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The Coming Rebellion - Sam

An offensive insurrection requires, above all, a quick, irresistible decision. Any interruption, pause, or suspension of activity is inconsistent with the nature of a winning offensive insurgence. - Sam

Sam was halfway through a bottle of Buffalo Trace. He angrily flipped through the channels on his old B/W TV; every channel was mindless reality shows or propaganda news. It was late on a Sunday night, and the night was no better than his day. Sam is a retired Army veteran of over 40 years. Sam's career was a mix of Army National Guard and Army active duty. At the 30-year mark of his time in the National Guard, he resigned his commission and returned as a Staff Sergeant. He served another ten years and was forced out at age 60. He served in Vietnam, Bosnia, Iraq, Afghanistan, and other places worldwide and was a highly decorated soldier with valor. Sam's parents died years ago; he never married and was alone. The Army was his family, and now they were gone too.

He snapped out of his trance just in time to hear the news reporter pontificating about how reelecting the old President would 'wipe out' democracy as we know it. Sam thought to himself; It's too late, dumbshit; we're way past that time as he drained his glass and refilled it with the last of the Buffalo Trace.

The following day, Sam woke with a startle; he thought, "What was that?" Sam's worn-out recliner served as his nightly refuge. Sam lives in the tiny house where he was raised in rural central Michigan. His father farmed his entire life until he died. Sam received the devastating news of his father's death while he was deployed to Afghanistan. He greatly respected his father and his father's profession. His father's style of farming was unique, and all the farmers in the area came to him for advice. The small farms were all but gone now, as the big corporations had bought the land for corporate agriculture. Sam sold his farmland around the house to help pay for his Mother's health care; sadly, she died a short time later.

Knock, Knock, Knock! Sam realized that it was his front door. Sam thought, who would be at his house this time of morning? Wait, what time is it? What day is it? Sam was confused; he tried to focus on the old wall clock that had been there since he could remember; it said 8 AM. The old clock reflected Sam, a plug-in with no electronics. Sam had no cell phones, iPads, Computers, or anything electronic except his old black and white TV. Even the TV had a converter box hooked to the antenna to receive local channels, there was no cable. His only phone was on the kitchen wall, an old-style landline with push buttons. He lifted himself from the chair and moved slowly to answer the door.

He opened the door to see two individuals in business suites looking like morticians. Sam, looking at them confused, said, "Yes?" The big male of the two said, "Mr. Samuel Wilhelm Kaufman?" Sam thought the last time he was called by that name was by his Mother when he set the barn on fire as a kid. Annoyed, Sam replied, "Yes?" The Female of the two said, "You are being served to vacate the premises by the end of the month; if you have any questions, there is a number at the bottom of the letter you can call to help you with your move. This action is irrevocable and cannot be appealed." Sam looked at them confused and said, "I own this house, and all the bills are paid; what is this all about?" The big guy said, "Eminent domain, your land will become part of a green solar farm." Sam defiantly said, "I'm not selling, and you can't eat solar panels!" The Female said flatly, never replying to Sam's last statement, "You have been served." Sam slammed his front door and thought about how many times in Iraq he kicked the front door down, only to find a frightened family huddled in the middle of the floor. He shook off his haunting internal thoughts and headed toward the kitchen phone.

Sam picked up the phone and called his old Army National Guard friend, Don, a retired JAG. Don told him not to worry and that he would call him right back after he made a few inquiries. Sam, relieved by Don's response, hung up the phone and made a pot of coffee. He opened the cupboard to grab another bottle of Trace, but looking into the empty cabinet, he realized he had finished the last one yesterday. He would have to go to town, buy another case, and maybe swing by Don's to see what he found out. As Sam thought about the last 20 minutes and listened to the quiet of his place with only the coffee pot percolating, he realized how much he loved this place and the solitude it brought him. I'd be damn if any jacklegs were going to take it from him. Just then, the phone rang, and Sam answered it quickly. Grabbing the phone from its cradle, he said, "Don?" However, he heard a strong male voice saying, "Hello, Colonel Kaufman, I need you to listen to me very carefully."

Sam looked at the phone, perplexed; now what? he thought. He has not been addressed by that rank since he resigned his commission years ago. The man on the other end of the phone said, "My name is Charon; I will help you through what you need to do to stay alive. A moving truck is coming to your house to help you with your move. All of the contents of your special basement vault will be moved and stored for your use later." Sam was getting anxious and yelled into the phone, "I'm not moving, and leave me alone! at the same time thinking, 'Stay Alive?' He then slammed down the phone. How did they know about his basement vault? He had over 40 years of military weapons, records, and uniforms. More importantly, why would anyone care? The phone rang again, and Sam picked it up, yelling into it, "Stop calling this number and leave me alone!" Only to hear Don say, "Sam, are you alright?"

When Sam realized it was Don, he replied, "Sorry, Don, I haven't had my first cup of coffee yet." Don paused and said, "Sam, you must get out there as fast as possible. I found out the Feds are getting ready to raid your place." Sam said, "Why? I haven't done anything." Don whispered, "I don't know, but I was told to quit asking about you and your summons." Sam had all he could stand for one morning, but as he looked out the kitchen window, he saw a white van coming down his driveway. He abruptly hung up the phone and thought Feds. He started to run and secure himself in the basement vault when the phone rang again. Was that Don calling him back? Hesitantly, he picked up the phone and said in a shakey voice, "Don?" The voice on the other end calmly replied, "Hi Sam, this is Charon. The van coming down your driveway is the moving van I sent you. They will help you move out quickly and get your basement vault's contents. You'll need to grab any personal items you want to keep". Sam replied, "What if I refuse?"

Charon responded, "Sam, the ATF is only two hours from raiding your house. They will take everything from your basement and your home's contents. Within a few hours of them leaving, you will commit suicide. It will be reported as yet another crazy, distraught veteran planning to overthrow the government taking their own life." Sam despondently replied, "I'm not suicidal." Charon responded, "I know, so let me help you." Sam lethagicly said, "Ok, what do you want from me?" Charon warmly said, "You are going to help lead the recovery of Bob's Black Swan event happening on 5 November 2024." Sam had no idea what a Black Swan event was or how he would help; all he knew was that he wanted the madness to stop.

The promise of a moving van, a lifeline sent by Charon, clashed with Sam's refusal to relinquish his haven. A tug-of-war between federal threats and Charon's cryptic agenda left Sam teetering on the precipice. The looming specter of an ATF raid, the fateful removal of his possessions, and the dire warning of a staged suicide converged in a surreal crescendo.

He decided to leave with the Charon's people. If they wanted him dead, it would have already happened. Besides, it's better than forced suicide, which he believed happened more often than some would like to think.

The van was packed in less than an hour, and his house was mostly empty. The last thing Sam grabbed on his way out the door was the old clock that hung on the wall. He crawled into the back of the Black SUV that had accompanied the moving van and threw his old military duffel bag on the seat next to him. Sam held the old wall clock in his lap as if the clock was made of gold. Sam looked back at his house as the driver drove away, only to see his home explode. Sam thought, a perfect ending to a strange morning. I didn't even get my cup of coffee, and then he thought, "Who is Bob?"

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