. He walked through the open gate holding a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, sneezing as he did so.
“If you're catching the flu, don't be coming around me,” the man in the gate house said.
Without lowering the handkerchief from his face, Sam lifted the other hand and waved. He walked straight to the parking lot, then hit the remote key he had found in the guard's pocket, until he found the car. He wasn't challenged as he drove away.
The first part of his plan, escape from Camp 26, was relatively easy. But he had had several days to come up with the plan, and, more importantly, to scope out the compound.
Now, though, he was going after Sarah. He had not seen the compound where she was being kept, and didn't know which barracks she would be in. Then, as he thought about it more, an idea came to him, and he smiled. It would either work perfectly, or it would get him killed. And if it didn't work, then he would just as soon be killed.
He drove at nearly ninety miles per hour, reaching Sanderson no more than fifteen minutes after he left Camp 26. It helped that he knew Sanderson, and Carlisle Road, so he knew where Sarah would be.
 
Women's Jewish Ultimate Resolution Camp 49
 
Sam drove right up to the gate house, got out of the car, then sprinted to the door. Jerking it open he saw someone sleeping at the desk.
“Wake up!” he demanded.
The man awoke.
“What is your name?” Sam asked.
“Lewis.”
“Lewis, I have urgent orders from
Sarhag
Kareem Ali.”
“What are the orders?” the sleepy guard asked.
The first part of Sam's plan had succeeded. He had not been recognized and challenged immediately.
“The Jew Gelbman has escaped. We believe he will be coming here to try and get his wife.
Sarhag
Ali wants me to take her back to Camp 26. Bring her to me at once.”
“What is his wife's name?”
“Jewess Gelbman.”
Lewis tapped the name into a computer. “We have two Gelbmans here. Samantha and Sarah.”
“Sarah,” Sam said. “Bring her to me, and be quick. Even now, the Jew Gelbman might be here.”
“She's in barracks number three, fourth bed on the left,” Lewis said. “All the guards have cell phones, I'll call.” He picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Simmons, are you near barracks number two? Good, get the Jewess Gelbman, fourth bunk on the left, and bring her to the gate. Don't ask questions, just do it.”
Sam stepped over to a window and looked out. The next big challenge would be what would happen when they brought Sarah in. If she gave a sense of recognition, it could spoil everything.
He decided he would stay at the window with his back to her, when they brought her in, hoping she wouldn't recognize him right away.
Although he only waited, according to the clock on the wall, seven minutes, each minute seemed an hour long. He was afraid that at any moment, the phone would ring, and it would be the authorities from Camp 26.
“What is this? Why have you brought me here?” Sarah asked as she was brought into the gate house. The sound of Sarah's voice was so wonderful that Sam had to fight to keep from calling out to her.
“Shut up, you Jew bitch!” Sam said, making his voice as hostile as possible. “I'll ask the questions.”
He turned then to look at Sarah, praying that she did nothing to give him away.
“Lewis, do you have something for me to sign before I take the Jewess with me?”
“No!” Sarah said. “No, I want to go back to the barracks. Please, don't make me go with him.”
She had caught on right away! Sam knew that she would.
“Shut up,” Lewis said. “You have no say in this.”
Lewis typed a receipt into the computer, printed it out, and slid it across the desk to Sam.
Received into my Custody, by order of
Sarhag Kareem Ali, the Jewess Sarah
Gelbman.
Sam signed the name Otto Spear on the blank line, because he knew it to be the name of one of the Janissary guards back at Camp 26.
“Come on, Jew bitch,” he said gruffly, grabbing Sarah by the arm.
“Ow! You're hurting me!” Sarah said. She turned back to Lewis. “Please, let me go back to the barracks.”
Lewis laughed. “That's what I like, for our women to look at this as their home.”
“Come on, you're wasting my time,” Sam said, leading her out to the car. Opening the door he shoved her into the seat roughly, then he hurried around to the driver's side, and drove away. Not until they were at least a quarter of a mile down Carlisle Road from the camp did Sarah speak.
