"There never was a time when, in my opinion, some way could not be found to prevent the drawing of the sword."
-Ulysses S. Grant
"Allow the president to invade a neighboring nation, whenever he shall deem it necessary to repel an invasion, and you allow him to do so whenever he may choose to say he deems it necessary for such a purpose - and you allow him to make war at pleasure."
-Abraham Lincoln
"Why of course the people don't want war; naturally, that is understood. But, after all, it is the leaders of the country who determine the policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along, whether it is a democracy, or a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the peacemakers for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country."
-Hermann Goering
"The size of the lie is a definite factor in causing it to be believed, for the vast masses of a nation are in the depths of their hearts more easily deceived than they are consciously and intentionally bad. The primitive simplicity of their minds renders them a more easy prey to a big lie than a small one, for they themselves often tell little lies, but would be ashamed to tell big lies.
-Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf
"What's the use of sending a $2 million missile into a $10 tent to hit a camel in the butt?"
-George W. Bush
LAST NIGHT, I too had a dream. Not the great vision of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. as he spoke on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, his words filled with light and hope, the promise of a brighter future, the conviction of a just cause and the will to fight for freedom and righteousness. No. My dream is more Orwellian-full of darkness and shadows, misery and fear.
I see cameras everywhere, watching me as I go about the daily business of life. Big Brother is watching me-always. And listening. I dare not pick up the phone.
I can no longer turn on the TV-the shows and news are created for a world of Stepford Wives and Zombies, just bland porridge for the masses. It makes my brain numb to watch them, mindless dribble devoid of meaning. I do not belong here-America has become a nation of talking heads, but no sound comes out of their mouths and the silence they produce with their simplistic babble of endless sound-bites is far worst than the screams of the tortured and dying that we know are out there but never see. We are insulated from reality and sheltered from the truth, nothing but brainwashed sheep.
So my dream is about surrender-faith before reason. Do as you are told or you are the enemy. Believe, but do not ever question. See, but only with blinders on. Listen and nod your head in agreement, but do not ever understand. Follow the blind man even if he leads you off a cliff into the "dark abyss of annihilation."
The lemmings are running hard in the twilight of this great land.
How did it come to this, I ask myself? What has happened to the once great and proud America, beacon of freedom and hope for so many generations?
The dream has turned into a nightmare-his name is "M"-but the story that follows is not so much about this cruel, evil little man and his abuses of power, as it is about the world that he has created from the madness of his arrogance, and the people who have to live, suffer and die in it.
"If this were a dictatorship, it would be a heck of a lot easier, just so long as I'm the dictator."
-George W. Bush
THE SPECIAL SERVICESBranch headquarters in New York City are in a converted gothic apartment building on Central Park West, only a few blocks from the Dakota Apartments, where John Lennon's dreams of world peace ended on December 8, 1980, in a hail of bullets fired by a delusional assassin, Mark David Chapman, who believed that he could steal the ex-Beatle's fame and identity. Chapman may have killed the man, but the dream lived on, and the sale of John Lennon and the Beatle's records and memorabilia soared. But what Chapman did not accomplish was done quite easily by presidential decree in 2010, when the Beatle's music was banned from public broadcast and distribution in any form. Mere possession of a Beatle CD would now bring a five- hundred credit fine and a public flogging. Secretary of Faith, Clyde Robinson, made the announcement from the White House. Within a week, the SSB or SS-Bastards as the Special Services Branch are not-so-affectionately called, accompanied by workers
from the NYC Parks Department, rolled into Central Park and closed up Strawberry Fields forever. The city construction workers jack hammered the Imagine centerpiece into a thousand pieces. Songs about socialism and the power of love had no place in the New America. The Beatles were not the only band to be blacklisted though, as there were now over two hundred and the list was growing daily. Howard Stern had fled the country and was now broadcasting from Havana. The United States was threatening to invade if the Cubans didn't shut him down pronto. Most of the Air America on-the-air personalities had fled to Canada except for Randi Rhodes who refused to give in to censorship and was now under house arrest wearing an ankle bracelet. Somewhere, no doubt, hundreds of Faith Department employees sat in cubicles with headphones, radios, flat-screen TVs and iPods coupled to high speed Internet connections, watching MTV, scanning radio programs, new album releases and analyzing the lyrics of every Indie artist on Garageband.com, making sure that nothing was said, done or even suggested that would in the slightest way offend the noble morality of the New America and its model citizens. Praise Jesus!
