The Militia Murderer

It doesn’t matter when it started, but if you hold me to it, my new mission in life began after I got out of the Army’s Special Forces two years ago.

My name is John Sill and I’m still able to kill after 25 years of devoted service to my country. If there’s one thing that makes my blood boil it’s traitors. Let me be clear for you civilian types; if someone does anything to harm my country their life is forfeit.

When I found out that some ex-military members were organizing in illegal state militias that advocated overturning our duly democratic government, an igniter went off in my head and I began making plans.

I was an avid hunter before I went into the Army. Stalking prey was my way of recreation in the wilds of western Virginia. It produced such a tight focus of the here and now that I often lost track of time. The Army, thank you Uncle Sam, taught me how to track humans. It took a couple of years to determine who I would hunt. That changed when I met a guy who said he belonged to the Wolverine Militia in upper Michigan.

I spent a weekend closing Honkey Tonk bars with him in Nashville, along with a lot of other guys sporting quasi military patches and talking about their “units.” I do my best recon when pretending to be drunk or a “little slow.” At six-feet two inches and 240 pounds, I present a menacing profile with bulging biceps, scars over both eyes and my cheek, and fists the size of rump roasts. My piercing pale blue eyes have frozen more than one man in his tracks when trained on him in anger.

After countless shots of whiskey – I should point out here that no man has ever out drunk me – and mugs of beer and platoons of peanuts, I heard a lot of interesting conversations from the mostly wannabee military types who doted on actual veterans like they were emissaries of the God of War. The one recurring theme was they wanted to overthrow the government and my commanding chief. I spent that weekend memorizing names, cell phone numbers, and states with the biggest amount of militia compounds. That’s how I started with Pennsylvania, because there’s 28 seditious militias in the rural areas – more than even Michigan and Montana.

Started with what, you may wonder? Fair enough. The answer is declaring war on all the militia groups in America. I don’t expect to live long enough to fully achieve my mission but it’ll be interesting to see how many I do eliminate. I know I’ll never get rewarded for destroying the would be traitors. That’s okay. It’s not the way I want to go out with accolades from insincere politicians willing to forgive me for slaughtering an unknown number of enemies of the state. I don’t need parades. I’m a loner and I don’t like being anyone’s center of attention. You may fairly assume the reason for that.

I’ve been on plenty of secret missions throughout Southeast Asia, South America, Africa, and Europe. I still hold shooting records for the M-16, AR-15, M1911 Colt pistol, and the Barret 50 Cal-American sniper rifle. I’ve taught hand-to-hand combat to Green Berets and Rangers. I never questioned my superiors. I was a team player when necessary, and a lone wolf when needed. I always preferred the later. Death and I are no strangers. The Grim Reaper follows me around like a puppy waiting to pounce on the souls of my kills. So, where was I? Oh yeah, Pennsylvania.

It was in November when I met Jerry Sigreid who was the commander of the PA Light Foot Militia at a gathering in Gettysburg. State militias were converging upon the hallowed ground because of a rumor. I quickly figured out most didn’t believe the rumor but it was a great opportunity to spend the weekend mingling and boasting about how bad they were. I couldn’t help smiling at times when I saw guys with fat guts hanging over tortured belts ready to burst under the strain. Everyone was packing semi-automatic rifles and wearing rag tag quasi military uniforms and parts of body armor. To me, they looked like a bunch of overgrown and overweight Boy Scouts at a Jamboree. I followed Commander Sigreid around as he greeted other unit commanders throughout the day. On my way back to the hotel room that I booked for the weekend – The Travels Lodge – I planned my first step to slaughtering the treasonous pigs who claimed they were true American patriots. Makes my blood boil just thinking about it. I slept well that night dreaming of the hunting ahead.

