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MacKenzie reached his billet barely able to draw a breath. Estelle awaited him at the front door, as always. His condition was plain to her. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed him to her before he could step over the lintel.
“I love you,” he muttered against her shoulder. Despite his efforts, a single deep sob escaped him.
She stroked his hair and said nothing.
Presently he said. “Mark Thorsten killed himself.”
“I know,” she said. “I spent most of the day with Pam.” A pause. “She wasn’t surprised. She said...she said she saw it coming. John, will she be all right?”
He looked at her in puzzlement. “Was she all right when you left her?”
She frowned. “You know what I mean.”
He grimaced. “I don’t know, Eppie. I hope so. If I hear anything to the contrary, I’ll...I don’t know. This is a first.”
She nodded. “For all of us. How many today?”
“A hundred twenty-six.”
“How many...” Her voice caught briefly. “...for the other door?”
“Forty-seven.” He shuddered. “I stopped telling them, Eppie. After the first twenty-three I just...stopped. I figured it would be kinder that way.”
Her expression was as understanding and accepting as always. She nodded.
“Would you like to, to get out for the evening?” he said. “We could go to—”
She shook her head. “I’d rather stay home with you. Just in case Pam...you know.”
“Yes,” he said. “I know.”
He took her hand, marveling afresh at the contrast between the lightness of her palm and the smooth jet of the opposite side. He brought that palm to his lips and kissed it tenderly.
What a marvel. She knows what’s happening, and accepts it. She knows what I’ve been assigned to do, and accepts it. She doesn’t know why I and the others were chosen for this duty, yet she accepts it. She does know that except for having married me, she would be in that pen, awaiting her own disposition...and accepts it.
“You’re my lifeline,” he said. “My tether to sanity in an insane time. Without you, I might do what Mark did.”
She smiled sadly. “I know. It’s why you were chosen.”
He peered at her. “Huh?”
“Hadn’t you thought about it?” she said. “The Army has plenty of colonels. Some of them would enjoy doing what you do.” She stroked the sides of his face. “I’m the guarantee that you won’t...because you can’t.”
“You do know,” he said wonderingly.
“I always did, John. General Lapierre told me. Let’s have some dinner.”
She took his hand and led him to their kitchen.
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Author’s Afterword
Before I burden you with more prose, please ponder the significance of the following graphic:
That should frighten you. If it doesn’t, nothing else I say will have any measurable impact, so you might as well stop reading right now. Those who elect to continue on should consider the implications.
At the time of this writing, the Negro population of the United States comes to about 12% of the total. The Asian fraction is quite small, about 3%. That means that Caucasians outnumber Negroes by roughly seven to one.
Who would win a race war? Given the arithmetic above, the disparities in wealth and armament, and the increasing frustration of white Americans with black criminality, black demands for largesse, black racism and the persons who publicly foment it, would American Negroes be wise to touch off a race war?
But would that stop them? It hasn’t even slowed the “Black Lives Matter” promoters.
Are there enough cooler heads among American Negroes to halt the tide before it crashes upon us? Are such persons readying themselves to step forward and chastise the promoters of interracial violence?
I must hope so. I do hope so. But I don’t think peaceable Americans have much time or patience left. Matters are already looking mighty shaky.
Should a real, general race war break out, there’s only one way it could end. The scenario in the story above is about the gentlest way I can imagine the surviving allegiants of the losing side would be treated.
If you’re black and are rationally afraid of such an outcome, please, please lend your voice to averting it. If you’re not black, ponder the probable consequences of pandering to the racialist mouthpieces and the thugs in the vanguard of the trend. The New Black Panthers. The followers of Louis Farrakhan. The perpetrators of the “knockout game.” Those who listen to Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson, and other racialists, nod, and say that “Whitey has it coming.”
There are seven whites for every black. The whites are far wealthier, far better armed, and near to the end of their rope.
If you can do nothing else, pray. Please.
Francis W. Porretto
Mount Sinai, New York
September, 2015
About The Author
Francis W. Porretto is an engineer, fictioneer, and commentator. He operates the Liberty’s Torch Website (https://bastionofliberty.blogspot.com), a hotbed of pro-freedom, pro-American, pro-Christian sentiment, where he and his Esteemed Co-Conspirators hold forth on every topic under the Sun. You can email him at
[email protected] Thank you for taking an interest in his fiction.
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