An Early Morning Thought

For me, early morning is the time for “thinking about the unthinkable,” as the late, great Herman Kahn once put it. The “unthinkable” has many sub-varieties. One of them is the degradation of the United States into just one more totalitarian hellhole.

“But how could that happen?” I hear you cry. If Project Veritas has its facts right, it’s happening now:

If federal agents are really doing this, then it’s time for a Second American Revolution.

It might start small:

     Devin came awake in the darkness to see his brother’s silhouette gliding down the sleeping loft’s stairs. Andrew was fully dressed. He moved with the silent fluidity of a great hunting cat on the stalk.
     Devin sat up and strained to hear whatever disturbance in the night had alerted Andrew, but nothing reached him. He threw off his sheet and clattered down the stairs, coming to a halt just before he crashed into his brother. Andrew smirked at him in the near-total darkness.
     “What’s up, Drew?”
     The elder MacLachlan put a finger to his lips. “Go get dressed. Make it quick.”
     Devin raced back up the stairs. When he’d clothed himself and descended again, Andrew handed him the shotgun, then took down the Winchester and headed for the cabin door.
     Andrew hurried down the dirt path that was the only connection between the cabin and the world beyond his freehold. Devin followed close behind, straining to match his brother’s stealth of movement. About three hundred yards from the cabin, Andrew waved him off the path and into the thick brush that flanked it. They crouched and waited. Nothing moved in the meager light from the almost-new moon.
     About a minute later, Devin heard a low grinding sound from something moving ponderously up the path. It took a few seconds before he could identify it: wide pneumatic tires at low pressure. Someone was driving an off-road vehicle toward the cabin.
     He started to rise, but Andrew’s hand descended on his shoulder and squeezed. The elder MacLachlan’s eyes were fixed on the road.
     The vehicle came into view. It looked to be a luxury four-by-four that had been painted a dark forest green. Its weight pressed its enormous tires nearly flat against the dirt path. Its headlights were off. Behind the windscreen Devin could see two faces, both expressionless.
     He glanced at his brother. Andrew remained statue-still.
     When the truck was within ten yards of their lookout, there was a bright flash and a loud report, and one of its tires disintegrated. The vehicle listed immediately and violently. For an instant Devin expected it to flip, but it righted itself narrowly and came to a halt.
     Two tall, husky men in dark clothing dismounted quickly from the truck and squatted to look at the denuded wheel. Andrew rose silently and moved toward them. Devin hurried to catch up.
     The first of them to notice Andrew’s approach rose and turned to catch the Winchester’s stock squarely across his face. There was a crunching of teeth and bone, a spray of blood, and the intruder went down. The other turned without rising, while simultaneously trying to free a gun from a back holster. Winnie caught him under the chin with an even sharper crack. He flipped backward and sprawled in the dust. Both lay still.
     Andrew stared down at them with the rifle at the ready. Devin swallowed his heart.
     “You’re not going to kill them, are you?”
     Andrew shook his head. “No need. Fetch their guns and wallets.”
     While Andrew watched, Devin rifled the two unconscious men’s pockets. Both yielded up automatics, billfolds and badge folders. The badges identified their possessors as employees of the Department of Justice. Devin handed the folders to Andrew, who glanced at them and nodded with no hint of surprise.
     Well, who else would it have been?
     “What next, Drew?”
     Andrew’s eyes darted to the truck. “Take a look at their cargo, see what you can make of it.”
     The back of the truck was full of electronic gear Devin couldn’t identify. It could have been sophisticated spy equipment, or parts for obsolete radios and televisions. He looked at his brother and shrugged.
     “No weapons?”
     “Nope.”
     “Too bad.” Andrew beckoned Devin back to his side and handed him the Winchester. “Cover ‘em.”
     Devin held the rifle on the uninvited guests and watched as his brother crushed the fingers of each man’s right hand with a savage blow from the heel of his boot. They returned to consciousness with much shrieking.
     Andrew stepped back, reclaimed his rifle from Devin and leveled it at the two men. Their screams stopped at once.
     “You’re trespassing. This is private property, and it’s posted every sixty feet for its whole perimeter. Get into your buggy and get back down that path before I send you to hell where you belong.”
     “We’re federal agents,” one hissed. He clutched his freshly maimed hand to his chest.
     Andrew nodded. “I know that. I decided to spare your lives anyway. Don’t make me feel a fool for doing it.” He raised the Winchester and sighted it.
     The intruders fled.