WRITING: A Revolution starts with one man (An Index Card Novel)

He was just an old Jew in post World War One Germany. His only child, his son, was caught by the Brown Shirts and beaten to death. After that his wife lost the will to live, she was raped and killed by some drunken Nazi soldiers on leave. If they’d done that to an Aryan woman, they’d have been shot. Instead they got “genetic counseling”, and punishment for “wasting their seeds” on the Fatherland. He had received notice to prepare to be resettled. He knew in his heart what that meant. The Torah didn’t approve of murder, but that’s what he had in his heart.

He slid the old credenza away from the wall and took out his “tools” from World War I. The Gas Mask, the Mauser, the ammo. In the soon to be darkened railroad apartment, he put dark blankets crumpled on the floor to confuse things. Some gasoline was spread around. Kerosene lamps were in abundance. At the end of the apartment, in the kitchen, he put a sand bag rest. Extinguished the lights. He got down on the floor and waited. It wouldn’t be long.

In the Schutzstaffel, he was an up and comer. He’d already deported 600 Jews. Killed 400 resisting deportation. He had several crack squads. As Obersturmführer, he had his duty. Pickings were getting slim. To boost his numbers, he had his squads sweeping Jews up off the street whenever the opportunity presented itself. He always hated the apartment raids. Fighting on the other man’s ground. But it often couldn’t be helped. He went along on the raids to inspire his men. This apartment was a little different. The occupant didn’t go quietly. There were casualties. He’d lost 6 of his best men. He went to inspect. One Jew dead; six of his best. Didn’t seem like a fair trade. As he walked thru, he smelt gas. Was there a leak? By the door, one of the slackers lit a cigarette.

Woosh!

The Obersturmführer died screaming. Along with 13 of his crack squad.

19 for 1!

*****

He was just an old Catholic Pro-life gun owner in Amerika. His only child, his son, was killed in some -stan or another. After that his wife lost the will to live, she was raped and killed by some illegal immigrant who the government had given amnesty. He had received notice to prepare to be ‘inspected”. He had like a good citizen “papered” his guns. The Obama BATF was coming to collect them. He had a paper trail when he bought his gold coins; the FBI was coming to collect them. He’d made some obscure paperwork mistake on his 1040, despite using an accountant, the IRS was coming to seize their rightful wealth. He knew in his heart what that meant. The Bible didn’t approve of murder, but that’s what he had in his heart.

He slid the old credenza away from the wall and took out his “tools” from the Y2K scare. The Gas Mask, the AR15 with a special seer plate, the ammo. In the soon to be darkened railroad house, he put dark blankets crumpled on the floor to confuse things. In the basement, the natural gas to the hot water heater was disconnected. Kerosene lamps were in abundance down there. On the main level, he had phosphorus ready to disrupt night vision googles. At the end of the apartment, in the kitchen, he put a sand bag rest. Extinguished the lights. He got down on the floor and waited. It wouldn’t be long. He thought of Pastor Martin Niemîller.

In the Obama Homeland Security, he was an up and comer. He’d already arrested 300 Pro-Lifers, 150 Gun Owners, 100 Gold bugs, and 75 Born Again Christians. Killed another 400 resisting “inspection”, or arrest. He had several crack squads. As an Assistant Regional Director, he had his duty. Pickings were getting slim. To boost his numbers, he had his squads sweeping people up off the street whenever the opportunity presented itself. As long as they were not Muslims or people of color, he could always find a reason to justify the arrest. He always hated the apartment raids. Fighting on the other man’s ground. But it often couldn’t be helped. He went along on the raids to inspire his men. This apartment was a little different. The occupant didn’t go quietly. There were casualties. He’d lost 16 of his best men. He went to inspect. One fat old white man dead; many of his best too. Didn’t seem like a fair trade. Here the man had an interesting tactic. He shot a few inches off the ground. No one had bullet proof boots. All of his casualties were knocked down by ankle wounds. Then they were prone and their bullet proof armor was useless. They were shot laying down. Even their night vision googles were made useless by the blinding light. The dead resister obviously had a plan. He’d have to adjust their tactics. As he walked thru, he smelt gas. Was there a leak? By the door, one of the slackers lit a cigarette.

Woosh!

The Captain died screaming. Along with another 23 of his crack squad.

40 for 1!

*****

At Homeland Security Headquarters, they were running out of people willing to serve arrest and seizure warrants.

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2 Responses to WRITING: A Revolution starts with one man (An Index Card Novel)

  1. John F says:

    Interesting…you have quite an imagination! Or do you? One story decades ago, another this decade?

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