The next morning I grabbed my duffle bag and checked out of the motel and followed Commander Sigreid to his compound in the northern part of the state. His Jeep Ranger stayed under the speed limit as I followed in an old 1985 Ford pickup that I purchased while in Tennessee. I pondered about what made him believe that the Constitution granted citizens the power to take back the federal government by force or violence whenever they felt like it? For starters, his unit and all of the rest are illegal. They have no charter from the governor of the state to assemble. As a matter of fact, militias like Sigreids are listed as hate-groups by the Southern Poverty Law Center. I know this because it was part of my recon efforts. I wanted to know where they stood legally. They didn’t, and that made my mission even easier to perform. We drove for hours on rough country roads before coming to a dead end and a barricaded gate with armed guards. I wasn’t surprised, as I knew we were being followed by off road vehicles most of the way in. Anything less would have been a surprise. This group of losers were playing Army as best as they could. Sigreid stuck his head out of the window and hailed the guards with a password and signaled for me to follow him into the compound.

We parked next to a long wooden building that was surrounded by smaller outer buildings that looked like barracks. There was a dirt parade ground that had a tall pole with the American flag dancing in the breeze. We entered the tall building and startled a lounging guard at a desk who nervously jumped to attention and saluted Sigreid. He closed the door after we entered his private office at the end of a long hallway. I listened to him chatter for an hour as my eyes searched the room for clues to his life outside this fantasy world he’d created. Afterwards Sigreid called the guard in and ordered him to show me a room in the NCO barracks. The guard pointed out a building as we walked and stated it was the mess hall and dinner was an hour away. When we got to my room I slung my duffle bag down on a bed that was probably WW I vintage. The private room was at the end of the wooden barracks and the door was painted with a circular logo with PA Light Foot Militia in the center. I slept well until 2 a.m. when I got up for my first kill. It was too easy. I walked into the main compound to find the same guard from earlier sleeping in a chair and broke his neck with a simple twist. The bones snapping sounded like dried-out wood breaking.

The hunt had begun.

The End

Book Three: The Polis Chronicles – Requiem

Chapter One

Ludi’s three eyes watered under the bright sun. His tall slim body was protected from the brutal rays under a cloak with a hood. He was getting old. Mutants seldom lived more than 30 years – he was going on 60.

Ludi looked out at the assembled crowd before him. They were twisted versions of human beings. Children whose parents were exposed to the radioactive fallout from the nuclear war of 2057. Hundreds were sitting and standing around him in a semi-circle in what was once an outdoor stadium. Most of the concrete seats were covered in heavy vegetation. Their voices were humming in the scorching heat when he raised his long arms up and called for their attention.

Brothers and sisters, heed my stories of the mighty Polis, for my time in telling them comes near. His adventures have become legend, and in retelling them you and yours will learn lessons in life.

“When last I talked of Polis he had just reunited with Min. She was recuperating from fighting and killing three warriors before being overwhelmed by the leader of the Snake Tribe, Geronimo. He let her live, but violated her body as a sign of contempt.

Polis had searched for her, eventually finding the area near her and Ord’s lair. She discovered him while patrolling outside the cave entrance. It was a touching moment for both, Ludi went on.

Min shared some of her jerky with Polis as they sat next to the campfire she built in the middle of the cavern, deep below a mighty mountain.

She was feeling oddly embarrassed after her show of tears. He was trying to process what they meant and the funny feeling she gave him when he looked at her lithe body. Polis lived by his own rules – some of which would surprise people – and one of them was not to intrude into a relationship…especially if they were friends. With Ord’s death things changed. He was in his prime and a viral male. She was a beautiful woman in her prime. They became lovers that day.

The next morning she told him what the snake warrior had done to her and how Ord died fighting him. Polis was enraged. He was going to put a Post Mortem party on for the Snake clan’s leader, but now he was plotting his death. Polis knew it was he after she described her attacker. They spent days discussing ways to get revenge.

Geronimo tossed the corn cob aside and reached for another one as his warriors watched and waited for him to give them orders. They sat in a semi circle on the ground facing their leader. The sun slowly rose behind him burning away the night’s chill. The silence was broken by children laughing somewhere nearby. Their mothers had been up before the day’s break cooking for everyone in the compound. The smell of roasted human flesh carried on the gentle wind.

