Bass woke up with a start - the farm was too quiet. Pulling on his boots and grabbing his shotgun, he stepped out onto his front porch. Scanning the horizon, nothing seemed out of place, but he couldn't put the sense of dread behind him. Deciding to check on the animals, Bass headed to the barn. It was still locked up tight, and he was greeted by the squeals of growing piglets. Deciding to get a jump on the day, he headed out to the fields, where he tended to any stubborn weeds. This would be the last late fall harvest. He viewed the neat rows of carrots, soybeans, and other root vegetables. With the sun rising, he returned to the barn to feed the animals. All day, he was on edge.
He kept busy stockpiling for the winter months and his upcoming trip to Chicago to sell his surplus crops. Leaving his root cellar, he walked over to the hose pen; he let out a whistle and was greeted by the sound of Ted running for carrots. "Woah, buddy, I thought we'd work for the carrots tonight. How about a ride?" Being a horse, Ted, of course, had no retort except to investigate his pockets. Bass quickly saddled up Ted and rode around the perimeter of his farm. It wasn't a large piece of land; 20 acres was enough for him to survive and make a tidy profit. While they rode, Bass found himself practicing old Marine habits of checking his surroundings for anything usual. "I'm sure it's just old age and too much moonshine making me crazy, right Ted?" He shook his head and turned back towards the house.
As he made his way back, he spotted it. His heart stopped cold. A small group of Khaki's moving towards his house from the opposite side of the property. He nudged Ted to move faster; he and the group of Patriots reached the house simultaneously. "Woah, Woah," Bass said as he pulled up on the reigns. He quickly locked the shotgun on his lap, taking off the safety; he waited for them to come around the front of the house. As they turned the corner, the man leading the small party said, "howdy there, neighbor! Hope we didn't spook you this evening." He smiled at Bass with his hands raised in fake humility. Bass met his smile with one of his own, waiting for him to continue. "I am Captain Truman, my party and I are here to help spread the Patriot's goodwill and help the people of the so-called Plains Nations." Bass squinted at this man; he was like a wind-up doll. He was fake, fake, fake.
Bass nudged Ted closer to this Truman guy and finally spoke, "I am not looking for your help; I suggest you step off my land and carry on in any other direction." He kept his voice calm, his words clipped and measured. Truman shifted his posture, trying to put a strong front "well, I'm afraid we won't be able to do that, Sir. You see, this land is a part of the United States, and it's time to come back into the fold." Truman waved to his men, who started to set up camp. Bass clinched his jaw "you're not welcome here. You will leave NOW." Truman sighed, "I have been given permission to use force; I would hate to lay waste to such a well-maintained and thriving farm." The two men stared at each other; Truman continued, "you can stand down and accept that you have been welcomed into the US, or we will burn everything to the ground as a message to those who do not accept our hospitality."
Bass was weighing his options. He knew it would be best to lay down arms and focus on surviving the winter. But his heart and his grief spoke first, "I will never accept your so-called hospitality." Truman shook his head "that's a real shame. I will permit you to pack a bag, but only what you and fine steed can carry." At first, Bass wanted to tell the man to fuck off, but he thought better of it. Tieing Ted to the porch, he stomped inside and grabbed his old Marine pack. Bass tossed on several layers of clothing and packed an old bedroll, rations, first aid supplies, and leftover ammo for his shotgun and old service weapon. He then moved over to a small box on top of his dresser. Opening the lid, he pulled out his parent's wedding rings, photos of his sisters, and a tiny pair of shoes. He packed these items carefully and walked out of his home.
He untied Ted and looked at the puppet man in front of him, "you'll regret ever stepping foot on US soil." With that, he rode away. Reaching the top of the hill, he turned back to see his barn and crops on fire. He tried to close his ears to the sound of his animal's distress as he vowed to wipe the khakis off the face of the earth. He patted Ted and said, "let's go to Chicago, old boy." Man and horse turned north towards Chicago, his heart aching and missing a place he didn't realize had become home to him.
Notes: Soon our heroes will be in the same place, at the same time. Hold tight and provide feedback.