Firebase Freedom (23 page)

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Authors: William W. Johnstone

BOOK: Firebase Freedom
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Sarah helped Sam to his feet. “Come on, Sam. We'll go. Maybe it won't be so bad.”
“Obey Ohmshidi! Please have your appointment letter in your hand, and your identity cards pinned to your shirt or jacket. Without your appointment letter and identity cards, you cannot be processed.”
Holding a tissue to the wound on the side of his head, Sam walked with Sarah to the table by the side door where someone was checking the appointment letters and ID cards. Unlike the Janissaries and their black uniforms, this man was in civilian clothes. As soon as he identified the person, he would find their name on a printout, then make a mark beside it.
“What happened to you?” the man at the table asked as Sam and Sarah approached.
“I . . .”
“He fell down,” Sarah said, quickly, before Sam could say what actually happened.
“Yes, well, be careful getting onto the bus.” “I'll look out for him,” Sarah said.
“What did you tell him that for?” Sam asked once they were outside the building, and walking toward the ten buses that were parked along the street.
“I think it's best we aren't perceived as troublemakers,” Sarah said. “At least, not until we get to where we are going.”
As they approached the buses they saw several more black-uniformed Janissaries standing on the sidewalk.
“Which bus do we get on?” Sam asked.
“Do not address me, Jew, without the proper salute.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The proper salute, Jew!”
Sam made a fist of his right hand, crossed it across his chest, and said, “Obey Ohmshidi.”
“You will get on this bus, she will go on one of the others,” the man answered. Sam noticed that he did not return the salute.
“What?” Sam replied, protesting loudly. “Wait a minute, what do you mean we go on separate buses? This is my wife!”
“Men and women are not allowed to travel together. It's the law of
Moqaddas Sirata
.”
“What the hell do I care about the law of
Moqaddas Sirata
? We're Jews, remember? The Jewish relocation program? Does that ring a bell with you?” Sam held up the letter of acceptance.
“Get on the bus, Jew, or we will put you on the bus,” the Janissary ordered.
“Do it, Sam,” Sarah said. “I'll be all right.”
“You go over here,” the officer said to Sarah, pointing to another bus.
Sam felt a lump in his throat, and a pressure behind his eyes as he watched his wife being led away. He climbed onto the bus, then settled in the third seat back from the door, on the right side of the vehicle. He sat there, staring through the window as the others were brought out of the building to load onto the buses, and he watched as the men and women were separated.
Sam began to think about the recurring dream that had been plaguing him for the last three years. In that dream some event would separate him from Sarah, and he would be unable to locate her. Often the dreams would be so disconcerting that he would wake up in the middle of the night, breathing hard, his heart beating rapidly, able to calm himself only when he reached over and felt his wife lying beside him.
Now that nightmare was coming true. Or, was this just another dream? Yes, that was it! That had to be it! This was no more than a bad dream. He had certainly had them enough to be able to recognize them. Sometimes when he realized he was having a bad dream, he could will himself to wake up, and he decided to do that now.
Wake up! Wake up!
He told himself.
The bus engine started with a loud roar, and Sam didn't awaken, because he was already awake.
“My God,” Sam said quietly. “It isn't a dream. It's a nightmare, and it has come true!”
Sam saw the other buses pulling away, and he realized to his horror that he didn't even know which bus Sarah was on.
 