“What do you think Sarp?” Geronimo asked one of his oldest and most trusted warriors.

“I’m not sure. Polis has always been a mysterious figure and the stuff of legends. He may have just changed his mind about putting on a Post Mortem party and got involved in something else.”

“If that’s the case then I would take it as an insult,” an angry Geronimo growled.

“There’s always a chance that something happened to him. Perhaps he was ambushed by someone seeking fame for themselves?” Sarp suggested.

Geronimo grunted in irritation that Polis had not returned in three days like he said he would. He sunk his teeth into a piece of meat and savaged it.

A week later one of Geronimo’s scouts reported that a woman had killed two of his comrades and only allowed him to live so that he could carry a message back.

“What is the message?” he demanded.

The warrior shook, clearly afraid to relay her words.

She said that she dares you to meet her in single combat.”

“Is that all?”

The warrior visible shrunk as he went on, “No…she says she’s going to enjoy cutting your balls off and roasting them over a fire.”

Geronimo jumped to his feet and grabbed the warrior with both hands and threw him like a rag doll at the compound wall. His head split like a melon and his body collapsed in a heap.

“Call his family and tell them to burn his body before I decide to eat him!” he shouted at the small group of warriors. It was a hallow threat however, because it was taboo to eat someone in the clan. No matter what they did.

He couldn’t ignore the challenge. Slinging his sheathed sword across his back he thought of the last time they had met. He grinned at the thought of her humiliation. Tucking a war ax and knife into his broad human leather belt Geronimo set off to find her and repeat their first encounter.

When he discovered her hours later, she was standing in a clearing surrounded by rocks and trees, waiting for him. She had a slim sword and knife, and held a spear. He couldn’t help admire her wild beauty and courage. In his savage world courage did earn respect. But she couldn’t be allowed to kill his warriors or to taunt him. With a sigh he drew his curved sword and slowly advanced on her. His dark eyes glittered with murderous intent.

As he closed the distance between them she calmly leveled her spear and threw it at him with such force he barely had time to evade it! Instead of panicking at the miss she smiled and drew her slim sword.

I have a treat for you!” she shouted.

He stopped for a moment and sensed another danger near by. His instincts were razor sharp as he turned to meet Polis who had stepped out from his concealment behind a tree. He called out to Geronimo,

“You almost killed and violated my woman!” he roared.

Geronimo looked hard at his opponent. Part of him didn’t want to face Polis in a fight to the death. The other part, the savage warrior who knew no fear, took control and parried Polis’s slashing sword. Geronimo wasn’t as tall as Polis, but he was powerful and had never been beaten in battle. Sparks stung the air as their blades collided and recoiled like living things. Soon both had gashes that bled but neither seemed to notice their wounds. They kept coming after each other in relentless rage. Twice they grappled and broke away. When their swords shattered from the brute force of the blows, they both pulled their knives and moved in a circle looking for an opening. Fast as a snake Geronimo struck first and buried his blade in Polis’s right rib! At the same time Polis plunged his knife into Geronimo’s guts. The two warriors tried to break apart while clutching the other’s knife inside of their bodies. Geronimo finally backed away and pulled the knife from his stomach before staggering a few feet and collapsing to his knees. Polis pulled the knife from out of his rib and doubled over, coughing up blood.

When he looked back up Min was standing next to Geronimo with a knife in her hand. A look of horror came over Geronimo’s grizzled face as she roughly pushed him onto his back and opened his breeches. His screams echoed throughout the forest!

Chapter Two

Ludi was finished with his mid day meal and ready to resume telling stories to his eager audience that swelled over the days. He pulled his hood on and slowly walked back to his stage of polished granite.

Polis is a legend for many reasons my friends,“Ludi explained.

“Many of you would not be here if it wasn’t for Polis. He’s been a champion for us, as well as others in this cruel world.

