by John Galt
January 29, 2012 21:00 ET
Remember, the first portion in italics is fiction; for now.
Mayor Troy Alderson was confident that the 2015 spring harvest would save his community from a winter food crisis this time. The weather in Northern Kansas was unusually bitter this past winter but the rains came as needed when spring arrived and for once the corn, beans, wheat, and vegetables were projected to yield so much more than in the past decade. He figured it was because everyone in the small town pitched in to help the farmers and ranchers wherever they could, bartering with other towns and villages in the region to insure that adequate supplies of seed and fertilizer were available, along with antibiotics and feed for the farm animals.
Just as Troy hopped on his horse to start the security patrol with one of his deputies, Sandy Macklin was screaming and running towards them rapidly, screaming and bawling louder as she got closer. “Mayor, Mayor, Mayor,” she screamed between tears and hysteria, “you’ve got to come out to the farm, it’s an emergency!” The good mayor knew his people well and Sandy was not one to act out of insanity or rashly. “Deputy,” the mayor yelled, “saddle up and call for help on the way. Sandy, hop on the back of my horse, we’ll get out there faster!”
Troy and his deputy were soon joined by Sheriff Will Walters and three more deputies as they were in full stride out to Sandy’s farm. “Troy, what’s this all about?”, Will bellowed out to him. “I have no idea, but Sandy is a bit freaked out about something,” the mayor yelled back to him. Her face was buried in the back of his right shoulder and Troy could feel the tears soaking through his coat and on to his back, creating a cold spot that led to a massive chill down his spine as he approached the outer reaches of her family farm.
“My God woman,” the mayor said in a quivering voice, “what the hell happened out here?” Before Troy could say another word, the sheriff was already off of his horse and grabbing parts of dead corn plants and stuffing them into plastic bags. “Mayor, I don’t know,” Sandy said with tears streaming down her face, “the beans, the corn, the wheat, all of it is dead.” Before the mayor said another word though, she spoke again crying louder, “But, but, you have to get Doc here to look at my chickens and pigs. They are all sick. They are dying. Why Sir? Why?”
Troy looked over at one of the deputies and ordered him to call Doc to get up to this farm immediately. The reply from the towns multifaceted veterinarian and human doctor via the radio was more chilling than the announcement from the President that the United States was under martial law two years earlier. “Troy, if you’re there with Will, y’all might want to hear this,” the voice crackled through the radio. “This is Doc and I’m at the Wilkerson farm,” he started to say with obvious hesitation in his voice, “everything but the family is dead or near dead up here. And y’all need to come up here and hear why.”
Without hesitation Troy and Will ordered the deputies to help Sandy and rode their steeds up to the the Wilkerson farm. The corn stalks were brown and black, as if acid rain destroyed their stiff resolve, and some sort of contamination had left everything within eyesight lifeless for acres and miles around. The smell of death reeked from the barnyard area where unburied dead pigs, chickens, ducks, and a few head of cattle were laying there rotting in the late spring sun.
“Doc, what the hell happened here,” the mayor started, “and why didn’t we hear about this earlier?” Doc pointed to the bedroom where Mr. Wilkerson, his wife and children were laid out on the bed, lifeless, with a peaceful look in their faces. “Cyanide,” Doc started, “they all drank cyanide and passed away together in here.” Troy was trembling now, beginning to freak out about all he had seen that day. “Doc, I just left Sandy’s place, the crops were starting to die, just like the Wilkersons,” Troy said, “is there a connection?”
Doc motioned to the sheriff and mayor to the attic, where he pulled down the stairs. They walked up the ladder, to a window where Doc opened it up so the three of them could get on the roof. “Here ya go boys,” Doc started to say, “it’s happening as we feared. They are coming soon.” Doc handed Mayor Alderson a set of binoculars and pointed his attention to the southeast on this day with clear skies. The mayor looked through the lens and focused on something in the distance which caused him to release a tear, which did not go unnoticed by the sheriff. “Troy, let me take a look,” Will started, “I mean, can it really be that bad?”
Troy bent over slightly and sat on the roof, bracing his feet so as not to slip, his hands trembling as he sat down. “I knew this was coming one day,” Sheriff Walters said, the disgust clearly evident in his voice. “Why now, just why now,” was all the good mayor could ask. Will responded, “That C-130 Hercules you see spraying whatever it is on those fields down there, “ he began, “well, it’s probably a powerful herbicide mixed with some sort of animal virus. Them boys weren’t going to leave us alone forever and now that the rest of the country is under control, they wan the breadbasket now, and all us poor souls as their workers. It was only a matter of time before they took us, one village, one town at a time.”
While the fiction depicted in the story above may sound insane, those individuals who are gambling their entire future of preparation on a future of small town or rural survival had best consider the potential enemies they might face. In the initial phase of a societal breakdown, communities unifying and standing against all enemies, real and perceived, might sound and actual be perfectly logical.
However, when faced with overwhelming technical inferiority to those governments with the capabilities and capacity to engage in acts of genocide or forcing citizens to submit, there is no rule book, only historical comparisons to use for preparing for the future. Should society implode along the lines many fear that it will, using traditional means to isolate one’s family and community from seizure might well buy some time, but could also invite future retaliation or attack from larger powers.
This scenario is designed to encourage those small communities, those isolated pockets that shall be given barbaric titles like “resistance” or “traitors” some food for thought. If those of you in this scenario have not prepared an alternate plan of action or defense, it is highly recommended that it is developed and implemented now. Otherwise, don’t cry about not getting any warning as the idea of destroying an enemy’s ability to produce food or livestock for barter is nothing new.
Ask the Carthaginians.