 
Sarah knew about Sam's recurring dream, and as the buses drove off, she thought about her husband and the terror he must be going through, now that his worst nightmare was coming true. She held onto the hope and the prayer that they would be reunited once they reached their destination, but when she realized that the buses weren't traveling together, she began to lose hope.
Sam was a strong man, a veteran of the war in Afghanistan who, as lieutenant and platoon leader, had been awarded the Silver Star for bravery in battle. Sarah knew that he could face death calmly, but, like many strong men, he had his Achilles' heel, and in his case it was separation anxiety.
“Hang on, Sam,” she said quietly. “Hang on to the thought that I love you, no matter where you are, no matter where I am, and know that our love will keep us together.”
The bus rolled on, far into the night.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FIVE
It was twenty-four hours later when Sam's bus passed through a gate into some sort of compound. There was a “Welcome” sign just inside the gate.
Welcome to Jewish Ultimate Resolution Camp 26
Earn Your Freedom by Working
Obey Ohmshidi
Looking through the window, Sam could see nothing but men, but maybe it was because the women were all inside somewhere. When the bus stopped, an official stepped in through the door. “Everyone off the bus!” he called. “Follow me for your in-processing.”
“Where are the women?” one of the other passengers asked. “We were separated back in Dallas.”
“All of your questions will be dealt with during the in-processing,” the Janissary officer said.
“What about our luggage?” another asked. “I didn't see it loaded onto this bus.”
“You won't be needing your luggage.”
“How is it that we don't need our luggage?”
“You'll be issued clothes.”
“What do you mean, issued clothes? I have my own clothes. I didn't come here to have you take care of me—I came here to take care of myself. Now, where are my clothes?”
“Let's go, everyone off the bus,” the guard said, without answering the man's question.
As Sam stepped down from the bus he was able to look around, and what he saw caused his knees to grow weak. This wasn't merely a place where they would be in-processed. This was a prison camp. There was no other way to describe it. And, of the ten buses that left Dallas, this was the only one that came to this particular camp. The only people he saw were the Janissary guards, dressed in their black uniforms, and other men, dressed in nondescript gray shirts and trousers. He saw no women anywhere and he had no idea where Sarah was.
The in-processing took place in a building that was set apart from the other buildings, which were long, low, barracks-type buildings. The in-processing building was set up like a classroom, with several rows of chairs facing the front. On the front wall was the red, beige, and blue portrait of Ohmshidi over the words “Obey Ohmshidi.”
Below the portrait was a banner.
EARN YOUR FREEDOM BY WORKING
OBEY OHMSHIDI
“Freedom?” one of the men asked when he read the sign. “What do you mean, earn our freedom? I'm already a free man. I came here of my own free will, remember.”
“Sit down, Jew!” one of the guards said to the man who asked the question. “Sit down, and keep your mouth shut.”
A moment later, one of the Janissaries stepped to the front of the room to address them.
“I am
Sarhag
Kareem Ali.
Sarhag
means colonel, so when you speak to me, you will address me in this fashion: ‘Sir, Jew,' then give your name, ‘
Sarhag
Ali, I beg permission to speak.' If I, or any other official whom you may address sees fit to grant you permission to speak, we will tell you so. You will then proceed by saying, ‘Sir, Jew,' then give your name, and then say whatever unimportant thing it is you have to say. Do you understand?”
Nobody responded, so he pointed to someone in the back row. “You, back there, do you understand?”
“Don't we say ‘Obey Ohmshidi' before we talk to you?”
Suddenly one of the uniformed guards at the back of the room hit the man on the side of his head.
“Evidently, you did not understand how to address me,” Ali said.
“I do, I do!”
The man was hit again.
“Do you understand, now?” Ali repeated.
Now the hapless man understood. “Sir, Jew Friedman,
Sarhag
Ali, I do understand, sir.”
Ali smiled.
“Well, Jew Friedman, I congratulate you. You learned quickly. And now, to answer your question, you do not salute and say, ‘Obey Ohmshidi' when you speak to us. The salute and greeting is an honorable exchange between citizens of the American Islamic Republic of Enlightenment. You are Jews, you are not citizens, therefore you are not accorded the privilege of an honorable exchange.”
“What does that . . .” one of the men started, then remembering, he started over. “Sir, Jew Bernstein.
Sarhag
Ali, I beg permission to speak.”
“You may speak,” Ali said.
“What does that sign mean?” Bernstein asked, pointing to the “Earn your freedom by working” sign.
“It means exactly what it says,” Ali said. “What about the sign do you not understand?”
“I don't understand . . .” Bernstein started, but his response was interrupted by a blow to the side of the head from one of the guards.
“Sir, Jew Bernstein. I don't understand any of it. We came here of our own volition. We applied to come here. But this is nothing like I expected. Where are our wives?”
“Your wives are in another camp, undergoing orientation,” Ali said.
“Sir, Jew Bernstein. We were never told we were going to be separated. I came here by choice, therefore I expect to be able to leave anytime I want, regardless of what that sign says.”
“The situation has changed,” Ali said. “You are Jews.”
“Sir, Jew Bernstein. Yes, we are Jews. We were Jews when we applied for the letter of acceptance, we were Jews when we got on the bus, and we were Jews when we were born. So how can you say that the situation has changed?”
“There has been a public outcry all across the land about the Jewish situation,” Ali said. “The people have demanded that we do something about it.”
“My God!” one of the others said. “So you have set up concentration camps?”
One of the guards started toward the last man to speak, but Ali held up his hand in a benevolent gesture, preventing the guard from hitting him.
“These camps are for your own safety,” Ali said. “I think you do not understand how much hatred the people have for you. If we were to allow you to continue to live among decent Muslims, they may rise in righteous indignation, and we can't be responsible for what would happen.”
“What do you mean you can't be responsible?” Sam asked. “It is your policies, the policies of this new order, that have created this atmosphere of hatred. I never felt hated before.”
“Believe me, you were. All Jews were hated, but because Jews controlled the press and the entertainment industry, the nation was inundated with Zionist propaganda. Lies were told about the so-called holocaust when everyone knows there was no such thing.”
“My God, you are insane,” Friedman said.
Ali lifted his hand toward two SPS officers who were standing in the back of the room. They moved quickly to Friedman, grabbed him, then started toward the door with him.
“What is this? What are you doing?” Friedman shouted in fear.
“Jew Friedman, you are about to provide an object lesson for the others. We will not tolerate insolence or insubordination in this facility.”
“Sir, Jew Bernstein, what are you going to do to him?”
“What we do to him is none of your concern,” Ali said. “But take a lesson from this.” Ali pointed to the portrait of Ohmshidi. “Obey Ohmshidi,” he said.
After the orientation, the newcomers were taken to a building where they were told they would take a shower.
“No! My God, no!” one of the men shouted.
One of the Janissaries in charge laughed. “This is not a gas chamber,” he said. “This is a shower. We will remain in the same building with you as you shower. We wouldn't be here if we were to use gas, now, would we?”
The guards did remain in the same building with them as they showered, and all during the shower the guards laughed and pointed to the naked men, singling out ones who were less endowed than the others, and making fun of him.
“Hey, Jew, what happened to your pecker? Did the
mohel
cut too much off when you were circumcised?”
The other guards laughed, and the rest of the naked men looked away in shame, not wanting to add to the humiliation of the one who was being singled out.
“Jew, you have a new name,” the guard said. “From now on when you speak, you will say, ‘Sir, Jew Tiny Pecker,' then say whatever it is you have to say. Have you got that?”
The man said nothing, and suddenly a whip lashed out to strike him across his bare back and buttocks.
“I asked if you've got that.”
“Yes,” the man replied quietly.
Again the whip lashed out. “Have you got that?”
“Sir, Jew Tiny Pecker. Yes, sir.”
“Ha!” the guard with the whip said. He looked at the others. “I do believe Jew Tiny Pecker has learned his new name.”
Again, the other guards laughed.
The guards handed out new names to some of the others, Jew Fat Ass, Jew Fag, and Jew Dick Face.
After the shower the men returned to recover their clothes, only to discover that they were gone. In their place were gray trousers and shirts, all the same size. For the smaller men the uniforms hung from them, while the larger men could barely get them on. Fortunately, Sam was of average size, and his clothes fit.
That night, after a full day of orientation, if the constant barrage of insults could actually be called that, the men went to bed. This would be the first night since their marriage that Sam had not gone to bed with Sarah.
Not long after they were in bed, the door to the barracks opened, and the guards shouted at them.
“Let this be a lesson to you, Jew bastards!” One of them called, then they heard a loud bump on the floor.
“Oh my God, it's Friedman,” one of the men said.
“Is he hurt?” another asked.
“He's dead.”
 