There was a time back when some of you were mewling babes on your mothers teat that mutants were hunted for sport. There are survivors of those dark times among you who were older and remember the one-man war Polis waged against your attackers. You could testify to the many lives he saved and how he never mistreated mutants. Today, I will testify for you by telling how he stopped a whole tribe from hunting us.

Polis watched the two warriors walk across the ruined road and around the rusty remnants of what was once a car, coming toward him. They were in no hurry. When they got close enough the taller one called out to him,

“Ho there! I am Zeb, and this is King Han. We are of the Bear Clan. This is our territory your on. Explain yourself stranger,” he challenged.

Neither exhibited any emotion while waiting for his reply. The tall one was broad shouldered and heavily muscled with a sculpted torso worthy of an ancient Roman god. His ebony skin was well oiled and he only wore a loin cloth. His companion in contrast was short and frail looking. He was bald and heavily wrinkled from years of hard living. Perched on his head was a highly polished wooden crown. It had two red stones embedded into the front. His tunic was made from scrapes of cloth and fur from a bear who was long extinct. It was ratty with age and made him look more like a beggar than a leader. His narrow face and delicate jaw resembled another long extinct mammal; a rat.

“Forgive me! I saw no signs or markers,” he politely replied.

“Everyone knows this is our tribes land,” Zeb said in a deadpan voice.

Suddenly Polis saw warriors stepping out from behind buildings on all sides of him. They silently took up their positions, encircling him and waiting for a signal.

What is your name stranger?” the King asked in a shrill voice that carried well in the silence.

Polis.”

Your name means nothing to me. Why should I let you live?” the King’s squeaky voice demanded.

“Because I’m the mightiest warrior in the land” he boasted, “…and a good person to have as a friend.

King Han liked his answer and squealed with delight, “We must test you right away! Show our mightiest warrior Zeb how skilled and powerful you are braggart!” he taunted Polis.

Polis tossed his sword and knife aside in order to meet his opponent on equal terms. Zeb was on him in a flash! He gripped Polis in a stranglehold for several seconds before Polis wedged his leg into Zeb’s and threw his weight to one side, throwing him to the ground. He didn’t wait for Zeb to recover and kicked him in the head as he tried to stand. Blood was pouring from Zeb’s broken nose as Polis bent over and throttled him to death with his bare hands. It was over so quickly everyone was stunned. Zeb never lost. But there he lay at a stranger’s feet like a broken doll. King Han blinked in surprise but recovered quickly,

So it seems you are right. There is no one mightier than you. Come. I’ll lead you to our village and we’ll have a feast tonight. You must tell me more about yourself. Come, join us.”

Polis picked up his weapons and followed. He wasn’t surprised at all that he was tested. It was the way of the world. Man eat man. He knew he’d be having Zeb steaks tonight. The others couldn’t because it was taboo to eat one of their own. They already had caught their dinner earlier in the day after killing a couple of wanderers that had strayed into their hunting grounds.

The sun was retreating into the horizon as Ludi continued his story. His audience increased since he resumed speaking in the afternoon.

“And so it came to pass that Polis stayed with the Bear Clan for a week until an incident came up that changed their relationship. Three warriors approached Polis one day and asked if he’d like to join them for some sport?

“He agreed to join them for a chance at some excitement. It took several hours of going through a dense forest before the group came upon two mutants – a father and his son. Before Polis could do anything his three companions fell upon the terrified duo and slaughtered them! It was a senseless act that didn’t result in getting meat for the clan, because no one ate mutants for fear of being poisoned. It was murder.

“Sickened by what he saw, he pulled his sword and slew all three warriors in a blind rage. He suffered numerous gashes and was weak from loss of blood when a mutant came upon him as he sat with his back to a tree trying to stay conscious. A gut wound from his last battle was just healing but now was seeping blood onto his lap.

“The mutant look around at the carnage. One warrior had killed the other three for some reason. Then she found two members of her family hacked to pieces nearby. She knelt down by the wounded warrior and asked him what happened? He had passed out from loss of blood. Later, after she treated his wounds he told her.

