His tightly controlled showmanship slipped with the raw passion in his voice. Even his long serving camera crew in the sound booth were taken aback by his genuine angst. The display of human weakness only heightened the effect of his words. No one minded how far he deviated from any widely accepted religious doctrine.
“But, my brave brothers and sisters in faith, we are not alone. Nay, the Lord of Hosts is on our side. He promises to protect anyone who will believe in and stand with Him with all the righteous fire of Heaven! We can and we must drive the forces of evil and corruption back to the depths of Hell where they came from. He will carry the battle for us; we need only have the courage and the faith to stand with our God! From Genesis to Revelations, the Bible has always had a clear message: good can triumph over evil, if only the good will act!”
The standing applause was far from universal. Several parishioners wordlessly slipped out. Some stormed out more dramatically and still others passionately argued with the person next to them. The fierce ovation and screams of “Amen” and “Hallelujah” from the majority drowned out those dissenters. The preacher took the time to catch his breath and compose himself. He gave that trademarked humble grin.
“I can see I’m preaching to the faithful here! So, you’re probably wondering what, exactly, should I do? Well that, you warriors of Christ, is a personal matter between you and God. He calls each to serve in different ways. Pray on it. Search your souls and accept His calling, even if that doesn’t fit with what you want to do.” His fatherly tone turned more thoughtful.
“Some are simply refusing to pay their income taxes, refusing to help finance evil. It’s a small, but powerful and growing movement. Others, like those brave stalwarts of freedom in Florida, believe now is the time to take up arms directly against tyranny. The movement out west to cut out the cancer of corruption and form a new government grows stronger every day. Which is the most effective method? I’m not sure. I just know God works in mysterious ways. Fact is, anyone resisting the enemy of Justice and Liberty, in even a small way, is my brother or sister and worthy of my respect.”
He paused, eyes closed, and nodded at the ceiling.
“What the Lord has made clear is that the time for wailing and gnashing of teeth has past. It is time to gird ourselves with the righteousness of God in faith and seek battle with the foes of Light. As Christians and as Americans we owe it to our God, our forefathers and, most importantly, to our children. One day, my not yet born grandchildren will ask me, ‘Grandfather, what did you do during the Second American Revolution?’ And I’ll proudly look them in the eyes and say, ‘I’m why it’s called a revolution and not Armageddon!’ ”
This wasn’t the only preacher, priest, rabbi, mullah or “guru” proselytizing against the government. Across the country, thousands invoked similar messages, even if to smaller congregations and without television coverage. However, since this was America, no consensus opinion could be found. For every religious leader speaking out against the government, another passionately called for a vigorous defense of democracy. Those few calling for peace and moderation were, in the eyes of friend and foe alike, supporting the government.
Even the Pope’s numerous addresses for peaceful dialogue and vague pleading that both sides respect the rule of law and democratic processes were considered provocative. Naturally, each side read between the lines and found what they believed in his words. Pro-government sects hyped his “support” and the American Roman Catholic church, already at sharp odds with the president over his previous political stances, were deeply offended. Before too long they would finally follow through with their years of threats and officially break with the Church.
Whatever each side called it— a war for freedom against tyranny, protection from anarchy, justice for a thousand different sins or plain old fashioned devil fighting— the one common theme among them all was that this war…would be a holy war.
Chapter 6
Northeast Florida
Reni’s Redneck Yacht Club on the St. Marys River might have made great barbecue, but they made a poor Checkpoint Charlie. The military standoff over the Hwy 17 bridge on the Georgia/Florida border should have been hilarious… and not so goddamn scary.
When the last federal employee angrily crossed the border, a National Guard Humvee followed behind them and blocked the bridge. The gunner, with all seriousness, pointed his .50 Cal machine gun at a federal M2 Bradley on the far bank. From a distance, he looked full of deadly resolve.
The only resolve he held, as he stood there shaking in fear, was to abandon his weapon and dive into the water below if the Feds moved so much as one inch forward. This crap was insane! He wasn’t about to piss his life away over some publicity stunt.
Jessica and her cameraman stood in the middle of the bridge, pretending the hate-filled glances from both sides were directed at each other, and not them.
“Damn, there’s nothing more exposed than being in the middle, huh?” The cameraman just spun around in a slow arc.
“Who cares? This is a friggin’ amazing! We’re the only crew around. Don’t worry, Jes, I won’t forget you when I’m rich and famous.”
He stopped his panning and zoomed in on the soldiers, weaving a story in film more powerful than anything Jessica could write. Despite the violence and rhetoric, so many Americans still viewed the whole “Florida crisis” as one great big joke.
At least, before he and Jessica arrived on the scene. Across the country, the stunning video of resolute soldiers squaring off across no-man’s-land raised long-forgotten ghosts in the older generation.
The footage even roiled up most of the disconnected youthful skeptics. An entire generation that didn’t remember the passions and stakes of the Cold War had no personal frame of reference for this new danger. In many ways, that left them more susceptible to the propaganda from both sides. They lacked the anti-rhetoric inoculations the older generation spent many terrifying years accumulating.
Which was a shame, because it wouldn’t be the middle-aged called upon to settle this issue on the battlefield. One thing truly hadn’t changed over the years. Despite all the hi-tech toys, war was still about old men talking and young people dying.
Perhaps things wouldn’t get so bad. Within moments of Jessica’s latest “frontline” report, millions of people rushed to Google who their congressperson was for the first time. Most House members’ websites were shut down within seconds by what amounted to a denial of service attack. The DC branch Post Office would have to rent a warehouse for the overflow snail mail. Those slightly better connected or better at research kept an army of temp workers trapped on the phones for days.
This sudden resurgence of civil participation in the political process didn’t help the situation. The US House of Representatives weren’t famous for their moral courage or strong leadership to begin with. The shocks from the last few months were way too much for those poor lawyers. In their entire careers, nothing had ever really been expected of them, but now people were demanding bold, genuine leadership. This was sure as hell not what they signed up for.
Jessica cleared her throat and steadied herself as the cameraman focused on her.
“This is Jessica Sinclair, coming to you live from the funeral of democracy…”
Her producer ran up and slashed a hand across his throat. He covered his phone, but kept it to his ear. “You’re getting preempted. We’ll have to wait and see what position the chief editor wants to take on this new development.”