False Providence, page 1
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False Providence
Belle Farrell-Byrne
Copyright © 2020 Tuatha Press/Amazon KDP
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any medium, distributed in any medium with the permission of the author and Amazon KDP affiliates
All quotations and lyrical verse sourced in this book belong to their respective owners and are also subject to copyright
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank my husband John; whose service partly inspired this novel; the unique window of an Army life brings a unique perspective. Your fortitude is my fortitude and I dedicate this book to you and other Veterans left out in the cold, you are loved and not forgotten
My Beloved Ireland, who has been and will always be my life’s anchor. The army life is a gypsy life but with you forever in mind I always, always know my way back home. Thanks in part to the stoic teachings of my parents
To my girls, you are my treasure and a fitting chorus to my Father’s very own Immigrant Song
I also dedicate this novel to my beloved brother Bill; I miss you Ziggy xxx
Preface
This novel was borne from witnessing the politesse of America over the course of four years, where prejudice found a podium and a mandate. Hate as old as the country was forged into a weapon of action unseen for half a century.
The song of immigrants was drowned out by something else, something enraged and cruel.
Remarkably, the notions within this book came out from estimated guesses and worst-case scenarios. The fact they bear a canny resemblance to what has unfolded is jarring. But then the truth is always stranger than fiction and fiction is always has a silver of truth. History unfolds itself even as I type.
Writers always seem to find that window of possibility from things deemed once impossible….
As I type, history makes scribblings of it’s own….
False Providence
Laws enacted by the government of the Reich may deviate from the constitution as long as they do not affect the institution of the Reichstag and the Reichsrat, the rights of the President remain unaffected
Law to Remedy Distress of The People and The Reich, Article II
Ratified March 23rd 1933
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Preface
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Prologue
Machine Gun fire blasted past a head of dark curls, mortars boomed several feet away and a young mechanic replied to destiny’s call via a very special mission. While fighting off the enemy Dimitri Hidalgo was also leading refugees fleeing bad troubles from the South West of the country.
Gay people, pregnant teenagers and even legal immigrants were all leaving the rust belt as fast as their legs could carry them. Each spurred on by the fact that at long last they were journey through the lit Path
“Dimitri, we have to find shelter! It's too dangerous out here” a teenage boy hollered over the noise. It was a rainy day on the plains of Kansas, mud caked the boots and shoes of soldiers and civilians alike.
The group took a moment to rest along the mass of fallen turbines, smashed broken and sometimes with a rotary or two sticking up-right on the hillside. They were well over a thousand miles from their point of origin and half that number if they wished to go to Orisha.
A neutral ground, a place of peace and respite and complete detachment from all that went on in the world. It was a relief to many soldiers that the Amish were still the calming Quaker folk they had always been.
“Agreed, take positions from the rear, see nobody follows – If they’re Croms just…” The Latino ordered, his conscience was muddled but his resolve was sharp and steady. Dimitri wasn't always so cold but Craven came like an ice storm across the land and froze every life he touched, including Dimitri.
Before Craven came there were siestas and Mariachis and just vivid colors of Latin culture exploding like fireworks up and down the country. But then the accusations started ‘speak English’ they said ‘stop taking our jobs’ they said. ‘Your music isn't music’ Go back home’ and so on and so on.
The folk with shorn hair and iron cross tattoos were not the problem, their language was bigotry, their platform was not democracy but fascism. But then a man starting to say such things in a suit and tie, the putrid words of hate suddenly became pledges and the crown of lady liberty would be stolen and placed of the head of one Robert James Craven, the last President of the United States of America.
Boom, boom, boom,
The bombardment resumed but this time there was something more relentless about it, Dimitri shot his gun back to the east, where the fight raged on but he wasn't there for the fight at least not yet. Somewhere between Topeka and the emptied, ravaged streets of Wichita, the human train of refugees and their escorts finally found shelter in an abandoned farmhouse.
As some decided to hole up in the nearby barn, Dimitri and the plucky teenager known as Emile Cazeau, A Haitian-American, who only joined the army the year before. He was scrawny but fast and was loyal to a fault, something time would not diminish.
“We rest but someone keeps watch, the plains of Kansas have nowhere to hide anyone” Spoke a gruff Staff Sergeant
The stocky soldier was a man in his mid-thirties with blonde hair and brown eyes, his mere presence was the reason Dimitri was remembered at all. As the two men shivered in the cold, Lieutenant Dimitri Hidalgo took out a photograph of a young woman and an infant girl in her arms. The toddler was smiling and happy with big brown eyes and thick dark hair and he lamented if he would see them again.