“Thus Polis became the bane of the Bear clan and lived among the mutants for a year. He ambushed hunting parties that came looking for mutants so many times that the clan finally decided they had enough, and agreed not to harm the mutants anymore if he’d stop stalking and killing them.

“This is just one of the many adventures that have led to Polis’s fame. Come back again tomorrow, and I’ll tell you another,” Ludi told his rapt audience as the cool night settled in.

Chapter Three

Polis and Min sheltered from the merciless sun beneath an evergreen tamarisk tree. It was too hot to travel during the day.

The white dunes around them seemed to go on forever. A few hearty plants like succulents, cactus, and mesquite sporadically dotted the bleak landscape. They were lost. Hopelessly lost.

Polis stared out across the smooth undulating dunes, straining his eyes to search for any movement. They had run out of human jerky days ago and were surviving off the land. The only types of cactus that offered water they could safely digest were the prickly pear and one species of the barrel cactus – the fishhook barrel.

If not for a traveler they met before setting out across the great desert, they wouldn’t have known which cactus was safe to eat and get moisture from. He was a good story teller and minutely described the two types of cactus they could depend on if necessary.

It was Polis who wanted to see what lay beyond Death Valley, as the locals called it. He’d heard rumors of strange new people who were so far advanced that they created marvels and lived in paradise. It would be an adventure worthy of his fame. That he had a woman with him made it even better. He enjoyed companionship in this stage of his life. He’d been a loner for a long time. He wasn’t even sure how old he was, but guessed he was in his fifties based upon his fragmented memories. Min was a talker and he enjoyed listening to her.

Neither felt much like talking as they sat in the shade of the tree. They were conserving their energy so they could travel at night beneath the moon’s light.

Ludi tried to stand up, but couldn’t. His frail body was giving in to age and a hard life. His vision was blurry but he could still see the mutants who surrounded him and felt a measure of satisfaction. He had passed on all of his wisdom and kept Polis’s legend alive. The one thing he never told his audience was that he was the father of the man who was ruthlessly murdered with his son by the Bear clan.

“And so it was a time of great peril for Polis and Min as they struggled to get out of the valley of death. After losing count of how many days they traveled Min saw a mountain range and they realized the landscape was changing. It was getting a little cooler. They spotted a strand of trees and green grass at the same time. It meant there was water ahead. The moisture from the cactus gave them both problems with their guts, but it at least kept them alive. The chance people might be around was good considering how lush the country appeared to be. Neither had any meat since they ran out of their jerky weeks ago. Weak from hunger and relief they walked through the night until they reached the edge of the forest.

Ludi closed his eyes for the last time. His grieving followers gathered closer to bid him farewell. The sun set slowly in the west with his now free soul.

Min and Polis had no way to boil the water from the stream but they didn’t care, and kneeled down on the bank drinking the cool water from their cupped hands. After quenching their thirst they stripped down and went into the shallow stream, soaking their tired bodies for an hour before getting out. They were exhausted and found a tree to climb up and sleep in. Both fell asleep dreaming about food.

When they woke they saw a fantastic sight in the horizon. It looked like a thriving city with humans riding in cars, trucks, and motorcycles. Polis had once seen these wonders in a book when he was young, but still stared in awe. Min’s jaw dropped at the sight of wonders she never dreamt of.

Before Polis could tell her what little he knew about the wonders a loud voice boomed below them.

“You there! Come on down! What are you doing in our forest?” a strangely dressed man demanded. He was surrounded by other men and they were all pointing strange weapons at them.

We come in peace,” Polis reassured them as he shimmed down the tree trunk. Min joined him and the two held hands facing their interrogator.

“Welcome to New Atlantis,” their interrogator said. “I’ll need those weapons first, before we take you to our king.

The end.

Author’s note: I’m considering another trilogy featuring Polis, Min, and a new cast of characters in a world that is the exact opposite of what they lived in.