Jewish Ultimate Resolution Camp 49
 
The women had also been given new clothes, but in their case the clothes were black burqas. At first Sarah resented it, but then she decided there was some advantage in being able to hide herself from the camp guards, nearly all of whom were women, dressed, not in Burqas, but the black uniforms of the Janissary Auxiliary.
As she lay in bed that first night, she wondered about Sam. Where was he? What were they doing to the men?
“Sam,” she said quietly. “Sam, know that I am thinking of you. Know that I love you.”
 
Jewish Ultimate Resolution Camp 26
 
When Sam and the others awakened the next morning, they were shocked to see, hanging from the rafters, the man the guards had called Jew Tiny Pecker. It was obvious he had hung himself, because he had tied his shirt and trousers together to use as a rope.
The others cut him down, put his clothes back on him, then laid him, gently, alongside the body of Rob Friedman.
Sam learned that day what the sign “Earn your freedom by working,” meant, because he, and all the other prisoners with him, were taken out, under guard, to work a farm. For the first time in his life, he learned what it meant to chop cotton.
He and the others had been working for two weeks, and Sam had blisters on his blisters. His back hurt so much that he could barely walk, but he knew better than to let any of the guards know this, because he knew what that would mean. If a person was nonproductive, he was eliminated.
“Hey, Sam,” Ben Bernstein said one day, as they were in the field, chopping. He spoke so quietly that only Sam could hear him.
“I know where our wives are.”

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