Epilogue: The Victors

FOUR YEARS LATER

A spectacular young lady roused General Platt from his wool gathering. "The General will see you now, sir. Please follow me." Platt nodded and tried to hide the effort it took to haul his old fat ass up and get to his feet. I'm too old for this shite, he said to himself, for the umpteenth time. But the well built secretary in front of him made him feel young, and he did his best to hide the effects of age on his fitness. She opened the door for him and ushered him inside. 

He stood while his CO finished scrawling some notes on a pad in front of him. Looking around, he noted how the office reflected it's occupant: spartan, with no real personal effects like family photos, awards, plaques and junk that most senior officers accumulate over a successful career. A gun belt hung from the coat rack. Two stainless steel 1911's in flawless oxblood leather holsters. Patton would have been envious. "Shoot - I 'm envious," Harv silently told himself.

"Sorry about the wait, Harv. I am just up to my fricken ears in snapping alligators." 

Platt smirked. "You've done really well for yourself, Bull. How about that secretary? Did you build her from a kit?" 

"Watch yourself, you lecherous old bastard. I'd hate for you to have a stroke while perving out in my office. Deb is worth her weight in gold - she's as smart as you, and a helluva lot better looking."

"Seriously?" Platt asked. "I thought Brigadier General Bull Kurz was a woman hater, all about ridding the military of queers, trannies, niggers, jews and wahmen."

"Doing that is what got me here, Harv. McMaster gave me the mandate, I followed my orders and was punished with promotion."

"There is no justice, Bull." Harv chuckled. "Ya cleaned up the military, and now you're cleaning up the American Free States, I hear. What's next after that? The Canadian Territories?"

"The Canadians will have to look after themselves, Harv. I have my hands full here. Say - would you like a coffee?" Platt considered and declined. "The damned stuff keeps me awake at night, Bull. Have you any metamucil?"  Bull smirked back at the old man and said, "I do, as a matter of fact! Would you like some?" 

"I think they oughtta tie us up to the same post they did with General High Heels and put us out to pasture, Bull..." The men were both chuckling now. "Jeez, it's good to see ya again Harv." Bull shook his head, "I'm sorry I didn't stay in touch. But hell's bells... the work around here never stops. Did you know I've put in my papers? End of the month - I'm gonzo."

"I did, Bull, and that is why I stopped by. He opened his brief case, and handed over a bottle of 18 year old Highland Park. "Congratulations." Bull took the gift and whistled. "Fuck it," he said. Reaching into his bottom desk drawer he came up with two glasses. "It's a good time to get out, Harv. We have most of the midwest and southern states back, those fucks in California will cave any day now. If the Canadian Territories come over to us, we'll be directly linked with Alaska for all intents and purposes." Bull poured two generous drams and the men toasted to his retirement. The scotch burned all the way down, and then spread out with a warm finish. Both men sighed with contentment. 

"It's a damned great way to finish, Bull. 5 stars, the adulation of an entire country... word on the street though, is that you're going to work for President McMaster. How does that work? That guy hates you even more than he hates me..." Platt said.

"I'm heading up the Civilian Deportation Programs," Bull said, "and you will never hear me say this in public, but the United Free States cannot be the world's landfill for human trash. They must be dealt with in their own countries; you know as well as I that they can't stay here."

Platt hesitated, wondering if he should speak. At length - he spoke. "A lot of the jews are not human trash, Bull. They have money, education, and real power-" Bull snapped "Are we gonna fight about this again, Harv? Really? Look - I used to be a 'stand with Israel' guy too; I sincerely thought they were our friends and that we could work with them. But you've seen the investigations. Who ginned up most of the anti-white propaganda back in the 20's? Jews. Who funded the violent leftwing mobs and terrorist organizations during the Clown Years? Jews. Who bought and paid for the politicians that drove the woke agenda? Jews. Who were the neocon generals that sent us to endless futile wars, and saddled us with sexually disturbed officers? Jews. Who pushed for mass immigration and population replacement? Jews... This is all a matter of of record, Harv. Those guys are not our friends; most of them are bitter enemies and most of them have dual citizenship with Israel anyways."

General Platt blew out his cheeks in exasperation and sighed. He put his glass on the table and Bull refilled it. "The Mexicans mass murdered the last deportation convoy, Bull. Down to the last man, woman and child. They're promising to do the same with any future deportations -" Bull waved it away. "Not our problem." Platt tried to make his mouth work. "Bull," he stammered, "It's genocide. How can we NOT be complicit in that? And - for fuck sakes - the negroes-"

"The negroes. The African-Americans? The guys that can't do math because I'm racist? The guys that burn down their own neighbourhoods and blame me because I am racist? The guys that wanted our citizenry disarmed because they couldn't be trusted with guns? The guys that systematically ruined Chicago, Detroit, Baltimore, New Orleans, Washington DC, and pretty much every nation in Africa? Are we really gonna go there, Harvey?" Bull fumed.

