+1 on all counts...

It all had the air of a stump speech at a Midwest primary.  There were hay bales everywhere.  Tall torches posted into the ground lit the scene.  The Irishman’s fighters assembled loosely around the stage and waited.  After waiting impatiently with a rumbling stomach, the kid finally saw the Stockman come up.

The Stockman looked like a politician.  He was flanked by his own well-dressed security detail.  The Stockman wore a cowboy hat and a button down shirt.  Both were clean, unused and seemed too pristine to be authentic.  They seemed to have a plastic-like sheen.  The Stockman came along, smiling and glad handing a bit before stepping up on the stage and approaching the podium.  Someone had thoughtfully left a glass of water there.  The Stockman took a drink, cleared his throat, and spoke.  Before the first word came out, the kid decided he didn’t like the Stockman. But he stood amongst the others and listened just the same, waiting to hear what their benefactor had to say, but mostly waiting for the dinner that would come after.

“Gentlemen,” The Stockman began.  “Our nation is in crisis. The federal government has failed to act.  The state government has failed to act.  But with your help, and with the help of God, I intend to act.

“The headcounters were placed here by the federal government.  They came here pretending to be refugees, pretending to be downtrodden souls who only wanted to enjoy the freedoms we had to offer.  They lied, and the fat cats in Washington D.C. and the fat cats in Sacramento were willing to believe the lies.  They were willing to believe the lies because those fat cats care more about the headcounters than they do about you.  They want your money through taxes, and they want your votes, but it is the headcounters they love. It is the headcounters they coddle.  You go out and work all day so they government can steal your money away and give it to the headcounters.  And after you come home after a hard day’s work and lay down to sleep, those very headcounters come in the dark of night and slit your throats.  

“For years the headcounters have attacked us, and killed us.  They have raped our women and enslaved our children.  They come to us with their hands out for money and after we give them money, they cut off our heads and dance over our bodies.  They burn down our embassies and crash our planes, and what do the fat-cats do?  They tell us to be reasonable.  They tell us not to get upset.  They tell us they will protect us next time and next time, when they don’t protect us they tell us it is our fault.  They tell you it is your fault.  They tell you that you upset the headcounters because you were too proud.  They tell you, you upset the headcounters because you were too strong, and too powerful.

“Well I say we should be proud of who we are.  I say, we should be strong.  I say, the time for talking is over and the time for fighting is here.  I say, its time to take the fight to our enemies and destroy them, destroy them once and for all.

“Now I’m not a fighting man like all of you are, but I intend to fight these terrorists in my own way.  I’m going to make sure you have the best of everything; the best weapons, the best food, the best vehicles.  I’m going to make sure you have the best.  I’ve got money and I’m going to make sure that money gets to you.

“And then I’m going to Sacramento.  I’m going up to where those fat cats are and I’m going to kick them all out of office.  I’m going to take this state over and make it safe again for hard working men like you.  I’m going to make it safe for your families.  I’m going to drive these headcounters out, just like I’m going to drive the Sacramento fat cats out and make our state great again.”

The Stockman went on for a little while longer.  When he finished, he was rewarded with applause, but it was far from a roaring reception.  The men here were all warriors.  The Stockman wasn’t.  There was a divide between the two, intangible and not easy to pinpoint, but it was there, an awkward uneasy gap between the two.  Had the Stockman been a warrior, maybe they would have connected better.  But the Stockman wasn’t a warrior.  He was a techie turned politician.  

After the speech the Stockman lingered a little while to shake hands before being whisked away by his own security detail.  When the last black SUV disappeared, Nash approached the kid.

“What did you think,” The older man asked.  The kid shrugged.

“That som’ bitch made me late for dinner.”

Sweet, I've missed this story.


and I know how the kid feels, through experiences of the past.

Thank you for the update!  Been missing this story!

Just saw where you were prepping to deploy.  Be safe and God be with you.

Im with you glad to see the update.

The similarities of this great story with the unfolding story of how our government wants to bring in tens of thousands of a "refuges" is unssettling.  I also think that's the edge that makes this story so good along with the great writing.

Love the story and look forward to more chapters soon

Keep it coming. Can't wait for the next installment!

Hey where is the New Year chapters?

hint, hint..............

I take it the story is dead...hope I'm wrong

Sharkman has had something come up that took priority...

Of course I'm looking forward to the continuation of the story.  But in the meantime I'm wishing you safety and good fortune Sharkman.

Great story, and so relevant. I pray that God keep you safe, and return too us whole.