“…To think I was doing an Art Degree last year, now I'm a Civil War soldier” The young Haitian-American adjusted the rifle over his back then looked out at the horizon.
“Yeah well I wielded a wrench once so…It can happen to anyone, the best of us doing our favorite things only to end up doing things we shouldn’t do” His commander said gravely, Staff Sergeant Glenn Wyatt looked back in alarm and forced out a suggestive question but came out like a retort instead.
“This won't stop us, we’re stronger than this, we’re stronger than that Robert Craven any day!” Private Emile Cazeau rebuked as he jostled his semi-automatic against his chest.
“America will bounce back right? We did before, all those things the army fought - The Wars in Europe, Japan, here near the borders. We’ll fight and we'll go on as…normal?”
Already the cheer in American youth was already fading, for the first time since it’s infancy the future of the country was in question and the people were losing heart in ways rarely seen.
Dimitri tucked his lower lip under his teeth and hated having to answer, what was the point in lying? Cazeau was no child, he would not be soothed by a tall tale instead this tale would be short, raw and truthful.
“People will find a way, the human race is good like that but America…America is never coming back, boy” The freedom fighter cooed sadly.
“Craven?” Scowled the boy soldier as he leaned against a bale of hay
“History, son, history will be a great deal unkind to us long before it gets to Craven, how the hell did it come to this?” The dissident was asking the question to himself as war rumbled on in the distance, the sound thundered under the gentle patter of rain.
“It's a good thing to be part of, all this – two years ago I was starting out for college and now I’m escorting refugees, I'm a freedom fighter. It won’t be forgotten you know? If we’re successful and we keep at it, we could be quite famous” Emile joked
For a while the Platform generation, the youth group so obsessed with fame and frivolity came roaring back into life.
Dimitri was a man in his late thirties, he was once known as a Millennial - silly selfish folk who saw the dawn of the Internet and when Fame and the search for it became an addiction for the masses. The Platform generation were born some twenty years into the 21st century and by that time social media was etching into the world like the second coming!
The San Diego native smiled at the boy and started slipping his arms out of the backpack straps to take out food rations to pass them around to each traveler. He spoke in the honesty of all heroes before legend knew their name.
“You know what kid? I'd rather live” He chuckled as the tiniest note of selfishness rang out through his words.
With all that the boy saw it was the crudest joke at his leader’s own expense, modesty was always becoming but there was always a sadness in seeing good people sell themselves too short.
The two men laughed as a country fell apart around them, yet sometimes in the end laughing about it is all you can do.
Chapter 1
‘You say you want a revolution well you know, we all wanna change the world’
John Lennon, 26th August 1968
What we once were, we hardly remember except that, for a time we had everything and were everything. We were strong and proud and bold and so very fearless but we forgot something of grave importance, we forgot the tide was turning.
From the very beginning a torch was lit upon the dawn of every civilization and these footholds of Man would shine and grow and have their day in the sun. But those days would end eventually and the sun would set on one stronghold of humanity and rise in another, that is the way of things.
I wish I could say that our last days were glorious, I wish to say that we met the change without fear or prejudice. But that would not be telling the truth and history has a habit of pulling no punches.
It was such a beautiful thing to begin with, so many of the greatest vows that many tried so hard to keep, a country for the people, by the people…Or so I've read somewhere. An innocent notion that within these borders at least all men are or were created equal but the borders my forefathers knew are not what I know.
My name is Christy Hidalgo-Wyatt it’s neither a safe or legitimate title, the one thing I have of legitimacy is my rank:
Lieutenant 2nd Class Cristobelle Wyatt – Like I said before I don’t necessarily go by that name, I am more widely known by my Mother’s name Cortez, not that I know her. I am a soldier and as a soldier it would be wrong to say I was on the good side, the right side…It’s thinking like that that got us into this mess…
What mess you ask?
Well something that was United under one star spangled banner once is no longer, a nation that was one is now divided into many provinces, principalities and various sanctuary states.
A whole fabric of red white and blue were now a patchwork of humanity draped over scorched earth. A land scarred by a second civil war that was almost always brewing since the first one nearly three hundred years earlier.
The catalyst for such chaos came four years before I was born for you see, Robert Joseph Craven was an old soul stitched into the body of a man in his prime. Conservative and ambitious, energetic but focused and so very hungry for the win.