"So - we round them all up and dump them in Alabama? I thought you said we weren't going to land fill 'human trash?" Bull finsished his drink, and against his better judgement, poured another. "They need their own state. End of story. I'd rather deport those violent morons to Africa, to be honest.. Alabama is already a shithole slum. They were given a clean slate, a clean start, Harv. But Alabama is now the same fucken dump Ethiopia is! The former black run cities are slowly being reclaimed and cleaned up, now that they're gone. Those feral apes did what they did with the help of socialist jewish power players. One year, Harv! That's all it took for them to turn Alabama into a black slum! We've spent billions on them, and told and believed all kinds of pretty lies about them - and the truth of it just keeps coming back to clobber us. Genetics are real. The truth of this is all in the public record. They need their own state, and we need ours."

***

Harv sighed. "And what of our country, Bull? What's that going to look like? Once you've cleaned our country up? I saw in the news the other day how you did a PR trip to inspect our first crop of Boy Scouts. At first I thought it was great... but then the damnedest requisition came across my desk the other day: I am supposed to sign off on the procurement of 20,000 miniature AR15's, chambered in .22 long rifle. To be issued to, and used by the United States Boy Scouts. Bull - you are training children to fight? Don't you guys think kids should have better things to do than basic infantry level squad tactics? What kind of country are you wanting for us? And our kids?"

"Fuckin A," Bull responded. "You seen those sweet little rifles, Harv? The kids are going to learn to shoot. And to fight. They have to. 8 years ago, a lot of our young men lived in their parents' basement, and played video games because if they went outside - they were accused of racism. The trannies wanted to castrate them, the homos wanted to assault them, and the vibrants wanted to kill them. You KNOW this is true, so don't hand me this bullshit. Now our boys are in school. They are learning to fight, to repair engines, to camp, to take an interest in academics, to take charge of themselves. Wanna know something, Harv? The recruiters are pretty much out of a job these days. Our young men are competing for slots in the military. On average, they are physically fit, mentally fit, and take pride in themselves. When's the last time you saw that?"

"As for the nation I want for them - I want the same thing the blacks, the jews, and the socialists want: my own nation, surrounded by people that think like me, and look like me, and share my values. I want to be able to leave my car keys in the ignition. I want to live in a neighbourhood were our kids can go out and play at night, and you don't have to lock the doors at night. I don't want some niggered POS selling them drugs, or beating them up, or attacking the elderly for shits and giggles. I sure as hell don't want to listen to some fucking jew tell me I am a racist for not wanting crime, drugs, and gangs in my community. I want our kids raised right and not used as social experiments for degenerates. I want to live in a place where it is okay to be white. I want to be able to go to church with my community and not worry about some craptivist burning it down to make a stupid political point. So do most of us - even you."

Harvey Platt looked down at his emtpy glass. "I get some of that, Bull - I really do. But some of this stuff... it just ain't right. Hate to say it, Bull - but I rejected the requisition for rifles for the kids. It smacks a little too much of the Hitler Youth, if you know what I mean. I will not be party to militarizing and weaponizing our kids. We just ran the guys that wanted to do exactly that out of town, and I will not be like them."

"So are you a Nazi because you use Blitzkrieg tactics, General Platt? Are you going to call me a Nazi because I want a white homeland the same way jews and blacks do? Are they Nazis too?" Bull made a note on his to-do list. "Harv, I am going to countermand you on the guns for the kids. We have to raise the bar for them, and turn them into men. We can't infantilize them anymore-"

Harv interrupted. "Yeah yeah yeah - Bull, we have fought about this stuff for years now. And I love ya, kid... but... I think my time here is up too. The world is moving on and I just can't keep up anymore." Harv dug into his briefcase again, and passed over an envelope. "I am getting out too, Bull. I was hoping you might be able to expedite my paperwork before you left? I know you're busy, but..."

Numbly, Bull took the envelope and threw it on his desk without looking at it. "Sure, Harv...If that is what you really want...?" He was shocked, of course. "But... why the rush? You still have a few good years in you...?"

Platt laughed. "I have a front porch calling me, Bull. I have clouds to shout at, small neighbourhood kids to curse and nark at, and young, yummy mummies to ogle. I really appreciate serving with you, kid, but my problem is this: we are hellbent on building a better nation... but are we building a better world? 

A strained fart blew out Harv's ass as he rose to his feet. "Jesus Christ - sorry, Bull. I seemed to have taken root and getting up is like pulling a fuggin stump at my age! I've wasted too much of your time, and had better be on my way. I promise not to harass your pretty secretary on the way out." The two men shook hands.

When he reached the door, Bull stood and called out, "General Platt!"  Harvey turned to see Kurz throw a crisp salute. Smiling sadly, he returned it, and left. Bull resumed his seat, and looked at the paperwork on his desk. 

"Jesus Christ," he swore... and poured another drink, wondering exactly what kind of world he was building. "Perhaps the world is not mine to save, Harv..." he said quietly to himself.

***