“Sam, God in Heaven, how did you do this?”
“It was easy. I just decided to wake myself up from the nightmare I was having.”
“Oh, Sam, I love you so! I, I . . .” tears began streaming down Sarah's cheeks. “I didn't know if I would ever even see you again.”
“We're not out of the woods yet. I'm sure that by now they've discovered the body of the guard I killed. And this is his car.”
“Oh, you had to . . .”
“Kill someone? Yes, Sarah, I had to kill someone. But I look at it as no different from what I had to do when I was in Afghanistan.”
“I'm not condemning you, my darling,” Sarah said, putting both hands around his arm.
“Sarah!” Sam said. “Look!” They were passing a warehouse, and Sam pointed to an eighteen-wheeler that was sitting in the dark parking lot. “I recognize that truck! It's one of the ones we used to own in the before time!”
Driving into the warehouse yard, he parked the car, got out, and made a close examination of the big, Peterbuilt diesel truck. Even though the door had been painted over, he could see under the paint the shadow of the old markings:
MID-AMERICA TRUCKING
Dallas, TX
BL 80,000LBS
“I wonder if . . .” he said, then he reached under the left vertical stack, felt around a bit, and smiled. He pulled a little case out, opened the lid, and produced the key. “Yes!” he said, excitedly.
“Sam, what if there's someone sleeping in the back?”
“Yeah, maybe I'd better check.”
Sam pulled the pistol that had come with the black uniform he was wearing.
“Sam, whoever it is, don't kill him.”
“I won't,” Sam promised. “If there's anyone there I'll just order him out. When he sees this uniform I don't think he'll give me any trouble.”
Sam opened the door, pulling it open as quietly as he could. A light came on, on the floor, but not overhead. He stepped up onto the step, put his knee on the seat, and looked into the sleeper cab. It was too dark in the back for him to be able to tell if anyone was there or not.
Sam knew this truck well, and he knew where the toggle switch was that would turn on the light in the sleeper cab. He flipped it on, and the cab was flooded with light.
It was empty.
“Sarah, it's empty,” Sam called down. “Get in, quick!”
Sam thought about dropping the trailer, but decided that once the word got out, a tractor without the trailer would stand out among the highway traffic more than a tractor-trailer combination. So, leaving it attached, he drove off.
They reached Del Rio, Texas, just before six in the morning. Turning right on Gibbs, he headed straight for the Mexican border, crossing into Mexico at Ciudad Acuña. The “open border” problem had been eliminated when the United States collapsed. The U.S. was no longer a destination for “illegal immigrants.” Instead, the opposite phenomenon developed, with Americans fleeing to Mexico.
Sam's trucks had often crossed into Mexico to deliver or pick up cargo, and all that was required was a twenty-four hour commercial pass at the point of entry.
“You'd better take off that shirt before you get to the border check,” Sarah cautioned.
“Yeah, good idea.”
When he reached the checkpoint, a border guard, with a cigarette hanging from his lips, came out to the truck.
“
Necesito una visa commercial, por favor
,” Sam said.
“
Diez Moqaddas
,” the border guard said.
Fortunately, the guard whose uniform Sam had taken had been carrying a billfold with almost two hundred Moqaddas, so Sam had no problem paying ten for the commercial visa.
Two hours later Sam and Sarah were in a 2008 Toyota, having traded the truck for it to someone who didn't need the title to close the deal. When Sam crossed into the U.S. at Laredo, he was, again, wearing the black uniform of the Janissary. The border guard approached the car, but seeing the uniform, stopped, and gave the closed fist over his heart salute.
“Obey Ohmshidi!” he said.
Sam returned the salute.
“You may go ahead, sir,” the border guard said. Sam nodded, then drove on through.
“Sam, where are we going?” Sarah asked.
“Shortly after Ohmshidi was elected, I got a letter from Jake Lantz, an officer I met in Afghanistan. He was a helicopter pilot who carried me from place to place a few times. He said that if everything went south under Ohmshidi, he was going to hole up in a place called Fort Morgan, down on the Alabama coast. He invited me down, I should have taken him up on it.”

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