A political party went and found the fountain of youth, submerging completely in it before it rose out of the waters as Senator Craven from the state formerly known as Kentucky.
I say formerly as these names and places now reside in history books scattered across The Icarus peninsula. The name was given as a warning for the people of each province so that none will fly so close to the sun again, the former United States of America flew so high, it's feats were like none the world had ever seen since the days of Greece. But flying so high meant falling even harder.
✽ ✽ ✽
I live in the West, a rag tag jumble of settlements, we would probably be known as something along the lines of progressive, liberal, the dreaded left of the middle. I have no attachments to these labels all I know is all I know. Even saying that is a little lie, for I have known and have seen a great deal.
I live in Constantine in the Western Province known as New Rome; I try to teach about the knowledge that was taken from us. First was the right to vote, second was subjugation proclamation, immigrants were not Patriots and neither were the holidays that they brought with them to the Americas.
Samhain was declared a thing of Evil, as was Ramadan, Saint Patrick’s Day was frowned upon for glorifying alcohol. Chinese New Year would only ‘confuse people’. Bar mitzvahs dwindled in number or became muted in their celebration. All this was made in the course of one term of Craven’s presidency.
There was opposition, of course there was but small resentments that were once simple irritations were now poisoning the well of American life. Families were divided over opinion and eventually war, those born in the country had to prove thus, a great council of peace was disbanded at the behest of Craven. The gold that so enthralled people for two centuries was found to be nothing but glitter.
Ironic that the day I started one wild adventure was the day I was teaching children about the old ensign…The Star-Spangled banner.
“As with the best of history, many claim their own version, many have their own story to tell and why not? This is what made us, this is who we used to be” I try so hard not to be melancholic for in front of me are two dozen children and children are always hopeful.
“Can you believe that the beginnings of the American flag came from clothes? White petticoats, blue patches of uniform. Washington wanted a flag so badly he was willing to use any material available.
A silence falls over the open park where I teach and then I hear it, I hear the cynicism of a boy too damn young to feel such things but this was Craven’s legacy. The blighted, pitch dark future of Icarian children given to them decades before they were a thought in their parents’ minds!
“Just for a large piece of cloth?” The boy piped up; his teacher couldn't help but cringe.
The boy was ten years old or something close to it and wore clothes were Neo colonial at best and industrial at worst.
The child wore slacks and a beige shirt his hair was brown and unruly, a statement as loud as the conflicting politics that plagued his land. However simple it looked it was a piece of freedom that solely belonged to him.
“Jakob, the smallest things in the world have a part to play in it, all things have their own importance to something. You, me and yes even a large piece of cloth” I reply sadly but I pass my dismay off as patience.
Why scold, wasn't he still learning, so what if it was a fractured education? It was still an education wasn't it?
The patchwork quilt that was once America was now mothballed and in tatters, it had aged badly and was not kept very well.
George Washington was almost a figurehead of a myth. Much in the vein of Saint Nicholas or Achilles, at some point they existed yet belief in them was not so forthcoming anymore.
At the end of the day I head home to my shack, a small cabin of sorts surrounded by a hub of shanty towns, trailers and bungalows. San Andreas made his presence known not long after the war ended.
Such was the venom from the Deep South that they took it as a sign of their great righteousness and that their God made them the victors. These zealots made up the second province Antioch, declaring a place called Liberty to be their Capital. These were the pawns that made Craven king and changed the course of history forever.
These were the people that had God in their hearts and the bible in their state hall, the Mayflower Institute was the Puritanical heart of Antioch and all things were based on the will of the faithful. But one man’s faith was another’s need for reason, it st
arted slow at first, the marginalizing of certain groups not just race but sexual orientation too. Women were undermined in subtle ways at first, in wage then opinion and all the efforts to be equal came to nothing.
This crazy story of mine is not about what was but what is, A story of the fragile peace between the six provinces of the Icarus peninsula, New Rome, Keyah, Abre Rouge, Orisha, Galilei and Antioch all had an accord, an agreement of ceasefire but not for very long.
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The Autumn brought cool crisp air and was warmly welcomed by the people of Constantine and the surrounding hamlets of Liberty and Dimitri, named in honor of the man who spearheaded a movement of liberation for those persecuted and trapped by the policies of Antioch. Centuries earlier there was the Underground Railroad and after America fell this valiant effort of compassion was reborn simply as the Lit Path, but that story is for another time…