Two guards stood at attention on either side of the main entrance to SSB Headquarters, in their crisp camouflage uniforms, shiny black boots and red berets embossed with the letter M in gold thread. They each wore a large gold cross on a chain around their necks and carried their loaded M16s in the ready position. While the Special Services Branch were originally an offshoot of the Department of Defense called Strategic Support Branch, they were now under the direct command of the president himself and he had delegated their administration to his trusted Minister of Freedom, Secretary Carla Roni. Every major city had an SSB detachment and New York's was, by default, one of the largest, with four hundred officers plus over a hundred administrative and support staff. While they worked closely with local police forces, the FBI, CIA, NSA and Homeland Security, the SSB was totally independent and accountable to no one but their superiors, which ultimately stopped with the man in the Oval Office himself, and no one messed with President John M. Forrest, known usually only by his middle initial M-who liked his job so much, he had appointed himself to the position for life. Of course, everyone loved M. At least that was the impression you got if you walked down any street in any town in America. There were statues of him in the squares and parks, portraits in schools, hospitals, public buildings and even ballparks and arenas. M's image was everywhere. He temporarily replaced Jackson on the twenty dollar bill (who even remembered Jackson anyway?) before deciding to do away with cash all together. Now there really was one card that did it all: national ID, driver's license and bank card all rolled into one, and if you were stopped by the police, you'd better have your Universal Identification Card with you, because, anyone without their UID as it was called, was subject to immediate arrest and imprisonment. And guess who smiled at you from the back of your UID? Yep, there was M. In front of every courthouse sat a huge monument with the Ten Commandments and the fatherly figure of M standing beside them like a proud Moses, and there were even rumors of an upcoming addition to Mount Rushmore. Praise Jesus! Hail M!
Hermann Gotthard sat at his desk on the third floor. He was the SSB Commander of the New York detachment. Gotthard was a tall man with jet black hair and a pencil-thin mustache. He kept his uniform crisply starched and his black boots polished to a very high shine.
M looked down from a portrait behind the desk. The president wasn't smiling and neither was Gotthard. He scanned the reports in front of him carefully page by page. He always paid attention to the smallest details. It was his job to be anal. As Commander in Chief (also called the CIC as the government loved acronyms) he was responsible for keeping the department quotas, and he didn't like what he saw. He punched at his intercom.
"Johnson!"
"Yes, Sir," came the reply from his personal assistant in the outer office.
"Get your ass in here, PDQ!"
"On my way, Sir."
Less than thirty seconds later, Captain Paul Johnson knocked on the door and poked his head in rather timidly, as was his habit. Gotthard motioned him to come in, but didn't offer him a seat. Unlike Gotthard, Johnson was short and overweight. He kept his blond hair in a crew cut. His uniform fit him poorly and his pudgy face was so red, it looked like just the simple act of breathing left him exhausted.
"I've been looking at the numbers and we're way down this month for PD 1402s," Gotthard informed him with an icy stare.
"I've got three squads on it 24-7," Johnson replied in defense.
"Twenty-three!" Gotthard pointed to the report. "In a whole month, you can only find twenty-three faggots in a city of nearly ten million people?"
"Well, a lot of them have gone underground, back into the closet."
"So go into the fucking closet and arrest them. What's so hard about that? The President has decreed that homosexuality is a serious crime and it's our job to arrest all the queers and dykes-period."
"Sir, we're doin' our best-"
Gotthard held up his hand. "Don't give me that horse-shit! Call the FBI. They've got files going back to Hoover. They must have membership lists of fag organizations." Gotthard rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "And what about all those gay marriages that were annulled in San Francisco and Boston? I'm sure a lot of New York fruits must have gone there to do their vows." Just the thought made him sick to his stomach. Nasty. Gotthard hated a lot of people: blacks, Jews, liberals and commies to name a few, but gays were right at the top of his shit list. "Check with California and Massachusetts and get their marriage records. I think Oregon did some too."
Johnson had his pad out now and was furiously making notes. Either he had a bad memory or figured scribbling on a pad made him look more intelligent. It didn't impress Gotthard. He treated Johnson like a total idiot.
"The bottom line is I want to see another zero on this number on next month's report: 2-3-0. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Good. Now get the fuck out of here. Go find some queers. I've got work to do."
Johnson scrambled out of the office without looking back. Gotthard leaned back in his chair and smiled. Just bullying Johnson had made him feel a lot better. Maybe he should go down to the basement and see how the morning's interrogations were going. He could pull out a few fingernails or zap someone's testicles; that always managed to cheer him up!